#SHE SAID I WAS NO DIFFERENT FROM HER BROTHERS BOYS
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⸝ á´ Ę á´ á´ Ę Ę á´ É´ ᴠ⸝
Pairing: Yandere HOTD x Targaryen Reader part 1
Summary: Everything was fine. You were happy. Your mother was expecting a child, and soon enough, you would have another one to call family, to call your own. Everything was perfect. What could possibly go wrong?
Ëę°notesęąâ§ Reader is Rhaenyra's twin. Criston is already reader personal gourd. Dark reader. English is not my first language. Gifs don't belong to me credit to the owner. Hope you enjoy!
The chamber was warm, bathed in the soft glow of afternoon light that streamed through the narrow windows, casting golden patterns on the stone floor. Y/n stood by her motherâs bedside, gently brushing a stray lock of hair from Aemmaâs face. Her mother was always beautiful, but now, heavy with child, there was a fragility to her that made Y/nâs heart stir in ways she wasnât used to. A strange protectiveness, an almost suffocating need to keep her safe from all the sharp, ugly things in the world.
Aemmaâs hand, delicate and pale, rested atop her swollen belly. Her breathing was slow, rhythmic, and tired. Y/n could see it, the weariness that clung to her motherâs every movement. She had been sick often lately, and though no one spoke of it, Y/n could feel something dark looming over them. Something inevitable.
"You must be kind, Y/n," Aemma said softly, her voice barely above a whisper, but still full of that soft warmth that made her sound so motherly. "Be careful⌠be kind. To people⌠to the babe."
Her motherâs words hung in the air, and Y/n felt a smile tug at her lipsâsoft, gentle. Kind. I have always been kind, she thought, her mind drifting to the moments where she had shown her love, in the ways only she knew how.
âI am kind,â she replied softly, kneeling beside her motherâs bed and taking Aemmaâs hand. It was cool to the touch, but still, her motherâs fingers closed weakly around hers. âIâve always been kind to you, Mother. To Father, to Rhaenyra... I will be kind to my brother too.â Her voice dropped to a whisper, a secret shared between them. âIâve already chosen a dragon egg for him. Dreamfyre's, and he will be great. He will be a king, Mother.â
Aemma smiled, but it was tired, worn. âYou sound so certain itâs a boy,â she said with a faint laugh, but there was no real joy behind itâjust exhaustion.
âItâs just a feeling,â Y/n said, her smile deepening as she leaned down to kiss her motherâs cheek, lingering just a little too long. Her skin is soft, she thought, and cold. Like a candle thatâs been left to burn too long. But thatâs alright. Y/n had warmth enough for both of them. She could give that to her. She would always take care of her mother.
Her lips brushed her motherâs cheek one last time before she pulled away, straightening her posture. "Rest, Mother," she whispered, her fingers trailing lightly over Aemmaâs arm as she withdrew. âIâll be back soon.â
As she left the chamber, Y/n's mind wandered. A king. My little brother will be a king, and he will love me more than anyone else. More than Rhaenyra ever could. A shiver ran down her spine at the thought. Her brother, with silver hair like hers, riding a dragon she had chosen for him. She could already see itâthe two of them, bounding, and nothing would ever come between them. This time there would be no rats like that cunt, Alicent.
But now... now she had other needs to attend to. A different kind of satisfaction.
She made her way through the winding corridors of the Red Keep, her mind already drifting to him. Her favorite. Heâs always so eager for me, she thought with a smirk. So desperate to please, so desperate to be needed. She liked that about himâhis submission, his willingness to do whatever she asked without question. And his hair... gods, his silver hair. It always reminded her of home.
She reached the brothels and paused at the door, her hand resting on the cold wood. Do I want him soft tonight? Or do I want to see him cry? She wasnât sure yet. Maybe both. Maybe neither.
Pushing open the door, she stepped inside, her eyes immediately finding him. He was kneeling, waiting, as she had taught him to. His head bowed, silver hair falling into his eyes. The sight sent a flicker of warmth through herâsomething like affection, but sharper. Heâs beautiful, she thought. Perfect.
"Look at me," she commanded softly, and he obeyed, lifting his head to meet her gaze. His eyes were wide, nervous. Good. She liked him that way.
"Iâve missed you," she purred, moving closer, her fingers already itching to thread through his hair. Yes, heâll do well tonight. Maybe Iâll let him cum.
The smile that spread across her lips was soft, almost tender. I am always kind.
The room was dark, the air thick with the remnants of sleep. Y/n stirred under the silk sheets, her body warm, still damp from the nightâs indulgences. Her skin glowed faintly in the low light, the satisfaction of her desires lingering like an aftertaste. She let out a sigh, stretching lazily, the weight of Aelorâs body no longer pressed against hers.
Then she heard it. A faint soundâsomething off. Her eyes snapped open, sharp, awake.
Aelor stood at the foot of the bed, naked but trembling, a dagger held to his throat. His silver hair was messy, his chest rising and falling quickly, eyes wild with panic.
She sat up slowly, letting the sheets fall from her body, completely unbothered by her nakedness. Her gaze locked onto the dagger, her voice calm, almost disinterested. "Aelor," she said softly, âput that away.â
But he didnât. Instead, he shook harder, his knuckles white around the handle of the blade. âI canât,â he whispered, his voice shaking. "I canât do this anymore."
Y/n frowned, her brow furrowing slightly. "What do you mean?"
Aelor let out a sob, his knees buckling as he stumbled backward, pressing the dagger harder against his skin. âYouâyouâve made me miserable! Every time Iâm with you, I feel like Iâm dying. Youâre cruel, youâre wicked, and youâve taken everything from me! I hate you!â
Y/n blinked, her head tilting slightly, almost like she was confused. âYou hate me?â she repeated, the words foreign to her. No one hated her. How could they? She was perfect. Is this a joke? She didnât like it.
âYes!â he shouted, his voice cracking. âYouâve ruined me! I want to die! I want to end it, right here, right now!â
For a moment, she just stared at him, her mind racing. This is ridiculous. Heâs being ridiculous.
"Aelor," she said, her voice low, almost soothing. "Stop this nonsense. I can give you anything you want. Do you want gold? A dragon egg? A house by the sea? Just put the dagger down and tell me what you want."
But he shook his head violently, tears streaming down his face. âI donât want any of that! I want to die! I want to be free of you!â
Die? The word was distant to her. Why would he want that? He has everything. She shifted, the furs slipping from her as she regarded him coolly. âDonât be ridiculous, Aelor. You have a good life. Youâre mine. What could be so bad about that?â
But he wasnât listening. His breaths were coming out in ragged gasps, his chest heaving as he teetered on the edge of some terrible decision. âI canât... I canât... I want this to stop. I wantââ
And then she heard it. A whisper. Faint, from the other side of the door.
âThe queen⌠sheâs gone.â
Her heart stopped.
Everything froze. The room, Aelor, the very air around her seemed to still as the words sank in.
"The queen is dead," came another hushed voice from outside the door. "Died in the birthing bed."
The words hit Y/n like a physical blow, sinking deep into her chest. Dead? No. Not Mother.
The room spun, and suddenly her world collapsed in on itself, like a dying star pulling everything into its cold, black heart. Her breathing quickened. She blinked fast, too fast. Her mother was gone. Her mother was gone.
No.
She felt her throat tighten, the air in the room thick and heavy, pressing against her skin. Her vision blurred, the walls seeming to warp and bend. She could hear somethingâan incessant buzzing in her ears, like bees trapped inside her skull, buzzing louder and louder until it drowned out everything else.
Y/nâs world collapsed inward. The sound of blood rushing in her ears, louder and louder, a deafening buzz. Her vision blurred, the room swimming, spinning. Mother. Mother is dead. Sheâs gone.
She tried to shake her head, tried to clear the sound, but it wouldnât stop. The room was too bright. Too small. Too loud.
Her chest tightened, her breath coming in shallow gasps as the edges of her world shrank, leaving only the endless ringing in her ears and the hollow, aching emptiness that stretched out before her.
Gone.
Blinking rapidly, she shook her head, trying to clear it, but the buzzing only grew louder, drowning out everything else. She wanted to scream, wanted to tear the walls apart, to make everything stop, but her body wouldnât move. Her hands twitched, her fingers curling into the sheets, the fabric slipping through her grasp as if it wasnât even there.
And then, through the haze, she saw Aelor again, standing there, still holding the dagger to his throat, still crying, still screaming for a release that didnât matter anymore.
For a moment, she just looked at him. Her mind was blank, her heart hollow. Then, like ice breaking through, her lips twisted into something resembling a smile, cold and sharp.
âYou know what?â she said softly, her voice almost sweet. âYou should do it.â
Aelor blinked, his tears stopping momentarily as confusion washed over his face. âW-what?â
âGo on,â she urged, her voice a low, deadly whisper now. âSlide it across your throat. End it, like you said.â
His face paled, and the dagger in his hand shook. âNo⌠I donâtââ
âIâm not asking.â Her voice was like steel, cold and unyielding, her eyes dark and focused on him with terrifying intensity. âIâm telling you. Do it.â
âY/n, pleaseââ
âDo it!â Her voice cracked, sharp and vicious. âYou want to die, donât you? You hate me, donât you? Well, go ahead, Aelor. Do it. Kill yourself. Right here, right now.â
He stumbling back, eyes wide with terror. âNo⌠I donât want toââ
Y/n stood, the sheet slipping from her naked body as she stepped forward, her eyes locked on his. âOh, but you were so sure a moment ago. You were so brave.â Her voice was mocking now, cruel and sadistic. âWhat happened, Aelor? Where did all that courage go?â
He whimpered, pressing himself against the wall as if he could disappear into it, his eyes wide with horror.
And Y/nâs smile widened, her gaze never leaving his. "Do it," she whispered again, her voice now laced with something dark, something cold. Like Motherâs skin. Cold like her.
Criston stood outside the kingâs chamber, listening to the muffled sobs of the king as he grieved for his dead wife. It was a sound that shook himâa king reduced to tears, broken by a loss so profound that even Criston, found himself feeling an unfamiliar weight in his chest.
Rhaenyra sat silently beside her father, pale and stiff, like a statue carved from stone. But Y/n was nowhere to be found.
"Where is she?" the king whispered, his voice hoarse. "Where is Y/n?"
Rhaenyra lifted her eyes, but said nothing, her gaze distant, lost. She was mourning too.
Criston stepped forward, his hand instinctively tightening around the pommel of his sword. He knew where the princess was. He always knew. She had a⌠pattern.
Viserys looked up, his eyes red and swollen. "Find her. Bring her back."
Criston nodded, his expression calm but his insides twisting. "Yes, my king." He turned swiftly, leaving the room with heavy steps, his mind already racing. The brothel. She's at the brothel.
He moved with purpose, the corridors of the Red Keep passing in a blur as he descended into the streets of King's Landing. The brothel was well know, a place where she often disappeared when the weight of her world became too much. The place where she would indulge in the pleasures that soothed her disturbed soul. Criston had been there many timesâalways to fetch her, to drag her back to the world she so desperately wanted to escape.
The madam greeted him at the door, her face a practiced mask of indifference. She knew why he was here. She always knew.
"The princess?" he asked, his voice low and urgent.
The madam didnât even blink. "Upstairs. First room on the left."
Criston didnât wait for more. He strode through the dimly lit hall, the stench of sweat, wine, and sex thick in the air. His heart pounded harder with each step, the weight of dread settling in his gut. He knew Y/n's moodsâher recklessnessâbut something felt different this time. Something was wrong.
He reached the door, pushing it open without hesitation. The sight before him made his breath catch in his throat.
The man, her lover, lay sprawled on the floor, his throat slit from ear to ear, blood pooling beneath him like a dark, crimson lake. The smell of death hit him instantlyâmetallic, thick, suffocating.
And there, in the center of the room, sat Y/n. Naked, her knees pulled to her chest, her arms wrapped tightly around them. Her skin was stained with bloodâhis bloodâand in her hand, she still clutched the dagger. Her face was blank, hollow, as if all life had drained from her.
Cristonâs heart clenched painfully in his chest. Gods. What has she done?
Without thinking, he rushed to her side, kneeling in the blood, ignoring the way it soaked into his white cloak, staining it red. His hands were shaking as he reached for her, gently trying to pry the dagger from her grip. "My princess⌠Y/n⌠what have you done?" His voice was soft, filled with worry, but there was no judgment, no anger. Only concern. Only devotion.
She didnât respond. She didnât even look at him. Her eyes were distant, staring ahead as if she were seeing something far beyond this room, far beyond the dead body at her feet.
Cristonâs heart raced as he pulled the bloodied dagger from her hand, tossing it aside. He reached for the corner of his cloak, the pristine white fabric now ruined, and began to gently wipe the blood from her skin. His hands moved with care, as if she were fragileâlike a porcelain doll that might shatter at any moment.
"My princess," he whispered again, his voice tight with desperation. "It's me, Criston. Itâs all right. Youâre safe. Iâm here."
But she still didnât respond. Her breathing was shallow, her eyes unblinking. Criston could see the toll it was taking on her, the way her body shook faintly with each breath. She looked⌠lost. Like the little girl she had once been, scared and small.
âI want to go home,â she whispered, her voice so soft he almost didnât hear it.
He froze, his hand stilling on her arm as he looked at her. She didnât meet his gaze, didnât seem to even recognize him.
âI want to go home to my mother,â she repeated, her voice breaking, fragile, as if she were clinging to some distant hope.
Cristonâs heart shattered. The queen. He knew the news hadnât reached her yet. Her world had been her mother, and now⌠The queen was gone.
He swallowed hard, blinking back the sting in his eyes as he reached for a cloak from the bed, wrapping it carefully around her naked body, covering her from the cold that seemed to seep into her skin. "Youâll go home," he whispered, his voice trembling just slightly. "Iâll take you home."
With a soft grunt, he lifted her into his arms, her body limp and unresponsive as he held her against his chest. She was so small, so light. He hated seeing her like this. She was always so strong, so sharp. But now⌠now she was silent, and it terrified him.
He held her tightly, cradling her as if she were the most precious thing in the world, his white cloak now drenched in blood as he carried her through the brothel.
The madam said nothing as they passed, and the other patrons kept their eyes averted. Cristonâs face was set, his jaw clenched, his eyes forward.
Iâll take her home. It's alright. Everything would be fine.
Even if the rest of the world collapsed around them, he would be there. Always. For her. Only for her.
As they left the brothel behind, he felt her shift slightly in his arms, her breath warm against his neck.
âIâll take you home, princess,â he whispered again, more to himself than to her. "You don't need to be scared anymore."
@Ęá´á´á´á´É´ę°ĘĘá´ 2024. á´
á´É´'á´ á´á´á´Ę, á´Ęá´É´ęąĘá´á´á´ á´Ę á´ęąá´ á´É´Ę á´ę° á´Ę á´Ąá´Ęá´ęą Ęá´Ęá´ á´Ę á´É´Ę á´á´Ęá´Ę á´Ąá´ĘęąÉŞá´á´ęą
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Disease (Aemond x Witch!Reader)
Summary: Harrenhal was a prize and with Daemon leaving it abandoned, Aemond wasn't prepared to let it be lost to them again. Rage simmered within, the inaction of those around him had put his nerves onto a knife's edge. Nothing would stop him from achieving his goal. Except you, of course. A witch like your sister, Alys, but far more formidable if you tried.
Song - Disease by Lady Gaga
CW: MINORS DNI, she/her pronouns, mentions of witchcraft, mentions of drugged wine and hallucinations, mentions of violence, mentions of past deaths (Lucerys and Alys), mentions of manipulation, mentions of pregnancy, innuendo, profanity, masturbation (fem), voyeurism (Aemond watches), oral (f receiving), fingering, p in v sex, tiddy sucking, mildly submissive Aemond.
Words: 7152
It's a long one..but it was a brain worm that just wouldn't quit!
There are no more tears to cry. I heard you beggin' for lifeâŚ
Harrenhal was a prize. Aemond was furious to find out that Daemon had taken it from their grasp despite the plans he had tried to lay into place.
Yes, he likely shouldnât have schemed behind his brotherâs back. But he was doing it in the interests of the Crown and their family. Even if it meant undermining the King in the process.
Rookâs Rest had been a key move. But where there was triumph, there was failure.
A win in Rookâs Rest, followed by three more dragons to Rhaenyraâs cause. Meleys and Rhaenys downed, but Aegon and Sunfyre were injured. It felt as though the war was becoming a lost cause. Aemond was floundering, though he would be damned if he let anyone see it.
The mask of cold, sharp indifference was set in place. But inside he felt rotted. Rage was a disease, and it ate him alive.
Long gone was the boy who cried over no dragon, who ran to his mother when he hurt.
In his place was a man filled with little more than hate and violence.
Runnin' out of medicine. You'reâ
worseâ
than you've everâ
beenâŚ
His head pounded. Aemond barely heard the words of the council, his mind swirling. He wanted nothing more than to be done with the tiresome meetings.
âThere will be no argument,â he snapped suddenly, cutting through the arguing voices of the council members.
âHarrenhal shall not be lost to us again. I will fly out as soon as possible, Cole and our men shall follow.â
There was silence in the room, yet the pain in his head felt like the entire room rang like a bell. He wanted to act, not sit and prattle about plans and alliances.
âYour GraceâŚâ Lord Wylde had barely opened his mouth to speak before he stopped silent.
If looks could have killed, Lord Wylde would have perished immediately. Aemondâs singular gaze burned into him, and the Prince was sure he saw the Lord visibly shrink beneath it.
Aemond said nothing more, but it was clear the matter was done. The air was tense as Aemond left, not a single look back as he silently dismissed the council.
The castle was eerily silent was Daemon and his dragon departed, but eerie was what you enjoyed. Harrenhal was your haven. Your sanctuary to live unbothered and without fear.
Even when Prince Daemon had arrived, he left you well alone.
The Witch of Harrenhal.
Thatâs what they called you, though no one knew the extent of the things you were capable of.
You were not the first. Your sister, elder by two years but as much bastard blood as you were. She had tried to play with Daemonâs mind, and it had cost her life. And while you loved her dearly, you couldnât feel much sympathy.
Alys had been warned. Targaryens were unpredictable, untameable. And yet she tried to.
The magic that ran in yours and Alysâ veins was far different from what ran in the fiery veins of the Targaryens. All Old Gods, but nothing alike.
Now your home was empty. The army Daemon had roused gone. Ser Simon Strong hiding away in his rooms. The constant screeches of the blood red dragon no longer grated on your ears.
You had almost returned to a life of darkened peace.
And then word of another silver haired visitor came. Younger, fiercer it was rumoured than his uncle.
The Prince Regent himself was set for Harrenhal.
(Ah-ah) Screamin' for me, baby. (Ah-ah) Likeâ
you're gonna dieâŚ
Vhagar was an unwelcome sight in the Riverlands for most. For others who openly supported Aegon as King, she was the opposite.
For you, she was a warning to prepare.
Alys had taken it upon herself to try and unpick the mind of Prince Daemon, hoping insanity would distract him from whatever he aimed to do. You were unsure of what exactly your sister had intended with such a plan, but it failed when Daemonâs knife found her heart.
You, on the other hand, knew a Targaryen in Harrenhal was a bid for power. Power you could leech upon yourself.
A bastard. A witch. All things levied as insults against you that you chose to revel in. Alys had taught you everything and you had taken to it like a duck to water. The morbid history of Harrenhal only fuelled you.
So, you kept your eyes to the sky for the sight of the great she-dragon. Waiting patiently for the Prince Regent to land at your doorstep.
But a vengeful and rage filled prince, with the largest living dragon, was a dangerous omen on the Riverlands.
It was as though seeing what Daemon had almost taken from them, Rhaenyraâs banners on different castles as he neared Harrenhal, had sent him into a maelstrom of violence.
Word of the destruction quickly reached Ser Simon, though Harrenhalâs lord was not prepared to attempt a stand against yet another Targaryen. Daemonâs presence had taken itâs toll on him, the biting wit you were used to hearing long extinguished when Aemond finally arrived.
Harrenhal grew larger on the horizon. Vhagar leaving nothing but ash and blood in her wake, feeding off the fury that simmered in her rider.
Aemond had heard the whispers about Harrenhal. The cursed stones, the ghosts that wandered the hallway, the sisters that haunted the old ruin.
But he had also never really believed in magic.
So, he let the stories linger only in the back of his mind. Harrenhal was a prize to win, haunted or not.
The dinner hall was prepared for Prince Aemondâs arrival, the large silhouette of Vhagar was visible from a fair enough distance to give the servants time to prepare.
Ser Simon had forced himself from his rooms, unwillingly knowing that his lack of presence would only anger the young Prince more.
You sat watching from your chambers, sat on the sill of the window. The flash of silver hair in the courtyard had a smile tugging at your lips. Maybe this wouldnât be quite as much a chore as you thought it would be.
The Prince Regent was a treat for the eyes.
You watched as he disappeared into the castle. It would simply be a waiting game. You were going to take your time, reveal yourself little by little. But that didnât mean you couldnât toy with him just a little.
Harrenhal was known to be haunted. What were a few extra ghosts in the grand scheme of things?
(Ah-ah) Poison on the inside. I could be your antidote tonightâŚ
The meal with Ser Simon had been nothing short of uncomfortable for Aemond and everyone involved. He wasnât one for small talk and it seemed the previous visit from Prince Daemon had soured any thoughts the Strong lord had about Targaryens.
The only balm, the only light in such gloomy halls, had been you. Aemond hadnât been able to take his eye off you the moment you entered. Posing simply as a servant, a tray with a jug of wine placed in the centre.
Hair falling in waves down your back, the dress you wore nothing like heâd ever seen a servant wear. Something about you just draw him in.
