#begins healing the females wings

[rosesncarnations]

Elain fixes wings

Emerie takes her to fly

Great success

[ohdeerfully]

Spoilers ahead for the final episode!

Imagine reader being a healer for others but is cursed to not being able to heal themselves.

Like during the final battle, their skills are heavily relied on while they also fight along side them. Afterwards they rush to find their lover Alastor to heal the wound on his abdomen. Poor thing was so worried about healing him that they forgot about patching up themselves.

hello everybody im alive........... hello hold your applause /j

i got two very similar requests so i combined them into one! hope thats alright with the two anons! hugs and kisses

Stitches

alastor x reader (fluff) TW: nothing serious, just some briefly graphic(ish) descriptions of violence/gore, reader referred to as female but doesnt influence plot

join my discord!

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It was supposed to be “no big deal” for him; that’s what he had promised you. You worried, of course, but knew better than to pester and beg for him to change his mind. Plus… of all demons to hold back Adam, Alastor seemed like the most capable. You had to trust him. He promised.

You were in the midst of slaying an Exterminator of your own, cutting it down with a sword lined in angelic steel, but you couldn’t help that your train of thought kept returning to the Radio Demon, who was currently on the roof of the Hotel maintaining a forcefield that prevented more angels from joining the battle.

You allowed your eyes to glimpse up towards said roof even though you knew it’d be impossible to see him from your position on the ground. You had looked just in time, however, to see the shield that surrounded the battleground begin to dissolve, an opening blooming around the figure of Adam. 

A sickly cold feeling of dread churned down your spine and into your stomach, but you forced yourself to stay focused. Alastor would be fine, surely. It’s not like he said it was an invincible shield. You had other things to worry about, anyway, when you realized a wasp-like swarm of Exterminators had made their way in from the dissolving forcefield, their glittering white wings and shining angelic weapons molding together in a blur.

You fought along a small group of demons from Cannibal Town, providing aid and healing when possible. It seemed to go on for hours; stab an angel, tear one away from a companion, heal, stab, save, heal… it somehow began to feel monotonous and repetitive. Your whole body stung, littered with wounds ranging in extremity, but you couldn’t stop. Not if you were going to win this thing.

That monotony was broken when the chaos halted for a brief moment—not even a second. You had seen Charlie looking up in… fear? Shock? So, you looked, and your breath hitched. It took you a moment to process.

Why was Adam flying above, looming, grinning, analyzing… Why, when Alastor was supposed to be keeping him occupied? The immediate answer that came to mind brought back that sickening feeling from earlier, but increased a hundredfold. It seemed that Charlie also had a similar idea.

You couldn’t ignore the feeling this time and, against your better judgment, took off towards the crumbling Hotel, abandoning your position as healer. They could wait, honestly. The pounding in your ears and anxiety in your body clouded the sensation of angelic spears grazing past you, filling your already burdened body with more gashes.

You were halted by a powerful beat of wings, wind pushing you backwards onto your back. You scrambled into a sitting position, leaning on your arms. All of the aching, stinging pain from the night seemed to rush in all at once because of the interruption, and you could barely keep your eyes steady on the man in front of you.

The first man, at that—standing all too high-and-mighty above you, a twisted grin curling up his mask. 

“Hey, bitch,” He said almost casually, grabbing you by the hair and lifting you up to be eye level with him. You stifled a pained cry at the sensation, though your eyes filled with tears, betraying both your fear and pain. You hated yourself for looking so weak in front of Adam, but you were almost too exhausted to mask it.

“The fuck did you do to Alastor?” You talked through a mouthful of blood. You spat some out in his face, to which the grip on your head tightened but he seemed otherwise unbothered. You did see a glint of madness in his eyes, though.

“So you’re that fine babe of his?” Adam mocked, looking up and down tastelessly. You didn’t expect much more from the ‘dickmaster’ but you couldn’t help but feel disgusted. “Satan’s daughter told me all about you when she was trying to tell me you gross fucks could be redeemed.”

He started rambling out a multitude of insults and curses. It seemed fitting, you thought, that the stuck-up first man would be too full of himself to keep his guard up and just start going off on a tangent about how cool and awesome he is versus how gross and weak your kind is.

“I mean, the fuck? You all sucked ass at being alive, so why the shit would we let you up into heaven? And, quite frankly, too fucking ugly to live up th—” He choked on the last few words he had, his eyes widening in shock and pain. He dropped you to the ground.

During his rant you had managed to use your heel to kick up a stray spear from beneath you. His tirade had given you enough time to balance the weapon between your feet, aim, and jam it forward into his stomach. The robe he wore darkened, glistening gold seeping into the fabric and from the hole you punctured into him.

“You–” He spat, hovering his shaking hands around the impaled spear. He gingerly pressed a hand against the wound, lifting his bloody palm to his face to look at the mess. He looked up, down, up again, and took a quivering step towards you. There were a million expressions in his eyes all at once; rage, fear, pain, disgust… 

“You fucking bitch,” He took another step, reached a hand out towards you. “You can’t kill me! Nobody can kill Adam! You’re just a worthless, sick, good-for-nothing sinner that couldn’t—fuck!” He stumbled and fell forward, and you jerked away as his fist nearly closed around the hem of your shirt. As much as you hated the guy and wanted him dead, you still cringed at the sight of him falling onto the spear and impaling it completely through his body.

You heard a distant cry of his name, but you didn’t hesitate to see who it was. You took off into the hotel, albeit slowed by a painful limp, and made your way up the stairs towards the radio tower.

There was an ominous feeling in the air as you ascended the ladder into the nearly demolished tower, slowly opening the hatch into the room. An intense, static-y feeling smothered your senses, hair raising and skin prickling at the sensation. You ignored the uncomfortable feeling and peered around the dark room. 

Claw marks and a trail of blood caught your attention, leading your eyes towards a corner where the demon you wanted to see most sat against. He had been wordlessly watching you with glowing red eyes since you entered.

“Al,” You said almost breathlessly as you rushed forward, ignoring the way your leg shot pain throughout your body in protest. You fell gracelessly to your knees in front of him.

“I don’t want you here,” He said rather plainly, a hiss in his voice as he spoke through his teeth and a grimace of a smile. You ignored the comment, eyes traveling over his body before settling on his palm, which was pressed against his abdomen. There was a still-growing patch of dark blood seeping through his shirt and between his fingers.

You reached your hand out towards him, flinched to a halt for a moment when his claws tightened around the fabric of his shirt, but continued. He made no move otherwise to stop you, but you could feel the tension in the air growing as the static ambience got louder.

“I can take care of myself,” He said, his other hand suddenly snatching your wrist. His grin widened, but his eyes narrowed. You frowned at him.

“Yeah, but it’d be a lot easier for me to just fix you now,” You retorted, trying to jerk your hand away from his grip. He didn’t yield. “If you stop being so damn stubborn.”

“I’ve dealt with much worse, my dear,” He continued to convince you to leave him alone, his voice smooth with that manipulatively suave voice he put on sometimes. Unluckily for him, though, you were just as stubborn as him.

“But I’m here this time to help you,” You finally managed to free your wrist from him, your sharp expression unwavering from his own, which seemed equally aggravated. Maybe he was too weak to actually stop you, or maybe he actually did want your help and just wouldn’t admit it, but he didn’t stop you from lifting his bloodied hand from his wound.

You pursed your lips at the grizzly sight, but said nothing. You ignored the stinging smell of blood that flooded your nose. You hovered your hands over the wound, channeling the energy in your body that granted you the ability to rapidly heal others. A faint light flowed from your palm and into the gash across Alastor’s torso, forming glowing stitches that weaved throughout the damaged skin.

Periodically glancing up at his face as you worked, you watched for any sign that told you to stop, but it never came. He stayed silent the whole time, which was… rare, from him. You would never admit this out loud, but Alastor seemed almost… pitiful, in this silent, weakened state. The Radio Demon himself, reduced to a bloodied, passive husk of himself.

After healing so many demons during the battle outside, you had spent so much energy. You were already so weak and exhausted, but you pushed yourself to force just a bit more—

“There,” With a weak sigh, you sat back, admiring your own handiwork. Even though it was magic, it did take some mental ability to know how to use your power. “Was that so hard?” You chided him jokingly.

He gingerly drug a clawed finger down the stitches, analyzing it for himself. 

“I have to admit,” He began, looking up at you. “It would have been nice to have you in my early years as— dear?”

You barely heard what he was saying as all of your senses seemed to get foggy all at once. Your vision blurred and speckled, you ears felt muffled, and you swayed with lightheadedness. You pressed a hand to your face, trying to steady your breath.

“I’m good,” Your voice came out in a quiver. “I think I just—”

You don’t necessarily even remember fainting, but reason that you must have as you stared at the ceiling above you. You woke up ten minutes ago, and spent the time piecing together everything that happened. How much time has passed since then? A couple hours? Days? It was hard to say. Though, you thought as you looked around. The hotel looks… damn good all things considered. 

The door creaked open and your ears perked at the sound of a familiar voice humming some tune that you couldn’t recognize. Considering the atmosphere wasn’t tense, you actually welcomed the prickling, static-like sensation that Alastor’s presence brought. 

“Ah, the sleeping beauty awakes!” He announced pleasantly, setting a plate rattling with two neat little glasses of warm liquid on the bedside table. You eyed them and quirked your eyebrow.

“Seems you were ready for it,” You said, commenting on the fact that he brought two cups.

“Well, what kind of man would I be if I wasn’t au fait to my darling’s status?” He explained, clasping his hands behind his back and leaning over you. He would never admit that he brought up two cups every time he checked on you just in case. 

His overall demeanor seemed appropriately confident and indifferent, but his eyes held an uncharacteristic look of tenderness and worry as he looked over you, analyzing your condition. He sat at the edge of the bed, picking that plate up again and offering you a cup.

You sat up against the headboard and took it with a light smile, warming your hands on the smooth surface. You enjoyed the aroma of the tea, and you realized it was your favorite. How sweet.

The room was silent, save for the quiet sound of a radio that seemed to just… radiate from him… but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Now that you were sitting up, you took the chance to look down and over yourself. Bandages were wrapped tightly over your arms, chest, stomach, legs… basically everywhere. You were suddenly all too aware of the dull ache that afflicted your entire body.

When you looked up, you noticed Alastor had been looking at you rather intensely. His expression was weird and unreadable. You tightened your lips awkwardly at the strangely passionate look in his eyes, looking into random directions to try to ignore it. You tried to concentrate on taking another sip from the cup in your hand, bu, to your dismay, it was already empty. You sat it down on the plate.

“How’s my stitchwork holding up?” In an attempt to dissipate your own awkwardness, you reached towards his abdomen. He caught your hand gently, directing it away from himself. But he didn’t let go.

“No doctor in all of Hell could have done better,” He complimented. He still had a hint of that weird expression. “If only you could fix yourself up the same. Fortunately I have some experience from my time alive…” He trailed off.

You couldn’t contain yourself anymore, jumping forward and tightening your arms around his neck. The static in the air sharpened for a brief second, matching the tenseness in his body, but slowly returned to a normal frequency. After a few more seconds, you felt him slide his own arms around your waist, pressing you against himself.

“You scared the fuckin’ shit out of me,” You said, voice muffled by his coat. “I thought Adam killed you. I thought I was going to find your body buried under the rubble.”

“So you avenged me by killing Adam yourself? I appreciate it,” He remarked lightly, a slight chuckle rumbling from his chest. His voice was low, breath tickling your ear as he held you with a feather-light but somehow still firm grip. 

Alastor was quiet for another moment, and you realized the static in the air had completely dissipated. You also realized the pressure of his arms wrapped around you was getting increasingly tighter.

“You worried me as well,” He said finally. “You were out like a hibernating bear for days. You worried everyone.” You pulled your head out from the crook of his neck and met his gaze.

“Can’t a gal get her beauty rest?” You joked softly, bumping your shoulder against him playfully. He swayed for a moment at the contact, but the eye contact never broke. Wait, was he getting closer? 

Instinctually your eyes closed, and the briefest kiss was placed on your lips, then your nose, then your forehead. Before you could open your eyes, Alastor placed his hand on your head and pressed you back against his chest. He then began rubbing his hand gently on your back in a soothing motion.

Despite being in bed for apparently days, you still felt tired. You sank into him as his claws drug gentle shapes against your skin, careful to avoid bandaged spots. He hummed a quiet tune, and you noticed his microphone of a cane, which was laying against the bedside table, emitted an accompanying song.

“Maybe redemption isn’t all that,” You commented with a sigh, lazily picking at the hem of Alastor’s collar.

“Hmm?” He prompted you to continue.

“Is Hell really so bad if you’re with your favorite soul?” It felt corny to say, but you couldn't really find a better way to phrase it. Plus, you couldn't take this rare moment of tenderness for granted.

His hand paused for a moment, and he gently squeezed your arm in response. You felt him press another light kiss to the top of your head.

“I know, now,” He finally replied. “Just the feeling.”

[metalmewtwo-kxb]

Pokédex Update:

Auroreon - the Iridescent Feather pokemon. A flying type. When it fans its wings and tail, it can manifest beautiful yet powerful beams of light in concentrated attacks and healing moves. If it ever opens its eyes, it will unleash its wrath on the unjust.

Notes:

- Auroreon's feathers always seem to glimmer in the light, causing even its body to give off a faint prismatic glow. They are also sturdy, soft as cinccino velvet, and capable of keeping sheltered pokemon warm. If the weather and conditions are right, Auroreon will spread its feathers over the grass and sunbathe (or moonbathe at night). This makes the moisture in the air above it become a captivating blanket of shifting colors. The shiny variation of this pokemon is said to also manifest colors of light that very few humans are able to see.

- The 'eye spots' on Auroreon's feathers serve as a natural statement of beauty as well as a means of confusing opponents. And the halo above its head is a result of the fur's natural light refraction.

From Recovered Texts and Documents:

- Long ago, a king encouraged the use of these feathers for decorative purposes during his reign. This greatly decimated the population of both eevee and Auroreon in their region. Those with dark feathers were considered "impure" and hunted for sport. A few were kept as pets and servants, which was illegal save for those with the king's written permission.

- Some groups of the past believed Auroreon to be among the pokemon known as "the Heralds of Arceus", messengers and light-bearers who served the Creator of Worlds. There were a variety of pokemon believed to hold this title, each described as "familiar yet unique" to each respective species. They were more powerful than their counterparts, and some rarely spotted if not considered an illusion. They were also quite gentle and well-mannered, and their roles involved giving life and healing to the world. However, these pokemon were considered dangerous in times of conflict.

- It is said "the false king" of their home region was single-handedly responsible for the disappearance of the Heralds, the beginning of conflict between humans and Arceus, and the terrible aftermath of the last great war. Rumors spread that Arceus removed the Heralds from the world of humans to save those pokemon from the cruelty that would follow in coming years.

Notes Continued:

- Further research is being conducted, as a single pair of Auroreon were recently spotted in an isolated area with an unusual eevee. One white, and one dark. The gender of each is unknown, though ancient texts suggest that females have shorter capes than males.

- There is no documentation of what their open eyes look like. Texts only say that no one who saw them directly lived to tell the tale, including the false king.

----------------------------

Decided to take my own stab at creating a flying type eeveelution, and potentially add a second typing later on.

I'm really happy with how it turned out, and glad I had another chance to delve into more of the comic's background lore.

[helvegen-s]

Rage, rage | three

index

Pairing: Azriel x Hybern!Princess!OC

Summary: Nimue was a gift for the King of Hybern. His shining jewel, the perfect heir. However, she is clear about who the villain of the story is. When she saves her father's enemies from a tragic end, she realizes that now it's the Cauldron who has a gift for her: a mate.

Warnings: heavy injures, description of injuries, blood, violence, weapons, bad language, english not being my first language

They look at each other, adrenaline boiling and screaming in everyone's veins. Nimue doesn't take her eyes off Rhysand, but she feels everyone looking at her.

She feels naked, unprotected.

She blinks to get used to all that light. She had never seen so much light and it's beautiful.

Her senses come to life as she lets go of Rhysand's hand, which she had unknowingly been clinging to. She breathes over and over, trying to calm herself, but involuntarily she begins to tremble.

What has she done, what has she done, what has she done.

Father is going to kill her.

Amidst her frenzy of thoughts, Rhysand starts barking orders. She doesn't hear them well, only scattered words: healer, help, house.

Nimue glimpses a huge house to her right, and realizes she has brought them all to the courtyard of a mansion. Around her, everyone seems to spring into action.

The blonde female runs into the house, and seconds later comes out accompanied by another woman, shorter and slighter. She can't tell if she's fae or a creature. When Nimue and her lock eyes, it's like they're looking in a mirror. Both frown but decide to ignore each other.

For Nimue, it's as if everything is happening in slow motion: when she wants to realize, there's another person there, attending to the two injured Ilyrian. A glow emanates from her hands, its warmth reaching the princess's face. A healer, she supposes. She had never seen one.

She fights against her own panic, trying to get used to all the hustle and bustle and all those sounds. The birds flying above her head, the sunlight, the smell of the sea, the smell of pine and cedar, the voices around her, the poor Ilyrian screaming in pain...

She lowers her gaze, and without thinking, she starts speaking: "I can help."

Everyone looks at her again, judging her. They scan her from head to toe.

The two females who were thrown into the Cauldron are to her left, crying and hugging the one who was with Rhysand. Are they sisters? They looked so much alike...

"I can help," she repeats, this time firmer. She starts walking and sees how Rhysand prepares to attack her, "I can heal both of them, if you let me."

She analyzes the High Lord's face, and sees how little by little he is giving in. No one articulates any words, with a simple nod of the male's head, he grants her permission. He has nothing more to lose.

She kneels beside the one with the shattered wings and begins to do what she does with herself and the wounds she has ever suffered: with her magic, she grasps every little nerve ending, every small piece of skin. She pulls them and threads them, weaves them, joins them and separates them as if making a tapestry. So little by little, she shapes the wings of that Ilyrian. It's all pure instinct, what her nature dictates to her.

Father always told her she was his Goddess of Destruction, but Nimue knew deep down that she was capable of fixing, of healing, of bringin good to the world.

Under everyone's watchful eyes, she was piece by piece, shred by shred, joining and repairing the broken wings of that male. When she reached the bones, she simply imagined how they should have originally been: she ordered them to return to their form, to be soldered, and they obediently complied.

