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flw3rrr · 11 months ago

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Ruined by me, known forever

Paring: Billy the kid x fem!reader

18+ Mdni NSFW

Warnings: Smut, Cursing, Choking (not hard), Blood, PnV (wrap it up yall), Oral (Fem receiving ) short Alcohol usage, cream pie, degrading, whore shaming. (please be free to let me know if anything else is needed to be added💖) No description of reader

(I've never written full on smut only like shorts so this should be a fun way to learn, NOT PROOFREAD sorry for any typos)

word count: 2.3k

Summary: You've known Billy for quite a while. Knowing him best, and him knowing you. You've both seemed to have something deep within you both, desperately seeking to know one another's feelings. Until Billy hears your father had put you in an arranged marriage with some wealthy man. leading him to Take you to bed.

Billy was walking down the dirt road, face all bloody after a fight in the saloon. His face was all sore, possibly even with a broken nose on the side. The fight started after someone tried framing Billy as cheating during a game of poker, which led to a messy fight.

Walking down, the crickets made their common noise. stinging feeling around his jaw after being punched to the point of blacking out. Getting up onto his horse, Billy had only one thing on his mind to ease this aching pain he felt. He wanted to see you. wanting to feel the warmth of your body and hear your sweet voice, which he so much admired.

He got up on his horse and began to start his journey to your house. It wasn't far, but it took some time to arrive, just in time for him to gain a bit of his consciousness back. In order to see you, it had been some time since you both were with each other. Billy had been busy with his own things involving Jesse and his gang. doing whatever work needed to be done, getting money, or getting beaten the shit out of over the smallest things.

As for you, you just did whatever society lets women do. It wasn't much, of course. There were book clubs reading silly romance books, doing embroidery on the side, or some parties you were luckily invited to. But nowadays, life doesn't offer much; the only thing that was set for women was marriage, becoming a school teacher, or, if you were brave enough, becoming an outlaw.

Just then, Billy sees the faint house across the horizon. The only light to be seen was the one around the house. porch lights on and near the farm house that carried the horses. As the minutes passed and he got closer, he could feel his desire grow more and more. the desire to see you and to hold you in his arms.

Leaving his horse in a hidden spot away from eyes who may see his horse, those eyes being your father, who didn't really like Billy and wanted him to be as far away from you as possible, but that never worked out as you both found a way to be within another's company. Enjoying every little moment, even if it was a quick hello or a wave across the dirt road from the small town. Nothing really happened between you both, like romance or something. but you both could feel the thick tension between you both. A little stare into one another's eye for a hot moment, but nothing went as far as you both quietly prayed for.

Seeing the outline of your body through the lace curtains, he threw a tiny rock at the wall, gaining your attention. He couldn't knock at the door; if he wanted to, your father would hear and possibly come with a shotgun, leaving Billy with a hole through his head. No, he didn't want to risk that, especially if you would have to see it. So while waiting, you opened your curtains along with the window, looking down at Billy. Gasping at the sight of him seeing his bloody face almost dry up, looking more ruined than ever.

“Billy, Oh my god what has happened to you?” you uttered out. Looking in a state of shock and concern.

Billy looked at you as he sighed, moving his neck around in discomfort. "Just some silly fight. No reason to be worried," he groaned as he started to climb up to your window. Meeting you face-to-face and giving you a quick peck on your cheek before moving you out of the way carefully before he sat on your bed, inhaling as he relaxed. As you hurried out of your bedroom quickly, returning with a wet rag, taking his face with your hand, and carefully dabbing it over the blood. Hissing as it stung, you let out a quiet apology. His blue eyes were looking into yours as you tried to be as careful as possible not to hurt him anymore.

"Well, you know how I feel when you get injured like this. breaks me every time. You know how I feel about you. when seeing you like this." Stopping your actions as you looked at him for a moment, silence loomed over both of you, the heat outside looming in. "I know, but both of us know we can't stop what happens," he said softly. Glancing at your ring finger as you continue working on cleaning him. A shiny engagement ring sits, looking as if it were expensive. and it possibly was.

Leaning up, Billy takes your left hand into his, looking at it, staring deeply, then looking back up at you with confusion all over his face. "whats this?" looking at you intensely. You stayed quiet. Ashamed to come forth about your recent engagement Your father had put you up with. It was to some young fellow man your age who was in the business and had money. He saw it as an opportunity to gain more money for both sides. "Uhm, Billy, I'm engaged. It wasn't my choice; it was my father's. I didn't want it, but he said I had to go through with it." You uttered out, looking at him ashamed. It hurt you deeply knowing your heart belonged to Billy and Billy only, yet he didn't know that.

Looking at you with Sympathy, then back down to the ring that sat there, looking back at him, mocking him Then back to you. "Do you love him?" He asked. He seemed heartbroken. Some would take it as if he felt upset that he'd be losing a friend, but no, he would lose someone he loved. You let out a huff, shaking your head. "Are you mad? Of course I don't, because I know he would not love me. It is not fair that I was put into this thing." Looking at him, quite offended that he'd ask you such a silly question. "Listen," he stuttered, trying to find his words and the correct way to word them out. "I'm not really sure how to say this, but I'd be damned to see you marrying another man. I just cannot stand the thought of you loving someone who's not me."

Becoming stunned by what you hear, your heart starts to beat faster than ever. wondering if your ears heard what you heard, or just deceiving you. Billy looks at you with desperation. Taking his hand to cradle your cheek, he looks into your eyes, filled with desire. "Billy, you know we can't," you whispered, feeling the heat and tension grow thicker. "I know, but I can tell from the way you look at me that some days you feel the way I do." Slowly moving your hand up, you wrap your hand around his wrists, looking at him, frowning but sighing. "Billy, please..." you beg. wishing him to give you the memory you'll keep in your head forever.

"As long as you agree, I'll give you whatever you want. I'll make sure I'm known forever. That way, you'll know who was the one who took your innocence." His finger is grazing across your lip. Looking at you with an intense look of burning desire Getting tired of waiting, you slam your lips against his. His tongue is fighting against yours as he guides you to straddle him. his hand

moving to your waist, holding them tightly as you place your arms around his neck, pushing the kiss deeper and deeper. A moan slips from your mouth, leaving Billy to gain more motivation, flipping you over the bed, the skirt of your nightgown lifting up as he holds himself above you. His hand slid down, pushing the skirt up more, revealing nothing underneath.

Smirking to himself, he moves his hand to slide down your folds. Letting out a soft cry of pleasure, "I haven't even done anything yet, and you're already soaking for me, hm? Who knew you were a dirty thing?" He let out a huff before slowly lowering his head down to your core. Holding yourself up on your elbows, you watch him as his mouth lands on your folds. Your head is falling back immediately, and you are putting your hand around your mouth to silence any sound that may appear. "No, don't. I want to hear from you. I need to," Billy said as he began to suck onto your clit area. Your hand is immediately grabbing onto this hair.

The pleasure was intensified by the second, as he moved his tongue around your folds. Your moans fill his ears, and he feels himself getting harder by the second of your cries of pleasure. Feeling the heat and intense bliss of ecstasy slowly building up. "Billy im..." You said, Barely able to get a word out of you gripping onto his hair more as he began to slide his tongue more quickly against you, guiding to your release. "Let go for me, Cum for me," he said. The vibration of his voice reached your slick folds, finally making your cum around his face.

Out of breath, you watched him lean up. The glow of your orgasm on his face was sticky and wet. He kisses you deeply, tasting yourself on his lips. Moaning into the kiss, you feel his hardness against you, grinding into You slowly, letting a deep groan out. Pulling away from the kiss, you look at him, desperately wanting to feel him inside you. "Please, I need you so bad." You whined. never thinking you'd be begging like this one day in your life. "What was that? I couldn't hear you that well." Billy smirked to himself, loving the way you begged. Rolling your eyes, you huff up the courage and speak out. "I want you to fuck me, Billy. I love you so much that I need it now or I believe I may die," you say, the blush appearing on your face.

Your words left Billy completely astonished, never thinking such words would come out of your mouth, yet they did. Quickly undoing his belt and pulling his pants down, he revealed his hard-throbbing cock. He slowly pulled you closer to him, pulling your nightgown Off exposing your breasts. Leaning down, he sucked on your breast as his other hand worked on massaging the other. Letting out another cry of moans, you tried to discreetly try to control not to awaken someone. His hands guiding your legs to wrap around his waist. Feeling him rub himself against through your soaking folds

lining himself to your entrance, looking at you once again, fully looking if you are ready and still wish to go through with this. Giving him a nod, he slowly slides in. You tightly squeeze around him, making his head throw back, biting his lip, and groaning. slowly bottoming fully out, waiting for you to adjust fully. Once you give him the sign, he starts to thrust into you hard. You let out a loud cry, praying your parents didn't hear such a dirty sound come out of you. "Yeah, take that like the dirty whore you are," his words filled up with arousal and sexual desire. Your back arches as his degrading words bring some type of feeling in you. Enjoyment? Yes, you absolutely loved it.

His hand wrapped around your neck tightly, not tight to the point where you weren't able to breathe. No, it was at the perfect tightness. "Fuck, Oh my god... right there." You sob out as tears fall from your eyes. It was the most pleasure you felt in your entire life. You've masturbated here and there for something, but no, this was more than that. It was everything, and you didn't want it to ever stop. "How would your family be if they knew how much of a dirty slut you are, hm?" he cooed mockingly. His thrusts began to go sloppy and rough, bringing his thumb to rub your clit in a circle. "Billy, don't stop, please. Right there, I'm so close." Looking down, he sees the white, creamy ring forming around his cock.

"Come on... Cum for me. I know you want it badly. Don't hold yourself back."He huffed out, sweat forming on his temple. His eyes were staring into yours deeply. Eyes full of love—the type of love where he would never let you go and forever call you his. But he knows that will never happen. and it is broken. Your back began to arch once more, stuttering your words as you came, with him following behind you and cumming inside of you. "Fuck..." He quietly spoke, the warmth filling up your womb. Both of you lay there, catching your breath, sweaty and sticky. Looking at each other once more before kissing him deeply. "I loved you for a while, and it hurts to know it took us so long to express our feelings." You watched him as he slid out of you before putting his pants back on.

Billy took a bottle of whiskey you hid sometimes for when he came over to drink and complain about things in life. sitting back next to you before taking a swig and hanging it on you. "Truly, but let this moment of the night be my gift for you to never forget me," he stated before whispering in your ear. "And that every time he fucks you, you'll be thinking of me instead." Kissing your neck and looking at you with an unspoken agreement between you both, you'll never forget this moment.

hoping you and he will one day be able to do this, as your future husband will be out on a business trip. You know he has a mistress anyway, so it would be fair, you thought. Kissing him once more, you'd know he'd be your safe place.

#billy the kid #billy the kid x reader #billy the kid smut #william bonney #tom blyth #cowboy smut #william bonney smut #billy the kid 2022

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corazondebeskar-reads · 10 months ago

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live to rise - chapter four

live to rise series

four: where the light won't find you

series masterlist | prev chapter | next chapter

gladiator!Din Djarin x f!reader

word count: 4.3k

summary: After the Mandalorian is removed from your barrack and you are given a new assignment, you see him fight for the first time.

chapter warnings: graphic descriptions of violence, canon-typical violence, genre-typical violence, rape/non-con (NOT involving reader or Din but they are witness to it), implied physical abuse, near-death encounter, mando fic tropes galore

Please heed the series and chapter warnings.

also on ao3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

Reassigned. Not terminated. Reassigned. Your hand rests on your heaving chest as you try to settle from the surprise of it all.

The Mandalorian’s been sponsored.

You hadn’t thought it possible; his price was supposedly astronomical. This person must be obscenely rich.

And then your heart drops further. This is why you shouldn’t have gotten so close. Yes, you’d rather have him leave your barracks alive than dead, but you can’t help the wave of sorrow that crests. You had enjoyed his company immensely, even dismissing the feelings you weren’t acknowledging.

It’s not like you didn’t treat each parting as potentially permanent anyway, but sometimes, with your long-term residents, you got a little too comfortable.

You pack up the bedding hastily and head toward Cresh. You know he won’t still be there, you tell yourself, you’re just going to get the cell turned over as soon as possible.

It hurts a little to find it empty, anyway.

Cresh goes through three more C-5s before you hear about the Mandalorian again.

“How did you deal with him?” Hali asks you one night after the attendants have shared the day’s news.

“With who?” you ask, even though there’s no one else she could mean.

“That Mandalorian. He was so gruff and rude. I’m the fifth attendant he’s rejected, and it’s making everyone on edge. Like there’s something wrong with us .”

You shrug it off. “He’s just guarded. He probably doesn’t want someone in his space.”

“Yeah, well,” she grumbles. “It’s not like we want to be in his space.”

“Has anyone explained that to him?”

“I tried to,” she says. “But it’s like he wouldn’t even listen to me.”

Cold clarity finds you with your lips parted and eyes wide. You can’t tell her. But your stomach sinks. The design of those cells puts him at the back of the chamber. If they’re being quiet, from fear or otherwise, he can’t hear them.

They come for you the next day. Two guards. The fear when they beckon you is almost enough to bring you to your knees.

The only reason you don’t panic completely is because they don’t bind you. They just march you between them to the upper levels.

When you reach the lounge, they shove you through the door, and you stumble a little.

“This is the girl, as requested, Madame, but we really can’t spare her from her duties,” says one of the commanders. You don’t know his name; the officers never come downstairs.

“If she’s the only attendant he’ll accept, you don’t have a choice. Or am I paying these frankly extortionary caretaking fees for nothing?”

You stiffen, all nerves sparking on high alert.

The commander stammers a little, losing his composure when he realizes credits are on the line.

“I can handle both, Commander, I swear," you say, immediately wishing you hadn't.

The Mandalorian's sponsor turns slowly, a thin eyebrow arched. You figure you’re already in for it for speaking out of turn, so you clench your jaw and meet her eyes.

She’s petite, but there’s an undeniable aura of danger pouring from her. Her dark eyes are cold, and her plum lips narrowed. Her clothing is intricate and expensive in the way of the truly wealthy—it’s not dripping with jewels or gold; it’s quality fabric tailored immaculately, with delicate embroidery creating striking and flattering designs. She does wear jewelry, but it’s subtle and almost assuredly custom.

“Why you?” she says.

“I don’t know,” you admit. “I was his barrack caretaker.”

She hums and blatantly looks you up and down, circling you like a nexu. You keep your head up and force yourself not to follow her with your eyes. To let her prowl and remain uncowed.

It’s unbecoming of a servant, you know. But you want her to know you can handle him, that you won’t be intimated and manipulated by the infamous Mandalorian.

When she comes back around, she has a pleased, sharp grin. Turning to the commander, she crosses her arms.

“Make it happen, or I’ll withdraw my sponsorship.”

“Yes, Madame,” he says.

You don’t want to leave the barracks. Not Cresh and not the servant’s quarters. It doesn’t really hit you until you hug Eli and realize you’ll barely see him anymore.

“Shut up,” he grumbles when you say as much. “You’re going to come by and report, right?”

You nod, sniffling into his tunic. “I will.”

He puts his hands on your shoulders. “This is a good thing. You’ll have better… everything. And you said you trust him, right?”

“I think so,” you say.

“C’mon, I’ll walk with you,” he says.

You shove his shoulder. “You just want to see what it’s like inside.”

“Well, duh,” he shoves you back.

He only gets to peek in, of course. But he still plays it up to get a smile from you. “This is kriffing wizard,” he teases. “You get your own fresher? Practically Canto Bight.”

But you’re not really seeing it through the same lens. Because your new quarters are in the Mandalorian’s cell. There’s a barred gate between you, but your cot is still behind the solid durasteel door, same as his.

Eli sees the fear on your face. “It’s okay,” he murmurs. “It’s not locked for you. Your badge will always open it.”

He sets your bag down on the small cot and hugs you again. “You know where to find me.”

“I will,” you say. You don’t catch the look he gives Mando over your shoulder.

You sit down on the cot when Eli leaves, more unmoored here than you’ve been in years. You let it sit, ugly and misshapen in your chest, before steeling your focus.

“Do you have everything you need?” you say.

“I think so,” he says.

“Okay,” you say, and silence resettles. It’s strange to feel so uncertain around him again. “I’ll go retrieve your dinner.”

“Do you eat here as well?” he asks.

“If you wish,” you say. Your hands are folded together and wrapped up in the top apron layer of your skirts.

“I don’t want to disrupt your routine,” he says.

“I’m here to attend to you,” you remind him, feeling a little frustrated by all the things unsaid.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s—it’s nothing,” you say and sigh. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

He’s almost relieved when you only bring one tray. Everything about this has been chaotic and messy. But it’s a sacrifice that has to be made.

You retrieve his tray when you return from dining with the others, but this time, you come back to him after. The lights are out, and you think he might be asleep already, so you duck into the fresher from your side of the bars and wash up for the night.

You settle onto your cot, almost grateful that it’s not any more comfortable than your old one. It’s strange, without the shuffling and snoring of your peers.

And then it starts. A horribly unmistakable sound from the cell next door. You hope you’re wrong. You pray you’re wrong.

You’re not.

You sit up, fingers digging into your knees, and eyes on the ground.

You can’t see into the cells around you, but you can certainly hear your neighboring attendant’s screams and cries.

They’re begging and pleading, but no one will help them. It’s the champion’s right. The attendants must serve every request unless it goes against arena rules.

Very few things do.

It’s not that you’re afraid of the Mandalorian. It’s more like you’re just afraid. But he’s done nothing to lose your trust, so you try not to flinch when he comes near the bars between his cell and your chamber.

While you manage not to, you do flinch each time the noises intensify or change. The sound of skin against skin is constant, but some are more obviously violent, emphasized by the nauseating responses.

“Hey,” he says. “Come here.”

You’re trembling a little, but you tense and try to hold steady as you stand and approach him. The gate is not locked. It only locks when you access the main door, so that you may come and go without releasing him.

If you’re inside? All he has to do is push.

But he doesn’t. “Don’t listen,” he says. “Cover your ears if you have to.”

“I’m fine,” you say.

He doesn’t quite catch it, but he can wager a solid guess from your expression. He sighs. “You can look at me, you know,” he says. “You’ll see me eventually.”

“I might be able to avoid it,” you say.

“I appreciate it,” he says. “But this is all going to be easier if you don’t have to be trying so hard.”

“It’s okay. I don’t want to take anything from you.”

“I’m asking you to. I don’t want the first time you see my face to be in the arena.”

You bite your lip. It makes sense. “You’re sure?”

“I am.”

And you can’t really argue. Not because you’re supposed to do what he says but because you get it. He’s right; you will see him in the arena. But he can control how it happens this way. It doesn’t have to be another thing they just take.

