#fae plays animal crossing

[beefy-the-stronk]

New CtC oc drop ya'll; she's a burnt out, sleep deprived accountant named Renata Alvarez 😭 (nickname is Renn for short)

She does NOT wanna be there ✨️

(Also a Jace and Al doodle) (Al is the tie, he shapeshifts lol)

[ayrennaranaaldmeri]

hmm idk beast. i have no idea where she is. none at all.

[likeabxrdinflight]

I know the switch gets memed a bit for being the farming sim console but hear me out. what if the farming sims are good.

[darkacey]

I just got Fae Farm on the Switch while it was on sale and I’ve been enjoying it a lot so far. It reminds me of a cross between Animal Crossing and Rune Factory. Anybody want to join me on multiplayer? Drop your phoenix labs friend code in my DMs if you’re interested and I’ll share mine.

[cressidagrey]

The Queen of Romantasy and the Race Car Prince - Chapter 18

Pairing: Lando Norris x Elizabeth "Lizzie" Treshton (Original Character)

Summary:

Elizabeth Treshton—bestselling romantasy author, queen of fae heartbreak, and sworn devotee of a carefully structured routine—never expected her service dog to abandon protocol and diagnose a Formula 1 driver with something. But that’s exactly what happens when Mara the wonder-dog ditches Lizzie’s side to aggressively alert to none other than Lando Norris in the middle of a coffee shop.

Warnings and Notes: 

Mention of epilepsy and service animals. I don't myself suffer from epilepsy, so I asked my IRL friend, who thankfully was nice enough to let me ask her all the questions I could come up with. The rest I asked Reddit. So everything that's wrong...that's totally my fault and not on purpose.

This has literally all the worst things the internet has to offer: Ableism, Sexisms, Toxic Media, horrible journalism, death threats...I am pretty sure I am missing some of it.

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

Lando was exhausted. His body ached, the post-race adrenaline long gone, and his head was still spinning from the chaos of the last few hours. But the moment he spotted Lizzie waiting just outside the McLaren motorhome, arms crossed, wearing his hoodie, none of that mattered.

She grinned the second she saw him. “Podium at home,” she said, stepping closer. “You looked good up there.”

Lando let out a breath, shaking his head. “Felt like I could’ve done better.”

Lizzie rolled her eyes. “You stood next to Max and Lewis on the podium at Silverstone, Lando. Take the win.”

He huffed a laugh. “Fine. But only because you said so.”

She smirked. “Good, Pretty Boy.”

He groaned, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her into his side. “You are insufferable.”

“And yet, you keep me around," she teased him before growing serious. "I’m proud of you.” Her voice was softer now, meant just for him.

His chest went tight in the best way, and he wanted nothing more than to stand there forever. But the media was still prowling, and he knew the longer they lingered, the more likely someone would shove a camera in Lizzie’s face, and he was not in the mood for that.

“Let’s get out of here,” he murmured, wrapping an arm around her waist as they turned toward the parking lot.

The car ride back to the hotel was quiet, save for the hum of the engine and the occasional burst of radio chatter as their driver navigated through the post-race traffic. Lizzie rested her head against the seat, fingers absently playing with the sleeve of Lando’s hoodie that she’d stolen earlier.

Lando found himself stealing glances at her while she wasn't looking, caught somewhere between exhaustion and the urge to blurt out what had been on his mind all day. The closer they got to privacy, the more his thoughts swirled.

It wasn’t until they were halfway there that he finally exhaled and said, “You won’t believe the absolute bullshit they asked me in the post-race presser.”

Lizzie hummed. “Oh, I have a guess,” she said drily, one hand absentmindedly petting Mara. 

That gave him pause. He turned his head to look at her. “Wait, you’re not surprised?”

She sighed, shifting so she could meet his gaze. “Lando, people like that always think disability is a burden. They just don’t usually say it out loud where it gets recorded.”

Lando had never wanted to throw a journalist into a wall more in his life.

His grip tightened on the seam of his race suit. “Well, they did say it out loud. And I told them they were full of shit.”

Lizzie’s mouth twitched. “I’d have paid money to see Max and Lewis’s faces.”

“Oh, Max looked like he was gonna throw a chair,” Lando said. “Lewis just did that thing where he got all quiet and disappointed, which somehow made it worse.”

Lizzie chuckled, but he could see the tension in her shoulders, the way she was trying to brush it off. Like this was just another part of life she had to accept.

It made him sick.

When they got to the hotel, Lando kicked off his shoes and flopped onto the bed, tugging Lizzie down beside him. She curled into his side without hesitation, their bodies fitting together easily.

For a while, they just lay there. Lando traced patterns on her back, letting the post-race exhaustion settle over him. Lizzie’s breathing evened out, her fingers lightly resting on his stomach.

Then, because he couldn’t help himself, he reached for his phone.

And immediately regretted it.

Fuck, he hadn’t expected this.

The internet was a fucking warzone.

The clip of the interview had already gone viral. His own words were plastered across Twitter, Instagram, TikTok—everywhere. Some people were defending him, but far, far too many were twisting it into something else entirely.

He scrolled past comments that made his blood turn to ice.

“He’s just saying that because he has to.” “Epilepsy is a liability. He’ll figure that out eventually.” “Lando should focus on racing, not playing nurse.” “They won’t last.” “Imagine risking a career over some disabled chick.”

“She’s a liability.” “No way this lasts.” “Epilepsy is a burden. She’s holding him back.” “He’s just saying that because he has to.” “F1 drivers should date models, not disabled girls.”

Lando’s stomach churned. He kept scrolling, seeing more and more of it.

Then he started seeing things from before the interview.

People digging through Lizzie’s old posts. Analyzing her seizures. Mocking her service dog. Even accusing her of faking it for attention.

“She plays it up for sympathy.” “She knew what she was getting into dating an F1 driver, she shouldn’t complain.” “She’s so dramatic about it.”

Lando barely registered that he’d started shaking.

“Lando.” Lizzie’s voice was quiet but firm. “Stop.”

He blinked, realizing his breathing had gone shallow.

Lizzie was sitting up now, watching him carefully. “Give me your phone.”

He clenched his jaw. “No.”

“Lando.”

His fingers curled around the device. “Liz, this is—it’s disgusting.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t—” He cut himself off, because of course she did. Of course, she’d seen this before. Dealt with it before. Probably expected it.

“I already know exactly what you’re reading,” she said plainly. “I’ve seen worse.”

That was somehow worse.

“I just—I don’t get how people can be so fucking cruel,” he muttered, voice raw.

Lizzie sighed, reaching out to take his hand. “They don’t see me as a person,” she said simply. “They see me as an inconvenience.”

He swallowed hard. “I should say something.”

“You already did.”

“Not enough.”

Lizzie gave him a soft, tired smile. “I love you. But you can’t fight every battle, Lando.”

He exhaled slowly. “Watch me.”

“Lando.” Lizzie’s voice was sharp now. But not to him.

She was watching him with steady eyes, expression serious. “You don’t need to fight this battle.”

He knew that tone. She was digging in her heels, refusing to let him push himself to the edge.

“You’re wrong.”

She arched a brow.

He clenched his jaw. “This is bullshit, Liz. I can’t just—” He cut himself off, a strangled sound caught in his chest.

 “You said what mattered, Lando. The people who get it heard you.”

He swallowed hard, searching her face. “I just— I hate that you have to deal with this.”

“I know,” she said again, squeezing his hand. “But I also know that I have you. And that means more than anything some faceless idiot online could ever say.”

***

***

Lizzie had been expecting the backlash.

She had known what the internet would say after Silverstone. People had always found ways to turn her epilepsy into some kind of burden, like it was something Lando had to suffer through instead of something she had lived with her entire life.

But she hadn't expected this...this amount...

She had woken up before Lando, slipping out of the bed to go the bathroom, swiping her phone on the way...

She opened Twitter while brushing her teeth.

When she saw the hate, she wasn't surprised.

But that didn’t mean it didn’t sting. The words were still there, every slur, every insult, every snide comment about Lando being too good for her.

There were even worse things. Comments about the seizures, like the internet hadn’t decided to try and diagnose her enough times already.

But then—then she saw the thread.

She should have stopped reading after the first tweet. But she didn’t.

It wasn’t just speculation or people overstepping—it was surgical. Precise, methodical, cruel. Someone had gone deep, pulling up information she hadn’t even known was online. Her mother’s name. Her stepfather’s Facebook. The names and birthdates of her half-siblings—kids she had never met, would likely never meet.

Her vision blurred as she stared at the attached screenshot. An old Facebook post. A woman who looked so much like the mother she barely remembered, but older. A man beside her, his arm around her waist. And a baby in her arms.

The caption read: Our little family is growing.

Lizzie felt like she had been punched in the gut.

Little family.

She scrolled down further, her stomach sinking as she found another post. Two kids. A boy and a girl. Tagged with the names of people she had never heard of.

Her mother hadn’t just left.

She had started over. Had more kids. Had a whole new family.

And never once—not once—had she reached out.

A shaky breath left Lizzie’s lips.

Her mother’s new family. The one she had built without her. The life she had constructed, brick by brick, while leaving Lizzie and her dad behind like they had been a mistake she needed to erase.

Lizzie felt something sink inside her, deep and heavy.

And then she got to the comments.

"Lando deserves someone healthy.""She’s just going to be a burden.""You really think he’s going to stay with her forever?""He’s young, rich, and famous. Why would he settle for this?"

Her hands were shaking. Not from anger—though she should have been angry—but from something colder. Something sharper.

Because this wasn’t just strangers talking. These were the voices she had spent years trying to silence in her own head. The ones that whispered late at night, when her body ached from the aftershocks of a seizure. When she woke up disoriented, Mara pressed against her side, grounding her, reminding her that she was still here.

The ones that said, What if they’re right?

She wasn’t sure how long she sat there, staring at the screen, heart pounding in her chest.

Then—knock knock knock.

“Liz?”

Lando.

She squeezed her eyes shut. Her hands were still trembling. She forced herself to inhale, exhale.

The knock came again, a little firmer. “Lizzie?” His voice was careful. Concerned. “Can you open the door?”

Her fingers barely worked as she reached out, unlocking it.

The second the door opened, Lando was there, his eyes scanning her face, taking in her pale complexion, the way she was gripping the counter like she might collapse. His brows furrowed. “What happened?”

Lizzie swallowed, throat tight. “I—” Her voice wavered.

Lando took a step closer, his concern deepening. “Liz, talk to me.”

She exhaled shakily, forcing herself to say it. “My mum left when I was six.”

Lando stilled.

“She—” Lizzie laughed, but there was no humor in it. “She said she couldn’t handle it. That I was too much. My seizures, the hospital visits, all of it.” Her hands curled into fists. “So she left.”

Lando’s jaw clenched.

Lizzie’s breath shuddered out of her. “And now I find out she went and had more kids. That she had no problem being a mother, just not to me.” Her voice broke on the last word. “She replaced me.”

Silence.

Then—warm hands on her arms, grounding her.

“Liz.” Lando’s voice was quiet. Steady. “Look at me.”

She did.

His gaze was steady. Serious. “That is not on you.”

She tried to laugh, but it got caught in her throat. “It sure feels like it.”

His grip tightened—not too much, just enough. Just enough to keep her from floating away. “She made that choice. That has nothing to do with you.”

Lizzie shook her head, throat aching. “I—Lando, I just—I want to go home.”

His expression softened instantly. “Okay,” he said, no hesitation. “Let’s go home.”

Lando didn’t ask any more questions. He didn’t push her to talk, didn’t press for more details. He just nodded, pressed a kiss to her forehead, and said, Let’s go home.

Then he made it happen.

He was on the phone in seconds, making arrangements, calling his team, canceling whatever obligations he still had.

Lizzie sat on the edge of the hotel bed, staring blankly at the floor, the phone still clutched in her hand. The thread was still open, her mother’s face frozen on the screen.

She couldn’t look at it anymore.

Her fingers trembled as she locked her phone and set it down.

Mara padded over, putting her head on her knee, staring at Lizzie with deep dark brown eyes. Lizzie swallowed. 

Her thoughts were spiraling, looping around the same things over and over again. She left because of me. She couldn’t handle me. But she could handle them.

A deep inhale. Exhale.

She heard Lando pacing near the window, voice low but firm as he spoke to someone on the phone. “No, we’re leaving right now. I don’t care what the schedule says.” A pause. “Then change it.” Another pause, and then, more clipped, “Figure it out.”

Lizzie glanced up.

His jaw was tight, his eyes dark with frustration. He ran a hand through his hair before finally sighing, rubbing at his temple. “No, I don’t need to be there. I need to be with my girlfriend. Just handle it.”

A beat.

“Yeah. Thanks.”

He hung up, exhaling sharply.

His eyes met hers, and some of the tension left his face.  “We’ll be out of here in an hour,” he told her, voice softer now. 

Lizzie nodded. “Thank you.”

Lando crossed the room in a few strides, sitting down beside her on the bed. He didn’t say anything at first—just reached for her hand, threading his fingers through hers.

His grip was warm, steady. Grounding.

Lizzie let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

Neither of them spoke for a long moment.

Then, quietly, Lando asked, “Are you okay?”

Lizzie hesitated. She wanted to say yes. Wanted to act like she was fine, that this was just another stupid internet thing that she could brush off.

But this wasn’t just that.

She swallowed hard. “I don’t know.”

Lando’s fingers tightened around hers.

Her voice was quieter when she added, “I think I just… I don’t know how to feel about it.”

Lando nodded, like he understood. Maybe he didn’t fully, but he wanted to, and that was enough.

Lizzie exhaled. “I always thought maybe she’d had a hard time. That maybe she wanted to reach out but just… couldn’t.” A shaky breath. “But she could. She just didn’t.”

Lando’s jaw clenched again. His other hand came up to brush a strand of hair behind her ear, gentle. “That’s on her,” he said, voice low but firm. “Not you.”

Lizzie let her head fall onto his shoulder.

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, then rested his cheek against her hair.

They stayed like that for a while.

Eventually, Lando murmured, “Let’s get out of here.”

Lizzie nodded. “Yeah.”

They left the hotel without looking back.

[himasgod]

Hey God, it's me again /ref

Could I mayhaps request platonic? :3

If so, could I get Heartslabyul with a half-fae reader who is on the same level of temper as Riddle. They get angry easily and will lash out but for them, lashing out means physical meaning if they get provoked long enough they will attack the person. They work kind of like an animal (hence the half-fae thing) and they can get pretty violent.

PLATONIC! HEARTSLABYUL X READER

Where you are an aggressive half-fae

How would the Heartlabyul boys react if you were a half-fae who couldn't control their aggressive impulses?

I TRIED TO MAKE IT AS PLATONIC AS POSSIBLE, SORRY IF I DID NOT SUCCEED, THERE IS NOTHING IMPLICITLY "ROMANTIC" BUT IT CAN BE INTERPRETED AS SUCH. AHH I DON'T KNOW, I HOPE YOU LIKE 😭😭😭

At first, Deuce was incredibly confused by you. He wanted to see you as a magical creature worthy of respect, but then he saw it with his own eyes: you lunged at a student who splashed ink on your uniform, grabbed him by the collar, and shoved him against a table.

Deuce froze… “Was that a combat technique or an animal instinct?”

Instead of walking away, he took it as a lesson. “If I want to control my temper, I need to understand someone worse than me.”

So he began to follow you around like a loyal puppy.

Occasionally, he steps in when you're about to explode, though he doesn't always succeed.

You've accidentally hit him more than once.

But he doesn't complain. He just says, “I deserved it for not seeing your claw coming.”

He's become adept at calming you down with swift actions: he brings you cold water, drags you (literally) out of the conflict, and has even practiced restraining spells in case you ever need to be restrained.

Not to use them against you maliciously, but as a last resort. He does it with the same seriousness as a law enforcement officer.

You admire him for his sense of justice. And he admires you for your courage, even if that courage sometimes crosses over into aggression.

When someone speaks ill of you, Deuce jumps in to defend you with his fists if necessary. “Don't provoke them! You're not the one who has to bear their burden!”

Sometimes, you train together to release tension. Deuce lets himself be hit while you use your claws/fae-strength. “Come on, let it all out. Don't hold anything back. But remember, I'm on your side.”