With a final grunt from the male, Nimue finished her work. But before she could get up, he grabbed her arm:

"Thank you," he whispered. Nimue is stunned. Thank you?

Had anyone ever thanked her for anything? Had anyone shown her gratitude?

No, her real doubt wasn't that. Had she ever done anything worthy of others' gratitude?

She swallowed her fear and terror, kneeling on the ground. She watched as the male limped away from her and enveloped the blonde female in a hug, how he squeezed her tightly as they both cried on each other's shoulders.

She was so, so lost. Where was she? What was happening around her?

"What a miracle of a girl," the healer whispered. Standing between Rhysand and the slighter female, the more aged-looking woman never took her eyes off her, "You are a Cauldron's blessing. When you're done, I'll need you to teach me how you do that. You are a–"

"Silence, Madja," Rhysand's voice resonates under her feet and in the very mountain, as if he had spoken those words inside Nimue's skull. She shrinks, intimidated. That's the power of a High Lord, "Now him. Heal him.”

She looks away from Rhysand and sets her gaze on the last remaining male.

Kneeling on the ground beneath him is a pool of his own blood and something that seems to be shadows, moving frenetically back and forth. She had never seen anything like it, those... beings, moving around the man. Nimue hears faint noises that she can't quite understand.

Behind her, she feels a presence moving. Rhysand looks down at her, those violet eyes so deep that Nimue feels hypnotized, "Don't just stand there gaping and do what you did to Cassian. Now. Or I'll cut off your head, you filthy Hybern rat."

She nods, and when she turns back to the winged male, he looks back at her. His amber eyes follow every small movement she makes: from the slight tremble of her lower lip to the way she raises her hand.

When he tries to speak, a trickle of blood runs down his lip to his chin, "Touch me and I'll cut off your hands, traitor."

Nimue trembles.

What the hell is she doing? Where has she gotten herself into?

Before she knows it, two streaks of water run down her cheeks. Is she crying? She had never cried before, what a strange sensation.

Her gaze travels to the hands of the male in front of her. He grips a beautiful black dagger, its tip directly aimed at Nimue's chest.

She swallows hard and, in a quick motion, grabs the arrow he has lodged in his chest and pulls it out with all her strength. She has been so fast that the male collapses forward, falling on top of her.

Rhysand and the healer, Madja, take care of getting him off her, and when Nimue tries to touch him again, the High Lord growls at her, "I told you to heal him, not to open up the damn hole in his chest further."

By pure instinct, Nimue snarls back at him, "I am healing him, you idiot. Back off."

Where she found the courage, she doesn't know. But they obey her, and she gets back to work.

The male is lying on his back on the ground, and Nimue places her hand on his chest, where the arrow was previously lodged. She begins to weave again, slowly, thread by thread.

Her gaze rests on his face, which, with closed eyes, lets out the occasional groan between his teeth.

Azriel feels like his chest is on fire. He feels the edges of the wound burning, he feels combustion from within. He takes gulps of air as he struggles not to lose consciousness, and blinded by the pain, he reaches his hand into the air and grabs onto the first thing he finds.

Nimue startles when his hand grabs her elbow, but she lets it be, the touch of his glove is a new, pleasant, and different sensation. She looks back at his face, and in a low voice, she speaks to him, "I'm almost done. Just making sure there's no trace of the poison that the arrow was coated with."

Azriel lets out a growl. He couldn't care less about the explanations. He just wants it to be over already.

The pain reaches the core of his bones and he opens his eyes abruptly, looking at the girl in front of him.

What is that?

Around her, he sees a thread, a small golden rope encircling her: it descends down her shoulders and arms, caresses her wrists and fingers, and wherever her skin meets his, he sees how the thread enters his own body.

Is he hallucinating?

Hasn't he had enough with the arrow between his ribs, that now the poison is making him hallucinate?

Behind the girl, he sees Rhysand, Amren, Cassian, Mor, even damn Madja. He sees how in slow motion their brows furrow, he sees how they lean forward, looking puzzled at something that makes Azriel scared.

"What's going on?" he asks agitated. He tries to sit up on his elbows, but although the pain has already diminished, it still doesn't let him breathe properly, "What are you all looking at like that?"

Nimue furrows her brows as she pushes the man back to the ground so he stays still. She frowns, as she begins to feel something on her fingertips...

Something is not right.

The sensation travels up her forearm and shoulder, and settles in her chest. There inside, like a caged bird, that sensation starts tumbling, back and forth, faster and faster.

She removes her hand from the man's chest and he sits up in front of her, like a spring.

Azriel feels like he's going to explode. What has that witch put inside him? What kind of magic has she used on him?

"What the hell have you done to me?" he shouts. Azriel brings a hand to his chest when that pressure keeps growing.

Nimue mimics him, feeling like her chest is going to burst.

What has she done? Has she made a mistake? Perhaps her magic has betrayed her now for the first time...

She's hyperventilating, and when she feels that, indeed, she's going to explode like a firework, she looks into the eyes of the male in front of her.

And then everything suddenly calms down.

They stare at each other, stunned, not knowing what to say. Their breaths come together, equally fast and choppy.

And when their bodies stop vibrating and calm down, she feels it there.

There's something, something pulling her towards...

Towards him.

Azriel jumps to his feet, as if they hadn't just removed a poisoned arrow from his chest or he hadn't just lost liters and liters of blood. He finds Truth Teller in its usual place and with a practiced motion after years and years of battles, he grabs the girl by the collar of her clothes and lifts her up like a feather. The dagger rests comfortably against her neck, and she does nothing but look back at him, wide-eyed.

"Azriel!" Rhysand shouts. He ignores his High Lord, although every fiber of his being tells him to obey him, "Azriel, let her go!"

Then, Nimue comes to her senses. With a practiced movement, the winged male is kneeling on the ground again. The pretty black dagger is now in her hand, while with the other she pulls back his hair.

Azriel doesn't know when all this happened. He just knows that he blinked and now he's the prey. He clings to the girl's hand pulling his hair and tries to break free, but he can't understand how such a small woman can have the strength of a thousand men.

"Now I'm going to let go of you and you're not going to attack me. Understood?" She utters each word slowly, as if speaking in another language.

Nimue takes a step back, releasing the dagger, which falls to the ground with a dull thud.

Azriel stands up, and in a leap, he's next to Rhysand in an attack position.

Before Nimue, everyone present is on high alert. Some in attack position, others simply ready for whatever may happen.

The first to speak is Azriel, with the same accusatory tone as before, "What have you done to me? Undo it." He's trembling, and Nimue can't tell if it's from fear or from the pure rage she sees in his face.

Even if she wanted to, she couldn't undo it, because she herself doesn't know what has happened.

What is that pulling her? What is that feeling in her chest, an anchor dragging her toward that winged male?

Everyone remains silent, looking at each other.

However, it's Rhysand who speaks first, the voice of reason in a desperate situation, "Let's all calm down."

Because he doesn't know if he's the only one who sees it, who feels it. That sudden change in the air. It smells like cedar and mist, like Azriel. But if he pays attention, he smells the sea salt and the sweetness of poison in the air. The scent that the girl in front of them emits. It's intoxicating and chilling at the same time. He couldn't say.

What he can say, however, is what he sees crystal clear. Azriel's essence, mixed with that of the unknown girl. He sees how both mingle in the air.

And then, Rhysand would swear that he stopped hearing Azriel's heartbeat next to him.

"My mate," his friend whispers. His face, a complete expression of surprise, something that the Shadow Singer rarely showed, "She's my mate.”

Taglist:

@lilah-asteria @agentsofsheilds @leptitlu @just-here-reading @glitterypirateduck @donttellthecats

A/N:I really hope you are all enjoying it. Every kind of support is greatly appreciated, and thank you so much to those who already support it!! If you want to be added to the taglist, just let me know 🥰

[justsomerandomfanfic]

Flower Crowns - Dwalin X Female (Baggins) Reader

Title: Flower Crowns

Dwalin X Female Reader

Additional Characters: The Company, Ori, Kili, Fili, Thorin, Bofur, Balin, Oin (Mentioned), Bomber (Mentioned), Gandalf (Mentioned), Bilbo, Bard (Mentioned), Bard's kids (Mentioned), Alfrid (Mentioned), and the Mirkwood Elves (including Legolas and Tauriel (Mentioned))

Requested By: Anon!

WC: 5,252

Warnings: The Hobbit canon violence/weapons/death/etc, Reader is Bilbo's sister, misunderstandings, broody Dwalin, blood, injuries, nicknames, crying (brief), orcs, death, Ones, giant spiders, movie reference to a different movie (bonus points for those who get it), yelling, angst, and fluff

Trudging up the path with a woven basket of homemade muffins, you made your way up to Bilbo's home. You were a bit late. You were supposed to be at Bilbo's over an hour ago, but you had misjudged when you'd finish your muffins. And you knew how much Bilbo loved your muffins, so you were sure he wouldn't be too annoyed by your tardiness after eating a muffin or two.

Stopping at the door, you let out a small huff before knocking on the round door... Only to receive no answer. You frowned, furrowing your eyebrows before just entering. Pushing the door closed behind you, you heard voices from somewhere else in the Hobbit hole, confusing you even more. Had Bilbo invited others to dinner?

"Bilbo?" You called out, beginning to wander over towards the voices that quickly stopped after you spoke.

But before you could say anything more, Bilbo popped out into the hallway, rushing over to you. "Y/N, I believe we'll have to reschedule dinner." He spoke, rushed as he tried turning you around.

Your frown deepened as you twisted around in his hold, your eyes staring at the circular entrance of the dining room, "What do you mean? Who have you invited over?" Your curiosity was peaked now, and you wanted answers. 

"Nothing! No one! Lovely seeing you!" Bilbo exclaimed, pushing you backward towards the door, ready to get you out. But before he could, you ducked out of his arms and sped towards the dining room. 

You skidded to a halt at the entrance, eyes widening as your jaw dropped slightly. Bilbo sighed, rubbing his face with both of his hands before walking over and standing beside you. Eyes glued to the surprise visitors, you leaned over to Bilbo slightly; eyes unmoving from the surprise guests, "Bilbo... Why do you have thirteen Dwarves and a wizard in your dining room?"

~~~

And that was how you got roped into traveling alongside Bilbo, Gandalf, and the rest of the Company. Gandalf somehow convinced Thorin that having a second Hobbit would benefit the Company. And, unlike your brother, you wanted to go with them. You had read so many books about adventure and heard so many stories... You wanted to get out into the world and go on adventures that you had read in those books. 

During the first few days of the journey to The Lonely Mountain, you became friends with most, if not all, of the Company. Kili and FIli, for example - the two youngest members of the Company - took you under their wing. When Thorin allowed the Company to rest, they would teach you how to defend yourself. Most lessons usually turned into fooling around most of the time, despite Thorin's grumblings. Fili and Kili were fun people to be around. They never failed to make you laugh, which was welcomed when having to face orcs and goblins almost daily. 

Balin was like a father figure to you, always giving worldly and wise advice. Bomber often let you help in the making of breakfast and dinner. Ori, the sweetest of the bunch, would tell you stories, which you eagerly accepted to listen to every time. It gave you something to look forward to. And Oin, when free to do so, would teach you the basics of healing; showing you what herbs and plants worked best for certain ailments, which ones should be avoided, and so on.

You enjoyed each member of the Company's presence, but Thorin and Dwalin were the only two who hardly spoke a word to you. You weren't sure whether it was because they believed you didn't belong in the company, or because they were just not talkers. You hoped it was the latter.

But between the two, you really liked Dwalin. You liked his gruff demeanor - the brooding look on his face - and in addition, you really found him attractive. His muscular build, strong arm muscles, and dark hair; not to mention the tattoos on his arms - you wondered what their stories were. It surprised you, in the beginning, when you finally let the realization sink in. Even Bilbo, the only one that you had told about this attraction - you didn't fully trust Kili and Fili with the information - Bilbo was shocked, to say the least. 

~~~

Walking with Kili and Fili, you snatched up bundles of flowers as you went, weaving and braiding them together into a crown. You had already made one for yourself, and Fili and Kili were quite invested in your creative, colorful craft.

"Where did you learn to create such things?" Fili asked as he watched you bend down, snatching up another flower from the grassy ground.

You shrugged, tying off another flower, "In Hobbiton, of course, Fili, dear," You began, fixing some of the flowers before continuing, "In originality, my mother taught me." You finished, weaving another flower into the crown.

"How does one make such intricate designs?" Kili then asked, twisting the stem of a flower between his fingers in thought. 

You smiled back at him, "Well, it is quite simple, Kili, dear," You began, "You just have to braid the stems of the flowers together. Simple really." You answered, spying on Dwalin near the front of the line - just behind Thorin, you glanced over at the two Princes' beside you, "I'll be just a moment." You spoke before jogging over.

Your smile widened as you matched Dwalin's pace once by his side. Looking over and up at him, he didn't acknowledge your presence. It never bothered you, him ignoring you... You understood that Dwalin was not the type of person to just chit-chat, especially when there were bigger things to do and worry about. Lonely Mountain speaking. 

Finishing the flower crown in your hands, you offered it up to the Dwarf, a bright smile on your face. "I made this for you." You explained softly, the flower crown - made of yellow, white, and red wildflowers - sitting in your hands. 

Dwaling stopped, and so did the rest of the Company. You suddenly felt a wave of anxiety wash over you - all eyes on the two of you - watching as Dwalin slowly turned his head to look down at you, to the crown, and back. And for a moment, you thought that you saw something flash in his eyes, something that wasn’t brooding, determined, or angry. You swallowed, finding yourself unable to take your eyes off his, your ears and cheeks burning as he grumbled and huffed through his nose. You were confused, your hope and happiness dwindling - your hands lowering slowly - as Dwalin turned and continued walking. 

Fully dropping your hands to your sides, you watched him go; feeling completely rejected. You knew that it was stupid. It was just a flower crown... And yet, you still held onto it with all of your heart, clutching it tightly in your hand; unintentionally crushing the flowers beneath your fingers. What did you do wrong? You just wanted him to like you... Tears stung in your eyes, but you refused to cry in front of everyone. 

The rest of the Company soon passed you, some giving you sympathetic smiles, some patting you on your shoulder or back. Fili and Kili stopped beside you, Kili frowning softly, as Fili gave you a pat on the top of your head; careful not to disturb the flower crown on your head. 

"Don't worry, Miss Y/N," Fili spoke, "He'll come around."

Kili nodded, "I assure you, he will." He let out a small chuckle, but you knew he wasn’t laughing at you. That was just him.

You nodded, doubting, but saying nothing more as they turned and followed the group; Bilbo finally coming over. "I'm alright." You muttered, looking up at him. You knew that he was going to ask you if you were alright.

"I'm sorry, Y/N..."

You shook your head, "No, it's okay." You whispered softly, trying to give him the best smile you could give him to ease his worries, "I don't know why I am so caught up in this... I must understand that I'm not really everyone's cup of tea. Not everyone wants to be my friend. If he doesn't want to be friends with me... Then, that's alright." You explained softly. Bilbo stared at you for a long moment before you began walking, dropping the flower crown to the ground. 

~~~

The night was cold, the stars shining brightly down from the sky as you huddled close to Bilbo; next to the fire. It was hard to sleep, still not fully used to sleeping on the woodland ground, but you were getting there. And, soon, you found yourself drifting off to sleep.

Dwalin, on the other hand, having the first night watch, stared into the fire before him. It was quiet, aside from the fire crackling and the crickets chirping. Dwalin seemed to be lost inside his own mind, his eyebrows furrowed, and dark eyes narrowed in thought. Hearing a small grunt and feeling the log under him move slightly, Dwalin glanced over to see Balin sitting beside him. Balin hummed lowly, staring at the fire, rubbing the palms of his hands together.

"She didn't know, Dwalin." He spoke softly, not wanting to wake the others from their sleep, and only getting a deep mumble from his younger brother; at the mention of you, Dwalin's eyes flickered from the fire to your sleeping figure; curled up beside Bilbo. "She does not know of our courtship rituals. I should’ve told her more about our culture." Again, getting nothing from Dwalin, Balin continued, "She only wishes you to speak to her. You have hardly spoken a word to her since leaving Bilbo's home." He stared at his brother's side profile, "You can confide in me, brother."

Dwalin continued his silence, his eyes falling upon you once more. He was conflicted. Ever since he saw you enter the dining room of Bilbo's Hobbit hole, Dwalin had been unable to stop thinking about you. The way you moved and talked... Your features were sharp, yet delicate, your lips pouting, and your hair flowing. You were kind, bright, and soft; everything Dwalin wasn't. Dwalin was rough and tough. He had scars, he had seen death, and he had seen suffering. But, you... He had never seen someone as beautiful as you. You were different. Dwalin sighed deeply, looking away from you. He didn't know how to approach you; he couldn't bring himself to act on his feelings. 

But he knew that you were his One.

He knew the moment he saw you. 

Dwalin hated being vulnerable, and he hated admitting anything to anyone. So he sat, his jaw clenched tight, trying his hardest to fight his growing feelings for you. 

"She's my One." Dwalin found himself muttering, far too quiet for most to hear, but Balin heard.

A knowing smile graced his oldened features. "I presumed so." Balin spoke with a hum, "I can only... Advise that you should speak to her. She cares for you. I am sure that she would understand." Balin stated, before letting out a small sigh, standing, "Think about it, will you?" And with that, Balin found his sleep sack, rolling into it and falling asleep.

Dwalin stayed awake much longer into the night, contemplating his decision as he waited for Gloin to take over the night watch. His older brother's words echoed throughout his head, and with a deep gruff, he let his eyes stray from the fire; the light making his eyes burn slightly. His eyes flickered from around the woods that surrounded him, to the Company before finding the stars and the moon in the sky, and finally... Back to you.

You, in your sleep, muttered something softly, unnoticeable. He watched as you rolled to your side, shivering, your hand pulling the fur blanket closer to you. Dwalin's eyes lingered on you, his mouth slightly agape before he snapped his gaze away. Feeling a wave of frustration towards himself, Dwalin's gaze landed on his sleep role. 

~~~

The next morning, you woke up to a bright blue sky, filled with white, fluffy clouds. You let out a sigh, eyelids fluttering as you shifted slightly and let out a breath. You groaned lightly before freezing. Your fingers brushed against the fur blanket over you, feeling the coarseness of the material. It was warm. Very warm.

