#i added a fanfic to this

[ao3-crack]

(x)

[runraerun]

Steddie Amnesia Ficlet: Part Two

-> Part 1

cw: more head trauma/concussed!Steve discussions.

Steve hears Eddie call after him, but he doesn’t stop—he can’t face it. Not right now, anyway. Not when his eyes are stinging and his heart is pounding in his ears, each pulse more painful than the last. His legs take him to the building he’s supposed to go into, fueled purely by muscle memory. Not brain memory, of course, because nothing up there works properly anymore, apparently.

The Brain Injury Recovery Center.

It’s where Eddie expects him to go. He’ll catch Steve if he goes in, or he’ll wait for Steve by the doors until he comes back out—both options involve facing Eddie after Steve had made a total idiot of himself. Both feel utterly mortifying.

So he ducks into the alleyway beside the familiar brick building instead, just to catch his breath. It takes Steve longer than the average bear to sort out his feelings now, after all. Jesus, who’s he kidding? Everything seems to take him longer.

Steve feels hot tears streak down his cheeks before he angrily scrubs a sleeve over them. Of course Eddie isn’t his boyfriend. Eddie’s funny and cool and he’s in a band and he lights up every damn room he walks into—and Steve… well, maybe Steve was something a few years ago when he was in high school, and maybe he was even something before his accident, but now…

There’s a sharp clapping noise that sounds like thunder. A door slamming, Steve’s brain sluggishly supplies. It’s followed by shouting.

“Steve? Steve!” Eddie calls from somewhere on the street.

Steve’s heart feels like it’s going to fall out of his ass. His face is probably still blotchy and wet, his breathing hasn’t evened out yet and his eyes are still leaking like a goddamn faucet. He’s pathetic.

Can’t let Eddie see him like this…

He ducks behind a metal garbage bin, careful not to let anything but the bottom of his sneakers touch the sticky looking surfaces around him. It stinks, like rot.

“Steve?” Eddie’s voice echoes off of the alleyway walls. Steve claps a hand around his mouth to muffle out any of the pathetic sounds that seem determined to escape from him. So much of his body just does whatever the hell it feels like now. Out of Steve’s control, like everything else.

For a few, tense seconds, there’s silence. Eddie’s listening for him, maybe. Steve shuts his eyes and waits him out.

It feels like an eternity before he hears Eddie’s hurried, retreating footsteps, continuing his shouting for Steve. He sounds almost as panicked as Steve feels. Almost.

Steve gives a noisy, wet sniff and does one final scrub of his face before getting to his feet. He starts walking.

As he goes deeper into the alleyway, he thinks back on all the things he’s been wrong about. The fact that Eddie had some of his band t-shirts mixed in with Steve’s clothes… well, that was because they were both guys who wore about the same size, and Eddie left his shit everywhere. It’s no wonder some of his stuff got mixed into their laundry. And the times Eddie’s driven him places? That’s just… what friends do, Steve supposes. And all those times Eddie made Steve laugh? Made him feel like the center of the universe? Well, that’s just… Eddie. He must make everyone feel that way. It’s like his super power. But it isn’t romantic… It doesn’t mean anything more than Eddie being a magnetic person.

Steve is just so stupid. Painfully so.

He blinks as the sun hits him. He must’ve reached the other side of the alleyway.

Steve cups a hand over his eyes and grimaces. His migraine wasn’t backing down. He sighs. Time to head back.

Steve turns back into the alleyway he’d emerged from, only he’s about halfway through when he realizes the color of the buildings on either side of him are wrong. They’re brown on one side, painted green on the other. That isn’t right…

His heart jackrabbits in his chest, but he keeps walking forward. Maybe he’ll recognize the street once he’s back on the other side.

But when he gets there, it’s as unfamiliar to him as the alleyway. Steve turns, looking up and down the road to see if he could spot Eddie, or his van, or the Center. But there’s nothing.

And when someone shoulder checks him, Steve supposes he was sort of asking for it, standing in the middle of the sidewalk like that. He apologizes, but it’s too late. The person’s already out of range to hear him.

It’s as if everyone else is on fast forward while Steve’s stuck on pause. The world keeps moving along while all he seems to be able to do is watch it go by.

Why would he ever think someone as dynamic and spirited as Eddie would hitch his horse onto Steve’s busted up, barely mobile cart?

Stupid, stupid, stupid…

He presses the heels of his hands to his eyes and wills himself not to start blubbering again like a goddamn baby. His life is already one big, painful lesson in humility as it is, he doesn’t need to wallow in it.

Steve keeps walking. Figures he’ll spot something, or someone familiar to him eventually. The pounding in his head’s eased off to a dull ache, at least. Maybe there was something to this exercise and fresh air thing the doctors were always going on about, after all…

The thing is though, Steve doesn’t spot anything familiar. Not even vaguely so, and it’s not until the streetlights turn on that he realizes he’d spent the majority of the day wandering around the streets like some lost dog that managed to slip his leash.

It’s cold too, and all he’s got on is jeans and a polo. It’s October, isn’t it? No wonder he’s got goosebumps all up and down his arms.

Then, he finally spots something familiar; a phone booth. Steve breathes a sigh of relief. He’d just call his parents. They’d come pick him up.

He gets the booth and lifts the receiver before he blanks. A quarter. He’d need that. Duh, Harrington. So he hangs up the phone and pats his pockets until he finds a wallet, but all that’s inside of it are a couple of crisp bills. He’d need to break one.

Steve turns, scans the street until he spots a well lit, invitingly warm looking diner. The joint looks so damn cozy that he forgets to make sure the street is clear before he steps out into the middle of it.

Tires screech, harmonizing with the horn that’s blasting at him—Steve flinches, reaching up to cover his head and braces for impact.

To his great relief, the hit never comes. Which, thank fuck. He can’t afford anymore accidents. As it is Robin’s threatened to make him wear a helmet full-time.

Steve doesn’t listen to whatever the person yells at him, he just hurries to get the hell out of his way of the other moving vehicles.

“Smooth, Harrington. Real smooth.” He mutters to himself as he catches his breath.

He pushes the door to the diner open with shaking hands, but it’s blissfully peaceful inside, and he can actually feel his insides unclench as he stands inside of it.

“Sit anywhere, hun, I’ll be right with you.” A woman’s voice tells him. Steve nods and slips into the nearest booth overlooking the street. Watches the cars go by. There’s even a couple of cop cars, sirens blaring, lights flashing. Steve wonders briefly what sort of emergency they’re rushing off to when the waitress comes to his table.

“What can I get you, handsome?” She asks, cheery and warm like the rest of the diner.

“Uh…” Steve frowns, taking a few seconds to process the question, “nothing. I’m just waiting for my parents to come pick me up.”

The waitress taps the side of the notepad. “Well you gotta order something, hun, or you can’t stay here.”

Steve wants to stay here. It’s warm and smells fucking amazing, like “pancakes?”

She waitress smirks. “Yeah, we got those. You want a stack?”

“Yeah, please.” Steve smiles back, laughing along with the waitress like he’s in whatever joke that’s currently so amusing to her. “I’m starving.”

“You want some coffee too, to help you sober up, maybe?”

“Oh, I’m not drunk.” He huffs out a little self deprecating laugh, “I wish. No, I—uh, my meds, they’re the kind that you can’t mix with alcohol. Coffee too. Bummer, right? Yeah… But, uh, it is what it is, I guess—so…”

He can feel it. The way his mind so often wanders. He’s lost his train. His track. He frowns, eyes drifting towards the street again, watching the headlights zip by.

“…so just the pancakes then?” The waitress asks, jolting his train back onto its rails. His attention snaps back onto her.

“Yeah, pancakes. Sure.” Steve flashes her what he hopes is a charming smile.

She returns his smile and leaves him be, and he lets himself relax. Props his head up on a fist and watches life go on for everyone else but him.

He gets his pancakes, and some juice too that he doesn’t remember ordering, but hey, that’s nothing new. And damn, the pancakes taste even better than they smell. He needs to remember the name of this place so he can come back with everyone. What did the doctors say? Repeat something in your head over and over until it sticks. Repetition. Repetition, repetition, repetition…

It’s around the time his fork hits an empty plate that one of the police cars stops in front of the diner window, lights on, but the sirens are off now.

Hopper steps out.

Huh. That’s weird. Steve wonders what sort of emergency he’s here for.

When Hopper enters through the glass doors, the bell hung over the entry way rings out pleasantly. An angel getting their wings.

His eyes land on Steve and the older man sighs, shoulders falling. Relief, Steve recognizes. Hopper pulls the radio from his belt and says something into it before stomping over.

Then it clicks.

Oh. Steve’s the emergency.

He feels his face heat up. The handful of other patrons scattered across the diner are all looking at him.

“There you are.” Hopper sighs, gruff and exasperated.

Steve sinks into his seat, just a little. “Shit. I fucked up, didn’t I?”

“Just a little.” Hopper chuckles dryly. He takes off his hat and slips into the booth across from Steve, apparently not in any sort of hurry now that he’s found the runaway dog.

Steve runs a hand through his hair, a nervous tic he’s developed. “Sorry.”

“Nah, don’t be sorry. Just strangle Munson for me when you see him next, will ya?” Hopper drops his hat onto the table and waves the waitress down. He orders a coke.

Munson. Eddie.

The memory of how he made a total and utter fool of himself comes rushing back, slamming down onto him like one of those cartoon anvils. Jesus, how did he forget that..?

Suddenly the pancakes aren’t sitting so good in his gut. Feels like he’s gonna ralph.

“Was he freaked out? Eddie, I mean.” Steve asks, cautiously approaching the question. Did Eddie say anything about why…?

“Yeah, him and Robin both. Then the kids found out too—don’t ask me how. I suspect the curly-haired one has an illegal transmitter.” Hopper leans back in the booth as the waitress drops off his coke. He takes the straw out and drinks it right from the glass. Steve waits for him to finish, doesn’t say a word.