Cater started seeing you as Magicam content. “Half-fae! Violent gothic aesthetic! I'm obsessed!”

Until he saw how you transformed into a beast when you were emotionally cornered.

Instead of running away, he pulled out his phone, not to record you.

Instead, he played you some relaxing music.

He learned your mood swings like the phases of the moon. He has a calendar where he notes which days you're most irritable, and he either avoids you on those days… or talk you more.

“Today is Fae emotional self-care day. I have ice cream, ambient music, lots of blankets, and I swear if anyone bothers you, I'll bite them first.”

Cater is your grounding wire in social situations. If there's a party and you're about to lose your temper because someone brushed against you too hard, he'll put his arm around you and say,

"Easy, sweet chaos, let's get some air. We don't need to cause a Greek tragedy in the ballroom… again.”

He likes to play on your animal instincts, but in a playful way. He brings you things with textures you might like (soft fur, feathers, shiny stones), and he loves it when you get territorial with him. “Aww, you're standing up for me~! I'm flattered.”

If you ever blow up in front of him, he doesn't back away. He just tells you gently,

“I know it's not personal. You're not mad at me. You're just scared, and your heart is too wild to keep quiet. I can handle it, okay?”

Trey was the only one who wasn't startled from the start. He saw you explode and attack and simply nodded.

“Well, this is going to take a lot of patience… and maybe more dessert than usual.”

He started making you soothing sweets with fae-specific ingredients: nightbloom petals, moon honey, magical citrus zest. He says your rage needs balance, not suppression. And that sweetness combats the bitterness of the heart.

Trey has a talent for reading your body language. He knows when you're about to bite, kick, or cast fae magic.

If your ears perk up, your pupils change, or your breathing quickens… he already has a tray of pastries ready.

“A croissant for every threat of violence you're suppressing.”

He also teaches you how to channel that fury into useful things.

When you cook together, he lets you pound ingredients, grate things, or use your strength to carry heavy things. “Nothing like taking your anger out on bread dough, right?”

He's the only one who doesn't ask you to change. He just asks you to learn when it's worth it to explode. And if you decide it's worth it… he'll be by your side.

Probably with bandages, just in case.

The first confrontation between you was legendary 💀

Shouts, magic, even a threat of a formal duel.

But deep down, you understood each other.

You're both made of fire held in check by rules. The difference is that you're a free creature with physical courage, while Riddle is ruled by logic.

From then on, you've become strangely close. Not hugging and laughing friends, but allies of fierce respect. "If you rule chaos with force, I'll rule it with rules. And together, we'll keep it at bay."

Riddle is one of the few who can speak to you directly without you attacking him.

"You're letting your rage get the better of you. Do you want me to banish you from Hearstlabyul, or do you want me to have tea with you to calm you down?"

Sometimes, when you're about to explode, Riddle takes you to tea room. He doesn't say anything. He just pours the tea, leaves biscuits, and waits for you to sip and calm yourself like a resting dragon.

It works more often than you'd expect.

He calls you “a force of nature” in awe. He says your existence challenges his order… but he also teaches you that order requires passion lest it become tyranny.

He's even adapted some of Heartslabyul's rules to be more tolerant of your… fae nature.

Ace… oh, Ace.

The first time he saw you angry, he laughed. “Is that all you got? Come on, you're not even scary.”

You bit your tongue to keep from ripping off his ear.

It took him a long time to understand that your aggression isn't a game. After seeing you nearly shred a student with your nails for mocking your fae origins, he started to take you a little more seriously.

Still, he likes to provoke you… but he does it in a controlled way. “If you're going to hit me, do it to the left hand; my right hand is already hurt.”

Not because he wants to get hurt, but because he trusts you won't go that far with him.

Sometimes, when you're really upset, he taunts you just to redirect your anger toward him and not someone who could end up worse. It's not that he doesn't care about the blows… it's that he cares about you more.

He challenges you, he pushes you,“If you're so wild, prove it by beating me in a duel. Not in the hallway.”

And you… you hate to admit it, but his nonsense often distracts you just enough to keep from exploding.

Ace became your point of balance on the most chaotic path. He doesn't ask you to change, but he does ask you to give him time. Because even though you're half beast… he doesn't plan on running away.

[gmikaelson]

Ego

WC: 2k

Summary: You run into Klaus at the grill leading to some banter A/N: this is my first time writing so any feedback is appreciated. I hope you enjoy it!

𐙚⋆˙˚◞♡ ✮⋆˙ ₊˚⊹♡ : ̗̀ 𐙚⋆˙˚◞♡ ✮⋆˙ ₊˚⊹♡ : ̗̀ 𐙚⋆˙˚◞♡ ✮⋆˙ ₊˚⊹♡ : ̗̀ 𐙚

You’re meeting up with Elena at the Mystic Grill, or at least you were supposed to. Your friend needed help at the last minute, so here you are, an hour late. You burst through the door and slam into a man. He grabs you and steadies you.

“Watch it, love.” The man says, and your heart sinks. It’s Klaus Mikaelson.

You push the fear aside, looking up at him with annoyance, "aren't you the one with vampire senses?

Klaus chuckles a soft sound that tickles your ear. "Indeed, I am. But even vampire senses can't predict every move a beautiful woman might make. I must admit, though, it's been quite a pleasant surprise." He releases you and steps back, letting you see his face, his gorgeous face–stop. You won't allow yourself to think about his fae like that. Or his eyes that were a dark shade of blue and full of mischief, or his lips that curled into a smirk.

“Where are you headed off to in such a hurry?” He asks, looking you over.  

You see his eyes as they travel all over you, ew, "away from you", you say, trying to walk past him.

Klaus’s hand swiftly catches your arm as you attempt to pass, fingers splayed over your skin. "Now, now, no need to be so cold," he arches an eyebrow, his smirk ever-present. "You've piqued my curiosity, love."

Klaus lets go of your arm, but not before letting his fingertips slowly graze over your skin, a deliberate move hidden under the guise of an accident. "Can't we have a civilized conversation?" He asks, tilting his head slightly to the side with a sparkle in his eyes.

You take a step back and cross your arms, “can't you stop threatening my friends?"

Klaus chuckles dryly, leaning against a nearby counter. "I assume you're referring to the Bennett witch, the doppelgänger, and the Salvatore brothers?" He lifts a casual shoulder. "Oh, they've been causing enough trouble of their own.” He says, smirking and looking down for a moment.

You see his gaze wander back to you, sharp and assessing. "But I can see why they're protective of you," Klaus says, his voice dropping a notch, a tease playing on his lips. "You're quite the firecracker, aren't you?" His eyes seem to hold an unspoken challenge, a provocation aimed directly at you.

Your brows furrow, "stop looking at me like that"

A slow, leonine smile spans his face at your words, “Like what, love?” He asks, feigning innocence as he meets your gaze with his own, the twinkling hint of amusement present yet again.

Klaus leans slightly forward, his eyes not straying from your face, "Is it making you uncomfortable?" He asks, voice filled with warmth that doesn't match the steely glint in his eyes, a contrast that could either be intriguing or unnerving. "Or is it something else?" 

You tilt your head, assessing him before settling on "like you don't know if you want to kill or kiss me"

A genuine laugh escapes Klaus, rich and animated as he takes a step closer. "Well, I'd have to admit, you do have a knack for keeping me on my toes, love," he says, voice low and steady.

Although there's no inherent threat in his gaze, there's a certain intensity that could be interpreted as such. His eyes now hold a different kind of spark – one that conveys interest, curiosity, and something else you can't quite put a finger on.

"I can assure you, I have no intention of killing you... or potentially kissing you, for that matter. At least, not until you ask me to." The corners of his mouth curl up into a cheeky smirk, his eyes never leaving yours

You roll your eyes, "Wow, look at you, such a gentleman” you deflect but couldn’t deny the way his gaze made you feel. 

Klaus chuckles, the sound low and resonant, as he takes a step closer to you. "Well, I do have my moments, love," He murmurs, eyes glinting with humor.

"Although 'gentleman' is not usually how I'm described," He continues, his tone light despite the underlying tension. His gaze travels over your face, taking in your beauty, before finally settling on your eyes. There's a certain spark in them – defiance, perhaps, or challenge – that he finds rather intriguing.

"Would you prefer something else?" Klaus asks, leaning in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. His breath dances across your skin, a subtle intimacy that lingers between you. "Tell me, what do you think I should do?" he challenges, eyes smoldering with anticipation.

You smile not so innocently at him "I would tell you to go jump off a cliff, but unfortunately we both know that wont kill you."

Klaus chuckles at your response, finding amusement in your fiery retort. "True, jumping off a cliff wouldn't do much to me," he admits, the humor in his eyes only intensifying with your words. "But it's quite refreshing to hear someone wish death upon me with such spirit."

He takes a step back from you, crossing his arms over his chest while his eyes continue to roam over you. There's a playful light in his gaze now, an unspoken invitation for you to continue your verbal sparring. "Would you like to suggest something else, love?" he asks, his voice laced with a teasing dare. "Or is there something else you'd like to see me do?" Klaus asks, his tone subtly flirtatious. There's a slight lift of his brow, a provocative challenge lingering in his eyes.

You put a finger on your chin, pretending to think, "hm, I don't know, how about we go find a pit of White Oak sticks and I push you into it?"

Klaus lets out a hearty laugh at your suggestion, clearly entertained. "Oh love, you're full of surprises," he says, grinning as he glances at you. His eyes hold a sense of admiration, a glimmer of respect for your bold, if not slightly dangerous, suggestion.

"But as thrilling as that sounds," he continues, a wry smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he moves closer to you, "I think I'd prefer to avoid an untimely demise."

He tilts his head slightly, meeting your eyes with a playful glint in his own. "Now, if there's something less... fatal you'd like to do," he suggests, his voice dropping to a murmur as he leans in, "I'm all ears." 

You put a hand on his chest and push him back so his face was back in front of you, "is this your twisted way of suggesting we should do something together?" you ask, raising a brow at him. 

Klaus raises a brow back at you, his smirk still intact. "Well, you've caught me, love," he admits, not bothering to hide the amusement in his voice. His eyes twinkle with mischief, a clear sign of his enjoyment of their banter.

"But I must say," he leans in again, his voice dropping to a whisper, "I'm intrigued by the idea of us spending some time together." His gaze flicks down to your lips for a brief moment before focusing back on your eyes, an unspoken invitation lurking in the depths of his gaze.

"Perhaps we can find something less dangerous and more... enjoyable to do," he suggests, the tease in his voice evident. His fingers lightly graze the back of your hand, a subtle touch that sends sparks of anticipation between you. "Unless, of course, you've got other plans."

You smile at him, bewildered, “You honestly think that i’d go out with you? Your ego is bigger than I thought"

Klaus chuckles, an easygoing sound that belies the intensity burning in his gaze. "Well, one can always hope, can't they?" he replies, a hint of teasing in his voice.

"But you're right," he admits, crossing his arms across his chest and leaning back casually. "My ego may indeed be larger than most. Comes with the territory of being an Original, I suppose."

His eyes meet yours, the usual playful light replaced with a more sincere look. "But I promise you, there's more to me than meets the eye." A glimmer of vulnerability flashes through his gaze, quickly replaced with his usual confident demeanor.

"But who knows?" he muses, a twinkle returning to his eye. "Maybe one day you'll find that out for yourself." His fingers lightly brush the back of your hand once more, a lingering touch full of unspoken promises.

You motion in his direction, “So you're saying that if I got to know you, I'd see more than just a deranged psycho-murdering asshole?"

Klaus laughs, a genuine, hearty laugh that seems to lighten the tension between you. "Well, when you put it like that, it's hard to argue," he admits, his eyes sparkling with humor.

He leans in close to you, his eyes holding yours with an intensity that takes you breath away. "But yes," he murmurs, his voice a low, seductive drawl, "I am saying that. We all have our secrets, our hidden depths. Even someone like me."

He pauses for a moment, giving you a chance to take in his words. Then, with a sly grin, he adds, "And who knows, love? You might even like what you find." His fingers lightly trail down your arm, his touch sending a shiver of anticipation down you spine.

"But for now," he continues, pulling back and giving you a playful wink, "I'll be content knowing I've piqued your curiosity. Even if only just a bit."

I shrug, "what can I say? I like proving people wrong," you say, not sure why your heart was beating so fast. 

Klaus chuckles at your response, clearly amused by your boldness and the sound of your heart. "Well, I must say, love, I do enjoy a challenge," he admits, his eyes twinkling with a mischievous light.

"Perhaps one day you'll get your chance to prove me wrong," he continues, his gaze intently focused on yours. "I, for one, am looking forward to it."

He leans in closer then, your faces just a breath apart, "Until then," he whispers, his voice a low, seductive drawl, "keep that fiery spirit of yours. It suits you."

With a final, lingering glance and a playful wink, Klaus steps back, leaving you with a sense of anticipation for what might come next. But as always, with Klaus Mikaelson, one can never be quite sure.

You scoff, rolling your eyes as he walks out. What even was that? You shrug it off, looking around The Grill for Elena. When you don't spot her, you pull your phone out, seeing a text from her about an hour ago:

Hey Y/N, sorry to cancel but Stefan needs me for something. 

Seriously? You have could avoided that whole thing with Klaus if you had just checked your phone. 

𐙚⋆˙˚◞♡ ✮⋆˙ ₊˚⊹♡ : ̗̀ 𐙚⋆˙˚◞♡ ✮⋆˙ ₊˚⊹♡ : ̗̀ 𐙚⋆˙˚◞♡ ✮⋆˙ ₊˚⊹♡ : ̗̀ 𐙚 

The next day, you wake up to a package at your door. You look around, not spotting anyone before taking the box into your room, and placing in on your bed. You untie the big black ribbon., taking the top off.

Inside, the box contained a dress, jewelry, and a note

Opening the note, you see Klaus's elegant handwriting flowing across the cream-colored paper, attached to a stunning emerald green evening gown that would perfectly complement your complexion. Beside it lies an antique diamond necklace that catches the light, throwing crystalline reflections across the walls.

Dearest y/n,

Since you're so intent on proving me wrong about yourself, I thought I'd give you the perfect opportunity. There's a gala at the Lockwood mansion tonight. I'd be honored if you'd accompany me - though I suspect you'll say no just to spite me.

The dress is from 1820 Paris. The necklace belonged to a Russian duchess - don't worry, love, she parted with it willingly. I thought they might suit someone who isn't afraid to challenge an Original.

Prove me wrong about your answer?

Klaus

P.S. I'll be at your door at 8. Feel free to slam it in my face - though I do hope you won't.

You look at the dress and the jewelry, both exquisite and tasteful, the dress a beautiful, figure-hugging gown in a color that would perfectly complement your eyes, and the jewelry, elegant pieces that would add just the right amount of sparkle.

It's a grand gesture, borderline manipulative in its extravagance, but there's something about it that makes you smile. Maybe it's the audacity of it, the sheer, unapologetic boldness. Or perhaps it's that you can’t help but be a little intrigued by Klaus's offer - the promise of a challenge, the allure of the unknown.

After all, as you had mentioned the previous night, you do enjoy proving people wrong.

𐙚⋆˙˚◞♡ ✮⋆˙ ₊˚⊹♡ : ̗̀ 𐙚⋆˙˚◞♡ ✮⋆˙ ₊˚⊹♡ : ̗̀ 𐙚⋆˙˚◞♡ ✮⋆˙ ₊˚⊹♡ : ̗̀ 𐙚

[solbaby7]

While the Cats are Away, the Mice will Play

warnings: some swearing, dirty dancing, it’s mostly just fluff (reader isn’t meant to look like the gif—she’s just there bc she matches the vibes) jealous batboys

summary: you and Mor have a goal to get Nesta out the house and make her have fun—the boys crash the party to watch.

——

“No.”

“Come on, Nesta,” You beg, pushing past the creaky old door to her apartment. The air inside smelled stale, as if she hadn’t opened a window since the day she’d moved in and judging by the overflowing dishes piling in the sink, that had been pretty neglected as well. “You’re wasting away in here and I won’t watch it anymore. Just come out with us. One night.”

“One night?”

“Just one.”

Her arms cross over her chest, steely glare unwavering as she mulled over the offer. “And you’ll leave me alone?”

“Probably not, but I won’t start bothering you to come back out again for at least a week.”

