#Snipe x OC

[aheckinmess]

Bullet in a Gun [Snipe] (Angst)

(One-shot 23/? in a collection of My Hero Academia one-shots posted regularly on Saturdays - and sometimes Sundays.)

Read on AO3.

Tags: Snipe, Choku Dan, Pro Hero Snipe, Snipe x OC, Snipe x Reader, Original Female Character(s), Ichijiku Aoki, Angst, And When I Say Angst, I Mean the Cliche Damsel in Distress This Time, I'm Not Sorry, I Committed to the Chivalrous Cowboy Trope, Snipe Rides in to Save the Day, I Gave Myself a Panic Attack Writing This, It Was Worth It, Snipe is So Underappreciated, I Did My Best to Remedy That, We Stay Writing 1.6K Words This Week

Word Count: 1,639 words

Summary: As Ichijiku contemplates life, a villain decides to make her contemplate her life specifically when he kidnaps her to get back at Snipe. As the clock for Ichijiku's life ticks down, Snipe finds a hint left behind as to where she's being held. When he finally arrives, he might be able to save her, but at what cost?

Ichijiku (Tigress)

If I stare at the sky for too long, it almost seems like a cardboard cutout, ready at any moment to fall forward and reveal its Great Creator behind it, spanning out into the dark, expansive realm of space. Will galaxies seem finite in the infinitesimal vacuum of space? Or will they only seem that much bigger with my own microscopic existence soiling the atmosphere? 

Those thoughts plague  my mind before a blue-haired man with tattoos wrestles me out of my rocking chair and through my house to steal me away.

Now, tied to a railroad track and left with nothing but the sky to look at, I’m not wondering about the vast expanse of the heavens any more. I’m wondering what Snipe will think of my absence. Will he think I’m ready to move on from our year-long relationship, unaware of my predicament? Or will he be lost and confused, distraught when he doesn’t find my warning in time?

Death doesn’t even cross my mind, despite the fact that Chameleon makes it very clear I’ll be dying at precisely 3:00pm.

“You’re awfully calm for someone in this situation.”

“You’ll have to forgive me. I’m an introvert and not entirely sure how I should respond to this.” My tone is, in fact, far more calm than it should be. “If this is your idea of catching a date, you’ve got the wrong idea. This isn’t a girl’s idea of a fun time, nor is it what she means when she says she wants to be railed.”

“Shut up. That’s hardly an appropriate response.” I hear him huff out a breath before he continues. “You’re not nearly as fun as I’d hoped. I’d been banking on hearing you scream until you lost your voice.” He drawls, apparating into existence in my line of sight.

What I thought to be a simple blue, turns out to be iridescent scales camouflaging him with every winking beam of sunlight, a kaleidoscope of color with every step he takes. He might be handsome if he didn’t just hogtie me to the tracks.

“I’m so sorry to disappoint you.” I roll my eyes as I glare at him. “But it’s Snipe’s job to make me scream, you know.”

A moment later he’s got a rope tied around my mouth, effectively gagging me.

“On second thought, it’s far too irritating listening to you talk. You have no class.” He crosses his arms across his chest before looking down one side of the tracks. “But don’t worry. You’ll be screaming soon.”

When I feel the ground rumbling beneath me followed by a thunderous horn in the distance, panic sweeps through my chest. Even so, death still isn’t my first thought. Instead, I squeeze my eyes shut and think of Snipe. I think of the sky. I think of infinity and my cat and love letters and regrets and what could have been. 

Only when I see the approaching silhouette of the train do I allow myself a fleeting thought for death.

. . . . .

It’s 2:23pm when Snipe dismounts from his horse. It’s 2:25 when he whips past the overturned rocking chair and bursts into her open door, barely hanging onto its hinges.

It’s 2:26 when he finds the note plastered to her fridge. 

Been a while since we’ve had a fair fight, Snipe. Let’s see if you’re still on your A-game. Your lady dies at three o’clock sharp. See if you can save her in time.

C

Snipe’s world is out of sorts. The world is not in harmony because she should be here and she should be making tea. She should be turning to the door with that blue-ribbon winning smile as he offers her a bouquet of her favorite flowers. She should be gazing into the corral of his eyes that he leaves open just for her.

She should not be gone.

Snipe slams his fist into the wall trimming, using the pain to pull himself back together. He doesn’t have time to waste. No time at all. Time that ticks down with every second he spends rummaging through the house, searching for any sign of where Chameleon might have taken her.

He’s nearly given up hope by 2:35, where he sinks to his knees and reminds himself to breathe. She will not die. She will be in his arms again. She will hide little love letters in his hat-shaped ring box that once housed her engagement ring now sitting on her finger.

Love letters. Without thinking, he opens the box and what should he find but a note? A blue, crumpled sticky note folded more haphazardly than the rest, and on it is a scribbled word in her handwriting: train.

The box falls to the floor and the door slams shut as Snipe leaps onto his horse and spurs the mare to motion, flying through the forest and into the open plains like a bat out of hell.

When a train comes into view, his eyes follow the tracks on an uncomfortably close trajectory towards two figures. He knows even as he urges Kuroashi faster that he won’t make it. 

At 2:59 he aims his gun.

. . . . .

The train is here. It’s close enough to feel the heat from its smoky breath as it rattles the tracks. All sounds drown out from the steady rhythm of chug-a-chug-a-choo-choo until my brain turns the cadence into an ominous Death is coming for you. 

The train is here. The train is here. Death is here and all I can worry about is whether or not Snipe will keep the box for my engagement ring. Will he hold it when he wants to remember me? Or will he get rid of everything so he doesn’t have to remember what he lost?

Chameleon’s timer goes off to the sound of a gunshot. 

Click. Clank. The switch lever swerves with the tracks and suddenly the train zooms past me, still far too close for comfort, but no longer on course to swallow me with its iron jaws. The warmth of the train mingles with adrenaline and suddenly I can’t stop wiggling and whimpering in my restraints, muscles buzzing as I fight to get off these damn tracks.

“More vocal now, huh?” Chameleon hisses, disappearing and activating his quirk just as Snipe rides into range.

“MMPH!” I try to warn him.

But his camouflaged offender sends him flying off his horse and into the dirt, gun still primed in his hand. He’s on his feet quickly, but what can he do? I watch helplessly as Snipe’s homing quirk becomes useless. How does one shoot what he can’t see?

My eyes scour the dirt, searching for footprints and other minute signs of his movement. When a cloud of dust swirls by Snipe’s feet, I thrash in my bindings, desperately trying to free myself and help him. My fiancé’s head arcs back into the ground from his unseen adversary, kick-starting my heart.

Blood drips from his nose as keen, pro-hero eyes start searching for the same tell-tale signs of Chameleon’s movements I’ve been watching for. It costs him a hit in the stomach and his ribs, but he analyzes his foe’s movements to reclaim the upper hand. Snake battles snake in the hot, barren plains while my body quivers with fear.

All it takes is another dust cloud and bam! Snipe wrestles the invisible villain into the ground, appearing to fight air until Chameleon relinquishes use of his quirk.

“Glad to see you’re still in tip top shape, Snipe.” Chameleon growls, turning his glare to me as Snipe pulls out the restraining tape. “But you cut it kind of close, and next time she won’t be so lucky.”

“There won’t be a next time if you’d prefer to keep breathing.” Snipe barks out, his voice feral and sharp.

Snipe gets Chameleon’s hands behind his back and calls the cops as he sprints in my direction. Calloused hands act as a balm to the tremors tainting my muscles. When he cuts the bindings loose, he grabs my face and presses his forehead to mine; we share each others’ oxygen, our eyes promising the other what our mouths can’t say right now - I’m here and you’re safe and I’m not going anywhere.

My life remains finite while stretching infinitely before me, stretching straight out for Snipe. 

I don’t ever want to let him go.

“You’re okay.” He whispers; it’s hard to tell whether he says this for me or himself. “Are you hurt? Did he do anything before he tied you up?”

“A few bruises and cuts.” My fingers card through his hair and slide down his cheek, soaking in every ridge and bump of his body. “And that’s only because I put up a fight before he got me here.”

“That’s my girl.” He grins and the world clicks back into place.

The heat sears my body and pain torments my bones as I become abruptly aware of the world around me. His presence anchors me as I’m swirling dangerously close to the edge of unconsciousness. He catches me with whispered coos, keeping me tethered for now.

“You’re having an adrenaline crash. And, hell, I can’t blame ya. But take a few deep breaths for me, okay, darlin’? Police should be here soon.”

It’s 3:34 when the police arrive to stuff Chameleon in the back of their car and EMTs arrive to check me for injuries. Only when the blinding blue and red lights disappear from my line of sight do I make myself stop counting the minutes.

“Do you want me to take you home?” Snipe whispers in my ear, securing a shock blanket around my shoulders.

“Not my house.” I whimper. “Will you take me to your place?”

“Of course, honey. I’ll keep you safe. Let’s go home.”

Want More Snipe? Try: Hanging Fire in the Pond

[bbq-ishere]

giant AI obsessed with tiny planet head 2 times smaller than him!!

[teejaywyatt1]

✨A new Blade fic titled “Crimson Covenant” will drop on Thursday, August 22nd at 5:30PM EST.✨

[swordbisexual]

The Commander has been late to his morning meetings lately anyone know why

Or, who wore it better

[wibixthecowboy]

Play the Song: Part 1: Meet the Flash

Task Force 141 needs a new sniper and despite their complaints, they're assigned Flash, a joke-making, ABBA-listening, 20-year-old sharpshooter with better aim than the whole team combined. In other words, Ghost is practically handed the love of his life but he needs time to adjust because she's a firecracker.

Warnings/Tags: Age gap (20/30-32), gore, descriptions of injury/blood/wounds, swearing, weapons, literally only fluff and banter, minimal angst, soft baby girl Ghost, asshole Soap, lighthearted, I can fix him he just needs a hug, warning for an excessively bad taste in music, slow burn, protective ghost, family dynamic, big brother soap has an attitude problem, father figure Price, Gaz is just there because he’s on the wiki I have no idea who he is, eventual smut, praise, thigh riding, unprotected (wrap it up people), idk I’m sure it will get dirtier as I go, shifting POV

Side note: All of these characters are fictional! Please don’t be weird about their real life actors, leave them out of this and be respectful! 

A/N: I have been resurrected from the tumblr tombs once again to write about a man that I’ll never have. I have no idea how cod or war in general works and I don’t care enough to learn so enjoy my bullshitting.

Words: 1.5k

Part 1  Part 2  Part 3 Part 4  Part 5

  ★ Ghost

  It was a hot day in Las Almas, with the temperature pushing almost 100 degrees, Ghost’s single shirt has stuck to the sheen of sweat on his chest beneath the annoyingly thick Kevlar bodyguard and left him second-guessing his faceless persona in desperation to rip the damp mask off. 

   Their sniper was down, and much to Ghost’s displeasure they were on their way to pick up a new team member fresh off the academy grill. The manila folder in his hands was thin, but the few sheets inside were enough to sell her to the coordinator, he had to admit that she seemed impressive but the minimal amount of field experience would have immediately disqualified her as a candidate if it was his choice.  

“Sniper specialist” 

“98% accuracy rate”

“trained in 6 fighting styles” 

“Distinguished Graduate Award and Clements Award winner” 

“Works under special requirements” 

He squints down at the last line, fighting the bouncing of the truck over the rough terrain to read clearly, special requirements. Ghost huffs a frustrated breath at the lack of further explanation and hands the papers to Soap next to him. 

“Do you know what the special requirements are?” He grumbles, eyeing Soap’s hunched shoulders. They had just gotten the call to clear a residency that would hopefully contain the information on the next run and they would be heading straight in with a newbie. No one was happy. 

Soap shuffles through the papers, barely taking the time to skim the words before he’s shoving them behind him to Price in the back seat. 

“Why the fuck would I know? Do I look like the coordinator?” Ghost raises an eyebrow at the attitude but decides to let it go. He knows from experience that poking would get him nowhere. 

Ghost turns his head to Price in hopes of a clearer answer but he just shakes his head and hands the papers back. 

“You’re missing a few pages there Ghost.” Price says closing his eyes and resting against the seat. Soap, suddenly done with the conversation rolls his eyes and turns to watch the sparse rolling landscape out the window.

“This is the entire file, I opened it on the way here.” Ghost retorts, looking down to flip through the paperwork. It takes him a moment to see it but when he does his hands freeze. Signaled by the sudden stop, Price sits up and looks over the seat to read the page in Ghost’s hand. 

“Oh shit”  

 Somehow both of them had missed the single line at the bottom of the first page,

“Missions completed: 0″

 Realization slowly dawns on him, this recruit has absolutely no field experience. When the coordinator said fresh off the grill he meant it. Ghost turns to relay his newfound information to Soap but snaps his mouth shut at the sight of his pissy expression. 

This new realization leaves a pit in Ghost’s stomach. He hadn’t signed up for training, the recruit couldn't be over 25, a vast difference compared to their already existing team. He’d asked for their best sniper, not a child.   

_____

   The van’s wheels grind to a halt in front of the small outpost building and Soap slams the door open, eager to get the process over with. As if on cue the doors open wide to reveal the coordinator and their new recruit. Ghost balks, through the shimmering heat he can make out two shapes, one being the coordinator and the other he assumes is the recruit. The top of her helmet is level with his shoulder pad and with the rifle being half her height, she looks more like a child than a soldier.

“You’ve got to be fuckin’ kiddin’ me. Jesus Fuckin’ Christ that's a child!” Although he wasn’t quick enough to stop him, Price still gives Soap a hard shove to the shoulder. Soap turns around in his seat ready to hit back but Ghost grabs his fist and levels him with a glare. Even with Soap’s strong accent muddying his tone, the words ring clear past the approaching pair. The recruit stands tall though, power-walking through the sand and stopping in front of the open sliding door. 

If it wasn’t for the giant rifle and other military paraphernalia strapped to her chest Ghost would assume he was back at a countryside bar in Kentucky. Her golden blonde hair has been weaved into a thick braid hanging halfway down her chest, framing her freckled face in soft layers and shining in the mid-day sun. The recruit’s blue eyes shone with a wild flare that left Ghost shifting in his seat. Upon noticing a slight gap between her front teeth he feels the corner of his mouth twitch upwards, only to frown at the lack of southern drawl when she finally speaks. 

“I go by Flash, and for your information, my 20th birthday was this summer and I’m probably a better shot than all of you. Now that’s out of the way, are we ready to go gentleman?” 

The entire team freezes in shock at the new and unexpected information. Ghost chokes on his next breath of air and his dignity is saved by Soap’s sudden yell.

“WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN 20?” Flash’s façade falters for just a second at the brute yell before Price is shoving past Soap to get out of the car and stand in front of the pair, blocking them from view. 

Price and the coordinator exchange a few short words before Ghost clears his throat and interrupts.

“No.”

____________________________________

★ Flash

   Flash had been warned about joining Task Force 141, as soon as the news was announced whispers floated around the academy, leaving Flash the center of attention. She was stopped nearly every day to be questioned about the lone wolf Lieutenant Ghost and despite her constant pressing that she had not met any of them, let alone the one known most for his evasiveness, the pestering continued. Flash was tired of being a show pony. She had an itch that needed to be scratched and it wouldn’t happen through obstacle courses and teaching. She needed to be out on the field and she was prepared to do whatever she needed to do to prove herself. What she hadn't prepared for was outright denial.

Everyone’s attention shifts to Lieutenant Ghost, and the man in front of her winces before speaking.

“Ghost it is not up for debate she’s already signed on.”

“Well, fuckin’ take her off then Price!” The loud Scottish man yells again. 