When Hopper puts the glass down, Steve just sits and watches the way the drops of condensation run down the cup, distorting around the fingerprints Hopper’s left. “Anyway, they’re all out on their bikes looking for you too.”

Hopper smiles fondly, like it’s something charming and not… pathetic. “You got a lot of people that care about you, kid.

Steve swallows around the lump in his throat, and nods. Tries for a grin, but it’s weak. Probably wouldn’t fool anyone, much less a cop. “Yeah, I’m a real lucky guy.”

Hopper looks like he wants to say something else, but he just takes a breath and nods. Steve’s grateful he doesn’t argue. Doesn’t think he has the energy in him right now to fend off the ‘but look how far you’ve come!’ ‘Your speaking’s gotten so much better!’ ‘It could be a whole heck of a lot worse!’ comments.

“What do you say we get you home? Unless you want dessert? My treat.” Hopper offers with a grin.

“No, I just want to go to sleep,” he says, before remembering his manners, “thanks, though.”

“Alright then.” Hopper glances down at the cleared plate of pancakes and the half finished coke before sliding out of the booth, followed by Steve. He takes out wallet, but Steve beats him to it. He tosses down a few bills, hoping it’s enough. Hopper doesn’t comment, so it must be.

The drive back to his and Robin’s apartment is a solemn one, but it’s strangely peaceful. Hopper’s got the heat on full blast due to Steve’s lack of coat, and the motion of the vehicle along with the darkened sky leaves Steve feeling wrung out in a way he hasn’t felt in a long time.

In fact, when they finally arrive, Hopper’s gotta shake his shoulder to wake him up.

“We’re here.” He rumbles out in his gruff baritone.

Steve lifts his head from his folded arm and looks up at the modest building. He wonders how far they live from the pancake diner. If they could walk there, sometime, him and Robin and Eddie.

But then Steve realizes he never got the name of it. He feels his insides sink. Another thing lost to him.

“Thanks, Hop,” Steve gives Hopper a nod and what he’s sure is a tired smile. “I’ll, uh—I’ll try not to run off again.”

“Ah, don’t worry about it.” Hopper says, diplomatically. “Let me walk you in.”

Steve cringes at the idea. He’s grateful for Hop and all he’s done—especially the part about not making him feel like a complete dummy—but he just wants this all to be over and for things to revert back to how they were. And at this point he’s so close he can taste it.

Steve busies his hands by undoing his seat belt. “No, it’s okay, really—“

Hopper looks like he’s about to argue but Robin damn near crashes out through the building’s illuminated front doors. She makes a b-line for Steve, who’s just barely gotten out of the cruiser.

She wraps her arms around him and doesn’t let go. “Steve! Holy shit, you scared me so bad. I’ve been out of my mind!”

Steve’s arms are trapped at an awkward angle, but he reaches around her as best he can, arms like flippers. “I’m okay. Seriously. Look, not even a scratch.”

She doesn’t laugh. Just squeezes him harder. Truthfully, Steve doesn’t know if he’s okay, but it’s what everyone always seems to want to hear from him, so he says it often.

“I’ve already killed Eddie like three times.” Robin murmurs into Steve’s chest, before finally pulling away. Her eyes are bloodshot, her nose stuffy, like she’s been crying.

“It’s not his fault, Rob.” Steve’s brows pinch together as he frowns, “is he…”

But when Steve looks up towards their building, he can see Eddie standing in the doorframe, his dark silhouette illuminated by the entry way lights. He’s still as a statue, holding open the door for them, arm extended out into the cold autumn night. Steve’s insides squirm.

“You got him from here, Buckley?” Hopper calls from his cruiser and Robin ducks to meet his eye before giving him a thumbs up. She loops her arm around his waist and they start towards their place—towards Eddie.

Before they reach him, Steve keeps his voice down as he asks, “Can I just go to bed? I don’t—I can’t talk about it right now.”

“Okay.” She nods, “I get it.”

But she doesn’t, not really.

Steve avoids eye contact with Eddie when they finally reach the building, and before he can say anything, Robin interrupts. “He’s going straight to bed. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

“Yeah, okay.” Eddie says in a small voice. He doesn’t argue. Doesn’t even follow them back up to their apartment. Maybe Eddie’s even relieved he doesn’t need to confront it tonight. Maybe they won’t ever confront it… maybe he’s hoping Steve’s brain will take care of everything and make him forget. Make it like it never happened. Part of Steve wishes—

No. He doesn’t wish that. His brain’s already functioning at half capacity, he doesn’t want to thank it for fucking up, even if it might make Steve’s life easier.

Whatever Eddie’s expression is, Steve doesn’t look back to find out. He keeps his eyes on his feet, focusing on putting one step ahead of the other.

When they finally arrive at Steve’s matchbox sized bedroom, he doesn’t even bother changing into pajamas, or even out of his jeans for that matter. He just falls into his bed, pulls a pillow over his head and wills himself to let go of the day and surrender to the sweet pull of blissful unconsciousness.

🫣 Oops, I made it worse. But I promise the Eddie and Steve confrontation is in the next part! 🙏 This is tagged angst with a happy ending for a reason.

Tag List: (message me to add or remove yourself.)

@morallyundefined @estrellami-1 @ollieolive @mugloversonly @wheneverfeasible @steddiefication @what-if-a-dragon @wrenisfangirling @yesdangerpls @flustratedcas @scarletyeager @snowstar2368 @starxlark @sofadofax @lawrencebshoggoth @stevesworldxx @jizzing-bastard-600and69 @bambibiest @queenie-ofthe-void @lilpomelito @bananahoneycomb @kaspurrcat @deadwhiterosesstuff @queenie-ofthe-void @dame-zoom-a-lot @3vilpurpl3d0t @loudmariachibands @steddieislife

[donelywell]

They then spent the rest of the night talking about Hot Wheels modifications and the flavor Blue Raspberry. Until Tails fell asleep by accident and Sonic had to carry him to bed.

Swap AU belongs to @foolnamedjoey!

I love this au so much you have no idea.

[burnt-sierra]

Slight gore TW//

Okay this has been a long time coming…

First and foremost, this is a drawing inspired by @remedyturtles ‘s “Little Kid with a Big Death Wish” Rottmnt fanfiction. I wanted to capture a moment that may have taken place in the ‘four weeks’ and gave Leo an expression like dread? Exhaustion? Disinterest? Or even masked terror. You decide.

I cannot type my absolute infatuation with this fic here because (haha you thought I’d say it’d be too long) (no actually it’s) I am working on a whole ode to remrose. Anyways there is MUCH more on the way… I have been accumulating many ideas in my mind and am looking for the time to work on more projects as fanart for remrose.

Uhh lest I write a whole essay here I have to cut myself off hehe </3

[pharawee]

Seiji✨Pan✨Ken

—DEEP NIGHT THE SERIES · Special Episode

[yayforocs]

hEY THE PROJECT!!!! I'M CAUGHT UP!!!

SO i started watching hermitcraft this season and one of the povs i picked up is wels and!! i've really enjoyed watching :VV everyone else is fun but when iw as watching wels i was like. i gotta draw. something.

taking some insp from fanartists doing fake thumbnails for some of the secret life folks when that was running, i decided to try my hand at some fake thumbnails of my own! it's been rly fun and definitely stretching my skills =7= i'm gonna see how long i can keep up w it :VVV

[lauraneedstochill]

Can’t help falling in love

summary: 5 times Aemond was in love with you + 1 time he finally confessed his feelings

warnings: friends to lovers (at the age of 9, 10, 15, 17, 19), a pinch of angst (Aemond healing after losing his eye), but overall so fluffy and sweet you may want to skip dessert

words: ~ 5500 (I got reeeally carried away with that love confession)

1.

Aemond is weeks away from his tenth birthday and he feels as miserable as ever. That feeling is an iron weight upon his heart, his mood irritated and face features grim more often than not. He is still without a dragon — and it’s the only thing he can think of, day and night, steadfast and stubborn in his obsession that most of his family finds to be blown out of proportion. It might have stang him less if only it wasn’t for the constant teasing and pitiful jokes that added to his distress and the never-ending heartache. He learns to keep a straight face and act as if he doesn’t really care, but deep down he does, way more than he’ll ever admit.

His training sessions are a way to channel his anger, and he lashes out at a straw man, again and again, clinging to the thought that, at least in these moments, he is not entirely powerless. He keeps his focus on the target, attentive to Ser Criston’s advice — “Soften your knees”, “Keep your feet light, your hands heavy”, and for a couple of hours he forgets about his misery.

It’s when the training comes to an end, the dreaded realization sinks in again, and Aemond is lost in his thoughts, mindlessly twirling the wooden sword in one hand, his gaze wandering around the yard.

And then his eyes fall on a bright green spot — and all of a sudden, he sees you. A girl of his age, the hem of your green dress a bit dusty, boots covered in dirt, a few strands of hair fallen loose, a coy smile on your face. You meet his gaze and wave at him excitedly.

Aemond looks dumbfounded. A girl in the training yard. Waving at him. He blinks once, twice — and in the next moment, you’re standing merely a few steps away, glancing curiously at his sword.

“It looks so hefty! Is it heavy? What is it made of?” a string of questions, your voice sweet and joyful.

There’s a brief pause and maybe you mistake his stiffness for arrogance as you are quick to add:

“Oh, my manners!” gasping but showing no actual regret. “Forgive me,” you curtsy, your smile growing even wider. A timid smile appears on his face in return and he finally comes to his senses.

“It’s made out of red oak. It’s not very heavy, you get used to it,” Aemond raises the sword, letting you take a closer look. Within another blink of an eye he finds himself talking to you, your questions endless and maybe a bit naive but he genuinely enjoys it.

That’s until you both hear a loud cry.