So, when you appeared at his elbow, soft voice offering him wine, he could barely stop himself before he had agreed. The wine slipping down his throat easier than it ever did, and the cups that followed all blurred into one.
The walk back to his chambers, however, was an impossible memory.
You sat in your chamber, on the same floor as the guest rooms the prince currently resided in. But you knew he wouldnât be within for longâŚ
Not with the hallucinogenic herbs slipped into his wine. His gaze on you had been just enough of a distraction.
All you had to do now, was wait.
(Ah-ah) Screamin' for me, baby. (Ah-ah) Like you're gonna dieâŚ
(Ah-ah) Poison on the inside. I could be your antidote tonightâŚ
Sleep evaded him. No, not evaded. It tortured Aemond to try. Slumber hadnât been an easy task for him in a long time. First the pain of losing his eye and then the death of Lucerys had afforded him hours and hours of interrupted and painful sleep.
But this was different. He felt nauseous, head spinning and his body felt like it was constantly falling.
And yet, his feet took him from his bed. He wasnât sure where he was going, he simply needed to walk.
All the halls looked the same. Dark save for a few sporadic candles. The same grey stone walls seemed to never end. But his body seemed to know where it wished to go.
Aemond didnât realise he was outside until he felt the nightâs air on his face. The soft sounds of the water ahead drawing him closer and closer.
And then he saw you. Moonlight bathing your skin with a glow, the water lapping at your feet. Your gown flowing in rhythm with the waves.
The prince could have sworn he could hear you calling his name. Like a siren.
He was at the edge of the water before he knew it. Eye trained solely on you. How your gown had slipped from your shoulders, dangerously close to exposing more and more of your naked flesh.
Were you not cold? He thought, the water splashing up the toes of his boots. Yet he couldnât move any further. All he could do was watch you.
I could play the doctor, I can cure your disease. If you were a sinner, I could make you believeâŚ
Aemondâs thoughts were muddled, consciousness swimming in and out of lucidity.
Then he saw it, your hand sliding down from your neck and disappearing beneath the water. The ripples that formed around it told him what you were doing.
Sweet moans floated towards him and Aemond could feel his own heart beating to the same rhythm as your hand.
He knew it couldnât be real. Aemond had heard the stories of Harrenhal, how it had driven so many to madness. How ghosts roamed the halls and witches hid in the shadows.
But logic was not with him anymore.
His chest heaved at the sight of you, the blood in his veins rushing down to fuel his arousal. Who were you? What were you?
Just as your moans reached a crescendo, his name falling like sin from your lips, Aemondâs hand moving to palm himselfâŚ
Lay you down like one, two, three. Eyes roll back in ecstasyâŚ
He was back in his room. Sweat coating his skin and rolling down his spine. He was in his bed, cotton shirt stuck to his skin. His head still a little fuzzy, but he felt different.
Aemond could remember pieces of what heâd seen. Was it a dream? No, he couldnât dream about someone he barely knew, surely?
Yet he could still see you so clearly. Soft skin, long hair. Eyes closes in pleasure as the water overtook your arched body.
His body still thrummed with the remnants of the desire heâd felt.
He lay back down, trying to let sleep take him again. But when he did, he only saw your face.
And it was a face he found himself longing to see again.
I can smell your sickness, I can cure ya (Cure). Cure your diseaseâŚ
You could feel Aemondâs presence behind you as you worked. There was something about him that was immediately recognisable.
He had woken less rested than he hoped, his headache returned. The socket of his eye felt like it burned. He had asked a passing servant if there was a healer in the castle, and they had sent him to you.
âMy prince, is there something you need?â
The moment you met his gaze, Aemond felt a ringing in his head. Flashes of the night before in his mind. But then you spoke again, smiling a little as he shook his head before looking at you again.
âThis place is a not built for a restful sleep, Iâm afraid. Especially for those not used to it.â
Your voice was so soft, like a balm to his whirring mind.
Before he knew it, you were stood in front of him. A good head and shoulder shorter than he was, head tilted in curiosity.
âThat is an understatement, my lady.â Aemond answered, his voice coming out hoarser than he cared for.
He didnât expect the laugh you responded with.
âI am no lady, my prince. Just a bastard healer.â
Aemond hummed in response, wincing as the pain in his eye burned again. It was intense enough that he didnât notice your hand on his jaw, turning his head to look at his damaged eye.
He should have pushed you away. But your touch sent sparks through his skin, and he found himself unable to move.
âCanâŚdo you have something to help?â
You smiled, stroking his cheek once before letting him go. Aemond hated asking for help. The Maester in the Keep would simply bring him medicine for his pain without being asked, knowing the prince well enough to know when heâd need it.
The absence of your touch made him feel empty. His skin now cold where your hand had been.
âWhat does your Maester usually give you?â
You had returned to stand behind the table and for the first time Aemond took the time to look around the room he now stood in. It was everything he would imagine a healerâs quarters would look like. Though it didnât look like you resided here.
Herbs littered the table in front of you. Books laid wide open, dog-eared as if they had been read hundreds of times. Bowls, bottles, boxes filled to the brim with concoctions and ingredients. Plants hung from every possible surface. A fire smouldered in the background.
âMilk of the poppy, but I do not like how it fogs my mind.â Aemond huffed back, regretting how annoyed he sounded.
You smiled, glancing through the hair that hung before your face to look at him.
âTake a seat, my prince, I can have breakfast brought in here while you wait?â
Aemond nodded, taking a seat by the window. You disappeared for a moment, coming back with a tray of tea and a promise that a servant would bring him some food.
He didnât know why he felt comfortable, or as comfortable as he allowed himself to ever feel, around you. You had both an air of mystery and familiarity that he truly didnât understand.
The servant brought the food in silently, setting the tray down in front of Aemond with barely a glance towards the stern prince.
But Aemond only watched you. Much like his dream last night, he couldnât tear his eye away.
The way you flitted around, gathering everything you needed for whatever it was you were creating for him. The smell was unusual, both sweet and bitter at the same time. But for whatever maddening reason, he trusted you meant him no harm.
âIt is ready, but feel free to finish eating. It works better on a full stomach.â
You walked over, setting a steaming cup in front of him. The liquid had a cloudiness to it, much like poppy milk, but it smelled almost floral. He nodded his thanks, drinking it as fast as the heat of it would allow.
Maybe his mind was playing tricks on him, but it was like the pain began to dissipate immediately. Aemond sighed as the last drops slipped down his throat. The warmth disappearing along with the throbbing in his head.
You leaned against the table, arms tucked into the pockets of your gown and simply smiling.
âIt works quickly, does it not?â you asked, head tilted again like he was an experiment to observe.
Aemond set the cup down, wiping at his lips and touching the skin next to his eyepatch. Not a single ounce of pain was left.
âIt does indeed, far quicker than any poppy milk I have drank.â
The prince glanced out of the window, watching as the castle began to stir to life below.
âSome might sayâŚit is magic, my prince.â
You're so tortured when you sleep. Plagued with all your memoriesâŚ
Aemond had already been in Harrenhal for a week. He had become used to the old castle, the eerie sounds that seemed to leak into his room as he tried to sleep.
Some mornings, he would visit you. Sometimes for a remedy for his pain. Sometimes simply to be in your presence. As far as he was aware, it was entirely of his own volition.
The servants seemed to look at you with both fear and reverence. Ser Simon would flit between ignoring your existence and staring at you as though you were another of Harrenhalâs spectres.
The Strong lord was as impassive towards Aemond as well. As though he tolerated the princeâs presence after his experience with Prince Daemon. Learning from his mistakes and keeping his guard up whenever he was in the young Princeâs presence.
But progress was made. Whether it was through loyalty to the King or through resignation to his fate, Simon Strong bent the knee to King Aegon. Even offering Harrenhal to Aemond as a token of House Strongâs loyalty.
And Aemond had no interest in leaving anytime soon.
Sleep, however, would still evade him. Not quite dreams, but not quite nightmares. Aemond would feel like he was sleepwalking, waking up and barely remembering what had happened. The only clue would be the dirt on his bare feet or the tangles in his hair in the morning.
And you were always there.
Sometimes just in the distance. Sometimes simply calling out his name.
But still always there.
He could deal with those dreams. There was something calming about them.
But Harrenhal would never let him rest easy. Whether he believed it or not, the castle was cursed.
One night, was the worst of all.
It had been weeks since Lucerys died. Weeks since that night had plagued his dreams. But the incident had been brought up during a tense conversation with a lesser Lord to Ser Simon. Spat as an insult towards the prince in temper.
But it invaded his dreams. Replaying them over and over until one night.
Aemond didnât know how heâd ended up on the battlements. The wind whipping at his hair, the drizzling rain soaking through his bed shirt.
Yet he couldnât see any of it. He could only see the fleeing silhouette of Lucerys on the back of his dragon. He could only remember the vengeance that filled his very soul.
It was like he was there. Reliving it all over again.
You reach out, and no one's there. Like a god without a prayerâŚ
Aemond could feel the wind in his hair as though he was on Vhagarâs back. Chasing down his nephew, screaming insults and threats into the storm.
But he wanted to try and change it. To stop Vhagar clamping her jaws around Arraxâs neck. To stop Lucerys falling into the water.
His hand reached out as he saw Lucerys fall, but when his fist closed it was like he was grasping at smoke. Nothing was there, only the empty courtyard below.
Aemond leaned against the crumbling wall, gasping for air.
Then he heard you. Calling his name in that sweet voice of yours. Luring him back inside. So, he followed. His mind only on the relief you could bring him.
You waited in your chambers. You knew forcing those memories back into his mind was harsh. But it was necessary. You needed him to seek you out. To see you as his sole source of calm.
And if it meant he felt other things for you, you werenât going to deny him.
You werenât a fool. You had seen how Aemond looked at you when he thought you couldnât see. Lingering just a little too long on the swells of your body. He was a young man, you could hardly blame him.
You were only a couple of years his senior, but you knew all too well the way sheltered princes acted around women.
The smell of him found you immediately. The coolness scent of the fresh air mixed with the constant scent of dragon that seemed to linger on his skin. So when your chamber door pushed open, you were barely surprised.
âMy prince? Is everything alright?â
You slid from your seat by the window. White nightdress barely concealing the curves beneath. You immediately brought him inside, tugging him towards the fire.
Your hands lingered on his arms, longer than you ever had before. Rubbing up and down the cotton covered muscle to warm him.
âSleepâŚI cannot sleep.â
His voice sounded so resigned, you almost felt sorry for putting him in that place to begin with.
âNightmares? Or these cursed halls stealing your slumber?â
You let your hands trail further down, cheek pressed to the valley between his shoulder blades. His whole body was tense and cold. His eye trained solely on the flames before him. But he didnât speak.
âNightmare, I know that look.â
Your hands moved to his front, wrapping around his chest and pressing your body to his. Aemond tried to ignore how warm you were. How sweet you smelled, like flowers and smoke. A fragrance that had always invaded his dreams.
He felt himself relax. His head turning to try and look at you. Spinning in your hold just a little.
âIt hasnât plagued me for a long time. I cannot tell if it is these halls or the stress of war that hasâŚâ
Aemond trailed off, why was he revealing himself so easily to you?
You turned him to entirely face you. And it was only then that you realised he was missing his eyepatch. The sapphire glinting in the firelight.
(Ah-ah) Screamin' for me, baby. (Ah-ah) Like you're gonna dieâŚ
You could see the pain in his eye. The crease between his brows and the tight set of his lips. Your hand instinctively going to his jaw, thumb stroking soft circles on his skin.
âHarrenhal will do awful things to those not accustomed, my prince.â
Aemond nuzzled into your hand, eye closing in satisfaction.
âAemond. Call me Aemond.â
His lips ghosted over your hand. Aemond had only sought comfort in one woman before you, but you were so very different from Sylvie.
He hadnât paid you to be at his side. You werenât chasing his presence for status or power. He could see it in your eyes.
You desired him as he did you.
Aemond didnât know it, but youâd tried to deny it. To stop the feelings for him blossoming. You only intended to manipulate, to bring him to any form of submission you could. But you had fallen just the same.
(Ah-ah) Poison on the inside. I could be your antidote tonightâŚ
âAemond.â
His name had never sounded so sweet. Aemond wanted to hear it again and again. To hear you whisper it, scream it even.
âDo you need relief? I can make you so-â
Your words were cut off by his lips on yours. His hand tangled in your hair and holding you tight to your body. The other arm wrapping around your waist. No space left between your bodies.
He grunted into the kiss, your hands tangled into his shirt to steady yourself. His kiss was hungry and demanding, and you welcomed it gladly.
You could feel yourself walking back towards the bed. You had expected him to try to take control. To hold on to some semblance of power.
And you let him. You could feel it, pulling you in and begging you to succumb.
But a powerful prince at your heel was the goal.
Your knees hit foot of your bed, letting yourself fall as Aemond stood over you. You rested yourself on your elbows, trailing the tips of your toes up the length of his leg.
âOr do you need something else?â
Your hands tugged up your nightgown, revealing inch after inch of your bare legs.
Aemond swallowed thickly, the fabric of his breeches growing tighter with every ounce of flesh revealed. You were wearing nothing beneath.
âTake what you need, I am all yours.â
(Ah-ah) Screamin' for me, baby. (Ah-ah) Like you're gonna dieâŚ
His instincts were screaming at him to leave. He didnât know you, not really. He knew your name, that you were a bastard, but he knew very little else. For all he knew, it was you playing with his mind. Making him see things, making sleep evade him night after night until he depended on you.
But in reality, he didnât care. The fire in his loins was burning, his mind reeling. And the only solution was to have you.
If desire was his disease, you were his cure. If rage and pain were his disease, he was sure you could cure that too.
Aemond dropped smoothly to his knees, hands finding your thighs and squeezing. Pushing them apart until he could glimpse the sweet nectar that lay between.
(Ah-ah) Poison on the inside. I could be your antidote tonightâŚ
âAnything I need?â he whispered, the tip of his nose grazing the skin of your inner thigh.
You were in control, you had to remind yourself of that. But it was hard to ignore the heat that pooled in your belly at the low tone of his voice. Your hand found his hair, tugging the tie from it and letting the silver locks fall loose around his face.
Nails grazed his scalp, gently pulling him closer and closer to your core.
âAbsolutely anything,â your words fell to a moan as his tongue darted out, taking one long stripe between your folds.
It was like that one taste of you woke something within him. Gripping your thighs harder and devouring you like you were the only sustenance he needed. The curve of his nose rubbing against your pearl in tandem with his tongue, which was mapping out every fleshy inch of your inner walls.
Aemond grunted into you, his grip on your thighs brutal but the pain only heightened your desire. His own hips rutting against nothing. All he could focus on was your body, the dreams entirely forgotten.
I could play the doctor, I can cure your disease. If you were a sinner, I could make you believeâŚ
Your back was arched off the bed. Aemond switching between lapping at your core and suckling on your swollen bud. Focused on nothing more than coaxing your release forward.
âDeliciousâŚâ he whispered, pulling away for a breath while replacing his tongue with his fingers.
The pace of the slender digits was almost as fast as his tongue. There was little doubt you werenât his first. He could feel your muscles clenching and unclenching, signalling that your release was close.
And he wanted you to spill only on his tongue. The taste, the feel, the sound, it was all he could think of. Like it was the only thing that would bring him any kind of satisfaction. You had taken hold of his mind completely.
âAemondâŚâ you sighed out his name as he latched onto your pearl again.
Your hips canted up to meet his face, your hold on his hair tight enough to make him hiss in pain. But he relished in it.
A hand planted on your stomach as you peaked around his tongue held your thrashing body down. The other held your body tight against his face until you relaxed beneath him. A few final laps at your quivering walls was all he got before you pulled him up to hover over you.
âFeeling better, my prince?â
The title made him chuckle. The same question you asked after he drank down whatever remedy you created for him. His hair hanging loose around you like a curtain. His slick glossed lips hovering mere inches from yours.
His hips nestled between your thighs with his feet still planted firmly on the floor. Hardness grinding ever so slightly against your bare cunt.
âI could use a little more healing, I wagerâŚâ Aemond smiled, leaning down to brush his lips against yours.
You chased his lips, nipping at his jaw when he pulled away.
âThen let me take care of you.â
Lay you down like one, two, three. Eyes roll back in ecstasyâŚ
Aemond didnât hesitate when you tugged him up as you shuffled further onto the bed. Both of you quickly shedding whatever clothing remained on your body.
You could see his eye flicker immediately down to your breasts as you lay beside each other, his hand reaching out to tug you closer. It was the first time you had seen any real vulnerability in him. The broken parts that made him seek you out.
Your hand found his jaw, pulling him in for a kiss as you gently pushed him onto his back. Aemond sought control in every other aspect of his life, that was easy to see. But tonight, you were going to let him relinquish that control.
He gave in willingly. Eye closed, silver hair fanned out on the dark sheets below. The lean, yet formidable form of his body seemed so small now beneath you. Your hands rested on his chest, nails circling the lines of muscle down to his stomach.
Your thighs caged his hips, swollen cock nestled between your still damp folds.
âSurrender to me, and Iâll take away the pain.â
Your voice was like a balm to whatever uncertainty raged in him. A promise he wouldnât be able to refuse.
Gone was the demanding prince that had devoured your cunt only moments ago. In his place was the broken boy, wrecked with guilt and rage.
And that was exactly how you needed him. Open and raw, so you could rebuild him.
Aemond nodded, hands squeezing at your waist as he tried to move you over his almost painfully hard length.
âPleaseâŚâ
That was all he got out before you sank down onto him. Taking him to the hilt with a breathy moan. Your fleshy walls stretching to accommodate him as though you were built for only him.
Aemondâs eye rolled closed, your name falling from his lips as you began to ride him. You started slow at first, rolling your hips back and forth at a painfully slow pace. His hands tightening on your waist in his impatience.
One of his hands trailed up, cupping your breast in his palm and massaging the flesh with a reverence. Your hips sped up at he sat up, wrapping an arm around your waist as he latched his lips onto your pebbled bud. His tongue swirling as a groan of satisfaction left his body.
You laced a hand through his hair, holding him to your chest like a mother would a babe.
âTake what you need, my sweet boy.â
I can smell your sickness, I can cure ya (Cure). Cure your diseaseâŚ
You were not a mother, not swollen with milk, but the action brought him a comfort he never understood. Just to be cared for and nurtured was enough.
Between the feel of your hot cunt swallowing his cock again and again, to the soft flesh of your breast between his lips, Aemond was as close to the heavens as he believed he may ever get.
His hips began to rut up into you, feet planted on the bed as he put all of his effort into pleasing you. The wet slap of skin against skin mingled with his grunts and your moans.
The first tendrils of his release began to lick at the base of his spine, releasing your breast and simply burying his face in the valley between.
You let him control the pace, slamming his hips into yours with wild abandon. Your release struck you like lightning, your muscles shaking as Aemond chased his own end. And it wasnât long before he thrust into you one last time. Painting your insides with his seed.
Aemond grunted out his release against your skin. Breath huffing against you as he stilled.
You could hear him mumbling against you, words not meant for your ears. The one word that you could just about make out.
âMine.â
You ignored it, it wasnât for you to hear. Not yet anyway. He was in a haze of pleasure and satisfaction. Drunk from his release.
The word lingered in your mind. You had wanted him under your thrallâŚ
But you hadnât quite expected him to come so willingly.
(Ah) (Ah) Cure your disease. (Ah) I can smell your sickness, I can cure yaâŚ
Every night from then on Aemond was at your door, or you were summoned to his. Seeking solace in your body in whatever way he could.
The dreams stopped. The rage smouldered, like a fire that simply needed fuel.
And you both knew the fuel would come. But for now, he was happy at your side.
You had succeeded where your sister had failed. You had brought a Targaryen prince to heel. But you didnât know he had taken your heart as well.
Where Aemond went, you went too. Taken from the service of House Strong to the personal service of the Prince Regent.
Bring me your desire, I can cure your disease. If you were a sinner, I could make you believeâŚ
Aemond had settled in Harrenhal now. Sending word back to Kingâs Landing to inform the Council that the cursed castle belonged to the King now and that Simon Strong had bent the knee.
He came immediately to your chambers after a nightâs ride on Vhagar. The smell of dragon and smoke entering your chambers before he did. And when he entered, you hurried to the door to greet him.
âDo you want a bath drawing, my love?â
The endearment was new, but Aemond had never stopped you from using it. The warmth it sent through his heart was more comfort than he had felt in a long time.
Your hands were already removing his coat and folding it over a chair by the fire.
âYou do not have to tend to me, you know? You are not my servant.â
It was not the first time heâd spoken such things. But you always brushed it off. You didnât tend to him because you felt you had to, it was because you wanted to. Because he needed it.
âServant or no, I like taking care of you.â You answered, pressing a kiss to his cheek with a smile.
Aemond hummed in response. Maybe it was because he simply wasnât used to it. Having someone tend to his every need because they truly cared for him. Or at least, he believed you cared for him.
Youâd given him no reason to think otherwise.
Lay you down like one, two, three. Eyes roll back in ecstasyâŚ
The bath was drawn, though Aemond had demanded a servant do the work whilst you lounged in his lap. His coat and leather tunic discarded, boots kicked off to the side. His hair loose just as you liked it.
The water was cooling as he finally stripped and stepped in. You kneeled at the side, letting yourself be warmed by the fire. Aemondâs hand reached out for your chin, turning you to plant a kiss on your lips.
âGet in with me.â
It wasnât a question or a command. Aemond commonly stated what he wanted and left you a choice of whether to follow or not.