So you look.

Your eyes scan his face like they always do when you see one of your fighters for the first time. Searing it in so you can find it later in the pigments.

You won’t paint him, though. Not like this.

He holds steady eye contact. You feel like he’s waiting for a reaction, but nothing comes. He’s beautiful, but that’s not yours to say.

“I’m sorry,” you say instead.

“Thank you.” He pauses. “Worked, though, didn’t it?”

You blink at him for a moment.

The smallest shadow of a crooked smile flickers but doesn’t ignite. “Distracted you.”

The hall is quiet. You hadn’t realized, but the horrors next door had wound down. Stars, you hope they’re okay. Sleeping or tending their wounds. Not… well. Not forcibly silenced.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says, drawing your eyes back to him. His fingers wrap around a bar near yours. Not touching, but inviting.

“Okay.” You’re not really sure what else to say. You’ve heard it before. Some mean it, some don’t. You think he’s genuine, that he’s safe, but that caution is like a little burn that never heals, leaving you to flinch away.

Your fingers twitch, and he thinks you’re about to touch his.

But you wince when the main door of the neighboring cell opens. His eyes bear a plea he won’t voice, but you only hesitate for a moment before pressing your badge to the scanner. His gate clicks and the door whooshes open.

They’re already ducking into the medbay when you catch up, so you stick your hand in front of the sensor to force the doors back open.

It’s the girl whose name you couldn’t remember on the Mandalorian’s first night. Sessa. She startles and whirls around when she hears you, hand pressed to her chest.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you," you say quietly.

She looks at you for a moment, something hauntingly empty in her eyes before she seems to recognize you. She covers her face with her hands.

“Please,” you whisper. “Is there anything I can do?”

“I—” her voice breaks, and you step closer, offering an embrace she folds into.

You don’t say anything. What could you? That you’re sorry? She knows. That it’ll be okay? It won’t. It’s horrible, she doesn’t deserve it, it’s inhumane, but none of those things will help her. She knows.

She doesn’t even really cry. It aches, but the tears don’t come, just the soft prickle of numbness. She’ll survive this, you think. She shouldn’t have to, but she will.

When the time for softness has faded, you let her pull back, and she lets you assess her. She sits on the counter with an ice pack to her cheek and drinks the tea you press into her hand. Her nose wrinkles at the bitter taste, but the tincture within is worth it. A reassurance. Nothing will come of this that she can’t bear.

When she leaves, she hugs you again, and you stay behind in the dark room, leaning against the counter with your arms folded over your chest.

It wasn’t a secret, what happened here. It didn’t always; a lot of the fighters are honorable people. But sometimes… sometimes this life warps the psyche beyond repair. Sometimes, desperate people do desperate things. Become something terrible to survive.

You just hadn’t been witness to the cruelty before.

When you go back, Mando is still awake. Waiting, you think.

“Is she—” he hesitates. He doesn’t want to ask if she’s okay, because the answer is no. It’s not really what he’s asking, anyway.

You nod, lips pursed tight. She’ll live, your silence says. And it’ll have to be enough.

It’s strange. Waking in his cell but rising to follow your old habits anyway. He gets served first, and then you take breakfast down to Cresh as if nothing has changed. Except you can’t linger, you can’t chat and learn of them as you used to. You have to return to the Mandalorian.

It’s strange for the both of you. Your time is usually spent busy or with the other servants. His time is usually spent alone. He doesn’t have a fight that first day and so you are forced to learn to navigate one another.

The gate between you remains closed.

He does push-ups while you fold laundry, executes a series of jumps that cycle between laying on the floor and springing to his feet that exhaust you just to see from the corner of your eye while you clean, and balances on his hands—one and both—while you flip through the agenda on your datapad and try not to be caught impressed.

It’s quiet, this life, with neither of you inclined to interrupt the other. You let him know when you phase in and out to attend to your duties and his needs. Otherwise, you don’t really speak until nightfall.

“I’m sorry,” he says in the safety of the dark. “I didn’t know it would create more of a burden for you. I just… couldn’t trust anyone else.”

“It’s not a burden, just a change. I understand,” you say softly.

He sighs, an edge of frustration biting. “I disrupted your routine.”

You snort. “So?”

“I separated you from your friends.”

You sigh. “Will it make you feel better if I pretend to be mad?”

“Why aren’t you?”

You sit up on your cot. “Nothing about this life is fair, and it’s all temporary. Everyone leaves, one way or another. Everything shifts. This is just another phase of my time here, and there’s no point in being upset about it.”

He lets it sit for a minute. “How long have you been here?”

“Three years. I have just under two left.”

The weight of the time is not lost on him, and you can see the hint of a grim smile. “You haven’t let it break you.”

You return the smile. “Not yet.”

He reclines against the wall, legs sprawled and dangling over the side of his bed. “For what it’s worth, I truly am sorry. It was a selfish thing for me to ask of you.”

“I’m glad you’re not alone.” You mean it. It may have disrupted what you knew before, but getting moved here did the same for him. And it took away his opportunity to talk to others. “I’m glad you trust me with this.”

He sighs, bittersweet. “Me too.”

Something shifts, then, that you’re grateful for. The guilt and awkwardness dissipate and leave behind that budding comradery you had started to forge together. A sense of peace.

It’s one of the better nights of sleep you’ve had in a long time.

You’ve never been in the stands before, let alone in the box. Though it’s exposed to the open sun, the vents wash it in cool air, unlike the curved benches where the crowds jeer and hiss.

No, up here in the sponsor box, surrounded by the important and the rich, you’re considered fortunate. The Mandalorian’s sponsor is late, but you’re in place. While he waits for battle, your services shift to her.

“You’re still here,” the Madame says as she approaches her seat.

You stand to the side, stiff and silent, until she draws near. “Yes, Madame.”

She gives you an appraising once-over. “Good.” Her voice is as sharp as her eyes, and she settles to watch.

You don’t really know the protocol here. Your days serving in the lounge were passed silently, circling the room with a loaded tray. Here, you’re meant to cater to her alone.

She doesn’t speak to you, though. Doesn’t acknowledge you. She lounges, coiled and elegant, like a tree viper.

You don’t want to watch the fights. You don’t. But you know, now, that you must. You owe it to the barrack caretakers; you can’t leave this responsibility to the other attendants alone. You all bear the burden together.

When the first fight ends in a double loss, both fighters fatally wounded, you know you’re not strong enough for this. The nausea rises until all you smell is blood, a phantom sense as the sand turns red beneath each pair’s feet. You’re shaking and all you can think is how glad you are not to have to hold a tray of glasses.

And then it’s time.

The Madame sits up, focused, and you know. Teeth dig into the soft flesh of your cheek to hold your breath steady and shallow. Quiet as possible, as if you need to strain to hear what’s playing out in front of you.

And you think, he should not be caged, for he is power and beauty and ferociousness. You can see why his people followed him to death. He is death.

His opponent lands exactly one strike, and you almost think the Mandalorian allowed it. Like he was gauging the strength and will. He prowls, teeth bloodied and bared, a snarl natural in the set of his lips. You think it’s laid in beskar steel, a scar you can’t smooth out into the soft curve of a smile.

No, that’s been stolen from him, too.

He asks his opponent’s name, and you think he’s carving it into his ribcage, so each time he breathes, it impresses upon his lungs.

When he moves, it’s calculated. Like the arena is a map he’s plotting, each strike or dodge choreographed and steadfast. There are no weapons today, just fists, and though his opponent has the advantage of razor-sharp teeth, they never even come close to slicing him open.

And then it’s over. The Mandalorian’s broad hands dwarf the other fighter’s jaw as he secures his grip and snaps. The body falls limp and the Mandalorian sneers at the crowd before he looks up.

There’s no way he can see you, but it feels like it. It feels like he sees you there, and doesn’t find what he was afraid of.

He’s not in the room when you get back down, and you pre-set his towels and clean clothes, so you won’t need to go hunting them down if he wants to shower. It’s still mid-afternoon, and you’re buzzing with the leftover cocktail of adrenaline and cortisol when he comes back.

Neither of you speaks at first as he goes into his half of the cell and cracks his knuckles, sighing deeply once the main doors are shut.

“Are you okay?” he says.

You’re surprised until you realize you shouldn’t be. He knows how weak you are. “Yeah,” you say.

“Are you afraid of me now?” he says quietly, not looking at you.

Oh. You get up and come closer to the gate. “No. I’m not.”

He meets your eyes and must find the truth in them, nodding grimly. “So what did you think?”

“Why do they have you fight with a shirt on?”

His eyes widen. “What?”

“Well, it’s just, they usually—um.”

“What?”

“They usually make the more attractive fighters wear as little as possible. You know. To appeal to the crowds.”

Huh. He thought it was a choice made by the few he’d seen showing skin. And then he can’t help it. You won’t look him in the eye, and he can’t resist. “You think I’m one of the more attractive fighters?” he teases.

Your cheeks burn, and you look very seriously at the ground. “I—I mean like, um, objectively—“

He spares you. “It’s because of my tattoos. They don’t want me out there covered in Mandalorian symbology.”

“Oh,” you say, imagination kicking off. “Can I—I’m sorry, that’s so inappropriate of me. I just… like… art.” It sounds so stupid and crude, but you mean it.

“I’ll show you when I’m clean,” he says with a shrug.

He always seems to understand. It’s a comfort you’ve never known before.

When he gets out of the fresher, though, you realize you have severely overestimated yourself. Because your first thought when he steps into his room is fuck. He’s big. You know he’s big. And broad. But without a shirt on? Stars. And he’s still a little wet, his crumpled curls dripping down his shoulders.

You have got to get yourself under control. You’re pretty sure you’ve already been busted, though, because he’s suddenly looking at you, something a little dark in the lines of his face, and you feel flayed under his disapproval.

Your brain reboots in time to recover, though, as you really do take in the way his skin is bathed in black ink. A lot of it is abstract, sharp angles and curving arcs intertwining with constellations and letters in a language you don’t recognize. Some of it almost looks like smears of paint, the ink laid across his body in a manner so akin to brushstrokes that the craftsmanship is breathtaking.

But there are a few pieces that differ, ones that stand out against the intricate patterns. You realize you’ve stepped up to the gate once he does the same.

“These are incredible,” you say. “How long did this take?” You nod at the swirl of ink on his bicep that wouldn’t look out of place in your own work.

“A very long time,” he says.

“I’ve never seen anything like it. What was your first one?”

He turns around, and you’re struck by the mythosaur skull that takes up most of his back. It’s almost shimmering.

“The ink…” you start.

He turns back around. “It’s imbued with beskar.”

Your jaw drops. “It’s what?”

“It’s—I’m going to be honest, I don’t fully understand the process. But we use a small amount of molten beskar in the ink for certain tattoos. These have it, too.” He indicates the two on his front that had stood out from the rest.

“Do you mind if I ask what they are? Why they’re the ones that use beskar?”

“No,” he says casually. “They’re things that I should never be without, parts of my armor that can never be fully taken. This,” he taps the diamond-esque design on his chest, “is a beskar’ta. Every Mandalorian has one. It’s the heart.”

You’re staring, unashamed, as he indicates the other glimmering mark on his shoulder.

“This is a mudhorn, the symbol of my clan. Someday, my son will have the same one. He’s too young. Or, well. He’s…” he pauses like he can’t decide if he wants to get into this. “He’s not ready yet.”

“So… so you always have it with you. Your armor. The beskar.”

“Yes. Not everyone gets them, but many do.”

“That’s beautiful.” You’re a little speechless. Not just from the beauty of the art but the sheer idea. “That’s…”

“You can see why Gideon doesn’t want them to be seen.”

“Yeah,” you say, a small scoff slipping out. “No kidding.”

You step back, and he tugs on his shirt, ruffling his still-damp hair like nothing world-shattering has happened. And yet, the room seems to have tilted and knocked you to the side, the shift undeniable.

You don’t realize why until you remember the look on his face when he caught you staring the first time. It wasn’t discomfort. It was hunger.

It’s not a tension, exactly, that settles between you. It’s more like an acknowledgment. Something is going to change. It’s just a matter of when. And it lingers in the air for weeks.

It happens, like almost all things here, in the wake of fear.

You return to the cell before him, having fled the box as soon as his narrowest victory was called. Not that it gave you much of a head start, but you had time to grab a medpack and fresh clothes before they brought him in.

He never uses the arena freshers anymore, not even just to wash away the sticky, fresh blood. No, he’s still quite coated in it when the door snicks shut behind him, his face gaunt and haunted.

You think, at first, that he was afraid to die.

Who moves first is irrelevant. Your only focal point in the galaxy is the way he feels pressed right against you, fingers digging into your soft flesh like he’s trying to pull you into his ribcage as you embrace.

You’re not being much gentler, clinging on as you shake with unshed tears.

He lets go of your waist to clutch your face in his bloody hands. “Promise me you won’t watch.”

“What?” you say, rearing your head back to look at his furrowed brows and pouted lips.

“Don’t watch. When it happens. I don’t want you to have to see.”

Oh. “Stop,” you whisper, but he’s shaking his head.

“It’s all I could think about. Look away, and don’t find out what they do with my body. Promise me, kar’talyc.”

All that comes out is a sob when you try to argue.

His hand cups the back of your head, and he pulls you against his still-soaked chest.

Once you’ve settled a little, he pulls back but leaves his hands on your shoulders. “Promise.”

“Mando—“

“Din.”

You blink at him for a moment. “What?”

“My name is Din.”

next chapter

*Din calls her kar'talyc, which basically means "bleeding heart" (from kar'ta, meaning "heart," and talyc, meaning "bloody.") He's been calling her that in his head since the last chapter.

*tattooed Din and his mythosaur were inspired by this art by @xxlumos

*title from "Everybody Wants to Rule the World" by Tears for Fears, but I listened to the Lorde version while writing this and highly recommend it for the vibes. The original is quite a different mood lol.

#din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #mando x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x you #mando x you #din djarin x f!reader #the mandalorian x f!reader #the mandalorian fic #gladiator!din djarin #fic: live to rise

84 notes · View notes

muzzlemouths · 4 months ago

Note

Were the DMD boys ever witnesses to a baby's firsts? Like first words or first steps?

Superstar Shopping Center, circa 1977

“Did you need help with that?”

Sun moseys up to a mother who looks like she’s got her hands full – literally. Four shopping bags balanced on one arm and a baby in the other. A second child — five or six, if he had to guess — clings to the tail of her mother’s jacket in lieu of a free hand, dressed in her Sunday Best. She ducks behind her mother’s arm as Sun nears and addresses him with a look tied between awe and apprehension.

Contrarily, her mother regards Sun with nothing but relief, handing over all but one of her bags the moment his hands extend to take them. “Well, thank you!” She reorients the remaining bag to sit at her elbow so the little girl at her side has a proper handhold and gently scolds her for continuing to hide.

“It’s quite alright,” Sun assures her with a kind smile. He crouches to be more at eye-level with the child and offers her a little wave, taking no offense to the way she peeks only slightly out from behind her mother. “That’s a very pretty dress,” he says. It’s a Carter's collared plaid, Christmas-time red, with a white dog-eared collar and rabbit embroidery. Perfectly suited for the season. “Are you headed somewhere special?”

“Just down to Shutterbug,” the mother laughs, answering Sun’s question when her daughter doesn’t budge. “I know it’s still early in the season, but I have an endless list of things to get around to before the month’s end, so we’re just going to get our photos done now, and the family will just receive their cards a little early, this year.”

“Oh, certainly,” he nods sagely, as if he’s even once sent a Christmas card himself, “better to get it over and done with before everyone and their mother realizes they’ve forgotten to sign and seal their envelopes!”

“Exactly!” She laughs again. “I figure, well, I might as well get some gift shopping done since I’m already here, but–”

Right on cue, the infant in her arms begins to wail his poor little head off, and she grimaces.

“Finding it hard to get anything done with your hands full?” Sun asks, waiting for her nod before continuing. “Well, that’s nothing I can’t fix! I could carry your other bags for you, or–”

“Could you babysit?”

He straightens with a jolt, nearly dropping the bags he already carried in the process. “Oh! Well, um, company policy doesn’t exactly allow me to–”

“It would just be for a few minutes. An hour, at most.” She gives him a pleading look. “You’re coded with childcare protocols, aren’t you?”

“I–” Sun scrambles for an answer. “My training extends to some childcare etiquette, but–”

“Perfect!” She lofts the infant into his arms like he is nothing more than a small sack of potatoes. “This is George. He’s nine months old as of last week, was just changed, and ate an hour ago, so he should be an angel for you.”

“W-What about his shoes?” He tucks the child against his shoulder and gestures worriedly towards his itty little toes, clothed in nothing but the navy blue footie he wears.

“Oh, don’t be silly, he’s still too young!” The woman insists, “George has only just learned how to crawl, I doubt he’ll be walking any time soon. You have nothing to worry about!”

“But–”

“I’ll come find you in an hour when I’m all finished up. Thank you again!”

The mother turns on her heel like she’s being chased out by fire, leaving Sun there in the center of the mall aisle, still as a statue and stunned into silence.

There was a kernel of truth to his words. Both he and Moon had been programmed with the know-how in terms of child rearing basics, and in fact it was the very first frame of coding that he recalls having. For what purpose, he isn’t sure. It has lied dormant beneath layers of more relevant protocols for years and only ever makes an appearance when he’s interacting with the few children the mall sees from time to time. Even still, it is nothing in the way of proper training for how to care for an infant so small, and for so long.

Needless to say, he was panicking.

The first thing he does after quieting the infant’s cries is find another employee and hand off the bags, instructing them to be brought to Shutterbug and kept behind the desk for the time being.

With his hands freed he can focus all of his attention on the child who, for what it’s worth, has been a perfect angel in the short time since he was haphazardly carted into Sun’s arms. Quiet as a church mouse after that first little outburst, and just as cute, too, the little bundle of joy looking up at him with big brown eyes full of wonder.

Sun returns his gaze with a long sigh. “Now then, what are we going to do with you?”

The protocols that once were dormant now rose to the surface and screamed at him to engage the child in “stimulating activities“, whatever that meant. Instructions for playtime involved everything from games like peekaboo and patty-cake to more developmental activities, such as playing music, coloring, or toying with building blocks. Sun doubted that Bee Gees’ hit single “Stayin’ Alive” was anything in the way of educational for the tiny tot as it played over the speakers, and — to the best of his knowledge — he can’t recall ever having access to building blocks or coloring books. That left nothing but the traditional baby games, tried and true, and easy enough!

He borrows a small blanket from a store nearby and finds a cozy spot on the floor, tucked safely between two plant boxes, to set him down. Sun finds that playing these games comes almost naturally to him — but that’s a given, isn’t it? He follows the instruction manual in his code to the letter, pride and joy overwhelming his stint of uncertainty each time he comes out from hiding behind his hands to the sound of shrill laughter, every “Peek-a-boo!” earning him a motley of giggles and a baby-toothed smile.