“Lady Y/N!” your nanny comes running in, out of breath and scowling. “I told you not to wander around...,” she chokes on her words at the sight of the young prince. She curtsies, too, but it isn’t nearly as cute as when you do it.

She sprints decisively in your direction. “It wasn’t very polite of you to interrupt the prince’s training, you little menace!”

And then Aemond, to his own surprise, moves to stand in her way.

“She didn’t interrupt a thing,” he disagrees, lips thinned into a tight line.

The nanny stops and looks at Aemond dubiously, switching her gaze from him to you.

Ser Criston is the one to resolve the conflict — he comes from behind, with a polite smile plastered on his face.

“Young lady can watch from the balcony. The guests are very much welcomed,” he calls for the maid to escort you and your nanny up there. While you’re away, he looks at Aemond with a grin:

“Already wooing the ladies, my prince? Let’s hope you are as good with your sword as she thinks you are.”

He does make Aemond work for it but the prince fights back, winning one bout after the other. He keeps glancing at you and you wave at him every single time.

Aemond is too young to know what love is, too shy and guarded to even entertain the thought of it. But when you look at him, with your childish grin and your eyes bright with mirth, he doesn��t feel lonely anymore. 2.

It’s been two weeks since Aemond lost his eye and he hasn’t left the bed. The pain is still blinding, burning and constantly making his only eye water. But what hurts even more is the humiliating disability. The triumph of claiming Vhagar died down, and now the prince was faced with the harsh reality he needed to adjust to and the process wasn’t an easy one. The fever has only recently gone down, leaving his body weak and freezing from the lack of movement, but he couldn’t bear the thought of stepping out of the room.

His mother wouldn’t leave his side and even Aegon often came to visit, clearly blaming himself for not being there for his little brother. Yet their presence barely brought Aemond any comfort and most of the time he would pretend to be asleep to avoid any conversations. He knew they only meant well and he was being cruel but he couldn’t help it as his pride was shattered and he gave in to sadness.

That is until one night he wakes up to a weird sound. He’s only half-awake when he hears a vigorous tapping that clearly comes from the outside. Except it's not from the other side of the door — but rather outside his window.

He’s startled by this guess and suspiciously walks closer. It takes him a few seconds to focus his gaze and discern a human’s silhouette — and then another few to realize that it’s you standing on the window sill. He feels like his heart will jump out of his chest as he rushes to open the window.

You climb through and clumsily drop to the floor. But before he can get worried, you are on your feet again, eyeing him with concern.

“Oh, Aemond,” your gaze and voice are both so soft, it makes his lower lip quiver. You carefully approach him and put your hand on his shoulder, gently sliding it on his back in a soothing motion and then cuddling him. He welcomes your company with a sigh of relief. You smell of oranges and you give the best hugs.

“They told me no one was allowed into your chambers,“ your hushed whisper burns his ear. “The silliest thing I’ve ever heard!” you pull away from him, still lightly panting, cheeks flushed and hair messy. “I knew I had to find a way to come see you.”

You examine his face, frowning at the scar that’s still healing.

“Does it hurt?”

He only nods, afraid that if he opens his mouth, he won’t be able to hold back a sob. You move closer, resuming the gentle motion of rubbing his back.

Ever since that day in the training yard, you kept in touch, regularly sending each other letters, chatting about everything and nothing, sharing your little secrets and observations. You recently mentioned that your parents allowed you to come see him again, but with the tragic change of events, Aemond completely forgot about the preplanned visit. 

“I will take his eye,” you say out of the blue, caressing the unharmed side of his face, your voice laced with anger. Aemond thinks he might’ve heard it wrong.

“...Whose eye?”

“Luke’s! I shall take his eye, as payment for yours,” you tell him with zero hesitation. For a girl of your age, you’re way too eager to plan such a thing, yet he somehow has no doubts that you can actually do it.

Aemond shakes his head.

“You shouldn’t,” his voice quiet but firm. “The King was very adamant about that, no payment is needed.”

“Well, maybe he is too old to think straight,” you retort. “You are his son and you lost an eye! Justice must prevail,” you tilt your head at him, clearly thinking that you’re in the right.

And he knows that you are but he also knows no justice will be served. It’s the last straw for Aemond — he looks away in shame as tears, hot and angry, start falling down his cheek. You waste no time hugging him again, letting him cry on your shoulder, and the two of you stay like that for what feels like an hour.

And then, in the comfortable silence of your embrace, he hears you asking, very seriously:

“Are you sure I can’t take his eye?”

At that moment, he can’t stop himself from letting out a laugh — a weak one and barely audible, but still, he laughs, for the first time in two weeks, and you are the sole reason for it. 

Your cheek is pressed to his, your fingers running through his hair, and Aemond realizes he can’t lose you.

He begrudgingly persuades you that taking Luke’s eye isn’t worth the trouble.

3.

By the age of fifteen Aemond becomes quite accustomed to the eyepatch and it gives him a boost of confidence. Losing an eye only made him train harder and his persistence pays off when he’s the one to win, time after time, no matter who his opponent is. His hair grows longer, now silky smooth and with no sign of his boyish curled ends, his face features sharpen. He learns to walk with his head high and hands clasped behind his back, mastering the intimidating look that makes most people want to stay away from the one-eyed prince. 

His tricks could’ve never worked on you, though.

You come to visit him a few times a year, and he eagerly awaits your arrival. All the days in between, you keep talking through letters, them getting longer as you get closer. He keeps those letters locked in a hidden compartment of his table. And sometimes, for no specific reason — or maybe for the reason he can’t yet formulate — he is drawn to reach for them, which always ends with him rereading the letters for hours. Some of them he knows by heart and yet it never stops him from having the pleasure of seeing your handwritten stories and little jokes that were only meant for him.

Today is no exception and Aemond is so enthralled by reading, he almost misses the knock on the door. The sound brings him to reality but he is in no hurry to react. The knocking comes again, and the prince groans, annoyed at the maid’s persistence. He carefully puts the letters back and goes to the door, armed with his cold gaze.

And then he opens it — and it’s you standing in front of him. 

Aemond barely has time to register what’s going on when you launch yourself at him, your arms immediately enveloping him in a tight hug, your laugh ringing in the air. He hugs you back and, while you can’t see it, he’s grinning from ear to ear.

“I swear you’re getting taller every time we meet!” you look up at him, beaming, and he lets you in. “I soon will need a ladder just to hug you properly.”

“I’ll be sure to let my body know of your disapproval,” he sneers and you stick out your tongue.

“While you are at it, shall you also work on your friendly face? I overheard the maids being frightened to go into your chambers,” you try giving him a scolding look but end up giggling at his reddened cheeks.

“I am friendly enough!”

“Yes, nobody glowers quite like you,” you snicker and flop right on the floor, the move always making him smile. Aemond tried persuading you to sit on any other surface that’s actually meant for sitting but you insisted that his fluffy rug works just as well, so he eventually gave up, deciding to join you. He never complained since.

Before he knows it, he’s immersed in the conversation while you enthusiastically share the recent news and everything that’s happened to you on the road. Only about half an hour in, he notes a small bag you’re clasping in your hands.

“You come bearing gifts?”

“Oh, I almost forgot I had it,” you laugh, abashed. “I decided I should bring you something to replace this crumpled-looking thing”.

It takes Aemond a minute to realize that you’re talking about his eyepatch. But he has no time to protest as you silence him with a gesture of your hand.

“I took it upon myself to count for how long you’ve been wearing this one already,” your tone gets serious. “I must say, that number is disturbing.”

There’s a moment of silence and then he clears his throat, his voice unsure. “Very kind of you to think of that, I shall replace it later on.”

He reaches his hand to take the bag but you quickly cover it with yours, fingers brushing over his, and he freezes.

“Are you still not convinced that I can take a look at it?” you try to make eye contact but he averts your gaze.

“Aemond, I was with you and I think I’ve seen enough back then — none of it scared me.”

“It is not a sight for the faint of heart,” the prince mumbles, his bravado faltering.

“Well, I don’t remember fainting the first time. You should have more faith in me,” you try to reason, holding his hand.

Aemond ponders for another minute — or maybe ten, he isn’t sure, and you patiently wait, not wanting to press him any further. Then he finally makes a decision and, after taking a long, sad sigh, he removes the eyepatch and looks at you, the sight of him is the very definition of insecurity.

You stay silent for about five seconds before concluding:

“Oh, it healed so nicely!” with no hint of uncertainty in your voice. Your smile reassures him a little as you peer at the sapphire, looking very pleased.

“The gem compliments your eye very well,” you give him your verdict, taking the new eyepatch out.

“We might have a different understanding of what a compliment is.”

“This is me trying to say that I really like the way it looks,” you chide him lightly. “And I consider myself to be quite understanding, thank you very much. Will you stop pouting and let me put it on?”

At this point he surrenders, giving you permission, and you move closer, giggling with excitement. You gently fix his hair, making sure it’s all combed back, and then lean to put the eyepatch on. You have a habit of biting your lower lip when you’re too concentrated on something, and Aemond can’t help but gaze at that part of your face while your teeth graze over the pillowy surface. 

He’s never let anyone this close — and not just in the sense of physical proximity. The moment is very intimate, and the softness of your movements tugs at his heart. He is suddenly very aware of the very short distance separating you two, and he holds his breath. You are oblivious to his stare and soon lean back, satisfied with the result and glancing at him with something akin to fondness.

He wishes he could paint a picture of you right at this moment, so tender and caring and sitting by his side.

He also wishes he could kiss you — and that thought scares him to death. And yet, once it appears, it never goes away.

4.

Aemond is seventeen and his life has been pure torture since you stopped visiting him. He hasn’t seen you in over half a year (seven months and eleven days, not that anyone is counting). It’s not your fault as your father has unexpectedly fallen ill and you couldn’t leave his side. The prince exhausted the maester with questions, asking for advice to write back to you, worried sick that your separation would be stretched for way longer than he could handle.