You stood, letting his dripping hand slide down your dress. You let the fabric pool around your ankles, stepping in and letting your back rest against his chest. His arms wrapping around your waist, hands flattening against your stomach.
Aemondâs lips found the juncture of your throat and shoulder, planting lingering kisses to your skin.
âYou have bewitched me, thatâs the rumour that is circling this ruin.â Aemond whispered suddenly, his voice muffled with the skin of your shoulder.
You laughed softly. Youâd heard the same. That you had poisoned the princeâs mind, that you had used your unholy powers to seduce and entrance him.
âIs that what you believe? That I have toyed with your mind? Used my body to control you?â
It didnât hurt you. Not anymore. It wouldnât be the first time youâd been accused of such.
Aemondâs hands trailed lower, fingers finding the heat between your thighs and circling your bud softly.
âYou have done many things, my little witch,â Aemond hummed, parting your folds with his other hand and sinking two fingers within.
âWhether it is enchantment or love I care little. All I know, is that I am better when I am with you.â
That was all you needed to hear. Leaning your head back and pressing hot kisses to his jaw as his hand moved faster. Water splashing around you as he pressed his hips against your backside.
âYou have cured me, little witch. Fixed my broken parts and made me whole.â
You could only moan his name, eyes rolled shut as he bit down on your shoulder. Shifting your body until he could slide his length to rest between your folds. The cant of your hips enough to bring him to release just as you spilled over his hand.
I know all your secrets, I can cure ya, oh. Cure your diseaseâŚ
You knew his heart, Aemond knew that deep down. You knew what ailed him before he could even speak the words himself. Whether it was love or something else, heâd realised quickly that it didnât matter.
He never openly said it, Aemond wasnât sure he ever would. But he knew you knew it. In the way he held you. In the way he would take you over and over every night.
It was as though you were a piece to a puzzle he hadnât realised heâd been struggling with.
His little witch.
(Ah) Cure your disease. (Ah) Cure ya. (Ah) I can smell your sickness, I can cure yaâŚ
Aemond was in a shroud of bliss. The past failures of the war meant nothing now. He had secured Harrenhal, he was a step closer to finding more success as more of Rhaenyraâs followers fell or abandoned her.
So, when a letter arrived, carried by a servant to what had become your shared chambers, he had believed nothing could ruin what he had.
But the Targaryen symbol, painted red and black on the wax lit a fire within him that hadnât existed in a long time. He dismissed everyone, even you, from his presence as he read. The letter was from his uncle. Congratulating him on securing Harrenhal.
But that wasnât all.
It was an invitation. A taunt even. Goading him to end the war once and for all. Prince against Prince. Uncle against nephew. Dragon against dragon.
You could tell something was wrong the second you saw him again. The tense set of his brow and jaw. The letter discarded on the floor.
âDaemon?â
Aemond nodded, continuing to stare out of the window.
âHe wishes to settle this once and for all. Him against me.â He snapped, his hands clasped behind his back.
You were already forming a plan. You knew Daemon, you knew what his mindset was now, having seen him only months past before he murdered your sister â a fact you had sometimes considered revenge for.
âInvite him to Harrenhal. The Godâs Eye has enough space for dragons to battle.â
Aemond turned to you in shock. You planned to send him to his potential death?
But he knew you. You were more intelligent than some would allow themselves to believe. You read people like Aemond read books.
Your hands wrapped around his waist.
âBring him here and I will handle the rest. You will have your battle, and I will repay him for my sisterâs demise.â
Aemond hummed, bringing one of your hands to his lips and kissing it.
The date was set. Daemon was set to arrive that night. Vhagar was as restless as her rider. Waiting outside the blackened walls for her riderâs call.
The screech of Caraxes was heard before he was seen. The entire castle was on edge. A dragon battle was both a spectacle and a devastation.
Aemond was sure Daemon would arrive alone, and he was right. There was no army, just his uncle and his blood red dragon.
The elder prince landed outside the gate, settling beside Caraxes to wait for Aemond.
But you remembered how easily Daemon had succumbed to the horrors of Harrenhal, and you could only hope it would happen again.
Though you werenât going to leave things to chance.
Herbs were you weapon. Knowing what could warp or sharpen a mind. It was an unfair advantage, of course, but you had good reason to ensure Aemondâs victory.
The child that grew in your womb.
The herbs hung from the tree Caraxes rested under were subtle, but the mix of scents would be just enough to meddle with Daemonâs concentration. You had no plans to allow any risk that Aemond would perish.
Aemond was outside beside Vhagar. Weapons strapped to his belt and a stern set to his expression. He could feel your presence the second you stepped onto the shore.
âI had to see youâŚâ you called out, taking cautious steps closer.
He turned, his face softening as he saw you.
âA welcome sight, my little witch.â His voice was as tense as his face.
He closed the distance between you, wrapping his arms around you and kissing the top of your head.
You both stood in silence. The weight of what was coming heavy in the air.
Despite everything, despite your beginnings, he loved you. Even if he never said it, he loved you.
And you loved him.
When you pulled away, your expression was entirely serious.
âCome back, my love. Whatever it takes, come backâŚto us.â
Aemond held you at armâs length, silently begging for an explanation. All you gave was moving his hand to rest on your womb. The heavy fabric of your gown having hid the swell of your stomach for the last few weeks.
âIâll never leave youâŚeither of you.â
The vow he made sunk into your veins. Those words meaning more than any declaration of love.
He turned, mounting Vhagar as Caraxes screeched in the distance.
The battle begun.
I can cure your disease. (Ah) Cure your disease. (Ah) Cure your disease. (Ah) OohâŚ
You watched from the safety of the castle. Hand on your stomach as you silently prayed.
You had fixed his pain, gave him something to fight for.
You could only hope it would be enough.
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The Path To Healing
Pairing: Azriel x f!reader
Summary: A glimpse into different moments of Azriel's life: from his childhood trauma to the physical healing, from his struggles and his acceptance to the beginning of his mental healing journey.
Warnings: angst, self-hate, self-consciousness, violence and blood, mentions of torture, language, fingering (brief)
Word count: 8.9k
A/N: I might or might not have cried while writing some parts of this. I focused only on Azriel's hands, and I'm sure I only scratched the surface of what his trauma is. I'm nowhere close to an expert on any of this, but I tried my best and hopefully did it justice. @azrielappreciationweek
Pain was all he knew.
His eyes hurt from crying, and he desperately wanted to rub them, but he couldn't. He couldn't, because his hands⌠His handsâŚ
More tears poured down his already puffed cheeks, and his cries turned into a choked soundâsobs that tore through his chest and shook his little body, his wings a dead weight on his back.
âShh,â his mother murmured, her voice soothing, her touch gentle as she cupped his face. âIt's going to be okay. You're going to be okay, baby.â
Azriel didn't know how to believe her. It seemed to him like nothing could ever be okay again. He couldn't feel his hands anymoreâthey had been replaced by a blinding pain that reached up to his elbows. All he could see when he looked down was a red splotch, too red to be normal.
When his father had heard his screams, heâd called the healers. By then, it was too late, and the damage was already done. But his father had merely given his half-brothers a disappointed look and dumped Azriel in his mother's care, as if he had become even more of a burden than before. He didn't know what he had done to deserve it.
His mom began to hum a lullaby, but Azriel could barely hear it over his sobs and whimpers. She took one of his shaking hands in hers as gently as she could, touching his marred skin when strictly necessary, but even that drew a shriek from him.
âI know, baby,â his mother whispered as she began wrapping his hand in new strips of clean fabric. âI know it hurts. But I need to bandage it so it can get better, okay?â
Azriel tried to hold back his cries of pain as she worked. He tried to focus on her face and the lullaby instead, but he kept praying through it allâto the Cauldron, to the Mother, to whoever was listeningâthat it would be over soon. Just like he had begged and prayed while his half-brothers had burned him, but no one had come then.
Now, though, his silent prayers were answered.
âThere you go, my love,â his mom said softly, placing a kiss on his forehead. âAll done. See? Does it hurt a bit less now?â
He looked down to find his hands covered in white linen. The tight bandages applied just enough pressure to reduce the pain, even if only by just a fraction. He met his mother's concerned gaze and nodded weakly, watching as the corner of her lips twitched upward. It didn't help much, though, and tears still streamed down his face.
âCome here,â she whispered, gathering his shaking body in her arms and holding him close to her chest. âMy precious boy. You'll get through this, Az. I promise.â
Azriel buried his face in her neck and cried until he was too exhausted to do even that. But his mom never stopped singing him an old Illyrian lullaby, rocking him back and forth as if he were a newborn baby.
She kept going long after he fell asleep.
~~~~~~
Azriel was staring at his hands, at the ridges of his new scars. He knew he should be practicing, but he could only stare.
âWhat is it, sweetie?â
His mother came up beside him. His father had allowed her to see him a bit more over the last few months, not wanting to spend money on healers more than once every other week when they came to check on him and his progress.
Azriel turned his hands over, now looking at the backs of them. He still wasnât used to seeing them like this. How much time had he spent looking at them? During those long hours in his cell with no light, he had thought about them endlessly.
Sometimes, he could swear the darkness whispered in his ear, soothing his mind until he finally fell asleep.
âThey're ugly,â he said. His voice was flat, as if he was simply stating a fact. Because that's what they were to himâugly, ruined, useless. Always shaking and itching.
His mother's soft hands enveloped his smaller ones in a gentle hold. âLook at me.â
He obeyed, meeting her tender, reassuring gaze. Even at his young age, he knew she loved him. His stepmother never looked at him like that, on the rare occasions she even bothered to acknowledge his existence.
âYour hands are not ugly, my child,â his mom assured him. Her tone was calm, but there was a new resolution etched onto her features. âThey've just been through a lot.â
Azriel shook his head. âThey're ugly,â he insisted. âNo one else has hands that look like this. They're full of scars and cuts andâŚâ
His voice trailed off as his mom extended her wings behind her. A twinge of pain crossed her face, and she could only unfold them a few inches, but it was enough for Azriel to see the twin long scars running down their length. He didn't know how she got them, but she once told him she couldn't fly because of them. Heâd felt an odd sense of relief at that, knowing his mom couldn't fly eitherâthat her blood, like his, urged her to take off and roam the skies, yet neither of them could.
âDo you think my wings are ugly, Az?â she asked. She still spoke with that soft tone, but it was now tinged with firmness.
Azriel immediately shook his head. âNo,â he answered. âNo, they're not ugly.â
âBut they have scars. They're ruined and useless.â How had she known those were the words he used for his own hands? Had he said them out loud? âWhat are wings for, if not for flying? Yet I can't fly anymore.â
He shook his head again, more firmly this time. âMom, no,â he said, decisive and unyielding. âYour wings are beautiful. You're beautiful.â
Her face softened, a smile blooming on her lips as she gently squeezed his hands. âThen your hands are beautiful too.â She lifted them to her lips, kissing each one. âThink of them not as reminders of pain, but of strength. You've suffered a lot, but you're stronger. You're healing. And one day, it won't even hurt anymore.â
Azriel was silent for a long moment. âIs it really like that?â
âOf course, baby,â she reassured him, leaning down to press a kiss to his hair.
He knew she was lying. He saw the pain on her face when she moved her wings. They still hurt sometimes. But he believed her anyway, because he needed to.
His mother let go of his hands and picked up the pen he had discarded just a few minutes ago. âDo you think you can practice a little longer?â
Azriel didn't want to. His fingers had gone stiff earlier, the constant itching even stronger now. But he didn't want his hands to be useless, so he took the pen from her.
Almost two sheets of paper were covered with just one word, repeated over and over. His own name. Easy enough to write, yet the letters were crooked and shaky, the ink smeared where his hand had accidentally trailed over it.
With a sigh, Azriel set the pen on the paper and tried his best to keep his hand steady as he resumed the exercise.
~~~~~~
Azriel really wanted to get laid.
There was no other way to say it. Every time he heard Cassian and Rhysand talk about a new girl they had slept with, he felt a pang of jealousy. He wanted to experience it tooâto know what it felt like to have that kind of connection with someone and not have to resort to his own hand whenever he couldn't ignore his need.
But he had always been too shy to approach the pretty girls his brothers chatted up so easily. His hands did nothing to help his confidence.
Tonight, though, was bonfire night. Organized twice a year, it was held on the Spring and Autumn Equinox to celebrate the new season. And this year, Azriel had every intention of going home with a girl.
His brothers were laughing and pushing each other as they walked through the muddy streets of Windhaven. He wasnât paying much attention to what they were sayingâsomething about their earlier fight during training. No, Azrielâs mind was already focused on his plan.
He would keep a safe distance from the fire, where no incidents could happen. But he would scan the crowd of Illyrians for a female who caught his interest, and when he found her, he would approach her, talk a little, and then ask if she wanted to go somewhere more private.
Simple enough.
He was a warrior in training, after all. He had seven Siphons. He was a Shadowsinger.
He had nothing to fear from interacting with girls.
Yet, he couldn't recall the last time heâd started a conversation with a female. In the ten years he'd been at Windhaven, it had probably happened only with Rhys's mother. But she didn't count.
Someone bumped into Azriel, and, lost in his thoughts as he was, he almost fell to the ground. He managed to flare his wings to steady himself, glaring at Cassian as he regained his balance.
âSorry about that,â Cassian said, though his snicker didn't make him sound particularly sincere. âI've been talking to you for two minutes, but you didn't hear a single word. What's going on?â
âNothing,â Azriel mumbled, folding his wings behind him again. âMaybe you're just not worth listening to.â
Cassian gasped audibly, clutching his chest in mock heartache as a group of children sprinted by, headed for the square where the first booms of laughter and echoes of chattering rang out.
âDon't worry, Az,â Rhys chimed in before their brother could come up with a retort. âYou'll get your first taste of sex tonight.â
Azriel shrugged off the hand Rhysand had placed on his shoulder. âDon't look in my mind,â he nearly growled, checking his mental shields just to be sure.
Both his brothers halted their steps and stared at him, twin shit-eating grins on their faces.
âI didn't,â Rhys said. âBut thank you for confirming my suspicions.â
Cassian nudged him with an elbow, already teasing him about girls and first times and wingspans. With a snort, Azriel shoved him away and continued toward the bonfire, leaving the other two behind to push each other around, their chuckles chasing him down the street.
How they had guessed what he was up to, he didn't know. Heâd been careful not to tell them, knowing their reaction would consist of snickers and jabs that he was in no mood for.
As he turned the corner, the square came into view. Just like every year, the bonfire stood in its center, rising several feet high and adorned with little homemade trinkets meant to bring good luck and a prosperous season when burned.
They would light it soon.
The square was already packed with people when Azriel reached it. Children ran around chasing each other, their laughs and screams echoing into the night. Warriors gathered in small groups, swords on their back and knives at their thighs or hips, not letting their guard down even during a festivity.
And then there were the females. Most sat together in a corner, chatting idly and glancing at the children from time to time. But some of themâthe younger ones, the ones around Azriel's ageâstrolled in groups of two or three.
How was he supposed to approach them if they were always together? It was difficult enough when they were alone.
Azriel spotted Cassian and Rhys from the corner of his eye and moved deeper into the crowd, choosing to stand on the opposite side of the square from them. The last thing he needed was for his brothers to make fun of him.
Someone shouted a warning, and a moment later, the pyre was lit. Azriel flinched as flames erupted, pressing himself closer to the wall behind him. Even from this distance, he could feel the heat of the fire, warming his skin and casting a flickering glow all around.
He shut it out. He shut out the memory of what fire could do to flesh, the smell of burned skin, the screams and cries of a terrified eight-year-old boy. The shadows suddenly swirled around him, brushing against his arms and neck.
Past. Gone. Gone. Just memories.
Azriel closed his eyes and took a steadying breath, letting the truth they whispered calm his racing heart.
He sensed the girl before even the darkness could murmur of her approach.
He let his shoulders slump a little and slid his hands into his pockets, assuming a more casual stance. When he opened his eyes, she was watching him from a few feet away. Her head snapped around to stare at the bonfire as soon as she realized she'd been caught staring.
Azriel couldn't suppress his smirk. He had grown accustomed to females looking his way from the moment heâd hit puberty, but it still made him feel smug every time. Never mind that they didn't approach himâor that he never approached them.
But now, though. Now he would.
Taking one last deep breath, he took a nervous step toward her. And then another. She glanced in his direction, cheeks flushed and eyes wide, but one more step and Azriel was standing in front of her.
A few inches shorter than him, she didn't back away, her big brown eyes meeting his hazel ones. Her delicate face was framed by strands of wavy black hair that flowed past her shoulders, and he stopped himself before his eyes could travel downward to the curves shaping her slim body. She was pretty. Beautiful, even.
âHi,â he said, attempting a smile. He wasn't sure it looked right.
The girl offered a small smile back. âI'm, uh⌠I didn't mean to stare. Iâm sorry.â
He shrugged. âIt's alright.â
For a brief, awkward moment, they just stood there, looking at each other. Then Azriel realized she was waiting for him to say something more. Right.
âWhat's your name?â he finally asked, silently thanking the little shadow that had curled around his ear to whisper the suggestion.
âI'm Teagan.â The girl's smile widened. âAnd you're Azriel.â
Caught off guard, he blinked. âYou know me?â
Teagan chuckled, a clear and crystalline sound that eased some of the tension in Azriel's body.
Some of it.
âI've seen you around,â she answered with a shrug. Firelight danced on her features. âThere aren't many Shadowsingers here, you know. None, in fact. You're one of a kind.â
Her initial shyness seemed completely gone now. Good. That made one of them, at least. Because if her words were meant as flattery, they didn't work. Instead, they only made Azriel more nervous.
What if she had expectations? What if she started asking questions about his powers? What if she would be disappointed now that she was talking to him? What if sheâ
Azriel cleared his throat, trying to clear his mind at the same time. âThank you,â he said.
Too stiff. Too short. Not an acceptable answer. But he didn't know what else to say. How was he supposed to talk to a girl when heâd barely had any social interaction for the first eleven years of his life?
But Teagan must have found his awkwardness endearing, because she smiled, amusement shining in her eyes. âAren't you going to offer me some food?â
A blush crept up his cheeks as he glanced over to the few tables laid with food in one corner of the square. People were already gathering around them and filling their dishes. Cassian was there too, shamelessly flirting with a girl whose hands were already wandering over his chest.
Azriel turned back to Teagan and nodded, a shy smile forming on his face. âI am, actually.â He cleared his throatâas if it could help him sound more confidentâthen gestured to the tables with his head. His hands remained buried in the pockets of his coat. âWould you like to get some food?â
It came out too formal, and his posture was too rigid. And simply nodding toward the tables? Rude. How could Rhys do this so smoothly? How could Cassian be so bold and smug?
Teagan chuckled again, though. She looped her arm through Azriel's and steered him toward the food. âYou've never done this before, have you?â
He almost choked. It was worse than he'd feared, then.
âNo, not really⌠IâŚâ His voice trailed off, and he had no idea how to recover.
She leaned in closer as they walked, and Azriel became acutely aware of just how close she was. Her body pressed against his side, and he could feel her breath on his neck now. He wanted to take her hand, or maybe even slide his arm around her waist. If only he had worn gloves, maybe he would have dared. Though he'd need to find the courage first.
âAm I the first girl you try to flirt with?â she asked, her tone teasing.
Try. Not just flirt, but try to flirt. He was failing so miserably. Maybe he should just give up and leave.
Azriel could only nod, his face a deeper shade of red than Cassianâs siphons.
âI think it's cute,â Teagan said, her big smile lighting up her pretty face. âI'm glad you chose me to be your first.â
If only she knew what kind of first Azriel hoped she would be⌠but judging by how things were going, he suspected they wouldnât get that far.
âI⌠don't really know what I'm doing,â he admitted, unsure why he was even saying that. It probably wasn't a smart move to reveal it, but it was too late to take it back.
As they weaved through the crowd, Teagan stepped even closer to him, and in doing so, her wing brushed against Azrielâs. They both gasped, and though she smiled sheepishly, he didnât miss the mischievous gleam in her eyes.
âSorry,â she said, a hint of amusement in her voice. âI just wanted to be closer to you. I really think you're cute. And I appreciate your honesty.â
Azriel smiled warmly, his heart thumping in his chest. He could still salvage this, maybe, so that his first interaction with a girl wouldnât be a total failure.
As they stopped in front of the tables, he stepped back slightly to face her. âI think youâre cute too,â he said, meeting her gaze. He did his best not to sound shy or awkward. âYou're very pretty.â
Her face lit up. âThank you, Azriel.â
He was about to offer her some food when a group of kids suddenly weaved through the crowd and ran by. Azriel heard them coming and tucked his wings tightly, but Teagan either noticed them too late or couldn't fold her clipped wings any further.
The children bumped into her as they sprinted past, and she sucked in a sharp breath when one of them brushed her wing. Azriel was quick to grab her elbow to steady her, and something fluttered in his chest when she smiled in thanks. But then her gaze moved to his hand, still on her arm, and her eyes widenedâin horror or shock, he couldn't tell.
He pulled his hand back as fast as he could, tucking it back into his pocket.
Too late.
Teagan swallowed, and the silence that stretched between them hit Azriel as painfully as a punch to the jaw.
âSo,â he said eventually, feeling beyond awkward as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. âWhat kind of food wouldââ
âI'm sorry,â she interrupted, already taking a small step back. Her eyes darted to the pocket where heâd hidden his hand before looking at him again. No warmth shone in them now. âBut I forgot I had to⌠do something very important with my friend. Maybe another time.â
Azriel stood there, watching her turn and walk away without another glance. The rejection left him reeling. His mother could say whatever she wanted about his scars not being ugly or horrifying, but he now knew better than to believe her.
