#(( & she is resplendent. thank you <3 ))

[nightmarefuele]

Pernix squats, tasting the soil with her fingertips. Her hands are small and strange. Nocturnal mammals with cross-hatched bellies. She squats low and dips her fingers into the earth while Syrax paces and Kylo Ren looms, paying no mind to either master or sire, though she has suspicions about what becomes of Syrax after the next resurrection, and she lets them hang on the air. They’re following the river. Her voice does the same, intermural among the Ren, cold and quick. On foot, and they’re hungry. Death will have them soon. You can still make them see when it’s done. Pernix rises and watches Syrax pace. She addresses him, albeit with her visor inclined toward their master, wiping the muck from her hands and pulling her speeder gloves over the smears, her paw-pink digits. Her helm warps her words, but they are clear. “Syrax is getting slow.” And when in motion again, she spreads rapidly, like an oil slick. 

[thebenjiblackwoodexpress]

Fire on Fire

Aegon Targaryen x Reader (Rhaenyra's daughter)

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝑰 𝒔𝒂𝒘 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑰 𝒌𝒏𝒆𝒘

𝑴𝒂𝒚𝒃𝒆 𝒊𝒕'𝒔 '𝒄𝒂𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝑰 𝒈𝒐𝒕 𝒂 𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝒃𝒊𝒕 𝒐𝒍𝒅𝒆𝒓

𝑴𝒂𝒚𝒃𝒆 𝒊𝒕'𝒔 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑰'𝒗𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉

𝑰'𝒅 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒌 𝒊𝒕'𝒔 𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒏 𝒐𝒏 𝒎𝒚 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅𝒆𝒓

𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝑰 𝒔𝒆𝒆 𝒎𝒚𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒚𝒐𝒖

Description: While Rhaenyra's sons all bear a striking semblance to Harwin Strong with their brown locks, her daughter and Jace's twin sister Y/N was blessed with resplendant silver hair. Aegon and Y/N spent their chidlhoods together in the walls of the Red Keep, with friendship slowly blossoming into young love. Despite the animosity between their mothers, they can't help being drawn to one another.

Part 2 Part 3

Writer's note: Hiiiii! Victoria here. Been thinking about starting an Aegon story for a while as Elizabeth secretly adores his character so here it is. It's going to start out from when they were children and go into their adulthood. Cyvasse is a strategical game akin to chess in westeros, it's not actually brought to the capital until the events of Game of Thrones but I'm including it anyway.

Thank you to @zaldritzosrose for the dividers.

Warnings: female reader, targcest (reader is Rhaenyra's daughter and Aegon's niece). Aged up characters. Aegon is 16 at this point and reader is 15. They're pretty mean to each other at first. Sort of rivals/frenemies to lovers to enemies vibes 😂 Lengthy.

Aegon couldn't place the discomforting feeling stirring within him as he watched Y/N flirt with a guard. It was not like he hadn't seen her do so before, indeed she seemed to find it endlessly entertaining. But now as he watched her lean towards the guard and incline her head so she could lower her voice to a whisper, as if they were sharing a secret, he felt his stomach twist and his face heat. He clenched his fist though he knew not why he felt suddenly furious with both Y/N and the lowly guard she'd deigned to gift her favour. She was a princess and the guard was beneath such attentions, surely that must be the cause of his frustration.

But that did not feel sufficient for the intensity of his anger as Y/N batted her pretty eyelashes at the guard, which made him want to storm down the hall and forcibly shove the guard away from Y/N, made him want to take hold of her wrist and drag her away to spend her time with him instead. Aegon's brows furrowed at the unwelcome turn of his thoughts, when had he started to want Y/N's attentions? More importantly, when had he begun to think of her as pretty?

They'd grown up together in the Red Keep, always walking a thin line between friendship and rivalry. He couldn't remember a time when they weren't menacing or taunting one another, tripping each other in the halls or launching various missiles at each other across banquet tables. Never the studious one, for that prerogative fell to his brother Aemond, Aegon had spent his lessons entertaining himself by trying to distract Y/N. Each time the maester would turn his back, Aegon would be pulling faces in her direction. His own eyes would alight in victory every time she'd giggle in response, though he would always take the blame when the maester would scold them both. If she turned from him, steadfastly trying to ignore his antics he'd only resort to tugging on her hair and averting his gaze innocently as soon as she finally paid him attention, sighing exasperatedly at his inability to leave her alone. All the while, they'd been accomplices in all sorts of schemes that had their mothers and their Septa scrambling to keep them in line. To Aegon's pleasure, Y/N didn't much take to their lessons either, preferring romance novels Aegon always thought silly to the tales of old Valyria which preoccupied his brother Aemond and nephew Jacaerys. Instead, they'd slink off to the Godswood together, inventing ridiculous nicknames for courtiers or playing games of Cyvasse together. Aegon liked to play defensively, protecting his castles, whilst Y/N's strategy spoke to a fierceness in her character Aegon had always secretly enjoyed, sending forth her most powerful pieces to claim his, not caring a bit for caution.

Their shared penchant for troublemaking had only worsened as they matured. Aegon took to his cups, spending far more time drunk than was befitting of a Prince of the realm, or at least that's what his mother always told him. By contrast, as she grew in grace and beauty Y/N flirted with every young knight and courtier in the keep, much to Aegon's chagrin. He'd not know why his heart would seize each time he'd see Y/N smile at someone else, hear her laugh at a joke he hadn't told, all the while swishing her silver hair which seemed to shimmer and catch the light, in contrast to her brothers' muted brown locks. Aegon had felt deep down that this had always been a sign that Y/N was more like him, in the same way that she was a kindred spirit who always seemed to understand him and never wished for him to be anyone but himself. He could not say the same for his father or even his mother. Aegon remembered only a few moons past, Aemond had noticed the way Aegon felt before he himself had been aware of it. At a sight not unlike the one now before him, Aemond had surely borne witness to Aegon's shifting mood as Y/N placed her arm on a young noble's arm, the gangly wisp of a boy gazing at her with a dazed look and insipid smile. Aegon recalled wanting to storm over there and wipe it of the smug prick's face.

He was certain he'd stepped forward just as his brother's voice called him back from his violent thoughts.

"I think you feel for her brother."

At the time Aegon had reeled back, scoffing. "Her? Don't be ridiculous. She's a nightmare."

Aemond had sighed, bearing all the signs of an older brother offering wise counsel despite being the younger of the two. "You're both nightmares. That's why you like each other so much."

Aegon had just rolled his eyes, feeling uncomfortable with Aemond's penetrative stare and the growing feeling he might not be completely off the mark in his assessment.

Eyebrow raised, Aemond looked unconvinced by Aegon's attempts to dismiss the possibility of him having feelings for their niece.

"So if that nobleman over there suddenly got down on one knee and offered our niece his hand in marriage you'd just stand by and be content?"

Aegon felt his face contort with rage, heard the disgust in his voice.

"No, I'd kill him."

He couldn't account for the possessiveness that shot through him. The constant refrain of 'mine, my Y/N, mine' echoed in his mind like a prayer he'd learnt by heart. In some ways, the idea of Y/N belonging to him had been impressed upon him from a young age. Bemoaning that the two were always to be found together, complicit in some crime against decency or another, their Septa had often regaled them of the story of their first meeting. As the Septa would have it, but two years of age when the twins were born, Aegon had been largely unimpressed by his nephew Jacaerys but enchanted with the little silver haired baby, his niece. Supposedly, he had turned to his mother, grinning up at her to innocently ask her, "Mine?" Smiling tersely, he knew now due to his mother's complicated relationship with his sister Rhaenyra, she'd told him,"she will be a friend for you." That he and Y/N were tied together seemed to be reinforced each time she chose to direct her taunts and sharp tongue at him, each time she favoured his company over all others even if it was just to play some sort of prank on him. He shivered at the memory of her shoving a toad down his tunic as she ran off, her giggles merging with his screams at the slippery feel of the thing on his skin.

Gods, he didn't want anyone to marry Y/N because he wanted her. The realisation crashed upon Aegon like a wave and he stumbled back a few steps in shock. Quickly looking up to where Y/N had been only a few moments before he saw only an empty space where she had been. He must have been staring into space like a damn fool figuring out he was in love with his niece for longer than he thought.

Now that Aegon knew he bore romantic feelings for his niece, he found it difficult to even look at her and hardly knew how to act, leading to a series of embarrassing incidents.

Passing Y/N along a hall he'd stuck his foot out to trip her, as was their custom, but as she stumbled forward, he quickly wrapped his arms around her and pulled her upright. Y/N had stared up at him within the encasement of his arms, her brows furrowed in confusion. Tripping each other up had always just been a fun past time of theirs. Each bruise and scrape just motivation to get the upper hand on the other next time. But Aegon had never caught her before, nor held her to him like this.

"What in the Seven Hells, Aegon? Why bother tripping me if you were going to catch me two seconds later?"

Aegon had tried to feign confidence, shooting Y/N a cocky smirk, whilst trying hard not to focus on how right it felt to have his arms around Y/N's frame. "Mayhaps I just wanted to have you fall into my arms?"

Her jaw had fallen upon and she'd gawked at him for a few moments before bursting into laughter and pushing out of his hold, Aegon's arms falling limply back at his sides as his face heated in embarrassment.

On another occasion, he'd taken her hand to drag her along with him to the Godswood, a touch familiar and not strange in the slightest to her until he'd interlocked their fingers together. Aegon's heart had swelled at first when she did not retract her hand, allowing him to hold it in this way as he pulled her along. He'd been surprised at the pleasant feel of her soft hand melded with his and thought he should like to hold her hand more often. That was until they came across her brothers, and she promptly dropped his hand like he'd burned her, stirring a feeling of shame in Aegon at her rejection.

It hadn't stopped him from flopping onto her with a dramatic sigh, resting his head in her lap where she sat reading in the library.

"What brings you here? It's certainly not the books."

Aegon had scowled at her. "It could be."

Y/N huffed, placing a green ribbon in her book to mark her page before closing it to look at him fully. Good, he wanted her full attention.

"Aegon, it's a wonder you can read at all. So why are you clinging to me like a pet dog?"

Aegon turned away from her, resting his head back on her lap and reaching for her hand to entangle it in his hair. He mumbled against her skirts. "Don't flatter yourself. I'm tired and your lap is comfortable." He'd waited with baited breath for her reactjon to his sudden desire for closeness but he felt his heart stumble as she began to stroke his hair and he heard the turn of pages as she opened her book to read again. Of course she'd thrown him off her eventually, leaving her book behind. It was true, Aegon could rarely be found in the library, he'd sought Y/N out specifically. It was also true that he had no love of reading and had mercilessly mocked Y/N for her love of romance novels in their youth, misusing his height advantage to hold her books out of her reach as he read from them aloud to her great embarrassment. But now he found himself sitting down to peruse the book she had been reading, hoping to find within it's pages some wisdom of what Y/N found romantic.

He stumbled over his words so often now in her company and had been caught staring at her on so many occasions that Y/N had actually noticed his changed behaviour, pointedly asking for an explanation.

"What's got into you? You're being surprisingly nice to me, and I find it suspicious."

Aegon had feigned indignation, though he felt sweat begin to pool on his brow at how easily she could see through him. It was a particular skill of hers.

"I'm always nice to you."

Y/N had let out a laugh that was all hard edges. She wasn't soft or delicate like the other ladies of court. She was the blood of the dragon, fierce with sharp words and a sense of humour, which was sometimes a little cruel. And yet he preferred her over all others and would trade all of their simpering pleasantries for a single cutting remark of hers.

"Sure, it was very nice of you to push me in the fountain just as the embassy from the Vale arrived."

Aegon's ears and cheeks blazed at the memory of his own less than pleasant actions towards Y/N in the past.

"That was years ago. I haven't done it since. You just complained about me being too nice to you anyway. Which version of me do you want then?"

He'd surprised himself with the insecurity that laced his words as he raised his voice.

Mouth parted open at his outburst, Y/N's expression had quickly turned sombre, she was all seriousness now. "Whichever one is real."

Aegon frowned at that. He could admit they'd never been exactly kind to one another. And he could understand how his change in behaviour would seem suspicious if he were not in love with her. But he was. And he didn't know how to tell her.

Aegon yawned pointedly as Jacaerys called to his dragon Vermax. He was bored, indescribably so. He'd already claimed his own dragon, Sunfyre, whose golden scales could put any other dragon to shame. And if he was being honest with himself, he wanted to seem uncaring, impressive even to Y/N, who was watching Jacaerys attentively. He tried to repress a smile in anticipation of the 'surprise' he'd prepared for his brother with Jace, hoping Y/N would find it as funny as he did and think him clever for his denomination of the pig as 'The pink dread.'

His hopes were dashed almost as soon as the pig appeared. Aemond looked more put out by their jest than Aegon had anticipated and when he'd turn to Y/N to gauge her reaction he was surprised to find only anger and unshed tears in her eyes. As he took a step towards her their eyes locked and she immediately fled from the dragon pit. It took Aegon a few moments to collect himself to run after her, though he quickly caught up to her just outside the pit with his longer strides. Grabbing her arm to arrest her movement, he whipped her round to face him.

"What's wrong with you?"

He tried to conceal his genuine worry under a veil of irritation, but Aegon was so used to disappointing others, his mother, his father. He found it painful to imagine disappointing Y/N, who'd never expected anything from him but jibes and sometimes an accomplice.

Angrily shoving him away from her, causing him to stumble back a few steps, Y/N snarled at him.

"With me? What's wrong with you? Why would you embarass your brother like that? It's not his fault he doesn't have a dragon and you shouldn't tease him for it."

Aegon rolled his eyes, feeling a tinge of jealousy at Y/N's evident care for his brother.

"That's what you're annoyed about. My brother? Aemond's a twat, he'll get over it."

Y/N narrowed her eyes, fixing him with a look so stern it reminded him of their Septa.

"Do you not care who you hurt?"

Aegon's face fell. He didn't hurt people on purpose, he just wanted them to laugh at him. He'd never found another way to get their attention.

"What?" Aegon cursed himself for his inarticulate reply, knowing he sounded like an idiot.

"I don't have a dragon either. Would you shame me like that?" Y/N's voice sounded smaller and more unsure than Aegon had ever heard it, so used to her railing at him. He preferred when she was shouting at him, at least then he could pretend he hadn't hurt her. It hadn't occurred to him before that he could. She'd always seemed so strong to him, implacable no matter what he said or did. On her last nameday she'd been gifted an elegant emerald velvet dress by his mother that she'd twirled about in front of him, asking what he'd thought of it. When he'd told her he thought she looked ridiculous she'd only shrugged and continued twirling. Really he'd thought her beautiful, like some mythical forest creature. But insulting her had felt more natural than admitting as much to her. His words seemed to glide off her like water.

"No, never. Not to you." The words spilled out of his mouth in a panicked stream. He hadn't realised that her own dragon egg not hatching had affected her so deeply. In truth he'd not considered her feelings at all when devising his prank with her brother. He was so unused to considering anyone's feelings, least of all hers. She could give as good as he gave and often worse. He'd never seen her cry before and he found he hated it, even more than he despised to see the disappointment reflected in her eyes.

"Why?" Y/N looked genuinely curious at his answer and he frantically grasped for an explanation. He couldnt blurt out that he felt more for her than an uncle should a niece. That he loved her, unexpectedly, inexplicably. That he'd do just about anything to make her laugh instead of cry, but he was an idiot and sometimes couldn't tell the difference between a joke and an insult.

The sound of laughter as Jace and Luke rounded the corner saved him from replying as Y/N swiftly turned and left him standing there as her two brothers oinked obnoxiously.

Aegon didn't laugh with them, feeling the heavy weight of regret pressing down on him for the first time in his life.

Aegon sulked, hunched over his plate of food at supper, not caring to unpick the chatter around him. He glanced continuously over at the vacant place opposite him, usually reserved for Y/N. It provided the best vantage point to throw grapes at him, she had claimed. He'd clearly upset her so much she didn't even want to eat. Turning to Jacaerys he whispered lowly so the rest of his family wouldn't overhear. "Where's your sister?"

"I think she went back to the dragon pit."

Aegon's heart plummeted into his stomach and he stood abruptly, his chair scraping loudly against the stone floor. He didn't even glance back at his mother shouting for him as he sprinted in the direction of the dragon pit. He had a good idea of what might have prompted Y/N to go back there on her own. She'd nearly been devoured by the last dragon she'd tried to claim and he was quite certain she was about to try again, prompted by his teasing.

Aegon stumbled through the door of the pit out of breath and flipping his head around frantically looking for Y/N. The stupid girl would get herself killed. His shoulders sagged with relief as he spotted her not far off, just about to enter the cave where the dragons slept.

"Y/N!" He shouted to her, her head immediately snapping up at the sound of his voice, giving him the opportunity to catch up to her. Now he knew she was safe he couldn't help but be angry with her for her recklessness, her utter foolishness.

Taking hold of her elbows he shook her. "What in the Seven Hells were you thinking? Do you want to be killed?"

Shaking him off, Y/N glared at him fiercely.

"And why shouldn't I claim a dragon? It was you who shamed Aemond and I earlier for our inability to do so."

Aegon shut his eyes briefly, frustrated with Y/N but knowing that this was really his fault to begin with.

"I'm sorry OK? Just don't be angry with me...please."

Y/N was blinking up at him, her expression blank.

"Did you just apologise to me?"

Aegon gulped. He didn't want her to get too used to it. He might be in love with the girl but he didn't want to turn into one of those simpering lovesick morons she read about. Deep down, he didn't think she really wanted that either. She was much too combative, a rose with thorns, and they'd surely bore her to death. But she was just right for him.

"Look, I'll help you. But just damn well stay by me."

Y/N's eyes positively lit up at his offer of assistance, and Aegon felt a queer fluttering in his stomach as she smiled warmly at him. That was about as expected from her as an apology was from him.

"Truly?"

"Yes. But you mustn't show fear, and neither must you go barrelling in front of the first dragon you see. Take your time to observe the dragons and make your choice. Then approach the beast respectfully. Remember that the dragon has to choose you as well. Sunfyre and I bonded because we are alike in temperament. You must find a dragon to suit you in kind."

Y/N nodded her head excitedly, stepping forward to enter the cave but Aegon thrust his arm in front of her, stepping around her to enter first. "I'll go first."

He'd hoped Y/N would think him gallant but she'd just roughly shoved past him.

"You already have a dragon."

The dragon pit was dark, and even with the light of the torch Aegon carried, it was difficult to see more than a foot ahead. There was an eery silence about the place, interrupted only by the occasional rumble of a dragon. Aegon had reclaimed his position in front of Y/N, using the excuse that he had to lead with the torch to guide their path. As they ventured deeper into the darkness, the air grew more stifling, and puffs of smoke could be seen exuding from various caverns. Aegon sought his own dragon, Sunfyre, thinking that the best course would be to demonstrate how to approach a dragon to Y/N before she tried again.

Coming to an abrupt stop, Y/N smacked into his back and his laughter echoed against the walls of the pit.

He looked over to see her rubbing her nose and glaring at him accusingly.

"You did that on purpose."

Aegon smirked at her tauntingly.

"No, you just don't look where you're going."

Facing forward once more, Aegon looked into the vast expanse of darkness where he knew Sunfyre resided, he could feel it in his bones. It had filled him with pride when the dragon keepers had told his father that the bond between him and his dragon was particularly strong. But his father had brushed this off as if it were nothing. Aegon shouldn't have been surprised, he was used to being ignored by his father. And yet each slight still stung. He knew it bothered his mother how little his father cared for him, but nothing Aegon did had ever earned him any true affection from him. So he had simply stopped trying. If his father thought him a nuisance, then he would be one. If his Septa and the maesters thought him awful, then he would be. But at least in Sunfyre and Y/N he had found companions who had no desire to change him.

"Mazis Sunfyre." He inflected his voice with confidence, a command not to be ignored. No sooner had he spoken than he heard shuffling and flints of gold became visible through the darkness as Sunfyre emerged. He approached his dragon happily, smiling fondly as Sunfyre nuzzled his chest with his snout.

"Umbas, lykirri."

Reaching behind him and fumbling around in the dark for a moment, Aegon grabbed Y/N's hand and yanked her forward so she was beside him. He ignored her indignant huffed and placed her hand on Sunfyre's snout, resting his atop hers.

"Sunfyre heeds my commands because we are one in the same in every way that matters. When you approach your dragon, your commands must be steadfast and you must not show fear."

Y/N was looking at his dragon with awe, stroking Sunfyre's snout without his encouragement now. He'd never seen his dragon so amiable and friendly with anyone but himself. The sight sent a pleasant warmth through him at the thought of Sunfyre approving of Y/N, understanding the part of him that loved the silver haired girl before him.

"Let's go. I know which dragon I want to claim."

Aegon quirked an eyebrow up, half concerned half amused by the firm set of Y/N's features. She was quite determined.

"Is that so? Lead the way then, Quelos."

Y/N stared at him inquisitively, dropping her hand from Sunfyre.

"Quelos?"

Aegon thought the word befit his niece, her hair shone like the light of a star.

Shrugging, he tried to sound nonchalant.

"Your hair."

"Yours is silver like mine."

Aegon shook his head, smiling at Y/N's attempts to thwart him even in complimenting her, at expressing an ounce of affection for her with the nickname.

"Not like yours. Yours is like starlight."

He'd half expected her to argue with him, but the pink dusting on her cheeks, which he could see even in the darkness, was an unexpected delight. He felt pride in knowing that he'd been the one to make Y/N blush. Not one of the knights or noblemen Y/N was constantly flipping her hair at...him.

Clearing her throat awkwardly, Y/N passed him, her arm brushing against his.

"Come on then."

Y/N led them down a path to their right, and he followed her as she wove down an adjoining tunnel. He knew then which dragon she wanted and felt strangely that there could have been no better choice.

It wasn't long before the tunnel opened up into a larger cavern and grey shimmering scales came into view as they approached the dragon known as Grey Ghost. In the glow of the torchlight the dragon's scales shone silver in a hue oddly reminiscent of Y/N's hair.

The dragon watched them curiously, tilting it's head in their direction and letting out a small puff of smoke from it's snout. Y/N darted forward, but Aegon grabbed hold of her arm, speaking lowly but firmly. "Be careful."

"I will."

Aegon released her but felt all of the muscles in his body tense as he watched Y/N approach the dragon. He knew that it was well known for having a reserved and shy nature for a dragon, but that did not make it any less dangerous.

He needn't have worried. The young dragon took little convincing and, within a short time, Y/N was petting its snout just as she had Sunfyre's. Aegon grinned at Y/N when she eventually stepped back from her dragon and returned to his side. He couldn't blame the dragon, Y/N had convinced him to take part in many a foolish scheme in less time.

"Well done, niece."