Luckily, the Gods took pity on him, and he was glad to learn that your father got better, and you will come to King’s Landing soon. Your visit coincided with Aegon’s birthday, but Aemond didn’t care about the feast, his mind only occupied with the thought of seeing you. He was both nervous and excited to the point of not even hiding it, which led to Aegon teasing him relentlessly. Helaena, on the other hand, wholeheartedly supported Aemond’s feelings for you.

“She will be delighted to see you, too, I am sure of it,” his sister tells him the day before the event.

“But the reason for it might be of a different nature,” Aemond remarks, and Helaena gives him a compassionate look.

“You will never know her true feelings unless you ask,” she encourages. “The two of you are so close, I consider her part of the family.”

Aemond knows that he’s of age and his mother hinted that, despite him showing no interest in courting, some ladies still found him attractive. He dismisses the idea but then finds himself thinking of it from time to time. When the realization forms in his head, it’s nerve-wracking but oh so compelling — he thinks he would’ve really wanted to marry you. He just doesn’t know how to tell you about it.

The day of your arrival comes, and Aemond wakes up at dawn in anticipation, determined to confess his feelings. He tries to come up with a speech, but it feels wrong and sounds weird, and he decides it will be better to improvise. He all but runs to the courtyard to be the first one to greet you. However, when you step out of the carriage, smoothing your dress, and your eyes meet, Aemond stops dead in his tracks and the world around him stands still.

His confidence might’ve blossomed — but not nearly as much as your beauty did. Somehow in those recent months, you’ve matured into a woman that takes his breath away.

It’s not a drastic change, it’s all in the details: the contours of your face are more defined, the cheekbones prominent, your hair knotted up high in a perfect style and even your pace is much slower and gracious. You walk towards one another, both suddenly cautious. But when you are a couple of meters apart, a well-known smile appears on your face and you hold your arms out to him and he finally hugs you again, after all this time. Aemond relaxes, inhaling the familiar scent of fruits that you undoubtedly munched on your way here.

“You look exactly as I remembered you,” you say as you slip from his embrace.

“And you are a sight to behold,” he breathes out, taking you in, and your cheeks heat up at the compliment. You’ve never been shy with him before, so this is also new. He wonders what might’ve caused this change.

As the two of you walk around the castle, it feels a bit awkward at first, and you keep glancing at him with emotion he can’t read. But Aemond is too happy to see you to give it much thought, and within an hour you ease into the conversation, too. By the time the evening comes, the tension disappears, and you are laughing at his sarcastic remarks again, and he savors every second of it.

The feast in honor of Aegon is lush and crowded, but you stay by Aemond’s side, enjoying each other’s company, and he only has eye for you. When the music gets too loud, you sneak out and soon find yourselves in his chambers, just like in the good old days.

Aemond is in the middle of telling you about Aegon’s recent foray to the Flea Bottom, when you say. “It’s just the two of us,” your fingers sink into the fluffy rug. “You don’t have to wear it with me. You know it, right?”

He wears the eyepatch with everyone, only taking it off before going to sleep. Moreover, he actually cherishes it because it’s a gift from you.

Aemond hesitates. “I thought you quite liked it.”

“I only gave it to you because yours started to look like it was pulled off a dead man’s body!” you laugh.

Before he can think of an answer, you lean closer — your shoulder brushing his, your hand touching his face, the same gentle warmth he remembers so well, — and remove the eyepatch yourself. The sight doesn’t bother you in the slightest as you confess:

“I accept you the way you are, Aemond,” and then, a moment away from him opening his mouth and saying the thing that’s been on the tip of his tongue for the duration of the day, you add, “That’s what friends are for — and you are my best friend.”

And just like that, with this word alone, his plan goes out the window.

A friend. Aemond can’t even be upset at the reveal, because, honestly, being your friend feels like a blessing in itself and he wouldn’t trade it for the world. How could he be so selfish and foolish to even think about risking it all, risk losing you?

So he keeps his feelings to himself, locking them away deep in his heart, and doesn't argue with you.

Maybe he should have.

5.

By the age of nineteen Aemond reaches the conclusion that he wants to take the risk. Otherwise, he thinks he might actually die as his heart can not hold all his feelings anymore. In two years' time, there isn’t a single thing about you that he hasn’t come to love, and keeping it a secret becomes harder with each day.

Aemond is ridden with doubts to the point where he can’t hide it any longer and he decides to seek advice — and the prince can’t think of a better person to talk to than his mother. Unbeknownst to him, Alicent was the first one to notice. Years ago, when you were kids, she quickly sensed the effect you had on her son, and it brought her joy as she watched the two of you get closer with time.

So when Aemond bursts into her room, anxiety radiating off of him as he starts jabbering away, his pacing erratic and voice trembling, it takes her about a minute to realize what's going on.

“My dear, I think you must talk to her,” she approaches him, an understanding look on her face.

Aemond cuts his speech short, eyeing her with wonder:

“You don’t seem surprised.”

“Your affection for her is as bright as a fire blazing,” Alicent chuckles. “I believe she is the only one who doesn’t see it.”

“Should I tell her...?” he doesn’t dare say it out loud, not yet.

Alicent briefly takes his hands in hers, squeezing them. “You should tell her the truth.”

Her encouragement gives him a dash of hope, lifting a weight off his chest. Aemond knows in an instant that the letter won’t cut it, and you must have the conversation face-to-face. Fortunately, your next visit is in a month, so his suffering won’t last for much longer.

Aemond almost reaches the door but then sharply turns to his mother again, his cheeks flushed:

“Will you give me your approval?” and this time, he looks straight at her as he wants to see her genuine reaction.

Alicent smiles, quick to reassure him. “Yes, Aemond. Your betrothal would only make me happy.” The prince feels elated, almost euphoric, as he finally goes to meet you and runs the remaining distance from his chambers to the yard. But when he sees you, the smile disappears from his face because he notices that something is wrong.

You look visibly upset, your eyes watering and fingers fumbling with the dress, even though you try to force a smile in return. The hug you give him is weak and you keep looking at your feet.

“What is the matter?” he’s never seen you this sad, but you brush him off.

“It’s just a headache, no need to worry.”

Yet that’s exactly what he does, offering to call for the maester, or to prepare you a warm bath, or bring you some tea...

“A cup of water would be nice, thank you,” he leaves you in the hallway to go and get it himself, the task only takes a couple of minutes. When he returns, you stand with your back to him, your shoulders are shaking — and he hears quiet, muffled sobs. If it wasn’t for the nearby table, he would’ve thrown the cup away, his focus on you alone. As he rushes to envelop you in a hug, you don’t fight it, instead nestling your face against his chest, not hiding your tears anymore.

Aemond gives you some time before asking again.

“This doesn’t look like just a headache. What is the cause of your anguish?” now he’s the one running his fingers up and down your back.

You let out a sound that’s a mix between a groan and a whine.

“My father says I am to be betrothed soon. He says I am of age already and... and he wants me to meet some of my cousins,” you sniffle. “I told him I have no wish to get married but he refuses to listen,” you bite your lip, not wanting to cry again.

Surely, that’s not how Aemond wanted to ask you. But he decides to take his chance.

“Mayhaps there is another way out that could make you feel better.”

“Please don’t tell me Vhagar will burn them down,” you jest but the smile doesn’t reach your eyes. Aemond thinks your idea isn’t that bad — but he has to try his first.

“If he insists you should marry but doesn’t have a particular candidate, maybe you can pick one yourself?”

“I’ve met all my cousins — and half of them are imbeciles, the others are too old to survive a wedding,” you scoff.

“Then pick someone you are not related to,” Aemond suggests.

“Do you have a particular candidate in mind?” when you ask with a tinge of annoyance, you don’t think he will answer. And then you look at him — and see him grinning before he says:

“Me”.

You glare at Aemond with eyes wide and mouth agape, the expression frozen on your face for a good minute. 

“Are you laughing at me?” you manage to say.

“I wouldn’t dare,” his nerves are as tight as a wound-up string.

In the blink of a moment, your face lights up. You are looking at him indecisively, searching for words, agitated. But Aemond mistakes your confusion for rejection.

“At the very least you will marry someone you know,” he tries to reason — but it backfires, wiping the joyfulness off your face.

Taken aback, you inquire. “You pity me?” He doesn’t grasp the poor choice of his words yet.

“You pity me and that’s why you want to marry me?” you give him a look of disbelief, your eyes glossy, and he can’t get his head around what just happened.

“Oh, it was so silly of me to think that...,” you choke back a sob, putting your hand over your mouth.

Never in his life he thought he would be the reason for you looking so heartbroken. Aemond covers your hand with his palm — and you let him, as he tries to gather his courage.

“I only meant to say that I —”

And then you recoil, snapping your hand back.

“Aemond, don’t,” you take a step back from him, then another one. “You have said enough. Please, let me be,” you turn away and leave the hall in a hurry before he can utter another word.

... 1.

He finds you at your usual spot, under the blossoming cherry tree. You’ve always said you liked the color of it, little white flowers reminding you of early spring, your favorite time of the year. You don’t know that Aemond insisted on planting that tree specifically for you. Just so he can sit nearby and, as you were basking in the sunlight with your eyes closed, he would get a chance to look at you with all his unconditional love and have those moments engraved in his memory.

Come to think of it, he had so many memories of you — and every single one of them was bliss, and he can recall them so easily like it was yesterday.

And so he does.

“When we first met, you wore a green dress,” his voice startles you, but you don’t turn to face him, sniffling with your arms folded. “It was the color of forest trees. Black lace around the hem of it, the matching hair ribbon that you kept losing,” he keeps his distance, his hands shaking.

“Yes, I remember it pretty well,” you sigh, avoiding his gaze, baffled by his sudden outburst.