 After an awkward pause, the coordinator shifts on his feet and directs his attention to Captain Price, 

“Captain this decision is final, paperwork has already been filed, and the academy has handed her off.” He clears his throat before speaking “And if I may, Flash has the highest scores of all time on nearly every leaderboard back at the academy, she’s no beginner.” Flash feels a swell of pride and makes a note to thank him later. 

“It’s not happening” Lieutenant Ghost’s voice is cold and has Flash’s newfound pride deflating. So much for making new friends. 

Captain Price sighs before turning to speak directly to Lieutenant Ghost,

“Ghost it seems like we don’t have much choice. Soap move to the back, Flash can take your spot.” He heaves a sigh and Flash can see him bracing himself for a backlash but its not from who she expected. 

“This is utter dog shit, I’m not working with a child!” Soap drops his head into his hands before heaving himself out of his seat and into the back. Flash’s smirk falters when she realizes who she’ll be placed next to but she takes a breath and steps into the van, ignoring Captain Price’s outstretched hand. 

Captain Price shoves himself next to Soap and the coordinator gives them one last salute before pulling the door shut.

   It’s a tight squeeze in the van, the third seat of the second row has been ripped out and replaced with a few precariously balanced boxes, leaving her pressed up against the side of the Lieutenant. Although the sweltering day had given her a rosy complexion the heat of his body made her face flush an even deeper shade of pink. 

 _____

They bump along the road for a bit before it dawns on Flash that she’s on the way to her first mission. She can’t help the grin that slowly makes its way across her face.

“What’s that shit eating grin for?” Soap grumbles from the back seat obviously still sore from being forced into the back. Flash cant help the giggles that force their way up when she spots him glaring at her through the rearview mirror.

“Nothing.” She replies with a simple shrug and drops her gaze down to her lap, still smiling. Ghost’s rigid posture doesn’t relax but when he looks down at her she can almost see a glint of humor in his blue eyes. She stares back, “What?”

“Nothing.” He mimics. 

Maybe this won’t be so bad after all. 

[shinox]

sketch from one of my fave fo4 memories

After my sole survivor fell into the Kendall Hospital pit and was expertly saved by a certain sniper.

[cry-ptidd]

I kinda don’t like Integra and Laura dynamic, not to say it’s the most horrible ship or anything(maybe joking wise I want Laura to myself lmao) but idk i guess as a long time hellsing fan i always saw Alucard with integra and sera with integra at times(which is still toxic but that’s hellsing for ya). Laura and integra is so toxic and i see why she’s into integra etc integra has a lot on her plate so it’s its just funny seeing her have piles of more work. Yet for me i don’t really see it but I get it! I kinda just want Laura to not fall in love for a long time kinda thing, because I can half way step into her shoes and not imagine myself wanting to really love again for a long while even if I am in a better environment. She doesn’t have a good outlook on anything but that?just a smidge of it really. A speck and it’s sad. Integra a strong women and so is laura (she’s forced herself to live indirectly when she could have with Alucard shot her out of spite). Idk I guess I just want someone to reach that hurt part before all that to happen for me to be like bingo, I’m sure Integra has. Maybe then I’ll jump on and I won’t seethe in the corner with my “I’m Laura number #1 fan werewolf shirt from hot topic” anymore.

Thank you for your input!! Your opinion on this is valid ofc, and I'm glad to hear it.

I debated giving her a relationship at first, but decided to just do it and delve deeper into her relationship with intimacy with women. I guess it's also because I just really like Integra and wanted to explore some mistress/maid yuri.

By the way, you guys are absolutely allowed to ship Laura with other characters (or yourselves lol). A mutual ships her with Seras, which I also like, though maybe more as a casual flings type thing than a more thought-out relationship. Shame there aren't any many other female characters in Hellsing.

[jazzyrazzy157]

[animeaandp]

[Continuing to empty my drafts]

MHA Prompt

Part One

Shigaraki x Reader

---

You met Shigaraki as a child and tried to help him, the only person to before AFO disappeared with him. You never found out what happened to him until later while helping your classmates retrieve Bakago from the league.

Your job was to help launch the others into the air but then you recognize one of the villains. Todoroki and Momo don’t notice that you’re not following them to get away afterwards. Instead you walk towards Tomura, calling his name in a scared yet hopeful voice. Tomura feels like he’s seeing a ghost. Hearing your voice after all these years, his arms instinctively welcome your crashing embrace, being careful not to fully touch you with his hands.

You’re too relieved to see each other that you forget where you are for a moment too long. AFO starts to warp the league away but first asks Tomura if he wanted to take you (he too greeted you warmly). Tomura swears that he’ll never lose you again and lets out a sigh of relief as you’re both being consumed by the portal. You couldn’t believe that the sweet and scruffy little boy you’d found had turned into the man in front of you.

It was news that you knew Shigaraki and immediately everyone is scrambling to piece the puzzle together. Allmight’s furious for failing to rescue yet another student but based off of the interaction, Principle Nezu and the police don’t believe that Shigaraki will hurt you, not without being provoked; he clearly cares about you. So you should be okay for now.

Back at the villain base, you’re still trying to wrap your head around the small scruffy kid you'd found under a bridge causing all of this chaos. It’s hard to see him as a villain now that you’ve heard his voice again, sounding almost exactly the same. He looked the same as well, only now he looked down at you; he’s grown so much. Tomura would be far more upset about losing AFO if it weren’t for you being here and Dabi wonders if you’re actually a new problem, watching how different Tomura is behaving; like nothing else mattered anymore. His fingers traced through your hair as he continued to breath it all in..you were really here.. While introducing you to the rest of the league, Tomura thinks back to the only fond memory of his childhood.

--

After destroying his family, and a few days of wandering in search of help, a hero, anything, Tomura settled under a bridge to rest. He was terrified and confused, feeling utterly lost when some little girl came running. She was a mess but smiled as if she was as rich as could be and offered her hand to him. He pulled back, saying how she'd die if he touched her with his hands. So instead she sits beside him and introduces herself; y/n y/l/n. You watched him walking down the street and figured he was homeless like you were. He couldn't put what had happened into any certain words yet, but, yes he was. "Not anymore! Let's go!"

You dragged him to his feet and made him follow you back to your 'home'. It was a small group of homeless people who lived together on the outskirts of town. They'd all been thrown away by society like the trash they lived in, but this place was a home just as good as any other. You lived here with your older brother but everyone else was your 'bonus' family. "We all look after each other, so I'll look after you from now on, and you'll look after me too! Okay?"

"...okay.."

Tomura was only with you for a couple weeks. He had too many unanswered questions and unresolved emotions to not go with All for One. His feet did falter though, suddenly resisting walking away from you. Maybe he should say goodbye first? Leave a note or something?? You had shared everything you had with him, even if it wasn't much, it was his. He wanted to give you the same and more though so he walked away, making a child's promise to come back and give you a better life. That promise lived in his heart for a few years but AFO's overwhelming influence and 'teachings' pushed it deep down where Tomura wouldn't remember it until today when you'd come running to him again.

--

It was pretty bare bones but Tomura gives you the bedroom in the back to stay in for the night. He shuts the door behind him before crossing the room, interrupting your train of thought with a finger tracing your cheek. Your eyes swimming with emotion was everything Tomura thought it would be. "Y-You're touching me..." "Yes, finally." It seemed you remembered how the nights were cold and you'd forced Tomura to accept your blanket. You bundled him up in it so there wasn't a way for him to accidently touch you while he slept, then pulled on your sweater and wrapped yourself around him like a koala. Body heat was all you had some nights so you wished Tomura sweet dreams before drifting off. His wish was to be able to hold you back one day. At night sleeping, while running around, playing, or that one time you tripped and scraped your knee; Tomura wished more than anything that he could've comforted you just once. Finally it was his chance. He pulls you back into his arms and holds you, properly, with his entire being. Your hands wrapping around him as well, a forgotten feeling that never grew old.

You fell asleep at some point and wake up to Tomura tucking you under the blankets, but again to a cold breeze brushing over you. He had you in his arms and tells you to go back to sleep. Only half awake to begin with, you fall back asleep immediately. The next time you wake up you're in a new place and don't see or hear anyone. The bedroom is much nicer than before and a change of clothes are waiting for you at the foot of the bed. You change then poke your head out the door. Still no one.

There was only one of two options, so you choose right and start walking down the hallway. At the crossroads you go right again, hearing voices coming from that direction. None of them belong to Tomura but some are familiar enough that you decide to knock on the door. Hopefully they wouldn't attack you, and hopefully you wouldn't attack them. Just your luck though Dabi opens the door and you sock him in the jaw with everything you have. You didn't use your quirk, it'd be foolish to actually try and start something with the league right now, but damn did you still put your back into it. You shake off the pain while Dabi regains his balance, checking that his jaw was still in tact. "Why you little-" "That was for Aizawa." "Huh?" "At the training camp, when you all attacked. You hurt my teacher. Now we're even pretty boy."

"Even?" "Who'd he attack??" "'Pretty boy'-HIM?!" At least the others saw the humor in this bc Dabi's cremated people for just existing and if it wasn't for Shigaraki's strict order not to harm you, he'd be melting your bones. Instead he scorns the rest of the league for getting a laugh off of him. And what choice does he have but to let you in and wait with them for Shigaraki to get back from his meeting with Overall.

"Who?"

"That's none of your business."

"...Are you mad that I punched you..?"

"AFO save this girl...and the hell is so funny now?"

"She is. We like her" Mr. Compress and Toga giggled.

"You wouldn't if you'd gotten punched."

"Maybe, but still."

"Can I?"

"...Can you what?"

"Can I punch you as well. You're the one who kidnapped Bakago, you hurt Ochako, you were fighting the Pussycats, and you-!..well, I don't remember you; I won't hit you then." They league all look at each other trying to figure out if you were serious. You looked it but didn't sound angry or upset at all. Mr. Compress asks why that is, "Shouldn't you be trying to arrest all of us for being villains, little hero.?" You scoff as if he'd insulted you by calling you that. "I don't know most of you so I don't know why you're here, but I know that that doesn't instantly mean you're bad people. I'm sure you all have your reasons and it's possible that they're valid, maybe even right, who knows. My issue with you right now is that you've hurt people I care about. I won't ignore or forgive anyone who does that. So I want to punch you all and call it even. That's what fair looks like to me."

"..." "..." "..." "..."

--

'The hell is that sound?' Shigaraki opens the door expecting to break up a fight, not to see his member's cheering you on as you lined up your fist with Twice's jaw before winding up to hit him with everything you had. His literal split reaction has Toga rolling on the floor laughing with her own swollen cheek, and Spinner patting you on the back for your "good shot!" It looks like even Dabi's smiling but the wheels are turning in his head over something you said: "I don't know most of you" were you referring to knowing Shigaraki, or, was there someone else here that you knew...He'd be keeping a closer eye on you now. However, he did have to admit that as far as heroes go you weren't a shitty one. He's never heard someone talk about villains in such a non-black and white way before. You saw them as people first and for most of the people in this room, that's all they wanted.

"Do I dare ask."

Everyone finally notices Shigaraki standing in the doorway and in tandem look between you, Shigaraki, each other, back to you and Shigaraki, then to each other again with devilish eyes that screamed "YES!!!?!" A few minutes later you try to rub soothing circles over Tomura's cheek but he slaps your hand away, still grumbling about what he did to deserve getting clobbered as well. You laugh and are happy that he welcomes your touch this time. "For leaving without saying goodbye." "I was only gone for half an hour-..oh, right...alright fair enough."

There were obvious topics that needed to be discussed, but first he wanted to pretend none of that mattered and play catch up. He explains how and why he left, and in summary what's happened since. You remember being terrified to hear that some man had taken Tomura; it usually never ended well when something like that happened to people like you. You'd tried finding out more about Tomura's whereabouts for a while but the police catch you trying to steal food one day. Then the next you're placed into an orphanage.

You tried running away one night but your brother found you and to your amazement wasn't there to rescue you. He wanted you to stay where there was food and shelter. You were heartbroken to watch him disappear into the night, leaving you behind. It took you a long time to get over. The truth that you found out many years later when revisiting your old community was that your brother had become sick. Really sick. As hard as he worked to take care of you, he knew what was going to happen soon. This way, he could leave you with the best possible chance to make it in the world. Get adopted by good people, live a good life, one where he could leave knowing you'd be okay. You never saw your brother again. Like he wanted, you were adopted shortly after by a very nice couple who did give you a good life. They were the ones who encouraged you to apply for UA's heroes course and were probably sitting at home right now, worried sick about you... "Sorry," you wipe your face "I know how you feel about this stuff." Another hand helps you finish drying your cheek, "I know how I feel about you too; it's okay."

Tomura was happy to hear that despite choosing to become a hero, you were still the same person at heart. Mr. Compress reiterated what you had said that they all willingly allowed you to punch them. It sounded just like you and a part of him felt proud that his group approved. He wished that more people could be like you, someone who truly could agree to disagree with others, including himself. Maybe if he had chosen to stay with you, things would be different; he would be different. Thoughts like that were a secret place most villains let their minds wonder to when they were alone; all of the 'what if's' that could have happened if the 'if only's' had happened. Sometimes they were fond thoughts, sometimes not. But for him you always were, and if Tomura could go back in time then maybe-...maybe.

Shigaraki couldn't let you leave yet though or tell you anything that could be used against them once you were released. Hearing that created some tension between you two, but that night you open the bedroom door to the nervous ball of scruff asking if you'd let him lay with you. "I never got to hold you" "Maybe if you hadn't left..." "..." "Sorry. Come on." He hesitates until you manage a small smile and reach for his arm "it's okay. I promise." Tomura closes the door behind him and follows you to the bed. He laughs a bit, "You sleep in all of your clothes still?"

"Some habits never die. Besides, it makes me think of you."

"Really??" You nod laying down beside him "but look at us now. Clothes on our backs AND plenty of blanket to share. Guess we both made it out" Tomura greedily pulls you into his chest, wishing now that he didn't have to keep on these damn half gloves. You nuzzle in closer and wished him the same sweet dreams you did as kids. You fall asleep first and Tomura makes another wish; to keep his promise, and never let you go again.

--

You're kept with the league for a at least another week, it's hard to tell exactly since you're not allowed access to any technology let alone to leave. Tomura is willing to share that you're in an underground labyrinth, curtesy of a potential ally, but that's about it. Hopefully you'd be able to leave once Tomura finished up his business here, but he didn't feel the same way. Thanks to your 'agree to disagree' and 'only harm those who harm you' mentality, the league enjoys your company despite your career prospects. Even though the next time you meet would most likely be on the battlefield, that didn't mean it had to be personal. For now you eat, drink, joke and play games together.

The only hold out is Dabi. He's kept an eye on you like he said he would but nothing's stuck. As long as you weren't staying it shouldn't matter but Shigaraki has been dragging his feet to move forward with the leagues plans a bit too much. Dabi thinks that it's bc of you and your 'there's no need for needless violence' mentality rubbing off on everyone.

Shigaraki's meeting with Overall should last a little longer, giving Dabi enough time to interrogate you. He doesn't bother knocking and lets himself into your room, saying it was time to talk. Were you secretly working for the heroes this entire time? Was this all apart of some well thought out plan to infiltrate the league? Maybe you were trying to create a wedge; take them down from the inside type of thing. What was the purpose of playing nice with them? Did you hope to gain their trust, pretending to be some type of double agent then betray them later down the road? (Another hero coming to mind). No way a hero could be so 'lets hold hands' with villains; he needed to know how much of it was an act.

