#continous symphony

[outer-nova97]

Sylus: Well the N109 Zone has many tunnels, some of them aren't even accessible to the likes of many citizens here.

Zayne: Have you ever been in them?

Xavier: You really are Batman aren't you?

MC and Rafayel in the background: 🎶 SECRET TUNNEL, SECRET TUNNNNNNNNNNNNNNEL 🎶

[figureskatingcostumes]

Shang Shi and Nan Wu skating to Muse's Exogenesis for their free dance at the 2024 Four Continents and 2023 Cup of China.

(Sources: CGTNSportsScene and absoluteskating.com)

[waveringlibi]

"im just a quirky note in the symphony" may have been the funniest/stupidest possible line for that to actually be once we got the official lyrics but it DOES cement symphony as a true weirdgirl anthem. so really its perfect

[fr0stf4ll]

Forge of Starlight - Part 1

paring; Azriel x reader

summary; In the heart of Velaris, a skilled blacksmith's quiet life is turned upside down when unexpected bonds begin to form with the enigmatic Spymaster of the Night Court. As she navigates the challenges of her craft and the complexities of newfound relationships, she discovers that love and loyalty may be the strongest forces of all in a world where darkness often lingers just beyond the light.

word count ; 4k

notes; This is my first time writing fan fiction. I hope that you guys will like it, and since English isn't my first language, please don’t hesitate to mention any mistakes <3. The story takes place when Rhys was in the early stages of being the High Lord of the Night Court, around 300-350 years old, so 200 years before ACOTAR actually began. I'm not sure yet how many parts this story will have, but I hope that you all will keep reading it ;)))

here is the link for part 2

---

The sound of hammer striking hot iron echoed through the narrow streets of Velaris, mingling with the melodies of the city—the distant hum of conversation and the ever-present whisper of the Sidra River. Within the heart of the Rainbow, a district renowned for its vibrant arts and crafts, a new shop had begun to draw attention. It was an unassuming place at first glance, yet the sheer force of energy within its walls set it apart. This was no ordinary smithy.

You wiped a bead of sweat from your brow, your hands expertly maneuvering the red-hot blade beneath your hammer. Sparks flew with each strike, the heat from the forge wrapping around you like a lover’s embrace, both comforting and overwhelming. The rhythmic clang, clang, clang of metal against metal was music to your ears, a symphony you had been conducting since childhood.

Velaris was in your blood. Though you had been born here, your early memories were of the forge and the sound of your master's hammer. Your mother, a powerful and kind high fae, had died giving birth to you, and your father, unable to bear the weight of his mate’s passing, had followed soon after. You had been raised by a close friend of your father’s, a Master in the art of blacksmithing, who had taken you in as his own. It was under his watchful eye that you learned the craft, your small hands gradually growing strong and sure as you worked beside him, day after day.

With your master, you had traveled across the courts and to the far reaches of the continent, learning from smiths of every kind, studying techniques and secrets long forgotten by most. But no matter where you went, Velaris always called to you. And now, after hundred years of honing your skills, you had returned to the City of Starlight to forge your own path.

The shop itself was a reflection of your work—functional, yet beautiful in its simplicity. The front room was a gallery of sorts, with weapons and tools displayed like pieces of art. Gleaming swords, daggers with intricately carved hilts, and axes that looked as though they could fell the mightiest of trees hung from the walls, each one a testament to your skill. The floor was of polished wood, dark and smooth, with rugs from the weavers of Velaris adding warmth to the space. The light streamed in through tall windows, catching on the steel and iron and casting a soft glow across the room.

The shop had been open for only a few months, yet it had already begun to stir curiosity among the citizens of Velaris. Word spread quickly in the Rainbow—whispers of the new blacksmith who had come to claim a place among the best. But you rarely dealt with the customers yourself. That task fell to Alexander, your young apprentice. At only ten years old, he was sharp as a blade and twice as charming, with a quick smile and a mischievous glint in his eye. The boy had a knack for reading people, knowing just what to say to put them at ease—or to convince them that they needed a new sword or dagger.

As you plunged the heated blade into a trough of water, the hiss of steam rising into the air, you heard the familiar chime of the shop’s bell and the light patter of Alexander’s footsteps as he went to greet the newcomer. You allowed yourself a small smile as you heard his cheerful voice, already launching into his well-practiced routine.

“Welcome to the finest smithy in Velaris!” Alexander’s voice rang out, full of enthusiasm. “You won’t find better craftsmanship anywhere in the city—or the continent, for that matter. What are you looking for today? A sword? A dagger? Or maybe something a bit more… unique?”

There was a pause, and then a voice, low and measured, responded, “I’m looking for the blacksmith.”

Your hands stilled, your grip tightening around the hilt of the blade you had been shaping. It was rare that someone asked for you directly. Most customers were content to browse, to admire the work and perhaps make a purchase. But something in the tone of that voice, the way it cut through the air, sent a shiver down your spine.

“Ah,” Alexander said, his voice tinged with a hint of surprise. “You’re in luck. She’s right here. Let me fetch her for you.”

You took a deep breath, wiping your hands on a cloth as you made your way toward the front of the shop. The bell above the door chimed softly as it closed, and you stepped into the light, your eyes adjusting to the brightness. Alexander was standing by the counter, his wide eyes flicking between you and the figure standing in the center of the room.

As you rounded the corner, you finally laid eyes on the stranger. The words of welcome you had been preparing died on your lips as your gazes locked, and you felt a strange sense of familiarity wash over you, as if this meeting had been fated long before you had returned to Velaris.

Alexander, sensing the shift in the air, stepped back slightly, his usual exuberance giving way to a quiet curiosity. “This is Y/N,” he said, his voice soft but steady. “The best blacksmith in Velaris.”

The stranger’s eyes never left yours, and you found yourself holding your breath, waiting for whatever would come next. He took a step closer, towering over you despite your own considerable height, his presence imposing. His dark hair contrasted sharply with his piercing violet eyes that seemed to take in everything with a single glance.

“Y/N,” he began, his voice smooth and rich, hinting at depths of authority and power. “I’ve heard much about your work, and I find myself in need of your particular expertise.”

The chill from the incoming winter seemed to linger around him, a reminder of the cold that had swept through Velaris with the approach of the Winter Solstice. Despite the warmth of the forge, you felt a shiver run through you—not from the cold, but from the intensity of his gaze.

“I’m honored, my lord,” you replied, maintaining eye contact, feeling the weight of his presence. “What can I do for you?”

Rhysand’s expression was serious, and his next words carried an air of significance. “The Solstice celebrations are approaching, and with the colder days upon us, I’d like to commission two sets of weapons—a sword and a dagger—for my brothers. I want them to be special, crafted with the utmost care and consideration for their owners.”

Your mind whirred with ideas, but you needed more information to tailor each piece to its future owner. “To create something truly fitting, I’ll need to know more about your brothers. What are their personalities like, and what are their preferences in combat?”

Rhysand’s face softened slightly as he spoke of Cassian and Azriel. “Cassian is a warrior through and through—strong, fiercely loyal, and a born leader. His weapon should reflect that strength and his role within the Illyrian legions.”

You nodded thoughtfully, picturing a sturdy, bold design for Cassian’s sword. “And Azriel?”

“Azriel operates in the shadows, precise and strategic. His weapon should be subtle yet deadly, embodying his role as spymaster.”

A smile flickered across your face. “I have the perfect idea for him—a sleek design with a hidden element, perhaps.”

Rhysand’s approving nod encouraged you to continue. “Since those two are illyrian maybe we can include syphons in the design. It might be best to work with their olds ones. If you could send those to me, I can restore them and integrate them into the new weapons, preserving their familiar feel while enhancing their function.”

“That sounds ideal,” Rhysand agreed. “I’ll arrange for some of their old syphons to be brought to you tomorrow. They are quite worn but hold significant meaning for my brothers.”

You glanced up at him, reassured by his confidence in your abilities. “I’ll ensure the weapons reflect both their personalities and their needs.”

Rhysand’s smile was genuinely warm now. “Thank you, Y/N. I look forward to seeing your craftsmanship.”

With that, he turned to leave, his cloak swirling around him as he stepped out into the cold Velaris air, leaving a trail of frost in his wake. The bell above the door chimed softly, signaling his departure.

Standing in your forge, you felt the weight of the responsibility settle onto your shoulders. This commission was more than just a job; it was a chance to craft pieces that would be carried by some of the most formidable warriors in the Night Court. You had done works for other lords, kings or fighters, but every time a new challenge would come up your excitement increased so much. The idea of those people working with your creations was just incredible. 

As the cold seeped into the shop, you turned back to your workbench, pulling out parchment and charcoal. Your sketches began to take shape, influenced by the discussion and your insights into the characters of the two brothers. Powerful, elegant, and deadly—just like the men they were meant for.

The forge called to you, and as you answered, diving into your work, you felt a sense of purpose. These weapons would be more than just tools; they would be extensions of the warriors themselves, forged with skill and imbued with the spirit of the Winter Solstice.

After a few more hours of work and locking up the smithy, you and Alex headed up to your cozy apartment. It was adorned with all the comforts of a true craftsman's home—polished wooden floors, local Velaris art, and big windows that showcased the night sky. Your personal collection of swords decorated the walls, each blade a story from your past travels with your old master.

At the foot of your bed lay Stellan, your faithful direwolf companion. His thick, snow-white fur contrasted sharply with his deep, dark eyes that held a world of wisdom and loyalty. You had found him as a pup during one of your early travels—a small, shivering ball of fur huddled against the cold. From that moment on, Stellan had been by your side, growing into a majestic creature whose presence was as comforting as it was formidable.

Your apartment, while only boasting two bedrooms, mostly saw both you and Alex sharing the larger one. Alex had claimed a corner of it with his makeshift bedding, but as the night deepened, he inevitably migrated to your bed, preferring its warmth and the company.

Tonight, you were sitting in bed with your sketchbook, the moonlight and candlelight mingling to create the perfect ambiance for drawing. Stellan's gentle snores provided a soothing background hum, his large form curled protectively at the bed's end. Alex, lying next to you, propped himself up on an elbow to get a better look at your work.

"So, Nana, this one’s going to be for the High Lord, huh?" Alex's voice was soft, filled with awe and curiosity.

"Yeah, it is," you nodded, continuing your sketch. "Every piece needs to be perfect, though, no matter who it’s for. Whether it's a High Lord or a local warrior, they all deserve the best." Despite the illustrious clientele, you held every piece to the same standard of perfection, knowing well that each creation bore your signature, no matter the buyer.

Alex grinned at that. "I know. That’s why your stuff is the best. But hey, why’d you let me call you Nana again? It’s nicer than just ‘master’ or something too formal."

You chuckled softly, a slight blush on your cheeks. "Because you said it fits well, and I guess it does. It’s kind of endearing, Alex."

He blushed, pleased with the affirmation, then leaned closer to peek at your sketchbook. "Show me what you’ve got so far. I bet it’s epic."

You tilted the sketchbook towards him, revealing detailed designs of the sword intended for the spymaster. "This blade needs to embody stealth and strength, reflecting who it's for. It’s not just a weapon; it’s a piece of art."

As you spoke, Stellan lifted his head, ears twitching as if acknowledging the conversation. His dark eyes flickered open, observing you both with a gentle, protective gaze. With a soft huff, he repositioned himself, laying his head back down on his massive paws, content to simply be in your presence.

Alex nodded seriously, taking in every line and curve you had drawn. "It’s amazing, Y/N. They’re gonna love it."

As the evening wore on, Alex's questions and observations gradually slowed as sleep began to claim him. His head eventually found a resting place on your shoulder, his breathing evening out as he drifted off. You smiled down at him, setting the sketchbook aside. His trust and the simple title of 'Nana' he'd given you felt more precious than any formal recognition.

Stellan, sensing the room's quieting energy, stood up and stretched, his movements graceful despite his size. He padded softly around the bed, finally settling down closer to you and Alex, his body a warm barrier against the night’s chill. His presence was a comforting constant, a silent guardian watching over your small family.

With the room now quiet, save for the soft sounds of Alex's sleep and Stellan's rhythmic breathing, the distant hum of the night city served as a lullaby. You felt a peaceful end to the productive day. The weight of creating something worthy of the Night Court was significant, but it was a challenge you were ready to meet with your usual dedication to excellence. Slipping under the covers, you settled in next to Alex, the moonlight casting a gentle glow over you all. With Stellan's protective aura enveloping you, you allowed yourself to drift off, thoughts of tomorrow’s forging dancing in your dreams.

On the other side of the city at the townhouse, the evening was filled with laughter and good spirits. Cassian was in fine form, regaling the table with a joke about an Illyrian warrior who mistook a glamour-spell for his opponent in a sparring match. The table erupted in laughter, appreciating the absurdity of the tough warrior swatting at thin air.

As chuckles subsided and glasses were refilled, Azriel steered the conversation toward local news with his typically quiet but clear tone. "Have you heard, Rhys?" he began, capturing the table's attention. "There’s a new blacksmith in Velaris."

"Actually?" Cassian's interest was piqued, his expression curious.

"Yes, I’ve checked on her—she's already established quite the reputation," Azriel continued.

"Her, like she is a female?" Cassian asked, his eyebrows raising in surprise.

"Yes, 'her' like that, Cassian…" Azriel replied with a slight smirk, enjoying the moment of revelation.

Rhysand joined in with a knowing smile. "She's not just any blacksmith. She’s made quite a name for herself, especially with blades. She’s worked with several high lords across Prythian."

Cassian choked slightly on his drink, surprised. "A female blacksmith, swinging hammers with the high lords? She must be quite skilled."

"She is," Rhysand confirmed, his voice reflecting a mix of respect and intrigue. "Her blades are reputed to be some of the finest—well-crafted and balanced. The detail and precision are said to be exceptional."

The brothers shared intrigued glances, the atmosphere buzzing with new interest. The conversation seamlessly wove around various artisans they knew, but the topic of the new blacksmith lingered, sparking a particular fascination.

"So, what's her specialty? Just weapons, or does she do armor too?" Cassian probed, clearly intrigued.

"Primarily weapons. She has a particular talent for swords and daggers," Rhysand explained. 

As the evening wore on, Rhysand found a moment to lean towards Azriel. “By the way Az, could you drop a box off at the blacksmith's tomorrow? "

Azriel nodded, sensing the significance of the task, though his eyes narrowed slightly in curiosity. "Anything else I should know?"

"Just the box," Rhysand responded, his tone firm yet enigmatic, giving nothing further away.

Both Azriel and Cassian looked at each other, their curiosity clearly piqued, but recognizing that Rhysand was keeping his cards close to his chest. They returned to lighter topics, but the mention of the new blacksmith had woven itself into their conversation, adding a thread of intrigue to the vibrant tapestry of Velaris’s ongoing stories.

—

Back in your smithy, the clanging of metal and the heat of the forge filled the air, mingling with the lively chatter of customers at the front of the shop. Alexander, navigated skillfully among the patrons, his arms laden with weapons. His voice, bright and enthusiastic, carried over the din as he extolled the virtues of your craftsmanship.

"Feel the balance of this blade!" Alexander exclaimed to a curious couple, holding up a finely crafted sword for inspection. "Forged right here, each swing is as smooth as the Sidra's flow!"

With the Winter Solstice drawing near, the shop was bustling with activity as each order demanded meticulous attention and finesse. You had just put the finishing touches on a stylized hammer, commissioned by one of the lords of the Illyrian camps, when the bell above the door chimed.

From the corner of your eye, you saw a figure cloaked in shadows enter. It was Azriel, Rhysand’s spymaster, moving with a quiet grace that seemed almost unnatural. His presence caused a subtle shift in the atmosphere as he approached Alexander first, speaking in hushed tones before your apprentice pointed him towards the back.

Wiping sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand, you pushed through the curtain that separated your work area from the shop. Dressed in a revealing black top and overalls that were unclipped at the top, leaving much of your torso exposed due to the heat of the forge, you approached the visitor. Big gloves covered your hands, protecting them from the forge’s heat. As you came into view, you caught Azriel's gaze flick momentarily—almost imperceptibly—downwards before meeting your eyes again. Though brief, it didn’t escape your notice.

“Who is it?” you asked, your voice echoing slightly in the busy shop.

“I need to deliver something to you,” Azriel stated, his voice even and calm, holding out a small, intricately carved box.

Before taking the box, you carefully removed your heavy gloves, revealing hands marked by the rigors of your trade. You took it, feeling the weight and the latent power it seemed to hold. Curiosity piqued, you looked up at him. “From the High Lord ?”

“Yes. He said you’d know what to do with it,” Azriel replied, his gaze now fixed firmly on your face, any earlier distraction gone.

You nodded, understanding that the contents of the box were likely tied to the commission Rhysand had mentioned previously. “Thank you, Sir. I’ll handle it from here.”

As Azriel turned to leave, Alexander’s voice once again filled the shop, drawing new customers' attention: "Every piece has its own story, crafted with the finest skills learned from the great forges of Prythian! See for yourselves!"

You couldn’t help but smile at Alexander’s enthusiasm as he continued to engage the customers with his lively banter. Azriel, the enigmatic shadow singer, had left as quietly as he had arrived. There was something undeniably captivating about him—his mysterious aura only added to his allure.

Standing for a moment, you held the box, feeling its potential. But the demands of the day pulled you back, and you returned to the forge, your mind already racing with ideas for the contents of the box and the work that lay ahead. 

Just as you were about to reignite the forge, Alex poked his head through the curtain, a mischievous grin plastered on his face.

“He was hot, right?” he asked, his eyes twinkling with teasing curiosity.

You paused, a smirk forming as you glanced back at the retreating figure of Azriel. “Aren’t you supposed to be ten?” you retorted playfully, raising an eyebrow at Alex.

Alex chuckled, undeterred. “Maybe, but I can tell when someone’s cool. He’s like a shadow knight from those legends you told me!”

Laughing, you shook your head and turned back to your workbench, the plans for Rhysand’s commission spread out before you. “Get back to the front, Alex. And keep your comments about the customers to yourself, even if they are high lords or shadow singers.”

Alex laughed and ducked back through the curtain, his voice soon mingling with the customers once again. As you focused on the intricate designs of the new commission, you couldn't help but feel a rush of excitement for the challenge ahead, your heart still light from the brief yet intriguing encounter.

[moonlitstoriess]

A Symphony of Silence- Cassian x fem!reader (oneshot)

Summary: Y/N, a mute musician cursed by a dark power, seeks refuge in Velaris, performing in silence at a local theater. Cassian is captivated by her haunting music, drawn to her mysterious presence. As their bond deepens, he becomes determined to help her, unaware of the full extent of her curse. As time runs out and her health worsens, Cassian must face a devastating truth that could shatter everything they’ve built.

Warnings: Not proofread, Fluff in the beginning, Trauma, (eventual angst, loss, and heartbreak)

See masterlist

The city of Velaris hummed softly in the aftermath of war. It was the sound of a place still healing, the echoes of battle fading beneath the rhythm of life slowly returning to normal. Cassian walked along the cobblestone streets, his wings tucked tightly against his back, the cool night air brushing against his skin. His boots scuffed against the stone, the sound swallowed by the laughter spilling from nearby taverns and the soft music drifting from street performers who had reclaimed their corners.

It was peaceful, or so it should have been. But peace was a concept that sat uneasily on Cassian’s shoulders.

He’d only just returned from a mission Rhysand had sent him on—a straightforward task of dealing with some squabbling Illyrian clans. Nothing dramatic, nothing particularly dangerous. But the routine of it had left him restless. He’d fought wars that had burned across continents, seen blood and fire in ways that couldn’t be forgotten. And now, with nothing left to fight for, nothing but rebuilding, Cassian felt…adrift.

He couldn’t exactly say this to Rhys or Azriel. Hell, he wasn’t even sure how to explain it to himself. So, he’d thrown himself into work—training recruits, patrolling the city, whatever kept his hands and mind busy. Tonight, though, there was nothing left to do. The streets were quiet, the stars glittered like shards of broken glass in the sky, and Cassian was left alone with his thoughts.

He hated it.

Turning a corner, he found himself walking along the Sidra. The water glistened in the moonlight, the gentle waves lapping against the banks. Ahead, the laughter of a group of friends faded as they disappeared into a nearby pub. Cassian debated following them—distracting himself with drink and noise—but something pulled his gaze to the left.

The theater.

It wasn’t a place he often visited. The world of art and performance felt foreign to him, something softer and quieter than the sharp edges he’d known all his life. He’d been there a few times with Feyre and Rhys, watching as Feyre’s eyes lit up with wonder. He’d appreciated the beauty of it, sure, but it wasn’t his world. Yet tonight, the faint glow of the building, the murmured excitement of the people filing in, called to him.

He wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was desperation for distraction. Whatever it was, Cassian found himself following the trickle of people into the theater, his wings brushing the doorframe as he entered.

The scent of polished wood and aged paper greeted him, mingled with the faint floral perfume of the patrons. Cassian lingered near the back, his broad form earning a few curious glances. He folded his arms across his chest, leaning against a pillar as the crowd settled into their seats.

The lights dimmed. A hush fell over the room, and then she appeared.

Cassian straightened.

The female who stepped onto the stage was unlike anyone he’d ever seen. Dressed in a simple gown that shimmered like liquid starlight, she moved with a grace that seemed almost ethereal. Her face was partially obscured by the shadows of the stage, but her presence was undeniable.

She came over to the large piano royale in the center of the stage, delicate and gleaming, and when she sat and began to play, the world seemed to hold its breath.

The music was haunting. It started softly, like a whisper, then grew into something vast and consuming. It wasn’t just sound; it was emotion, raw and unfiltered. Cassian felt it like a blade to the chest—pain, longing, hope, despair.

He didn’t realize he was holding his breath until the song ended, the final note lingering in the air before fading into silence. The audience erupted into applause, but Cassian barely heard it. His eyes remained fixed on her as she stood, offered a faint bow, and disappeared behind the curtain.

Something about her music, about her, had struck a chord deep within him. It wasn’t just her beauty, though he couldn’t deny that she was stunning. It was the weight of the emotion she carried, the way it bled into her music, speaking volumes without a single word.

Cassian didn’t know her name. All he knew was that, for the first time in a long while, the restless ache in his chest had quieted.

And that terrified him more than anything else.

Cassian found himself returning to the theater the next night. And the night after that. And the night after that.

Each time, he told himself it was just coincidence—that he had no other plans, that the theater was simply a good place to unwind. But deep down, he knew better. He came to watch her.

He couldn’t explain it, not even to himself. There was something about her, something that pulled at him in a way he hadn’t felt in years. She was like a beacon of quiet strength, her music carrying a weight that seemed to echo his own unspoken thoughts.

Cassian sat in the same seat every evening, his wings tucked close to his back, his gaze fixed on her as she took the stage. Her presence was magnetic, her beauty undeniable, but it was the way she played—fingers gliding effortlessly across the tiles of her piano—that captivated him. It was as if every note held a story.

Yet, for all her grace and poise, there was a shadow that clung to her, a weight he couldn’t quite place. It made him want to know her, to understand what had shaped the woman who could command such emotion through her music.

By the fifth night, his frequent visits hadn’t gone unnoticed.

“You’ve been quiet lately,” Azriel remarked one evening as they sat in the River House, the shadowsinger's tone laced with curiosity.

Cassian shrugged, taking a sip of his wine. “Just keeping busy.”

Azriel gave him a long, assessing look. “Busy watching performances in a certain theater every night?”

Cassian stilled, his glass hovering halfway to his lips. “How do you—”

"You aren't the only one lurking in the dark corners” Azriel interrupted, a rare smirk tugging at his mouth as he pointed to his dark shadows. “You’ve got a pattern, brother. And if I noticed, so will Rhys.”

Cassian groaned, running a hand down his face. “I don’t even know why I keep going. I just…” He trailed off, unsure how to put his feelings into words.