There’s a pause, a silence that’s so deafening that you nearly take a step back, fully intending to give up and leave her to brood but something flickered in those blue-grey eyes, a brow raising and caution laces her tone when she asked, “Where exactly are you trying to take me?”

“Just a bar that Mor and I found,” You start, dangling the only bait you were certain that she’d take and you pray that with her new fae hearing that she can’t make out the frantic pounding of your heart, innocent excitement welling deep within your chest. “They move all the tables out after nightfall and it turns into a dance floor. Please, it’ll be fun.”

“Just us?” The underlying question is evident. Will Cassian be there?

“Me, you and Mor.”

Nesta lets out a scoff, hands smacking at her sides as she flicks at the grey material of her dress. The ends were a little worn, a few stains splotched here and there and if you looked close enough there was definitely a hole on the left shoulder but you refrained from pointing it out. Instead, you smile timidly as if luring an injured animal towards you, promising food and water and safety if they just trusted you for a second. “I don’t have anything to wear.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Your hand clamps around her wrist before she can protest, tugging her behind you and slamming the creaky front door behind you before urging her forward. “I’ve got plenty of clothes that you can wear—I’ll even do your hair if you want.”

If your hand wasn’t around her wrist, you’d have thought Nesta wasn’t even there judging by her silence but you didn’t dare stop, guiding her through the streets until you could see Mor and her golden locks blowing in the breeze, her gaze fixed on a chip in her nail varnish. “I didn’t think she’d do it.”

“You owe me three gold coins—I got her to come and she didn’t throw a single thing at me.”

Nesta’s sharp gaze bounced between you both, mouth pursed as she prepared to say some snarky comment intended to hit below the belt; to push you away and find her too dark and twisty to bother with and maybe even leave her alone to rot. “You bet on me?”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” Mor stepped forward, burgundy red cloth cinching at her waist with a golden ring. “I was the one who had to stitch up Cassian after his last visit—sue us for preparing for the worst.” She doesn’t give Nesta enough time to answer, her palm flat against yours and Nesta’s shoulder and within seconds you were winnowed back to the Night Court.

You ignore Ferye’s raised brows when you walk past the sitting room with Nesta in tow, rambling about different outfits and jewelry to match her eyes. You pray she doesn’t say anything, certain that a conversation with her sister will surely pull her out of the partying mood and you make sure to pick up the pace when you see the Cursebreaker peek out the doorway with Elaine in tow. “I’ll get a bath going.” You feel Nesta go tense, her fingers curling around your wrist subconsciously before you can leave and immediately you nod. “Or a shower? So you can stand? I can even leave the door open so it doesn’t feel too stuffy.”

Her brows raise, surprise spreading across breathtaking features and after what felt like hours of staring she answers. “As long as you leave the door open.”

You’re quick to gather fresh towels and a washing rag, offering a plethora of scented soaps before Nesta snatched up the one with lemon slices fused inside. You wait outside the door, back pressed to the wall until you hear her enter the shower with a sigh. A minute passes, two and once you’re sure she was okay you disappear off to the closet picking up a silky pair of pants before deciding against it—Nesta always looked the most uncomfortable when forced into her fighting leathers, hands always fumbling with the fabric as if it just wouldn’t sit right.

Your fingers trace over an assortment of hanging dresses, some soft like velvet while others were a little itchy but the patterned lace always looked pretty when worn correctly. “I like that one,” Nesta says from behind you, hair wrapped in a thick towel, her dirtied dress bunched in her hands but she doesn’t stop staring at a soft blue dress tucked in the corner, tight at the top, long at the bottom with the entire back exposed and lined with pretty pale pearls. It’s not exactly meant for a night out but it was most similar to something she would’ve worn back then—before the Cauldron, before when Feyre had just been an Archeron and not the Cursebreaker.

“That one it is.” You trade dresses and disappear off to find some jewelry and a pair of shoes you’re sure might fit if you loosen the straps a little. Nesta takes her time and you use that go get ready yourself, shooing off Rhys when he tried to slip into the room just for a peek. “No. It’s a girls night—no boys allowed.”

Rhysand’s hands are tucked in his pockets, shoulder leaned against the wall with one glossy shoe stubbed between the doorway. “That’s a dumb rule.”

“Baby, I really need to finish getting ready.”

He nods. “I can help, we can figure out something else for you to wear.”

You glance down at your outfit—Mor had picked it out herself. It was black with long sleeves that hooked at the thumb with a swooping neckline. The corset like middle cinched you in just tight enough to add a little shape before smoothing out near the skirt. One deep slit was cut on the left side, broadcasting leg all the way to the crease of your hip. “What’s wrong with what I have now?”

“Nothing pretty girl, I simply just want to help you find the rest of it.”

Your eyes roll on their own accord, hand pressing into his hard chest to push him back before slamming the door back into place—double checking that it was locked for good measure. “You want a drink?”

“What do you have?”

“Whiskey,” You drawl out, eyes scanning over the bar cart Rhys kept tucked near the desk. “—and wine. Very, very old and expensive wine.”

Nesta emerged from the closet, her cheeks still a little too gaunt and the shadows under her eyes would need more than makeup in the long run but for once Nesta looked content, gaze tracking her own figure in the mirror. “I’ve been poor for a long time,” She muttered, peering up at you through the reflection, a hint of a smile forming. “I’d say it’s only fair we break into the good shit.”

And with that, you popped the cork free.

Three generous glasses later and you’d finally stopped laughing long enough to finish Nesta’s hair and makeup, arms interlocked as you bounded down the stairs, heels clacking against the glossy floors. “Mor, let’s go!”

Nesta breaks out into a grin with Elaine emerged, a plate full of cookies in her grasp and three have been snatched away before Elaine can even comprehend Nesta—dressed up, smiling and eating and not wasting away in that dingy apartment. “Save me some of those for when we come back.”

Elaine leaned into Ferye, watching Nesta winnow away with you and Mor with small smiles and teary eyes; too elated to notice Rhysand lurking in the shadows, violet eyes sharp as he searched the spot the girls previously stood. “Did they tell you where they were going?”

“I, honestly, was too afraid to ask.” Ferye rested a hand on her hip, eyes low with amusement as Rhys paced the room, a hand rustling through onyx locks. “Look, if you’re so worried, why not just ask Azriel or Cassian to tag along to make sure they’re okay?”

She regrets the words the second she says them, a lightbulb seeming to go off in the High Lords head before he’s stalking down the hall, muttering a soft, ‘good idea’ under his breath as he passed. Down the hall second door on the right, Rhys bounded through, both people he was looking for in the same spot.

Cassian turned from where he sat, a blade in hand as he sharpened its sides. “You good?”

“We’re leaving. Right now.”

Azriel doesn’t show any surprise at the blunt command but his shoulders straighten out at attention, shadows lurking around them. “What’s wrong?”

Rhys doesn’t even have to look at them when he says. “They’re at a bar and Mor was in charge of dressing them.”

Cassian frowned. “Them?”

“Yeah,” He nods, growing impatient. “She’s with Nesta and Mor.”

A brief silence before the sword he was cleaning sheathed back into place and when he stood, Azriel was beside him. “Let’s go.”

——

“What is this?” Nesta questioned wearily, steely eyes crossing slightly as she held up the glass filled to the brim with an alarmingly green substance.

“Don’t ask, just take it back and don’t throw up.” You and Mor tap your glasses against the tabletop before clinking against one another, waiting expectantly for Nesta before knocking it back.

Her face screws up the second it’s down, a balled up fist pressed firmly to her lips before finally releasing a deep breath. “That was disgusting.” A hand settled over her stomach, waving the barkeep over for a glass of water. “Why does it still burn?”

Mor stands from the stool with ease, an inebriated smile tugging at her mouth. “Come dance to take your mind off it—it’ll help.”

Nesta shakes her head in defiance and you let out a soft sigh, reaching out your hand to follow Mor but you never look away from the Archeron sister. You make sure put a little extra oomph into your dancing, bright smiles and bouncing curls and jewelry that clanked when the upbeat music shifted to something sexier.

You stalk towards her like a predator searching for their prey, gaze seductive but playful as you reach out for her. “Just one night Nesta, you agreed.”

Her eyes roll when she smacked her hand into yours with a sigh, heels clicking against the floor as she followed you back to where Mor was. You make a point to give her a bit of distance, dancing to yourself and getting lost in the music hoping that it radiated low expectations—willing a calm aura to wash over her in attempts to get her to just let loose.

And surprisingly, after a second, it worked.

Nesta’s dress flowed as she allowed her hips to sway in tandem with the beat, head bopping casually to the side before full on copying your motions. Where you raking up your body, she mirrored it, hips swaying and hair flying around her cheeks.

The three of you linger about, dancing alone, dancing together, grabbing more drinks before all that can be felt is the overflowing confidence that ensued with liquid courage. You grin mischievously at Nesta, all too aware of the eyes that can’t seem to tear away from your trio. “Watch this.” You glide through the crowd, hips swishing from side to side, one leg peeking out with each stride until you found Mor.

It’s second nature when she slides up to sit on the stage, feet dangling as you danced beneath her, hands teasing up your figure, painted nails teasing at her legs and the men that swarmed were positively ravenous.

Still, none of them ever touched. Never stepped too close.

Maybe they’d heard of Mor and how she’d conquered in her great battles.

Maybe they’d heard about Nesta and how Hybern had created her from scratch and the surplus of power she’d snatched back because of it.

The thought doesn’t linger and soon Nesta is close behind, following suit with moves of her own, a foaming beer she didn’t buy clutched in her grasp. “You think they’re watching us?”

You scoff, all too aware of the High Lord hiding in the corner with Cassian and Azriel, thick shadows mostly concealing them but you’d never miss that scent—of a strong male and his dark power and that damn night-blooming jasmine soap he insisted on using. “I’d put money on it they’ve been watching us since we stepped through the front door.”

Nesta lets out a laugh, cheeks flushed and chest rising and falling rapidly from all the dancing. “Thanks for getting me out of the house.”

“Thanks for letting me.”

[readychilledwine]

Flight Patterns Part 2

Summary - After years of hushed whispers and leads, Azriel has finally found Cassian's lost sister, Aerilyn. What he found with her was unexpected, though.

Warnings - Slight power abuse, mentions of trauma and scars. Scene jumping to ensure I got two of the dragons introduced.

A/N- We are getting a fairly calm Aerilyn in this part since they are doing everything they can to make her feel comfortable and safe, but Caged animals tend to be the most dangerous. This is also going to give us a peek at her and Rhysand and the incoming slow burn between them. The next few parts will flow smoother, but still have some jumps to ensure I get the dragons introduced quickly. Only next time might be Rhys seeing one up close. 🫠

Edited to add - my brain is not getting me the euphoria I like to have when I post, please do not be surprised if I edit this before posting part 3.. maybe I looked at it too long, maybe I'm being critical of myself, but we be here 🙃

Word Count - 4970

Part 1 Part 3

Aerilyn did not know what to think of the small being in front of her. Her first instinct was to laugh, but she held it in picking up on her less than amused body language as the male she knew from somewhere spoke to her. They'd been communicating back and forth in her first tongue for over an hour, but it was clearly something the other female struggled with. A dead language she had called it. 

Now she was testing Aerilyn's ability to speak common. "Rhys said you knew letters but cannot speak to me in this language," her voice drawled out. 

Inaccurate, Aerilyn thought to herself. But we can play this game for a little while. She cocked a brow, blinking in faked confusion. 

The female rolled her eyes. "I told them you'd be a lost cause. Feral beasts are best left to other beasts." She blinked again, knitting her brows together. She stored the insult in her mind for later, ignoring the heat pooling in her blood to bite back. 

She did know this. She had tricked the male in her head well if he thought she had less education than a child. "I assume you don't know your name then?"

"Ari," she whispered. "Name Ari."

The female nodded. "So you can understand me but not speak the language I'm speaking?" She blinked blindly again, grinning internally when silver eyes rolled in annoyance. "I will inform the High Lord." The small fae left with her arms crossed and Aerilyn sighed. She walked out the balcony, staring at the city far below her and admiring the pretty sparkling lights. 

She'd only ever seen a village from dragon back as they moved from place to place in search of food and safety. 

Her childhood with them and their riders had been happy. Filled with laughter and adventure. Until they made the mistake of traveling across the continent. 

Rumors had reached their ears of a city that would welcome riders and their drakes. Aerilyn and her mount had been left behind to guard the mountain they currently held shelter in, and one by one 6 other winged beasts returned to her. Riderless and in mourning. She was still young at that point, barely into her adulthood, and was now tasked with learning to control 6 other mounts on top of her own. 

She whistled softly 4 times, she knew they were near. And the wind shifted rotation before lightning stuck high in the clouds, revealing a large body and ever faithful wings gliding.

-

"I'd just throw her back in the woods," Mor stated. "She had 4 drakes, and we have no clue what they can do. Do you really think having her here is safe?"

Cassian growled, his fist closing tightly under the table. "She's my sister."

Azriel avoided his gaze, jaw slightly clenched as he stated the one fact they all knew. "She's dangerous and a liability. We can't even speak to her to tell her we mean her and them no harm."

Amren rolled her eyes. "I think she's lying about that. I think she can speak common. I think she chooses not to. Just as all riders have throughout the history of time."

Amren shifted as all eyes landed on her. "She knew I was asking her name. Her accent is thick and heavy, but she pronounced everything clearly instead of struggling through it like a truly uneducated and mute fae would."

Cassian shook his head at Amren in disbelief. "She lived in the woods, Am. There's no way-"

"She speaks a completely dead language last used by dragon riders," Amren cut him off, annoyance slipping into her tone as she stared at the general as if he had gone stupid overnight. "She is somehow alive after her wings were cut so deeply that parts of her skin were still attached. Or did you forget the condition you received them at your feet in?" Amren turned her head to the window as a flash of lightning appeared from nowhere. "She may have been alone when you found her, but she wasn't always alone."

Rhysand jumped as a loud crash of thunder shook the mountain. "It wasn't supposed to rain today," Azriel said slowly as he moved towards the window. "We need to warn people to get inside. Look at how dark the clouds are." 

Amren's eyes went to the clouds, a small smirk on her face. "We're about to see one of the beasts in her arsenal. Might want to go calm your little mate, Rhysand"

Rhys shook his head. "Velaris is shielded from magic. My people and court are safe."

Mor spoke softly, a reminder to everyone in the room. "Not all drakes attack with magic, Rhys. Some can use the elements. Summoning the storm was the only magic it used, and the shield doesn't stop weather. Now, it gets to control the severity of it." 

As if confirming Morrigan's warning, lightning struck Ramiel and thunder shook the ground again as rumble fell from the mountain top. The jaws of the three Illyrian males all twitched. 

The sky became a show of lights as heavy rain began to pound down on the court, gathering faster than the ground and Sindra would be able to handle it. "It's going to flood the court," Mor realized slowly. "We are trapped in the valley of a mountain, Rhys. It's going to flood the court until it gets her back."

Rhys went up the stairs, rage fueling every step as Cassian kept pace with him.

Aerilyn jumped from where she stood near the balcony, watching as her true mount showed the Night Court not even a fraction of what he could do and a glimpse of the destruction he could bring. She knew he could level this little city, but had asked him not to through their bond. 

Rhysand gripped her arm, turning her so quickly her head spun and pointed to the sky with his brows raised as if he expected her to answer. She cocked her head to him, blinking twice before pulling her arm from his grasp and moving towards Cassian faking fear. "What is your beast doing?" Rhysand growled at her, his eyes blazing with fury she had never seen or felt before. She didn't answer and he exploded.

"What the fuck is happening to my court?!" The demand in his voice had Aerilyn almost trembling. "What in the fuck is that thing doing?!"

She stared at him doe eyed, moving closer into the protection Cassian offered and keeping up her act. "Rhys, stop, she clearly doesn't understand you."

The High Lord looked enraged. Yanking the bond so hard Aerilyn released a small scream and fell to her knees. Cassian knelt to her immediately, craddling her head and holding her close to him. He had never felt powerless because of Rhysand, but he did now. "Call. It. Off." He growled at her. "Call your damned beast off before I kill it."

She held her chest, eyes wide as she looked between Rhys and Cassian. The High Lord's eyes softened temporarily, realizing his mate had no clue what that string was. Anger came back to him as another round of lightning stuck closer to the House of Wind. 