Dabi never gave you a break with his line of questioning, but while you found it confusing at first, now it's sort of funny "and kind of sad." He scoffs down at you, "How's that." "Well...i'm sorry you haven't met many good people, you know?" That reminds him, "What you said before; who else do you know here." "Hmm?" "You said you didn't know most of us here. Who. Do. You. Know-"

"You."

"..."

"..."

"..."

"...You didn't know that?"

"What type of bullshit-"

"Oh, you really didn't know."

Dabi's presence completely shifts and he's not playing anymore. His fingertips begin to dance with flames. He steps closer, "How." You stand up, unafraid of his thoughts threatening to take over "I mean, I do have eyes you know. So" you reach out the graze the side of Dabi's face "it's obvious you have your mother's eyes, just like Shota-AH!!?" Your wrists are on fire, almost literally, as Dabi pins you back down on the bed and growls at you to tell him the truth right now before he grills you alive "WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?!!!?!" "I KNOW YOUR FATHER!" "SO WHAT?!!" "I KNOW WHAT HE DID!"

"..."

"...I-...I know what he did to you. All of you."

"H-"

"Shota. He told me. Your other siblings as well."

"..."

"I know all about your family drama; what a grade A human dumpster of a father and husband Endeavor is...the moment I saw you I knew exactly where I'd seen those eyes before." Dabi lets you slip your hand away from his hold, or more like he froze. Again you reach to touch the face of the poor boy above you right now,

"I'm sorry life has been so cruel to you....Toya"

"That's not my name."

"Okay"

You both might have stayed in this moment forever if it wasn't for Shigaraki knocking and asking what the meaning of this was. He'd never thought of it before but seeing a man on top of you in bed woke something fierce and jealous inside Tomura. Dabi needed to leave. Now. His read of the situation couldn't be farther from the truth but Dabi pushes himself away and swiftly leaves-"Wait!" "...?" "I-...No one else knows, about...you know." "..." Dabi leaves.

"Did I miss something." You clear your face and give Tomura a reassuring hug, "No, I think you already know about it." Tomura tempts you with his touch and soft smile that's made you so weak, "what if I didn't?" but you're not budging on this one. "I couldn't tell you then." "Keeping a secret from me y/n?" His forehead rests against yours as you promise "I'd never dream of such a thing." You felt so close to Tomura right now. The way he didn't say anything else and just looked at you, letting his smile slowly slide off his face into something else...

"Tomura," "Hmm.."

"I feel....."

"So do I."

"You're..close"

"Because I have a secret of my own to tell you"

"Tomura-" "Shhh, I'm going to share it with you...pay close attention, y/n." His lips press greedily against yours, starved and threatening you to try and stop him. His arms cage you to him, tongue finding a rhythm with your own, and steps pushing you back to the bed until you can only fall back onto it. It's your only chance to call him off while Tomura goes to lock the door, because once he walked back over, you weren't getting another one. Throwing his shirt across the room "Let me know if at any point I need to repeat myself" Tomura removed every cursed thing that got in between you two that night. He'd rather chop his fingers off than keep these gloves on, the only barrier between your bodies, but the leather proved to have some 'redeeming qualities' so maybe they weren't that bad.

A lifetime of thoughts and emotions needed to be shared with you in this, so Tomura follows every instinct and urge that his body has. He's never done this before; he has no idea if you have, but the sounds you were making were so damn good. "m-more..." keeps rolling off his tongue. And who would you be if not yourself, to not give Tomura everything you had and then some.

Hours pass until you're getting a break and it doesn't last long. In between gasps of air, Tomura shares another secret; he wants you to stay. He knows that you can't, but still he asks and begs. He begs you as his body begins coming back to life, to stay and wait to leave him "Just a little longer.!" not to end this dream before he's ready to wake up. Overwhelmed and breathless, you're not ready for it to end either and promise everything he wants. You keep each other close and climb the final submit with one last burst of energy. Tomura cries and drools into your neck fighting to will his body to milk every last drop of this night with you. He's memorized every cry, moan, whimper, and gasp you've made all night. Every touch, arch, drag, and shake from your body. And the feel of your lips against his. It's gotten sloppy, teeth clashing, and breathless but still perfect. You were his now. Whether you grew to hate or resent him for it, to regret this night somewhere down the line. It didn't matter. You'd already fallen asleep but Tomura still promises to look after you. He pulls his lips over your skin one last time before passing out.

--

It’s what he dreamed about for so long; waking up with you in his arms-HIS arms! You fit so perfectly, he hated to ruin it, but the train was ready to leave the station again so he’d greet you with a proper “good morning” afterwards. Besides, he’d rather hear you panting at him to slow down then begging that he speed up, instead of saying two lousy words. Yeah, you sounded so much prettier like this “my pretty little thing-so fucking cute!” This was so much better!! FUCK he wanted to start every day like this-how did people not?! Shigaraki is just as consumed with your body as he was last night. A hell of a way to wake up, being constricted by his affection until you’re passing back out from exhaustion, only to be woken up yet again by Shigaraki starting over. He should stop but couldn't even truly consider it. Besides you’re his now, he’ll shower you in affection whenever he damn well pleased, and you were gonna be grateful. He owed you so much for the kindness you showed him surely you wouldn’t reject his thanks in return? No, you’d never be so ungrateful. So in that case, he better keep going. ‘Anything to make you happy.’

Over the next few days, every chance Shigaraki got to rip your clothes off he took, and nights were marathons. He couldn’t get enough. And it’s not like he was oblivious to the dilemma it created for you, but it just meant he needed to do more to convince you. The league would be leaving Overhaul’s compound to make their next move soon and he wanted you to go with them. You didn’t have to become a villain, Shigaraki just wanted you by his side is all. You could scold and scorn him for what he was doing the entire time if you wanted. He’d offer his jaw to your fist everyday if that made you happy. Just, this time when he left, he wanted you to go with him.

In the few moments of peace Tomura would give you now a days, you thought long and hard about what the hell you were doing. Of course you couldn’t go with the league, but, could you rejoin the heroes either? If they found out what you’ve been doing this entire time, could they arrest you? Kick you out of the hero course-…would they, force you to tell them everything you knew about Tomura..

“You look like you’re thinking hard about something. Better not be about where you and scaly are gonna fuck next.”

“Ugh. I’ve TOLD you already, it was an accident!”

“Who accidentally has sex on a table full of food right before we’re all supposed to eat.”

“Oh…I thought you were referring to the hallway incident.”

“Or the bathroom.?”

“No that one wasn’t an accident. Spinner should've knocked. The couch was an accident though-“ “No it wasn’t you two just got caught.”

“Well it was dark! You were all glued to the tv, I was being mostly still, just..”

“Scaly skin was being louder than the damn tv. Even on max volume all we could hear is how ‘fucking great it is to be balls deep in’-“ “OKAY OKAY!!? Jeez..”

“Don’t act all shy now princess. You’re quit the exhibitionist, it’s impressive.”

“DON’T say it like that..(!?)” you really didn’t mind if anyone saw or even watched you having sex with Tomura; Dabi was right you were into that sort of thing, but only in the moment. You didn’t want to discuss it later over coffee in the morning like it was normal. You try changing the subject, “So how much longer will I be here? It’s been a while hasn’t it?”

“That’s up to you, so I hear. Every time that scaly-“ “Stop calling him that.”

“Fine. Whenever that lovesick puppy of yours is getting close all he does is beg you not-“ “WHY are you LISTENING?!!”

“Too loud not to. You must be one hell of a lay for him to always moan like a-“ “Like a what Dabi.”

“..Speak of the devil…”

Tomura walked in looking very unamused by the conversation topic. He acknowledges your greeting, sitting and slinging his arm over your shoulder. “I can’t tell if you’re a fan of my work or just jealous.” Dabi scoffs, “More like brainwashed from it; all I hear day and night is you going to pound town on the poor princess.”

“‘Poor princess’?”

“Having to look up at that crusty face of yours every night? It’s a wonder she can get off at all.”

You feel the smirk on Tomura's lips and tense up. "Actually" ‘Don’t…’ he swipes your hair off your shoulder ‘don’t you dare say it’ and smiles against your neck, licking the same spot he’s been abusing for days 'Tomura don't you-' “She’s looking down at me most nights.” You try hiding your face but Tomura grips your jaw and forces you to look at Dabi, who’s shocked and amused by this turn of events. “Tell him y/n. You climb on top of your 'lovesick puppy' every night, and refuse to climb off without me getting a little rough with you.” His other hand tickles up your thigh “Go ahead. Tell him. Aren't I right?” Why was he doing this?! Even if other people have been ‘around’ sometimes you’ve yet to do anything like this. Tomura is so possessive you’d never think he’d be inching his fingers up your top right now, making sure that Dabi could see. And he could, and he was. Intently.

“..I-I” “Don’t be shy y/n. I know you’re enjoying this, but it doesn’t seem Dabi believes me. Go ahead and tell him how much you are.” "I-…Tomura-" “LOOK. at him.” You raise your eyes at Dabi who’s been waiting very patiently “ha, this I gotta hear” The asshole was thoroughly enjoying this. Your cheeks are flushed and your lips stutter trying to get the words out “I-I like…that you’re watching.” “Say his name”

“Da-..“

That smirk on his face. An actual smile didn’t suit him. So he watches your face twist into something else, a devious smirk of your own, and the game changes. "Toy-" “DON’T. YOU. FUCKING. DARE.” Now it’s your time to smile, leaning back into Tomura's touch in a show of victory. You don’t feel shy whatsoever anymore about his hand fondling you so openly as Dabi’s eyes were shooting daggers at you and drifting nowhere else right now.

Tomura can’t wait any longer; he drags you over onto his lap and starts moving things out of the way. It feels like your victory lap, so you let your eyes flutter shut and enjoy being dragged down onto him. You wish you could put on more of a show now, and do this every time you saw that smug face on Dabi. Because right now it was furious but there was nothing he could do except watch and listen to you and Tomura go at each other right in front of him. It’s not until you stop trying to hold back your moans that Dabi starts to shift in his chair “You’re a real little villain now aren’t you.” “Not at-hm!?-all. I just can’t s-stand(!) your ass.” Dabi scoffs sarcastically before standing up and snatching you by the throat. Tomura growls at him to "watch it." but stays focused on what he's doing. A little bit of panic starts to surface; you remember the last time Dabi grabbed you, but you can’t back down now so you hold the eye contact. Even as he leans in only an inch from your face, you try not to shelter the pants and moans you’ve been showcasing this entire time. The only reason you start to struggle is because Dabi’s hand tightens before he leans in close enough for your nose to rub against his with every slight bounce. “you’re lucky it’s not my lap you’re sitting on right now princess, or I’d ne teaching that little ass of yours a lesson; you'd forget how to walk.” “?!” “Now open” His fingers pry your mouth open to take the glob of spit he drooled off his tongue. "Swallow it." He throws your face away from him once he’s satisfied, and tells Shigaraki to shut the damn princess up quickly as he strolls out of the room.

‘What the hell was that about..’

“Finally” your clothes are decayed away and Tomura throws you down to all fours and double times his pace. “Don’t worry sweetheart, we can put on as many shows as we want for Dabi in the future. You’d like that wouldn’t you? Want him to watch the two of us like this?” He always did this, just like Dabi said. Whenever Tomura was getting close to finishing he never would until you agreed to stay with him. But this time was different because “Yes…yes(!) I want him to wwwatch us-AahhH!?” “You dirty little slut” Tomura slaps your ass, “maybe I should hand you over to him; see how much you like him then-“ “No! I don’t-I don’t want to fuck him(!) Tomura please-“ “Oh you don’t want that?” “No he'll be mean!” “Who do you want fucking you then y/n.” “You! I want you Tomura I only want you.” “Are you telling the truth y/n.” “Yes.” “You wouldn’t lie to me would you.” “No never-!” “Then you’re only going to bend over like this for me from now on. Got it.” “Yes!” He growls pushing painfully down on your back, “Always so good for me aren’t you-?!“ everyone was used to hearing your and Tomura’s escapades by now, but that morning would be the first time they'd hear Dabi’s name echoing down the halls. It’d also be the first time in ages that Dabi’s stayed in the shower longer than necessary. He was all smiles afterwards trying to catch his breath 'that fucking bitch has to go...'

--

The rest of the day passed by like normal, and the next day began as usual as well. A nice morning hump to get the blood flowing before the league had to go do something. Tomura doesn’t say what except that he’ll be back in a couple hours. He told you yesterday that they’d be leaving any day now, and if you really weren’t going to change your mind then so be it. “Now that I know where to find you, I can always steal you away whenever I'd like.” “That sounds nice.” One more kiss and he leaves.

A few hours later you think you hear the league getting back but the footsteps are too fast. Then there’s obvious sounds of fighting and a struggle happening. You leave your room and don’t believe it: there’s heroes and villains fighting in every direction. You don’t see the league members anywhere; these villains were all new to you so when you notice one sneaking up on a hero from behind you jump in to save him. Who were these guys? And what were all these heroes doing here? You wanted to be flattered but no way this was all to just rescue you.

The hero thanks you for the assist before stopping to stare at you for a moment, “…Are you y/n by chance?”

"Yeah I am. What’s-" "Eraser we got her! Y/n’s alive-!"

Eraser; Aizawa came for you…? Your chest ached. That’s right. You missed Aizawa. You missed your friends, your family.

You couldn’t stay here-

*grab* “I WON'T LOSE YOU AGAIN” "Tomura-!?" "Y/n PLEASE. Come with me. I’m…I'm not ready yet"

"Y/N!!?" Aizawa’s voice makes you jump. He’s getting close, and, if he found Tomura...

"I…I have to go now..”

“N-No” “We’ll see each other again.” "I’m not ready" "It’ll be okay-" "No stay with me-!" "Y/N!!" Aizawa doesn’t care what he’s interrupting; his capture scarf wraps around you and he pulls with all his might. Shigaraki only had you by the wrist and your hand slips from his. The portal begins closing and Tomura’s face has the most broken expression before disappearing into it. He was gone again.

--

That evening you’re back in your dorm room as if nothing happened. The police believed you to be in a state of shock and wait until morning to question you (and questions they did have). In the meantime you’re left alone to rest and readjust to being back. Your room had started collecting a bit of dust, making you realize just how long you’ve actually been gone. Also, that this didn't feel like home anymore.

--

Aizawa isn't sure what advice to give you in the morning. You looked like you hadn't gotten an once of sleep as you shuffle past him. The commission couldn't dig up anything concrete to connect you with Tomura. It infuriated them and took Aizawa, Principle Nezu, and Hawks personally vouching that you weren't some double agent/secret villain for them to not label you a person of interest. Your teachers had many closed door meetings themselves trying to figure out the connection but there wasn't anything that they could piece together themselves.

He didn't want you to go through what you were about to walk into, but; Aizawa grabs you by the hand and gives a light squeeze "I'm here for you. We'll do this together, okay?" You never said anything back, but you fall into Aizawa's chest, silently admitting your true mental state. All night you thought about what you were going to do and say when meeting with the commission, but you still had no clue. You didn't plan to lie, but how honest could you be? You didn't agree with what the league was doing, but you didn't want to see them meet miserable fates either. But, if you don't tell the commission everything they wanted to know then a lot of innocent people might be hurt. There's absolutely no way you'd give anything away that alluded to your intimate relationship with Tomura, nothing good would come from that. You'd need to tiptoe carefully and not make it obvious that you were withholding information. If they found out you were lying, and about what...

Aizawa went with you to the meeting and promised to wait right outside the door the entire time. He gives you an unexpected hug "Do what's best for you y/n. I'll still be here." then shoo's you inside. The room was huge but nothing more daunting than the panel of people hidden in the shadows. A single chair placed in the center of the room told you what was expected.

"Y/n Y/l/n."

"...Yes."