Azriel leaned back, his smirk softening into something more thoughtful. “You’re drawn to her,” he said simply.

Cassian didn’t respond, but the answer was clear in the way his wings shifted restlessly.

“You know,” Azriel continued, his voice taking on a teasing edge, “you could always stop lurking in the shadows like a lovesick Illyrian and actually talk to her.”

Cassian shot him a glare. “I’m not lurking.”

Azriel raised a brow, unbothered. “Whatever you want to call it, you’re not going to get anywhere just watching her from the crowd. Talk to her.”

“And say what?” Cassian asked, his tone half-exasperated, half-uncertain. “Hey, I’ve been obsessively watching you play for a week like some kind of a maniac now, and I think you’re amazing—mind if we chat?”

Azriel chuckled. “It’s better than doing nothing.”

Cassian huffed, leaning back in his chair. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It is,” Azriel replied, his smirk returning. “For most fae, at least. But you—you like to overthink things.”

Cassian glared at him again, but the corner of his mouth twitched in reluctant amusement.

By the end of the conversation, Cassian still wasn’t sure if he’d actually go through with it. But as he left the River House that night, Azriel’s words lingered in his mind.

So, when the next evening came and he found himself once again seated in the theater, watching her with that same quiet awe, he made a decision.

This time, he wouldn’t just admire her from afar. When the performance ended, he would wait. And he would find the courage to speak to her.

Y/N’s fingers hovered over the keys of the piano royale, her reflection barely visible on its polished surface. The heavy crimson curtain behind her marked the boundary between two worlds—the quiet solitude of preparation and the vibrant energy of performance. She exhaled slowly, willing her nerves to settle.

It wasn’t stage fright. That had disappeared long ago, beaten out of her by years of necessity and survival. No, this was something different—a flicker of anticipation, a spark that refused to extinguish no matter how she tried to ignore it.

Because she knew he would be there again.

The first time she’d seen him, she’d nearly faltered. Her gaze had landed on him like a moth drawn to a flame, his presence filling the room like he belonged in the center of every stage, every battlefield, every story. The most handsome male she’d ever seen—his dark hair, those powerful wings draped like shadows behind him, and the quiet intensity in his hazel eyes.

And then he kept coming back.

Night after night, he sat in the same spot, his massive frame a stark contrast to the delicate chairs of the theater. Always watching, always listening. She wasn’t sure if it unnerved her or thrilled her. Perhaps both.

Y/N’s hands clenched into fists on her lap. It didn’t matter. It couldn’t matter. She had come to Velaris seeking refuge, not entanglements. This city had given her safety when she had none, a home when she had only ruins to her name. She would not risk that—not for him, not for anyone.

But still…

Her fingers itched to play. The piano was her solace, her voice, her lifeline. It was the one thing no curse could take from her. She had lost so much—her voice stolen by a cruel twist of fate and power, her past ripped away by a tyrant who took pleasure in others' suffering.

Amarantha.

Even now, years after the cruel queen had been defeated, the scars of her cruelty lingered. Y/N had refused to kneel, refused to serve, and she had paid the price. Her voice had been silenced, not with magic alone but with pain so visceral it echoed in every note she played.

But in Velaris, she was free. Here, she could perform without fear. And if that Illyrian warrior wanted to sit in the audience and watch her every night, well… She let herself have this small indulgence.

A soft knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts. One of the stagehands peeked in, giving her a quick nod. “Two minutes, Y/N.”

She returned the gesture with a small smile, though it felt hollow. Her mask of serenity slipped easily into place as she rose and walked to the stage, the weight of her curse settling on her shoulders like an old companion.

The crowd’s applause was thunderous as she began to play, her fingers dancing across the keys with practiced precision. Each note echoed through the grand hall, filling the space with a melody that was both haunting and beautiful.

She didn’t look at him—not right away. She couldn’t risk it. Instead, she let herself get lost in the music, her emotions bleeding into every chord, every crescendo.

But then her gaze flickered upward, as if drawn by an invisible thread, and there he was.

His eyes were locked on her, his expression a mixture of wonder and something deeper she couldn’t quite place. Her heart stuttered in her chest, but her hands never faltered, the music carrying her forward even as she felt the weight of his gaze.

She hated how much she noticed him—how his presence pulled at her, made her want to imagine things she had no right to dream of.

When the final note faded into silence, the applause swelled again, but Y/N barely heard it. She stood, bowing gracefully before slipping backstage, her heart pounding in a way that had nothing to do with performance jitters.

Back in her room, she leaned against the closed door, her hands trembling slightly. She hated how vulnerable she felt, how the sight of him had made her chest ache in a way she hadn’t expected.

A soft knock startled her. She froze, her pulse leaping as she considered the possibilities. Stagehands didn’t usually bother her after a performance.

When she opened the door, she wasn’t sure if she was surprised or not to see him standing there.

His broad shoulders filled the doorway, his wings tucked neatly behind him. He looked almost nervous, his hazel eyes scanning her face before he offered a lopsided smile. “Hi.”

Her breath caught. She nodded, stepping aside to let him in, though she wasn’t entirely sure why.

“I hope I’m not intruding,” he said, his deep voice rumbling through the room as he looked around. “I just—I’ve been coming to your shows all week, and I thought it was time I introduced myself.”

She gestured for him to sit, her hands trembling slightly as she reached for the notepad and pen she kept nearby.

You’re not intruding. She wrote the words quickly before holding them up for him to see.

His brow furrowed slightly as he read them, a flicker of confusion crossing his face before understanding dawned. “You can’t…” He trailed off, his eyes searching hers.

She shook her head, a bittersweet smile tugging at her lips. She wanted to scream that she wasn’t broken, that she didn’t need pity, but she couldn’t.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, and she hated how sincere he sounded.

She waved it off, quickly scribbling another message. I’m used to it.

But she wasn’t sure if that was entirely true. Not when she was sitting here, staring at the most handsome male she’d ever seen, knowing she would never be able to truly let him in.

Cassian settled into the chair across from Y/N, his massive frame making the small dressing room feel even smaller. He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees, his hazel eyes warm and curious as they met hers.

“So,” he began, his voice as smooth as the first note of a symphony. “Do I get to know the name of the talented pianist who’s been stealing everyone’s attention in Velaris?”

She couldn’t help but smile, picking up her notepad again. Y/N.

Cassian read the name and repeated it softly, as if testing how it felt on his tongue. “Y/N.” He smiled then, a grin so disarming it made her chest ache. “It suits you.”

Heat rose to her cheeks, and she quickly looked down, busying herself with the pen. And you are?

“Cassian,” he said, leaning back slightly. His wings shifted, brushing against the edges of the chair. “General of the Night Court, Illyrian warrior, and occasional patron of the arts.” He smirked, the teasing glint in his eyes making her heart skip a beat.

She raised a brow, writing swiftly. Occasional? You’ve been here every night this week.

He laughed, the sound deep and genuine. “Caught me.” His grin softened, and his gaze turned thoughtful. “It’s hard to stay away when someone’s as talented as you. The way you play... it’s like you pour your soul into every note.”

Her hand froze midair. No one had ever said that to her before, not with such sincerity. She ducked her head, biting her lip as she wrote. Music has always been my refuge. My escape.

He nodded as if he understood, his expression growing more serious. “I get that. We all need something to keep us grounded.”

She hesitated before writing again. And what grounds you, Cassian?

His grin returned, though it was tinged with something bittersweet. “Family, mostly. Friends. And… helping others. Making sure the people I care about are safe and happy.”

The weight of his words settled between them, and for a moment, she wondered how much he carried on those broad shoulders.

She tapped her pen against the notepad, debating her next question before finally scribbling. Do you know sign language?

The moment the words registered, Cassian’s smile faltered. He sat up straighter, his wings shifting restlessly. “I... no. I don’t. I’m sorry.”

His voice was tinged with regret, and the disappointment etched on his face made her chest tighten. She shook her head quickly, holding up her hands as if to say, It’s okay.

Then she wrote, her strokes swift and firm. You don’t need to apologize. Most people don’t. I’ve learned to adapt.

He didn’t look convinced. “Still. I should have thought to learn. I mean…” He gestured vaguely at her, his frustration evident. “It’s the least I could do to make this easier for you.”

Her lips curved into a gentle smile, and she placed a hand over his for a brief moment before pulling it back. You’re here. That’s enough.

Cassian stared at her, and for a moment, she thought she saw something flicker in his eyes—something tender, something raw.

“So,” he said after a pause, his voice lighter now. “Have you always loved music?”

She nodded, her pen moving fluidly across the page. Ever since I was little. My mother used to play, and I’d sit beside her, watching her hands on the keys. When I was old enough, she taught me.

His expression softened further. “She must be proud of you.”

The words hit harder than she expected. She hesitated before writing again, her movements slower now. She passed away a long time ago.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, his voice filled with genuine sympathy.

She waved it off, forcing a small smile as she wrote. It’s okay. Playing helps me remember her.

They fell into a comfortable silence, the sounds of the theater bustling outside fading into the background.

Eventually, she gestured toward him with her pen, her brow arched in curiosity. What about you? Do you play any instruments?

Cassian laughed, the sound warm and self-deprecating. “Absolutely not. Trust me, no one wants to hear me attempt music. Azriel says I have the rhythm of a drunk goat.”

She giggled silently, her shoulders shaking as she scribbled. I’d pay to see that.

He grinned. “I’ll consider it. But only if you promise not to laugh too hard.”

Her smile lingered even as she tapped the pen against the notepad, debating whether to ask the question gnawing at the back of her mind. Finally, she wrote, Why do you come to my shows?

Cassian blinked, caught off guard. He ran a hand through his hair, his wings shifting again. “Honestly?”

She nodded, her heart pounding as she waited for his answer.

He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a soft rumble. “Because when you play, it’s like the whole world fades away. It’s just you and the music, and it’s... captivating.”

Her breath hitched, and she quickly ducked her head, hoping he didn’t notice the blush creeping up her neck.

Before she could respond, there was a knock at the door. A stagehand’s voice called out, “Y/N, we need to start cleaning up.”

Cassian stood, his towering frame suddenly making the room feel even smaller. “I should go,” he said, though he looked reluctant.

She scribbled quickly, holding up the notepad. Thank you for coming.

He smiled, his eyes lingering on hers. “Thank you for playing. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

And with that, he was gone, leaving Y/N standing there with her heart racing and her thoughts spinning.

She knew she couldn’t let this go any further—knew she couldn’t risk him finding out the truth. But as she touched the keys of the piano royale one last time that night, she couldn’t stop herself from hoping.

Cassian leaned back against the slanted tiles of the rooftop, the morning sun casting a golden hue over Velaris. The city below was waking, its streets buzzing with life, and the gentle breeze ruffled his hair. He glanced at Azriel, who sat cross-legged a few feet away, methodically cleaning one of his daggers.

“So?” Azriel’s voice was calm, but there was an edge of curiosity to it. “How’d it go with your mysterious pianist last night?”

Cassian let out a deep sigh, running a hand through his hair. “She’s…” He paused, searching for the right words. “Incredible. Quiet, but not in a shy way. More like she’s got this... stillness about her, like nothing can shake her. And her music—Az, it’s like the world stands still when she plays.”

Azriel smirked faintly but didn’t look up from his blade. “Sounds like someone’s smitten.”

Cassian threw a pebble at him, which Azriel easily dodged. “It’s not like that,” he grumbled, though the warmth creeping up his neck betrayed him. “She’s just... different.”

���Different how?” Azriel asked, finally glancing at him.

“She’s mute,” Cassian said softly. “She communicates through writing, and—damn it—I didn’t even think to learn sign language.” He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “She didn’t make me feel bad about it, but I could see it in her eyes. Like she’s used to people not understanding her.”

Azriel’s brows lifted slightly, his interest piqued. “And yet you’re determined to understand her.”

Cassian shrugged, a small smile tugging at his lips. “She’s worth it. I just... I don’t know, Az. There’s something about her.”

Azriel hummed in thought, his shadows curling around him like curious tendrils. “So, what’s your plan?”

Cassian grinned, his confidence returning. “I’ll figure it out. I mean, how hard can it be to win over a female who barely knows me?”

Azriel snorted. “I’m sure your charm will work wonders.”

Cassian sat up, stretching his wings. “Speaking of charm, let’s take a flight. I need to clear my head.”

Azriel sheathed his dagger and stood. “Lead the way, oh charming one.”

They launched into the sky, the wind rushing past them as they soared over Velaris. The city’s beauty stretched out below—cobbled streets, colorful markets, and the sparkling Sidra winding its way through the heart of it all.

It was during one of these wide sweeps that Cassian caught it—a faint but tantalizing scent carried on the breeze. It was soft and sweet, like fresh jasmine mixed with a hint of something warm and spicy. His head whipped toward the source, his eyes narrowing.

He spotted her immediately. Y/N was walking out of a shop, her arms laden with bags, her face partially hidden beneath a soft scarf.

“There,” he said, angling his wings and diving.

“Cassian, what—” Azriel’s voice was lost to the wind as he followed.

Cassian landed with a thud right in front of her, his sudden appearance startling her so much that she dropped one of the bags. Her wide eyes met his, and for a second, she looked like she might bolt.

“Sorry!” he blurted, holding up his hands. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Azriel landed gracefully beside him, his calm demeanor a stark contrast to Cassian’s flustered energy.

Y/N tilted her head, her expression softening when she recognized him. She crouched to retrieve the fallen bag, but Cassian was quicker, snatching it up and offering it back with a sheepish grin.

“Hi,” he said, his voice a little too loud in his nervousness. “I, uh, wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

Azriel cleared his throat, clearly trying not to laugh. “Y/N, this is Azriel,” Cassian said, gesturing to his brother. “Azriel, this is Y/N. She’s... well, she’s amazing.”

Y/N smiled politely, nodding in greeting, but her eyes flicked back to Cassian with an amused sparkle.

“I told him you were amazing,” Cassian added quickly, then winced. “Not like, in a weird way. I mean, I did—” He groaned, rubbing his face. “I’m just going to stop talking now.”

Azriel chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re doing great, Cass.”

Y/N covered her mouth, her shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

Cassian groaned again. “I swear I’m not always like this.”

“Debatable,” Azriel muttered.

Cassian shot him a glare before noticing the multiple bags in Y/N’s hands. “Do you need help with those?”

She hesitated but nodded, clearly a little overwhelmed by the sheer number of them.

“Great,” Cassian said, taking all the bags in one swoop and ignoring Azriel’s raised brow. “I’ll carry these for you. Where to?”

Azriel gave Cassian a knowing look and spread his wings. “I’ll leave you to it.” With that, he took off, his shadows swirling behind him.

Cassian grinned triumphantly as he fell into step beside Y/N. “See? Problem solved. Now, lead the way.”

As they walked, he found himself talking—about Velaris, about the beauty of the city at night, about how he and Azriel used to get into trouble as kids. Y/N listened intently, her expressions shifting between amusement and curiosity.

When they finally reached her door, Cassian set the bags down gently. “Here we are,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Do you... need help bringing these in?”

She shook her head, scribbling quickly. Thank you, Cassian.

He smiled, the warmth in her gaze making his chest tighten. “Anytime.”

As she unlocked the door and stepped inside, she turned back, holding up the notepad again. See you at the theater?

His grin widened. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

And as she closed the door behind her, Cassian stood there for a moment, staring at the spot where she’d been, wondering how this woman had managed to captivate him so completely.

The theater buzzed with anticipation as the crowd settled into their seats, the soft hum of chatter filling the air. Cassian leaned back, arms crossed, his wings tucked in tight against the velvet seat.

The lights dimmed, and the theater fell silent. Cassian’s sharp eyes picked her out immediately as she entered the stage. She moved like she was part of the music itself, her dress flowing like liquid silver under the soft glow of the lights. His chest tightened at the sight of her—so composed, so seemingly untouchable.

She sat at the piano royale, her hands hovering above the keys. The first notes sang through the air, tender yet commanding, and the entire room was transfixed. Cassian had never considered himself a man drawn to delicate things, yet here he was, attending every performance like some besotted fool.

But tonight… something was different.

Her fingers faltered.

The wrong note struck, a sharp discordant sound that cut through the melody like a blade. Cassian stiffened, his senses on high alert. Y/N paused, her shoulders rigid as if trying to compose herself. Then she tried again. The music resumed, but it lacked the fluidity he’d come to admire.

She faltered a second time.

A murmur rippled through the crowd, confusion and concern spreading like wildfire. Cassian’s instincts kicked in. He sat forward, every muscle in his body taut as he watched her hands tremble on the keys. Beads of sweat formed on her brow, and she was pale—too pale.

“Something’s wrong,” he muttered to himself.

Y/N abruptly stood, swaying as though she might collapse. Her hands clenched into fists, and Cassian’s heart dropped as she stumbled away from the piano. The audience gasped as she braced herself against the instrument, her head bowed as if she were fighting some invisible force.

Cassian didn’t wait. He shot out of his seat, ignoring the whispers and stares as he pushed through the rows of patrons toward the stage. He didn’t care about protocol or appearances—something was happening to her, and he wasn’t about to stand by and watch.

The theater staff hesitated as he stormed past them, his towering frame cutting through their protests. By the time he reached her, Y/N was being helped off the stage by one of the attendants, her breaths coming in shallow gasps.

“Y/N,” he called, his voice low and firm, but she didn’t lift her head.

“Sir, you can’t—” one of the staff members began, but Cassian silenced them with a glare sharp enough to cut steel.

Without another word, he slipped his arm under Y/N’s, steadying her as she fought to stand upright. Her gaze briefly met his, and he saw it—the fear, the frustration, and something deeper.

“Let’s get you out of here,” he said softly, his protective instincts roaring to life.

Pain clawed through her chest as she clutched the piano for support, her vision swimming. She had never faltered like this before. Never. For years, she had managed to suppress the curse, to keep its dark tendrils at bay with sheer willpower and the solace of her music.

But tonight, it had won.

Her legs trembled as she stumbled off the stage, the world around her blurring into a sea of shocked faces and hushed whispers. Panic threatened to consume her. This wasn’t supposed to happen—not yet. She had always known the curse would catch up with her eventually, but she had hoped for more time.

As she reached the wings of the stage, a strong, familiar arm wrapped around her waist. She looked up, and there he was. Cassian.

Why was he here? He had no business being this close to her, seeing her like this—vulnerable, broken. Yet his hold was steady, his presence grounding in a way that both frightened and comforted her.

The curse was getting stronger. She could feel it now, a dark weight pressing against her chest, making it harder to breathe. Her music had always been her shield, a way to channel the curse’s power and keep it from consuming her. But tonight, even that had failed her.

She closed her eyes, leaning into Cassian’s warmth despite herself. She shouldn’t. Letting him get close was dangerous—for both of them. He didn’t know what she carried, the burden that clung to her like a shadow. If he did, he would leave. They all left eventually.

But part of her wanted to tell him.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down her spine. “You’re safe now.”

Safe. The word felt like a cruel joke. She would never be safe, not while this curse still bound her, twisting her life into something unrecognizable.

As they reached the privacy of her dressing room, she sagged into the nearest chair, clutching her arms around herself. Her mind raced with fear and frustration. The curse was escalating, and she didn’t know how much longer she could hold it off.

Cassian crouched before her, his hazel eyes filled with concern. “What happened out there?”

She opened her mouth, but no sound came. Frustration boiled over, and she gestured to her throat, shaking her head.

“You don’t have to talk,” he said gently. “Just… let me help.”

Her heart twisted at his words. He didn’t understand. He couldn’t. But the look in his eyes—so earnest, so determined—made her chest ache. She wanted to let him in, to tell him everything, but the weight of the curse held her back.

She couldn’t do that to him.

The morning light filtered softly through the curtains, casting long shadows across the floor of her small apartment. Y/N sat at the edge of her bed, her hands wrapped tightly around a warm mug of tea. She had barely slept, her thoughts a whirlwind of last night’s events.

The performance had been a disaster. She could still hear the discordant notes that had slipped from her fingers, the tremor in her hands, the strange, suffocating sensation that had overtaken her body. It had felt like her curse, that dark power she had kept under tight control for so long, had risen up within her and demanded to be noticed.

Cassian had seen it.

He’d been so gentle with her afterward, yet his concern was unmistakable. He hadn’t left her side until she was safely in her apartment, and even then, she’d caught a glimpse of him perched on the rooftop across the street, his form outlined by the soft glow of the streetlights.

The memory of his quiet insistence on her well-being made her stomach flip again. He’d asked so many questions—about how she was feeling, what had happened during the performance, if she had been overworking herself.

And she had said nothing.

She had only shaken her head and offered a weak smile, the one she wore when she needed to shield herself from the world. She couldn’t tell him. How could she? How could she explain something so awful, so dangerous, when she couldn’t even find a way to keep it from taking over her own body?

He’d been so persistent, so sincere in his concern, but she had been silent, the weight of her secrets pressing down on her chest. She saw the doubt in his eyes, the confusion that crept in when she didn’t answer his questions.

He hadn’t pushed, though. That was the thing. He hadn’t pressured her to speak. Instead, he’d carefully guided her to the door, his arm steady around her waist as he had offered to fly her home. When she’d refused, he hadn’t argued. Instead, he had walked her home, his pace steady and protective.

Cassian had talked to her, enough to distract her, enough to keep her mind from spiraling into the overwhelming chaos that constantly threatened to consume her. The rhythm of his words had grounded her, and she had found herself listening without thinking. She had told him nothing, but he had somehow made her feel safe.

When they had reached her apartment, he had paused at the door, his expression serious as he had reassured her that he would be nearby—just in case she needed him. Then, he had taken off into the sky, his powerful wings cutting through the night air.

Cassian hadn’t left her mind since. His words, his actions—they lingered in her thoughts like a haunting melody, one that made her both want to embrace the warmth and pull away in fear. The curse, the reason she could never be truly close to anyone, was the reason she couldn’t let him in. She couldn’t burden him with her problems, not when he didn’t deserve it.

But as she sat there, alone in her apartment, she couldn’t help but replay the events of the night.

Had she been too careless? She had kept the curse locked away for so long, but was it finally starting to take its toll on her body? What if this was just the beginning? What if it would only get worse from here?

Her chest tightened, and she placed a hand over her heart, trying to calm the fluttering panic rising within her. She had lived with this curse for so long, but now it felt different. More threatening. More uncontrollable.

Y/N’s mind swirled with these thoughts, each one more terrifying than the last. She had tried so hard to maintain control, to keep herself distant from others, but she could feel the walls she had built around herself starting to crack.

And it terrified her.

She had always known that the curse would eventually catch up with her. But she hadn’t expected it to happen so soon, or for someone like Cassian to come so close to seeing the cracks in her armor.

It was easier to pretend she was fine, to act like everything was normal, but she couldn’t keep up the act forever.

And if last night had taught her anything, it was that her curse wasn’t going anywhere. It was only a matter of time before it completely consumed her, and she wasn’t sure if she could bear to let anyone close enough to see it happen.

Her fingers tightened around the mug, her nails pressing into the porcelain, as she fought to steady her breathing. It was just one night. Just one slip-up. She would be fine. She had to be.

But deep down, she knew it wasn’t that simple.

Cassian’s wings beat heavily in the air as he soared above the city, his mind a whirl of thoughts that he couldn’t quiet. The night had lingered with him, and he had barely slept since walking Y/N to her door. It wasn’t just the shock of her performance faltering—no, it was the look in her eyes afterward, the guarded silence she had wrapped around herself.

He had been gentle with her, careful to give her space and not pry too much into what had happened, but he could still feel her retreating from him. It wasn’t the first time he had met someone with secrets, but this felt different. The way her hands shook as she played, the way her breath had caught in her throat before she’d stopped mid-performance—there was something there, something she wasn’t telling him.

And it pissed him off.

Cassian gritted his teeth as he landed on the balcony of his apartment, wings folding with a fluid motion. He walked inside, but the moment his boots hit the floor, his thoughts immediately returned to her.

