#borne from a love of them and her desire to keep them safe

[lizzyiii]

Hii, are requests open??

Yes, it definitely is!!!

The Dragon's Treasure

pairing | young aemond targaryen x niece!reader

word count | 6.7k words

summary | when you were but four years old, your mother had declared jacaerys as her heir, despite the fact that you were born first. in truth, it was a measure born of love; she knew you, with your striking silver locks and lilac eyes—her sweet daughter—would be safe, whilst her sons would not.

tags | FLUFF, FLUFF, targaryen incest, reader is described to have silver hair and lilac eyes (that's all), very very soft aemond, and after fluff comes ANGST, ANGST and more ANGST, also reader is a sensitive queen.

a/n | wrote this in 2 days 💪, and there will DEFINITELY be a PART 2

likes, comments, reblogs are always appreciated ✨

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Duty and shame. These were the threads from which you were woven—not love, nor passion, but the heavy fabric of obligation and regret.

The firstborn of Rhaenyra Targaryen came into the world not as a son with dark hair and brown eyes, but as a daughter, blessed with ethereal lilac eyes that mirrored her mother's lineage and the shining silver curls that heralded her Velaryon heritage.

Laenor Velaryon and Rhaenyra Targaryen had fulfilled their solemn duty to conceive an heir. For Rhaenyra, each night was steeped in a prayerful longing to erase the memory of her wedding night—a night marked by discomfort and tears. The truth was evident to all: Laenor's heart was not inclined towards her nor any woman; his desires lay with men. Yet, their obligation demanded they play their parts.

After their hurried nuptials in a clandestine ceremony, they found themselves confined within a chamber, the weight of expectation pressing down upon them. When the act was done, the silence that enveloped them was shattered by Laenor's grief; he collapsed into Rhaenyra’s arms, his body wracked with sobs as he mourned the loss of his beloved, wishing loudly that he could be “normal.” It was in that moment, as she held him close, that the young princess, overwhelmed by the weight of her fate, found herself wishing she could shed her identity, to become someone else entirely.

But when Rhaenyra beheld her daughter for the first time, it was as if the world shifted. A spark of profound love ignited in her heart, banishing the shame that had once gnawed at her spirit during her pregnancy and the painful hours of labor. There had been moments when she had cursed the very life growing within her, moments steeped in bitterness toward the infant she carried. Yet now, cradling her sweet babe—her precious dragon treasure—Rhaenyra understood that she would willingly endure a thousand painful pregnancies for this singular joy.

What a delight you were, a soothing balm for Rhaenyra amidst the swirling intrigues of King’s Landing. It was your voice that first captivated her heart, from the moment your tiny lips could form sounds, you babbled with delight, engaging your mother in joyous conversations, even though she could scarcely grasp what you were saying. Your smiles were a sunbeam that brightened her darkest days; the first time you graced her with a radiant smile, it became a memory she would hold dear until the end of her days.

But as the tides of fate turned, life grew more intricate. Once Rhaenyra and Laenor fulfilled the sacred duty of securing an heir, they were free to pursue their pleasures separately, allowing Rhaenyra to take Harwin Strong into her bed. To Rhaenyra, her time with Harwin had never felt like a mistake, nor the first child they conceived together —Jacaerys Velaryon.

Yet, his hair—dark as the raven's wing— and eyes — brown as the earth—set him apart from Rhaenyra’s lineage, with none of her ethereal silver locks or striking violet eyes. Instead, he bore the unmistakable mark of his mother’s sworn protector, a truth whispered in the shadows of the Red Keep, even as Laenor publicly embraced him as his true son and the rightful heir of Driftmark.

Alas, Rhaenyra found herself repeating the same error. Another son came forth from her union with Harwin—a second boy with hair as dark as night and eyes of rich brown. Lucerys Velaryon. Whispers began to flutter through the court, dark murmurs and scornful jibes accusing her children of being bastards. It was the painful truth, yet Rhaenyra, fiercely protective as any mother, longed for her sons to live free from the burdens of her choices.

And so, Rhaenyra was faced with the most harrowing decision of her life, a choice that would weigh upon her heart for years to come. When you were but four years old, she declared Jacaerys as her heir, despite the fact that you were born first, and had Laenor declare Lucerys the heir of Driftmark. In truth, it was a measure born of love; she knew you, with your striking silver locks and lilac eyes—her sweet daughter—would be safe, while Jace and Luke would forever need her protection in a world that could be mercilessly unforgiving.

In the quiet confines of the Red Keep, a yawning silence enveloped the lesson, a silence only broken by the steady, droning voice of Septa Agertha. As a ten-year-old princess, you found your patience with such tedium wearing thin, particularly in the tedious recitation of the Faith of the Seven—each doctrine blurring into the next, sapping your spirit with every word.

Beside you, your beloved aunt Helaena sat in her own world, her delicate hands guiding the needle in and out of the fabric, her gaze distant as though the colors and threads offered more solace than the dull teachings of the Sept. You could see it in her eyes; the spark of interest had flickered away, leaving a solemn stillness where interest once danced.

Embroidery, you thought, was a most tiresome endeavor—how many times had you pricked your own fingers accidentally? It seemed the needle was always too eager, as if it shared your disdain for the task at hand. Your heart longed for the vibrant strokes of paint on canvas, the joyful freedom of creation, but Septa Agertha had sternly deemed such messiness unfit for a princess of House Targaryen.

"Focus, my princess," Septa Agertha’s voice broke through your wandering thoughts, pulling you back from your reverie. In that moment, you wished for nothing more than a dragon's flight, high above the clouds, far from the confines of the castle and the constraints of your title.

You glanced at your Septa, your expression hesitant as you mustered the courage to speak. “Septa Agertha,” you began, your tone dipped in respect, “mayhaps I might be excused to inquire if my mother has finished her labor?”

The Septa regarded you with a mixture of exasperation and fondness; her demeanor softened as you widened your eyes and pouted just enough to tug at her heartstrings. “Very well, my princess,” she relented with a heavy sigh, “our lesson shall conclude for today.”

A joyful smile bloomed on your face, and you offered a swift, sincere thank you, excitement bubbling within you. Leaning over, you pressed a quick kiss on Helaena’s cheek—a fleeting farewell—before darting toward the door. Your sworn sword, Ser Rowan, steadfast and vigilant, attempted to match your youthful enthusiasm, but your spirit was unbridled and wild, leaving him struggling to keep up.

You raced breathlessly down the corridor, your heart racing with exhilaration, until you reached your mother’s solar. As you reached for the door’s latch, you hesitated, hearing the comforting jingle of Ser Rowan's armor behind you. With a bashful grin, you withdrew your hand, glancing back to find him nearing, his breath coming in measured puffs as he opened the door with a respectful bow.

But as you stepped into the warm chamber, your excitement began to wane. A sudden twinge gripped your young heart at the sight of nearly everyone gathered within your mother’s solar, unbidden thoughts swirling as to why you had not been summoned.

Yet those troubling questions were swiftly banished as you cast your gaze upon your mother, weary and glistening with the exertion of childbirth. Ignoring the soft coos of the newborn cradled in your father’s arms, you dashed toward Rhaenyra, laying your small hand against her damp cheek. “Mother, are you well?” you asked, concern threading through your words.

A tender smile softened Rhaenyra’s features at your worry, and she grasped your hand gently, kissing your palm in a soothing gesture. “I am better now that you are here,” she replied, her voice warm like the sun breaking through the clouds.

You turned at the sound of your brother Luke's voice, a warm smile stretched across his face. "We selected an egg for the babe, and for you as well, sister," he announced, his eyes bright with excitement.

"Ahh," your mother’s voice came softly from your side, laced with affection, "Those look perfect indeed."

"I let Luke choose," Jace declared with a hint of pride.

With a nod and a grin, Luke acknowledged his brother's words, "Thank you, Jace."

"Not every day an egg leaves the Dragonpit, Princess," Ser Harwin Strong intoned, his hands clasped thoughtfully before him. "I deemed it fit to escort the lads."

Rhaenyra turned to him, her voice gentle, "Laenor and I thank you, Commander." Her gaze shifted slowly to you, warmth radiating from her eyes. "What do you think, my love?"

Your eyes were drawn to the two shimmering eggs nestled snugly in the hatching pot. You should have felt joy, perhaps excitement, yet a shadow of sadness draped over your young heart. "Why was I not included?"

An uneasy silence fell over the chamber, heavy and palpable. Ser Harwin broke it first, offering a sympathetic smile, “You were busy with your lessons, princess. We did not wish to disturb you.”

"But surely Jace and Luke were occupied with their dragon lessons as well," you replied in a soft voice, the undertone of hurt evident in your words.

Rhaenyra immediately noticed the glimmer of tears pooling in your lilac eyes and the tremble of your lips, as she rushed to uplift your spirits. "Look, my love, it is purple, your favorite color."

No sooner had Rhaenyra spoken than Laenor interjected enthusiastically, “I have a good feeling about this one, my darling. You know what they say—third time’s the charm.”

Third. This was to be your third dragon egg. The first, a vibrant orange, had turned to stone in your cradle, a cruel fate none could have foreseen. The second, a deep crimson egg, had been bestowed upon you with the birth of Luke, yet it too remained unhatched. As you gazed at the violet egg in the pot, hope eluded you, replaced instead by the grim certainty that this egg too would not awaken.

“Now I am certain you would like to meet your new brother,” Rhaenyra murmured, wrapping an affectionate arm around you.

“A boy?” you whispered, your eyes lifting to seek the babe cradled in your father’s arms.

“Yes, my love.”

“Oh.”

Rhaenyra could instantly see the disappointment which weighed heavy on your features at the prospect of yet another brother, and it became ever clearer in your silence. Rather than springing toward your father, you chose instead to nestle deeper into your mother’s embrace, seeking comfort in her warmth.

As you reclined against your mother’s side, you gazed at Ser Harwin, who now cradled your newborn brother, Joffrey. At merely ten summers, you could discern the affection in Ser Harwin's gaze as he looked at Joffrey—a tender look reminiscent of the affection he often bestowed upon your mother. It was a gaze filled with adoration, one he also offered to your other brothers, yet curiously, yet it never seemed to touch you. How curious this felt, a wonder mixed with a hint of sorrow.

When your father ushered your brothers from the chamber, it left a stillness that enveloped you, your mother, Ser Harwin, and the tiny new life nestled in his arms.

“Mayhaps you should return to your lessons now, my love,” Rhaenyra said, her voice soft and melodic, turning her gentle gaze towards you.

A twinge of sorrow flared within you once again, and you glanced up at her, barely able to protest. “But—I just arrived,” you murmured, the longing in your tone betraying your desire to remain by her side.

Ser Harwin, ever the loyal knight, defended your mother, answering with a reassuring tone, “I am certain it is merely that your mother seeks rest, my princess.”

Reluctantly, you eased away from your mother’s embrace, turning slightly so she wouldn’t witness the tears that threatened to spill from your eyes. “I’ll go find Helaena,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath.

You heard her sigh, a sound laced with affection and understanding. Then, you felt her hand encircle your wrist, drawing you back to her warm side. She pressed a firm kiss to your forehead, her love wrapping around you like a cloak. “If you wish to keep me company whilst I rest, I shall never protest, my treasure.”

And so, you settled back against her, safe and cherished, while Ser Harwin gently rocked Joffrey to sleep. Your mother cast the same tender look upon him that Ser Harwin had, her eyes shimmering with a light of love—a look you noticed she had never bestowed upon your father. With this curious thought lingering in your mind, you surrendered to the soothing comfort of your mother's embrace, drifting gently into a blissful slumber for an impromptu nap.

“This one has rings...and two pairs of legs on each,” Helaena whispered, her voice a gentle hum as she held a slithering black insect close to her face, its glossy body glinting in the soft light.

“That makes two hundred and forty,” she concluded, her gaze fixed on the peculiar creature, while you regarded it with wide, curious eyes.

“Yes, indeed,” the Queen murmured thoughtfully from her perch beside Helaena.

You had awoken to find your mother still lost in slumber after drifting off beside her. With utmost care, you slipped away from her warm embrace, seeking out Helaena as you waited for the boys to finish their dragon lessons — and by boys, of course, you really meant Aemond.

“It has eyes...though...I don't believe it can see,” Helaena continued, bringing the strange creature nearer to you. Instinctively, you leaned back, wary of its closeness.

“And why is that so, do you think?" Queen Alicent inquired, her brow cocked in gentle curiosity.

Helaena merely shook her head, a mystique in her expression. “Some things lie beyond our understanding.”

“I suppose you are right,” Queen Alicent replied in a soft tone, a touch of wisdom in her words. “Some things simply are.”

"That sounds quite scary," you ventured, finally chiming in.

Both heads turned to your direction, and Helaena regarded you with a gentle curiosity. "Why do you say that?"

You offered a slight shrug, your finger gliding over the peculiar, scaly texture of the insect before you. "I suppose I’d feel so helpless, not being able to see anything. It would be a sad too, not to behold colors or shapes."

Queen Alicent regarded you with a softened gaze, her expression a mixture of contemplation and warmth. While her heart held a shadow of disdain for your mother, Princess Rhaenyra, and your brothers, who bore the stigma of bastardy, she recognized the innocence in you. A precious blend of Targaryen and Velaryon blood, you were a vision of purity akin to a delicate flower springing forth amidst thorns. It certainly didn't hurt that your sweetness was reminiscent of the ripest strawberry tart.

"Well, since it has never encountered colors or shapes, my dear princess, it has no reason to feel sad," she said softly.

Your brow furrowed, the Queen's words weaving through your mind like threads of a tapestry, before a radiant smile broke forth on your cherubic face in understanding.

The calm of the Queen's solar shattered abruptly as the heavy door swung open, revealing Aemond, forcibly ushered inside by a stern Kingsguard. All eyes, filled with concern, turned toward the commotion, “Your Grace.”

Alicent sprang to her feet, her voice laced with accusation. “Aemond. What have you done?”

You trailed closely behind the Queen, keeping a respectful distance as she unleashed her frustration upon Aemond, who stood there, cloaked in ash from head to toe. “After how many times you've been warned, must I have you confined to your chambers?!"

Your heart twisted painfully at the sight of your friend’s distressed expression. “They made me do it!" he pleaded, desperation lacing his tone.

"As if you needed encouragement," Queen Alicent rebuked him, her hands firm upon his shoulders. “Your obsession with those beasts goes beyond understanding."

“They gave me a pig!” Aemond’s voice rose, indignation spilling forth, and you flinched at the raw hurt echoing in his words.

Alicent paused, her brow furrowing in confusion. “A what?”

He turned his gaze away from his mother, the shame evident, but when his violet eyes fell upon you, they swiftly darted back, a flicker of vulnerability crossing his features. “They said it was a dragon… but it was a pig.”

The stern lines of the Queen’s face softened, and she spoke with conviction. “You will have a dragon one day. I know it."

“They all laughed at me,” Aemond murmured, his sorrow palpable in the air.

You yearned to bridge the distance and offer solace, for in that moment, you understood his pain more profoundly than anyone else in the room. Yet, you recognized that he needed his mother’s embrace more than your support. As Alicent enveloped Aemond in a tight hug, his violet gaze met yours once more, and all you could offer him was an understanding look, a silent promise that you would be there when he needed you.

As the sun dipped low on the horizon, casting amber rays that danced across the ornate shelves of the Red Keep’s library, you found yourself seated beside your uncle, who had only just tidied himself after that unpleasant encounter. His eyes remained fixed on the pages of the book detailing Aegon's Conquest, but the tense silence between you weighed heavily in the air.

The heavy silence lingered, thickening the air around you. Restlessly, you glanced up at your uncle and whispered, "I am truly sorry."

He did not lift his gaze from the book, his tone icy as he replied, "Why do you say you’re sorry? You bear no blame in this."

Your heart ached for him, as you said softly, "I am sorry for what happened, for the pain it brought upon you. I will speak to my brothers about their behavior, I promise."

Aemond’s expression hardened, his lips pressing together in frustration. "I don't need you to save me, niece," he retorted, the sharpness of his words echoing in the quiet library.

Your heart sank, and you instinctively dropped your gaze. You could sense his turmoil; and you understood the pain and inferiority he was feeling. You had only wished to help, yet somehow, your kindness seemed to have been misread. You recognized when your presence was unwelcome, so with a small, resigned 'alright,' you began to rise from your seat, intending to leave him in peace.

Yet just as you turned, Aemond’s head snapped up, a wave of guilt crashing over him. He realized harshly that he had been unfair to you—his darling niece who was merely being her sweet, caring self. In a swift motion, he reached out for your hand, "Wait," his voice softer this time, “I did not mean to be cruel. I...I apologize.”

A warm smile crept across your face as you met his earnest eyes. “I accept your apology, uncle." You furrowed your brows playfully, a hint of mischief in your voice. "Come with me."

Before he could protest, your fingers intertwined, and you pulled him along with a gentle urgency. Aemond, caught off guard, found himself captivated by the warmth and softness of your hand in his. In the innocence of your youth, holding hands and being with each other everyday all day had felt natural, but with each passing day, as you both grew older, the simple act took on an air of unspoken indecency. Still, he let himself be led, wrapped in the comfort that his niece eagerly offered.

Aemond hesitated as you guided him into your chambers, pausing at the threshold, uncertainty written on his brow. However, any tension was quickly vanquished as you drew him inside. Your quarters brimmed with the elegance one might associate with a princess; the canopy bed was adorned with delicate pink linens and plump pillows, while vases scattered throughout the room overflowed with a lush assortment of pink and purple roses, their fragrance sweetening the air.

Yet, it was the object resting on the small table before the crackling fireplace that truly seized Aemond's attention. Nestled atop the table was a warming pot, housing a radiant violet dragon egg that seemed to pulse with a life of its own. "A dragon egg," he murmured, his fascination palpable.

You guided Aemond to kneel beside the table, where the two of you were drawn into the stillness of the moment. With a tender whisper, you began to recount the story behind the egg. "My brothers retrieved it when they sought an egg for my newest brother, Joffrey."

"Joffrey?" Aemond asked, a hint of skepticism lacing his tone as he met your gaze, "That name sounds far from Targaryen."

Your focus remained on the egg, brushing aside his remark. After a moment of contemplation, you finally shared the weight that had settled in your heart. "I fear it won't hatch."

Aemond's reaction was immediate; his head snapped towards you, irritation flickering in his eyes. "Do not speak such things."

"It is but my opinion, Aemond," you replied gently, undeterred by his sharpness. You understood that his frustration was not truly aimed at you; it never was.

“Why do you believe such a thing?” His voice softened, a hint of curiosity threading through his concern.

You averted your gaze, feeling the weight of his scrutiny. “It is foolish,” you murmured, hesitant to reveal the depth of your fears.

“And so?” he pressed, his intensity unyielding.

Drawing a steadying breath, you finally revealed your heart. “In my mind, the egg shall only hatch if I do not care for it deeply.”

Aemond’s brow furrowed, understanding dawning. “So, you do care, then?”

“No, I do not!” you insisted too quickly, casting a furtive glance at the egg as if it had heard Aemond's words.

Frustration etched across Aemond’s features, he clenched his fists tightly. “It is unfair that your brothers possess dragons while we remain without, since they are—”

“What?” you interjected softly, concern lacing your tone. “They are what?”

Your earnest look tugged at the fragile threads of his heart. He couldn’t assume you were unaware of the whispers that painted your brothers in shadows, nor could he believe you were deaf to the harsh truths woven through courtly gossip. Yet, he would never voice those words to you. Instead, he muttered grudgingly, “Not as special as us.”

A small pout formed on your lips, drawing his attention away from the dragon egg that lay neglected between you. “You do understand that it was most likely Aegon who orchestrated that prank, yes?” you pressed, your voice laced with a gentle resolve.

Aemond scoffed and turned away, the weight of your words lingering in the air like an unwelcome specter. “Are you truly defending them?” he challenged, though he felt the shake of his conviction.

“No, Aemond,” you replied, your voice as sweet as summer rain, “What my brothers did was wrong. But more often than not, you never hold Aegon accountable, despite him being the leader of their little group.”

His back remained turned to you, pride keeping him rooted as he mulled over your words. Deep down, he recognized the truth in them, though he loathed to concede, for Aegon was his elder brother. He longed for the bond that appeared so effortless between you and your siblings, and it felt far more convenient to direct his ire toward them instead.

As Aemond continued to brood, you glided closer, resting your chin on his shoulder, your presence as warm as the sun’s rays. “If my egg should hatch, perhaps we could share the dragon?” you suggested brightly, seeking to lift his spirits.

He let out a disdainful scoff, turning to face you so closely that your noses nearly brushed. “Now, that is simply absurd.”

“Aemond,” you admonished softly, undeterred.

“Never has there been a dragon with two riders,” he rebutted gloomily, his voice laced with skepticism.

“So we would be the first,” you retorted, rising to your feet with animated gestures. “There must always be a first, for only then can things be normalized. Just wait and see, Aemond—one day, a Targaryen will claim more than one dragon!”

He regarded you with an unreadable expression and replied matter-of-factly, “That is entirely selfish, niece.”

You huffed in exasperation, settling back down beside him, your patience wearing thin. At moments like this, Aemond’s stubbornness made him seem dreadfully dull. “You fail to see the vision, uncle."

It was curious how swiftly the tides of life could turn. You had often confided in your mother about your aversion to change, and her response was always the same: "Change is inevitable, my love." You were not certain what that meant, but you understood now, as the world around you shifted in the blink of an eye. The sudden sadness that gripped your heart was puzzling, especially since you were so young. Just like that, you had been whisked away from the familiar streets of King’s Landing to the distant shores of Dragonstone, all because of your mother’s choices, which felt like a shadow beyond your grasp.

Dragonstone loomed before you, ominous and strange. You had never set foot on its rugged shores, but a sense of dread weighed heavy in your chest, telling you you would despise it here. The library would be smaller, you thought—if Dragonstone even had one at all—and the gardens could not possibly rival those sprawling ones in the Red Keep. Most troubling of all was the thought of being separated from Helaena and Aemond.

Helaena, your sweet aunt, sometimes it felt as though you could almost imagine her as your sister. Though her peculiar musings often escaped your understanding, it was her delightful oddities that you cherished most, setting her apart from all the other court ladies.

And Aemond—nothing in this vast world could rival the bond you shared with your uncle. You both understood one another in a way that few could fathom. The two dragonless Targaryens united by the same unspoken grief, felt the weight of their inferiority hanging over them like a storm cloud. Yet within that shared pain grew a deep-rooted connection. Aemond was your anchor in a world that often felt lonely and overwhelming. With him, you never felt truly isolated; you were never alone.

As the time arrived for your departure, Aemond attempted to mask his feelings with indifference, but you could see beyond his brave facade. The glimmer of tears in his violet eyes and the strength of his embrace told you everything: he would miss you just as fiercely as you would miss him.

Once again, the sea had darkened, mirroring the heaviness in your heart. The next time the two of you would gather would be under the shadow of sorrow. Your Aunt Laena had passed, and your family was bound for Driftmark to honor her memory. Despite having never met her, a sharp ache coursed through you, all the more intense for the grief etched across your father’s face. Laena had been his twin, after all. Then there was the loss of Ser Harwin Strong as well, which weighed heavily on your mother and brothers. Yet, for reasons you couldn’t quite grasp, your own heart felt strangely untouched by sadness.

The funeral had drawn to a close. Your mother gently encouraged you and Jace to offer words of comfort to your cousins, Baela and Rhaena. But Jace spoke without thinking, a clumsy remark about how you all should have been at Harrenhal instead of Driftmark. You felt a rush of frustration rising in your throat, longing to assert that his pain didn’t lessen the tragedy of the day. After all, he was only voicing his own hurt.

With a quiet huff, you had marched away in silence, finding your perch beside a jagged stone wall, where you could observe your father from a distance. He stood in the shallows of the ocean, the waves lapping at his knees, as if being closer to Laena might ease the sorrow that weighed upon his heart. It pained you to witness him so downcast; the truth was, you had always thought your father impervious to sadness, having never seen his face devoid of a smile before this moment.