His hands balled into fists, and he took a deep breath, flexing his fingers. Without bothering to inform his brothersâwho were probably on their way to sleep with yet another girl, since their hands were perfectly normal and unscarredâAzriel left the square. He put a few buildings between himself and the ongoing festivities before taking off to the skies.
He didn't return until long after the sun had set over the horizon.
~~~~~~
Azriel wished he could say he felt at least a bit bad for his half-brothers as Rhys and Cass threw punch after punch at their jaw and stomach. But all he felt while watching the scene unfold was a deep sense of satisfaction, which only grew with every new groan.
When Rhys had told him he needed to talk to his father for court matters, Azriel had refused to go. He had no interest in seeing his father or the rest of his family again, and Rhys had understood, asking Cassian to accompany him instead.
But Azriel had followed them. There was no reason for Cass to be there too, not when he was no good at playing courtier. He doubted Rhysand's father had told him to bring Cassian along.
Hidden in the shadows in the corner of the room, Azriel watched in silence as his brothersâhis real ones, the only ones who mattered, as far as he was concernedâlanded blow after blow. He knew now this was the real reason they'd come here.
Cassian had been itching for a fight from the moment they arrived and he didn't do a good job at hiding it. Azriel wasn't sure Cassian even tried to hide it. Rhys looked more composed, the perfect picture of the future High Lord dealing with minor problems of his Court. But as soon as Azriel's father had left, both of them had turned to his half-brothers with pure rage in their eyes.
One of them had been either bold or stupid enough to smirk. âHow's our bastard brother doing?â
Rhysand and Cassian had both snapped. Despite being a few years older, his half-brothers didn't stand a chance. A warm feeling of affection was the only thing filling his chest as Azriel watched the two Illyrians who had taken him in, taught him how to fly, and showed him what a real family looked like, beat the shit out of whom was supposed to be his actual family.
He didn't make a sound, using his shadows to conceal even his scent. They were all too busy to pick up on it, even more so now that the metallic scent of blood filled the air, but he preferred to be careful.
Azriel didn't know exactly how much time had passed when Rhys and Cass finally relented, their chests heaving and their knuckles smeared with red. They straightened their backs, Cassianâs wings still spread in a fighting stance. Rhys, on the other hand, looked more relaxed, but his cold expression betrayed him.
âDon't you dare speak of him like that again,â Cassian snarled. His voice was just slightly breathless despite the beating he'd just given. âEspecially after what you did to him.â
Azriel fought the urge to look down at his scarred hands. Being back in his father's keep was enough to stir memories he had long tried to forget. Instead, he focused on his brothers, on how much they must love him to risk hurting and threatening the sons of an Illyrian lord because of what they'd done to him.
Rhys exchanged a knowing glance with Cassian, and they turned to leave, abandoning his half-brothers on the floor. But they stood with a groan, battered and bloodied, still as arrogant as before. If not more so, now that they needed to make up for their bruised ego after being beaten so easily by a half-Illyrian and a low-born bastard.
One of them, the oldest, flared his wings as if trying to appear more intimidating. âHe deserved it,â he spat.
Azriel had to stop himself from lunging forward and burying his own fist in his half-brother's stomach. He wanted to make him understand, to wave his hands in front of his face and yell at him. See this? This is what you did to me. I was eight! How could I have deserved it?
But he remained still, standing in the corner with his hands balled into fists so tight that his nails dug into his palms.
Rhysand held back Cassian as he tried to pounce on Azrielâs half-brothers. Cassian looked outraged, as if he couldn't understand why he suddenly wasn't allowed to fight. But Azriel could see the expression on Rhys's face and knew his brother had something different in mind.
âYou think Azriel deserved it?â he asked, his voice unnervingly calm. He looked a lot like his father nowâaware that he didn't need to raise his voice or his fists for people to obey.
âWell, fortunately for you, I can't show you exactly what I think you two deserve,â Rhys continued, slowly slipping his hands into his pockets. âBut I can at least give you a taste of it.â
Before anyone could move, a crack pierced the air, immediately followed by a sharp cry of pain as his half-brothers both collapsed to the ground once more. Their legs lay beneath them at strange angles, the bone of one protruding where it had pierced the skin. The scent of blood grew stronger as the white tiles turned red.
His mother would have disapproved, Azriel knew that. She believed vengeance should not be sought out, and that living well in spite of what had happened was more than enough. Perhaps she was right, and Azriel was as bad and cruel as his half-brothers, after all. But as he stood there, watching them bleed and whine and scream for a healer who didn't come, all he felt was a deep sense of satisfaction, knowing that they now felt a fraction of the helplessness he had felt when they burned him.
Cassian crossed his arms, a feral grin spreading across his face. âStop crying, boys,â he taunted. âIt's not like you won't heal.â
The corner of Rhys's lips curled into a smirk. âI put a shield around the room. No one can hear you or smell the blood. I think I'll leave it in place and let you crawl out to ask for help.â
With a glance to Cassian, Rhys gestured toward the door in a silent command, and they walked out without sparing the two Illyrians another glance.
But Azriel stayed a few more moments. Just long enough to see his half-brothers try to rise, fail miserably, and fall back on the floor. When they began to crawl, using their hands to drag themselves across the floor, smearing their blood over the tiles and their clothes, Azriel smiled.
He didn't care if they were spouting insults at him and his brothers. He didn't care what kind of person that made him. The sight of his half-brothers crawling and bleeding delighted him.
With one last look at them, Azriel winnowed away, his heart full of love for the two brothers the Cauldron had blessed him with.
~~~~~~
It felt like centuries had passed since Azriel had last been this nervous around a girl. It had likely been over a hundred years, if not more, since he couldn't recall the last time he went on a date. Even longer since heâd had a genuine crush. Normally, he just approached girls, or they approached him, and things quickly escalated into a night of sex. But it was nothing more than thatâjust fucking.
With you, it was different.
He met you a couple of weeks ago when he walked into your little bookstore to buy a present for Nesta's birthday. You were so nice and radiant that he couldn't stop thinking about you, and he lost count of how many times he came, buying books he didn't need and asking for recommendations only to listen to you talk. And then he had finally asked you out, and your smile had lit up the whole shop as you said yes.
He was standing on the other side of the street, watching as you closed up the store for the day. Your dress flew around your legs in the evening breeze, and your hair was styled in a simple bun on your head.
Azriel smiled as you crossed the street. As usual, he had to hold back his shadows as they swirled excitedly around him. âYou look lovely,â he said when you stopped in front of him.
âThank you,â you replied quietly, lowering your gaze for a second before looking at him with a smile. âYou're not too bad either.â
He chuckled softly. âThank you.â Offering his arm, he gestured to the street. âShall we?â
You looped your arm through his, and together you strolled along the Sidra, your steps unhurried.
Conversation flowed easily, and Azriel relaxed more as you talked about everything from your job to his preference for flying over winnowing. His shadows, which had lingered around his wings, vanished completely. But then you got to the little restaurant where he had reserved a table, and he grew nervous once more.
Even with your arms linked, your focus never drifted to his hands during the walk. Your eyes were either on him or your surroundings, making it easy to forget his marred skin.
Until you sat across from him and the food arrived. There was no way now you wouldn't notice his scars, which normally wasn't a problemâhe'd stopped caring about strangers' opinions years ago. But you weren't a stranger, and you weren't just another girl he wanted to fuck.
You were sweet and beautiful, and he was drawn to you in a way he hadn't experienced in decades. He didn't want you to run away from him.
Maybe he shouldn't have taken you out to dinner on the first date, because now it was probably going to be the last one too.
Yet you didn't stare at his hands. You acted as if everything was normal, never commenting or asking what had happened to him. You carried on the conversation just like before, and when Azriel, hiding his distress behind a carefully crafted mask, asked you about a theater play you'd just mentioned, you launched into a passionate description of its plot and themes. His uneasiness slowly faded as he watched your eyes light up. You leaned closer over the table, so engaged in your story that Azriel found himself smiling and nodding along, only half listening, his worries about his hands momentarily forgotten.
Your voice suddenly trailed off mid-sentence, and you leaned back in your chair, tilting your head to the side. âWhat?â you asked with a soft smile. Before he could answer, you tensed and added, âI've done it again, haven't I? Rambling on about something you don't care about.â
Azriel shook his head, his hand itching to reach across the table and brush yours, though he held back. âY/N,â he said, his voice quiet and reassuring. âI do care. I asked you that question. You just had that look on your face.â
Your brow furrowed. âWhat look?â
âThe one you have when you talk about something you like,â he answered, watching your expression grow confused for a second. âYou have it when you talk about books too.â
You were quiet for a moment, and then your eyes narrowed slightly. âAzriel,â you said slowly, but your lips twitched up in a smirk. âDid you ask for all those recommendations just to hear me talk?â
âMaybe,â he conceded, a faint blush creeping up his neck. His heart fluttered as your eyes met, and he couldnât help but smile back.
Heâd forgotten having a crush could feel like thisâlike being a boy again. Only now he knew what to do.
Heâd never been much of a talker, preferring to listen and chime in occasionally, but with you, it was easy. You had your own way of involving him, asking questions or simply waiting for him to share his thoughts. Even though you barely paused, Azriel never felt like you were hogging the attention. On the contrary, you made him more at ease.
After you left the restaurant, you went strolling through the streets of Velaris. Azriel was just about to answer your question about how fast, exactly, an Illyrian could fly when you let out a delighted squeal, grabbed his hand, and pulled him toward a small bakery.
âOh, I was waiting for this place to open!â You stopped in front of the window with a dreamy sigh before turning to look up at him. âI forgot it was today. Can we go in? Please, tell me you like pastries!â
Your enthusiasm was endearing, but Azriel couldnât help glancing down at your hand still holding his larger, scarred one. You didn't seem to noticeâor if you did, you didnât care.
Your grip loosened slightly as you noticed the shift in his attention, but you didn't let go. âSorry,â you said quietly, your eyes searching his face. âI got a bit carried away. Is this alright?â
He wasn't sure what to say. The lump in his throat made it hard to speak. That you had grabbed his hand without thinking was enough to leave him speechless, but what you were asking now⌠it wasnât just that you weren't bothered by his scars. It was that you wanted to keep holding his hand. Azriel couldn't wrap his mind around it.
You probably misunderstood his silence because you started to pull back. He immediately held your hand tighter, gently squeezing it, as if to silently reassure you. âNo, itâs okay,â he said quickly, his voice softer than usual. âIâm justâŚâ Not used to it. âYou caught me off-guard, thatâs all.â
âI caught the spymaster off guard?â you teased, raising an eyebrow. âShould I be worried? Do we need to inform the High Lord?âÂ
Azriel shook his head with a soft chuckle, his gaze lingering on you before he gestured toward the bakery. âWould you still like those pastries?â
Your eyes lit up, and Azriel made a mental note of how much you liked sweets. âOh, yes, please!â
âThen letâs get you some, shall we?â
You walked past him as he held the door open for you, a grateful smile lighting up your face. Your hand remained entwined with his, and for once, Azriel didnât feel the need to hide it.
You did not let go until he walked you home and you closed the front door behind you, and Azriel had never felt such lightness as he flew back to the House of Wind.
~~~~~~
Azriel sat on the edge of his bed, staring at his hands with a grimace on his face.
Someone had tried to infiltrate Velaris, likely sent from the Hewn City, and Azriel had been called to find out why. He could still recall the blood and the pleading whimpers. But in the end, he got the information he wanted. He always did.
At a cost.
He had long since learned to keep a cold expression, even in the face of the suffering he caused. He was used to it after centuries, and as long as it kept his city and family safe, he didn't care how cruel he had to become. Maybe it made him a horrible person, but his soul wasn't the cost.
The cost was his hands.
Even after all this time, being in the cells beneath the Hewn City was like being back in the cell in his father's mansion. He had to shut down every part of him that felt, bury those memories deep down in his mind, and remind himself that he wasn't a helpless child anymore.
He was a five-hundred-year-old warrior, and he had a job to do.
But once the job was done, and Rhys decided how to deal with the prisoner and the consequences, Azriel would go back to his room knowing he didn't have much time.
He would wash his bloodied hands, though he knew no matter how much he washed, he could never cleanse them completely. He had five centuries worth of blood on them. After they were clean, if he was lucky, like today, he had time to peel off his leathers before the inevitable happened.
The pain.
No matter how many times heâd been in those dungeons, no matter how many years had passed since heâd last been locked in his fatherâs cell, he still didnât know how to stop the pain from returning.
It wasnât as bad as it had been the first few times, and it was nothing compared to what he had felt while his hands were being burned and in the days after. But Azriel still gritted his teeth, a low hiss escaping from him.
He tried clenching them into fists, but the relief lasted only a few seconds before he had to relax them again. His fingers were stiff as he reached for the drawer, a fresh surge of stinging pain hitting him when he pulled it open. Shadows dove in before he could and quickly whisked up a small jar of white cream. They undid the lid, and Azriel felt grateful for the dark companions that had never once left his side now more than ever.
Willing his hands to cooperate, he scooped up some of the soothing balm a healer had made for him. It always took a little while for its effect to show, but pain was an old friend he had learned to live with.
The herbal scent filled the room as Azriel did his best to spread the balm over every inch of his hands, trying to ignore the stinging itch. Scratching would only make it worse, reddening his already scarred skin until it threatened to bleed again.
He shifted to lie on the bed, wings spread beneath him. He just had to endure the ache for a few more minutes before the balm took effect, and then he could try to sleep. He needed some rest after such a long day, if only to have a clear mind when he met you the next afternoon.
As his shadows hummed in his ear the Illyrian lullaby his mother used to sing him as a child, Azriel let his eyes drift close, flexing his aching fingers every few seconds, hoping for a faster relief.
~~~~~~
Things moved slowly with you.
Neither of you wanted to rush into anything and potentially ruin what you both knew could be the beginning of something great.
You went on several dates, and some ended with him spending the night at your apartment, snuggled up in your bed, which was too small for an Illyrian. Azriel didnât care as long as he got to fall asleep with you in his arms.
But things had never gone this far.
When he came to your bookshop earlier, he had only planned to walk you home. You were tired from a long day dealing with customers, and he had to wake up early the next morning to leave for Illyria for a few days. Maybe it was the thought of not seeing youâeven if only for a weekâor the fact that you looked stunning in your simple dress, with strands of hair escaping from your messy bun. Whatever it was, Azriel wanted you. He needed you.
His lips parted from yours, both of you already breathing heavily. âI don't want to go home,â he murmured, his hands on your hips, twisting the thin fabric of your dress, wishing it weren't there.
âWhat do you want to do then?â you asked, amusement clear in your eyes. But there was desire there too, mirroring his own.
âI want to take off your dress,â he whispered, his fingers already moving to the straps on your shoulders. âWill you let me?â
âYes,â you breathed. âTake it off.â
With deft fingers, he slid the straps down your arms, and the fabric slipped off your body, pooling around your feet. You stepped out of it, and Azriel swallowed at the sight of you clad only in your cream underwear.
âIf I had known we'd be doing this, I would have worn something more enticing,â you said quietly. There was no shyness or embarrassment in your voice, as if you were simply stating a fact. You did have a pointâyour lingerie was simple, something you wore every day. It didn't matter to Azriel.
He shook his head, stepping closer to you. âYou don't need to,â he murmured. His hands cupped your face, tilting your head up to kiss you tenderly. âYou're always stunning, sweetheart, no matter what you wear.â
You hummed, a smile playing on your lips. âNow I want to know what you think when I'm not wearing anything.â
Azriel chuckled, even as desire coiled in his groin. A part of him wanted to toss you on the bed and fuck you senseless. But most of all, he wanted to take his time exploring your body, finding every spot that made you squirm and sigh. Only after he'd thoroughly tasted you would he bury himself inside you.
âLet's find out,â he replied with a smirk, already knowing that, no matter what, you'd always be perfect in his eyes.
He reached behind you to unclasp your bra, and as he tossed it on the chair, he felt himself harden. Your breasts were full and supple, your pink nipples so inviting that he wanted to wrap his lips around them. Yet as he lifted a hand to touch you, he hesitated.
The stark contrast between your soft, smooth skin and his scarred fingers made him pause. He had touched you before, but never so intimately. How could he do that? His hands had so much blood on them. With how they looked, it felt only fitting he would use them for horrible thingsâto hurt people. Not to touch the wonderful girl he was falling for. How could he be so selfish as to sully you like that? You deserved so much better than him. Someone who didnât torture and kill for a living, who didnât have a dark past still haunting him.
Someone good.
He took a step back, lowering his hand.
âAzriel,â you called gently. There was no sign of judgment or disappointment in your voice. You just wanted him to look at you.
Slowly, his eyes met yours. To his astonishment, a soft smile bloomed on your lips.
âItâs alright,â you murmured, taking his hands in yours. He fought the urge to pull away. âYou can touch me. I want you to touch me.â
He wanted to. More than anything. He wished he could.
âI shouldnât,â he whispered.
âWhy?â
How could he explain? He never told you what had happened to him. He didnât want you to pity him or, even worse, to drive you away. Selfishly, he wanted to keep you in his life.
When he didnât answer, your fingers slid around his wrists. Neither of you spoke as you lifted his hands to your mouth and kissed each scarred palm. Azrielâs throat worked, his heart pounding in his chest. Without a word, you placed his hands on your breasts. You let go of his wrists, giving him the freedom to pull away if he wanted to. But your eyes never left his, and that soft smile never faltered.
Azriel swallowed hard. For a moment, he just stood there, not pulling away but not moving either. Your face was open and serene, as if his scars didnât bother you, even now that they were touching such an intimate part of your body.
Seeing you like this, so calm and accepting, so soft and warm under his palms⌠his thumbs moved, brushing over your nipples. You shivered, and he couldnât stop himself from doing it again, feeling the small buds harden under his touch.
As if sensing his impending question, you nodded slightly. âYou can touch me, Az.â
Though he knew it was wrong and still didnât understand how you could want his bloodied, scarred hands on you, he gave you what you wantedâwhat you both wanted.
He slid one hand behind your neck, pulling you closer and kissing you again. The other remained on your breast, kneading the soft flesh, savoring every small sigh that escaped your lips. You leaned into him, your fingers tangling in his hair, deepening the kiss until Azrielâs control hung only by a thin thread.
When you pulled back, you didnât give him time to lower his mouth to your neck. You grasped his hand, gently moving it away from your chest, and a wave of fear tightened in Azrielâs stomach. You had changed your mind. Of course you had. He should have seen it coming.
But instead of stepping away, you guided his hand down. Between your legs.
His breath caught as his fingers brushed against your panties, feeling the already damp fabric beneath his touch.
âY/NâŚâ he whispered, his voice almost too quiet to hear. âAre you sure?â
You were smiling again. âYes. Please, Az.â
He didnât know how to say no. He knew he should have, that he was unworthy of touching someone so pure and lovely. But you had already pushed the fabric aside, and he groaned as your slick arousal coated his fingertips. Before he even realized what he was doing, his fingers found your clit, drawing a soft moan from you.
The thin thread holding his control snapped at the sound, and Azriel let himself give in.
He pulled you closer, his eyes locked on yours as his fingers explored what they shouldnât. At the first sign of hesitation or revulsion, he was ready to stop. But pleasure was the only emotion etched across your face, and he could see the desire for more burning in your eyes. Yet you were letting him set the pace, giving him time to accept your permission to touch you.
He slipped a finger between your folds, teasing your entrance before tentatively easing it inside, just a little.
Your hips bucked, and your voice came out as a needy whisper. âPleaseâŚâ
Azriel hesitated for only a split second before pushing his finger all the way in. You were soft and warm, and you both groaned as your walls clenched around it. He couldnât believe you were letting him do this, but he couldnât stop now.
As he slowly pumped it in and out, your hips began to rock against his hand to match his movements. He watched in contemplation as your eyes fluttered close and your lips parted slightly, a breathy moan slipping out when he couldnât resist the urge to add a second finger.
âAzrielâŚâ you murmured. âFeels so goodâŚâ
The sound of his name on your lips sent a wave of heat through his body. His wings rustled quietly behind him, and his cock throbbed in his pants. He pulled his hand away, relishing your disappointed whimper.
You hadnât run away from him. You didnât let his scars intimidate you, or shape your opinion of him. You werenât bothered by his marred fingers touching you; on the contrary, you craved them inside you. So why, despite the voice in his head whispering that he wasnât worthy of it, should he deny you something you both wanted so badly? He wanted to taste you, to make you come on his fingers, and see how much pleasure they could bring you.
âI want to do this properly,â he murmured, gently guiding you to the bed. âWill you lie down for me, sweetheart?â
Your face lit up with a smile, and you slipped out of your panties. Sitting on the edge of the bed, you spread your legs, baring yourself to his hungry gaze.
As Azriel knelt between your parted thighs, he pushed every thought about his hands out of his mind, focusing only on the beautiful girl before him and the warmth settling in his heart.
~~~~~~
Azriel jolted awake, his chest heaving. He lifted his hands in front of him, the dim light of the moon casting shadows across them.
They were fine. Scarred as always, but fine.
He took a deep breath as he lay back down. It was just a nightmareâmemories coming back to haunt him in his sleep every now and then. Even after centuries.
âAz?â
He cursed silently as you stirred beside him, turning to face him. He could see your struggle to open your eyes, your voice a sleepy mumble.
âAre you okay, love?â
âYeah,â he whispered back, wrapping his arms around you to pull you closer. âSorry I woke you.â
âIt's alright.â
It always was with you. You never complained when his nightmares disrupted your sleep. He didn't have them as often since you'd moved in together, fortunately. Sleeping next to you helped, but it wasn't a cure.
âDid you have a nightmare?â you asked quietly. With your head resting on his chest, you could probably hear the rapid thumping of his heart. He willed it to slow.