Distraction arrives in the form of an employee struggling to carry a stack of boxes into the store behind him. He’s on his feet and across the room in an instant as one protocol briefly overrides the other, and it’s only for a moment — just a moment — but when he turns around again it is to the sight of an empty blanket.

His charge has gone missing.

Panic overwhelms every one of his sensors, rushing along his circuits like adrenaline through veins gripping him with a fear so potent it threatens to shut down his system right then and there.

No, think! His mother said he had only just learned to crawl, which meant little George couldn’t have gone far. Unless the infant hadn’t gone anywhere by himself at all, and rather, someone had come along and–

Sun shut down that train of thought the moment it struck him. He would never forgive himself if something so terrible happened on his watch, saying nothing of what management would do to him if a child was abducted right from under his nose.

He decides the best course of action right now is to follow the same protocol he would use for any other “lost” child. Yes, lost, that’s all they were. It’s so easy to get lost in a mall as large as this one. Sun comforts himself with the knowledge that he has never let a lost child go unfound before. His success rate is a perfect 100%, and he intends to keep it that way.

First, he scans the security cameras for any sight of the child. He is sure to look in every nook and cranny, and he deflates with growing dread when that little navy footie doesn’t appear anywhere on the screens. His voice cuts through the employee radio a moment later and describes the child with every possible detail he can think of, asking that any sighting of the little straggler be reported to him immediately. He hopes against every star in the sky that the mother doesn’t happen to overhear from an employee nearby.

Lastly, he heads out in search of help.

Moon is meant to be working on the upper floor today, helping Sun handle the usual holiday rush, and his lack of response to the radio call is concerning. Not too concerning, though, given that Sun finds him right where he’d been expecting to.

That is, sprawled atop the lockers in the employee break room, one arm dangling over the side, the other resting casually over his waist, and a VOGUE magazine draped over his face.

‘Lazy’ doesn’t even scratch the surface of the words Sun wants to use. They’ve talked about this, the bad habit having put Moon in trouble a number of times already, but that’s an argument for another day.

There’s no time to mince words right now, and so he doesn’t. Instead, Sun stalks across the room and slams his fist against the lockers beneath his sleeping coworker, who sits upright with such force that his head makes contact with the ceiling and crashes through like a train into glass.

It might have been funny if Sun wasn’t as whipped up into a panic as he is, but as it stands he can hardly even keep from raising his voice when he addresses Moon with a scowl. “Good morning, sleeping beauty,” Sun hisses, arms crossed, foot tapping impatiently. “I take it you didn’t hear my radio call?”

Moon serves him with a glower of his own, snarling deep within his voicebox as he runs his hand over the glassy side of his faceplate to ensure that it’s still intact. He has the decency to look a little guilty, if only for a moment, cerulean blue eyes lowering to the radio attached at his hip that is visibly turned to OFF.

“Of course not,” Sun tuts.

Griping, Moon dusts the ceiling powder from his shoulders. “What could be so important that you had to–”

“I lost a baby.”

The words render him speechless, a long, uncomfortable silence taking up the space between them for all of a minute before Moon blurts out, “Sun, you don’t have a baby.”

“That’s because I lost him!” Sun shrills, beginning to pace. “I was helping a mother with her bags, and she asked me to babysit, a-and I know we aren’t technically allowed to, but– but it all just happened so fast!” His arms flailed for emphasis. “She said he wasn’t even walking yet, I thought it’d be easy! Everything was going so well, too, we were playing a game of peek-a-boo and then – then someone needed help. I only had my back turned for a minute, Moon. Maybe even less! But then I turned around, and…”

“You lost a baby,” he mutters to himself. Moon runs both hands over his face, sighing into his palms. “You lost a baby,” he repeats. “How do you lose an entire child?”

“I don’t know!” Sun answers, voice cracking with guilt. “Will you help me find them?”

“Obviously.” Moon hops down from the lockers (pointedly ignoring the massive hole in the ceiling – he’d come up with an excuse to tell management later) and is already crossing the room when he speaks again. “Management will take it out on both of us if they find out, so you need to get a grip. Your face looks like you just watched someone plummet to their death, for fucks’s sake.” He pauses at the door. “Did you get a scan of their face?”

“O-Of course!”

“Good. Transfer the image to me along with any other information that might be helpful. I’ll search the exits, you take the first story department stores.”

“What about the second floor?”

He fits him with a quizzical expression, going as far as to form an eyebrow with the stars on his faceplate screen and arch it pointedly. “You said this kid wasn’t walking yet,” Moon reminds him. “If someone ‘napped the little guy, they aren’t going to stick around, much less be caught shopping. They’ll head for the exits, first.”

“I guess that’s true…”

“And if you just coincidentally happened to have been babysitting the world’s fastest crawler, they would still be stuck on the first floor,” he continues, “which is why we’re checking there first.”

“Right. Right. You’re right.” Sun’s nod is shaky at best. His hands wring together with a tension that threatens to pop the joints out of place with each anxious tug.

Moon sighs and crosses the room again to place a hand on Sun’s shoulder. “We’ll find him,” he comforts, giving the shoulder a gentle squeeze, “but we need to go now. You won’t fix anything by standing here worrying.”

“Right,” he repeats, working to smother his nerves for the sake of focusing on the task at hand. “You check the exits, I’ll check the department stores. We’ll meet up at the fountain in thirty minutes if neither of us find anything?”

“Ten minutes,” Moon asserts. He wastes no further time, leaving Sun with only that and a firm nod before pacing out of the room.

Sun hopes they aren’t already too late.

Their search yields nothing but more disappointment. Ten painfully long minutes of searching that ends with them meeting at the fountain equally empty handed and with no further leads.

“We’re too late,” wails Sun, already catastrophizing. “How am I going to explain this to their mother? She’ll never forgive me, I’ll never forgive me–” His fingers hook around the rays beside his chin, the thin metal groaning beneath the force and threatening to snap right then and there, “–and management — stars, Moon, we’re going to be dismantled over this!”

“Lower your voice!” Moon snaps. He looks around, ensuring that that their crime — Sun’s crime — hasn’t been overheard. Luckily, it appears the fountain has drowned out their conversation sufficiently. “You need to calm down,” he continues. “I’m sure they’re somewhere around here.”

“We’ve checked everywhere!” His left ray bends under the pressure, molding to the shape of his fingers, slowly but surely. “I should have never let this happen. What was I thinking, turning my back on them? Now they’re all alone, o-or hurt, somewhere, or–”

“Hey, hey.” Moon takes him by the wrist, careful yet firm as he pries Sun’s fingers away from his mangled ray then holds his hand at a distance, so he can’t hurt himself further. “You made a mistake,” he agrees, “but it’s not fair to hold all of that blame yourself. You have no frame of reference for this sort of thing, we aren’t meant to be taking care of children in the first place.”

“I should have known better!” Sun insists. “How can I be expected to run a daycare if I can’t even look after one kid?”

Moon freezes, his optics flickering in a blink. “We–” slowly, he releases Sun’s wrist, “–we aren’t a daycare, Sun. We’re a mall. Are…are you feeling okay?”

“I…” Alarms and notices flood his screen, blocking Moon from view. Corroded files long since forgotten behind firewalls and newly instated protocols. He looks for answers in their overwhelming code and finds nothing but more questions; a lingering sense of awareness always just out of his reach. Then they’re gone, swept away all at once as his system tidies itself up, and he can think clearly again. “We’re in a mall,” he echoes, nodding to himself, “we run a mall. We’re mascots, not – not–” He faces Moon with a calmer disposition, forcing a smile, “I’m alright, now.”

“I always preferred the term Icon,” says Moon, “’mascot’ makes us sound like those people in animal suits waving around signs outside of businesses.” He laughs, and Sun laughs, too, but it’s strained. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

He sighs with the last crumb of uncertainty. “I’m fine, just…confused, I guess. I think the anxiety is getting to me.” When he straightens again it’s with newfound gusto, a determination to make things right. “None of our employees have reported seeing anyone carting off with a baby that fits George’s description, so he must still be here. Do you want to try the second floor after all?”

“I guess it’s worth a shot,” says Moon. He takes another look around, eyes scanning the area for any possible lead, until his star-studded eyebrow arches downward. “You said he was wearing a blue footie?”

“Navy blue,” Sun nods his confirmation, “with a little white pocket on the front.”

“Like that?”

He follows Moon’s point all the way to the escalator, where good ol’ George is sat, halfway up to the second story, already, suckling at his thumb like this is any other Tuesday.

“That’s–” Sun feels like he’s going to scream, “that’s him!”

“Huh. Baby on an escalator,” he mutters inquisitively. “Never seen that before.”

“Moon!”

Not wanting to risk any more dillydallying, Sun rushes past him and beelines through the crowd, anxiety pulsing through him tenfold as he gets caught up in a group of customers gathered on the escalator themselves.

Moon takes an alternative route, opting to skip the escalator steps all together. Instead he leaps directly onto the handrail, steady and practiced, and carefully avoids his customer’s fingers as he races upward.

Sun meets him at the top an excruciating few seconds after and feels his composure slip further upon seeing him empty handed. “Where–?”

“I don’t know,” Moon interrupts, looking just as confused. “He was already gone when I got up here.”

“Seriously?” He braces both palms across his arms, hugging himself tightly so he doesn’t just rip out his rays all together. “He’s a baby, for Pete’s sake. How far could he have gone? How does this keep happening?”

“There!” Moon points a little ways off, where little George — somehow, someway — is spotted riding a runaway janitor’s cart, its wheels spiraling uncontrollably forward and headed straight for the wall.

“Stop that cart!” Shrieks Sun, already halfway across the room and hot on the cart’s tail.

The crowd is thick, clusters of customers all aiming to get their holiday shopping in before the real chaos begins, and it makes the already out of hand situation that much harder.

Sun hears the crash before he sees it, and feels his battery operated heart sink. The sight he’s met with upon finally reaching the end of the balcony is disastrous at best. The cart rests in a broken mess on the floor, having evidently bounced into a pair of trash cans rather than collide with the wall. One of said cans has toppled onto its side from the impact, and the trail of garbage leading out of it paints a perplexing picture.

Moon catches up with him a minute later, fans whirring like he’s out of breath. “Is he–”

“Gone,” Sun answers, aghast. He points to the breadcrumbs (literally) that trail out of the toppled can. “I think he fell into the garbage.”

“Well, that’s better than the wall,” hums Moon. “Maybe it cushioned his fall? And then the trashcan fell over…” he trails off.

“And he just…crawled out?” Sun finishes the thought, then raises his chin. The two share a dumbfounded expression.

“Sun, what kind of mutant child did you agree to babysit?”

“Don’t be rude!” He chastises. “George is just…special.”

“Yeah, specially designed to outwit us. They should have called him Curious George.” His eye follows the garbage trail until it peters out a few feet down. “Where do you suppose he went now?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Sun groans. “Should we split up?”

“Good idea. You take the east wing, I’ll go west. Reconvene in thirty minutes?”

“Ten,”‌ corrects Sun, grimacing at the deja vu. “His mother promised an hour, and it’s already been over half of that. If we can’t find him in ten minutes, then we - we–”

“We are going to find him,” Moon assures, bolstering Sun’s confidence as best as he can. “We just need to focus, alright? No more running around like chickens with our heads cut off.”

Sun nods his agreement. “Right, okay. You’re right. I won’t let a baby run me in circles around my own mall.” His frazzled expressions calms, at that, and he smiles. “Just a nine-month infant who crawls a little faster than normal, that’s all he is. Easy peasy!”

What happens next is neither easy nor peasy. In fact, calling it ‘running circles’ is an understatement. In the next ten minutes alone, little George sends both of them out on nothing short of a wild goose chase, appearing in nigh impossible positions each and every time and always just out their grasp.

Sun is the first to find him. Tucked into the one corner of a store that the cameras don’t reach, donning a pair of sunglasses of all things (upside-down, mind you), and playing with a silicone whisk from the kitchenware section. Sun is only a short distance away when a customer taps him on the shoulder and asks where they can find the bathroom. Of course, the little tot is already gone when he turns back around.

A few meters down, Moon discovers some discarded sunglasses on the floor. He spots a familiar pair of white padded feet a moment later and finds George climbing the side of an information kiosk. The employee inside is busy with a customer and doesn’t even notice the little rascal scaling the grounded kiosk sign like he was born to climb Everest. They notice Moon, though, and are all too eager to introduce one of the mall’s very own mascots to the customer who is, apparently, visiting for the very first time. It’s all Moon can do just to act polite in front of the woman as his guest-orientation protocols take over, keeping him paralyzed there even as the infant merrily drops from the sign and disappears from his sight.

Five minutes later Sun hears a shrill of laughter and turns around a corner to see George playing in the plant trough like it’s a sandbox, his navy footie all but smothered in dirt. An internal scream rips silently through his system as he grapples with the knowledge that he’s now going to get an earful even if he does successfully get his hands on the kid.

True to character, George is nowhere to be found when Sun winds up in front of the planter. He calms his nerves and protocols alike by fixing the poor flowers back into their proper position from where they had been carelessly plucked out and thrown aside. He knows there’s no saving a few of them, and he’ll need to reorder more seeds to make up for it, but that’s a headache for another day.

The current source of his vexation appears to have shown some mercy, at least. Sun finds a trail of muddy footprints leading out of the trough and down the aisle. An employee glances up from their storefront desk upon seeing him and points to the right, towards the candy store, knowing exactly what he was looking for, already. For the life of him, Sun cannot understand why they — or anyone else for that matter — hasn’t thought to stop the runaway infant. Apparently, a nine month old crawling around without parental supervision is nothing to bat an eye at to anyone in the mall’s entire vicinity.

Moon is passing by Waning Lights theater when he hears a small commotion inside. On a hunch he peeks in, expecting nothing in particular, and instead sees two enormous baby hands covering the screen. That is, two very small baby hands waving in front of the projector.

He’s up the steps in a matter of seconds, mechanics racing with the adrenaline of having finally caught the little devil, only — of course — the little hands have already disappeared, and the seat is empty, leaving only a confused employee where he once was. “You’re joking…” Moon whispers, exhausted. An already irritated customer shushes him from somewhere downstage. Distantly, he hears the telltale sound of infant babbling and begrudgingly follows it out of the theater again.

He bursts through the door and right into Sun, colliding with a loud clatter of metal and recoiling, each holding their heads respectively and groaning in perfect unison.

“Did you find him?” Sun asks around a wince.

“Technically yes, but–”

“He got away from you too?”

Moon nods. “What is it with this kid?”

“I don’t know, but we need to figure out a different plan soon. We’re already over our ten minutes.” He looks around once more for good measure, knowing the child couldn’t have gone too far, already, if they had both just spotted him a moment ago.

That’s when he sees it. Little George, nine months old, walking down the balcony aisle. Rather, the little tike is running like he’s off to the races.

“Well, that explains why he’s been able to get everywhere so fast,” says Moon, following Sun’s gaze. “I thought you said he was only starting to crawl?”

“He’s, um, a fast learner?” Sun answers sheepishly. He watches George go for all of one long, lovestruck moment — feeling like a proud parent himself — before the swell of pride in his chest shatters to make way for circuit frying terror.

See, little George has shown himself to be quite the impressive little acrobat. He can walk, he can run, he can climb, and at that very moment he is making quick work of closing the distance between himself and a stack of boxes pressed up against the balcony railing.

The only thing awaiting him on the other side is a long, long fall.

Sun darts forward without a word, but Moon is faster, weaving through the crowd with a nimble speed that he cannot compete with. “We aren’t going to make it,” Sun gasps, announcing it to himself, mostly, as horror grips him throughout. Even if they reach the railing on time, George is already at the top of the stack, raising himself onto unsteady feet and peering out into the great beyond. He’ll be over the edge before they can stop him, and they won’t make it to the first floor on time to catch him there.

But then Sun hears it; the whir of a wire, quick and sturdy as it races through its ceiling track to Moon’s beck and call. He watches its metal hook begin to lower from a few paces away, just as the infant topples up and over, and his body seizes with fear as Moon leaps over the railing after him.

He hears a click, the wire latching out of sight, going taut. Sun holds his breath until the sound of giggling follows. Peering warily over the railing, hands shaking, he sees Moon dangling halfway to the floor. Little George bounces in his arms, clapping and cheering and laughing away like this is all just another game.

Moon lowers himself the remaining distance to the floor as Sun scrambles down the elevator to meet him. He looks rightfully shaken, his faceplate screen blank of even stars, but his grip remains persistent. He’s not going to risk putting the kid down for a moment, even if he feels like he’s going to bluescreen any second now. Their landing is celebrated with the undeniable sound of George taking the world’s largest shit, and though Moon wants to be angry, all he manages to come up with in response is “Me too, kid.”

A voice calls over their internal radios right as Sun’s feet hit the floor.

“Can someone ring the mascots?” Asks the employee, “I’m stationed at Shutterbug with a customer and she says they have her baby…?”

“I’m on my way!” Sun answers the radio aloud. He takes the baby from Moon, who extends George to him from a distance, grateful — now more than ever — for their ability to turn off their nose receptors.

“What about the footie?” Moon gestures to the dirt-soaked clothes once his hands are free. “I don’t think she’s going to be happy if he’s brought back all dirty – or naked. That might be worse.”

On a whim, Sun turns George over to check the footie’s tag. Relief floods his system when he reads the name. “We carry this brand – I’ll bet anything that we have this exact footie somewhere in the store. Can you go find it?” He makes a face and turns his own nose receptors off a moment after. “Maybe a pack of diapers, too,” he laughs. “Oh! Can you also pick up a rabbit from Fluff-&-Stuff?”

“What about you?”

“I’m headed to the bathrooms so I can clean the little guy up.” He holds George up, then, wielding him like a stinky little weapon. “Unless you want to try changing a diaper?”

“Navy blue footie with a white pocket, got it,” answers Moon, already turning on his heel and heading in the opposite direction.

Ten minutes later, Sun exits the bathroom feeling like a brand new person. A scarred, mortified person, but new all the same. Who knew baby poop could be so traumatizing?

Moon had returned a moment before, toting with him the items that Sun had requested, and together they figured out how to dress the freshly cleaned child in a new diaper. Whoever said it wasn’t rocket science was right. It was somehow worse. Still, they persevered, and at the end of it all they had a clean, happy, freshly diapered baby to show for their efforts. Now it was just a matter of delivering him back to his mother.

“Why did you want the rabbit?” Moon asks as he trades over the stuffed animal, happy to hold little George now that the little tike isn’t a stink grenade.