"Let's begin."

--

At least two hours passed. Aizawa could occasionally hear muffled voices raise slightly here and there, but nothing to give away how it was going other than how long it was taking. The commission was clearly interrogating you and Aizawa worried about how well you were handling it. He didn't agree what what the league was doing either, but it was no big secret that the people on the other side of the door were corrupted. So there's no doubt in his mind that they weren't playing fair and applying pressure with intent to break you.

It's another half hour before the door opens and Aizawa jumps to his feet. The doors didn't slam open, nor did your hands shake trying to push them. Your footsteps were strong walking away, so much so that Aizawa nearly misses it. He catches a glimpse of the look in your eyes.

Pure and utter torment.

"Y/n. Y/n..!" He starts chasing after you, trailing behind as you hurried your steps, each faster than the other. You force your way through the crowds of people walking the streets until you turn down an alleyway. Aizawa's still calling your name and begging you to stop. The chase doesn't last much longer though. As soon as the alley lets out to an abandoned lot, he's throw to the ground.

As if holding your breath this entire time, you collapsed to the ground and cried out without dignity and released an explosion of your quirk's energy. Aizawa isn't able to get back to his feet, only shield himself enough to watch as you cried out helplessly to no one. It was heart wrenching. And from afar in an unmarked, unknown location, being held captive and too far away to ever feel it, a should be hopeless AFO pulls a sly smile over his face.

Aizawa could have erased your quirk but instead holds out long enough for your lungs run dry, and the chaos subsides on it's own. All that's left is you folded over on the ground, clinging to yourself and silently sobbing into the dirt. Your body wouldn't stop shaking even after Aizawa carefully sat beside you and pulled you into his arms. The surge of emotion that went into that outburst was impossible to miss. Aizawa could see it; he can feel your heart breaking. And it was killing you.

[pyrotation]

ship your two faves together, yes.

but why stop there.

you can join them. make otp ot3. fave ship and me.

[cressidagrey]

It's a Love Story - Chapter 1

Summary:

Azriel's shadows find their master a wife.

Azriel would just really like his heart not to get broken again.

And Sky...well, she's just really surprised that that far too handsome male is interested in her at all.

Warning:

Rhys Bashing (as usual), I classified this as Azriel x OC, even when it't technically Azriel x Sellyn Drake (but we kinda know nothing about Sellyn Drake other than that she writes books so Sky is kinda an OC), Cassian is kinda a good guy for once, Azriel has a horrible time, as usual... Stuttering, toxic families (For once I do not mean the IC), Self-Esteem Issues, Secret Identity, Body Image Issues

If any of this triggers you or makes you uncomfortable, please take care of your own mental health and don't read it.

Koschei the Deathless Sorcerer was killed by the Spymaster of the Night Court. 

It was less dramatic than it sounded. At least Azriel thought so. 

And if Lucien hadn’t been a fucking idiot and put himself into a position to be kidnapped by the very same deathless sorcerer…then they wouldn’t even have been in that kind of situation. 

But he had been and so it ended with Azriel so magically exhausted that he collapsed the very same moment Truthteller stroke true once more. 

At least Koschei was slayn. 

And the only reason Azriel had gone to rescue the red-headed male in the first place was the fact that  Lucien was Elaine’s mate. Lucien was the male Elain loved. Azriel couldn’t let him die. 

Couldn’t let Elain feel the devastation of a mating bond broken by death…so his decision making had been quick. Either he would manage to get Lucien free…or he would die trying.  There wasn’t many things that he wouldn’t do for the female he loved. Even when he knew it shouldn’t be. 

Azriel had never been very good at knowing when enough was enough after all, wasn’t he?

No price was high enough to pay when it was about Elain’s happiness, as far as Azriel was concerned.  

He hadn't expected to wake up, and yet… there he was. Alive and whole.

*I hope it was worth it, Master,* the shadows sniped at him.

He blinked, taking in the dim light of the room, taking in the familiar surroundings. His room in the House of Wind.

“You are a fucking idiot, you know?” Cassian hissed at him from his place at his bedside and Azriel blinked at him.

"Lucien?" he brought out hoarsely.

"Not as much as a fucking scratch on him. Thanks to you," Cassian responded. "You on the other hand...Madja thought you were going to fucking die from pure magical exhaustion!"

Even Azriel he had...it would have been worth it. Lucien had made it out alive - and that was all that mattered in the end. Elain would be happy. That was all he cared about.

He didn't say that aloud though. 

He took a deep breath, opening his eyes again. "How long was I out?" he asked.

"Three days," Cassian growled. "Three. Days."

Azriel sat up slowly, wincing at the ache in his muscles. It felt like his entire body was one giant bruise, every inch of him pained and sore.

"Lay back down," Cassian snapped.

Azriel shot him a glare, but sank back onto the bed nonetheless. "I'm fine," he grumbled. "Just tired."

"Yeah, well, we'll let Madja be the judge of that," Cassian snapped. "And when you are feeling better, I am going to kill you for going off on your own!"

Azriel just gave him a weary look. "Better me than you," he said dryly. He closed his eyes, feeling a deep exhaustion settle over him. Cassian had Nesta to think about. Azriel didn't. Azriel just had himself.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!" Cassian demanded.

Azriel didn't have the energy to answer

He dosed off, feeling the shadows twine around him. They were muttering, words he could c quite understand, bitching under their breath but for once it was comforting.

He woke up, feeling groggy and disoriented. His eyes felt like sandpaper, and his limbs were heavy. He groggily blinked at the room, feeling like he was in a haze.

It took him a moment to realize he wasn't alone. Cassian was still there, as was Madja.

Azriel groaned, pushing himself up into a sitting position. His head was throbbing, and his vision was a little blurred. He rubbed his face, trying to clear the fog from his mind. "Hey," he said, his voice rough and gravelly.

Cassian and Madja both looked at him, their expressions relieved. "How are you feeling?" Madja asked him, moving closer to the bed and waving a hand in front of his face.

"Like I was hit by a wagon," Azriel admitted. His muscles felt tight and sore, his body heavy with fatigue. His wings felt like they were made of lead, and every movement took a huge effort.

"That's unsurprising considering you nearly magicked yourself to death," Madja said gruffly. "Your body had a tremendous amount of stress and strain put on it. You're lucky to be alive."

He gritted his teeth. "Yeah, well, I didn't have a lot of other options," he pointed out.

Madja just let out a huff and began prodding and poking at his body, running her hands over his wings and checking his pulse. Cassian watched anxiously from the side, his arms crossed over his chest.

Azriel bore her ministrations in silence, trying not to wince as she poked and prodded at him. He knew she was just trying to help, but it didn't make the ordeal any more pleasant.

After what felt like forever, she finally stepped back, nodding to herself. "You're lucky, shadowsinger," she said gruffly. "You're lucky you're so damn resilient," she said, and he couldn't tell if it was a compliment or just an observation.

He looked at her blearily. "I guess I can add that to my list of things to be proud of," he muttered sarcastically.

Cassian barked out a laugh, but Madja just rolled her eyes. The door opened at that moment. "How's he doing?" Rhys demanded.

Azriel wanted to let out a sigh at the sight of Rhys. He loved his brother, but he didn't have the energy for a lecture right now.

Madja turned to Rhys. "He's weak and he's stupid," she snapped. "But he's alive."

Rhys let out a sigh, the tension in his shoulders easing just a little. "Thank you, Madja," he said. "Would you...give us a moment?"

Madja nodded, patting Azriel's leg as she got up to leave. "Rest," she ordered. "And no strenuous activity for at least a week."

As soon as the door closed behind her, Rhys turned to Azriel. "What were you thinking?" he demanded, his eyes blazing.

"I was thinking that I was saving Lucien's life," Azriel replied evenly, meeting his brother's gaze. "I couldn't let him die, Rhys."

"Wouldn't that have made it easier for you?* Rhys demanded sharply mentally. *You are the one that fancies himself in love with Elain.*

Maybe it shouldn't hurt him as much as it did. He didn't fancy himself in love with her. He was in love with her. Had been in love with her and Rhys had been the one to order him away from her, which had given Lucien the opportunity to swoop in and Elain had...Elain had given in. Given in to that Siren Song of the Mating Bond and was very much in love with her mate now. 

It hurt to hear Rhys say it like that, like it was just some passing infatuation that he'd gotten over.

*Lucien is her mate,* he responded simply. He didn't say what he really thought. He didn't say that he would rather have Elain be happy and never talk with him again than to have her wilt like one of her flowers because her mate had died and the mating bond would be broken… He didn't say that he loved Elain enough, that her happiness was more important to him than anything else. He didn't say any of that.

*At least you are recognising that now,* Rhys said with a snort.  Azriel didn't flinch. Didn't react.

He hid away in that little corner of his brain he went to when everything became too much. Where he could just shut up all his feelings, all these pesky emotions, and just be...nothing. Nothing. That's the only thing he still had left.

He just shrugged, schooling his face into a careless expression. "I did what I had to do, Rhys," he repeated stubbornly. "Lucien is a good male. He didn't deserve to die."

"Elain wants to thank you," Rhys said suddenly.

Azriel's stomach twisted as Rhys mentioned Elain. He felt a pang of longing in his chest, a desperate ache to see her, to touch her, to hear her voice. But he knew he couldn't. He couldn't subject himself to the torture of seeing her with her mate, seeing her happy in Lucien's arms.

So his answer was definite: "There is no need for that," he said simply.

Rhys gave him a sharp look. "Don't be an idiot," he said gruffly. "She's been worried sick about you."

But Azriel just shook his head, even as his heart thudded in his chest.

*You can keep it together for 5 minutes,* Rhys snapped into his mind.

"Rhys," Cassian said carefully. "If he doesn't want to, just let it..."

"He's being ridiculous," Rhys snapped, interrupting Cassian. "Elain is family.”

Azriel grit his teeth but didn't respond. He didn't have the energy for an argument right now. He just wanted to sleep.

*See her for 5 minute snad then you can sulk like a spoiled child until you feel better about yourself,* Rhys bargained drily.

Azriel hesitated. He knew he should see her, knew that it would make things easier for everyone if he did. But the thought of seeing her, seeing her happy with Lucien when he was so miserable, was like a knife to the gut.

"Does it even matter what I want?" he asked, his voice flat.

Rhys let out a frustrated sigh, looking at him with exasperation. "Az, stop being so damned stubborn. Elain has been worried sick about you - the least you can do is let her see that you are alive."

Azriel didn't say anything. Didn't respond. He just stared at Rhys, feeling like every fiber of his being was being pulled apart. He wanted to see her. Wanted to see her more than anything. But he knew that once he saw her, he wouldn't be able to hold himself together. He would break. He would shatter into a thousand pieces.

"Just...come on, Az," Rhys said finally. "Let her see you. She needs to know you're alright."

Azriel knew he couldn't say no. Knew he couldn't hurt her like that. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. "Fine," he said softly. "But just for five minutes."

Five minutes. He could do five minutes. He had to. For her…

She was still as achingly beautiful as she always had been. These devasting brown eyes, the caramel curls...

Azriel's breath hitched at the sight of her, and he felt a wave of conflicting emotions wash over him. Love, longing, sadness, and that bittersweet pang of being so close to something he could never have.

Behave, Rhys warned him sharply.

He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. Trying to push back that wave of feelings that threatened to drown him. It was just five minutes, he reminded himself. Five minutes. He could do this.

The shadows swirled around him, welling up with intensity, shrouding much of his body in inky blackness and Elain flinched back from them.

She had never quite warmed up to them. Azriel was just thankful for that display, for keeping her away from him as she entered the room, Lucien on her heels.

"How...How are you feeling?" she asked him, her voice soft.

He could tell that she was worried, that she was concerned for him. It warmed something inside him, and he hated himself for it. 

"I'm fine," Azriel answered hoarsely.  "Just tired.

"I...thank you," Elain said softly, binting her lip. "If you hadn't...if you hadn't killed Koschei and freed Lucien...I...Thank you, Azriel."

Hearing her say his name again was like a punch to the gut. It was both a comfort and a torture, to be so close to her and yet so far away. He swallowed hard, biting back the words that threatened to spill out.

"You don't owe me any thanks," he said quietly. "I just did what had to be done."

"I do owe you my life," Lucien disagreed. "Thank you. Without your interference...I wouln't have survived, " he said flatly.

Azriel just shrugged, feeling a wave of bitterness wash over him. He had saved Lucien, had risked his life to save the male who was mated to the female he loved. It was a strange sort of irony.

"It's fine," he said roughly. "I'm just glad I got there in time."

He couldn't look at her. Couldn't look at Lucien. It hurt too much. So he stared at the floor, willing the shadows to consume him entirely.

"We are all just happy you are feeling alright," Elain said softly. "I...I was worried about you. Everyone was."

Azriel forced himself to look up at her, his heart clenching at the sincerity in her eyes. She really had been worried about him. "I'm alright," he promised her, his voice rough. "Really. I just need some rest."

Elain hesitated, taking a step forward. He could hear her heartbeat, could feel the warmth radiating off her skin. It was torture to be so close to her and yet so far away. It was torture to know that she was so close and yet so unattainable. He wanted to reach out, to touch her, to hold her, but he knew he couldn't. He held onto that last shred of reason he had.

She tugged a piece of hair behind one delicately arched ear...and that was the moment he saw the gold and pearl ring that decorated her ring finger.

"Congratulations." He wasn't sure how he even brought out these words...how he managed to make them sound...appropriately happy for her.

It took a herculean effort to say those words, to offer a smile that barely reached his eyes. Every fibre of his being was screaming in protest, yelling that he should have been the one giving her that ring, that he should have been the one by her side. But he pushed back those feelings, burying them deep down inside of himself. He couldn't let her see how he truly felt. He couldn't let her know how much it was tearing him apart to stand there and look at her. Look at her with her mate, with the male she loved, the one she had chosen. 

"Congratulation," he repeated, his voice a little rougher than before.

"It wouldn't have been possible without you," Elain said, with a smile.

Azriel just nodded, feeling a lump in his throat. He couldn't find the words to respond, couldn't find the words to express the tangle of emotions swirling inside of him. He just sat there, feeling more alone and isolated than he had in a long time.

Elain took another step in his direction, seemingly ready to reach out, but Cassian intercepted her. placing a gentle hand on Elain's shoulder. "He needs his rest," he said softly. "Let's leave him be for now."

Azriel felt a pang of gratitude towards Cassian. Elain hesitated, looking torn.

"I wish you every happiness," Azriel brought out his voice hoarsely. Not even a lie.  It was the frank truth in these words and Elain gave him a smile, before Lucien's hand came to rest at her lower back, guiding her out of the room.

Thank the cauldron. They were gone. 

He slumped back into the pillow.  He was falling apart. He was exhausted, emotionally and physically. He just wanted to be left alone, to lick his wounds in peace.

"Az..." Cassian said carefully, but he cut him off.

“I am tired,” Azriel said, his voice hoarse. “I need to sleep.”

The shadows swirled around him tighter. 

Rhys and Cassian exchanged a look, before Cassian nodded, "Alright," he said. "Get some rest."

He laid down properly, closing his eyes, calling the shadows to him wordlessly. They swamred around him immediately. Damn Near suffocating him.  It was the only thing that kept him from starting to sob.

The shadows embraced him, wrapping him in their inky blackness, shielding him from the outside world. They were his only comfort, just like they had been for centuries. 

*We are there, Master.* They promised him softly. *It will be fine, Master.*

He didn’t believe a fucking word they said. 

*We are not willing to lose you, Master. We aren’t interested in finding a new master,* they told him seriously. He choked out a laugh that turned into a sob. 

*Sleep, Master. We'll keep watch,* they promised him.