“How fares Dragonstone?”

A smile began to bloom on your lips at the familiar sound of Aemond's voice, bringing warmth to your gloomy thoughts.

"It is cold and windy," you replied quietly, shifting your gaze toward him.

Aemond paused, taking in the sight of you. It had been merely weeks since you left the Red Keep, yet in your absence, the loneliness had curled around him like a thick fog. Seeing you now felt like sunlight piercing through gray clouds after a long storm. He regarded you for a moment longer before nodding subtly toward your brothers. "My condolences for Ser Harwin. I assume that is what had your brothers weeping."

“The bond between him and my brothers was indeed strong,” you admitted, a furrow forming in your brow as Aemond stifled a laugh with a cough. “I am sad he has passed, just as I mourn Aunt Laena. But the sorrows I feel mostly arise from witnessing the devastation their losses have cast upon my mother and father.”

Your lilac eyes shifted back toward your father, worry etched across your youthful features. You bit your lip, glancing at the water below. Surely it had turned icy, “I wish I could help him, to see him smile once more. But I’m not sure what to say.”

This was a curious moment for Aemond. Throughout his life, he had cherished you as his dearest friend, his beloved niece. Yet, recently, he began to view you in a new light—the way your silver curls captured the sunlight, glowing as if spun from starlight, or how every gown you wore magnified the beauty of your lilac eyes.

He licked his dry lips and spoke gently, “I reckon there’s little you could say that would ease his pain. Instead, find a way to show him you stand with him. That might be enough.”

You nodded thoughtfully at Aemond's words, your gaze drifting toward Rhaena and Baela. "I feel so awful," you confessed, your voice scarcely above a whisper. "I could never imagine losing my mother."

"Me neither," Aemond replied softly.

After a moment of silence, you added, "I think I would die from the heartbreak." You could sense Aemond’s eyes upon you, a question hanging unspoken in the air between you. A small sigh escaped your lips as you said, "It didn’t hatch, if that’s what you were thinking?"

From the corner of your eye, you noticed Aemond's head lower slightly. "Oh," he murmured, disappointment lacing his tone.

You lifted your chin, trying to display strength despite the disappointment gnawing at your heart. "I suspect I am not meant for a dragon," you asserted, forcing a brave smile.

"Don’t say that," Aemond insisted, his voice firm yet gentle.

Turning to face him, you allowed your hopelessness to seep through your facade. "Three times, Aemond. Three times my egg has failed to hatch."

"There are many unclaimed dragons on Dragonstone," Aemond suggested with a hint of resolve. "Perhaps you could try with them?"

"At the risk of my life?" you replied, arching an eyebrow at him. But then, your lips curled into a playful smile as you reached out to take Aemond's hand in yours. "But really, why would I seek a bond with a dragon when my bond with you is far more precious to me?"

Your words made Aemond’s cheeks flush a deep crimson, his heart thudding like the wings of a dragon. Though you seemed to find comfort in his friendship over the absence of a dragon, Aemond couldn't shake the feeling of urgency. If a dragon was to be claimed, it would be up to him—the time had come, for both of your sakes.

He remembered that at this very moment, there was the legendary Vhagar, unclaimed and free, somewhere on the island, waiting for someone worthy to forge a bond with her. And he would do it in your honour.

You were jolted awake from your slumber, the sound of your name ringing insistently in your ears as someone gently shook your shoulders.

Opening your eyes with heavy lids, you frowned to see Jace’s eager face hovering over you, his hands gripping your shoulders.

“Jace, what is it?” you mumbled, pushing him away with tired reluctance as you struggled to sit up.

“Vhagar has been stolen! We must find out who did it!” he exclaimed, his voice bubbling with urgency as he tugged at you to rise from your bed.

“We?” you replied slowly, letting the word hang in the air. Your gaze drifted past him, landing on Luke, Baela, and Rhaena, who stood ready to storm out.

You groaned and collapsed back into your pillows, muffling your voice as you protested, “Can this not wait until the sun graces the sky?”

Once more, Jace insisted, pulling you upright, even as you felt something being slipped onto your feet. You turned your bleary gaze to see Luke kneeling beside you, fastening your boots with surprising urgency.

“No time for that! We needed a person of age to accompany us,” Jace declared, lifting you to your feet with determined hands.

You froze in place, fixing him with a look that was a blend of disbelief and exasperation. “Jace... I’m ten, and you’re nine.”

Yet your protest went unheard as Jace and Luke eagerly dragged you through the castle’s dim corridors, Baela and Rhaena leading the way with purpose. A terrible knot of dread twisted in your stomach, and you murmured under your breath, “Perhaps we could find a guard.”

“That would take far too long,” Rhaena replied sharply, her steps firm as the twins guided you deeper into the shadowy tunnels beneath the castle.

Your eyes widened in disbelief, and your mouth gaped open as you caught sight of Aemond standing before you, his hair tousled and a cocky smirk dancing on his lips.

“It’s him,” Baela exclaimed, realization dawning on her.

Aemond's smirk widened, and he drawled, “It’s me.”

“Vhagar is my mother’s dragon,” Rhaena said, her voice trembling with indignation.

“Your mother’s dead. And Vhagar has a new rider now,” Aemond shot back, his words sharp as a dagger. You flinched at the cruelty woven into his tone.

“You claimed Vhagar?” you whispered, your voice barely more than a breath. Aemond’s gaze met yours, filled with an expectation of pride, but instead, he found only shock and hurt reflected in your eyes.

But before you could gather your thoughts, Rhaena’s voice pierced the air, filled with anger, “She was mine to claim!”

“Then you should’ve claimed her!” Aemond roared, his voice echoing through the tunnel. “Perhaps your cousins can find you a pig to ride. That would suit you better!”

Disgust twisted your features at Aemond’s taunts, yet your attention shifted as you saw Rhaena charging toward him. “Rhaena, wait!” you cried out, but it was too late.

In a heartbeat, Rhaena slammed into Aemond, pushing him with all her might. In response, he shoved her to the ground, and the chaos spiraled out of control. Everything happened so swiftly that you barely registered Baela darting past you until the sharp crack of her fist meeting Aemond’s cheek rang in your ears. He retaliated in an instant.

“Come at me again and I’ll feed you to my dragon!” Aemond roared, fury lighting up his features.

A gasp escaped your lips as you instinctively shouted, “Aemond!”

“She hit me first!” Aemond yelled back, his frustration spilling out around them like wildfire.

Just then, you felt a rush behind you as Jace charged forward, his own fury ignited. He struck Aemond squarely on the nose. In the blink of an eye, the fight erupted around you, with Jace, Luke, Rhaena, and Baela striking Aemond from every side.

It was only when you felt that surge of panic return to your mind and body that you tore yourself away from your stunned silence, sprinting toward the melee. “Stop it! All of you, stop!” you cried, your voice rising above the clamor.

But your pleas fell on deaf ears as the thrashing continued. In the fray, Jace’s elbow inadvertently crashed into your face, sending you spiraling toward the stone wall. Your head thudded sharply against the rough surface, pain blooming as darkness threatened to close in.

Time seemed to slow, and suddenly, the fighting ceased. Jace’s wide eyes met yours, filled with shock. “I—I didn’t mean to,” he stammered, guilt clouding his features.

Through the ringing in your ears, you attempted to open your eyes, focusing on the concern etched on your brother's face. “I know you didn’t mean to, Jace,” you murmured, your voice a fragile whisper.

Yet the fury of the confrontation did not relent; the struggle surrounding Aemond grew more fierce, spurred on by your injury. As blood trickled down your forehead, thick and unwelcome, Aemond's anger erupted. “You hurt her!” he roared, his voice laced with venom.

A throbbing pain radiated through your skull, swelling with every clash of voices and yells. Gritting your teeth against the discomfort, you finally opened your eyes wide enough to glimpse Jace, knife in hand. A pang of urgency surged within you, prompting a weak plea, “Jace, put that away.”

You longed to retreat into darkness, to let the cacophony fade away, but the din continued to swell. Jace unleashed a handful of sand, blinding Aemond momentarily, while Luke, with fierce determination, rushed forward carrying Jace's knife. “Luke, no!” you cried, though your words were nearly drowned in the chaos.

And then, before you could breathe another word, the world faded away into shadows, consumed by the horrifying scream that sliced through the air — Aemond's anguished cry as Luke struck at his eye.

To Be Continued...

[radishleaf]

wtf the ode to sun event has me crying. wtf. tragic lesbians. WHAT THE FUCK. i love du ruo a lot, but i can't ship her with the chief knowing she had to strike down her gf. wtf.

[bigfan-fanfic]

Bats in the Web (Spider-Man!Batdad x Batfam)

What if batfam meets a version of Batdad who is Spider-Man in his universe??

"We can't interfere!" Bruce growls. "I know you want to help, but after the last world we jumped into, we can't take chances."

Dick sighs. The last world they went into, they nearly ruined everything because Gotham had no Batman yet.

But luckily, something descends upon the mugging in progress.

But it isn't Batman.

A strange silver cable zips into view and slams into the assailant's back, spreading in a strange geometric pattern. He stumbles forward at the force of the blow, before the cable springs taut, and the mugger is flung into the air.

Someone lithe and graceful sails through the air, trailing more silver cables and quickly wraps the stranger up in them, robotic arms emerging from their back to assist - almost like a four-armed... spider.

The mugger dangles upside down from a traffic light, completely mummified in silver, and the figure, in a black bodysuit with light-catching silver filaments in a web pattern shining along the whole thing, and what appears to be a yellow hood and short jacket, crouches atop it.

"You get home safe, you hear?" they call. "We'll just be... hangin' around."

The would-be victim grins up at them. "Thanks, Spidey!"

But the Bats are looking shocked.

Because that was clearly your voice, only slightly altered by a voice changer - the voice you use when you broadcast to negotiate with people while they're on patrol.

Before they can speak, though, you've flung yourself through the air, opening your arms to reveal the gliding wings attached from your sides to the arms of your jacket so you can sail through the air.

"Pops is... Spider-Man?" Dick yelps.

From what they can surmise, in this universe, Bruce still lost his parents at a young age, but he didn't develop the desire to become Batman.

Instead, while on a field trip, you were exposed to some kind of radioactive spider, and Bruce did what he could to keep your secret and develop his technological aptitude to help you.

It was Alfred's death that convinced you to become a hero - his last words to you being that with great power came great responsibility.

You and Bruce are still very young in this world, barely old enough to have adopted a young Dick Grayson. It's probable that Damian won't be born, and Tim won't be adopted by you.

You're so much more cheerful than Batman - Gotham's Spider-Man quips, sometimes with dark humor, and inspires her citizens to fight back against the oppressive darkness of their city with good humor and clever tactics.

The Bats make their way to Wayne Manor, only to find the harsh brickwork and traditional architecture has made way for modern-quality of life improvements, fiber optic light fixtures, glass bay windows, and high tech at every turn. It barely resembles their Wayne Manor.

In fact, the caverns beneath the estate aren't even utilized, with there instead being a high-tech laboratory on the grounds with a launchpad to fling you over the bay and into the city.

It's a shock to see them - Bruce Wayne, his body in shape but much softer: he obviously works out hard but he's clearly not a fighter. His movements are relaxed, even sluggish compared to the constant vigilance of the Bat. And he wears an unfamiliar expression on his face - a genuine lazy grin.

Meanwhile there's this world's you - lithe and strong, battle-worn and with the at-rest tension of a vigilante.

Alt-Bruce and you have an easy banter, a love very much like two young people - you're only a little older than Dick, after all, which he finds weird - especially when he and Tim babysit his younger version.

Jason is utterly touched when Alt-Bruce asks about all the kids, so he can make sure to adopt them - he wouldn't want them going homeless in this world. All Jason knows is that young Jason Todd in this world might just be saved from years of trauma.

You're still the strategist, but Bruce is your mission control and the gear/science guy - he helps with upgrades and is the one to suggest a way to get the Bats back to their world.

But you'll need their help.

You fly through the city that night accompanied by five gliding shadows. Shadows that brutally subdue the henchmen of Black Mask as you soar above their heads, connecting some power towers with a filament web, forming a major circuit Alt-Bruce can use to power a tachyonic collider, which should launch them back into their world.

They return to their world, but Jason pulls Bruce aside.

"B... you owe him."

"Owe him what? Who, Jaybird?"

Jason sighs. "Pops. You owe him a chance to see that smile. On you."

Bruce looks at him. "You think my face can still do that?"

"Hey, I was surprised that you were actually funny! But... yeah, I do."

"Maybe you're right. Maybe you're right..."

[ghoul-bonez]

~I Love You, I Trust You, I See You~

(Ao’nung x Fem! Deaf! Sully! Reader)

Summary: When the Sullys moved to Awa’atlu Ao’nung thought they were weird, knew they were weird. He took a particular hatred towards the older Sully kids, Neteyam was the perfect little follower, Lo’ak was constantly in trouble, Kiri was always off in her own world, and you. Just you. You seemed to always ignore him and never talk, but what he didn’t know was it’s because you couldn’t hear him.

Word count: 4.4k

Author’s note: This is the longest oneshot I’ve written at 4.4k words and 9 1/2 google docs pages… Sign language will be normal font, and bold & italics will be spoken, although I try my best to show which is going on.

~Masterlist~

I Love You, I Trust You, I See You

When people thought of the Sully family many thought of your siblings. They thought of Lo’ak who was always a troublemaker, causing chaos everywhere he went. They thought of Kiri who seemed so in tune with her surroundings that she might as well be Eywa herself. They thought of Tuk who was the youngest, still enamored by everyday life. They thought of Neteyam, a strong leader who would someday take on the role of Olo’eyktan after your father.

They never thought of you.

You who always seemed to be in your own little world. You who never had any friends. You who never talked. You who always seemed so attentive to the world around you, yet had no desire to join it.

When you were born after your twin Neteyam, a spike of fear had run through everyone in the room when you began to cry, but no sound came out. They feared you may not be breathing right, you may need your airways cleared. They feared something was wrong, and that was true.

When your parents or siblings thought about your family, they thought about you. They thought about how funny you were, always cracking jokes when there was a chance. They thought about how kind you were, taking a moment to check on everyone daily. They thought about how different you were than most.

They thought about you. You who couldn’t hear.

You always seemed to be in your own world, and that drew many away from you, they didn’t want to be friends with someone who they didn’t think was paying attention to them, and to be fair you weren’t paying attention to people most of the time. You preferred to direct your attention to the world around you, always keeping an eye out as you couldn’t hear danger coming.

When you had been caught by Quaritch and his men you had panicked, more than everyone else at least. You didn’t know what was going on, you didn’t know what they were saying, your lip reading was not dependable, and definitely not in english.

When your siblings arms were bound you couldn’t keep yourself calm, now you had no way of communicating, they couldn’t translate for you. Tears streamed down your face, eyes closed as tight as possible to try to calm yourself by blocking out the outside world.

When you felt your captor’s grip on your release your eyes shot open, looking around at the damage around you, multiple avatars dead on the ground. Then you ran, you ran faster than ever before in the first direction you saw.

You ran and ran, eyes trained on everything around you, and when you ran into someone and they grabbed you again it was like a shock. You let out a scream, the first noise anyone had ever heard you make. A noise nobody was aware you could make.

You turned to dead weight in an attempt to get out of their grasp, panic coursing through you again as your eyes couldn’t come into focus. However, the person dropped to the ground with you, pulling your face towards them and holding it still as you tried to thrash. Then they blew air into your face, and you realized you were safe.

When you were younger you would throw temper tantrums, as children do, where you would close your eyes to refuse to listen to your parents. Not being able to see them meant no sign language, which meant no having to listen to them. However your father found one thing always worked, blowing air on your face. Your eyes would shoot open, highly offended with your mouth dropped open, before you would sign at him, “Your breath is gross.” in retaliation.

You had never been more relieved for your dad’s stupid way of getting you to listen. Your eyes finally came into focus and you calmed down seeing his face, but that calm quickly turned into crying, sobbing. You couldn’t help but let out all of the pent up emotion inside of you, but eventually you calmed down and were able to stand back up, staggering your way home with the rest of your family.

Some time later when your parents had been arguing in your family kelku you hadn’t been paying attention as your siblings were, all huddled against the wall. You had been lost in your own world once again, not wanting to know what was being said as you were still processing what had happened earlier. You didn’t need anything on top of that as you feared it would make your careful stack of emotions you had constructed come tumbling down.

They had come tumbling down though as your parents announced you were moving, leaving. Leaving everything you had ever known, your home, your grandmother, the forest you loved so much. You couldn’t help it as you cried again, being held by your mother this time.

However as you thought about it you weren’t that sad. You had always liked the water, everyone not having to hear underwater made you feel more included, more like you belonged, and you had heard the Metkayina used sign language. Maybe this would be a chance to make friends for the first time in your life. Maybe you would be able to talk to people for once, nobody at home taking the time to learn American Sign Language, as your father had called it, like your family had.

One thing you hadn't taken into account was that they used a different version of sign language, but that had become very apparent when you first jumped into the water with Tsireya, Ao’nung, and Rotxo. They used signs you had never seen before, ones you didn’t recognize. You couldn’t help but feel a little beaten down at dinner, staying quieter than usual, not signing as much.

Afterwards your dad had asked you to step outside, waving a hand towards you as he exited the marui.

He sat down on the pathway, and you knew he expected you to join him, so you did. You sat next to him with your feet dangling in the water, looking out towards the horizon, refusing to look at him so you didn't have to have a conversation.

That didn’t last long though as he poked you in the arm, causing you to look at him offended, mouth open and eyebrows raised. He took this as his chance to speak, “You okay, kid?” He signed.

You sighed deeply, fidgeting with your hands before signing, “I’m okay, dad.”

You could tell he didn’t believe you, lips pressed together in a thin line and eyebrows furrowed, “You’re less talkative. What’s wrong?” He signed, proving he didn’t think you were telling the truth.

A frown came to your face, feeling like it was permanently there after the past few days or so, but you continued, “I’m disappointed.”

He raised his eyebrows, surprise and confusion on his face, “About what?”

You looked away from his face, instead choosing to watch his hands, you didn’t want to see the pity on his face, “We don’t speak the same language. I can’t communicate. Everyone else can at least talk to each other.”

His face softened, but you didn’t see it, “It’ll be okay. You’re a fast learner, so you will learn their language quickly, then you can make friends. If anyone actually wants to be your friend.” He meant it playfully, and you saw him laugh, so jammed your elbow in his ribs.

Then the conversation was over, your mom poking her head out of the doorway and saying something to your dad. He just stood up and gave you a look like he was asking, “You good?” and you nodded, “Yes.” back in return.

After your father’s words of encouragement you decided to work harder, learn faster, determined to be able to communicate with the people around you, and a few weeks later you were excelling whereas your siblings were still struggling. They were caught up on the differences of Metkayina sign language versus ASL but you had grasped that there weren’t differences, or similarities, and you would just be learning from scratch.

Even though you were doing well at it, working your way towards being fluent, you were worried about talking to the people, mostly because of one person in particular, Ao’nung. It was as if Ao'nung was determined to ruin your siblings' lives, and yours, but you didn’t know that.

You had seen Ao’nung’s attempts to cause hell for your siblings, nagging at them, laughing at them, and even trying to start fights, with Lo’ak in particular. Him messing with your siblings made you frustrated, but you weren’t aware of the taunts meant to make you upset, and laughing that was meant to make you feel like a target coming towards you from a distance.

The bullying towards your siblings had become more and more frustrating and you had begun showing your anger at home, being rougher with things than usual, and not wanting to go outside of the shared family marui.

It had been peaceful while you and your mom had been working on dinner, but she noticed you seemed to be far off, handling the food with rougher hands, “Are you okay, (Y/n).” Neytiri signed as you placed another fish over the fire.

You rolled your eyes at her, upset she was even insinuating something was wrong. In reality there was, but you didn’t want to admit that, “Yes mama, I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” She had asked back, concern on her face as she looked at you closely.

You signed, “Yes.” Trying to end the conversation, but you knew she would just keep pushing.

You saw your mom think for a moment, her face scrunching up in concentration, “Well I am not.”

You frowned more, once again feeling like it had always been there since you left the forest, “Not what?”

She was frowning too now, “I’m not sure you’re fine. I see you isolating yourself. Even from me and your father.” She grabbed your hands, squeezing them gently to show her love in a little way.

Tears welled in your eyes, frustrated tears, tears that came because with all the stress recently they were the only way your brain knew how to process, to cope.

You pulled your hands from hers to wipe at them, “I’m sorry.” was all you could say.

She wiped the tears falling down your face before saying, “Why?”

You sniffled, running your hands down your face before signing, “I see Lo’ak, Kiri, and Neteyam being picked on, and there is nothing I can do. I can’t stand up to the bullies. I can’t say anything.”

“Okay, well soon you will be able to say something. You are learning their sign language, yes? I’ve heard from your siblings you are out working them.” She smiled at you and you could really see how proud of you she was.

You couldn’t help but crack a little smile although tears still threatened to fall, “Yes, mama. I’m getting better, but I’m worried it will be too late though.”

“I’m sure you will do your best, my ‘ite.” She thought for a second, “Why don’t you go try to talk to these kids tomorrow?”

You sighed, you didn’t want to, but you knew your mom would nag you until you agreed, “Okay. Love you.”

She smiled lovingly at you, “Love you too.” before pulling you into a hug.

When tomorrow came you didn’t even want to leave your marui, but you found the strength to do so. You did some of the breathing exercises Tsireya had taught you to try to calm your nerves, and they worked for the most part, steadying you and clearing your head.

However as soon as you stepped outside your marui you regretted it, not wanting to do what you had promised to your mother, but you knew you had to eventually. Eventually, which meant you could fool around as long as you wanted beforehand, and so you decided to settle down for a quick nap on the beach.

When you laid down and closed your eyes you quickly and easily fell asleep. You were still tired from last night when you struggled to sleep from your anxious thoughts.

When the Sullys moved to Awa’atlu Ao’nung thought they were weird, knew they were weird. He took a particular hatred towards the older Sully kids, Neteyam was the perfect little follower, Lo’ak was constantly in trouble, Kiri was always off in her own world, and you. Just you. You seemed to always ignore him and never talk, but what he didn’t know was that it's because you couldn’t hear him.

Ao’nung tried to not let anything get to him, especially when it came to people he didn’t like, like the Sullys, but for some reason you, (Y/n) Sully, had peeved him more than anyone or anything else. He had grown tired of you ignoring him when he shouted or laughed at you, like you didn’t even notice he was there, tired of you flat out avoiding him sometimes as you scurried away when he tried to approach you.

Of course he knew why, he had the same intentions to bully you and make you feel unwanted in Awa’atlu as your siblings. Of course you didn’t want this so you spent most of your time avoiding him, but for some reason instead of him not caring about it, it made him want to get under your skin even more.

When the sun rose today he decided today was the day to act. Today he would confront you head on, face to face. He would make you notice him, and he would make you feel awful in the process. So he gathered his friends, his goons, and they set off to find you.

They first checked with Tsireya who was with the rest of your siblings, but you were nowhere to be found, they all insisted they hadn’t seen you. Then they combed the beach, going from one end to the other, and on the far end they found you peacefully asleep on the soft sand.

He couldn’t help but notice how cute you looked asleep and peaceful, but he quickly shook it off, shouting at you, “Wake up, freak!”

He was targeting your extra finger and the hair above your eyebrows, like he had your siblings because he knew that got to them, and hoped it would do the same to you.

When you didn’t stir he tried shouting again, assuming you were awake, but trying to act asleep to avoid him, “What is wrong with you? Do you not care or are you stupid avoiding me?”

His friends laughed at you when you still didn’t move, eyes not cracking open and your breathing staying the same, so he took the next step, trying something physical. He kicked sand up and over you and finally you stirred, sitting straight up and looking around for the source of the sand, and when you saw him your heart dropped, a lump forming in your throat.