What had happened to her?

He couldn’t get the image of her out of his head—the delicate lines of her face, the fire in her eyes despite her evident struggle. And the way she had refused to tell him anything.

After a long, restless night, Cassian had done the only thing that made sense—he had gone to Rhysand.

Now, sitting in the study room with both Azriel and Rhys, he couldn’t hold it back any longer. His thoughts spilled from him, his voice tense as he recounted the events.

“I’m telling you, something’s not right with her,” Cassian said, pacing the floor. “I’ve never seen anyone react like that before. She was fine one moment, and then suddenly…” He trailed off, running a hand through his hair. “It’s like she’s hiding something. She’s a damned mystery.”

Azriel, ever the quiet observer, leaned back in his chair, his dark eyes narrowing. “You think she’s hiding something from you?”

Cassian nodded, frustration evident in his tone. “Of course she is. She didn’t tell me anything—nothing about what happened at the show, nothing about why she couldn’t finish. It’s like she’s shielding herself from everyone.”

Azriel’s eyes flicked to Rhysand, a silent question passing between them. Rhysand, who had been listening intently, now raised an eyebrow.

“Who is it you’re talking about, Cassian?” Rhysand asked, his voice calm but curious.

Cassian hesitated for a moment. “Her name’s Y/N. She’s the pianist at the theater I’ve been visiting. The one I told Az about.”

Rhysand’s gaze sharpened, and he stood up, his wings ruffling behind him. “Wait a moment… Y/N? As in the pianist from summer?”

Cassian nodded, confused by Rhysand’s sudden recognition.

“Yeah, that’s the one. You know her?”

Rhysand’s face darkened, and he looked at Cassian with a mix of disbelief and something else—something deeper. “I do. She was one of Amarantha’s victims. I was there when it happened.”

Cassian froze, his heart sinking. “What do you mean? What happened to her?”

Rhysand’s jaw tightened, his gaze turning distant as the memories flooded back. “Amarantha had her voice taken away. Anyone who dared to speak against her—she silenced them in the cruelest ways. Y/N…” Rhysand’s voice dropped to a lower pitch, filled with sympathy. “Her curse was placed upon her during that time. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t even sing. But it was worse than that. Her voice was stolen, not just taken. The power of it was bound to a curse.”

Cassian’s fists clenched at his sides. Anger surged through him, hot and fierce. “How is that possible? How could anyone do that to someone like her?”

Rhysand’s eyes met his, filled with grim understanding. “Amarantha had a way of breaking the subjects. She found a way to take their essence, their power, and twist it. Y/N was no different. But after Hybern fell, she sought refuge here in Velaris. I’ve seen her around, but I didn’t know the full extent of what had happened to her. I didn’t know she was still struggling with the curse.”

Cassian felt his chest tighten. Y/N. The female he had been so captivated by. The one who had captivated him without saying a single word. And yet, here she was, bearing a curse so dark, so consuming, that she had been left to carry it alone all this time.

“She hasn’t told you about her curse, has she?” Rhysand asked quietly, his eyes probing Cassian’s face.

“No,” Cassian said through gritted teeth.

Azriel, who had remained silent through most of the conversation, now leaned forward. “She’s not hiding from you, Cassian. She’s hiding from the curse.”

Cassian’s gaze snapped to Azriel, who continued. “She’s scared. Whatever’s happening to her, it’s worse than you think. She’s afraid of what it could do—not just to her, but to the people around her. And she’s scared that if you find out, you’ll run. That’s why she doesn’t talk about it. She doesn’t want to burden anyone with her curse.”

Cassian felt his chest tighten again, but this time, it was a different kind of tightness. He had been so focused on the mystery of Y/N, on the way she had pulled away from him, that he hadn’t even considered the depth of what she was dealing with.

“Please,” he said, his voice softer now, “I need help. I can’t just sit back and watch her slowly fall apart. There’s something deeper there. I can feel it.”

Rhysand and Azriel exchanged a look, one that Cassian couldn’t quite decipher. Then Rhysand stood up, his wings flexing.

“Alright,” he said, his voice firm, “We’ll keep an eye on her. Make sure she’s safe, make sure she’s well. But you need to be patient, Cassian. She won’t open up to you unless she’s ready. You have to respect that.”

Cassian nodded, his frustration simmering just beneath the surface. “I understand. But I can’t just leave her to suffer alone. She deserves better than that.”

Azriel clapped him on the back. “We know, Cass. We’ll help. You just need to be patient.”

Cassian’s eyes narrowed as he thought about Y/N, her vulnerability, and the walls she had built around herself. He hadn’t cracked her yet, not fully, but something in him told him that he would. He wouldn’t stop until he had helped her, until he had destroyed that curse for good.

For her.

He made a silent promise to himself then, as Rhysand and Azriel discussed their next steps. He would help Y/N, no matter the cost. He would break down every wall she put up and stand by her side, no matter what secrets she was hiding.

And he would destroy that curse.

No matter what.

Y/N had stayed home that day, too drained from the previous night's performance to do anything. The aftermath of the curse's flare-up weighed heavily on her, making her body feel as though it were made of stone, stiff and unyielding.

The soft knock at the door startled her, breaking her thoughts.

At first, she wasn’t sure if she had imagined it. Who could be visiting her now? No one knew she lived here. But when the knock came again, more insistent this time, she stood up, her joints stiff from the prolonged rest.

When she opened the door, her breath caught in her throat.

There, at her doorstep, sat a wicker basket overflowing with fresh flowers, soft pastel-colored ribbons, and a few food items carefully packed inside. A small folded note lay atop it, written in a familiar scrawl that made her chest tighten.

For the lovely pianist who fills the air with music and beauty. I hope this helps lift your spirits, even if just for a moment. – Cassian.

She stood there for a long moment, staring at the basket. The warmth of the gesture caught her off guard. No one had ever thought to do something like this for her—no one but him. He had noticed her, understood her silence, and cared enough to leave a piece of himself behind. Her fingers hovered over the note, and her heart fluttered uncomfortably.

With a hesitant glance around, she wondered if he was nearby, but there was no sign of him. A pang of disappointment stung her chest at the thought. Still, she couldn’t help but smile softly, touched by his kindness.

She bent down to gather the basket and gently set it inside. But as she stood up, a sharp pain suddenly pierced her chest, causing her breath to catch. She staggered back, feeling the familiar sense of weight pressing down on her. The curse—no, the power within her was shifting again.

She tried to take a breath, but it wasn’t enough. Her vision swam, and the world tilted. She tried to steady herself, but her knees buckled beneath her.

Not now. Not like this…

Her heart pounded as the curse flared again, relentless and painful, constricting her chest, filling her throat with invisible hands. She collapsed to the ground, her fingers clutching her chest in a desperate attempt to find air. Please, please, just let me breathe.

Her efforts were futile as her body gave way to the pain and darkness swallowed her whole.

Cassian grinned to himself as he made his way down the stairs, his heart a little lighter than usual. He had been thinking about her all day, wondering how she would react to the little surprise he’d left for her. He hadn’t been sure at first whether it was a good idea—whether it was too forward—but something about Y/N made him want to show her he cared.

He had picked out the best flowers, the sweetest fruits, and a few small indulgences. Nothing extravagant, just a little something to brighten her day.

She deserves it, he thought with a satisfied smile. And maybe, just maybe, it will make her smile.

Cassian had wanted to be around when she opened the basket, to see the look on her face, but he had made sure to slip away quietly, vanishing into the shadows once he had left the gift on her doorstep. He would have stayed if he could, but he had a matter at hand that required his attention.

Still, the thought of her reaction kept him grinning as he made his way to the library. He was certain she would be happy—no one had ever done something like that for her, had they? He hoped it would at least make her feel a little less isolated, less burdened by the silence that seemed to weigh on her so heavily.

His thoughts were interrupted when a soft voice called from behind him, snapping him out of his musings.

“Cassian,” a priestess said, her hands extended, holding several large books on sign language. “I have the books you requested.” She also gestured toward a woman standing beside her, Mariella, who was mute. “Mariella is one of our own who uses sign language, and she has agreed to help you practice. These books will help you understand how to communicate with those who do not speak verbally.”

Cassian's eyes lit up with excitement. This was exactly what he had been waiting for. He had been eager to learn, not just to make things easier for Y/N, but because he wanted to understand her better—he wanted to make sure she didn’t feel alone.

I’ll learn. I’ll do whatever it takes, he promised himself.

“Thank you,” he said, his tone sincere as he accepted the books. His eyes brightened as he turned toward Mariella, smiling warmly at her. “This will be amazing. Thank you for agreeing to help me.”

Mariella smiled back, a quiet, appreciative expression.

As they got to work, Cassian found himself mentally back in his conversation with Y/N, still wondering how she was reacting to the gift. He hadn’t been able to shake the image of her face, her eyes when she received it.

But the thought of her now�� it had been replaced by the quiet determination to learn sign language and help her, however he could.

Later on in the night, Cassian’s wings beat steadily as he soared through the skies. However, a strange sense of unease kept gnawing at him. It was almost as if the world had shifted in a way he couldn’t quite explain, and his instincts were bristling, urging him to check on her.

He had no logical reason for concern, but Cassian trusted his instincts more than anything. They’d never steered him wrong before.

As he circled above her home, the soft glow from the windows cast faint shadows on the ground below. But then something caught his eye—a rolling object, bouncing slowly down the steps. It was one of the apples he had chosen so carefully for her.

His heart skipped a beat.

The apple rolled out of sight, and for a moment, Cassian’s stomach tightened. The door was slightly ajar, just enough for him to notice. His pulse quickened. Something was wrong. His wings angled downward, the urgency within him rising as the doors of his mind swung wide open. Every muscle in his body screamed at him to land, to investigate.

He descended rapidly, his feet hitting the ground just in time for him to notice a sense of stillness in the air. There was no movement, no light from inside the house. His protective instincts flared to life, and his fists clenched at his sides. Something wasn’t right.

Cassian approached the door slowly, his eyes scanning for any sign of movement. He pushed the door open, the creak of the hinges louder than usual in the silence of the night.

His gaze landed on her almost instantly.

Y/N lay unmoving on the floor, her body curled slightly, her face pale and twisted in pain. The air around her seemed heavier than usual, thick with the weight of whatever curse plagued her. Cassian’s heart slammed against his ribcage as he rushed forward, his breath coming faster, his body charged with alarm.

“No, no, no,” he muttered to himself as he knelt beside her, panic threatening to seize him. Her chest barely rose and fell, her lips a faint shade of blue. He could see the signs of the curse’s latest flare-up, the way her breathing was shallow, her body fighting against an invisible force.

Cassian’s hands trembled as he carefully placed them on her shoulders, lifting her slightly to check for any obvious injuries. His mind raced, furious that she was alone like this, that he hadn’t been there sooner. He couldn’t let her die like this. Not after everything.

“Y/N!” His voice was hoarse, desperation lacing each word. “Come on, breathe. I need you to fight.”

She remained still, her eyelids flickering but not opening. Cassian’s jaw tightened in frustration, helplessness gnawing at his insides. His mind, usually so sharp and clear, was clouded with a thousand thoughts. He needed to focus. He needed to help her.

He closed his eyes for a moment, his anger and concern swirling inside him. Without thinking twice, he reached out mentally to Rhysand and Azriel, his thoughts flooding with worry.

Rhys, Az, something’s happened—Y/N’s in trouble. She’s—she’s unconscious, and her curse flared up again. She’s not breathing properly, and I can’t—

His words were cut off as Rhys’s calm voice echoed in his mind. Cassian, calm down. I have already talked with Helion to have hids libraries be searched for a solution. Priestesses are also hard at work. Keep her safe. Azriel, keep an eye (ora shadow) out for her. Send anyone to be near her house at all times.

Cassian could feel the protective power of Rhys’s words even across the distance. He had to stay calm. But the frustration clawed at him.

Cassian’s gaze softened as he sat down next to her, careful not to disturb her fragile form. His mind was filled with both anger and a deep sense of helplessness. I won’t let this continue, Rhys. I’ll break this curse, I swear it.

Azriel’s voice cut through, quieter but filled with the same sense of urgency. We’ll figure it out. Just don’t leave her side, Cassian. Don’t do anything reckless.

Cassian nodded, though he knew they couldn’t see him. He couldn’t even bring himself to speak out loud as his emotions swirled. I’ll keep her safe. I’ll do whatever it takes.

Rhys’ mental presence was still strong, his voice calm but resolute. Cassian, when she wakes, we’ll help you with this. If she’s willing, maybe she’ll want to come back to the House of Wind with you. It will be safer for her there, with Azriel and Nesta. You know what we can do to help.

Cassian’s thoughts were consumed with a flurry of emotions—protectiveness, desperation, frustration. I just need her to be okay. Please let her be okay.

Rhys’ voice softened. I know, Cassian. We’ll do everything we can. Stay with her. We’ll be there shortly.

Cassian’s mental communication with Rhys and Azriel ceased, but the weight of their words lingered. I’ll keep her safe.He repeated it over and over in his head, willing it to be true.

Minutes felt like hours. His eyes stayed glued to Y/N, unwilling to blink for fear that something would happen while his gaze was turned. Every time her chest moved with a shallow breath, he sighed in relief. But that wasn’t enough. He needed her to wake up, to be okay. He would do whatever it took.

Suddenly, a shift in the air. He noticed her chest rise higher, her breath deepening, and a soft flutter of her eyelids. His heart surged in his chest, hope blooming.

Her eyes slowly opened, unfocused at first. Cassian was at her side in an instant, his hand hovering near her but not quite touching her. The moment his gaze met hers, everything else ceased to exist.

Her breath was still shaky, but she was alive. Her eyes locked onto his, a mixture of confusion and fear flickering in them as she tried to process what had just happened. Cassian’s chest tightened as he stared into her wide, silent eyes. His hand reached out, brushing a lock of hair from her face, the tenderness in his touch matching the softness in his heart.

“Y/N,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, “You’re safe now.”

She blinked slowly, and Cassian felt a sense of relief wash over him.

But there was still so much to be done. Cassian felt his determination rise again, a wave of protectiveness flooding through him. He was going to fix this. He wouldn’t let her suffer anymore.

Rhys’ voice echoed faintly in his mind. Let us know what happens, Cassian.

Y/N was tucked into her bed, the soft lamplight casting a warm glow across the room. Cassian sat beside her, a steaming cup of tea in hand. His broad shoulders were hunched slightly, his focus entirely on her as he gently held the cup to her lips. She hesitated for a moment, her gaze flickering to his before taking a small sip.

The tea was soothing, and she leaned back against the pillows with a faint, grateful smile. Cassian set the cup aside, his hazel eyes watching her with a mix of concern and determination.

The silence stretched between them until he finally broke it. “I feel really uneasy leaving you here alone,” he admitted, his voice low but steady. “Rhys has already promised to have someone stationed near your house at all times to ensure your safety. But...” He paused, rubbing the back of his neck, his wings shifting slightly behind him. “I’d feel a lot better if you came with me to the House of Wind. It’s safer there.”

Y/N blinked, her brows knitting together in surprise. She reached for the notepad on her bedside table and scribbled a quick response before holding it up for him to read.

Rhys? As in Rhysand? The High Lord?

Cassian chuckled softly, a small smile breaking through his worry. “Yes, Rhysand. The High Lord himself.”

Her cheeks turned pink as she quickly wrote her next message. I’m honored, truly, but I wouldn’t want to be a burden or an inconvenience.

Cassian’s expression softened, but there was a hint of exasperation in his tone. “Nonsense. You could never be a burden, Y/N. We’ve all already agreed it’s the best place for you.”

But Y/N wasn’t convinced. She shook her head and scribbled another note. No. I don’t belong there. I’m just... me. No one needs me there.

Before Cassian could respond, her body suddenly tensed. Her hands flew to her throat, her face contorting in pain as her chest heaved. The curse struck again, sharp and unrelenting. She clenched her eyes shut, her fingers digging into his arm as she gasped for air.

“Y/N!” Cassian exclaimed, moving closer to steady her. His hands hovered protectively over her, his voice softening. “Breathe through it. I’ve got you. Just hold on.”

The wave of pain subsided after what felt like an eternity, leaving her slumped against the pillows, her breaths shallow but steady. Cassian’s jaw tightened as he watched her, his heart breaking at the sight of her suffering.

He took a deep breath, his tone firm but gentle. “You know what? I’m sorry if what I said earlier sounded like a question. You’re coming with me, Y/N. No way in hell am I leaving you here to deal with this on your own.”

Y/N weakly grabbed her notepad, her hands trembling as she scribbled, No. I’m too shy. It is not a place for me.

Cassian gently pried the notepad from her hands, his gaze unwavering. “That’s where you’re wrong. You do belong there, and we do need you. And if anyone has the audacity to make you feel otherwise, I’ll personally make sure they regret it.”

Her lips twitched at his vehemence, a tiny smile breaking through despite her exhaustion.

Cassian smirked, leaning closer. “Besides, Rhys, Feyre, Az, and even Nesta have already agreed. They’re looking forward to having you there. So, like I said—this isn’t a question.”

She gave him a pointed look, writing a quick response. You’re stubborn.

“And you’re just figuring that out?” he teased, his grin widening.

I don’t want to trouble anyone, she wrote, her expression earnest.

Cassian sighed, his tone softening. “Y/N, you’re not trouble. You’re family now, whether you like it or not. And families look out for each other.”

Her eyes softened at his words, the weight of her resistance crumbling under his steady resolve. With a small sigh, she finally nodded.

Cassian’s face lit up with a triumphant smile. “Good. I promise you won’t regret this. Don’t worry about your things—I’ll have them sent to the House of Wind. For now, just focus on feeling better. We’ll leave as soon as you’re ready.”

Y/N gave him a faint smile, her eyes fluttering shut as exhaustion pulled at her. Cassian leaned back in his chair, his watchful gaze never leaving her as she drifted off.

“Don’t worry, Y/N,” he murmured. “I’ve got you.”

The wind whipped against her face as Cassian flew them toward the House of Wind, the towering mountain structure growing larger with every passing moment. His arms were strong and steady around her, his warmth cutting through the chill of the high altitude. She clung to him, not out of fear but because the contact sent an unfamiliar flutter through her chest.

There was something about him—his presence, his strength—that made her feel safe. For the first time in what felt like years, she could breathe, even if the air up here was thin. She stole a glance at his profile as they soared higher, his sharp jawline and focused gaze drawing her in. Her pulse quickened, and she quickly looked away, chastising herself for the strange butterflies stirring within her.

When they landed at the House of Wind, she was momentarily struck silent—not that she could speak anyway—by the sheer beauty of it. The sprawling structure perched atop the mountain radiated elegance and power. Cassian set her down gently, his hands lingering for a moment before he stepped back.

“This way,” he said, gesturing for her to follow him inside.

The grand doors opened, and the entire Inner Circle was waiting for her. Rhysand stood at the forefront with Feyre by his side, both of them emanating an aura of warmth and authority. Behind them, Azriel leaned casually against a wall, his shadows curling around him, while Mor, Amren, Nesta, and Elain stood nearby.

Rhysand’s gaze softened as it landed on her. He stepped forward, his tone gentle. “Welcome, Y/N. This is your home now, for as long as you wish it to be.”

She nodded quickly, clutching her notepad tightly, unsure of how else to respond.

Feyre smiled kindly. “We’re so glad you’re here. If there’s anything you need—anything at all—please don’t hesitate to let us know.”

The others chimed in with their greetings, each of them offering warm or curious words of welcome. Mor’s grin was wide and infectious, while Amren’s sharp eyes seemed to assess her with a quiet intensity. Elain gave her a soft smile, and Nesta... well, Nesta simply nodded, but even that felt like an acknowledgment.

But it was Rhysand’s words that lingered the longest. “I know you’ve endured much,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost reverent. “You survived Amarantha’s cruelty, and that alone makes you stronger than you realize. You have nothing to prove to us, Y/N. You’re safe here.”

Her throat tightened at his words, and she quickly scribbled a note: Thank you for your kindness. I’ll do my best not to be a burden.

Rhys shook his head, a faint smile on his lips. “You’re no burden. You’re family now.”

The weight of his words made her chest ache—not from pain, but from an emotion she hadn’t felt in a long time.

Cassian stepped forward, breaking the moment. “Come on. I’ll show you to your room.”

She followed him silently, the noise of the others fading as they ascended a set of stairs. Her heart pounded as they walked down a hallway, stopping in front of a door. Cassian grinned, gesturing to the room beside it. “That’s my room, so if you need anything, I’m just next door.”

He opened her door, revealing a cozy, sunlit space with a plush bed, a small sitting area, and a window that offered a breathtaking view of Velaris. She stepped inside, still clutching her notepad, and turned to thank him.

Before she could write anything, Cassian spoke. “I promise to help you find a way to get rid of this curse, one way or another.”

Her eyes widened, the notepad slipping slightly from her grasp.

He shrugged, his voice softening. “Rhys told me. About Amarantha. About what she did to you. I... I’m sorry you had to go through that. But you’re not alone anymore. We’ll figure it out together.”

Her hands trembled as she wrote: No one can break it. It’s killing me slowly. There’s no way to stop it.

Cassian’s expression hardened, his hazel eyes blazing with determination as he clenched and unclenched his fists. “We’ll see about that,” he said firmly. “I don’t care what it takes or how impossible it seems. I’m not giving up on you.”

She stared at him, stunned by his resolve. The smallest of smiles tugged at her lips as she nodded, though deep down, a bitter truth whispered that his promise was futile.

“Get some rest,” Cassian said, his voice softening again. “Your things will be brought up soon. And if you need anything—anything at all—you know where to find me.”

She nodded again, watching as he left the room. The door clicked shut behind him, and she sank onto the bed, her heart heavy with both hope and despair.

No one could break the curse. Not even Cassian.

And yet, as she closed her eyes, that flicker of warmth he’d left behind refused to extinguish.

Cassian stood in Rhysand’s office with Azriel and Rhys, poring over books and scrolls. Every lead they had on Amarantha’s curses turned into a dead end.

Unfortunately, all was same on Helion's side as well as his librarians kept searching nonstop for a cure.

“She wasn’t just cruel,” Rhys said, his voice tight with anger. “She was meticulous. Every curse she created was designed to last.”

Azriel’s shadows swirled around him. “There must be something she overlooked. No curse is perfect.”

Cassian slammed a book shut. “I don’t care what it takes. I’m not letting her suffer like this. We’ve fought gods before—we’ll find a way.”

Rhys placed a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll keep looking. But Cassian... don’t let this consume you.”

Cassian didn’t reply, his jaw clenched as he flipped open another book.

Cassian and Y/N sat in the training ring, the sun casting a golden glow over the House of Wind. The faint rustle of the wind filled the quiet as he stretched his legs out, his wings half-spread to soak in the warmth. She sat cross-legged beside him, her notepad resting on her lap, though her pen hovered uncertainly above the page.

He gestured toward the notepad. “You’ve got a real talent there,” he said, nodding toward a detailed sketch of the training ring she’d been working on earlier. “Did you always draw, or is it something you picked up along the way?”

She glanced at him, hesitant, before jotting down her response: I started as a child. It helped me stay calm.

“Smart,” he said, leaning back on his hands. “Az used to say the same thing about throwing knives. Something to focus on, to drown out the noise.”

Her lips twitched, and she wrote: Knives sound less calming.

Cassian laughed, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. “Fair point. I guess drawing is a bit more peaceful.” He tilted his head, watching her as she added shading to a corner of the sketch. “What do you draw when you’re not sketching stuff like this?”

She paused, chewing on her lip, before scribbling: Dreams. Things I’ll never have.

His expression softened, his hazel eyes darkening as he studied her. “Dreams aren’t things you can’t have. They’re just things you don’t have yet.”

Her hand stilled over the page, and she looked at him, surprised.