Your eyebrows furrowed; confused. You opened one eye, squinting at the bright sun that was peaking above the tree canopies. Slowly turning over onto your back, you sat up, looking down at the blanket... Or should you say... Blankets?

You stared down at the fur blanket, that was not your own, before flipping the fur up, spying your fur blanket underneath. This second fur blanket - which wasn't yours - was a deep brown color, with little bits of white. Who gave you this last night? Were you really that cold last night that one of the Dwarves had given you their blanket out of kindness or pity? You felt a sense of gratitude fill your chest. Looking down at the furry blanket, you couldn't help but let out a smile. 

Looking up, you let your eyes survey the small camp, hopping from Dwarf to Dwarf until they settled on one. Dwalin. A wave of warmth passed over you, watching as he packed his sleep role away and into his pack. As Dwalin stood to leave, he glanced over at you, meeting your gaze for a brief moment; before quickly darting his eyes away, going over to Thorin. 

You felt the corners of your lips twitch slightly, a frown threatening to form on your face as you looked at Dwalin's retreating back. Did he hate you? Did he find you annoying? All these questions ran through your head, but you only huffed, getting up from your sleep role. You were not going to let Dwalin's behavior towards you sour your mood. Today was a beautiful day, and you wanted to savor it. 

~~~

You couldn't see, and all you could feel was the feeling of falling. You felt as if you were wrapped in something. It was tight around you, almost suffocating. Anxiety washed over you, gripping your heart painfully as your lungs begged for air. But you could hardly breathe. You needed to breathe, but you were trapped. You clawed at the sticky white substance that surrounded you, trying to rip it and free yourself, but you were not strong enough. You felt like giving up, though you knew you couldn't, but as you clawed at the sticky film, you could finally hear what was going on outside of the cocoon. You could hear the Dwarves yelling, yelling about spiders. 

Before you could do anything else, someone from the outside ripped open your cocoon. You blinked rapidly at the slight change of light, finding yourself back in the creepy woods. A large hand reached out to you and you quickly grabbed it, the person behind the strong hand pulling you up with force. Stumbling slightly, you felt slightly dazed, the hand still in yours as you found yourself in a giant spider fight. 

As you stood amidst the chaotic scene of giant spiders attacking the Company, your heart raced with fear and adrenaline. Eyes unable to leave the giant spiders - tunnel-vision - you gripped the hand in yours; giving you slight reassurance. The air was filled with the sounds of battle - the clang of weapons, the hiss of the spiders, and the shouts of the Dwarves. You could feel the sticky strands of webbing brush against your skin as you dodged and weaved through the throng of arachnids. You felt gross and dirty; and for the first time since the start of this long journey to The Lonely Mountain, you missed your Hobbit home.

With each passing moment, the fight intensified, the odds seemingly stacked against you and the Company. Your wide eyes danced around you, trying to spot Bilbo, but you couldn't find him. You wanted to yell out, to shout, but as your mouth opened, no words came out. There was an odd buzzing noise in your ears, your heart was beating loudly in your chest; harsh against your ribcage. Only then, did you look at the person who held you so close to them. You thought it couldn't have been Kili or Fili, but you spotted the two Princes when you lifted your gaze. Looking down at the hand that held yours, you felt your racing heart freeze for just a moment; an auditable hitch escaped your throat, but you didn't dare utter a sound. 

Standing in front of you and holding your hand tightly in his own was none other than Dwalin. You knew it was him. You knew those tattoos. Trailing up his muscular arm, you were finally met with the side of his face. His expression was hardened as he held his weapon tightly in his other hand. Aside from the anxiety and nervousness that had overcome you, you were incredibly impressed. Dwalin, with one hand, fought off giant spiders, whilst also keeping you perfectly safe. 

At the sound of something coming from up in the trees, you looked up, watching as no more than two dozen elves jumped to the ground, taking out the last of the large, monstrous spiders from around you. One of the Elves spoke to another, you noted her red hair as they spoke in Elvish. You wished that you could understand them. Your awe of them quickly diminished when they drew their weapons, arrows drawn and at the ready; circling around you and the Company. Soon, they demanded your weapons, and before you knew it, all the Dwarves were weaponless. 

"What about her?" One Elven guard asked in a demanding tone. Your eyes lifted up, finding the guard staring down at you. "Hand whatever you have over instantly." He demanded, holding out his hand, only for Dwalin's hand in yours to tighten slightly, gently pushing you behind him.

"She bears no weapons, Elf." He spoke in his deep, gruff, disgruntled voice. The Elf stared down at Dwalin for a moment before staring right back down at you, with a sniff and a small 'humph' he turned away. 

The blonde Elf, the one that you believed to be in charge of the whole group, yelled out something in Elvish, and before you knew it, you and your Dwarven friends were being pushed along, being led to hopefully, not your doom. Passing Thorin, you looked at him with pleading eyes, "Thorin, where's Bilbo?" Only for your answer to be unanswered. 

Your hand never left Dwalin's, your free, unoccupied hand found his arm; the skin upon skin contact grounded you, allowing you to calm yourself ever so slightly. You finally took a chance to look around, finding the forest opening, revealing a stone bridge. Pillars, beautifully carved, gave way to the entrance of Mirkwood, the Elven Kingdom. You wished you had the time to admire the architecture of the kingdom, but, sadly, you did not. Before you knew it you were being tossed into a cell.  

A hand fell upon your shoulder, pulling you to the side, your hands falling from Dwalin's. "Dwalin!" You called out, trying to reach for him, but you were soon shoved into a cell. Stumbling over your feet, you braced yourself on the rock interior of the cell. Hearing the heavy cell door close behind you, you snapped your head up; feeling exhausted, mentally and physically, but you pushed yourself forward. Your hands curled around the bars, trying to look at the cells beside yours. The sound of the now-captured Dwarves - yelling and complaining. 

"Miss Y/N!" Fili yelled out, only a few cells away from yours, "Are you alright!?"

"I'm fine!" You called back, "Is everyone else alright?"

Most, if not all, of the Dwarves, replied with various 'ayes’. You sighed in relief, closing your eyes; the chill of the cell door refreshing on your forehead. 

Sitting on the floor - you felt the hours pass you by slowly - you pressed the back of your head against the wall; tired. "I wager the sun is on the rise. Must be nearly dawn." Bofur called out, his voice echoing throughout. Your eyes fluttered open, a yawn leaving your parched mouth. 

"We're never going to reach the mountain, are we?" Ori asked, sounding resigned, making you sigh.

"Don't fret, Ori, dearest." You spoke up, sounding a bit resigned yourself, but you were determined to keep everyone's spirits high. "We'll make it." You continued, looking out of your cell door, "We will." With that said, you stood up from the ground, wincing as pain shot through your legs. Looking down, you noticed a rip in your trousers that you replaced your usual dress with. Pushing the ripped fabric to the side, you then noticed a red substance that trailed down your leg; coming from a small scratch on your calf. "Well," You spoke up, clearing your throat. "I may have been slightly injured."

Simultaneously, the Dwarves began to talk. Their voices became louder, some with more worry and concern. "Miss Y/N, you are injured!?" You heard Fili call from his cell.

"Yes, tis but a scratch." You explained, hoping the Dwarves would stop fussing over you. You weren't a damsel in distress. You were strong, even with a bloody scratch. "But worry not, dearest Dwarves, it's nothing I can't handle."

"You won't have to handle it for long." You heard, eyes widening - mimicking your bright smile - as Bilbo appeared at your cell door, holding the keys. 

~~~

When you joined the Company on their journey, you did not expect that you'd trick goblins, climb bit trees, fly on eagles, fight giant spiders, and barrel ride down a raging river. This was certainly an adventure that you'd go through again, minus the goblins and giant spiders; you'd love to fly with the eagles again.

Somehow, you survived, floating down the raging river, your clothes all sopping wet, and river water dripping from your hair. As all of your barrels fell down a waterfall, you couldn't help but let out a small laugh. Behind you, you could hear the laughter of some of the dwarves. For a moment, you forgot about your injuries; and the exhaustion that was seeping into every fiber of your body. Your hands tightened your grip on the railing of the barrel, praying for it to not capsize or tip over, your fingers growing numb with cold. You tried desperately to ignore what was going on around you. Smelling the fresh air, and hearing the birds chirping above you, almost made you forget everything else.

But at the sound of a horn, you were quickly snapped out of your head, watching as the suited Elves began to shut the gate; the only way to escape. All joy, and a sense of freedom, flew right out of the window. You all collided with each other at the closed gate, you huffed, glaring up at the Elven guards before your eyes caught sight of an arrow flying through the air, and into one of the guards. 

"Orcs!" You yelled out, gesturing up at the guards, as the one that was shot fell into the water below; almost hitting you. "Why does it always have to be orcs?"

You dodged the best you could when dead elves and dead orcs fell into the water, along with dodging arrows, and over-confidant orcs that tried to swing at your head. 

You were about to call for Bilbo, but when you turned your head, you watched as your brother stabbed a sword into an orc, defending one of the dwarves. 

"Miss Y/N!" Ori cried out, making you look over to him, only for him to point above you. 

You looked up, your eyes widening at an orc - dead - began falling towards you. Unable to move, almost frozen in fear, you squeezed your eyes shut and shielded yourself with your arms, only for your barrel to be pushed back and out of the way. You opened your eyes, blinking them rapidly as the river water splashed in your face. Looking over, you just saw a glimpse of Dwalin turning back around. Despite the obvious danger that you were all in, you wondered what you could do for Dwalin since he had saved your life twice now. 

Turning your eyes to the side, you watched as Kili ran up the side of the stone top of the gate, you covered your mouth as an arrow flew through the air and hit him in the leg. Fili cried out of this younger brother, as Kili then opened the gate, and fell into an empty barrel. 

Falling down, yet another waterfall, smaller than the last, you pushed your wet hair from your face, only to grip the barrel with as much force as you could; the raging, white-foaming waters continued. Looking to your side slightly, you watched as Bilbo held onto a barrel, holding onto the sideway barrel, his own death-like grip. You felt a small bit of relief, seeing him safe. You, and the Company, continued down the river, and the longer you tried not to tip over and drown, the more you wished that you weren't in the freezing waters. 

Finally, the raging stopped, and the river was calm. Leaning over slightly in the barrel, you brushed your hands in the freezing water, moving your barrel forward slowly, but carefully. 

"Make for the shore!" Thorin yelled out, receiving some 'ayes' in return.

Pushing your barrel forward, you pressed your cheek against the rim of the barrel, your eyes drooping slightly as you continued to push yourself toward the shore. Your barrel soon hit the rocks, and you used the rest of your strength to get out of it, climbing up onto the rocks; completely soaked. You trudged up the rocks, wrapping your arms around yourself as you mentally counted those around you, counting fourteen. Mentally, you could rest.

Feeling a hand on your upper arm, you looked to the side, seeing your brother Bilbo. Just his presence made you give him a small smile, seeing the worry in his eyes. "I'm alright." You spoke to him, wanting to reassure him, "I'm just cold."

At the surprise of meeting Bard, the human, you sort of let your brain shut off. You felt your feet move as you followed the Dwarves to Bard's boat. You felt yourself sitting down in the corner next to Bilbo, and hiding from Alfrid, but you were far from the present. You were so tired, mentally and physically, that you let your mind quiet, letting yourself only fade back into the world you knew once you felt the warm fire at your feet.

"Wee lass hasn't spoken since the Elves." You heard a hushed voice, it was Bofur. 

You pressed your legs closer to yourself, staring into the flames. The clothing you were given, having been one of Bard's daughters, was warm; the fabric soft - your fingers toyed with the soft material. 

"Is she alright?" Ori asked worriedly, only for Bilbo to nod, crossing his arms. 

"She's alright. She had told me so." Thorin only gave you a short glance before turning back to Bard. 

Dwalin, with his arms crossed, turned to look at you, staring at your side profile. Glancing over at the table that Bilbo sat at, Dwalin said nothing, walking over to the table and grabbing a plate. Bilbo, in turn, watched as Dwalin filled the plate with a few potatoes, two small tomatoes, and a small slice of bread. 

Your eyes picked up the sound of heavy footfalls coming towards you, and at the sight of a plate coming into your field of vision, you moved your head to look up. As you looked at Dwalin, his face stoic as usual, you couldn't help but smile. Taking the plate, your fingers briefly brushed against his.

"Thank you, Dwalin." You spoke softly, but before he could slink away, you grabbed his hand, stopping him. For a moment, you thought back to when he held your hand so tightly - protectively - in the Mirkwood forests. "Thank you for saving me. Twice." You smiled at him softly, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. "And I apologize if I had anything to upset you, or make you uncomfortable." He glanced over at you, then down at your hand which was wrapped around his. He didn't remove his hand from yours, giving you the same squeeze that you had received from him earlier today. 

Dwalin stared at your hand in his, his jaw clenching before he looked back to you, his eyes softening. "You did not, dorzada." He spoke gruffly, “Eat.” He finished before leaving your side, your hand dropping from his. 