“You’ll see,” answers Sun, refusing to elaborate. He rounds the corner with Moon following at his heel and steps into Shutterbug, greeting the mother with his best customer-pleasing smile. “So sorry for the wait, ma’am. George here had a bit of an accident on our way back.”

The woman tuts guilty, but is happy to see them all the same. “Oh, goodness, how embarrassing. I can pay for the diapers you used.”

“Nonsense!” He tells her with a casual wave of his hand, “We’re happy to lend a hand, and it’s not like the little guy could help himself.”

“You’re a sweetheart,” she smiles. “And he behaved for you, otherwise?”

Sun glances over his shoulder at Moon, and the two share a look.

Nodding, Moon steps forward and hands the child over when his mother extends her arms for him. “He was an angel,” Moon tells her.

They had both already agreed to keep their mouths shut on the entire ordeal, including and up to George’s newfound capabilities. Aside from how much trouble they would both find themselves in if anyone ever found out about the chase this single child had put them through, it simply wasn’t their place to mention it. Sun, especially, didn’t want to take away that special moment when his mother rightfully deserved to have it to herself.

“Well, I’m glad to hear it,” she sighs with relief. “Thank you again for watching her. You two are a real blessing, you know that? I wouldn’t have been able to get all my ducks in a row without your help.”

“Anytime!” Sun answers. He spots a plaid dress hiding behind her, and lowers himself into a crouch. “Hello, again,” he calls to the little girl using his kindest voice, and extends the stuffed rabbit for her to take. “I noticed you had some bunnies on your dress, so I thought you might like this.”

Behind him, Moon relaxes into a fond smile.

“That’s very kind of you,” says her mother, who nudges her forward gently. “Go on, it’s okay,” she reassures her. “It’s a gift.”

The child hesitant, but eventually she peeks out from behind her mother just enough to take the offered rabbit, which she tucks against her chest in a great, big hug. “Th…Thank you,” she whispers. Then, feeling brave, she rewards him with a gap-toothed smile.

Moon clears his voice-box. “Well, we should let you get to it,” he says, full-well knowing that Sun would stay here cooing at the children all day if he let him.

And Sun, for what it’s worth, knows exactly what the vocal nudge means, and detaches himself from the family with a wave and some merry goodbyes before the two of them depart together.

“That was sweet of you,” Moon comments once they’re out of earshot. “You aren’t hoping for kids of our own, are you? I don’t think I’m ready for that level of commitment.” He elbows Sun with a smile, getting a hearty laugh out of him.

“Moon, I’ll be honest. I will be the happiest bot in the world if I never have to change another diaper again.” This time it’s Moon’s turn to laugh, and he laughs until his vocals strain with effort. “But, you know, it wasn’t too bad. Taking care of a baby, I mean. I think we make a pretty good team – and decent parents.”

“I’m the better parent,” Moon says around a wide grin. “You’re too much of a stick in the mud.”

“And you’re too spoiling!” Sun laughs, “Don’t think I haven’t seen you giving out candy to the kids that sneak off without their parents.”

“I’m teaching a valuable lesson,” Moon insists, hand flying over his heart like he’s offended by the notion. “If parents want to leave their children unattended, they have to face the consequences. It won’t be me dealing with the inevitable sugar rush.”

A gasp in the distance interrupts their playful bickering. They turn halfway, back towards Shutterbug.

“Did you see that?” Chirps the mother, loud and clear. Her giddy voice followed immediately by the shutter of a camera. “Look – look! He’s walking!”

Again, the two share a look. Surprise becomes amusement becomes pride, then joy, and they laugh, and laugh, and laugh.

#dead mall dare au #if anyone wonders how long i hoard asks for #this particular ask is from a YEAR ago #i'm so sorry Star 😭 i didn't mean for it to take so long #or for it to BE this long. frankly #it was supposed to be a small drabble. 1k words at most #why does this keep happening to me #um um anyway hope you enjoy!!#there's actually a crumb of DEEP lore in this one #just a crumb though #i need to answer the other dmd asks but. Tomorrow

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quimichi · 7 months ago

Note

It's me the little guy Fae >:3 and I'm here for your match up event

Fandoms

Honkai and/or genshin

Pronouns

She/they

Hobbies

Illustration, crochet, embroidery, watercolor, gaming, TTRPGs (tabletop role-playing games) like DND, putting my characters through absolute hell (writing)

Gender preference

With fictional characters I prefer men but I love me a tall sexy evil Woman

Personality

Don't listen to what my hobbies say about me, I'm actually a chaotic little shit who runs circles around my friends. I do my best to give support when needed whether it be mentally or with a technical issue but I'm sure you knew this stuff before because we are friends on here. Though I will say I am depressed and that may impact the character I may or may not get matched with.

Fun facts

I really like foxes :)

And jellyfish :))

While it's not common enough to be a hobby I do know how to sew

My favorite colors are pastel pink and yellow

Well I prefer a cottagecore aesthetic for myself I actually don't prefer that in a partner.

I'm not a Neuvillette main but my autistic ass will go off about water (different bottles of water have completely different tastes you cannot change my mind)(also cold water tastes sharp and warm water tastes round I will not be taking criticism on this)

I don't have a green thumb per se because all my plants are suffering but they stubbornly cling on to life no matter how much I neglect them.

If you need more you know where to find me

A/n: I'M SORRY BESTIE BUT MY HEAD WENT "DOMESTIC" THE ENTIRE TIME---

ARLECCHINO

@ NO CAUSE HEAR ME OUT

@ you loce cottage core, and your hobbies are stuff like crochet and watercoloring. Its cute and i feel like Arlecchino matches that somehow??

@ listen, she is much more softer than she looks. She loves the kids and does really care about them, i think this cute little domestic life would fit her and would also be a dream for her

@ although she grows the kids into the fatui, she loves them dearly, can't show it tho-

@ but anyway--imagine sitting side by side near a fireplace while she reads a book and you do your thing beside her. No talking, just enjoying each others company

@ loooves to do domestic things with you, like cooking together, baking a cake, reading a book, crochet or bathing together.

@ i think she can do embroidery and crochet but not so good-teach her, she will actually listen. She's a little tsundere but she'll listen and she will learn pretty fast.

@ it's important that the twins and freminet like you, they visit quite often or she visits them. If they don't like you, or any of the kids in the house of the hearth, she would be quite skeptical about you then

@ lucky for you cause...they love you, duh?? Who wouldn't.

@ you're very parental, you give great comfort and you like to play with the kids.

@ and Arlecchino loves to watch lol

@ now to your depressed state. She will take it very seriously and will tell you so many times to rest and take care. She would give you the best tea from liyue, only the best watercolors from Fontaine, and the best baked goods so you can relax.

@ she would also leave you your space if needed. It wouldn't really bring her down, she would just be worried about you, but as a strong woman she wouldn't show it to you, that would only bring YOU down.

@ so dw, daddy Arlecchino will take care of everything. And if someone bothers you...well...you know...

GEPARD

@ listen it was hard for hsr ok---

@ for some reason I see you with Gepard---

@ also for the same reasons as Arlecchino, the little domestic life won't go out of my head for you-and Gepard also fits this

@ like-he comes home from work, also brought some goods from the bakery so you both can enjoy some sweets after dinner (which you both prepare together) and then after dinner and dessert you both cuddle on the couch while watching the snowflakes dance outside Belobog

@ if you ever decide to crochet him idk socks or something, he will wear them with pride. Even if they're pink with glitter, he ADORES them.

@ wears them under his gear lol. Like Belebog is cold he appreciates any warmth that he gets. And what is warmer than your love~♡

@ (I'm disgusting-)

@ super shy, we all know, so it took him a bit to gain the confidence to ask you out- I can see you being friends with Serval so--Imagine asking out the friend of your sister?? Yeah I'd piss myself too-

@ but Serval was pretty supportive sooo dw, it all worked out very well

@ ans Lynx is also not complaining with you so the relationship is blessed ♡

@ helps around the house, he was raised good :)

@ also, if he has every a free day and you have to work, he takes care of the things at home and cooks for you ♡♡♡

@ also runs you a bath. Spends his entire day making you smile when you come home.

@ very overprotective too. Can't stand seeing you sad or having a bad day or depressed episode, so he does everything in his power to change that

@ even if it means for him to act like a complete idiot just to see a smile, cause trust me, he would

#quimichi #genshin x reader #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #Honkai star rail #Hsr #gepard x reader #arlecchino x reader #match up

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glitchmcdes · 8 months ago

Text

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ꒰ ७.*´. ꒱ . . . VARSITY AT THE 2024 MET GALA !

VARSITY sent members DIAZ and KAZ to the 2024 Met Gala, and both definitely understood the assignment when it came to the theme!

Diaz showed up dressed in OCEAN ROYALE, a fairly new brand started by S3ABORN3's Min Jooha and Acid Flower's Reyna Jang, both who are Kpop idols under the same company as VARSITY. As well as fellow member Kaz, he was seen exiting the limousine, only to turn around and offer his hand to none other than Jooha himself, whom he had revealed to be dating since 2023. His outfit was designed by Reyna, his childhood friend and main rapper and producer of famous Kpop girl group Acid Flower.

Kaz, meanwhile, was dressed in the Spanish brand LOEWE, wearing a piece that was custom designed just for him. He noted in an interview that he chose the final design because it reminded him of his small home in Japan, as well as his boyfriend, Niraiin Erin of S3ABORN3, whose relationship had been revealed in 2020.

"It was really nice to pick and choose which outfit to wear because they were all so nice. Ultimately, I chose this one because it reminded me of home and all the good memories I had there with my boyfriend Erin. The pond near my house had lots of lotus flowers and he loves lotus flowers. . . so yeah. Love you, Erin!" he laughed, blowing a kiss at the camera before quickly moving on.

However, even with all the fun and glam, there were paparazzi who seemed to not like Diaz and Jooha's relationship; when they stepped out together in their matching outfits, some were heard muttering homophobic and racist comments towards them. Kaz, the better English speaker between the Starborn group, made sure to let Diaz know, who in turn led them right past the paparazzi and not giving them any more chances to take their pictures. The leader was visibly angry, with a grinding jaw and raised eyebrow as he walked right past the group of paparazzi. Many Smarties were outraged by the behavior and called them out for being homophobic and racist, demanding that an apology be made for the disrespect.

For the afterparty, both men decided on some sort of loosely fitting clothes: Diaz dressed in GIVENCHY in a v-neck top and cropped blazer and loose pants, and Kaz in a loose shirt and pants from GUCCI. Both were seen having a good time at the party and talking to various attendees.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ꒰ ७.*´. ꒱ . . . VIRAL MOMENTS !

Diaz was asked if his outfit was to celebrate Cinco de Mayo due to its slight similarity to Mexican style embroidery, causing him to look confused before answering with, "We don't celebrate that shit unless we're from Puebla or the United States. Why would I do that?"

Kaz was seen looking uninterested for most of the event and afterparty, more focused on his phone texting his boyfriend than socializing — but he did end up talking to a few attendees, and was spotted chatting it up with Cléo and Felix of Stray Kids.

Diaz was seen acting as a gentleman so often with his boyfriend Jooha that even non fans of VARSITY were asking about the 'hot guy who revived chivalry.'

Diaz and Grayson of TWILIGHT were spotted together, politely greeting each other before being asked to pose together for a photo — which resulted in a funny moment where the two struggled on picking a good pose, eventually landing with them simply standing side by side, making a heart with their hands.

Kaz and Diaz were spotted later at the party talking with The Boyz's Thomas, both smiling happily as they posed several times for photos together. Diaz was seen exchanging numbers with him and teaching him Spanish, which made Kaz laugh.

Kaz was seen walking around with a lollipop in his mouth and several in his hand, offering one to each person he spoke with. When asked about the lollipops, he simply responded with, "Don't worry about it," before offering one to Emma Chamberlain and Anna Wintour themselves. It earned him the nickname 'Kazu-pop' by Smarties and 'Mr. Lollipop' by the locals.

ib: @anqelblccm + @f1rstime ily besties !!

JOOHA can be found in @s3aborn3

GRAYSON can be found in @f1rstime

CLÉO can be found in @hausofanya

THOMAS can be found in @hwangyozz

#७.*´. eyes on me pay attention .ᐟ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ 〳 ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ extra #७.*´. we got that feeling .ᐟ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ 〳 ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ kaz #७.*´. we got that feeling .ᐟ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ 〳 ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ diaz #idol!au #idol!oc #idol!addition #oc!kpop #oc!group #oc!soloist #oc!idol #kpop oc #oc kpop #oc kpop idol #kpop oc idol #oc kpop group #fictional idol community #idolverse

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luxtout · 1 year ago

Text

Flames Unveiled (Chapter 8- More Devine Than Wine) Aegon II Targaryen X (Bastard Velaryon) Reader X Aemond Targaryen

Summary: After six years living away from Kings Landing, you and your family are summoned back, for reasons unknown. Your mother, Rhaenyra, has different plans for you. You swore to always protect your family, but at what cost?

Warning: References to / sexual content (18+), injuries, cursing, drinking, fights, angst

Tagged: @faesspace @a-beaverhausen

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

The morning after the feast left you in a fragile state. Your overindulgence in wine had left its mark as you lay on your bed, your stomach facing the ceiling while Mara went to fetch tea for you.

"Princess, sip on the tea while I start your bath," Mara's voice echoed too loudly as she closed your bedchamber doors.

"Mara, I appreciate your kindness, but please be a little less... loud," you murmured, rubbing your temples and rising to your feet. Your nightgown clung to your body, the open window allowing warm air into the room. Today was the tourney, and the heat was almost unbearable.

Lifting the teacup to your lips, you listened to the birds chirping in the trees. "The bath is ready."

Setting the cup down, you shed your nightgown and stepped into the tub. The water was hot but felt heavenly as Mara wet your hair, applying oils and soaps to your scalp, gently scrubbing.

The door opened, revealing your mother.

"We no longer knock?" You raised an eyebrow, a small smirk forming as your mother smiled at you.

"I just wished to let you know that Cregan Stark requested your presence in the courtyard," Rhaenyra's smile widened as she noticed your face light up.

"Oh, okay, I'll meet him once I'm finished," you blushed, looking up at Mara, "Can you... um... hurry?"

Mara nodded, scrubbing faster. Rhaenyra sighed, pacing the room toward your wardrobe, "You don't need to rush, though... How about this dress? It would be perfect, wouldn't it?"

You turned to see the ruby red dress, a sweetheart neckline with gold embroidery. Your mother pulled it from your wardrobe, laying it on your bed, instructing Mara to leave your hair down.

Mara agreed, helping you out of the tub and wrapping you in a towel. Rhaenyra hummed as she looked out the window, while Mara dressed you.

Your hair by then was damp. Rhaenyra instructed Mara to leave, telling her she could finish getting you ready. She brushed through your waves, humming the songs she used to sing to you when you were little. Your headache slowly dissipated as you relaxed to your mother's soft voice.

"Okay, let's have a look at you," Rhaenyra smiled, inspecting you through the mirror. You smiled back, feeling much simpler than the previous night. You adjusted the tight sleeves, smoothing down the skirts. "You look perfect, don't fret."

She escorted you to the courtyard, and there was no need to search for Cregan Stark. He stood out, almost pitifully, a wolf amid dragons. Northern men typically dressed in layers of clothes and furs, yet Cregan wore a thin cotton long sleeve under a leathered vest.

"Princess," he nodded to your mother before focusing on you, "Princess."

"Lord Stark," you smiled, feeling your mother's departure from your company. "I must admit, I was a bit surprised by your request to see me."

"Was I too eager? Did my request catch you off guard?" He smiled, guiding you down the cobblestone walkway.

"No, I was awake. I suppose I overindulged in spirits last night," you chuckled, glancing up quickly. "Although, I don't typically drink that much..."

Cregan laughed as you attempted to explain, "Don't worry, princess. In the North, you have to drink to stay warm. If you don't, one trip during the winter would leave you frozen."

Laughter bubbled from your lips as you both rounded the corner. Lords and ladies respectfully made way as you walked, although the added attention wasn't something you particularly enjoyed. Cregan walked beside you, his hand hovering near the small of your back, guiding you through the crowds.

"Lord Stark—"

"You can call me Cregan," he offered, waiting for your response.

"Cregan... Your sigil, it's a direwolf, correct?" You furrowed your brow, recalling the simplest lesson your Septa had taught you. "Have you ever seen one before?"

Cregan smiled, gazing ahead as he answered, "Yes, I have. There aren't many that venture south of the Wall. I consider myself fortunate to have seen one."

You hummed, nudging a pebble on the ground. "I wish to see one before the last of them return north."

The wind picked up, tousling your hair as you looked skyward to a cloudless sky. The clash of metal caught your attention, leading you both around the corner to witness two men engaged in a brutal fight, both sporting silver locks.

Their battle was fierce, each blow appearing painful. Now you understood why your brothers often showed up to supper with bruises. Aegon glanced up briefly, his eyes scanning your figure next to Cregan, who had a protective hand over you. Aemond, however, paid no attention, taking advantage of the distraction to strike Aegon in the back.

"Let's go this way, Y/N," Cregan whispered, guiding you away from the pair. It fell silent for a moment, the clashing sounds growing fainter as you reached the edge of the walkway overlooking the Blackwater. The water was calm, waves lapping over the rocks, and the cold breeze played with the fabric of your skirts.

"When should I bring you back?" Cregan asked, gazing out to the horizon. "You must need to get ready for the tourney."

You hummed, interlocking your hands in front of you. "I shouldn't be late, like I was last night."

Cregan smiled softly, extending his hand. "I shall escort you back, just in case you get lost on your way."

His hand felt warm against your skin as you clasped it in yours. Cregan was a sweet man and seemed the best choice for your hand. If you were honest, he provided a welcome distraction from your uncles. Spending more time with either of them felt dangerous. Cregan's grip softened as you entered the castle walls, and he kissed your hand before parting ways. You walked briskly to your room, leaning against the door once you closed it.

"Cregan's grip softened as you entered the castle walls, and he kissed your hand before departing. You walked quickly to your room, leaning against the door as you closed it.

"Back from your walk, niece?" A scream escaped your mouth as you turned to see Aemond sitting at your table.

"What are you doing in here?" You whispered harshly, stepping toward the table but keeping your distance.

"Did I come at the wrong time?" He smirked, rising from the chair and hovering over you, trapping you between himself and the table.

"I was just... answer my question." You straightened your back, trying to appear tall but failing.

His hand gripped your cheek. "I wanted to check on you before... You looked beautiful last night."

Heat rushed to your cheeks, and you tried to quell your nerves. "Then why didn't you say that last night?"

Aemond's eyebrows raised. "You weren't in the mood for such... flattery." His hand pulled your head closer, his lips grazing yours, awaiting your response."