He shrugged. “I’m not saying it’s easy. But look at me—grew up with nothing. No family, no home, no future. Now I’ve got people who’d go to the ends of the earth for me, a family who fights for me, a place to call mine. If I can get all that, anyone can.”

She looked down at her notepad, her fingers brushing the edge of the page as if considering his words. Finally, she scribbled: Maybe one day.

Cassian grinned. “Maybe one day,” he echoed. “But don’t think I won’t keep trying to convince you sooner.”

She rolled her eyes at his persistence, but a faint smile tugged at her lips.

“See? There it is,” he teased, pointing at her face.

Her brows furrowed, and she tilted her head in question.

“That smile,” he clarified, his voice softening. “I knew it was hiding somewhere.”

She shook her head, amused despite herself, and started to sketch again.

Cassian leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. “You don’t have to be shy around me, you know,” he said gently. “I’d like to know more about you, too.”

She hesitated, her pen hovering over the page, before finally writing: Maybe one day.

“Fair enough,” he said with a nod, his grin playful but understanding. “But just so you know, I’m a pretty patient guy. I’ve got all the time in the world to wait.”

Y/N found herself slowly being drawn into the Inner Circle’s orbit. With Feyre they painted together in the studio, Feyre encouraging her to express herself through colors and strokes. Y/N’s hesitation faded as the canvas filled with soft, sweeping lines.

Mor dragged her into town, insisting on a day of shopping and laughter. Y/N couldn’t stop the small laugh that escaped her when Mor modeled a particularly outrageous dress.Amren’s bluntness surprised her, but it was oddly comforting. They shared a quiet afternoon, Amren reading while Y/N sketched, the silence feeling more like companionship than solitude. Elain introduced her to gardening, showing her how to tend to the delicate blooms in the House of Wind’s gardens. Y/N found the gentle work soothing.

Nesta and Y/N shared an unspoken understanding, a connection forged in the quiet echoes of pain neither could fully articulate.

One afternoon, Nesta found her in the library, seated at a secluded table, surrounded by stacks of books she was carefully sorting. Y/N’s notepad lay beside her, already filled with scribbled notes. The soft glow of sunlight streaming through the high windows illuminated her focused expression.

Nesta hesitated at first, then pulled out a chair and sat across from her. The silence stretched, not uncomfortable, but heavy with unspoken truths. Finally, Nesta spoke, her voice quiet but steady. “You don’t have to explain. I know what it’s like to carry something you think no one else can understand.”

Y/N stilled, her pen pausing mid-note. She lifted her gaze to meet Nesta’s, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. Slowly, she reached for her notepad and wrote: Thank you.

Nesta’s lips twitched into the faintest smile, one that carried no judgment, only understanding. She reached across the table, her fingers brushing Y/N’s hand before resting over it gently. “You’re not alone anymore,” she said, her tone firm, a quiet strength underpinning her words. “None of us are.”

For a moment, Y/N stared at her, as though weighing the truth in those words. Then, almost reluctantly, she nodded.

Nesta leaned back slightly, her fingers lingering a moment longer before she let go. “This place,” she said, gesturing vaguely to the library around them, “it helped me. Gave me something to hold onto when I didn’t want to hold onto anything. If you ever need that—or someone to just sit with you—I’ll be here.”

Y/N’s lips curved into a small, grateful smile, and she quickly wrote: That means more than I can say.

Nesta smirked, her eyes glinting with a hint of her usual fire. “Good thing I’m pretty good at reading between the lines.”

Y/N huffed a silent laugh, the soundless gesture enough to make Nesta’s chest tighten with an unfamiliar warmth.

Cassian found Y/N on the balcony overlooking Velaris, the city sparkling like a sea of stars beneath the night sky. She sat curled in a chair, her sketchbook balanced on her knees as she worked quietly, the gentle breeze tousling her hair.

He approached her slowly, his footsteps deliberately soft so as not to startle her. When she looked up, offering him a small smile, she reached instinctively for her notepad.

Before she could grab it, Cassian crouched down beside her, gently taking her hand to stop her. “Wait,” he said softly.

She blinked at him, puzzled, as he raised his hands and began to sign. It was slow, a little clumsy, but unmistakable: I’ve been practicing. For you.

Y/N froze, her eyes going wide with shock. Her sketchbook slid forgotten onto her lap as she stared at him. Tears welled in her eyes, and her hands trembled as she lifted them to sign back: You learned this? For me?

Cassian nodded, a small, warm smile curving his lips. “I told you,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “I’m not giving up on you. Not now, not ever.”

Her hands flew to her mouth as a soft, soundless gasp escaped her. Overwhelmed, she couldn’t stop the tears that spilled down her cheeks.

Cassian stood, closing the small distance between them, and held his arms open. She hesitated for only a heartbeat before stepping into him, her face pressing against his chest as his strong arms wrapped around her.

“You’re not alone in this,” he murmured, his voice steady but filled with emotion as he gently stroked her back. “We’ll figure it out, together. I promise.”

Y/N pulled back just enough to look up at him, her face a mixture of disbelief and gratitude. Slowly, she raised her hands again, signing haltingly but clearly: Thank you. For seeing me.

Cassian smiled down at her, his thumb brushing away a stray tear on her cheek. “I’ll always see you.”

In that quiet moment, with the stars above and the city below, the weight she carried felt just a little lighter. For the first time in a long while, hope bloomed in her chest.

The warm breeze from the open window carried the scent of fresh flowers into the room. Cassian leaned against the doorframe, watching Y/N as she carefully sketched in her notebook. There was a serenity to her today, a softness that he cherished. It had been two months since she’d arrived at the House of Wind, and though she had remained largely quiet, there were moments like this when she seemed to open up, even if only a little.

After a long silence, Y/N set her pencil down and reached for her notepad. Cassian raised an eyebrow in curiosity, but she didn’t look up at him right away. Instead, her fingers moved quickly, and then she held it up for him to see.

I grew up in the Summer Court, the words read, the ink delicate and precise.

Cassian’s heart warmed at the thought. “The Summer Court,” he repeated softly, stepping closer to her. He could tell this was a rare piece of herself she was offering him, so he knelt beside her, giving her the space to continue.

She glanced up at him, her eyes shy but filled with quiet hope, as though she was wondering if he would judge her. But Cassian’s expression was one of kindness, and he smiled gently.

Y/N signed again, the fluid movements of her hands capturing his full attention. “It was beautiful there. The sea, the sand, the sunsets... everything felt warm. My people, they love the light.” She paused, biting her lip, before adding, I loved the sunsets most of all.

Cassian’s smile widened, feeling a gentle tug on his heart at the thought of her happy memories. “I can only imagine. I bet the sunsets there are unlike anything I’ve seen.”

She nodded, her smile small but genuine, as though she was reliving those moments in her mind. The sunsets were perfect, painted in the most beautiful shades of gold and pink. They made everything feel peaceful... like nothing could ever go wrong.

Cassian sat beside her then, watching the sun dip low outside the window, as if honoring the memory she was sharing. He could almost picture it—the rolling waves, the warm sands, the endless horizon stretching before her.

“What happened to your home?” he asked quietly, not wanting to push her but also eager to understand more of her story.

Y/N hesitated for a moment, her fingers brushing over the notepad again. Then she signed softly, her voice barely a whisper, even though her words were silent. It’s gone now. The court… it's not the same anymore. I haven’t been back since.

Cassian’s heart tightened at the quiet sorrow that passed over her features. She didn’t have to say more. He could feel the weight of her loss in her gaze.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice low and filled with sincerity. “You didn’t deserve that.”

She gave him a small, grateful smile, one that spoke volumes. It wasn’t pity she sought, but understanding. And he gave it to her, without question.

With a soft exhale, Y/N wrote one last thing before turning the notepad to him: I don’t miss the court, not anymore. But I miss the peace. The quiet beauty of it all.

Cassian nodded, understanding more than she could know. He had lost so much in his own life, pieces of himself, pieces of those he loved. But this, her willingness to share her memories—her pain, too—made him feel closer to her than ever.

“I’ll make sure you have peace again,” he said, his voice firm with the promise. “It might take time, but I’ll make sure you find it.”

Y/N’s eyes softened at his words, and for the briefest moment, it felt like the entire world outside was forgotten. Just them, in this quiet corner of the House of Wind, two souls bonding over shared moments of pain and hope.

And in that moment, Cassian couldn’t help but believe that maybe, just maybe, they both had a chance at healing.

It was another one of those nights.

The pain struck without warning, a searing, unbearable wave that made her knees buckle. Y/N collapsed to the floor, clutching her throat as her vision swam. Her breaths came in shallow, ragged gasps, her fingers clawing at the air as if she could wrench the agony from her body.

Cassian, asleep just a room away, jolted awake. Something primal, something tethered to her, pulled him to her side. He burst into her room within seconds, shirtless and frantic, his wings slightly flaring as he skidded to a halt beside her.

“Y/N!” he shouted, his voice laced with panic. He dropped to his knees, gathering her trembling form into his arms as though he could shield her from whatever torment was tearing her apart.

Her lips parted, struggling to form words, but no sound came. Her hands scrabbled weakly at his arm, nails digging into his skin as the pain wracked her body. Tears streamed down her face, and Cassian swore he felt every single one like a knife to his chest.

“Stay with me,” he pleaded, his hand cradling the back of her head while the other pressed against her back, grounding her. “I’ve got you. You’re going to be okay. Just breathe with me.”

The wave finally passed, leaving her limp and gasping for air. Y/N’s trembling fingers moved weakly, forming signs that he had painstakingly learned: It’s okay.

“No,” he said, his voice raw with emotion. He gripped her face gently, forcing her to meet his eyes. “It’s not okay. This—this isn’t okay, and I’m not letting it win. Do you hear me?” His voice cracked at the end, betraying the storm of emotions raging inside him.

Her wide, glassy eyes filled with fresh tears as she shook her head, trying to offer him reassurance. Her hands moved again, slower this time: It’s not your fault.

Cassian let out a bitter laugh, his jaw tightening. “Maybe not, but I’ll be damned if I sit here and do nothing while this thing—whatever it is—tries to take you from me.”

He pulled her closer, holding her like she was the most fragile thing in the world, his calloused hands gentle as they rubbed soothing circles on her back. “We’ll figure this out,” he murmured, his voice softer now but no less determined. “I swear to you, Y/N. I don’t care what it takes or who I have to fight—I won’t stop until you’re free of this.”

Y/N let her head rest against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat a comfort amidst the storm. Her fingers moved again, shakily signing one last message before exhaustion pulled her under: Thank you.

Cassian tightened his hold, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Always,” he whispered, his voice barely audible but filled with a fierce, unyielding promise.

One evening, as they sat on the balcony overlooking Velaris, Y/N signed to Cassian, Why do you do all this for me? You don’t even know me that well.

Cassian smiled, his expression soft but firm. He signed back, Because you deserve to live. To laugh, to dream, to be free of this pain. And because you’ve already shown me how strong you are.

Her chest tightened, and she looked away, blinking back tears.

Fourth months had passed.

Y/N lay in her bed, her skin sweating and her breathing shallow. The curse had taken almost everything from her now—her strength, her laughter, even the small moments of peace she used to find in music or her notepad.

Cassian sat at her side, his large hands cradling her frail one. His thumb brushed over her knuckles as if he could keep her tethered to life through sheer will alone. Around them, the rest of the Inner Circle moved with frantic determination. Healers came and went, their faces grim, their efforts fruitless.

Rhys stood by the window, his jaw clenched so tightly it looked like it might crack. Feyre sat beside him, her hand resting on his arm as silent tears streamed down her face. Amren, Nesta, Elain, and Mor lingered nearby, each offering words of comfort or soft reassurances, though they all knew the truth: they were running out of time.

Cassian couldn’t take his eyes off Y/N. Just two months ago, she had been vibrant, defiant even, as she poured her soul into music on that stage. Now, she was a shadow of herself, her once-bright eyes dulled by exhaustion and pain.

"She doesn't deserve this," Cassian muttered, his voice raw as he stared at her fragile form. "Not after everything she’s been through. Not after everything she’s given."

Rhys turned, his violet eyes heavy with sorrow. “We’ve found something,” he said quietly. “But it’s…complicated.”

Cassian’s head snapped up, hope and fear warring in his expression. “What do you mean?”

Feyre stepped forward, holding a worn piece of parchment. “We got this sent to us by Helion only an hour ago, me and Rhys were contemplating if we should reveal it or not but....the curse can be broken, but it will cost her… everything. All her memories. Her connection to us. To you.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

“She’ll live and have her voice back,” Feyre continued, her voice trembling. “But she won’t remember any of it—any of us. It’ll be as if none of this ever happened.”

Cassian’s heart plummeted. The thought of Y/N forgetting him, forgetting the bond they had formed, the trust she had placed in him—it felt like a dagger to his chest. He turned to look at her, only to find her watching him with tears in her eyes.

She reached for her notepad with trembling fingers, but the strength to write eluded her. Instead, she signed weakly: No. I don’t want it. I’d rather die… with the memories of you all. Of you, Cassian.

Cassian’s throat tightened as he shook his head, tears blurring his vision. “Don’t say that,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “You don’t have to do this. There’s still time.”

She smiled faintly, a fragile, heartbreaking thing. Thank you for all the kindness, she signed slowly. For giving me a glimpse of what life could be like. I never thought I could know true happiness after fifty years under Amarantha’s reign. But you… all of you… showed me otherwise.

Her gaze softened as it settled on Cassian, her fingers signing once more: You showed me love.

Cassian’s chest heaved with silent sobs as he grasped her hand, pressing it to his forehead. “No. Don’t do this, Y/N. Please. Don’t leave me.”

Y/N cupped his cheek with her other hand, her touch featherlight. Her lips moved, forming silent words he couldn’t hear but understood all the same. Thank you for everything.

He broke then, his tears falling freely. “I can’t let you go,” he whispered. “I won’t.”

Her eyes fluttered closed, her strength fading fast. The room blurred around Cassian as he made his decision.

“Forgive me, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice trembling. Then, with shaking hands, he activated the spell, pouring everything into saving her.

The magic surged, golden light enveloping her frail body as her memories began to unravel. Y/N’s eyes snapped open, confusion and betrayal flooding them as she looked at him one last time.

Her lips moved soundlessly, forming the question: Why?

Cassian choked back a sob as he pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Because I couldn’t lose you,” he whispered.

He pressed his trembling hands over Y/N’s chest, activating the ancient spell with the force of every ounce of his heart. The room filled with a brilliant, blinding light as magic surged through the air.

Y/N’s body jerked beneath his hands, her face contorting with pain as the curse began to unwind. The energy flowed around her like a storm, unraveling the threads of her torment—yet with each passing moment, something else began to shift. Her memories—those precious fragments of time they had shared—began to fade, slowly, one by one.

The Inner Circle stood at a distance, their faces stricken with grief as they watched. Rhys, Feyre, and the others could do nothing but wait.

Cassian’s heart pounded in his chest as he leaned over Y/N, his hands desperate to hold on. But as the light dimmed, he saw the subtle change in her expression. Her eyes—those bright, compassionate eyes that had once held so much for him—began to dull.

Y/N’s hand slowly slid from his, her fingers uncurling like a wilting flower. Her eyes fluttered closed as the magic worked deeper, erasing all traces of what had been. Every shared moment, every laugh, every whisper between them vanished, slipping through his fingers like sand.

Cassian felt the bond—their bond—dissolving, piece by piece, until nothing remained. His chest tightened, each heartbeat a painful reminder of what he was losing. She wasn’t gone… yet. But she might as well have been.

The spell continued its work, erasing Y/N’s memories, her connection to him, the love and connection they were slowly but surely building together. The warmth of their bond faded into nothingness, until all that was left was a hollow silence between them.

Cassian held her limp hand, his tears falling freely as the truth settled within him: He had saved her life, but in doing so, he had lost her. The Y/N who had laughed and loved and held him close was gone. In her place was someone who would never remember the bond they shared.

He could feel her slipping away from him, the last remnants of her fading.

And with that, her memories were gone.

Her bond with Cassian disappeared permanently as her memories of him were wiped away, leaving only the emptiness of a connection that would never be made again.

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

[chimggukk]

The Enigma [I]

Synopsis: Two different worlds collide together, his and yours, resulting in something entirely unexpected. He had been living his life, walking through the pre-planned path. But what happens when a simple strawberry cheesecake navigates his course of life in a completely different direction. One that needs him to live, breathe, love, kill. Genre: college!au, strangers to lovers!au Characters: foreigner readerx native jk

Raindrops trickled down the glass window, blurring the vibrant tapestry of Seoul's cityscape. You sipped your lukewarm coffee, the air-conditioning's gentle hum a counterpoint to the pitter-patter symphony outside.

A comfortable chill settled over the apartment, a welcome change from the summer's relentless heat. Autumn, your favorite season, was finally whispering its arrival.

Being a foreigner in Korea wasn't easy. The initial months had been a whirlwind of adjustments. Navigating cultural nuances, enduring the occasional microaggression – these were all part of the experience. Yet, there was a strange sense of liberation in this solitude.

With a sigh, you pushed yourself off the couch. The call of duty, in the form of your architecture class, beckoned. You were a master's student at Seoul National University, a prestigious institution that had beckoned you across continents.

Your journey here was paved with academic excellence – straight A's throughout your undergraduate studies in Italy, a testament to your unwavering dedication. But that very success, you often felt, had come at a cost. Friendships felt transactional, laced with a hint of self-interest. Was it any wonder you craved solitude?

Another sigh escaped your lips, the umpteenth since you'd dragged yourself out of bed that morning. The city lights, usually a source of comfort and inspiration, seemed muted through the rain-streaked window.

Autumn, with its crisp air and promise of fiery foliage, was finally making its presence known. A welcome change, you thought, pulling the collar of your thick turtleneck higher.

The previous day's downpour had left a chill in the air, prompting you to ditch your usual summer attire for a more practical ensemble. Today, a black turtleneck and a pair of straight-leg jeans were your armor against the unexpected cold.

Stepping out of your compact apartment, you locked the door with a practiced flick of your wrist and headed towards the elevator.

The hallway echoed with the distant hum of activity from neighboring apartments. A faint aroma of kimchi stew wafted through the air, a reminder of the vibrant tapestry of life that pulsed just beyond your door.

You reached the elevator, its stainless-steel surface reflecting the soft glow of the emergency exit sign. With a gentle press of the button, you waited patiently, the anticipation of a new day stirring within you.

The elevator doors slid open, revealing a glimpse of the bustling lobby below. You stepped inside, joining a group of students huddled together for warmth.

A quick exchange of greetings – a polite nod here, a mumbled "good morning" there – and the elevator continued its ascent. Reaching your floor, you exited with a final, purposeful sigh, ready to face the day.

The bus deposited you at the university gates, its doors hissing open with a pneumatic sigh. Rain slicked the pavement, and you hurried across the quadrangle, the damp air clinging to your skin.

Today, an unexpected stroke of luck – the bus driver had taken a shorter route, granting you a precious twenty minutes of reprieve. Your stomach, however, wasn't cooperating. A dull ache pulsed beneath your ribs, a persistent enemy threatening to disrupt your day.

Reaching the familiar edifice of the architecture building, you practically stumbled through the entrance. The hallways were deserted, a stark contrast to the usual pre-class bustle.

Relief washed over you. A few stolen moments of shut-eye in the quiet solitude of the lecture hall seemed like a divine intervention.

Pushing open the heavy oak door, you were greeted by a scene of hushed reverence. The vast room was bathed in a soft morning light filtering through high windows.

Empty chairs sat in neat rows, their burgundy upholstery gleaming. You sank gratefully into one, the cool leather a welcome comfort against your heated skin.

Professor Kim's voice, a measured cadence, echoed through the chamber. "At these connection points, we often see a shift from high-resistance insulation materials to lower-resistance framing members. This creates a pathway for heat to bypass the insulation, significantly increasing the U-factor of the entire assembly" The technical jargon of building science swirled around you.

You were a master's student at Seoul National University, a pinnacle of academic achievement you'd scaled with unwavering determination. Your bachelor's degree, a testament to your relentless pursuit of excellence, had come from the top university in your native Italy. But success, you'd discovered, often came with a price.

The classroom door clicked shut behind you, a welcome punctuation mark to the day's academic marathon. Tomorrow was a blessed Saturday, a day for much-needed rest and rejuvenation. But first, there was the matter of your evening shift at the cafe.

Financial constraints weren't a concern for you. Hailing from a prominent business family, you were fortunate to have financial security and the freedom to pursue your passion for architecture.

You could have easily opted for a more leisurely life, yet a curious draw to the cafe's ambience kept you coming back for more. It wasn't just the intoxicating aroma of freshly brewed coffee; it was the energy of the place, the constant hum of conversation, the comfortable anonymity it offered.

Truth be told, you were the cafe's resident coffee maestro. Your meticulous latte art and flawless cappuccinos were legendary. The owner, a kind-hearted woman named Aunt Byul, and Nenny, your equally passionate co-worker, held you in high regard.

Your professionalism and graceful demeanor earned you the trust of serving the cafe's most discerning clientele. You possessed a certain aura, an effortless elegance that captivated everyone you interacted with. Perhaps it was the undeniable allure of being an "exotic beauty" in a foreign land, or maybe it was simply the confidence that stemmed from your inner strength and self-assuredness

The tinkling of the cafe's entrance bell pierced the comfortable pre-shift quiet, drawing Nenny's attention from the intricate knot she was fashioning in her apron strings. With a swift glance in your direction, she chirped, "Hey Y/N!"

A smile bloomed on your face as you replied, "Hey Nenny, how's it going?"

"Significantly better now that my shift partner has finally graced us with her presence," she quipped playfully.

"So, only valuable as a coworker, not a friend?" you countered, a teasing lilt in your voice. "Just remember that the next time you need one of my 'friendly favors,'" you continued, earning a mock glare that sent you into a fit of laughter.

"Alright, alright," she conceded with a playful roll of her eyes. "Truce declared."

Nenny, a fellow business student at your university and a senior by a year, shared your passion for the rich aroma and nuanced flavors of coffee. Like you, however, she wasn't driven by a desire for financial independence.

Her bi-weekly shifts, dictated by the cafe's ever-changing needs, were a labor of love – a way to support her beloved aunt, the cafe's owner, who was struggling to keep the business afloat.

A year ago, Nenny had joined the staff, and through sheer determination and hard work, the cafe had begun to flourish. It was Nenny, in fact, who had introduced you to this haven when you'd first arrived at the university four months ago, practically dragging you through the doors upon hearing your inquiry about good local eateries.

To say you'd been captivated by the cafe's vintage charm would be an understatement. It was then and there, amidst the warm glow of antique lamps and the intoxicating aroma of freshly brewed coffee, that you knew you had to be a part of this unique space. Your offer to join the team had been met with open arms.

Now, with your apron and barista cap retrieved, you were ready to embrace your role as the cafe's star employee.

You donned your barista uniform with practiced ease, the crisp apron and matching cap transforming you into a soldier ready for coffee service. A warm smile bloomed on your face as Aunt Byul, the cafe owner, greeted you and Nenny, your fellow barista. "Hello beautiful young ladies!" she chirped, her voice seasoned with a hint of mischievousness.

"Hello my sweet lady," you countered, your grin outshining even hers. There was a genuine fondness between you and Aunt Byul, a bond forged over shared laughter and a mutual love for the aromatic world of coffee.

"Ready to work?" Aunt Byul's eyes twinkled with a knowing glint.

"Absolutely," you both replied in unison, your voices brimming with practiced enthusiasm.

"Let's get to work then soldiers," she declared playfully. "Looks like yesterday's rain is bringing out the drama queens in droves. Be prepared for a flurry of caffeinated tears and existential angst."

"Yes, Ma'am!" you and Nenny chorused, saluting her mock-seriously. The shared camaraderie was a comforting constant in the bustling cafe environment.