âIt's fine, sweetheart,â he sighed. He pressed a kiss to your hair, and his tone was softer when he spoke again. âGo back to sleep.â
You curled up against him, and he thought you might let it go. But instead, you continued to look up at him. âYou know you can talk to me if you want.â
âI know,â he murmured. Youâd always been there for him when he needed it. You had been since the moment you met a year ago, and he was grateful for it every single day. He couldn't wait for your mating ceremony in two weeks and prove once more how much you meant to him.
You shifted in his arms, and then your head was on the pillow next to his, your face only inches away from his. You reached for his hand and lifted it up to your lips, kissing his palm, his fingers, his knuckles.
Azriel watched in silence, a lump in his throat. His heart still raced, and he felt the sudden urge to cry. He didn't even need to tell you what he needed, what burdened him. You always knew. Even before the bond snapped, you'd understood him effortlessly.
âYour hands are fine,â you murmured against his marred skin. âAnd so are you. You're fine. They can't hurt you anymore.â
Azriel closed his eyes, trying to hold back the tears threatening to spill. He buried his face in your neck, freeing his hand from your gentle grasp so that he could hold you tighter and press his body against yours. He draped his wings over you, unwilling to let go.
Your fingers stroke through his black curls. âI'm here, my love.â Your voice was soothing and soft, and Azriel felt like the helpless child he'd been five hundred years agoâneeding reassurance, care, love. Maybe he would always need those things.
âYou're here with me. You're safe now.â
He couldn't stop them, then. Tears slipped past his eyelids, rolling down his cheeks and dampening the skin of your neck. But your gentle caresses and soothing words never faltered.
âIt's alright,â you whispered. Your warmth seeped into him, and he felt so cared for that even the last of his walls began to crumble. A broken sob tore through him.
âYou're safe, my love.â You cradled his head against your neck, lips brushing his hair. âYou can let it all out.â
Azriel did. You'd helped him through difficult moments before, but he had always held back because he didn't want to feel weak. He didn't want you to think he was weak. But if heâd learned anything from you, it was that crying didn't make him weak. That letting his feelings pour out through tears was better than burying them deep down for centuries.
So, he let them rise to the surface. The pain, the anger, the grief for the childhood heâd never had, the bitterness and frustration.
He had never cried about it before, but as he did, he could see it, for the first time in his lifeâa small light, a way out of the endless cycle of self-pity and hate he'd fallen into.
Maybe his mother had been right all those years ago. He was still healing, even after five centuries. He didn't know how much longer it would take, but maybe heâd reach a point when the nightmares stopped, his hands didn't hurt, and he could accept his scars. And maybe, one day, he wouldn't need his mother or his mate to remind him that his hands weren't ugly.
Azriel had no idea for how long you let him cry and sob in your arms. He had so many pent-up emotions, so much he still couldn't express, words he couldn't voice. But it was a start. And as exhaustion dragged him back to sleep, the weight on his chest, on his heart and soul, felt a little lighter.
Yet you still held him close, stroking his black curls long after he fell asleep.
General taglist: @mrsjna @navyblue-eternity @paintedbyshadows @highladyandromeda @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @azrielsmate3 @mollygetssherlockcoffee @mirandasidefics @tinystarfishgalaxy @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @anarchiii @readinggeeklmao @anneas11 @azrielslittleslut @lilah-asteria @aaahhh0127 @lorosette @azrielsrealmate @pey2618 @mellowmusings @k8r123-blog @daughterofthemoons-stuff
Azriel Week: @fourthwing4ever
#azrielappreciationweek2024#azriel x reader#azriel x y/n#azriel x you#azriel#azriel shadowsinger#azriel appreciation week#azriel fic#acotar#acotar x reader#a court of thorns and roses#sjm#sarah j maas#angst#fluff#fanfiction
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Remembering my Afghani American best friend from my islamic elementary and middle school whose dad would get drunk every night and beat the shit out of her mother. She begged and begged for sleepovers because strangers in the house would make him leave, and I never told my parents about the situation (I lied and said she had no father or brothers) because I loved spending time at her house and staying up the whole night doing all the things we werenât allowed to do that was âharamâ⌠watching rated r movies, playing horror computer games, dancing to music videos on YouTube, cat walking in heels and makeup, scaring ourselves with creepypastas.
I remember we had a million stupid ass discussions about who the purple guy from five nights at Freddies was, or what a slenderman proxy meant, or if there were illuminati signs in Katy Perry music videos, or if emo drawings of Jeff the killer were hot. Weâd whisper fight if BeyoncĂŠ or Lana del Rey was a better singer, or if teen wolf or maze runner had cuter boys. She was team BeyoncĂŠ and teen wolf.
We had to constantly be separated in school for talking, and we hated the creepy janitor and would throw wads of wet paper towel on the bathroom ceiling for him to clean up later. We got into so much trouble together, and would always smirk at each other in detention when we got yelled at. Weâd shoplift lipsticks from the mall, and throw away expensive Quran transliterations from school, and sneak into the teachers break room and steal handfuls of ice and throw them on the imam/principalâs desk when he was gone to ruin his paperwork.
I moved away like I always had to do with my constantly migrating family and we lost touch. The last time I saw her in person was when we were still kids at her brothers wedding. I was laughing while I tried to ask her why the bride kept changing into different brightly colored dresses throughout the night. She wasnât listening, and she burst into tears and cried about how her brother was just like her father and did every horrible thing he did. I held her and squeezed her so tight I thought her bones would break.
I recently tried to reconnect with her again but sheâs already married, pregnant, and has abandoned social media and texting because itâs âharam.â Trying to talk to her was like speaking to a stranger⌠she had no interest in any of the things we would spend hours playing with before. âIslam is important to me now, Iâm a new woman. We were messed up kids, itâs time to grow up.â She told me to never contact her again and hung up the phone.
Sometimes I feel like I failed her, and sometimes I understand that I was a girl trying to survive too.
One day Iâll save money to travel back there and talk to her in person. Iâll snap her out of it. Weâll spend all night up together again doing every terrible thing our teachers and parents and religious leaders warned us against, and laughing the whole way through it. Weâll get kicked out of bars and get into trouble and snicker our way through it all, knowing weâve already won. I still have her dirty, worn, my littlest pet shop horse she gave me when we first met. I hold it in my hands when I see news of the whatâs happening to the women of Afghanistan, and I feel like Iâve failed her again. That Iâll forever be stuck an immature child and her a miserable adult, both of us doomed, unable to be saved from our fates in the end.
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track six - i can still make the whole place shimmer
series masterlist
JAPAN 2023
QATAR 2023
ines_alonso and charles_leclerc posted to close friends
so proud of you oscarpiastri, sucks that i can't be there with you the only way to celebrate a third championship and a maiden sprint win. this can only go wrong from here monopoly has been cancelled after someone nearly broke the table when he got beat
CHARLES' BIRTHDAY
ines_alonso and oscarpiastri posted new stories
he actually liked this cake, don't listen to whatever oscar has to say birthday boy đĽłđŠˇ an artist at work...i actually don't know what's she's trying to make
oscarpiastri and ines_alonso posted new stories
inĂŠs said we were on a time crunch, now i've lost her inside a flower shop and she's not answering her phone. send help. sos. birthday boy seems to have something devious planned second birthday cake was a success!!!
liked by charles_leclerc, isahernaez, pedri and others
ines_alonso feliz cumpleaĂąos amorcito!! here's to spending more by your side (with osc of course) for many more years đŠˇđ
tagged: charles_leclerc
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charles_leclerc oh mon soleil, i might start crying again. please don't do this to me.
oscarpiastri you'll cry regardless charlie charles_leclerc stop being mean to me, it's my birthday oscarpiastri i got you a cake, that's enough user01 their love language is bullying each other
user02 had to sneak oscar in there somehow
user03 inĂŠs loves both her boys. i'm convinced she will never shut up about them user02 i fear you may be right bestie
oscarpiastri happy birthday booger đ§Ą
charles_leclerc thank you stinker â¤ď¸ pedri i will never understand how this dynamic works arthur_leclerc mate it's been years and i still don't understand it. half the time i'm convinced they hate each other. oscarpiastri it's our love language arthur, leave us alone.
isahernaez feliz cumple charlie đ
charles_leclerc gracias isa đ user04 brother lost even his ex-girlfriend in the divorce to charles user05 not only is he not winning races but he's also not winning life, shit must suck for him. user06 he just became the only non redbull winner of the entire season, put some respect on his name louieee bitch won the race at the sacrifice of his own teammate, we'll put respect on his name when he fucking earns it. user07 besides this post is about charles, not his fucking whiny ass teammate
user08 i want to know what the product of that picture charles was taking in slide 2
user09 he's the embodiment of that proud boyfriend meme user10 he's just a silly little goofy guy
fernandoalo_oficial feliz cumpleaĂąos to that french guy or whatever
charles_leclerc you sent me an entire paragraph telling me happy birthday this morning you're not fooling anyone fernandoalo_oficial that was supposed to be a secret tonto charles_leclerc oops
jensonbutton HAPPY BIRTHDAY CHARLES!! đđ YOU'RE SO OLD NOW!!
charles_leclerc THANK YOU OLD MAN!! user11 the difference between fernando and jenson's comments is so fucking funny to me
maxverstappen1 drinks are on the birthday boy this weekend
charles_leclerc you people are animals when you drink. i should be getting free drinks not the other way around alex_albon well for my birthday i was forced to pay, so you should have to pay this weekend charles_leclerc this a hate crime against me
user12 i can't believe charles is 26, it feels like just yesterday he was starting out as a rookie at sauber
user13 STOP! YOU'RE MAKING ME FEEL OLD!! user12 your bio says you're 16? how the fuck does that make you feel old?? user13 IT JUST DOES OKAY?! DON'T QUESTION ME!
patriciooward FELIZ CUMPLE CABRON!!
charles_leclerc GRACIAS PATITO!! user14 i've seen enough scuderriaferrari get this guy into your car as carlos' replacement. he speaks spanish too user15 and charles actually likes this one
ximena.gomez feliz cumpleaĂąos charlie!!
charles_leclerc gracias ximena! inĂŠs said to ask you about the thing ximena.gomez the answer is still no charles_leclerc one chance, just one chance that's all she asks
TEXAS 2023
liked by charles_leclerc, oscarpiastri, francesca.cgomes and others
ines_alonso there's no weekend like austin gp weekend (this message was paid for by daniel ricciardo) (p.s. please wear your fucking boots right. the jeans go on the outside not tucked inside the boots)
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francesca.cgomes you know what they say, save horse ride a cowgirl
ines_alonso yeehaw!! charles_leclerc please stop flirting with her oscarpiastri you're never beating the allegations ines_alonso WHAT ALLEGATIONS?? francesca.cgomes that the boys are a cover up for our super secret romance. ines_alonso oh that, no, that is true pierregasly STOP THIS MADNESS!!
user16 how i love women
charles_leclerc i feel like this is directed towards me...
ines_alonso that outfit is atrocious and i never want to be in your presence when you wear it. justice for andrea. charles_leclerc OSCAR SAID IT LOOKED GOOD! ines_alsonso OSCAR WEARS T-SHIRTS AND SHORTS AND CALLS IT A DAY, NEVER LISTEN TO HIM maxverstappen1 mate, i'm afraid oscar lied to you oscarpiastri i live to see him make an embarrassment of himself in public. charles_leclerc you're sleeping on the couch when we get home alex_albon that's an upgrade from when your drunk ass made him sleep on a piece of turf on your balcony last year landonorris why the fuck am i never invited to anything? first it was the group bowling and now this party? danielricciardo he-who-shall-not-be-named is your friend louieee because you're a snitch bitch that's why asshole logansargeant in their defense the party was before bowling and no one wants to party with peter pettigrew or lord voldemort user17 the harry potter references i'm dying
user18 so are we supposed to act like you didn't embarrass yourself in front of patrick dempsey?
ines_alonso if we could do that, that would be great thanks user18 oh girl, that's going to haunt you for the rest of your life.
danielricciardo thank you inĂŠs i'll be venmoing you $150 later today
ines_alonso pleasure doing business with you mr.ricciardo logansargeant he's actually paying you?? he told me i would get a shoutout on his .jpg account ines_alonso i'm his favorite logan, you should know this logansargeant doesn't mean i should like it
jensonbutton i had a blast this weekend, i enjoyed watching you lose your shit on danica patrick this weekend.
ines_alonso you're ass is such a shitstirrer, i'm telling my dad! jensonbutton he sent me an audio of him cackling for a straight 3 minutes. his ass enjoyed that too user18 this is my favorite daughter and step-father duo user19 jenson button is not a step father but the father that stepped UP
lilymhe the cutest cowgirl ever
ines_alonso oh stop it, i'm actually blushing oscarpiastri unfortunately she is actually blushing. charles is glaring at her from across the room lilymhe damn charles_leclerc i took your girl charles_leclerc fight me lily alex_albon come get your girlfriend she's being irrational again alex_albon mate, we are not having this debate ever again. they're in love, let them be. charles_leclerc you're literally no fucking help
user20 love how inĂŠs, kika, and lily flirt with each other to piss off the boys
user21 alex is just resigned to the fact that they do this, charles and pierre absolutely lose it every time, meanwhile oscar just lets them have fun to see charles lose it everytime. user22 inĂŠs and oscar live for tormenting charles and i love that user20 it's the difference between gen z's born in the 00's to the 90's is so noticeable between the three of them.
MEXICO 2023
BRAZIL 2023
liked by lilymhe, kellypiquet, patriciooward and others
ines_alonso a little photo dump for the girlies as we head into the final race of the triple header
tagged: charles_leclerc, fernandoalo_oficial, oscarpiastri, lewishamilton, maxverstappen1, danielricciardo, alex_albon, lilymhe
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patriciooward nano and honey make a reappearance!!
louieee she's kept them hidden from us for too long ines_alonoso they're camera shy
alex_albon i've missed my godchild nano!!
maxverstappen1 that's my godchild albon! ines_alonso ladies, please, you're both nano's god father alex_albon um, i'm more qualified to take nano if a 'tragic' accident were to happen to any of you maxverstappen1 i have two cats alex, you have a fucking farm, we are not doing this. ines_alonso i've made a horrible mistake
charles_leclerc where's the picture of my mexico podium??
oscarpiastri maybe win a race then she'll post you charles_leclerc you won a sprint! not an actual race! oscarpiastri I STILL WON!
arthur_leclerc i see there's no mention of me taking that 6th picture?? where is my credit alonso??
ines_alonso we bought you dinner and yet you still found a way to complain about taking one picture arthur_leclerc you try fourth-wheeling you, dumb, and dumber louieee it's dumb, dumber, and dumbest maxverstappen1 wait but who's who? oscarpiastri charles is clearly dumbest charles_leclerc this is why people think you hate me oscarpiastri haven't you heard, we're the second coming of seb and mark. multi-21 2.0 incoming alex_albon it was very clearly multi-21 (lovers edition) oscar user23 mark is probably shitting himself seeing this comment oscarpiastri i can confirm that
user24 just a pretty girl with her pretty boyfriends
user25 how to get inĂŠs alonso to blush 101 ines_alonso wrong! it's how to get three idiots to blush
kellypiquet i see the picture of the broken table didn't make it to the photo dump
ines_alonso we're never playing monopoly again maxverstappen1 if someone hadn't cheated the table would've never broke! georgerussell63 I DIDN'T CHEAT, YOU JUST SUCK! alex_albon YEAH, TELL HIM GEORGE! user26 i feel like we're missing some important lore here pierregasly post championship and sprint win monopoly is great, until someone (max) breaks the table patriciooward don't forget to specify that it's drunk monopoly alex_albon i feel like i would remember if you were there? patriciooward oh, i wasn't there in person but i was there via facetime. all of you were so fucked up that you don't even remember it
user27 i don't know what's more surprising max breaking a table, george cheating (allegedly) at monopoly, or all of them ending up so drunk they don't remember anything besides a broken table??
user28 definitely the broken table. user29 yeah, the drunkenness is expected from them so is george facing cheating allegations in monopoly.
fernandoalo_oficial i did not give my consent to having that picture posted
ines_alonso too bad old man. you snooze, you lose. user30 the world may be calm (not really) but you can count on inĂŠs and fernando always being their chaotic selves
logansargeant this is logan sargeant erasure
ines_alonso oh sorry, the whole world must know i bought you a single shot after your point in austin logansargeant well now i feel bad because it came at the expense of lewis... charles_leclerc what about me?! i'm the reason you got the point! logansargeant you said you wouldn't watch hamilton with me again... charles_leclerc fine, we can watch hamilton again logansargeant đđ user31 a duo i didn't know i needed
danielricciardo is that the picture max and i took when you fell asleep?
ines_alonso yes, i'm never leaving my phone unattended with you two maxverstappen1 that's a consequence that comes with flying airmax, deal with it baby alonso louieee BABY ALONSO!!! ines_alonso oh no, that's going to stick isn't it?? estebanocon they've been calling you baby alonso behind your back for years. jensonbutton we've been calling you baby alonso since 2015 ines_alonso oh my god
lilymhe thank you for beautifully capturing my relationship with alex
ines_alonso you're welcome my love 𩷠alex_albon i'm right here lilymhe shhh alex, it's okay, you're my one and only (sometimes) alex_albon WHAT THE HELL DOES THAT MEAN?! ines_alonso it means that whenever you piss her off she runs to me and kika francesca.cgomes it's true, we kick oscar and charles out of the apartment and force them to spend the night with pierre alex_albon STOP MAKING ME SEEM LIKE A BAD BOYFRIEND! ines_alonso you're a good boyfriend alex, we're just teasing. (got to get ahead of the media)
VEGAS 2023
liked by sabrinacarpenter, louieee, alex_albon and others
ines_alonso a week spent in los angeles and las vegas. met some new friends and hung out with some old friends
tagged: charles_leclerc, oscarpiastri, sabrinacarpenter, schecoperez, logansargeant, alex_albon, lilymhe, jensonbutton, joris__trouche
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maxverstappen1 where the fuck am i?
ines_alonso bitch, you won every race this season, let other people have a chance maxverstappen1 YOU HAVE CHECO ON HERE!! schecoperez me odias o quĂŠ? maxverstappen1 no, do not put words in my mouth checo!
user32 ariana (sabrina) what are you doing here?
user33 talk about an unexpected crossover user34 the most unexpected friendship to come out of the 2023 season
louieee ooh, we look so cute
ines_alonso yeah we do!! louieee đŠˇđ
charles_leclerc i'm still mad at you...
oscarpiastri maybe you shouldn't go around telling us to call you charles leclerc-verstappen maxverstappen1 well now i'm max leclerc-verstappen redbullracing max, we can't do this again, the rumors just stopped oscarpiastri i know where you live scuderiaferrari here we go again (the rumors never stopped) mclaren oscar, please refrain from threatening fellow drivers user35 they're just so tired of having to pr train oscar user36 we're talking about the kid who willingly admitted he pushed inĂŠs off the track when they were karting because they had a bet going on and he didn't want to lose
sabrinacarpenter it was a delight to meet you and sharles
ines_alonso enough to get a nonsense outro?? sabrinacarpenter woah, take me out on a date first ines_alonso name a time and place baby đ charles_leclerc i can fight... oscarpiastri i can laugh as you take charles down... sabrinacarpenter oscar's my favorite now charles_leclerc of course he is
jensonbutton WHERE DID YOU GET THAT PICTURE??
ines_alonso it's a screenshot from the sky sports broadcast. it's the face i make whenever i'm forced to work with that woman jensonbutton oh my god ines_alonso it's my favorite f1 meme now
charles_leclerc now that i'm no longer upset, you look beautiful ma belle đŠˇ
ines_alonso thank you bebe â¤ď¸ user37 he's trying to get back in her good graces guys oscarpiastri ass kisser charles_leclerc YOU WON'T LET ME GET A DOG alex_albon jeez oscar, let the guy get a dog oscarpiastri HE'S THE ONE WHO SAID NO MORE PETS AFTER HONEY!
logansargeant LET'S GO!! I'M OUT OF THE TRENCHES!!
patriciooward FROM THE TRENCHES WE RISE!! user38 now this, this is my favorite duo inĂŠs alonso has given us
lilymhe i look great and alex is there
francesca.cgomes she's everything and he's just ken ines_alonso the realest comment here sabrinacarpenter girls who are everything and boyfriends who are just ken pierregasly our job is just car
joris__trouche he did not want to let go of mimi
ines_alonso he genuinely cried when we left charles_leclerc STOP EXPOSING ME!! oscarpiastri you called me sobbing because you were leaving mimi behind maxverstappen1 just get him a dog oscar oscarpiastri he dug his own grave max
user39 the random jenson meme is sending me
user40 the fact that both of them have pulled the same face while working with d*nica user41 they're further proving the buttlonso lovechild allegations because i feel like fernando has also pulled the same face. user39 oh my god you're so right
francesca.cgomes just a pretty girl living her best life
ines_alonso i'm blushing oscarpiastri can confirm she is blushing charles_leclerc i'm so done. user42 free my guy user42 not from the relationship but from his partners (inĂŠs) flirting with the girls (kika, lily, sabrina) user43 nah, my guy brought this onto himself by flirting with max verstappen at every single fucking opportunity liked by ines_alonso and oscarpiastri
ÂĄtaglist!