And they did. 

Bone deep exhaustion meant that at least his sleep was dreamless. At least that was given to him. It was a small mercy. 

When he woke up again, Nesta was there, sitting in an armchair reading.

Azriel blinked, feeling disoriented and groggy. He sat up slowly, wincing as his wounds protested the movement. Nesta looked up from her book, her expression neutral.

"How are you feeling?" she asked him quietly.

"Fine," he answered, his voice hoarse. He was fine. He would be fine. 

"Thank you," Nesta said suddenly.

Azriel looked up at her, surprised. He wasn't even sure what she was thanking him for.

"For what?" he asked, his voice rough with sleep.

“You nearly got yourself killed to save my sister’s mate. I think Thank you is the least I owe you," Nesta said drily.

She mustered him with grey eyes and he knew that she knew. Knew that she knew or at the very least could guess about his feelings for Elain and probably be right. She wouldn't say anything, but she knew.

He didn’t want to talk about this anymore. It was over with. Done. 

Lucien and Elain could be happy and Azriel…Azriel would hide away somewhere. 

"You don't owe me anything," he waved Nesta off weakly, but she didn’t seem to want to take the hint, sticking out her chin. 

"Yes, I do," Nesta disagreed. "You are the reason why my little sister is happy right now," she told him fiercely. He swallowed down the unkind words at the tip of her tongue...didn't say anything. Didn't.... He didn’t want to think about this. He didn’t…

"Is there anything I can do?" Nesta asked him, her voice soft. "Anything at all, Az?" H knew that he could ask for anything and Nesta would do her level best to give it to him. She was stubborn like that. He had half a mind to ask her to use her silver flames to put him on fire and put him out of his misery. 

He didn’t. 

Even that wouldn’t fix it. 

There was nothing. There was absolutely nothing to make it any better. There was nothing that could...that could fix the ache in his chest.

"Porridge," he said, his voice hoarse.

"Porridge?" Nesta repeated incrediously.

"Porridge with honey. I am hungry," he repeated, meeting her gaze. Food. Food. More Sleep. More Work. He could fill his waking hours with useless things and everybody would be happy. 

Nesta just looked at him for a moment, then inclined her head.

"Porridge with honey. Alright," she agreed. Just a moment later a massive bowl of Porridge with honey drizzled on top, appeared on his bedside table, so hot it was steaming. Seemed like the house was in a mood to spoil him. He even got a whiff of cinnamon from it.

"Thank you," he thanked Nesta's creature aloud as the shadows fetched the bowl and held it up for him to eat a spoonful. "What are you reading?" he asked Nesta, changing the topic. 

She was polite enough not to say anything about it. 

Nesta held up her book. “The newest Sellyn Drake novel,” she replied.

"Is it any good?" he inquired, stirring his porridge gently.

“It’s brilliant," Nesta gushed, her eyes devoured the pages as soon as she looked down to continue reading.

"You seem to really like it," he pointed out, taking another bite of his porridge. "It is brilliant," Nesta agreed readily. “The plot is so intricate and twists and turns and the characters are so deep and complex and their emotions are so real and the romance is so...” she trailed off, blushing slightly.

He opened his mouth to respond...but then he heard her.

Mor. Of course.

He couldn’t deal with Mor. Not right now. But there she was, Rhys hot on her heels.

Nesta heard her too, rolling her eyes, curling back up on her chair, making it very clear that while she was going nowhere, she was letting him deal with it on her own. 

And he didn’t want to deal with Mor. 

But there she was. 

Mor came strolling into the room, her usual confident smile firmly in place. Rhys just looked at Azriel, his expression unreadable.

He didn't say it.  But Azriel knew. Behave. That’s all Rhys was telling him these days.  Either it was about Elain and Lucien...or about Mor and Emerie. Like Azriel would ever do anything to put that in jeopardy. Like Azriel was a jealous child that wouldn't allow Mor to be happy on her own terms. Like...

Azriel ignored the sharp pang of hurt that shot through him at Rhys's look.

Still it was better than looking at Mor…he couldn’t bear to look at Mor. 

 Didn't want to look at Mor, in her usual bright red, skin baring dress, that clung to all her curves...didn't want to look at the female he had spent centuries in love with even when he had known that she was never going to return his affections...it hadn't helped him. He had still been in love with her.

And he had still hoped...hoped against all hope that maybe...maybe there would be a time where she would return his affection...that maybe there would be a time where...

But there wouldn't. He knew. He knew. And he had still been in love with her.

Would have given damn near anything for her attention, for that broad smile on her face to be directed in his direction...would have given anything for her to bound over to his bedside and envelope him in her arms...to feel her soft skin against his as she hugged him fiercely, cinnamon and citrus enveloping him.

Now...now it felt like somebody was pouring salt into a gaping wound. Now it felt as painful as the fire and oil on his hands had. She was flaying him alive and she wasn’t even aware that she was hurting him. 

"How are you feeling, Az?" Mor's voice was gentle, concerned. He knew it was genuine, knew that Mor really cared about him. But he couldn't bring himself to look at her. Not when his heart was bleeding out just from the sound of her voice.

"Fine," he answered, his voice flat. "Nothing that sleep won't fix," he promised her, even as her hands fluttered around him as she sat down on his bedside...

She was so close. He could reach out and touch her, could feel the soft fabric of her dress against his fingertips. He clenched his fists, willing himself to keep his hands to himself.

But he couldn't help it. He looked up at her, meeting her eyes. He could see the concern there, the worry. He felt a pang of guilt for putting that look on her face. He didn't want to cause her any distress. 

"I'm just glad you are feeling better," Mor sighed, gently patting his arm. "You had us all worried for a moment there," she admitted softly.

Even just the touch of her hand felt like she was branding him. He wanted to flinch away and forced himself no to.

It was like a bittersweet poison, the way she touched him. It was so familiar, so comforting. But it was also so painful, a reminder of what he could never have.

He looked away, staring down at his hands. They were shaking, just a little. He clasped them together, the monstrous scars that covered them, standing out starkly.

The shadows trembled around him, pulling nearer, growing darker and Mor watched them with a raised eyebrow. "Worried, are they?" she teased him slightly.

*You are fine, Master,* the shadows promised him. *No more fire,* they promised him fiercely. But it didn’t help. He didn’t trust himself to speak without his voice cracking.

Mor seemed to sense his discomfort and stood up, her hand slipping from his arm. "Just rest and get better soon, alright?" she said softly, taking a step back.

"Thank you," he thanked her, his voice hoarse.

He risked a glance up at her, just a quick look. Her face was soft, her eyes filled with warmth. He felt his heart squeeze in his chest and he had to look away again. He wasn't sure how much more of this he could take.

"We should let him rest, Mor," Rhys said, giving Azriel another look.

"Right, right," Mor agreed, already turning towards the door. "Rest up, Az," she said again, giving him one last smile as she disappeared out the door.

Azriel felt a sense of relief wash over him as she left the room. 

Gone. Thank the cauldron. He couldn't take much more of her presence, not right now. 

He didn't even want to know why Rhys had accompanied her. Probably because he was worried that Azriel wasn't going to behave.

What was he supposed to do instead? Tell Mor about how much she had hurt him over the centuries? How she had given him jut enough scraps of her affection to make him yearn for more but never telling him that she didn’t love him like that? 

He wasn’t going to do that. 

He didn't want to look at Rhys right now, didn't want to face the scrutiny of his high lord's gaze. He just wanted to be left alone.

He knew that Rhys was watching him, that the male wanted to say something. But Azriel didn't want to hear it. He didn't want to hear the lecture, the warning. He just wanted to be left alone.

The room fell silent, except for the sound of his own breathing. He closed his eyes and sank deeper into the mattress. Maybe if he just pretended to sleep, Rhys would leave him alone.

"He's tired. You should let him sleep," Nesta said flatly.

Leave it to Nesta to tell Rhys to stuff it, he reflected weakly. He heard Rhys sigh, but he kept his eyes closed. And after a moment, he heard the sound of footsteps leaving the room.

He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding, feeling a wave of relief wash over him. 

Alone. Safe. Mostly at least. 

Life went on. It always did.

The exhaustion went away after a few days... he caught up on Paperwork in the meantime. He sent the shadows off to find him one information or other and they didn't even bitch to him that badly, which told him that even they felt bad for him.

Behave. That’s all Rhys was telling him these days.

So he did. He behaved.

He did his job. He did everything Rhys could possibly want from his spymaster. 

He didn’t argue. He didn’t fight. He did his job and he trained and he did everyhting that was expected off him. 

And then he hadn’t tortured himself enough… and he went to visit Rosehall.

Where his mother lived.

Under the Mountains had it’s own kind consequences. This was one of them: His mother didn’t even want to talk to him anymore. 

50 years without him...and his mother had made herself a new family. A family that he wasn’t welcome in. A family that she wanted him nowhere near. He couldn’t fault her for it. Not at all.

She had been half a child when she had had him and it hadn’t been by choice.

So who could blame her for making a new family with people that weren’t as fucked up in the head as he was? Not Azriel.

Azriel didn’t blame her at all. Azriel left her in peace. He didn't reach out. He made sure that she was fine, that she had enough money to never worry about it and otherwise dissappeared from her life. 

His shadows kept an eye on her…He shored up the wards around Rosehall and caught a glimpse of her. And then he left it at that. She looked happy. That’s all he cared about.

Happy and safe and…she didn’t need him. She didn’t want him around her either, and he could understand that too.

And still, it hurt. It hurt so fucking much. 

But 

*You know the rules,* he told the shadows quietly. *You don’t need to report to me about her anymore. Keep an eye on her and only tell me if she is in danger or hurt.*

*Yes, Master,* they agreed readily. 

So he went back to the House of Wind. Back to Velaris…Back to work. 

He went back to his routine, back to his duties, back to his mask of indifference. He hid the pain behind his usual stoic facade, only letting his shadows know how much it hurt. He threw himself into his work, using it as a way to distract himself from his own loneliness.

And when he wasn't working, he would spend hours and hours in the training ring in the House of Wind, working himself to exhaustion. Anything to try and drown out the ache in his heart.

For gods sake, he even attended Elain and Lucien’s mating ceremony. And gifted them an appropriate gift. He behaved just like Rhys wanted him too.

He even summoned up a smile for them on their special day, hiding his own pain behind a mask of false happiness. He congratulated them both, feeling a pang in his chest at the sight of Elain's beaming face. But he didn’t let it show. He behaved. Like Rhys wanted him too.

He stayed for the whole thing. Stayed for the dancing, stayed for the feast. Stayed until he could physically take it no more. And then he had retreated to that training ring again, beating his pain and loneliness out on whatever dummy he could find.

He was so tired. Tired of hiding, tired of pretending. Tired of pretending like nothing was wrong. He wanted nothing more than to just scream and rage and shout and cry. But he didn’t. He held it all in. Bottled it up like he was so good at doing.

He was in the bathtub, sluicing off the sweat he was drenched in…shaking off his wings just because he could move them however he wanted to

*You should go out, Master,* the shadows suggested seriously. *Go out and find a female.*

He just snorted. *Not interested,* he sniped back harshly. *I am not getting my heart broken again.*

Everybody could just fuck off and leave him alone. Even when he was aching…aching for somebody in his life that loved him. For whom he could be everything. Somebody he could dote on. Somebody that wanted his attention, that wanted his love…that would like his ruined hands on their body and wasn’t paid to simply acccept it. 

*You could let us pick her!* the shadows suggested brightly.

His eyes snapped back open and he glared at the shadows swirling around the room. *Absolutely not,* he said firmly. *I mean it, you stay out of it.*

*We can’t do a worse job than you do,* they sniped at him. *Neither The Seer nor The Morrigan would have suited you at all.*

*Excuse me?!* 

*You heard us, Master,* the shadows said, sounding far too smug for their own good. *And you know it.*

Azriel just glared at them, feeling his temper start to rise. *I know I wasn’t good enough for them,* he snapped. *You don’t need to tell me that.*

*You think you weren’t good enough for them?!* The shadows asked him incredulously.

*They deserve better. So much better than me,* he said quietly. "I'm not good enough for either of them. Never was.*

What was he, after all? An Illyrian bastard? A monster? Either? Both? 

He had never said it out loud before, not even to himself. But in that moment, lying in the water, his heart so raw and exposed, he couldn't help but speak the truth that he had always known but never admitted to himself. "I'm not good enough for either of them," he repeated softly, the weight of his words settling heavily on his chest.

He knew it was true. Mor was a golden ray of light, the embodiment of beauty and grace. Elain was sweet and gentle and kind, a pure soul in a sea of darkness. 

And what was he? Damaged. Broken. Scarred. Inside and out.

He had done unspeakable things, things that would haunt his nightmares for centuries to come. He was nothing compared to them. He was darkness, they were light. And they deserved better than him, far better than him.

Even if he had loved Mor with every fiber of his being, even if he had yearned for her with every beat of his heart, even if he had dreamed of her every night, it didn't matter. It had never mattered. Because he wasn't good enough for her. And he never would be.

He wasn’t good enough for Elain. The mother hadn’t thought it to be prudent to make them mates. Both of his brother had been gifted with a mating bond, but not him. That should tell him everything he needed to know abotu the state of his own soul. 

So why…why should he even try anymore. 

Why shouldn’t he just stew in his own misery, alone and heartbroken and a monster and expect everybody to just leave him alone? There was no point of putting himself out there again. There was nothing out there for him. Nothing but more pain.​​

So he closed his eyes again, sinking lower into the water, letting the warmth soothe his aching muscles. He let out a long sigh, his mind already racing with thoughts of his next missions, his next assignments. Because that was all that really mattered now. His job. His duties. His responsibilities. That was all he had left.

Behave. That’s all he was good for. 

*Alright, that’s fucking enough,* the shadows snapped. *You are not letting The High Lord talk to you like that any longer, Master.*

Azriel was so surprised by their fucking vehemence that he could just stare at them. 

*The Morrigan used you for centuries to make herself feel better about herself,* the shadows snapped. *She used the feelings you had for her and that she was very much aware of to strangle you and keep you in line.*

Azriel swallowed. He knew they were right. He knew that Mor had used his feelings for her for a long time. She had led him on, given him false hope, only to yank it away time and time again. It had been a painful cycle, one that had left him feeling used and broken and worthless.

*She could have stopped at any time but she never did,* the shadows hissed. *But instead she hurt you on purpose. Instead of turning you down, she slept with other males to show you that you would never have her!*

Azriel felt bile rise in the back of his throat. Mor had flaunted her other lovers in front of him, making it clear that he would never be enough for her. She had used his devotion to her as a weapon against him, wielding it whenever it suited her needs. And he had let her. He had been foolish, desperate enough to cling onto any scrap of affection she might throw his way.

*And The Seer?! Granted she has never done that, but her feelings for you weren’t particular deep when she replaced you on her affections with The Fox as soon as you weren’t available anymore! If she had cared, truly cared, she would have thought about what happened during Winter Solstice,* the shadows snapped.

*And The High Lord? Don’t even let us get started on him,* the shadows snapped. *You haven’t even done anything since that Winter Solstice, and he keeps behaving like some kind of despotic Overlord, worried that his orders won’t be followed. If you wanted to punch him in the face, you probably had every right to it,* they mumbled.

Azriel couldn’t help but snort. 

*You deserve better, Master,* The shadows told him fiercely. *You deserve somebody that loves you.* 

. He wanted to believe the shadows. He wanted to believe that he was good enough, that he deserved more. But the scars on his body and the memories in his mind told him otherwise. He had done terrible things, things that he could never undo. How could someone like that be good enough for anyone?