"I find it strange how you wish to be this close to me," Your eyes glossed over his eye, "Do you have any other intensions, uncle?"

Aemond's lips crashed onto yours, gripping at the nape of your neck. Your hand rested against the back of the table, trying to steady yourself as Aemond pushed forward, his hips pressed against yours. Lips danced whist your tongues fought for dominance, in which he won. His hand pulled you closer, lifting your leg, his nails dug into your flesh earning a soft gasp from you.

"Aemond..." You gasped, feeling his hand move higher on your thigh. You felt a tightening in your stomach as he inched closer to your core. "Aemond, we mustn't go this far."

Aemond's body tensed, glaring at you before scoffing. "I will not keep you, niece."

His hands shoved off of you, as if you were poisonous, leaving your room in a puff. Your skirt was hiked up, your hair was a mess, and you felt a certain slick from between your legs. Frustration filled your veins as you stripped from your dress, wearing a gold and red dress, the same style as the one you were already wearing.

You braided the top half of your hair like a crown, brushing out your waves before stepping out of your room.

"Y/N!" Helaena's voice echoed down the hall. She rushed towards you, clutching her skirts, and enveloped you in a hug. "I heard about this morning."

Your throat tightened. "What do you mean?"

Helaena whispered, her eyes twinkling, "Cregan Stark. The Wolf of the North!"

You exhaled shakily. "Oh, yes... He's a very pleasant man... Kind and... quite handsome."

Helaena beamed as you both strolled down to the carriages. Outside, you noticed Aemond, Aegon, Jace, and Luke all waiting.

"Are they making us all arrive together?" You asked, wrinkling your nose and avoiding eye contact with your uncles.

"Unfortunately," Jace replied, his gaze shifting from Aegon to Aemond. Aegon scoffed and spun on his heels, attempting to disengage.

Slowly, a carriage arrived, spacious enough for all of you. Helaena practically dragged you inside before anyone else could join. Once everyone squeezed in, the carriage set off for the tourney grounds. Helaena sat to your left, Jace and Luke to your right. Across from you were Aegon and Aemond, both seemingly disinterested, trying to avoid catching anyone's eye, although you felt Aegon's gaze, his eyes already hazy.

When the carriage stopped, Aemond and Aegon were the first to leave, disappearing to take their places in the viewing box. Jace and Luke waited for you and Helaena, extending their hands to escort you both inside. As you reached your seats, the sounds of cheers erupted from the arena.

The King and Queen sat in the center, with your mother and Daemon on the King's side, and the Hand of the King on the Queen's side. Below them, the children and grandchildren sat closest to the action. Aegon and Aemond were already seated, Aegon somehow managing to find wine and already onto his third cup. Helaena sat next to Aemond, and you followed next to her. The wind picked up, clouds starting to block the sun.

The King stood, but everyone remained seated. "Welcome! Though the weather seems to not be so forgiving, I will make simple work of this speech: May the best man win!"

Cheers erupted as the men rode out on their horses. Truthfully, you didn't care much for tourneys—the bloodshed and bad sportsmanship didn't appeal to you. Helaena held her favor on her lap, as did you. Your flowers were a sorry sight, dried and brittle, red roses and small white petals woven into the stems.

The first match was between men from House Tully and House Baratheon. They exchanged jests before standing on opposite sides, charging at each other until their jousting pole snapped. Helaena jumped as the man from House Tully fell, spitting blood and lying on the ground. You noticed Aemond grabbing her hand, offering a slight rub in comfort.

Next were House Arryn and House Lannister. Both men circled around, receiving cheers from the crowd. The man from House Lannister requested your mother's favor. She sighed, getting up to throw it over the pole, earning a teasing smile from you as she gripped your shoulder.

Thunder rumbled overhead, as if a dragon was about to strike. You turned to your grandsire, who shifted uneasily in his seat, blood trickling from his nose. Lightning struck, startling the horses and the crowd. The Queen called for all carriages to be prepared, holding onto the King and tending to his nosebleed. Rhaenyra and Daemon assisted as they left the area. The wind whipped around the top of the tent, tearing it slightly as the rain pelted down, stinging your skin.

"Helaena, go find a carriage," you instructed, taking one last look at the tourney grounds before another lightning bolt struck the ground. Jace grabbed your hand, pulling you away from the opening. The wind intensified, nearly knocking Helaena over as women struggled with their dresses clinging to their legs. Aemond steadied his sister and guided her toward a carriage. Jace and Luke dashed to another, everyone scrambling into different carriages than they had arrived in.

"Help!" A woman's cry rang out from behind, causing you to halt. "Help!"

Struggling against the wind, you found a woman trapped beneath a wooden pillar. Her leg was pinned, and she was covered in mud.

"I'll help you, just give me a moment..." You panted, looking around for assistance, but there was no one nearby. You gripped the wooden pillar, trying to lift it, but it was too heavy. The woman cried out in pain as you strained, unable to lift it enough for her to free herself.

"Please! Don't leave me, princess!" the woman begged, rain pelting down harder as thunder and lightning grew closer and louder.

"I'll try again," you panted, your hands now covered in mud and blood as you struggled to maintain your grip. The wood cut into your hands as you strained, attempting to lift it. With a lighter second tug, the woman managed to crawl out and escape.

"Thank you! Thank you both!" she exclaimed, kneeling briefly before bolting away. As you turned, you found Aegon behind you, his clothes soaked and covered in mud. He gripped your arm as debris flew around.

There were no more carriages, and the horses posed too much risk. Aegon guided you down a narrow road, attempting to follow the path, but falling debris nearly rendered you unconscious.

"Aegon, we have to find somewhere safe. We don't know when the storm will pass, and walking back isn't an option," you pleaded, attempting to wipe the mud from your face. Aegon glanced longingly back toward the Keep before tugging you down the road again.

He pulled hard, maneuvering you over debris to ensure your safety, even as your hands felt raw. Lightning struck a nearby home, sending sparks and flames forward. Aegon hesitated momentarily before rushing forward. The streets began to flood, and you tried to hold your skirts above the water. The Keep was nearby, but the carriages were behind the walls, the gates closing.

"Aegon... The gates are closed; we'll have to go around," your voice struggled to be heard amidst the cacophony of screams and chaos.

"Come on," he guided you between buildings, gripping your hips to navigate past loose horses. The storm ravaged everything in its path. Your legs ached, and when you couldn't jump, Aegon lifted you.

Soaked, covered in mud, and in pain, you both reached the Keep. No guards noticed as you tracked mud into the main stairwell, listening to the Queen and Rhaenyra's frantic shouts.

"What do you mean they weren't in a carriage?"

"Where in the Seven Hells would they be?" Your mother's voice echoed with worry. "Daemon, please go out and find them."

Aegon released your hand as you solemnly stepped into view. Mud caked your wet skirts, your hair was completely soaked, and your hands were red and raw.

At your side stood Aegon, his hair just as wet, mud staining his clothes and boots. His face was pale, dark circles under his eyes indicating exhaustion. When he spoke, his voice was tinged with annoyance, "No need."

Rhaenyra's heart sank as she noticed your state, quickly ushering you to your room. Although you wanted to turn around and thank Aegon, he was gone, his footprints leading up the stairs to his bedchambers.

"My dear, when I found out you were still out there, I..." Your mother stammered, gently brushing warm water over your skin. She immediately ordered a bath to be prepared for you, which you welcomed gratefully.

"Mother, may I have a moment to myself? I just want to relax a bit," you requested, smiling as you rubbed the dirt from your face.

Rhaenyra nodded, leaving the room swiftly. It was midday, and the storm showed no signs of abating. Tree branches crashed against windows, and the wind howled outside. After finishing your bath, you dressed in a simple gold gown.

You paced your room, the sound of your shoes tapping against the floor echoing in the silence. A sense of unease settled in your stomach, compelling you to make a right decision. Despite trying to resist, you found yourself standing at the entrance to Aegon's bedchamber.

No guards were in sight, and an off-putting feeling came over you as your hand rose to knock three times on the door. The other side remained quiet, leading you to believe that Aegon might not be there. Perhaps he had left the Keep and gone to Flea Bottom? But no, the storm was still raging. Could he be drinking in the kitchens? Or maybe... he was with his wife.

The thought of his wife left a bitter taste in your mouth, though you couldn't discern why. After a brief pause with no response, you turned to leave, but just as you did, the door squeaked open.

"Alora?" Aegon's groggy voice came from behind you. You hesitantly turned around, taking in his disheveled appearance. It had only been a few hours since you were separated, yet he seemed worse for wear. He had cleaned off the mud, wearing a white formal shirt and black pants, his boots on but untied.

"Oh, Aegon," you stammered, fidgeting with your hands. Aegon watched with a bored expression, scratching his chin as he leaned against the doorframe. "I just wanted to thank you. You didn't need to come back for me, but you did."

Aegon pursed his lips, nodding absentmindedly. "Want some wine?"

His unexpected question caught you off guard, but you nodded and followed him into his chambers. The room was darker and messier than any you had seen before. Pitchers of wine were strewn about, and Aegon shut the door behind you, pouring a glass and pushing it toward you.

"Why did you truly come here, niece?" Aegon asked, pouring his own wine.

You raised your glass to your lips, sipping slowly before swallowing. "Just as I said, to thank you."

"To thank me..." Aegon mocked, circling around to sit on the foot of his bed. "You could have thanked me at any other time. Coming to my chambers in the evening seems quite... odd."

His eyes tried to probe into yours, but you refused to let him unsettle you. "And why did you request I come in for wine, uncle? Did you wish to keep my company?"

A small smile tugged at his lips as you leaned against his table, taking another sip of your wine. He tapped his foot against the bed, his hazy eyes glancing at the ground, clearly already drunk.

"Y/N, you look quite beautiful," he said, his voice coarse as he slowly looked up. To say you were shocked would be an understatement; Aegon never said anything nice to you.

"That's how I know you're drunk," you scoffed, placing your glass on the table. "Do you have anything else to do besides drink and give me... false hope?"

Aegon's expression twisted. "False hope? I try to be nice, and that isn't good enough for you? You constantly put me down, but trust me, if I wanted to harm you, I could."

You remained leaning against the table, arms crossed over your chest. "Is that so?"

Aegon gulped down his wine, then hurled the glass across the room, making you jump. "I could ruin you. I could tell everyone about Flea Bottom or spill about Aemond. I could lie to them all."

His face loomed closer to yours, making you straighten your back. "Then why haven't you? Why not tell them about last night too? Or are you afraid of getting in trouble for corrupting your dear niece?"

Aegon drew nearer, his voice taunting, "I haven't corrupted you yet, niece."

"Is that so?"

"You'd know what it feels like to be corrupted by me..." His breath tickled your lips, the closeness unnerving. He teased, his body pressing against yours, trapping you against the table. "Is that what you want?"

Your lips met his before he could utter another word. Your hands tangled in his hair, granting better access as he groaned. His grip tightened around your waist, his lips moving in sync with yours as he gasped. When you pulled away, both of you were left panting. Aegon glared at you, brimming with lust and devotion.

"Is that how you corrupt..." Your words faded as Aegon's lips crashed back onto yours, biting your bottom lip so hard it drew blood. A soft moan escaped your lips, prompting Aegon to lift you up, clearing the table and settling you on it. His hands explored the back of your head, tugging at your hair as he kissed down your jawline, reaching your collarbone.

"Aegon..." You exhaled, moaning softly as he traced back up to your mouth, kissing you fervently as his hands wandered down to your legs. He paused, slowly moving to the hem of your dress. You gasped as his calloused hands glided upward.

"Aegon..." Your voice quivered as he gazed into your eyes, his own dark with intensity. He caressed your thighs, his voice low. "I could make you feel good... I could make you feel like you're riding a dragon... Would you like that?"

His hand moved closer up, rubbing in circles until he got close to your entrance. He waited for a response, slowly moving his lips to your neck. "I... Okay..."

That's all Aegon needed to hear before he attacked your lips once more, licking your bottom lip for entrance. You opened, your tongues danced as you felt his finger slide up against your folds, making your body shake. Your hands moved to Aegon's shoulders; your kisses faltered as Aegon coated his finger in your juices.

"So nice and wet... Is that all for me?" He purred in your ear, his finger worked at rubbing your clit. Your moan filled Aegon with pleasure as he quickened his pace, "Does that feel good?"

Another moan escaped from your lips; your hips buckled at his touch, slowly sliding a finger into you. "Aegon..." You moaned softly, leaning your head on the crook of his neck as he pumped his finger in and out. You found this surreal, moaning and panting your uncles name as he fucked you with his fingers.

"So nice and tight... But I think you can fit another in there..." He breathed against your neck, adding another digit into your warmth. Lude sounds erupted as he fastened his pace, each pump earned a squeal from you, and that drove Aegon further.

Your leg wrapped around Aegon's hips as he added another finger, pumping and blocking your moans with his lips. Your nails dug into him as he pumped faster with one hand and rubbed your clit with the other. Your mind became flooded, earning bites from Aegon as he worked from your neck and down your collar.

"Do you like that Y/N?" He whispered, earning a moan from your lips, "I need words, love."

You leaned into his ears, "Yes... I like it."

This earned a growl from him, as he squeezed in another finger pumping fast and working at your clit. You felt a twist in your core as he continued, and Aegon would feel you tighten around his fingers. "You are close aren't you?"

His hands moved in ungodly speeds, as you nodded, digging your nails into his shoulder. He moved his fingers upwards inside you, curling them up and down causing you to peak faster. Your legs shook and eyes fluttered as you became undone, and Aegon's actions slowed, the both of you trying to catch your breaths. Aegon pulled his fingers out, making eye contact with you as he licked them clean.

Once he pulled away, you could taste yourself on his lips and tongue. Your hands slowly dropped to your sides as he stepped back.

"There. Do you feel corrupted now? Or shall we go further?" Aegon smirked, retreating to pour himself more wine. As you adjusted your skirts, you noticed his eyes never left your body, observing your descent from the table to your feet.

"I..." You began, but embarrassment flushed your cheeks, leaving the sentence incomplete. "Was that a joke to you?"

Aegon sucked air through his teeth, "It started that way, but dear niece, you taste divine."

Your face reddened as Aegon drew you into an embrace. "Aegon, please be serious."

Aegon chuckled, "I am. I've tasted many a whore, but none compared to you."

"Is that supposed to be a compliment?" You smirked, leaning into his arms, eliciting a hum from Aegon. But then the thought of Helaena struck you. "Wait... This isn't fair to Helaena."

Aegon rolled his eyes as you pushed him away. "I doubt she would mind."

The feeling of guilt consumed you as you walked towards the door, closing it behind you without another word. Your legs carried you throughout the castle in an attempt to clear your mind until you heard muffled moans.

Quickly hiding behind a wall, you witnessed two people engaged in passionate intimacy. You were near the kitchens, close to the servants' quarters, far from any guarded areas. The pair was fervently entwined near sacks of food, their actions echoed throughout the room. You turned the corner to see who it was, only to immediately regret it.

It was Helaena, her eyes closed, body moving with each thrust against the wall, while behind her stood her paramour.

Aemond.

#aegon targaryen x reader #aegon ii targaryen #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #jacaerys velaryon #lucaerys velaryon #rhaenyra targaryen #alicent hightower #game of throne #daemon targaryen #slow burn #aegon x you #helaena targaryen #aemond x you #enemies to lovers #house targaryen #house velaryon

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mckiwi · 5 days ago

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Christmas is Better Spent Together

Chapter Two: 1665

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Rating: General Audiences

Categories: Gen, M/M

Fandom: Good Omens

Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley, Aziraphale/Crowley

Characters: Aziraphale, Crowley

Words: 798

7 times Aziraphale and Crowley spent Christmas together (and 1 time they didn't)

London, England - 1665

The door to Aziraphale’s lodgings opened and closed quickly, letting in a small flurry of snowflakes. Aziraphale didn’t move from his desk. It was some time before a voice spoke somewhere over his shoulder. “You can’t keep doing this.”

“I assure you, my dear, that I very well can,” Aziraphale answered.

“No, you really can’t.” It countered.

“I am an Angel of the Lord, it is my duty to comfort the afflicted and–”

“Where are these other so-called Angels then, hmm? Not here.” The voice leaned back and Aziraphale heard footsteps retreat to the fireplace. “It’s your duty to watch over the humans, not sew button eyes back onto a little girl’s doll.”

Aziraphale finally turned away from his project with an indignant huff and gave the voice a face, not that he needed the confirmation. Crowley rid himself of his snow-sodden coat and hung it by the fire, shaking his loose hair free from any remaining snowflakes, and pulled a chair up a reasonable distance from Aziraphale’s. “How’d you know what room I was in?”

Crowley shrugged, “Asked the Innkeeper.”

“The door was locked.”

“…Oh.”

Aziraphale sighed and wiped a hand over his face, feeling every bit of his unquantifiable age, “Why are you here, Crowley? I’m afraid I’m not very good company right now.”

“You’re late,” Crowley said simply. “We were supposed to meet at our rendezvous by the Thames at 3. It’s nearly 5 now.”

That at least got a reaction out of the Angel. “Oh my! I’m so terribly sorry! Time must’ve gotten away from me.”

Crowley waved away his words, “Nah, s’alright. Just thought I’d check in on you, wanted to make sure you hadn’t gotten the sickness. I mean, I know we can’t get sick, not like humans, but… I dunno.” Silence fell for a few short moments. “How’re you taking it? I see you’ve been out among them.”

Aziraphale wrung his hands together, “I may not be able to Miracle people back to health, but I can ease their suffering, or make their passing painless.”

Crowley nodded in understanding, remembering the trail of cream-coloured blankets that had led him to the Angel in the first place. “What’s with the doll, then? You can just snap your fingers and fix it if that’s what you’re aiming to do.”

“I needed something to do with my hands,” Aziraphale explained and gently picked up the doll, running his fingers through the frayed yellow yarn of the doll’s hair. “I found this near one of the dead body piles. Thought I’d neaten it up a bit. Give it a proper burial, seeing as how its owner likely won’t.”

Crowley extended a hand, which Aziraphale placed the doll in. He brushed his thumb over the torn embroidery of a name on the doll’s leg. Hope. He handed the doll back to the Angel and sniffed. “Good craftsmanship.”

“Thank you,” Aziraphale said and smiled softly, setting the doll back on the desk. He hesitated before turning back to the Demon, “I hate to have to ask, but… is all this your–”

“No.”

“Oh, okay. Good.” Aziraphale shifted in his seat uncomfortably. “I’m glad. What about you? How are you feeling about all of this?”

Crowley raised a brow and heaved a sigh, “The 14th century is still definitely the worst, but this one is climbing on up there. At least now that it’s winter, the sickness is starting to slow down.”