“The second time was when you climbed through my window, almost gave me a heart attack,” there’s a hint of a smile in his voice that you catch even without looking. “Blue dress, you tore a huge piece of it and couldn’t care less. You were the first person to make me laugh in two weeks even though it seemed impossible. But not with you.”

He sees your eyebrows furrowing, hands sliding down to rest on your knees.

“Helaena’s name day came next, your dress was bright pink. Luke tried to make fun of it and you threw a cup full of water in his face. To this day, it’s one of my fondest memories.”

You dare to look up at him, perplexed, your eyes wet from crying. 

“Three months after was the light-blue dress, then the peach one and the brown one. Then the white one which didn’t survive the horse riding lesson, and Helaena gave you one of hers. Light green, too long for your liking, even though you pretended otherwise to please her,” the corners of your lips tremble, your face softening.

“Then for a year you only wore violet, much to your nanny’s dismay as she thought it made you look ill. And I thought you were the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen, no matter what dress you were in,” he can’t take his eye off you.

Your face expression melts into a stunned one.

“I didn’t realize it back then. Or maybe I didn’t know how to call it. I just knew that your visits only brought me happiness,” he takes a step toward you, uncertain, but you don’t move from your spot.

“When you were fourteen, you picked the autumn colors — orange, dark yellow, deep red. Your started braiding your hair, tried to braid mine,” you can’t hold back a smile. He was fussy when you first voiced the idea but he ended up loving the process so much, he would allow it just to feel your fingers flowing through his hair.

“I think you actually enjoyed it,” you mumble, and Aemond smiles, too.

“I did. I enjoyed every minute that I got to spend with you.”

You stand up then, feeling your pulse quickening.

“The day you brought me the eyepatch, you wore emerald green. I was terrified to show you the scar,” he pauses, catching his breath. “You assuaged my fears with your kindness. But then I was terrified to learn that I wanted to kiss you.”

You think you are dreaming. Is it possible that you fell asleep under the tree? You don’t want to get your hopes too high, but when he looks at you like this, your own fears start melting away.

“Then was the black dress, the grey one, another white one. The golden one you wore to meet Vhagar,” when he saw you that day, he almost forgot how to breathe. You showed no sigh of apprehension as you fearlessly approached the dragon. He was absolutely besotted.

“And then came the agony of not seeing you for over seven months,” he closes his eye for a second, overwhelmed. He almost misses it when you speak:

“Seven months and twenty-five days. Not that I was counting,” his eye snaps open, instantly on you again.

You gravitate toward each other without even noticing. Aemond’s heart skips a beat when you’re at arm’s length, your eyes shining and lips slightly parted. Even in the state you’re in, you look so beautiful, it’s mesmerizing, and the words are stuck in his throat. You are the one to break the silence.

“Aemond, please don't give me false hope,” your heartbeat is too loud, you don’t hear your own voice. He does.

“I do not wish to marry you out of pity,” Aemond takes the last step. “I want you to be my wife because I am in love with you,” he wipes away the remaining tears off your face, his fingers linger, making you shiver. “I’ve been in love with you for quite some time. For a few years, actually,” his voice gets low. “For what feels like an eternity,” Aemond murmurs.

“Why haven’t you told me?” you pout, nervously toying with the collar of his shirt.

“I was afraid you didn’t feel the same. I still am but maybe... Maybe I am wrong?” his gaze is fixed on you, one of his hands following the contour of your waist, your body warming at the touch.

“Tell me that I am wrong,” he whispers, begging.

You look at his lips, the soft curve of them that you’ve dreamt of for so long.

Aemond always thought yours were the most kissable he’s ever seen.

You don’t know who closes the distance first — but his mouth is suddenly on yours and the sensation leaves you disarmed. Kissing him is like being swept with a wave of tenderness, and you’re floating in it, his lips so fervid and supple — truly perfect — your head is spinning. The kiss is not awkward nor modest as you hastily cling to each other, his hands gripping your waist, your chest pressed into his.

Aemond feels like he’s drowning, and he wants more of you — all of you, and then your fingers tug at his locks, eliciting a groan from him, and it is simply a miracle that his heart doesn’t explode. You move in impeccable sync, in the passionate harmony that erupts from years worth of mutual pining. His lungs burn but he resists the urge to break the kiss and stretches it out the best he can until you are breathless, too.

“Never knew that you were so fascinated by my wardrobe choices,” you tease, and his hum turns into a chuckle.

“You know what my favorite memory is?” you ask, your forehead resting against his.

“When we were ten-and-three, and you were teaching me how to hold a sword. I tackled you to the ground and scraped my knee,” you both smile at your then enthusiasm. “And you set everything aside to spend the rest of the day with me even though it was hardly a wound. And I remember thinking,” you hook your finger under his chin, “that there’s nowhere else I would rather be than with you, with this favorite boy of mine.”

The air around you is tense, and you are enchanted by each other.

“Did that help to prove you wrong?”

“I may need some convincing,” his breath fans over your lips.

“You can take your time,” you laugh — and then the sound of it is muffled by his athirst mouth. His favorite memory will be this.

And every other moment with you that’s to come.

author’s note: I’m sorry if this came out messy and rushed. I tried my best to write a shorter fic (this is short for me lmao) and idk how I feel about it. I much rather prefer them longer because I’m a sucker for stories about two people getting to know each other and falling in love BUT I get it that others don’t want to read long ass fics (which kinda breaks my heart but I'm being so very brave about it) anyways, thank you for reading! 💙 the longer version of this fic might have looked like this (yes, this is a shameless plug! because I adore this one to pieces!! bite me) 🎵 the title is a quote from Elvis Presley’s song (duh). there are quite a few covers of it but one of my favorites is by Twenty One Pilots. there’s also a female version — by Ingrid Michaelson — and I think both of them fit the story really well. 💞 my masterlist P.S. I’m also on AO3 (lol, who isn’t), in case you prefer to read fics there.

English is not my first language, so feel free to message me if you spot any major mistakes!

[randomsufff]

You know what I really need in fanfics? More confession scenes where one person drops the confessions then runs, fast as fuck, in the other direction.

Like, obviously they’ll meet back up eventually and talk about it (which is hilarious in itself that they would have to sprint to catch up while yelling why they’re like this) , BUT THINK ABOUT IT!!! It 1) give the other person a chance to gather their thoughts so the person confessing doesn’t have to sit in anxious silence and 2) allows the confessor to get it over with quick and overcomes that anxiety over confessing. Also it’s just fucking hilarious.

Like imagine your fav paring or whatever, they get to that part where one (or both idk) realizes their feelings for the other but they’re just anxious to be vulnerable like that or they fear rejection, whatever. One of them suddenly goes, fuck it, and they turn to the other. (Maybe they’re on a sidewalk, maybe they’re in a park IDK endless possibilities here) and they go:

“ok I’m about to say something, it’s nothing bad (I hope) and I’m willing to talk about it after I say it. I’m 100% serious, this is really not a joke. But I’m going to say this and run to (relevant location). Ok? Ok…. Don’t freak out… iminlovewithyou” *Cue maniac SPRINTING as fast as humanly possible in the other direction* (Bro I’m cracking up just typing about this)

AND THEN!!! You get to chose how they react after a few stunned seconds. Do they sprint after them? Do they shout to bring their ass back over to them? Do they race like hell to beat the other at the determined location??? I don’t know, but it’s hilarious as fuck and can transition seamlessly into heartfelt feeling talk.

(Thinking about this with specific ships is funny as hell too)

Idk I think of more fics had this trope we could all have a grand ol silly time instead of accidentally speed reading through confession schemes because the stress is too much then having to go back and re-read it to fully process it, as one does. You know?

[musings-of-miss-j]

wings of jade, eyes of amber

a xiao x reader fic

notes: enough fluff to fill every mattress on earth, gn reader, is it a meet-cute or a meet-awkward? who knows

author's notes: i need everyone to know that i titled this fic 'the newly documented effects of adeptus temptation' in my files and i think im absolutely hilarious for it. again in bafflement about how to write romance. oh and im totally a fake fan i forgot his karmic debt existed and by the time i remembered i was 7k words in so uh. excuse my skill issue

word count: 10179 (everyone pretend to be shocked please)

⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘

If Xiao had been asked about his plans for that day, he probably would’ve driven whoever had the gall to address him in the first place away with a stony glare. If the question had come from someone of more important status, say, Rex Lapis, he would’ve truthfully answered that his evenings often consisted of loitering on the balcony of Wangshu Inn and staring unseeingly at Liyue’s beautiful scenery, lost in thought. 

He wouldn’t have imagined in any timeline or universe that an angel would topple from the sky onto the wooden floor and startle the wits out of him.

In your defence, how were you supposed to know that the wind currents would be particularly tempestuous that day? Everything else had been perfect; your glider was in top shape, as usual, being one of your prized possessions, the slowly darkening sky was free of birds that may have interfered with your path, stars just barely starting to glimmer amongst the bold streaks of the sunset… 

All in all, a perfect night for gliding, and when you strapped on your wings and leaped off the edge of Wuwang Hill the familiar rush of exhilaration spread through your fingers and toes. The view never failed to amaze you. You revelled in the cool breeze and gentle ambience of the night’s sounds; rustling leaves, a distant bird’s call, and as you flew across Bishui Plains where there were more people you caught snatches of their chatter in the air. Wangshu Inn came into view, and you adjusted your angle to carry out a slow, spiral descent that you’d been working to perfect for the past few days. It seemed like you’d score another perfect landing; the radius of the circle you made was just wide enough to slow you down, you could taste success on the tip of your tongue- 

The gust of wind was sudden and strong, completely throwing you off your path and sending you hurtling down, the wings of your glider snapping and the straps tugging at your arms. Weightlessness lasted only a second before you tumbled down, picking up speed and struggling to readjust the wings against the wind’s resistance, and oh Archons the ground is getting closer shit shit shit-

You landed with a crash on a wooden floor, your legs giving out and causing you to trip blindly forward and collide with something that felt significantly less hard than a wall. A muffled ‘oof’ sound came from above you, and when your ears stopped ringing you opened your eyes and saw the most beautiful golden gaze peering down at you, and registered the feeling of hands on your shoulders. You stammered out an apology, stumbling backwards and unstrapping your glider with shaking hands. 