@minmira95 // @lesliiieeeee // @vroomvroommuppett // @prongsvault // @justtprachisblog // @scuderiadevils // @cataf1 // @chezmardybum // @formulaal // @lilsiz // @norstappenvibes // @ironspdy // @nikfigueiredo @hinamesgigantica // @niniluvsainz // @matchaverse // @fakeikeastore // @theseus-jpg // @six-call // @81folklore // @emppusofi // @luvsforme // @nichmeddar // @loloekie // @luvpedro // @donttouchthegnote // @nothaqks // @inferiusreggie // @mochimommy2002 // @rach3164 // @clove08 // @clove0 // @lillysbigwilly // @jenxjar // @blupblupfish // @thereadinggremlin05 // @meowiarty // @magical-spit // @camdensreg // @laneyspaulding19 // @ocyeanicc // @yelenasloverrrrr // @percervall // @blushmimi // @spilled-coffee-cup // @greantii // @ietss // @yeanoskrrt // @brakingboundaries
ÂĄnot taggable!
@ashlovestoread1411 // @books-thingys-andstuff // @ale-522 // @aandreea_2005 // @Katness1 // @mgmoore // @Scott-McCall-could-lift-mjolnir // @xxx-betty // @ririyulife // @landonorizzz // @moldyshorts1997 // @itstimeforutogo // @yar16 // @em-andemm // @killjoycra // @âHeart- Treesâ //@michelleyw81
ÂĄleclerc-s speaks!
unfortunately with the current state of the us, this is my only escape. i don't know why it became so unhinged but i remember people joking about max and charles getting married and this is a fanfic so i thought, why the fuck not?? IT'S ALL JOKES PEOPLE!!
ÂĄdisclaimer!
this is in no way making assumptions about the people involved in this story, this is all fake. it is a fanfiction please don't take any of what is said seriously. this is all for entertainment purposes and as a creative outlet for me. enjoy!
#leclerc-s#guilty as sin series#f1 instagram au#f1 x oc#f1 oc#f1 smau#f1 social media au#f1#formula one#f1 fic#formula 1 fic#f1 x female oc#charles leclerc x female oc#oscar piastri x female oc
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Therapy Files 1: Dead Enough to be Alive
Screenshot Credit: @neverscreens
Summary: Carmy is headed to his first therapy appointment and his girlfriend (who he calls Darling) tries to soothe him while he freaks out about it. (873 Words)
Warnings: Swearing, mention of vomit, passive suicidal thoughts, impending mental breakdown (no breakdown in this one), fem reader/generic lass who is a trauma surgeon, she/her pronouns.
Notes: Thank you for reading and sharing! Sideblog for social stuff: @m-z-shoroi. If you want to filter out the therapy posts, the tag is #cb therapy files.
Day 1
I almost threw up the day of therapy.
It's funny how al-anon meetings didn't fuck me up this bad. Being a no-face in a room full of faceless sufferers somehow made it easier to summon and examine the pain of Mikey dying, of cooking consuming every aspect of my being until all that was left was this chewed lump of mangled muscle and bone fighting for some form of continued existence. I could rip it from my chest, hold it in my hand, turn it in the light. Look at all the faces, the thin spots, the gouges, the dents. Half the people there werenât listening to me at all, were lost in the turmoil of their own pain and suffering, of the loved ones that were too far away to reach or so unreachable that they were gone. I didnât mind it.
Half the time, I just needed to hear what I had to say, anyway. Something about the words coming out of my mouth, as stuttered, incomplete, inadequate as they were; something about hearing my own voice say them to me, of my voice hitting my earsâthat was the important part. Iâve been through hell and back, I understand clearer than anyone else that Iâm the most powerful climber I know. I donât need someone to grab my hand and pull me out of this mess; I just need someone to know that Iâm here. I need someone to witness my existence, my pain, my misery. I just need someone to come looking for me if I go quiet for too long. Just a face over the edge of the cliff. They donât need to say nothing. They just need to exist.
Iâm just dead enough to be alive at all, and in a room full of ghosts, thatâs an easier thing to reconcile than trying to explain that to a fucking therapist (whoâll probably put me on some sort of watch list after probing me with a thousand questions about whether or not I want to die, how I plan to do it, how much of my plan Iâve enacted). I shouldnât be pissed. Itâs their job. Fuck only knows how many times theyâve had their 3:00 not show up only to find out the next day that their 3:00 would never show up for anything again. But how else do I explain these brambles of mortality, this barbed wire anchored in my skin. I canât escape death.
He owes me a brother.
He owes me some fucking answers.
 Darling's hand landed on my thigh. "Baby, you're going to crack your knees on the dashboard if you don't stop bouncing your leg like that."
And I'm fucking terrified of therapy.
"Why are you terrified, sweetheart?"
Shit, I said that aloud, didn't I? "I just... I don't know." I raked my hair back. "I don't know."
"It's a little too late to cancel the appointment nowâ"
"I know, I know, I know." I pressed the heels of my hands into my cheekbones. I know. Iâm not saying Iâm not going to go; Iâm saying Iâm terrified. Those are different things.
She squeezed my knee. "Breathe, pretty boy."
I heaved a breath.
"You're gonna be okay, baby.â
"What if I'm not?"
It took her a bit to answer. "Then we'll do what we can to make it okay."
She canât make promises, but right about now I need some of those. Promise me Iâll be okay? Promise me itâs not as bad as it seems?
The car turned, then stopped. Her cold fingers curled around my wrist.
"Hey. Look at me, Bear?"
I dropped my hands, but I couldn't make myself look over. Don't know why; it probably would've calmed me down to see her pretty face, but my eyes stayed glued to the hood of the car parked in front of us, the icicles hanging in front of the grill. Teeth. Fuck, I was clenching my jaw again. Heat surged in my chest, crawled up into my neck, only this time, the panic didnât come with itâmy eyes just stung. I only felt a breakdown coming.
She interlocked her hand with mine, brought the back of it to her warm lips. Pressed a kiss to it, just to the side, behind my thumb. She returned it with a plum-pink lipstick print on it. Jagged, sharp, blurred edges, but distinctly hers.
"Do you think that'll help?" She whispered, carding through my curls, tucking them behind my ear.
Iâm trying not to have a meltdown, baby girl, Iâm useless.
She pulled my shirt collar down and planted another one on my sternum, just below where the neckline would be. It bloomed a wave of coolness in my chest. A comfortable cold. This wasnât ice against my chest; ice is sharp, jagged, a frozen lightning bolt. The kiss was milder, softer. Diffuse.
She replaced my shirt, pecked my mouth. âHow about that one?â
How about you give me another one after this fucking appointment, hm?
Tags: @jess248, @catharticconsolation, @persymons, @morgthemagpie, @glitch0o0, @nox-is-thename @forgechildofheph @leminjelly
#cb journal#cb therapy files#carmy x reader#carmen berzatto#carmen berzatto fanfiction#carmy berzatto#the bear fanfiction#carmy berzatto fanfiction#the bear#carmen berzatto fluff#carmy berzatto x reader#carmen berzatto x reader
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So thereâs some interesting things I found out about Paulina thanks to Reddit:
She was mentioned in Chapter 4, in the Dances of Fire conversation with the old man AND Hoffman talked about how she saw her get reversed in âThe Starâ Part 2, and how Paulinaâs hand and her scarf were the only remnants of her.
This does brings up a lot of questions regarding Paulina and the âStormâ:
If we know Paulina is from the 90s, does that mean J was reversed in a previous Storm? Is the J in 2.0 the same J that Paulina knew as her brother, or is he a different J? Would he even recognize her if she was still alive in 2.0 and they saw each other again? Do people who get reversed in the âStormâ come back if their era returns?
I know this might go into some foggy territoryâmainly things like alternate timelines and weird time travel shenanigansâbut it does bring up a lot of implications.
- Mayeux
I was trying to figure out where Paulina was mentioned before because I remembered the name and scarf, but not where they were mentioned. You saved me so much trouble!
For some reason my text is cut off but maybe in the future I can put all the evidence of Paulina together.
This is the exact location for anyone else looking the exact trail.
And this is from The Star pt 2 like Mayeux said.
Another interesting thing is why was her hand left behind? Usually only clothes and accessories are left behind, not body parts. This makes me think about the ring on her hand. J said Paulina never mentioned getting married and he does not recognize the ring. Even if her hand was in the safe zone, shouldn't have been Reversed like the rest of her?
Did the ring help preserve her hand after it entered the zone?
Although, we don't know much about Reversal and there could be other instances of limbs being left behind that we haven't heard about yet.
I agree, the "Reversal" seems to be something other than going back in time.
"Do people who get reversed in the âStormâ come back if their era returns?"
The implications! We haven't met anyone yet, but if we did OH BOI
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how to get your man back: a step-by-step guide by raven - chapter one
hiii so i wrote another story, its a raven x hank fake dating high school au where popular cheerleader raven uses nerdy teen hank to get her boyfriend erik back after he dumps her (raven/hank and charles/erik endgame).
side note this was supposed to be a crack fic but then i took it a bit too seriously so now raven's annoying but in a weird way, sorry about that:) enjoy !!
â§ď˝Ľďž: *â§ď˝Ľďž:*â§ď˝Ľďž: *â§ď˝Ľďž:*â§ď˝Ľďž: *â§ď˝Ľďž:*â§ď˝Ľďž: *â§ď˝Ľďž:*
Its not everyday that your your angsty, bad boy, literal walking-talking-breathing-version-of-a-love-interest-in-a-romance-novel boyfriend of two months, two weeks and four days breaks up with you over phone call. Like, he didnât even have the audacity to tell you in person?? Okay, so his parents are like super European (he just moved from Germany) and maybe that means that their too strict to let him go visit his girlfriend past nine pm but still. They would have had to understand this was an urgent matter. Your heart was on the line!
Now, naturally youâd be upset and have your brother drive to the nearest whole foods to get your favorite cotton candy ice cream. But, whatâs different about you and other people your age who happen to get broken up with over a phone call is that you are not just going to sit there and let your ex have the last laugh. No. Not happening. You are going to come up with a master plan, something no one would have ever assumed you were capable of doing. Youâre going to make him so jealous, so furious withâŚ.furiousty that he wants you back. But hereâs the thing: youâre not going to take him back. Not at first anyway. Give it time. Let the anger really seep through.
This is currently Ravenâs plan. And now, you may be wondering, how exactly is she going to execute this plan? Simple. Sheâs going to find a new man, pay him an absurd amount of money to agree to be her fake boyfriend and take it from there.
And Raven already knows exactly who she wants this new âboyfriendâ to be. Enter Hank Mccoy, the smartest kid in the school.
Now, Raven realizes how clichĂŠ this is. The popular cheerleader (her) and the nerd (him). They would never actually date on their own, only if thereâs some sort of scheme involved. But thatâs whatâs so smart about it: no one is going to even suspect that she might be up to something. Itâs too obvious. And itâs not like she was going to fall in love with Hank by the endâŚright? Right. Obviously.
So, when her brother returns with the ice cream, 32 minutes later (which, how bad is traffic at this late on a Wednesday night? They live in Westchester, not Los Angeles) she tells him the plan. âCharles, this is so smart, Iâm going to have him back in no time.â He sat down next to her on her pink fuzzy rug. âWell, Raven, thatâs lovely, but do we know why exactly he broke up with you in the first place?â
Huh. Raven hadnât asked. Maybe she should have. âWell, I canât call him now.â She shrugged. âItâs fine, whatever the reason is, heâll forget about it.â Charles just nodded. Okay, so maybe his intellectual self thought that Raven was being a little bit delusional, but heâll get it eventually. He has to. It wasnât so long ago that he was stalking some guy he just met, taking the bus in the opposite direction just to follow him. Then one day he just stopped. Raven never actually found out why. But she wasnât going to end up like her brother, she wasnât going to just stop. He was probably just scared. But not Raven. She was going to get exactly what she wanted.
âOkay, well, how do you plan on getting Hank to agree with this?â Charles asked. âWell, arenât you both on the mathletes? You know him.â Raven said. âHe knows who I am. Tell him I want to talk to him. I mean, heâs like, scared of me. He literally wrote my whole essay for finals last year because I asked him to- and donât look at me like that, Charles, I wasnât trying to repeat 10th grade again.â
Charles just sighed. âWell, I suppose I could ask him to meet you during lunch time tomorrow. But be sensible about this, Raven, this could end up going really wrong.â Raven just shook her head. âYeah, but it could end up going really right. Like, me and Erik could get married and have like, really pretty babies. Can you imagine? Oh my god, thatâll be such a fun wedding! I canât wait! And of course youâre going to be invited. You and Emma and Angel and Moira and Jean and I guess Scott although between you and me, I really hope she dumps him by then, oh and Peter too, and Kurt and if this goes well, maybe even Hank as a thank you. You know what- Iâm going to invite the whole school! We could even get a popcorn machine, like, everyone loves popcorn, right? Oh, itâll be a blast, can you see the vision?â
Raven rambled on and on until Charles was getting visibly annoyed, and she did feel bad, so she let him sleep. But she plugged in her headphones, put her playlist on shuffle, and stayed up dreaming about how life would be like when she got her man back.
The next day, Charles kept his word and talked to Hank. She knew this because he was following her around like a lost puppy. It was kind of amusing at first, but then it just became kind of annoying so she eventually addressed him. âHi, my brother sent you, right?â she asked. âUh, yeah.â Hank responded. âIâm kind of confused as to why though?â
Raven smiled. âAlright. So, what Iâm going to do is every Friday, starting tomorrow, for the next five weeks Iâm going to venmo you $250 and we are going to pretend we are in a relationship and let the whole school believe that and then when itâs time, you dump me. Sound good?â
âUh, what?â Hank asked. Raven just rolled her eyes; it was literally simple instructions. Heâs supposed to be, like, super smart. Probably even more than her brother. âIâm going to pay you and youâre going to fake date me and then we will stage a very public break up where you leave me. Okay?â She tried looking as intimidating as possible, hoping that if the offer of money wasnât enough, maybe she could scare him into agreeing.
âUm, arenât you going out with Erik still?â âThatâs not important, Hank, whatâs important is that I really need this, okay. And I mean, like, itâs not like you have a girlfriend or anything.â Suddenly, Ravenâs eyes widened. She never even thought about it. Maybe he did have a girlfriend. That would be awkward. âWait, you donât have like, a girlfriend or anything? Right?â
âUh, no, but why are you doing this? Like, thereâs got to be a reason.â Ugh. Why did he have to be so curious? I guess thatâs how smart people are or whatever. âOkay, fine. So, like, you canât tell anyone and Iâm serious, no one? But like, Erik kind of dumped and we are supposed to make him jealous. Got it?â
âNo, I donât got it.â He spoke. Now he was getting kind of angry. Not like angry-angry but as angry as a miniature kitty cat could get, the cute kind. Not that heâs cute. The cat is. Â Just the cat. âOkay, well.â Raven tried to reason with him. âUh, how about $300 per week then?â â$350.â He responded. Now, typically, this would be fine, the Xaviers are loaded, but she was curious how hard he was going to fight back.
â$320.â She offered. âNo.â He responded. âItâs $350 or nothing.â Raven just scoffed. âUm, okay, why are acting so entitled? Like, I donât have to pay you at all. Itâll be inconvenient for me if you donât agree, sure, but itâs not, like, the end of the world. I could find someone else, Hank. You arenât special. Just because youâre super smart doesnât mean anything to me, it never did. So, take it or leave it, your choice.â Sure, it was mean, maybe a little bit extra, but Raven never said she was a nice person. She hoped that her little speech would get him to agree, but it didnât. He went silent. Maybe this wasnât such a good idea. Maybe it wasnât worth all this trouble. So, just as she was about to walk away, Hank spoke up.
âYouâre right. You donât need me. Not me in particular, anyways. Iâm sure you could easily find some other lonely, geeky, easy-to-bully teenage boy in our school to go along with your little plot. I mean, thatâs what you were going for, right? You said it yourself, Iâm super smart. So, I have a reputation, obviously. And yeah, itâs the not the best one, but itâs there. You have one too. The popular cheerleader. Can get anyone she wants. Every guy wrapped around her finger. Thatâs the stereotype, and so far, youâve been fitting it. So of course, you want a boyfriend and of course you know once it gets out that youâve been dumped, youâre going to look bad. And this, here, it kind of looks like a charity case, doesnât it? You know that. And the whole public break up thing makes people feel bad for you, like you trusted me and I betrayed you, and youâll go running back into his arms. Like youâre the victim. And Iâm the bad guy. Iâm not stupid, Raven, I see right through you. You know, Iâm not even sure if you like him. I wouldnât put it past you to just date him for the attention, because I know there are people who genuinely want him, and I can tell that you are not one of them. But fine, I will go along with your little scheme, and fine, I will go along with whatever it is you tell me to do but the least you can do is give me the $350 and let me salvage a little bit of respect.â
Okay. So now heâs like, way past kitty cat angry.
âOkay. Fine. Uh, $350 it is.â Raven wasnât shaken up. She wasnât hurt. Obviously not. âOkay, um, Iâll text you, okay? My brother will give me your number.â There was an awkward silence, and Hank was getting fidgety. The only positive thing about this besides that Hank agreed is that he visibly wasnât all that comfortable with lashing out on her.
âYeah, sure. Bye.â He said, turning on his heel, walking away.
Well, she did it. Part one of the plan is completed. Sheâs going to have her boyfriend back in no time and that wedding is going to happen. And oh, she canât wait.
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#xmen#raven darkholme#hank mccoy#charles xavier#erik lensherr#mystique#beast#professor x#magneto#cherik#wait whats hank and ravens ship name#high school au#fanfiction#fake dating#marvel fanfiction#xmen fanfiction
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Scars and shadowsâĄ
Azriel week day 2 @azrielappreciationweek
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The sky over the Illyrian mountains was painted in hues of twilightâlavender, gold, and a soft, deepening blue.It was peaceful, the kind of piece that Azriel had never quite allowed himself to embrace.
Until tonight.
Gwyn was sitting on a large rock near the edge of the mountainâs overlook, her coppery hair catching the final rays of the sun. Her laughter from earlier had faded into a quiet peace, but her eyes still sparkled with an inner light that always seemed to soothe Azrielâs shadows. He stood a few feet away, watching her, fighting the turmoil that had been brewing inside him since they began spending more time together. She had a way of drawing him out, of making him feel... seen, and it unnerved him.
He clenched his hands into fists, feeling the familiar pull of darkness inside him, a reminder of everything he had been throughâof the scars he carried, inside and out. His instincts screamed at him to keep the walls up, to protect himself. But Gwyn was different. She had her own shadows, her own scars. And maybe that was why he felt drawn to her, why he wanted to let her in, even when every part of him resisted.
As if sensing his struggle, Gwyn turned to look at him, her gaze soft and understanding. âAzriel?â she called softly, her voice like a soothing melody, drawing him closer.
He exhaled and walked toward her, his boots crunching softly against the gravel. He settled beside her on the rock, staring out at the view. The silence between them was comfortable, but there was something in the air tonightâsomething unspoken.
âYou seem distant,â she said after a moment, her voice gentle but probing. âIs something on your mind?â
Azriel didnât answer right away. He turned his hands over, staring at the calloused palms, the faint silver lines that crossed his skin. His mind was far away, in a place darker than this mountain, darker than the skies above Velaris. The scars ran deeper than the surface.
âThereâs something I havenât told you,â he said quietly, his voice rough. âSomething Iâve kept hidden for so long that sometimes... I forget how much it weighs on me.â
Gwynâs eyes flicked to his face, concern flashing in her gaze. She didnât speak, waiting for him to continue.
Azriel clenched his jaw, then with a deep breath, began to unbutton his tunic. He wasnât sure why he was doing itâwhy he was about to expose a part of himself he had never willingly shown anyone, not like this. But Gwyn deserved to know. Maybe he needed her to know.
When his tunic fell open, Gwynâs breath hitched. She hadnât expected thisânot the raw, brutal reality of what lay beneath. His torso was a canvas of scars, old and faded, but unmistakable. They crisscrossed his chest and abdomen, each one telling a story of pain and survival. But the worst scars were on his back, where he had been whipped, tortured beyond reason. Marks of cruelty from a past he could never escape.
Gwynâs eyes were wide, her hand instinctively reaching out, but she hesitated before touching him. âAzrielâŚâ she whispered, her voice filled with emotion, with understanding. âWho did this to you?â
Azriel stared straight ahead, the wind ruffling his dark hair. âMy brothers,â he said, his voice hard and cold. âWhen I was a boy. They locked me in a cell for years... tortured me for their amusement. These scars are a reminder of what I was, of what Iâll never be able to forget.â
He had never spoken of it in such detail, never allowed the words to pass his lips. But with Gwyn, it was different. He wanted her to know. He needed her to see the broken parts of him.
Gwynâs hand finally touched his arm, the warmth of her skin grounding him, pulling him back from the edge of that dark abyss. âIâm so sorry,â she said softly, her voice trembling. âI didnât know⌠I didnât realizeâŚâ
âItâs not your fault,â Azriel said quickly, his shadows curling around his feet, restless. âI donât tell people because it doesnât matter. It was a long time ago. Iâve moved on.â
But Gwyn shook her head. âIt does matter, Azriel. It matters because itâs part of you. Itâs shaped who you are, and thatâs not something you should hide. Not from me.â
He looked at her then, really looked at her, and in her teal eyes, he saw no pity. Only understanding, only empathy. It was rare for him to feel like someone truly saw him, beyond the Spymaster, beyond the shadows and the facade he wore. But Gwyn⌠she saw him.