Aegon was stunned into silence as Y/N barrelled forward and wrapped her arms around his torso. He'd just gathered his senses enough to raise his own arms when she pulled away, cheeks blazing and eyes fixed on the ground. The journey back into the light was marked by an awkward silence that Aegon found hard to bear. He was grateful when Y/N broke it once they'd entered the walls of the keep.

"I bet you're devastated Grey Ghost didn't devour me."

Aegon grasped at the jibe as a return to normalcy for them.

"I'm certain it would have been entertaining, though difficult to explain to our mothers. Good morrow mother, sister. In an unfortunate turn of events, I may have let a dragon eat Y/N."

Y/N snorted.

"Right. Goodnight, Aegon."

"Goodnight, Quelos." Aegon wiggled his eyebrows at her teasingly before turning on his heels and heading in the direction of his quarters.

Aegon's heady felt heavy, as if it were laden with stones and even the blades of sunlight shining through his chamber windows hurt his eyes as he opened them blearily. No sooner had he done so than his bedroom door smacked loudly against the wall and his mother stormed in, her expression reminiscent of storm clouds. Gods knew what he'd done this time to warrant her ire.

"Aegon! It's well past noon and the maesters informed me you have not attended to any of your lessons. Of course I should find you still laying about."

Groaning at his mother's raised voice sent waves of pain through his skull, he rolled over, pressing his face more firmly into the pillows. He'd gone too far into his cups the previous night after seeing Y/N conversing with the same nobleman as before. Her flirtations had never been serious and he'd never seen her with the same boy more than once and he worried she might actually have developed feelings for someone this time...for someone that was not him.

"Aegon!" Suddenly the sheets were ripped from him as his mother demanded his attention. Sitting up lazily, Aegon turned to look at his mother properly, though this was difficult as there seemed to be two of her.

"What, mother?"

She threw her hands up with exasperation.

"Why must you always be like this, governed only by sloth and careless abandon? All the while cavorting with Jacaerys and Y/N Velaryon, favouring them over your own brother. Do you think I don't know of your cruel jokes at your brother's expense? We must defend our own, Aegon"

"It was funny."

"Do you think Rhaenyra's children will be your playthings forever. As things stand, Rhaenyra will ascend the throne and Jacaerys will be her heir."

Aegon couldn't understand what his mother was getting at. Why should he not get on with his sister's children?

His mother threw her eyes up to the sky,  her frustration evident and her voice laced with sarcasm that just made him feel stupid.

"You are nearly a man grown. How is it that you can be so short-sighted? If Rhaenyra comes into power your very life could be forfeit, Aemond's as well. She could move to cut off any challenge to her succession."

Aegon had always been aware of the tension between his mother and sister, it was plain for anyone with eyes to see. But he couldn't belief Rhaenyra would have him killed. He did not think her cruel.

"So I will not challenge her."

His mother abruptly grabbed his face, shouting now.

"You are the challenge, Aegon. Simply by living and breathing." Aegon was stunned by the genuine fear and desperation in his mother's eyes but she must have taken his silence as a lack of understanding for she continued on.

"You are the king's firstborn son. And what everyone else in the kingdom knows is that by rights, you should be king." Aegon had never even considered the possibility. He had never and would never want the iron throne or the responsibilities that went with it.

"I would not wish for that mother." He spoke softly.

Appearing slightly calmer than she had only a few moments ago, she lightly stroked his hair before rising from the bed.

"Get dressed." No more words passed between them as she left Aegon, who now felt completely sober, to contemplate her warning.

Aegon's lips quirked up as he observed Grey Ghost lightly bumping his head against Sunfyre's with affection in the dragon pit. Y/N approached her dragon, a dragon keeper on hand guiding her on how to command the dragon to breathe fire.

"You love her don't you? Even Sunfyre knows it. Look at the two of them, just like their riders."

Aegon was surprised he didn't give himself whiplash with the speed at which he turned on Aemond.

"Don't say that idiot, she'll hear you"

"So it's true then?" Yes it was true. But was it that obvious? His mind wandered back to his mother's warning that he shouldn't be quite so friendly with his sister's children, that they should present a united front.

"Of course not. She's just a stupid girl who follows me around all the time. A pest if anything."

Aemond looked unconvinced but before he could counter Aegon, Jacaerys interrupted them, shouting to his sister.

"Y/N! mother has finished her labours. It's another boy."

Y/N picked up her skirts and ran to follow her brother out of the pit, eager to meet her new brother. Aegon briefly worried she may have overheard his conversation with Aemond, not realising how close she'd been to them until he'd had to watch her leave with Jace.

His nephew, Joffrey, looked no more like Laenor Velaryon than his siblings, and Aegon found it difficult to believe his own father could be so blind not to notice the resemblance between Rhaenyra's sons and Harwin Strong. Y/N was the single exception to the rule.

He smacked at the dummy before him carelessly, sneaking glances at Y/N who stood nearby, chatting with Jace, until Ser Criston calling his name pulled him from his thoughts.

He turned to the knight with a cocky grin.

"I've won my first round, Ser Criston. My opponent sues for mercy."

"Then you'll have another opponent. Let's see if you can tap me...you and your brother."

As Aegon and Aemond levied attacks on the knight, Aegon thought this must be the united front his mother wished them to show, though he quickly grew frustrated as it seemed almost possible to get a hit in. He flushed with embarassment when the knight shoved him aside, quickly turning to check if Y/N had seen it and letting out a breath in relief to find her gaze drawn elsewhere. He barely took note of Ser Criston's tense expression as Ser Harwin addressed him, bounding up to Y/N and grinning at her.

"Come to watch my excellent swordsmanship have you?"

Y/N folded her arms against her chest and turned away from him.

"Leave me alone, Aegon."

Aegon was undeterred, following her movements and stepping around her so she had to face him again.

"And if I don't want to?" He taunted, thinking Y/N's rudeness towards him just a game at first. But his smile faltered at her menacing glared and the iciness in her voice.

"I mean it. I don't want to talk to you."

"Why are you upset with me?"

Y/N went to turn away from him again, but he grabbed her elbow, forcing her to stay put.

"Don't pretend like you care."

Aegon was truly confused now and beyond frustrated at Y/N's refusal to be direct about the causes of her irritation with him.

"Of course I care."

Y/N took a step toward him, poking him in the chest accusingly with her index finger.

"I thought I was just a stupid girl. A pest."

Fuck. Panic set in as Aegon realised Y/N had heard what he'd said to Aemond after all, and he quickly scrambled to make amends. He had not meant a word of it.

"I didn't mean it Y/N. I was just joking."

Y/N dropped her hand from his chest, stepping away from him as her anger seemed to fall away from her, replaced by sadness instead, which was much worse.

"That's the problem, Aegon. You're always just joking."

Aegon stilled, her words cutting through the facade of confidence and joviality he wore like armour.

"Quelos, wait." Aegon made to grab for her again but was once again interrupted by Ser Criston calling him.

"Aegon, you will spar with Jacaerys. Eldest son against eldest son."

Aegon tried to focus on his swordsmanship as he met Jace blow for blow. But he was still reeling from his interaction with Y/N and quickly let his emotions overcome him. Though misplaced, he took his anger and frustration out on his nephew until Harwin Strong had to forcibly pull him away from Jace.

"You dare lay hands on me!" He raged at the audacity of the knight. Though he quickly stumbled out of the way as Ser Criston and the commander came to blows, pulling Aemond out of the way with him. If there had been any doubt about the true parentage of Rhaenyra's children, there could be none now. It was proven in no small measure by the ferocity of Ser Harwin's reaction to Ser Criston's taunts. But to his surprise, Aegon could find no amusement in the matter, knowing that such a public display could only draw unwanted attention to Y/N's parentage and cause her shame. With a heavy sigh, he considered that perhaps he was becoming soft like one of the heroes in her stories.

Aegon didn't understand how he was supposed to make amends with Y/N if she refused to speak to him and avoided him at every turn. He felt he should go mad if she continued to ignore him. He considered employing Aemond to hold her in place while he forced her to listen to his apology, but didn't think Aemond would be particularly obliged to risk incurring Y/N's wrath himself. He cursed himself for falling for such a stubborn girl. More dragon than girl in truth. Aegon didn't understand why she felt so slighted by his stupid insult, he couldn't imagine she felt the same way about him as he did her. But he thought that Harwin Strong's leaving for Harrenhal might have intensified her ill mood somewhat and hoped in time she'd allow him to make amends. Since following her around the keep had done no good, he tried a different tactic. Listening to her for once and actually leaving her alone, hoping that if he looked pathetic enough she might at least give him a chance to explain. When that didn't merit a response either he resorted to simply sulking in his room for days at a time. That was until Helaena quietly entered his chambers, bringing him the news of Ser Harwin's death. Though the hour was late, the keep illuminated only by moonlight and candles burning low in their sconces, he immediately sought Y/N out. He knew that she had loved Ser Harwin and would not be able to sleep after hearing of his passing. He also knew she withdrew into herself when upset, and that she'd likely have gone off on her own. But Aegon did not want her to feel like she had to bear her pain alone. Not when he could bear it with her.

Aegon traversed the keep for what felt like hours before he heard muffled sniffles and finally found Y/N curled up on a window seat overlooking the courtyard. She was facing away from him, looking out into the night sky, but the shards of moonlight shining through the window panes allowed him to see the tear streaks glistening on her cheeks. He said nothing as he sat next to her, close enough that his side pressed against hers. After a few moments she rested her head on his shoulder and he nearly sighed with relief that she had not shoved him away from her again. Instead he tilted his head to rest against hers and took hold of her hand. He found himself afraid to disturb this quiet truce between them and whispered simply "I'm sorry." And he was sorry. For her loss, the grief and pain it caused her, and for hurting her himself with his carelessness.

"I know."

And by the way she said it, by the way she squeezed his hand that held hers, Aegon knew that she had understood the full meaning of his apology

Valyrian translations:

Mazis~ come

Umbas~ Wait

Lykirri~ Calm yourself

Quelos~ Star

The next part will cover driftmark, then onto the time jump :)

[fayes-fics]

When The World Is Free: Chapter 2 -  La Valse de Paris

MASTERPOST PREV | NEXT

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, WW2 AU.

Warnings: none

Word Count: 1.7k

AuthorsNote: Chapter 2 of new multi-chapter fic based on a request by the lovely @amillcitygirl! Please see the masterpost for a synopsis of this story. This details our reader settling into Paris and the outbreak of war. Benedict turns up next chapter. Thanks to @colettebronte for beta reading. Enjoy! <3

Paris, September 1939

Your first few weeks in Paris are a delightful blur. 

Spending late summer exploring the city - with Solène as your occasional guide and Eloise when she is not at work. You soak up every moment, from the windswept magnificence of standing atop the Eiffel Tower, your words being stolen by the wind, to the monastic silence of the Louvre on a quiet Monday morning. And everything in between - from Notre Dame's atmospheric incense-laden gothic darkness to the airy, resplendent glass dome of Galeries Lafayette that glitters like a prismatic jewel even on cloudy days. 

But perhaps your favourites are the little slices of city life: sitting watching the world go by at a corner cafe, the crunch and warm, pillowy softness of the first bite of freshly baked baguette as you wander back from the boulangerie, the lingering fragrance of the rose garden at the Château de Bagatelle in Bois de Boulogne... It's all pieces of a puzzle that fill your heart in ways that make your life before now seem drab, almost in black and white, like a photograph.

You have written to Stanley once since you arrived, effusive in your praise, a homily to your new home, however temporary. While proclaiming his happiness for you, his response tempered, a touch dismissive of your wonderment. I can scarcely believe any city could truly live up to the praise you so readily heap upon Paris, my love, he wrote back. That was a week ago, and your urge to reply has been muted. 

It's during an idle lunchtime by the Seine, eating a sandwich as you dangle your feet over the river wall, that you genuinely feel a local. An elderly French couple, likely visiting from the provinces, approaches you and asks you for directions to the Musée de l'Homme. Part of you aglow they think you sophisticated enough to look Parisian, and French. And you are able to help them, giving them the information in French, not fluent but sufficient that they are surprised when you confess “je suis américaine”.

In your third week, you secure the art gallery job Eloise had seen posted. An opportunity to meet many new people, primarily British and American, who share your love of art of all persuasions. You spend many a happy hour answering questions and building your knowledge of art, not just in your gallery but across the city. Part of you is wistful to study the subject in even greater depth than the books you borrow in copious quantities from the library where Eloise works.

You grow so close to Eloise so quickly that it’s as if you have known her your whole life. A sense of kinship, a near familial bond. You know, on some instinctive level, she will always be a part of your life somehow. Your evenings are often spent in lounge bars together—venues awash with art deco splendour as you listen to jazz through a cigarette haze and flirt aimlessly with a carousel of handsome men. Life seems so full of potential, a hum in your very being.

“What do you think the purpose of life is, y/n?” Eloise sighs as she flops onto your bed after returning from one such decadent night out.

“Aaaand we are done with the brandy…” you declare, taking the bottle of Martell cognac from her grip and placing it pointedly on the dresser, your high-handed point only mildly undermined by your own unsteady gait.

You collapse down next to her, the intricate ceiling rose around your light fixture swirling slightly before your very eyes.

“Love?” you hazard in answer to her question.

“Boo! Cliché!” she jeers, elbowing you good-naturedly.

“I don’t just mean romantic love,” you protest, “the love of family… friends…”

“Ah, yes, family. Endlessly large family. Don’t suppose you want an extra sibling or two, do you? I could be persuaded to let a couple go,” she squints comically.

“Depends… can I have the artist?” you jest.

“You have to stop staring at that painting; it's getting weird,” she opines with her typical bluntness, “and no, you can’t. You know he’s my favourite,” she pouts.

“I think he’s my favourite too,” you opine over a stifled yawn, any embarrassment about being called out for your unbridled admiration overridden by the sleepy state your comfortable bed lulls you into.

“If you end up being attracted to my brother, I will have to disown you, you know,” she pats your hand drowsily.

“Hmm, good thing he’s so far away…” you trail off with a lazy giggle, eyes drooping heavily.

It’s the last words you exchange before you both fall asleep on your bed.

–

Perhaps, as with all things that are too good, the idyll is temporary. It's the news you wake up to that following morning, September 4th, which throws everything into uncertainty. Solène knocks on your door early with an uncharacteristically sombre expression, wordlessly handing you the morning paper and flicking on the wireless on your mantelpiece, the fine lines on her face deeper etched, furrowed with worry.

‘La Guerre!’ the headline screams from the newspaper. And the voice on the airwaves, your ear more attuned to the language now, details how Britain and France have jointly declared war against Germany for their invasion of Poland a few days prior.

At the sound of the radio, Eloise emerges from your room, blinking and hair asunder, a little delicate from your previous night's revelry. You sip coffee at a loss for what to think or do. It’s an odd cognitive dissonance when life at once seems identical but also changed by an invisible shape - an undercurrent of fear, of the unknown, a punch to the pit of your stomach that you don’t know how to acknowledge - even as you go through the motions of your daily routine and head to work.

By the evening you are more phlegmatic about the situation. Your spirit dampened, yes, but not crushed. You feel an immense sense of privilege that conflict is not yet at your doorstep, but equally knowing being in the capital city of a nation that just declared war against a neighbouring country is not exactly safe.

You and Eloise splash out on dinner at an upscale brassiere that night, one you have both passed and commented you’d love to dine in some time. Both of you seized by the unspoken “what if”, the previous reluctance to treat yourselves entirely absent.

Talk on all the tables around you as you dine - on heavenly butter-soft steak - is about the war. What it could mean for Paris, fear of another major European conflict so soon after the last, the economic concerns - the bite of the early 30s depression just relinquishing its hostile grip on the somewhat bruised denizens.

Afterwards, you wander the cobbled streets back to your apartment, arms looped, bellies full, occasionally staring up at the starry night sky in mostly contemplative, sober silence. It’s a beautiful evening, but something in the warm breeze feels melancholic.

When you open the door to your building, Solène is waiting, rocking on her heels.

“Eloise, a telegram has come for you!” she announces, shoving a piece of paper into her hand. “And a telephone call from England earlier,” she adds, gesturing to the black rotary phone outside her place—the only one in the building.

Eloise gives you a brief glance and then opens the message. You watch her eyes ping across the text before her shoulders slump.

“My mother,” she sighs in explanation, “it appears she is summoning me back home.”

“What?!” the selfish reflex of not wanting to be left alone is the first thing flaring in you.

“It’s not fair!” she whines in a flash of child-like defiance before continuing in a more subdued tone. “She is sending my brother to come get me. She doesn’t specify which, but seeing as Anthony is a Lieutenant General in the Army and has likely been called to Churchill’s side, I'm presuming Benedict,” Eloise surmises. 

Your thoughts instantly fly to that painting hanging in your apartment upstairs. A strange flutter under your ribs at the idea you could be about to meet its creator. Quickly followed by a wash of guilt that you could even focus on such a frivolous thing.

“What will I do without you?’’ You fret aloud, grasping her arm tighter.

“There was a call for you too, y/n,” Solène pipes up. “Your father wants you to exchange your return ticket for a sailing home as soon as possible,” she relays.

“But.. I just got here!” your lament as defiant as Eloise’s. A frustrating sense you are losing a fleeting opportunity you already hold so precious - like a new toy being ripped from the meaty fist of a truculent toddler.

“Mes amis, what can I say?” that trademark Gallic shrug seizing Solène’s shoulders. “While Paris is safe for now, we do not know how much longer that will hold true… it is likely best you return home. Perhaps this will be over in weeks, and you can return?”

You know your parents have paid your rent upfront for a whole year, likely similar for Eloise, your landlady not impacted financially by your leaving, merely a wish for you to enjoy your Parisian adventures.

As you unlock the door to your apartment and wander in, both of you sigh; the illumination from the Eiffel Tower that refracts upon your window pane just adds to your melancholia, a sight that before had never failed to warm your heart.

“When will your brother get here?” your inflection dull.

“Tomorrow, most likely. It only takes a couple of hours to cross the Channel, and as you know, the train ride from the coast is just a few more. I expect he’ll be waiting for me right here when I return from work,” her tone is just as flat as yours.

You want to ask if she will pack tonight, but you stop yourself, seeing the flame that usually burns so bright behind her blue eyes dimmed. Wordlessly, you draw closer and pull her into a firm hug.

“I will miss you like a sister,” she whispers into your hair, returning the embrace just as fiercely, “maybe moreso.”

You nod and band your arms tighter briefly before letting go, bone-deep exhaustion overtaking anything else you see in her mirrored stance.

The last thing that captures your eye as Eloise turns to her room is that painting of her childhood home and, strangely, how it feels closer now than ever before.

Benedict taglist: @foreverlonginguniverse @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @amygdtjhddzvb @sya-skies @balladynaaa

[sotwk]

Taken (Eomer x unnamed OC )

Part 1 of 3

Part 2 / Part 3

Love Confession feat. Eomer Eadig

Valentine 2023 Event by @sotwk

Summary: The lone shield-maiden in Eomer's Éored has been secretly in love with him for years, but has long accepted that that he can never share those feelings. At the feast of King Elessar's coronation, she is surprised to learn that there may yet be hope.

Prompt: "It's like you never really see me. I'm standing right in front of you and you don't see me!"

Requested by and Dedicated to: @writefortherain-blog Thank you for making this request and giving me the opportunity to write for Eomer!

Word count: 2.4k

Content: Romance, angst, mutual pining, oblivious to love, jealousy, forbidden relationship, class division, shield-maiden, King Eomer, post-RotK

Rating: T (Teens and up)

Warnings: Some sensuality

To Read on AO3: Link

Taken 

Third Age 3019 May 1

Minas Tirith

PART ONE

Downing that fourth cup of wine had been a mistake. Or was it the fifth? Sixth? The ridiculous dress with its rib-crushing bodice and neckline positioned nowhere near your neck, had also been a mistake, even though the local clother had insisted to you that it was in the "proper" Gondorian fashion. The entire evening and its inconveniences had all been for a failed end. 

You finally jostled your way out of the packed feasting hall and stumbled outside to the courtyard, your compressed lungs and flushed skin rejoicing at their contact with the cool night air. One hand rose to massage your throbbing temple, and the other clawed irritatedly at the boning that caged in your unacceptably unfeminine frame. 

"Never again," you seethed under your breath, as you crossed the white-stone pavement to move even farther away from the chaos you escaped. 

It had been a painful decision to ride out to Minas Tirith with the rest of your Éored and attend the coronation of the returned King of Gondor. You despised grand affairs, knowing well enough the requirements rules of court would impose on you, unwieldy formal attire being just one of them. These were at least tolerable within Rohan, where you could find some comfort amongst familiar faces and settings. But as the lone female who rode in the company of the Third Marshal, you refused to be excluded from any undertaking by your Éored, however dangerous or unpleasant. Whether it broke your arm or shattered your heart.

"I can just go," you thought, casting a quick glance back at the great hall, alive and alight with the merry cacophony of a thousand revelers that would surely last until dawn. The two hours you already spent mingling to the best of your limited ability had to suffice, and it was doubtful your presence would even be missed. 

But the call of a deep voice stalled your retreat, loud and commanding and instantly recognizable even across a distance as it shouted your name. The soldier in you succumbed to the instinct to obey your Marshal, to honor the oath you had sworn on your knees years ago. 

The flickering flames of nearby torchlights reflected against the carved silver panels of the breastplate he donned over his lavishly embroidered tunic. Famously handsome even when caked in blood and grime, Eomer was breathtakingly resplendent bearing the regalia that befitted his station. King Eomer now, you reminded yourself, as you dipped your head in a bow. 

“My lord.”

“Is something amiss? Why did you leave?” His narrowed eyes upon you were penetrating, his tone demanding rather than concerned. Lying to someone you had spent practically every single day of your adult life with was difficult, and even more so with an addled brain, so you knew you had to mince words carefully.  

Fortunately, you had years of practice doing exactly that. 

“I underestimated the potency of their vintage, and downed one cup too many.” You scrunched up your features in a grimace that just slightly exaggerated your pain. “I thought it best to excuse myself and retire for the night.”

“Perhaps if you rested a while and ate some food…” He rested a hand lightly on your shoulder. “It is much too early and the quarters would still be empty. I know you detest fraternizing, but just sit at the table with the rest of our men.”

You released a graceless guffaw and a puff of wine-tinged breath. “Half of them are already deeper in their cups than I, and getting sloppier by the second. I finally had to remind Héothain of his manners the second time he tried to sneak a hand down the front of my dress.”

“He did what?” Eomer’s sudden growl awakened you to your own carelessness and slip of the tongue. Smooth-cheeked Héothain was the youngest and newest addition to the Éored, and remained sorely lacking in experience with women. He should not be held accountable for his awkwardness amplified by insobriety. 

“It was a silly mistake that caused no harm,” you insisted, pulling back as Eomer attempted to lead you off by the elbow. “Two sprained fingers taught him a lesson he shall not soon forget.” 