“Hopefully this will all settle down in the spring,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley’s gaze drifted over to the doll, “Yeah. Hopefully.” He could see tears start to well in the other’s eyes. He pushed himself up and stood. “We could go somewhere.”

Aziraphale lifted tearful eyes and blinked up at him. “What?”

“It’s Christmas. Let’s go do something.” Crowley shrugged with forced nonchalance. “Go spread some holiday joy or whatever in these trying times.”

“I don’t think your side would like you doing that.”

“My side’s too busy sorting through an extra several thousand souls a day to be watching me. Besides, I could spin it my way if they ask.” He put on a comedically gruff expression with his hands on his hips. “‘Why are you giving sweets to children’ Hastur would ask. I’d say ‘I’m ruining their health and making them more susceptible to illness.’ And then he’d say ‘What about your adversary?’ And I’d go ‘I tempted the Angel to eat some of the sweets, too.’”

Aziraphale chuckled at Crowley’s antics, to which the other smirked pridefully. “What do you suggest we do then?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley shrugged his coat back on, “doesn’t matter to me. Wherever you wanna go, angel. Whatever you wanna do. I’m in.”

Aziraphale’s eyes shone with mirth, “let’s go sing Christmas carols!”

“And you’ve lost me.”

#good omens #good omens fanfic #aziraphale #crowley #christmas #christmas fic #aziraphale and crowley through the ages #the great plague of london #aziracrow #innefable husbands #mckiwiwrites

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arabellachant · 2 months ago

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hold me like a knife. v.

aegon targaryen x lannister!oc. aemond targaryen x lannister!oc.

warnings: language, underage drinking, targcest, infidelity (from almost everyone), allusions to sex, religious guilt, mysoginy, pregnancy and childbirth, possible grammar mistakes (english is not my first language)

words: 3.1k

As king Viserys II decreed, the prince Aegon and princess Helaena would be wed by the end of the season in a ceremony open to the small folk. All of the royal family and the main houses of Westeros were invited to the celebration. Rumours dared to say princess Rhaenyra would not attend it.

For the months prior to the wedding, Elora stayed in the Red Keep. Hopefully her presence could force the younger prince out of his hiding, or so was thought. During her time there, the girl did her best in tending to the queen and princess, slowly but surely finding a way into their affections. On more than one occasion, she found herself being the one to offer them comfort during preparations, for the truth was, no one seemed truly pleased with the decision. Alicent and Helaena were in a constant state of distress, one drowning in emotion and the other running from it. Soon, the embroidery sessions became a frequent routine for the women, a refreshing moment of peace away from the prying eyes from the men from court. In time, the young lady stopped worrying about the rejection from her groom, finding joy in the occasions when she was only accompanied by the queen and princess, and life in King’s Landing became merrier.

To her at least.

The prince Aegon seemed to grow more miserable by the day, becoming increasingly harder to find him sober. If Helaena did not agree to the idea of marriage, he surely despised it. Even teasing Elora did not give him the contempt it used to, and eventually he stopped searching for her at all.

Aegon gone. Aemond gone. To her the dragon princes became ghosts too, and she wouldn't have minded if they stayed like that.

***

The first time she heard the deafening sound of Vhagar’s wings crossing the skies, Elora had sworn a hurricane was upon them. By the tenth time, it was a bitter reminder of the boy that refused to meet her. The girl didn’t bother to go near the Dragon Pit to encounter him, knowing he would evade any attempt she made at conversation with him, and she had endured too much of his humiliation to care for his company again. The lady stayed in her rooms, imagining Aemond going back to his solitary self-imposed confinement, hiding from the sight of any and everyone that tries to get close. She could picture it already. The young prince, sinking in self pity, harshly sending away the poor servant that goes to call him for supper, his chair empty during another meal.

And yet, the strangest thing happened, a soft knock on her door. Not from the prince, but from a maid, bringing with her a vase.

“My lady.” The woman excuses herself into the bedroom, carrying the small vessel where a single wild lily is placed. “The prince Aemond sent this to you.” She carefully places it on the vanity, the flower looking eerily delicate between the jewels.

Elora was at a loss of words. Weeks of silence and now this? What could he possibly mean by that? An apology? A mockery of her situation in the palace? There was a time she believed she understood his feelings, but that was before.

Her silence seemed to be enough of an answer for the servant, as she began making her way out. “Wait.” Elora called back, unable to take her eyes off the white petals like silk. “Did he send a message also?” He had to. He couldn't send only a flower, she needed more.

“No, my lady.” The woman looked remorseful, probably sensing the girl’s disappointment.

“He returned to his rooms?” Elora’s question wasn’t more than a whisper, the flower sitting in her vanity as a token of how she was ignored.

The maid bowed further, keeping her pitiful eyes to the floor. “Yes, my lady.”

No word, no visit, only a small lily. That was all she had from Aemond in over a moon’s time. The girl sent the servant away with a wave from her hand, her eyes hypnotised by the delicate blossom. So much more than the prince had offered in so long and yet not nearly enough.

It was this inconsistency that drove her out of her chambers, down multiple corridors and to stand outside Aemond’s door. The hard wood being the one thing keeping her away from him for what felt like an eternity. She considered knocking, but she knew that would only give him the chance to send her away, to lock the door before she could reach for the handle. Putting aside all the good manners her father forced on her, Elora pushed the door open and barged in, not caring about excusing herself or giving Aemond any warning of her intrusion.

The prince had already changed from his riding clothes, now only in a comfortable shirt, his loose hair falling over his face. The left side of his face was covered in bandages, the cloth the same colour as his pale complexion, his single eye wide in panic.

“What are you doing here?” He hissed, tossing aside all the kindness the girl remembered, his left hand hiding his injuries out of instinct.

The question startled Elora, and to her it was like she was in a dream, walking in her sleep only to wake in his room. On any other day such a thought would make her embarrassed, but now she had decided there was something greater than her reputation. “A flower?” Her tone was childish, a mix of anger and incredulity.

Aemond looked puzzled, his brow furrowed as he searched for an explanation in her expression. Noticing his confusion, she walked to where he was and forcefully placed the vase on a table, the lily dancing from the movement. “Weeks of silence and this is the first thing I get from you?”

If the one-eyed prince was pale, he now looked translucent, his lilac iris glued to the pure flower. His mouth opened and closed a few times, his mind working to come up with the right words, the first ones after so long. “I imagined you’d like it.” He finally whispered, a silver curtain covering half of his face as he took a careful step back.

“I would prefer to have a word with you.” She stepped forward, not letting him flee from her this time. “To be allowed to meet you as we did before.” Her words carried a heavy grief, the memory of the boy she met not so long ago had turned into a sorrowful one.

“‘Before” was long ago…” He gruffed a response, fully turning away to return to his armchair.

“Before your scar, you mean?” Elora crossed his chambers to stand in front of him, all semblance to her practised politeness gone.

A dark cloud came down in the room, the roars of the wind too loud to let anything else be heard. The silence between those children, who used to be so close, was now suffocating. A warm and thick atmosphere engulfing them and sticking to their skin, forcing them to be too aware of their situation. There was no more sparkle between them, no space to bloom. “What do you want?” His question, although dry, was not as bitter as his previous words.

“To see you.” The girl whispered, taking a careful step forwards.

“I am here.”

“Not truly.” The physical distance between them diminished, and for once Aemond didn’t move back. Yet, he seemed to be whole galaxies away.

His brows creased, for once he considered putting down his barriers, but he would not be vulnerable again, not with her. “Where else can I be?”

“Driftmark.” Her tone was both firm and gentle, testing just how much she could push him. “Many moons ago.” She considered closing the gap between them, taking his hand and shouting that she felt sorry for what happened to him, that it didn’t matter what he looked like, only that he loved her. She said nothing else, the prince wouldn’t let her.

“I’m certain that may worry you very much, my lady.” His face turned away, a pearly curtain keeping him hidden from her sight.

She was now considering slapping him. “Do you truly think so little of me? That a scar would change my judgement over you?” Her voice trembled, her face slowly contorting into a painful scowl.

“It might if that’s the face you’ll be forced to see every day.” Aemond’s answer came without any thought, an instinctive snarl to anyone who got too close. After a moment, he returned to a stoic act. “I would understand if it changed something for you. I am changed because of it.”

“No.” Her tone was disbelief, shock, anger, refusal. Whiny enough to sound like it came from a common girl.

“No?” The prince scoffed, rolling his eye at her.

“No, that’s not what’s changed.” Elora spoke firmly, striding over the room to stand right in front of him. “It’s not your face, it’s you.” In a defiant instinct, she carefully moved his hair away from his face, looking at him for the first time in so long. The lady sucked in a breath, shocked by the thin, deep line running from his temple to his cheekbone. The violet iris replaced by a dark void.

Her shock was just not bigger than the prince’s itself. Quickly, slapping her hand away to cover his scarred face. His pale complexion now giving space to the deep hue of shame.

“Do you truly think I care so much about what you look like?” The girl murmured, tearing up at such a violent reaction from him.

Aemond turned away from her, taking slow steps further into the room. No answer came. Elora understood none would come at all, and that confirmed what she needed to know.

Curtsying to the prince’s back, she stormed out of the room, making sure to close the door as loudly as she could despite the reactions she could receive. If Aemond had decided he thought the worst of her, what did it matter if she tried to be better?

And the servants nearby would have probably been distraught by her behaviour if they weren’t so occupied by trying to get prince Aegon back into his chambers. His pale hair dishevelled, simple clothes dirty and tainted with wine, an inebriated smile plastered on his face as he struggled to even stand straight. Elora’s mouth hung open at the sight, the boy having to be escorted by a couple guards as his feets dragged over the floor with his weak protests.

“Sister!” He yelled once he had a glimpse of her, pushing away the poor servants as he stumbled in her direction. The girl’s nostrils were filled with the stench of alcohol as he loosely draped his arms over her shoulders, his embrace keeping him somewhat upright. “Aemond’s little bride…” He slurred his words, clinging to her figure as he slipped onto the ground again.

She was frozen with the scene in front of her, the two guards apologising profusely as they tried to untangle his arms from her. “It’s alright, really…” She murmured more out of politeness, trying to disguise just how distressed she was with the prince’s touch. “What happened?”

“The prince was out drinking again, my lady.” The men bowed as they finally took hold of Aegon again. “We must return him back to his rooms.” Their voices sounded embarrassed, tired, but not surprised.

The girl scanned over the strange trio again, her mind in deep thought as she saw the carefree smile on the boy’s face. The expression of someone that doesn’t have to worry about a single thing, who can afford to escape and drink his weight in wine while others had to stress over his own wedding. Sighing heavily, she opened the way for the men to pass, nodding for them to continue.

“Aenara.” The prince’s voice echoed in the hallway after just a few steps away from the lady, struggling to turn in her way again.

She looked at him with furrowed brows, gazing at his crooked smile, the cracks of his lips, how sunken his face looked in comparison to what she remembered. Letting out a long exhale, she met his eyes again, taking in the lilac shimmer of his irises, how his face flushed with colour with her small acknowledgement. And there it was, the same mischievous challenge he had been to her so many times before, and for once she knew she wouldn’t win.

With an immediate regret, she stepped closer to the guards. “Wait!” She called out, quickening her approach to stand in front of them. “I’ll accompany you.” She muttered shy, looking to the carpet beneath her feet, before turning around and leading them across the palace.

A million thoughts swirled in her head, trying to come up with an acceptable excuse to why she was helping that boy, the same one she tried so much to avoid. An awkward silence followed them over multiple corridors, interrupted only by Aegon’s incoherent babbling, his fits of giggles almost making her curious. An eternity had passed before they reached the heavy doors of his chambers’, and the lady let out a sigh of relief that her odd task was over.

The guards threw the prince onto his bed without much care, bowing heavily to the girl, who stood uneasy by the door, unable to not notice the layer of sweat that started to form over the boy’s body. “This should be enough, my lady. We will inform the queen that the prince is back.” The men spoke with some concern.

Inform the queen. Bother Alicent with another problem, one that laid right in front of her. “No.” She shook her head, carefully entering the room, keeping her eyes fixed on the unconscious prince. “There’s no need for that. I’ll tend to him.” With a sway of her hand, the guards were gone, and she was alone in Aegon’s room. Alone with him.

She tried to convince herself it was an act of charity that forced her to stay. A way to ease poor queen Alicent’s troubles in such a stressful time. But the truth was she didn’t know. Why she didn’t keep her eyes away, why she didn’t turn her back on him, why she followed him into this place.

Fearing what answer she would find if she thought too hard over it, Elora forced herself away from the door, cautiously approaching the bed. The girl stood confused by the headboard, looking down to the feverish boy in his drunken slumber. She didn’t really know how to tend to someone in such a state, much less how to get him out of it. She did, however, know how to wake someone after they had passed out.

Filling a glass with some water, she splashed the prince without warning, watching how he got soaked with the cold water. If it had sobered him up, she did not know, but he surely made him more aware.

“What the- what are you doing?” His voice cracked as he yelled at her, fruitlessly trying to dry his face with the sleeves of his shirt.

“Making sure you’re still breathing.” Her response was far more playful than she had intended, not holding in a shy chuckle at how his face burned red with bewilderment.

“By trying to drown me?” The boy didn’t seem to share her humour at the situation, sitting up as he wiped his face.

Her laughter grew louder, and she covered her face with her hands to hide the true extent of her amusement. “Oh please, it was a glass of water, your highness. There are far more stressful things.” She eyed over his distraught expression, almost scoffing at how bothered he looked by one teasing.

“Truly? Such as…” He asked with a smug look, his eyes beaming as he expected to win another match against her.

“Planning a wedding.” Her eyes narrowed as she dared to bite back at him, partially hoping to bother him enough to force him to care about the effort everyone else was putting into it.

The prince’s expression fell immediately, a dark semblant glossing his eyes. Still, a smirk curled his lips, a cruel scoff leaving them. “Yes, my wedding, such a merry occasion.” His tone dripped of sarcasm, and he fell back on the mattress covering his face with his arms to ignore the girl.

“Yes. Your wedding.” She forcefully pulled his arms away from his face, all amusement replaced by pent up anger as she watches how quickly he dismisses the subject. “The one that has been tormenting your mother and sister for ages, and which you seem to not care at all.”

He sat up again, looking into her eyes with a matching fire, for once looking like he was fully there. “Sorry if I’m not ecstatic about the arrangement, my lady…” Aegon hissed at her, the heat of the alcohol irradiating off his body. “But I would rather not be married.”

Elora withdrew from him, suddenly intimidated by his piercing gaze. “Don’t act like you’re suffering.” She whispers automatically, not having the time to think before the words spilled out of her. “Not when Helaena’s fate is far worse.” Clenching her jaw, she took back her stance, letting her fury reign over her uncertainty.

“Helaena’s fate?” The prince snapped at her, his eyes turning red with rage as he stood tall in front of her. “Why her fate? What of mine?” His voice was choked as he spoke, and for a split second he looked anguished, looking down to her like a tortured man. “Why does everyone seem to forget I am as much of a victim in this?”

The lady kept his gaze, her lips trembling as she tried to think of a response. ‘Because you’re the man’, ‘because you’re a prince’, because you don’t care’. She considered saying all these things to him. But in reality, how could she?

Aegon didn’t have a say in the matter. He was not much older than herself, and in this moment, he didn’t look like a prince. Looking in his eyes, he looked scared. Mirroring the same agony that had plagued her mind ever since she was sent to the Red Keep.

Instead she said nothing, taking a step back as she lowered her head. “Clean yourself.” She whispered, trying to ignore the bitter guilt that grew in her chest. “I’ll not tell the queen about tonight. Good bye, my prince.” She bowed to him and left.

Aegon stood there for many minutes after he was alone, staring at the door like she was just behind the wood. But she didn’t come back to apologise. After the darkness slipped into the room, he went to sleep.

@targaryendestiel

#house of the dragon #team green #aegon ii targaryen #aemond targaryen #aegon x oc #aemond x oc #aegon fanfic #king aegon ii targaryen #aemond one eye #prince aemond targaryen #aegon ii fanfic

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impossible-rat-babies · 8 months ago

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— B A S I C S

name: eyrie kisne nicknames: none. they inherited the title "the ephemeral shepherd" after the end of the pandaemonium raids age: 150~ years old nameday: 22nd sun of the 4th astral moon (07/22) race: veena + rava viera gender: nonbinary orientation: do not particularly care profession: adventurer + craftsman

— P H Y S I C A L A S P E C T

hair: reddish brown with streaks of pale blonde + a few grey hairs at their temples and near their ears. there are a few bald spots near the base of their ears from an intense trichotillomania flare up ~15 years ago eyes: warm dark brown skin: well worn and lightly tanned with copious amounts of sun spots, freckles and moles. a section of bleached white skin runs the length of their spin, spreading out across their shoulders and lower back. tattoos/scars: light brown tattoos of the same design as their maternal grandmother decorate their fingers and hands. their hands and forearms bleached to a pale white—almost marble like to the touch. they have too many scars to dare count them, but a notably large scar stretches from just below their sternum to right above their belly button from a reaper scythe through their chest.

— F A M I L Y

parents: their mother--yelva--is alive and well back in the forest. tending to her great grand children and her goats. their father, azmi, died in an accident during the later parts of eyrie’s wood warder training. siblings: two older sisters named lilja and brita, and one fraternal twin brother named odvirn, all of whom are alive grandparents: deceased/unknown in laws and other: none they are close with. they do have copious amounts of nieces and nephews from their sisters, but their brother has no living children. they also have seven children of their own. pets: cricket (a ferret familiar, unknowingly summoned) + flower (a carbuncle inherited upon the death of the first WoL in the coils of bahamut) + gingko (their chocobo who chose them once they finished their paladin training)

— S K I L L S

abilities: brd + smn + war/drk + ast. also trained in the tradition of the disgraced paladins of ishgard. they have some small talent in conjury, but refuse to pursue the matter further on account of “personal issues” hobbies: whittling, landscape drawing, playing various instruments (lute and pan pipes), gardening, sewing + embroidery + mending clothes

— T R A I T S

most positive traits: selfless, compassionate, loving, paternal

most negative traits: selfless, quiet, liar, shameful and guilty, vindictive, patronizing

— L I K E S

colours: russet brown, maroon, olive green, ivory, pale gold smells: oil pastels, aether, chamomile, blood textures: linen, feathers, homemade paper, oil, silky fur and rough wool drinks: mead, mulled wine, fermented sheep's milk

— O T H E R D E T A I L S

smokes: briefly and socially some 25 years ago. they have some fleeting happy memories associated with the smell of garlean cigarettes. drinks: very occasionally and only socially with familiar company drugs: mild relaxants to help them sleep when the terrors get really bad + occasional pain meds to ease chronic pains mount issuance: "this note just says you can do what you want." been arrested: yes, several times by the brass blades in ul'dah after the calamity. mostly for petty crimes, but also inciting violence + bar fights + violence against members of the brass blades. (to which that was mostly violence in defense of the poor and the refugees the brass blades took for easy targets. they didn’t kill anyone though)

@redwayfarers and @galpalaven tagged me in this meme ages ago and i finally got around to doing it! im gonna tag: @fourteenthz, @gatheredfates, @hinganskies, @aethergazing and whomever else!