Aerilyn knew that was a warning. A loud warning that if he hurt her again, if he shouted at her again, if he even detected fear down their sacred connect, the gates to hell would be opened, and death would follow. 

Rhys went to the balcony, opening it and bracing himself as winds whipped and rain pelted him. He began to watch the sky, watching for any sign of the beast hiding in those dark clouds. A flash of light allowed him to have eyes on it, and he turned to his mate, finger pointed to where he now knew the dragon was hovering. He offered one last time, "Call of the drake, or I will blood Mist him."

Aerilyn looked between him and Cassian. Her brother's jaw was tight. "Rhysand, she doesn't understand. It is protecting her."

"And I'm protecting my fae and home," Rhysand growled to his general. "A home you also swore to protect, Cassian. Remember your place."

Cassian stood, his eyes narrowing. "Isn't my place at your side, brother?"

Rhys put his hand down, realizing the error in his sentence. "Cassian-"

"Don't bother." The illyrian male knelt back down to his sister.

"Please," she whispered. "Don't hurt him." Cassian's face fell slightly. "Gentle. Kind." Aerilyn was still playing her cards. Knowing she could not drop the faked persona until she knew one of them was going to protect her, until she knew one of them would return her. "Scared."

Cassian placed a large hand on her cheek. "You or the dragon?"

Her brows knit. "Both," Rhysand said slowly. "They're both afraid." The High Lord caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, realizing now how much he behaved like his father in this incident. 

The rain lightened up at Aerilyn's command. Her mound came closer to the balcony, but still far enough away to prevent any physical attacks. Aerilyn moved to the balcony, and Rhys and Cassian both watched as her face fell into deep sadness. "Enlil," her hand went out and the dragon approached, getting close enough to her palm to allow her to touch his muzzle.

The males both immediately noted two things:

The first was that this dragon was truly a work of art. A large scaled body that appeared grey, but those scales had began to reflect the lights and surroundings, hiding him within plain sight to anyone looking. He had wings that Rhys could only describe as being similar to painted glass as gentle light passed through them. Even his ice blue eyes were beautiful, and shockingly to them both, filled with love and worship towards the female hugging him.

The second thing they noted was where Aerilyn and Enlil were touching was glowing with a faint blue light. It was as if the contact between them was a sign of magic. And to Rhysand's horror, he realized it was. He knew enough about dragon's and their riders to know this was a bond formed between their souls. His mate was this dragon's true mount. 

And that meant had he misted this dragon, he would have killed her too. 

The dragon could live without the rider, the rider could not live without the dragon. That bond was too fragile, too sacred, too powerful.

Rhys approached slowly, holding a hand back to Cassian. He knew drakes could understand the languages of the fae, and made an offer. "There is a cave, in the mountain," he pointed to it. "It used to be a dragon pit back when the Night Court had riders in their armies. It can comfortably fit 14 dragons." 

The drake seemed to understand his offer, those crystalline eyes flicking back to his rider. "You can bring your hoards of treasures and other friends there, you will be safe there as she is here."

Rhysand dropped the scent ward he had on their mating bond, allowing the drake to sniff it out. He flew back slightly, sparing one last look towards Aerilyn and turned the rain to no more than a light Mist before flying away. 

Rhys motioned for his mate to enter the room again and shut the balcony doors. He hid the hurt in his heart as Aerilyn tucked herself into Cassian's side again, using him as her shield. 

A shield from him.

Rhysand's shoulders fell in defeat. "I need to know what I welcomed into my court."

Aerilyn just simply tucked further into Cassian's side, her soaked hair dripping onto the hardwood floor below her as she shivered. 

Rhys nodded, closing his eyes, and walked out of the door. Amren, Azriel, and Mor all waited in the hall. "Amren, I need you to find books of the different types of drakes, preferably with pictures." The ancient being nodded and immediately left to go to work. "Azriel, how many were actually in the cave?" The shadowsinger didn't answer, his jaw set in a clenched hold. "I realize I fucked up, Azriel. I don't need you to tell me how badly. I already know."

"She has 7 total dragons in her possession. They all look different." He reported back calmly what his shadows had discovered. Azriel went to the door, knocking before entering. He greeted Cassian and Ari softly before shutting the door behind him.

Mor looked at Rhys. "You have to fix that." 

The male nodded. "I will. After he calms her down and gets her to sleep."

-

Cassian held Aerilyn tight after he made her change into different warm clothing. She couldn't help but cuddle closer into him. 

It was familiar, and she knew that. She knew his scent, his smile. She knew what he was to her, and she to him. 

He placed a long kiss on her temple, a prayer going to any God that listened one more time as he wrapped a large wing around her. No words passed between the siblings, and no words needed to. 

Her eyelids began to feel heavy quickly as his calloused hands began a long forgotten motion, running through her hair and scratching her scalp in all the right places. 

"You're safe, sis," Cassian mumbled, falling into a light sleep of his own. "No one will ever hurt you again."

-

The inner circle sat at the dinner table, waiting for at least Cassian to appear. 

Azriel was the last to see the siblings. He had said she was fine, just shaken up. Cassian he had not mentioned. 

They heard a set of foot steps approach the room and Cassian entered silently. He took the plate from the place that had been set near Rhys to force proximity and moved it further down the table. He began taking food without permission from the High Lord and ate in silence. 

Azriel began to eat as well, not wishing to push a clearly angry male to speak. Mor looked down then to Rhys, her eyes pleading with him to fix the situation. 

"Cassian," Rhysand started slowly. The general grunted in response. "Is she okay?"

Cassian set his fork down. "Considering you threatened the only thing she's known as family for the past 300 years? Sure, Rhys, she's fine. She trusts us so much already." Cassian went back to eating, effectively ending any conversation before it could begin. 

Rhys just looked down, pushing his own food around on his plate. He could feel she was heavily asleep, that her dreams were pleasant. "It was attacking my court, our home."

Cassian looked up at him slowly. "Because we kidnapped her from them and theirs. Because she doesn't feel safe and somehow that thing knows through the bond they share."

Amren's interest peaked, "She's bonded to one?" Rhys and Cassian both nodded. Amren just settled into her chair, silver eyes now ablaze with excitement. The ancient being sipped the liquid in her glass, a small smirk forming. "Woo her, Rhysand. That dragon will only leave if she dies, and if they were a pack, you could now have 7 damn near indestructible beasts at your whim."

Cassian pushed his plate away, standing and leaving the table.

The undeniable smell of anger was radiating off of his skin and tainting the air. Rhys felt his shoulders fall in defeat. 

Cassian never left the table without finishing his meals.

He did tonight.

-

Aerilyn woke up to the sun shining in her room and the smell of something bitter. She wrinkled her nose as she sat up and caught sight of the short haired male who originally found her.

He was sitting in her room, looking out the balcony, a cup with steam rising from it in hand. He had a thick book resting on his lap and parchment on a table next to him.

Azriel raised his hand to her, motioning for her to come closer with a single finger. 

She stood next to him, following where that finger now pointed. In a deep gentle voice he asked her, "Name?"

A solid black dragon with scales like spilled oil was sitting at the entrance of the cave put Rhys has allowed them access to. They were on shifts, watching her room perfectly from that ledge, and protecting each other. "Achlys." 

Azriel nodded and held the book. "Type?"

Aerilyn went through the pages, doing her best to focus on pictures instead of reading. She finally reached the page regarding drakes of poison and pointed. Azriel pales slightly before adding the gentle giant to his started list. Under Enlil was pages to books and his power type. Now, under Achlys name was pages referring her. 

He had 5 more spots set, but did not push her. He held the mug filled with the bitter black liquid up to her. "Try it."

She took the mug, fingers grazing his scarred hands and sniffed it. She took a tiny sip before looking at Azriel with a look of absolute devastation and betrayal. 

Azriel couldn't help but to let out a loud laugh as he saw her eyes going wide, her bottom lip pouting out, and her nose scrunching. He took the mug from her and pulled out a separate parchment piece. 

It has her name on the top along with little observations he's made regarding her. Under dislikes he added "Black Coffee," with an amused smile. 

"Mean," she glared at him as he continued to laugh. Azriel faked insult and put his hand to his chest. Aerilyn couldn't help the sympathy flowing through her as she took on of his hands in hers. "Fire?" He just nodded, allowing her to study them. 

Aerilyn wanted to drop the act. She wanted to ask who did this to him, where they were now, but she couldn't.  She settled with kissing his palm. 

Azriel moved to her closet when she was done. Picking a soft two piece outfit for her. He spoke slowly to her, trying to ensure she understood. "Change and then food."

Her stomach made a noise of agreement and he laughed again, leaving the room to allow her to change from the t-shirt Cassian had been wearing yesterday. The clothing left little to the imagination. It was a deep plum color, but the fabric was sheer. The top dipped low in the front and ended before her navel, the long sleeves were sheer. The matching pants were also fairly sheer after the modesty paneling that would prevent her from being exposed. 

Azriel entered the room as if knowing she was changed and immediately took her hand, pulling her into the hallway.

Aerilyn's mouth began to water as they went down the stairs, and her stomach made an when louder noise that had the male pausing, sending her a small look of sympathy, before continuing.

The house was stunning. Lavish furniture, golden balcony and lanterns. It was the most expensive place she had ever been, granted most of her days were spent in a cave surrounded by beasts and their individual hoards. 

Azriel pulled her into a dinning room where the inner circle all sat waiting for him. "Brought a friend to breakfast," he said simply as they all stared in shock. He pulled a chair out for her, sitting her down across from Cassian before moving to sit next to her. 

He began to pile food onto a plate, occasionally putting something under her nose to smell and only adding it if she nodded. Eggs, hashbrowns, bacon, and countless fruits now sat on her plate. 

He gave her the option of water and some dark purple color liquid that smelled like berries. 

Cassian offered her a small smile. "No coffee?"

Azriel didn't freely give them the smiles he had been handing her. "Tried that. She looked at me like I just stolen everything warm and wonderful in her world."

A beautiful blonde laughed lightly. "Well you either drink coffee one or two ways, Azriel. Black or loaded with caramel and sugar. Balance is needed, Az!"

The room fell into hushed silence as the male who stood on the other end of the string Aerilyn had been studying entered. 

He stared at her for a brief moment, his lips almost giving into a twitch and his eyes softening. He continued his walk to the head of the table and sat. "Good morning." A chorus of "Mornings" welcomed him as he began to take food. He looked directly at Aerilyn, "Man erin"

"Man Erin," she whispered back. 

"Eat." Rhysand said to everyone. "We have a long day ahead of us."

Rhys and Aerilyn kept glancing at each other as they ate. One looking away when the other would notice them. She felt herself slightly flushing under his gaze, feelings she'd never had beginning to mix with the fear she felt towards him.

He was beautiful. Incredibly beautiful. Dark hair, a chiseled face, tanned skin. His eyes felt like starlight. 

She wanted to map those eyes, log them like the ancient kings, watching them for hours until they were all they knew.

Rhys also felt emotions mixing with what he knew what physical attraction. The twins had done well cleaning her and allowing her features to be seen. Long dark hair fell into waves down to the curve of her ass that Rhysand wanted to sink his teeth into. Her high cheekbones and delicate jawline framed lush blush lips and eyes like melted chocolate. 

She would be easy to physically fall in love with, and if he could woo her, if he could drop his pride long enough to open vulnerability between the two of them, maybe it would be easy for him to emotionally fall for her as well.

-

Cassian and Azriel led Aerilyn out of the House of Wind to an open area filled with sparing dummies. Cassian was radiating, he had been since the two shadow wraiths changed her into the training leathers she saw Illyrian warriors wearing when she'd spy on the camps. He had been since he inspected her perfected braided hair that was tucked and twisted to keep it out of her face and prevent it from being a target. 

He had been since he saw his sister, exactly as she should have been.

Azriel moved away from them, setting something else up and then sat and waited for Rhysand. She knew he was joining them. Cassian pulled her to a table filled with battle maps and empty parchment as if it was his favorite personal space and he began to write.

Can you read? His handwriting was sharp almost as if he moved his hands like he was dicing an enemy with a knife instead of handling a pen.

"Yes," Aerilyn said.

Cassian rose a brow. You know what yes and no means?

"Yes."

He nodded a small smirk forming. Do you know how to fight?

Aerilyn looked at him, her own dark brows raising as Rhys and Azriel made their way over. She took the pen from Cassian, shocking the three of them. I fly dragons. I had to learn to fight.

Rhys sucked in a breath. "You can read and write." She nodded at him. "You just can't speak our language." 

She wrote again, lying through her teeth still for reasons she was forgetting as today's kindness had become an almost comfort, all of them studying her like hawks that found prey. Never made it that far. Letters in your language have too many sounds. And there's weird bull shit rules. Like "to, two, and too." Who uses 3 words that's letters should all sound the same creating the same word 3 times but for some reason they all evidently mean something else? 

Azriel closed his eyes, hiding a laugh with a cough and cleared his throat. "Yup. Definitely Cassian's sister. Makes what you two are doing next possibly easier, though." 

Rhysand picked at his leathers, trying to remain indifferent despite the joy flooding both him and Aerilyn. He went into her mind again, finding one pathway that wasn't a mess of trauma and mistrust. He began following it to see if he could figure out what all Aerilyn knew. Her thoughts were in several languages with an occasional one in common tongue. Ancient Ruskian, the Old tongue, the language of the long lost elves, and several others.

A slow realization hit him and he looked at his brothers immediately expressing it to them in their minds. "You were not alone in those woods, were you?"

Aerilyn kept her eyes locked on the parchment, shaking her head. Can we just get the fighting over with? I don't want to talk about that.

Cassian almost began to bounce, beaming with excitement and joy. "After we warm and run, sunshine," he ruffled her hair as her face dropped completely.

No one said running would be involved. Aerilyn immediately turned towards the door, only to be stopped by Cassian quickly ripping her back and turning her to throw her over his shoulder. "No way, little one. You are not getting out of this, Aerilyn."

Aerilyn looked at Rhys, eyes pleading. "Please?" Her voice reminded him of red aged wine. Sultry, sweet, capable of convincing him to spend all of his money.

He wanted to give into her, to give into those big chocolate brown eyes begging him to stop this from happening, but they needed a baseline or her knowledge in everything to keep her safe, even if that safety one day was no longer with him. 

He sighed heavily. "I'm sorry, darling. It is for your best interest."

Aerilyn collapsed 30 minutes later onto the training mat. They were trying to kill her. Rhysand sat next to her, lightly laughing as he handed her water. 

Aerilyn hated cardio. She had always hated cardio. She did not even understand why cardio was a thing. She took the water, taking a drink before rolling to her stomach and laying in defeat. 

Rhys poked her side, "I think she is done, Cassian." He could feel it through the bond, read it in her body language. He admired the pieces of her hair that had fallen from the braids. He watched her chest rising and falling. She had taken off the longer sleeved training shirt a while ago, exposing her toned arms and back in the tanktop. Despite the tanned skin, a peek of white was showing. A peek of a scar was showing. 

She stiffened as he moved the shirt more and he blanched. 

No care had been taken when her wings were removed. Deep thick scarred skin sat where her wing should have been. Cassian froze when he saw them as well, the night that her small wings where thrown to his feet immediately coming to the forefront of his mind. 

Aerilyn moved away, standing with her back to the three of them, her posture began caving in on itself as her mind screamed insecurities at her. 

She knew of beauty standards. She knew scars were not considered beautiful, and despite not being raised in normal society, she wanted to be beautiful. She wanted to be seen as beautiful. 

She backed away as tears began to fall. "It's okay," Rhys moved to her, speaking softly. "It's okay, Ari."

She shook her head before breaking into a run into the house. Shadows followed her as Cassian stopped Rhys from following. "Give her a second," the general kept repeating.

But how was he supposed to give her a second? How was Rhys supposed to let his mate lock herself in her room and be alone? 

How was he supposed to leave her alone when she didn't believe she was beautiful?

A loud roar broke them all from their trance and their heads snapped to the opening near the mountain. Azriel began to back away, panic and fear setting into him as a large red and gold bodied drake flew towards Aerilyn's balcony. 

They didn't need her to tell them what kind of beast that was nor the destruction it could bring. 

They all already knew, and this confirmed a deep set fear they had. 

Aerilyn had access to a fire Drake. 