âYouâve been through so much,â she continued, her voice quiet but firm. âAnd yet, youâre still here. Youâre still fighting. Thatâs what matters.â
Azrielâs throat tightened, the weight of her words settling over him like a balm. âItâs not just the scars,â he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. âItâs the darkness that comes with them. The things Iâve done⌠the blood on my hands. Iâve spent so long trying to make up for it, trying to be something better, but...â
Gwynâs hand slid from his arm to his chest, resting lightly over his heart. âYou are better,â she said softly. âYouâre more than your past, more than your scars. Youâre kind, Azriel. You care about peopleâabout me. Thatâs what makes you different. You donât have to hide who you are from me.â
Her words pierced something deep inside him, a part of him he had kept locked away for so long. He closed his eyes, the cool mountain air brushing against his skin, mingling with the warmth of Gwynâs touch. For the first time in a long time, he allowed himself to believe that maybe, just maybe, he wasnât as broken as he thought.
When he opened his eyes, Gwyn was still looking at him, her expression gentle, her hand still resting on his chest.
âThank you,â he murmured, his voice thick with emotion he hadnât realized he was holding back.
Gwyn smiled softly. âYou donât have to thank me. Just⌠let me in. Let me be here for you.â
Azriel nodded, his hand reaching up to cover hers, his thumb brushing against her skin. He wasnât sure how to let someone in after so many years of keeping everyone at armâs length, but with Gwyn⌠it felt possible. For the first time, it felt like something he could do.
As the last of the sun disappeared below the horizon, casting the sky into twilight, Azriel felt a small sense of peace settle over him. His scars would never fade, and the darkness would always be a part of him, but with Gwyn beside him, he didnât feel so lost in it.
And for tonight, that was enough.
âââŚââEndâââŚââă
#acotar#romance#fantasy#gwynriel#azriel appreciation week#azriel shadowsinger#scarred smg4#dark shadows
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IDK if you're on tumblr rn or if you're watching HOTD, but in case you're not watching the show... well there's a development in S2E7 that made me think of you.
(Alas, not Vaegon. But another one of your Jaehaerys child-related headcanons, at least...)
oh Iâm sorry do you mean my boy HUGH HAMMER who I did not care about at all until the lore drop but is now my most specialest princess????
Offhand nameless mention lasting less than thirty seconds by a side character Saera nation we stay winning đ
((But seriously with the information we got from that one, maybe two sentences a lot of my head canons about Saera as a parent have been confirmed and if anyone would like to talk to me about it please do because I may die if I donât alleviate this pressure somewhat))
#SHE SAID I WAS NO DIFFERENT FROM HER BROTHERS BOYS#him getting Jaehaerysâ dragon???? the bastard son of the daughter exiled?????#look I was so lukewarm on the betrayers but theyâve really won me over last episode#pinky and the brain ass fucking duo#I can see the complexes theyâre gonna develop so clearly like a beautiful sunlit road ahead of me#thereâs so many fun possibilities for who ulf could be descended from too I have Ideas#TALK TO ME
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After I finish fool me once, I want my next multiple part âprojectâ to be something with multiple characters/ocs stories intertwining
I was thinking about doing something that involved rhaena, Helaena, and an oc. And how their lives all interlock đ¤. Nothing is set in stone obvi⌠just thinking outloud
#does that make sense?#like I want them to be in the same universe#bc I was thinkingâŚ. rhaena and Helaena (if given a proper chance) would be besties?#I feel like they would have bonded over being âweirdâ#obvi hel being a dreamer as well as into fora and fauna#and with rhaena I think she would feel slightly out of place at dragonstone#especially after her sister goes to driftmark#itâs not like anyone at dragon is outwardly mean to her..#but now sheâs there with her father who in show canon has not been present#a stepmother that she doesnât know how to feel about just yet#and a bunch of boys⌠one of which being her brother fiancĂŠ đ#plus like I said I canon her as a capital G girly girl I feel like it would just be awkward#the obvious of her not having a dragon#and then my oc đŤśđ˝#and my oc would be black coded bc I feel like itâs time for that!#sheâd been deemed âweirdâ too#maybe she has different hobby or comes from a fun family idk#I thought about making fool me once and the eventual alys x Aemond fic I want to do in the same#universe#but I made Aemond and alys the antithesis of how I want them to be in fmo so đŤ
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i love sending my brother screenshots of lil manga Akechis where he looks all sweet n innocent to make it seem funny how badly hes treated in our au with him. and pretending the canon horrors he doesnt know abt dont exist
#remember the omori crossover au where we plopped Yusuke in faraway and ran with it. yea well thats Akechi centric now somehow#i cant remember if i said that already. either way its funny to me#bc i feel like my Akechi brainrot rubbed off on him but his brainrot is also being sent back to me. its a cycle of Akechi..#theres also 2 variants but the new 'main' one is one of my favorite aus for anything rn#basically detective boy over here tried to investigate Maris death but he ends up possessed by her. very silly and fun#n Mari refuses to tell him how she died#so he sticks his nose into business he has no right getting into by himself <3 it sucks for everyone involved. n their dynamic is fun#Yusuke is still there. so is Akira n Futaba n Sojiro. not the rest tho#o and Morgana but hes just a cat#theres a fun irony in this where Akechi was distant from the friend group n is initially the least affected by Maris death#and didnt rly know her#but uh ! well. that obviously changes#also if anyone remembers when i mentioned my brother writing shuake fic in discord this is what its from. btw#he also wrote a different bit really early on that like. nailed Akechi surprisingly well for how little he knew abt him at the time#did Not mean to ramble abt this i just love this thing. and Mari đ
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Those were quite the news to hear.
To think that the Duo of Jon and Damian would grow into a Trio...
He wondered how the girl did it, Elle Nightingale, she must have fit right in.
To say Clark and Bruce weren't surprised would be a lie when those two boys brought in their new third companion and proceeded to roughhouse Robin-Superboy style with her.
And she seemed to retaliate just as hard.
Both fathers wondered if she was the child of a former colleague or another vigilante, that or she was a meta/alien.
So when they went to Central City to meet Elle's parent and let the kids have their funâ well.
They didn't expect a young adultâ barely out of the teenage yearsâ greeting them with a grin in a hoodie.
"Sup."
And down the rabbit hole they went.
â
Over the weeks of meet ups, Clark and Bruce have gathered around 4 different kind of responses to their questions of Elle's other parent/relationship with elle.
It went like this:
("Brother? Aww, you flatter me. I'm her dad, actually.")
("Hm? Elle's other parent? She doesn't have one.")
(A shrug. "I decided I wanted to have a kid. Elle is the result.")
("Plasmius has always been a moron. Elle! On his next weekend, rob him broke!" To which he got an enthusiastic nod from said girl.)
They've gathered;
1. Danny and Elle weren't meta-humans. Instead, at least, half something/alien.
2. Whoever Plasmius is, he was involved.
3. The boys know. Elle seemed to have shared some of her past with them, and they're holding onto the promise of safekeeping and secrecy.
#do you know how much evading and dodging Danny goes through?#elle just HAD to befriend the kids of CLARK KENT and BRUCE WAYNE#is she laughing? SHE IS!#dcxdp#dpxdc#dp x dc crossover#fic prompt#writing prompt#dc x dp prompt#dc x dp#dp x dc#dp x dc prompt
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hi. im normal about books. now everyone go read Lone Women by Victor LaValle
#rot.txt#personally i dont think it works super well as HORROR (despite being labeled as such on libby) but god its good.#okay spoilers now. the reeds being so performative makes me crazy#jerrine talks of women dressing as men to join a war but the moment she meets a âgirlâ dressed as a boy living as a boy she loses her mind#also from a writing perspective i liked how even after sam is outed the narrative still doesnt misgender him#hes still a boy. jerrine thinks hes a girl and put him in a dress but hes still a boy#the reeds being all âthis town is a family!â but are so willing to slaughter all the people they dont want there at the drop of a hat#jack calling fiona a SLUR and barely realizing that its wrong. he only backs down because he knows fiona and bertie could beat him up#and like. him not stopping joab from killing delmus. the stranglers. they killed those wolfers without any proof of their crime#both of them put on this face of being perfect and kind but the moment theyre faced with something a little different they have to kill it#literally.#i was going to end it there but chapter 61 is making me abnormal. joab being faced with sam knowing this nine year olds mother#is being hanged in the building next door. so soon after strangling his brother and seeing his own mother die at the claws of a demon#and knowing his other brothers were picked off by the same demon. ough. and dont even get me started on elizabeth#im not done yet so i dont know but i was thinking elizabeth is a metaphor for disability being âshamefulâ to the family#and how family members face difficulty taking care of a disabled loved one and are blinded to said loved ones own struggles#adelaide does basically say this ^ to elizabeth. she was so caught up being angry about the isolation#that she didnt think about how elizabeth felt about the same thing but WORSE. at least adelaide had parents#elizabeth just had jailers#and yes elizabeth has killed and eaten several people (and horses) but what else can she do? what else has she been offered?#god. between the time i started this and now i finished the book LKDSJFDS#anyway its about adults failing children and the marginalized standing together and believing each other#the end was great. i loved how the Lone Women werent really alone at the end. they found a place to be happy and safe#as much as i like miserable endings this one was sweet. i liked it#i have more to say but these tags are long enough
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so high school | đđđ
ŕ¨ŕ§ pairing: lee heeseung x fem!reader ŕ¨ŕ§ word count: 6.8k ŕ¨ŕ§ genre: fluff, smut ŕ¨ŕ§ tags: basketballplayer!heesung, nerd!reader, tutor!au, high school au, oral (f + m receiving), penetration (all characters are of age!), light choking ŕ¨ŕ§ synopsis: You and your boyfriend are complete opposites on paperâyou, the girl hidden inside a book, and Heeseung, the star of the basketball teamâbut it feels so right every time youâre together.
Heeseung at the free-throw line, certain he will make the basket and win the championship, turns to look at you in the stands. The sounds of his coach, taunts from the opposing team, encouragement of his teammates, and commotion of the final game of the season all fade into the background. To him, all that matters besides the ball in his hands is you.
You, amongst the others in the crowd with their hearts in their mouths, have no fears for your boyfriend. The star player whoâs going to make history has never given you doubts before in his talents. All you can do is smile, incredibly proud and incredulous at the thought that he is all yours and nobody elseâs.
Itâs almost unimaginable how the two of you found each other, coming from completely different worlds. But like all stories, similar to the ones youâve read since childhood, the story of you and Heeseung has a clear beginningâŚ
AUGUST
âDo you ever stop toâI donât knowânot read?â Jungwon asks, jotting down notes in his notebook.
You giggle and flip the page. âItâs the last book on Choiâs summer reading list. Besides,â you retort, looking directly at your best friend, âhow else would I be able to read and still remember what you just said to me if I didnât practice?â
âFuck off.â You lightly knock his shoulder with yours.
Even though it was still very early in the school year, you still had a lot to concentrate on with the month coming to an end. Like the first novel Mrs. Choi selected on her extensive reading list. You planned to discuss it with the members of the schoolâs book club, your notes already tucked in your backpack for todayâs Friday meeting.
Now, sitting with Jungwon in the hallway as you eat your lunch, your focus is solely on finishing the last fifty pages of the last book in the list Mrs. Choi created. Jungwon closes his notebook and gets up from his spot next to you. âAlright, I gotta head to Chem. Iâll see you after school!â With a wink, he runs down the hallway and disappears down the corner.
Who you donât expect to pop up next to disturb the sudden quiet of the surrounding area is Lee Heeseung, star shooting guard for the schoolâs basketball team. You never spoke to him before, but his reputation and familyâs legacy preceded him. His brother was the shooting guard for the team years ago, breaking numerous records before he graduated. Now, Heeseungâs definitely filling his brotherâs shoes and then some.
As a person, however, you know nothing about the boy at all. This year, though, you shared the same English class with Mrs. Choi. She cared little for his extracurriculars or persona around campus; what mattered to her was the effort of her students and the quality of the classwork.
Heeseung passes you by on his way towards his destination, not sparing a glance. You sit attentively as he knocks on Mrs. Choiâs classroom door.
She answers after a moment, a somber smile on her lips. âWhat can I do for you, Mr. Lee?â
He clears his throat and asks her, âYou saw my message and Iââ
âI am aware, Mr. Lee. My response still stands. Is there something else you need?â Mrs. Choi sees you out of the corner of her eye, but she doesnât acknowledge your snooping.
âI will do anything to correct my last assignment. Please,â Heeseung begs.
âMr. Lee, the cutoff for submissions was last week. Iâm sorry, but your grade is final.â She sighs and looks at her watch.
âThereâs nothing I can do to bring it up before the first game?â Heeseung asks, his voice growing thin from his frustration. Heâs not rude, but clearly disappointed he isnât getting his way with his big eyes and pleading words.
âHow about this? Iâll tell Coach Sung youâre working on a paired project to make up the grade.â
âPerfect.â Heeseung breathes a sigh of relief before he takes in the rest of her sentence. âWait, whoâs my partner?â
Mrs. Choi extends her arm out to point in your direction. Immediately, you want to tuck yourself in your book and hide. You did not intend for your interest in their conversation to put you right in the middle of it, and now you wish you hadnât feigned curiosity at all.
âSheâs one of my best students, so youâre in great hands.â She turns her head so both you and Heeseung can hear her. âIâll send both of you the information for the project later today.â
You didnât notice Heeseung had kept his focus on you until you broke your stare-off with Mrs. Choi. Her lips are upturned in a secret smirk when you turn your attention to him.
Heeseung isnât bad to look at, the definition of his muscles peeking out of his shirt in multiple places and his brown hair falling into his face. Each piece of his physical being represents the epitome of a Greek godâs form. But the fact neither of you had ever interacted up to this point is what scares you more than his intimidatingly good looks.
When Mrs. Choi gently closes the door, Heeseung awkwardly walks over to your position, towering over you. Ironically, his presence physically embodies your feelings towards him, this stranger now being shoved into your life.
âIâm Heeseung.â
You give him a close-lipped smile and extend your hand out to him, your name leaving your lips immediately. Displaying fake confidence, you hope he canât tell how terrified you are.
His eyes brighten when his hand touches yours. You stand up, hand still in his, and the feeling of his palm against yours causes you to fumble your next words. âS-so I guess I should give you my number. I mean so once we get the assignmentââ
Heeseung smirks. âUsually girls flirt a little more before asking for my number.â
You scoff and tuck your book closer. âI was offering to give you mine, actually. For educational purposes.â
The noise of his laughter fills the small corridor. âRight.â
You roll your eyes, suddenly feeling annoyance creeping under your skin. âWell, if itâs that hard to swap information, you can find me after school in the library.â You walk away, but Heeseung follows quickly behind.
âI have practice once the last bell rings.â
You look at him with serious eyes, not bothering to stop your stride towards the stairs. âTell Coach you canât make it.â
âAre you nuts?â Heeseung says, eyes wide.
You smirk. âYou have to get your grade up to play, right?â
You watch the clock in the library with scrutiny. Members of the book club have been gone for half an hour, but you chose to stay behind. School let out an hour ago, and yet youâre still holding out hope Heeseung will come. But every minute that goes by proves you have to face facts: youâre now forced to collaborate with a stereotypical jock.
Mr. Kim, the head librarian, puts the disorganized books on the shelves as you tap your pencil on the table. âWaiting for someone? You donât usually stick around this late,â Mr. Kim says with a smile.
You grin back, the sentiment not reaching your eyes. âYou could say that.â
After another ten minutes of silence, you give up. You begin packing up your belongings, shaking your head and mumbling to yourself the entire time. Curse your interest in the guy and his lack of care for his academics. No wonder his grade was in the tank already. What was the point of athletics if he didnât have other prospects to fall back on?
Just as youâre walking out of the library, Heeseung runs into you. Sweatâs dripping from his forehead and his breaths are labored. Clearly, he chose basketball over your project. You want to punch him for putting you both in this position.
âI swear I was going to blow off practice,â Heeseung says, but he can see your doubt in his words on your face.
âSure. How about this? Figure out how to do the project on your own.â You press your body into his to push him out of your way. He follows in suit and rubs the spot you shoved, pretending to be wounded.
It only fuels your ire. Youâve only spoken to the jerk twice and youâre already tired of him treating every word you say and feeling you have like a joke. âIs failing that amusing to you?â
Heeseungâs expression immediately goes cold. âIâm not failing.â
âSure. So Choiâs just doing this to torture you.â
He weighs his response in his mind before answering. âI may not be perfect, but Choi is really hard on grading.â
âThat first assignment was just about what your future looks like after high school.â You push your backpack over your arm. âExcuse her for thinking you had plans outside of throwing a ball around a field.â
That laugh of his may just be the end of your life. He chuckles hard and puts a hand out to stop you. âFirst of all, thatâs football.â He tries to make you look at him directly, but you refuse, too angry to give into what he wants.Â
He continues anyway. âSecond, basketball is my life. Past, present, future, okay? Without it, I donât even know where Iâd be.â
His voice is sincere, more honest than itâs been before. Regardless, your understanding and disappointment is evident. âDonât you think that thatâs the problem?â
âIt hasnât been one before. Suddenly I say it out loud and itâs an issue?â Heeseungâs voice raises a decibel, clearly agitated and back to his cold exterior.
If he wants to fight about this, youâre game.
âNo,â you say, matching his vocal level. âThe issue is that your focus is solely on basketball when thereâs more important things in life than a dumbass court and sweaty guys trying to make touchdowns.âÂ
âYouâre mixing up your sports analogies, angel.â Heeseung steps closer, testing your boundaries. Your chest heaves up and down, your breath labored. You may just slap him if he gets closer.
âYou know what I mean.â
âAre you going to help me or not?â A fraction of his expression slips. His eyes challenge you in both irritation and anxiety. The bravadoâs merely a mask for the fear that heâll lose the one thing he wants the most in this world. And did you have it in you to be the reason he couldnât have it?
You sigh and rub your palm across your forehead. âTomorrow, meet me at the marketside pier. 8 AM. Take it or leave it.â
He releases a humorless chuckle. âYouâre not gonna make this easy are you?â
âNot on your life.â
Heeseung is there at one of the pierâs wooden picnic tables with his materials sprawled out when you arrive at 7:45. You werenât expecting for him to be there on time, much less earlier than you. The sun reflects off of his hair, turning the brown curls almost orange. Like the first time you saw him, you canât help but be reminded that he is painstakingly attractive.
You give him a shy smile and put your backpack down next to you.
âI can tell youâre surprised,â Heeseung says with a small smile.
âA bit, yeah.â You unzip your bag to grab your English textbook. âI thought on the weekends you typically doâŚâfitness stuff.ââ He laughs at your air quotes.
âWell, to be honest, I wake up at 6 AM every morning for drills with my dad.â
Your eyes go wide. âWow.â
âYeah. Like you said, my sole focus is on that damn ball,â Heeseung says, opening his own textbook. âBut I want to change that.â
âSo you can keep playing,â you remind him, teasing the poor guy.
âHalf true,â Heeseung says. âBut I shouldnât have left you hanging, yesterday.â
You nod. âI appreciate your apology.â You grab a pencil from your bag, pushing on the eraser until the lead pops up. âAnd I shouldnât have been so judgmental. You have to be good at stuff besides basketball, even if itâs not studying.â
âHey! Iâm doing well in all my other classes, thank you very much.â You both share a minute of laughter. âBut, to be honest, I do like to sing.â
You roll your eyes. âOkay, Troy Bolton.â
âFor real! One day, Iâll take you to karaoke. I wonât make fun of you if you canât keep up with me.â
âOkay, weâll see.â You direct his focus back on to the page. âNow, onto Shakespeare.â
SEPTEMBER
Although Heeseung took his sweet, laborious time to translate and understand Shakespeareâs old English, the project went off without a hitch. Mrs. Choi was even surprised herself, in disbelief you pulled such an expansive and well-thought analysis out of the quintessential jock.
Now, it seemed the best next step to keep Heeseung on the right track was to sit him right next to you. Your initial partnership continued to benefit him in both his success in English and focus on academics, possibly for the first time in his high school career.
Better than that, he may have found a new friend in you that he wouldnât have had otherwise.
By the end of one Tuesday class, Heeseung asks you to have lunch with him and his friends, a request that makes your previous seating buddy in English, Yujin, freak out.
Both her and Jungwon corner you on your way out when you tell them the news.
âNo fucking way,â she whispers excitedly, slapping you on the back with vigor.
âThat hurt,â you moan.
âAre you prepared?â Jungwon asks, smirking.
âPrepared for what?â
âThe lionâs den, dude! Youâre gonna be with not just his douche friends, but also the cheerleaders, other sports playersâŚbe prepared for the worst,â Jungwon grumbles.
âOh shut up, Won!â Yujin threatens to hit him too, but he retracts. âHave fun on your pseudo first date.â
âItâs not a date!â
By the time lunch comes around, you hold yours with shaky hands, searching the lunch courtyard for the jockâs table. You usually sat with Jungwon or Yujin in the hallway of the English department to eat. Now, youâre a small fish in a big pond, waiting to be eaten alive.
Was it, in fact, a date, like your friends hypothesized? Did you have to try and impress Heeseung more than normal? Did you want Heeseung to take you on a date, real or fake, to begin with?
"Hey!"
Heeseung waves you over with a confident but over-exaggerated arm, flapping it wildly so you notice. He didn't need to do that, though; you could pick out his voice in any crowd.
You walk over with a smile and sit down, feeling small next to the strangers you had not met until this moment. The basketball team's not unwelcome, but they are awkward at your sudden presence at their usual lunch table, even if Heeseung made it known beforehand that you would be hanging out with them to eat.
He says your name and introduces you to his friends. "And that's Sunghoon, Jeongsong, and Jaeyun." You recognize the last two, Jay and Jake. Jake, the strikingly blonde one, has Chemistry with you this year. He smiles and tips his soda can at you in acknowledgement.
"Hee was telling us youâve been saving him this term in English. Choi can be a pain in the ass, am I right?" Sunghoon and Jeongsong share a laugh, but you bristle at the comment.