*Alright,* he finally agreed weakly. *Find me a house,* he told the shadows, as he closed his eyes.

*A house? What kind of house?* the shadows gave back, sounding surprised.

*A house,* he repeated. *A home. Somewhere in Velaris. Find me a home.* Something that could just be his.

A home. The idea sent a flutter through his stomach. He had never…never truly had a home. Had something that could just be his and nobody else’s. Just…a place that was his, where he could be whoever he wanted, where he was accepted and loved...it was appealing. Maybe even more than just appealing.

He closed his eyes, picturing it in his mind. A cozy little house, just large enough for himself. Warm and cozy and filled with light.

*That’s what a male needs to take a wife after all, right?* He asked, a flicker of uncertainty crossed his face. Was that what he should want? What he was supposed to want? He had never really thought about getting married before. But now, at the mention of it, he couldn't help but feel a pang of longing. A wife...a family...love and companionship. It all sounded so…so nice.

*You want to get married, Master?* the shadows asked curioulsy. *To whom?*

*You pick,* he told the shadows. They swarmed out in pure excitment. Azriel couldn’t even remmeebr the last time they had been so excited. 

He couldn't help but chuckle at their reaction. Maybe they would do a better job than him. At least they could probably sieve out females that were in a romantic relationship or preferred females themselves. 

*Find me somebody that I could make happy. Somebody that….Somebody that could want me.* Some long-suffering female for whom Azriel could maybe try to be enough. Somebody that would love him.

*What should she look like?* they asked seriously.

*I don’t care. Find me somebody that loves me and she’ll be the most beautiful female to me anyway.*

[aheckinmess]

Prompt is taking a bit longer than normal today, but boy, are all of my Snipe lovers gonna have a great time

[teejaywyatt1]

✨ Chapter 2 of Crimson Covenant will drop on Wednesday, October 9th at 2:30PM EST.✨

[powderblueblood]

HELLFIRE & ICE — eddie munson x f!oc as enemies to star-crossed lovers

CHAPTER ONE — THE POISE, INTEGRITY and LUCK OF A KENNEDY

MASTERLIST | NEXT

summary: you go head-to-head with your new neighbor, eddie munson, and lose something precious to you in the process. content warnings: NSFW / MINORS DNI swearing, classic 80s classism, tommy hagan jumpscare, eddie munson jackin off word count: 3.4k

Dear reader, I wish I could tell you it ends well for you. 

I wish I could tell you that this is nothing but a bad dream, or a fugue state, or an extremely vivid hallucination brought on from that weed your friends buy from that burnout in the horrendous denim vest that is now your next door neighbor. 

I wish I could tell you that you’re not sitting on your designer suitcases in the weed-ridden lot of a trailer park, watching your mom (who is already it’s-five o’clock-somewhere drunk) charmlessly haggle about the rent. 

See, you used to have money, but now you don’t. 

You used to have a dad who wasn’t incarcerated, but now you don’t. 

You used to have integrity, but the IRS seized the last of that along with your childhood home in Loch Nora. 

I wish I could tell you that you weren’t totally fucked. But it seems that there’s no way this total shitheap of a situation could get worse–

“Need a little help with that?”

–except there is. There totally is.

You flex your hand, relieving it from it’s writing cramp. You’ve been hunched over your journal, perched on your ready-to-burst luggage for what seems like hours now– admittedly, you’re the kind of girl that’s used to valet service. Bellhops carrying your suitcases to your room when you used to join your dad on business trips. 

But valets never looked like this. Squinting at you from beneath his ratted-out waves, Eddie Munson gives you a once-over that makes your stomach lurch. You know him the same way everyone in Hawkins knows him– either barrelling through the hallways like a tweaked out autocrat whose only dominion is over his group of unwashed dorks or palming off baggies at parties. But there’s something about Munson that’s always rubbed you the wrong way. He’s so loud and defiant and achingly obvious, smug when he’s got no right to be. 

Especially now. 

“Excuse me?” you drawl, snapping closed the leatherbound journal. 

“Just wheeling out the welcome wagon. It’s not often we get new neighbors with so much…,” he pauses, gaze scanning over the boxes and bags and randomized ephemera being loaded out of the cheapest moving van Hawkins has to offer, “Shit.” 

“If I didn’t know any better, Munson, I’d say you were casing the joint.” In fact, you find yourself wondering where exactly your jewelry box is– y’know, the leftover shit your parents didn’t already pawn. The millieu of your grief made you forget about the high possibility of people in the trailer park stealing your stuff.

Munson grimaces. “Do I look like a thief to you?”

“You look like a drug dealer to me,” you snipe, smile all fake. “You might be looking to diversify your criminal skillset. How should I know?” 

From where you sit on your straining suitcase, you’re about eye-level with Eddie’s crotch. And call him a weirdo, call him whatever, he doesn’t mind the view. As much as he’d like to pretend he’s above the discordant buzz of Hawkins’ gossip scuttlebutt, news of your family’s downfall is hot shit. He can barely believe it’s really happening, and right in his front yard; Hawkins High’s stoniest, coldest fox and her equally foxy mom were packing their fur coats and shit into a double wide. Eddie couldn’t lie– he liked seeing people like you get knocked down a peg. So he’d come to gloat. A little. 

But you’re all snappy and full of venom– not like in school, where he’s almost positive you’ve never made eye contact with him.

He doesn’t mind that change in attitude either.

“C’mon. That luggage looks a little heavy for you, princess,” he says. “I don’t entirely trust you getting it inside the trailer without breaking a nail.” 

“I don’t need your help,” you say, shoving that tattered journal into your book bag. Eddie wonders what kind of bullshit you’re always writing in there– every time you’re not in the middle of some idiot milleu with your popular cohorts, you’re practicing your longhand. 

“You could use it, though,” he counters, and the condescension in his tone makes your cheeks flare up. You spring from your seat on the suitcase, making Munson take a shocked half-step back. His eyes blaze, rounding out as he takes you in at your full height. 

Still taller than you. He'll be okay. He thinks.

“I’m a goddamn cheerleader, you Neanderthal looking dipshit,” you spit, “I’ve got a core of steel.” 

You turn and dip, reaching for the thick leather handles of the case and discover–oof–that’s a little bit way heavier than you were expecting it to be. But spurned by sheer stubbornness and a need to get away from him as quickly as humanly possible, you brace yourself against the screaming muscles in your arms and wobble the baggage all the way to the trailer door. Your mom stands in your path, dress slipping off her shoulders, blearily looking toward the Munson kid as he retreats to his own trailer with a languid backwards tread. He can’t look away from this scene. 

“Mom. Mom, can I fucking–” you struggle through gritted teeth, “The bag, Mom. Get out of the way.” 

She moves out of your way at an aching half-speed as Munson’s eyes burn hot on your struggling frame–he’s loving this, he’s loving seeing you in the shit just like everyone’s loving seeing you in the shit–and you deposit your suitcase in your brand new matchbox-sized bedroom with a heaving gasp. Shit.

You cross the room in about three steps, heading to the window to close the blinds– shshk. Sshsk.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” 

The blinds begin to close, but stop dead not even halfway across the window. They’re stuck, leaving you without a particle of privacy. Which sucks, of course, because you were really banking on some scheduled crying time tonight. 

You had held it in for as long as you possibly could, all that hurt and frustration at the disaster your father had landed you in, promising yourself that you’d let it all out once you and your mom had a safe place. A place that wasn’t your estranged aunt’s basement couch, or a motel you could barely afford. A place that you could at least pretend was home. In your minds eye, you had envisioned something modest-if-shitty– the sunnier end of Cherry Lane, maybe. You hadn’t counted on a place that required a gas hookup. 

You tug on the beaded chain with a desperate force and no give– exasperated, you let your head slump against the filthy windowpane. The bedroom window stares directly into the window of the trailer opposite, where a warm yellow light flickers on and illuminates another bedroom. 

Peeling posters and a guitar on the wall. Of course. Of course you’ve got a bird’s eye view into Eddie Munson’s fetid cave. He spots you in the window and pouts a big ol’ pitiful pout– poor little rich girl. Missing your velvet blackout curtains? 

You can’t flip him the bird quick enough before he closes his fully functional blinds. 

–

You sleep like shit. Exhaustion couldn't even beat you into a slumber. You couldn’t be bothered to begin the unpacking process and instead fished out whatever closest resembled pyjamas from your luggage (an oversized t-shirt from a father-daughter trip to Columbia University), curling up on your bare mattress with your coat thrown over you, but the thing that was really keeping you awake? You couldn’t find your pen. 

Your prized possession pen, your fountain pen in the ruby-red casing. Your journaling pen. You refuse to write in your diary with an inferior instrument, alright, that’s just not how it’s done, but it’s nowhere to be found. It’s not rolling around the bottom of your book bag, though you’ve emptied the thing three times. It’s not anywhere.

You ask your mom if she’s spotted it anywhere, but she’s still in a Valium haze when you’re buzzing around, trying to get ready for school. 

That’s a whole other ordeal. Your acceptable school clothes are, again, buried in some suitcase that was hastily packed as agents waited for you to vacate the property. And by appropriate, you mean your carefully chosen pastel color palette– the very best of the very trendiest, the ra-ra skirts and the bomber jackets that sit so perfectly on your poised shoulders. The kind of clothes that make someone like Tina go, God, I wish we could trade dads. Just for the credit card. 

Now, all you’ve got to hand are the clothes that feel like your dirty little secret– thrift store suede and dark, rich knits, dresses of velvet and leather boots. The kind of things you collect just to collect, to dress up in when you know no one’s going to be looking at you and think someday. Someday you’ll be someplace where you don’t have to wear the exact right JCPenney piece of shit to fit in with a crowd. Because these are the kinds of clothes that feel right, but make people, important people, people like Carol go–

“Jesus, Lacy, dressed for a funeral much?” 

You hadn’t though the ensemble was too dark, but hey, in the harsh light of day. You bashfully shrug your jacket closer around you, faux fur collar tickling your ears. “I’m in mourning.” 

“Shit, I hate driving out here,” Tommy Hagan squawks from the driver’s seat, already agitated first thing in the morning, “I always feel like I’m gonna get carjacked.” 

Forget your shitty car; the only thing they’d be stripping for parts out here is you, Tommy, you want to quip, but you just fasten your seatbelt. Carol had managed to guilt him into giving you a ride this morning, an effort in pity and also because she wanted the gossip from the trailer park before anybody else. 

“Yeah, how was it, Lace? Did you like, deadbolt the doors and shit? Because you really gotta do that out here.”

“You should get a bat to leave by the door. Y’know, for intruders,” Tina blankly adds, staring into her compact mirror. 

“You should get a gun,” Hagan says, peeling out of the park with a quickness, “if that’s who you’re livin’ next to.”

“What? Who?”

“That Munson freak,” you sigh, resting your head against the windowpane again, “He like, basically threatened to rob me when I was trying to move in yesterday.”

A chorus of disgust rises up in the car that makes you feel good– warm, surrounded, accepted. Even though it blatantly wasn’t true, you’d do just about anything to win your friends’ approval these days. You noticed a certain waver in their stares when you revealed where you’d be moving to, after your dad was sentenced and everything.

A lot of the time, you didn’t feel like they wanted to be there for you, more that they wanted to be the first to hear the dirt on Hawkins’ most scandalous family. 

Usually you’re the one on the receiving end of their deep, dark secrets. 

It’s like they feel like they finally have something on you. 

Or, no! That’s crazy, you’re just being paranoid. These are your friends. As much as high schoolers can be friends. 

“I’ve got just the thing to take your mind off it, Lacy,” Tina says, pinching your arm, “Kegger at Harrington’s on Friday. He even asked about you–”

“--he said he could give you a discount at Family Video if you need it–” Hagan sniggers, earning a smack in the ear from Tina. 

“--shut up! So, you’re not a total social pariah yet, okay?”

You blink. You know Tina means well, but sometimes she is so fucking tactless. “Um. Didn’t think I was one, Tins, but thanks for the reassurance. I guess.”

–

He’s not a thief. He swears to God, or whatever the cooler alternative of God is, he’s not. 

But he’d be lying if he didn’t consider keeping the stupid red pen just to see if you’d miss it. It’s engraved, he noticed, while rolling it between his fingers as he lay in bed last night. And Eddie Munson is a man not unfamiliar with the value of a decent writing utensil. Those D&D campaigns don’t write themselves. You want something that’s going to be in it for the scribbling long haul and this thing’s not bad. Etched in teeny tiny letters on the pen cap are your initials– the letters of a name no one calls you anymore. 

Which is the part that makes it stupid, obviously. What is it with rich people and putting their monogram all over everything?

God, she’s obsessed with this fuckin’ thing, Eddie thinks. Wonder how much it’s worth. A lot, to you, obviously. You’re always etching with it in English, using it to push a lock of hair behind your ear in the library. Tapping it against your lips when you’re standing at your open locker, the tip settling right into your Cupid’s bow, the red casing bouncing off the plush pink of— woah. Pause. 

Eddie had to take a beat. 

He’d been tapping the pen against his lips too. Thinking about you. Thinking about your lips. That nasty little pout you gave him outside your trailer, the snarl it curled into when he goaded you on. 

Fuck, was that kinda… were you kinda…

It’s enough for him to jam the pen into his mouth and palm himself over his boxers, just to make sure. And— yep. He’d hummed, a kind of well whaddaya know! and slipped his hand under the worn elastic waistband. He even gave himself a couple of tugs, just to make sure. 

And the thing that made him really sure was the Technicolor vision he had of confronting you in the library’s restricted section.

Yanking that pen away from your mouth and grabbing a fistful of your hair.

Clamping his mouth onto yours and sinking his tongue so deep inside he could taste the cherry Tab lingering on your uvula.

Guiding your hand, your writing hand, past the undone clink of his belt and waistband of his jeans so you could stroke him to the head. 

Ink stains mixing with precum. 

Moaning into your mouth. 

Giving you something to write to dear diary about. 

So now, back in the harsh light of day, this stupid rich bitch pen is burning a hole in his pocket. 

Almost like payback, as if you’d embarrassed him by making him hard in the privacy of his own trailer, he approaches you in the most audacious setting imaginable— the cafeteria. 

You sit there, among your usual gaggle of Gap zombies, but you look— different. You’re dressed different. Cool jacket, Eddie involuntarily thinks before mentally slapping himself. Shut up! We’re here to humiliate her, remember?

“Lacy,” he says, but he draws it out all over his tongue so it sounds like laayyyy-ceeee, and you are visibly disgusted by this. He looms over the table, barely containing the twisted grin on his face. He's playing the part of fake bashful here, you see. “You, uh, dropped this outside my place last night.” Your shoulders go tense. Eyes of your space cadet friends snapping back and forth, from Eddie to you to Eddie to you. 

Because it’s true. Technically, you did drop it and technically, it was outside his place but the implication is what's killing you. 

Eddie can barely outstretch his hand before you snap the pen from him, icy fingers a shock to his skin. This sick thrill gathers like a twister in his stomach as you freeze in place, staring him down with a laser pointed glare. Fuck. Off. And. Die, it says. 

But he doesn’t! “Oh gosh, no need to thank me, Lace! Really, it was no trouble at all— what are neighbors for!”

Mocking giggles start bursting from the popular kid peanut gallery. But the flavor is… off.

Eddie scans the little in-crowd that are scoffing at your expense— which, okay, is totally what he came over here to do but… these are meant to be your buddies, right? Shouldn’t Hagan be threatening to beat Eddie’s ass right about now?

But instead they’re just… letting you stew. No one’s telling Eddie to back off, no one’s calling him their second favorite F slur (freak, naturally). 

Nicole Summers is laughing into her sleeve. That’s rich. Underclassman Carver is almost looking at him like, Yeah man, you got her good!