Eomer glowered at you but remained silent for a pause, as he did whenever running through courses of action in his mind. “Then you can come sit by me at the King’s table.”

Your laugh in response to that suggestion was shrill and nervous, as he looked so serious making it. “I most certainly cannot… my lord.” You stated your defiance firmly, baring a toothless pertinacity against your leader, and underneath it a silent plea that the friend in him would understand. “There is no place for me amongst such esteemed company and truly, there is nothing in the world I would enjoy less at this moment.” 

You sighed and braced one hand below your rib area, massaging a spot where the corset dug into a still-tender battle injury. 

“Please. Let me go back to my room where I can be rid of these dreadful garments.”

“No.” The immediacy and sharpness of his refusal made you blink in surprise. “Not until you explain yourself to my satisfaction.”

“Pardon, my lord?”

“Hah, there! That is what I am speaking of.” 

“I’m afraid I don’t understand--”

“When did you cease to call me by my name in private conversation? Or last bother to converse with me at all?!” You took too long to answer, and he barreled on, hazel eyes flashing with the sudden rise of agitation. “Let me enlighten you, since I recall it well. It began after Theodred’s death, accompanied by a host of other changes in your behavior towards me that you think I have not noticed!”

You scrambled to concoct a rebuttal, another feint to keep him from uncovering your secrets. Alas, your dulled mind had frozen completely in the face of the horse-lord’s fury, which had never been directed at you in such a manner.

“You are misreading things, my lord, or else imagining them. I cannot say that I--”

“You cannot even look me in the eye these days of late!” Eomer snapped. “Nor can you stand to be in any room I am in for long.” He threw out his arm in the direction of the great hall. “Even now you rebuff any attempt I make to spend time with you.”

“I…I…” You stammered, rendered helpless before his unexpected wrath, cursing yourself for the poor timing of your inebriation. How could you put up your shields when your mind was struggling to pick out your own lies from the truth?

“If you are angry with me, I would have you admit to it now. I will no longer be played for a fool.”

Indignation pooled in your gut, crawling upward until it deepened the coloring of your already flushed face. “I confess to nothing! For what cause do I have to be angry?”

“Because you loved him!” Eomer erupted. As you gaped at his outburst, he gripped a fistful of his hair, and took in one sharp breath, steeling himself. “You loved Theodred,” he finally said, in a voice gone cold and quiet. “And you place blame on me for his death.”

The fire in your belly flared at the terrible accusation. “Theodred was murdered by Saruman, and only a traitor would fault you for that vile cur’s deed.” You shook a finger at him emphatically. “I am no traitor.”

“Did you love my cousin?”

“Of course I did,” you said stoutly. The prince’s demise plagued you still, for you had been the one to spot Theodred’s body amongst the corpses that littered the fords. And after he’d been borne away to Meduseld, you never saw him alive again, and all you could do was weep in the privacy of your quarters, which you did for weeks, mourning the loss of so much more than a dear friend and mentor. 

“No one has ever shown me greater kindness than Theodred.” You held a hand over your heart as a different ache rose in you. “He believed in me at a time when no one else would, not even you." 

Eomer had fallen silent, but you saw his cloaked shoulders rise and fall, broad chest heaving in the manner so familiar to you. It was the way he looked on the battlefield, where his blood ran hottest, and he was fighting to balance out the genteel lord and savage killer that both resided within him. He was so thoroughly upset with you. 

“If I have made you feel like your cousin’s fate was in any way your fault, I am truly sorry,” you said. "But what sort of questions are these, and why are you asking them now?"

His gaze flicked back in your direction, leaden with anguish. "You should know why."

“I am telling you I do not, my lord, and I must beg you to explain why you are speaking so cryptically."

“You wish for me to explain in words something I have been trying to show you for years now?!” He gave a strangled laugh and raised his eyes and hands to the night sky. "Bema…"

“It is as though you never really see me,” he muttered, almost as though speaking to himself. “Here I am, standing right in front of you, and you do not see me!"

But you did hear his mumbled complaints, and suddenly it was all too much. Your sickening weariness, your aches both physical and emotional, your befuddlement caused by the six drinks and this man's unhinged raging as he launched yet another ludicrous accusation at you.

"Not see you?" you repeated, and something about just saying it rammed open the gate behind which you had caged up every real thing you ever wanted to say to Eomer, Son of Eomund. 

"If such a thing were possible, I would wish it upon myself immediately!" you exclaimed. "But you are all I ever see, even when I do not wish to! Even when I flee from your presence, I can never escape a face that refuses to leave my thoughts!" 

Oh Valar, no. STOP. Panicked, you bit down on your lip to imprison the words fleeing your mouth, so hard you tasted blood. But Eomer suddenly moved forward, encroaching on the space you desperately fought to maintain for your own protection, and his hazel eyes locked into yours to wrench away the last of your defenses. 

"It hurts too much, can you not understand?!" you cried, managing one step back. "To remain in the presence of the one thing you most desire but will never have, to be taunted by a dream that will never be fulfilled, to watch as it falls into the possession of another while you can do absolutely nothing!"

He spoke your name, his voice oddly hoarse, and shame finally came crashing down inside you. Your hands flew up to hide your face and suddenly he grabbed your wrists, tugging your arms away only to replace your hands with his own, warming your cheeks with his calloused palms. 

“Then see me now,” he ordered. “And know I have always understood how that feels. What great fools we have both been all along to deny ourselves our true desires.”

“Eomer, what--” The stroke of his thumb over the corner of your mouth drove the rest of the words away, and the parting of your lips and flutter of your eyes gave him the approval he sought. 

His kiss tasted more glorious than they did in a thousand daydreams combined. It did not surprise you that he was completely unlike the other men you had kissed before. Whereas lesser men were greedy and sloppy in their hunger, the caress of Eomer’s mouth was deep and languid, almost worshipful in its exploration of your lips, as though he aimed to savor every small sensation and intended to carry on doing this with you forever. 

His one arm looped around your waist to hold you covetously against him; his broad left hand traveled from your cheek to cradle the back of your neck, his long fingers burying themselves into your hair, tips grazing your scalp. It fired up a new heat in you that you had never felt before, not with such raw intensity, and a tremulous whimper escaped your throat. 

But the sound of your own pleasure was your undoing, for it triggered an alarm in your head, one that caused you to break away from Eomer’s passion. You mumbled against his lips the words you had conditioned yourself for years to think around him. 

“My lord, I cannot…”

He paused, his eyes still dazed and unfocused, caught in a state of bliss--one that you caused, you realized with a shiver. “You cannot… what?” he said thickly. Without waiting for an answer, he dipped back in eagerly to trail his mouth up your jawline, his tongue skimming the tender pulse underneath your ear. 

You gave a small cry and pushed against his chest with more force, immediately waking his attention. His arm around your waist remained stubbornly secure however, and it took you physically prying the powerful limb off for you to slip free. Either due to shock or lingering delirium, Eomer did not resist. 

“I cannot…” Your voice broke even as you clung to your resolve. “I cannot have you.”

His heavy brows furrowed. “What?” Within seconds the confusion lifted to uncover his dismay, layered with anger. “You would speak lies and nonsense again, after everything I told you?”

“It is the truth, Eomer!” You started backing away already, stepping faster and faster as he began to move and reach out for you. “You can never be anything more than a dream to someone like me. I cannot have what is already taken.”

“Taken? What--wait! No!” He started to run, but you had already turned heel and were sprinting full-speed towards the Citadel Gate. You had always been faster on your feet; there was no hope of him catching up if you refused to heed his orders. “Stop!”

His shouts of your name faded quickly, drowned out by the noise of the milling crowd you plunged into and the thunder of your own frantic heartbeat. You slowed to a walk but kept a quick pace, weaving haphazardly through the throng and on and on until you’d descended at least two levels. Only then did you duck into a side street and survey your surroundings.

Your escape succeeded. Neither Eomer nor any Rohirrim were anywhere to be found, at least for the moment.

You collapsed upon the nearest doorstep, exhaustion and aches finally overcoming you. As the chaotic whirlwind within you settled, so too did the reality of what just occurred sink in. 

Eomer desired you, perhaps even loved you as you did him. But the King of Rohan’s love was not for you, a common soldier, to take. You had known that all along, and he did too. It was unkind of him to give you such false hope. 

Raising your fingers to your swollen lips, you felt the ghost of his perfect kisses on them, and finally burst into tears over yet another memory that will grieve you until your trampled heart could bear no more.

To be continued...

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[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Crossed Wires 3

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: silverfox!Andy Barber, Cole Turner

Summary: you try to balance your work with your private life as your boss and a new client try to blur the lines. (short!reader)

Part of the Backwoods AU

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

Cole sighs over his own insulated mug. You want to strangle him already. Does he have to moan with each sip? 

“Mm, coffee,” he pops his wet lips as he sits back, reaching to adjust the passenger seat, “medicine.” 

“Advil, that’s real medicine, there’s some in the compartment,” you say dully. 

“Oh shoot, you’re a life saver, Ma was all out.” 

He clunks the cup into the plastic holder by the console and unclasps the glove compartment. He shakes the bottle in triumph and your fingers tighten on the wheel. He’s like a kid sometimes, though you’ve heard a few compare him to a puppy. You don’t find the latter very apt; puppies are cute. 

“Odinson say what the problem was?” You ask. 

“The back up generator. He’s having some party but the old thing keeps clanking,” Cole explains, “he didn’t say too much about it. He was more into the shindig. Sounds like a good time.” 

You arch a brow. Shindig. 

You drive on. You know it’s going to be tedious job, especially with your boss around. You hate that he insisted. You can handle it on your own. He knows that. In fact, you’re better off without him. You’re only concern is that he gets his wires straight. 

The Odinson hotel greets you in all its resplendence. You park and finish the dregs of your lukewarm coffee. You hop out and grab your bag out of the back as Cole tangles his arm in the seatbelt trying to get out. Lord help you. 

You hike up your bag and take his, marching around to shove it against him. He thanks you and his hands brush yours as he accepts it. You refrain from shaking your head. 

“Come on, no time to waste.” 

You sidestep him and he lingers for a moment, as if he’d expected something more. He’s strange. You’re used to it but you still notice.  

He jogs to catch up with you and you approach the front doors together. He yelps as Thor bursts through them but you don’t flinch. As often as you’ve dealt with the boisterous man, you expect it. He’s loud and bold. If Cole is a puppy, he’s a full grown labrador. 

“There you are. And you brought the lady,” Thor nods in your direction, “excellent. Never bad to have an extra set of hands. Especially such pretty ones.” 

You could scoff. Your nails are cut short and neat, your fingers marred by callouses and cuts, and your skin to dry for comfort. You stare as Cole stutters awkward. 

“Uh, m-morning, Thor,” he greets. 

“Ah, still recovering?” Thor challenges and comes up next to Cole, clapping his back so he squeaks. “I told you not to challenge me.” 

“Huh, yeah, well...” 

You don’t ask. You don’t care. 

“We had a bit of a drinking contest last night, lady. You should have been there. Did he not mention that I valiantly carried him home?” 

You could snort. You don’t, but you could. You glance over. 

“Sounds irresponsible.” 

Thor laughs as he opens the door and beckons you both through. They let you ahead. You always hated that practice. You’re fine following them. 

“Ha, I like this one,” he declares, “she is honest.” 

“Heh, yeahhh,” Cole drags out the word nervously. “Very.” 

“Anyhow, I have much work to do. The party will be here before we know it,” Thor declares and goes ahead of you to lead you. 

You follow him down the narrow stairway near the rear of the hotel with Cole at your back. He’s closer than your like, just on the step behind you. Once more his hand brushes yours as he gets a bit too eager near the bottom and knocks into you from behind. You let out a growl. 

You pass the laundries where you previously rewired a few machines and carry on to the electric room. Thor flips on the crackling light, revealing a row of generators in varying condition. He steps up to the most ragged and taps it with his knuckles. 

“This one has been talking,” he explains. “Rather loudly. I think it is a cry for help.” 

You step forward without hesitation. Cole stands back as you reach into your bag and grab your multitool. You swiftly unscrew the control panel and look inside. Your examination is thorough as you slip behind to flash a light through the slatted venting there. 

“Ah, yes, she is small. She fits where you cannot,” Thor comments. 

“Uh, sure,” Cole agrees. 

“Anyhow, this party,” Thor intones, “are you coming? There will be lots of pretty girls.” 

“Oh, well...” Cole hesitates. You don’t know why. He’s a horrid flirt but brazen regardless. And a romantic to boot. He’s the type to bore you to death with his fairytale fantasies. “Maybe.” 

“You will come,” Thor insists, “I know you will. And lady,” Thor raises his voice, “of course the invitation extends to you as well.” 

“Mm, not much into parties,” you grumble as you poke your head out. “It smells like burning toast.” 

“Perhaps the kitchen...” Thor suggests. 

“You didn’t mention the burning smell. I need to shut this down, now. The switch will reroute to the others but the problem isn’t the back up. It’s this one. It needs a replacement.” 

“The others will hold?” 

“For a time,” you go back to the control panel and fiddle inside. “Tell the cleaner not to run the washers and dryers at the same time for now.” 

“Right,” Thor agrees grimly. “Can we have the new one by the party?” 

“Certainly can. Get Cole the money and I’ll pick up a generator today.” 

“Today?” They echo in unison. 

“They got an overstock place in the city. I’ll get one there,” you pause as the generator putters out as you shut it down. 

“Yeah, we’ll go get a new one and invoice you,” Cole adds. 

“We?” You screw the panel back on. 

“Yeah, it’ll be big, right?” He smiles. 

You look at him, “I have a dolly.” 

“I could use the drive. Clear out the cobwebs,” he turns to Thor and offers his hand, “I’ll send over the paperwork.” 

“You’re a fine man, Turner,” Thor shakes his hand. “But you leave all the behind for the party. It’s going to get wild.” 

[propertyofkylar]

prompt event: f!kylar x f!reader

two separate people requested soft sweet f! kylar with bath so i hope u guys enjoy it <3

word count: 1323

11. worship, 20. bath/shower

no cw necessary :)

It was only fitting that in a manor like Kylar’s, the bathroom would be equally resplendent. 

Sure, it was a little grimy, though not as bad as you had expected - but it was truly something to behold. It was the kind of bathroom you had only seen on TV. The stark white color was not as harsh thanks to several candles your girlfriend had lit, casting the large room in a warm, yellow glow. The centerpiece of it all, of course, was the large, clawfoot bathtub.

Kylar stood next to the tub, nearly overflowing with bubbles, as she toyed anxiously with the sash of her bathrobe. It was so like her. She had practically fallen over begging you to take a bath with her and let her pamper you. And now that the actual moment was near, she was acting shy.

“Kylar…” you started, and she turned around with an adorable huff. 

“Fine,” she mumbled, before turning back to you. “You get in first.”

“You just want to see me naked more,” you teased as you undid the matching robe Kylar had given you. A blush crept up her neck as she watched you intently, but she didn’t deny anything. 

Cautiously, you dipped a finger into the bath water. It was the perfect temperature. You eased yourself in, and then stretched your arms out to Kylar. “C’mere.” 

Kylar threw off her robe at an impressive speed and clambered into the tub with you. There was more than enough room for the both of you, but she squeezed herself right beside you. It was nice and cozy. 

“Fuck, if the tub at the orphanage even, like, a quarter as nice as this, I would never get out,” you said, closing your eyes and basking in the warmth. “They would have to force me out before I turned into a giant prune.”

Kylar giggled and you heard some shuffling. You opened your eyes to see her holding a bar of soap. She had intense look in her eyes. “Let me take care of you, my love.” 

You were exhausted and stressed, so you simply nodded in agreement. You moved a little to give Kylar some room and she slid behind you. 

Her touch was gentle as she got to work massaging the soap into your body. The feather-light feel of her fingers sent shivers throughout your body and you could feel her smiling as she pressed a kiss to your cheek. 

“You need to relax,” she murmured and you let your eyes close as your head rested on Kylar’s soft chest. 

All your heard was quiet splashes of water and her gentle breathing as she slowly washed your entire body. When you were good and lathered you heard her suck in a breath before her hands landed on your chest, cupping your breasts. 

The feeling made your eyes snap open and she glided her hands across your soapy tits, tweaking your nipples. That elicited a squeak from you. 

“That tickles,” you said with a laugh as you turned your head to face Kylar. She was gazing at you with dark, wide eyes. 

“I want you to feel good,” she said quietly and there suddenly was an intense, electric feeling in the air. So once again, all you could do was nod.

Her dry hair tickled your cheek as she leaned forward, more aggressively groping your tits as you squirmed, trying to get friction between your legs. “You’re so, so perfect,” Kylar whispered. 

Then suddenly, her hands were off of you. But before you could complain she had slid out from behind you and faced you directly. She laced her wet fingers through your hair and pulled your face close to hers, smiling at you before pressing her chapped lips against yours. 

Your lips automatically parted and Kylar didn’t waste a moment before sliding her tongue into your mouth. You let out a whimper and steadied yourself by placing your hands on her waist as she crawled into your lap. 

“I love you,” she mumbled against your lips between kisses. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” you replied, and Kylar pulled back to smile at you again. The bubbles in the tub were no longer as voluminous as when you first got in, but the remains clung to Kylar’s skin in a very attractive way. She looked adorable and you couldn’t help but stare. 

Kylar huffed and turned her head, clearly embarrassed by the attention. “Stop it,” she said. “I’m supposed to be taking care of you right now.”

“Make me,” you said with a grin, which quickly turned into a long moan as she dove forward and latched her mouth onto your nipple. Kylar gazed up at you reverently through her eyelashes as she swirled her tongue around. Then, she pulled away with a pop and switched to your next breast. 

“You’re so perfect,” she said again, and the vibrations of her voice on your tit made you moan again. 

She slid a hand down your thigh and you subconsciously parted your legs for her. Pulling her head back again, she took a few moments to look up at your face and down at the water. Kylar was chewing on her lip when you finally decided to find out what she was doing. 

“Kylar?” You asked. “Hello? What’s up?”

She frowned a little, looking back down at a patch of bubbles. “I don’t think I could hold my breath that long…”

That made you laugh and she looked up at you with wide eyes. “It’s okay,” you said. 

Kylar shook her head briefly before squeezing back next to you and pressing her lips to your neck. She bit down on your skin as her fingers brushed against your clit. The double sensation made you gasp. 

She slid one finger into your entrance with the heel of her hand pressing against your clit. You sucked in a sharp breath and gripped the edges of the tub. 

As you felt another finger go in and stroke your walls, Kylar continued licking and sucking your neck, mumbling the whole time. 

“You are the most beautiful person alive,” she said. “You’re amazing. You’re perfect. I wanna make you happy forever…”

You couldn’t respond because a third finger had then gone in, and Kylar was expertly pumping them in and out while grinding your clit with her hand and managing to find all of the sweet spots on your neck. It was torture in the most blissful way. 

“K-Kylar,” you gasped. “F-fuck—that feels so fucking…”

She giggled against your throat and nipped at the sensitive skin there. Your whimpers and moans only grew more frequent, and that just emboldened Kylar further. 

Her fingers curled inside of you and it was too much. You opened your mouth as the orgasm hit but as soon as you did Kylar’s lips were on yours, her tongue stroking yours as she swallowed your moan. 

“Fuck,” you panted as you pulled away. Kylar smiled sweetly at you and you felt a little empty as her fingers left you. 

“I love you so much,” she said for what felt like the millionth time, but it still felt sincere. Kylar gave you another soft kiss and the adoration radiating off of her was palpable.

By now, the bathwater was tepid and the bubbles had all nearly gone away. Kylar’s hands traced up and down your sides, and when you looked at her, her eyes were still dark with lust. You tilted your head at her and she smiled again.

Her mouth moved back down to your neck again, kissing down to the tops of your shoulders. A hand slid up to grope at your tit again. 

“I got you dirty again,” Kylar said in a faux-apologetic tone. “So now I have to wash you again.”

The bath would be cold by the time the two of you finished.

[semperamans]

wise men say

hi friends! another story pulled from my ao3 <3 this kind of picks up in the middle of nowhere, so my apologies. in my mind, the oc (nameless) is an actress? i truly can't tell you where this came from, but i can tell you that i have thoughts of making this an austin x oc x callum story at some point... i hope you enjoy!

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

"she knew only one person could quell the disquietude roaring inside of her like a starved lion. austin."

(also known as)

austin butler is really good at making people feel better.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── With the city so big, the girl often felt small. It brought her comfort at times. She had been bathed in limelight and cryogenically frozen by cameras from an early age, so little things were easy to appreciate. They were real and she liked real. She liked things that set her senses haywire. There was no greater joy than hearing her best friends’ laughter or feeling the misty Tuesday morning air caress her cheeks. Often, she would marvel at colors. The city was filled with them: the resplendent greens found amongst the sycamores in Central Park, the gilded laughter of toddlers on the subway, the mustard-yellow taxis. With the city so big, the girl often felt small, but there was one man who would change that.

He was a sandalwood-scented fantasy hand-picked from her wildest imagination. He was a since-forgotten prayer she had whispered into her joined hands as a child. He was the Prince Charming in every fairytale. The honeyed smile she sought in any crowded room. Austin. He was Austin. Austin with his voice like chocolate. Austin with his wonderland smile. Austin with astrological kisses speckled onto his sculpted cheek. Austin made her feel big. Not so that she took up too much room or required more space. No, Austin simply saw her in a way that cameras could not capture. Austin was real and she liked real things.

In truth, the girl knew she loved Austin lightyears before she accepted it. In reality, it was near impossible for her not to fall in love with him. For all intents and purposes, he was perfect. Austin asked her opinion of things, not out of convention or necessity. The glint in his eye was sincere; he wanted to know her. Austin listened. Austin smiled in all the right places and nodded and allowed her to speak extensively about anything that came to her pretty little mind. Others called it rambling, she was known to be quite the chatterbox, but Austin prodded. Where did you learn that? He’d ask with an amused quirk to his lips. Yeah?  He’d lean in closer. Tell me more.

More.

She wanted more than the delicate brush of his hand against hers. More of the deep belly laughs it seemed only she could pull from him. More. She wanted more, but how could she articulate such a thing? How could she tell him that, in her eyes, he’d practically hung the stars in the sky? The words frequently sat on the tip of her tongue. They were sweeter than sugar, but bitter too. She could not tell him. She couldn’t bring herself to say the words even as he pressed a warm kiss to her cheek along with a heartfelt thanks for breakfast. She couldn’t say the words when he opened his arms to her. When his cold rings brushed her cheeks. She wouldn’t make the first move for the mere thought of pushing him away due to her overt displays of love and affection made her stomach turn.

Turn.