Rhysand put himself between Azriel and where the dragon flew. 

"No one speaks a word of this. Knowledge that there is a fire Drake does not leave our boarders. I do not want to deal with Beron anytime soon. It's bad enough we already have to hide the Storm Drake from Tamlin."

Cassian released a shaking breath. "What happens if this all comes out, Rhysand?"

The High Lord shook his head, his mind reeling. "You will lose your sister, I will lose my mate, and those poor beasts that simply want to live and protect her will be hunted or used until their deaths. We keep it quiet to keep them safe."

The three brothers nodded as the flame dragon began to fly back to the cave, something sparkling in its claws.

Azriel, despite his fear, let out a small laugh. "It took a lantern." 

The statement broke the tension that had been building between the three males since her arrival. Cassian's loud booming laughter lead to Rhysand's own deep chuckles, and then Azriel's own rang out joining them. 

Aerilyn appeared seconds later, a guilty look on her teary face. Her hands clasped in front of her, and she rocked back and forth. Her small motions made their laughter increase and soon her own bell-like giggles started. 

She realized slowly, watching the three of them laugh and feeling Rhysand's unadulterated love for the two other males, and the sheer happiness he felt, that she could get used to this. She walked to Azriel, the book on drakes and his sheet in hand to the table and wrote a few simple words. "Hestia. Fire Drake. Likes gems and gold." 

Translation - Man Erin - "Good morning"

Tag list: @kemillyfreitas @jesssicapaniagua @elijahssuit @biancabldss @hellwantfuckme @justdreamstars @ladybirdbeetle7 @amygdtjhddzvb

**Tumblr was being odd and would not allow me to actually tag a few people. I'm looking into it! If you'd like to be added to the taglist, please let me know 💜

[comfortless]

Outside

but you’re mine (chapter 2 of ?)

🌱 PAIRING: König x fem!reader

🌾 CONTENT: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. fae au. blanket warning for death, violence, very light horror elements <— comes with the territory; all of this being said it’s still cozy and sweet here!!, not even remotely canon compliant, slow burn, eventual smut. chapter specific warnings: ambivalence, pining, vague mentions of murder/abduction, very slightly suggestive.

🍃 NOTES: this is so much later coming out than i hoped it would be— apologies! wc: 7k.

<- prev ; next ->

Sleep addled eyes open to reveal the orange glow of a hunter’s moon, soil and clover beneath your nude flesh, the tickle of a dead fern rubbing against your bare calf as a gentle breeze pulls dying leaves from trees and leaves a wake of goose pimples on your flesh. Beneath the light of the moon, you gather your bearings well enough, the velvety dark creating illusions dancing at the corners of your vision. The shadow of the large antlers of an inquisitive buck pacing about, a woman swaying as a giggle escapes her parted lips, the sound of a pan flute playing some lively tune somewhere off in the distance.

As you sit up, taking in what you’ve believed you’ve just seen, it all quiets. The forest is as silent and still as always. Eyes wide and panicked heart palpitating wildly, you think to cover your most vulnerable parts with a cupped palm and the cross of your arm over the swift rise and fall of your chest.

How you managed to find yourself out in the dark, nude as any animal, is beyond your comprehension. Rationalizing seems futile, since you arrived not a thing has made any sort of sense to you, anyway. Inexplicable things happen, and frankly, it’s becoming quite the nuisance. Whoever has done this, dragged you from your bedroom to leave you in the darkened forest, can very well bet on the fact that they’ve made an enemy out of you. You stand to your feet, brushing dirt and fragments of leaves from the backs of your thighs and rear before concealing yourself once more.

What started as a series of harmless events seems to steadily build like a symphony as the days pass, and you only find comfort in knowing that it’s yet to reach any sort of crescendo. In your previous life, occupied by a mundane job and gray city skylines, if anything were to occur like this you would think your sanity had slipped. Convincing yourself you’re deluded wouldn’t change much here. You’ve tried already, only to find a man you’ve yet to properly meet curled against you in your own bed.

That night, only a week ago, felt like a distant memory now. He hadn’t been back. You had told Kate about it, of course, and in turn she spoke of her nightly visitor too. Someone who called himself John, who kept a cigar on his person when he anticipated speaking with her throughout the night. A loyal friend he was, she had told you, but you hardly had anything kind to say about the monster who had appeared from no where to steal your things, leave a dead bird in your bed, and invite himself beneath your blanket in turn. The only positive you could think of was that he had returned your lily in better health than it was when it had initially vanished. Kate hadn’t seemed particularly concerned, these things don’t usually harm humans in their own realm. It would give too much away, and they liked their secrets, their games.

Vulnerability looks sweet on you as you stumble about, careful to avoid the jagged edges of broken twigs and loose rock against your soles. You’re hopelessly lost, and god only knew how far from home you truly were. A part of you doesn’t want to play, to give whatever did this the satisfaction of seeing you break down as you spend your night desperate to return to shelter. It’s strange to feel such fear and anger at the same time, the sort of complex mixture of emotions that had you gritting your teeth as tears stung the corners of your eyes.

“Alright, come out, already! Take me back!,” You shout in a moment of weakness, realizing you’ve not progressed whatsoever. You could have sworn you’ve passed this same crooked oak twice already, it’s trunk bending so oddly it resembled someone kneeling in prayer. The air only seems to grow further still at your outburst, and your mind supplies a thought that rids your anger and only increases the fear. You shouldn’t have done that. How could someone so helpless be making demands to something capable of doing something like this on a whim, after all?

To your horror, your exclamation is answered by the metered sounds of footfalls in the darkness, heavy and deliberate. The worst of them only liked to come out at night, Kate had warned you over tea the morning after your visitor had made his appearance. Not all of them, but most. Some were perverse, foul-tongued and inhumanly horny. Some were volatile and quick to anger. Some were simply hungry, luring people out just like this to drag them back to whatever pocket of unreality they had stalked out of to bring so many just like you back to devour in the comfort of their lair.

The sounds draw nearer, coupled with a deep intake of breath, no doubt to take in your scent. It’s the gnashing of teeth that spurs you to run, clamoring through prickly nettles, shredding the soles of your feet on pine cone and loose stone. It gives chase, maneuvering with ease through the woodsy terrain, uprooting bushes and tearing through clover beds in its wake.

“Come…” The voice is a warbled mockery of human speech, fluctuating in a tone that seems it’s speaking from its belly rather than its throat. Even a well taught canine could speak better.

“Come...”

A shriek is ripped from your throat when you hear the creature no longer behind you, but in front of you. It chitters loudly, breathes deep once more. You brace yourself for the feeling of clustered, crooked fangs piercing into your exposed flesh, but… that pain never comes.

Your eyelids flutter when you hear an inhuman wail of pain, see the silhouette of two massive beasts scuffling about before you. Some morbid shadow puppet show, filled with grunts and screeches. There’s a distinct, wet ripping noise followed by the blackened spray of entrails hitting the bark of the trees that surround.

The thing that had been in pursuit of you sounds like a squealing pig as it falls into a puddle of its own blood, weakly thrashing about until a prolonged gasp leaves it. Silence would follow, if not for the sounds of your own ragged breathing.

The victor merely rolls his broad shoulders, tilts his head to look at you as you take a step back. You catch sight of a veil hanging over his head, and as your gaze travels lower you see the glimmer of blood on clawed fingertips. The creature from your room, the irony of the thing you had feared so now becoming your savior.

Perhaps seeing how easily he ripped one of his own kind apart should have terrified you. Yet you find yourself oddly consoled, eager to see something familiar in the dark.

“Thank you,” you huff out before you can catch yourself. No thanking them. There’s no taking it back, even as Kate’s voice rings out in your mind, you don’t even make the attempt to correct yourself. In spite of her warning, nothing happens. The man takes a slow step toward you, careful almost, as though the thought of making you flee was something he actually considered. It’s entirely opposite from how you know him to be, forced cuddles and gifts of rot. Still, you’ve been lucky to avoid some grisly end on this night, and the consequences of your gratitude quickly fall from your mind just as a tear slips down your cheek.

He seems lost in thought as the glow of blue irises lock onto you, reflective under starlight visible through the holes torn in his veil, before he removes the cloak covering his body and places it gently over your shoulders. His hands linger as he gently strokes your arms only to reluctantly draw away.

“Reizendes.” You don’t need to ask what the word means, the way his gaze softens as he stares down at you tells all. It’s the same look you saw Ghost give to Johnny’s grave. Albeit, a little less tame. His stare isn’t just appreciative, something carnal lurks beyond those eyes.

You don’t know why this man, this creature, is drawn to you. Why he looks at you the way that he does, why he came here to save a defenseless human woman. There’s so little reason, so little time given to be worthy of such a strange devotion. Simple curiosity seems an impossibility, Kate’s been here longer than you and she didn’t seem to know just what you referred to when you described him to her. There’s a pleading in your tear-filled eyes as your gaze meets his own. Why me?

The man takes another step, lowering himself just enough to look into your eyes as his widen. It’s the first time you’ve been face-to-face, somewhat. His hand raises, claws drawn inward toward his palm as he considers reaching for you, though he drops it back to his side the moment you dart your tongue out to nervously wet your lips.

“I need to get home.”

“Ja. I will come with you.” He says it as though it’s the most obvious thing to suggest, the only logical way to end a night like this.

“That wasn’t an invitation.”

His eyes seem to crease at the corners in amusement, you imagine a sharp-toothed grin beyond the fabric hiding himself away from you. “You have already slept with me.”

Your reaction seems to be exactly what the fae expects, your lips parted and face warmed from embarrassment as your eyes go wide in surprise. “What— no, don’t say it like that!” To your chagrin, he has the audacity to laugh, a gravely rumble from his solid chest. A pretty sound, a haunted church bell, something you can’t place.

“You can stay with me.”

“Why would I do that?” You’re glaring at him, but you get the sense he knows there’s no bite to your harsh look whatsoever.

“You owe me, ja?”

You’re caught in a strange stasis between comfort and disgust, really. Your room’s felt colder at night since a week ago, even with your window shut tight, curtains drawn, and every blanket you owned piled atop you, none of it could bring back the warmth you felt tucked against him. Yet, here, beneath a pumpkin moon, you still can’t put together what exactly he is and your mind is like a banshee, screaming out for you to leave. Even with his cloak pulled tight around you, fur lining soft on your flesh, you still shiver from the breeze. The running, the confusion and fear. The defiance is clear in your eyes, but the exhaustion is evident everywhere else, from the rapid rise and fall of your chest to the blood staining your bare feet.

The fae doesn’t hesitate as he plucks you from the leaf-ridden ground and tosses you over his shoulder as though you weigh little more than a twig. His hand curves over your lower back, keeping you in place. Though you make your displeasure known with a grumbled string of curses, you’re only met with the touch of his clawed thumb flittering along your side as if in consolation. His touch is something that brings you an odd calm. You’ve considered that since your impromptu meeting if he’s got some sort of magic laced into his fingertips, making you pliant, or perhaps you’re a bit more accepting of his strange courtship than you would ever allow yourself to believe.

“You’ll take me home in the morning,” you whisper, a sulky request.

He huffs, his shoulder seeming to deflate almost imperceptibly beneath your bare tummy. “Ja.”

His strides are great as he begins to walk, clearing through the forest with ease, and he’s careful, careful not to allow any outstretched branches to even make contact with your body. He clutches you tighter when the howling of coyotes could he heard in the distance, rubs at your side each time you shiver. How a monster could be so soft, so attentive is beyond you, but subconsciously you begin to relax just a little more with each passing moment.

He places you back on your feet when you reach a small clearing, a circle of trees surrounding and grass that feels pillowy beneath you. His hands move to your hips, pushing you back as a whine of protest leaves your lips before your back hits a soft nest of furs, cleared away of any debris, right below the lofty gaze of the moon.

“I didn’t like the bird,” you speak up as he sits at your side, you pull his cloak tighter around yourself. The fae cocks his head at you, moving a hand far too large to rest on your knee. You’re confused, so confused. You both want to shield yourself from this titan and open yourself up to him, in bloom. Submissive, but withdrawn.

“I will leave deer next time,” he answers, his blue eyes crinkling again as he grins and leans in to nudge his nose against the side of your neck. “Little doe. Like you.”

Your hand rises to press against the front of his veil, to push him back. He tenses for a moment, but resigns only to push himself closer, nosing at the side of your jaw as he grasps at your waist. It’s futile, really, trying to shove him away but you don’t give up as you twist and writhe against him. “No! Don’t leave dead things in my bed.”

He pulls you tightly toward him, just like the night before. An arm tucked under your neck and one hand splayed over your womb. Your battle lost, banner raised by way of fluttering lashes and parted lips.

“Women like fur and feathers, ja?” There’s a lilt to his voice, both amused and desperate as he practically vibrates against you. “I will give them to you always.”

You busy yourself trying to pry his hand away from your abdomen, making a show of nothing as you weakly push and shove until clawed fingers slot themselves between your own. The simple act of holding his hand snuffs out any bit of fight you had left in you, because damn it all, your heart flutters.

“I don’t want your gifts.”

“What is better then?,” he huffs against your neck, the warmth of his breath leaving goosebumps in its wake, and you could swear you felt the graze of teeth just beneath his veil. “To fuck?”

You shake your head furiously at his suggestion, pulling your hand from his and wriggling away from him. “Absolutely not,” you hiss, eyes narrowed as you glare at him only a few inches distance away.

He laughs, and to your horror— your excitement, crawls over you, his hands resting on either side of your head. It’s hard to see in the dark, even as your eyes adjust somewhat, but as the veil flutters with his movement, you don’t catch sight of any monstrous face beneath it, only a man. The glimpse is brief, hardly enough to paint a proper picture, before he softly knocks his forehead against yours and brushes against your face. It stifles you, how a man like this, one that leaves gifts of death and has the stature of a beast could be so very gentle.

“I have missed you,” he breathes against your cheek as he lowers himself atop you, and for the first time you’re realizing he’s just as nude as you are, the cloak the only article of clothing between the two of you. But despite the feel of his regrettably impressive manhood against your thigh, he makes no move to ravish you. In fact, he seems content just covering you like a weighted blanket.

You bite your lower lip, chewing at it as an unwanted surge of arousal pools between your thighs, pressed so tightly together it’s almost painful. Unwanted and quickly over looked. This isn’t simple lust, your heart aches.

“You are so soft,” he continues, lowering his head to hook his chin over your shoulder, a hand stuffed beneath your lower back. “Softer than fur. Softer than feathers.”

“What do you want?,” you ask him for the second time since your meeting. It’s not that you don’t have an idea. He makes it painfully clear with the way he showers you in affection and stares at you as if you’re the only star in the night sky.

Still, he humors you with a response, “Keine ahnung.” Follows it up with a shrug of his massive shoulders and a soft whisper, “I don’t know.”

Yet, he dips his head down, with his lips pressed against yours from just beyond the veil, kisses you softly through the fabric as his hand moves to cup your cheek. The urge to tear yourself away is still there, but quieted, lulled into some sort of comfort. You find yourself reciprocating a little dumbly, unsure of just how to properly kiss with the curtain of fabric in the way. The warmth spreading across your face is dizzying, almost. The sole thought of this feeling predestined beds down in the recesses of your brain.

You think to request that he remove what hides himself from you, yet he pulls away before you can murmur it into his mouth.

“Give me your name.” The words are a demand, indefinitely, and with his size it’s hard not to view them in a threatening light. There’s something else, too: desperation. You’ve already given enough, your gratitude, a debt to be repaid.

You’ve thumbed through some of Kate’s books, the ones separated from the stock of romance novels on her shelves. There wasn’t as much material as you had hoped about these creatures, though you supposed that finding truths about what was not even supposed to exist was bordering on the impossible, anyhow. However, one sentiment seemed to ring out as fact between each meager source— giving him your name is reducing yourself to a possession.

“Show me your face,” you counter, to which he shakes his head with a breathy laugh.

“Not on this night,” he whispers. You find him at your side instead, tugging you close as he hums that very same song that slipped you into sleep just like before.

“Then you won’t have my name tonight, either,” you murmur against his broad chest, languidly pulling yourself closer as you toss the side of the cloak over the both of you like a blanket.