A melodic chime from the door shattered the pre-service lull. All three of you swiveled in unison, your gazes converging on the entrance. And then you saw him.

Jungkook

The aroma of roasted coffee beans and sugary pastries hung heavy in the air as I entered the cafe. The ambience screamed "old-school diner," a stark contrast to my usual preferences.

Why was I here, you ask? Because my best friend, Taehyung, had dragged me all the way across town – a forty-minute trek just for a slice of strawberry cake, a dessert readily available anywhere else. Yet, here I was.

The kick this guy gets by annoying me was beyond my understanding. Even though he is my best friend but the number of times he has gotten me into trouble always spoke otherwise, the urge to rearrange his handsome face with my fist flared up, but affection held me back.

With a sigh, I sank into the chair he'd pushed towards me. "Alright, bro, what are you having?" If murder weren't frowned upon, I might have been tempted to test the legal system on him.

"This is your supposed 'favorite strawberry cheesecake,'" I deadpanned, pointing a finger at him. "So why don't you order it? Let's see if this mythical dessert lives up to the hype. Because if it doesn't taste like the eighth wonder of the world, as you've bragged, I'm gonna make you taste my fist."

Taehyung, unfazed by my threat, merely shrugged. "Chill, dude. Trust me, it's good. Like, 'really good' good."

"We'll see about that," I muttered.

A chipper "Excuse me!" announced the arrival of our server. The sound of approaching footsteps clued me in, and I glanced away from the window, my gaze landing on a woman with a deep, feminine voice.

A beautiful tanned woman with a professional smile gracing Taehyung's side. She was tall and statuesque, with a European air about her. Dressed in a black turtleneck and blue denims, she exuded elegance and an undeniable beauty.

"Good evening! What would you like to have?" she inquired in a smooth voice.

"Two strawberry cheesecakes with extra syrup, and two medium Americanos," Taehyung rattled off.

"Certainly, sir. Anything else you'd like with that?"

"Yeah, five strawberry macarons – but later, please."

"Of course. It'll be about ten minutes," she replied, jotting down the order before bowing slightly and retreating to the counter. Her rose scent lingered in the air around, advocating for her presence near me.

"Do you like her?" Taehyung teased, his voice a low murmur in my ear. I whipped my head towards him, expression schooled into a blank slate. This guy.

He had a knack for getting under my skin, despite my affection for him. "I am just admiring god's creation. That's it" I blurted out.

"Seriously? Because your expressions say otherwise. You look like you've been starstuck."

"Maybe, may not be. By the way, you are regular here right?"

"Yeah, why?" came his curt reply.

"Do you know her?" I muttered under my breath.

"Nope"

The entire cafe visit was a blur of stolen glances in the waitress' direction. While Taehyung and I chatted, my attention kept drifting towards her.

Accelerating the car engine with ease, moving through the bustling streets of the city was a practiced and very usual adventure for both of us. Munching on the sugary treats, Taehyung easefully sat beside me in the passenger seat.

Saying a thing or two in between his bites, he extended his left arm infront of me, hands holding onto the macaroon, signaling me to take a bite.

"You know? Miss foreigner made these. Maybe you should try it."

The revelation only made me turn my head into his direction, an attempt to look at his face and make out if the information was actually real or whether he was just bluffing.

But the expression on his face, devoid of any mischief or fun emotion only fueled my curiosity.

"What do you mean- like for real"? hearing my own voice coming out with a bit of amazement even surprised me.

Turning my head back, my gaze focusing on the roads infront while my mind still lingered on the sweets and the their creator.

"Yeah dude... why would I lie? Are you for real right now? Like seriously? Why are you so bothered about the fact that she didn't treat you the way "you are supposed to be" huh? What is wrong with you?"

Taehyung retrieved his hands back , possibly irritated by my reaction towards the incident earlier.

Yeah I was pissed off by the fact that I was not given the "supposed special treatment" but it was not like he was starting to get annoyed now. I had only mentioned my displease for a couple of times.

"You know what? You are such a bogus, you hate when people treat you specially and also get mad when they don't. What do you even want you sick fuck. Stick to one side for god damn sake."

Feeling myself tightening my grip on the steering wheel, I could feel myself getting speechless with each second passing, not because of the foul words coming out of my best friend's mouth directed towards me, but because he was right.

"I thought that you like the cake but oh my mother how could I forget that Mr. Prince has a habit of being treated like the god he is and doesn't tolerate not being singled out."

[ginandtobacco]

Unfinished Symphony

@erisweekofficial Day Two: Legacy

Pairing: Eris x Reader

Summary: What is a legacy? Eris contemplates what his father left behind. Warnings: Beron, allusions to abusive parents Word Count: 1.1k Authors Note: I fear these will all be unedited

The icy wind slid beneath the too thin fabric of Eris’s sleep clothes, a chill working its way into his bones as he leaned against the smooth marble railing and watched the first rays of sunlight peak over the horizon. 

The forest stretched out before him, the birds beginning to sing while the wind in the leaves harmonized with them. It was a haunting melody, one he had grown up hearing in these early hours of peace that had once been his only refuge from a life filled with smoke and blood.

His father had made his life miserable. Hundreds of years of torment and burns that had blended together into a tedious monotony of violence and anxiety. His mate kept telling him that pain wasn’t a competition, but standing here alone in the painful autumn wind he allowed himself the masochistic pleasure of thinking about how much more Carnelia had suffered.

Eris could see it even in the dim light of the sunrise, nestled in the lowest part of the river valley was a small city. Even in this early hour it glowed dimly with firelight, a small spot of warmth amidst the rugged cliffs and towering trees. 

Beron had seen Carnelia as nothing more than a source of perpetual wealth for himself. Its residents were taxed and taxed and taxed, and the few times they had tried to take up arms against it Beron had sent in his soldiers to end the resistance. 

Generations of faeries had grown up in poverty because of his father’s greed, their hard earned gold going to a high lord who used it to host extravagant feasts and buy clothes embroidered with pure gold threads. Mothers with burnt hands from hours spent working at tanneries or as a laundress, sending their sons to join the high lord’s army as common foot soldiers only for them to die pointless deaths. 

Greed. The legacy Beron had left behind was soaked in his greed. A wife who had left for the Day Court hours after he died, two dead sons, one filled with so much hatred for Autumn that he refused to set foot in the Forest House, three that were still trying to scheme their way into a crown, and Eris.

Eris who had inherited a court burning with hatred and razed by his father’s greed. Carnelia was proof of that. Carnelia haunted his every thought, its dim light such a contrast to the glittering wealth of Velaris or Adriata. 

In his worst moments he wondered if he too should abandon the court like Lucien. Beg a priestess to find a spell to free him from this crown that strangled him like a noose. Flee to the continent, the mortal lands, somewhere people would look at him and see more than just a male with Beron’s face. A male capable of more than just continuing his father’s legacy of destruction.

“My love?” Her voice was slow, tinged with sleep. He must have left the balcony door open in his haste to clear his mind of the nightmares that so often plagued him.

Eris didn’t turn, his eyes still locked on Carnelia in the distance. How had his father exploited such a lovely city? Such a beautiful place that had managed to produce someone as wonderful as his mate; a city full of fae who might do wonderful things if only they were given the opportunity. 

“Eris,” she said, wrapping her arms around him and pressing her face into his shoulder, “come back to bed, it’s still early.”

He turned slightly, enough to wrap an arm around her and bury his face in the top of her head. His mate’s scent was instantly calming, warm oud and cherries filling his senses and freeing his mind from his lingering fears. “I didn’t mean to wake you, fawn.”

She hummed, running her fingers lazily across his back. “You’ll catch a cold standing out here.” 

His mate pulled back slightly to look out across the forest towards the city. It was clear that she knew what had been bothering him, what was always bothering him, but she didn’t press the issue. Instead she let her head rest against his chest as the two gazed upon their court.

What had Eris done to deserve such a blessing in his life? A female who so easily understood him without even a word exchanged. She should have hated him for the blood that ran in his veins, should have rejected the bond and chosen someone simpler to love. His mate’s families had been victims of his father, after all. Victims of the poverty that had grown roots in Carnelia and choked out the life of its citizens. 

Eris remembered when he’d met her. She’d been young for a fae, only fifty or so, and he’d been riding through the city to meet with the governor about taxes or some other task his father couldn’t be bothered to do himself. 

It had been so simple, it might have been a story book romance if he were anyone else. The beautiful female had tripped, almost been trampled by his horse, and when she’d looked up at him to apologize; the bond snapped. 

Perhaps it was the Mother’s cruel sense of humor that had tied their souls together. A poor female with the bandaged hands of a seamstress, a mother who died in childbirth, and a father who had died wearing Beron’s colors and wielding a sword he had never been trained to use. A life of tragedy not unlike the rest of the city's inhabitants, but for the fact that she was mated to Eris of all fae.

All of her problems, all of her suffering, had been caused by Beron, and she had found herself tied to his son. 

“Do you ever wonder,” Eris asked her after a while, “if we’ll have to spend our whole lives fixing the mess my father left us?”

The silence hung between them, interrupted only by the soft song of the birds that were beginning to stir in the forest below them. Finally, his mate answered, “I think it doesn’t matter how long it takes, so long as we do it. Maybe it will take centuries, maybe we won’t even be able to accomplish it in our lifetimes, but one day this court will be so different from the one your father ruled that it will be a different place entirely. We might never get to see it, but we get to plant the seeds so that someone might.” 

His intelligent, kind, compassionate, mate leaned up to press her lips gently to his cheek. The melody of the morning doves crescendoed as the first rays of sunlight painted the sky a silvery grey. “Now come back to bed my love, we have our whole lives to figure it out.”

[thisblogisaboutabook]

Cowboy Like Me - Part 4

Azriel x Reader

Part four of my fic inspired by the queens of my heart, Taylor Swift and Sarah J. Maas.

Reader meets another member of the Inner Circle!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 5

Warnings: alcohol

“This would look stunning on you!” The cheery blonde before me raved. Her golden locks falling over her shoulders as she held the gown up to my body.

When Azriel brought me to Velaris, I didn’t know what to expect. I’d heard rumors of the glowing city - the way the stars and fae lights reflected off the waters of the Sidra flowing through it, turning the river into a living rainbow. A city of diversity where lesser and higher fae alike roamed the streets in peace. Like most things in life, it sounded too good to be true.

But experiencing it was surreal - like jumping from one world to another far more advanced world. Various fae strode side by side in casual conversation as delightful aromas of spices and baked goods wafted past from the markets full of goods being peddled by smiling vendors. The streets lined with businesses for every need: restaurants, taverns, book shops, healing centers, grocers, apothecaries, even theaters and music halls.

Azriel brought me to a cafe for tea upon arrival where we sat on a cozy patio warmed by some form of magic similar to whatever warmed the Moonstone Palace. The tea blend imported from somewhere on the continent warmed my insides with a smooth flavor that even the most particular of tastebuds could appreciate. Azriel stuck with a classic breakfast tea. The way this male licked his lips after a sip warmed me inside even more than the steaming brew in my cup. Did he realize how beautiful he was?

“So….what do you think?” He asked.

“Beautiful” I marveled, my gaze locked in on him, the corded muscles of his arm, the way his eyes crinkled just slightly as his lips turned up into a smile, his bright hazel eyes filled with pride as he shared a place so special with me.

Right, the city.

I quickly averted my gaze from the beautiful male before me back to the streets. I continued, “I love it. The joy that flows effortlessly from the people is palpable. I can tell that your court takes excellent care of the citizens… they’re, lucky to have you.”

Perhaps my eyes were deceiving me but I could have sworn that a blush dusted his cheeks at the statement. He really did take pride in this place and its people.

We locked eyes again for a moment before Azriel broke the contact in favor of another bite from his powdered pastry, a bit of the confectioners sugar dusting the corner of his mouth.

Without thinking, I licked my thumb and leaned over the table, wiping away the powdered sugar.

Azriel went still, mouth slightly agape at the contact. It was my turn to blush. “I… I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me. You just had a speck of sugar.”

Azriel stared for another moment before blinking, snapping himself out of whatever overcame him. “Actually,” mischief alight in his eyes “you’ve got a bit just right-“ And before I could realize what he was doing, he swiped sugar off of his pastry and ran a stripe down my nose. “There.”

“You little-” I gaped. My sentence cut off as he threw his head back laughing, a warm, deep laugh that ran through me like a damn symphony. A symphony I would love to hear on repeat for the rest of my life. Before I could finish my statement a chuckle cut through the melody of Azriel’s voice as the High Lord and a gorgeous blonde female stepped up to us.

Azriel’s laughter promptly stopped as he looked to the two. Nodding his head in greeting.

Smirking, Rhysand turned to me. “I’d love to hear the rest of that sentence y/n.”

I grinned. Replying with, “I’ll let you use your imagination.” which earned another chuckle from the blonde and High Lord.

Azriel stood. “Y/N this is the Morrigan.” gesturing toward Mor. “Morrigan, this is Y/N, a temporary colleague of mine.”

Temporary.

Ow. Why did that sting a little?

Pull yourself together, girl.

“It’s an honor to meet you, lady Morrigan.” I nodded in reverence toward the famed female warrior.

“Oh please.” She waived a hand in friendly dismissal. “No need for formalities. Please, call me Mor.”

Azriel placed his palms on the table gently, pushing himself up and I followed suit. He informed me that he had a meeting to attend with Rhysand and was leaving me in the hands of Mor who not only was gifted in “truth” but apparently “retail therapy” as well, leading me to the boutique we were shopping in now.

“It is a lovely color and the material is divine.” I replied to Mor, taking in the intricate details of the dress she’d held up to me.

“Come on!” She pleaded. “You HAVE to try this on”

“Fine.” I shrugged. “But only if you try on that gorgeous number that you’ve been eyeing since we stepped in here.”

A wicked grin crossed her full lips. “Oh, you are so on.”

We spent the next several hours browsing shops. I ended up with far too many shopping bags filled with cosmetics, shoes, clothing, a few lacy under things, and even a pair of sapphire earrings. The dress that I settled on was to be altered to my exact measurements and then delivered to the “River House” as Mor had called it.

I had my own money but Mor insisted that she place the items on the High Lord’s tab. Not so begrudgingly, I agreed. I was here for work after all… and I was shopping for a ball that Rhysand intended for me to spy at.

Mor let out an exasperated whoosh of breath and placed a hand on her stomach. Feigning starvation, she insisted we stop for lunch at a new restaurant along the Sidra that she’d been dying to try out. She spirited away our bags into a pocket realm and looped her arm into mine as we walked to the eatery.

Mor ordered a rather expensive bottle of wine imported from the Summer Court along with several tapas plates for us to share.

We fell into easy conversation with eachother. Mor had a warmth about her that could likely get even the most closed off soul to open up to her. Perhaps it had to do with her gift of truth but I had a feeling it was just who she was. I never imagined that the fierce warrior I read about in my studies would be so kind and welcoming.

I only shared surface level details of my history and did not delve into the deeper details that I’d shared with Azriel. However, Mor and I seemed to read each other well - whatever I had experienced, she wouldn’t press further on. Just as I wouldn’t press further on whatever the sadness that lingered behind her eyes was due to when she talked of her past.

As the wine kicked in, Mor finally pressed, “So…. How has living with Azriel been? Hopefully not too full of brooding.” She smirked over the rim of her glass.

I snickered. “No, not all brooding. I smacked some sense into him one evening with a baguette and that seemed to set him straight.”

She burst into a laugh and it was probably the effects of the wine working against me but I admitted for the first time, “I’ve rather enjoyed his company.”

Mor waggled her eyebrows in return, pulling a roll of the eyes from me. “Not like that - he’s just not the cold, unfeeling spymaster that the world views him as.”

She gave a knowing nod in return. “You’re not wrong. He’s a really good male, Y/N. And he seems to have warmed up to you quite well.”

I scoffed. “And how would you know that- that he has warmed up to me?”

I anticipated a witty retort but her gaze remained soft, “He doesn’t laugh like he did this morning for just anyone.”

Swirling the remaining wine in my glass, I contemplated, a question looming in my mind.

Liquid courage don’t fail me now.

“Nesta told me that Azriel has been quiet lately, well, quieter anyway - that he doesn’t go to what she called ‘family dinners’ as often.”

Mor paused for a moment. I started to speak again, realizing my question came out as a statement but she spoke before I could clarify.

“Azriel is… well, he’s got a complicated past. He struggles to see his worth when to everybody else it’s right there in front of him. He thinks he’s undeserving of love, and withdraws when he gets too close to it. He’d rather admire from afar than risk rejection or getting hurt.”

My brows furrowed. A pant of sadness echoing through me. I understood what she was saying but remained curious as to why it changed recently.

Reading my expression, she continued. “I don’t know what exactly happened but he and Feyre’s older sister, Elain, not Nesta. They seemed to grow close after she was Made by the cauldron. Several of us wondered if they were or would become an item but things seemed to fizzle out. We thought perhaps Elain would pursue her mate but she hasn’t.”

“Oh…” I mumbled. “I see.”

If he’d been brooding and not coming around, something told me that he was not over whatever happened between them. My stomach turned over at the thought which felt completely absurd. I owed this male absolutely nothing and he owed me nothing. Sure, he told me he didn’t have a girlfriend but… he was free to see whomever he pleases. Our relationship was a professional one and nothing more.

Mor once again sensed my inner turmoil, raising her eyebrows and setting down her now emptied glass. “His laugh this morning, the one he let out before Rhys and I showed up, I haven’t heard a laugh like that from him in a long time. You’re good for him.”

I finished off my own glass of wine, allowing her words to settle between us. “We’re only colleagues.”

The blonde female’s responding smirk suggested she believed anything but. Graciously, she only waived a dismissive hand before standing up and taking my arm. “Come on, we’ve got more shopping to do.”

————

By the time we reunited with Azriel and Rhys, it was nearly dusk. Mor and I giggled, whispering to eachother as we approached, more than a little tipsy from the drinks we’d had at lunch, plus the champagne the ladies at one of the higher-end boutiques had given us.

My eyes locked with Azriel’s and my breath caught at the gleam of amusement in his shining hazel eyes. The little smirk forming at the corner of his mouth could be responsible for my entire undoing. Gods, this male was a gorgeous sight.

Rhys spared me from any awkwardness stemming from my lingering gaze by cutting in with a playful tone. “I extended an invitation to Azriel for you both to join us for dinner tonight, but he said you’d be too tired from your day of shopping. You don’t look that tired to me.”

Azriel looked at me as if to say “don’t”. Yet between the liquid courage and Mor’s encouraging elbow to the ribs - ouch - I defied him.

“I’m actually feeling rather invigorated, and hungry, after all of today’s excitement. Dinner sounds wonderful!”

Rhysand clapped his hands together, completely diverting his gaze from Azriel who was glaring daggers into him. “Excellent.” He extended an arm to me, his other arm motioning eastward. “This way to the River House.”

————

Azriel

Watching Y/N and Rhys walk arm and arm warmed something in his chest. Mor in turn looped her arm through Azriel’s as the other two walked ahead.

There was a time when Azriel would have relished this moment with Mor, his heart fluttering at the contact but now all he felt was the warmth of an old friend. He would always love Mor but as a sister, a dear friend, nothing more.

“So…” she broke his contemplative silence. “I like her.”

He rolled his eyes at the wicked smirk on her face. “Don’t start, Mor.”

“What?” She gasped, the portrait of mock innocence. “Can’t I tell my dearest friend that I enjoy the company of his-“ she cleared her throat “colleague.”

His lips pressed into a straight line, praying she didn’t notice the slight uptick in his heartbeat. “She’s just my partner for an assignment, Mor, nothing more.”

“Very well.” Mor replied. “I won’t press further. Just remember that my gift is truth and I have known you for over 500 years. I know your tells, Az.”

Changing the topic, he muttered “You had to encourage her to come to dinner, didn’t you?”

She didn’t miss the light blush that dusted his cheekbones. “What? Like I said, I enjoy her company.”

“Yes, but with the entire family? At the River House? I know you’ve noticed the tension there. Couldn’t you enjoy her company elsewhere?”

“Oh - I plan to.”

Before Azriel could dive into whatever she was implying with that statement, Mor added in, “by the way, what IS going on with you lately? Particularly in regard to a certain Archeron sister.”

“Gods, Mor.” Azriel stated. Squeezing the bridge of his nose in response to her pertinence. “Please, just drop it for now.”

Noting his expression and the agitated flare of his shadows, Mor huffed, “Ugh, fine.”

Pleased with the return to silence, Azriel returned his gaze to Y/N and his High Lord. Whatever they were talking about as the setting sun shrouded her in a deep golden-orange hue, had her throwing her head back, absolutely cackling. His shadows urged him to give them the go-ahead to see what they were talking about but he reined them in. A small secret smile ghosted his lips as he memorized the sight of the incandescent beauty before him, her laugh carrying through the air like a melody.

——————————————

Tags: @fxckmiup @saltedcoffeescotch

[myreia]

Anthesis

Characters: Thancred Waters, Aureia Malathar (WoL) Pairings: Thancred/Aureia Summary: To celebrate her most recent accomplishment, Thancred and Aureia slip into an arboretum after hours to admire the views. But Aureia has a different plan about what view exactly he should be admiring. Rating: Explicit Tags: Thancred POV, romance, fluff, semi-public sex, adventures with lingerie Notes: Set in a vague time post-MSQ, mild contextless spoilers for Shadowbringers and Endwalker (Aureia and Thancred are both in their 40s by this point). Partially based on this gpose from wolcred week. 6,022 words Read on AO3

Evening has long since fallen, but the gardens are not silent.

Water drips from the leaves of enormous plants far larger than their wild counterparts. Mist rises, the sheen from the humidity shimmering in the air. Insects hum in a soft symphony, their lights bobbing about in the depths of the blue-green darkness. There is life singing within these crystalline walls, understated but powerful.

The quiet here is a far cry from the party thrown here only a few nights ago. It was a good one, as far as Leveilleur-funded festivities go. Elaborate, stunning, well-catered, magical, with the best bards and musicians from across the three great continents. The new arboretum is deserving of the celebration. A collaboration between the Studium and every other major institute of learning, both of the Source and other shards. A place dedicated to the preservation and study of the flora of Etheirys, both magical and non-magical, across every iteration of their star. Past and present.

Aureia is very proud of it.

She intended to linger after the event wrapped up and show him the sights, enjoy the gardens for what they are and on their own terms without distraction. But between conversing with guests, greeting friends new and old, and getting pulled into one conversation or another, time simply slipped by and they left in due course, exhausted from the conversation but content. A part of him wishes they had stayed. He would have enjoyed the heightened romanticism wandering this place in their evening wear—she was stunning that night in her long black gown, the fabric woven with small crystals so as to mimic the glimmer of stars in a night sky. She’s worn it countless times in the past half-decade, and it never fails to make an impression.

A selfish part of him wishes she had more reasons to wear it. She is beautiful no matter what she wears, but she does a number on his heart whenever she dolls herself up in finery.

And so now they’ve returned alone, long after the doors have been shut and locked, to wander and explore on their own time. Though it feels a little childish to say, there is something enchanting about these galleries filled with greenery he cannot name. The sweeping glass halls, the domed roof looking up to a sea of stars at night.

It reminds him—with a pang—of the Hortorium.

“I wish Ryne could see this,” Aureia says quietly as they ascend a wrought iron staircase to the second level. It twists about in a tight spiral, the climb giving a pleasant view of the gardens below.

Her words do little to absolve the bittersweet heartache that never fully goes away. Despite the passage of years, the distance between the Source and the First remains palpable. Ryne is grown now, with a life of her own in the Crystarium. She writes monthly, but no number of letters can be exchanged for her presence. And so, he replies with the only thing he can, an echo of a sentiment they have both voiced many times. “Perhaps one day she will.”

Aureia slows to a stop above him and glances over her shoulder. “There are flowers from Lakeland here,” she says. “In the west wing.”

Thancred smiles. “I know.”