“There we go, now you are paying attention.” He snickered.

You tried to read his lips, but he spoke too fast, and you just stayed silent. You cocked your head to the side, eyebrows drawn together in a look of confusion.

You hesitated for a second, but were about to sign something when he spoke again. “Do you not speak? A silent freak, interesting.” You still didn’t understand exactly what he was saying, but his friends all laughed at you, and although you couldn’t hear it it made you feel small.

“I’m sorry. I can not hear you.” You signed, using Metkayina sign language this time.

He scoffed, “I do not believe that. I think you just don’t want us to bother you, but here we are.” He laughed in your face.

“Please use your hands.” You tried to communicate, but they just wouldn’t listen to you.

“No.” He sneered, this you understood, one single word.

Your mouth dropped open, offense written all over it. You knew he was disrespectful, didn’t care about others feelings, but you would make him care, “I can not hear. I am deaf.”

He was about to retort against you again, but when he had been searching for you earlier that day Neteyam knew he meant trouble, so when he found you he stayed in the shadows, watching, but now Ao’nung had taken it too far.

He surged forwards, anger consuming him, “Step off bro. She can’t hear you.”

“Yeah that is what she just said.” He rolled his eyes, “I do not care though, it is better if she can not hear me. Means I can make fun of her without her knowing.” He signed the last part so you could understand.

You shrunk back, standing to hide behind Neteyam. You tugged on his arm, “It’s okay.” You signed.

“It’s not okay, (Y/n).” He rubbed a hand down his face, turning to Ao’nung, “You need to leave her alone.”

“Whatever.” Ao’nung scoffed before turning and walking away.

Now he knew why you seemed to ignore him, you just didn’t know he was talking to you. You were probably avoiding him because you didn’t know their sign language yet. He felt bad for some reason. He usually wouldn’t feel bad about his bullying but with you it felt different now knowing this.

He couldn’t show his feelings though, worried about his little group making fun of him, but he slowly started to back off of you, and your siblings some as well. Whenever one of his “friends” would ask why, he would reply something like “We can not make fun of a cripple.” and roll his eyes, still a jab at you, but less so.

At some point you became all that consumed his thoughts, on his mind at all times, and whenever he would see you with his sister, or your siblings, he would feel the need to insert himself into the conversation, but he always refrained. He wanted to talk to you, to apologize, but he feared judgment from his “friends” who are just as nasty as he was.

Eventually he couldn’t hold it in anymore, heading to your marui to ask to talk with you, in the way you would understand. When he knocked on the doorway of the family home Lo’ak was the first to notice him, glaring at him and nudging Neteyam in the side, directing his attention towards Ao’nung.

Neteyam stood before either of his parents even noticed the boy in the doorway, stalking over to him and dragging him down the pathway so they could talk, “What do you want?” He hissed out.

Ao’nung cleared his throat, but the words still came out small, nervous, “I came to apologize to (Y/n)...”

“No.” Was all Neteyam said before turning away and starting to walk back into the Sully family’s home.

Ao’nung grabbed his arm before he got too far away, “Please. Please let me talk to her.” He begged, something he didn’t like to do, but it was necessary.

Neteyam sighed, “Fine, but if you do anything I will chop your head off myself.” He threatened the boy, “I’ll go get her.”

It wasn’t long before you stepped out of the marui, a frown on your face and hands he could see shaking, “What do you want?” You signed, hands shaking with nerves.

“I came to say sorry.” He started off, “I’m sorry for bullying you, and your siblings. I promise I won’t do it any more.”

“And?” You asked, knowing there was more.

He looked nervous now, hands shaking as he signed, “I wanted to extend the offer of friendship.”

You looked shocked now, “You want to be friends with me?”

He nodded his head, smiling shyly, “Yes. Absolutely.”

You smiled this time, relieved he would be leaving your siblings alone, and excited to learn more about him, about what he was really like under the bad boy shell, “Okay, friend.”

He just nodded at you, “I have to go now. See you at lessons with Tsireya tomorrow?”

“Of course.” You responded.

When you entered the marui again everyone's eyes were on you, a light blush on your face, “I made a friend.” You smiled.

You could see your parents cheering and clapping for you, but your siblings' faces were unsure, you would have to reassure them later but for now you were all having a family night, playing games and handing out things you had made for each other with the new resources you were getting used to using. They were clunky and awkward, but you would get better, it reminded you of something, of someone.

As days passed into weeks you and Ao’nung had grown closer, him pretty much taking over your lessons, stealing you away from Tsireya who was sad to see you go, but happy for her brother for making a friend, a real friend, not one of his goons that tended to hover around him at all times. You had seemingly broken down his bad boy aesthetic and his goons had since left him, moving onto another leader to follow, still as nasty as ever.

You were grateful for him letting his walls down around you, allowing you to see him, and soon you did. You saw him as more than you ever had before. You couldn’t help but think about courting him, of trading little handmade gifts, and sharing little intimate moments of happiness throughout the day.

It seemed as if he wanted the same as he began bringing you gifts, starting as a little armband he made from you out of hard to find shells he had spent many hours trying to find, then it moved onto necklaces and bracelets. Each was more intricate than the last.

When this started you began to bring him things too, poorly made things because using dried seaweed and palm leaves were different from the materials of the jungle, but you managed. Even though they weren’t the best quality he proudly wore them, gladly accepting every gift you would give.

Everyone had noticed by now, the traded jewelry, the touches that lingered a little too long, and the longing looks when you weren’t together. What baffled people most however was not Ao’nung’s seemingly peaceful side coming out, but the fact that neither of you had officially come out and asked if you were courting.

You were courting, you both knew that, but Ao’nung wanted to put it into words, he wanted to make it official, but he felt the need to fix a couple things first, to get a couple blessings.

So he went to the person he thought would be easiest first, your mom. She had seen you two from afar and already had talked to you about it, encouraging you to pursue him and get what you wanted. She had said she was not Tsahík, but Eywa had shown her signs. So when Ao’nung asked she immediately gave him her blessing, knowing this was something not just he wanted, but something you wanted too.

Then he went to your dad. He was a fierce warrior who commanded respect, and Ao’nung tried his best to be respectful, carefully wording his proposal of courting his daughter. Of course Jake had been hesitant at first, but eventually he caved after Ao’nung had mentioned he already had Neytiri’s blessing.

Finally he went to Neteyam, your twin brother, your best friend since birth. Neteyam was adamantly against it, wanting nothing to do with Ao’nung, and wanting his sister to have nothing to do with him either. He was still on the edge of forgiving Ao’nung, swaying over a cliff where falling meant forgiving Ao’nung for his wrong doings, and when Ao’nung explained his love for you, his intentions to never hurt you and treat you with the respect you deserve Neteyam fell over the cliff, giving the Metkayina boy his blessing.

Once he had gotten their blessings he had invited you to the beach where he had first intentionally seeked you out. You were hesitant to go back there with him, but you gave in, trusting him wholeheartedly.

You love him. You trust him. You see him.

When you got there he pulled you to sit down with him, you both facing each other, and he signed, letting his heart out, letting his feelings show, “I am sorry for any times I have hurt you. I was an ass and a fool, and I wish I had never caused you upset or harm. I am sorry for bullying your siblings too, they did not deserve it, but I was scared by the new people and what they would bring. I now see I should have helped like my sister. I should have been making you feel at home here, not doing the opposite.”

“It’s okay. We’re past that.” You reassured him.

He nodded, continuing, “Now I see how special you are. I see how much you’ve changed me and my views on life. I am grateful for the person you have shaped me into. I am grateful I got the chance to make it up to you. I want to court you. Officially.”

You felt your heart swell, butterflies in your stomach, and you were sure it was showing on your face, “I would love that.”

You moved your hands carefully to cup his face, holding it there as you looked into his eyes, hoping he understood how grateful you were for him too, then you pulled him in, lips brushing against each other before they fully made contact. It was magical, unlike anything you had felt before, and you were happy it was him making you feel this way. So happy, so loved.

When you pulled apart he smiled widely at you, grabbing your hands and giving them a gentle but tight squeeze before using them to say, “I see you. I see you.”

You sign your thoughts from earlier, “I love you, I trust you, I see you.”

He doesn’t say anything else, just smiles, and pulls you back in for another kiss, and you feel at peace. You know he is yours, and you are his. You know he will never leave you, and you will never leave him. You know he loves you, and you love him. You know he sees you, and you see him.

Word Bank:

Olo’eyktan (Clan leader)

Kelku (Omatikaya homes)

Metkayina (Ocean Na’vi)

Marui (Metkayina homes)

‘Ite (Daughter)

Awa’atlu (Metkayina village)

Tsahík (Spiritual leader)

Eywa (Na’vi Goddess)

[mobbu-min]

☆ grandma's best friend ☆

summary: in which you’re tasked with picking up your grandma after her knitting club and can’t help but fall in love with the handsome man sat right beside her.

a/n had this in the wip hell for forever. i was going to add azul but.... i have the hardest time writing him, so maybe he'll appear in another piece. also this takes place after they have graduated from nrc!

characters trey clover, deuce spade, jack howl, silver & lilia vanrouge

tw cursing

 Despite living in the same house with your grandma since the day you were born, there were still plenty of things you didn’t know about her. And truthfully you weren't one to pry into her, what you considered, pretty mundane life. Early morning walks, baking a mountain of cookies and breads and watching soap operas weren’t really your things. 

 So not once, never in your life, did you expect that you’d be stopped dead in your tracks the moment you entered through the glass doors of your grandma’s friend's sunroom. It was supposed to be a knitting class for older women, right?

 Well, apparently your grandma decided to be super mean and not tell you about the absolute hunk that came every week. 

 You watched from the entry as he laughed along with your grandma. It was like you could hear church bells in the distance. You instantly could tell with the way your grandma and the other ladies flocked to him and talked so sweetly to him that they were absolutely smitten with him. 

 As if sensing your rising temperature, your grandma turned her head around and waved you over. “What are you doing all the way over there? Come here, sweetie.”

 You suddenly felt so shy and quickly averted your gaze. Your stomach doing backflips the closer you got. Why did you feel like you were going to explode?

 As your grandma introduced you, you peaked up at him only to freeze in place the moment your gaze caught his. And the moment his lips stretched into the prettiest, most dazzling smile you’ve ever seen, you knew you were down bad. 

 Like really bad.

Trey Clover <3

⋆ Trey Clover, the baker’s son. Everyone knew him as a kind and gentle soul. You’ve known him since you were young, going to the same elementary school as him and his feline friend, however that all you were. Simply classmates and your desire to know him outside of that was zero to none.

⋆ So safe to say, you haven’t seen him since he was a preteen and suddenly the image of a lanky, nerdy looking boy with a shy smile dispersed when you saw him.

⋆ Tall, strong and handsome, not to mention a fine looking ass. He’s definitely changed since you last saw him. And suddenly, all the older women talking about trying to hook up their daughters with the baker’s son suddenly made a lot more sense. He was the definition of husband material.

⋆ And you were determined to make him yours.

☆☆☆

“Hopefully you remember my granddaughter, I know she can blend into the crowds easily.” You grandma laughed joyfully and despite her fraile statue, the heaviness of her hands persisted causing you to stumble forwards.

Chuckling awkwardly, you smiled crookedly at Trey who smiled easily at your grandma’s antics, seemingly used to it. Placing a large, yet comforting, hand on your shoulder he steady you, “Don’t worry, Mrs. (l/n), I have a pretty strong memory.”

“Hmpf, and hopefully you keep it then, lest you end up like your grandmother over there.” Your grandma jabbed playfully at the chubby woman who glared softly in her direction.

And yet despite your best attempt to listen to the both of them bicker back and forth, the warmth sweeping through your thin sweater was enough to keep your attention on the young man. Catching your gaze, Trey’s honey eyes twinkled with curiosity, “Hey, (y/n), it’s been awhile.”

Like water hitting oil, your heart exploded into thousands of little sparks the second your name rolled off his tongue. How can one person sound so sweet? Like sugar and sprinkles and everything sweet? It was not far!

“Hehe, yeahhh.” You drawled out, your cheeks ablaze and hot to the touch. Doing your best to reign in your heart eyes, you coughed into your fist and smiled sweetly at him, “H-how have you been? Last I checked you were in dentistry school, right?”

Scratching his nape, Trey hummed, “I was, but after my dad hurt his back I came back to help with the bakery. It didn’t feel right to leave my mom to take care of the bakery, my dad and siblings all by herself.”

Ah, a family man, how nice, you cooed internally. Now, you haven’t thought of settling down anytime soon, but for him? Your ass is sat.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Trey. That sounds horrible.” You said with full sincerity, your heart aching for him. “Have you thought about going back though?”

“I’ve thought about it, but…” His gaze roamed around the room filled with elderly ladies laughing and joking around, to them greeting their partners with warm welcomes and honey eyes, until settling back to you. Mirth swam through his pretty eyes, “I kinda like it here.”

Your heart, the romantic thing it was, was set zooming into the sky and exploding into fireworks. While you knew it was merely coincidence that you just happened to be here and asked that particular question, it was all you needed to decide that whatever future Trey wanted was one you were going to be a part of.

The world can call you whatever, a romantic, a simp, you didn’t care.

Tilting your head, you smiled sweetly at him, “Yeah, I do too.”

This was going to be your happily ever after.

Deuce Spade <3

⋆ It took you a second to recognize the boy that struggled to untangle the yarn on his lap, but the moment his wide blue eyes scanned the room to see how far behind he was, you knew.

⋆ Deuce Spade, the former bad boy turned honorary magical student.

⋆ You wouldn’t say that you didn't like him, more like you don’t know him. Your paths never really crossed, with him always skipping school and all. Though you did always have a soft spot for him, afterall he would consistently turn a blind eye every time you snuck out of p.e.

⋆ And you couldn’t deny the tiny crush you had on him either. Something about his bad boy behavior that made your young nerdy heart swoon.

⋆ So who could blame you for blushing the moment he laid eyes on you.

☆☆☆

 Pretty, was the first thought that crossed your mind. Also, that he looked a lot like his mom, who you’ve tried to get with multiple times before hand. Sadly your homemade lunches and pathetic attempts at flirting did nothing to convince her to give you a chance. However it did convince her not to bill you every time she had to fix up your old beaten up car. 

 He looked a lot older too. His big bright blue eyes, a little narrower yet still glowing like the sun shining down on the sea. His soft cheeks were gone, a lot more slender and mature, yet he still maintained that youthful pink hue to the apple of his cheeks. And if you looked closely enough you could see the black ink of tattoos peeking out of his cerulean sweater. 

 You could feel your cheeks blossom into the all too familiar hue of the cherry blossoms that grew outside the windows. You hoped your makeup would mask the heat radiating off your cheeks. Clutching onto the straps of your bag, you shuffled towards your grandma, who stared at you with knowing eyes. Curses, I should have never left my diary where she could see it. 

 Just as you opened your mouth to greet your grandma, your breath hitched. It was like you were staring into the ocean, the glimmers in his eyes like clear waters. You were in awe at how a simple look from a guy you haven’t seen in ages could leave you so breathless. 

 A sharp jab to your ribs quickly ripped you out of whatever shoujo-esque moment you were having. Crumbling over, you gingerly held your side and wheezed. Your grandma, the blunt old lady she is, paid your suffering no mind and was quick to chastise you. “Goodness (y/n), have I not taught you nothing? It’s rude to stare.”

 Like a knight you’ve read about in plenty of romance novels back in your preteens and teens (even now honestly), he came to your rescue. 

 “It’s alright, I don’t mind Mrs. (l/n).” You could hear your grandma huff and turn away, probably to gossip with the other ladies. Despite her old age, her strength has yet to fail her and her elbows were, unfortunately, sharp. Yet, all that pain disappeared with a gentle touch to your shoulder. “Hey, are you okay?”

 Raising your head, your eyes widened at the closeness between you both. You were sure at this point your makeup did nothing to help the ever darkening color of your face. If anything it was probably being wiped off with how much you were sweating. 

 Laughing nervously, you shook your head and smiled, “Y-yeah, I’m good. It’s nothing I’m not used to.”

 Amusement danced in his eyes. Rubbing at his own side, he nodded along, “Tell me about it, she sure packs a punch.” Familiarity sparkled across his features, “(y/n), right? You were a grade above me?”

 “Yup, it’s been awhile, Deuce.” Sitting in your grandma’s spot, you took one of the sweet strawberry jam cookies and popped it in your mouth.”What have you been up to lately?”

 Sitting down, Deuce hummed, “You know, uni and stuff. Studying isn’t really my forte, but I’m trying hard.”

 “Making your mom proud?” You teased softly. With how often you were over at her house, you heard plenty of stories of his recent endeavors. Not to mention, you could never get over how fondly she spoke of her only son. The type of love and proudness that was totally unique to her. 

 Sighing, Deuce ran a hand through his hair, “I sure hope so…”

 Punching his shoulders, you scoffed, “Oh, c’mon Deuce, give yourself more credit. You're practically the light of her life. No matter what happens, she’ll always be proud of you.”

 Warmth flooded his gaze at your words. Despite knowing that, it was always nice to hear it said out loud. Playing with the loose threads of his sweater, he easily turned the conversation around, “Uh, but what about you? My mom says you're at the house every week to get your car fixed.”

 “Oh, yeah…haha…” You laughed bashfully, praying to the Sevens that she didn’t mention your flirting. Placing a finger on your chin, you stared up at the ceiling, “I’ve been good. I work at the local tattoo shop as a receptionist. I’m hoping that Mr. Stevens will finally accept my portfolio, but from the looks of things…I think I’m better off trying to get an apprenticeship in the city.”

 Nodding along, Deuce grinned, “I remember you always doodling on everything. I’m surprised you didn’t try…um…professional painting? Is that a thing? Like galleries and stuff?”

 “I wanted to, but it was too expensive. Tattooing though? Pretty accessible money wise, it’s just a pain in the ass to get someone to take you under their wing.” You sighed tiredly. Shrugging your shoulders, you turned your gaze to Deuce and grinned, “I guess we’ve both been busy trying to make something of ourselves huh?”

 “Yeah, I guess we are.”

 Hearing your grandma call out your name, you knew your conversation had to come to its end. Rising up, you fixed your bag and offered Deuce a soft smile. 

 “It was nice talking to you again. I’m kinda sad it was cut short.”

 Scratching his cheek, he averted his eyes, “Well…it doesn't have too.”

 Tilting your head, you looked at him in confusion. Something warm and electric blooming in your chest. 

 Reaching into his pocket, he took out his phone and offered it to you. Smiling nervously, he stuttered, “L-let’s exchange numbers and if you aren’t too busy, let’s get some drinks sometime this week.”

 It was like thousands of angels came down from heaven at his proposal. This was everything your little preteen heart had ever wanted, and who were you to deny her?

 “That sounds like fun!”

Jack Howl <3

(reader is a wolf beastmen too!)

⋆ Muscles….

⋆ So many muscles…

⋆ You could feel your knees quiver and threaten to crumble under your weight. You’ve seen plenty of muscular people in your life, but never one with such a gentle touch as him. The way he held the croquet needle was as if he was afraid he’d break it with his full force.

⋆ To the gentle sway of his fluffy snow white tail told you everything you needed to know about him.

☆☆☆

You considered taping your own tail against your leg with how fast it wagged behind you. Don’t be fooled, you loved who you were, but you didn’t love how easy it was for others to decipher your emotions through the simple beat of your tail. And it appears that, no matter how hard you try to feign a cool and mysterious persona, everyone could see how much of a dork you were by simply looking behind you.

Your grandma stifled her own chuckles behind a wrinkled hand, “Jack, this is my granddaughter, (y/n). I hope you can both get along.”

Both of your ears perked up the moment your eyes caught his, golden like the sun surrounded by fluffy white clouds. Again, your grandma giggled and busied herself with other matters. Deciding to let fate take charge.

Nodding your head, you smiled shyly, “It’s nice to meet you, Jack. It’s not often I meet other wolf beastmen here.”

You liked to think that's why you were so excited, and certainly not because he was practically your dream guy. Oh Sevens, it felt like you were in a dream. You wished you wouldn’t wake up.

Jack nodded, his expression stoic, but much like yourself, his curiosity was clearly shown by the twitch of his ear and wag of his fluffy tail. You instantly realized he wasn’t much for talking. Typically with anyone else, you’d find it awkward, but with Jack, you found yourself at ease.

Leaning against the window frame, you gestured to his green and brick brown coasters, “I like your coasters, they're so pretty. Are they for anyone in particular?”

Shaking his head, he moved besides you, “No, it’s actually for me. I thought it would look nice underneath my cactuses.”

His voice was deep, but not too deep that made you shudder, deep and smooth like you were floating through a river. A steady beat unlike your heart. From your spot you could smell his cologne, a light sandalwood fragrance that mixed well with his natural woodsy scent.

Humming softly, you pulled your tail to your lap to prevent it from hitting him and gently ran your fingers through the soft fur, “Cactuses, huh? You must take very good care of them.”

“I do. They seem easy to care for, but they need a strict schedule to make sure they grow strong.” Jack said proudly. A smirk that sent your heart into cardiac arrest present on his clear brown skin. And then as if he suddenly remembered something, he looked down almost bashfully, “And well, some are also for my family.”

Ugh, he just keeps on getting more and more perfect! You internally squealed. Calming yourself, you asked, “That’s nice of you. Handmade things from the heart is always the best. Is that why you’re taking these classes? I typically don’t see guys like you willingly hanging out in a place like this.”

Leaning his head back, Jack thought, “I thought this would broaden my horizons. Knitting and crocheting requires patience and discipline. So in turn that would help me out when I work out.”

“Training the mind, while training the body!”

“Mh-hm.” Glancing down at you, he grinned, “I’m glad you understand. The guys in my work out group were jerks about it.”

Grinning, you gently nudged him with your elbow, “They sound like a bunch of airheads then.”

Jack chuckled under his breath. They type of laugh that would have every head turning. The type of laugh that you would hear rarely, like a special treat. The type of laugh you knew you wanted for yourself.

Right then and there, you decided you were going to do your hardest to make him yours.

Silver <3

⋆ Beautiful, stunning, angelic, you could go on.

⋆ The boy in front of you was straight out of a romance novel. The knight perhaps, judging by his build. But his face totally screams prince.

⋆ You could feel your heart racing in your chest that it was almost painful.

⋆ And dear sevens, he just smiled.

⋆ Yeah, you were screwed.

☆☆☆

“I am so sorry!” You apologized profusely, hastily taking out napkins from your bag to dap onto his soft pastel blue sweater. Searing heat painted your face. Pure embarrassment piercing your chest.

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it.” He said softly, gently prying your shaking hands away. “Things like this happen, no need to get so worked up about it.”

If this was any other instance where you weren’t fighting your demons, you would be swooning and thinking to yourself that your dreams of becoming the main character of a shoujo anime finally came true. But no, the world hates you. So you were having a difficult time not feeling bad, especially when his sweaters looked so…

Expensive… you sighed internally, trying your best not to eye the large weird shaped blob staining his chest. “Still, I am incredibly sorry. Maybe I can pay for dry cleaning?”

A smile, soft and so, so, so pretty, formed on his face. A gentle shake of head caused his silky silver hair to fall delicately across his clear glasslike skin, you weren’t sure if you were feeling awe or envy at this point. With an amused tone that held no annoyance, he reassured, “I told you it was okay, didn’t I? I’m not mad at all, so you shouldn’t feel bad.”

Then his smile fell. Looking crestfallen, he sighed, “If anything, I should apologize. Your coffee is all gone now.”

Immediately alarm bells began to ring all throughout your head. A boy as pretty and nice as him should never be sad, it said. Fix it, it demanded.

Holding up your empty cup, you laughed nervously, hoping to ease his imaginary burden. “No, no! I have so much left! See!” A sad single drop touched your lip. You wanted to end it all.

Despite your pure hatred for the world right now, the boy in front of you found it funny. Or maybe he was pitying you. Either way you’re taking it as a win.