“I’m so sorry, really, I didn’t mean to crash into you like that, it- it was an accident please forgive me-”

“You fell from the sky,” the stranger interrupted, watching you fold away your slightly battered glider with his arms crossed. You laughed awkwardly, rubbing a sore spot on your neck that would no doubt develop into a bruise later along with a tapestry of bumps across your back and ribs. Not the worst accident you’d ever experienced, but not exactly the best, either.

“Y-yes, I did,” you agreed sheepishly, prodding your jaw. Last time you took a fall from this height, you’d managed to dislocate it. Thankfully, that wasn’t the case. “Sorry for bumping into you.”

The stranger huffed, frowning and staring down at you. You were clearly one reckless human, barrelling around in a glider without a single precaution and crash-landing on balconies. Still, Xiao was rather intrigued, though he couldn’t for the life of him decide why. Maybe it was your bravado, or your off-handed attitude, or your mesmerising eyes- 

He shook his head to dispel the thought. 

“You should be more careful.”

“You’re absolutely right, I should,” you agreed with a slight laugh, running a hand through your hair in a mostly futile attempt to tamp down the permanently windswept locks. “Is there any way I can make it up to you for disturbing you? What’s your name?” You asked as an afterthought, tugging off the leather gloves that connected to the wooden joints of your glider. You were met with a long silence and a scrutinising gaze that left you a little flustered from its intensity. You cleared your throat and glanced away. “Not that you’re obligated to introduce yourself, of course, I just-”

“My name is Xiao.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Xiao,” you replied with a brief, relieved grin, bowing your head slightly as you’d seen citizens of Liyue do when greeting one another and reciprocating with your own name. It was a nice name, he thought. He gestured vaguely towards the folded glider in your arms. 

“Is it ruined?”

You glanced down at the tear in the leather and a splintered joint, hiding a wince. 

“Well. Hopefully not, I’ve had worse falls than this…”

“You do this often, then?” He prompted, tilting his head curiously. 

You chuckled, scratching the back of your neck. “Gliding or getting into accidents?”

“The frequency of one implies the other is also a common occurrence.”

“Right you are,” you agreed with a lopsided grin, glad that this strange young man didn’t seem too pressed by the accident you’d caused. “I do glide a lot. And get into accidents equally as often.”

“I’ve never met a human with such a penchant for flying,” he remarked, curious about you and confused at his own interest. He’d never been so willing to hold such a long, relatively useless conversation with a mortal before. You stared at him, perplexed by his wording. Clearly he wasn’t a human himself; everything from his golden eyes to his pointed teeth and unnervingly graceful movements indicated supernaturality, but his confirmation was surprising nonetheless. 

“It’s a more popular sport in Mondstadt,” you conceded. 

“So you’ve been there, too?” He didn’t think you lived in Liyue; years upon years of protecting the land meant he could quite distinctly recognise its people, and you didn’t elicit any familiarity whatsoever. 

“Yes, I have,” you confirmed with a nod. A yell of your name from below snapped you from your thoughtful reverie, and you twisted and leaned over the railing to see who called. Xiao had to restrain himself from yanking you back from the edge; just a natural instinct born from centuries of upholding his contract to protect humans, he reasoned. You peered down below, catching sight of Aether’s golden hair, Paimon waving her tiny hands up at you frantically. 

“Ah, I have to leave,” you said, turning to face Xiao again. “My travelling companions are calling for me. It was nice meeting you!”

He nodded, moving aside to let you pass through the entrance to the inn and watching you bound down the stairs with reckless abandon, leaping across the last flight. He marvelled at your energy even after falling from the sky. 

“Who was that you were talking with?” Paimon demanded the moment you descended the stairs, hovering around your head. Aether took one look at the battered glider in your arms and the bruise purpling on your jaw and figured out what had happened, tugging you along with a sigh. You’d been travelling with him for some time now; since before he entered Mondstadt’s gates and saved the entire nation, and now you’d arrived in Liyue barely a few days ago. Paimon, indignant at being ignored, began to poke your cheeks and tug your hair, demanding a satisfactory answer while Aether dragged the two of you back to camp. 

“His name is Xiao,” you told Paimon. 

“And why were you talking to him?” She pestered.

“I, um… I crash landed into him,” you admitted sheepishly, dodging a child running across the docks. Paimon shrieked with laughter, and even Aether cracked a smile. 

“That’s so embarrassing!” Paimon gasped between fits of giggling, turning somersaults in mid-air above your head. 

“We got here barely a week ago and you already managed to make a scene,” Aether agreed. You huffed indignantly, swatting Paimon away.

“At least I didn’t lose six thousand mora betting on jade,” you shot playfully back. Aether dug his elbow into your ribs. 

“That’s a damn low blow and you know it.”

You took to visiting Wangshu Inn every few days to chat with Verr Goldet and sort through the paperwork you tended to accumulate when accepting odd jobs around the city. That’s how you and Aether got by, for the most part; commissions from the Adventurer’s Guild and strangers in the wild, and the occasional monetary reward from winning a gliding contest or something of the sort. Usually the two of you went your separate ways throughout the day and met up in the evening to review what you’d earned and how you’d spend it, and today was no different; you’d settled on Wangshu Inn’s balcony, cross-legged on the floor with an array of letters in front of you that you were sorting into stacks so you could efficiently deliver them to various corners in Liyue and a textbook about ley lines propped open in your lap. You were an odd case of an Akademiya student; having passed the entrance exam you decided on a whim to take, you became one of the ‘far-flung fledglings’, as the faculty called you; students who learned through their travels and reported findings back to their supervisors every month, named as such to reference the rather lacklustre grades many of them got. Such a degree took several years longer to complete than a traditional one, but you didn’t mind. On the contrary, you wanted to travel as much as possible, and if you just so happened to get a certificate for it too then that was just another added benefit. 

A breeze ruffled your hair and paperwork, sending several pages spiralling off the balcony and down to the ground before you could snatch them back. You stared at the fluttering sheets in dismay, resolving to never sit there again, when Xiao appeared in front of you out of thin air with some paper in his hands. He gave them to you without meeting your eyes. 

“You dropped these.”

You jumped to your feet, accepting them and thanking him profusely. “Oh, Xiao! Thank you ever so much, you saved me a boatload of trouble.”

“It’s nothing,” he muttered, crossing his arms. You wondered if you’d disturbed him somehow, given his short replies, and quickly gathered up your things. 

“Thanks anyway,” you repeated with a smile. “I’ll leave now to give you some peace. Verr Goldet said you like to spend some of your time up here…” you trailed off. Xiao glimpsed one of the bruises you’d sustained from your rocky landing on the balcony just above your collarbone, and realised with an odd clarity that he wasn’t particularly eager to see you leave.

“You can stay,” he said shortly. “It makes no difference to me.”

Your smile could’ve replaced the sun, he thought. “Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to disturb you.”

“It’s no disturbance.”

“Alright,” you replied cheerfully, resetting your things and plopping back down onto the floor. For a moment you were silent, poring over the documents in front of you until you reached the end of the proposal you’d been editing.

“You’re not a human, are you?” You asked absent-mindedly while shuffling through the paperwork. “...No,” Xiao confirmed after a pause. After a moment of intense deliberation, he sat down across from you. “I am an adeptus.” 

You abandoned your pen, staring at him in surprise. “Oh. Are… are you the Conqueror of Demons, by any chance?”

He stared at your writing on the page. “I am.”

This was the part where he warned you to keep your distance from him, he dimly realised. Now was the time to push you behind the wall that separated humans from his inevitably harmful presence. His tongue felt heavier than any weapon he’d ever wielded.

You hummed thoughtfully, the sound distracting him for a moment, and rummaged through the basket at your side for a handful of berries before pushing it towards him in a silent offering. “I’ve heard the adepti have a contract with Rex Lapis that binds them to Liyue. Is that true?” 

He relaxed slightly at the genuine curiosity in your voice. He’d drive you off later, he reasoned. It’d be easier if your curiosity was sated and you didn’t have any more questions to bother him with.

“What you’ve heard is correct. You don’t hail from Liyue, do you?”

“No,” you said. “It’s my first time visiting. The mountains here are lovely, perfect for gliding.”

“Did your glider recover from the less-than-subpar landing you performed the last time we met?”

“H-hey!” You laughed, caught off-guard by his casual dig. It was supposed to be a harsh rebuke, not that you noticed. “That was a rare moment of shame, okay? It was an easy fix!”

Xiao said nothing, marvelling at how differently you seemed to view the world from him. You all but exuded passion and excitement, as though you were glad to be alive, while Xiao’s every action had become a product of his sense of duty. The concept of doing anything for his own enjoyment was a long-dead one; what pleasure did a sinner like him deserve? Even then, your enthusiasm was… not quite infectious, not to him, but it was almost calming. If there were people out there who had the luxury of delighting in such frivolous activities as gliding then his endless battle to purge the land of evil must have bore fruit; for the idea of having wings being to take joy in the act of flying rather than to gain an advantage over one’s enemies had to be some sort of indication. Still, you were a strange human. A good sort of strange, he thought, unbidden.

You’d fallen almost silent, weaving a soft tune into the symphony of rustling leaves and birdsong as you hummed under your breath. He stared intently at you. Yes; a good sort of strange for sure.