— — —

You don’t want to think about it, the tingling on your lips as though it were truly your first kiss, the way your heart stutters in your chest. Speaking of it seemed somehow worse, as if it would breath life into the memory. The way it weighs on you makes it feel as if it’s already something tangible, a snarling black cat with its claws buried into the shoulder of your coat. It’s raining when you pull your car from the driveway, your keys having turned up digging into your side beneath the sheets after the night you willingly spent wrapped so tightly against him. All the gray somehow made the vibrant oranges and reds of the trees seem dismal, too. You entertain the thought that it’s truly the fact that you’re being haunted by something that rips the intestines of creatures out with his bare hands that’s really causing this wave of misery, but something tells you that it’s the attachment you have to such a monstrosity that truly does it.

He’s done something and you just know it, cinched your heart with some otherworldly fairy bullshit, made the weeks waiting for him to reappear seem utterly unbearable. You feel like some poor housewife, loitering around doing menial tasks while your husband is either gunned down in some foreign battlefield or fucking into some pretty lady a sea’s breadth away. It’s been a month and there’s no sign of him, even visiting with Ghost you no longer feel the stares of the unseen up the walking trail. Just nothing but a hollow in the pit of your gut that taunts you with the suggestion that he won’t be back.

You drown out your thoughts on the ride into town with music, skipping every love song that plays on shuffle with a diligent tap of your thumb on your phone screen. You’ve put no effort into looking nice, a t-shirt several sizes too large and pair of pajama pants beneath your coat. Your eyes look deadened when you meet your own gaze in the rear view mirror. A stupid thing about heartbreak, really, is that you don’t even need too much to feel it. A friendship spanning a mere week could hurt just as badly depending on the circumstances. Feeling some affection for something no other person could possibly get their hooks into only to have him vanish like this almost makes the feeling seem justified. Almost.

Kate and Ghost have been good company. You haven’t told them, but there’s an odd sympathy in Kate’s eyes when she looks at you, she speaks with her passerby friend outside rather than in at night now, and Ghost… Well, he appears more often as a devil dog, shows his teeth and keeps his distance from you. You still have talks, from time to time he tells you about Johnny. He tells you that he’s been lost for a time, but he waits there knowing he’ll come home like any good dog would. It’s just the way he looks at you now, like there’s something looming over you that even he can’t properly detect.

Your solitude helps on dreary days like this, when you can’t pry it out—him, clawing at the corners of your mind.

The town feels just as hushed as everywhere else in this place.

A small street houses old buildings nestled tightly against one another, the brick crumbling and some corners blackened as though some angry soul had tried to burn it all down. It’s the kind of place that feels haunted, you think as you park your car on the mostly empty street, catching sight of your reflection in a shattered window. The thin blue curtains of the building billow outward as if beckoning to you and you tear your eyes away immediately. You don’t want to see anything again. Not him, not another giggling and twirling through clusters of bramble and fern. None of it. It’s decided, a bitter force of your own will.

Yet, when you step foot into the old bakery your mind races with his gift, his promise of more and… would it really be so bad to get him one too? A proper offering, not one that harmed a single living thing. Something soft, like your shared kiss. You step to the counter, noting how coldly the older woman just beyond the pretty cabinet of glazed buns and slices of apple pie eyes you. These days, you don’t feel welcome anywhere, caught in a loop of misplaced pity and loneliness. It’s one or the other, sometimes they overlap.

You pay for a coffee and a sugar bun, tucking the brown paper bag holding it into the deep pocket of your coat before you head back outside and choose to have your coffee on a bench. The wind and rain have lessened, somewhat, falling into a mere drizzle and a featherlight breeze instead. The sound of the earth is much more pleasing to the ear than the void of silence you’ve felt lost in.

Approaching footsteps draw your attention as you take a sip from the paper cup. Your eyes meet a sincere face as he steps towards you, looking a bit uncertain. A cop, no doubt. Perhaps even a rookie. He doesn’t have the hardened face of the standard city police, just a polite smile across his lips, a sort of kind twinkle in his eyes.

“Mornin’,” the cop says to you as he stands to the side of the bench. It’s nice to see someone normal, not unearthly. You offer him a slight pull of your lips, a half-smile.

“Good morning.”

“Kyle Garrick,” he introduces himself, offering his hand out for you to shake. You accept, shaking it twice before drawing your hand back. You hesitate for a moment, but inevitably give the man your name in turn. He is just that, you realize, a human man. “Haven’t ya… well, you’ve seen the news, yeah? Shouldn’t be out on your own like this.” You shake your head slightly, the hand wrapped around your coffee cup falling into your lap. The officer goes on to explain that disappearances occur somewhat frequently around this place. He has the courtesy to spare you the bulk of detailing the state these folks come back in, but your mind can fill in the gaps well enough. Dragged into the dark, a lair filled with teeth. It almost happened to you.

He looks down at you a bit sympathetic for a moment, before he brings himself to continue on. “Not tryin’ to scare you. Just want to make sure you’re aware.”

A shaky sigh leaves you before you bring your cup back to your lips, a long sip lost in thought before you meet the officer’s brown eyes once more. “I’ll be careful,” you respond quietly. “Can’t say the thought of dealing with a serial killer sounds fun at all.”

That earns you a laugh from him. It sounds sweet. Maybe you’re not the most trusting, but Kyle seemed like a good man.

“Can’t say for certain if we’ve got a serial killer at all, but ah— I shouldn’t be tellin’ you all of this, yeah?”

“Sounds like you’re trying to scare me off.”

“No, not at all,” he responds with a shake of his head. “Don’t fret too much. Probably just the grizzlies, the wolves… you know how nature can be.”

“Cruel?”

“Not quite.” He pauses as his brow pinches in thought. “Just… hysterical.”

If only he knew. You don’t have the gall to tell him that what he’s in pursuit of likely wasn’t an animal or a person at all, but some other thing. Kate probably would have outright, you imagine, but you’re not Kate.

He tips his head at you, tugging his black cap down by the brim. “I’ll be seeing you, then.”

You nod him off in reply. The wind was starting to pick back up, the sugar bun in your pocket growing cooler with each passing breeze.

— — —

Kate’s been absent more often lately, a small pile of sticky notes left on the countertop all with hurriedly scrawled out ‘Be back soon!’s. When you arrive home, it doesn’t come as a surprise to you to see yet another stuck onto the refrigerator door with the same words written over the blue paper in black ink.

Visiting Ghost proved fruitless. The cemetery was completely empty. It was rare that he wasn’t stationed there, seated like a statue amongst the rows of headstones. Waiting around for him to return seemed irrational. Though he tolerated you well enough, Ghost was an enigma, and seeking out his company felt almost pathetic on your part.

Your hands clench at your sides as you walk the trail back home.

Your frustration is misplaced and you know it, but you’re exhausted with the same scenery. The same four walls surrounding you, the dreary little valley town, the cemetery. When things happen here they spark up your adrenaline in a way nothing else ever could, the high far better than any vice or pleasure you’ve ever accepted. The reverse is a pensive, horrid wait and coupled with this longing, it’s become unbearable.

Kate and Ghost had their secrets that you choose to leave well alone, and you… You realize you’ve got your secrets too as you place the sugar bun on your windowsill as a small offering for him.

‘I’ve missed you,’ he had said.

“I miss you,” you breathe out into the empty air, staring out the window as the rain begins to pick up again.

The sugar bun is gone the following morning and you find flowers in your bed. A bouquet of harebell and Queen Anne’s lace haphazardly tied with a short length of twine.

Late November drags itself in silently. The glass of your window is frosted most mornings, a hand print far too large left against it from the outside. Otherwise, everything is just quieted. Though you’ve rarely seen much wildlife around the house, it seems even more desolate now.

You help Kate set up a Christmas tree in the corner of the den, right by the hearth. The baubles and lights adorning it bring a warmth to you that seems uncanny this time of the year. You stray from your room more often, finding it nice to sit by the warmth of a roaring fire with one of her books in hand. (She tells you that John kindled the flames each time, yet you’ve still never seen them.)

Though you bide your time during the day, nights are your favorite. You leave gifts of honey and small stones, you wake to them gone and often in their place, blooming flowers tied with thin lengths of string. Flowers from someplace far away and less cold, someplace that doesn’t exist for you.

“Leave it alone.”

“Have you ever left it alone?”

Ghost huffs, ears flicked back and eyes narrowed. Try as he might, looking intimidating as a dog was just… impossible for him at least, especially now as he stands on his back legs, paws resting on your windowsill as he inspects your new gift, some strange cluster of unnaturally red pearls and flowers so golden they didn’t seem real. He sniffs at your gifts, black lips drawn back in a very canine expression of disdain. Perhaps you would still think him entirely cute, harmless, if you didn’t know what he had the capability to look like.

“I just want to know… where they’re coming from. You should know.”

“Why would I know what you’re invitin’ in?” Ghost counters as he places his big paws back onto the floor before padding over to your bed and jumping up to snuff at your sheets.

“I just thought I would ask.”

His diligent sniffing pauses for a moment, and you swear you see some recognition in his dark eyes. It’s distant, well guarded, but you feel certain he knows something that he just refuses to tell. The dog falls entirely silent, and you know you’re not getting another word out of him. Not tonight at least.

You had invited him in in hopes for answers, not for more questions, even explained in depth what had occurred that night in the woods. If your eyes were filled with tiny stars as you recounted it all, he hadn’t said a word to acknowledge it.

“Leave it alone.” Ghost repeats when he meets your eyes, dreamily thinking back to him again. Always, a constant gnawing at your mind. “It’ll want more.”

“My name?”

“More.”

“I don’t understand. You don’t want anything more from me, John doesn’t want more from Kate. Why would he be any different?” It sounds pitiful, even to yourself. You wouldn’t know more than Ghost, you’re just desperate. Desperate for the same thing as the fae you spent your nights missing.

Ghost barks out a laugh, surprising even to your own ears. He doesn’t need to say a thing. Black shulk, harbinger of death. A friend, for now, but he knows you’re reckless, knows your time will come eventually. It’s the reason he exists.

He gives you a nod when the recognition floods your face, and almost sympathetically places his massive head in your lap.

Tonight’s the first time he allows you to pet him, trailing your hand down the length of his spine as his wiry fur parts beneath your fingertips. He’s colder than you would expect, colder than the bite of winter outside. You ask him, again, to tell you about Johnny, and in turn, he tells you he’s on his way home.

The chill of Ghost’s stiff body is replaced by the warmth of the fire in the hearth as you lead him back to the door to let him roam into the night after little talk, little introspection.

But something is better than nothing.

The smell of coffee pulls you from sleep, Kate’s humming could be heard from the kitchen, a soft song, one you had heard her play on her record player some nights when sleep dodged you. It’s mornings like these that remind you of just how peaceful things could be here. She hadn’t even seemed to mind how you had fallen asleep on the couch, or Ghost’s dirty paw prints tracked across the hardwood floors. As you stretch and pad over to greet her, a mug of warm coffee is pressed into your hands and she smiles.

“I’ll clean the floor,” you murmur into your cup, a bit sheepish.

“Why? He’s got two hands, doesn’t he?”

You could never grow tired of her laugh, not hers. It’s sweet and so gentle, it almost reminds you of his. There’s love there, an affection born of two lonesome souls finding solace in one another through silly talks of monsters and shared cups of comfort. Kate really has become family to you after only a few short months.

“I suppose so. Want me to drag him back?”

She raises an eyebrow at that, flashes you an unknowing smile, to which you immediately shake your head.

“Oh, come on!”

“I’m teasing you,” she says, gently nudging your shoulder. “I know you’ve got someone else in mind.”

“How did—”

“Ghost.”

You place your mug on the countertop, looking utterly flabbergasted at the fact that he of all people would run telling your roommate about your infatuation with some suspicious stranger. Your face warms, a swell of embarrassment rising from your chest to your temples. It’s not petty, really, he might have your best interest at heart if he truly had one at all, but you weren’t quite ready to tell Kate about the strange gifts or the depth of your longing after a simple kiss. It was more than that, the danger you had been in, the way he had saved you. It felt like much more.

“I should have told you about it all,” you respond tinily.

Kate shrugs her shoulders a bit, idly tapping at her mug as she studies you. You’re stuck feeling like a child again, telling your guardian about some silly crush at school. Thankfully, she doesn’t pry. The look she gives you merely suggests that she wants you to be careful.

— — —

Careful isn’t what you would have called yourself when you pried open your window in the dead of night. You remembered the kneeling tree, the way it slumped over in its prayers to the earth and if you could just find it again, perhaps you could find him. The air outside was frigid, but you prepared as well as your impulsivity would allow; several layers of clothing and a blanket pulled tightly over your shoulders. It isn’t snowing, not so early into the winter here, yet the ledge of the window is still slippery with frozen condensation. You manage to keep yourself stable as you make your descent, grappling at the wall of the cottage to keep yourself upright.

You leave the window open, the light of your table lamp bathing the room in a warm glow, so inviting you nearly forget your motivations to crawl back in. Before the thought takes root, you turn on your heel and storm out into the dark forest.

Nights are a bit more lively, you find. A woman sings someplace far off, an eerie song telling the story of a carriage traveling a dangerous road, something long-forgotten and old. Hoofbeats thunder past you, accompanied by a breeze that chills you down to the bones, yet nothing could be seen, even with the glow of your phone’s flashlight lighting your way. When you do see something, it’s limbs are all crooked and long, mouth wide and filled with sharpened teeth. Its fur cascaded down its back, brown and covered in a light dusting of moss. It merely scuttles past you without a word or so much as a glance.

You know better than ever that this is dangerous, of course, but you can’t bring yourself to turn back. Some part of you believes that if danger comes, he’ll be there to fight it off, time and time again, just like the last.

The bent tree is still in its place when you arrive and try to retrace your steps from that night. Several meters to the left, a desperate sprint forward, and… just as anticipated, your light illuminates the darkened splatter against the bark of the trees where the fae had torn the other apart before your very eyes. There is no carcass, of course, the dried blood is just confirmation that you’re on the correct path. You turn to your right and set off in the direction that the man had carried you.

The glade is empty of pelts when your arrive. In place of the makeshift bed you had shared are only fallen leaves. You expected warmth, the familiar greeting of a figure too tall and broad to wrap you up in his arms, careful with his claws. Careful with you.

You’ve been holding back tears since he disappeared, little exchanges of gifts doing nothing to protect your heart from the weight of what you feel. When you begin your walk home, the dam breaks. Your face is cold from the wetness, the chill of each gust of wind. Heartbroken after a month, but shattered in the winter, unfortunate and weary, perhaps it was best to follow Ghost’s advice and leave it alone. Curious whispers fill the night air, another song and giggles and chimes start up in the distance. In better spirits, maybe you would have followed the sounds of the gathering, lost yourself in silver tongues and mischief.

Your window comes into view after some time, you’ve lost track of how long you’ve been out in the cold, but you’re excited to return to your bed, to creature comforts. You reach your hands up to the windowsill, fingers curling over the inward slab of wood as you try to pull yourself back in. Your leg kicks at the side of the house for purchase, only to find none. With a small yelp, you fall onto your rear.

Sneaking out was for children with curfews, not an adult— why hadn’t you just used the door? You’re beating yourself up for your own silly decisions, trying to climb up again when a pair of strong hands reach behind you to tug you back against a firm chest. Your breath catches, panic settling in your guts until your side is stroked with a touch so tender a new wave of tears prick at the corners of your eyes.

“Little one…,” a voice coos behind you, a veil pressed against the back of your head as he lowers himself down to your height, his arms still curled around you protectively.

“Where have you been? I… I missed you, and you didn’t…” You trail off, feeling so small, so caught up in your own feelings. The sentence is left unfinished as you twist around in his grip to wrap your arms around his middle, face buried into his chest.

“You told me not to come to your room.” He sounds confused, hurt. He tilts your head up to catch your eyes and his soften in time with just a look.

You hadn’t expected him to take the comment about an invitation so literally. His consideration almost stings. The words were said with conviction at the time, assured that you hadn’t wanted a monster in your bed, but couldn’t he see how that had changed? Hear how your heart fluttered now? He’s different, so unlike you in a way that confuses and enraptures you, some long-forgotten god out of touch with human conventions.

“I liked your gifts this time.”

His grip around you tightens momentarily, as though trying to embrace you further, pull you deeper into his chest to keep you locked tight in his heart entirely.