#tagging other ppl bc i know a lot of ppl have done it alreayd #oc: eyrie kisne #ffxiv

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starry-blue-echoes · 1 year ago

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Legally Stars: I just. Had. The craziest idea. Based on the release date of a certain game.

So it's 2002, a good amount of time after the mess in Italy. Jotaro wants to help the kids take a breather, but he isn't sure how. Then he sees an ad for a video game and he pauses.

Right there near the bottom of the poster is, of all characters, Donald Duck. He looks at it more closely and... yep, that's the Disney logo, along with some company called Squaresoft.

He isn't the biggest fan of video games, but Joseph did get the kids a PS2 last Christmas, and Ungalo is a huge fan of Disney. Jolyne less so, but she still likes the company and their movies.

He buys the game, but he's still doubtful. How good can this 'Kingdom Hearts' be?

(9 years later, Pucci is beaten into unconsciousness by a Bohemian Rhapsody-summoned, spiky-haired kid wielding a giant key.)

I'll admit I don't know a whole lot about Kingdom Hearts but the fucking snort I let out reading this holy shit-

I regret nothing about making Ungalo a Disney fan because it opens up avenues of sheer insane bullshit like this and makes everything extrodinarily funnier, and it also just hit me that growing up........ Ungalo and the other kids are probably going to use their Stands a TON, especially given the fact they're in an environment where they can freely do so and explore things, and now I rotating ideas of how that would affect them

Ungalo would of course occasionally use Bohemian Rahpsody on his favorites, but after that gets a TON of attention, he also probably begins to get an appreciation for more niche, unknown media. He learns to control his Stand on a much smaller scale but spends time wondering what would happen if he fully cut loose

Rikiel likes to practice with finer controls and while his Stand can't be played with as safely as his siblings, that doesn't stop them from trying to come up with games so he won't feel left out. One of their favorites is a sort of sight based hide and seek where Rikiel Stands in a single spot and has to try and spot their hiding places and direct the rods to them

and Donatello LOVES walking around places and seeing what the ground can tell him. He knows a ridiculous amount of random, untimately meaningless gossip and loves to regale his siblings with stories of what he's heard. He usually doesn't do anything more recent than the last few years to save himself the awkwardness of knowing the people Under World shows him, but it's still very entertaining nontheless

Naturally when Jolyne obtains her Stand, they IMMEDIATELY jump as the oppurtinity. They'd of course always done their best to include her before, but now that she can actually see their Stands and has one of her own the possibilities are endless

I like to imagine the brothers all make sure to be very calm and un-serious about Stone Free. They little sister had to go through enough stress and fear getting her Stand in the first place, she doesn't need to be treated like she was something dangerous just because she had a powerful Stand. In there eyes, she's still their Jolyne, only now she can turn into string

Jolyne takes a shine to cats cradles and embroidery, but she is also unfairley hard to catch in her brother's opinion. She becomes crazily flexible and anytime when they wrestle or play tag, she'll simply slip out of any holds she's put in and wrap around her opponent so they're the one caught instead

but shifting gears a bit, this ALSO got me thinking of everything Post-Golden Wind and also just Jotaro being a Cool Dad/Uncle. After Jotaro very violently curbstomps Diavolo, I'd imagine there's a moment of hesitancy from the Bucci Gang because yeah this man came out of nowhere and just beat the shit out of the BOSS who's been giving us a lot of trouble like it was nothing, but all their worries abate when all four of the kids tackle him with a hug

it's only later they realize No, Mr.Jotaro Is That Scary, He's Just Got A Soft Spot For The Kids And Maybe Giorno

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jumbled-messy-confused · 8 months ago

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Threads of Fate

Summary:

In the quiet halls of the Little Palace, each Kefta tells a tale. Each thread weaves a story of resilience, unspoken bonds, and battles fought in silence. As the night unfolds, secrets of the heart come to light, love and duty intertwine, every stitch becomes a silent prayer, and fate hangs by a thread.

Notes:

This story is an AU, based on the first episodes of “Shadow and Bone”, when Alina is relatively new to the palace. As in each of my stories, Kirigan is a leader, not the villain from the series. Please note that English is not my first language, but I did my best to find most mistakes. (Feel free to point them out to me!). I took certain creative liberties, particularly with respect to magic, medical details and the characterization of the main characters but I hope, you will just roll with it. And now have fun! And thank you for reading.

The twilight hour had cast a serene glow over the Little Palace, its corridors echoing with the soft laughter of Alina Starkov and Genya Safin. They had spent the day away from the palace’s suffocating politics, a brief respite that allowed them to breathe, to relax, to share moments of levity—Alina from her rigorous training and Genya as a close aide to the Tsar. The day had been a rare gift of leisure, a precious pause in their relentless schedules. However, upon entering Genya’s quarters, the remnants of their mirth were abruptly displaced by the sight before them. A chaotic array of Keftas lay in a dishevelled heap, each silently recounting the day’s fierce clashes. “Not this again,” Genya whispered, her voice heavy. Her heart clenched with a mixture of sorrow and dread. The pile of Keftas represented more than just fabric; it bore witness to the suffering endured by countless Grisha.

Alina’s smile waned, her eyes clouded with bewilderment as she surveyed the heap of damaged garments. “What… what are these?” she inquired, her voice barely audible in the dense atmosphere of the room. Genya paused as she neared the pile, her fingers hesitating before grazing the fabric. “These are the Keftas of the injured,” she clarified, her tone resolute amidst the deep sorrow. “Repairing them is my responsibility.” “I’ll keep you company,” Alina offered sombrely, and together, they knelt beside the pile. With a resigned sigh, Genya began to sort through the garments, her skilled hands assessing the damage with a tailor’s precision. Alina, kneeling beside her, watched intently, her despair palpable with each torn seam and bloodstain that Genya revealed.

Suddenly Alina’s hand darted into the pile, her actions quick and decisive. She drew out a Kefta, its condition so ravaged it seemed beyond repair. The severity of the destruction sent a wave of dread through Genya. The garment was heavily saturated with blood, still damp to the touch. Its fabric was torn asunder, its once intricate embroidery now a chaotic web of threads and despair, the front and sides brutally slashed in what could only be the aftermath of a ferocious encounter with the Volcra. And it was black.

Alina’s breath hitched, her eyes wide with terror as she clutched the Kefta to her chest, her knuckles turning white under her desperate grip. She looked to Genya, her expression pleading for it not to be true. Yet Genya could do nothing to alleviate Alina’s worst fears. “I must see him!” Alina’s exclamation shattered the silence, as she sprang to her feet. Without a look back, she bolted towards the infirmary, propelled by a wave of dread and urgency. With a heart laden with concern, Genya pursued quickly, her own fears for Kirigan fuelling her steps.

The infirmary stood in stark contrast to the bustling halls of the Little Palace, a sanctuary of quietude where time seemed to stand still. The air, thick with the scent of medicinal herbs, was undisturbed save for the bustle around the sole occupant. The beds stood empty, the other Grisha having been treated and released, leaving only General Kirigan in the centre of the room. Relief washed over Genya at the sight of Kirigan under the healers’ attentive care, but it was quickly overshadowed by the gravity of his condition. The normally commanding figure, usually the personification of strength and control, lay deeply unconscious on the cot. His body was drenched in sweat, clad only in simple black pants, his skin shone with the glow of a high temperature. His torso was swathed in thick white bandages, the purity of the cloth marred by the dark, oily stains of Volcra-inflicted damage and the crimson of his blood. Despite the bandages, the severity of the lacerations was evident - his torso was literally ripped open, slashes so deep and dangerous, they made her feel nauseous. It was the kind of wounds that had cost many Grisha their lives; and if one survived them, they left scars no magic could conceal. The dire discolorations sapping through the thick compresses painted a vivid picture of claw marks that traversed his entire chest, wrapped around his sides and trailed down to his lower abdomen, vanishing beneath the low-slung waistband of his trousers - evidence of the healers’ struggle to mend injuries that were not just physical but wrought by dark magic. His tall and slender build, deprived of its typical layers of imposing attire, appeared almost frail, the stillness of his form was so profound that it bordered on the inanimate. The only sign he clung to life was the faint, irregular rise and fall of his chest.

However, what sent a shiver down Genya’s spine was the unexpected sight of a Heartrender standing nearby. With a sense of unease, she recognized the subtle movements of the quiet man’s hands—he was manipulating Kirigan’s pulse. Trying to calm her nerves, Genya reasoned that he was surely there to regulate Kirigan’s fever-induced rapid palpitations, yet a nagging suspicion lingered. Her heart began to pound in her chest, a dreadful rhythm echoing the severity of Kirigan’s condition. It led her to observe him more closely, studying the uneven tempo of his breathing. There were pauses, each varying in length, creating a pattern of unpredictable stillness between the shallow, weak inhales. During one particularly long gap, she caught sudden hectic movements from the corner of her eye. The Heartrender had tensed, and his hands began to sign with a sense of urgency that hadn’t been there before. A few seconds later, Kirigan’s body convulsed faintly, his back arching as he drew a strained, almost imperceptible breath - clearly in response to the Heartrender’s actions. Genya’s hands flew to her mouth in shock and a wave of fear washed over her as she realized the gravity of what she was witnessing. These were not just irregular gasps but critical junctures where Kirigan, obviously drained of all strength, was on the verge of succumbing to his injuries. It was a stark revelation, an immediate understanding that the Heartrender’s presence was not at all for the sake of controlling Kirigan’s feverish pulse; he was the silent guardian keeping Kirigan’s battered body that lay too weak to fight from slipping away. Mirroring her own fears, the healers were a picture of focused intensity. Their quick yet careful movements spoke volumes of the vital nature of their task. They radiated a strong tension - the sharp, immediate fear of losing a life, as well as the dull, lingering worry of what might come next. Each healer seemed to carry the weight of the moment, their expressions reflecting the toll it took on them. It was a sobering sight, and Genya felt a new wave of apprehension wash over her. Alina, with a look of shock and despair etched on her face, had come to an abrupt halt a short distance from Kirigan’s bedside. While she obviously grasped the seriousness of his condition, the critical role of the Heartrender in sustaining Kirigan’s life fortunately seemed beyond her comprehension. To her, his presence was probably simply part of the infirmary’s landscape—an unquestioned element in the backdrop of her focused concern for Kirigan. She seemed unaware of the delicate balance between life and death that was being maintained by the Heartrender’s skilled hands, the full extent of the danger Kirigan was in. A pang of relief washed over Genya as she observed Alina’s innocent perception, grateful that she was spared the tormenting knowledge of Kirigan’s life-threatening peril. At the same time, her heart ached for the young woman who was so clearly out of her depth, her eyes filled with fear and despair. As Alina neared the bed, still clutching the black coat tightly against her chest, the healers made no move to stop her. She stared at Kirigan’s pallid face, his features still and lifeless, his skin ablaze with fever from the Volcra’s poison. Carefully, she placed the Kefta at the foot of his cot and clasped Kirigan’s hand, while the healers continued to place cold, wet cloths on his forehead and pressed ice packs, wrapped in fabric, to his sides, struggling to subdue the infection that raged within him—a heat Genya knew all too well, for it was not Kirigan’s first dance with the venom of these dreadful creatures.

A weight settled in Genya’s chest as she watched Alina’s shoulders shake with silent sobs. She thought of how new this all was for the young Sun Summoner, who had not been long in the palace and, as a cartographer, had never experienced war like the Grisha. She was unaccustomed to such a sight, unaccustomed to fearing for those close to her—repeatedly. Constantly. A subtle change in the air, a collective pause drew Genya’s eyes away from her distraught friend. The healers, moments before a whirlwind of relentless activity in their fight against Kirigan’s temperature, had come to a standstill. One by one, their attention shifted to Alina. Genya, noticing this, felt a flutter of unease. Why were they all staring at her? She subtly gestured, silently asking if she should remove her from Kirigan's side. But the healers shook their heads, their eyes softening as they returned their gaze to their leader and the woman who held his hand. It became clear to Genya then, that Alina's presence was not a disturbance, but a balm, a source of comfort that Kirigan, even in his unconscious state, seemed to respond to. Alina's touch, her very presence, appeared to be a lifeline for Kirigan in his critical state. Feeling a sense of relief wash over her at the healers’ silent approval, Genya moved with newfound resolve. She quietly fetched a chair for Alina first, and with a gentle touch on her shoulder, she guided her into the seat. Next, she brought a chair for herself and set it down nearby, a silent promise that she was not alone in this. Then, Genya’s gaze fell upon the Kefta at the foot of the bed. With careful hands, she lifted the black cloth, its weight heavy with Kirigan’s blood. She sat down and took a deep breath, bracing herself for the challenge of restoring the Kefta to its original state. Using her Grisha abilities, she began the first step - cleansing it. But with each pass of her hand over the saturated fabric, she found herself overwhelmed by the thought of the agony Kirigan must have felt, having been rended open by the claws of the Volcra; overwhelmed by the thought of the desperation Kirigan’s companions must have felt while transporting him to the Little Palace in such a dire state. She had to force herself to think of something else, to steady her trembling hands. It was a struggle, but gradually, she managed to calm herself, to regain control over her emotions.

Once the Kefta was finally free of his blood, she moved with purpose as she began the meticulous process of mending the torn garment.

Throughout the night, the infirmary bore witness to their vigil. Alina, with her tears that fell like silent rain, still held onto Kirigan’s hand as if she could anchor him to life. Unbeknownst to her, her presence was indeed anchoring him, stabilizing him in a way that Genya could see reflected in the gradually calming demeanor of the healers and the Heartrender.

But initially, there had been moments - heart-stopping instances, when instead of the rhythm of his faint breaths, there had been nothing but a disturbing, deafening stillness. They had lost Kirigan, more than once, his injuries too severe for his weakened body to overcome.

Yet again and again, because of the Heartrender forcing the life back into his battered form, Kirigan’s chest would rise and fall again in a weak, faltering imitation of its usual rhythm. It had been a cycle of death and resurrection, a terrifying dance played out in the span of agonizing heartbeats. Genya, a silent witness to these harrowing episodes, felt a visceral terror clawing at her insides each time Kirigan had succumbed. And on each occasion, Genya had feared it was too late, that the Heartrender could not save him this time, that the General had no more strength left to fight. Alina, thankfully, had still been oblivious to these silent dramas, these battles waged between life and death, unfolding before Genya’s eyes. Her innocence was a small mercy in the face of such overwhelming dread.

Fortunately, as the hours had passed, Kirigan’s condition had begun to gradually stabilize. The Heartrender’s interventions had become less frequent, till they practically ceased. He had eventually taken a seat, and though his watchful eyes never left Kirigan, there was a quiet reassurance in his demeanor, a sign that the worst was over. However, this stability came at a cost. Having left the eerie calm of near death behind, Kirigan now writhed in severe pain, a torment that the healers could do little to alleviate. They continued their fight against the Volcra’s venom that was still ravaging him, still combating the relentless fever with ice and cold compresses. Alina, with tender care, dabbed at the sweat that pooled on his face and in the hollows of his neck, a ceaseless effort against the infection that refused to break.

Genyas hands moved with a grace that belied the despair in her heart, as she meticulously repaired the tattered remnants of Kirigan’s Kefta. Each thread she wove was not just a part of the fabric, but a ward of protection, a silent plea for his safety. With every spell she cast, she fortified the garment with more than just physical resilience; infusing it with her hopes and respect for the man who carried the weight of their world upon his shoulders. The battles ahead would be as relentless as the ones in the past, Kirigan would all to soon again face the same threats that had brought him to this fragile state. So she poured all her forte into the cloth, strengthening it against the trials to come. It pained her that she could only mend his coat but not shield him from the inevitable. Yet, this was their reality, a constant cycle of conflict and recovery, each playing their role in the grand design of their fates. As the night progressed and Kirigan’s fever spiked, his restlessness grew. His movements became more frantic and he began to utter delirious confessions of perceived failures and lost comrades, a haunting echo of the wars that raged within him. Feeling helpless as she could do nothing to ease Kirigan’s suffering, Genya focused on the one thing she could do for him. She persevered in her work on the Kefta. Her fingers moved with precision, mending the torn sides of the garment, even as her heart ached for Kirigan’s pain. His voice, raw and broken, painted a chilling picture of the tragedies he had witnessed, the lives he couldn’t save, the friends he had buried. But it was not just names that he whispered into the stillness of the night. His fevered mind was like a relentless tide, washing ashore fragments of terrible fights, desperate laments for soldiers he couldn’t reach in time, warnings washed away in the chaos of war. His words, breathless and barely discernible hoarse whispers, laid bare his struggles, and more importantly, the guilt he felt over the losses he blamed himself for. The healers, weary themselves, attended to him again and again, yet their magic was only a temporary salve to his suffering, The potent Volcra venom coursing through his veins was still a too formidable adversary for the weakened man, although, fortunately, it was no longer life-threatening. Genya watched, her heart heavy with the unterstanding of the burdens Kirigan bore. Even in sleep, he fought silent battles, the weight of leadership, the countless decisions had left scars deeper than any blade or Volcra could inflict. An exhaustion seeped from the very marrow of his bones, a fatigue born from the relentless toll of war, a weariness he would never show when awake. This realization struck Genya with a chilling clarity - this was not just because he was so ill now, but a constant state of being for Kirigan. Seeing him in such torment was a painful revelation, opening her eyes to the depth of his silent endurance. As she repaired the front of the garment, she couldn’t help but think of the parallels between the torn fabric and the wounds on Kirigan’s soul. Each tear in the Kefta mirrored a scar on his spirit, each bloodstain speaking volumes about his sacrifice.