The next few days brought about a similar encounters. After bidding Aether and Paimon goodbye, you headed to the inn, embarrassed  at first when you realised you were hoping to see the strange yet handsome adeptus again. You’d gone around the harbour, Qingce Village and even the mountains of Jueyun Karst in search of a proper house to stay in; you resolutely refused to keep camping outside, especially considering the Rite of Descension was months away and therefore you’d be in Liyue for some time to come. After a long morning of knocking on doors and asking around, you’d accumulated a list of possible residences and their locations; some in the harbour, some in the further villages and even one or two places nestled deep within the mountains. If it were up to you, you would’ve gone to assess the latter option within a heartbeat, but you had to take your traveling companions’ wishes into consideration too. So you unrolled your trusty map on the floor of Wangshu Inn’s balcony, hunched over the aging parchment as you marked out the exact locations. Xiao soundlessly teleported behind you, crouching and leaning over until his chest nearly brushed your back. You were startled out of your skin when you heard him mumble a “what are you doing?”, whirling around to face him and letting out a surprised laugh.

“Xiao, you can’t just sneak up on me like that,” you berated, shuffling to the side to give him space to sit next to you. A perplexed expression crossed his face.

“It was not my intention to sneak up at all.”

You raised your eyebrows with a teasing smile. “Is this an adeptus thing?”

He huffed, bristling at your teasing. “Have some respect, mortal.”

His voice wasn’t quite as stern as he would’ve liked, though. He briefly pondered why he wasn’t admonishing you or giving you the cold shoulder for your overly friendly attitude; he repeatedly shunned attempts at friendship in the past and refused offerings from humans. What made you so different? He hoped you wouldn’t notice.

“Well, I’d appreciate some sort of indicator that the Vigilant Yaksha, Conqueror of Demons and adeptus of Liyue found it fit to grace this foolish mortal with his presence,” you replied, bending over the map to straighten one of the corners.

“Fine,” he conceded after a pause. You offered him a zaytun peach from the basket at your side, and he wondered how you got your hands on fresh fruit that wasn’t native to Liyue. “What are these markings?” He asked, gesturing towards your map.

“Well, you see,” you started, reclining back on your palms and giving him your full attention, tucking your pen behind your ear. “I’ve been looking for suitable lodgings for my travel companions and I. We could be here in Liyue for months, maybe even a whole year, since he’s waiting for the Rite of Descension. Usually we just camp outside, but since we’re going to be here for so long I’d rather not spend all my time in a tent, not to mention the fact that Liyue’s countryside isn’t as empty as Mondstadt’s. There’s a lot more monsters out here at night.”

Xiao nodded. Your reluctance to expose yourself to the elements day in and day out fit his knowledge of humans being rather fragile; it made sense that you’d want some shelter.

“Reasonable,” he remarked, taking a bite of the peach.

“Say, Xiao. Would you mind coming with me to a few of these places?” You asked with forced nonchalance.

“Why?” He countered, blunt as ever.

You toyed with your Vision, a sheepish smile pulling up the corners of your lips. “I’m not very familiar with the mountains yet,” you explained hesitantly, avoiding his gaze. “And I know Aether’s busy with commissions… but I’d rather not go alone, I heard there’s lots of monsters in the area,” you finished hurriedly. You already regretted asking. He definitely had better things to do than escort a tourist, for Celestia’s sake, why would you ask that-

“What time would you like to go?”

You looked up at him, your shocked expression quickly morphing into an elated one as you beamed up at him. Xiao wondered why his face felt so hot all of a sudden.

“How about right now?” You suggested, deftly rolling up your map. “If you’re free, of course.”

He nodded, rising from the floor. “Yes, that is suitable.”

“We’ll have to stop by the camp so I can grab my glider, though”- you were abruptly cut off when Xiao lifted you up, one arm hooked around your legs and the other looped around your shoulders. A surprised yelp left your lips, immediately swallowed by the wind as Xiao teleported away from the balcony in a cloud of wispy black and turquoise smoke. You squeezed your eyes shu until you could feel the sun’s warmth again. You’d emerged between the two peaks of Mt Tianheng. After a moment of admiring the view of the harbour below, you realised you’re still very much in Xiao’s arms; with a flustered cough, you disentangled your limbs from his and stumbled into the grassy garden of the cabin.

“This place is nice,” you said, mostly to distract yourself from the situation you’d been in moments prior. “Although it does look rather old…” you added, trailing off as you made your way to the front door, gesturing vaguely for him to follow you. The door squeaked on its hinges and one of the windows was cracked, but the owner had seemed rather eager to get rid of it, hence the ridiculously cheap price he was willing to rent it for. You relayed this absent-mindedly to Xiao, who nodded, peering around the perimeter of the cabin and attempting to see it from a human’s perspective. He wondered what factors you would take into consideration. You stuck your head through the doorway, and immediately reeled back with an alarmed shout; Xiao’s head snapped in your direction, his spear already materialising as he rushed towards you.

You slammed the door shut.

“Forget this one,” you announced, turning to face a very battle-ready Xiao with his spear in hand and the Vision at his wrist glowing faintly. He marched towards the door.

“What is it?”

“A revolting number of spiders,” you replied with a shudder, grabbing his sleeve and dragging him away. He stopped dead, shooting you an incredulous look and ignoring the way you tugged him.

“You shouted loud enough for Morax himself to hear your voice because of a few insects?”

 “Spiders are arachnids, not insects.”  

He let out a disbelieving sigh, finally relenting and letting you drag him away.

“You are all but cowardly, (Name),” His words were sharp, but you took them in stride.

“Why, how dare you!” With an indignant laugh, you let go of his sleeve and shoved him playfully away. He didn’t even falter from your push. Not fair. “And you have the nerve to preach to me about respect!”

Xiao turned his face to hide a tiny smile.

The next house was crossed off the list because the view wasn’t nice enough for your liking. Xiao marvelled at the specificity of your requirements, and then  proclaimed the cottage at the edge of Mingyun Village unfit because he could sense a demonic spirit lurking within.

“A demonic spirit?” You repeated, brows furrowed. He glared at the seemingly innocent cottage, resolving to return and deal with the issue once he finished escorting you.

“Yes. Living here is out of the question, you’ll find yourself with a slit throat before Morax can declare the end of the night.”

You blinked, then laughed. “Alright then, Mingyun Village is a miss,” you said, crossing it off your list. “Hmm… only two more options,” you remarked, folding away your list and looking back up at Xiao.

“Then let’s make haste,” he replied, moving to pick you up and no doubt teleport.

“Why don’t we walk?” You suggested. He paused mid-motion, contemplating the idea.

“Sal Terrae is close enough,” he agreed, then to your surprise, advanced towards you again and went through with scooping you into his grasp. He began walking away from the village and the haunted cottage.

“Xiao, you don’t have to carry me,” you pointed out after a moment of silent, warm-faced embarrassment.

“I thought humans were known for their deplorable stamina,” he said without pausing his stride. “Who’s to say whether you’ll be able to make the trek or collapse from exhaustion halfway through?”

“You’ve got a pretty bad impression of humans in general, don’t you?”

“It’s merely a statement of fact, not an insult.”

You poked his chest. “Hey, it’s not fair of you to be irritated because we can’t keep up with adepti.”

He gently pulled at a strand of your hair in retaliation, an act you were prone to when he was a little more dismissive than the situation called for and one he’d been copying from you as of late. “I’m merely following your pre-established example and complaining even when it’s fruitless.”

You laughed long and hard at that.

“You win this battle of wits,” you said with an exaggerated sigh, draping the back of your hand across your forehead in a gesture of dramatic surrender. “Now put me down.”

“That would significantly reduce our speed.”

“It’s not like I’m slow,” you huffed, poking his chest again to regain his attention. “Besides, it’d prevent you from tiring out too quickly.” Xiao scoffed at that, gripping you a little tighter as he hopped across a lake from one stone to another.

“You insult me by assuming my body would be as weak as a mortal’s,” he replied, wishing he could properly harden his voice and actually sound offended rather than this adopt wretchedly soft tone.

“Well you insult me by assuming I can’t walk on my own two feet!”  

“And just like that, we’ve become sworn enemies,” Xiao deadpanned.

With a half-hearted grumble, you let him carry you the rest of the way. At some point, to annoy him into putting you down, you asked him to lift you a little higher so you can reach the sunsettia you glimpsed in the uppermost branches of a tree. He didn’t even bat an eye, shifting his hands to your waist and lifting you above his head so you could grab the fruit; you were left thoroughly baffled with his patience. At least you had a snack for the way.

You decided that Sal Terrae was lovely, if a little cold due to its proximity from Dragonspine. You hadn’t expected to like the little shack by the waterside as much as you did, but the cool breeze, swaying grass and rippling water made for a charming scene. You could even glimpse the glittering of a crimson agate on the ridge of the nearby mountaintop; no doubt Aether would be kept busy collecting all the ones he’d missed. You spun around in the grassy outcrop, admiring it all.

“It’s a little far from the harbour…” you lamented, planting your hands on your hips as you contemplated the matter. “Maybe I’ll take it for myself, even if Aether isn’t interested,” you remarked. “What do you think, Xiao?”

“I don’t know what circumstances mortals may have to consider when choosing a place of residence.”

You huffed amusedly. “So you have no opinion on the matter whatsoever?”

Xiao had several opinions on the matter. The place was free of monsters, for one, and he’d be able to see the shack from the top of Wangshu Inn and it was close enough for him to visit without having to explain himself.

“It is not unpleasant,” he allowed.

“That’s significant praise coming from you. Hm…” You circled the building, assessing it for any potential flaws. “I’ll talk to the owner,” you decided. “If I can strike a good bargain then I’ll take it.”

Xiao hummed in acknowledgement. “It is a safer place to live than the mountains.”

“Why would I worry about safety when the ever-diligent adeptus Xiao is guarding the lands?” You teased, skipping back to the edge of the lake. He blushed to the tips of his ears, clearing his throat and looking away as you tugged off your shoes to dip your feet into the cool water.