"Not really," you say. "Choi sponsors my book club, so we have a good relationship. I think that's why she wanted me to whip Heeseung into shape in the first place." You elbow Heeseung in the side, and he grins in response.
"She's probably right."
"Book club kid, huh?" Jake asks. "Haven't been one of those since elementary school."
Jake's comments make the entire team laugh. Your cheeks turn pink and Heeseung takes a sip from his drink, his posture stiffening in the process.
"It's not a bad thing though," Jake interjects amidst their laughter. "Books are fun."
"A bit nerdy, though," Sunghoon comments.
A girl next to Sunghoon smacks him hard in the arm, but he just pokes his tongue at her.
Your anxiety spikes sitting there with all of these people, your gut feelings a reminder that theyâre all a part of Heeseungâs world, not yours.
You clear your throat and stand up from the table. âI forgot to say, Hee, I have to do something for Choi anyway.â Heeseungâs face turns down at the corners. The only audible response you receive is from Jay and Sunghoon in the form of snickers.
âRun along, pet,â Sunghoon comments with a smirk.
You hope your eyes give the offense you wonât bother saying out loud. Fuck off, asshole.
When you make it to your usual lunch spot, Yujin and Jungwon are surprised to see you walking down the hallway.
âWhat happened?â Yujin asks.
âExactly what Won said was going to happen,â you confess, sitting down in a criss-cross position beside her. âNow give me your chips.â
When the end of the day comes around, Heeseung catches you on your usual trek to the bus. âYouâre forgiven, by the way.â
You furrow your eyebrows. âWhat did I do?â
âYou left me alone with my shithead teammates! I needed you there for backup, yâknow.â He smirks and grabs your backpack from your shoulder to put around his arm. âIâm sorry about them. Sunghoon, mostly.â
âCanât believe youâre friends with that guy,â you mumble.
âHeâs the only one who Iâm not friends with, truthfully. The others are cool. Theyâre just not used to new people.â
âI never would have guessed.â
Heeseungâs laugh is hearty, with a dazzling smile to match. You can almost forget the heap of embarrassment you felt earlier when you look at him like this, carefree and youthful.
âAnyway, let me give you a ride,â he offers, pointing to the senior parking lot. His car is freshly washed, its coat of paint identical to the schoolâs colors of blue with silver accents.
âWhat will your friends say?â you ask with a fake gasp.
âFuck them. Besides, youâre also one of my friends. Now letâs go.â He takes your hand to walk in the direction of his car, not releasing your palm until youâre at his passenger side door.
As you give him directions, your mind goes back to the labels you had been running through in your mind all day. Were you Heeseungâs friend? Yes. Did you want to be more? Surely he didnât just ask anyone to have lunch with him and his friends if he didnât have other intentions, right? So, in that case, did yours match his?
A part of you wants to say yes, but the rational piece keeps you in check. Itâs ridiculous to expect more than a friendship. How could you when it was so obvious your worlds were so far from each other, your friendship a simple fluke? You were grateful for his presence in your life, knowing without him it would be a bit darker, but would it last?
Yet here you were. Sitting happily in his car, hair blowing in the wind as his thumb grazes the outside of your hand, you try to enjoy all the time you do have together.
OCTOBER
âThis is ridiculous!â
âCome on, just try it!â
âWhen did I ever say I was good at sports?â You groan, holding the ball in your hands with nervous fingers. The basketball court at your local park is occupied only by you and Heeseung, but it feels as though thereâs a thousand people in the metal stands watching you, waiting for you to mess up.
âYou said if I passed the last test you would let me show you how to make a free throw.â Heeseung has his hands in his pockets, his letterman jacket flapping in the autumn wind.
âIf I suck at this, youâre never going to talk to me again. Just watch.â You try to dribble the ball across the court, but it falls between your legs before you can travel any further.
Heeseung puts his face behind his hand, clearly chuckling to himself. You scoff at him and the response you saw coming the second he put the ball in your hands. âSee? I told you you would think Iâm embarrassing!â
He raises his hands in defense. âIâm sorry, okay? Itâs just cute, thatâs all.â
ââCuteâ is probably the nicest way you could say Iâm embarrassing.â You kick the basketball in his direction. He catches it without any effort, his face still shaped in a state of enjoyment.
âI said cute because I meant cute, you dork.â He steps to the free-throw line and motions for you to join him. You do, grumbling and grunting the entire way.
âNow, you have to relax. The only way you have half a shot at making the basket is if you stop tensing up.â He hands you the ball again and steps behind you.
He puts his hands on your hips. his palms soft against your hoodie. You can practically feel the heat of his skin through the material of your clothing, and you hope he canât tell how much your heartbeat has spiked from him being so close to you.
âNext thing is to bend your knees. They canât be locked up.â You listen to his words, trying not to focus on how his body is making yours react. You may be imagining it, but even his voice sounds a bit breathless from the small distance between yourself and him.
His lips are ghosting over your ear when he says, âNow shoot.â
You release the ball from your hands, hoping the angle of your throw and Heeseungâs directions will prove youâre partially competent.Â
And sure enough, the basket makes it in a single whoosh. You turn in Heeseungâs grasp, releasing a happy cheer. âThat was amazing!â
You feel the rush of the shot in your veins, but suddenly the only thing that makes your body hum in pleasure is the sudden crash of Heeseungâs lips against yours.
Unsure how to react, you stand there frozen in place as his mouth moves on its own accord. But slowly, surely, happily, you fall deeply into his embrace. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and feel the press of his tongue against your mouth, begging for entrance.
You comply, letting the feeling of him and the thrill of this private moment in both of your worlds fill you to the brim with quiet pleasure and happiness.
[LHS] Can we talk, please?
[LHS] Did I do something wrong??
[LHS] IDC if you donât respond. Iâll keep texting until you say somethingâŚ
[LHS] Donât leave me hanging :(
You sigh and throw your phone to the other side of the bed, tucking your comforter closer to your chest. Deciding to stay home from school was probably not the best way to handle your problems, but just because youâre smart doesnât mean youâre sensible all the time.
This weekendâs excursion with Heeseung was beautiful, no doubt. But the fears continued to creep in with little regard for how happy he made you that day or all the days that came before it. Would how he felt about you last any longer than his basketball season? Did he entertain this simply for the fact that it was entertainment and nothing more?Â
The thoughts had been too much when you said goodbye to him on your doorstep with another hasty, giddy kiss and all the hours following it. Maybe you were self-sabotaging, but it was better to manage expectations now than be crushed in the aftermath.
When Yujin calls you during lunch, you have half a mind to ignore it. You answer anyway to avoid your friends thinking something drastic happened.
âHello,â you mumble, the effects of your late morning nap hitting you.
âDude, Heeseungâs on a tear today. He even asked Jungwon where you were, and I didnât even think he knew the kid existed. What the hell happened on Saturday?â
Before you can respond, you hear the sound of your doorbell. âI gotta go. Iâll tell you later.â You hang up, hastily grabbing your fuzzy robe before running downstairs.
You donât bother looking through the peephole to see who it is, but you curse yourself for not doing so when youâre confronted with Heeseung. Heâs a sweaty and panting mess, but he doesnât care for his appearance. His face morphs into relief when he sees you staring back at him.
âThank God,â he says before stepping closer to you. He runs his hand over your forehead, frowning. âYouâre not sick.â
You shake your head.
âSo, you just ignore me all weekend and then donât show up to school today?â
You sigh. âI didnât know what to say when I saw you.â
He gulps, his Adam's apple bobbing. âSo you chose not to see me at all? Was kissing me that terrible?
âNo!â You run a frustrated hand through your hair, the spot in your hallway suddenly too cramped. You push him back outside and close the door behind you. âI donât regret it at all. And Iâd do it again if I could.â
Heeseung smirks at that, clearly happy with your response. âSo, whatâs the problem?â
âThe problem is that when you get bored of me, things wonât go back to normal for me like they will for you, Hee. You may think this is a game butââ
Heeseungâs sudden laugh is marked with a bitterness. His eyes grow serious, so much so your words stop short because of his stone expression
âDo you think that little of me?â
Your body tenses at his words, unsure how to respond. You have never thought of him as lesser than once, not since getting to know him. But maybe only looking at your feelings regarding your relationship compromised his own in the process.
He steps closer, your faces an inch apart. âTwo months ago, I didnât realize how much my life was going to change because of you. All I thought about before was basketball. And now, youâre one of the only things outside of that damn game that matters to me. When I havenât talked to you or seen you for too long itâs like thereâs this rock in my gut that I canât get rid of. I kissed you because I wanted to, not for fun or because itâs this momentary thing.
âSo, if you still think Iâm going to get bored of you in a few days or weeks or months, then you really arenât as smart as I thought you were, angel. Because Iâm not going anywhere.â
Breathless would be too small of a word to describe how his speech affects you. You feel the same buzz of his kiss from a few days throughout your entire body from his words alone. It makes every worry and fear that has plagued you evaporate, replaced with his promises and all the reasons you should jump in headfirst without another thought.
So you do.
You kiss him hard, crashing into his lips and hoping all of the feelings he harbors reflect in the actions of your mouth. You hold onto him with your hands on his neck and the smoothness of your lips in a beautiful rhythm with each other.
Whatever happens next, you know thereâs no turning back now.
NOVEMBER
âAnd Sim, our prime point-guard, passes to Lee. Lee has ten seconds to make another three pointer and win the game. Will he do it? Time to find out!â Kim Sunwoo screams into the microphone, broadcasting the highlights of the semi-final game to the many listeners not attending in-person.
Lucky for you, you have the perfect spot in the stands to watch Heeseung make the winning basket and lead the team to victory.
The crowd roars when your boyfriend secures the teamâs spot in the championship game. His teammates lift him up above their heads and shoulders, chanting his name and holding him with all of their strength. Heeseung immediately searches the crowd for you, his excitement fueling his newfound focus.
When he does see you, clapping your hands and cheering with the rest of the bystanders, he kisses the inside of his palm and shoots it in your direction like heâs making another basket. Your heart squeezes at the gesture, but you only blush and wink.
Ever since that day on your doorstep, you canât seem to separate yourself from him or the feelings he stirs up inside of you. The thought and reality of not seeing or hearing from him for too long immediately dampens your spirits, just like Heeseung described to you when he confessed. Jungwon calls you âlovesick foolsâ every time you both are in his presence, but itâs not that. The love you feel for your boyfriend is one that strengthens every sense, impulse, and desire. Without it and him, thatâs when you feel the weakest. And every time Heeseung smiles at you or holds you close, you can tell he feels the same.
Whether your worlds were the exact same or as different as they possibly could be, you both made your own perfectly fit for just the two of you.
The outside world has to creep in every once in a while, though.
At the end of the night, Heeseungâs arm is wrapped perfectly around you as you walk. You discuss your shared plans for the night and subsequent weekend since your parents are away at a work conference. Heeseung stops short when he sees his father waiting at his car with crossed arms.
âGood job, Hee,â He says first and foremost. âSaw you lost a bit of steam in the third quarter, though. Weâll have to do some more conditioning before the final.â
And there it was. The judgment you saw so often in conversations between Heeseung and his father that made you ache for the boy you loved. As his father, he shouldâve been proud to see his sons succeeding, one of them off and playing for a world-renowned team and the other on his way there. Instead, all they received was judgment. It wasnât your place, but you couldnât wait for the day Heeseung stood up to him.
âAt least I made the winning basket, right?â Heeseung shrugs off the criticism with a laugh and holds you closer. âWe have to go eat, soââ
âOf course.â His father moves out of your way. âLovely to see you again, darling,â He says to you with a small smile as he opens the passenger door for you. You return his greeting, suddenly uncomfortable with how close he is.
On your drive to your house, you try to help Heeseung destress with a hand on his thigh. âDonât let him get to you,â you say sadly.
He smiles and gives you a knowing stare. âIâve been dealing with him my whole life. He doesnât have that power anymore.â He takes your hand from his thigh to hold it tightly in his own palm. âBesides, Iâm one step closer to the championship and I got my girl next to me. Nothingâs getting in the way of my good night.â
You set your backpacks down at the door when you step inside your house. Heeseung follows you to the kitchen. While youâre finding the flier with the number of your favorite takeout restaurant, Heeseung presses his lips to your neck. The trail of his kisses going from the back of your ear to the start of your collarbone makes you shiver.â
âHee,â you warn him. âWe wonât be able to eat if you keep distracting me.â
âFood is the second priority,â he responds, lips feathering your skin. âRight now, we need to celebrate the championship.â
âThe championship is still three weeks away.â
âIf we both know Iâm going to win, whatâs the point of delayed gratification?â He pulls the sleeve of your shirt down to expose the top of your shoulder, kissing that area too to make your body thrum with pleasure.
âSpeaking of thatâŚâ You turn to face Heesung, pressing your back against the counter. âI guess we can celebrate something tonight besides your impending win.â
Heeseung raises an eyebrow.
âI got early acceptance to Sky.â
Heeseungâs eyes immediately light up at your announcement. He pulls you in by the waist and spins you around the tiny space between your kitchen island and the fridge.
When the topic of college came up, it was as good a time as any for the two of you to discuss your future plans with each other. As fate would have it, Heeseung planned to play for Sky Universityâs basketball team next year, and you were waiting on your official acceptance letter when you both started dating.
Now, Heeseung would have the two most important things to him in the next chapter of his life. The boyâs over the moon, as any other person would be.
Heeseung lifts you over his shoulder, immediately heading in the direction of the stairs to take you to your bedroom. He laughs off your mock protest.
He knows for certain heâs in love with you. It may not be the perfect time to say it, especially before heâs about to ravish you, but the perfect time will come when it feels right.
He doesnât say it when he strips you bare for only his eyes as he kisses you senseless, shocked and grateful your body is for him and him alone to see and cherish. He doesnât say it as you kiss every inch of his bare chest to send him into a rambling mess of praises and curses.
Somehow, stupidly, the words slip out when your mouth is wrapped around his cock, tongue flat against the underside of his tip as he feels the back of your throat against him.
âFuck, I love you so much.â
The air stills, both your bodies going rigid at the sudden confession that has just left his lips. But, instead of running scared, you take your mouth off of him and stare deeply into his eyes, smiling wide. âWhatâd you say?â
Heeseung breathes out a sigh of relief, suddenly taking your face in his hands and kissing you deeply. âI love you. Iâve loved you since the second I saw you in that hallway. I just didnât know it yet.â
You giggle and press another kiss to his lips. He sees a tear leave your eye, and he wipes it away gently with his thumb. âI love you, too, Heeseung.â
You fall back into a steady rhythm of kissing and touching, Heeseungâs hands roaming the skin of your stomach, the swell of your breasts, and the cleft between your thighs, making you moan.
âLet me show you how much I love you,â Heeseung whispers against your lips.
He lays you flat on your back, kissing what areas he hasnât touched yet with his hands. He needs you to know, in every moment, he chooses you and will never stop choosing to be with you.
If he had to make the choice to either give up the game or you, he would choose the former in a heartbeat. His dad, his friends, and even fate may say itâs young love and you havenât been in his life as long as basketball has, but they donât see him the way you do.
Even if he doesnât say it out loud, he knows he doesnât have to.Â
When Heeseung finally presses his lips to your clit, kissing the nub with adoration, your legs shake at the contact. You instantly run your fingers into his hair. âFuck,â you curse, the word rarely slipping from your lips save for moments like these.
The first time you had been together, Heeseung didnât know exactly how to touch you without being terrified it was too much. But now he knows all the ways to turn you into a beautiful mess.
He licks languidly across your center and through your folds, keeping the perfect pace for you to ride your hips against his mouth. He inserts a finger into your entrance after coating the digit in the arousal already pooling at your center. You, typically so put together, are ready to fall apart at the simple press of his mouth against you.
Heeseung knows he can get you off this way, without question. And most nights, he doesnât mind when youâre the only one who receives pleasure. But tonight, you moan out a request that he canât say no to.
âHeeseung, please. I want you inside me when I come.â He doesnât have to be told what to do twice when itâs the best command heâs heard all night.
He takes your mouth in his, holding your jaw in his hand and slightly applying pressure to the side of your neck. A half-empty moan leaves your lips at the sudden contact. To him, the sounds that you make are their own form of poetry, better than anything youâve read to him all year.
Heeseung quickly grabs a foil packet from your bedside drawer to put on himself, protection being the one thing you canât forget in the midst of your desire for each other. Lining himself up with your entrance, he thinks you could not look more beautiful with your half-lidded eyes and eager hands grabbing onto his hips to finally push him inside of you.
When he does ease in, he swallows the curse prepared to leave your mouth with his lips. Itâs an indescribable feeling, the stretch and pull of your walls taking him in completely. Although youâve been together many times before this night, itâs still a novelty Heeseung does not take for granted.
He takes his time establishing a rhythm, loving the pants and whimpers you emit because of him and for him. He holds his hand on your throat, his thumb going into your mouth for you to wrap your lips around in a lewd manor.
âAh, fuck,â you say as he snaps his hips, filling you to the hilt. âJust like that.â
He feels his orgasm in his gut, threading further up his body as he snaps his hips harder and faster, moving in and out at a faster pace than normal. You donât mind, scratching lines down his back as you cling to him. Youâre both reduced to a heap of I love youâs and satisfied sounds, and it could not be more perfect.
âFuck, Hee, Iâm coming,â you say in the form of a promise, one so precious he wants to hear it every day.
The flutter of your walls around him as you fall apart pushes him to his own end, releasing into the condom with a guttural moan. He kisses you deeply before separating from you, running to the bathroom to throw the remnants of your lovemaking into the toilet and clean himself up.
You hold your arms out to him, ready to have him back by your side. He grins and kisses the crown of your forehead.
âThink about all the nights we can do this next year,â Heeseung whispers into the dark.
âI canât wait,â you respond, pressing a kiss to his sweaty chest. âI love you.â
He grins happily to himself, the words a thousand times more powerful leaving your mouth. âI love you, too, angel.â
With your body curled into his chest, your heartbeats matching in tempo, he thinks no amount of championship wins could compare to the love heâs found in you.
DECEMBER
The basketball feels light as air in Heeseungâs hands, incomparable to the feeling in his chest looking at you. His teammates can tell heâs staring directly at your position in the stands. They wonder how his mind is still so occupied by you, even amongst the sea of spectators waiting for him to either succeed or screw up
Little do they realize, youâre the exact reason heâs going to win the title.
As he looks in your direction, he takes the shot without second-guessing himself. He hears the faint gasps of some attendees and even his coach, but the following swish of the basket in the hoop tells Heeseung all he needs to hear. And all he needs to see is your beautiful, proud face as the gym explodes into cheers.
Youâre the best and truest thing he has in this world. He knows heâs a champion, in both the traditional and figurative sense. With you by his side, heâll always feel like the winner of every game heâll ever play.
#lee heeseung x reader#heeseung x reader#enhypen x reader#lee heeseung fic#heeseung fic#enhypen fic#enhypen smut#heeseung smut#lee heeseung smut#[ lexi's works ]#[ 1k ęŁŕ§ ]
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As a female athlete myself, I just want to quickly appreciate how George R.R Martin writes his women who fight. Itâs never, âshe wanted to be a warrior so she worked harder than everyone and eventually she could beat all the boys.â He actually gives his characters strengths and weaknessesâas well as cultural ties to fightingâ and he makes these traits enhance the already existing plot lines these characters follow. The mental game is also always just as important, if not more, than the physical game, which Iâve found is true in sports and probably much more true in actual life-threatening situations.
Arya is a small child. Sheâs nine, sheâs skinny; she would probably never excel at being a knight, so instead she learns a different type of fighting. Sheâll never overpower anyone, but she can be quick and sneaky and use her left hand which most people donât know how to fight against. Also, I would argue that Syrioâs teachings about âlooking with your eyesâ were far more important to her than the physical part of water dancing. Most of the time she isnât using her skills to directly fight people, but to run away, to spy on people, to catch food and survive. Syrio is her friend, Needle is Jon Snowâs smile, etc. Arya learning how to use her stature to her advantage is part of a greater connection to her identity and the people who helped her.
Brienne is stronger than most men, but she faces constant misogyny because of that (which is all too realistic). She constantly faces internal battles with her own self-image and harassment wherever she goes. She gets taught to use menâs pride and anger to her advantage:
âOld Ser Goodwin was long in his grave, yet she could hear him whispering in her ear. Men will always underestimate you, he said, and their pride will make them want to vanquish you quickly, lest it be said that a woman tried them sorely. Let them spend their strength in furious attacks, whilst you conserve your own. Wait and watch, girl, wait and watch (AFFC Brienne 7)â
Finally, âno chance, and no choiceâ is her most memorable line for a reason. Itâs not her martial prowess that makes her a great character; itâs her bravery and honor.
Cultural ties are also so important to the reasons many women in the series fight. Asha is Balonâs last remaining child when all her brothers are dead and gone. Of course she knows how to fight and sail. Her tension with Theon is less about her showing off and more about her proving how much she actually knows her people while he doesnât (of course that isnât Theonâs fault but thatâs a whole other post). The Mormont women learned to fight because they historically had to fight off invaders; the Sand snakesâ skills show their connection to Oberyn, etc.
Anyway I just love how George uses fighting to enhance his charactersâ personalities and not define them. None of them are physically or mentally infallible, and none are exempt from misogyny. They just learned to do something that empowers and protects them despite societyâs expectations. Georgeâs writing of women is definitely not perfect, but this is something I really appreciate.
#reading about Syrio and Arya brought this whole ramble back to me#arya stark#brienne of tarth#asha greyjoy#the mormont girls#the sand snakes#lyanna stark#asoiaf#valyrianscrolls
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