Covering your mouth with your hand, you laughed alongside him, “Maybe if I was an ant, then maybe that would have been enough.”

Clearing his throat, he gazed softly at you and held out his hand, “I’m Silver.”

Without missing a beat, you shook his hand, “(y/n). It’s nice to meet you, Silver.”

“Likewise.” Leaning against the wall, he asked, “What brings you here?”

Perking up, you swayed back and forth on the balls of your heels, “I’m here to pick up by grandma. Though she’s typically not this late.”

You spared your phone a glance. She was twenty minutes late. You would have gone in to see, but last time she scolded you big time. You weren’t really in the mood to deal with her nasty temper.

Silver nodded. “Me too. I came to get my father, but it seems like the class is running longer then expected. -sigh- I shouldn’t have fallen asleep earlier.”

“You feel asleep?” You asked with a light laugh.

Pink dusted his face and his auroral eyes stared up at the sky, “Yes. It’s a bad habit I’ve had for a long time. Anyways, I was supposed to attend today, but well…”

His bashful expression made your heart swoon. Was it possible for a angel to look any more angelic? Apparently yes, judging by the way the sun perfectly hit his features and the sudden appearances of birds and little critters.

“It happens. I was supposed to come too, but I spent too much time getting ready that my grandma left without me. Something about her having to get there early.” She has been acting so strange lately, you hoped she wasn’t getting sick.

“Odd, my father had to get here early too.” Silver hummed, remembering the way his father buzzed in excitement.

A few seconds passed by in silence. Mulling over each other words, you both began to piece together the reasons for their odd behaviors. Looking up at Silver, you gasped.

“You don’t think…”

“Perhaps…”

As if answering your questions, the doors to your grandmother’s friends sunroom burst opened. Followed by her friend’s exasperated yells and two gleeful gigglings. Spinning around the both of your gasped.

“I told you both! Next time I catch you guys kissing in my sunroom, I’m kicking you out!” She huffed.

“Ehehe, Mrs. Eliza no need to get so pent up! We were merely getting acquainted!” The small, youthful looking fae giggled. Hugging your grandmother from behind.

“Acquainted! In my sunroom?!” She gasped indignantly. Her face was hot in anger.

“You’re just mad I’m getting more action than you have in the past 30 years!” Your grandmother cackled, kissing the fae’s cheeks lovingly.

Before the older lady could lift her broom up to wack your grandmother, Silver stepped fowards with an apologetic smile, “Ms, I’m so sorry for my father’s behavior.”

Instantly her anger died down at the angelic boy. Her frown turning into a sweet smile. “Oh, you sweet boy. No need to apologize for your father. Goodness, how did that thing even raise such a sweet boy like yourself.”

Despite Silver's smile, you noticed the way his fist clenched at his side. You rose a brow at him. Ignorant to his quiet anger, she waved the two older figures off. “Just get out of here.”

Once she was outta sight, they both burst out in laughter. Holding each other up as their lungs expelled any air left. All of your grandma’s odd behavior suddenly made sense.

“What the heck?” You finally said, earning their attention. Pointing to the mischievous looking fae, you asked, “This is why you’ve been getting home late? Because you were getting…getting…”

“My freak on.” Your grandma giggled. You suddenly regretted setting up her tik tok account.

Placing at hand on Silver’s shoulder, you gagged, “Oh god, I’m going to puke.”

“Oh please, no need for your theatrics dear.” Your grandma hushed, already making her way to your car. Over her shoulder, she jabbed, “Unless your jealous that I got a boyfriend before you!”

You gasped so loud that it made Silver jump. “Grandma!”

The fae, floated towards your grandma and kissed her cheek. Rubbing her shoulders, he grinned, “Now dear, don’t be so harsh on the youngin’s. I fear it’s a common issue among them all.”

Silver bristled next to you. His cheeks heated up at his father’s remark. Romance has never been his top priority.

“Do you hear them, Silver! They’re mocking us!” You hissed, your face hot with embarrassment.

“I hear them loud and clear.” He sighed. Looking at the fae, Silver asked, “Father, I never expected to find out you were seeing someone. Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

His magenta eye widened at the hurt in his son’s voice. You and your grandma looked at him quizzically. Placing a hand on Silver’s arm, you rubbed it reassuringly. And definitely not because you could feel his toned and defined muscles.

“Ah, well your old man is entitled to his secrets.” Pointing to your grandma, he added, “Like my dearest!”

“I never kept it a secret. She just never asked, Lilia.” Your grandma retorted.

All three pairs of eyes fell on you. Suddenly finding your shoes the most interesting thing in the world, you chuckled stiffly, “Well…she's not wrong…”

Shaking her head, your grandma offered joyfully, “How about a nice cup of tea and muffins to settle things out!” Then nudging, who you now know as, Lilia, she winked, “We might not be the only one’s in a relationship soon enough.”

Catching her drift, he eyed the both of you playfully, “Ohoho! Oh lovely. I’ve always wanted grandchildren.”

Confusion fluttered through your features. Looking at each other, you were suddenly very much aware of the lack of space between you both. Jumping back, you both stared at each other bashfully. Your grandma and Silver’s father’s laughter floating in the distance. Your heart drumming against your rib cage at Silver’s shy face.

Sevens, I think I’m going to die!

[dadyscumslutprincess20]

Lost Love

(Small story I thought about doing until I write another request that I got, also be looking out I’m working on 4 request at a time then the rest at once💕)

Cha Hyun su x fem reader

Genre: Just a bit emotional

It’s been a year since you last saw Hyun su after trying his self into the military to keep the remaining survivors of Green Home safe , so we all would be able to saved and took to a shelter/camp that was meant for any survivors

Since then you lived with the regret of not telling him about the baby , both you and Hyun su moved in together in your first apartment at Green home , since you were a bit more social you made a few friends inside the building , but most of you time was spent with Hyun su

When the apocalypse started. Hyun su started to have serious noise bleeds , times where he would black out or there were even moments you felt like he want your Hyun su

After gathering with the remaining survivors you soon learned that Hyun su was a special case of the monsters that now roamed the city

After a while you found out you were pregnant, deciding it wasn’t the right time as you kept the pregnancy to yourself .. not knowing Hyun su would turn his self in the same night

Now here you were a year later with two beautiful children, a boy and a little girl , even though it’s been just a year they were already at the age of 12

Before giving birth to Cha Hee (son) and Cha Hui (girl) , you escaped from the shelter finding a small abandoned camper , the only joy out it was that it was two small rooms that had a full sized bed in both , a small kitchen and dining area that was in the middle and the driver seat that was locked right when you entered the camper

Your pregnancy was pretty easy we’re surprised you along the way , except that you felt your self changing as you started to hear a voice in your head , you belly barely as it looked like you were just bloated from a good meal or something, but you knew you were pregnant, the hardest part of the whole pregnancy was the birth , since you didn’t have any support, you ended up giving birth to the twins inside the camper in your small room , bring down on a spare dry towel you had to hold in your scrams as you gave birth to both Cha Hee and Ch Hui

After giving birth to the twins you noticed how much you’ve changed, your eyes had I slight hit of green with time making your neon eyes now look unnatural, you half grew a bit longer as you soon realized that you gave in to your desires , now becoming a monster but some how keeping it in control.. maybe it was because you had not one but two people to protect

After a few months after having Cha Hee and Cha Hui you soon realized that they weren’t exactly human either , as Cha Hee was born with bright blue eyes , Cha Hui was born with Green eyes

There was a few differences between the two as Cha Hee, he was a quite child , who could make a person go crazy after a certain amount of days soon resulting in their suicide or the death of everyone around them including them selves if you were lucky enough to stay on his good side he would use his touch to show your most happiest memories

Cha Hui was a bit different she was a cold child , always quietly analyzing others , but even though she seemed cold she was super nice once you got to know her , her touch could either set your ablaze as you scream in pain and agony or you could fall into a deep sleep that no one could wake you out of as you live out your deepest fears over and over again, but like her brother if your were no harm to her mother or Cha Hee she could show you your happiest memories ,you didn’t discover this until it happened in front of your eyes

After that you had Cha Hee and Cha Hui to keep on a special pair of gloves that were handmade by you, it made you feel a bit more safe if no one would discover there powers then any one would assume their normal kids , the only thing that would make any one realize their twins it their dark black hair that resembles Cha Hyun Su’s

As you laid in your bed as you start to realize that it’s been quite for a while now , thinking that the the twins were in bed as you stand to your feet , slowly walking out of your room and you peek into their room that was located on the right of yours

Seeing that the room was empty as you start to become slightly worried , heading for the kitchen finning area to see that they weren’t there either

‘Where are they’ the voice in stead your head says as you frantically search the camper a second time just to make sure , but when you saw they weren’t there you quickly open the doors to the camper heading down the three small steps as you head out the door looking left and right frantically as you run straight heading down the road as you call out both Cha Hee and Cha Hui’s names

Not getting a response from neither of your babies as you start to panic thinking of all the possible things that could have happened to them

What if they ran into humans? Or worse the military? , as your mind starts to cloud with questions that only made you panic more , you soon came to a hault as you heard a few giggles , looking around the area as you notice a small grader dome

Taking a small breathe in and out as you head inside the small dome , eyeing scanning around the flowers that bloomed with life , causing you to feel a bit calm but still worrying for you babies

After a while of walking down the small trail you come to a stop , as you feel your body tense up , confusion shown in your eyes

There was Cha Hee and Cha Hui.. but they weren’t alone , there stood Hyun su with a girl that seemed to be around the age of 14 as she talked to Cha Hui who had a small smile on her face , it took a while before Cha Hyun su noticed your presence , eyes locking with your as Ah-yo turned to see why Hyun su was so quite , eyes slowly following his as they land on you soon catching the attention of the twins

“MOMMY” Cha Hee screams out with joy as he runs toward you wrapping his arms around your waist with a smile

“Mom , look we made a new friend” Cha Hee says as pulls away from the hug grabbing a hold of your hand as he pulls you towards Hyun su , Ah-yi and Cha Hui as Cha Hui soon stand beside you wrapping her arms around you as she looks at Ah-hi and Hyun su

“This is Ah-yi and Hyun su” Cha Hee says as he points to both Ah-yi and Hyun su

“And this is our mom , Reader” Cha Hui says as she tightens her hold eyes still watching Ah-yi and Hyun su who eyes now look at you with pure shock

“M-Mom…” Hyun su says as his head hangs low , Ah- yi noticing the hurt in his voice , after a few seconds his head slowly rises eyes now shining blue as he gives you a cold stare

“ After everything we done for you.. to keep you safe , and you have some assholes child , correction children” Hyun su says eyes staring daggers in to yours as you feel a shiver flow down your spine

“I-It’s not like that” You reply as you look down down your feet not able to look him in the eye

“Wait..you know her” Ah-yo says as she looks between you and Hyun su in confusion

“I do actually in fact she’s our dear girlfriend, well was it seems” Hyun su says eyes now looking both at you , Cha Hee and Cha Hui

“I didn’t cheat okay.. I just..” you say looking back in to Hyun Su’s eyes tears now threading to fall

“I don’t know how to tell you and it was to late.. you let us alone” you managed to choke out as tears start to flow, Shock showing on Hyun Su’s face as he looks between Cha Hee and Cha Hui

“T-Their .. mine” Hyun su says eyes slowing turning to normal as he slowly falls to his knees , tears falsify flowing down his face as he looks at you with a sorry expression

“I-I didn’t mean to .. I-I just wanted to keep you safe..I..” before he could finish his sentence Cha Hee warped his in a warm hug as Cha Hui looks him in his teary eyes

“So .. your our father” Cha Hui says as her green eyes watches Hyu su closely as he slowly nods his head in agreement, slowly walking towards Hyun su as she slowly wraps her arms around him pulling him and Cha Hee in a hug

“I had a weird feeling .. it explains why we were okay with you keeping us company” Cha Hee says with apart smile

After a while of hugging , Hyun su informs you on Ah-yi and how he has been taking care of her since she was pretty much born , listening as Hyun su talks about Ah-yi like a proud father , which he was, he starts to feel guilty about missing his own kids growing up deciding to keep not only Ah-yo but you and both Cha Hee and Cha Hui close and safe

[maybe-im-dark]

Wolverine Wasn't Born to Be a weapon—He Was Born to Be a Protector

Here's Why:

Let’s get one thing straight: Wolverine (Logan) wasn’t born to be a weapon. He was forged into one. But at his core, Logan has always been about protecting those he loves, not just fighting for the sake of violence. And the X-Men movies prove it time and time again. Let me break it down:

1. His Origins Aren’t About Violence—They’re About Survival and Protection

In X-Men Origins: Wolverine, we see young James Howlett (Logan) forced to defend himself after witnessing the death of his father. His claws first emerge out of sheer survival instinct, not out of a desire to harm. Even as a child, Logan’s instinct was to protect—first himself, and later, others.

2. His Connection to Rogue in X-Men (2000)

When we first meet Logan in X-Men (2000), he’s a loner, but everything changes when he meets Rogue. Despite his rough exterior, he immediately takes on a protective role, shielding her from harm and even putting his own life at risk for her. This isn’t a man who craves violence—this is someone who cares deeply for the vulnerable and will do anything to keep them safe.

3. The Battle of Alcatraz in X-Men: The Last Stand (2006)

During the Battle of Alcatraz, Logan doesn’t charge into the fight because he loves war—he does it because it’s the only way to protect his friends, especially Jean Grey. Even when Jean is consumed by the Dark Phoenix and is destroying everything around her, Logan is the one who pushes through, not to fight, but to save her from herself. His final act, putting her down, is one of mercy, driven by love, not violence.

4. The Wolverine (2013) Shows His Struggle With the Weapon He’s Become

In The Wolverine, Logan’s struggle with the violence he’s capable of is laid bare. He isolates himself because he’s haunted by the destruction he’s caused. When he’s dragged back into conflict, it’s not because he wants to fight—it’s because he can’t stand by while innocents are in danger. His time in Japan shows that his true nature is to protect, even if it means facing his demons

5. The Ultimate Protector in Logan (2017)

Logan (2017) is the ultimate testament to Wolverine’s true nature. The entire movie is about him protecting Laura (X-23) and the other young mutants, even when he’s physically and emotionally broken. Logan’s final stand isn’t about being the best soldier—it's about being the best protector. He sacrifices everything, not because he wants to die in battle, but because he wants to ensure the future of those who can’t protect themselves.

6. It’s Always Been About Love and Loyalty

Whether it’s his love for Jean, his loyalty to Professor X, or his protective instincts toward Rogue and Laura, Logan’s motivation has always been rooted in love, not in a thirst for violence. He’s fought in countless wars, been used and abused by countless people, but the one thing that remains constant is his unwillingness to let harm come to those he cares about.

[hotdaemondtargaryen]

GAYLE RANKIN INTERVIEWED BY VULTURE MAGAZINE.

Alys’s motives are unclear, and her expanded interactions with Daemon are a change from Fire & Blood, in which all that’s written of their relationship is “Whatever her powers, it would seem Daemon Targaryen was immune to them, for little is heard of this supposed sorceress whilst the prince held Harrenhal.”

(She’s also seemingly no longer a wet nurse with breast milk “that flowed so abundantly” it “nourished countless babes born of other women at Harrenhal.”)

Yet her willingness to call Daemon on his shit — Rankin says “no” ten times when I ask whether Alys cares about his obsession with being called “Your Grace” instead of “my prince” — and her unapologetically spooky aura give the character a decidedly different feel from the original in George R.R. Martin’s source material.

WHETHER ALYS IS CAUSING DAEMON'S VISIONS OR JUST INTUITING THAT HE'S HAVING THEM, SHE QUICKLY IDENTIFIES THAT HE'S MADE A LOT OF MISTAKES WITH THE WOMEN IN HIS LIFE. SHE CALLS HIM OUT ON HOW HIS STRATEGY FOR THE RIVERLANDS IS HURTING WOMEN IN PARTICULAR. DOES ALYS HAVE A GUIDING PHILOSOPHY CONNECTED TO A KIND OF FEMINISM?

"Yes, absolutely."

"It’s hard not to."

"It’s the perspective I come from as a person on the planet."

"As an artist, I’m really curious about uplifting women and disenfranchised peoples of all kinds."

"That’s part of what this show is about, if this is like the female Game of Thrones."

"Olivia and Emma do an incredible job of paving the way for nuanced stories about women in power, and Alys comes in as an extra foil to that narrative."

THERE'S SO MUCH AMBIGUITY, RIGHT? WHETHER SHE IS INSPIRING DAEMON'S DREAMS, WHETHER THE MEMBERS OF HOUSE STRONG ACKNOWLEDGE HER AS A BASTARD RELATED TO THEM. WHEN YOU'RE PLAYING WITH THAT MUCH MYSTERY, HOW DO YOU DEFINE THE BOUNDARIES OF THE CHARACTER FOR YOURSELF?

"It’s a thing I was struggling with every day."

"How do you play someone who is mysterious? How do you ground them, and make her a person with wants and needs and desires? As this season unfolds, you start to feel like there’s a story there, a person and a history."

"I know it."

"It was really personal."

"That was a lot of work I had to do privately, and hopefully we’ll feel and see more specific details at some point."

WHAT KIND OF STUFF DO YOU THINK ALYS GOT UP TO IN HARRENHAL BEFORE DAEMON SHOWED UP?

"I do believe she’s a maester of sorts, and a healer in many senses of the word."

"Whether or not Alys’s potions are actually potions, she’s kept Harrenhal on its feet for generations, in terms of just like, keeping people alive — or not."

I DO LOVE THE LINE SHE SAYS THE PREVIOUS MAESTER "JUST NEVER SETTLED IN."

"Well, there wasn’t enough room, you know." [Laughs]

"It’s a pretty hard job keeping Harrenhal afloat, keeping everybody safe and well, and keeping control."

"It’s a powerful space in and of itself, maybe one of the most powerful, and to have this woman running it, essentially, is really fascinating to me."

"She’s kind of like the First Lady of Harrenhal, if there was a government."

"She knows all the really wonderful spots to go swimming and do fun, pleasurable things."

"She’s spent a lot of time figuring out how to be by herself, but that’s like a blessing and a curse after 400 years."

YOU'VE SAID ALYS "DESIRES TO BE KNOW," AND THAT'S PARTIALLY WHY SHE MAKES THIS OVERTURE TO DAEMON. DID YOU SEE THAT AS A DESIRE TO BE KNOWN PERSONALLY, OR SHE WANTS TO BE RECOGNIZED FOR WHAT SHE'S DONE TO KEEP HARRENHAL GOING?

"It’s both, but they’re in competition with one another, which I think is inherently female."

"How are we to be as women in this world? Are we allowed to be vulnerable and also ambitious? Is there room for them in our society?"

"There’s something about her that’s trying to prove maybe there is, but it’s a fight."

THE HARRENHAL SET IS SO DETAILED. WAS THERE A SPECIFIC ASPECT OF THE SET DESIGN YOU CONNECTED WITH?

"My workshop was so specific."

"I hope we get to go back there."

"I loved how tactile it was — I had a bunch of ingredients that I could build the potion with."

"It was very comforting and it made me feel like I had been there for centuries."

"It felt very lived in and feminine, like a sanctuary, you know?"

"This tells me something about this person, that they have fought hard to build something for themselves, an identity."

WHAT WAS THE SUBSTANCE YOU WERE WORKING WITH YOUR MORTAR AND PESTLE?

"It was blackberries and crushed-up rose petals and some other dried fruit, I think dried oranges."

"It got to a point after so many takes where I was like, I have to stop adding things into this, I really don’t know what’s in this now, which is amazing for the scene."

"I’ll let the audience decide whether or not it’s on purpose that she lets Daemon see that she’s tasting it first. But who knows what Alys can withstand?"

"It’s an interesting question about daring him on and seducing him in some way, too."

THERE IS FAN THEORY THAT ALYS AND THE RED PRIESTESS MELISANDRE FROM GAME OF THRONES ARE THE SAME CHARACTERS. DO YOU HAVE A REACTION TO THAT?

"I would say that there are no other characters that have been repeated in the House of the Dragon world, so I’m not sure why we would start now."

YOU'VE TALKED ABOUT FEELING DRAWN TO GREEN AS A COLOR, PARTIALLY BECAUSE OF YOUR BIRTHSTONE, PERIDOT. IS THERE A SPECIFIC COLOR THAT YOU ASSIGN TO ALYS?

"Purple."

"The dress I wear — that’s like her uniform, really — is purple."

"Purple is actually quite a royal color, and I like it because it’s neither green nor black, and it’s not attaching itself to any side."

"Alys has her own identity and she travels in some ways right down the middle."

"It’ll be interesting to see where we go in terms of her color palette."

HARRENHAL IS IMPLIED TO BE INCREDIBLY HAUNTED. DO YOU HAVE A FAVORITE PIECE OF HAUNTED-HOUSE MEDIA?

"I recently rewatched the Kristen Stewart movie Personal Shopper, by Olivier Assayas."

"That movie undoes me: There’s something so grounded and realistic about it that I could imagine that happening to me."

"There’s something weirdly Harrenhal-y about it, too, because of the water and the kind of damp, echoey, very subtle beginning of the presence."

[fangweaver2099]

𝐅 𝐀 𝐖 𝐍 𝐓 𝐄 𝐄 𝐓 𝐇 - CH 2 - LONELY OLD MAN

MINORS DNI 18+ FIC

You’ve always liked the idea of having a dominant partner - BDSM was something you’ve read about, watched videos about.

Something you made Pinterest boards and aesthetic tumblr posts about when you were 18 and curious, the idea always sounded nice, but you’ve never done it in practice, not really. Sure you bought fuzzy handcuffs at a gag gift store once, but that didn’t really count.

You’re still a virgin.

You’ve always had that chronically awkward, workaholic type of vibe that made typical dating near impossible at worst and frustrating at best. Normal dating apps have proven fruitless and agitating. So poor curious little you talked yourself into making a fetlife account. You weren’t looking for true love, but at least you could get laid.

DM Request from: 10:13 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Hello, Fawn.”

College was for new experiences after all.

CW: BDSM heavy/centric fic. Safe, Sane & Consensual. Miguel is your professor, but you both don't know that. Age Gap (Y/N is 23, Miguel is mid 30's)

TAG: @slut4oscarissac23 @iamtheprincess227 @haveclayeveryday @sphynxfoxslut69 @junehasnotbeenfound @thedevaxer @bunnibitez @kodzuminx

PART 1 - PART 2 - PART 3 - CHAPTER 1 - CHAPTER 3

Miguel didn’t realize he was lonely until it all hit at once.

He'd only had Gabriella for a week before Gabriel had swooped in, claiming 'uncle rights', to steal Gabriella away for the weekend. Things had been quiet since the divorce - Tempest had Gabi for the school year, and already, he was feeling distinctly alone, all too aware of the daughter sized hole his brother had forced him cruelly and unusually into. 

He was lonely. After the divorce, things had been quiet. Most of his friends had grown distant, with some vanishing and flocking to Tempest's side following their separation. Once a cheater, always a cheater, they'd proclaimed. 

He hadn't even cheated on her… at least, not that time. 

He was doing everything right- he had grown as a man and as a father too. He was ready to settle down, but Tempest had other plans. It was a mutual decision, best for everyone. There were no hard feelings on his end, but the pain of an empty house was new and raw. He had always lived with someone - his mother, stepfather and brother, then a roommate, then his brother as a roommate, then a string of girlfriends. 

He always got the feeling Tempest never really wanted a marriage, but health insurance was too good a deal to give up. It made logical sense, even if she was hesitant at first. 

She’d been involved in the kink scene since before he’d ever met her. She was polyamorous, and that had never been a problem either - he even tried it himself but decided it wasn’t for him. It was a boon, even, when he worked late into the night and Tempest needed somebody to keep her entertained. 

When Gabi was born, it became more of an issue. He knew from the second he saw her that she was his , not just a daughter but his entire world, and suddenly, the idea of Tempest running around, leaving Gabriella in the hands of total strangers was… suddenly unacceptable. Eventually, he acquiesced to family babysitting, but even then, it itched. 