You looked down at your plate of food, your stomach grumbling and spinning, as your mind wandered. Picking up the slice of bread, you bit down on it, thinking about the word that Dwalin called you. You wondered what it meant. 

~~~

"Oin, stay with Kili." Thorin commanded as the rest of the Dwarves began to gather their things. Without being told, Fili stayed by his brother's side. 

"I want to come too." You spoke, grabbing a random weapon from the wooden table.

Dwalin quickly turned, staring down at you, "It will be too dangerous for you, lass."

You huffed, lightly glaring up at the Dwarf, "I have fought trolls, orcs, what have you." You pointed out, causing him to raise an eyebrow. "I want to fight."

"This is against us Dwarves and the dragon." He grumbled, his hand taking a hold of the weapon in yours. "You'll die before the beast does."

"I'm already dying anyway," You shrugged, looking back down at your weapon, "From the moment we're born, we're dying. So, what is the point? I want to help."

Dwalin breathed out of his nose as he took hold of your other hand, "No, no, lass, you are staying here, with Kili, while the rest of us fight."

"Are you telling me, or are you commanding me, Dwalin?" You asked, voice becoming soft as his eyes bored into your own. "Do as you wish then," You sighed when receiving no answer, letting go of his hands, "But please, do not die." 

Dwalin humphed, the corners of his lips just twisting up into a small grin, and for a moment, you were stunned. Dwalin was smiling. "Don't worry," He spoke. "I won't." His gaze softened, as he stepped back from you, "Be safe, lass." With that, he started to walk away, only for you to grab his arm and stop him. You didn't say anything else, merely pulling him close to you.

You felt him tense in your abrupt embrace before his one hand, not holding his weapon, circled you. But, it all ended too soon, as he pulled back from you, nodding to you before turning his attention to the group, as they set off to The Lonely Mountain. 

Your shoulders sagged when the door closed, a small pout upon your lips, "Do not fret, Miss Y/N," Fili spoke from beside his brother as you turned to look over at the four Dwarves - Kili, Fili, Bofur, and Oin. "They will return."

You let out a sigh, looking out at the window. A fuzzy feeling rose within your chest, and you couldn't help but smile to yourself. After watching them disappear into the distance, the sun went to sleep, "I know."

---

Main Masterlist | The Hobbit/LOTR Masterlist

[iliketangerines]

Would you be able to write something with mk11 Liu Kang and female reader? Where reader was almost killed in a fight but Liu Kang manages to save them in time? And as he's treating her wounds he confesses his feelings for her and they have sweet and emotional sex?

Thank you in advance! It's amazing how many requests you post a day on top of uni. Keep up the good work! I get so excited when I see that you posted something new :)

a new love

a/n: i need them BOTH NEOWWW

pairing: liu kang x afab!reader x kitana

warnings: nsfw (MDNI), face sitting, chest play, grinding

you can hear cheering all about you, muffled behind the ringing in your ears as you clutch at your side, blood seeping into your armor and leaking onto the ground

the pain burns you, spreading through your body slowly like a poison, and you can feel your heartbeat pounding against your chest much too quickly to be normal

the world is hot and sweaty, too much and too little at the same time as the ringing in your ears fades in and out with the sound of ragged breaths

a hand places itself on your shoulder, and you flinch at the contact and draw your weapon as you blink at the person, trying to find the energy to continue fighting

you hear the familiar voice of Kitana, warbly and dull, and the silhouette of Liu Kang joins the fuzzy figure of Kitana’s as you fall down to the ground on one knee

looking down at the blood pouring from your side, you try and put your hand over the wound to stop the bleeding

and yet, your own hand is too heavy to lift as your eyes begin to close, and you can feel someone touching you, lifting you, cradling your head

it feels so familiar and safe, warm and comforting to be in the hands of whoever is holding you, and you let your weapon fall to the floor as your eyes close and let darkness take your consciousness

when you wake up, it’s the high rise ceilings of medical ward in the Outworld palace, and you groan as your head pounds with pain

you attempt to sit up and hiss through your teeth at the pain that shoots through you as you do so, and you struggle to breathe for a second as you sit up and pull your shirt up to assess the damage

a sizable bandage covers yours torso, and you probably just broke something considering the blood that had started to seep through the bandages

there’s a creak as the doors to the medical wing open, and you spot Kitana and Liu Kang conversing with each other and holding some food

although Liu Kang looks rather strange with glowing white hair and eyes and tattoos, but you could recognize his face anywhere

both of them stop as they realize you’re sitting up, and then in an instant, they’re both next to you, pushing you down and checking on your bandages

Kitana scolds you, telling you to be more careful, and Liu Kang frowns and asks if you feel okay, if anything felt out of place, if the bed was comfortable enough

you wave the both of them, saying that you were fine, that you’re a warrior and you would survive a simple stab wound

Kitana growls at that, saying that it wasn’t just a simple stab wound and that it was no laughing matter

Liu Kang crosses his arms and nods his head as Kitana goes on and on about how you should be more careful with your wounds and your defensive positions

eventually, she runs out of breath and criticisms and pinches the bridge of her nose and looks at you, saying in a soft voice that she was very worried about you

the champion chimes in, saying that the both of them had been very worried about your state of health and that you had been out for almost two weeks

he continues, saying that your wound wasn’t even healing properly for at least a week, festering with diseases and what not, and that it had only started to heal properly only a few days ago

you look between the two of them, and you mumble out that you’ll be more careful next time Shao Kahn comes around

Liu Kang glances at Kitana before looking back to you saying that Shao Kahn was no more, Kitana was Kahn now

your head whips to her, and she smiles and nods at you as your mouth drops open into a smile and you laugh and squeeze her hand

she laughs with you and can’t help it as she dips her head in close and plants a kiss on your lips, and you lean into it, melting into the touch

her hand comes up to cup the back of your head to bring you in a little closer, and you sigh into the kiss and bring your own hand up to cup her face

she’s warm and soft, familiar and comforting, and you want to pull her into your arms to get even closer, to press yourself against her and feel her completely

but then she pulls back, eyes filled with wonder as she looks at you, and she whispers quietly that she’s missed you

Liu Kang pouts at you and asks where’s his kiss, and you laugh and say that he can get one any time he wants to

immediately, he leans down and presses a kiss to your lips as well, eyelashes tickling your cheek as his eyes flutter close at the feeling of you against him

he pulls away after a few moments, and he mutters that although he and Kitana would love to hold you closer, you needed to heal for a few more weeks

you frown at the two of them, opening your mouth to protest, but the both of them shoot you a glare and you settle back down in the cot without a single word

Kitana then adds on that Liu Kang was a god now, and you nearly shoot out of bed at the comment

the next few weeks are torturous as you heal, the two of them barely touch you, treating you as if you were glass, and you were frankly had gotten over the doting after the first few days

you were an Edenian warrior, powerful and great and experienced with fighting and war, you could handle yourself just fine

the nurse looks up at you and clears you for fighting again, and they leave the room as Liu Kang and Kitana help you up from the bed

smacking their hands away, you grab your belongings and storm out of the room back to your bedroom, frustrated that they were treating you like a child

you throw your items back into their places angrily and dress yourself in your training outfit, determined to blow off some steam and prove that you weren’t helpless

as you pull on the last part of your training robes, Kitana and Liu Kang walk into the room and glance at each other and then at your furrowed brows and how your fists clench angrily

Liu Kang asks what’s wrong, and you hiss at him and tell the both of them to leave you alone and that you’re going to train

Kitana grabs onto your arm and pulls you back, asking why the hell you’re acting like a brat, and you scowl right back at her and say that you’re a fully grown adult warrior, you do not need to be doted on like a child

the champion sighs and asks what they’ve done wrong, they want to fix whatever mistake that they’ve made, and you turn to them with an expression of disbelief

you step closer to them, pointing an accusatory finger in their direction, and you list every single thing that they’ve done to baby you, barely touching you, treating you like a fragile little thing, like you can’t protect yourself

you’re frustrated, you just wanted to be with them and be close to them and have them close to you, and yet they kept on avoiding every time you reached out for them, only ever touching you to change your bandages

it had left pent-up energy in your body, sexual frustration and anger at the both of them, and you were tired of them acting like you couldn’t handle yourself

breathing heavily, you sigh and unclench your fists and press the back of your hand into your forehead, and you take a second to just stare up at the ceiling and gather your thoughts

you look back at them, and Liu Kang looks sad, lips turned downward in a frown and brows furrowed

Kitana, on the other hand, looks hard and all edges, none of the softness of Liu Kang, lips pursed and eyes glinting in the light like a predator’s

she steps toward you, Liu Kang following behind her, and she tilts your chin up with her finger, asking if you were done

Liu Kang comes up behind you and rests his chin on your shoulder, arms coming up to circle around your waist and kiss apologies into your neck

she says that her and Liu Kang had been careful with you because you had been on the brink of death, you had died

you blink at her and let out a small what in disbelief, and Kitana sighs and puts her hands on her hips, looking down and grimacing before finally looking back up at you

your heartbeat had stopped for a minute, you had technically died in front of Liu Kang and Kitana as they carried you to the medical wing, there was blood splattered all over the ground, a trail that had taken a whole day to clean up because of how much there was

they thought that you didn’t survive in the fight that they had caused, and for weeks they had thought you were never going to wake up

neither of them want to risk accidentally hurting you again because they’re scared of hurting you, and Kitana looks away as she finishes, huffing as she holds back tears

none of you speak for a moment as you take in the seriousness of what had happened to you, and you bring your hands to hold Liu Kang’s shaking ones

you can feel his tears on your shoulder, and you look at Kitana, mumbling that you didn’t know

she takes in a shaky breath, saying that you were right though, you are a very capable fighter, one of the best in Sun Do and that she and Liu Kang shouldn’t have diminished your ability to fight because of their own fears

stepping closer to you, she raises one of her hands up to cradle your face and asks you to let them make it up to you, and you breathe out an okay

Kitana nearly throws herself into you as she smashes her lips into yours, one hand continuing to cradle your face and the other on your shoulder, nails digging into the soft skin

Liu Kang behind you resumes his kisses to your skin, hands moving so that they rested on your waist, and he squeezes it, sighing into your skin that he missed you, that he loved you

you can barely hear him over the sound of your own noises as Kitana kisses you breathless, only pulling away to give herself air

she pulls your forehead to rest on hers, panting and letting your breaths mingle as Liu Kang whines for attention as well

you turn your head to the side, and he meets you with his lips, pulling you into a soft kiss and moaning into your mouth

Kitana’s hands slides along your body, squeezing at your chest and making your knees buckle as she slides her hands up and under your shirt to pinch at your nipples

Liu Kang hums and pulls away, staring at you with those soft eyes, and he whispers that they should move to the bed

you nod in agreement, head already spinning from being surrounded on both sides, and Liu Kang picks you up, hooking one of his thick arms underneath the bend of your knees and the other underneath your back

holding onto him for balance, he deposits you on the bed so that you’re flat on your back before going back to kissing you, his weight pressing into you

your hand reaches out blindly, and you can feel the familiar weight of Kitana’s hand in yours and squeeze it as Liu Kang desperately kisses you

it’s messy and wet, teeth clacking against each other and breathless pants before moving in for more, but neither of you can find yourselves caring at the lack of air

he rips at your clothes, the fabric burning in his hands as he stares at your chest and moves to dip his head low and press his tongue to your nipple

his hand ghosts over the scar on your side, and you shiver, making him whine into your skin and look up at you in worry

you whisper that it’s okay, just feels sensitive, and he nods, holding onto your side gently as he starts to suck hickeys into your chest

Kitana tilts your head to look at her, and you squirm underneath Liu Kang’s weight, wanting to please her as well

she laughs at your impatience and tells you to be still, giving your hand a squeeze before letting go of it and pulling back

the complaint dies in your throat as you watch her undress, revealing her lean body to you, muscle hidden in its thinness, and she crawls up onto the bed and asks if you wanna please her

you nod at her, whimpering out a please, and she laughs and says that she thought so before coming over and straddling your face while facing Liu Kang

she slowly lowers herself onto your face, and you bring your arms up to hook around your thighs to bring her even closer

your tongue comes out to fuck into her pussy, and you moan at her taste, having missed her, the weight, the taste, the pleasure

Liu Kang wraps his lips around your nipple, swirling his tongue around it before lightly nipping at the sensitive bud with his teeth, and it makes you jolt and lose concentration for just a moment

Kitana hums as your tongue stops moving briefly, and she lets you regain your concentration, riding your face as Liu Kang teases your chest

you can barely concentrate with Liu Kang biting and kissing at your chest, moving to the other nipple and giving it attention while Kitana rides your face

the lack of air only makes everything more intense

it’s like you’re breathing in pleasure as you feel Kitana grind her hips further into you, and you happily let her use you for her own pleasure as you use your tongue to fuck her

the feeling settles into your lungs, spreading down your veins slowly into your stomach, pooling and building, and your thighs squeeze uselessly around Liu Kang’s waist to try and get some friction on your needy clit

he moans into your skin as you squeeze his waist with your legs, and he bites into the skin of your chest harshly as Kitana moans loudly, cumming on your face

it’s all you need to cum in your own pants, lapping at Kitana’s taste and squeeze her thighs with your arms, and you try to ride out your high on Liu Kang

however, he doesn’t seem to notice your own desperation, too lost in his own task on littering your skin with his marks, and your orgasm sputters out, making you whine and sob and twitch underneath his grasp

Kitana lifts herself up off your face, and you whine again at the loss of her warmth

she comes around to smile at you, telling you did so well for her before going to Liu Kang and grabbing his hair to pull his head up

he whines at the feeling, looking to Kitana, and she says that they were making it up to you, not to pleasure just themselves, so why did he ignore you to chase his own selfish needs

the words take a second to settle into his brain, and he looks to you with a downcast look and mumbles out an apology

Kitana tells him to get on the bed, on his back, and he follows the order quickly

she helps you get up onto your shaky legs and tells you to remove his pants, and you do so with clumsy fingers, letting his cock spring free and slap against his stomach

slowly, Kitana straddles his waist and orders you to grind against his cock, and you do so, biting your lip at the feeling of the head of his cock pressing into your clit

your slick covers his cock as you start to grind against him involuntarily, and she coos at you, telling you that you’re doing amazing and to take what you need

you grab onto her shoulders for balance as you whine and chase your own pleasure, and Kitana chuckles, grinding against Liu Kang’s abs

she groans at the feeling, slapping away Liu Kang’s hands and telling him that he’s not allowed to touch her and you and that he’s not to cum until she tells him to

he whines but obliges, panting and gripping onto the sheets as you grind against his cock, the tip bumping against your clit and making you keen

you grind your hips down further, too lost in your own pleasure, and Kitana grabs the back of your neck and pulls you in for a kiss

moaning into her mouth, you cum on Liu Kang’s cock quickly, still sensitive from the precious one, letting your cum cover his cock and drip down onto the sheets and his waist

it only makes it easier to grind against him as you ride out your high, and Liu Kang keens underneath you to, begging Kitana to cum

she ignores him, continuing to ride his abs as she kisses you, and she whispers praises to you as you slow down and pant for air

Kitana bites her lip as she cums again on Liu Kang’s abs, sighing at the feeling and grinding her hips faster against him

he begs again, please, and she lets her orgasm die down first, getting up off of him and helping you off of him and to lie next to him

she grins at the champion, telling him to stretch you out for his cock, show you how sorry he is for neglecting you earlier, and he eagerly shuffles until your thighs are resting on his shoulders and his tongue assaults your sensitive clit

as his fingers thrust into you and you whine, Kitana leaves the bed and rummages around in the drawer before pulling out her strap

you eye her as she attaches it to herself, and she crawls back up to you, saying that they were going to make it up to you tonight

none of you are seen for the rest of the day

[d0p3ys-delusions]

Zeyko

zeyko [zɛj.ˈk·o] vtr. heal, fix

Pairing: Aged up!Neteyam(20) x Omatikaya!FemReader(19)

Word Count: 2.8k Started: 20.7.23 Finished: 21.7.23

Synopsis: reader who is found as a child in her dead mother's arms is taken in by the Omatikaya, Mo'at raising her to be a strong healer. She's reserved to her own duties as a healer, similar to how Neteyam is always doing his duties of a warrior and as the next Olo'eyktan. After scavenging for a medicinal root, they have a heart-to-heart which led to their unspoken feelings get out.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, mentions of death.

a/n: hiii :) this is the first time I have written a one-shot and decided to upload it on here. I used to write religiously but second guess myself and end up taking it down. I hope you enjoy :) ♡

Word Index: palulukan- thanator, carnivorous hexapedal animal ; ar'lek seeds- medinical plant ; lortsya- shimmyfly, similar to Earth's butterfly ; kelku- house ; 'evi- child (affectionate) ; sa'nok- mother ; sanhì- bioluminescent freckles ; uniltaron- dream hunt, final passage of becoming an adult ; paskalin- sweet berry (term of endearment)

Your first memory is of your mother. Your mother who held you in your arms as her back was abused by the claws of a palulukan. Covering you with her chest and the ground. Her eyes squeezed together from the pain. Up until the moment the vicious thanator left. Your mother who still didn’t let you go as she rest against a tree, singing her songcord until the moment she left to the ancestors.

.˚ * ꒰ঌ✦໒꒱ * ˚.

You jumped down off your Ikran, Sya, named after how you noticed her wings resembled those of a lortsya, running your hand down her head, “tam tam…” [there, there]

You smiled at her before leaving her be with the other idle ikran. Humming, you looked down and opened your woven basket slung around your shoulders to see the red medicinal plant the Tsahik had requested you’d look for. Finding them intact you start to walk away to the Tsahik’s kelku.

You walk in, bringing your hand to your forehead and bringing it down, “I see you Tsahik…” She’s treating a wounded na’vi and quickly says your name. You set down your basket next to her. “I brought the ar’lek seeds,” You smile and gently take the ointment in her hand to take her place, “along with some yalna bark and sari seeds.” 

“Good, thank you, ‘evi.” She rushes to another na’vi waiting to be treated, “Kiri would enjoy the sari seeds.” Nodding you spread the ointment on the female na’vi’s back. 

“Would you like me to prepare the yalna bark after?” As you said that, Kiri alongside her brothers and sister walk in. Your gaze lingers on the elder of the four before quickly looking down at the Na’vi’s back, ears tilted slightly down. “Where else are you wounded…” You ask the Na’vi quietly. She pointed to her shin, so you bent in front of her to put ointment there also. The na’vi seemed younger than you, thirteen maybe, you smiled and looked up at her, “okay… parultsyìp, you could go back to your sa’nok.” She smiled and hops up, quickly leaving afterwards.

Standing up you pick up your basket and grab the yalna bark, Kiri says your name, “is that yalna bark?” Kiri walks towards you and rests a hand on your shoulder, “see grandmother, even your greatest healer thinks yalna bark is better.” You chuckle and begin preparing the yalna bark ointment. 

“It stings less…” You say softly and smile. You and Kiri grew close together from working with the Tsahik and the other healers. Kiri is what you would say warm grass feels, comforting. When they found you as a child the Tsahik took responsibility on you, with Kiri being close to her grandmother, naturally you would become friends, sisters even. 

Not remembering that day well enough Mo’at reminds you how Ewya brought you to her, to the Omatikaya, seeing a woodspite hover over you. You who just held your mother’s songcord close to your chest.

“I am Tsahik, once someone else takes my place it’ll be decided.” Mo’at says while treating the other Na’vi.