Things took a turn some obscure Friday afternoon. Surely the Earth had tilted off its axis for everything had gone wrong. She had slept through a meeting. She tripped coming up the subway steps. She had a hangnail that hurt more than a bullet wound, and, most shocking of all, her long-term friend with benefit had called things off but not before degrading and belittling her. How could he have said such things to her? How could he have been so cruel? The girl bit down on her lip, hoping to stifle the tears. Fact and fiction melded in her mind. Ten years. How could she have wasted ten years on a man who would never want more than her hips and submissive sighs? The man who refused to hold her hand in public but claimed her body behind tinted windows and low-drawn blinds. She felt stupid. So silly was she to believe that he would eventually choose her. The girl shook her head angrily. It was his loss, logically she knew that, but her heart wailed and writhed in pain.

Pain.

It hurt so badly. The stinging rejection. The blatant disregard for her feelings. Hot tears marched down her cheeks as she called the girls who knew her best. Their jeers and threats of shaving the offender bald lifted her spirits, but just barely, and it was then she knew. She knew there was only one person whom could quell the disquietude roaring inside of her liked a starved lion.

Austin.

Austin who turned on booted heel and hailed the first mustard-yellow taxi he saw at the sound of her distress. Austin who took her trembling body into his arms. Austin who cupped her cheeks. Austin who allowed her to babble through the ping-ponging thoughts racketing around her mind. Austin. He didn’t shame her. He didn’t berate her. Instead, he pressed his lips to the freckled canvas of her bare shoulder and allowed her to simply be.

They stayed that way for quite some time, but when her sobs morphed into breathy hiccups, Austin pulled back to see her face. He gave her a smile that didn’t quite reach the blue of his eyes. His mouth opened then closed. They were tucked within her Manhattan apartment, but he could so easily picture himself standing atop a tightrope. Caution was mandatory. The line of friendly propriety they had established was fine as thread. As much as he yearned to topple over the edge and into the vat of unyielding love that lay beneath, he knew now wasn’t the time. Austin’s brows furrowed. When the words began to flow from his pink lips, the sound was soft and slow.

                  “Alright darlin’, Focus up here.” The girl’s chin turned upward. Her bloodshot blues found the saxe shaded vista beneath Austin’s sandy eyelashes. A tiny spring-bud smile blossomed over her mouth. So quaint. So welcome. Austin’s palms rested delicately against the rounds of her rose-colored cheeks. He was mindful of the silver rings bedecking his fingers as he braced the back of her neck. So delicate. So wholesome. Laurie London had been right. Austin did indeed have the whole world in his hands. “There you are. Hi.”

                  “Hey,” It was so casual, so them. “Come here often?”

                  “I do.” Austin’s clipped chuckle was vaguely Elvis-like. “Heard it’s the only place where you can see an angel without goin’ to Heaven.” The southern lilt of his tongue coated each vowel and consonant in powdered sugar. A beat passed. “Listen to me. Okay?” His eyes bounced between hers. “I am so sorry that he’s made you feel this way. There are some people who take no greater comfort than diluting and diminishing good things. Now, I’ve never met ‘em, don’t care to, but he seems like he fits the bill.” Austin’s thumb took her chin. “I’m sorry he made you think that it is hard to love you or, or that it’s hard to choose you because it isn’t.” The boy dampened his lips.

Love.

All she could think about were those four measly letters and how they’d sent her pulse skyrocketing.

Choose.

Oh how she’d always wanted to be chosen. It was engrained into every strand of DNA. What did she want out of an audition? To be chosen. What did she want as a little girl in gym class? To be chosen. What did she want from the once friend? To be chosen. And how did she feel when she wasn’t? Exactly like this.

                  “The right people will choose you.” He brought her closer, smiling. “Your friends will choose you. Your parents. Me.” His lithe fingers brushed hair behind her ear. “I will always choose you.”

In that moment she could think only about kissing him. It would be so easy. So close they were, she need only rise upon her tiptoes to reach the promise land. There were words she should say and thanks she should give, but nothing ran through her mind except smashing their mouths together. Her eyes must have revealed her intentions for Austin leaned closer.

                  “Dry up those tears, pretty one. C’mon.” He gently tapped her nose with his. Lifetimes passed as they gazed into the eyes of the other. Austin spoke at last.  “I so badly want to kiss you, but I can’t.” It was bold. It was everything. “Can’t. Not yet. I’ve gotta make it special.”

Special.

She didn’t need special. She just needed him. So close they were. So easy it would be.

“Going to make it worth it.” He breathed, fanning mint over her damp lips. “You take my word for it. It’ll be the last first kiss either of us have.” Austin smiled a smile that made her feel real. She liked real things and as he spoke words that filled her heart with gold, she realized that real love was personified before her.

What neither of them could have anticipated was that Austin would be wrong.

[im-a-wonderling]

Rescue Me, Part 3 ~ Obi-Wan Kenobi

Merry Christmas from me to all y'all!

Summary: Obi-Wan and his padawan arrive on Taris, but Obi-Wan's odd behavior only increases, sending his padawan into confusion.

Warnings: none that I can think of, let me know if I missed something!

Word count: 8.1k

Rescue Me masterlist | Main masterlist

The landing gear clicked as it unfolded, the ship coming to a landing a moment later.

Obi-Wan and I stood in silence as we waited for the door to open, allowing us to step foot onto the skyscraper that rose high above the pollution Taris was famous for. The rich got to avoid the worst of the pollution, condemning the rest of the planet to fend for themselves. 

It was the kind of thing that would stoke the flames of Obi-Wan’s contempt, causing it to bleed through his resplendent Force signature. As we waited, however, my sense of him was strangely subdued. What was left of the normally pleasing hum had soured into a deep whine.

“What’s our objective?” I asked, unable to take the silence anymore.

“Taris has stayed out of the war until now, but Senator Kin Robb is realizing she cannot stay neutral anymore. She must pick a side, so she has arranged a meeting including the Republic and the Separatists.”

“So…we’re making a case for Taris to join the Republic?” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Obi-Wan nod. Attempting for some normalcy, I turned to him, plastering on a lopsided smile. “You mean I’ll finally get to see the famous Negotiator Kenobi in action?”

Obi-Wan remained staring directly ahead. “That you will.” There was no mirth or happiness in Obi-Wan’s tone.

I dropped my smile. “You don’t want to be here.”

As the door cracked open, letting in the first sickly yellow light of Taris and revealing the sight of a tall woman and two even taller armored soldiers waiting for us, Obi-Wan finally looked over at me. “I am not a politician.” 

“Thank the stars for that,” I muttered. Perhaps I was imagining it, but as Obi-Wan swept forward to meet the attendant, I could’ve sworn I felt a momentary flash of warm light through the Force.

The woman, dressed in elegant purple garb, glided forward. “Thank you, Master Jedi, for your presence here.” 

I craned my neck to meet her gaze, marveling at the famed height of Tarisians. Obi-Wan answered with a bow, which I quickly followed. “Thank you for the invitation,” my master said, a silkiness to his tone I rarely heard before. “This is my padawan, Y/N.”

“Welcome to Taris, Y/N.” The woman shot a no nonsense smile at me. “I’m Kin Robb, I’m very happy to see both of you safely on my planet.” She refocused on Obi-Wan. “Now that you’ve arrived, the negotiations can start. In the instance that they extend overnight, I’ve asked them to prepare a suite for you.” 

I tried to keep my expression neutral. A suite? That would be a vast improvement over a bedroll in some war camp. 

“And finally, the conditions of this negotiation are peaceful, so we ask that you surrender all your weapons to us.”

A shot of alarm spiked through me, and though I couldn’t feel it, I knew Obi-Wan felt the same. “Ma’am, we are peacekeepers,” Obi-Wan said. “We do not raise our weapons until it is necessary, and if it is necessary, we will need them.”

“I’m afraid I must insist,” Kin Robb replied, her voice firm.

One of the soldiers expectantly held out a shiny, metallic tray. I looked at Obi-Wan, silently asking for direction. He gave me a tight nod. Reluctantly, I set my lightsaber on the tray, and Obi-Wan followed suit. I watched the soldier carry the tray into the building, feeling off-balance without the familiar weight of my lightsaber on my belt. 

Kin Robb’s appreciation was evident, if subdued. Like most everyone in the galaxy, she would’ve heard stories about Jedi. If I were more naive, I would’ve expected those stories to speak for our peaceful and moral conduct, but I knew firsthand that not every Jedi was peaceful and moral. 

“If you follow me,” the senator said, “I will lead you to where the Count of Serenno is waiting.”

Obi-Wan stiffened. He really didn’t want to be negotiating, did he, if the very sound of it wound him tighter than a spool of thread? Whatever the issue, I would be there to help him, I decided as I started to follow the politician. For my master, I would be a pillar of–

A hand grabbed a hold of my elbow, dragging me back. “Thank you,” Obi-Wan said to Kin Robb, causing her to stop, “but my padawan will be heading to the suite.”

“What?” I blurted, twisting my neck up to look at my master, confused at the abrupt change in plans. “What are you talking about?”

His beard scratched beside my ear, his words barely audible. “I need you to go to our suite.” 

“Why?” 

“I don’t want to see you until I retire to the suite at the end of the day, is that understood?”

A splash of discontent soaked me through to the bone. “Obi-Wan, I am here to learn. I won’t learn if I’m not with you.”

“Go to the suite,” Obi-Wan said lowly. “That’s an order.” Without waiting for a response, he followed Kin Robb, whose surprise I could sense even if it didn't appear on her face.

I watched them go. 

“This way, please,” the remaining soldier said pleasantly.

Since Krell became a figment of my past, I’d gotten better at sorting through my thoughts and feelings. I had to, since I could no longer push them down or hide them. Obi-Wan helped me identify the ones of which Jedi needed to be wary. 

Shame. 

Jealousy.

Fear.

The feeling boiling inside me was familiar, one I’d become intimate with long before I’d learned its name: anger. 

It was one thing for Obi-Wan to stonewall me, to not treat me as confidentially as he used to. But to keep me from the negotiations? Was he punishing me? And if he was, what for? He’d been given ample opportunity to tell me why he was displeased with me, and yet he said nothing. 

Clenching my jaw, I followed the soldier. 

-

The suite was indeed something to behold. 

Plush, colorful furniture filled the room which adjoined the two bedrooms, each with beds massive enough for an Anoatian pit beast. Double doors made of transparisteel led to a balcony, as if the room were intended for a contamination connoisseur to gaze out on the hazy, sallow air hovering over the ground below. 

The soldier left without so much as a word, leaving me to my own devices.

For the first hour, I fumed over being left out.

For the second, I paced, starting to worry about Obi-Wan. With no lightsaber and no padawan, would he be easily taken unawares? 

For the third, I searched the rooms for anything out of the ordinary, almost hoping to find a bug or a bomb if only for some entertainment. 

When four hours had passed, my restlessness had peaked, enough for me to try something unorthodox. I seated myself in front of the balcony doors, relaxing my shoulders and taking a deep breath. The Force responded as soon as I closed my eyes. “Where’s Obi-Wan?” I whispered. I waited for the Force to grab me, like it had on Felucia, bringing me right to my master.

But nothing happened.

I felt the Force around me, but it didn’t take me anywhere.

I huffed. I’d just have to do it myself then. Taking a deep breath, I began to stretch my conscience. I didn’t know what direction Obi-Wan was in, so I just reached out in all directions, expanding the radius of my mind, searching for any hint of my master. 

My conscience didn’t make it very far before a searing pain shot through my head. “Ow!” I blurted, my eyes shooting open. But the pain stopped as soon as it’d begun. 

“Ready to be a Jedi Knight, my butt,” I grumbled. 

The door at my back opened, and in a moment, I was on my feet, ready for anything. 

Obi-Wan let the door fall closed behind him, walking over to the couch. 

I cocked my head. How had I not felt Obi-Wan drawing near? I’d searched for him, and he’d been close, and yet I hadn’t sensed him. Curious, I reached through the Force again, trying to place Obi-Wan’s light. But there was no light, nor any hint of his emotional state. I scowled at him. Why wasn’t he sharing with me? Why was his light so far away? 

Obi-Wan dropped onto the couch, closing his eyes and bringing his fingers up to rub at his temples. He looked…exhausted. In fact, his very bones seemed to sag underneath his weight. The salient weariness lifted my irritation. 

I sat beside him. “Are you okay?”

“We didn’t get anywhere,” he rumbled. “Hours of talking, and we’re worse off than when we started.” 

“Well, if it was an easy choice, Kin Robb wouldn’t have organized the meeting.”

Obi-Wan merely nodded, his eyes still closed.

Once, I’d been so cut off from the Force that I had to rely only on what my other senses could tell me. Now, it felt wrong to be able to see the evidence of Obi-Wan's fatigue and not feel it. 

I got to my feet. “C’mon,” I said softly, causing Obi-Wan to look up at me. “Let’s go get some food.”

-

The servants down in the kitchen didn’t seem very happy to see us, and with their added height, I felt quite like a Gartro just waiting to be squished. 

We were seated at a tiny table, tucked away by the cellar in the corner. Obi-Wan ate and drank with a vengeance I’d never seen in all my months with him. I was as happy as could be that I was eating something other than war rations, but this was different—Obi-Wan was practically ravenous. Were the negotiations really so taxing?

If he’d let me take part, perhaps I’d know.

Once Obi-Wan polished off his plate, a servant whisked both plates away and set down a serving of chocolate cake. “Wait, we didn’t–” I said to her, but she walked away before I could finish. I eyed the cake hungrily before looking up at Obi-Wan, asking the question I already knew the answer to. “Are we…allowed?” I braced myself for the brusque, negative response. As Jedi, we really weren’t supposed to indulge, and Obi-Wan wasn’t one for breaking rules.

But to my astonishment, a soft smile played with Obi-Wan’s lips. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

I grinned at him, swiftly taking a bite before he could change his mind. 

The delightfully rich taste bloomed on my tongue, the decadent chocolate seemingly melting in my mouth. “Ohhhh.” I shut my eyes and covered my lips to keep any crumbs from falling because to let even a smidgen of this cake go to waste would be a crime. “Okay, I’m not exaggerating when I say this is the best thing I’ve ever eaten.” My eyes fluttered open to see Obi-Wan smiling at me. “You have to try this.”

Obi-Wan lifted his fork, tentatively bringing a bite to his mouth. At first he didn’t react, as if the cake were no different from the overly sweet sugar cubes we’d been eating for the last week. But then he started to cut another piece, and I knew he enjoyed our debauchery as much as I did. 

We took turns cutting bites, eating in blissful silence. 

I still couldn’t locate Obi-Wan’s light through the Force, but some of it had returned to his eyes again. As much as it pleased me to see him acting more like himself, only my concern derailed my boiling questions, and unluckily for him, my concern had been sated. Time for answers. 

Obi-Wan refilled his cup, drinking deeply.

“You must be thirsty after all that negotiating,” I said shortly. 

“I am,” he replied.

“I’m not thirsty at all.” I slowly cut another bite of cake. “There’s plenty of water in the suite.”

“Is there?” Obi-Wan’s tone was bland.

I tossed my fork onto the table. “Do you think I’m ready to be a Jedi Knight?” 

Obi-Wan’s startled blue eyes looked from the delicious dessert to me. He slowly chewed his bite of cake, looking down at the fork in his hand. He chewed. And chewed. And chewed. Finally, he swallowed. “That is the council’s decision,” he said, before quickly adding: “do you know what specialty you’d want?”

I narrowed my eyes, but he avoided looking at me, studiously watching the cake as if it may grow legs and walk off the table. While I could hardly begrudge him vigilance where this cake was concerned, his evasion irked me. But I decided against voicing my thoughts. Obi-Wan could already feel it all anyway. “If I pass the trials, the council will decide my specialty.” 

Obi-Wan didn’t answer for a moment, and when he did, it was quiet but firm. “When you pass the trials, do you know what specialty you will request?”

I stared at him, grappling with my confusion. Whatever answers he hid, I sensed they lay in between the words instead of in the words themselves, yet I could not puzzle them out.  “Once the war is over, I was thinking perhaps of being a Consular Jedi.”

My master twirled his fork thoughtfully. “Not healing?” I lowered my eyes to my food, a pang shooting through my chest. He leaned forward. “You’re sad.”

I rolled my eyes. “Not hiding my emotions might be the Jedi way, but it sure benefits you a great deal.” I expected Obi-Wan to respond with immediate cheek, but he didn’t say anything. Yes, his eyes probed, urging me to reveal more, but his mouth stayed closed. 

Without even thinking, I reached out with the Force, hoping to gain some insight, only to be reminded that it couldn’t tell me anything. Had Obi-Wan had some sort of falling out with the Force? Was that even possible?

“Why are you sad about healing?” Obi-Wan asked, forcing me back into the present. 

I lowered my eyes. The healing ability of a Jedi stemmed from one thing, and one thing only. A thing I’d lost a long time ago. “The heart of a Jedi healer is pure.”

“And you think you’re not pure of heart anymore.” Obi-Wan paused, as if waiting for a reaction. I gave him none, instead raising my cup to my lips. “I think you are.”

I choked on the liquid, nearly splashing it all down my front. “How do you figure that?” I asked, once I finished coughing.

Obi-Wan rested his elbow on the table. “Cody told the council you saved a clone on Felucia.”

I looked down at the dessert, but instead of chocolate-y goodness, images of Dank, Click, and Exit floated through my mind. “I barely did anything.”

“You stabilized him.” Obi-Wan’s stare dared me to argue.

“Well, what of it?” I said crossly, staring right back. “It’s just common courtesy on the battlefield.”

“And then with that villager?” Obi-Wan asked. “Was that battlefield courtesy too?”

“No, that was picking up after the Separatists, which is our job last I checked.”

Again, it was strange to see Obi-Wan’s exasperation and not feel it. “Over and over again, you prove that your first instinct is to heal.”

“Instincts mean nothing, not when–”

“Instincts,” Obi-Wan said firmly, “mean everything. They reveal things that might otherwise be hidden by deception or fear. Your instincts do you credit, and credit builds up.”

“The council would never allow me to become a healer.”

“The council may change their minds,” Obi-Wan said slowly.

I slammed down my cup. “You and I both know that’s not true!”

The noise around us went quiet. I glanced around to see all the servants staring at me. My cheeks burned, and I averted my eyes, wishing I could disappear.

“Carry on,” Obi-Wan said, and I could feel the Force surging from his every word. Without a moment’s hesitation, the clatter and chatter resumed like there was never an interruption.

Another reminder of Obi-Wan’s prowess.

I gripped my cup. “The council sees me as an encumbrance. They won’t ever change their minds.”

“They’ve already begun to.” There was a strange tint to his tone. Was it…bitterness?

I titled my head. “What do you–”

I twisted to look at the door. Something had changed, as if the planet had an earthquake and shifted everything to the left by an inch. 

Obi-Wan was already on his feet, but instead of looking at the door in the direction of the sensation, he was staring intently at my face.

"Something's wrong," I said breathlessly. Together, we sprinted out the door and up the stairs towards the higher levels.

Whatever we were about to face, we would do it together as master and pada–

“You need to go back to the suite!” Obi-Wan shouted at me as we ran.

Faltering a step, I struggled to keep time with him. “I’m not doing that,” I said.

“It’s an order, not a request.”

“You’re going to need back-up,” I bit back.

“Y/N, go!”

“You can’t fight on your–”

Obi-Wan grabbed my shoulder, bringing both of us to a stop. “I fought and won many fights before you became my padawan. Go!”

I watched Obi-Wan disappear out of sight, feeling as though he’d just cut me down at the knees. Why wouldn’t he let me help? If he believed in me as much as he said he did, why did he keep sending me away?

I stood straight. I obeyed him once and wasn’t able to be there to support him during the negotiations. I wasn’t about to make that mistake again. 

I was about to start running again, when the Force tugged at me, tugging me in…a third direction. Not the way to the suite and in the opposite direction that Obi-Wan had gone. It was as if the Force was whispering to me, but I couldn’t quite hear the words. I tried to listen, but the whispering disappeared and the tugging increased.

So I followed it down two flights of stairs and across a large hall to a door that was slightly ajar. 

On high alert, I pushed the door open wide enough to soundlessly slip inside, my heart hammering in my chest. 

The walls were covered with weapons similar to the ones I’d seen the guards armed with. Why would the Force bring me to some type of armory? The answer made itself clear as my eyes fell upon a pedestal with two lightsabers on top. If Obi-Wan and I were going to protect Kin Robb and face whatever threat lurked in this building, we would need our weapons. I clipped both lightsabers onto my belt, turning to go. When my head lifted, I nearly screamed.

Behind the door lay a pile of Tarisian guards, all of them with closed eyes and unmoving bodies. 

It took only a moment to realize I felt no life through the Force.

By the light. Someone had killed the guards and piled their bodies out of sight. Anything that could easily dispose of this many guards without raising an alarm was a grave threat. 

And my master was running around this building without me or his lightsaber. 

I left the armory at a panicked run, following the Force’s guidance, trusting that it would lead me to Obi-Wan. Up stairs I didn’t recognize, through corridors I didn’t have time to search. 

I must’ve been nearing the top of the building when I ran past a pair of double doors and came to a screeching halt. The prodding from the Force was far from subtle. Something was going on in there. 

If I were truly ready to be a Jedi Knight, I might’ve waited outside the door and eavesdropped to get an idea of what situation unfolded inside. If Obi-Wan were here, he would force us to wait.

I didn’t hesitate—I flung the doors open.

The suite was laid out exactly as the one I’d spent my day in.

The only differences were the rich purple of the couches, Kin Robb cowering behind said couches, and the balcony that contained a man I’d never seen before. 

A brown cape, held in place by a delicate silver chain, flowed from the brutally straight posture of his shoulders. The power on his wrinkled face was centered upon the chilling assurance in the arch of his gray eyebrows. He stood so tall, I wouldn’t be surprised if he could be mistaken for a Tarisian. But the most threatening quality was the surge of shadows that emanated through the Force. 

Whoever this man was, he was not a good one.

“You are interrupting.” He spoke with the authority of a man used to being obeyed. “Kin Robb and I have business.”

Kin Robb let out a little whimper, a strangely vulnerable sound from such a noble woman. 

I stepped further into the room, my hands raised non-threateningly and my steps slow. “I believe these are Kin Robb’s chambers, therefore Kin Robb decides if I’m interrupting or not.” Kin Robb darted away from the bed, clinging to my arm as she ducked behind me. I shot an easy smile at the man. “Looks like I’m not interrupting.”

The man fluidly tilted his head to the side. “You’re with Kenobi.”

I didn’t answer, for I didn’t discern a question. Instead, I looked him up and down for a clue as to his identity. Was he a Separatist or a third-party?

“He hid you away from the negotiations, did he?” The man pursed his lips as if he were amused. “How impotent. He kept you in the shadows, not by his side.” The man dipped his chin, and a searing warning hurtled through the Force. I whirled around, shoving Kin Robb behind me and igniting my saber just in time to block the strike from behind. 