So Webrigger2099 disappeared, logging out one day and never logging in again. He just didn’t have the time, or the interest, or, with Gabi, the desire. Besides, he was married. The archetypal family man he’d never thought he’d want to be.  

But still, neither of them were happy. Tempest didn’t like being tied down, and he didn’t like the fact the mother of his child roamed late into the night dallying while he worked. It led to arguments, to stress, and, inevitably -

To divorce. Tempest was a free spirit - Miguel was not. She took Gabriella during the school year, he got her during the summer, and that was enough. 

None of the phone calls or report cards she’d sent would make it easier to cope with the loneliness.

Years later, and the big house began to feel cavernous, more a church to the worship of solitary confinement than a home. No daughter, no wife, no family, just himself, online papers to grade, and the week old takeout container of Chinese he’d been steadily avoiding eating. 

On a whim, he’d logged back into the account, and there, he’d found… Fawn. Local to the area - and wearing a black facemask in every photo you took. You were beautiful. 

Things had gone great. He was having fun. He wasn’t ready for romance, sure, but a man had needs.

He didn’t need to see any more than your eyes to be hooked, but the rest was icing on the cake. Now that he had seen your lips he was even more charmed, despite the circumstances.

You were genuine, a little bit awkward but sweet and eager. Like a virgin, unsure of yourself and needing guidance by a firm but caring hand. And god, you trusted him off the bat. 

That power could have been abused easily, and he even warned you as much. Strange men online were not the most trustworthy souls, him least of all. You were his pet, after all, and it was his responsibility to make sure you knew how to tell good from bad.

You were clearly not that experienced, not in sex or in dynamics. You needed guidance on how to touch yourself properly, even. He knew your body better than yourself and that wasn’t exactly something he wanted to pass on to your next dom. Better you learned with his teaching what you wanted and needed.

Maybe he had gotten more attached than he liked to admit, protective of you. It wasn’t like he could keep you to himself forever, as fun as that might have been, but still, he found himself looking forward to your messages. 

You were the only one he had ever really felt that way about, to be perfectly honest with himself. Getting married to Tempest was a necessity because of the baby, and sure he loved her, but the cracks began showing quickly into the pregnancy. 

Not you, you seemed to want what he wanted. Nothing too serious, long-term not permanent, but still intimate. 

It wasn’t fair. 

(Nothing in his life was ever fair.)

Miguel’s hands steepled in front of him, a single bead of sweat running down his brow. He was hard as diamonds, but his stomach churned with sickness. This was not a development he was expecting.

The ticking clock on the wall was the only noise in Miguel’s office, and he was thankful he couldn’t hear his own heartbeat in his ears. 

He prayed he was wrong - there were well over eight million people in NYC and over fifteen different colleges, maybe you just had a similar tattoo.. And.. build… and hair color… Yeah, that seemed likely.

You stupid fuck , he cursed himself. 

It seemed like he just couldn’t stop losing. 

Divorced at 32, a mother that hated him, a tense relationship with his brother, a tenser relationship with his biological father.

And a little girl he only had custody of during the summer.

This job was supposed to get him away from the stress that came with working at corporate HQ. 

This job was supposed to make everything easier. His two escapes - this job and Fawn - were about to implode all at once.

His phone sat in front of him, mocking him for his paralyzed fear. It should have been simple to check, to compare the tattoos and bikini and write it off as a mistake. Or… maybe he didn’t want to even consider the possibility that he had been sexting with one of his new students for three months, much less what he would do if that was the case.

Fawn would have noticed by now, right? Anonymity sending pictures had its limits and he knew he had an imposing physique. If you were Fawn - you’d surely notice. You’d bring it up, right?

(Then again, college girls weren’t exactly the most perceptive people.)

You - Fawn didn’t seem like the STEM type, had to be something artsy . Right?

Miguel was a lapsed Catholic and yet he found himself praying that he was wrong. 

A much worse possibility crept into his mind. You knew, and you liked this turn of events. You didn’t seem like the malicious sort, not interested in blackmailing him for a good grade, but maybe it was some fucked up kink thing. The power dynamic was there, the secretiveness it necessitated, the wrongness of it all. Intentional or not, if word got out your position here was gone.

Besides, Fawn was twenty-three .

She couldn’t be a freshman in her second year. The 4.0 GPA and high marks in your last semester didn’t hint at someone who had to repeat introductory classes. 

Or Fawn lied about her age. 

That would be even worse.

This was all some terrible mistake. Maybe her tattoo was a tik tok trend of some kind, he would even settle for it being a mark of membership for a cult. Anything was better than the alternative.

Still, Miguel stared at the dark phone screen in his hands. He had ten minutes at most before class started and he had to get to the bottom of this before then. 

He snatched the phone with urgency, scrolling quickly through his messages in a frantic search.

He found himself enlarging the image Fawn sent the last evening, just in her bikini. His eyes focused on her arm and that teary-eyed fawn laid down in a bed of grayscale roses. 

Miguel was a scientist, he worked through logical conclusions. It was simple inductive reasoning. The placement was the same, even the framed roses. 

You and Fawn had similar eyes, similar eye color, similar skin tone - but Fawn’s pictures were always a bit dark or cloudy, her phone was far from new, so the darker skin tone would make sense, right? But you were wearing glasses today, he swore that he’d never seen Fawn wearing glasses.

He placed down the phone for a moment, running his hands over his face with a panicked sigh, trying to keep himself calm. He was so deeply fucked. Contact lenses were used by all sorts of people, and glasses could fog up with a mask on or ruin photos from the flash.

How the fuck had he not noticed? It’d been almost three weeks .

Here, Miguel thought everything was looking good. In truth he adored Fawn. Her companionship, friendship? …Pethood? He didn’t need to really figure that out right now - it was something he enjoyed. 

Despite his reservations that she - young and inexperienced - would instantly take his feelings to her as romantic she seemed no problem drawing the line in the sand. 

She was perfect , it’s why he wanted to meet her.

Now she might be you . 

His student. 

One who he was pretty sure despised him. 

You never even bothered to ask questions, you sat by Taylor while she stared daggers into him every lesson. Your work was middling at best and you liked to cut corners.

Fawn wouldn’t do that, right ?

He had to get to the bottom of this, right now. Miguel was a good man, he took care of his daughter, he watched over his kinda-niece. He contributed to the community - he took care of people.

 Miguel was not the kind of man to sext with one of his students. 

Not on purpose, anyway , he thought grimly, slinking into his chair as he fought the urge to hurl.

No. This was fixable, confirmable. He’d just ask you to talk after class. Quick, easy. Confirm you had a twin who he just happened to find online. 

(The whole point of Miguel’s anonymity was to protect himself, not fuck himself over.)

And if it was you? Well he couldn’t reveal it was him, surely. He would have to make an excuse as Web, some reason that he had to stop talking to her. 

Maybe Web died getting hit by a bus.

He opened the phone again with a click, scrolling through the media tab. He considered for a moment sending fawn a message. He didn’t know what college she went to, or her class schedule. 

He saw that the last time she was on Telegram was an hour ago, she hadn’t checked in since then. 

He glanced up at the time on his phone. 8:58.

He took a deep breath, counting to 10 and then tossing his phone back in his bag. It took him a moment to stand and fix the collar of his shirt before he walked back down the hall to his classroom.

The hall was full, students looking exhausted or unamused was something Miguel was used to.

It was very hard to not stare at you - sitting in the back of the class, half your body hidden by your laptop wearing a dour expression. You were far enough back your features were mostly nondescript. 

Miguel didn’t particularly like teaching, it was technically his ‘hobby’. It wasn’t hard outside of the students. He didn’t do well talking to large rooms but hey - that was fine. He was technically a headhunter for Alchemax after all. 

Right now teaching was awful . Miguel wanted to be anywhere but here and found himself randomly pausing during the lecture. Luckily everyone was too tired to notice.

How on earth was he supposed to even proceed? He had invested himself in you, two almost three months of talking and flirting, finally finding someone that had similar interests and intentions. 

If he had known before, seen you the first day of class after already meeting, he could simply help you sign up for another class and they’d never see each other again.

It would all end there, too awkward to continue.

Now, it was more complicated. 

He couldn’t meet in the summers because he had Gabriella, and she was far more important than a fun fling. He had a responsibility for his daughter, and he made the most out of his time with her as fleeting as it was. 

The summer, and a few weekends here and there during the school semester. It was the perfect set up, one that allowed him to dip his toes back into the scene and find a little companionship and fun. 

Nothing too serious, of course. Not yet.

He couldn’t just continue things as they were. She had been in his class too long, and if she transferred now there would be questions before it was allowed. How would he explain it to the department lead? 

Jess wasn’t exactly pleased with what students thought of him as it was. 

The news of him fucking one of his students would be the nail in the coffin before sending him back to Alchemax with his head held down in shame.

He did have the advantage that he - technically - wasn’t fucking Fawn. 

He needed to talk to you.

The rest of class went… as normal as it could. As normal as him occasionally seeing your bored face as you typed away notes of what he was explaining. He forgot to ask if anyone had questions again before he clicked off the powerpoint. 

He’d pull you aside the moment you walked past him, call you over. Easy. Quick. Just a conversation and then hopefully it was all one big mistake and you’d be off to whatever you did at 11AM on a Monday. 

Problem. When you stood, both of the students you always sat with rose with you. The black-haired woman even interlocked her arm with yours. You were smiling and chatting away with the rude, redheaded one who was easily a head shorter than you.

When you finally turned to leave, Miguel cleared his throat. You and your two friends stopped. The redhead frowned. Your eyes widened for a moment. 

He said your name, which only made your surprised expression worse. Miguel was grimacing. “I  need to-” 

Suddenly, a sugar-sweet voice called your name, Taylor, and Babette. Everyone glanced over at the door to - Aurora.

Miguel’s brows raised. 

“We gotta go, I left Kore with the car running!” She practically skipped into the room to you and Babette in the squealing, touchy way college girls always seemed to enact upon seeing their friends. Babette practically screeched and pulled Aurora into a hug.  

“Oh- Uncle Miggy!” Aurora exclaimed after releasing Babette. Babette and you gasped and looked over at Miguel.

There was no way. He didn’t say anything, stunned into silence. Aurora - his ex wife’s niece… cousin… thing. He wasn’t entirely sure. He had known the girl since she was 13. She was Gabriella's babysitter most of the time… and… somehow... your friend. 

You grinned at Aurora as she took the other place at your side, hooking her arm around yours and waving  goodbye. She was practically pulling you and Babette out of the room, Taylor trailing behind with their hands in their pockets. 

So. Miguel was left standing there - alone, dumbfounded. It was only getting worse. Much worse. He walked back to his office in silence, an unblinking, thousand-yard stare ignoring Professor Parker as he tried to flag Miguel on the way inside, the door shutting hard behind him. 

He sat, sinking into his chair, and flipped his phone open. Clicking open the browser, he opened up Aurora’s instagram. That’s what the kids used for all their social media nowadays, right? He had been told about it by his ex-wife and… ex sister-in-law, part of his ‘job’ is keeping an eye on Aurora. While they expected him to monitor her, the truth was he checked in once or twice a semester to see if she was still alive. She had his number for emergencies, and he kept his hands off. It was a good system, one he didn’t have to think about. 

Kids could take care of themselves… Kids. Fawn was practically a kid, a young twenty something that had her whole life ahead of her.

God. Was he a pervert?

Miguel pinched the bridge of his nose as he scrolled through Aurora’s page. Just as he expected, the screen was littered with photos of you. 

On campus, at restaurants, at an apartment with you, both of you in your pajamas. Miguel swore you saw a picture that peeked into your bedroom, a familiar sight from your photos. 

You weren’t just one of her friends - you were her roommate .

Miguel took a deep breath, fussing with his dark hair as he checked the time on his phone. He had to be at Alchemax by now. So despite the anxiety curdling his gut, Miguel made his way out of the college building.

Driving had always been a comfort for Miguel, his mind half shutting off and relying on pure instinct as he saw the world flash quickly to his sides. Usually he didn’t think of much anything at all while he drove, taking it as a quiet moment amid the chaos of his responsibilities. 

There was too much going on to relax like that. He felt sick as he drove, chest tight and stomach churning. Every relationship he had ever had with a woman seemed to crash and burn, romantic or otherwise. His long list of exes, his mother, now you. Would Gabriella be next, another casualty of his inevitable fuck-ups?

Miguel had really liked - still liked - you. The thing you two had was good, was fun and casual. There were no big expectations. No hard feelings about him having other priorities.

This was easier until it wasn’t.

Was it even possible for something like this to work out? He didn’t want to lose you, but it seemed like the only option as the complications stacked up.

He sat with this feeling through the whole ride, and well into his shift at the lab. He tried to pour over the plans in front of him, the techs trying to explain their work while he was gone… But he was obviously distracted.

“Is this a bad time, Dr. O’Hara?” His assistant chimed, a concerned look on her face as she tipped her head curiously. She had been talking to him for a minute at least, but only when he heard his name did he snap into momentary focus. 

The woman in front of him had worked closely with Miguel for years, a reliable if quirky sort some years his junior. Her heart-shaped glasses were hardly fitting in with uniform regulations, but it's not like she was handling chemicals. Not now, anyway. 

She was probably the closest thing to what he would call a friend, and he really didn’t want to call Parker a friend even if he was a man of honor at Peter’s wedding. She was better at respecting boundaries.

“Sorry, no. Just a… Headache today. Can you repeat that, Lyla?” He shifted his attention to her as best he could, rubbing his eyes and rolling his shoulders. The doctors told him he needed to stop staying so tense all the time, to release the pressure in his shoulders. It was almost painful when he let them slump, but the shock was probably the only thing keeping him alert.

“I’ll type it up in an email, it’s not that important. You look like shit.” The brunette sighed, shaking her head disapprovingly. She was never one to talk fluff. It was part of why he liked her so much.

An email. A text. No, this was too important to type to her. He would have to wait til the next class.

Besides, What if he was wrong? How would he explain that to Fawn? She was already a bit nervous and new to all this.

Just as the door clicked behind her Miguel heard a ping at his phone, a familiar username popping into view.

“Off to the shore now. I’ll make sure to take pics :3” - Fawnteeth - 12:05 PM

[itsphoenix0724]

I don’t know if your still doing the bouquet event. But an orchid with Rhysand sounds wonderful!

Orchid (Rhysand x Reader)

Warnings: angst (don't hate me)

Word Count: 970

❀° Event Masterlist ❀°

A/N: Thank you for visiting my page, I'm so sorry this took me so long to write. Reader takes the place of Feyre in this fic so Nesta and Elain are her sisters. I have a very complicated relationship with Rhys idk why he's just super hard to write for me. Please don't kill me but this is angsty I'm so sorry. But I hope that you enjoy it <3

You haven’t been able to leave the nursery since you brought your baby home. He was perfect, the crown of inky black hair matching his father, with your eyes staring back up at you. You’re humming softly rocking the cradle back and forth as he sleeps, the knitted bat stuffed animal curled under his small arm. Your body tenses as your husband slips through the doorway, he utters your name and you glare at him without stopping your lullaby. 

“I will not discuss this in front of our son.” Your tone betrays nothing of your feelings, refusing to let anything show in his presence. Rhys’s face pales a shade but he nods and gestures with his head to the door. After giving a subtle nod you leave the sleeping prince in his cradle, safely guarded by moonlit dreams, and follow Rhys out of the room. You want for nothing more than a glass of liquor, preferably the strongest Velaris has to offer, as you stand across the study from your husband.  Alas, you are nursing so your desire remains a boiling headache sprouting in your temples. 

“Darling-” Rhysand starts, but you raise one hand and he stops speaking, snapping his jaw shut. You take a moment to look at Rhysand fully. His raven hair, so normally well-kempt, is run through and the purple half-moons under his eyes cast grotesque shadows on unnaturally pale skin. You’ve barely spoken to him in days since Nyx was born. 

In fact, you’ve refused to see any of the inner circle at all seldom your sisters.

“I am going to talk now. You are going to do nothing but listen.” You will steel into your spine, wishing your power to grant you the strength for this. Rhys nods once sitting in his chair and wringing his hands together in his lap. “You made me your equal, and yet you betray me. You force the hands of our truest friends to betray me.” You have felt a tidal wave of emotions since you found out what your mate kept from you. 

Anger, betrayal, disgust, but all you feel now is sadness. 

Sadness at the reaper that seems to have been following you through your first week as a mother, angry at your sister for snatching your family back from the cold iron of his grip. 

“You have proven that the members of this court will obey your wishes without any regard for me as your equal. Not only that, the worst thing about this is you were going to let us die in ignorance, after promising that I would always have a choice with you. That is what truly breaks me, Mate.” You watch your husband fall apart before you. The High Lord of Night crumbling and dissolving like salt in water. You want to go to him, you want to ease his sobs and tell him that everything is alright. 

But everything is very much not all right. 

“Why?” is the only thing you can manage to croak out, your tears finally cracking the damn that you’ve built to keep them at bay. Rhys stands, crossing the room and three wide steps, and wraps you in his arms. You try to fight it but you let yourself collapse into the warm embrace he offers. You wail, cursing the world and your mate, beating your hands against his chest half-heartedly. He cups your cheek a thumb running to wipe the silver from your eyes, but your hands remain limp at your sides.

“I have no excuse,” he swears sinking to his knees you follow him melting without the force of his weight to keep you upright. “I tried to do my best by Madja’s instructions. I did not want to rip the joy from you, but I had no right. I’m so sorry my love, so so sorry. I wanted to bring you the news with a solution.”  You still choke around your sobs, the solid iron you’ve built around the bond cracking just a fraction, letting some of its golden light shine back through. 

“You also had no right to send Nesta on that hike. Her intentions may have been egregious, but she is the only one who was honest with me.” Rhys’s lips press into a thin line, the topic of your sister always a touchy one, but he nods. 

“I’ll do my best to be better for you.” Rhys gulps around the tightening in his throat. You don’t know how long you spend crying on the floor of his study, Rhys soothing your hair before something finally lightens in your heart and you let go. 

Forgiveness. 

You realize after one heartbeat, then two, that this feeling is forgiveness. You almost collapse under the weight of it. You meet Rhysand’s eyes and let the walls of the bond fall and you feel the palpable relief, see it in his eyes. 

“You have to be better.” You mutter, and Rhys nods resting his forehead against yours. 

“I’ll do better for you. For Nyx. For our family.” He swears and you feel the burn of another promise singeing into your skin, the stretching wings of a dove appearing on your sternum, you can see the twin appearing on Rhys’s own skin. Finally, you press your lips to his and he melts hauling you onto his lap. His kiss is bruising, the bond between you both singing happily in your chests. This healing road will be long, and the trust you’ve built with your family now broken and fragile. But the road is visible, the fog of pain gone from the path you must take. You will forgive, no matter how hard it will be. Rhys’s hands are shaking as he presses a kiss to your forehead. After all of the pain.

Forgiveness is a welcome feeling.

[lustringcharlieau]

Skipping angels for a bit, our main protagonists - Charlie Magne and Vagatha 'Vaggie' Magne. Notice something different here?

Charlie Magne was born as an act of Love, and 'The Human Way', as described by her mother, who used to 'make' demons, not bear them. As a very desired and treasured child, she was kept in the Magne Palace for the majority of her life, away from Hell's horrors and bloodshed. At 15 years old, the wildest extermination in millenia happens, and Lucifer sends Charlie all the way down to the Lust Ring to keep her safe.

Charlie since lived in Asmodeus' tower in the atmosphere of love and warmth, yet still hurt by the fact that her parents sent her down with no explanation. Ozzie is kind to Charlie as if she were his own child, but he is as busy as any other royal would be, and Charlie is often left alone to wander the Lust.

At 18 she attends the dancing group Succ Cubes performance, and meets a succubus named Vagatha, the lead dancer of the group. They become friends since then, sharing their sentiment of being alone in the world, as Vaggie isn't really fond of publicly performing suggestive dances, and Charlie is left alone by all her parental figures. They later become girlfriends despite class gap, and Vaggie gets to live with Charlie in the tower. It's the event that causes Ozzie to consider such kind of romance for the first time.

At Charlie's 25th birthday, Lucifer calls for her to finally fulfill her duty as the Heiress to the throne of Hell and try to fix what's broken. But how?.. Charlie and Vaggie go all up to Pride to find out.

[inubaki]

The Bite (part 3)

Adam didn't know how long he fell for. It seemed like forever, and if anyone asked him how long or even to give an estimate, Adam would be unable to answer the question. Finally, he fell hard into sharp rocks and passed out. It should have been the end. No one was there in the Abyss and no one would help him off the sharp rocks.

But Adam was the first to Fall in the Abyss. If you close your eyes, and simply feel around you, you would realize that everything in the Abyss was connected. Like one big organism breathing together.

In Adam's weakened state, the Abyss rumbled. The rocks holding him crumbled and Adam slowly inched into the ground. The ground encased him, keeping his organs from spilling out as the Abyss tried to heal him and keep him from dying.

Adam lay there, breathing shallowly but unable to rouse himself, too weak to move. The Abyss seemed worried about his condition, a silent sentinel keeping him safe. Adam was now inextricably linked to the Abyss, a possession of its unfathomable depths.

As the years passed, Adam's consciousness slowly returned, and he began to perceive his surroundings more clearly. It was during this gradual awakening that he noticed a dark, slender, vividly colored object within the Abyss's embrace. Or what he assumed was an object until he saw the thin thing breathe. Adam needed to know what or who this was but his movement was limited.

The rocks moved the unknown naked entity closer as if sensing what Adam needed. The first thing Adam noticed was that they looked like a fox. A beautiful multi-colored fox mixed with a bee if Adam thought hard enough. They didn't look hurt. In fact, they looked to be getting stronger.

Beelzebub opened her eyes the moment Cain opened his and cried for food despite not being hungry. As Adam observed, Beelzebub stood up and gazed around, her inquisitive nature evident in the way her multi-colored eyes shimmered in the dark crimson surroundings. When her gaze locked with Adam's, she inched closer, propelled by an insatiable curiosity.

She sniffed and Adam smiled before he reached a hand to her snout. She blinked before giving him a sharp tooth grin. "Mother." She said. "Mother." She rubbed herself over the First Man and smiled.

Slowly, as the population of Adam's children increased, more manifestations of sin emerged. Mammon came into existence when Able desired something that belonged to someone else and chose to take it by force. Belfagor's emergence occurred when Cain decided to slack off and sleep in for hours instead of fulfilling his responsibilities.

Asmodeus was made when someone experienced lust instead of love for the first time. More and more popped up during that year until seven children all huddled around Adam.

Adam kept them close, eager to make sure they were well cared for. Despite his children being rough around the edges, some more than others, he still loved every one of them. But, Adam could feel the Abyss calling for them. It had been years and Adam knew the Rings were now done being made. The First Man wished for them to stay with him forever but he also knew that they were needed elsewhere.

As the number of The Sins grew, more creatures began to emerge, each of them essential to their respective Rings.

"Mother, do we really have to?" asked Asmodeus, renowned for his sensitivity, while Adam gazed up at him with a smile. Despite his towering stature, Adam always knelt beside Asmodeus so that they could meet eye to eye.

"Yes, my son, my children. The time has come," Adam nodded. Slowly, one by one, they all left the hole they were born in to begin what the Abyss needed from them. Satan, the most untamed and rebellious spirit of all, embraced Adam tightly before uttering, 

"I will come back as often as I can, Mother." Satan was not one for lengthy conversations, and his patience was easily tested. Yet, Adam was the only one who could soothe his fiery temperament.

"Go, my son. When the Abyss beckons, you must respond," Adam declared as Satan departed for his appointed place.