Which does not feel good. Feels kind of shitty, actually. 

Too easy of a win.

You didn’t even get a chance to fight back. You couldn’t. 

Fuck. 

Eddie turns heel and heads back to his table, a gaggle of befuddled Hellfire heads eager to know what the hell was that, man?! But even he can’t quite put his finger on it.

He feels… bad for you. 

—

“Anybody got bleach?” 

It’s the first thing you manage to choke out after a chorus of ooh, Lacy, what a good neighbor! and Hope that’s all you dropped outside his trailer, girl! All through lunch period, you’re the fucking laughing stock squared thanks to that long haired douchebag. 

“Bleach ain’t gonna cut it,” Carol smirks as you both exit the girls room and head toward your respective lockers, “That thing is totally contaminated with freak cooties. Better toss it— unless you don’t mind.”

See, that’s the thing. You do mind, because it’s your stupid goddamn special idiot sentimental pen and now he’s gone and— and— freaked it up somehow. Exploiting the fact you’ve had to make a major lifestyle downgrade because it makes him feel better. It makes you feel even more exposed than you’ve been getting used to feeling lately. 

Before you can get into it any more, Carol is clotheslined by Tommy to go, I don’t know, finger each other behind the basketball bleachers or whatever it is they do instead of going to study hall. You’ve lost track. 

You push past the gathering rush in the hallway to access your locker. Just as you slam the door closed, it appears again, like an insistent apparition. 

“What, Munson, are you here to tell me you put a bomb in my book bag? Because, if so, great. At least that’ll kill me.” 

Munson stands there, leaning against some poor bastard freshman’s locker, brow all tight. 

“Was I kind of a dick earlier?” 

You stare at him, incredulous. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“I was. Shit, I knew it!”

“Why the fuck are you talking to me.”

“I didn’t mean it to come off like that— well, okay, I kinda did, but that was pretty cold. I mean, your dirty laundry’s already all over Hawkins, I probably shouldn’t have been like, waving your panties around—“

“Munson.” You gesture toward him, as if you’re going to clutch him by the forearms to shut him up, but halt at the last second. Fuck, you can’t stand him, you can’t stand the way he’s standing there with this earnest look in his eyes, on some hair metal Ferris Beuller protagonist of reality bullshit.

Your eyes flare white hot, jaw flexing.

“Listen to me. We may live in a regrettably closer orbit now, but that does not require us to acknowledge each other as human beings. In fact, if you try and pull some shit like that again— in fact, if you even so much as deign to look in my direction again, I will slash the tires on that fucking decommissioned World War II ambulance you call a van. You do not exist to me, and I better not exist to you. I am not your neighbor, I am a figment of your fucking rotted pothead imagination at best. Leave me the fuck alone or I will eat you. Capiche?”

You know for a fact that these are the highest volume of words you’ve ever spoken (or will ever speak) directly to Munson, and he knows it too. You don’t let loose like this— you don’t even talk to anyone outside your friend group unless extracurriculars or group projects call for it. Not because you’re shy, but because you’re discerning. 

Munson has managed to disarm you of all that with one stupid little pen. 

He’s staring at you with a deviously shiny-eyed gaze, one that makes you feel like you need to button the modesty button of a blouse you’re not even wearing. 

“M’kay, well, let me know if you need a ride after school!” he chirps and shrugs and takes off down the hallway to some class he’s certainly failing. 

And you’ve just earned the first big fat F of your life, by letting Eddie Munson get under your skin.

author's notes: hi! if you've read this far, i owe you my eternal thanks. been a hot sec since i wrote fic so i appreciate it. - thee perennial reference to lacy's nickname— best imagined sung to yourself in your bedroom mirror and having a classic 18 year old existential crisis, lol! - the journal and fountain pen motif is a not entirely subtle reference to veronica sawyer from heathers. please expect this trend to continue - as far as timelines go re: steve's working life and tommy and carol's high school careers, bear with me. all will be discussed or at least briefly mentioned but will there be inconsistencies? of course there will, babe. i'm here to fuck around, i'm not here for continuity - horndog eddie munson you WILL live forever! - please reblog, like & comment to show support! i've got some killer chapters planned for this fic and i live to entertain u

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

The Silver Dragon (15)

The Garden

For the first time in the long years she’s been on Dragonstone, Princess Rhaenyra asks for Arianwyn to join her for a walk in the gardens.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x OC (Daemon and Rhea's daughter)

Warnings: none

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The morning air was cool, heralding winter’s coming before too long. But Arianwyn did not mind; it was quite warm on Emrys’ back. Indeed, the fire within him was so intense that even with the chill in the air and the wind whipping around her, Arianwyn’s brow was still dotted with sweat.

As always, she was loathe to bring Emrys back to solid ground. But Daemon’s threats still rang in her ears whenever she glanced westward to King’s Landing. So, she landed again in the courtyard of Dragonstone and watched with an aching heart as he was guided back to the Dragonmont.

While Arianwyn loved flying, she was decidedly less fond of her riding leathers, especially when the thick garments trapped the dampness of her sweat against her skin. So as long as she had to remain on the ground, she was eager to return to her tower to change into something more comfortable and read Aemond’s newest letter.

When Arianwyn emerged from the dressing room in a deliciously soft gown of gray silk, Brynna was waiting for her in the solar with paper in her hands.

“Today’s message from Prince Aemond, my Lady,” Brynna said, holding out an envelope sealed with deep green wax and pressed with his seal – a silhouette of Vhagar. She fumbled nervously with a small fold of parchment before handing it over. “And a note came for you – from Princess Rhaenyra.”

Arianwyn’s hands froze in the middle of tearing open Aemond’s letter. Rhaenyra sent her a message? Though her mind raced, she could not think of why. Curiosity thoroughly piqued, she took the note from Brynna and unfolded it.

Lady Arianwyn, As soon as you are able, meet me in the Chamber of the Painted Table. The weather is pleasant today, and I thought we could take a walk. Princess Rhaenyra

In all the time she had been at Dragonstone, Arianwyn had never been asked to meet with her stepmother. So what reason could Rhaenyra possibly have to call for her now?

Arianwyn refolded the note and looked to Brynna, waiting impatiently to find out what Rhaenyra had said. “She wants me to join her for a walk.”

She was sure Brynna’s look of confusion was mirrored on her own face, but the lady’s maid quickly composed herself, nodded, and stepped back into the dressing room. “Right. You’ll need a cloak,” she muttered, almost to herself. “The wind will give you a chill.”

Once dressed to Brynna’s standards, Arianwyn made her way out of her tower toward the Chamber of the Painted Table. She had been able to find her way through the castle without guards for several years, though Daemon still insisted she be escorted by at least one of his men whenever she left her apartments. Which, in turn, prompted her guards to double that number from their own ranks so they would never be outnumbered.

Unfortunately for her – and Sers Adrew and Ruban – Jace was just leaving the Chamber of the Painted Table when they arrived.

“Dear sister, what an unexpected delight!” A smug grin split his face, and Arianwyn wanted nothing more than to slap him. Her guards wanted to do even more. Their hands drifted closer to their weapons – not a threat, just a reminder. One that Jace wholly ignored. “It’s so rare to see you outside of your tower.”

She faced him, not missing the gleam in his eyes as she did. He seemed to love nothing more than tormenting her. At least when they were alone, she could snipe back at him without fearing her father or endure Baela and Luke’s giggling. Over the years, she found that it was quite a delight watching Jace squirm. “Believe me, cousin, I would much prefer to be in my tower, but your mother has summoned me.”

Jace’s sneer at the word ‘cousin’ faded when Arianqyn mentioned Rhaenyra. His eyes narrowed, and he glanced over his shoulder at the door behind him. “My mother wants to see you?”

“She does. She sent a note.”

“Do you know why?”

“Why do you care?”

“Just curious.” He shrugged, looking up at the stone ceiling in an attempt at nonchalance that did little to fool Arianwyn. When he finally faced her, he had apparently regained his confidence and mirth. He smirked, stepping closer and dipping his chin – ever since he grew taller than her, he relished looking down at her. “Is there something wrong with my interest in my favorite sister?”

Gods, she wished she could tell Ser Ruban to stop holding back and shut Jace up for good. But with one of Daemon’s most loyal guards just behind her and Rhaenyra herself on the other side of the door Jace was currently blocking, it would only result in Ruban’s death. Perhaps the death of all her guards.

So, Arianwyn straightened and met Jace’s dark gaze. “I am not your sister. You are nothing more than a distant cousin and the son of my father’s third wife.”

Jace did not blanche. He did not frown, or bear his teeth, or snarl in any way.

He smiled.

Arinwyn had not been afraid of him since he first pulled the knife from his sleeve all those years ago on Driftmark. She was now.

“Enjoy your conversation with my mother,” he crooned as he stalked away. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

The hall fell quiet as Arianwyn stood in front of the grand wooden doors that led to the Chamber of the Painted Table. It was intricately carved with fearsome depictions of Balerion, Vhagar, and Meraxes in the Conquest. Taking a deep breath, she focused on the carving of Vhagar, imagining that the rider atop her was not the warrior Queen Visenya but Aemond.

What would he say if he were here? He would most likely encourage her to ignore Jace the same way she did each night at dinner. It had been his strategy in their childhood when Jace, Luker, and Aegon mocked him. ‘Don’t let them see that it gets to you, and they’ll lose interest,’ he once told her when she asked why he didn’t fight back.

But they never lost interest. Not until Luke stole Aemond’s eye.

Aegon, at least, apologized – to Aemond, and to her. It took him a year after Driftmark, but one day, a second raven came to Dragonstone, bearing the seal of a golden dragon.

“I really wasn’t trying to hurt you two. I just thought we were having fun, that I was being a good brother/cousin. I’m an idiot, I guess. So, I’m sorry. If you were still here, I’d do something to show you how sorry I am. With Aemond, I came to the training yard one morning and let him beat the shit out of me. He seemed to enjoy it, maybe a little too much. But he deserved it, or I did, or whatever. It was earned. Is there anything I can do to make it up to you? I could… I don’t know, read a book you think that I’d dislike? Or send you something? You know I’m not good at ideas, so just… let me know. As long as it won’t kill me, I’ll do it. I promise, Aria.”

After the beating, Aemond accepted the apology, and Arianwyn accepted it, too.

Neither Jace, nor Luke, nor Baela had apologized. They had not even made any efforts to grow closer to her.

If they would not be friendly, then neither would Arianwyn. She would do her best to wound them as they wounded her and hope Aemond would not be disappointed in her.

“Ignore him, my Lady.” Ser Adrew whispered. Lost in her thoughts, she had not noticed him step closer. “He’s not even worth the effort to think about. Pretend he’s a buzzing fly you can squash under your shoe. He’d make a very satisfying crunch, I think.”

Arianwyn smiled. Adrew always made her smile. And he was right.

She looked again at the carving of Vhagar and the image of Aemond astride her that her mind conjured. Though she still missed him to the point of despair, the thought of him calmed her racing heart and gave her the strength to stand straight and proud as she finally signaled for the doors to be opened.

She was surprised to find the grand room nearly empty, the Princess and her constant retinue of guards the only occupants. Rhaenyra stood at the side of the Painted Table, in a position that, were the massive map real, would place her on Driftmark.

When she saw her stepdaughter descending the stairs, Rhaenyra gave the girl a pleasant smile, though it did not quite reach her eyes. With a wave of her hand, she dismissed Ser Lorent Marbrand, her sworn Kingsguard, from their conversation and moved to greet Arianwyn. “Thank you for coming so swiftly,” she said, gesturing for the girl to rise from her curtsy. “I thought it a fine day for a walk in the gardens, don’t you agree?”

Stunned by the casual way the Princess addressed her, Arianwyn gave a hesitant smile and nodded. That was all the affirmation Rhaenyra needed before she began climbing back up the stairs. Arianwyn dutifully followed, her hands clasped and her head bowed.

The walk to the gardens was silent, save for the clanking of armor which always accompanied their guards. Arianwyn was desperate to know why she had been summoned, but protocol demanded that she allow Rhaenyra, her stepmother and presumptive heir to the throne, to speak first.

It wasn’t until they arrived at the gardens, the one place on the island where Maesters had been able to coax anything beyond grass to grow, that the Princess finally broke the silence.

“How was Emrys this morning?” she asked, fumbling over the pronunciation of the dragon’s name.

Arianwyn had to bite her tongue to prevent herself from correcting her stepmother. “He is well,” she replied curtly. But Rhaenyra stared at her as if expecting more, so she continued, “He very much enjoys flying when the wind is strong, so his mood was quite high today.”

Rhaenyra grinned, “Syrax was the same way when she was young.” She laid a hand over her swollen belly, “I regret that I have not been able to ride recently, but Daemon is quite protective when I am in such a state.”

The slight feeling of ease that Arianwyn had begun to feel was at once extinguished at the mention of her father. If only he had felt the same protectiveness for Rhea.

Sensing she had made an error, Rhaenyra moved quickly to try and break the tension. She cleared her throat, “The Dragonkeepers tell me you have been immensely helpful to Rhaena in her training with Morning.”

Indeed, for more than a year, Arianwyn had spent most mornings in the training yard with her younger sister and the hatchling. The still small creature, with scales the lovely soft pink of a sunset, had hatched from the clutch Syrax laid during Rhaenyra’s last pregnancy.

Arianwyn had nearly wept when she first saw Morning coiled around Rhaena’s neck. She had not seen a person so overwhelmed with joy since she watched Aemond claim Vhagar for the first time. Watching Rhaena bond with her dragon helped to fill the missing piece of her that still regretted not being there to see Aemond do the same.

“Rhaena is a naturally gifted dragonrider,” Arianwyn told the Princess. “I assure you, my help is entirely unnecessary.”

Rhaenyra laughed, “You would not know it by how she speaks of you. It is good you can be a sister to her, with Baela on Driftmark with Rhaenys.”

“You flatter me, Your Royal Highness,” Arianwyn replied, bowing her head slightly.

The two continued to wander through the garden, exchanging formal pleasantries and shallow conversation for nearly an hour. By the time they finally reached the far wall of the massive park and the vista overlooking the sea below, Arianwyn was so overcome with the monotony that she could no longer maintain her demure façade.

“Princess, may I speak freely?” She asked, her voice harder than it had been throughout the afternoon.

Rhaenyra blinked, surprised at the change in her tone. “Of course you may.”

“Why am I here?”

The Princess’ kind face immediately fell into passivity, and she let out an uncomfortable laugh. “I am afraid I do not understand what you are asking.”

Arianwyn steeled herself, looking at her stepmother directly as she spoke. “You and I have lived under the same roof for most of my life. For six years now, I have lived in your castle as your stepdaughter. And yet, you have said more to me just this afternoon than you have in all the past nineteen years. Why?”

Rhaenyra’s eyes narrowed, though her voice remained friendly – but only just. “Do you think it wrong for a woman to desire to spend time with her family?”

“I think it strange when that desire appears so suddenly after almost two decades of neglect.”

The Princess sighed heavily, turning to face the sea. “That is why I wanted to tell you myself –we will leave for King’s Landing at dawn. You will fly with us on Emrys.”

Arianwyn felt as though her heart might never beat again. She had dreamed of returning home for so long, but now that the prospect was before her, she struggled to trust that it was real.

“Truly?” she asked, her desperation revealed by the trembling of her voice.

“Truly,” Rhaenyra replied. She reached forward to take her stepdaughter’s hand. “Lord Corlys is gravely ill, and his brother is seizing the opportunity to formally contest Lucerys’ claim to Driftmark. We shall go to the capital as a family, united, to refute him.”