I beat back the tall assailant, before slicing their weapon in half and slicing at their arm. Only once the assailant was on the ground, gripping their arm in pain did I notice they wore a Tarisian soldier’s uniform. One of Kin Robb’s own men, turned against her? Or an imposter? 

As I turned, I caught sight of the double doors I'd just come through. They were closed now. Suspicious, but I couldn't linger on it. I returned my attention to the man of darkness, holding my lightsaber loosely in front of me. He mentioned the negotiations, so he was likely a Separatist.

“You’re not ineffective,” the man noted with little surprise, like he was blandly commenting on the weather. 

“No, I’m not. Now I believe it’s time for you to leave.”

The man narrowed his eyes, taking a few steps into the room, studying me with enough intensity to send a shiver up my spine. Clearly something perplexing held his attention, but what could he possibly be trying to puzzle out? “What are you?” the man finally asked.

What, not who.

The oddity of his phrasing threw me off guard, but I quickly brushed it off. “This negotiation is a peaceful one,” I replied. “You are in direct conflict with your government’s agreement by attacking Kin Robb in this fashion.”

“What are you?” he repeated.

“I’m a Jedi.” I crouched slightly, searching with the Force to discern if any more attacks lay hidden in wait. “That’s all you need to know.”

“You’re afraid.”

No, I’m not, I wanted to shout. I’m not afraid!

But a true Jedi didn’t hide their feelings.

“Yes,” I finally admitted. “Yes, I am.”

“Is that why you have a touch of–” he hesitated, as though tasting the air. “The dark?” The words made me lose focus for a moment. The man lifted a hand to his chin. “Or is it something else?” Without waiting for a reply, he reached out with his hand. I flinched, waiting for some sort of attack around me, but I felt nothing, nor any strange nudging from the Force.

What in the blazes was he doing? I threw a look over my shoulder to check on Kin Robb, who was unchanged from her position. If the man wasn’t attacking me nor attacking Kin Robb–

“You’re Krell’s padawan.”

I jerked back to face the man. He spoke with no intonation whatsoever, nor did his face show anything even remotely human, and yet I could sense the surprise that tainted the shadows.

Tightening my grip on my saber, I rolled my shoulders in an effort to stay loose. “I haven’t been his padawan in a long time.”

“And yet his signature is all over you.”

“Well, he matters not, for he is now one with the Force.” It was selfish of me, but my heart burned with satisfaction at the fact that Krell was gone. He couldn’t hurt me or anyone else ever again.

“And yet our teachings bely us, don’t they?” The corners of the man’s mouth turned up into an eerie smile. “He is tucked away inside you, deep in the recesses of your mind.”

“No, he’s–”

“How very like a Jedi you are,” the man said, a cruel smile on his face. Despite his dismissive tone, his dark eyes never left me. “You deny what is inside you.”

Robbed of speech, I glanced at Kin Robb again, to remind myself that my purpose was to keep her safe. Nothing else mattered, especially not this man’s goading.

“How disheartened Obi-Wan must’ve been to receive you as his student.”

I hissed at him before I could stop it. “You don’t know what you speak of!"

For the first time during the whole exchange, the man smiled. It was a starved gesture, the corners of his mouth barely upturning, but it transformed his whole face. He looked human, and it was far more terrifying than any scowl he could’ve given me.

“What a pity I have to kill you,” he said as he reached for his belt. “We could’ve done a lot together, you and me.” Red light filled the room as he ignited a lightsaber.

My heart nearly stopped beating against the pressure of fear that ballooned in my chest, and I quickly took calming breaths. 

He was a sith. 

I was barely able to lift my lightsaber before the man brought his own down. 

“Go!” I shouted at Kin Robb, trying to hold the locked position. The man—the sith—possessed such strength, I wasn’t sure how long I could hold on. 

The sith slid his lightsaber higher, creating an awful scraping sound before pushing hard enough for me to fall back a step, our lightsabers breaking contact. I had less than a moment to catch my breath before the red saber swung again.

I was at a disadvantage. Not only was this man clearly the superior fighter, but I was limited to the defensive. The moment I gave him an opening, he would take it and kill Kin Robb or worse. 

The sound of rattling reached my ears, but I couldn’t afford to look. Was Kin Robb trying to open the doors?

My momentary distraction cost me.

The sith struck my lightsaber with such force, my fingers lost grip of it and it went flying off to the wall. I had barely a moment to grab Obi-Wan’s lightsaber from my belt before a great force hit my chest. 

I managed to roll away, nearly colliding with Kin Robb, who was indeed wrestling with the doorknobs. Without sparing her another glance, I ran at the sith, lifting my master’s lightsaber in an offensive strike, determined to land a blow.

The red lightsaber moved too quickly for me to follow, and the next thing I knew, I flew backwards, landing so hard on my back that the lightsaber slipped from my grasp and my breath filtered out of my lungs. 

“You’re no match for the dark side.” The man pointed his saber at me, the end so close to my neck, I could feel its heat on my skin. 

I looked up into the man’s face, certain that it was going to be the last sight I would see in this life. 

A loud thump sounded, and the man whirled around. Taking advantage of the moment, I scrambled to my feet, once more putting myself in between the man and Kin Robb. 

That’s when I saw Obi-Wan, breathing hard on the balcony. His hands were empty, but his eyes were dark. “Get away from her.”

Get away from her.

Which ‘her’ was he referring to?

I thrust out my hand towards my lightsaber, using the Force to bring it to my palm. 

“I must say, Kenobi,” the man clasped his hands behind his back, his lightsaber sheathed one more, “you did a spectacular job of hiding her from me. Now I know why you were shielding yourself from me earlier.”

I sucked in a breath. Obi-Wan, shielding himself?

“No wonder your padawan found me before you did.” The sith laughed, a cold and short-lived sound. 

“I will give you a chance to leave in peace,” Obi-Wan replied, his voice stiff as his feet moved fluidly closer. “I suggest you take it.”

“Kin Robb is coming with me. Alive or dead, though I assume you prefer the former.”

“You’re in direct conflict with the terms of this arrangement.” Obi-Wan’s eyes didn’t budge from the man, but the fingers of his right hand flexed ever so slightly.

“Alas, the same Kenobi as always, with focus so great, it blinds him.”

Obi-Wan smiled tightly. “I appreciate your concern, Count Dooku, but I assure you my eyesight is fine.”

My legs wobbled like my knees were suddenly replaced with jelly.

This man was Count Dooku?

I’d been fighting Count Dooku?

As if he heard my thoughts, for he probably did, Dooku’s piercing eyes found me. “Tell me, Obi-Wan, did you choose your padawan or did the council?” Distantly, I saw Obi-Wan scramble towards his abandoned lightsaber, but I was frozen. Not under Dooku’s stare, but under his question. “Well, padawan?” Dooku asked. “Did he choose you?”

My world tunnel-visioned to just the sith lord in front of me. 

Dooku’s eyes somehow flayed me open, inspecting every piece of me, even the parts of myself I couldn’t see. He read every piece of me, clearly searching for something, perhaps something that matched his own sinister shadows. 

Suddenly, my view was blocked as Obi-Wan slid in between us. 

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said sharply, igniting his lightsaber, casting blue light onto Dooku’s harsh features. “I chose her.”

“Interesting,” Dooku murmured. “You’re flirting with the darkness, Kenobi.”

He means me, I thought.

Without looking away from my master, Dooku nodded his head, as if concurring with my thought. “And you know it, don’t you? It’s why you’re still shielding yourself.”

“I have no time for your chicanery,” Obi-Wan said forcefully. “This is your last chance to leave in peace.”

Dooku’s only answer was to step forward, and I braced myself for the furious fight that was about to occur. 

But then Dooku cut a glance at the door, just as it burst open. As Tarisian warriors poured into the room, he ran for the balcony and jumped off, free-falling into the gray pollution and disappearing from sight.

A loud “No!” broke through my lips. Holding tight to my lightsaber, I ran for the balcony, bending my knees in preparation for jumping after him. 

An iron grip seizing my arm, holding me back with a great jolt.

Incredulous, I looked at the firm hand and followed the length of the arm to my master.

“Let the warriors go after him,” Obi-Wan said, a little breathless. “Our concern is Kin Robb.”

I looked back the way Dooku had gone, contemplating wrenching my arm out of his reach and following Dooku anyway. 

The grip tightened, as if Obi-Wan knew what I was considering. “Let him go.”

A ship rocketed out of the smog below. As we watched, it flew straight for the atmosphere, growing smaller and smaller. Reluctantly, I stepped back. Obi-Wan’s grasp held on still. I looked up at him, expecting his eyes to be trained on the ship. 

But Obi-Wan’s eyes were fixed upon my face, his steeled look enough to make even the proudest bow their head in chagrin. I couldn’t blame him. I stood in this chamber as a direct result of disobeying him.

After a long look, my master mechanically released me and walked to Kin Robb. “How are you, my lady?” 

Ignoring Kin Robb’s response, I looked back at the way Dooku’s ship had gone. Kin Robb was still alive and with us, so we’d done what was necessary. But I couldn’t shake the sinking feeling that something horrible had just occurred. 

-

“I told you to return here.” Obi-Wan paced between the couch and the window of our suite, his pivots aggressive and his tread heavy. “I gave you an order, and you defied it.” His admonishment was strangely loud compared to his normal low-toned criticism.

“I’m sorry, master,” I said for the third time, hoping to put an end to the frantic pacing. If I could feel his light, I’m sure it would’ve been pulsing like a racing heartbeat, but my master must've still been shielding himself.

How could I be so foolish? It was obvious once Count Dooku said it, but it never even occurred to me that Obi-Wan was concealing himself.

“He could’ve killed you both, he could’ve killed Kin Robb, and then what would have happened to Taris?” Obi-Wan's scowl and raised voice hit me like wafts of bantha dung. It struck me, down to my innermost self. “What if he’d taken you too?” Obi-Wan was saying. “Chobb knows what he might’ve done to you if I hadn’t gotten there in time!”

I blinked, my own mind starting to swivel as quickly and harshly as he was. “But if I hadn’t gone,” I said slowly, “then no one would’ve stopped Dooku from taking her.”

Obi-Wan’s feet halted on the carpet, and my heart rate kicked up into an agitated pace. I couldn’t make myself look up at his face, my own starting to burn.

I’d just questioned him.

Me.

Questioned Obi-Wan.

But even with the desire to sink through the floor, I couldn’t retract the statement, because I wanted to hear the response. None came. Taking a breath, I dared a glance up into my master’s face. I could see the conflict on his face, clear as day, but I couldn’t see which two sides were fighting. 

“You shouldn’t have done it,” Obi-Wan said suddenly, turning away from me to resume his trek. “You should’ve done what you were told, that’s what padawans do.”

Padawans.

I lowered my eyes again to the luxuriously plush carpet. “You really don’t think I’m ready.”

My words were soft, and the way his shadow shifted as he turned was anything but. “What?”

My insides swept and roiled with something I couldn’t name, but it brought hot tears to my eyes. I tried to fight them, and, like every fight I’d fought today, I lost.

The alarmed face of Obi-Wan came into my view as he knelt by the couch. “Y/N?” I twisted away from him, not wanting him to see the tears, but he caught my wrists. “What’s wrong?” I wrenched my wrists from his hands, getting to my feet to put him behind me. “Y/N.” Obi-Wan’s stern voice only made the waves inside me swell all the more.

“Why would you tell me to be a healer?!” I cried, spinning to face him.

Obi-Wan jumped a little, looking like he’d been bowled over. “What are you talking about?”

The words were so jumbled up in my mind that I could hardly keep track of them. “You…you keep telling me to be a healer, but you think I’m useless.”

My master rose to his feet. “I never said–”

“But you’re thinking it!” I shouted. Deep down, I knew it was wrong for me to raise my voice at him, but even deeper down, there was something growing, something that would not be contained. “You…you were disappointed in me on Felucia, and then when we got here you wouldn’t let me go to the negotiation, and then when Kin Robb was in trouble, you sent me away!” My breaths were coming in short gasps, and my head spun. I needed Obi-Wan to explain it, to order my thoughts in the way only he could, to make it make sense. 

But he didn’t speak, simply stared back at me. What was he not telling me? Why had he sent me away? Why did he continually keep me from doing my job at his side? Why had he cut himself off from the Force, to the point where he couldn’t find Dooku and had to physically pick up his lightsaber in a fight instead of using the Force to bring it to him? 

There was only one possible answer to all of those questions. 

“You don’t trust me,” I said miserably, my voice wobbling. 

“That’s not true,” Obi-Wan said sharply, but what else could it be?

“Can you feel the darkness too?”

Obi-Wan’s wary expression didn’t stir, showing me his infamous control as he spoke with an even voice. “What are you talking about?”

“Dooku said that I have a touch of darkness. He could feel it.”

I could’ve sworn Obi-Wan paled. “You talked to him?”

“He knew that Krell taught me!” I spat. “He could–could sense Krell’s signature in mine!”

The distress on Obi-Wan’s face would’ve been enough to clue me into the gravity he felt, but the sudden devastation I felt through the Force could’ve leveled planets. He lifted shaking hands to his hair, clenching his locks with whitening fists. “Y/N–”

“You’re the one who always tells me that my history with Krell is irrelevant!” I snapped, my voice growing louder by the second. “You tell me that I am pure of heart, but you’ve known all along that I’m not!” My voice broke on the last word.

Obi-Wan shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.” 

“Yes, it does! It does to Dooku! It does to the council!”

I paused to suck in a big breath, giving Obi-Wan time to say: “Y/N, you’re ready.”

“If that were true, you wouldn’t keep cutting me out!”

“I’m not–”

“Don’t you dare lie to me again.” My breathing was heavy and loud. “You taught me that cutting oneself off from the Force to hide thoughts and feelings was the way of the sith, and yet you’ve been shielding yourself all day!”

An uncharacteristically wild look flashed in Obi-Wan’s eye. “I was trying to protect you!”

“From what, my own incompetence?”

“From Dooku!” Obi-Wan exclaimed, crossing the room in two, urgent strides. His hands gripped my shoulders, pulling me closer. “Dooku trained Qui-Gon Jinn, my master. Dooku sees myself and Anakin as part of his legacy!” Obi-Wan’s chest heaved as he took gulps of air. “I knew that when he met you, he would be able to sense Krell, it’s why I kept you away!”

Obi-Wan would…go against his own teachings to keep me safe? 

I tried to think through the magnitude of his actions, but his sharp blue eyes hovering so close to me made it difficult to think. “Maybe that explains your actions here,” I said slowly, “but why were you acting strange on the ship?”

Obi-Wan froze, and I could read guilt all over his face. 

“You couldn’t have been angry about my actions in battle,” I realized aloud. “Otherwise…you would have talked to me about it before we went to help the village.” Obi-Wan’s eyes went wide and his grip on my shoulders tightened, begging me not to continue, but I'd listened too long. “It happened in the council meeting, didn’t it? Whatever it was?”

Obi-Wan closed his eyes and exhaled shakily, like a child scared of the dark, wishing for some light to chase away the shadows on his bedroom wall.  

“Tell me the truth,” I said quietly. “You owe me that much.”

When his eyes opened, the deep pain in them was almost enough to dissuade me. But I held his gaze, willing him to talk. 

He let go of me, but didn’t step back. “After this negotiation–” Obi-Wan’s words were scratchy, and he cleared his throat. “After the negotiation, the council wishes for me to bring you to Coruscant where you will complete your trials.”

The news which ordinarily would bring me joy made my mind go blank. The council wanted me to complete my trials? To rise from the rank of Padawan to Knight? 

This was…huge.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I whispered. “Why did you let me believe I’d done something wrong?” 

Obi-Wan rubbed his face. “I never meant to give you cause to doubt yourself, for that I am sincerely sorry.” He looked at me for a long moment, perhaps waiting for an acceptance of his apology, but I couldn’t even form the necessary thoughts. He pursed his lips, his face tight. “As Jedi, our lives are based on change. We carry no possessions with us, we have little control over our whereabouts or activities, and we are charged solely with caring for others.” His eyes flicked to mine, and there was hesitation. “Perhaps…perhaps I wasn’t ready…for this to change.”

“Change?” I echoed. “Why would–”

Oh.

Oh.

Suddenly, my chest was lit on fire, burning and thrashing in agony. Something must’ve shown on my face, for Obi-Wan nodded sadly. “Once you are no longer a padawan, you no longer have need for a master.”

No, I had every need for my master!

“I…I can’t do this without-without you!” I stammered as my head spun. “I’m not, I’m nowhere near ready!”

Obi-Wan stepped back, and I resisted the strange urge to seize his robes before he could disappear forever. “You can,” he said. “And you are. You actually have been for a while now.”

“But what about my darkness?” I spluttered. “I still have a touch of darkness!”

“A touch of darkness!” Obi-Wan laughed—actually laughed—and shook his head. “You haven’t the faintest idea how remarkable you are.”

“Remarkable?!”

“Yes, remarkable.” Affection punctured the amusement in his eyes. “Y/N, you faced a sith.”

Confusion spun my mind like an antennae in a dust storm. “I did not face a sith, a sith thrashed me and then got away!”

“Not Dooku.” Obi-Wan leaned against the couch, his face growing grim. “Krell.”

My brain seemed to make some sort of perplexed popping noise as it tried to understand his meaning. “I never fought Krell. And even if I had, he would’ve won.”

“You were raised by a sith. Krell spoonfed darkness to you and said it was light.” Obi-Wan pushed off the couch and came closer again, his eyes sweeping the expanse of my face. Was that…wonder on his face? “It should’ve eaten you alive,” he murmured. “It should’ve snuffed out the light without a trace, and instead you beat it back.”

His unbearably warm tone caught me by the throat, barricading it shut. 

“You haven’t told me all of what Krell did to you,” Obi-Wan said, and I stared at the floor, unable to look at him. Obi-Wan grasped my chin, lifting it so I was once again trapped under the weight of his inescapable stare. “You told me some things, and Rex told me others, but I know there’s more.” 

“Obi…” I pleaded.

“Yet even with what I know, I’m shocked you have enough goodness in you to think of others.” 

My eyes burned. “It wasn’t me.”

“It was you.”

“No, I couldn’t have done it without your guidance, your teachings.”

Obi-Wan exhaled in exasperation. “You give yourself so little credit.”

“I thought humility was the mark of a Jedi,” I said weakly. 

“The mark of a Jedi healer,” Obi-Wan’s careful words made me brace myself, “is conquering darkness. You can’t conquer darkness if you pretend it isn’t there.” He shook his head. “The code doesn’t say that Jedi must be innocent. Even in a galaxy at peace, it’s impossible to stay innocent for long.” Obi-Wan inclined his head. “Most padawans haven’t faced as much as you, it’s true, but instead of letting your experiences make you weak, you turned them into strength.”

The effects of his words were…indescribable. 

They were like wind passing over me, dislodging my hair and making me feel I could fly. Like warm water pouring over me, giving me relief from the cold. Like the forbidden but heavenly taste of chocolate cake I was never supposed to eat. 

I cast around for something to say, something else to look at, but Obi-Wan’s gravity made it impossible. I could only see—only feel—him.

His long hair, which never got cut, no matter how many times I offered or how many times he said he meant to do so himself. His beard, excellently framing his mouth whether he smiled or frowned. His eyes, half-closed as they were now, spilling into mine, like the distance between us was irrelevant.

I knew the Force showed him everything. He knew how I felt. I knew that he knew how I felt. 

Suddenly, a rush swept through me, warmth nearly twice as large and strong as I'd ever felt. It knocked the breath from my lungs, yet I couldn’t mind, even if I were to drown in it.

Obi-Wan wasn’t shielding himself anymore.

The light that shone was sweeter than the cake he’d let me have. I couldn’t name it or understand it, but I could feel it better than I could see it in his eyes. 

And just as unexpectedly, the warmth turned to an aching loss. Obi-Wan’s deep bereavement was mirrored in me, the pain he felt about our parting sharp even though I still stood in front of him. 

I felt Obi-Wan’s need to speak before he opened his mouth, but while the Force in between us tensed in preparation for his words, no words came. Obi-Wan licked his lips. “Promise me,” he said finally, “that you’ll request to be a healer.”

The tension remained, as if that wasn’t what words he’d been going to say. 

“I don’t think–”

“If not for yourself,” he pleaded, “then for me?”

If this was the final request my master—my good, kind, accomplished master—would make of me, how could I refuse?

“Okay.”

Obi-Wan nodded, his expression one of satisfaction, but his signature one of apprehension. “We are Jedi.” He squared his shoulders. “This is what we are made for.” Made for change? Or for loss? “We should sleep.” Obi-Wan walked towards the door of one of the bedrooms. “Tomorrow, we will escort Kin Robb to Coruscant, and you should be well-rested for..."

For my trials.

We held each other’s gaze for a moment longer, the silence loaded with all the things we couldn’t and didn’t know how to say. 

“Goodnight…master.”

The light fluttered for a moment before Obi-Wan replied. “Goodnight, Y/N.” 

I shut my door, clutching the door knob tightly. 

Obi-Wan was right. Of course he was. Our lives were devoted to the Force. To serve it best, I would eventually have to move on and teach others of it. But if leaving Obi-Wan was a part of my duty, why did it feel like the ground beneath me was disappearing? Why was there a great heaviness inside me, threatening to swallow me whole?

My chest felt like a crumbling bridge, my arms sagged at my sides, and I somehow couldn’t lift my feet from the floor.

I closed my eyes, reaching out for the Force, craving its peace.

As always, it answered, enveloping me like the embrace of a mother and the protection of a father. Bend, the Force whispered to me, don’t break. I leaned into the feeling, allowing the weight in my chest to bend me. I sank to the floor, pulling myself further away from my present and closer into the Force.

And then I felt the light.

Obi-Wan’s light.

It shook violently, like it’d been left out in the cold with no cloak and was desperately trying to hold on.

And then another pull appeared. One far in the distance. A pull made up entirely of shadows. My first instinct was to panic and recoil as fast as possible, even if I ended up recoiling from the Force itself. 

But as my master said: one can’t conquer darkness if one pretends it isn’t there. If I wanted to be a healer, it was time to recognize the darkness. Recognize and prepare. I can feel you, I said to the pull. And next time we meet, I may not be with my master, but I will certainly be ready.

-

Part 4

Overall tag list:

@thelastpyle @valiantlytransparentwhispers

Rescue Me tag list:

@penfullofwordsaheadfullofstories @starlazergazer @blackqueengold @ajwild220 @exploringalaxiesfarfaraway @mortallycrispyglitter @nerdory10 @shinybananapastanickel @sassysaxxy @sunshine-girl013 @fablesrose @marrily @friskynotebook @burnthecheshirewitch @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @thriving-n-jiving

[wangxianficfinder]

In the mood for...

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1. Hi Mods, I hope you're doing well. Do you have any more Non-Yunmeng Wei Wuxian fics. I've read all the ones in the compilation you have.