As time flowed relentlessly on, Adam dutifully fulfilled his role as the collector of souls destined for damnation. His weary eyes bore witness to the sorry state of those souls, each one a poignant reminder of their tragic and tortured existence. They were often so irreparably scarred by their own suffering that they unwittingly perpetuated the cycle of pain. Regardless of their identity or deeds in life, every soul eventually found its way to Adam. Whether they were conscious of it or not, he had embraced each one with a compassionate embrace, for he intimately understood the profound agony of being forgotten.

Adam was acutely aware that he couldn't cling to those precious souls indefinitely. Despite being filled with hurt and the longing to be forgotten, they were destined to find their own path in the Abyss. However, Adam remained vigilant, ensuring that they remained in their rightful place. The Abyss was home to a significant number of souls, a good dozen, all of whom Adam kept an eye on.

Then it happened. The sky split open with a blinding flash of light and a deafening roar. Something emerged from the heavens, hurtling towards the ground at terrifying speed. As it descended, Adam's heart raced, knowing exactly who it was even before they made contact with the ground. It was Samael, no, Lucifer, who had cast off his old name long ago.

Adam was instantly overcome by a searing, familiar pain that seemed to course through every fiber of his being, resonating with the very essence of the Abyss itself. The entire realm shuddered in response to his agony, echoing his torment as it always did, a cruel testament to the depth of their connection. And as always, the Abyss answered him. 

XxX

Lucifer Fell hard and coughed out blood on contact with the hard ground. His lungs burned and his body ached from his Fall. He was alone, Lilith Falling separately and...did she even Fall? Lucifer couldn't quite remember; he was disoriented, and he groaned as he stumbled to his feet. 

Or tried to. He stumbled backward and fell, his feet no longer feeling familiar. They no longer bore any resemblance to the normal feet he was created with; instead, they now bore a striking resemblance to the hooves of a goat. Dark black fur now covered his calves, and his feet had transformed into dark gray hooves that clumsily navigated unfamiliar terrain.

A flood of tears gushed from his eyes, overwhelmed by the torrent of events unfolding in such a brief span. Struggling to regain his footing, he rose unsteadily, managing to remain upright as he surveyed his surroundings. An encompassing sea of red dominated the scene. As he drew in a deep breath, a sudden, tangible sensation washed over him, enveloping his being.

A familiar presence he thought he would never feel again. A scent that seemed familiar and it broke everything in him just to smell it again.

"Adam!" he called out into the seemingly endless void of the Abyss. A deafening silence greeted his words. It felt as though the very fabric of the Abyss trembled at his frantic efforts to locate Adam as he staggered forward, unsure of where he was heading. It was as if Adam was omnipresent, yet completely elusive. His presence permeated the air, enveloping everything and nothing all at once.

"ADAM!" He cried out, and still, there was nothing, and yet he was here. Lucifer frowned and snarled as he broke rocks in his frustration. He even threw a rock toward a bush and yelped when it...catapulted back into his face. Blood poured from the gash on his forehead and the bush shook as if....as if it were laughing?!

This made Lucifer snarl at it, unsure if he was imagining such a phenomenon or if the Abyss was more alive than he realized. He huffed and finally moved on.

As Lucifer stumbled through the treacherous Abyss, every step seemed to bring a new danger. The seemingly sturdy rocks shifted beneath his weight, threatening to send him tumbling down cliffs onto the ground below. Unseen obstacles like sudden bushes and sharp thorns appeared out of nowhere, making every forward movement a potential hazard. The entire landscape was shrouded in a sinister red hue that seemed to sear into Lucifer's eyes, adding a sense of surreal dread to the already ominous surroundings.

Finally, Lucifer seemed to have enough and he used what little angelic power he had since his Fall and slammed it to the ground. He spread it through the rocks into the crevices and glared at his surroundings. "So, you think you can hurt me like this? Pathetic." He snarled.

As he stood amidst the ominous landscape, he was determined to exert his will upon it. Refusing to be dominated by the surroundings, he made a conscious effort to bend the dark terrain to his desires. With a deep breath, the once oppressive red glow no longer seared his eyes, offering him a newfound sense of clarity and control.

Lucifer tried to produce his wings and cried out at the feeling of them burning his body. Lucifer immediately stopped trying to bring them out. It would seem they would need more time to heal. 

As Lucifer trekked through the desolate landscape, his journey seemed endless until he stumbled upon a cluster of small, shabby huts. Cocking his head in curiosity, he witnessed the forlorn souls of the damned emerging from their dwellings to cast their eyes upon him. An immediate sense of disdain washed over Lucifer as he beheld them. They appeared to be a stark departure from his original creation – fractured and devoid of the splendor they once possessed.

He growled as one got close and he smirked when she whimpered and stumbled away. "Well, it seems you are all that's here, hm?" Lucifer asked, his sharp teeth on display and he reveled in the fear that crossed all the souls that could see him.

"Well? Isn't anyone going to tell me where I am or do I need to force it out?" The silence hung heavy in the air as a lone soul summoned the courage to walk up. The figure boldly stepped forward, only to stumble and fall to their knees as they approached Lucifer. It seemed almost poetic to Lucifer, seeing them on the ground, so fitting for the damned to be in such a lowly position. As the soul struggled to rise, Lucifer's voice cut through the stillness with a menacing growl. "Stay down there on your knees."

The soul nodded and stumbled over his words. "You are the Abyss. A place for the damned." Lucifer growled. "Tell me something I don't know. Now."

"I—We are all the souls in the Abyss that fell!" The soul stammered, visibly shaken. Lucifer's eyes swept over the gathered souls. "All of you? This is the extent of it?" They all responded with silent nods. A cold smile spread across Lucifer's face. "Well... I suppose you lost sheep need a shepherd, don't you?"

As the souls exchanged uneasy glances, a palpable sense of impending change filled the air. They all knew that the situation was evolving rapidly, and there was no stopping it.

Lucifer gripped the soul's hair, or what consisted of hair for the damned soul, and pulled them up. They yelped in pain. "Well? Get food for me. Now." The soul ran to retrieve what Lucifer demanded. Lucifer smiled as he sat down on a rock. Yes, he may have Fallen, unjustly in Lucifer's opinion, but he would make do with what he could of this place and he would do it his way.

He looked around at the frightened souls. Yes, it was clear to Lucifer that they needed him. He would rule over them and teach them what he knew and in return, they would serve him.

Lucifer did his best to ignore the subtle shift in the air around him, as the familiar scent of Adam began to sour, transforming into a deeply unpleasant, sulfuric odor that made Lucifer grimace in disgust. It felt as though disappointment itself was hanging in the air, enveloping him in a palpable sense of unease. He silently hoped that this unsettling atmosphere wouldn't linger for long.

——

Previous:

—-thank you again to the amazing @libby-for-life for bringing this story to life. There’s only part 4 remaining. And happily I can say that I’m not sick anymore!! Hurrah!

[ange1sang]

sweetface, angelface

2.2k words

; canon compliant/post season 11, domestic fluff, sibling love, gallavich, fiona and ian + fiona and mickey, past regrets, mild hurt/comfort but mostly just sweet

Ian and Mickey's West Side apartment is silent when Fiona lets herself in with the spare key she borrowed from Lip. The quiet is thick in a way that it never was back in the Gallagher house - quiet always meant something terrible had happened, and rarely lasted more than a minute or two in their neighbourhood - and Fiona has to pause to take it in with a deep breath.

Lip had warned her that her visit was poorly timed. Ian had been climbing up the mental steps towards another high which had resulted in a quick and easy adjustment of his medication, and while Ian was resilient and experienced after so many years of learning the ins and outs of being bipolar, it had still left him sleepy and distant as his brain got used to the change in chemicals. He'd been off work for half a week - a long time for someone finding their footing in the real world - and Mickey had taken the past couple of days off to take care of his husband, something that had taken Fiona back to Ian's first depressive episode as soon as Lip had told her. Mickey's determination to take care of Ian, his hardheaded love for her little brother, and the fear in his eyes as he rambled about the sudden shift in Ian's behaviour.

She'd been less than supportive back then, knowing that Ian needed real treatment more than he needed love in that moment, but hearing now how Mickey's determination has persisted for years longer than they'd ever expected had made her heart ache.

Ian had always been her baby. Since that first night Frank left her and her only siblings at the time out on the street and she'd carried a feverish Ian and teary Lip to the clinic he'd been her baby. Lip was the second oldest, a role that came with signifcantly less responsibility but still enough of it for him to be her rock through those first few years of playing house all by herself. But for the years before Debbie was born Ian had been the youngest, the one who needed the most care, and even after their other siblings were born and Ian became Lip's best friend instead of just his little brother, the need to take care of him had lingered for Fiona.

It didn't help that Ian was so sweet and kind, always wearing his heart on his sleeve in a way that Fiona and Lip never did. He was vulnerable, and even when he kept his aches and pains to himself it was obvious when he was hurt. She wanted, always had wanted, to shelter him from as much as she could, even when she had too much on her plate to know his whereabouts or the names of kids bothering him at school.

Despite the desire to keep him safe, Fiona knew that he had slipped through the cracks more often than his siblings had. Maybe it was the sweet smile he gave her when she asked if he was alright, maybe it was the resilience that shone through when he started navigating his sexuality by himself, maybe it was his dreams of the army and the tough guy exterior he put on whenever he talked about West Point. Whatever the reason, he'd been left behind when she fussed over Lip being in school, when Debbie got pregnant, when Carl came back from juvie. He was the apple of her eye, but he was so meek sometimes that it was easy to focus on the rest of the kids and what they needed from her.

She knows now that she could've done more. That she should've been glad Ian was with Mickey instead of some guy who was old enough to be his father, who there'd been far too many of without any of them stopping to question what the hell those men were doing with their brother. She should have fought to bring him home when he ran off to the army the same way she fought to bring Lip home after he dropped out, and she should've done more than turn a blind eye when he started working at clubs and came home skinny, high out of his mind with eyeliner still smeared around his lashline. She should've carried him to safety, the same way she did that night when it was just the three of them alone in the world for the first time. There was no way she could have done a perfect job at raising all five of the kids - she knows that too - but her heart aches when she thinks of the times Ian slipped through all of their fingers without a safety net to catch him.

She owes Ian, forever her little brother and the only sibling she calls 'sweetface', for not trying to understand him better. For not trying harder to love the only boyfriend who had been there through the first highs and lows without ever turning his back on him. Ian did okay even without those things, she can see as much as she looks around the little apartment. The family photos in frames on the TV stand, the taupe couch with only one stain, the coffeetable with a half-full ashtray she recognises from their old home. He did okay because, despite being a softer kid than any of them had the courage to be, he was strong. She smiles when she spots a wedding picture hung above the TV, Ian and Mickey holding each other's faces like the rest of the world had fallen away at that moment. She wishes she'd been there, will likely wish as much for the rest of her life, but she's here now and has to hope that's enough.

The clattering of dishes pulls her out of her thoughts. She can hear coffee being put to brew, the soft shuffle of socked feet coming from the kitchen. She blinks back the dull ache in her chest and makes her way to the source of the noise, smiling when she sees Mickey leaning against the counter, an unlit cigarette between his lips as he puts two Pop-Tarts in the toaster. He startles at her presence but smiles as soon as he sees her.

"Hey Fi," he greets, setting aside his cigarette and allowing her to hug him hello without a struggle, which is a win for Fiona even if he doesn't really return the touch. He's softer in their new environment she realises, more relaxed than he ever was when he was in the same neighbourhood as his family. She pulls back and gives his arm a squeeze, smiling warmly at the sight of the wedding ring on his finger.

"Hi angelface," she says. Mickey immediately turns to the doorway, looking for something before he freezes and turns his attention back to Fiona, brows drawn tight together as he looks her up and down.

"Thought you were talking to Ian," he mumbles, pulling away from her touch as though to get a better look at her. "Where the fuck did that come from?"

Fiona can't help but laugh, shrugging off her jacket and draping it over the back of one of the chairs at their kitchen table.

"Ian's always been sweetface," she says, watching how Mickey's expression softens as she says that. "I was thinkin' the whole way over that you ought to have a nickname too."

"Y'know, I was doin' fine without one," Mickey grumbles, but the furrow between his brows has disappeared, a half-amused smirk on his lips.

"Count yourself lucky you didn't get one the day he started lookin' at you like you hung the moon and fucking stars," she jokes, which makes him snicker. She thinks back to the days Ian and Mickey were just teenagers wrapped around each other's little fingers, smiling little smiles that they only shared with each other and falling asleep side by side in whatever cramped space was available to them, be it Ian's childhood bed or the worn and torn Gallagher couch. Mickey had been the farthest thing from an angel at the time and he's still pretty far off, but if she could go back she'd have started calling him angelface the second he proved he was in it for the long haul. She takes a deep breath and perches on the edge of the table. "How's he been?"

"Good," Mickey says quickly, not dismissively but confidently, his blue eyes fond as he glances towards the doorway again. "Sleepin' a lot but he's eating and keeping up a routine and all that shit. He"– Mickey hesitates here, eyes darting back and forth between Fiona's face and the floor as a flush climbs his cheeks. –"works real fuckin' hard, y'know? He doesn't want anyone to worry, not like when we were kids. He knows his shit and he fuckin'... He works hard."

Fiona smiles. She does know. Ian's never been half-hearted in anything he cares about, and hearing that he cares about taking care of himself soothes some of the worry that's always going to nag at her, wondering if he's got his head above water.

"Helps that he's got you," she says, giving Mickey some of the long overdue credit she never let him have before. Mickey rolls his eyes and his fingers twitch like he's going to flip her off but ultimately he just pulls out three mugs to pour coffee into. She smiles, recalling how he was with Mandy, bickering and cussing back and forth but always reserving a special kind of sweetness for each other that they didn't share with anyone else in their family. Fiona knows better than anyone that siblings can't be replaced, but him offering her a little of the friendliness he used to reserve for his little sister makes her happy.

"Fi."

Ian's voice, slow and rough with sleep, breaks the comfortable silence in the kitchen. Fiona jumps up and launches herself at her little brother in a tight hug, smiling into his shoulder when he wraps his arms around her.

"I didn't know you were coming over," he mumbles, tucking his face down into her shoulder the same way he used to do back when they were the same height. He has to bend his neck down to do it now, making himself smaller as she brings a hand up to run her fingers through his curls.

"Lip called after you went to sleep, didn't wanna wake you," Mickey explains, voice soft.

Fiona grins as she pulls away from him, leaning up to kiss his cheek.

"Hey, sweetface," she murmurs, pinching his cheek and pulling a whine from Ian. "Forgot how tall you are."

"You were gone for too long," he replies, but there's no hard feelings in his voice. She still thinks about the day she left, visiting him in prison and squeezing his hands tight so she wouldn't forget the warmth of his palms once she let go. His smile, supportive and sad and excited all at once had reflected all of her own feelings and tied her stomach in knots but also grounded her, reminding her that her family would always be here for her to come home to. She kisses his cheek again even though this too makes him whine before finally letting him go.

"Now that you got your own place I'll visit more often," she reassures him. Through the bleary, sleepy expression on his face Ian smiles.

"You better," he jokes, before stepping over to kiss Mickey's cheek. She watches them exchange gentle 'good morning's, Mickey's hand trailing up and down Ian's spine in a way that's so casual, so clearly the norm for them, that she has to look away before she gets teary-eyed.

They sit around the kitchen table, coffee mugs and Pop-Tarts and pills and cigarettes all carefully laid out in front of them. Seeing them go about their lives with her there, mumbling about bills and what they dreamt last night and whether or not the movie they've been wanting to watch will be easy to pirate, is the best gift she's ever received. Lip has his own family, Carl has a great job, Debbie is a better mother than Monica ever dreamed of being, Liam is cleverer than any of them and Ian is doing well. Better than well, even after everything he's been through, after being let down in ways Fiona will never be able to forget. They all did good with what they were given, but it's Ian's life - cozy and safe and domestic - that makes her happiest.

"You're never gonna guess what she fuckin' called me, man," Mickey says suddenly, drawing Fiona's attention back to the present. Ian raises an eyebrow and turns his attention to his big sister, already smiling before she says anything.

"You're sweetface, only makes sense if he's angelface," she defends the sappy nickname, giggling when Ian laughs out loud. Mickey is only slightly less amused, blushing when Ian reaches out to hold his hand.

"Makes sense to me, Mick," he says, which has his husband rolling his eyes.

"Course you'd side with her, fuckin' payback for me siding with Debbie one time, huh?" he mutters, which brings forth another round of teasing from Ian. Fiona listens to them and makes a mental note to ask about Mickey and Debbie later. For now she just steeps in the peace of their apartment, of the life they've carved out for themselves, and breathes a sigh of relief.

[throneofsapphics]

hi love!!! i hope you're okay and everything in your life is fine 🫶🏻

i know i have sent other requests, but I'm so bored that I can think of ideas for fanfics, and since I don't know how to write I send them to you because you seem like a AMAZING writer. here is my idea;

angst and fluff ; reader is aelin's best friend (aelin and rowan are married). she does not live in the castle although she goes there a lot. the reader's father wants her to marry a boy (against her will), on one of her trips to the castle, she meets fenrys, and they fall in love.

I'll leave it to you what happens next, I know you're going to do a great job ❤️‍🩹

pd: keep safe, drink water, sleep well and be happy ❤️‍🩹🫶🏻

broken promises

(part two)

Fenrys x f!Reader 

Summary: “If you need help, let me know.” Aelin replied - a mischievous glint in her eyes. Y/n realized she might have to do a bit extra work to keep her from doing something rash or impulsive.

Word Count: ~5.8k

Warnings: drinking, bad family dynamics, mention of death, kind of angst, reader is demi-fae

A/N: oh my gosh I love this idea and I got a bit carried away, I’ll have to do part two. I love your requests so much and you’re so kind, please keep sending them! I’m doing well, and I hope you are! part two will have more angst/fluff

She made frequent trips to Orynth, her Fae form allowed her to travel quickly. Monthly, at least, and Aelin got pissy when she missed a visit. Always claiming she’s one of the only people she can stand. Maybe because she refuses to use their friendship to gain any kind of influence, and always manages to drag the Queen into trouble of some sorts. 

She lived rather close, her father a minor Lord in Eldrys. 

She had no idea Aelin was the Queen of Terrasen when they met.. Aelin was in disguise when they met. Out seemingly by herself, although a few broody looking males were in attendance as well. It was a minor holiday, but one Eldrys always celebrated - and looked forward to how the Queen and King of Terrasen would visit. 

It wasn’t uncommon for newcomers to wander into their Tavern around the holiday, and a new batch came in. Two broody looking males, and one female who was nearly bouncing with excitement. It was easy to count the blades on them, but they didn’t scream danger to her, so when the female, Lillian, approached the table they dealt her in. 

She was horrible, absolutely horrible, and with a quick glance to her friend they lowered the betting pool. It always felt wrong to drain a stranger of their coins. 

But, Lillian laughed it off and played a few more rounds. One of the males with her joined, and he was much better. 

Somehow, they ended up in a drinking contest. Lillian matched her round for round, until she finally tapped out. A true northerner, then. From Orynth - based on the accent. 

“That’s the closest anyone’s gotten to beating her,” one of my friends, Edde, told her with a smile. Lillian laughed and said she’d get me next time. 

And the next day, as she was being introduced as a member of the lord’s household, she was shocked to see Lillian - no her Majesty, Aelin Whitethorne Galathynius, Queen of Terrasen, wink at her. 

Weeks later, she received an invitation to Orynth - only her. Her entire family buzzed with excitement, spitting out different things to mention, how lucky she was, and questioning why it was her. The youngest child with no particular influence, and no desire to have any. And born to her fathers second, short lived, marriage.  

-

“We needed a second round. This time on my own turf,” the Queen grinned at her, and disguised herself again, a bit more heavily this time, before taking her out into Orynth. Y/n beat her, barely, but ended up stumbling to the castle in laughter, leaning up against each other. 

“Ignore the broody males,” Aelin whispered to her conspiratorially.  

Y/n gave a quick, fumbling, curtsey that almost knocked her off balance. “Easily done.” A snort sounded from behind them, and 

They went back through a side entrance, less heavily guarded, and discreetly made their way into the castle. As soon as they entered, Aelin straightened, walking through the castles elegantly. If she hadn’t been with her the last few hours, she’d have no idea the Queen was currently wasted. 

Y/n collapsed into bed - waking to water and pain relief on the table beside her. She thanked the Gods for whoever did that, and cursed herself for not noticing anyone entering the room. 

The friendship blossomed from there. 

-

Her mother made a promise to her, and her siblings, from a young age. She would never force us into a marriage. Her mother, Fae, raised her herself, rather than in the castle - for the first fifteen years of her life until her untimely death. The rest of her family were all humans, but never carried any public resentment to her for her heritage. When she settled, things began to change. 

She sent word to Aelin as soon as it began, and she insisted on y/n coming to Orynth for the duration of it - where it would be safer, both for her and the people surrounding her. 

-

“Through this marriage, you and your children could provide centuries of security and relations for Eldrys.” Her father beamed with excitement, and yes, she knew he wanted the best for Eldrys in the long run - but his mind was obviously centered on the short term gains, and the extra power he could gain for himself. Something rolled in her stomach. Children. He wanted her to spit out babies. 

“You said you would keep her promise.” She seethed, and his eyes turned cold. 

“Your mother made the promise, without my input.” His words were calculated, cold, and stung. At the end of the day, he couldn’t force her to do anything, but he could get damn near close - and make her life difficult if she chose not to. There’s a thousand things she could say - she could insult his honor, tell him he’s disrespecting her memory, or spew hateful comments that would strike home, but she’d save those for later - if they became necessary. 

Y/n cleared her throat, “I’m due for a visit to Orynth.” 

“That can’t be delayed?” He raised his brows. 

“Her majesty will be disappointed if I’m unable to make it.” She rolled her shoulders back, tilting her chin up. 

“Very well,” her father muttered. “Do try and make it shorter this time.” 

For that, she might extend it. And take some trips of her own. Y/n ignored him, stalking from the room to pack her things, her departure was set for dawn. 

-

‘I have news,” y/n grumbled as Aelin led her towards her private rooms. 

“Not the pleasant sort, I’m assuming?” Aelin glanced at her. 

“How ever did you know?” 

“You look like you smelled pig shit, and you’re stomping.” 

Y/n snorted, and crossed the doorway - heading for her favorite chair and flopping into it. 

“He’s trying to marry me off. Turn me into a broodmare.” She closed her eyes, forcing a few deep breaths to calm the rage bubbling inside her at the memory of their conversation. 

Opening them, she saw flames dancing in the Queen’s eyes. “Breaking your mother’s promise?” 

“He said she made it without his input.” 

“That’s bullshit.” Aelin said through gritted teeth, a muscle in her jaw clenching. 

-

Aelin was pissed. Beyond pissed. Y/n’s father - going back on a promise made to his daughter. One her friend always cherished. And, the hurt and upset in her friends eyes only fueled her own temper. She clenched her fists, extinguishing the small flames that began to dance at her fingertips. 

Over the years, she’s grown particularly protective of y/n. The closest friend she’d made in centuries, and another immortal. The loss of most of her court, centuries ago, hit her hard. Maybe if she invited y/n into her court officially - although she already considered the female a personal advisor, it could deter her father. But y/n would protest - on principle. She never had any interest in politics or ruling territory - she has six older brothers. Plenty to take over from her father when the time comes around. 

“Did he say who?” 

“Someone in Doranelle.” Her voice grew quiet. Doranelle - although a good place to live, filled with good people - now that things had changed, it’s somewhere Aelin would never visit, and it would be difficult for y/n to visit. It would isolate her from her friends and family. 

Her father wants the trading routes, the extra income and resulting power it could bring him. And, given y/n has settled, it would bring centuries of possible guarantees to Eldrys - if the marriage works. But - using his daughter as a pawn to bring that to fruition. Absolutely unacceptable in her eyes, there’s several other ways to bring that around. 

“I can handle this on my own.” Y/n said firmly, noticing the look on Aelin’s face. 