Arianwyn looked up into the Princess’s violet eyes, struggling to believe she could ever be any part of her family – the family she shared with Daemon. But Rhaenyra’s gaze held genuine hope, perhaps even affection. Before she knew it, Arianwyn was clutching her stepmother’s hand.

“I am sorry for the way I have treated you,” Rhaenyra said, rubbing her thumb over the back of Arianwyn’s hand. “I know I cannot change the past or make up for the time we have missed, but I need you to understand. Will you listen to what I have to say?”

With a smile, Arianwyn nodded.

Rhaenyra continued, “I have loved Daemon all my life, since before I can even remember. When you were first brought to the capital, I was a heartbroken girl, younger than you are now. Daemon had just wed Laena and flown across the Narrow Sea, and I was left in the Red Keep in a marriage that was weeks old and already a failure.”

Arianwyn recognized the look on Rhaenyra’s face. She had often seen it in the mirror—the helpless look of one stranded in a prison beyond their control. Just as Arianwyn had not chosen to live on Dragonstone, Rhaenyra had not chosen her husband.

“Seeing you, the beautiful silver-haired daughter of the man I loved, was torture for me,” Rhaenyra confessed with guilt in her eyes. “I knew it was not your fault, but every time I saw you, I was reminded of the life I could not have – the fairy tale I always dreamed of.” Her words echoed similar feelings in Arianwyn’s own heart.

“It was easier for me to avoid you entirely than endure those horrible feelings,” Rhaenyra said as she raised her hand to Arianwyn’s cheek. “I am so sorry that my behavior has cost you your family all these years.”

At that, Arianwyn’s brows furrowed. She had been alone, surely, but she had not been denied her family. Ser Gerold still wrote to her frequently, as did Aemond. Alicent and Helaena had as well; even Aegon had sent a few ravens over the years. Her family was far from her, yes. But she had never been denied their existence.

Rhaenyra grimaced, “I know your relationship with your father has been strained. And how he treated your mother was…” she trailed off, frowning, “regrettable.”

She continued her plea, but Arianwyn did not hear it. She had seen the look on Rhaenyra’s face when she mentioned Rhea – the pity, the disgust, and even the hint of fear.

Now, all Arianwyn could hear was the rushing of blood in her ears and two words echoing through her mind like thundering bells:

She knows.

It did not matter how she knew. Whether she deduced it or was told by Daemon himself was insignificant. Rhaenyra knew what he had done to Rhea. And still, she loved him. She remained married to him. She carried his child. Still, she would make him King.

What kind of person loved such a monster?

Arianwyn tore herself away from her stepmother, royal protocol forgotten and damned. Her heart, which had only begun to warm to the woman, froze over again. No, she would neverbe a part of this family.

As she stormed out of the garden, deaf to the calls of Rhaenyra and her guards, Arianwyn made a solemn vow:

She would return to King’s Landing, her home, and her truefamily. And once there, she would gladly die before allowing herself to be taken again.

[milkywayhou]

You've Got Email (König x OC: Medical Student!Snow) PART III

Summary: When the Colonel from some Private Military Corporation group accidentally send KorTac's secret file via email to a random civilian girl and now they develop some weird relationship.

or

Snow now overthinking about how fucked up her situation can be

TWs: Slow burn (not really), Implies stalking behavior. I just wrote this for fun.

Words Count: 1.9k (The email contain 1.3+ words while the rest was Snow's 4Chan post)

----

From: SnowFarron93@medschool.edu

To: Colonel_König@KorTac.mil

05/13/23 at 01:38 am

Subject: A late night conspiracy ramble…

Hey!

Once again it’s a late night and these weary med student brain cells are firing off all kinds of…interesting theories and connections, to say the least.

For example, okay hear me out, but what if Big Pharma is actually run by ancient shape-shifting lizard people from the center of the hollow earth who feed on human adrenal gland fluid harvested during rituals conducted at Bohemian Grove, and they started the pharmaceutical industry just to get us all addicted to medication so we’re docile little cash cows?!

I know, I know, it’s utterly ridiculous…buuuuut it would explain a few things haha! Anyways, somehow my winding thought process led me back to pondering your own doubtless intriguing backstory, oh mysterious Colonel.

You’ve given mysterious snippets here and there, but never a straight history lesson, you sly dog. Care to unravel some of those shadows for this thirsty student? Like how’d you get into this line of work anyway?

Maybe share something to take my mind off lizard people conspiracies before this insomnia kills me. You’ve got me curious now!

Conspiracizing but also bedridden,

Snow

----

From: Colonel_König@KorTac.mil

To: SnowFarron93@medschool.edu

05/13/23 at 02:01 am

Subject: RE: A late night conspiracy ramble…

You’ve a vivid imagination, to be sure. As for my own history…it’s nothing so fanciful, I’m afraid.

I grew up isolated, with only books as company. Social skills proved…challenging. The bullying was constant. All I wanted was to disappear into the quiet of nature, far from the incessant noise inside my head.

By 17 I was desperate to escape, and the military offered just that. I dreamed of being a sniper – controlling chaos from afar through calm precision. But my frame and restlessness didn’t suit remaining still for long. They saw potential elsewhere. They assigned as an insertion specialist instead. It was difficult, but taught discipline. In time I learned to turn noise into focus, chaos into strategy.

Now I protect others as I wished to be protected then. It brings…solace, of a kind. Purpose, where once was only turmoil.

Get some rest, Snow. Sweet dreams.

König

----

From: SnowFarron93@medschool.edu

To: Colonel_König@KorTac.mil

05/13/23 at 02:14 am

Subject: RE: RE: A late night conspiracy ramble…

I see.

Thank you for sharing that with me. I can’t imagine how difficult those experiences must have been, but I’m grateful you found your calling in spite of them. It takes real strength of character to turn trauma into purpose like that.

Also, I should say the bullying says far more about their weakness of spirit than anything about you. Their loss, as it brought you to where you’re meant to be – helping people in your own way. I can’t help but smile thinking of a tiny bookworm König dreaming of sniping lizards in the woods! Well, you may not be in the trees anymore but it seems your aim is truer than ever.

Thinking on childhoods, mine wasn’t all sunshine either as an awkward kid. Let’s just say blending in was…challenging, to put it lightly. Between moving a lot after my parents split and living with various relatives, school was an escape into study. Seemed the safest route to gain some footing and make the family proud, at least. Kept me busy avoiding the realities outside books for a while too, I suppose. Somehow I suspect lonely bookworm me and you may have gotten along splendidly if our paths crossed back then!

Anyways, not sure where I’m going with this aside from reflecting our younger selves may have found solace in one another, strange as that sounds now in these roles. At least we’ve come into our own in the end, in our own ways. Small favors and all that.

Just a light note before sleep – rest well, König!

Your friend,

Snow

----

From: SnowFarron93@medschool.edu

To: Colonel_König@KorTac.mil

05/28/23 at 08:27 pm

Subject: Essay Woes and Cadaver Flashbacks

Ugh,

My apologies for this incoherent word vomit you’re about to endure. I’m approximately 5-7 days into an all-nighter essay crunch and my last two brain cells are DANCING.

This final assignment is killing me dead but at least after it’s over I can finally be done with med school! *insert jubilant celebration emoji* Of course that’s if I don’t starve to death first living off instant ramen. I’m positively wasting away without a decent meal. At this rate they’ll be teaching anatomy lectures using my lifeless body.

Whoever invents a magic food delivery service that beams freshly cooked meals directly to overworked students is getting a freaking Nobel Prize. A girl can dream, right? At this point I’d kill a man for a good pizza. *hideshypotheticalmurderweaponbehindback*

Anyways, in my spiral of delirium my thoughts keep wandering back to that fateful day months ago when I randomly received your classified KorTac email out of nowhere. Still bewildered how you even had my address to begin with…were you watching me, Colonel? *pretends to be frightened but is secretlyflattered*

Getting that file was kinda scary at first, not gonna lie. Reminded me of the first time we received our cadavers – that creepy feeling of being watched even after leaving the lab. Is that what it’s like being you, always paranoid someone has intel on you? :)

Anyways, enough gibbering – just wanted to share my pain and also wonder again how our wacky email friendship began! Stay safe out there in whatever shady places your work takes you. And send help – I mean, good luck with all the classified stuff!

Tired and Hangry,

Snow

----

From: SnowFarron93@medschool.edu

To: Colonel_König@KorTac.mil

05/28/23 at 08:40 pm

Subject: WHAT DID YOU DO

KÖNIG I SWEAR TO GOD

I LITERALLY JUST GOT A DELIVERY AT MY DOOR. IT WAS PIZZA AND IT WAS ALREADY PAID FOR

DUDE TELL ME YOU DIDN’T HACK INTO MY LOCATION OR SOME SHIT. HOW DO YOU KNOW WHERE I LIVE??

I’M FREAKING OUT A LITTLE NOT GONNA LIE. I KNOW YOU HAVE ACCESS TO SHADY TECH BUT PLEASE TELL ME YOU DIDN’T TRACK ME DOWN

I was joking in my last email! Sort of! Please say this was all just a coincidence. I don’t need some extra secret stalker on top of everything else ;____;

Explain yourself soldier man!!! My paranoia can only be quelled with answers.

Sending mildly panicked regards,

Snow

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From: Colonel_König@KorTac.mil

To: SnowFarron93@medschool.edu

05/28/23 at 09:12 pm

Subject: RE: WHAT DID YOU DO

Snow,

I assure you, any capabilities related to surveillance are reserved strictly for operations.

As for your delivery, consider it a small kindness from one overworked soul to another. Now eat, regain strength, and get back to that essay. You’ve proven quite resourceful in pulling secrets from shadows. But some mysteries deserve to remain.

Worry not and carry on with your studies.

König

----

From: SnowFarron93@medschool.edu

To: Colonel_König@KorTac.mil

05/28/23 at 09:25 pm

Subject: Spill. Everything. Now.

I appreciate the pizza bailout, don’t get me wrong. But my paranoia has now reached DEFCON 1 levels and it WILL NOT stand down until I get some answers. So spill. Just how much do you actually know about me? Do you have my address on file somewhere? Photos? Socials? Pet peeves? Middle name??

I understand need-to-know for operations, but this is need-to-know for my own peace of mind. Please assuage these frazzled med student nerves and assure me you’re not some mysterious stalker Colonel (unless that’s just part of your charm). I’ll even send new Luna's pics in return! Consider it a debriefing – you give, you get. Otherwise the wheels will keep spinning in my head…

Sincerely (and only mildly obsessively),

Snow

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>>Anonymous

05/29/23(Mon)22:37:10 No:132926391

Colonel Stalker Dude is freaking me out

Image: [Confused pepe scratching head.jpg 230kb, 400x400]

>Be me, a totally tired out and broke student

>Remember getting those shady files months ago

>Thought Colonel dude was cool and weird pen pal

>Even started to like him after long talks

>But NOW he knows my address???

>WTF how long has he been watching me

>On one hand it’s creepy AF but kinda flattering a high rank dude cares

>Other hand I don't want a secret stalker or to get disappeared

>Free food is nice but feeling stalked is not cash money

>Used to have bit of crush but now I'm skeeved TBH

>What do? Can't go to cops cuz questions. No close friends/fam

>Too broke to move or change info

>Maybe he’s just lonely but also maybe he climbs in my window ;____;

>What if he takes my organs in the night like some human harvester?!

>Only protection is my cat Luna and she's useless in a fight ;_;

>Try to be positive and asking him how much he know

>Currently waiting for his replied while I was writing this post

>Anons pls help, should I keep talking to possible stalker man?

Don’t want my organs harvested but also don’t wanna waste a free food connection

Very conflicted and slightly paranoid this girl is in DIRE need of advice

Anonymous 05/29/23(Mon)22:45:19 No:132926405: >>132926391(OP)#

Sounds like a thriller romance novel lol! He probs just cares in his own intense way. Keep talking but be safe, maybe feel him out more? Could be nnothing ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Anonymous 05/29/23(Mon)23:16:08 No:132926439: >>132926405#

IKR it does sound like a book! But what if it’s a prequel to a snuff film?! I’ll try to subtly find out wtf he knows without pissing him off…

Anonymous 05/29/23(Mon)23:37:12 No:132926502: >>132926391(OP)#

LOL girl chill no one climbin in ur windows. He prolly just admires ur spirit. Keep lines of comms open, set boundaries if needed but relax!

Anonymous 05/29/23(Mon)23:45:01 No:13292623: >>132926502#

You’re right, I do overthink! I’ll calm my farm. Thank u stranger, maybe he’s just a bored soldier man and not a psycho (´。＿。｀)

Anonymous 05/30/23(Tue)00:25:31 No:13292684: >>132926391(OP)#

Change ur info anyway, maybe he won’t go to ur new stuff. And get some locks/alarms jfc. Play it safe.

Anonymous 05/30/23(Tue)00:42:44 No:13292692: >>13292684#

Can’t change anything, I used my student email! And too broke for moves or upgrades, these loans gotta last :’( but self defense is a must, thanks!

Anonymous 05/30/23(Tue)01:28:19 No:132922735: >>132926391(OP)#

Send Luna pics. Also tell col u feel weird, set ground rules like no stalking. Maybe he just wants friendship. Be safe!

Anonymous 05/30/23(Tue)01:46:31 No:132922757: >>132922735#

[sleepy_Luna.jpg 1,3mb 1000x1000] You’re so right, communication is key. I’ll lay it all out clearly and see how it goes. Thx fren <3

Anonymous 05/30/23(Tue)01:59:36 No:132922805: >>132926391(OP)#

Maybe he liiiiikes you ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) whatever happens keep us posted! We’re invested now lol

Anonymous 05/30/23(Tue)02:08:55 No:132922822: >>132922805#

omggg don't say that!! Now I'll be paranoid AND flustered X_X But I definitely will update y'all, this is quite the melodrama unfolding

Anonymous 05/30/23(Tue)02:15:36 No:132922811: >>132926391(OP)#

Girlll tell that stalker if he wants a piece he gonna have to pay your tuition first! Then maybe you’ll reconsider the organ harvesting. Gotta respect your worth sis 💅

Anonymous 05/30/23(Tue)02:23:12 No:132922834: >>132922811#

Omg you genius!!! If he’s really interested he can sponsor my broke ass med student life lol. Alleviate my debt and he gets unlimited Luna pics, win-win!

Anonymous 05/30/23(Tue)03:01:46 No:132922839: >>132926391(OP)#

Lmao girl you been reading too many thrillers! Military guys have ways of finding people, changing email won’t do shit. Just ask him wtf is up like a normal person

Anonymous 05/30/23(Tue)03:39:44 No:132922926: >>132922839#

Ugh you make a good point, confronting is smarter than hiding. But what if he locks me in a dungeon for being nosy?! I have no one to turn to if I disappear ;-;

------

From: Colonel_König@KorTac.mil

To: SnowFarron93@medschool.edu

05/30/24 at 03:45am

Subject: RE: Spill. Everything. Now.

Snow,

Let’s just say I know more than you think. But rest assured, your privacy and safety remain my priority here.

As for debriefs, some questions are best left unanswered, even between…friends. Maintaining mystique has its place too, no?

Focus on your studies. I’ll focus on ensuring no more interruptions are needed.

Now get some rest. You’ve an early lab tomorrow if I’m not mistaken.

Sweet dreams.

König

----

From: SnowFarron93@medschool.edu

To: Colonel_König@KorTac.mil

05/30/23 at 03:47am

Subject: DUDE.

HOW.

----

This one was short because I've been busy with other stuff hahah. It sure took some twisted turn hmmM? or maybe poor Snow just over reacted ;)

Also love, comment and reblogged are really appreciate! 💖