“I loved yours, little one.”

“Tell me who you are and you can come in whenever you like,” you huff out in promise, a cloud of your own breath puffing between you and the broad chest you had grown to admire so.

He curls a hand at the nape of your neck, cradling you against him as he lowers his head to kiss you through the veil once more. It’s warm, even as your blanket slips from your shoulders and falls to the ground. The fur of his cloak drapes around you in a better replacement as you return his affections. The kiss is just as chaste as the last, but the sentiment in it far out measures the contact.

He’s still yours. He never truly left.

“My name is König.” He tells you as he pulls away to carefully lift you from the ground and raise you up to the windowsill with so little effort it makes your knees weak. You pull yourself in and turn to look back at him. His gaze is adoring, yours must be too. You feel the way your eyelids slacken, the smile pulling at your lips.

You accept your blanket from him as he offers it and slot your fingers between his once the cover is cast aside. His hand covers yours almost entirely as it curls over yours. The claws look even more wicked in the low light of your room, but you don’t fear him. Not even a little. This time is so much different. It’s scarier to imagine spending another night without him wrapped around you.

It’s not the flowers, the furs, or the feathers that you want. It’s shallow kisses and blackened claws and the feeling of having a titan at your beck and call. It’s the way your heart flutters and your stomach twists with the thrill of falling in love that you long for.

“Come in, König.”

[sokkadora]

we can’t be friends — crosshair x fem!reader

inspired by: we can’t be friends (wait for your love) by ariana grande

summary: a clinic on pabu offers to erase the pain that came along with crosshair leaving the batch, but how will he react once he gets back and sees you with his brother?

a/n: crosshair and the reader never had an established relationship for this fic, but reader had a deep love for crosshair! also NO hunter hate on this page that is my man :P also i might make a part 2 but idk

wc: 2,078

warning(s): angst, no happy ending for this couple bb, flashbacks, memory wiping, reader has poor self/body image, kinda smutty but it's crosshair so, friends with benefits, unrequited requited love for hunter

︿︿︿︿︿︿ ✎ᝰ . . . .

‘You have given extensive thought behind your decision and give “Brighter Days Inc.” the exclusive permission to remove this person from your memory:’

Stopping your pen under the last word, you hesitate.

‘Maybe this was a bad idea,’ you think with a soft sigh, glancing at the woman in the room across from you; one seat for her, and another for her box of memories. Yours sits beside you, the weight of what you’re about to do hits you quickly, and suddenly any notion of even looking at the box makes it feel like a ticking time bomb.

The woman across from you strokes a thumb across what must be her late pets collar, and you quickly revert your gaze down to the sheet of paper again. The tip of your pen hovers over the “No” option, but drifts over to the “Yes” box, checking it off, and finally, signing your name at the bottom of your page.

The necklace dangling over your neck feels like iron against fae skin as a nurse comes out of the back room, door quietly creaking open as she calls your name. You stand quickly, handing her the paperwork and the pen with trembling hands before grabbing the box labeled “Crosshair” and walking inside.

MEMORY WIPE INITIATED

“Please, Crosshair?” You beg sweetly, dragging him across the arcade to a claw machine, finally having a bit of free time on your shore leave. 

You’d been trying to convince him to have a break together with the both of you for a while now, away from the boys and the riff raff of the military, but per usual, he was stubborn about it. He’d offhandedly said how childish it was of you to want to play games with him at an arcade instead of your usual… activities, on shore leave. But you got him to agree, seeing as he can barely ever resist how cute you look when you beg.

“Hellcat, this is ridiculous,” Crosshair crosses his arms and glares down into the machine at the plethora of stuffed animals inside. Your eyes had been on the small lothcat in the middle since the both of you had arrived, and you’ve bugged him about it enough that he considered it. “Even Wrecker knows these are rigged.”

“Where’s that overcompensating confidence?” You tease, pulling out a few tokens and placing them in his hand softly. You glance up at him with a soft and pleading look, one that you don’t yet know (and will never know) gets him weak in the knees. “Please, Crosshair? For me?” 

At the sight of your big doe eyes, he scoffs, loading the coins in and barely holding back a smile at your excited squeals and the hand shaking his shoulder gently. It takes him a minute to get a hold on the controls, but after some peeking around the corner of the machine and some naturally perfect aim, he lowers the claw and catches the lothcat.

You gasp, watching excitedly as it stays in the claws grip as it moves over to the prize dump, and as Crosshair retrieves it for you and holds it out.

“Happy now?”

You grin down at the stuffed animal and then at Crosshair before lunging forward, arms wrapping around his shoulders with an breathless laugh, “Thank you.” You grin, nuzzling into the side of his head, and pulling away before he had to chance to hug back.

Overwhelmed with the happiness of the moment, you barely notice the room going dark before the feeling of Crosshair’s surprisingly warm gaze leaves you. You look up, eyebrows furrowing at the sudden void of the arcade.

MEMORY SUCCESSFULLY ERASED.

“Cross?”

“Yes?”

“Am I ugly?” 

Crosshair’s gazes narrows, glancing at you as you lay under the covers of your bed. He lifts his arm to hold up the blanket better, glaring at you, but not angrily as tears begin to well in your eyes. He shakes his head firmly, grunting.

“When I was a kid I thought I was,” You started, having his full attention from the second you walked in the room. You scoff softly at yourself, “I can’t believe I’m crying already, sorry.”

Crosshair doesn’t reply, but instead simply reaches over and wipes your tears; a gesture he never would’ve done in the first months of the arrangement the two of you had, but things had changed. You’d changed him.

“I was so lonely as a kid,” You say softly, the words just pouring out of you. “I don’t think anybody realizes how lonely kids are, even after growing up. We just sort of stop paying attention. Like they don’t matter.”

You sniff, and Crosshair doesn’t seem to want you to stop, so you keep going; relishing in the feeling of his warm hand covering your cheek.

“So, I’m like… eight or so. And I have this really pretty girl doll, that I named after myself that I’d just get so frustrated with,” You wipe your nose with the back of your hand, expecting the embarrassment of sharing the personal memory to rise, but it never comes. “It was some standard I’d hold myself to and whenever I’d find myself not liking myself, I’d look at her and it’d get me so mad. I made it to encourage myself, but it was just a constant reminder of my shortcomings as a person. It’s weird. Like… if I can make myself that pretty, maybe people would finally like me,” You finally glance up to meet Crosshair’s gaze, finding that it’d softened into something unreadable to you. 

He leans over and plants a firm kiss on your mouth, his hand sliding down to grasp the sides of your neck before he pulls back. His hands start wandering down with his mouth that keeps peppering you with kisses, softly murmuring the word ‘pretty’ between each kiss. You writhe under his touch, a hand rising to cover your mouth as a warmth shoots down to your lower stomach. You relish in how safe you feel under him before he… he…

MEMORY SUCCESSFULLY ERASED

“Why won’t you come home?”

Your voice echos through his head as he stares out into the vast horizon where Tipoca City used to stand; where the home he grew up in with his brothers and met you in used to stand. He scoffs, glancing back at you from over his shoulder.

“That is not my home anymore,” He says in a low tone; a warning to anyone else, but you knew you had a bit more leeway with him. Fists clenching at your sides, your gaze narrowed into a glare. “Now leave. Hunter’s staring after you like a kicked dog,”

You don’t bother to glance back at the man you already knew was waiting for you, but at the mention of his name he seemed to back further into the ship to give you some privacy, trusting that Crosshair wouldn’t hurt you, of all people.

“This isn’t about him, Crosshair,” You snapped, “Come home. Please. I need you, and so do your-”

“I don’t need you,” Crosshair says sternly, pivoting on a foot to turn to face you with a cold glare. You reeled slightly at the look; you’d seen it before, but never aimed at you. “I never had and I never will. And if you were as smart as you made yourself seem, you’d join me on the right side of the battle. Just like how I thought you and Hunter didn’t have anything going on,” You open your mouth to correct him; he knew there was nothing happening between Hunter and you. He was your best friend, but Crosshair beat you to the punch, “But I guess looks can be deceiving, huh?”

It felt like a clear blow to a vulnerable moment you’d shared with him— only him — and it nearly sent you to tears. You reached up, taking the necklace and snapping it off your neck with a harsh glare in the sniper’s direction; another look that had never been sent directly at him from you, but one that he found made his heart break.

“Fuck you, Crosshair.”

MEMORY SUCCESSFULLY ERASED.

The sense of overwhelming dread that filled your chest and sank down into your belly had you jolting awake, eyes darting around the mundane white room as the panic of what’s happening begins to set in.

The heart monitor picks up its speed, and the two nurses rush to your side as your hand shoots up to grab and fidget with your necklace. You’d fixed it from when… when… 

Why did it need to be fixed? Who broke it?

Who gave it to me? What was his name? Cross…

The nurse grabs your shoulder as your throat tightens with your hands grip on the jewelry, “Can I keep this one? Please?” You sob, managing to smile through tears at the nurse to your right, “Please let me keep this one.” 

‘Crosshair!’ You think, another sob scratching it’s way out of your throat. ‘What am I doing?’

The nurse glances to her coworker and nods gently. She comes to rest her hand over yours, and you let the necklace fall against your chest, but you rest a hand over it protectively. If you couldn’t save your memories of him, maybe this could be the one thing that you do save.

MEMORY WIPE RESUMED.

You can feel yourself being jolted around before finally landing in another memory, your head resting on a warm, firm shoulder and your hand gripped in a strong one in your lap. The person you’re resting your head on… they sit up, and hand you a box which reveals a necklace that relates to your namesake. 

You grin, but the figure in front you shifts which causes you to look up.

Hunter.

He’s smiling at you softly, they way he almost always had; save for the first time he met you. You grin back to him, leaning forward on the couch from your kneeling postition to wrap your arms around his shoulders.

He returns your embrace without hesitation, and you allow yourself to feel how perfectly the both of your bodies meld together. The warmth of his body under the civvy clothes you held for him in your personal dormitories on Kamino sank under your own, causing you to pull away. 

You barely notice how the room around you starts to shift, any objects affiliated with C4!@#??? begin to disappear, whatever holds your mind in it’s grasp seems determined to keep your attention on the sergeant sitting before you on the couch when you pull back from the hug.

‘Hunter gave it to me…’ You look up at him and smile lovingly, ‘of course he did,’ before leaning over and slotting your mouth over his.

MEMORY WIPE OF ??? COMPLETE.

The nurses gently help you up out of the chair, removing the device from your temples as the doctor comes to greet you. Another nurse holding a box hauls it out of the room as you shake the doctors hand and thank him profusely, grinning at the light and happy feeling on your chest as you turn to embrace the nurses in thanks. The woman at the front desk hands you an envelope of slips to give to your family and friends, and you thank her on the way out.

After leaving the office, you enter the outside of Pabu to find Omega waiting for you. Grinning you sneak up behind her, lifting her up and spinning her around. She shouts your name, but you can hear the smile in her voice as you set her down.

“How are you feeling?” She checks you over, and you smile dotingly down at her. 

“I’m alright,” You ruffle through your bag, the feeling of the necklace against your chest making you feel giddy. ‘Why did I feel so bad about it before?’ You think, but quickly shake it off and pull out the envelope. “The secretary said to give this to family and friends, but I don’t think I’m supposed to see.”

Omega curiously takes the large orange envelope from your hands, opening it and reaching in to find a ticket that said that you had:

‘Y/N L/N has erased Crosshair (CT-9904) from her memory. Please never mention their relationship to her again.’

Omega glances up to where you’re walking off with an arm looped through Hunter’s and feels a sense of dread fall to the pit of her stomach.

[pixierainbows]

does pixie like getting recommendations for simple and easy games with no death or guns or anything? i love games like that :)

yes! Pixies last new game, Fae Farm, got too complicated so Pixie only can play when guardian Wizard home and willing help Pixie :(

Pixie do good playing without help animal crossing and Rune Factory (Pixie usually just avoid the monsters in Rune Factory but any ways, is not about kill monsters, is just send monsters back home !)

Pixie only have Nintendo 3DS and switch , and could maybe get access to playstation 5 .

[the-nosy-neighbor]

How do fairies relate to Welcome Home?

Final background info:

General rules for interacting with fairies:

Every rule has an exception

Everything has a cost

Perception can be reality or fake (so always try to see truly)

Never give what you can’t afford to lose, including your name

Look for the trap behind every word

If it looks safe it probably isn’t

Beauty is a poison that cannot be cured

And some relevant characteristics:

Known to animate or enchant objects:  animating puppets, objects like a magically unblooming flower

Can transform things:  we have seen multiple versions of realities, but also the powers to do things like make flowers bloom

Can provide humans with protection and benefits:  at the very least, Wally enables a parasocial relationship as well as being educational

How do the fairy rules relate to WH?

Don’t tell them your real name--We have had a lack of real names of humans involved in the story.  W uses an initial and either pretends to be a group or shares zero information about the WHRP group.  We don’t know whether W is concerned about humans or puppets here.  QA also does not have a true name, going by an alternate, Question Answerer.  We don’t have a name, either.  Wally wants to know us, and has spoken to us many times.  He does want to know all about us.  There hasn’t been a place for our name in the interactions, but we do have an assigned name, “You.” 

As far as the neighbors go, we don’t know if those are their true names, and sometimes it appears that neither do they.  Barnaby is adopted and has taken a chosen last name at least.  Poppy is canonically trans, so that might not be her original name.  Why would a star have a name?  Julie Joyful is a bit on the nose, and seems to define her outward personality, rather than who she is.  Given that a lot of the have spotty memories, chosen names are likely.  Canonically, if you know a fairy’s true name, you can bind them to you or make them do things for you.

Don’t accept gifts from the fae—W has accepted gifts from the fae.  They come with the contamination plainly visible.  They have become obsessed to a level that leads to them missing food, sleep, and time, which is a very fairy-like consequence.  (plus, they must be magically sustained somehow?)  By extension, QA has accepted gifts from the fae, and has been contaminated as well.  This has plainly led to some mental illness and isolation for both of them, which would be a potential outcome of accepting a gift from them.  They are also experiencing ironic side effects, another trope with fairy gifts.  W is seeking, looking for proof and begins to lose their sight (along with their sanity).  QA’s involvement leads to more unanswered questions, which seems to drive them mad.  As for us, Wally gifts us art, W gifts us the items they choose to share.  Could we be experiencing effects from that?

Crossing fairy circles—we have examples of circles and spirals in a lot of places.  Not sure if we have crossed the lines.  Our ability to communicate with Wally might indicate that we have crossed into his territory in some way.

Gifts to fairies—No one has given a gift to the neighbors directly from our side to theirs.  Our drawings of Wally could be considered a gift, as they allow him to see

Lying—while maybe not lying to us, these puppets engage in a lot of trickery.  Julie, in particular, has lied in the last update when describing her interactions with the neighbors.  She only seems truthful when alone with the black flower.  There isn’t a nefarious reason for this, as she really seems to be trying to play the role she is expected to play.  Howdy lies to Sally about the food.  Poppy lies to Sally about being too busy to be in her play.  They don’t seem to be following this rule. 

Weakness—I won’t say something as basic as a weakness to iron is present, but Wally for sure took a hit after Homewarming.  It has been presented as an inability to find us after the change to the web address.  This could count as a traditional method of hiding from them by avoiding areas they frequent and using human invention to avoid them.  Wally seems comfortable enough with human technology, so that may not be the case.  He is obviously weakened, perhaps due to a lack of us giving him attention, which sustains him.  It is a very clap for Tinkerbell situation.  Surprisingly, though, Wally is missing in more places now than he was in the last update.  We weren’t missing him on the home page or the guestbook.  He is also missing on the News page and What’s Welcome Home.

Must be invited—“Let me in.”  We have heard this from Wally, and it seems that at least QA heard it as well, since it is listed as a quote on their website.  He was already in the website at that point, so he must be talking about letting him in somewhere else.  I have always assumed he means into our reality. 

Food as a trap—W seems to have fallen for this trap.  By drinking Joy, I mentioned that they had a definite mood change and either experienced vision loss after or it was coincidental timing.  Theory is that they are already compromised by exposure to the black stuff, but drinking something from that realm may open them up to much more intense effects.