-

Her friend was already thinking of a myriad of different ways to interrupt her fathers plan, but this is something she can handle herself. If it came down to it, she could always leave. There’s not much for him to hold over her, and she has enough skills she can find employment somewhere else. Besides, herbs and tonics she makes sell well, even under her pseudonym. 

“If you need help, let me know.” Aelin replied - a mischievous glint in her eyes. Y/n realized she might have to do a bit extra work to keep her from doing something rash or impulsive, maybe even let Rowan know. Although she’s not sure if that would help, at all. 

Thankfully, the subject changed, and the rest of the weekend passed in good fun. 

-

Another month passed, another visit to Orynth, and her father hadn’t brought the subject up. She hoped he’d forgotten about it, heeded her words and the reminder of her mother’s promise. It’s the least could do to honor her memory. 

But, by the time the next visit rolled around, her father already had a male in mind - one she hadn’t heard the best things about. Living in a port city did have some benefits, she could ask a few discreet questions and get some answers rather quickly. She heard that he’s ‘cold and a bit nasty but not the worst.’ 

The guards let her in through the gates, recognizing her by now, and she strode right for Aelin’s rooms. Nobody interrupted her thankfully, considering she’s on a warpath. 

She flung the doors open, and without scanning the room, started speaking. “He already has a gods-damned male picked out. And not a good one.” She seethed. Someone cleared their throat. 

Aelin and Aedion were there. 

“Hello Aedion,” she gave him a quick smile, before turning back to Aelin. “I told him he had no honor, and that he’s being a selfish bastard.” 

Her approving grin made y/n feel slightly better. “What did he say?” 

“That he ‘doesn’t care of my opinion on the matter,’” she quoted, “as if the matter doesn’t involve me at all.” 

Before Aelin could respond, a small knock on the door sounded and a male she’d only heard of strolled in. “I came to see what the fuss was about.” 

Long blonde hair, dark-eyed, bronze skin, and an air of irreverence to him. Fenrys - Aelin’s main emissary, whom she hadn’t crossed paths with. Beautiful - was the first thing to come to mind, and she forced herself not to look at him, lest she end up staring like an idiot. And - she got the sense he gets that a lot, the last thing she wants to do is play into a male's ego.

Instead, she made for the couch Aelin sat on, and sat next to her - not particularly elegantly, and with a long exhale. 

She saw his gaze fix on her, scanning her body, instead of blushing or forcing herself to turn away, she copied his actions, and tilted her head. 

Aelin saved them the grief of introductions, “Fenrys this is Y/n, Y/n this is Fenrys.” She waved between the two of us. 

“Pleasure to meet you.” She half-grinned, 

“Likewise.” He nodded, and took a seat in a chair across from them, propping his feet up on the table. Aelin eyed them, like she might knock them off, but ignored it. “What did I interrupt?” 

-

“Nothing of your concern,” Aelin said sweetly, and felt y/n’s appreciation. She’d already given Aedion a look that said, keep your damn mouth shut, and the male gave her a subtle nod. Of course, she didn’t miss the small tension between the two of them - and the look they gave each other. Maybe a solution would work out on its own. She turned to y/n, “I need you here for a few weeks.” 

“I doubt that,” y/n rolled her eyes. 

“Are you going to ignore an order from your Queen?” Aelin was half-joking. 

“I have a business to run.” 

“And your friend can manage for a few weeks. I know you keep months of backstock.” Y/n’s lips pressed into a tight line. “Write to her. I need my personal advisor.” 

“I’m not your advisor.” Y/n narrowed her eyes. Aelin only gave her a saccharine smile. 

“Informal advisor. Source of sanity. Best friend.” 

A choking noise came at the last one, “I thought I was your best friend,” Fenrys looked vaguely offended. 

“I can have more than one.” She waved her half, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “Are you going to ignore an order from your Queen?” 

Y/n groaned, “when you put it that way.” 

She watched the female head to her desk, grab some paper and wrote two missives, and headed right out to post it. 

“Why have you hidden your pretty friend from me?” Fenrys asked after she was out of hearing range. 

“I’m not hiding her,” Aelin raised a brow. “You haven’t been here.” He had been gone frequently over the last several years, only coming back for a week or so to give reports before heading somewhere else. It is a bit strange the two haven’t crossed paths before now. “Maybe you need some extended time back in Orynth.” She offered. 

“A break would be nice,” Fenrys admitted and a tang of guilt ran through her. She never forced him to go anywhere, but he’d accepted everything she offered. 

“Get that look off your face,” Rowan slid through the door. How long had he been listening? “You can’t make that bastard do anything he doesn’t want to.” 

Fenrys’s agreement reassured her. “Then stay here for a while,” she said firmly. 

“Why was y/n on a warpath?” Rowan questioned. 

Her father is getting pushy. She spoke to him directly. His face tightened, but he didn’t reply, instead launching a few questions to Fenrys, about his latest assignment. In Doranelle - somewhere she’d been hesitant to ask him if he wanted to, but surprisingly he agreed quickly. 

“One of their minor lords is looking to establish more ties to Terrasen. Specifically Eldrys, the rumor says it’s through marriage.” 

Y/n’s father really is pushing the subject. 

“Which one?” Rowan asked mildly. She couldn’t keep anything from him, and he knew almost everything about y/n’s situation. 

The description of the male made her stomach turn. Not horrible, but cold and nasty. Absolutely no way she’d let her best friend end up in that situation. Even if she had to write to her father herself. Y/n might be pissed at her for it, but if it came down to it - she would do it. 

-

She knows what Aelin is trying to do - get her away from Eldrys for a while. And she appreciates it, even if she’s being a bit fussy. Plus, some time in Orynth does sound nice. Maybe she can scout out somewhere to work or live, if she ends up leaving her home. Which is becoming more and more likely by the day. It’s nice out, and a walk through the city always calms her nerves. 

It wasn’t long before she made it back to the castle - just as the sun was setting. 

Aelin dragged her right to her closet, saying they were going for a night out - to celebrate Fenrys’s return.

She disguised herself, and threw some clothes at y/n. Fenrys, apparently, had told Aelin he wanted to see one of their competitions in action. She’d never turn down a challenge. 

-

Fenrys watched in amusement as the two females stumbled back towards the castle, arms looped around each other's shoulders - laughing the entire time. Rowan had already stopped them from falling once - only for Aelin to hiss at him and call him a fussy bastard. He’s glad he’ll be staying here for a while - and that y/n will too. Just to get to know his replacement, for Aelin’s best friend. Not that it’s a competition. 

-

Y/n isn’t exactly sure how it happened, but Fenrys started seeking her out over the weeks she spent there, and she started seeking him out as well. At first, she thought Aelin put him on to it, but the Queen denied any involvement. 

They didn’t spend time together alone, but she found herself drawn to him like a magnet. In a crowded room or tavern, she’d always keep an eye out for him, wanting to know where he was. Aelin teased her lightly, asking a couple of questions that she carefully deflected. She convinced him to dance with her one night, and he was a surprisingly horrible dancer, and stepped all over her toes. She ended up stomping on the insole of his foot, and he watched himself more carefully after that. She spent time with Aelin, of course, but Fenrys was there more often than not. 

He did claim he was her best friend, so maybe it’s normal for them to be in each other’s company that frequently. She thought she should feel jealous or upset, but Aelin deserves good friends. And she enjoyed his company. But - if Aelin stopped demanding her monthly visits - then she would have a problem. 

-

When she arrived back home, she knew something was wrong. Instantly, based on the looks on her brother’s faces - half pity and half outrage. “I’m sorry,” one of them mumbled. “He’s in his office.” 

She made right for the room, carefully closing the door behind her. She didn’t bother to change out of her traveling clothes. 

“What is it?” She hissed. 

“Nice to see you too, daughter.” He said, without looking up from his papers. 

“What is it?” She repeated, her anxiety growing with each word. 

“You should be happy, your engagement will be announced any day now.” 

She froze. “Is it now?” Her voice grew cold, and low. “I don’t believe I agreed to any engagement.” 

“We’ve been discussing it for months.” He finally lifted his head to meet her, and flinched slightly at the pure rage he found. 

“Cancel the announcement.” 

“I cannot.” 

“You can,” she snarled, canines flashing “but you won’t.” 

He eyed her with some distaste. “A beast then, like your mother.” Y/n froze in place, debating the merits of patricide, or if she should throw something at him. But he kept running his damned mouth. “I only married her so you wouldn’t be born a bastard. I shouldn’t have bothered.” 

Her jaw went slack, she felt heat burning in her chest, and her heartbeat starting to thrum in her ears. “You shouldn’t have.” She managed to say, before storming from the room like a child throwing a tantrum. But, she didn’t care, not as she made her way to her room to post an urgent message - one to Aelin, and one to her friend - explaining what happened and that she’d be gone for an undetermined amount of time. And to close the shop. 

-

Aelin received a letter the day after y/n left, surprisingly. It wasn’t like her to write this quickly, and she had a bad feeling about it. 

He’s planning to announce an engagement. Can I come stay for a while? 

Aelin didn’t bother replying, she sent Fenrys instead - he could move quicker in his wolf form. She explained as much as she could the layout of the area, from what she could remember, and told him to be discreet - and to bring y/n back with him. 

-

Aelin didn’t tell him the specific reasons behind why she was sending him over to Eldrys, but he didn’t complain too much. Only that y/n would be preparing to leave, and not to come back without her. That - he had a bad feeling about, but Aelin told him the layout of the house and he trusted himself enough he should be able to sneak in, if necessary. 

Outside where her bedroom should be, he saw an undeniable figure fluttering around the room, shoving things into a small pack. 

He bent slightly, picking up a small stone. Smooth, round, and not large enough to cause any real damage. He tossed it so it would hit the window pane. She jumped, turning to face the window. 

-

A loud thunk on my window, and she had no idea what the hell it could be. Maybe it made her a bit dumb to go investigate it, but she did anyway. She has enough magic to throw a small shield up if necessary. 

She slid the glass pane open to see clearer, and peered out. 

Fenrys. Standing in the garden beneath her window. Aelin sent him. 

Maybe she should be annoyed, but her pulse fluttered instead, and she grinned at him. 

A second later - with a small flash, he was inside her room. She stumbled backwards, hitting the wall, and threw a hand over her heart. 

“I forgot you can do that.” She kept her voice low, eyes darting towards the door, listening for anyone who might be approaching. 

“It’s useful, on occasion.” 

She watched as he scanned the room, seeing everything in disarray. She’d been combing through, taking anything that might be of some value to her, including the cash she’d carefully collected, and various irreplaceable items. And any of her weapons. Her pack was already full of the essentials - long ago, at Aelin’s insistence, she’d started keeping some clothes at the castle. In the rooms specifically designated for her. She shifted back and forth on her feet. It felt awfully personal for him to be in her room, her childhood room. She didn’t mind it, but now her mind was only focused on leaving - on getting the hell out of this place. Her father couldn’t announce an engagement without her there, an engagement to someone she’s never met. 

“Are you ready to go?” He asked, sensing her unease. 

“Yes.” Her throat bobbed. 

“Lead the way,” he motioned, and she headed for the window. She’s not too far off the ground, and the pipe is strong enough for her to shimmy before jumping. “Sneaking out, I like it.” He commented, and she was grateful for his amusement. 

They cleared the area quickly, and she took to the outskirts of the city - avoiding anywhere she might run into people. People who would ask questions. Once they’d cleared the city, they shifted - running, not at a brutal pace but still running, back to Orynth. It was … fun, running with him through the forests, even if he was a giant pony-sized wolf, and she a normal sized fox, she would dart in front of him to cut him off, sending out chitters of laughter when he growled, and darting through trees to avoid him. He managed to knock her off balance once, and she retaliated by nipping at his heels. She needed the run, to clear her head. In animal form it was so much easier, the thoughts weren’t as loud, and everything seemed simpler - her mind didn’t whirl with all of the repercussions that could be headed her way. Most likely, hopefully, she’ll just be disowned. 

They shifted back to Fae forms once they reached the outskirts of the city. 

“Did Aelin explain anything?” She asked hesitantly. 

“Of course not.” He snorted, looking at her from the corner of his eyes. 

“Typical.” She forced a half smile on her face, and thankfully he didn’t push her for answers. Although he’d find out soon. If she’s moving to Orynth, everyone will end up knowing. 

-

Aelin was still seething when Fenrys arrived a few hours later, y/n in tow. 

She crossed the room, grabbing her friend in a tight hug, y/n squeezed back before releasing her. “Thank you,” she murmured. 

“I should’ve taken care of this sooner.” Aelin grumbled. 

“I’m taking care of it now.” She saw how y/n forced a smile onto her face. “He can’t announce it if I’m not there.” 

“Can I be filled in now?” Fenrys asked from where he was leaning next to the door. Y/n gave her a quick nod.

“Her father has been trying to force her into a marriage to someone in Doranelle,” Fenrys’s eyes flickered in recognition, before narrowing. “Even though she was promised that would never happen.” 

Y/n cut in for the rest of the story. “As soon as I got back, he told me the engagement would be announced in a few days. I’ve never met him, only heard a few things - none of which are pleasant.” 

Aelin carefully watched Fenrys’s every movement and reaction. Angry, she could tell he was angry for her, and … maybe a bit scared? She knew he grew attached to her over the last few weeks, with her extended time spent here. 

“Good thing that won’t happen.” He said, his voice a bit tight. 

“And good I don’t have any sisters he can try and pull into it.” She let out a joyless chuckle. “At this point I’m not sure how he’ll react.” 

“He’ll leave you the hell alone.” Aelin snarled. “I’m sure he knows exactly where you are, and he can’t do a damned thing about it.” 

“I’m sure he’s smart enough not to try.” 

“It’s not even the engagement that pissed me off the most.” Y/n sat heavily, and pinched the bridge of her nose. Aelin watched as she exhaled slowly, looking up at her, silver lining her eyes. “He said he only married my mother so I wouldn’t be born a bastard. And called me a beast, ‘like my mother.’” 

A reference to her Fae heritage. Aelin knows some … resentment against Fae still exists in parts of Terrasen, but right now she’s seeing red. 

“You can’t kill him.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.” She snapped, before giving an apologetic glance to y/n, who didn’t look offended. 

“There’s plenty of other ways to gain ties to other countries, than using a daughter as a pawn.” Fenrys’s tone was neutral, diplomatic - almost, but Aelin saw the way his eyes blazed, just like her own were. 

“And he’ll have to figure that out.” Y/n leaned back, seeming to sink into the couch cushions - like they might swallow her whole. “There’s a lot to figure out,” she mumbled, under her breath. 

“And good thing you have us to help.”

Aelin watched as he crossed the room, taking a seat next to her, and squeezing her knee. Her friend sent an appreciative smile - and her … was y/n blushing? Her cheeks pinked slightly. Oh, she would be making fun of her for this later. Asking a lot of questions. 

-

She felt the warmth of his hand on her knee, and the gentle squeeze was more reassuring than any words had been. Then, she realized just how close he’d sat to her, and the intensity in her eyes, and felt her cheeks flush. Instead of looking away, she gave him a tentative smile. He returned it with one much more confident that hers, squeezing her knee again before leaning back, stretching over the couch and interlacing his hands behind his head. 

“Maybe I’ll move to Orynth.” She mused, ripping her gaze away from the male, back towards her friend. 

Aelin’s eyes lit up and her smile was radiant. “That is the perfect solution. If I remember correctly, an old herbalist is due to retire soon, with no apprentice.” 

“I’ll go find him tomorrow. And start looking for a home.” There’s a lightness in her chest, one she hadn’t felt in months. Ever since he father started bringing that up. 

After her father started speaking about the engagement, she discreetly transferred her private funds to a bank in Orynth. Her mother taught her early on to plan for the worst. 

“You can live here.” Aelin frowned. 

“Not permanently.” The Queen looked vaguely offended, but left it alone for now. “I need a nap,” she yawned, before excusing herself from the room - looking forward to a hopefully peaceful sleep. 

-

Fenrys’s eyes followed y/n out the door, debating if he should go after her, ask if she might want some company. “Too bad Eldrys is too useful.” He sighed, turning back to Aelin. 

“So … y/n.” 

“Don’t start.” He snarled half-heartedly at her. 

“You’re smitten.” Her eyes gleamed, and Fenrys debated the merits of throwing himself out the window, to get out of this conversation. Aelin wouldn’t leave it alone until he gave her something. 

“She’s fun to be around.” He narrowed his eyes, all while praying she wouldn’t push any further and deflected, “I threw a rock at her window.” 

“Please repeat that.” 

“I threw a rock at her window.” He cocked his head, watching his Queen. She looked like she might laugh or scold him. “It didn’t hit the glass, give me some credit. It was only to get her attention.” 

Footsteps sounded down the hall, and moments later Rowan slid into the room. “Did it go well?” He glanced between the two of them, his face as stoic as always. 

“He threw a rock at her window.” Aelin snickered. 

Rowan’s head snapped to him. “You what?” 

He groaned, and left the room, not bothering to explain to either of them. Instead, Fenrys found himself heading towards y/n’s rooms. He’d never actually visited them before - considering she rarely spent time there, but knew exactly where they were. 

He keeps thinking of how he could’ve lost her, and had no idea what was happening. But, she wasn’t his. Not really. Maybe he could work on changing that. Aelin’s right, he was smitten. 

-

She didn’t realize she wanted company, not until he knocked on the door. Of course she knew exactly who it was - his scent is … why does she have his scent memorized? 

She swung the door open, stepping aside for him to come in, if he wished, but he leaned against the doorway. 

“Aelin never told me about it.” 

Y/n rolled her bottom lip between her teeth. “I didn’t tell her to keep it a secret, I thought I’d have more time to handle it.”

“Did you ever consider it?” 

She thought that was a strange question to ask, but answered honestly. “Not for a second.” His shoulders relaxed slightly. “Do you want to come in?” 

“Sure,” he strode inside. The rooms are cozy, a low table surrounded by a small couch and a few armchairs, a few bookcases, a fireplace - and a small set up to make tea. 

“Tea?” She asked, heading for the kettle, if only to give herself something to do. 

“Sounds nice.” 

She turned and gave him a small nod. Nervous, she realized, she was nervous. Acting like a skittish school-aged girl with a crush. At least making tea busied her hands, and he was good at making small talk. Once it was finished, they each sat in one of the armchairs. She curled her legs up underneath her, kicking off her shoes. 

“Do you …” he swallowed, “need to talk about it?” 

She took a small sip of the still too hot tea, and winced as it burned her tongue. “No, I think I’m alright.” 

“Are you really?” He cast a sly glance at her, blowing on his own cup. 

“I’m alright with not talking about it.” She clarified, and he snorted. 

“If you do want to …” 

“You’re here?” She guessed, taking a sip now that it was a bit cooler. 

“I was going to say Aelin, but I’ll listen if you’re desperate.” 

She choked on her drink, and he reached over to thump on her back, only making the tea spill over her pants. Quickly, she sat it down. 

His face was red, and an apology on his lips, but she laughed. “I needed to change anyway.” He tossed her a towel and she managed to sop up most of it, before standing. “You can make it up to me, and make another cup.” Her eyes danced, and she left to the bedroom, wondering if he’d actually stay and make it. 

Sure enough, she came out to a fresh brew, and Fenrys - his face turned back to the normal shade now. He handed it to her silently, watching as she took a sip. Perfect - better than what she made. “You’re forgiven.” 

He exaggerated his relief, “Thank the Gods.” He clasped his hands together, looking up to the ceiling. 

“Didn’t Aelin kill them?” She asked idly, tracing her finger around the edge of the cup. “You should be thanking me.” 

“Thank you for your forgiveness, kind Lady.” 

She scrunched up her face, giving him a dirty look. “Not a lady. I’ll likely be disowned.” His face grew taut, his expression a bit wary - as if he didn’t know whether or not this was a good thing. “That would be a relief.” She added. 

Fenrys laughed, “you’d give up any titles?” 

“I didn’t want them in the first place, and I’m the last child - to a beast apparently.” Her expression soured, the words still ringing in her ears. Did he ever love her? Or only didn’t want to have a ‘bastard’ attached to him, like it was such a horrible thing. “They divorced months after I was born and I lived with my mother until I was fifteen.” 

She wasn’t sure why she was telling him this, but it felt right. 

“Did you live in Eldrys?” 

“A bit further out, closer to the woods.” The cabin still stood, technically in her name, but she couldn’t bring herself to go back often - or to live there. 

He must’ve sensed her discomfort, because he changed the subject, “How did you meet Aelin?” 

-

“She didn’t tell you?” Fenrys saw her eyes dance in amusement. 

“Only that she was visiting Eldrys.” 

“I beat her first at cards, then in a drinking contest, and she invited me here for a rematch.” 

He bit back his laughter. That sounds very much like Aelin, and something she would do. A century had passed since most of their original court died, and he knew she found making friends to be difficult. Maybe something about y/n made Aelin latch onto her. Or her competitive streak. “Has she won yet?” 

Y/n shook her head. “The day she does, I’ll hide out of shame. You’ll never see me again.” 

“Then let's hope you keep beating her. You’re fun to have around.” 

He watched her shift slightly, heard her heart beat a bit faster, and a bit of smugness came over him. But - he had to tread carefully, and he knew that. 

Still, maybe whatever it was about y/n that attracted Aelin, was getting to him too. She’s something of a magnet, and a twisted part of him is glad she was driven here.

[kitramune]

Popping by seeking your thoughts about Chapter 176: Kagome’s Heart, this specifically:

As we know, it’s a major turning point in the story. Kagome asks to stay by Inuyasha’s side, rather than leave him, the feudal era, and the jewel shard mission behind.

Now this is pure speculation, but I like to speculate. What if Kagome had left? Certainly, that’s an entirely different story, but I’m curious what you think may have happened in this scenario.

Some particular questions I have are:

Would Inuyasha have teamed up with Kikyo to try to collect shards and defeat Naraku?

Kagome was the glue that brought the Inugang together. In her absence at /this/ point of the story (the 3 year separation is different), would they have parted? As in, would Miroku, Sango, and Shippo parted ways with Inuyasha if he teamed up with Kikyo (I don’t see her being a fan of traveling with the inugang)? If so, do they fight Naraku in their smaller group, do they survive, etc.

Would Naraku/ the jewel still have been defeated?

Even *if* InuKik defeated Naraku/ the jewel (I don’t think they would have), how does the story end? Kikyo isn’t alive so she.. dies? Achieves nirvana and Inuyasha just.. grieves the rest of his life or joins her in death? I don’t see a happy ending ☹️

Just seeking civil discussion as always not trying to light any fires xD

Oh man, this is a sad one, let me strap in with a depressing yearning/pining playlist. First off, I think this arc shows a LOT of things about both Inuyasha and Kagome's character, good and bad. Mostly good, but perhaps in bad context. Or at least very sad context. I mean we got Inuyasha going from this:

... to this:

(I know this isn't the same arc but bear with me, the character development is there and he has a similar change of heart here, for her emotional wellbeing, not just physical.) The important thing to note is Kikyou wanted to die at this point, and still to take Inuyasha with her.