Lo’ak chuckles and shakes his head, “Unless Neteyam here finds a mate, it’s going to be a long time Grandma, stay comfortable.” Lo’ak says before being harshly elbowed by his brother. “What! The mighty warrior is the one becoming Olo’eyktan.” Your ears twitch up and you listen to their conversation.

“Stop it– brother.” Neteyam spits out and glances at you, still focusing on making the ointment, not noticing his glance. Tuk sits behind Neteyam and rebraids some of the strands that got unraveled.

“Mama said you don’t want to look for a mate because of–” Tuk was quickly caught off by Neteyam putting a hand over her mouth. You look at the pair slyly and tilt your head. “What?” Tuk says questionably not understanding why her brother stopped her. 

For the little memories you have from your childhood, you do remember meeting Neteyam and the rest. You hid behind Mo’at, clutching your mother’s songcord. Despite there being three kids, you thought Neteyam stood out from the rest. Even from the age of five he seemed strong, someone that was destined to become a warrior.

You stood from your spot and placed the yalna ointment away. “Kiri!” Spider came in and smiled, “Let’s go?” Looking at her you grab her hand gently.

“I thought we were going to loom bracelets…” Kiri looked at you apologetically and held your hand.

“I know, I know,” She looked down and then at Neteyam, “I forgot I promised Spider to go exploring with him and Lo’ak.” Nodding you let go of  her hand. “See you later.” She smiled sweetly and left with the two boys behind her trail.

Glancing at Neteyam quickly, the balls of your feet shifted, nervous on what to do next. “‘Ite,” You look at Mo’at, “we might need… some octoshroom root.” Your head shifts to the shelves looking for the root but are unable to find some. 

Sighing, you pick up your basket and sling it around your shoulder, “Seems we’re out, I’ll go get some Tsahik.”

About to leave you were stopped by Neteyam, “I’ll go with you, I have no other duties today.” Your eyebrows rose, you hugged your waist, you were hesitant to answer. 

“Yes, yes now go.” Mo’at waved you guys off. You reluctantly walked beside Neteyam heading to your ikrans. Your gaze kept on the ground while Neteyam looked at you slyly.

Thinking for a moment Neteyam scratches his head, “Kiri has said you’ve grown to be a great healer.” You both reach your ikrans.

“Sya…” You pet your sister and smile, “You have grown to be a great warrior…” Neteyam chuckles and nods, petting his own ikran.

“Grandmother seems to adore you, everyones does.” You look at him and blush slightly, your tail swishes behind you. You jump onto Sya, grabbing your kuru, you make tsaheylu with her. “Ready?’ Neteyam smiles on his ikran. 

Setting off, you Neteyam began to descend off High Camp. Your braids move from the wind, your eyes fall on the other ikran flying in groups. Neteyam ululates and you chuckle, your ikrans fly beside each other and go in a twirl motion. Your smile is wide and Neteyam's gaze stays on you. 

Getting absorbed in the moment you whoop along with him. Your ikrans roar seemingly with you, happy with the moment as well. You and Neteyam fly down on a hallelujah mountain, sitting on your ikrans and watching the sky.

Sighing, you look at Neteyam “We should go find the octoshroom…” Neteyam nods and you both bring your ikrans down near an opening of the forest. Neteyam shortly settles beside you. You jump off Sya and give her a small snack. “Sìltsan, Sya, tam tam.” You talk to her affectionately. [Well done][calm]

All the while Neteyam watches you curiously. “What's the octoshroom for?” You give Sya a quick command to be alert for your call. 

Neteyam follows you into the dimming forest, your sanhì glowing, “anti-venom… helps the stings of a slinger and other animals,” finding the tall fungi you crouch down to extract the root, “when grinded to a tea it remedies the affects.” Neteyam hums and crouches beside you.

He grabs his knife, “what am I looking for.” 

You glance at him, “We need to dig around the base first,” you both start digging, “then this root… here” point at the dark colored root, “and just carefully extract the root with your knife.” You set your basket in between the two of you. You smile slightly seeing how Neteyam is focused on getting the root.

You think about to the conversion Neteyam had with his siblings earlier, “how come you haven’t looked for a mate?” You grab some root and set it inside the basket, “your iknimaya and uniltaron went well did it not?” After na’vi go through their rites of passage it’s common for them to look for a mate aftwards. 

Neteyam looks at you, “what about you? You also haven’t looked for a mate.” You chuckle nervously, setting some root in the basket. 

“Other na’vi think I’m strange,” you think to your unknown origins, “Not knowing where I come sets me behind some bit. But you– you are the next Olo’eyktan, eldest son of the mighty Toruk Makto, you should hear the girls in mine and Kiri’s weaving class. They’re crazy for you.” You shake your head, “Some of them even make courting gifts.” You chuckle thinking of the girls making the gifts.

Neteyam sheepishly smiles, “I bet you’ve been given some courting gifts.” He says with his heart slightly beating faster.

Humming you shook your head, “Once, Rey’aw gave a necklace, I think Rolä courted him at the same time though.”

Neteyam blinks and sets the last portion of root in the basket, “Were you going to accept?” He asked nervously.

“No, I gave him the necklace back after finding out, they’re happily mated as you know,” you chuckle and think to their little boy, “Their boy is almost a year old now.” Neteyam sighs in relief knowing that you weren’t going to accept Rey’aw’s courting.

You look at the basket and shake it to see how much root is in, content with the amount you stand up, tucking a braid behind your ear. “So? The mighty warrior hasn’t gotten any courting gifts?” 

Neteyam stands up and bird calls for his ikran, you do the same, “No–no yeah I have,” biting your lip slightly at his answer you feel your chest tighten. Your eyebrows furrow when you don’t see Sya. “Where's your ikran?”

You stand up straighter and look around, doing your bird call again you still don’t hear the familiar roar of your ikran. “Sya!” You look at Neteyam and he quickly hops on his ikran.

“Come on…” He holds his hand out and you take it and sit behind him. “She must be back where we left them, sleeping.” You squint your eyes down on the ground seeing no sign your ikran, “She’s okay, she’s okay.” Neteyam tried to reassure you.

Memories of your mother surfacing. Your eyes shifted to every bark on trees, every blade of grass. Your ears twitched, listening to the chirps of the birds. 

You tilt your head, eyes squinting some more when you see the recognizable blue wings, you tap Neteyam’s shoulder and point down, “Neteyam!”

You practically jump off his ikran before he even landed, “Sya!” You rush towards your ikran, immediately noticing the gashes on her body. “Sya…” You say soft and cradle her head. “What…” Tears welled in your eyes, Sya tried to lift her head as best she can onto your lap. “What happened?” You look into her eyes and rest your forehead onto her body.

Neteyam watches, looking at his own ikran before looking around, his bow in hand.

Your thoughts went back to your first memory, to the unforgettable gashes of a palulukan. Working as a healer you’ve seen these wounds dozens of times after your mother. You felt your throat close up, a sob seeping through, “Neteyam…” He hesitates and sits next to you, “Wha– I don’t understand.” Your shoulders shake, “why didn’t she fly away…” Seeing the tears in your eyes, Neteyam wraps an arm around your shoulders. His eyes shift to Sya’s wings, taking a deep breath when he notices the state of her wings. 

He says your name softly, his ears are pointed down, “They– they might come back,” you shake your head, “come on…” 

“No,” you sob out and shake your head. Sya looks up at you weakly, eyes reflecting your own, you release a heavy breath and rest your head against her again. Closing your eyes you think back to your mother again. She sang beautifully to lure you to sleep. You start to hum and sing your mother’s songcord to Sya. Neteyam’s ear perk from earring the unfamiliar song. He stares at your face, his hand resting on your back. Trying to comfort you as best as he can.

The next few moments were fuzzy. You finished singing to Sya as she joined the ancestors, Neteyam gently grabs a claw and scale of her wings, putting it in your basket. All remember grabbing a stone that resembles her wings and Neteyam leading you to his ikran to fly back to High Camp. 

Neteyam was the one to bring his grandmother the octoshroom root, telling her what happened. Kiri and Lo’ak were back from their adventure, hearing the news also. 

Walking back to your kelku seemed like a chore. Your body felt heavy as you walked, quiet sobs leaving when you reached your room, collapsing onto your hammock.

Kiri rushed to your home with Neteyam and Lo’ak. You were still on your hammock, just looking at the wall not making a noise. Kiri says your name softly, “Sister…” She sits beside and rests her hand on her shoulder, “We heard what happened.” You blink back the tears from her words. “I’m sure Sya is with Eywa now, with your mother...”

Getting close to the Sully kids of course came to telling them what happened to your mother. Knowing how close Kiri is to Eywa and her biological mother Grace, you listen to her words closely, trusting on what she says. “I bet she’s also with my mother’s ikran Seze,” Lo’ak add in. 

You sit up and look up weakly, your eyes swollen from crying. Your lip shakes and you hug Kiri, feeling the sobs come back, Kiri rubs your back affectionately. “I’m so sorry sister.” Her eyebrows furrow and rock you both in comfort.

Sniffing, you pull away and grab your Songcord, it contains a rock you picked up when your mother died, when you first met the Omatikaya people, and taming Sya, all the moments in your life that made you who you are. Sighing you grab the stone you grabbed earlier, your hand shook so Kiri gently took it to help you tie it to your songcord. Neteyam and Lo’ak sat next together, watching you and Kiri quietly. 

Once the rock was tied to your songcord you rub over the stones. “Thank you guys…” Kiri smiles and holds your hand. You look at Neteyam and look back down, “you don’t have to stay, I’ll be fine.” 

Lo’ak shakes his head, “We could stay sis,” You smile at him.

“I’m alright,” Kiri goes to say something but you beat her to it, “really.” You try to reassure them. They hesitate but leave together. Netetam pauses and looks back at you, “Thank you Neteyam.” He nods and catches up with his siblings.

You’re not sure how long had passed, you were focused on making a necklace out of Sya’s claw and scale, looming it to have her blue colors. You hear a quick whistle and look up to find Neteyam, “hi,” you look back down to the necklace, “come in.”

He sits by you, placing down a bowl of sari seeds, “Kiri toasted some earlier.” He looked at the necklace and ran a finger down the intricate design you were weaving. “Looks good,” he smiles, “the mighty healer is also a mighty weaver.” 

You chuckle and shake your head, “that’s just– stupid,” you jokingly say. “You know my mother had a beautiful voice.” You smile, “She could sing anything and it’ll manage to make me sleep. Even…” You take a deep breath, “Even as she was passing she sang to me.” 

Neteyam looks at you and grabs your hand, saying your name, “Strong heart.” Rubbing his thumb over your hand, “in the tales mother tells us when she met my father, she saw he had a strong heart.” He looks in your eyes, his tail swishing. “When the sky people came back, dad said she had a strong heart.” He repeats your name softly, “You have a strong heart.” Your eyebrows furrow, tears welling in your eyes, “From the first time I saw you, I saw your strong heart.” A tear fell and you looked down.

Taking a deep breath Neteyam opens his pouch, pulling out a bracelet, “Kiri helped me make this…” He says your name, you look at him and tilt your head, “I–I asked grandmother if I could court you.” Your heart quickened, “I know she’s not your mother but– she took responsibility and felt it was best to ask still.” You gulp and blink at Neteyam, “would you accept my gift, paskalin?” 

Some stray tears fell down your cheeks, smiling you nod your head, “Yes,” you laugh sheepishly, “yes, Neteyam, I will accept your gift.” Neteyam smiles widely, he grabs your wrist and ties the bracelet around your wrist. You chuckle thinking about the event of today, “Courting me the day Sya died… Classic Neteyam.” You both laugh and rest your foreheads against each other.

[starsxblazing]

Cause and Effect (Part 3)

a/n: please excuse any proof reading mistakes because my brain is still mush after working my 40 hours this week. I was too excited to post the next chapter simply for all of your amazing responses!

You huffed in annoyance from your lack of sleep just as the sun was beginning to rise in the sky. Sleep had evaded you for the majority of the night because you just hadn’t been able to calm your mind. The happiness and excitement that you had felt just for having someone pay you some attention made you feel horrible about yourself, like you were no better than a toddler. It didn’t seem to bother the male that you had found such a sense of peace with just by being in his presence for just a few minutes.

Hope surged through you at the thought of him and found yourself praying to whatever the Fae believed in that you would see him again today. You dug through the clothes that you had been given but you didn’t have the energy to put much thought into anything. A grumble of your stomach had you completely abandoning the idea.

“Good morning,” you mumbled sleepily, still in your pajamas, when you entered the dining room with the male from the day before and Mor sitting at the table.

“Good morning,” Mor replied with a small smile. “We weren’t expecting you to be up so early.”

“I do rise early sometimes,” you chuckled as you took a seat beside her with the male sitting across from you. “But everything.. It’s hard to sleep now.”

“That’s completely understandable.” Mor rubbed your arm for a moment in a comforting manner. “We’re glad that you are out here with us.”

You gave her a small but sad smile, unsure of what to say. It was obvious that none of them knew about you and even though it hurt, you did your best not to show it. Feyre had mentioned in a conversation that you accidentally overheard that the food here was delicious and now that you had a taste, you weren’t sure if you could ever go back to normal human food. The thought had you returning to the day that you had been forced into the cauldron and realized that you didn’t know anyone’s name and most importantly, how they all were doing after injuries.

“You were hurt.” You locked eyes with the hazel ones across from you. “And your friend-”

“We’re alright,” he assured, causing you to slump in relief into your seat. “Cassian’s wings are healing as we speak.”

“I’m so glad.” You gave him a gentle smile before gazing at his wings momentarily. “I can’t imagine how much pain that you were in. I feel horrible that I didn’t even think to ask you last night.”

“It’s okay.” He gave you another genuine, small smile that earned a near silent gasp from the female beside her. “You have been through more than any of us can imagine.”

“I don’t even know your names,” you mumbled, choosing to ignore his reassurance since you were trying to avoid the thoughts of your own.

“You’ve met Mor.” He gestured towards the female beside you who simply rolled her eyes. “Cassian, as I said, was the one that was injured as well and Rhysand is our High Lord of the Night Court.”

“Oh.” It was hard to keep your mind from the horrible memories, the thoughts making your heart hurt even more now that you knew their names. “Have you heard from Feyre?”

“She will be alright and will be back as soon as she can,” Mor answered confidently. 

Your sister had obviously thrived since she had become High Fae and you couldn’t help but wonder if you or your other sisters would be able to do it as well even though you didn’t have much of a choice. A part of you wanted to adjust but at the same time, you were terrified of the life that you had been unwillingly shoved into. You were at least trying to be friendly even though Elain still refused to speak and Nesta was being her usual angry self.

You weren’t sure how to feel with everything that was going on around you but your mind began to drift back to your human life. Your favorite holiday would be arriving in a few months and you hoped that it would be something that would be accepted for the first time. Remembering that you didn’t know the male’s name, you raised an eyebrow at him.

“Are you stingy with your name?” 

“No,” he chuckled, amusement dancing in his eyes. “I’m Azriel.”

“Azriel,” you repeated, finding that you liked how it rolled so simply off of your tongue.

He seemed to like it as well due to the smile tugging at his lips but you chose to ignore it, opting to eat what you could. You could feel his gaze on you and noticed it for yourself when you glanced at him from your peripheral as Mor began to tell you what Velaris had to offer.

“It sounds beautiful,” you sighed in awe.

“I could take you.” Your eyes met Azriel’s, noting that his expression was neutral even though you felt like he deeply wanted you to agree. “The city is meant to be seen at night.”

“I would expect nothing less from The City of Starlight,” you laughed, noting an emotion in his eyes that you couldn’t place.

You listened to stories pour from Mor and your emotions turned over in a constant loop, wondering if you would fit into this tight knit family. It was something that you had never had and so desperately wanted. You hoped that now that you and your sisters were all together that the family dynamic might change, hoped that you would finally become important. Deciding to try to interact with your sisters, you gave them a small smile and a nod before going to find them.

Just as you expected, Elain was still staring blankly out of the window with Nesta in a chair in the room and reading a book. Your oldest sister’s flat stare fell on you and although you felt uncomfortable, you held your ground and held onto hope.

“How are you both doing?” you asked quietly, eyes darting between them both.

“How does it look?” she snapped, her ever snarky tone lacing through each word. 

“All of this is so hard and I want to try to help you if you would let me,” you offered, gripping your intentions with a steel grip so that you didn’t back away.

“Why don’t you go back to the male that you decided to prefer your company with?”

“Then why did you even bother to make him leave me alone!?” you exclaimed as your pain began to overwhelm you.

“Go. Away,” Nesta growled.

It took all of your self control to hold back your tears as you darted back towards your room. Loneliness, which was a feeling that you were well acquainted with, overtook all of your senses. Even though you were used to it, it hurt even worse with the circumstances that you were now in. It felt as if it was impossible to sort through without your own family's help. You could only hold onto hope that you may have found real friends with Mor and Azriel.

You stayed in your room for the rest of the day, not bothering to leave for lunch or dinner. A knock had sounded on your door after each missed meal that followed with Mor’s muffled but concerned voice sounding through the wood. You had jumped up from your bed whenever the sun began to set, remembering that you had a late afternoon with Azriel planned. It made some excitement return because you truly did love his company.

Mor was at your door once again while you were staring at your new wardrobe as if she already knew of your struggle. She laughed at your confused expression and joined you to look at the variety of the obviously expensive dresses. It was more than welcome and you decided to let her make the choice for you since you knew next to nothing about dressing up.

“This is so hard,” you whined but fell quiet at the gorgeous blue dress that she pulled out.

“What about this one?” she asked, a knowing twinkle in her eye that you didn’t understand.

“I don’t think I’ve ever worn anything so nice in my life.” You stared at it in awe and the female seemed pleased. “I love it.”

“I thought that you would.” Mor gave you a brilliant smile before directing you to the vanity. “Now let’s get something done with this beautiful hair.”

A blush rose to your cheeks at the compliment since you hadn’t received very many. You watched her work, noting every small movement that she did so that you would be able to do it for yourself at some point. The loose curls that ended up forming was something that made you feel brand new. Your eyes burned from the tears that wanted to form at the sight of yourself once you were fully dressed and staring at yourself in the mirror.

It was the prettiest that you had ever felt in your entire life and you finally felt as if you actually meant something, even if it was only a fleeting moment. You took a deep breath before you rounded the corner where Azriel was waiting in an attempt to keep your newfound confidence.

His face instantly softened when he saw you and you could feel Mor’s eyes on you from behind you. Heat rose to your cheeks once more, unaccustomed to having a male look at you in a way that didn’t mean that he only wanted to sleep with you. He guided you to the balcony, his hand barely brushing against your lower back.

“The House is warded against winnowing so we will have to fly,” he started gently, watching you with nearly invisible caution. “There is always the option of the ten thousand steps to the city but that would ruin your beautiful dress.”

“I’ve never flown before.” It was hard to speak and keep the shock from the simple compliment from your tone before eyeing his wings. “It sounds scary.”

“I promise not to drop you,” he chuckled, the noise almost inaudible.

You nodded despite your fear and focused on your excitement for the night.

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[kaisntbreathing]

Hi hi! Could I ask for adam x seraphim!female!reader, where after adam died he ended up in hell (like a reverse pentious) and its sort of angsty in the beginning because reader has taken over from adam and her and lute were close before and it's like sad bcs it's the first extermination after Adams death, and when they go down, lute is really protective of reader because girl can't go through that shit again and then they are walking down a street and reader gets tackled into a hug and lute almost kills the person BUT turns out its adam?

(Little more context I guess? Adam and reader where dating before, and reader and lute were already close but became closer. This isn't readers normal job (lutes in charge of training everyone still), and she is basically the same as sera and Emily in the fact she does courts and stuff but she chose to help with exterminations on the day off because she wants to help heal her sadness by taking it out on ppl?)

SORRY IF ITS TOO LONG XX

𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐑𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐈𝐍 𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐋 ❦

𝐑𝐀𝐇𝐇𝐇𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐅𝐈𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐕𝐈𝐁𝐄 𝐒𝐎 𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐋 𝐘𝐀𝐇𝐇𝐇𝐇𝐇𝐇𝐇-

𝐈 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐏𝐓 𝐈𝐍 𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 24 𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐏-

𝐄𝐍𝐉𝐎𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐑𝐎𝐓

I LOVE YOU LILY OMG YOU HAVE SUCH A BIG BRAIN OMGOMGOMG-

BUT SERIOUSLY I LOVE THIS IDEA AND I'M ACTUALLY RLLY HIGH WHILE WRITING THIS SO HEHEHE

'۪۫❁ཻུ۪۪┊﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋┊ཻུ۪۫❁۪۪'

With all the court date business with being a Seraphim and all of the stress of the exterminations is now being put on your shoulders you had the duties like the other Seraphims, there were three of you. Yourself, Emily, and Sera the three of you managed to get by but it was a lot of work you couldn't imagine how much work the archangels had to do.

And what made matters worse you were still grieving about your dead boyfriend who had died last year to the exterminations to none other than Charlie Morningstar and Lucifer Morningstar themselves and he was finished off by a lowing janitor demon who is no bigger than a child at the most.

You and Lute had been given unwanted promotions which led to more stress and work under your shoulders and on your wings.

As the next extermination was already a few days away you had to prepare you had planned to go down and kill some demons since you felt the urge to and you had been given the green light by the other Seraphims to do so you had to take out your unacquitted rage somehow.

Since it was only currently bubbling up inside of you and you knew that wasn't healthy nor was it safe since eventually you were going to bubble over and snap at somebody you don't mean to and only God knows what kind of trouble that could get you into.

As you were counting down the days till the next extermination you had been talking with your best friend Lute who you'd grown closer to since Adam's death she had taught you how to defend yourself in case something happened to you and she couldn't be by your side to protect you which probably wasn't going to happen since she had gotten very protected and very protective of you.

"One more day... One more day marks the day I lost you..."

You spoke as you looked at the picture of the two of you the first time you and Adam had hung out in a picture frame by your bed as you felt the hot stinging tears roll down your cheeks you couldn't help but choke back a sob you missed him more than anything he was the man you were supposed to spend the rest of your afterlife with.

But those plans have been rudely interrupted by none other than the king and princess of Hell you promised yourself one day you get your revenge but you knew in this current state you are nowhere near strong enough to take on Lucifer on your own.

Even as a Seraphim who could possess high power stood no match to Lucifer who was a fallen archangel only another archangel or God Almighty themself could take him down.

You were snapped out of your trance by the sound of knocking what you're doing as you snapped your head towards the door you responded letting the other person know they could come in as the figure of your friend Lute made her way back into your room as she noticed your tears as she rushed towards you bringing her self close to you pulling you into a hug quickly.

"I miss him too Y/n..."

ONE DAY LATER

It was extermination day finally as you and the rest of the exterminators along with your friend Lute flew towards the portal to Hell as you arrived at the dark dingy and ominous landscape of Hell that smelled like rot and decay, you coughed as the air was harsh and bitter to the taste as your nose scrunched up.

"It reeks here..."

"Yeah you never get used to the smell"

As you flew around the streets of Hell looking toward for any demon that you could stick your weapon into your weapon was different than the other angels you had your own weapon as a Seraphim much like an archangel that got their own weapons although there's were more customized while you only had a two-sided spear one side was sharp and smooth and the other was rigid and curved nonetheless both ends were very sharp.

Suddenly something caught your eye as you stopped and hovered as your wings folded against your back as your feet touch the pavement as you looked into a dark alleyway seeing a pair of golden eyes staring right back at you, as you tilted your head in confusion on why they weren't running instead they were running towards you.

Suddenly the demon embraced you. You were confused for a moment until he looked up at you and you immediately recognized who it was.

"A-Adam?"

"You remember me?"

"Of cou-"

"Y/N!"

You heard Lutes panicked voice behind you as you spun around trying to diffuse her anger as you shielded Adam from Lute making her stop in her tracks as she looked confused at you before you stepped away showing the demon as she dropped her own spear embracing him tightly as the three of you embraced each other.

The trio is back together.

[imarealnugget]

Choso Kamo comforting you after a break up

Feat. Choso Kamo, female reader and her ex boyfriend.

TW. fluff, memories with ex boyfriend, comforting!Chosoxfemale!reader after a break up

Words Count: 1.1k+

Synopsis: Your heart is shattered by a painful breakup. As you grapple with the devastation of lost love, you seek refuge in the comforting presence of your best friend, Choso. Choso, who harbors secret feelings for you, becomes your anchor in the stormy seas of heartache. He offers solace and understanding, his unwavering support a beacon of hope in your darkest hour. As you lean on Choso for support, you begin to realize the depth of your connection to him. His comforting embrace and reassuring words slowly heal the wounds left by your former relationship, igniting a newfound spark between you. Despite the fear and uncertainty that linger in your heart, you find yourself drawn to Choso in ways you never thought possible. Through his patience and unwavering devotion, you begin to see him in a new light, recognizing the love that has been quietly waiting in the wings.

You journey back into the maze of memories, where pathways intertwine and overlap until you find yourself facing a moment you thought buried forever. It's a summer day, the sun shining high in the sky, but you and your ex-boyfriend were immersed in a conversation that echoes an impending storm. He gripped your hand tightly, trying to convey reassurance with the mere touch of skin, but you felt a knot of anguish tightening in your stomach. His words were sweet, sugary, but you know that beneath that veneer of affection lied something wrong, something that has left you with a sense of emptiness in your chest. "I love you," he used to say, and your heart leapted in your chest, but not with joy. You know it was not true, that his words were just a clumsy attempt to keep you tied to him, to hold you in a gilded cage made of lies and falsehoods. Yet, you were not able to free yourself from that grip tightening around you ever more tightly. You found yourself spending hours upon hours with him, desperately trying to fill the void you were feeling inside, but the more time you spent with him, the more you realized that there was nothing to do to fill that void. His caresses were empty, his words were false, and you felt increasingly alone, increasingly lost in a maze with no way out. Yet, you continued to hope that things would have changed, that he would finally be able to understand how much pain he was causing you, but with each passing day you realized that his presence in your life was just a weight dragging you further and further down, further away from the happiness you so desperately desired, but you were soso in love with him, you didn't want to break up with him. Then, one day, everything changed. You woke up with a broken heart, tears warm on your cheeks, but that time was different. That time you knew you had to let him go, to free yourself from the chain that was holding you prisoner for too long. The phone kept ringing, a dissonant melody reminded you of the emptiness now occupying your chest. "It's over," you repeated to yourself, as if uttering those words could make them less real, less painful. But it was futile. Reality was there, relentless, squeezing your heart with its icy hands. Without a second thought, you sought comfort in the only place you'd always considered a safe haven: Choso's arms. Your best friend, your confidant, the only person who had always understood you better than anyone else. And in that moment of despair, it was to him you ran, like a castaway clinging to a raft in the midst of a stormy sea.

When Choso answered your call, his voice was calm and reassuring, a beacon in the dark night of your soul. "I'm coming," he assured you, and you felt a knot of gratitude tighten in your throat. You weren't alone, not yet. And as you waited for his arrival, you tried to gather the fragments of your dignity scattered among the tears, trying not to let the pain overwhelm you completely. Finally, you heard him knock on the door, the familiar sound of his footsteps approaching. Then, the door opened and he was there, with a look full of concern and affection. You threw yourself into his arms, seeking refuge in his secure embrace, and he held you close, gently, as if he wanted to protect you from the whole world. "Hey hey, it's okay, shh, you'll be fine," he whispered, and you felt his words penetrate your wounded heart, like a caress on your skin. He stroked your hair delicately, as if he wanted to erase every trace of sadness from your troubled mind. And as you listened to him speak, you felt a sense of calm spreading within you, as if his words were a balm for your soul. "You're not alone," Choso continued, his voice an anchor of salvation in the storm. "I'm here for you, always. Never forget it. He was an idiot to leave you like this, without an explanation but just with a stupid call, and for that he deserves to see you happy without him, because you deserve much better, he must suffer for letting you go like this." His words resonated within you, like a sacred promise to protect you from every evil. And you believed him, because you knew that his love for you was sincere and deep, deeper than any ocean, wider than any sky. You stayed there, in his arms, until the tears dried up and your breath returned to normal. Then, without saying a word, he gently laid you down on the couch and covered your body with a soft blanket. He looked at you with eyes full of affection and concern, and you felt enveloped by a sense of warmth and security that warmed your soul. "Rest," he said, and you closed your eyes, letting yourself be lulled by the sound of his voice blending with the sweet silence of the night. Sleep came soon, taking you away from the pain and chaos of the outside world, letting you sink into a sea of peace and tranquility.

When you woke up, he was still there, next to you. His face was serene in the darkness of the room, a guardian angel silently watching over your dreams. You turned to him, your heart full of gratitude and love, and you smiled at him, knowing that you couldn't ask for a better friend than him by your side. "Thank you," you whispered, the words barely audible in the quiet of the night. "Thank you for always being there for me. I felt really bad when my now ex-boyfriend left me before. I loved him, maybe I still do. But maybe I never realized what I felt for you, I didn't know how to love you enough, but now I think I'm doing it." He blushed "What are you talking about-". And you kissed him without warning, a sweet kiss that neither you nor he would ever forget. When you opened your eyes, his were wide open, his face red and his lips semi-open. You approached him, placing your lips on his again in a sweet and passionate kiss, a tribute to the bond that united you, indissoluble and eternal. "I'm telling you that I love you too; dummy," you whispered, laughing softly, your face as red as his. A small smile formed on his face, expressing all his happiness: finally after months you would have become his, his girlfriend and the person he could kiss without having to hold back like he did for all that time that passed since he began to love you with all his heart. "Are you serious?…" "I couldn't be more serious than this, Choso" and you kissed him again. This time he also closed his eyes while his hands caressed your cheek while you two lost yourselves in that sweet moment between you two.

[kc-writes-sometimes]

Crown and Kin | Chapter Four

Ao3 Account | Masterlist

Chapter Four: The Girl is a Dragon

Word Count: 2,869

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Original Female Character

Summary: As Daella settles into life in the Red Keep, she begins to uncover pieces of her Targaryen heritage and the legacy that comes with it. With a significant audience with the King looming, her bond with Daemon grows stronger, but new revelations leave her questioning her place in this unfamiliar world.

Themes & Warnings: 18+, Character Death, Rape/Non Con, Future Smut, Canon Typical Violence, Canon Typical Incest, Angst, Dad Daemon Targaryen, Bastards and Brothels, Fluff, Friends to Enemies to Lovers, Canon Divergence, Dysfunctional Family, Team Black Centric, Slow Burn, Eventual Romance

Daella of King's Landing

A few days had passed since the silver-haired boy, dusted with dragon ash, appeared in the chamber they were using. Daella’s feet had finally healed enough for her to explore the Keep, and Daemon had moved them into the chambers he had once occupied as a boy. The contrast between this room and the queen’s quarters was striking. Here, the walls were bare, unpainted stone, rough to the touch. Red blankets draped the bed, and tapestries depicting ancient Targaryen legends hung proudly. The hearth was larger than the one in the queen’s chambers, and the fire within it burned brightly. This room, with its bold colors and roaring flames, offered Daella a surprising sense of comfort.

She stood before the crackling fire, its warmth softly kissing her skin. Her eyes lingered on the tapestry above the hearth. It showed a dark-haired man, kneeling on the muddy banks of a river, his heavy fur cloak draped around him. His head was bowed before another figure—this one tall and clad in silver armor. Behind the armored figure loomed a massive dragon, its wings partially unfurled. Two women in armor stood nearby, their stances regal. Men flanked either side—some in furs, with banners displaying a grey wolf on a white field, and others in armor, their shields and banners emblazoned with the red dragon on black, the sigil of House Targaryen.

“What are you doing, little one?” Daemon’s voice cut through the silence as he entered the room, his arms full of clothes. He let them spill onto the bed, the rich colors of red, black, and gold unfurling as he sat down.

Daella glanced at him with a smile before returning her gaze to the tapestry. “What is this?” she asked, her curiosity piqued.

“That, my sweet girl, is Torrhen Stark, the King in the North, bending the knee to Aegon Targaryen. That moment began a decades-long alliance between us and the Starks of Winterfell,” Daemon explained, moving to stand beside her.

“Rose told me she was from the North, from a place called Mole’s Town,” Daella whispered quietly. “She stopped at Winterfell on her way to King’s Landing. She said it was one of the most beautiful places she’d ever seen. I asked her to take me there, but I suppose she never will now.”

Daemon smiled gently. “I’ll take you. We can visit Winterfell and the Wall, and I’ll show you part of your great-grandmother’s legacy. But for now, choose something to wear. We have an audience with the king tomorrow.”

Daella moved to the bed and began sorting through the clothes. “These are all dresses,” she said, her brows furrowing in confusion. “Can’t I wear trousers?”

Daemon opened one eye as he lounged on the settee in front of the fire. “No, you cannot wear trousers. Pick a dress and be done with it.”

She rolled her eyes, a pout forming on her lips.

“And don’t pull that face,” he added, his tone slightly teasing. “It’s unbecoming of a young lady to pout.”

“I don’t think the King would care whether I’m wearing trousers or not,” she retorted sharply.

“The King may not, but the vultures at court certainly will,” Daemon replied with a sigh, his voice heavy. He looked at her with one eye half-open. “And we need to make a good impression.”

“If it’s all about making a good impression, will you be wearing a dress too?” Daella quipped, turning to face him with a mischievous grin tugging at her lips.

Daemon sat up, his piercing indigo gaze locking onto hers, one eyebrow raised in amusement. For a moment, he said nothing, then suddenly burst into laughter. “Careful, daughter,” he warned, his smile broadening. “I could have your tongue for that.”

As he approached, Daella stuck her tongue out defiantly. His laugh deepened, and when he reached her, he placed his hands on her shoulders with playful firmness, steering her toward the bed.

“Into bed, silly girl,” he said softly. “You’ve got a big day ahead of you tomorrow.”

Daella climbed into bed, the soft mattress cocooning her as she settled in. Daemon pulled the blankets around her, wrapping her snugly in their warmth before taking his usual spot beside her. The mattress dipped under his weight, and she felt the familiar comfort of his presence. Daemon was always there when she fell asleep, but he was rarely there when she woke up. She often wondered where he disappeared to, but never asked.

He leaned over and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, his voice humming softly. With his warmth beside her and the sound of his voice lulling her, Daella’s eyes grew heavy, and soon, the world faded to black.

The next morning, maids bustled around, filling a bronze tub and setting out bread and cured meats on the table, while draping several dresses across the bed. Daella had refused to choose one last night, and now she had to face the inevitable. Reluctantly, she settled on a gown of gold, trimmed with delicate red lace. It was exquisite, regal even—but she still wished she could wear trousers. She held it up for Daemon’s approval as he sat at the table, absently picking at the food. He gave her a small nod, his expression unreadable, before rising and striding toward the door.

“Where are you going?” she asked, unable to keep the curiosity from her voice as she stood from the bed.

Daemon barely glanced back. “I have things to attend to, my sweet,” he said, pulling the door open with a soft creak. “The maid will help you dress. I’ll return before it’s time to meet the King.”

“I don’t need anyone’s help! I’m not a baby,” she retorted, racing after him.

Daemon paused just outside the door, turning back to face her with a smirk playing at his lips. He walked backwards down the hall, shaking his head, his eyes alight with mischief. “Then don’t act like one, Daella. Now be a good girl and let the maid help you.”

He spun on his heel and continued down the corridor, his dark cloak billowing behind him. Daella mimicked his words in a pout, "But I don’t want help," mocking his tone. One of the guards outside the door stifled a laugh, and she huffed, retreating into the chamber.

The maid stood quietly, eyes downcast as Daella paced the room. She cast a reluctant glance at the tub. “How does this work? I’ve never bathed in something like this before.”

The maid offered a small, patient smile. “Step in, my lady. We will start simply.”

She had been washing Daella’s hair for what felt like an eternity, each stroke of her hands careful, almost reverent. Occasionally, she picked up a strand and dropped it back into the water with a contemplative "hmm," as if something puzzled her. The once milky water had darkened, swirling like ink around Daella.

When she stepped out, the maid wrapped her in a soft robe and guided her to the mirror. Daella stared at her reflection, frozen in disbelief. A small scream escaped her throat. Her dark curls were gone. In their place, long waves of deep silver cascaded down her back, catching the light. It was the same shade as the necklace she had seen in the market. She pulled at the strands as though they might change back, panic bubbling up within her. Magic? A trick? She looked like... like him. Like a Targaryen. It felt foreign, wrong.

As if summoned by her distress, Daemon burst through the door, hand on the hilt of his sword, his eyes scanning the room for danger.

“What happened? Why did you scream?” he demanded, his voice edged with concern.

“My hair!” she cried, yanking at the strands in desperation. “Look at my hair!”

His tension eased immediately. With a quiet chuckle, he approached her, moving slowly as though afraid she might bolt. He stood behind her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders, pulling her close. "This," he murmured, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head, "is how your mother looked when I first met her. Before she began dyeing her hair."

His words stilled her panic. The mention of her mother shifted her focus, a sadness tugging at her heart. "Tell me about her," Daella asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Rose and Harwin… they never speak of her. I think it hurts them too much."

Daemon’s gaze softened, his chin resting on her head as he stared into the mirror. "I didn’t know her well, my sweet. But I will tell you what I can… in time." He paused, and his lips twitched into a smirk. "But not today. We’re late already. I have a gift for you, something of Old Valyria, before we face my brother."

From behind his back, he produced a silver box, adorned with the Targaryen sigil. It was heavier than Daella expected for something so small. Inside, nestled on black velvet, lay the necklace from the market, its dark hue glinting like her new hair.

"It matches my sword," Daemon said, sliding his sword from its sheath just enough to reveal the matching sheen of the blade. His eyes flicked to hers in the mirror.

"Were you following me?" she asked, her fingers tracing the delicate links of the necklace.

"I have been following you since Harwin carried you away," he said, his voice lowering. "I saw the bread you left at the orphanage door. I saw the way you braided Harwin’s hair, the way you smiled at every watchman in the city. And yes, I even saw that mangy dog you tried to convince Rose to keep." He paused, his eyes softening as they met hers. "I knew you were mine, even before Rose told me."

Tears pricked at the corners of Daella’s eyes. "How did you know?"

"The same way I knew Caraxes was mine," he said, pressing his forehead against hers for a brief moment. "I just knew."

Daemon stepped back, nodding toward the dressing screen. "Now, get dressed."

The gown felt heavy as Daella pulled it over her head. She walked out from behind the screen, the delicate silk pooling at her feet. No one would know she wasn’t wearing shoes beneath the long hem. She smiled faintly at the small rebellion.