Thank you so much! @iseverelydislikeeveryone

Crimson Promise by IceQueen95 (T, 148k, wangxian, JC/WQ, JYL/JZX, wen WWX, fem WWX, angst w/ happy ending, sunshot campaign, canonical character death)

🧡 Resplendence by FrozenMarVel ( E, 166k, WIP, WangXian, CS Lives, Rouge cultivator WWX, Crossdressing, Canon Divergence, Fix-It of sorts, Fluff, Explicit smut)

Heart of the Beast by WaitForTheSnitch (E, 132k, WIP, WangXian, WWX Isn’t Adopted by the Jiāngs, Adopted WWX, WWX is a Niè, Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Oblivious WWX, Protective NMJ, Scheming NHS, Protective NHS, Soft NMJ, NMJ is So Done, NHS Is A Little Shit, Pining, LWJ Has Feelings)

The Phoenix embraced the Sun by Lament_4Piligrim (M, 21k, WWX/WRH, Female WWX, Canon Divergence, No Sunshot Campaign, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Time Travel Fix-It, Donghua WRH, Good Person WRH, Past wangxian, Older WWX, Six Great Clans, Wei Clan exists, Wei Clan practises demonic cultivation and world being ok with that, Wei Ying becomes Madam Wen, She loves and is loved, Sentient Burial Mounds, Wei Ying adopts Wen Ruohan's sons and teachs them love, Protective Wei Sect, Protective Wēn Sect, WRH has some mental issues, CSSR & WCZ Live, ,Family Feels, Slow Burn, Sect Leader Wen bashing, WWX's got a little brother, Dark Past, Self-Sacrificing WWX, WIP)

When Flowers Spring from Killing Things by windsweptice (B0redaf) (Not rated, 100k, wangxian, Wen WWX, Demonic Cultivation, WWX Has No Golden Core, he's got a resentful one instead, Yīn Iron, WRH pov, LWJ pov, WWX pov, WWX Isn't Adopted by the Jiāngs, Sentient Burial Mounds, XY Is A Little Shit, WQ pov, Protective WWX, Protective WQ, Cinnamon Roll WN, Protective WN, LXC pov, BAMF WWX, Burning of the Cloud Recesses, Fall of Lotus Pier, Cultivation Discussion Conferences, BAMF LWJ, BAMF WN, BAMF WQ, Good Person WX, WWX Has a New Golden Core, Cloud Recesses Shenanigans, Weddings)

With you is all I need to know by mocheng (M, 47k, wangxian, Bottom LWJ/Top WWX, Dom WWX/Sub LWJ, Older WWX, Rogue Cultivator WWX, POV Multiple, OCs, Curses, Light Dom/sub, Embedded Images, Case Fic)

teeth pushing together, hands clasped by SpeedingCheetah (T, 24k, LSZ & WWX, wangxian, LWJ & WWX, Canon Divergence, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, POV WWX, YLLZ WWX, WWX Adopts LSZ, WWX is BSSR's Disciple, Rogue Cultivator WWX, highly implied lwj/wwx during the war, Post-Sunshot Campaign, Pining WWX, triggers are in the notes)

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2. Hey there, lovely people! There are plenty of fics where WWX time travels into the past, but I'm wondering if there are any where he travels forward in the timeline (not just as some sort of 'glimpse of &/or conversation with his future self' deal, but actually ending up in the future). Like maybe something where his 13/16 years of not being around is because he literally skipped over those years? @thispatternismine

Confusion by Vrishchika (Not rated, 5k, wangxian, time travel)

Would You Come Home? by s6115 (Not rated, 46k, WangXian, Junior Quartet Centric, Time Travel Fix-It, Canon Divergence, Junior Quartet Dynamics) this story doesn't feature a lot of actual wwx (tho he very much plays a part) but technically it fits the prompt and it's a great fic

Through The Abyss by bluesloth (T, 53k, WIP, WWX & JL & JC, Time Travel, Canon Era, Friendship, Drama, Humor, Explicit Language, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death)

忘不了你的爱 (can't forget your love) by PorcupineGirl (G, 25k, WangXian, Time Travel, Modern with Magic, Modern Cultivators AU, Canon Divergence, Time Traveler WWX, discussion of canonical character deaths, a whole lot of handwaving, conveniently localized fires, Discussion of Canonical Suicide Attempt, mostly happy but slightly bittersweet ending)

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3. Hiiiii! I’m in the mood for stalker WWX and/or LWJ aaand age difference/power dynamics btw wx :)

Obelus by Celestios (Not rated, 167k, wangxian, rape/non-con, non-con elements, NO rape, Non-Consensual Spanking, Non-Consensual Punishments, Spanking, Punishments, Dubious Morality, Dubious Consent, physical discipline, Physical Abuse, Toxic Relationships, Abusive Relationship, Kidnapping, Stockholm Syndrome, mention of violence, mention of drugs, Mention of alcohol, Possessive Behavior, Obsessive Behavior, Unhealthy Relationships, dark LWJ, Baker WWX, Bodyguard WN, Mentions of weapons, Gun mentions, Slow Burn, Long, Doctor WQ, Self Medicating, WWX has ADHD, Trauma Bonding, Psychological Manipulation, Gaslighting, Organized Crime, underground crime, Underground business, illegal business)

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4. Hi! a) any canonverse fics where wwx pretends to be a woman?

b) might be overlap with above but fics where identity of yll is a secret? wwx can be though dead or doing a double life, i just wanna see ppl being afraid of this new super powerful player on the board @chellsky

4A)

By Any Other Name by ShanaStoryteller (Not Rated, 31k, Wangxian, Canon Divergence, Crossdressing, Misunderstandings, Identity Porn, Identity reveal)

Fruit-Bearing Pool by rei_moon (T, 46k, wangxian, Mpreg, Crack Treated Seriously, Magical Pregnancy, Magical Pool, Out of Character, Inspired by Journey to the West’s Motherhood River, Historical Inaccuracy, WWX became a business mogul to feed his growing family, Minor OCs, Slow Build, Attempt at Humor, Crossdressing, For disguise purposes, Fix-It of Sorts, WWX and JZX being human disasters together, Misunderstandings, WIP)

crushed ceramic by doyeorem (pomellogranate) (T, 10k, JC & JL & WWX, Twin Prides of Yúnmèng Feels, Yúnmèng Siblings Feels, Yúnmèng Jiāng Sect, Family Feels, Genderqueer WWX, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, i think, Misunderstandings, re: lxc, Disguise, Crossdressing, Whump, but it’s more mentioned/implied then detailed, Sibling Bonding, uncle bonding)

My Leaves Reach Ever for the Sun by nonplussed (T, 26k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fix-It, Crossdressing, Idiots in Love, Sharing a Bed, Happy Ending, Mutual Pining)

deeper than the ink by loosingletters (M, 44k, JC & WWX, LSZ & WWX, WQ & WWX & WN, JYL/JZX, wangxian, Canon Divergence, Fix-It of Sorts, Hurt/Comfort, Family, WQ Lives, Not Everyone Dies au, Sibling Bonding, Good Sibling JC, Good Sibling WWX, Yúnmèng Jiāng Sect, Cultivation Sect Politics, Communication, Secrets, Lies, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Trans WWX, Crossdressing, Child LSZ, Pre-Relationship, WIP) first in the series of in the name of love

今非昔比 Jīn fēi xī bǐ by XieJianRou (Not rated, 119k, wangxian, time travel fix-it, fem WWX)

4B)

The Scarlet Lotus by rainbowninja167 (M, 137k, WangXian, Marriage of Convenience, Secret Identity, Fix-It, Angst with a Happy Ending, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Canon-Typical Violence, canon-typical war crimes, Yunmeng Bros, the mortifying ordeal of getting seduced by your own husband, nonlinear chronology we die like cql, just kidding nobody dies in this fic, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Miscommunication)

only the dead (have seen the end of war) by comforting_monachopsis (T, 42k, WangXian, Temporary Amnesia, BAMF WWX, Sad LWJ, Grief/Mourning, Mild Gore, Medical Inaccuracies, Secret Identity, Loss of Identity, Identity Porn, The Science of Cultivation, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think, Angst and Humor, Crossdressing, WWX is Bad at Feelings)

if you can’t beat them, recruit them by moeblobmegane (T, 228k, Time Travel Fix-It, Conspiracy, Spies & Secret Agents, Team as Family, Found Family)

~*~

5. A) wwx older than jyl n jc

B) wwx taking care of/being responsible for jc n jyl

C) anything that fits the song ' we have each other - Alec Benjamin '

5A)

a decade more to breathe by loosingletters (T, 2k, JYL & WWX, JC & WWX, Canon Divergence, Older Sibling WWX, Fix-It, Family, Hurt/Comfort, WWX is a Jiāng, just a bit of sect politics)

After We Say This series by TiredAndTired (T, 10k, wangxian, LXC & LWJ, LXC & WWX, JC & WWX & JYL, Age Swap, Age Reversal, Good Parent YZY & JFM, Pining, First Dates, NHS Ships It, Give LWJ Friends, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Family Feels, Secret pregnancy, Implied/Referenced Sex, Mpreg)

~*~

6. For the the itmf can we have some classic there is only one bed / stuck in a tiny space wangxian? Can be canon or au just put them boys in situations!

The Look You Give by alightbuthappypen (dairyme) (E, 8k, wangxian, Sharing a Bed, First Time, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, Anal Fingering, Bottom LWJ, PWP, Porn with Feelings)

Three Days, Two Nights by ScarlettStorm (E, 21k, WangXian, modern au with cultivation, Canadian Shack, only it's in rural china so the shack is not canadian, Comedy, Pining, snuggling for warmth, Getting Together, Trans WWX, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Kissing, Vaginal Fingering, Frottage, only wwx is a dude so it's not really cunnilingus, it's getting his dick sucked, switch rights) Stuck in a cabin, UST, trans male WWX, good stuff!

~*~

7. For your next itmf I'm looking for fics that features a petty lwj and people, especially wwz and juniors calling him out on it

~*~

8. Helloooo I sent an ask a while back about fics that go into Wei Wuxian using his "A-Xian is three years old!" Phrase as a way to cope with his childhood trauma (like him actually reverting to three sometimes or using it as a way to avoid things...etc). It's been a while since I sent it in and someone did write a fic based on that ask if I remember correctly, but I was wondering if any new fics popped up about it? Please let me know! (Also no sexual age play pls)

~*~

9. hello! thank you for your hard work, and the followers for the help. ITMF a long wwx-centric fic where he is appreciated, and there's very little romance (not much pining and mooning from wwx)

~*~

10. Hey mods ~ A) can you suggest me any fics where Lwj is extremely obsessed with Wei ying ...

B) or Any college/ university Au wangxian but with fluff @selflovingmedj

10A)

A Matter of Time by mrcformoso (E, 44k, WangXian, Time Travel Fix-It, POV LWJ, POV JC, Dark LWJ, Manipulation, Grooming, WangXian Get a Happy Ending, Consensual Underage Sex, Except problematic please read warning in first chapter, Blood and Violence, Insane LWJ, Manic LWJ, Conditioning, WWX is a Lán, Minor Character Death, Confused JC, Golden Core Reveal, Good Friend NHS, WWX Isn’t Adopted by the Jiāngs, Abusive Jiāng Family, Jiāng Family Bashing, Jiāng Family Critical, POV NHS, Dark NHS, Anal Sex, Marathon Sex, Dual Cultivation, Qīnghéng-jūn Lives, LWJ Has a Big Dick, WWX Self-Lubricates, Plot Twists, Porn With Plot, Scheming NHS, Manipulative NHS, BAMF LWJ, BAMF WWX)

Obelus by Celestios (Not rated, 167k, wangxian, rape/non-con, non-con elements, NO rape, Non-Consensual Spanking, Non-Consensual Punishments, Spanking, Punishments, Dubious Morality, Dubious Consent, physical discipline, Physical Abuse, Toxic Relationships, Abusive Relationship, Kidnapping, Stockholm Syndrome, mention of violence, mention of drugs, Mention of alcohol, Possessive Behavior, Obsessive Behavior, Unhealthy Relationships, dark LWJ, Baker WWX, Bodyguard WN, Mentions of weapons, Gun mentions, Slow Burn, Long, Doctor WQ, Self Medicating, WWX has ADHD, Trauma Bonding, Psychological Manipulation, Gaslighting, Organized Crime, underground crime, Underground business, illegal business) link in #3

10B)

But really, why? by Scrippio (T, 52k, wangxian, modern, college/university au)

how to fall in love with a catfish: a guide by wei wuxian (disaster rat) by bwyn, Yuisaki (T, 54k, WangXian, Modern AU, College/University, Actors, Multimedia, Online Friendship, Drunken Shenanigans, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Underage Drinking, Drinking Games, Families of Choice, Fluff and Angst, Slow Burn, Catfish AU)

we’ll get him falling for a stranger (or a catfish) by sweetlolixo (T, 38k, WangXian, Modern AU, College AU, Catfish AU, Eventual Happy Ending, Crossdressing WWX, Pining LWJ, Fluff, Humor, lwj is a grade A+ SIMP, Identity Porn)

The Twin Jade Problem by bonyenne (T, 22k, WangXian, LWJ & LXC, Getting Together, Modern AU, College/University, comedic misunderstandings, Miscommunication, Yes a little bit of angst BUT IT IS RESOLVED (relatively) quickly, POV Multiple, POV Third Person Limited, Happy endings for all involved, Humor)

(Planning the Day) To Meet You by Bettydice (E, 61k, WangXian, Modern AU, College/University, Mutual Pining, WWX raises A-Yuàn, minimum angst, MAXIMUM GAY, Self-indulgent fluff, Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, POV LWJ, Happy Ending, Getting Together, Falling In Love, Masturbation, Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, Anal Sex, Intercrural Sex)

the earthquake in the room by phnelt (E, 39k, WangXian, College/University, Modern: No Powers, Canada, Getting Together, Mentions of lwj/others, inter-faculty romance, strangers to lovers to frenemies to lovers, mostly book characterisation)

Stumbling Into You by Magnolia822 (E, 39k, WangXian, College/University, Modern AU, Getting Together, Friends to Lovers, Practice Kissing, Bisexuality, Coming Out, New York City, Denial of Feelings, Mutual Pining, Hand Jobs, Jealousy, Light Angst, Fluff and Smut, Slow Burn, Past WWX/MM, Underage Drinking, Recreational Drug Use, Family Dynamics, Falling In Love, Found Family, Unsafe Sex, Minor Character Death, Grief/Mourning)

The epic college romance between Wei Ying and Lan Zhan by KizuKatana (E, 58k, wangxian, modern, college/university au, Guest-starring the belated but incendiary sexual awakening of Lan Zhan, 3rd person pov, Su She is hyperfixated on Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan does his best to pretend Su She doesn't exist, Wei Ying isn't even pretending he really doesn't notice Su She exists, MianMian exists and is awesome, implied offscreen wangxian sex, First Time, Lan Zhan's Horny Grip, Lan Zhan does not know what hit him and yet somehow he still realizes it before Wei Ying, canon wangxian dynamics, Lan Zhan starts off annoyed at Wei Ying, But quickly discovers both his competency kink and a caretaking kink, Genius WWX)

in ever deepening degrees by typefortydeductions (E, 26k, wangxian, modern, college/university au, Mutual Pining, Fluff and Angst, Dom/sub, Non-Binary NHS, trans LSZ, Smut, lil bit of genderplay)

~*~

11. (disclaimer: i appreciate the effort it takes to write every fic, and regardless of /my/ personal preference, the authors and many people love all kinds of fics obviously) so! may i ask for stories that contain some switching, but still have ****good**** novel characterization of lwj and wwx? i usually filter them out entirely due to preference (i mean yeah yiling laozu hot but he's still wei ying) and i feel like im missing out on some good stuff. thank you! (if d/s then dom lwj ofc!)

Not sure if these fit the bill, but they always read as cql but with novel characterizations. And they are so good. Post-cql setting for both:

out in the garden, there's things you hid away by saltyfeathers (E, 121k, WangXian, Possession, Animal Death, mass death event, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt(s), lotta hurt lotta comfort, wwx-centric, unfortunately there's also a bodily fluids warning, just like a lot of bodily fluids, there is sex and it is all in the last chapter, Serious Injuries, Angst with a Happy Ending, Post canon)

and

Boy Trouble, We've Got Double by saltyfeathers (E, 59k, WangXian, Post-Canon, Case Fic, betrothed to someone else, Pining, Unresolved Sexual Tension, WWX POV, Protective wwx, WWX centric, explicit stuff only happens between wangxian, (or wwx and his own hand), Masturbation, Alcohol, Consensual Non-Consent, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, straight boy WWX) both by saltyfeathers. A lot of angst in these! All of their Wangxian fics I've read are soooo good.

The Strength to Hold Him by Toshokanin (E, 7k, WangXian, Post-Canon, PWP, Porn with Feelings, Tender, horny, Bottom LWJ/Top WWX, Rimming, Blow Jobs, Light Bondage, Anal Sex, A hint of sex magic, Dual Cultivation, Overstimulation, a soupçon of sex tears, Aftercare, Established Relationship)

~*~

12. in the mood for fics where the whipping caused lwj to suffer permanent consequences (more severe than the three years of "seclusion" + permanent scars). bonus points if he dies because of it

Despair by AmiraAlzilu (M, 3k, wangxian, LXC & LWJ, LQR & LWJ, LXC & LQR, major character death, Angst, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Grieving LXC, Grieving LQR, LQR Is So Done, Dead LWJ, Dead WWX)

Restart from the End by EmBlu (IcyDeath) (G, 72k, wangxian, major character death, resurrection, role reversal, canon divergence, yiling wei sect au, angst, hurt/comfort,  hurt LWJ, angry WWX, WIP)

the map of days by everythingispoetry (M, 20k, wangxian, canon divergence, angst, hurt/comfort, permanent injury, recovery, disability, parenthood, character study, 13 years of WWX's death)

the anteroom of golden age by everythingispoetry (M, 92k, wangxian, Canon Divergence, Disability, Recovery, Mental Health Issues, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Families of Choice, Developing Relationship) Ah I just realised for #12 that the story I recced is actually the sequel to the map of days which you already had listed 🤦‍♀️ however it can be read as a stand-alone which is what I had done as I didn’t realise it was part of a series. anteroom focuses on wangxian and is set after mo manor, whereas the first story is lwj-centric and set during the immediate aftermath of the whipping and takes place during the 13 years of wwx being dead.

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13. Do you know any fics similar to concord by deastar??

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14. Hello! ITMF any canon-era stories which focus heavily on spells or the more magical side of cultivation? Could be a curse gone awry, WWX creating a bunch of spells, the juniors attending a mysticism class, etc. Thank you thank you!

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15. Hello, itmf for heavy angst due to misunderstandings between WWX and LWJ like something where LWJ doesn't trust WWX which upsets WWX. Would you please suggest 3 or 4 fictions like that? Thank you in advance. @paraffin22

我的皇后是農民 | sowing seeds in the cold palace by sweetlolixo (E, 78k, WIP, WangXian, Imperial Palace, Emperor LWJ, Imperial Consort WWX, Farmer WWX, Angst, Romance, Wingman LJY, Wife-chasing-LWJ, Arranged Marriage, Best Boy A-Yuan, not LWJ friendly) not bcuz trust issues b/w them, but super agnsty; i cried so much

Concord by Deastar (T, 41k, WangXian, Arranged Marriage, Gūsū Lán Sect Rules, Depression, Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending) This is a seriously angsty fic because of LWJ's misunderstandings of WWX and he definitely doesn't trust him. Not sure if that's what they're looking for but it broke me quite a few times.

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16. may i ask for fics similar to this one? (It's we that you are for by Vir_Abelasan)

to quote the author's note: One of my biggest kink is for CR study arc wwx to have a teacher like post-timeskip lwj - just someone who would actually take his curiosities and ideas seriously and build a structure around that instead of just trying to stuff him into an ill-fitting, existing structure. [doesn't have to be teacher lwj]

In Walls of Glass by Comfect (T, 43k, LQR & WWX, WangXian, XiCheng, Good Uncle LQR, Teacher LQR, Canon Divergence, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Fix-It, Butterfly Effect, JC friendly, Family Feels, Cultivation Theory, POV LQR, Seriously the only WWX Bashing is in the first chapter or so and is canonical in LQR’s head, Initial WWX Bashing, Eventual WWX Appreciation, JC appreciation)

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17. hello!!! hope you’re having a great day!! for the next ITMF, I would like to see if there are more fics like Confusion, with the immortal cultivators in modern era! @darlingjunebug

不忘 | Don’t Forget by dragongirlG (E, 50k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Time Travel, Reincarnation, Fix-It of Sorts, Identity Porn, Social Media, Devotion, Reunions, Feelings, Family, Angst with a Happy Ending, Light Bondage, Names, References to Canon, Modern Era, Artist WWX, Sexual Content, Pining, POV Multiple, Additional Warnings In Author’s Note)

A Grand Immortal Made Me Soup by s6115 (G, 5k, JC & WWX, wangxian, canon divergence, Immortal JC, LWJ, Immortality, Alternate Universe, Yunmeng Duo Days, Twin Prides of Yúnmèng Feels, JC & WWX Reconciliation, Jiang Cheng used his immortality to grow and mature, Wei Ying finally reincarnates and the immortal Jiang Cheng isn't going to fail this time, Jiāng Yànlí's Pork Rib and Lotus Root Soup, Good Sibling JC)

Guide by Rainewritesfanfics (G, <1k, LXC & WWX, LXC & LWJ, wangxian, modern, reincarnation au, Immortality, Brothers, Immortal LXC, Immortal LWJ, Reincarnated WWX, Family)

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If you didn’t get an answer to your ask here, don’t forget to make use of @mdzs-kinkmeme and MDZS KINK MEME on Dreamwidth. Authors actually do use them for ideas. You may get what you order!***Your prompt doesn’t have to be kink! Fluff, crack, whatever - it’s all good!***

[sunspearesque]

The Bereaved Dunes

Summary:

In the Bereaved Dunes, where shadows weep, A tale of love and sorrow, bound to keep. Elia, my sun, in your memory I tread, Through sands of despair, where tears are shed. I should've taken you far away, my dear, To Dorne's warm embrace, where skies are clear. But fate had other plans, a cruel twist of hand, In the Bereaved Dunes, where sorrows expand.

A/N: I've often wondered, 'How did Oberyn receive the news of Elia's death? How did his mind grapple with such a profound tragedy?' This curiosity served as my inspiration for writing this piece. It is crucial to delve into the pivotal event that laid the foundation for all of his subsequent actions. This prologue marks the genesis of my upcoming series, 'Whispers of Vendetta,' wherein Elia's death remains canon (and I made use of some famous lines from ASOIAF books), though I've allowed myself creative freedom in depicting Oberyn's reaction and the events that follow. Big thanks to my sweet, sweet friend @palioom for her unwavering support <3 I hope this piece meets your liking xoxo

Rating: M

CW: angst; canon character death (Elia Martell); grief/mourning; sibling loss; brief description of death/injury

WC: 1.6K

Read on AO3 • moodboard

283 AC

"We cannot simply remain still… spineless, awaiting news of her safety and that of her children!" Oberyn's voice rang out, filled with fervor, as he directed his words at his elder brother.