He rises to her step and sweeps her into an embrace, kissing her deeply in the starlight. She melts against him, a palm pressed above his chest, lingering in the kiss. When at last she draws back, her gaze finds his and she raises her hand, her tips of her fingers resting against his cheek. Ruby eyes warm beneath dark lashes. Threads of grey nestled in the midnight of her hair, interwoven with the streaks of red. Creases around her eyes and mouth. The mole beneath her right eye stark against her pale skin. Familiar sights, all, and yet she never fails to take his breath away.

She never will.  

He's becoming a romantic in his old age. Not that he’s old. Not yet, anyway, as she is fond of reminding him. There may be silver in his hair and he may not quite have the stamina of his youth, but there is still so much of his life left to live. Which is notable for him, given that there was a time when he thought he had no life left to live. It still escapes him some days, this notion of a peaceful life. It doesn’t feel quite real.  

Aureia regards him softly and draws her thumb across his jaw, brushing the faint line of white stubble. “This is new,” she murmurs, an affectionate smile tugging at her lips.

He chuckles. “Well, you know me,” he replies with a shrug. “Never quite been one for it—”

She gives him an arch look.

“—save for a time best left in the past, aye. But admittedly I have been yearning for a change these past few months. I suppose this will do the trick. Whether it makes me scruffy or dignified is yet to be determined, though I suspect Alphinaud will be the first to let me know.”

She curls her fingers around his collar and tugs lightly. “I rather like it,” she says smartly, smoothing the fabric down. The pressure her hands passing over his collarbone stirs something deep within him. “I think you should keep it.”

“That is the intention, aye.”

A pause.

“You’re fishing for something, aren’t you.”

“Well, I wasn’t going to say it, certainly—”

Aureia throws back her head, the stairwell reflecting her tinkling laugh. “If you want to know, yes, I think it makes you look quite dashing,” she says, patting his cheek. Then she kisses him once more, slips her hand into his, and leads him up onto the landing.

They wander the second-floor gallery hand-in-hand, taking joy in their silent privacy. Their footsteps thud quietly against the marble tile, the sound muffled by the enveloping plants. It is lighter here on the second floor, even though the conservatory’s humidity still presses against them. The rush of water trickles in the distance, flowing as swiftly as a river. Large leafy trees curl up to the glass dome, reaching for the stars. The fruits of her labour.  

How many of these have sprouted from seedlings gathered from the world over? How many have come from across the shards? The ancients’ distant past? It was her mind that birthed it. Her heart that cultivated it. Her care that nurtured it. She has come a long way from killing plants on her windowsill in the dim light of the Forgotten Knight.  

It is truly impressive, this work of hers.

“Have you reconsidered?” he asks after a moment. “Your thesis?”

Her pace slows, her hand tugging gently on his. “Which one? You’ll have to be more specific.”

“Your Archon’s thesis.”

“Again, you’ll have to be more specific. Which one?”

He exhales a long sigh. She’s being obstinate on purpose, as she always is whenever this topic comes up. “Any of them.”

“There’s not much to be reconsidered. I’ll finish them when I’m ready.” She pauses, her gaze drawn to the heartblooms poking through the verdant greenery. Though there is a dedicated plot to the Elpis flower on the first level, the blooms have a habit of showing up in unexpected places, shining with faint light. “I don’t need another title.”

“It’s not about the title.”

“Isn’t it?”

“It’s an acknowledgement. Of your qualifications and your contributions.” He glances at her. “Some would say you have contributed more than most.”

“I’m flattered, Thancred, truly, but I don’t think I need it. Nor do I want it.” Her grip on his hand tightens, her fingers twining with his, and she slows their pace. The heartblooms rustle, turning gently towards her as they pass like flowers turning to face the sun, their petals flushed with a soft reddish violet. Though they react to the emotions of all within their presence, the blooms seem particularly attuned to her. “I’m not a scholar, I simply have questions and enjoy finding the answers for myself. I like to have clarity. I like discovery. In some fields that may make me an expert, but expertise does not make an academic.”

“Spoken like a true academic.”

Her mouth opens and yet no words come out. The familiar little crinkle that happens when she can’t think of a good retort forms between her brows; her lips twitch as she holds back a smile, torn between laughter and irritation. She shoots him a glare and raps him lightly on the arm in mock outrage.

He laughs. “Am I wrong?”

With a sigh, she links her arm with his and pulls him further down the path. “You aren’t. But being an Archon isn’t simply about the recognition of skill. It is a Sharlayan position, with Sharlayan connections. And I am not Sharlayan.”

“All the more reason to accept, no? The Forum no longer holds its knowledge behind closed borders. A non-Sharlayan Archon would mean much to Eorzea and beyond. A symbol of the changing times, that all are welcome here.”

“I think I have been someone’s symbol more than enough times. Sharlayan doesn’t need me to be theirs. My work is already based here out of necessity, I’m close enough as it is. I wouldn’t want the Alliance thinking I favour one country over another.” Her jaw tightens. “I’m sorry. I know this is important to you, I just… I don’t think I can. At least not now.”

He squeezes her hand and presses a kiss to her forehead. Though his heart sinks with her refusal, he is grateful she stands her ground. This is a decision she must make for herself, he cannot make it for her.

Another turn and they pass through an archway of stone and glass, stepping out into the central hall. The heartblooms grow bright and plentiful here, their luminescence spreading a gentle glow across the dark paths. He can sense the undercurrent of dynamis weaving around them, tugging at them like the flow of a gentle tide. Subtle, but strong. Strange to think how he can make more sense of it now than aether. It is no replacement for the aether he can no longer control, but perhaps it is a guide to something else. Another unknown in a sea of unknowns.

There is so very little that is constant in his life, save for the one walking at his side. His wife. His partner. His friend.  

The heartblooms pulse around them, flushing a pale pink.

Aureia exhales a soft sigh and slips her hand from his. She approaches the centre of the gallery where it overlooks the floor below and peers down, trailing her fingers idly across the marble railing. The pool glistens, its waters reflecting the moon above where it shines through the glass roof. Dark, leafy flora encroach its perimeter, obfuscating the rest of the level. Fireflies float through the darkness, their pale lights winking in and out. She rests an arm against the railing, the fingers of her other hand toying idly with a lock of escaped hair. It’s wavier than it should be, curled by its time in her high bun.

She glances over her shoulder, an eyebrow raised. “What?” she asks.

She’s caught him staring at her.

He chuckles and shrugs, spreading his hands. “Nothing,” he says quietly.

A small smile tugs at the corners of her lips. Slowly, she steps into him and sweeps him into a silent kiss, her mouth pressed gently, but openly, to his. Her fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him into her. He wraps his arms around her, a hand on her lower back, slipping down to brush her ass. She laughs, the quiet, throaty sound rumbling pleasantly against his lips, stirring desire. When she finally breaks and pulls away, she leaves him breathless and wanting, aching for more. She raises her eyes, looking at him through dark lashes, a coy smile brightening her face, then turns and walks away.

“Aureia,” he calls, his voice echoes through the arboretum, but she does not answer.

Smiling to himself, he follows. 

He finds here meandering down the open path, surveying the gardens with wide-eyed curiosity. Her movements are slow and calm, yet precise with intention—even here, in this moment of peace, the warrior does not leave her completely. She pauses now and then, standing on tiptoe here to examine the giant leaves of a tree he cannot name, crouching there to examine the blue petals of some Thavnairian flower. Each time he catches up with her, she moves onto the next display, acting as if him arriving and her leaving in are a coincidence.

But even she can’t hide that mischievous little grin or the way her eyes light up.

“Aureia,” he calls as the hem of her cloak disappears around the corner.

Tinkling laughter resounds in his ears and her footsteps patter away, her boots clacking against the marble. He follows, but when he rounds the corner, she has simply vanished. He slows his pace, drawing to a stop. Her cloak lies in the centre of the path.

He stoops and picks it up, his heart pounding. So, this is the game she wishes to play. “Fascinating turn of events, Aur,” he says. “Don’t you think we’re a bit old for such tomfoolery?”

“I don’t think we’re too old for anything. Besides, I haven’t the slightest idea what you mean.”

“So, you simply happened to drop things very inconspicuously, in the centre of this very inconspicuous path?”

She laughs, her voice muffled by the surrounding plants. “It must have slipped out of my hands. Why don’t you bring it back to me?”

He chuckles and rises to his feet. “Why don’t you stay in one place so I might have a chance?”

“Call it the spirit of adventure.” She pauses for a moment, falling suspiciously silent. He takes the opportunity to pick up his pace. “Without it, this would not be quite as much fun.”

He bites his tongue, holding onto his response as he rounds the next corner, hoping to catch her—but she is gone again. This time her tunic and trousers lie in a heap, dark against the white and gold tiles. “You do realize this is a public space, yes?” he says, gathering them up.

“And you do realize that we are quite alone, and it’s after hours. Exceedingly after hours.”

I’ve noticed. The ache for her blooms deep within. He can imagine what she must look like now—standing in her underthings, her jewellery shining in the moonlight—and the thought is too alluring to ignore. His breath catches in his throat and he hurries down the path.

“Aye,” he says finally, rounding another corner. “We’re alone.”

She laughs. Is she behind him, or is that her voice echoing? “Come here, then,” she says softly. “Come find me.”

He pauses, trembling with anticipation at the request. “Where are you?” he whispers.

She doesn’t answer.

Thancred turns the last bend and his heart stops.

Aureia sits on the edge of a white bench in a secluded, hidden corner of the arboretum perhaps only she knows about, caught in a pool of blue-green light that flows in through the ornamental stained glass and backlit by the soft glow of blooming heartblooms. Her back is to him, her skin alabaster and luminescent in the light, the arcane marks branded across her shoulder blades faded from red to silver. She has one leg crossed over the other, her foot pointed, her heeled boot extending the line of her leg. Her body is adorned in small pearls and crystals in two parts, the loops criss-crossing over her thighs and around her hips, down her shoulders and across her breasts.

Desire courses through him, warm and hot and heady. She must have been wearing it this entire time, a treasure hidden beneath nondescript clothing. There’s something charming, perhaps even a bit magical, about the lengths to which she has gone to create this moment—and it only makes him want her more.

His breath quickens. He sets down her clothing. “Aureia…”

She glances over her shoulder and puts a finger to her lips, regarding him with dark, liquid eyes. The pearls and crystals rustle with her movements, the sleeves drooping lavishly over her upper arms. She may as well be naked, the adornments leave nothing to the imagination. A fine sheen of sweat clings to her skin, glistening from the arboretum’s humidity. Her necklace lies against her collarbone, the silver pendant shimmering in the light. Her hair remains swept away from her face, save for the one stubborn lock that curls attractively against the column of her throat.

There is something dreamlike about her in this liminal place, at once both quite real and not real enough. Perhaps it’s the gardens, perhaps it’s the light, perhaps it’s the godsdamn lingerie that will be the end of him.

Here, tonight, she may as well be a goddess. And by the gods—whatever now remains of them—he will worship her, body and soul.

Aureia extends a hand.

Thancred takes it and raises it to his lips. His eyes flick up, his gaze trained rapturously on her, and he presses a slow, agonizing kiss to the back of her hand. She holds still, her chest rising and falling with steady breath.

This is a moment to savour.

He turns her hand and presses his mouth to the inside of her wrist, his lips ghosting across her skin as he holds them both here in this moment. She sighs softly, an invitation for more, and he takes it in earnest, trailing slow, aching kisses up the length of her arm. Soon he is standing before her, head bowed, a hand cupping the side of her face. She raises her chin, ruby eyes open and sparkling, the curve of her lips lifted in a gentle smile. The light catches the pearls clinging to her arms and breasts, casting colour across the iridescent sheen. Her chest rises and falls with her breath, dusky nipples peaking out from behind the loops of teardrops. 

His thumb brushes her cheek. Together, they breathe. One breath. Two. Something passes between them, something words cannot express.

Her gaze remains locked to his, staring intently as she spreads her legs, the net of pearls and crystals on her lower half tinkling with her movements. He steps between them and leans down, fingers skimming her collarbone as he kisses her. A faint sigh escapes her, muffled against his lips, and his tongue slips inside her mouth, kissing her just as he has hundreds of times before. Hot, liquid desire courses through him and he forces it down, keen not to let this moment pass too quickly.

He drags a hand down her chest, slipping it through the beads of pearls, and cups her breast. The moan he coaxes from her now is more urgent than before. She breaks the kiss, head tilting back, a loose curl brushing the column of her throat. Dark lashes flutter against pale skin as he runs a thumb over her nipple, caressing it to a peak. Trembling, she opens her eyes and breathes a sigh into the warm, humid air.

She reaches for him, her fingertips brushing first the tattoos on his neck, then the white choker around his throat. Even after all these years, he still wears it.

Her gaze finds his.

She hooks a finger beneath the choker and pulls him down, crushing her mouth to his. He groans and leans into her, one hand cradling the back of her neck, the other squeezing her breast. His knees quake, his lips still pressed to hers in a raw and open kiss, and he sinks before her to kneel between her legs.

A growl rumbles in the back of his throat and he drags his lips from the corner of her mouth and along her jaw, down the column of her throat to her collarbone. When he presses a long, sucking kiss to the hollow of her throat, she grips the edge of the bench and holds herself still. Her leg hooks around him, pulling him closer, her heel pressed against his back, and she bites her lower lip to muffle a moan. The sound sends a pleasurable shiver rolling down his spine.

Heat flushes through him from his core, his head spinning with the haze of desire.

A light touch now. He slips down her body, his nose grazing the beads that fall in a line down her breastbone, his hands roaming across the strings of pearls. It doesn’t take much to push them apart, to loop them back and out of the way. He falls against her, hands now locked around her waist, holding her securely as he presses his face to her breasts. His tongue flicks across her nipple and she inhales a sharp breath. He chuckles huskily and teases her with his tongue, pressing one sucking kiss after another until she is trembling in his arms.

The ghost of his name murmurs on her lips, lost in the sound of the arboretum’s rippling water and rustling leaves.

He moves further down, the stubble on his chin scratching her skin as he presses kiss after kiss to the soft curves of her belly. Her head tilts back, her sighs now fading into the gentle quiet of this lush and private place. Her foot slips, her heel grazing the floor, and she shifts her weight, arcing her hips towards him. He grins and slides a hand beneath her thigh, the other falling to her hip. He toys with the pearls there, twining the strands between his fingers.

He kisses above her navel.  

She trembles. Her foot digs into his rear, pushing him closer. A moment later, her fingers thread in his hair, pulling gently as she leads him down to all the places she wants to be touched. Blood pulses in his veins, desire pooling deep within at the command. He groans, the sound muffled against her stomach, the yearning for her—to caress, to kiss, to feel, to explore every part of her—clouds his mind, everything else all but forgotten.

He kisses further down, coming to rest above the apex of her thighs. She breathes his name and he chances a glance upwards, gazing at her, entranced. In these few precious seconds, he takes her all in—the dark of her hair, the curve of her lips, the strength of her arms, the alluring gleam of those damn pearls wrapped around her breasts. Such beautiful sensuality that only makes him crave her more.

She is here. With him. For him. This exquisite moment a creation of her design.

He bows his head and presses his mouth to the scintillating heat between her legs.

The scent and taste of her is intoxicating. Breathing deep, he drinks her up, lapping at her clit. She gasps, her breath hitching, and drags her fingers through his hair, firmer this time. He groans, his own desire pushing tight against his trousers, and for a moment he basks in the memory of her hand around his cock, stroking him to sweet release. He coasts on the tender desire, letting it swell and bloom even as his mouth works her into a mewling mess. She pants above him, eyes closed, chest heaving, her hair unravelling even more now.  

He shifts his weight, his knees aching where they press against the marble tile, and turns his head, sweeping his tongue through her folds. Up, down, licking and sucking, some movements long and languid, others fast and fervent. A pause so as not to overstimulate, to leave the sensitive nub yearning for more while he attends to other parts of her. He strokes downward with the flat of his tongue and slides it into the heady heat of her cunt, thrusting in deep. He has always been good with his mouth. The way she tenses and relaxes under his ministrations, the scent and taste of her, the small sounds she makes, the view of her from between her legs. How could this not be the way to make love to her?  

Pleasure pulses within him, hot and bright.

He grips her hips, one hand slipping below the drooping pearls to squeeze her ass. She tenses, her pleasure mounting, her fingers running again and again through his hair as the foot hooked around his waist holds him tight.

With a smirk, he drags his mouth upward, pulls her clit into his mouth, and sucks.

She cries out, trembling and shaking as he pushes her past her peak. Her leg slips from its position, sliding over his ass to hit the floor, the sound of her heel striking the marble tile echoing through the gallery. Her hands move from his hair to his jaw, cradling his face as she the last waves of pleasure fade, and at last she stills, her faint, shallow breaths resounding in his ears. He draws back and sinks to the floor, his head resting against her thigh, and covers her hand with his. Their fingers twine together, holding tight.

They sit, her perched on the bench, him on the floor, and breathe as one in a pool of blue-green light. His heart thunders in his chest, so loud he is certain she can hear it.

He closes his eyes.

Fingers rest against his chin, gently turning his head up. Heels clicking on the floor. Pearls rustling by him.

When he opens his eyes, he finds her standing before him, a mischievous smile on her face. She takes his hand and pulls him up, leaning in to capture his mouth with hers. His lips part for her and she kisses him deeply, drawing him in so deep he thinks nothing of what she is doing until he finds himself turned, his back now to the bench, the backs of his calves pressed against it. She breaks the kiss and glances up at him, gazing at him from under dark lashes.

She slips a hand between his legs, palming the hardened bulge.

Pleasure strikes through him, warm and wanting.

She presses her body against his and undoes his trousers, pulling his cock free.

His chest rises, his breath caught in his throat.

She places her hands on his shoulders.    

His knees buckle. He stares at her, captivated, and allows her to push him down onto the bench. He sits, watching as if spellbound as she sinks to her knees. She places her hands on his thighs, her touch featherlight even as she pushes his legs apart, her gaze still trained on his. Desire throbs within him, his cock flushed and erect, and this moment of pause driving him mad. He has never wanted her to touch him more.

Please. The plead lies voiceless on the tip of his tongue.

She smiles, running her hands along the inside of his thighs. The light reflects off the loops of pearls, shimmering bright.

Then she bends, bowing her head, and takes him in her mouth.

His chest heaves, a sharp intake of breath flooding his lung, and pleasure courses through him as her tongue sweeps across the tip of his cock. He blinks, his vision dark and hazy with lust, time slowing to a halt as he gazes at the person between his legs. His lips part, mouth half-open in a sloppy, stunned smile, a moan rumbling in his throat as she takes him deeper.

Her hand slides between his thighs and cups him gently.

He curses, his hips arcing in response. His teeth scrape his lower lip and he clings desperately to the sensation, wanting more and yet fearing it will end too soon. Groaning, he shifts his weight and reaches for her, running his fingers through her hair. Her bun loosens, more strands coming undone and falling against her collarbone. The sight of her—the dishevelled hair now at odds with the precise exquisiteness of the pearl lingerie, kneeling between his legs with her mouth and hands around his cock—sends coiling heat rushing through him.

Her eyes flick up, meeting his. A small, playful smirk brightens her eyes.

She presses her lips around the tip of his cock and sucks, lavishing him with her tongue.

His fingers grip her hair, holding her close, his moan echoing through the empty gallery. He trembles, the need to move, the desire to thrust upwards making his head spin, but he holds still for her. She draws out one stroke after another, faster and faster, sucking and sucking until at last he cannot hold himself back. He gasps, trembling as he spills into her mouth. She takes it calmly and in control, steady where he is shaking, and at last pulls back and releases him with a wet pop. 

She sits back on her haunches and looks up at him with a satisfied grin, gently wiping her lips with the back of her hand.

He stares back in wonder, his hands still in her hair, and leans down, resting his forehead against hers. The air around them swirls, warm with the scent of sweat and sex. The glow of heartblooms gleams in his peripheral vision, their luminous petals flushed a golden pink.

He cradles her and kisses her cheek. Her jaw. Her ear. Her lips. Her neck. They should be done and over, but he wants nothing more than to draw her into him, to feel every part of her.

He takes her hands and draws her up.

She stands before him, radiant in the hazy light, hair unravelling, ruby eyes shining. Her gaze sweeps over him and she reaches out, pressing a palm to his chest, right over his heart. She pauses, feeling the beat of his heart beneath her fingertips, brimming with life and joy. She leans in, brushing her fingers across his cheek, and kisses him.

He groans against her lips, surprised by the gentleness of her touch. Drawing back, he meets her eyes, a question in his gaze as his hands drift to her hips. She smiles, her laughter soft, and nods, kissing him again in confirmation.

He grins.

Gripping her hips, he turns her around. His gaze flicks up, looking her up and down, admiring the strength of her back, the shape of her ass, the way the pearl straps loop around her curves. Exhaling a breath, he pulls her eagerly into his lap, her familiar weight leaving him flushed and aroused. He kisses her shoulder, dragging his lips up to the crook of her neck. He kisses her deeply, sucking at the delicate skin, one hand wrapping around her waist. His touch is featherlight, teasing her with faint brushes against her inner thighs, drawing out the moment.

At last, he slips his fingers between her legs.

She is warm and slick, and she trembles in his arms as he runs a finger across her clit. Still sensitive—the lightest stroke has her moaning. A husky chuckle rumbles in the back of his throat and he places a hand against her cheek, turning her head to kiss her. He parts her lips with his tongue and strokes downward with his fingers, pressing them to the entrance of her cunt. She gasps, a faint demand for more murmured on her lips, and he pushes a finger inside, thrusting in and out. Her breath hitches and she arcs her hips, grinding against him as she moves in rhythm to his thrusts.

He bows his head, forehead brushing her shoulder. Desire simmers deep within. She rolls her hips, stoking his arousal, and his cock stiffens, yearning for more. The desire to be within her is too potent for words.  

Holding her close, he pulls his fingers free and shimmies her back. She pants, breathless and wild, and plants her heels on the floor. She pushes up and he grips himself, guiding his cock. She moans as he enters her, pushing into the aching, swollen heat.

Finally, he sheathes himself with her.

She pauses, adjusting to the pressure, the moves, pulling him deeper to the sweet spot that has her trembling with pleasure. He clutches her to him, wrapping a hand around her front and slipping it beneath the pearls. He toys with her breast, plucking delicately at her nipple, enjoying the mewls he coaxes from her as he thrusts up into her, slow and deep. She sighs and leans against him, her back pressing into his chest, the clasps of her lingerie catching on his shirt.

Her hand grips his thigh.

His tangles in her hair, unwinding the rest of her bun until her hair falls, wild and free, about her shoulders.

Then she presses up off the floor, taking control of their pace, and rides him with slow, purposeful movements.   

His heart thunders, blood rushes in his ears, and all sense of time and space evaporates. He kisses her—shoulders, neck, back, anywhere and everywhere within reach. Her back arches and her hips roll, drawing fervent pleasure from him again and again until he is certain he can hold on no longer.

His hand slips from her breast, his slick palm pressed flat against her stomach, and he reaches around with the other and dips below her navel. One heated stroke of her clit and she is shaking. A second and she is whimpering with bliss. A third and she crashes over her peak, her hand squeezing his thigh as her cunt clenches around his shaft.

Her wordless voice, her panting breath, the frenetic beat of her heart, it is all the sweetest music of recent memory. Here, in this moment of ecstasy, they stare out together at these gardens of blue and green and gold. Here, in this place of her own making, she leads him to rapture. 

He comes, his cry muffled against her shoulder, thrusting deep as he spills into her. She moans, her head lolling back, eyes closed, shaking as he strokes her through her climax. Another wave of pleasure crests and crashes, and she is panting and shaking as he brings her to one last end. Finally, he slips free, pleasantly spent, sweat clinging to the inside of his shirt, and does up his trousers. She twists around and curls up in his lap, her legs thrown haphazardly over his and her arms about his shoulders, her face buried in his neck. Her long hair tumbles down her back in a tangle, the red streaks fading into black.