And Inuyasha's response was this:

So even if it's born out of extreme guilt and trauma, I find it unlikely they would have fought Naraku at all. Kikyou talks a big game, but first chance she gets she is always trying to call Inuyasha to her side strictly to die, never for his help. (At this point.) Inuyasha more than likely would have been coerced to Hell even against his better judgement. Shippou was willing to leave the group once already without Kagome (after the Sess fight, he only came back cuz of the wolves chasing him) and Miroku is used to being a loner vagabond. Who knows what would happen to Shippou but Miroku and Sango would have likely drifted apart, encountered Naraku, and perished, even if they were together tbh. (Let's face it, Sango's pretty helpless against the Kohaku card.) Even Kagome would have been miserable having her tie to Inuyasha go unfulfilled and always regretting not knowing if everyone was still alive and safe or if she left them to their doom. So with that being said, as much as I love this scene as a pure example of her devotion to Inuyasha, there realistically WAS some pressure on her decision. I think she fully knew Kikyou intended to kill Inuyasha and that he couldn't say no because of his vulnerabilities and perceived superior love for her. (That hurts me to say but it's Kagome's POV.) That's why she had the lines about wanting him to feel like he's allowed to be happy and she wants that for him. She feels that normally, yes, but even moreso in the wake of knowing he'll likely forfeit his life. (I think the anime even emphasized this by adding her saying "You have to know that I want you to live." SOMEONE had to show him they care enough or he'd be too far gone.) The beautiful part is that Kagome DID full-on save Inuyasha's life by making her choice. Because she's unsure if she'll be able to help him enough to keep him around forever, but he's shown an uncanny desire to LIVE for her. Which obviously he continues to show again and again, and is my favorite part of their relationship. An outcast so abused and conditioned to it that the first person to care about him tells him to die and he absolutely will. But that outcast learns he wants to live way more, through interacting with unconditional love. I've said it before but Kikyou to me was always a metaphor for Inuyasha's grief and succumbing to the pain, whereas Kagome was always symbolic for a desire to live and be happy again.

[happyk44]

My take has always been Nyx births them in Tartarus but sends them away to the upper world when they're old enough because she has seen the world below from the night sky and thinks it is beautiful and lovable, compared to the dark monstrous and screaming expanse of Tartarus, a chamber, a prison, a place of torture. She loves her children as much as the night sky, a boundless entity can. She would like them to experience the world the way she sees the mortals do, how other gods and spirits do. Running across cool grass as the sun dips and day fades into midnight blue and wine-dark purple. Laughing around a warm fire. Comfortable and safe from the monsters that lurk.

The eldest two are as boundless as she is, as boundless as their father. They take to mortal form more frequently than their parents but were not truly born of it. She remembers the strange sensation of creating a sunrise. Heat and daybreak rising over the murky ocean. The world was dark in the beginning. Then the sun came, Helios and his silly chariot, and so followed the bright of day to truly illuminate the world. The twins had been born hand in hand so entwined in one another she had not realized right away there were two of them. Even in their choice of differentiation, they were so similar - day and the bright upper sky. Hemera and Aether. Glowing light blue air and soft clouds with the sun shimmering nearby.

Then long after Charon came - the oldest of her personified children. Born with skin and bones and a quiet sullen demeanour. Like Hades who lives above. But Hades is reclusive and seems picky about who joins him. He is followed only by the dead. He is far too busy, nonetheless, to handle a child by his side - establishing his kingdom and building his home from the scraps left behind.

Yes, the Underworld is beautiful, cooler than Tartarus, more comforting to those with flesh, but less so than the upper world. That was created for those who breathe with lungs and have beating hearts, so when Charon is spry enough that he walks and runs and snaps at monsters that encroach upon his space, she guides him up and out into the wake of the night.

Shadows lick at his feet. His ever present father will keep watch when the sunrises and Nyx must set. Erebus agrees with her. Charon seems brighter, better up on top than far down below where only the most reviled of persons are chained and burned. The only screams he hears are from the birds chattering. He was born of night and darkness, so he says good night to his sister and his brother, and greets his mother with a cool good morning. He hunts sleeping animals with his father to guide his way. He prefers to fish from the nearby river, sit in the shallow, slower end of the rushing stream. He speaks aloud, knowing his family listens. He expects little response in return.

After him, Moros arrives. Dark and brooding. Where Charon is sullen and withdrawn, Moros is brash and engaging. He dips away from his older brother to bother nearby towns. He tips the scales, adjusts the poles. The way of the world swells and shifts around him. Knives miss the meat to be butchered and sever fingers. Bows slip free of knots and spill collected materials to the ground. The sickly sob. Children recoil in fear.

He is unbothered. He enjoys their detachment, their worries. As he grows, Charon finds him work with the elderly. It's important, he says, that you understand mortals. It is cruel to befit fear upon them all because you have no empathy. Nyx listens closely, Erebus at her side as their son speaks quiet. His monotone voice echoes across the open air. I have no empathy, but I have lived long enough to know that mortals desire compassion. And I have lived long enough to know that being feared becomes tiring in the end.

Moros adjusts. Still he brings doom, but the old are unworried. They know what is to come. The finality of breath. The stop of their hearts. The ceasing of their brains. They know that they will close their eyes and reawaken with Hades' hand outstretched for theirs. Without terror, they tell him stories of their lives. They spill their secrets as he cleans their laundry and cuts their food. He holds their arms as they take feeble steps around the home they wish to die in.

Sometimes he knows they will not and through him they know they will not, but he promises to carry them back and lay them to rest in the ground they own, the earth they cultivated. He is not capable of empathy. He barely understands sympathy. But compassion is there, in faintest amounts, and it is enough.

Thanatos and Hypnos bear witness to the night skies in the months that follow. It is almost amusing the difference between her boundless children and their fleshed out siblings. Daylight and bright skies versus the boy child who digs graves and the boy who bears doom, the boy who finds the dead as easily as he breathes and the boy who sleeps like a cat. the girl who watches battles with hunger and feasts upon the death the daughter who knows only misery and the boy who can only assign blame. She loves them all the same. She sees how mortals exile those who do not fit, who are dark but not cruel, and does not understand. Perhaps it is because she was not born into the world with a beating heart.

Only glittering stars and a spot for the bright moon.

It is quiet with the twins. Instead of bothering mortals, Hypnos spends most of his time attached to his twin's back, dozing off onto strong shoulders. Thanatos carries him like it is his job. Lifts him off from the ground without a word. He follows Charon into the woods each day. The dead come easy to him. More frequently that he had before, Charon carries bodies home to their new graves.

I can feel them, Thanatos says. When they're gone.

Do you hurt? Charon asks. Mangled bodies are not unfamiliar to them. Torn animals picked apart and rotting are commonplace. The state of their corpses indicate pain though. Charon worries.

But Thanatos simply lowers his sleeping brother to the soft grass below and says, No. It's strange. I don't notice them until they're gone. It’s like a call in my head. They could be near me and I would not notice until their end. He turns to his older brother digging another grave. Their souls. Their ghost. Do you see them?

Sometimes, Charon says. But not usually.

Thanatos is comforted by that. Sometimes is better than never. Hypnos never sees ghosts. But he sees other things in the moments he's awake. When they enter mortal towns, he'll gaze with half-lidded eyes upon the mortals that pass by and murmur into Thanatos' ear about their secrets. Their fears. Their days.

Their dreams.

Within the wisps of sleep, Hypnos descends. He coaxes the tired to rest, coaxes babies to calm, settle the elderly and sick down for their final night. Sometimes Oizys reaches out and so he settles inside the soft world of a mortal mind, slipping through their cloud-like subconscious and drawing out what they hold back.

Processing fears is important to living life, he realizes. In waking moments, he speaks with his brother about nightmares. In sleeping dreams, he slips them along. Most dreams are simple days. He likes to watch from the side, a hidden audience. Even the most mundane is entertaining.

Then Ker comes along soon after. She is sharp-toothed and mean. Violent death and bitter disease. There is nothing mundane with her. Only seeking the vicious and cruel. She feasts on the flesh of the dead, hovering near Thanatos as he counts down the seconds to the last beat of a heart.

But she does not join them at meals. Her bloodied mouth is hidden away. The bits of skin dug under her nails are scrubbed after every meal. She knows her nature is unlike the others. That she is worse. She crowds around battles with a hunger for the flesh that will be slain. She brings plague with a single touch.

Maybe she would feel better if she was not looking at her counterpart in all things dying. Thanatos is calm and unbothered. He does not itch for blood. He does not split at the seams and feast on the dead. He is calm and collected, almost a mimicry of Charon's sturdiness. She is only a girl hungering for anguish and devastation. She cannot end a life with her own hands. But she can encourage it, and so thoroughly she does.

Charon settles beside her. Water spills over their feet. Why do you split?

Feels better, she says. There is so much inside me. I need to be more to let it out. Her reflection in the river flickers in twain. Mortals think that there are more of her than there are. The Keres, they call her. But she is just Ker. She separates into many, sloughing off her other selves like old skin, and encircles the bloodied crowd. Is it bad?

No, Charon says. Just new.

I like myself, she says. But others don't. It's annoying. She grimaces. I wish I could be better.

You are what you are. With his nail, he scrapes away a fried bloodied mark across her cheek. Do not be disappointed that others cannot handle you. The ones who can are the ones who matter. We all like you. Why do you think we don’t?

Their bodies do not sever in two, in fourths, in tens, in thousands. They do not drag corpses back home to devour because the food on the table is barely edible to them. They do not force disease on those trying to recover from painful wounds, encouraging them to fail, to suffer, to die. Mortals do not recoil with a terrified immediacy they do not understand when her siblings walk by. Even Moros has more to him than the doom he spreads.

She does not.

Maybe I don’t like myself, she considers. It’s hard being this way. There is no one else.

Charon’s arm is comfortable around her shoulders. Affection always feels so fleeting. Though she recognizes that she pulls away. It feels foreign to her as it is given. Out of step with who she is. But she does not pull away. Instead she leans into him and feels the water rush around her feet. It is cool and forgiving. She is hot and merciless.

It’s true. We will not understand you or the viciousness in your heart, Charon tells her. But we are not unsettled by you. You are why battles end. Without pain, without struggle, there would be no need to speak for peace. If all deaths were as calm as falling asleep, then people would keep fighting. But blood spilled, mortals hacked apart, watching your friends suffer beside you, delivering the dead in pieces back to their homes - that is what forces peace.

She tilts her head up and considers his words. I didn’t think of that.

Nobody does, he says. But it is true. Without death, fighting would never end. And without violence, peace would never be wrung. Whether by compromise or submission. He splashes her ankles with water. Eat with us, Ker. We miss you at the table.

The twins and Ker grow and venture far and wide. They sit beside battles and watch quietly. They walk through towns and villages. Hypnos murmurs sleepy words about dreams of freedom in the beaten and belittled. Ker manufactures suffering and bloody ends, horrible spouses and egregious people falling down stairs. Thanatos brings calm to the old and sick.

Charon disappears in the days they are gone. Months go by in search. Eventually, they find him, guided by their mother and father. He is beneath the earth, beneath their feet. They fly over raging waters and approach the god who has employed him.

He is working, Hades says. So, no, he cannot go free right now. But you are welcome to stay.

Oizys and Momus are born next. Erebus coddles them more than she does. But he is in every nook and cranny. He sees distress trapped in locked closets, follows bare feet as they run from screams and swords. The two fight with bitter words. When they come of age, Charon returns to the upper world. The family home welcomes him with a familiar coolness and wisping darkness.

He is a sharp-tongued mediator for the fighting twins and forces them apart with calloused hands and snarling eyes. They always silence themselves when he snaps. They become accommodating to their brother who drags fallen bodies out from the trees and buries them in plots around the home. When he appears, Momus holds back his bitter blaming screams and Oizys keeps tight her welling eyes and breaking heart.

It is under him that they learn to shift. It is not perfect. Momus is reviled by god and mortals alike for his sharp-tongue. He complains about poorly chosen words, critiques every appearance, laughs at sloppy form. It is helpful to some - those who wish to change. Who are unbothered by his mocking tone. But people are more emotional than he cares for. There are several lives lost to his cruel words. Like the two before him, he has no capacity for empathy. He is unable to learn sympathy and compassion is out of reach.

Who cares, is his most common phrase, spoken every time his sister asks him to become softer, gentler.

Oizys is still pain, she is still distress. Her heart still breaks easy and she cries more often than most. But she becomes kinder to herself for her limited emotional range. It is not her fault that this is how she must be. It is not her fault that this is what she has been chosen to represent in the world. Her tears do not make her weak.

Pain is necessary, she says as she wraps the broken bone of a sobbing child. It teaches us not to jump from trees, and where to draw the line with others.

She finds broken men with battles still screaming in their minds. Their bodies are automated. Every movement is meant to survive, to carry on, but their minds hold memories that keep them from being alive. She finds broken women, broken mothers, broken children. She finds those who hold back the tears and smile as though nothing is wrong. Those who need to let go and breathe. Those who need to cry. Who need to admit to the pain they are in, the anguish they have witnessed, the distress coming from the things they have experienced.

When the emotions release, when the pain flows, she crafts suggestions from the wisp of shadows. Run. Confront. Kill. Talk. Change.

Live.

I believe we are trapped in our natures, Charon had said in the bright of day as he dug a deep hole and she held a shattered girl's hand.

Her body was bloodied, slowly creeping towards utter cold. Her eyes had been glassy, unfocused. The world slowly slid from her view. Oizys held her hand to take the pain because certain things should never have been experienced. Not in anyone, but especially not in children this young.

But that doesn't mean we cannot change what our nature means, her wise older brother had said. I take the dead. I don't know why. I just always have. But I chose to do different than just steal them away from their homes. There are dead out there that will never be claimed. I will claim them. I do not need to claim that which dies at home or in a lover's arms. I will claim the left behind, the slaughtered hunter, the forgotten traveler, and I will give them a grave to rest.

Momus had scowled back rude words but Oizys held tighter the young girl's hand and listened hard.

You both can be better. You do not have to be perfect. You do not have to be nice. Moros certainly is not. Ker as well. But you can be and do more than you think of yourselves right now. He laid his shovel to rest on the ground and reached for the slackened girl. There was no life left in her. It had bled all over Oizys lap. There is more to the world than your base instincts, little ones. Yelling that others are at fault and crying from the distress of being screamed at isn't all you have to do. Look inwards. Think. He laid the girl to rest in the grave he dug. I believe in you.

Charon speaks these words to all his siblings. When Nemesis arrives in a flurry of wild black hair, she tracks across the plains of Tartarus, even in her pudgy youth, and declares pain of those she discovers in chains. She leaves the wasteland far later than any of her other siblings, both older and younger. She is endlessly embittered by the faults of mortals. Reluctance to leave their home cloaks her.

Find your order, Charon says. He has lived long, seen and met many. Dike could help. She loves justice, as much as you crave punishment.

Dike is a beauty on earth. Like her father, the crowned king of sky, she embodies order and justice. Humanity is as far as her range extends. But Nemesis can work with that. Social norms become her focus. Convention and custom are her loves. Remaining steady in tradition is gripped tight in her hand. She offers suggestions with a ruthlessness that Dike sighs through each time. Some are accepted easily. Many mortals need to be struck down by their own hubris. But others are argued about between the two.

Humanity and what it entails holds closer to Dike's heart than Nemesis'. She is capable of seeing what her father, her mother, and what Nemesis cannot. A mortal who kills to be free from pain defies convention, but does not deserve the ruthless retribution Nemesis would befit upon a mortal who kills for enjoyment.

Nemesis is always befuddled by her love's explanations. The logic is sound, she understands the point. But it never quite clicks the way it should. But she remembers Charon holding her hands and telling her that she is bound to what the world had decreed upon her, as are the others.

Hemera and Aether do not understand why their siblings prefer the dark. Moros cannot perceive how it is cruel to tell people of the vicious way they will one day die, nor does he understand why it is not appropriate to bury them in so much doom they drown themselves to escape. Ker does not comprehend that others do not feel overwhelming rage. How calm for mortals in the rest of death and sleep is unwanted by their siblings befuddles Thanatos and Hypnos.  Why people repress their pain is something Oizys will never comprehend. And Momus will never understand why Olympus banished him from their golden floors for his various criticisms.

None of them ever understood why Charon chose to bury strangers either. They followed when he ventured out and helped him carry back bodies he found. Animals too rotten to eat, people no one came for. They watched as he dug holes. As he wrapped them in clean cloth and buried them. They did not understand why. But they understood that he had to, and so he did.

You punish because you must. People fear punishment because they fear our sister. If she can continue on despite the pain that being feared brings her, I know that you can. They will never understand why you choose the retribution you choose. And you will never understand why they beg for something smaller. But you do not have to. You just assess their point of view. He laughed quietly and squeezed her hands. Or ask Dike to explain it to you.

In the years that follow Nemesis's final departure from the family home, Apate and Dolos spring out from the shadows with mischievous grins. They spread lies and tall tales in their youth. They find villages and scam, decrying potions and balms in replace of medicine. Death abounds. So Charon settles them into the dirt and tells them they can do more than harm.

There is no demand to stop being cruel. After all, Nemesis still jumps to ruthless violence in her ideas for retribution. Momus does not know how to be kind with his words. By nature, Oizys is cruel to mortals. Moros still approaches strangers with a bitter grin and watches them cry in grief and terror from their ensuing fates. But cruel is not all they must be.

The twins sidle alongside Ares, who knows Charon well. Apate guides spies into enemy lines. Acting becomes a passion of hers. After all, what are elaborate performances if not deceit of the audience? Dolos sits on friendly territory and pushes whispered suggestions from the shadows. Make it seem like you are retreating, he sighs into a general's ears. Draw them out into the open with a subtle trap. Surround them. Destroy them.

It is more enjoyable to them than scamming the masses, than telling them silly lies with elaborate words that make them believe in things that don't exist. There is a sense of accomplishment when their side wins the battle, wins the war. There is a sense of pride when Ares pats their heads with his heavy warm hand. They do not follow him everywhere. They want more than war. So they dabble in politics, in petty family squabbles. They still sell scams and spread rumors. But often they draw back to Ares' side with mischievous grins and help his chosen heroes win wars.

Geras is born with wrinkles and frail bones. His skin sags off the muscles that never truly grow. Youth annoys him. Hebe is his sworn enemy long before they ever meet. But Charon holds him as he breathes hard and reminds him of the genius in age.

I was stupid when I was young. I'm older now. Wiser. More mature. He holds his little brother's wizened frame gently. Listen to the stories of the people. Sit with your brother when he visits his dying friends. There is no permanence or perfection in being young. You are a reminder of change, of inevitability, of maturity. I would not be able to tell you this without having lived and grown through so much before me.

Immortals don't age, Geras huffs bitterly. His voice is cracked and gruff, like an older blacksmith who has breathed in too much acrid smoke.

Everyone ages. We simply are not bound by it. Shapeless. Formless. If we want to look young, we can do so. If we want to look strong, we can do so. It is a blessing. He strokes Geras's thin hair. And much like curses, blessings can be taken away.

Geras sighs and sinks into his brother's stable hold. I don't know how to make myself look different.

Then don't, Charon says. You know how, little brother. We all do. But you do not want to look young. It is not who you are.

Then who am I? What am I? Geras cries. I want to be a child, not an ugly old man. I do nothing for the mortals like the others. I don't bring the day, I don't let them know that the end is near and they should prepare. I do not allow them to feel their hurt. I do not enact punishment and I do not win wars. I am just old and tired.

As I said, you are change. People become different over time. They learn and change, they age and grow. And you are inevitable, even to the gods. You are the reason Moros has friends. You are the reason Oizys creates mourning. You are stories told to grandchildren, you are the head of the household, you are the matriarch, you are history. You are a reminder of the end, and you are a goal for the sickly, for the soldiers in battle, for couples so deeply in love. Charon presses his lips dryly to his brother's wrinkled temple. And you are my brother. You have purpose in that alone.

Eris is hardened to the world when she leaves Tartarus. As always, Charon takes leave of the Underworld and guides her hand-in-hand through darkness and grass to the family home. She is a bitter thing. She finds fault in all things. Constant conflict is demanded of her. When he does not fall to her huffing ways, she grows louder and rougher. But Charon has been steady and stable since birth. Her need to sow problems over nothing does not rile him.

Calm down, he says when she slaps food off the table for being too cold, or shouts that he mended her clothes incorrectly. She cannot calm. It is beyond her. Still he holds her shaking hands and guides her down to a seat on the floor. Relax your breathing. Search for what settles you and utilize that.

Like many of the others, Charon brings her to Ares’ side. War does not settle her, not fully. Still, she finds solace in Ares and in Enyo, her preferred companion. Enyo enjoys the bitter sensation of discord, the craft of competition that awakens in Eris’ presence. Eris is no stranger to being cared for despite how she is, but it is odd to see it reflected in the face of someone who is not her family.

They bicker and argue over anything. Eris is always the instigator, but Enyo happily throws the first blow. Hands beat against faces. Blood bleeds into spit on the ground. Bruises bloom against skin. When the fight is done, they grin and breathe and move along. They are often joined by Ker, bringing horror to the soldiers who spot her flying above right before the final blow.

She spreads trouble outside of battle. Apate and Dolos pull her into their lies and trickery. Arguments follow her subtle instigating words. The twins pull strings behind yelling backs. Momus brings blame and she pushes hostility. The ensuing breakdowns are always so fun to watch. Harmony and peace, a sense of calm, does not befit her. But in carefully placed antagonism she finds a settlement, what Charon spoke of with gentle words, and it is enough.

The last to find life on the outside is young Philotes. Her siblings think she is strange. Even from birth, she is unlike any of them. In Tartarus, she befriends monsters, even the cruelest of punished souls. She hugs with abandon, and smiles wider than any of them thought was possible for their faces. She is not sharp-toothed, and she is not mean. She is not relaxed with sturdy sullenness. She is bright and joyful.

Charon does not bury forgotten bodies around her, nor does he hunt creatures as they sleep. Death upsets her. Violence is rejected. Ker and Thanatos find no fault in her eschew of their nature. She does not fault them for being as they are. It is harder with Eris, but only on her side. Trouble and conflict slides off Philotes’ shoulders like rain. It does not make her angry, or have her spit bitter words. Eris finds that vastly annoying. But despite their stark differences, Philotes loves her family without question. 

Darkness does not suit her, though she walks through shadows as is her birthright, and does not shy away from the depths below as her companions in the clouds of Olympus do. Making friends is easy for her. She finds her way to the mountaintop from smile to smile, and hug to hug. The Graces adore her joyful nature. Pasithea finds amusement in their traded places - her born of Olympus to descend to the depths, and Philotes born of Tartarus to ascend to the golden skies. She does not join their numbers, but attends to their needs. It is a contented life filled with love, with friends, with good sex.

Charon waits for the call of his mother to let him know that another has joined their ranks but it does not come. He does miss, sometimes, the family home when it was filled with the life of another. He will settle there in his free time. The beds are clean, the pantry clear, cobwebs nonexistent. The passage of time does not encroach upon the home he built for his siblings. It does not rot the stone, nor the cloth. The house remains steady, stable, as he is.

Sometimes he walks down to the river. He will sit in the slow and shallow end under the night sky, feeling shadows wisp at his arms. There is no preference between his old and new homes. The Underworld suits him. Macaria who took him down to the depths and gave him his boat is there, his best friend. Styx rushes by as he floats. They speak casually amongst each other. The world is forever dark in the Underworld. It is cool. It is calm.

While only a few of his siblings live with him among the poplar trees and obsidian stone, the others do visit with annoyed huffs from Hades but nothing else in complaint. They join their mother and father in the heated wasteland of Tartarus. They visit the family home. They did not live there all at once, and they never will. He raised them to be independent, decisive. To be better and do more than they thought they could. Their home was a place to grow, and they have. It is no longer necessary for them. For him.

But it is always nice to walk through familiar doors and find his siblings talking amongst themselves. Lounging on cushions they used to sit on when they were much smaller, much younger. Eating at the table, sneaking bites of each other’s food. Playing the games still left behind on shelves and tables.

He never worried about what it meant to be the oldest made of flesh and bone. When he had followed Macaria down below, he did not mean to leave the three behind. They had ventured out, as Moros did. When days pattered by with no return, he thought they had found their own place in the world. Seeing them standing strong and hard-headed in front of Hades and demanding his return was more than amusing. Warmth cut through his heart.

Ferrying souls is his purpose. Watching the entrance when the Underworld is open is his purpose. It is what he has done from the beginning, carrying corpses home and laying them to rest, finding internal settlement in river water rushing beneath him. He is the ferryman and the gatekeeper. Carrying souls across the rushing river. Keeping eye on the doorway and forcing out those who try to push in without reason.

But as he always said, there is more to them than the base instinct of their nature. Like holding hands with little siblings as he walks them to their home, and guarding them from mortals and monsters and gods who do not understand what beauty exists in the dark.