Time stretched on, and thankfully, with the first light of dawn beginning to seep through the windows, a gradual transformation came over Kirigan. The fever showed finally signs of yielding. The sheen of sweat that had coated his skin throughout the night had begun to dissipate, leaving behind a cooler touch to his pallor. His breathing ever so slowly fell into a calmer, even rhythm, eventually signalling a deep, restorative sleep that had finally claimed him. As his condition improved, so did the state of the Kefta under Genya’s diligent care. The sides were now mended, the front restored. All that remained was the intricate embroidery, a task Genya was determined to complete. Meanwhile the healers moved with quiet efficiency, obviously relieved about the shifts in their patient’s condition. They first discarded the remnants of ice that had been used to cool his raging temperature. Then they gently dried his skin, careful not to disturb the fragile peace his body had found. After that, they began to replace the sodden dressings. Genya watched as Alina stepped in to assist, her expression a mix of concern and determination, as they carefully unwound the old dressings. The wounds were still gaping, the healing process hindered by the lingering Volcra venom. Alina, though not squeamish, was visibly horrified by the extent of the violence Kirigan had endured. Yet, she soldiered on, her touch light but sure as she joined the healers, working in unison to carefully tend to Kirigan’s limp body. As they tenderly raised him to rewrap his torso, Kirigan’s head lolled to rest against Alina’s shoulder. Her gaze, filled with a mix of fear and a soft, unspoken affection, never left his face, as if willing him to feel the comfort of her presence. In that moment, her eyes spoke volumes—reflecting the turmoil within her, yet shining with an unspoken vow to remain steadfast by his side. Together, they smoothed fresh linens over the mattress, creating a dry surface for their unconscious charge. Last, lightweight blankets were draped around his slender form, cocooning him in their soft embrace. Hours passed, and the room remained hushed, the only sounds the gentle rustle of the Kefta’s fabric and the occasional murmur of the healers. Then, unexpectedly, there was a slight movement. Kirigan stirred, his breath deepening, and gradually, his eyes fluttered open. It was earlier than anyone had anticipated, but such was the resilience of this man. His gaze, initially clouded from the aftermath of his ordeal, slowly cleared, revealing a flicker of the formidable will that had carried him through countless trials. As his vision focused, he seemed to become aware of the hand holding his. With a great effort, he turned his head slightly and found Alina’s tear-streaked face. Despite his exhaustion, a weak smile graced his lips as he recognized her. His gaze, though weary, was warm, soft, filled with affection and gratitude. As he looked at her and acknowledged her presence, Alina’s face lit up with a radiant smile, her joy at seeing him awake was as bright as a sunrise. Genya, witnessing this, saw confirmation of what she had known for a long time: it was love. The way they looked at each other spoke volumes, more than any words could express. Though neither had yet voiced it, the emotion was clear, and Genya had long seen what they were only now beginning to admit. Next, Kirigan’s eyes, already half-closed again from the strain, found Genya standing behind Alina. Struggling to stay conscious, she saw a silent thank you in his gaze, not for himself, but for her care and companionship to Alina. She could see he was fighting to stay awake, but after his brushes with death, he was too exhausted. His eyes closed once more, and with a final, weary sigh, he succumbed to the much-needed rest his body was demanding.

As the morning advanced, Genya and Alina remained by his side, their shared vigil proof of the bonds that held them together—the bonds of friendship, of love, and of a shared determination to protect the man who was the heart of their world. At the foot of his bed, the once tattered Kefta now lay whole and restored. It was no longer a grim reminder of the battle Kirigan had faced, but a symbol of hope amidst the despair. Genya’s work was done. For now.

#(fan)art #(fan)art... kind of #jumbled-messy-confused #be kind #fantasy #Shadow and Bone AU #aleksander morozova #shadow and bone #the darkling #grishaverse #hurt/comfort #whump #h/c #fanfiction #Alina Starkov #Genya Safin #Darklina

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helenadurazzo · 6 months ago

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Waltzing in the Undercroft

Just a little story about two love birds escaping the crowds of the Great Hall together for the next generation following the events of Hogwarts Legacy

“I see that you agree that this winter ball is growing to be quite crowded.” Gilda heard a familiar voice remark as Thomas Hearst walked to where she stood, leaning against the cold stone walls of a corridor just outside of the Great Hall, where they could still hear the music being played.

Gilda could not deny that Thomas looked especially charming in his perfectly white suit with sparkly embroidery of snowflakes on the ends of the sleeves, coat, and pants, only disturbed by a pitch black tie. His brown hair was neatly combed yet still remained the charm of its usual state from where he studied for hours on a new book on the history of magic, or examined a new gift from his mother’s own researches.

“I have never been one for this sort of thing.” Gilda admitted, even though she did like the elegance of fancy dresses, such as the long periwinkle one she wore now with sleeves reminiscent of a butterfly or moths wing.

“Perhaps we should go on a stroll, or visit a place less crowded.” Thomas advised, “If there is one thing I know, it’s that Hogwarts is practically empty when a social event is going on, a keen moment for leisurely discoveries.

Gilda’s silvery eyes lit up at the thought, “I know just the place, I can’t believe I have never taken you here before, but you’ll love it. Come on, it’s just this way, near the Defense Against the Dark Arts Classroom.”

Gilda did not pay attention to the length of the walk as she walked rather slowly, enjoying the company of her Slytherin classmate. After all, she had known Thomas and his brothers ever since they were children, with her father wanting her to have good relations with them like he had with Thomas’ own father, Phineas Hearst, a prominent wizard in the field of ancient runes and magic who made quite the interesting discoveries, even an ordinary person would be intrigued to hear about.

She and Thomas had always been close, being the same age and as such starting Hogwarts the same year. In fact they could have been in the same house as the sorting hat considered Gilda for Slytherin due to her ancestry and Ravenclaw for Thomas due to his naturally bookish nature, yet Gilda was placed with the eagles while Thomas resided with the snakes. However they still saw each often, due to their nearly identical schedules involving a numerous amount of shared classes, even as fifth years like they currently were, one of these classes was almost always Defense Against the Dark Arts, another reason why Gilda tried to figure out why she never showed him the secret door just down the stairs from the classroom.

“A dead end?” Thomas assumed as he walked with her towards the windows. “Although I must admit it is a charming place in its own right.”

“Not quite.” Gilda gave him a look with a clever glint in her grey eyes as she turned to the wardrobe with clocks covered along it and used her wand to shift the hands of the clock, just like her father instructed her just before she boarded the train to get to Hogwarts before her first year officially began. And thus, allowing the wardrobe to open the reveal the secret door and another winding staircase, “Follow me.” Gilda instructed, “It’s not too much further down this path.”

“This place is remarkable.” Thomas breathed as they entered the room that was dimly lit by torches. It was untouched since Gilda last used the space to study for her Transfiguration Exam and avoid her stressed out dormmates. “You found this place one day I presume.”

“Not exactly.” Gilda admitted, fully trusting one of her longest companions, she knew full well Thomas would not go blabbering around about this place like so many others. “It lay abandoned for centuries until my Great Aunt Noctua found it and she told my father about it. He used it as his own personal retreat to practice spells and studies, or when he simply needed an escape from the professors as not even they knew about this place. In fact, he would often hang out in her with your father and the Sallow Siblings they were friends with to play games of all sorts. He once told me when he was learning how to cast Confringo, he singed Sebastian Sallow’s eyebrows right off, it took forever for them to grow back.”

“I heard my father and his friends had a hideout but he never told me where.” Thomas smiled before turning to Gilda, “Do not worry, I will not say a word, I assume this place was special to your father, as it is to you.”

“I know you will.” Gilda gave him a knowing smile. “I cannot imagine my father’s reaction if I told him a place that was so dear to him was lost because of a foolish placement of trust. You’re the first person I have told about this place after all.”

“As I said, you can trust me.” Thomas stepped forward with his charming smile that made Gilda lightly blush before he turned his head, “What about this triptych over here?”

Gilda turned her head and followed him over to the wall where the magnificent piece of work stood with three painted panels. It almost felt as someone should have been standing there, but due to the light amount of damage Gilda assumed it was possible.

“I don’t know much about it to be honest, my father never told me about this and I did not bother to ask him.” Gilda informed him, “Perhaps the next time I can ask the Sallows if they know anything since it does look to be some area in the Scottish Highlands, and they know the area better than anyone.”

“My father did mention traveling through various hamlets with his friends on his weekends at Hogwarts.” Thomas noted. “Perhaps we could explore the area sometime, it looks breathtaking with that serene water and magnificent rolling of the hills in the background.”

“Well your parents did always say the world was meant to be traveled and explored.” Gilda chuckled.

“That they did.” Thomas confirmed. “Adventure is out there after all, perhaps we could go together someday?” Thomas extended his hand out to her.

“I would love that.” She placed his hand in his, pulling herself closer to him and kissing him on the cheek while standing on her tip toes.

Thomas seemingly could not help but give her a contagious smile, “Would you care to dance?” He asked her with the wave of his wand which lit up the candles of the chandelier with glowing lights and made the already present torches seem just a bit brighter. His skill in charmwork was always so enchanting that Gilda could watch him perform it all day if she was allowed to.

“Gladly.” She beamed right at him, placing her hand on his shoulder as he placed his on her waist before they used this to remaining hands to hold together as they performed the stereotypical steps to the dance, not without a few pleasant surprises and twists along the way, as Thomas did always like to do something unexpected.

Gilda was not the best at dancing but she had to admit that she did feel as if she was getting less tense with her movements the more she practiced, and succeeded more in casual environments rather than formal ones. Thomas was always patient with her, simply laughing lightheartedly with no malice whenever she made an incorrect step. Unlike him, she was not a pure blood and as such, was not expected to attend the events they hosted like Thomas was, having even traveled to France a couple of times for events due to his mother’s family. Her father always wanted to keep her as far away from toxicity of pure blood society as he could, along with dubious dark magic.

“You know, my brother would always prefer to have dates with his girlfriend in the Restricted Section.” Thomas casually commented, “While I cannot see what sort of appeal they found in that dark and disturbing area, I suppose I can see the appeal more so than ever before of having a secret retreat to be alone and sneak into.”

Gilda rather instinctively gave him a look of surprise, “I never took Zacharias to be the romantic type. I know I did not cross paths with him many times, but he always seemed invested in those peculiar independent studies of his, and if not those he was working on some sort of sneaky potions trick with Pietro Mulpepper.”

“You aren’t wrong.” Thomas laughed, “I was surprised to, but I suppose the odd location fits him, surely he means well. After all, our fathers’ friend Sebastian Sallow always enjoying going into the restricted section himself. My father did always say that the title of forbidden made something all the more alluring.”

Gilda supposed he had a bias towards his brother, although he did always seem to not approve of some of his brother’s actions now and then but could not figure out what exactly he was doing. “How is Nicolas doing these days?” She casually shifted the topic.

Thomas seemed more than happy to go away from the increasingly awkward talks of his suspicious older brother, “I am counting down the days until Nicolas finally asks Aurelia Osborn out.”

“Aurelia Osborn?” Gilda repeated, “I don’t believe I recognize the name, is she in his year?”

“A year below him actually.” Thomas corrected, “I am not surprised you don’t know her, she is a Slytherin and she tends to keep to herself, and has had trouble with Thelma Fawley before.”

“The Minister’s Youngest Child?” Gilda clarified herself continuing with Thomas’ nod, “What has Aurelia done to set her off?”

“Not sure, I typically only hear rumors.” Thomas shrugged, “But I know my brother would be happy with her and she with him from the few times I have seen them in the common room.”

Despite her father’s protection, Gilda had heard many stories of pure blood supremacy, many just from learning about her Gaunt ancestors. Luckily she did not come across many of them in the Ravenclaw common room, and very few people even knew she was a descendant of Salazar Slytherin due to her father taking her mother’s last name, the one she was given at birth. She knew that anyone who was not a pure blood in Slytherin likely had trouble but she figured the Osborns were a pure blood family, having recalled someone mentioning a ball they hosted for wealthy pure bloods before once, so unless it was just the Sacred 28 acting entitled again, she was not sure what was going on between the two.

“Hope Peeves does not have a habit of stumbling across this room.” Thomas half-joked, “I can’t stand that poltergeist, always interrupting my studies in the library.”

Gilda shook her head, “Not that I am aware of, I would just suggest it is important to make sure you are not followed and cover your tracks.”

“I would never spoil such a magnificent place for us to sneak off to.” Thomas charmingly smiled. “This place will be our little secret.”

“Of course.” Gilda held him close, and certainly knew that Thomas Hearst would be the one for her.

#hogwarts legacy #hphl #hphl kids #Hogwarts Legacy Kids #Thomas Hearst #Gilda Elysian #Ominis’ Daughter #Ominis Gaunt’s Daughter #Phineas’ Son #Phineas Hearst’s Son #Slytherin #Ravenclaw #Undercroft

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kootiepatra · 4 months ago

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#FFxivWrite2024 - Day 6: Halcyon

When one half of a couple is the Lord Speaker of Ishgard, and the other is the Warrior of Light, any opportunity to find a spare moment together is a welcome one. Thus, Aymeric’s scheduled appointment in Camp Dragonhead evolved into an impromptu outing. A quick linkpearl call to Lord Emmanellain confirmed that he did not object to Keimwyda tagging along. The route there and back would allow them some mostly-private time to share one another’s company.

Once business with the young lord was concluded, Aymeric and Keimwyda made the most of it, deciding to take the chocobos back to Ishgard at a leisurely pace. The light, sporadic flurries of snow now drifting through the air were what passed for good weather in these parts. This afternoon seemed as good a day as any for a ride.

Keimwyda was not sure they had ever traveled this part of the Coerthan Highlands with just the two of them, and she was fairly certain they had never done so solely for the pleasure of it. They meandered, they took in the sights, they watched the wildlife, and they chatted.

Aymeric began pointing out places they passed that were memorable to him for one reason or another. His old unit in the Temple Knights used to run drills on that hill, whose elevation was steep enough to test the legs, but smooth enough not to turn ankles. That clearing in the trees near the road was once a favored spot for traveling peddlers to pitch tents and sell wares to passersby. Just over that ridge was the site of a now-defunct shepherd’s camp, presently completely hidden under years’ worth of snow.

“Ah, and over there,” he continued, pointing in the distance towards an outcropping of trees on the river. “I have quite a fond memory of that spot. My family—like most of the nobility, truth being told—did not frequently travel beyond the walls of the city. Especially so as my parents were beginning to get on in years. But on pleasant summer days, that was a favorite escape of ours. We would pack a midday meal, set out early, and spend our day beneath the boughs—mother often tucked into a book or her embroidery, while father would spar with me or play at catch until he grew tired. I would wade for what felt like hours in the stream, searching for frogs or for eye-catching stones. I believe it did all of us good to take a quiet day away from the city now and then.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Keimwyda smiled. “...Would you care to show me?”

The request seemed to catch him off-guard. “Hah. Very well, if you like.”

They veered off the path and rode to the river, where they dismounted their chocobos and hitched them to a fallen tree. Keimwyda actually recognized the location—she had admired it on her own on her previous forays in the region. Frigid water tumbled past dark, haphazard boulders, cascading into a stream that eventually fed back into the Coerthas River. While the water still flowed well enough, the spray had built up into thick ice formations—great, heavy icicles listing off of the rocks, gently arcing in the direction of the stream’s momentum, which would only grow larger and larger until some outside force knocked them loose to be washed downstream towards the Black Shroud.

“This is the place,” Aymeric said, gesturing around them. Then he gently rapped upon a nearby tree—an enormous, gnarled, and ancient-looking one. “I remember this tree. ‘Tis a strange comfort to see that the old thing survived the Calamity. Plenty of others snapped or were uprooted… and this one still holds fast. I am sure we had a picnic or two under it.”

Keimwyda smiled, trying to envision the scene in her mind’s eye. She ducked under the branches to stand closer to him, not really thinking as she brushed a low-hanging limb out of her way, which—unsurprisingly, in hindsight—knocked loose its accumulated snow. She did not begrudge Aymeric laughing at her as she sputtered and brushed the stuff out of her hair.

Salvaging her dignity with a sheepish grin, she put her back towards the tree and looked out at the scene below. “I can see why this would be a favorite. It seems like a splendid view.”

Aymeric’s face clouded slightly as he looked at the gray, frozen landscape before him. A moment passed. “It used to be so beautiful here,” he said quietly.

She looked at him. She took his hand and squeezed it gently. “From what I see, it still is… albeit in a much different way.”

“It was always verdant at this time of year. The waters would be flowing freely. A nearby flock of karakul, perhaps. And,” he added, with something of a bite in his tone, “‘twould be a damn sight fairer without a monstrous shard of Dalamud jutting out of it.”

“Now that, I will grant you. As to the rest of what you describe… I vaguely remember it, I think. Not here specifically, but the broad strokes.”

“Do you indeed?” he asked, turning towards her in surprise. “I don’t believe I knew you were acquainted with our land before the Calamity changed her.”

“Just a little. I was but a very young girl, and I only visited the once. My guardian had family in a hamlet somewhere in the Central Highlands.”

“Do you remember what the place was called?”

“Unfortunately, no.”

“A pity. I would have liked to revisit it with you. …Assuming it is not completely under the snow.”

The sorrow beneath the surface of Aymeric’s words was not lost on Keimwyda.

This was not a subject he often dwelled on. He was a man of action, a practical one, focused on what he actually could address and change within his nation. By the time Keimwyda had first met him, the Calamity was already five years gone. Any hope of Coerthas thawing had long been put to rest. The best they could manage was to dig back out and adapt to their new eternal winter.

And they had. They were making admirable progress in Falcon’s Nest. They had found a way to endure and survive. All that could be done, was being done.

Then the Dragonsong War came to a head, the church staggered beneath revelations of intentionally false doctrine, and the millennium-long rule of archbishops gave way to an infant republic. Aymeric indeed had his hands full. He worked hard. He was doggedly hopeful for the possibility of lasting change, of a more just and peaceful Ishgard. It was there that his energy and focus was directed, and it was there that most of their conversations about the city-state had tended.

Yet, Keimwyda knew all too well how old aches and sorrows could creep up in quiet moments—and the grief of what was lost in the Calamity was no stranger to any in Eorzea. She wondered how often Aymeric allowed himself to reflect on his own. She suspected it was less often than he needed.

“Tell me more about it?” she asked him.

His gaze was still distant. “Hmm?”

“About what it was like. About what you loved about it.”

He seemed briefly startled. He regarded her a moment. Then the corner of his mouth pulled up in half a smile. He slipped an arm around her, pulling her closer against the cold, and began to talk—of childhood haunts and family holidays, of wildflowers that bloomed on the slopes, of warmer suns and kinder winds.

It did not seem the moment to speak it aloud, so Keimwyda held her peace. But she pondered to herself if maybe, just maybe, there may be a way to restore what was lost, if even in part. Of course, it would not be the same. Things were never just the same. But, after all, it had proven possible to breathe life into the Empty on the First, and shine light into the void of the Thirteenth. She could not but wonder if perhaps—in good time, with the right knowledge and effort—Coerthas may one day feel summer again.

It was worth dreaming about, anyway.

#FFxivWrite2024 #FFxivWrite #wolmeric #aymeric de borel #keimwyda sylbdhemwyn #coerthas #the calamity

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