He holds her and at last there is silence. True silence.

“I should have told you sooner,” Thancred says quietly, cradling her in his arms.

“Hm?”

“You are radiant tonight, Aureia darling.”

She snorts, muffling a little giggle with her hand. “A ridiculous idea, this,” she says, plucking at the pearls looped over her arm. “I should never have gotten this thing, and yet… well.”

“Well?”

She brushes his cheek with her thumb, running it across the stubble on his jaw. “I wanted to surprise you. And I rather like the way you look at me when I’m wearing something like this.”

“Is that so? Then you simply must give me more reasons to look.”

“Sweet talker.”

“With you? Always.”

They remain there for a time, surrounded by intimate quiet, caught in the glow of the heartblooms’ fading luminescence. It is rare for them to have such moments to themselves, though they are becoming more common in these halcyon days of their retirement. Moments of bliss and aching passion, tempered by their long years together. In a strange way, he feels they are only now finding the small pleasures that simply were not possible in their youth. Back in a time when they were both shaped by their sense of duty, by promises made to themselves and others, to the fate of nations and the destiny of the star.

Such matters are over now.   

Time moves ever onwards. There are new joys to explore, new moments to discover.

Perhaps this is what peace is.

[starsreminisce]

I can't wait for Lucien to take Elain wherever she desires, witnessing her awe with new experiences.

At the Day Court, she could tease him when he sheds a tear during a symphony.

The Dawn Court might involve breakfast with Nuan sharing embarrassing stories.

The Winter Court could include dancing at a ball hosted by Kallias and Vivianne.

The Summer Court may bring a beach day with Alis and nephews.

The Autumn Court could involve stomping on crunchy leaves while camping in Eris’s territory.

The Spring Court might include laying on flower-filled meadows for cloud watching or stargazing.

In the Human Lands, she could be reintroduced to friends, who are accustomed to Lucien's presence.

Finally, visiting the tulip fields on the continent, fulfilling her lifelong dream.

[outer-nova97]

Sylus' organ memory is literally the 'Music of the Night' from The Phantom Of The Opera.

[zorishy]

Symphony of Gods and Dreamers (DSMP AU)

🟢 DSMP (sorry for bad grammar, this was mostly just me vomiting my ideas onto the post)

My DSMP au makes the world so much bigger and full of life than canon.

The arctic empire from SMP earth exists, hypixel is a whole kingdom, the bear SMP exists and that’s where Niki is from, the wreckage of tales from the SMP locations can be found in the woods, places from fanfics such as the blue valley are very important to the story. The story takes place over a much longer period of time, the L’Manberg revolution alone lasts several years! Dream is like 50! He was an adult before Wilbur was even born. Tommy and Tubbo had families before being adopted by Philza, but they were killed by Dream’s armies in their quest to conquer the world. Dream stole the revival book from Kristin decades ago.

Dream is a tyrant and a cult leader with armies and followers dedicated to his mission to control as much of the world as possible. The DreamSMP is a continent that Dream has discovered and, at the beginning of the events of the server, it has small townships spread around the woods that are full of people gathering resources for colonies. The original L’Manberg members were followers of Dream who had begun to question his power.

Las Nevadas is not just one street with some restaurants and a casino! It’s a massive fucking city with hundreds of thousands of citizens, they have communities and schools and farmer’s markets, It’s the first city in the SMP with paved roads! Snowchester is a cosy little college town up north surrounded by mountains. Students from schools in Snowchester and Las Nevadas go on field trips to L’Manberg and Eret’s castle. The center of the SMP is this huge historic town kept in top condition by volunteers dedicated to preserving the history of the land.

Kinoko Kingdom was built by natives of the SMP and can be found deep within the forest. The people of the kingdom have myths and legends of a time when dragons and demons and gods roamed the earth. When Sapnap showed up, being half demon, they worshipped him and made him their ruler.

There is an entire cult that worships DreamXD! every few hundred years XD selects a member of his cult to give godhood to (Techno, Foolish, and Callahan are amongst those selected). DreamXD is older than the universe itself and has witnessed the rise and fall of countless worlds. Several SMP members were gods in their past lives and knew XD personally (some relationships were more positive than others). That’s why XD is so infatuated with George and so hateful of Bbh.

Characters like Puffy, Antfrost, and Sam are just single individuals who are members of entire original species. Ranboo was born a prince in the end but his people were driven out. The nether was accidentally discovered by cultists and legend says that’s where the demons came from.

My vision of the SMP has grown far beyond a Minecraft roleplay. I wish I could tell you everything but that would take way too long to write. For now I’m just focusing on Wilbur and the other bursonas. I can’t possibly talk about every single character and that makes me mad. Maybe in the future I will go into more detail on sbi and DreamXD.

[suchalonelysunflower]

I Hear a Symphony (c.h)

You, Again Spin Off

Pairing: Soulmate! Calum Hood x Soulmate! Fem! Reader

Summary: it’s the most important day of Luke’s life, and, even if Calum doesn’t know it yet, it would be his as well

Warnings: Fluff, kinda angsty but not Sunny’s type of angst. Language. Some grammatical errors (English is not my first language, I’m sorry)

Word Count: 4.2 K

Authors Note: OKAY, this does not mean I’m back posting every week like I used to, but it’s something. Thank you for the 2K 🥹🩷 more things are coming, I promise. But like give me time cause I’m moving continents this month. Please remember to REBLOG the works you like, that’s super important to keep writers (me) going, as well as COMMENTS LIKES AND REACTIONS. PLEASE SUPPORT YOUR WRITERS. Hope you like it and happy reading 🥰🦋🌻

My masterlist // tag list in bio!

He could hear the sound of nervous pacing echo through his head as he rubbed the tip of his thumbs over his eyes. It was a normal occurrence as lately, they’ve all grown accustomed to Luke’s endless worrying. But everyone has their limits, and Calum’s all but reaching it at this point.

“Mate, sit the fuck down!” He said, a bit more harshly than he intended in the first place.

“Yeah!” Michael seconded without paying much attention to them, sitting across the room on the couch, with no pants and a bowl of Cheetos sitting next to him as he played yet another game of FIFA “You’re gonna run out your shoes before you walk down the aisle”

Calum glared at him for that comment.

“What?! That can happen?!” Luke shouted as he immediately jumped to the bed and took off his shoes to inspect them.

“Of course not” Calum sighed, going up to Michael and flicking him on the forehead, ignoring his complaint “But you do need to calm down”

Luke’s been erratic these past few weeks as the big day approached. They’ve all had their fair share of laughs at the “bridezilla’s” post on Reddit every once in a while. But they never thought that their best friend would ever turn into a “groomzilla” Calling them in the middle of the night for their opinions about ties and eyeliner color; overhearing phone calls in the office with vendors about how “teal” was not the same thing as “cerulian”; almost having an aneurysm when Ashton said he was going to shave his head… to name a few.

Although - Calum thought - that term was not fair to Luke at all. He could understand the man being nervous about his own wedding and wanting everything to be perfect. Especially as his best man - aka the man who made sure everything was not in shambles after Luke ended up crying on the office kitchen floor at 2 p.m. on a Wednesday - What he did not get was his underlying fear of his soulmate running away at the last minute.

“I’m sorry!” Luke moaned, hiding his face in his hands as he lay down on the bed “It’s just- what if she just decides she doesn’t want this anymore?”

“You’re joking, right?” Calum sighed as he sat next to Luke.

Calum knew the whole story of their love. When he first met Luke on his first day at the company, the first thing he noticed was the mark on his skin. He remembers a blushing Luke smiling shyly at him while he rubbed his fingers unconsciously over the mark as he told them the story of how he met his soulmate. It was the first time Calum met someone so young and so in love, at least until Michael met his soulmate, but that is a whole other story - and albeit a more dramatic one.

When Luke told them he was going to propose, no one took it as a surprise. It was just how it was supposed to be for them. At least that’s what Calum thought. If he was being honest, all the idea of soulmates and having one person to love for the rest of your life seemed… weird.

He knows he should not have those thoughts out loud, and he probably agrees with Ashton’s theory that maybe it was just because he hadn’t found his yet. But, what was he supposed to think? That magically, somewhere around the world, there was someone destined to be with him? And that they would love him back? It just doesn’t seem real.

But then… He turns toward Luke, who’s now observing his mark, touching it so delicately as if it were to fall. He noticed how his lips moved to say his lover’s name as he sighed. Then, he looks over at Michael, whose mark got him a novella out of that story, and how he smiles at the text his soulmate probably sent. He thinks about how their smiles change when they’re around their loved ones; how they talk about them, as if they were the most interesting people in the world and no one could compare to them. And Calum knows. He just knows that’s how love is supposed to be.

And, he knows he’s never felt that before. Not in the receiving or giving end of the bargain.

He has had partners before. Someone to take the loneliness away from his hands and put them to good use. A distraction, maybe, from feeling so empty. But those relationships never lasted more than a season. His lips never uttered the word “love” to someone before.

Maybe he’s not supposed to.

“Ayooooo!” Ashton shouted as he came barging into their hotel suite, letting the door hit the wall and making Michael drop the bowl of Cheetos on the floor “Who’s ready to party!”

Immediately, Luke got up from the bed with erratic eyes.

“Where the fuck have you been?!”

“Whatever do you mean?” Ashton faked innocence. Calum rolled his eyes

“Give it up, Ash,” He said, getting up from the bed as well “It’s getting late and Luke hasn’t killed anyone, yet. And I have no problem letting him start with you”

“You,” Ashton pointed at him “Are no fun. I just went to grab my tux! I left it at home so that I couldn’t damage it as other people did”

Michael raised his hands “In my defense, no one should’ve brought orange soda into the tux fitting!”

Luke ran a hand through his face. Calum thought it was fortunate that he didn’t do his makeup yet.

“Just tell me you got them”

“Got what?”

“The wha- THE RINGS?!”

“What rings?”

“Okay,” Calum said, putting himself between a very confused Ashton and a bull-raging-looking Luke “This ain’t funny anymore, Ash”

“I’m not trying to be funny, 'cause you know I’ll be hilarious. But I seriously have no idea what you two are on about”

At that moment, Calum could see everything in slow motion.

He noticed the way Luke’s neck vein nearly exploded. He heard the slow whistle from Michael as he got out of the way completely. And he watched Ashton’s eyes go from joyful to meet the angel of death in Luke’s stare as he started to run across the room while the soon-to-be groom chased him.

“Hey, hey, HEY!” Calum yelled just in time for Ashton to trip on Michael’s shoes, taking Luke by surprise and making him stop on his steps “Let’s take a damn moment and figure this out, okay?! Ashton, you don’t have the wedding rings?”

“No.” He said from the floor “Why on Earth would I have them?! You’re the best man!”

“Because I gave them to you, you ass!” Luke shouted, nearly on the brink of tears.

“No you fucking didn’t, mate!” Ashton groaned as he sat down “Believe me, I would’ve known!”

“Yes, I did! At the rehearsal dinner two nights ago, I told you to guard them with your life!”

“No, Luke-” Ashton frowned and got up and went to pick something from his bag “You gave me these. Which at the time I thought it was weird, but no questioning the groom I guess”

What he showed the rest of them was a little black velvet box that contained… nothing. It was completely empty.

Luke’s demeanor completely changed from angry to defeated. Calum swore he could see the five stages of grief run through his friend’s eyes as he sat back down on the bed.

“That’s not- those aren’t-” He stammered “That’s the engagement ring box. I- I don’t know-”

In an instant, his baby blue eyes filled with tears that could not stop running down his face. A chain of curse words mixed with painful whimpers and sobs ran through him and echoed into the empty room. The remaining three friends just looked at each other in shock, not knowing how to approach or how to comprehend anything that was happening.

“Oh my god!” Luke cried “She’s going to leave me! She’ll know I lost the rings and she’ll walk out in an instant. I fucked up! Oh for god’s sake, I ruined everything!”

“Luke-”

“What am I going to even say to her?! Oh god, she’s probably thinking of ways to escape this!”

“Luke!”

“I’m going to end up alone and- and - and- and my mark will disappear! I- I don’t wanna be markless again?!”

“For fuck’s- LUKE!” Calum shouted, grabbing the sobbing groom by the shoulders and shaking him out of his state “Calm the fuck down! We’re going to figure this out and you’re getting married today!”

“But how?!”

“Just-” And then Calum realized he had no idea how to actually fix this, but he had to come up with a plan. Fast “You gave Ash the wrong box, we know that and it was an accident. But, is there any way the box with the rings just got mixed up? Maybe the rings are in the other box and-”

“And they’re exactly where you left them,” Michael chimed in. Nodding at Calum and Ash “We can go find them”

“But I don’t know where they are! They could be anywhere!” Luke whined, “Our house, with the bridal party, at the office…”

“Why would they be in the office?”

“I don’t know! I took them everywhere just to make sure I didn’t lose them”

Calum sighed and stood back. It’s game time.

“Okay, here’s what we’re going to do,” He said, seriously “Luke, you stay here. Try to compose yourself, I’ll call Jack to help you get ready and to help you look through your luggage. Ash, you’re going to their house. Look into every drawer that you can find, even the bathroom and kitchen. Michael, obviously you’re going to the office.”

“Duh”

“And I’ll go to where the bridal party is, if it’s not there I’ll go with Ash”

“Wait,” Luke said, drying his tears “I don’t want her to know that I lost them. If you go there and tell her-”

Calum just put up his hand and smirked “You’re talking to an expert here, mate. She won’t even know I’m there” He then nodded and put his hand on Luke’s shoulder “Let’s get you to that altar”

*

The bridal party was getting ready at the penthouse on the top floor of the hotel, which later would become the marital suite for both Luke and his new bride. Calum went up to the door, ready to knock. But then he would chicken out and do a few laps along the corridor to gain some sort of courage.

“It’s okay,” He told himself “You’re gonna do great, not embarrass Luke and save his wedding. Yeah. You’re a good friend, Calum. Good friend. Great friend, even. Maybe I should ask for a complimentary gift from their honeymoon-”

“Are you seriously giving yourself a pep talk out loud?”

Calum shrieked and jumped at the sound of the stranger’s voice. Turning around to see a lady smiling at him with her eyebrow raised. She was wearing one of the hotel’s complimentary robes with sandals and had her hair and makeup done, as well as a bucket of ice in her hands.

“I- I-” Calum cleared his throat as he composed himself “I’m just… trying to-”

He blinked a couple of times, wondering the reason as to why he seemed out of words when he looked at her waiting for an answer. With that smile and those beautiful eyes looking straight at him… She was pretty. Gorgeous even.

Calum had seen his fair share of pretty people around and about, but this stranger was just as if she were casting a spell on him the moment he set eyes on her. Like Medusa freezing him over with her beautiful stare.

Soon, he returned to his senses enough to extend a hand to her.

“Sorry,” He smiled “I’m Calum, Luke’s best man”

The girl smiled, shaking his hand “Oh, I thought I recognized you from somewhere! I’m Luke’s cousin, Y/N”

Alarm bells started shouting the words “OFF LIMITS” inside Calum’s head the moment she uttered those words.

“Cousin?”

“Yeah,” She smiled, and oh, how Calum wished she didn’t.

“But- but I haven’t seen you? I mean, at the rehearsal dinner and stuff”

Y/N sighed “Yeah, working out of state can be a pain in the ass sometimes. My flight got delayed a good 24 hours. I arrived last night and I’m already spent” She laughed “Anyway, I’m sure you have something important to do, otherwise you wouldn’t be here. Being the best man and all”

Then Calum remembered his task.

“Oh shit! Right. Uhm… I’m gonna need your help” He stepped closer to her and whispered “You see, I’m on a mission”

“Like a secret mission?” She whispered back.

“Exactly. Here’s the deal…”

After he explained the situation and pretended not to notice the way in which Y/N’s eyes set on him with such brightness in them or the way her perfume seemed to hold his thoughts captive at her proximity. They both came up with a plan.

“And the bride cannot know, right?”

“For the sake of Luke’s nerves… yeah, better not”

Y/N giggled, making Calum take a moment just to wish it could happen again. And another to wonder why that was.

“Okay, follow me”

Calum walked behind her, careful not to get into her space as she used her key to open up the door. Luckily, the rest of the party was getting ready at the other side of the room, just as she told him they were. So all Calum had to do was sneak up the other side into the room and rummage through Luke’s bags. Easy enough.

But when have things ever been easy for any of them?

“Hey, Y/N!” A voice ran through the room, making them both panic as Y/N pushed Calum outside of the room again, holding the door with one hand behind her “There you are!”

Calum, still in shock from the abrupt shove, couldn’t hear most of the conversation the girl was having with another bridesmaid. He just noticed her hand out to hold the door so that he wouldn’t be shut out. And then, he noticed her mark.

It was as if a bucket filled with cold water had been dumped on him when he looked at the little dove tattooed on her skin. His face morphed into the disappointment his heart was bleeding out. Feeling the way his lungs stopped breathing as a warm, dreaded sensation ran through his body.

He didn’t know, nor could he comprehend that sudden sadness that took over him just by looking at her mark. Why did it matter so much to him? He literally just met her out in the hall. He should’ve known or even expected her to have someone already, how could she not? In the brief minutes that he’d known her, he already knew she was special. Just… just not special for him.

“Calum!” He heard her hiss through the door.

“I’m here!” He whispered back, trying to tint his voice with something other than disappointment.

Y/N then grabbed his hand blindly and pulled him into the room, making them crash their bodies as she closed the door behind him. Her strength was a bit misplaced as she ended up backtracking into the wall and taking Calum with her, pushing them together against the wall.

She looked back at him, and Calum could barely breathe. His eyes went straight to her lips, parting and waiting for words to come out. So close to him that her eyelashes could blow winds into the brown forest of his eyes. Just one more, little push and he could have his lips drinking from the secret poison of her mouth.

But he couldn’t. Not when she already belonged to someone else.

So he stood back, giving her a little nod as he made his way toward the room. Y/N followed him, making sure to stand guard at the door in case any other person wanted to come in.

“His bags are on the right side,” She whispered through the other side of the door.

“Great, it shouldn’t take me lo-oh. Oh shit”

“What?!”

“Luke’s got like six bags here!” Calum whispered-shouted, already wanting to cry “How on Earth could a person own so many clothes?!”

Y/N stifled a laugh “That sure sounds like my cousin. But don’t worry, his bride got like eight. No wonder they’re amazing together”

“Yeah,” Calum agreed as he started to go through the first bag “Can you believe that he’s scared shitless she’s going to run off?”

“What?! She’s totally head over heels for him. I’ve known them my whole life, there aren’t more deserving people of that kind of love. They truly are made for each other, real soulmates”

Calum gave her a small smile even though she couldn’t see it.

“You know?” She said, with a sigh “I have to admit that I never truly believed that could be possible.”

“What?”

“Loving someone like that”

Calum stopped for a moment looking through bag number three, that same tug on his heart appearing that he chose to ignore. Y/N continued.

“I knew soulmates were real. But I always got that feeling that it couldn’t just be that perfect, you know?”

“Yeah, I get it” He answered, opening bag number four.

“The thought of loving someone like that for the rest of your life, it’s scary. So I understand why Luke might feel like that. Like it’s just such a perfect dream you might wake up from one day. But seeing him with his girl, and seeing the rest of my friends live their lives with their happy endings. They are all living in symphonies and I’m just here trying to figure out the tempo” She laughed

Calum looked back at the door, smiling sadly at her words that mirrored his thoughts so perfectly. His hand went through the fifth bag blindly, finally touching a velvety surface. His eyes widened.

“I know one day I’ll-”

“Holy shit I’ve-”

“Find it”

“Found it!”

Both of them kept quiet for a few seconds after that.

“Wait- you found them?”

“What?” Calum turned, taking the small box from the bag and walking up to the door “But- you have a mark”

“I don’t-”

Silence again. Time stopped. The beats of Calum’s heart could echo in those moments. He knows what he saw. He knows the dove is right there.

Then, the door opens. Y/N stood there with teary eyes. Her hand was delicately touching the mark she now noticed. But she wasn’t looking at it, no. Instead, her attention was solely on Calum, who was standing right in front of her, confused.

She took his hand, he offered no fight. She opened the button of his shirt and lowered the sleeve. Finally, the two of them could breathe.

“Cal…” She said, lips forming a smile.

“Oh my god,”

There it was, drawn on his delicate skin: A dove.

“Hey, has anyone seen Y/N?” A voice could be heard saying from the other side of the suite.

Calum looked up, and in a second he had her by the waist as he hurried them over to the closet and closed the door. He put a hand over her mouth and waited as footsteps came closer.

“I don’t think she’s here,” One of the bridesmaids said as they entered the room “Maybe she went to get some more ice”

They heard the person walk back out and exhale the breath they were holding. Calum looked back at Y/N, and she was already looking at him. He took his hand from her mouth but neither of them could form a sentence.

“Hi,” He said, breathing out a laugh. She smiled.

“Hi,” Her hand found his “This is-”

“Weird?”

“I was going to say “right” This feels right” She giggled “But yeah, it’s kinda weird. We have a lot to talk about”

“I know, I-”

“But not right now” Y/N put her other hand on his chest, feeling the way his heart nearly drummed its way out of his chest “It’s Luke’s wedding, there’s a lot of things to do, and I don’t want to take the moment from them”

Calum sighed “You’re right. But when?”

“I’ll find you,” She said, placing a kiss on his cheek “Now, you have to go, best man. Or the groom might collapse”

And so Calum walked back to Luke’s room, smiling ear to ear as he still felt her lips on his cheek. A smile that did not fade until he entered the suite and found Luke in his underwear with an ice pack on top of his groin; Michael with the zipper of his pants broken; and, Ash with dog paws imprinted onto his shirt.

“What the hell happened?”

Ashton sighed “Dude, you don’t want to know”

*

The ceremony went without a hitch. Luke and his new bride could not take their eyes off each other since she walked into the room, the smile on both of their faces was enough to convince even the proudest non-believer that love truly exists. Their vows made everyone in the room cry or close to, at least. But as they spoke, Calum could only think of one thing: Y/N.

When he saw her walk down the aisle, holding onto one of Luke’s other cousins, he could not help but imagine that one day he would see her walk in white to him waiting at the altar. The looks that they exchanged were a secret to everyone but them. He looked for her throughout the ceremony, almost missing his cue to give the newlyweds their rings - that Luke nearly kissed him in thanks for finding them - And he knew. He just knew that the part of him that he didn’t even think was missing was finally whole.

“... And, I have to admit, soulmates and stuff? I didn’t get them. Not until I met these two. When Luke first told us about the way his bride smiled and how she always got the coffee to taste just right in the mornings, even when their coffee machine broke down, I knew what true love was supposed to look like. Most people search for a love like that, some stop believing halfway through their happy endings. I always thought that love was just something that happened. Now I’m certain that love is something you live through. Something so inexplicably beautiful that’s hard to describe. It doesn’t happen instantly, but it builds and builds until you’ve created a home out of it. I know I cannot wait to start building mine” He said, looking straight at Y/N who sat there smiling widely with teary eyes “Today, the new Mr. and Mrs. Hemmings have invited us to their home, to their love story. And I’m just so thankful to be here sharing this love with them. To the bride and groom!”

The whole venue followed with applause and a few whistles from Ashton after the speech. Luke got up to hug him tightly and thank him for everything he’s done. His wife also got up and kissed him on the cheek, hitting his arm lightly and scolding him mockingly for making her cry again.

Calum just laughed and wished them the best once again. And, when he looked back, he noticed that his soulmate was no longer in her seat. He looked for her through the crown and found her at the door, nudging her head for him to follow.

Yet, when he got there, she was nowhere to be found. That was until he felt a pull on his sleeve and suddenly he was inside a closet once again.