"It’s itchy," she huffed, tugging at the sleeves.

Daemon crouched down, lifting a corner of the skirt between his fingers. "It’s silk," he corrected with a soft laugh. "You’re just nervous."

"I’m not!" Daella snapped, but Daemon’s raised eyebrow said he saw through the lie. She fidgeted under his gaze. "What if he doesn’t like me? What if he doesn’t let me stay?"

Daemon’s voice softened, and he squeezed her hand. "My brother would be a fool not to like you. And even if he doesn’t let us stay…" He cupped her face, brushing a strand of silver hair behind her ear. "Wherever I go, you go. I won’t leave you, Daella. You are my daughter.”

The stone floor chilled Daella's bare feet as she walked beside Daemon through the labyrinthine halls of the Red Keep. Servants and courtiers parted as they passed—some bowed their heads in respect, while others glanced up from beneath lowered brows, their gazes curious and probing. Whispers echoed faintly off the high stone walls, each hushed murmur a reminder of where they were headed.

Ahead loomed a pair of large wooden doors, intricate dragons carved deep into the wood. Voices—low and murmuring—could be heard from the other side. Two guards flanked the entrance, their armor polished to a gleam, the clink of metal filling the air as they shifted to allow them entry.

Daemon strode forward confidently, and Daella stayed close to his side, gripping his hand tightly. The hall they entered was vast, lined with lords and ladies on either side of a long aisle. Daella's heart pounded as she took in the scene. This wasn’t like Flea Bottom. The stares here felt heavier—sharper. Instinctively, she pressed herself closer to Daemon, seeking the comfort of his presence.

As they approached the Iron Throne, its looming figure became more defined. It was even more menacing up close, a monstrous heap of swords that jutted out in every direction, each one jagged and rusted, relics of conquest and war. Daella wondered how anyone could sit upon such a thing without being cut. Perhaps they were.

"How kind of you to finally join us, brother," King Viserys’s voice boomed through the hall, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He remained seated atop the throne, his fingers curled around the armrests as if he could keep his control over Daemon with just a touch.

Daemon halted at the bottom of the steps leading to the throne and inclined his head, though the gesture was far from deferential. "My king."

Daella’s eyes flicked between the two of them. Their smiles mirrored one another—on the surface, they appeared like brothers reunited—but there was something simmering beneath, a sharpness in their gazes that revealed a deeper tension. The King’s eyes settled on Daella, curiosity flickering in their depths, but his attention soon returned to Daemon.

The King rose, his expression guarded as he descended the steps. His robes trailed behind him like the shadows of a man weighed down by the weight of the crown. "You requested an audience, and now you have it," he said, his tone stiff. "So tell me, Daemon, what is it you seek this time?"

Daemon dropped to one knee, the move unexpected enough to draw a few gasps from the gathered crowd. "I come to ask for your forgiveness, brother." His voice was low but steady, and the surprise in Daella’s chest matched the confusion that briefly crossed Viserys’s face.

Viserys narrowed his eyes. "Forgiveness?" His gaze sharpened. "For what, exactly?"

"For my actions upon my last return," Daemon continued, rising slowly, pulling Daella up with him as he stood and tucking her close to his side. His voice carried through the hall, calculated yet proud. "And I wish to introduce someone to you."

Viserys’s attention shifted to Daella, his violet eyes narrowing as he studied her face. "I am pleased to see you have healed well, child," he said, though his tone was wary. "But how have you come to cling to my brother in the first place?"

Daemon didn’t hesitate. "This is my daughter, Daella." His voice was firm, the words echoing in the vast chamber. "I seek your permission to raise her here, as we were once raised."

A ripple of whispers spread through the room, and Daella buried her face against Daemon’s shoulder, trying to disappear from the weight of the stares. Her heart pounded in her chest, each beat a reminder of how far she was from the shadows of Flea Bottom.

Viserys’s brows furrowed, his confusion evident. "Your daughter?" he repeated, incredulous. "I was not aware you and Lady Rhea had a child."

Daemon’s gaze darkened, his tone hardening. "Daella is not of Lady Rhea." He leaned in closer to his brother, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, though it carried enough for the lords nearest to hear. "But look at her, brother. Look closely. Tell me you do not know whose blood runs through her veins."

The tension thickened as Viserys’s gaze returned to Daella, his scrutiny more intense now. His eyes traced her features—lingering on her violet eyes and the newly silvered waves of her hair. His breath hitched. Recognition flashed in his expression, quickly hidden behind a mask of composure. His hand reached out, gently tucking her hair behind her ear, as if seeing a ghost from another life.

"She looks just like her mother," he murmured, almost to himself, the words barely audible. His gaze softened, lost in memory.

The mention of her mother rendered Daella silent, surprise and confusion colliding within her. How do they all know her?

"How old are you, Daella?" Viserys asked, his tone gentler now, pulling her from her thoughts.

"Six," she replied quickly, before adding in a hurried whisper, "Your Grace."

Viserys smiled, a rare warmth touching his eyes. "You may call me uncle, dear child." His smile grew as he turned to the gathered crowd, lifting his hands to command the room’s attention. "Let us celebrate the welcoming of my niece, the Lady Daella Targaryen, into the family!"

There was a brief pause, the weight of the announcement settling over the crowd before the hall erupted in applause. Daella let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, her eyes scanning the room. Among the sea of unfamiliar faces, one pair of purple eyes caught hers—the boy covered in dragon dust. A small smile pulled at his lips before he looked away, his face vanishing into the crowd.

Daella turned her gaze upward, finding Daemon already watching her with a look of pride. He lowered his head until his forehead rested against hers, a gesture that melted away the knot of anxiety that had twisted in her stomach all morning.

Perhaps she did belong. Perhaps she had a family after all.

[thedeviltohisangel]

Fall For A Shooting Star//Cassian Week 2024: Day One, Flying

a/n: So many people were expecting my first foray into ACOTAR fic to be my Azriel novel and that is coming too I swear it. I just saw it was Cassian week and knew I HAD to participate. I've had Cassian and Thea rolling my head for a bit and I have more plans for them so anticipate this being a little one shot series. Over the week I will introduce to them you further. I hope you all like it!

tw: allusions to physical abuse

Windhaven was as it always was. Snowy and windy and filled with the sounds of swords clashing and men fighting. It was home, for all its flaws. The canvas tent she shared with the other females her age would no doubt do nothing against the weather when she finished her chores and retired for the evening. 

Thea was at least thankful she was on cooking duty tonight. It gave her an excuse to be close to the fire and not incur the wrath of Lord Devlon. He had been keeping a careful eye on her ever since the incident from last week. It had earned her ten lashings that were still tender across her back. It also hadn’t helped that they’d rip her one cotton shirt to bare her skin and she was left with the scratchy, stiff fabric of the laundress who had been kind enough to lend it to her. She would have to figure out a couple of replacement garments soon. The eyes of the males finishing their training for the day told her that they knew it too. 

“I heard Cassian got a siphon today.” That was Scarlett, her closest friend in Windhaven. “He came by looking for you earlier.”

“It must have been while I was at the healers.” Every morning Thea had trudged across the camp for the healers to spread a thin layer of salve across the scars of her whipping. The scars from the loss of her wings had healed over many moons ago. Scarlett furrowed her brow as Thea continued to stir at the pot and begin to prepare herself for the leering that came from the males lining up for dinner.

“Something happen between you two?” Normally the mention of his name would send Thea into a flush. Now she was gritting her teeth and looking like she could snap the ladle in half.

“No.” Thea paused. “No. I just-”

“I’m hungry, wench.” The metal bowl was thrust forward by the warrior, knocking the breath from her as it found a landing against her stomach. 

“Apologies, Emmett.” It was always better to show fealty. Then they were less likely to find an excuse to beat her later. He took a step closer and grabbed the collar of her dress.

“You best learn to keep your mouth shut before I get any ideas on how to fill it for you.” His eyes looked her up and down like he was hungry for more than just stew. Thea shivered. While she hadn’t been able to fend off the loss of her wings, she had been successfully fighting every day to keep herself from a marriage or a bedmate. Cassian’s shadow had certainly helped. “That bastard doesn’t seem to be coming back for you any time soon…Maybe I’ll take my chance and pay you a visit tonight.” She did her best to hold his gaze. To not flinch when a wicked smile spread across his face. Everything had to catch up to her eventually. And he was right. Cassian wasn’t around to protect her anymore. Not with his completion of the Blood Rite and receipt of a siphon and a war looming on the horizon. 

And Thea had pushed him away for that exact reason. He deserved to be free of this place. To live his life with the heir to the Night Court and the Shadowsinger. Together they would be formidable. Make a difference in all their lives. The burden of her would do nothing but drag him down. Cassian deserved to soar.

“I’ll rip your fucking throat out if you even think about it, Emmett.” Yet he always happened to know exactly when she needed him. The male had the nerve to laugh. Cassian took a step forward but Thea threw her arm out to stop him.

“Don’t, Cass, he’s not-”

“Fucking son of a whore.” Emmett spit the ground by their feet. “Your mother get whipped for your behavior the same way she does?” Scarlett physically choked at the statement. Thea felt the blood drain from her body. She knew she should turn and face him. Explain what it was the Illyrian was talking about. But she couldn’t find the necessary skills for her brain to talk to her legs.

She felt the growl in his chest as it pressed to her back, his arm wrapping around her waist. “Thea,” he whispered into her ear, “Take a deep breath.” He exploded into the sky, her hands grabbing at his forearm as the war camp disappeared beneath them. And if anyone asked she would say the tears streaming down her face were from the cool air and not the release of emotions that always came with flying. From being with him. 

He banked to the left and arced until she recognized the flat patch of dirt that overlooked Windhaven and the white valley below. It was a place of solace on the occasion it was just the two of them. A place he hadn’t even thought to share with Rhys or Az because it belonged to him and her.

Thea tucked her knees into her chest as he landed firmly, his arms not loosening their hold around her in the slightest. “I’m sorry you had to find out that way,” she whispered after a moment of silence. “I was hoping my back would heal before I saw you again.” 

“Your back…” 

“They didn’t care that they were lashing over my older scars if that is what you are asking.” 

“Why?” She blinked back more tears. Anything to not tell him why they had punished her. 

“Because I used the dagger you got me to get one of the newer camp members to leave me alone. I cut him and he didn’t like it.” She found the courage to spin his arms, gasping as the red siphons gleamed on his hands. “Scarlett said you got a siphon. Not two.” Cassian bristled as she distracted herself with a soft caress of his hand.

“Seven, when I’ve got my armor on.”

“Cassian, that must be a new record. Gosh, the look on their fucking faces when they gave you seven siphons. I could only imagine.” Thea smiled and, despite better judgment, brought the back of his hand to her lips. “You’ll get your own legion in the war. I’m sure of it.” He was a born leader. A skilled fighter. She could think of no one better to lead the Illyrians into battle against Hybern.

“We’ll see,” he murmured. “I’m sorry the dagger got you in trouble but I’m not sorry, and will never be sorry, that I taught you to protect yourself. And you should never apologize for doing so.”

“Soon you’ll all leave for the front anyway. Windhaven might be peaceful for once.” Thea fell against his chest and his lips pressed into her hair. “You don’t need to come back, Cassian. Go with Rhysand and Azriel and make this world a better place.” She was giving him permission to leave her behind. To move on from whatever thing lingered in the space between them and unleash himself across the sky. 

“It’s not coming back when I’m taking you with me. Right here.” He pointed at his chest. 

“Do the siphons amplify your levels of sap?” she teased with a smile. 

“I’m not kidding, Thea. Wherever I go after the war, I’d like to bring you with me. If you’ll have me.” He had thought about marrying her years ago when she had first bled to keep the rest of the camp away from her. But then they had removed her wings and she’d been sent away to heal and the timing was never right. After the war, Cassian would force the fucking Mother to time it right if he had to. 

“Only if you promise to fly me out here whenever I ask. Just us. Our own sacred corner of light.” His wings flared and his head bowed. 

“With every breath and heartbeat I have, I promise.”

Hell would be awaiting her at Windhaven when she got back. Of that she was certain. And the hell of war would be awaiting in the coming days. Of that she was certain. But there was something on the other side of all that. Tantalizing and taunting. Urging her to dream and hope and believe that the after was possible. 

And what a dangerous thing that was.

@cassianappreciationweek

[gojogoblin]

his deity | 18+

featuring: ryomen sukuna x reader

wc: 0.7k

cw: female reader, somnophilia (reader is asleep), worship, unprotected sex, creampie, implied murder of side character

Sukuna visits you in your dreams. Every night, without fail, you dream of piercing eyes, of teeth so sharp they could kill. Striking facial tattoos, wild tongue, sharp jaw. Every night, it's the same dream.

Every night, he takes what is his.

He doesn't come through the door, but the window beside your bed. He's large, broad shouldered, and yet the bed never dips as he crouches over you, runs a finger down the side of your face to introduce your body to his touch for the evening. He knows you get warm when you sleep, knows there won't be much he has to work around. His favorite nights are the ones where you're clad in the short, silky little nightgown with the thin straps and touch of lace at the neckline. A man you'd been seeing months ago had gifted it to you for the holidays, but it wasn't long after that night that he'd simply disappeared. No matter, you don't think of him anymore. These nights are his favorite because he can simply run his hands up your legs and push the material up to your hips slowly. You never stir.

First, he lowers himself down to lie between plush thighs, arms hooked around them almost tenderly. He doesn't really need to do that, since you don't move around enough to warrant it, but he does it anyway. You always shower before bed, so your skin is clean and sweet, untainted by the horrors of the outside world. No, no. Here, he can protect you, swath you in a blanket of his attention, his affection, his devotion to his deity without wings. He worships at your altar, tastes you, indulges in you until your thighs are trembling and you can't help the whimpers that escape parted lips nor the way your chest stutters with breathless desire for a high you couldn't ever hope to reach awake.

It isn't until you're mere inches from this high that he pulls away. Cruel, perhaps, but only in your best interest. You sleep better after he's been inside you. He knows this, he's studied this.

And so it's with nothing but your well being in mind that he reaches down and folds you into his arms, holds you to his chest as he slowly, oh so slowly, sinks into you. The stretch makes him want to weep with gratitude, darkened faith shaken by something he'd never believed he'd find in this realm in any century. He holds you to him as you cry out softly, muffled against the heated skin of his shoulder. His hand strokes through your hair to calm you, drag you back down into a restful sleep. Your body twitches with each inch until his hips are pressed flush to yours and it's hard to breathe. He fixes this with two fingers pressed to the middle of your back. He's too large for you, too dangerous. It is the one thing he regrets in his lifetime, so he heals as soon as the damage is done, before you can even register the pain. He makes it so, because you, dear you, deserve no tears but those of pleasure.

He destroys you and builds you again, kills you and brings you back with each and every thrust of his hips until your legs begin to shake again and sweat beads at your forehead. You mumble incoherently, but he doesn't need to hear you to understand what you need. It's only fair, so the pad of his thumb finds itself swiping along where you need it the most, gentle enough to keep you asleep but maddening enough to draw broken moans from your lips. You unravel just as he does, clenched around him, just as it is meant to be.

He cleans you up carefully, ritualistically, even though he doesn't have to. A snap of his fingers would've done, but to do it himself is to have more time with you, allow your body to memorize even more of his touches. And though he shouldn't, he leaves the slightest bit of soreness in your hips. Though he shouldn't, he leaves a tiny scratch at your wrist.

Perhaps some day you will understand that the king of curses means you no harm, but for now he remains nothing more than a dream that fades in the light of the morning sun of each morning, only to return with the breath of the moon.

[oceanlipgloss]

HALLMARK

ANDREALPHUS.

+ warnings: angst, mentions of blood.

+ female mc, feminine pronouns.

Spoils of war are of endless incarnations. So much violence, so many forms. Like white feathers soaked in crimson, for instance.

Some wounds always throbbed, bled and wept—raw forever, impossible to forget. Plasters or bandages aren't the only way to silence them for a minute. Sometimes, a kind hand makes for a proper disinfectant. Light and temporary, yet ever so tangible.

Old scars and white feathers, fresh blood and a soiled halo—those are his hallmark. They are the souvenirs of pain and death. They are the vengeance that holds his destiny and drips with the weight of tragedy, red and ugly. They are the invisible photographs of a black past.

It is said that change leaves no existence untouched; it caresses the sun, the moon, the stars; it strokes the brain, the soul, the heart. It aims for the universe and paints the sky.

A truth, or a lie?

Lie.

Lie.

Lie.

What a cruel lie. How could it ever be perfectly true when some things never change—never different, eternally the same?

Like his sorrow, like his pain.

Love is not a healer. Care is not an ointment. They may make things better, but never for forever.

Right, or wrong?

Right.

Right.

Right.

If change has such a generous touch that reaches all, however, could it not let delicate hands alter his hallmark, just for now, just this once?

Burgundy smeared the halo in her hand. Haloes are a craft of paradise, but where was the heaven in all this sorrow? The halo itself was dainty, but it was burdensome to hold, massive with the weight of the past as it was. Heavy.

His body was warm and his lap was soft, but there was something cold and hard in his heart.

Devils don't have white wings, but the symbol of angelic flight burdened his back.

Blood dyed the feathers between her fingers. One after one she removed them, one by one they fell off his hair and sunk to the floor. Marred wings dropped to the ground like lifeless souls.

New beginnings might be real, but they may as well also be a myth. They depend on one's heart. They take time to come true. Grand things begin very small—tiny step after the next.

New beginnings might not last, but that may very well be alright. Perfection isn't summoned by the first try.

Soft waves was his hair under her fingertips. The braid was broken now. She was weaving it anew.

A little change.

There was nothing to see either way, so he closed his eyes. Serenity ghosted its palm over his lids for the first time in a very long while.

A few seconds of peace, foreign and quaint.

Why did she touch him like he was made of glass? She was the fragile one.

But...perhaps he was, too, sometimes. On the inside. His wounds were still fresh with hot blood and oozing pain.

He felt an unfamiliar rubber band constrict his braid.

Maybe, just maybe, he could cherish the tranquility of this night—but it doesn't really matter if the trophies of revenge lay on the ground at the moment.

After all, the past never once only took the form of defiled hearts, crimson feathers and dripping haloes. A dead angel's glowing scythe can't rip apart the bodies of despair and bloodlust.

And so, tomorrow the past will seal his heart again. It will turn him into a vicious hunter again. Because...some wounds are never meant to heal; they are fated to forever throb, bleed and weep.

+ MASTERLIST

+ AO3 POST

©𝙤𝙘𝙚𝙖𝙣𝙡𝙞𝙥𝙜𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙨

[wingedblooms]

Flower of life

The flower of life is part of sacred geometry, which is the underlying form or geometry in nature (mindbodygreen). It symbolizes the balance of male and female energy in creation and contains the secrets of the universe.

The flower of life is another sacred geometric form. It is the symbol of creation. It is created by forming a circle then moving to the edge of that circle and forming another one. Each circle begins one radius away from the surrounding circles and is of equal size. (uoregon)

-

The striking visual is meant to represent creation, the sacred masculine and divine feminine, and cycles of life, death, and rebirth. Some believe the flower of life is also a key that can unlock hidden knowledge of time and space within its petal-like structures. (mindbodygreen)

-

“It is thought that the flower of life holds a secret within it—a circle, which in many cultures, is considered the 'zero point' or the 'origin' of us all," Dale says. "This is the Oneness that ties us together.”(mindbodygreen)

Sacred Geometry in the Maasverse