Related to glamour—Included in the idea of glamour is not looking a creature in the eyes to avoid being bespelled.  Wally is almost always giving eye contact, to the point that he draws extra eyes, looks at us directly from all depictions of himself, and uses our depictions to see out of.  He says he is looking at us so that we can know he is speaking to us.    In his radio interview (Live Interview) the interviewer says, “Yes—and you are quite the little charmer too, from what I’ve heard)”This most recent update has been one that he isn’t looking at us in most of the places he was before.  Even in his secret message, he is in the dark, in a chair, looking away from us.  It’s dark, but from what I’ve seen the consensus is he is facing away.

Next, fairy concepts about the home, and then probably some info about Julie and sibs and how they relate.

[cressidagrey]

The Queen of Romantasy and the Race Car Prince - Chapter 21

Pairing: Lando Norris x Elizabeth "Lizzie" Treshton (Original Character)

Summary:

Elizabeth Treshton—bestselling romantasy author, queen of fae heartbreak, and sworn devotee of a carefully structured routine—never expected her service dog to abandon protocol and diagnose a Formula 1 driver with something. But that’s exactly what happens when Mara the wonder-dog ditches Lizzie’s side to aggressively alert to none other than Lando Norris in the middle of a coffee shop.

Warnings and Notes: 

Mention of epilepsy and service animals. I don't myself suffer from epilepsy, so I asked my IRL friend, who thankfully was nice enough to let me ask her all the questions I could come up with. The rest I asked Reddit. So everything that's wrong...that's totally my fault and not on purpose.

This has literally all the worst things the internet has to offer: Ableism, Sexisms, Toxic Media, horrible journalism, death threats...I am pretty sure I am missing some of it.

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

Lizzie sat curled up on the sofa in Aunt Lou’s living room, her arms wrapped around a cushion like it could hold her together. Mara was sprawled out beside her, her big brown eyes watching Lizzie carefully, like she knew something was wrong.

Lizzie ran her fingers through Mara’s fur, letting the motion of it soothe her, if only slightly. Her mind kept going over the same thing again and again: all those comments, all those tweets, all those people…they didn’t think she should exist.

They didn’t think, she deserved to exist. 

And her mother…

Tasha was sitting cross-legged on the armchair, arms folded, her expression thunderous, playing with her phone. 

Finally, Aunt Lou turned to Lizzie, hands on her hips. "Enough."

Lizzie blinked. “What?”

“This whole thing.” Aunt Lou gestured wildly. “This self-doubt, this ‘I was replaced’ nonsense. I am not having it.”

Lizzie let out a tired sigh. “Aunt Lou—”

“No. Listen to me, Elizabeth Louise.” Aunt Lou sat down on the coffee table, right in front of Lizzie, her sharp gaze pinning her in place.

“You were never replaced,” she said fiercely. “You were left. And that is not the same bloody thing.”

Lizzie’s throat tightened.

“She left you. She made that choice. And that is her shame to carry, not yours.”

Lizzie swallowed hard, but Aunt Lou wasn’t done.

“You are not a burden,” she said bluntly, hands on her knees, her voice steady and firm. “You were never a burden, you’re just… a little extra work. And if anyone can’t deal with that, they’re not worth your time.” Her eyes softened. “And sweetheart, you are worth it. You’re worth every bit of extra trouble, every hospital stay, every seizure…you are worth every damn second.”

“You know what I did?” Lou demanded. “When your father showed up at my door with you, six years old, confused, scared out of your mind?”

Lizzie shook her head.

“I took you in,” Lou said firmly. “I wrapped you in a blanket, I made you a cup of tea—weak, with too much sugar, because you were a kid and had terrible taste—"

Lizzie let out a weak laugh.

“—and I looked at you and knew right then and there that you were mine.” Aunt Lou exhaled sharply. “And you are mine, Lizzie. I don’t care about biology, I don’t care about paperwork. You are my daughter."

Lizzie bit her lip, trying to blink away the sting in her eyes. “You always treated me like one.”

“Of course I bloody did.” Aunt Lou huffed. “And if you ever doubt that again, I swear I’ll knock some sense into you.”

Before Lizzie could respond, Tasha let out an incredulous scoff from her chair. “I cannot believe we are even having this conversation.”

Lizzie turned toward her, startled. “Tash—”

“No, seriously.” Tasha shot to her feet, pacing like her mother had been earlier. “This is ridiculous.”

Lizzie frowned. “I—”

“No. You don’t get to just let some internet loser make you doubt yourself. You don’t get to do that to me.”

Lizzie blinked. “What?”

Tasha stopped, turning to face her. “You are my sister. You have always been my sister. And I don’t know how many times I have to say it before it actually gets through your stubborn head, but I will not stand here and listen to you act like you don’t belong to this family.”

Lizzie opened her mouth, but Tasha steamrolled right over her.

“You do belong. You always belonged. And I swear, if I hear you say one more word about being ‘replaced’ or ‘not good enough,’ I will fight you.”

Lizzie let out a choked laugh.

“I’m serious,” Tasha said. “I will throw hands. And then I’ll hug you after, because that’s what sisters do.”

Lizzie swallowed hard, overwhelmed. “I—”

Aunt Lou clapped her hands together. “Right. Settled then.” She stood, brushing off her jeans. “No more of this nonsense. You are mine, you are ours, and that is the end of the discussion.”

Lizzie exhaled shakily.

Tasha flopped down on the couch beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and squeezing tight. “Love you, dummy.”

Lizzie leaned into her, her heart aching in a way that wasn’t painful, just full. “Love you too.”

Aunt Lou sighed, shaking her head fondly. “Honestly, this family. Bloody stubborn, the lot of you.”

Lizzie smiled, the warmth of them settling deep in her bones. Maybe her mother had left. Maybe she had a whole new family now.

But Lizzie had hers.

And somehow, as the three of them snuggled up on the sofa together, watching some mindless TV show, Lizzie found herself believing it.

She was never a burden. She was never a problem. Maybe her mother didn't want her, maybe she never had, but that didn't mean Lizzie didn't belong.

She leaned her head against Aunt Lou's sturdy shoulder, Tasha's arm still around her.

She was loved. That was what mattered.

"Besides you got multiple world champions singing your praises," Tasha teased her.

What?

Tasha poked her in the side. “Don’t give me that look. It’s all over the internet. Lando’s got people swooning over how he’s so in love with you that he got the entire grid to release a statement. You’re all over the sports news.”

Lizzie freezed, coffee mug halfway to her lips. “What?”

“Yeah,” Tasha nodded, flipping her phone around so Lizzie can see the screen. “Like, all of them. It’s actually insane.”

Lizzie leant in, blinking at the words on the screen. Lando’s statement—she already knew about that one. But right below it are posts from Max, Charles, Carlos, Oscar—who apparently torched people on Twitter—Lewis, Pierre, Alex, even drivers she barely knew. Some of them are long and furious, others short but biting. But they all say the same thing: the way people treated her was unacceptable.

Lizzie stared. “You’re joking.”

“Nope,” Tasha said, popping a bite of toast into her mouth. “Oscar basically threatened to annihilate anyone who spoke badly about you again. Max said something about how F1 is about competition and not cruelty, —which, considering it’s Max, is actually kind of terrifying. Charles and Carlos both went full ‘we stand with Lando and Lizzie’ mode, and Lewis did this whole thing about supporting people with chronic conditions. Oh, and you got all the wags posting long rants on their instagram stories.’”

Lizzie’s mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again. “What the hell?”

“Right?” Tasha snorted. “I mean, it’s actually insane. I don’t think I’ve ever seen them this united over anything. You somehow got an entire grid of stubborn, overcompetitive men to rally behind you.”

Lizzie swallowed, looking back at the screen. The words blur slightly. She hadn’t expected this. She’d expected silence, maybe some awkward avoidance from people who didn’t want to get involved. But this?

This was a statement.

She set the phone down, exhaling. “I don’t even know what to say.”

Tasha watched her carefully. “Are you okay?”

Lizzie hesitated, then nods. “Yeah. Just—” She shook her head, laughing softly. “I didn’t think they’d care this much.”

Tasha smirked. “Well, they do. Lando wasn’t going to let this slide, and clearly neither were the rest of them.”

Lizzie rubbed her face, still processing. “I bet Oscar was unhinged.”

“Oh, completely. That man wrote a dissertation on Twitter. You should send him a thank-you gift.”

Lizzie snorted, finally smiling. “Like what?”

Tasha grinned. “A tiny crochet Oscar with a sword. Y’know, to commemorate his Twitter war crimes.”

Lizzie shook her head, but the smile lingered. “I might actually do that.”

***

Lizzie was curled up on the couch, knees pulled up to her chest, a blanket draped over her shoulders. She’s been mostly quiet since dinner, absentmindedly scrolling through her phone. Lando watched her from the kitchen, leaning against the counter with a bottle of water in hand.

She finally sighed, locking her phone and tossing it onto the coffee table. “I think I’m going to lay low for a little while.”

Lando frowned slightly, coming over to sit next to her. “You don’t have to do that.”

Lizzie gave him a small smile, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. “I know. But I want to. At least for a bit. Just… keep away from the internet, let everything settle.” She exhaled, rolling her shoulders like she’s shaking off the weight of it all. 

His jaw tightened. He hates that she feels like this—like she has to disappear just to protect herself. “If that’s what you need, then do it,” he said softly. “But I don’t want you thinking you have to.”

Lizzie nodded. “I know. And I appreciate you, really.” She nudges his knee with her foot. “But it’s not forever. Just… a little while.”

Lando reached over, taking her hand and running his thumb over her knuckles. “Alright.”

She squeezed his hand in return, then nods toward his phone on the armrest. “But tell the guys and girls I said thank you. I mean, I’ll message Oscar myself because that man fought a war for me, but… the rest of them, too.”

Lando huffed out a laugh. “Oscar basically nuked Twitter.”

“I know,” Lizzie grinned. “I should crochet him a little war trophy.”

Lando chuckled lightly. “He’d probably love that.”

Lizzie leaned back against the couch, still smiling faintly. Then the exhaustion seemed to hit her again, and she closed her eyes.

Lando watched her, tracing small circles on the back of her hand with his thumb. She looked tired—exhausted, even. Tired physically and emotionally.

“Speaking of messages, though…”

Lizzie narrowed her eyes. “Oh no. What?”

“My family,” Lando said, watching her reaction carefully. “Mum, my sisters… they, uh—” He paused, then went for it. “They’re demanding to meet you.”

Lizzie blinked, “What.”

“They knew I was dating someone named Lizzie,” Lando explained. “But they did not know it was Elizabeth Treshton.” He made a face. “Apparently, that was crucial information I neglected to share.”

Lizzie sat there for a moment, blinking, like she was trying to process the idea of meeting Lando's family.

“They- They want to meet me? Why?” The words came out slightly strangled.

Lando shrugged. “Cause they’re nosy, and they think I’m hiding something, and I’m pretty sure if I don’t let them meet you, they’ll start thinking you’re actually secretly an alien or something.”

“Oh god,” Lizzie groaned, leaning forward until her head almost hit her knees. “Oh god, I have to meet the in-laws now. I have to-oh god I have to impress the in-laws. Oh god they’re probably going to hate me—“

“Whoa, whoa, hold on.” Lando put a hand on her shoulder. “First of all, they aren't gonna hate you."

Lizzie huffed. “How do you know? You can’t know that.”

He tugged at a strand of her hair, grinning. “Because you’re pretty damn lovable. And two… I know my own family. None of them could hate you even if they tried.” He shook his head. “In fact, they might actually be more excited to meet you than me.”

“I haven’t even processed the grid knowing who I am,” Lizzie groaned. “Now I have to face the Norris family tribunal?”

Lando grinned. “Basically, yeah.”

Lizzie sighed dramatically but then peeks up at him. “Your mum… does she like romance books?”

“Oh, she’s a huge reader,” Lando says. “I think my sisters are too. Why?”

Lizzie stared at the ceiling. “Because if they’ve read my books, I might just walk into the ocean.”

Lando just laughed, leaning over to kiss her temple. “Too late now, love. You’re stuck with me.”

[ravenwriter16]

The queen stands tall, unfazed by his cold presence.

"A mother must answer the call of her distressed child."

She turns to the princess and retrieves the fae fox back into her embrace.

"Surely, as a caring and loving father, you understand such a need for rush to aid one's child when they are so cruelly harmed."

Fire, pure and hot, can be seen under her veil where her eyes would be.

"We had an agreement."

A rumbling is heard above them. Lightening of purples and reds flashes within the dark clouds. Threatening to crash down as the mighty fae continues to speak.

"And your husbands ignored them. Treated my child as an animal and wanted to turn her into a pet."

The rest of the fae becomes agitated, growling in response to their queen mother words. But none of it is used towards the princess. For even Eclipse knows how much they all love and respect her, and how they would never harm one they have titled Friend of the Fae.

He has seen how they would visit her and play with her with their silly little harmless tricks. He recalls fond memories of how she used to chase them when she was his little girl in this very garden. How adorable and happy she was in those long ago days.

Eclipse sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, “I assure you I know VERY well how it feels to hear your child suffer. And know more than you EVER will, your majesty.”

He tilts his head and folds his lower two hands behind his back while crossing the upper pair over his chest. “And rest assured I will discuss this with both my husbands. But you must also educate yourself dear children about MY empire’s side of the agreement.”

He inspects his talons, “it’s a two way street, dearest.”

[mapofthemazeinthemirror]

📖 𝐈𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐱

𝐁𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐚𝐧

Home Invasion Series - Yoongi / Jungkook / Namjoon / Hobi / Jin / Jimin / Taehyung (semi hiatus)

Ex boyfriend series - Namjoon

Yoongi's birthday fluff

playing Animal Crossing with you (OT7)

𝐓𝐨𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰 𝐱 𝐓𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫

𝑺𝒐𝒐𝒃𝒊𝒏

Cursed Prince Soobin

vacation with Soobin

girl dad Soobin

Soobin late to his baby's birth

apple picking with Soobin

dad!Soobin + baby hands

𝒀𝒆𝒐𝒏𝒋𝒖𝒏

Yeonjun suggestive fluff

mafia-dad Yeonjun

Yeonjun determined to be a girl dad

Yeonjun - on camera, off camera

protecting mafia boss Yeonjun (e2l)

girl dad Yeonjun

ex-boyfriend Yeonjun voicemail

new dad Yeonjun

royal reader x nobleman Yeonjun

Bound - princess reader x royal guard Yeonjun

Three Cursed Princes (Yeonjun, Beomgyu, Kai)

wild fae boy finds you in the snow forest

𝑩𝒆𝒐𝒎𝒈𝒚𝒖

Between the Pages (prince Beomgyu)

yandere!Beomgyu

med student Beomgyu x coma patient reader

Boy dad Beomgyu / more

Beomgyu aquarium meet-cute

Beomgyu + your parents

werewolf Beomgyu x kitsune reader thought

Moulin Rouge Beomgyu (suggestive)

Three Cursed Princes (Yeonjun, Beomgyu, Kai)

𝑻𝒂𝒆𝒉𝒚𝒖𝒏

witch reader x witch hunter taehyun

royal stablehand Taehyun

famous soccer player Taehyun

Raven Prince

Taehyun who sees visions of the future

Taehyun as Pokemon

Cursed Prince Taehyun

𝑯𝒖𝒆𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑲𝒂𝒊

boyfriend Huening Kai + plushies

betrothed Prince Kai

prince!huening kai

Three Cursed Princes (Yeonjun, Beomgyu, Kai)

𝒂𝒍𝒍/𝒎𝒖𝒍𝒕𝒊𝒑𝒍𝒆 𝒎𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒔

Playing Animal Crossing

tucking you in before they leave for a night schedule

hybrid!txt protecting their human partner

husband!txt trying to be a handy man

taking you to Build-a-Bear

when you’re sick

hybrid!txt when you smell like someone else

dad!txt + Christmas

toxic ex-husband txt

"don't marry him"

when he thought he'd moved on

university Taebin love triangle

hybrid ot5 thoughts

Txt x vampire reader

Three Cursed Princes (Yeonjun, Beomgyu, Kai)

Txt in the Hunger Games

Txt as Animal Crossing villagers

Sci-fi/fantasy one-shot series: Bound (Yeonjun) / Salvaged (Kai) / Smuggled (Beomgyu) / Changed (Taehyun) / Shouldered (Soobin) in progress

𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