“You really have a lot of upper strength” He laughed, putting an arm around her waist and bringing her closer to him “Hi,”

“Hi,” She said, closing her eyes and leaning forward until their foreheads touched “That was a great speech”

“Thank you, I’ve been practicing”

She hummed as she felt a small kiss on the top of her head, putting her arms around his neck “I already want to hear it again”

Calum held her close, hiding his face inside her neck as he softly placed kisses along it. Feeling like a swarm of butterflies just took flight inside his stomach.

“We have time. I could recite it to you each night”

“We’ve barely just met and you’re already thinking about tonight?” She teased.

“I’m thinking of getting to know you every night and day for as long as you let me,” He confessed, pulling back slightly to look at her “Would you let me?”

Y/N smiled and nodded. Calum took it upon himself to close the distance between them and finally let their lips touch. Kissing her like she wanted from the first time he saw her. Hungry. Passionately. Lovingly. Hopeful for the future they could now share.

But too busy to even hear the door of the closet opening.

“Hey, Cal! Are you there? Where ha- OH MY GOD! WITH MY COUSIN, CAL?!”

*

*

tags: @iknowyouthinkimbulletproof @mystic-232 @talksoprettyjjx @theshyspy @hemmohoran @flaneurcth @hoodharlow @littledrummeraussie @bubblegum18 @irwin-fletcher-ash @just-here-to-escape-from-reality @1980holland @wiiildflowerrr @hoplessromantic727 @in-a-world-of-fandoms @another-lonely-heart @aabc5sauce @dudethisiswhyyoudonthavefriends @fakebetch9694 @5sos-imagine @SunflowerAngel2123 @perfectnouis @in-superbloom @lukeisstillapenguin @sadcupofcoffee

@superstarmarvel @personalmuyverypersonal @cnco.angels @vtte @himbohood @sofiaaraee @irwindoll @lolzkye @fairytrice @colourfulcal @nibin0912 @hfkait @savagejane1 @youneedtocalumdown @pvnkcloud @in-a-world-of-fandoms @The-Ghost-of-Cal @youneedtocalumdown @dasguccier @awritingtree @heyitskelseaj @dawwnya @calumance @writersdare @indianamgc11 @marshallowy

@ashtonsunflower @calumspupils @secretsicanthideanymore @alltimesos @wontlastimokwiththat @whywontyoulovemecami @perriexed @abiancajg @rewmuslupin @icelily13 @gracieboogirl @fastandtheformula1 @remusismyhousewife @emilyclairesimpson @romanjbittenbinder @bookthingz @voilavouz @gracieboogirl @valentinehrts

@fckingpernico @multistann @a-darneddarling @plaidshirtyears @ihavenoideawhattodowithyou @bittersweetb4by @aria-grace-scott @bvbygxrl @luisa180206 @flyingburrito123 @drugerlime

[rubberizer92]

🔥🇨🇦 Embark on a Thrilling Ride with Latex Legends: The Top 6 Unveiled in OBEY! Season 6! 🇨🇦🔥

Ladies and gentlemen, prepare to be captivated as we unveil the extraordinary Top 6 contenders of OBEY! Season 6! Get ready to dive headfirst into the exhilarating theme of "Latex Legends," where the allure of rubber meets the fire of desire and the pursuit of victory reaches new heights.

Your influence knows no boundaries! On Instagram and Tumblr, your votes hold the power to script tales that echo across continents. Through likes, comments, saves, and shares, you chart the course of destinies, crafting narratives that resonate deeply with our captivating journey. The electrifying suspense of Instagram Story voting continues to redefine this season's dynamics.

Now, let us introduce the embodiment of "Latex Legends" from the enchanting land of Canada 🇨🇦 – the phenomenal @mattwentnorth! He's a symphony of muscle, rubber, and dedication, a true testament to the spirit of our journey. As we delve deeper into OBEY! Season 6, prepare to be entranced by his captivating odyssey.

OBEYSeason6 #Top6Revelation #LatexLegends #VoteForDesire #ShapeTheJourney #CanadianFire

[yuri-on-cards]

Yuri!!! On Cards: The Final Master Post

And so it concludes. With the work of so many artists and writers from the Yuri on the Web Discord server, working together across time (zones) and space (continents), the full deck has been assembled, both as art and stories. This post will include links to everything.

A big THANK YOU to every artist and writer on this project for participating and letting all us mortals enjoy your wonderful works. It's been such a pleasure to do this project. And thank you to everyone who indulged my dumb idea initially. Me making an entire deck by myself would've been dumb (my poor hand) but with all your help this became such a fun group project where no hands were lost.

A special thanks to Lil for being the co-admin on this project, managing everything AO3 because I am useless at that and being there for me to ping pong ideas and desicions off of. I'm not a very desicive person on my own so I really appreciated having someone to share my thoughts with.

Another special thanks to Nic for also being co-admin assembling the entire deck, including making the frames used on every card and making them look damn good. And also for making all the non-picture cards to complete the project. I bow down to you, bestie.

Also, to any curious tumblrinas who have followed along, thank your for your interest! We're glad you like our silly little ideas. And to any new curious tumblrinas, thank you too! The works in this post are made by many different artists and writers and while they're all made from the same outlines, don't expect one big connected universe with no continuity errors. The reigns for this project were pretty loose and it's all just for fun and we hope you'll have some too.

Further information about the outlines and prompts for this project can be found in the main outline, the artists outline and the writers outline.

And with that said, here's the list of all the works, devided by kingdom and character:

The Kingdom of Spades, Realm of Dreams King Yuuri, Wanderer of Dreams Artwork by Arrow Story by Mair Queen Minako, Tamer of Minds Artwork by Arrow Story by Mair Knight Mari, Protector of Innocence Artwork by Nic Story by Mair Ace of the Kingdom Minami, Soul of Symphony Artwork by Tony

The Kingdom of Hearts, Realm of Desires King Viktor, Reflection of Truth Artwork by Riki Story by Arrow Queen Mila, Driver of Passion Artwork by Gront Hat Story by Lil Knight Michele, Carrier of Pride Artwork by Cami Ace of the Kingdom Christophe, Allure of the Soul Artwork by Tony Story by Tony

The Kingdom of Clubs, Realm of Stories King Phichit, Weaver of Legends Artwork by Riki Story by Bakubro Queens Axel, Lutz and Loop, Keepers of Tales Artwork by [user] Knight Sara, Borrower of Sorrows Artwork by Gront Hat Story by Lil Aces of the Kingdom Phichit's Hamsters, Critters of Song Artwork by vicchan

The Kingdom of Diamonds, Realm of Treasure King Yuri, The Orphan King Artwork by Nightmare Story by Levi Queen Georgi, The Broken Star Artwork by Gront Hat Knight Jean Jaques, The False King Artwork by it is i Story by Levi Ace of the Kingdom Otabek, The Deep Shadow Artwork by Arrow Story by Levi

Assigned to no specific kingdom are the Jokers: Makkachin, Joker of Companionship Artwork by Jasper Story by Arrow Vicchan, Joker of Memory Artwork by David Story by Levi

All of the written works can also be found in the Yuri on Cards AO3 collection.

To finish, I want to reiterate my thanks because WOW, y'all did not disappoint with your commitment, I am floored. I mean, have you seen these works? I have no words, at least not any that would suffice and y'all know I never shut up. Thank you so much for indulging me and doing it so wholeheartedly, I'll love y'all forever.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

His Word Goes Forth

CW: Referenced past child abuse, some emeto references (brief, vague), some dissoci@tion towards the end, alcohol references, prostitution references. Just a whole load of references. But I am so excited to finally be able to write this chapter and introduce... Gilly's children.

Bones in the Ocean Masterlist

The Hotel Import, Grand Island, the Colonies

Guilford Wentworth the Fifth - who went by Ford and told everyone who didn’t already know his parentage that his name was Wilford Prose, simply a cousin to the illustrious Wentworth name - woke up to sunlight streaming in through the gauzy curtains, bright like daggers against his closed eyes.

He’d been meant to go to the symphony last night and make some sort of connection with a man whose properties his father admired, a man named Hogarth or something who owned too much land and not enough good common sense to know to avoid anything to do with the Wentworth businesses. Ford had been told to convince him a visit to the Continent would do him good, to stop by the Wentworth estate and meet the elder Guilford.

He’d been told to make many such meetings before, and usually he did as he was told. Ford had ceased to be treated as a child and had become just another tool in his father’s toolbox since his mother died and could no longer shield her children. He’d been good at it at first. 

But now… He was only eighteen and already he was tired of this.

And last night, he’d decided to let tired win the day.

Instead of making contact at the symphony, he’d instead allowed himself to be distracted by the promise of further liquor in a dark men’s club down the street, and spent his night in pursuit of new ways to forget his hated name.

He had succeeded, however briefly.

Unfortunately, the end result was that Ford woke up knowing his own name very well still, but with a headache that threatened to split him in two from temple to chin, a tongue that felt like cotton stuffed into his mouth, and a stomach that was either threatening to empty itself or ravenous for food and it couldn’t seem to decide which.

“Damn the sun,” He groaned, still feeling the ebb and swell of the liquor from the night before within him, stretching against the sheets. There was an ache in his hips that he enjoyed more than he disliked it, and when he tried to open one eye to look down at himself, there were marks of red from someone’s rouge, he thought, along the insides of his thighs. “... huh.”

Rubbing his face, he slowly sat up, squinting against the pain. There was a bottle with at least two good drinks left in it on the table next to the bed, and he drank it all, feeling it burn all the way down.It would help hold off the worst of the ache, though, at least until he could find somewhere darker to hide away from the daylight and a draught of laudanum to send him back to sleep.

Then, when he woke up once more, he’d need to come up with an excuse for why Hogarth Whoever wasn’t already boarding a ship for the Continent, to be swayed by his father’s monster like everyone else was.

That could wait, though. At least for however long it took to sleep off last night, both the alcohol and the pleasures that came with the darker bars and the seedier places in the city. Ocean air and warm nights made pleasures easy to find, and there were plenty of people who wanted money to eat more than they wanted their own virtue intact.

Ford had plenty of money.

Although even the money wasn’t really his.

He sighed, dropping back into the bed. There wasn’t anyone in the bed, although there had been when he went to sleep. Or passed out. Whichever it was that he’d done.

There’d been a young man, his own age - what was his name? It didn’t matter. None of their names mattered. Once they had coins in hand he could call them anything he wanted and they’d do anything they were told. Nothing there beside him now but empty space.

 When he laid his hand there, it was still warm.

“Damn,” He whispered, then checked the other side, where there had been a lovely woman. Had the two known each other? He couldn’t remember. Well, in any case, that space was equally emptied, and it wasn’t warm at all. 

She’d left long before the man had. 

“Well… double damn,” Ford said, voice a little rasping. One of his last clear memories had been shout-singing along with the sea shanties sung by the sailors come on shore to drink and whore with the rest. Had the young man been a sailor on leave? Might have been... “If he told me his name, I forgot it. I rather liked them.”

His eyes drifted closed again.

“Of course you did,” His sister’s voice came, warm as the ocean nearest the shore, dry as the desert wind, breaking through his thoughts. “You like them all, because you are an idiot with money and that makes them like you.”

Ford gasped, his heart half-stopped before his mind caught up and he realized she wasn’t actually in the bedroom, but out in the sitting area where he couldn’t see her - and more importantly, she couldn’t see him. Even so, he felt himself flush and yanked the blankets up to cover himself, sitting upright all at once.

“Nathalie! What in the gods’ names-”

He heard the rustle of the morning paper. “Good morning,” Nathalie said, without even the slightest change in tone. “How are you, dear beloved sister? Oh, I’m fine, Ford, thank you for asking. Did you just arrive, Natty? Why yes, Ford, I did, it is so lovely of you to ask after my health-”

“Fine, fine, Nathalie, I get it. Just-... hold on, let me dress and I’ll join you.” Ford snorted, reaching blindly towards the floor and grabbing at the first pieces of clothing he found there. The suit he’d been meant to wear to the symphony, now a wrinkled mess - but it wasn’t like his sister would care, or even as if it were the first time she’d seen him in disarray after a night wasted. He had to fight a swell of dizzy nausea as soon as he was on his feet, leaning against the wall and letting his fingers scrape the textured wallpaper there, a series of flowers in dim pastels against cream. “How did you get in here, anyway?”

“I asked at the desk if my brother was here carousing with whores,” Nathalie said. The paper rustled again as she turned the page, as if punctuating her sentence. “And the sweet young man at the desk informed me that you were, indeed, carousing with whores. I paid him to let me in and threw out the whore.”

Ford swallowed thickly, walking with slow, careful steps along the cool wooden floor to the doorway, his shirt half-buttoned and the linen a mess of wrinkles. “There were two.”

“Of course there were.” Nathalie set the paper down and turned to look at him. She looked like their mother - both Ford and Nathalie looked like her, thank any god who might have been responsible. They had her delicacy, her bright wide eyes. Nathalie looked the most like her, though. And now she turned their mother’s look of solemn, disappointed judgment on him just like she had. “There was only one when I arrived. I sent him away.”

“Hmph. I thought he was quite nice, I was hoping to seek him out again. I can’t recall if he told me his name, though.” He dropped into a chair at the little breakfast table she’d set herself up at, slumping against the hard wooden back and tipping his head back. The world swayed dangerously around him when he did.

“His name was Darren,” Nathalie said, and when he opened his eyes to look at her, he found that the disappointment had become the slightest hint of a smile at the corner of her mouth. “Darren Meander.”

“That… He cannot have been speaking true to you.”

“I don’t care if he was or wasn’t, it’s what he told me. There, now you have a name if you want to find him again.”

“Thank you. Why did you bother?”

“You get on better with the whores than you do with your own class,” Nathalie said, as if the answer were obvious. “And you’re going to seek them out anyway. Besides, I use you as proof positive to myself of something I have always known.”

“What…?” 

“That I, Lady Nathalie Wentworth, shall never marry, since any man of means or with a good family name may be as dissolute and pointless as you are.” She winked at him, and he might even have found it in himself to laugh if his stomach hadn’t twisted angrily at the thought. “I do enough picking up after you, I don’t think I am in need of any other man to deal with.”

“I’m sure you can find a pious man and get to him before he joins the priesthood,” Ford muttered, his face hot with guilt. She really did so often have to handle things for him, things he should have handled himself as the eldest.

Nathalie was younger than him, only just now sixteen, but she’d always seemed older, more second mother than sister some days. Maybe because, since their mother had died - when he was eleven and she was only nine - she’d done all the mothering of the twins, all the hiding them from the attention of their father, holding them in the night after nightmares or when the coastal storms raged. 

Ford’s job, back then, had been to take the brunt of his father’s anger, keep Guilford’s eyes - and his fists - on him, and only him. It had kept Nathalie and the twins safe, for years… until their lordly father had split them all apart and declared the twins were old enough for finishing school, Ford was ready to take over the business interests in the Colonies, and Nathalie was old enough to run her own household and prepare for marriage.

Still.

They were all still far, far away from their father, and therefore safe from his direct influence, his attention, and his damnable monster.

Still.

Ford sighed, watching a shivery little rainbow from the sun shining through a window just right bounce off the ceiling. “In any case, I’ve hardly caused enough trouble to cross the channel and find you. What are you doing here, anyway?”

Nathalie didn’t look up from the paper she was scanning, but she gestured at a carafe before her. It had freshly-brewed coffee that steamed as he poured it into a teacup, and he sighed happily at the first sip. She hummed. “I came to see you.”

“You’re meant to be up at Howe House.”

“I was up at Howe House. I’ve been supervising it for months. It’s nearly habitable, which is lovely, considering I’ve been habiting there amongst the dust and the mouse droppings all this time.” Nathalie finally set the paper down, crossing her arms on the table and looking Ford over. She was pristine, in a light-blue linen dress made for the hot island days, her hair pulled back in a chignon to keep it from suffocating the back of her neck. “Oh, Ford. You look awful.”

“I feel awful, thank you ever so much for noticing.” He drained the first cup of coffee and poured a second, his tongue flat and numb from the too-hot liquid. He didn’t care. “So if you were at Howe House, why aren’t you there now? It’s a four-day sail to get here from there, and you sent no warning-”

“I absolutely did send you a notice, you shattered teapot of a man. You just haven’t been home in a week, I checked when I arrived. Your servants haven’t seen you since last Wednesday and not a single one had a clue where to find you except your butler.”

“Yes, well, he’s the only one I told when I left that I was going to stay here.” Ford exhaled. His sister’s constant piercing stare wasn’t helping his headache even a little bit. His stomach turned over itself and he fought back the urge to simply be sick all over this lovely table and Nathalie’s lovely dress. “... I hate the house. I avoid it whenever I can.”

“Clearly.” Something in his sister’s bristling manner softened, a little. She reached out to lay a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry, Ford. I know this… wasn’t how we hoped it would be, when we were young.”

Ford laid a hand over hers. His fingers felt chilled and numb - hers, by contrast, felt bright and warm and full of life. “We thought we could go farther from him, that he wouldn’t follow us. But…”

That had been when their mother was alive, and they had thought they could bring her with. Neither of them said it. Both of them heard it, anyway, even unsaid.

Ford cleared his throat. “... but if this is what our father wants, we must help to build and maintain the Wentworth name and fortune.”

“I know.” She squeezed his arm, brief but firm, and then let go of him, glancing back down at the paper. “I know. And we are, however we hate our parts, we play them. For the twins, at least.”

“For the twins. They’ll… be out of school in a few years, and by then, maybe-”

“Maybe.” She cut him off. She poured herself a coffee, then, holding it in both hands. Her nails were bitten nearly to the quick, the one bad habit that had never been broken in her no matter their father’s rages. “I should tell you, Ford, this is not a social visit. I was… sent here to pick you up.”

“You were?” Ford sat up straighter, and felt a frisson of dread like an electric eel moving inside of him. “By-... Nathalie, not by-”

“Yes. By… our father.”

He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. “... why?”

She took in a breath, wincing and pressing one hand to her side as the mere expansion of her ribs pushed against the tightly-fitted bodice. The style of the times, for wealthy young women, and Ford had spent more than a few nights undoing laces of young ladies wondering if ‘style’ was just a pretty way to avoid saying suffocation. At least the lower class women he spent most of his time with were allowed to breathe. 

Nathalie’s voice was so soft it was nearly a whisper. “You were supposed to be packed and ready to go when I arrived, Ford. I was supposed to explain it to you on the ship.”

“... what?” He blinked.

"Father's letter to me made it clear I wasn't to tell you until we were underway, but-... but I meant to regardless, just-... I expected you to have seen my letter."

"... Ah." The mere mention of his father had made his stomach try to rise up in his throat again, and the idea of going back on a ship - the weeks of seasickness and then the week of land sickness afterward when he had to get used to being solid and still once again - made it much much worse. He had to swallow hard as bile rose and lean over, resting his forehead on the cool surface of the table and pressing one hand over his belly to try and calm it with the pressure. 

The morning breeze blew in through the windows, bringing the salt-scent of ocean air with it. There came with the welcome salt the faint hint of dead fish, a simple fact of life everyone tried to ignore. You got used to it. Ford had gotten used to it, in the end. But it didn’t help his stomach feel any better now, or stop his heart from racing. “Father sent you... to pick me up? I am to live at Howe House with you now?” He groaned against the tabletop without looking up. “That house is full of ghosts!”

“It is not.” Nathalie rolled her eyes. He could hear her shoe tapping impatiently under the table and her cup clatter against the saucer as she put it back down. “That’s an old wives’ tale, I’ve never met a single one and I’ve been living there for more than a year.”

“Yeah, because you aren’t the heir, they don’t loathe you like they do me.”

“There are no spirits haunting Howe House,” Nathalie said firmly. “And if there were, why would they hate you?”

“The same reason I have such hatred for myself, due to the blood in my veins! His blood!"

Oh, he’d spoken too loud. The pain in his head spiked with his voice's volume, and he had to close his eyes tightly and breathe in quick, shallow pants until it ebbed again. 

Nathalie was silent, but her hand laid on his back, then, rubbing gently up and down. Just like their mother had, when they were young and came to her with sickness. She gave him a moment or two of quiet, which... it helped, honestly. “You cannot help the circumstances of your birth,” She murmured. “And remember what Mother said."

"It is only blood," Ford muttered, mouth barely moving. "She had no idea how deep the ties of blood run."

"Yes she did. And... I understand, Ford, I wish as much as you that we could change our names and be gone, but you know we can’t."

"The twins need us."

"Yes. Besides, Father-”

“Why, why would Father even think of me? I’ve done everything I can to get him to forget me entirely, Nathalie!”

“Oh, is that what the drinking and whoring were about? Being easily forgotten?” Nathalie’s humor was sharp, but it never quite cut deep. He knew her too well for that, and she was still gentling herself for his sake. He made himself sit up and look over at her. There was something in the set of her face that had his nerves singing in worry. “Listen to me, Ford. You aren’t coming to stay at Howe House.”

“Well, he can’t have sent you to scold me about… this.” He gestured at the wreckage of the hotel suite around him, bottles emptied or half-emptied. It looked as though at least one of his guests the night before had left their shirt behind. Or maybe that was one of his, and it had been unpacked… He’d never seen it before, but that didn’t mean much. Ford’s clothing was bought according to his father’s specifications, he never knew of it until he was sent for tailoring. “He doesn’t even know about it.”

“You cannot be sure, but… no, no, it’s not about this.” She licked at her lips, looking uneasily over to the window. Outside, the sun shone in a perfect, cloudless blue sky. The sound of people going about their lives down there filtered up to them. “... Ford. He calls us. We have been summoned... home.”

His heart chilled at the word. "No."

"Yes." Nathalie exhaled, folding her hands in front of her. She looked everywhere but him, and he tried without success to follow her gaze. “He’s… sent for us, Ford. You know why. You know what that means.”

“Either of us, really.” His voice was a whisper, airless. The hotel suite around him seemed suddenly transparent, as if he weren’t even seated here within it. As if it were all a pretty fiction, a daydream he had at night with Wentworth Manor crowding ever closer, his father’s eyes everywhere searching for faults, always finding them. His father’s monster with teeth bared and loathing in its dreadful eyes. “It could be for either of us. You’re sixteen, I’m eighteen, it could-... it could be for you, or for me, it could be-”

“... I think it’s for you.” She took his hand in both of hers again, and this time she held on tight. They looked at each other, with their mother’s eyes, and Ford felt the wave of fear he had spent his time here on the islands trying to escape breaking over his head, to drag him under again. “I think Father has found you a wife.”

The sun shone. Birds sang. The ocean was a constant dull, reassuring roar just outside the window. Despite the heat, Ford shivered with a depthless chill and felt water closing over his head, drowning him in the dark with all his fears coming suddenly to life.

“How-” His voice broke.

He had to swallow down terror, just like he had done since he was a child, and straighten his shoulders. He had to tell himself the world was only a play, and he was only a part his father had imperfectly cast. He had to keep his own life at a distance, and not feel it, or he would feel too much. The world had too many sharp edges, and he must stand apart from them or be slashed to ribbons. “Nathalie-”

“Please,” Nathalie whispered. “Please don’t ask, Ford. Don't, I won't know the answer, none of us know."

“How long?”

She didn’t answer, only looked away. He could see the glimmer in her eyes, knew it for what it was. It made the world feel even more distance, as if he were adrift in a lifeboat, the tide carrying him away from his own body. The escape was a gift or a curse, and he didn't know which.

His mouth still moved, without his consent. Without his decree. It asked the question neither of them knew the answer to, the question that haunted every Guilford Wentworth but the first.

“After I’m married, Nathalie... after he has given me to his bride, and the monster has taken my mind and will from me... after he has me shut up in his house again..."

His voice felt like someone else's. His body was only a creation that carried blood to a new generation, to give his father more power. He was far, far away from it.

"Nathalie-"

"Please, Ford-"

"How long will he... let me live?”

-

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