In the Maasverse, Sarah also uses sacred geometry to create balance between opposing forces and characters use this balance to channel power. Sometimes it’s a symbol, like the six-pointed star @silverlinedeyes highlighted in this post. She connected the six-pointed star to the three brothers and three sisters in theory because they bring together opposing forces—light and dark and female and male energy—and create balance.

“Ithan angled his head. “A six-pointed star,” he said. Like the one Bryce had made between the Gates this spring, with the seventh candle at its center.

“It’s a symbol of balance,” she explained, moving away a foot, but keeping the dagger at her side. Her crown of cloudberries seemed to glow with an inner light. “Two intersecting triangles. Male and female, dark and light, above and below … and the power that lies in the place where they meet.” Her face became grave. “It is in that place of balance where I’ll focus my power.” She motioned to the circle. “No matter what you see or hear, stay on this side of the candles.” (hosab)

When they come together, as we saw with Feyre and Rhysand in the original series, they may be able to channel their combined energies to achieve powerful creation or healing (e.g., reforging the Cauldron, creating a baby who’s named for a deity and is probably going to be unique, etc.). As Rhys said in acowar, the sisters are in his court for a reason, and Mor might have hinted this long before as @lesolehabitantdelalune pointed out in relation to the six-pointed star:

Mor stayed overnight, even going so far as to paint some rudimentary stick figures on the wall beside the storeroom door. Three females with absurdly long, flowing hair that all resembled hers; and three winged males, who she somehow managed to make look puffed up on their own sense of importance. I laughed every time I saw it. (acomaf)

The three Made sisters and the three winged brothers are all blessed by fate and seem to be even more important together. Six is a perfect number and seven—the point where they all meet—symbolizes completion.

So, how does this relate to the flower of life? The flower of life contains circles that create a six-pointed star (see below) and there is a circle in the middle where they all intersect.

Source: uoforegon

The flower of life also contains other symbols Sarah has used across worlds:

Throne of Glass Series

Aelin wore an amulet that warned and helped her when needed. It was called the Eye of Elena, which Manon corrects as the Eye of the Goddess. It is the symbol Blueblood prophets tattoo on their hearts to indicate that they are Goddess-blessed.

A large circle—and two overlapping circles, one atop the other, within its circumference. “That is the Three-Faced Goddess,” Manon said, her voice low. “We call this …” She drew a rough line in the centermost circle, in the eye-shaped space where they overlapped. “The Eye of the Goddess. Not Elena.” She circled the exterior again. “Crone,” she said of the outermost circumference. She circled the interior top circle: “Mother.” She circled the bottom: “Maiden.” She stabbed the eye inside: “And the heart of the Darkness within her.” (eos)

A Court of Thorns and Roses Series

The Bone Carver drew interlocking circles to represent the death-god siblings, two of whom were worshipped by the fae before they were trapped. Two out of three siblings helped Prythian in a bargain with Feyre and Rhys.

The Carver traced three overlapping, interlocked circles in the dirt. “You have met my sister—my twin. The Weaver, as you now call her. I knew her as Stryga. (acowar)

Crescent City Series

Bryce wears an Archesian amulet with entwined circles that keeps her hidden from those searching for the Horn.

Bryce zipped a tiny golden pendant—a knot of three entwined circles—along the delicate chain around her neck. (hoeab)

In the space between, I discussed all of these interconnected trios, including the sacred trio which I believe this all stems from (Mother, Cauldron, Fate) and the rose amulet chosen for Elain. Although it is not described in circles, Elain’s amulet glows with three colors—red, pink, and white—in the Faelight, mimicking Azriel’s observation that she glows like the dawn in the Faelight earlier in that scene. We don’t know if it contains any protective properties or whether it will even make a reappearance. But out of all the symbols we’ve seen with the divine number three, it is the only one in the form of a flower…except, that is, for the Cauldron.

The Cauldron as the Flower of Life

In hosab, the Under King hinted that Urd, the goddess of fate, might be Mother, Cauldron, and the Forces That Be all in one.

A pyre smoked atop a black stone altar in the center of the temple. A stone throne on a dais loomed at the rear of the space. No statues ever adorned Urd’s Temple—no depiction of the goddess had ever been made. Fate took too many forms to capture in one figure.

-

The Under-King rose, black robes drifting on a phantom wind. “I thought the Fae bowed to Luna, but perhaps you remember the old beliefs? From a time when Urd was not a goddess but a force, winding between worlds? When she was a vat of life, a mother to all, a secret language of the universe? The Fae worshipped her then.” (hosab)

As I’ve explained with help from @silverlinedeyes in this post, mother to all = Mother, vat of life = Cauldron, and a force = Forces That Be (which seems to be used interchangeably with Fate in acotar). Mother, Cauldron, Fate. Three interconnected parts of a whole.

If we’re to believe the Under King, the goddess of fate isn’t actually a goddess. It is the Cauldron, which moves like a force, is a mother to all, and possesses the secrets of the universe. The Cauldron is Sarah’s flower of life.

The Cauldron shattered into three pieces, peeling apart like a blossoming flower—and then she came. (acowar)

And it can be controlled through spells in the Book of Breathings. Those spells must be uttered by someone who is Made because like calls to like.

“When the Cauldron was made,” the Carver interrupted, “its dark maker used the last of the molten ore to forge a book. The Book of Breathings. In it, written between the carved words, are the spells to negate the Cauldron’s power—or control it wholly. But after the War, it was split into two pieces. One went to the Fae, one to the six human queens. It was part of the Treaty, purely symbolic, as the Cauldron had been lost for millennia and considered mere myth. The Book was believed harmless, because like calls to like—and only that which was Made can speak those spells and summon its power. No creature born of the earth may wield it, so the High Lords and humans dismissed it as little more than a historical heirloom, but if the Book were in the hands of something reforged … You would have to test such a theory, of course—but … it might be possible.” (acomaf)

The pieces of the Book seem to contain void, or cold cunning, and chaos.

Life and death and rebirth

Sun and moon and dark

Rot and bloom and bones

Hello, sweet thing. Hello, lady of night, princess of decay. Hello, fanged beast and trembling fawn.

Love me, touch me, sing me.

Madness. Where the first half had been cold cunning, this box … this was chaos, and disorder, and lawlessness, joy and despair.

Light and dark and gray and light and dark and gray (acomaf)

And these seem to be the same beings (forces?) that Apollion mentions in his own creation.

“Do you not know where I come from? My father was the Void, the Being That Existed Before. Chaos was his bride and my dam. It is to them that we shall all one day return, and their mighty powers that run in my blood.” (hosab)

If the Cauldron contains both Void and Chaos, which I believe it does as a bowl of life and death, then the Book of Breathings allows the wielder to control those forces. In the tog series, higher beings are forces that are part of the same consciousness. They are interconnected parts of a sacred whole. And we’re told early on, and repeatedly thereafter, that the Cauldron is the origin of everything.

Inside the Cauldron was nothing but inky, swirling black.

Perhaps the entire universe had come from it.

Azriel and Cassian tensed as I laid a hand on the lip. Pain—pain and ecstasy and power and weakness flowed into me.

Everything that was and wasn’t, fire and ice, light and dark, deluge and drought.

The map for creation. (acomaf)

Feyre put together the two pieces of the Book and as Amren predicted, there was a great, noticeable blast.

“You put the pieces together,” she clarified when Rhys gave her a questioning look, “and the blast of power will be felt in every corner and hole in the earth. You won’t just attract the King of Hybern. You’ll draw enemies far older and more wretched. Things that have long been asleep—and should remain so.” (acomaf)

So, it’s also probable an old and powerful enemy might come calling (ahem, Koschei and/or the Asteri). Does that mean someone might need to wield the Cauldron again, but to help and protect Prythian instead this time?

If so, that someone would need to be Made. All three sisters are Made, so I personally dream about all three of them wielding it together like the witches they are. But I also think it would make sense for Elain to wield it on her own or with her love interest. When she emerged from the Cauldron, Sarah described her appearance in detail—pale, delicate, beautiful, glowing.

More water than seemed possible dumped out in a cascade. Black, smoke-coated water. And Elain, as if she’d been thrown by a wave, washed onto the stones facedown. Her legs were so pale—so delicate. […] Elain sucked in a breath, her fine-boned back rising, her wet nightgown nearly sheer. And as she rose from the ground onto her elbows, the gag in place, as she twisted to look at me— Nesta began roaring again. Pale skin started to glow. Her face had somehow become more beautiful—infinitely beautiful, and her ears … Elain’s ears were now pointed beneath her sodden hair. (acomaf)

She has been described as wise, gentle, and kind, but doesn’t hesitate to do what is necessary to protect life and restore order, like a gardener whose glowing hands won’t hesitate to get dirty for a pretty result.

A Gardener’s Hands

It began with a cauldron. A mighty black cauldron held by glowing, slender female hands in a starry, endless night. Those hands tipped it over, golden sparkling liquid pouring out over the lip. No—not sparkling, but … effervescent with small symbols, perhaps of some ancient faerie language. Whatever was written there, whatever it was, the contents of the cauldron were dumped into the void below, pooling on the earth to form our world… (acotar)

Elain isn’t just connected to a flower amulet. She is a blooming flower in an army camp, a bloom of color and sunshine even in the middle of winter. She is Hope shining in the Void on the longest night of winter.

The River House had finally fallen quiet after the raucous Winter Solstice party, the Faelights dimming to cast little pools of gold amid the deep shadow of the longest night of the year. […] He knew he’d be swallowed by it if he went up to his bedroom, so he’d remained down here by the dying light of the fire. […] Soft steps padded from under the stair archway, and there she was. The Faelights gilded Elain’s unbound hair, making her glow like the sun at dawn. (Azriel’s bonus chapter)

Tell me, who is better positioned than the Cauldron-blessed gardener and seer to wield the flower of life? Sarah essentially set her up to defy Nesta’s command below, meaning she will not stay away from the Cauldron and might tend to a garden on a greater scale as a result.

“Why?” Elain demanded. “Shall I tend to my little garden forever?” When Nesta flinched, Elain said, “You can’t have it both ways. You cannot resent my decision to lead a small, quiet life while also refusing to let me do anything greater.”

“Then go off on adventures,” Nesta said. “Go drink and fuck strangers. But stay away from the Cauldron.” (acosf)

The issue, of course, is that the Book of Breathings is now in Midgard under the care of a sorceress whose past is a mystery and the name we know her under, Jesiba Roga, isn’t the only one she possesses. Now that the two worlds are connected, though, it seems like only a matter of time until the Book is (re)discovered. But will it find the right hands?

There are more immediate ways for Elain to defy Nesta’s order and engage the Cauldron even without the Book. In hosab, mystics combine energy from a male, female, and the space where they meet—both male and female—to achieve perfect balance. It is perhaps this balance of power that allows them to become the Eye of the Goddess, mapping the secrets of the universe and influencing others from afar. Mysticism involves achieving a higher level of consciousness and uniting with the divine. Similarly, the flower of life can be used as a tool for meditation and enlightenment.

Elain seems to have used mystic ability on her own when she located and appeared to the Suriel across the world, and it’s possible she could use Rhys’s orrery as to expand her map in future books. Since these are romance books, I think it’s important to mention that we’re told Azriel is fascinated by the orrery. And like a sacred vision as @offtorivendell, @merymoonbeam and @psychologynerd have pointed out, Feyre witnesses perfect balance between Azriel and Elain: her immaculate hand meets his scarred one in the space between where light and dark, life and death, and female and male combine.

Elain looked up at Azriel, their eyes meeting, his hand still lingering on the hilt of the blade. I saw the painting in my mind: the lovely fawn, blooming spring vibrant behind her. Standing before Death, shadows and terrors lurking over his shoulder. Light and dark, the space between their bodies a blend of the two. The only bridge of connection…that knife. (acowar)

Elain may not need anyone to navigate the space between with the Cauldron. But I have a feeling she will need something or someone to help keep her grounded as she expands her Sight and maybe even peers into Hel. If she does need to form a sacred trio to move beyond their world, then she, Azriel, and the Cauldron (which is both male and female), would suffice. As Feyre’s vision of the lovely fawn and Death seems to foreshadow, they would create perfect balance together. And maybe, just maybe, their bargain tattoo will represent that balance in the form of a blossoming flower where the Eye of the Goddess, her heart of darkness, remains half-hidden in the shadows with the secrets of the universe.

Read more about Elain’s arc and powers here.

[scuttling]

Frayed Ends

Fandom: Supernatural Pairings: Dean Winchester/Female Reader Word Count: 1,527 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Unprotected sex, Mentions of impending death Summary: It's the end of the world again; where better to find comfort than Dean Winchester's arms? A/N: Sometimes Dean's just too pretty to ignore.

Keep reading below or link to AO3!

Staring out the window of the battered old motel, looking into the darkening sky, you try to count the number of life-or-death situations you’ve been in in the last year. You’ve been mortally wounded in battle, only to be healed by angelic figures that don’t quite live up to expectations; possessed by demons who are surprisingly more forthcoming than their winged counterparts; ripped to shreds by creatures with claws and fangs, things that are both as terrifying as the stories say and so much more complicated than most people know. 

A loud crack of thunder booms, lightning splits the sky, and a warm hand presses firmly against the middle of your back. None of those things make you jump, not anymore.

“So,” Dean begins, reaching out to hand you a tumbler of whiskey—the good stuff, a high-dollar, top-shelf single malt. “Last night on Earth.” 

You take the glass from him and peer into into it, through the rich brown liquid, before sipping the liquor, letting it burn smoothly, slowly; it seems like an oxymoron, but precisely what you need now, in the eleventh hour, when it feels like the world is about to fall to ashes at your feet. Again.

“That line work for you often?” you ask, half-teasing, and you down the rest of the alcohol. A shrug of his shoulders and a cocked half-smile tells you all you need to know. "Right, of course. Apocalyptic situation plus a rugged, handsome man who did his very best to prevent our impending doom... I imagine it isn't ever hard for you to get laid, but it's gotta be damn near impossible to be turned down under conditions like these." 

He empties his own glass with a smack of his lips, leaning his shoulder against the wall beside you, and smiles gently. It’s different from his usual grin, because it changes the look of his eyes, touching only the corners and making it appear as though it would physically hurt him to keep it up much longer.

He’s not being a creep, hitting on you when you’re vulnerable—you know because you know him, have been traveling the road off and on with him and Sam and occasionally Cas for over a year now. This is about desperation, a vain attempt to cling to something as your doomsday clock ticks down to zero, to connect with another person one more time before you reach the proverbial end of the road.

"You tell me,” he finally says, voice as rough and broken as you’d expect. You look away from his face abruptly, this open, emotional version of the man you’ve been kicking ass and trading sarcastic quips with making your stomach turn. He’s a good guy, no doubt about that, and he doesn’t deserve the life he’s been saddled with, or all the pain and misery that comes with it. He lived for his family, Sam, and now they are apart—no more angel teleportation, no more gas stations, no more cell service—and the end is so near you can see it in the darkening swirl of his green eyes, the tightness of his jaw.  

Apparently the booze hasn’t slowed down your motor functions any, because you’re turning to press a hand to his chest before the thought has fully formed in your mind. 

"I'd be honored, Dean Winchester," you breathe, pushing a hand softly through his hair; he inhales, lips parted and eyes flicking curiously over your face, before leaning down for a careful, gentle kiss. 

Both of his arms wrap around you, embracing you warmly, and you slip your tongue into his mouth, giving yourself over to his strong arms and stubble without a second thought. It isn’t exactly a hardship, sleeping with the brave, honorable, beautiful hunter, and if it makes him feel even a fraction better about the whole dying bloody thing, how can you refuse? 

"Thank you." It’s a sandpaper whisper pressed lightly against your lips, and one of his hands moves to cradle your head as the kiss deepens. He tastes bittersweet, a blend of mint and whiskey, and is far more tender than you would have imagined, taking soft sips of your bottom lip between toe-curling, passionate kisses. You push the light-colored flannel off of his shoulders, pleased with the muted groan he expels against your neck, and wrap your arms around his back like you can’t get close enough, can’t get enough of him. 

He lifts you easily, of course, like you’re as weightless as you’re starting to feel, brings you to the bed and covers your body with his, hands ghosting over your throat and your face, down your arms, over your chest, your sides. The kisses grow rougher, needier, deeper on both your parts, and when you pull the soft, worn t-shirt over his head you press your fingertips into his skin, drag him closer, body begging for more. 

“Dean… yes,” you sigh as he nips at your neck, your earlobe, his teeth sharp but careful. You move your hands over his stomach, his chest, the back of his head, pulling him to your mouth for more slow, wet kisses like you’ll find the solution to all of your problems inside him—or maybe that you want him to find it inside you. It’s a heady, dizzy feeling, and he feels it too, moaning into the kiss when you shift up to your knees, pulling your own t-shirt over your head. 

“I need you,” he rasps, looking over your body, with all of its scars and bruises, like it’s a map of all the places you’ve been together. You unhook your bra, let it fall away, and then unbuckle his belt, help him strip down before removing the rest of your clothes too. 

You feel a flush of heat when you’re both bare, not nervousness or shyness, but something you don’t have a name for, not yet; you probably never will, now so close to the end, so you just bask in the feeling that he’s all yours, that in your last moments you will be as connected as two people can be. That even if you die in vain, you won’t be dying alone. 

You’d ask about protection right about now, but don’t see the point, considering the circumstances; instead, you climb into his lap and weave your fingers into his hair, kiss him so thoroughly he has to know you’re doing this because you want to and not just because he’d asked. Your nails graze over his shoulders, into his hair, murmur his name, and his soft lips become hard and unyielding as he kisses you breathless, like he wants it to mean something.

He lays you back against the bed, still made up from the day, and you let him, pulling your knees up so he can settle in close to you, so you can feel his body tense beneath your hands and he presses into you, fills you completely. “Fuck,” he grinds out, and his mouth finds yours again, his kisses softer, sweeter as he starts to move. 

For the first time, you’re glad it’s pretty much just the two of you left in this desolate town; neither of you are quiet as you fuck, gasping and moaning and whining puffs of breath into the air between you. The sounds of your sex echo in the room—the groan of the bed frame, the sticky wetness soaking your thighs, Dean’s mouth as it runs about your beauty and your pussy and how heavenly you feel. 

The room is so hot, your skin slick with sweat, his too, and he takes your hands in his and presses them up over your head, against the bed, holding you down with the force of his body as you both chase the feeling that you’re close to something big.

“Oh god, more, Dean, please,” you plead, hitching your legs up higher, tightening them around him as he thrusts quicker, deep and smooth. “You’re so good, so good, Dean.” 

“You have to come for me. You have–” He lifts one of his hands away from your pinned wrists and strokes your cheek with it, brushing his thumb over your lips. His eyes are lighter now, honeyed, but still flooded with emotion as he combines tenderness with roughness and brings you so close to climax you can feel it pulsing beneath your skin. “You’re glowing,” he chokes out before his orgasm rips through him, strong enough to make him shake above you, and he leans in for a kiss that turns into your own climax, something powerful that makes you ache down to your bones. 

You whimper against his shoulder as he slows, and he releases your arms, pulls them around him so you embrace as you pant through it together. You feel both completely spent and filled with buzzing energy, and when he looks down at you his expression is… awed. There’s no way to mistake that face for anything else. 

“Holy shit. I think that worked,” he says, almost astonished, and then his phone vibrates on the bedside table and you turn simultaneously to look over at the glowing screen.

Sam.

A/N: Didn't mean for this fic to mean anything or to lead to anything more, but it kind of did, so who knows?