Doran, vexed by his brother's persistence, hissed back in retort, "I've entrusted four of our most skilled soldiers with her protection, Oberyn! They will ensure her safety. Cease your incessant hovering!"

Oberyn's eyes bore into Doran's, smoldering with anger and worry, "They had better return with her unharmed, or I shall part their heads from their bodies myself!"

Twelve agonizing hours passed without any word of Elia. Silence hung heavy in the air, and Oberyn's unease deepened. He understood that the Dornish princess was not their highest priority, knowing that no one would make her safety their concern—not even her husband, the father of her children.

Her husband, that fucking bastard.

I should have spirited her and her two children away to Dorne the moment she sent for me. The instant he crowned that Stark girl as the queen of love and beauty, forsaking his own wife. I should have sensed the despair in her ever-saddened eyes. She sat there, abased and broken, her belly swollen with his child. Those smudged words in her letter, likely stained by her tears, should have served as reason enough to bring her back to Dorne, where she truly belonged among her people and her land.

Elia was no viper; she was more akin to a dove—gentle, serene, fragile yet resplendent, graceful, and generous to a fault. She was too generous for the rapacious beasts that surrounded her. Here in Dorne, she walked among vipers, none of them would ever harm her. In King's Landing, she had found herself surrounded by dragons and lions… who had torn her asunder, both figuratively and literally.

Every hour drifted by like a languid stream, sowing a tempest of dread deep within Oberyn's core. Why does no one share in my fear? Neither her kin, nor our people dwelling here. Why does the world remain unperturbed? Am I truly the only one who understands the depth of their malice? Their hatred for us? For her?

Oberyn paced his brother's solar ceaselessly, a restless specter, his sword ever-present at his side, primed for any declaration. Doran, seated nearby, muttered words beneath his breath, prayers? curses? who knows; their nature concealed in the shroud of his quiet contemplation.

Suddenly, the reverberation of frantic footfalls pierced the air, accompanied by the panting of a disheveled soldier. "My... My Princes, Your Highness," the soldier stammered, his voice trembling as tears welled up in his eyes. Words eluded him, his courage shattered. "They have… they've killed the King... they've taken the Princess's life... and her children's." Oberyn lunged forward, seizing the young man by the throat, his rage ignited like wildfire, "I will sever your vile tongue if such words pass your lips again!" he hissed, fury coursing through every fiber of his being. How dare he utter such blasphemy?

Doran shouted at him, a frantic plea to prevent his brother from inflicting harm. Oberyn's grip on the soldier's neck tightened, threatening to snap it in half, "how dare you speak her name with such lies!" Oberyn's face was but a hair's breadth away from the man's.

"Oberyn!" Doran's voice boomed louder now, snapping his brother from the abyss of his wrath.

Reluctantly, Oberyn released the man, who fell to his knees, coughing and gasping, muttering apologies amidst his tears, "I apologize, my prince... I apologize... I apologize," he babbled frantically, his form trembling.

Oberyn stood frozen in place, the world around him becoming a cacophony of muffled sounds. Blood surged in his ears and pounded in his head, rendering his limbs feeble and numb. The frantic movements of those around him and his older brother's inquiries and orders blurred into obscurity, leaving only the sensation of his own scalding skin, burning him alive. He longed to rip his garments from his body, to tear his flesh asunder, as the air grew oppressively thick and sweltering, suffocating him as if he were submerged beneath water. The tingling sensation in his fingertips and the throbbing pain in his right eye pierced his consciousness. It was as though he were aflame from within, feeling the molten flow of his blood beneath his searing skin.

Their shared life flashed before his eyes in an instant. He remembered her fragility, how he cradled her in his arms and heart. Those days when he pushed her wheelchair with gusto, eliciting laughter from her. She was a year his senior, yet her fragility and ailment demanded his physical protection. In turn, she fortified his spirit, offering solace in a world that sought to alter him. He visited her chamber daily, sharing tales of their parents and elder sibling, and she listened, offering comfort and understanding. He was her bastion, and she was his serenity. He was her army, and she was his peace. They were inseparable, and the notion of existence without one another seemed unfathomable.

The sun no longer bathed Dorne in its usual warmth on the day her remains returned to their homeland. That Dornish sun, once radiant, now dawned upon a lifetime burdened by sorrow. She had been his sun, his compass… and he, the unwavering sunflower, had turned to follow her every step. But now, he stood alone, adrift in a sea of grief and rage.

The maesters had begged him to avert his gaze, especially from her visage—or what remained of it, to be precise. They wished to preserve her memory, to shield the image of her serenity from the abhorrent tragedy she had endured. Oberyn, however, bore the weight of her demise squarely upon his own shoulders. He harbored the belief that it was his heedlessness, his momentary acquiescence to his brother’s commands, that had led to her tragic end. And as penance, he needed to engrave the gruesome sight of her shattered skull and broken mandible to his brain, so that the searing memory might forever scar his psyche.

He craved the pain, the unrelenting thirst for vengeance, for it was this anguish that would serve as a relentless reminder. He needed her tragic fate etched into the very fiber of his being, so that if ever a trace of empathy for these monsters dared to creep into his thoughts, the vivid memory of what they had stolen from him—the essence of his sweet Elia—would rip through his soul, leaving him wounded, but resolute in his pursuit of justice.

The absence of a sibling is an ineffable experience… alexithymic; one that defies the boundaries of expression. You see, a person's existence in this world is akin to that of a tree; the parents, the grandparents, and all the ancestors serve as the unwavering stem, the robust trunk that grounds and anchors one's very being. Your children, they are the intricate roots, extensions of your essence that traverse the world, existing as a continuation of you, and you, in turn, live life through them. But siblings... they are the branches.

To lose a sibling is to lose a part of yourself, a limb perhaps, one that may not kill you but certainly inflicts the agony of phantom pain. It lingers, this spectral ache, an ever-present reminder that punctuates your happiest moments, like a persistent thorn in your side, incessantly prodding you to remember what you have forfeited. It leaves behind a lingering melancholy, not potent enough to suffocate you to death, yet substantial enough to hinder the prospect of living life to its fullest.

But how does one even go about living life in the semblance of normalcy?

For a sibling is more than a mere bearer of shared genes; they are witnesses to your enduring connection with stubborn parents, companions in the labyrinthine maze of childhood, fellow travelers through the terrain of trauma. They are the ones who have beheld every facet of your being, every iteration of your existence.

In the years that followed, he embarked on a ceaseless flight, fleeing from her shadow, from the haunting memory of their love. Her name, once a melody on his tongue, now tasted acrid, too laden with pain to be cherished or recollected. His heart, once a sanctuary of devotion, was now filled with a venomous brew of hatred, anger, and an insatiable thirst for retribution. He yearned to hunt down every man across the Seven Kingdoms, to rend their flesh from bone with his own bare hands. Yet, deep within, he nurtured a more profound loathing—for himself, for his own frailty and cowardice.

Her death had sapped his strength, of that he was certain. He could no longer gaze upon the sun without wincing, nor could he behold the graceful palm trees that adorned every corner of Dorne without feeling his gut wrenching, as though it were on the verge of rupture. Even the taste of figs, her favored fruit, had become an agony to bear. And when he cast his eyes upon his own brother, he could not help but wish it had been he who suffered such a wretched fate, rather than his sweet Elia.

On bended knee, he knelt beside her sandstone tomb, on the eve of his departure from Dorne, where he would spend the impending years in solitude, far removed from the land they had once shared. Whispering amidst tears that welled in his eyes and his aching heart, And unbowed, unbent, and unbroken, you must rest, my Sun.

[thegleamingmoon]

'As a part of life,

You reside in me since eternity'

☘

Draped in soft pink silk with a little red lotus tucked behind her ear, minimal jewellery of pearls and corals adorned her frame while her long and wavy ebony black hair were left open. Lakshmi, the enchanting lady of Vaikuntha still looked like the personified auspiciousness that she was. A sweet smile played on those delicate lips of her jubilant self who was seated on the thousand hooded serpent in solitude.

‘ Like the warm breath in my chest,

I'll weave you (into me) with excitement. ’

Her silver anklets tinkled in soft melody as she slightly dipped her lotus feet in the sublime waters of the milky ocean which flowed in tranquillity, ever basking in the joyous presence of Harini. A small naamam shone on her golden forehead as she lost herself in the thoughts of her lord, feeling the bliss of Narayana, whose divine name sang through every pore of Vishnuloka and herself. Wasn't he, her radiant sunshine. Her very soul ?

"Praneshvari"

She knew he was near as she felt the cool breeze rush to her making her heart flutter in happiness as her gaze lowered to her feet in bashfulness. The deep, soothing voice melted into her ears as two well built arms gently hold her by her delicate shoulders and she stood facing her beloved lord ever resplendent in his Pitambaram, devoid of the usual crown on his head and yet looking every inch majestic.

‘ With a smile of seven colours like a visible rainbow,

You sparkle in my sky. ’

‘ In each word, you became a river.

In each gaze, you became a moonbeam. ’

Srinivasa couldn't help but admire, cherishing the way she looked at him with those innocently mischievous eyes of hers. Large, lotus-like that surpassed the depths of the oceans, gleaming with unceasing devotion and strength. She undoubtedly was his precious golden lotus. His sweet enigma.

‘ Like the sea where the waves sing,

Hey beauty with innocent eyes,

My heart keeps searching slowly (for you)’

The breeze made her curls sway, framing her moon-like face as his heart skipped a beat. And while gently pushing the strands of her hair behind her ears,he pressed his soft,red lips against her tender forehead. Blissfully adoring his darling queen as her soft cheeks turned into a deep shade of crimson under his loving gaze.

Too stunned to speak, the blushing lady hid herself in the warm embrace of the raincloud-hued one. And he only held her tighter, he was never letting her go. Treasuring her in his arms to be with her forevermore.

☘

‘ Like rain drizzling in me,

Like the warmth of sunlight touching my eyes,

Constantly... is your love. ’

‘ Like a breeze embracing my chest,

Like the river's gurgling flow everyday,

Hey beauty... this is love. ’

******

Image taken from Pinterest.

Had written this long back for Wattpad. Found a lot of mistakes and choppy writing *laughs* so thought of editing this a bit and posting it here as well. The lines in bold are some translated lines of a beautiful Malayalam song that inspired me to write this. I will link the song and the translation below. Thanks for reading <3

Jeevamshamayi - from Theevandi (2018)

Translation

*******

Mentions - @harinishivaa @houseofbreadpakoda @ramayantika @krsnaradhika @kaal-naagin @khushireadsandrambles

Sorry if I forgot anyone.

[femuirdris]

Resplendent Adult Tiki is a fantastic design and I'm SO hyped for it in this essay I will

So first of all, I know the álfar themes are a bit overused on female resplendents HOWEVER miss Tiki is always sleepy!

And Dökkálfar works especially well because when she was a child, she was suffering from nightmares of becoming an evil dragon :(

As TheShadowKing66 pointed out, her top is taken basically directly from Rearmed!Plumeria. HOWEVER... she also has design elements reminiscent of course from her base art, as well as Naga! (The cut of the top/collar, the little spiky floral skirt bits)

And LOOK AT HER WINGS those are GRIMA EYES 👁️ in them! And the wings come to a point like a Plegian crown! phantom-miria also pointed out when I was screaming in our DMs that her boots look like a Plegian mage's

And the parallelism between the álfar and dragons is just SO good... especially since this is the Divine Dragon, VOICE OF NAGA, wearing nightmare realm and Plegian-inspired clothing. It's basically saying:

Dökkálfar = Fell Dragons, Ljósálfar = Divine Dragons

AND LEST WE FORGET Lucina—who has the Mark of Naga in her eyeball from a pact her ancestors made with Naga, and who seeks out Tiki's help as the Voice of Naga to defeat Grima in the game's timeline—has a butterfly motif in Awakening

On a different note, I've seen a lot of people complaining about how many álfar designs we've gotten, and it's true! We've gotten 20 álfar total (10 of each), all women, of the 55 women designs (versus 38 males). But, I think the fairy favoritism is starting to wane based on the last few months of designs. Plus, we have the possibility of designs from Yggdrasil and, of course, Vanaheimr. I would love to see a Resplendent Stahl in fairy garb since he's always smeepy, or Forrest since he's very fashion-forward. But for what it is now, it looks like we're starting to get some diversity back (especially compared to the earlier half of the year. We had 3 álfar in a row before this LOL...)

Anyway, I love Resplendent!Adult!Tiki. She is gorgeous, and I love how she has elements combining Dökkálfheimr, Plegia, and her roots as a Divine Dragon. Thank you for coming to my TED Talk. Here's the Twitter version if you prefer.

[lorei-writes]

Lost Nightingale

Full artwork by @wordycheeseblob can be found below the story.

Chevalier x OC (OC Chart: Esther) Romance / Comfort / Political Intrigue (hinted) ~2.4k

A story that got out of hand. I can't thank Saki @wordycheeseblob enough for the wonderful gift she's prepared <3 So... I just finished this as efficiently as I could. I can only hope my care shows.

Author's Notes: The fall of Amber did not mean the fall of its nobility. However, the ongoing serfdom proved to be a fertile ground for discontent. An Obsidian-backed uprising of Amberian peasantry occurred, leading to near complete annihilation of the former Amberian noble houses. Being of both Amberian and peasant origins, Viva and Esther face backlash from the Rhodolitian royal court.

Additionally, Lady Lavigne is briefly brought up -- she's a character previously introduced in Roots of Deception.

Content Warnings: none

Esther watched as Chevalier stood by the desk, shoulders tense and frame rigid. He was the weary sort of stern, gaze gliding over the documents delivered in his absence as his brow bravely resisted furrowing. The information, however, must have been like a spring shower to a dirt road – for the ground to split was inevitable, very much as it was impossible for Esther to stay there and merely watch. She approached him, the soldier, the knight, the commander, the diplomat, the prince… The man smothered underneath all those layers of titles, stunned by her undoing the clasps of his cloak and taking its weight onto herself.

The ballroom buzzed, idle gossip and the talk of daring ventures both swarming low above the heads of lords and ladies in attendance. A thousand candles kept the golden chandelier aglow, each flame burning twice – once, over the wick, and then voraciously through its resplendent reflection. Molten wax flowed down their sides, few stray drops tainting the marble floor. Heels plinked like glass. The crowd split as conversations prematurely met their end, noble hands latching onto equally noble arms to be escorted away.

One thing, however, remained unchanged.

“Your appeal has been rejected. If that is all you had to say, clear out.” Chevalier’s voice shattered any frozen hope still present in the inquiring stares, the last of ice being crushed to none under the weight of his words. His eyes turned chilling, frost advanced to claim any grounds for objections before they had as much as managed to sprout. Wayward snowdrops still flourished under the nourishment of youthful ignorance, however. The nobleman suppressed a shudder, his fist clenched.

“Your Highness, excuse my impertinence, but I implore you reconsider the —”

“The decision is definite.”

The man withered at once, the initial flush over his cheeks fading rapidly on behalf of a ghastly white, promptly progressing into bloodlessness. Caught unprepared in an imaginary blizzard, he stood, lips trembling helplessly, icy fear of his own creation shackling him to the floor. Chevalier turned his face away, a whisper of a sigh nestling in his throat.

Voices began to die down, hushed themselves and huddled closer to the walls. Violins, cellos, flutes, clarinets, oboes, and any other instruments that felt courageous enough – at first quietly, politely, they merely swept the floor with their sound, slowly growing more brazen with each released note. Another type of excitement entered the air. A woman approached Chevalier, the troubled smile on her face easing some of his frost.

“Are you done now?” he asked, faintest traces of weariness lingering in the crease between his brows.

Esther nodded. “Thank you for waiting for me… And may that be the son of count de la Roche?”

“I — Yes, my l-lady,” the nobleman stuttered, and stuttered only harder once Chevalier put his arm around her waist. Esther let her gaze drift from her fiance, to the stunned nobleman… to one of the ladies stationed by the wall, whose gaze seemed to pierce her. Whatever she could observe over the face half-hidden behind a folding fan, Esther didn’t dwell on it much. She clasped her hands.

“I think I may owe you an apology, Sir.” With practised honeyed sweetness, Esther enveloped the scene in the warmest of her smiles, thwarting the blizzard to announce a spring thaw. “I’m afraid I’m not as competent as my fiance or any of his brothers. I hope the list of missing documents I’ve prepared did not cause any confusion? I’m certain the petition will be reconsidered once those are submitted, although I cannot speak to the result of that.”

“F-fiance? I was unaware.”

Esther clung to the composure hinging on the upturned corners of her mouth. “Yes. We got officially engaged five months ago.”

“I see. M-my congratulations, Your Highness —”

Chevalier’s grip at her waist tightened, the nobleman and the noblewoman fading away as she searched his face for the answers. Her eyes widened as they often did, eternally awestruck with the most mundane of mysteries hidden in any of his mannerisms, studiously examining the surface of his indifference. Esther watched him, and in turn, he watched over her; Chevalier measured any wrinkles in her features, took in the shade of her complexion, made it a point to pay attention to the state of the whites of her eyes…

Esther leaned into her love’s warmth, some of her worries getting tangled in the periwinkle tulle flowing down the length of her legs. She let them go, however, one steady breath interlaced with one barbed murmur at a time. The music grew louder, although never loud enough for the buzz to be snuffed out. The dance began.

***

A thousand flames shrunk to one, a stud of a wick submerged in tallow sitting proudly in the cresset. Thin light licked along the walls, its feathery tongues just barely swiping the winding staircase, lacquered wood of the old bannister sighing heavily under the faintest touch. Impatient footfall rushed ahead, climbed its way up to the very ceiling in a whispered orchestra of ricochets.

“Mind your step. The servants’ passages are rarely maintained past the base point of usability.”

“Thank —”

Chevalier caught Esther by the waist, her foot slipping as if on command. The flame trembled on behalf of her smile, a weary sigh crawling out of her lungs. “I’m sorry.”

“Just be more careful.”

“You know this is not what I’m sorry about.”

“Do I.” Chevalier’s voice echoed up the staircase. The carrier of light, he had Esther walk in front of himself, her hand clutching the bannister as she stepped just at the edge of darkness. It was fine, however; it was not the climb that bothered her.

… wench…

Have you heard of the uprising in Obsidian?

They say peasants slaughtered their own nobility… From Amber… a single golden coin a head…

She’s got to like the smell of blood.

… so that’s what we have for a Queen?

I bet they can’t even read, not to mention write…

… perhaps the king has other uses for her…

That twin? Do you think they switch them sometimes? Surely, they wouldn’t mind.

… That beast, probably no other would touch him.

The walls buzzed, each brick a hive saturated with syrup brewed on waspish remarks. Esther stared ahead, lifted her skirts, disregarded the throbbing in her feet and pressed onwards, scolding herself all the while. She knew things wouldn’t be easy. So… Why?

Why?

The mouth of the staircase spilled into a – narrowly avoiding a title of narrow – corridor, crisp evening air seeping inside through the small windows, a thin coat of rust coating the iron hinges on the frames. The space smelled of musty disuse, moist stench of mould wafting from the old wallpaper. Chevalier scrunched up his nose. Their fingers interlaced, he pulled on Esther’s hand, although to no effect; Esther stood anchored, those mellow eyes of hers widening yet once again, cautious of the oval imprints in the thick layer of velvety dust padding the sills. She ran her fingers through it.

“Esther.”

“Aside from the anti-monarchy faction…” She shook her head, a single wayward curl falling over her forehead. “Do you think they’re connected to Lady Lavigne?”

Chevalier did not reply. The flame painted his face in shadows; hardly brighter than dark starshine sieved in through dirt-covered windows, what little was there of its lustre sinking at the bottom of his eyes. Esther stared at him, intensely enough to evaporate any doubts or uncertainty.

“De la Roche outlines many particulars regarding Lavigne’s imprisonment that shouldn’t be known to the public eye. His petition is likely to be written off as an act of philanthropy, however, it is highly dubious he has no agenda of his own,” Chevalier recounted. He pulled on her hand again and they resumed walking, the floor creaking as they did.

“That would explain Gilbert’s visit.”

“He certainly isn’t here to hear about the working conditions of his spies.” With a scornful snort, Chevalier turned the old bronze knob, the door giving in to reveal the furthest corner of the residential wing of the palace. Esther breathed the clear air with relief, the old passage – purposefully left unattended, as she surmised – closing behind them as if it had been but a nightmare to begin with.

All that remained was, in comparison, just a short walk, just a few carpeted staircases and safe brightly lit corridors, a few moments she would later be hardly able to recall. For Esther, it happened in less than a snap of fingers; one second his warmth was there, clinging to her skin, and then it ceased, disappeared. It slipped away. The knob turned again and with it, they revisited the dark, their very own bedroom appearing rather desolate when devoid of light. Something scratched the wall. Chevalier marched onwards.

“Bambi,” he called. The shuffling stopped on behalf of a content whimper, a newly alight candle enveloping the beast in its glow. The dog wagged his tail before lying his head down again, the bedding underneath him having moved from its original place by the bed up to the very door. Esther crouched down to tug at his ears.

“Sorry, Bambi. We can’t have you bite any nobles now, even if they are mean,” she whispered and offered him some pets, more whimpers following… But her eyes were elsewhere.

Esther watched as Chevalier stood by the desk, shoulders tense and frame rigid. He was the weary sort of stern, gaze gliding over the documents delivered in his absence as his brow bravely resisted furrowing. The information, however, must have been like a spring shower to a dirt road – for the ground to split was inevitable, very much as it was impossible for Esther to stay there and merely watch. She approached him, the soldier, the knight, the commander, the diplomat, the prince… The man smothered underneath all those layers of titles, stunned by her undoing the clasps of his cloak and taking its weight onto herself.

“That’s been enough work for today,” Esther wished in a whisper, eyes cast down. Almost apologetically, her palm pressed against his heart. “Let it go until morning.”

His fingers hooked below her chin. Chevalier forced her to look at him.

“Will you?”

Something flickered over her face, tied her lips shut and had her avert her gaze. Esther stared at the collar of his shirt, at his neck, his Adam’s apple, dared to venture up to the corner of his jaw. But no further. Chevalier let his hand fall by his side.

“Will you help me out of my dress?” Esther asked.

Metal clinked against the wood as the candleholder came to rest atop the vanity. “Then sit.”

“It’d be more comfortable if —”

“Do not think I have not realised that your feet hurt.”

The mirror seemed to have harnessed the flame, diffused glow softly enveloping their reflections. Esther sat, her back straight and hands folded in her lap, face unusually – although openly – troubled. She sneaked a glimpse at herself, or whoever was wearing that disguise. Gloves fell on the table in front of her, goosebumps raising over her skin as decisive hands swept her hair aside. Blonde locks tumbled over her shoulder, rough fingers brushing against the nape of her neck, spilling lightning down the length of her spine… and so he began working on the lacing at her back, dexterous hands pulling and tugging at the silken ribbon, the complexities of various knots falling apart. Esther plucked the decorative pins out of her half updo, wayward curls rushing into her face. The jewels and precious metals she had worn returned to their casket. And he had done nothing to upset her. He had done nothing to betray her trust. He had not even said a word she could doubt… Chevalier merely dragged the fabric down, yanked at it so hard Esther could almost hear the seams groan. She looked up.

Esther could not resist the mirror anymore, and into the mirror she did fall, to be completely captured by her lover’s gaze. His thumb stroked her cheek, powder falling off to reveal faint freckles. Chevalier did not seem to want anything more, his touch fading too soon yet again, cold rushing in as if winter itself sharpened its icy teeth to sink them into her flesh and —

“Would you help me out of my corset too?”

Chevalier nodded. Slowly, like a tiger stalking his prey, he leaned down further. His breath spilled over her skin, so hot it melted away any frost. Esther sucked the air in sharply. He merely watched, the laces needing little prompting.

“If there’s something you want to say, say it,” Chevalier demanded from over her shoulder and her lips pursed in response. Esther stared as he smoothed her hair down with a gentle sort of awkwardness, usually reserved for terrified animals.

“I —” she hesitated. He just watched. As still as a statue, his eyes never once moved away from her reflection. Esther searched for the right words, articulated them as if tasting each for poison, “If… If people did not approach you with fear… would you still choose me, even knowing what trouble it would cause?”

Chevalier seized her by the chin, just short of causing her pain. He forced her to look at him, at him in the flesh and bones, and blood that had turned cold to then boil in his veins, rampant bewilderment leaving behind only scorched thoughts. His lips remained firmly sealed, yet… his grip loosened, apologetically. Esther put her hand over his.

“That’s a pointless hypothetical.” You know the answer.

“Is it?” She brought his hand away from her face, absent-mindedly tracing the lines over his palm with her thumb, soothing his callouses. She did not dare look away, did not dare weigh her words lightly and let go of the flicker moving over his face, the slither of truth she so needed for herself. “I can’t read minds the way you do, Chevalier.”

Esther did not shy from him, but he could not bear being seen. Certainty interlaced with hesitation, all his talents, his strength, knowledge and accomplishments fading away at one meagre question. Chevalier leaned down, touched his forehead to hers so that her eyes would close and his heart could pretend it was not exposed.

“Your fearlessness is not what makes you precious to me.”

Esther held back her breath.

“I do not require for your presence to be favourable to the state. To keep you by my side is just my selfish wish.”

She put her arms around his neck – and he hoisted her up, out of her gown and the riches, bared down just to the thin linen chemise and her freckled face. She was the trill of nightingales, the hard thudding of her heart chirping him a promise, assuring him that she’d stay.

“And you too are my beloved,” Esther whispered against his lips before claiming them as hers, the foreign lilt being replaced by another kind of melody.

--

--

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[celestialbruise]

Fem ranwan sickfic,,,, fem ranwan guardian angel cwn ,,,,,

thank you sm for another amazing request! I hope you enjoy<3 this one was strange? cathartic? for me to write, maybe because I'm sick at the moment....also guardian angel cwn, my beloved🥺

(I wrote the ending/ilnness as sort of ambiguous, so any and all interpretations are welcome!)

-

Mo Ran couldn’t stop coughing. 

Mo Ran was sick and she couldn’t get better. 

This malady sat inside of her chest, an unresectable tumor, festering and raw. It spread through her veins like morphine, chilling and ruinous. It hung in her skull, sat inside heavy and thick and inescapable, consuming her every thought and filling her head with dark, viscous pain. 

So many times it had seemed as if she would die, only for inexplicably a lifesaving, last breath to be pushed into her lungs, and another and another.

But the worst part was the solitude. Mo Ran, for as long as she could remember, had been utterly, achingly alone. 

In the midst of fever and delirium, a figure appeared. Mo Ran’s heart, for a moment, stilled, like it had so many times before. But this time, instead of resuming its feeble, fragile beat, it began to pound rapturously, the sound riotous through her ears. 

Mo Ran had never seen an angel before.

Because surely, that is what this person must be. She’s gorgeous. Divine. Resplendent in her pristine, pure white robes, with a halo of pure gold alight above her head, while radiant, ethereal light seemingly coming from heaven itself bleeds from her every pore. 

Entranced, Mo Ran watches as the woman grows closer, refusing to blink, despite how her eyes stung against the sterile air. Her body sang for a summer breeze and the golden light of sunshine, protesting that decay it suffered under these buzzing fluorescents. 

Phoenix eyes enveloped her in their gaze. Mo Ran felt unspeakably warm, held inside of those deep, liquid amber pools that softened with pain as another bout of coughs wracked her sickly form. 

“I’m sorry you are in so much pain,” the angel murmured, brushing a cool hand against Mo Ran’s sweat-damp forehead. “I have done what I can to protect you. To heal you.”

The way this angel spoke, with a voice as lulling as a lullaby, made it clear to Mo Ran that this being had been watching over her for a long, long time. Protecting her. Saving her. 

“Thank you,” Mo Ran rasped, then noticing the wings that fluttered softly behind the angel. They were nearly as tall as the woman herself, white and glistening with tiny sparkles, as if a constellation had been used as thread. Mo Ran bet if she had the strength to reach out and touch, they would feel as soft as down. 

“No need,” the angel shook her head. “It is my duty.”

An indescribable, honey-like warmth dripped over Mo Ran’s heart, so foreign, yet wholly welcome, a comforting reprieve from the agony she was so used to illness inflicting on the poor organ. 

“You would only do such a thing,” Mo Ran whispered. “If you were a kind person at heart.”

The angel’s cheeks pinkened as she ducked her head, obviously embarrassed and flustered. Mo Ran was gripped by a fondness the likes of which she had never known before. 

Suddenly, a name made itself known to her, crystallizing inside of her mind.

Chu Wanning.

Her guardian angel. 

She had never really been alone, had she?

“Stay with me, for a while?” Mo Ran asked. “It’s lonely here.”

Chu Wanning’s expression gentled impossibly further, as she took Mo Ran’s outstretched hand. “Alright.”

Blood coagulated in her throat. The vines of this sickness spread through her but the angel’s hand grounded Mo Ran, reminding her of the solace that awaited on the other side. 

“Even if you pass over,” Chu Wanning murmured, as the edges of Mo Ran’s vision began to blacken and blur. “I will be there to lead you toward the light.”

Mo Ran hummed, letting her eyes fall closed. 

And then, the darkness no longer held any pain. 

[yetanotherfanficblog]

Anya and Becky are the couple that no-one saw coming, but most of their classmates and teachers would have to agree it makes all the sense in the world when, after the graduation ceremony for their final year at Eden, Anya runs over to Becky and dips her into a kiss. Even Henry Henderson (Retired, but still spry and often in attendance at graduations and other ceremonies to honor his old students) has to admit, between the impeccable form of the dip and the classic leg pop from Becky, that the whole thing was surprisingly elegant.

As they muddle through college together, they eventually marry. The Blackbell side of the family insists on a massive ceremony at the Cathedral in central Berlint. Anya gladly goes through with it because she knows that pomp and circumstance is important to Becky, or at least her family, and she DOES like feeling like a princess sometimes, but she felt married the second they admitted their feelings to each other, and the only ceremony she really needed was when the two sat in the Forger living room and showed off their rings to Anya’s parents, and Loid and Yor hugged Becky and welcomed their second daughter into their family with tears of joy in their eyes.

Anya’s not necessarily a stranger to the glitz and glamour of the upper class. She navigated Eden, after all, and she was Becky’s best friend for over a decade before they got married, and beyond that, helping Papa with his secret mission often meant rubbing elbows with the upper crust. Still, at heart, she’s still a rowdy little low(er) class urchin, and that doesn’t go away just because she’s married into one of the richest families in Ostania. Luckily, Becky is fully supportive of her gremlin wife. She knows enough sometimes the snobs of the world need to be put in their place. Sometimes they even learn their lesson and become better for it, like Damian and his boyfriends.

So, When Becky and Anya show up to a high society ball together, resplendent in their fancy gowns, the upper crust of Ostania may be subject to strangeness including, but not limited to:

-Becky and Anya dancing the Tango and other lower class dances together, to the horror of half the guests and the delight of the other half

-Anya absolutely charming the help and sneaking plates of hors d'oeuvres - caviar on toast points, crudites, stuff like that - out to their smoke break area.

-Anya, horror of horrors, using her DINNER Fork to eat the SALAD Course!

-Anya encountering a snooty noble disgusted at her commoner manners, asking Anya what family she's even from, and Anya proudly announcing, "Oh, I'm just Rebecca Blackwell's trophy wife!"

-This is generally the point at which Becky swoops and wraps an arm around Anya, smiling sweetly at the noble, "Ah, Baron Franz, how lovely to see you! Is the Baronness here? I havent seen her since the party at Chateau Orleans!"

-Becky says this knowing full well the Baron and Baronness are going through an acrimonious patch thanks to the Baron being caught in a closet at said Chateau with a lady who was very much not the Baronness. Anya is in awe of her wife's sass and quickly demands a high five.

-As the Baron sputters red faced, Becky serenely leads her wife back toward the dance floor, where they once again dominate, waltzing together as if they were made to dance with each other and only each other, the only two people in the room.

-Anya, in the meantime, is thinking fondly of her wife, who always keeps that promise she made on their first day at Eden College, to protect her, no matter what.

Becky enjoys the class and glitz and glamour of their life, but one thing Anya's taught her is that sometimes its nice to get away from the inflated egos and the inflated sense of propriety and expectation and just cut loose. So it is that some nights, instead of going to a fancy ball, they sneak away into the city and head for the Discos.

Becky usually wears a 3 piece suit - partially as a disguise so no-one recognizes her as the heiress of the Blackbell fortune, partially as a tribute to her dear Martha, and partially because both she and Anya really like how she looks in it.

Anya insists on using code names at the Disco - She's Starlight, and dubs Becky Sinatra. Becky indulges her wife.

Whatever their names, they have a rep as one of the best dressed, best dancing couples on the club scene, and when they really get going, half the other dancers on the floor inevitably stop to watch - and cheer them on raucously. They, on the other hand, are only caught up in the music and each other.

When the music dies down, sometimes they don't feel like going home to their big old estate. So instead, they grab a taxi back to a little old hotel. It's a warm summer night, so Anya opens a window and sits down on the couch to let the summer breeze caress her face, and Becky sheds her jacket and rolls up her shirt sleeves and comes over to lie on the couch, her head in Anya's lap.

Sometimes they switch on the TV. Maybe there's a football match, and they reminisce fondly of the time Anya nearly beat Bill, and the Stella Star that was never actually on the line. Maybe it's an episode of Berlint in Love, and Anya giggles as Becky hangs on every word, providing a running commentary on why every romance on the show is doomed to failure.

Sometimes they just sit and enjoy each others' company, speaking in hushed tones from time to time, planning new outings and escapades together, or speaking of the night, of old times, of love.

The Morning after, they leave the hotel and head over to a little apartment just a short walk away, and enter to Anya's Papa in the kitchen, flipping a fresh batch of pancakes from a griddle onto a waiting plate. He smiles softly at them, but it's Anya's Mama who rushes over and envelops both of her babies in a crushing bear hug, the same hug she gives them every time she sees them, that she's always given Anya every day she can since the day she realized Anya was, and always had been, her real daughter.

Loid comes out from the kitchen with a platter loaded down with breakfast food, and sets it down on the table to give out hugs of his own - a little softer, but no less loving. Yor pours coffee - with a dash of milk for Loid (he doesnt really need it for his stomach anymore, but he’s come to like it), and plenty of sugar and cream for her girls - and the little family sits down to eat and laugh and talk together, each of them never taking for granted that after all those years of doubt and pain, they really were a real family all along, and every day, making the most of it.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Sticking Point 3

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon, possible violence, illness, death, bullying, ableism, and other elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are sent in the place of your ailing sister to marry a stranger. (Regency AU)

Character: Loki

Note: Work is starting to get pretty busy again.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me &lt;3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

You are left undisturbed for near a day after the news arrives. You should be grateful for the reprieve but you cannot find respite among your unease. 

Edith is gone, your world is splintered, yet this marriage must proceed. Not for your own sake, but for your family's. You expect your father wouldn't be content to have you return to his household. The only benefit to your sister's tragedy is that he was able to rid himself of you.

Doreen informs you that you are to ready for another lunch. You choose a gown of faded peach and a bonnet with a narrow rim and white ribbon. She helps you dress before leaving to look in on your mother.

You look in the mirror and wonder if maybe you were prettier your voice wouldn't matter so much. You pin the brooch with the blue bird just below your neckline. You pretend Edith is there with you, talking you through this. I believe in you, sissy, remember when you stole my cap back from that angry hog?

You wait to be called. You hate to presume or wait around where others might be disturbed by your presence. It isn't Doreen who comes but another servant, a broad steely-haired woman. She bids you out and you follow meekly, gaze straying to the golden frames and painted canvas.

The meal is hosted in the dining hall. A long ebony table with matching chairs. Each seat is upholstered with emerald velvet and capped with curlicued posts. You are shown to yours by Parson to the one reserved for you. 

Your mother sits with her tears hidden behind her fan, not so much as looking in your direction. Doreen stands at her shoulder and offers a handkerchief. You can only hear the reprimand she would issue should you be blubbering so.

You rise as the duke enters, but not alone. Your mother leans heavily on the way, gathering herself with several flaps of her fan. She snaps it shut and tucks it away as she raises her chin, shooing away Doreen.

“Lady Thea,” Laufeyson begins before addressing you, “my parents, the Grand Duke Odin and the Grand Duchess, Frigga.”

He steps aside as an older couple stand regally in the archway. The man is burly but stout, with dark grey hair streaked with white. His jaw is set squarely and there is a familiar blue tint to his eyes. The woman is tall and blond and fair, her figure untouched by her age and her hair so golden that the grey strands only seem to make her shine.

You recognise them. The portraits in the main hall. Even with some decades since the artist’s work, they are beyond compare to their pigmented likenesses. They are as elegant and resplendent as their son. It sinks a rotten pit in your chest. Perhaps, they might not want you either.

“We’re acquainted, Thea and I,” Frigga declares, “I believe your father might recall her.”

“Yes, Lady Thea,” he bows, “I know your husband better, I’m afraid.”

The duke has a pinched look to his lip as he listens with his chin high. He moves stiffly, gesturing to the table, “mm, yes, let us be seated–”

“Loki,” Frigga says as she slowly wades forward, her skirts rippling like water, “what about your brother? He received an invitation, didn’t he?”

“Mother, certainly he did, but he is ever… unpredictable,” Loki offers. It is jarring to think of him as anything but the duke. To think he is anything but the master of Jade Park.

“Lady Jane is with child,” Frigga counters, “it might take them some time.”

“Lady Frigga, Lord Odin,” your mother begins, “I cannot remark upon your son’s hospitality enough. He’s been a wonderful host, especially…” she pauses and turns her head, touching her cheek with a gloved hand.

“Oh, we were distraught to hear of Lady Edith. Such a tragedy. So young and beautiful.”

You stare at the wall. You try not to think of the statement laced between her words. You are young too but not so beautiful.

“And your younger daughter is endearing, that is a rather charming brooch,” she turns her green irises on you.

“Thank you, Lady Fwigga,” you hold your head high as you cling to a thread of dignity.

Her cheeks bulb and there is a slight tremor in her chin before she can answer, “oh, that is a peculiar accent, dear.”

You don’t know if you should thank her. You can’t tell if she holds any derision but you’d prefer she not mention it. It’s obvious, it needn’t be emphasized.

Your eyes skitter over to Odin who watches you with quiet consideration. He does not hold the same disapproval as your father but you can’t read much in his face.

“She is all I have left,” your mother bemoans, “two daughters. That’s all I got. How I wanted to give my husband his heir but… it was not to be and now…”

“Oh, Thea,” Frigga drawls, “if you are to fraught to remain–”

“No, no,” your mother expands her fan and pushes air into her face, dabbing her tears with her knuckle, “no, I’m so happy for our families to come together.”

“As are we. It is only sensible–”

She is interrupted by some furor at the other end of the house. A smile curls her lips as a booming voice fills the corridor like thunder. As your eyes drift towards the doorway, they meet Loki’s. He looks at you with a furrow between his brows before he shifts his gaze towards the clamour.

The men rise first. You get to your feet as Parson rushes in to announce the new arrival. As he introduces Lord Thor and Lady Jane, he is almost breathless. The couple appears behind him, the towering duke clapping the groom’s shoulder so he staggers. The duchess gives a pretty smile to the grand duchess as her hand rests on her rounding stomach.

“Oh, Jane,” Frigga sweeps across the chamber to embrace her daughter-in-law without pretense, “you are immaculate,” she pulls back and cradles her cheeks, “you look well.”

“Do I? I’ve been struck sick for days.”

“But it shall pass,” Frigga avows and beckons the duchess with her to the table, “Lady Jane, my first son’s wife.”

You bow your head and your mother does the same, taking the lead as you remain silent, “Lady Jane, a delight to… meet you. Oh, my apologies,” your mother fans herself more rapidly, “your eyes, they have the same shape as my dear Edith’s.”

“Edith?” Jane utters and looks at Frigga. The grand duchess leans over to whisper gently. “Oh, my condolences, Lady Thea, oh and such timing as this?” She turns to you, “a betrothal is supposed to be a joyous affair, I cannot bear to think how you are doing.”

You don’t know what to say, as often you find yourself lacking. Your lips tremble but you do your best to keep your composure.

“I will miss my sista vewy much,” you try to speak slow and clear, but it just sounds clumsy, “I didn’t know…” you see the flicker in her eyes, the dimple in her cheek, the judgment casting a shadow over her, “I didn’t know you and yaw husband would attend.”

Jane’s lips part and her brows rise as she looks at her mother-in-law. Frigga tries not to acknowledge the almost taunting expression. You can’t. You feel it throttling you. Just be quiet.

“How fetching,” Thor intones, surprising you as he comes to stand behind his mother and wife, chewing a biscuit he snatched from the tray.

“Fetching?” Jane scoffs.

“The way she speaks, yes? I think it is… interesting.”

“That hardly matters,” Frigga insists, “it is what one says, not how they say it.”

You clamp your lips together. You want to crumple to the floor and sob. You don’t want to be stood here like some jester to entertain these people. You want to go home and see your sister’s casket. You want to be near her, even if she’s not really there.

Again, you find Loki’s distasteful glare. His throat bobs and his lips thin even further.

“Yes, yes, let us sit and eat. My staff has worked the morning to prepare us a fine lunch,” he chides, “I’d hate to see it wasted.”

🔹

You stare at your untouched plate of cold meats and cheese. You’re not very hungry. Perhaps it is grief, or more likely it is shame. You want to shrink down to a morsel of dust and disappear.

There is an odd sort of skill acquired by those who are quiet. Observation. The ability to see so much, to take in every gesture, every twitch, every look with meaning. And you do not miss those errant gazes in your direction. Some with anticipation, others with dread, each waiting for you to say another twisted syllable.

Your mother fills the silence you refuse to break. She regales the table with the story of how she met your father on the promenade, how he trod on her skirts, and she hit him with her reticule. A tale you’ve heard anon.

She hiccups suddenly and cups her hand over her mouth. You turn to look at her as her wrinkles deepen and her gulps become sobs. She shakes her hand and waves her other. Doreen appears at her shoulder.

“My lady,” the servant says.

“Oh, Lady Thea,” Frigga dismisses the maid with a subtle flick of her fingers, “let us get you some air. It is such a lovely day, and I believe we do have some matters to attend to.” She helps your mother to her feet, hanging on to her elbow, “Lord Odin, you will accompany, in case she faints.”

Odin grunts. He hasn’t said much of anything. He seems more enamoured of this plate. As he stands, he stuffs a roll of sliced ham into his mouth. Chairs scrape as you stand to see them off. Doreen follows the older trio through the archway as they set off.

You resume your seat and watch the tablecloth. Your mother was of little assistance while present but without her, you are defenseless. Loki sips from his tea as Jane spears a slice of pear with her fork and Thor cracks a hard-boiled egg in his hand.

“So, I’ve not seen you before. You haven’t debuted?” Jane asks.

Your eyes flit up to hers. You almost don’t believe she’s talking to her. You’d been praying they’d forget you were there.

“My sista was ill and she is older so I was waiting until she went fast.”

“Fast? Went fast?” Jane repeats as she pretends to think, “went fast where?”

Loki sighs and sets his cup on the saucer with a harsh clink, “first. She meant first.”

“Oh, my, apologies, I’m afraid I have a bit of trouble understanding you. I don’t think I’ve heard any sort of affectation,” he smiles falls to something more sinister, “it is rather… garish.”

“Jane,” Thor says through a mouthful of egg, stopping himself to swallow, “she speaks clearly enough.”

“I’ve heard of physicians who can tend to that. They can teach you how to pronounce your words properly. Through repetition.” She enunciates each word, making sure to move her lips deliberately.

You fight a grimace. You swallow and look at your plate. It isn't the first time someone's made those comments, she will doubtful be the last. Just like those boys who used to call you 'widiculous' or 'wavishing'.

“Please, this doesn’t need to be a whole point of conversation,” Loki reproaches.

“I am only offering advice.”

“You are the one who spoke to her. None of us wanted to hear her.”

“Loki,” Thor says appalled, “she is to be your wife.”

“I was supposed to marry her sister. The normal one. The dead one.”

You flinch and let your shoulders slump. You bring your hands up and cover the brooch on your dress, as if holding Edith tight. Your lip pokes out as you fight a tide of grief that threatens to erupt.

“Aw, look, she is going to cry,” Jane taunts.

“Jane,” Thor’s voice hardens, “no more.”

Jane snaps her lips shut and rolls her beautiful hazel eyes. She pops the slice of sugared pear into her mouth behind her cruel smirk. Loki sneers at his fork as he twirls it in his hand. Thor gives you a glum look but it lands like a slap. He cannot relate to you, he can only pity you, and that is worse than contempt.

“If you are cuwious, Lady Jane, I have been to many physicians. They cannot help me,” you shrug, “just like they could not help my sista.”

Thor clucks and lets out a breath through his nostrils. Jane doesn’t falter, smiling as she chews, and Loki pushes himself to his feet. His chair threatens to topple as he swivels on his heel.

“I would see to our parents, make certain they are well and that this… contract is still in effect,” he takes rigid steps along the table, “I should hate to squander any more time in uncertainty.”