“Foolish mortal. You shouldn’t rely so heavily on my protection.”

You just laughed, unapologetic and unrepentant. Xiao willed himself to be annoyed by your carelessness; he couldn’t. He liked that you thought he was so reliable and strong. He wanted you to think positively of him. Utterly ridiculous.

You loitered on the plains of Sal Terrae for the day, relishing the sunlight and crisp wind from the mountains. Xiao stayed with you, ‘to make sure you didn’t encounter any trouble,’ and you shared berries and apples plucked from around the island with him, chattering absent-mindedly until stars appeared in the sky.

You ended up buying the shack after the owner hastily told you to take it for a price so cheap it was almost theft; he’d seemed nervous and jumpy the day you spoke to him, constantly looking over his shoulder and practically begging you to buy the place. You wondered what had gotten into him as you signed the contract to transfer ownership; Aether had shrugged and more or less stated it didn’t matter as long as you got a bargain, an opinion that Paimon eagerly seconded. Xiao had muttered something unintelligible, looking away and dismissing the topic. Odd.

A hesitant sort of friendship formed between the two of you; you enjoyed each other’s company and Xiao would listen to you chatter over the basket of fresh fruit you never failed to bring, occasionally contributing to the conversation and silently encouraging you to keep it afloat. You sometimes worried that you were bothering him; he sometimes worried you’d grow tired of his lacklustre responses and stop visiting the inn altogether. Even now, on the odd days you couldn’t stop at the balcony for even a moment, he felt strangely annoyed by your absence. How dare you wriggle into his daily routine and then ruin it by not showing up when you were supposed to? The audacity of humans…

Sometimes you invited him to Sal Terrae. He rarely accepted; that would be too great of an indulgence for an adeptus like him. At least when you were the one coming to see him he could chalk up his tolerance for you to a desire to uphold his contract, nothing more (never mind the fact he’d never given humans the time of day before). On the rare days you did manage to coax him out of Wangshu Inn, you taught him card games and let him win when you discovered just how terrible he was at them, and swam in the cool waters of Sal Terrae while rambling absent-mindedly about whatever happened to be the subject of your thoughts at that time. Xiao secretly liked these instances best; when you completely let your guard down and allowed him a glimpse into the intricacies of your thoughts and your routine. Aether and Paimon teased you relentlessly for spending so much time in his company, while Xiao found himself plagued by similar treatment from Madame Ping and other adepti. He consoled himself with the knowledge that Morax, his master, wouldn’t concern himself with such matters. Meanwhile, the aforementioned Morax chuckled over his interactions with you from Celestia.

You sometimes brought your glider to the inn if it was in need of repairs, other times you appeared with stacks of paperwork in your arms that he’d ridicule (“Incorrigible, mortals’ insistence of writing every damned thing down as if it’ll make a difference when all becomes ash.” You just laughed as you so often did, and the sound dispelled any ideas of cinders and fire, bringing images of an end bathed in sunlight and birdsong instead) and always with an enormous book or two about your studies tucked beneath your arm. You rambled, long-winded and with no clear link between your sentences as you carried out whatever task you’d dragged along with you that day; sorting through  your commissions, writing drafts for your academic papers or polishing the wooden frame of your glider and plucking out any bent feathers. You once gifted him one of the feathers, perfectly straight and intact, and tied it to the jade ring on the sleeve of his left arm.

“A charm for good luck,” you told him with a smile. He wanted to tell you that such things were impossible for a human to procure, that true good fortune could only be in the form of a divine blessing, but he found he didn’t believe his own words enough to speak them aloud.

You wrote a lot of letters, he noticed, envelopes filled to bursting with sheets and sheets of parchment that you explained were the reports required of you by the Akademiya, which you’d send to your mentor with a feather of the latest pattern you’d taken to using. He felt an odd stab of bitterness somewhere in his chest the first time he saw you sealing a feather into an envelope with such care, even as you went on about your genius mentor whose supervision you were lucky to have, considering how they were currently at the other side of the world in Snezhnaya continuing their studies at the Fatui’s Zapolnary Palace. Xiao couldn’t care less about this mysterious teacher who was privy to so much of your praise, though the uncanny sting was easily pacified whenever you’d bring him a platter of the almond tofu he so fancied, or invited him to go on a long, meandering walk through the Liyuen countryside.

Regardless, this teacher of yours found themselves on the receiving end of his ire when you arrived at the inn well into the afternoon rather than late morning as customary for you, and looking a little less lively than usual. Like a flower drooping on a hot day, he found himself thinking as he took in your more-dishevelled-than-normal hair and the dark shadows beneath your eyes. You weren’t making an effort to fill the silence, either, instead methodically and sluggishly working through a stack of paper covered in lines of your handwriting, crossing out sentences and scribbling things in the margins before copying the whole thing onto another sheet.

“You look sickly,” he stated matter-of-factly, watching you frown at something you’d written and vehemently black it out with your pen.

“I feel sickly,” you grumbled back, sticking then pen behind your ear as you skimmed through the index of the book open by your side for a reference you needed. He frowned. Even a simple bout of tiredness could so quickly deteriorate into something life-threatening when it came to humans, and the thought of you, boundless and free, becoming the prisoner of a grave because of some measly ailment didn’t sit right with him.

“Then rest.” It came out as more of a command than a plea, and you sent him a pointed look.

“My mentor’s requesting an article on the elemental anomalies within Dunyu Ruins and how they affected the standard model of a society’s evolution.” You stifled a yawn, stretching your back. “I’ve been working on it all night, if I don’t finish it now I’ll be too worried to sleep.”

He fell silent at that, pondering how to convince you with a frown as your pen scratched away.

“But what if you get sick?”

“From what, Xiao? Studying?”

He grumbled under his breath. “From overexertion, mortal.”

You waved him off with a non-committal sound, and Xiao sat down next to you on the balcony floor, helping himself to bulle fruit from you wicker basket and continuing to deliberate on how best to make you take a break.

In the end he didn’t have to do anything at all; less than an hour into working you dozed off while leaning over a detailed diagram of some ruins. Xiao quickly caught you before your head hit the floor, tentatively holding you upright and expecting you to jolt awake at any moment. When you didn’t, he carefully set you down against the balcony railing, then grabbed you again when your body slumped to the side. At this point he was rather mystified; what did one do with a sleeping human unable to support their own weight? While mulling over the perplexing question, his eyes wandered over your face, upturned and relaxed, a far cry from the usual ear-to-ear grin you so often sported. You were pleasant to look at regardless of your expression, he decided, then shook his head as if to dispel the thought. The motion nudged you slightly off his shoulder, and he froze at your quiet murmur of protest. Maybe a bed would be a more apt resting place, he realised belatedly, and after a moment of intense deliberation lifted you from the floor and carried you awkwardly down the stairs to where Verr Goldet was manning the counter as always. Upon seeing him standing at the landing of the stairs looking so thoroughly confused, holding you so gingerly as though afraid you’d shatter or slip from his grasp, she had to stifle a laugh that would no doubt wake you and cause him to prickle with embarrassment. Still, though, she felt as though at least a little teasing was in order.

“Prince Charming has found himself a sleeping beauty, I see.”

Predictably, Xiao bristled like an irritable cat, heat crawling up the back of his neck.

“Do not mock me, human.”

“Not even a little?” She persisted, then chuckled to herself at his glare, relenting. “The upstairs bedrooms are empty.”

You woke up in an unfamiliar bed, the light of the sun well on its way to disappearing beneath the horizon and a jar of just-blooming glaze lilies on the windowsill that looked as though they’d been picked by a rather heavy hand. You blinked up at the ceiling, then rolled out of bed. A quick glance at the window revealed the view from the top of Wangshu Inn you’d come to recognise so easily; put at ease by your familiar surroundings, you made your way towards the door and upon opening it, came face to face with Xiao. His fist had been held aloft, as though about to knock on the door (you taught him that after he almost walked in on you changing) and his look of surprise morphed into one of embarrassment, which then deteriorated into a frown.

“I told you. You needed to rest after all.”

“What happened to ‘good evening’? ‘How are you?’ ‘Did you sleep well?’”

He clicked his tongue in a show of impatience at your teasing, but nonetheless he relaxed and offered you the barest hint of a smile. You swiftly beat down the butterflies taking flight in your stomach.

“Fine. Did you sleep well?”

“Like a log,” you confirmed with a grin, patting his shoulder appreciatively as you walked past him. “All thanks to you.”

He said nothing in response, turning to follow you down the stairs.

“Are my things still on the balcony?” You asked him over your shoulder as you leapt down the last flight of stairs and gave him a fraction of a heart attack in the process. He could never seem to get used to your penchant for getting into some form of danger.  “No,” he replied when your safe landing calmed his nerves. “I took them back to your home while you were sleeping.”

You beamed up at him as he descended the stairs, and his heart hammered anew, though for completely different reasons than a few seconds prior.

“You didn’t have to.”

“There’s very little I’m obligated to do.”

“You can just say that you wanted to do something nice for me, you know,” you teased.

He rolled his eyes at that, then conceded: “Alright. I just wanted to.”

“Well, I offer my most sincere thanks to you, oh mighty Alatus,” you replied with a laugh, picking up your glider that he’d left on the table Verr Goldet usually manned. He took your playful jab in silence, watching you with a tiny smile. You paused in the process of tying the glider to your wrist, your face abruptly falling as you remembered the paper you hadn’t finished.

“Damn it,” you muttered to yourself, straightening a few ruffled feathers and experimentally flapping one of the wings. Xiao waited until you’d gone through your usual routine of getting the glider on before addressing the matter he knew was worrying you.

“That… article you’d been so fussed over,” he began as he followed you to the balcony. “I sent it to an acquaintance of mine who’s well-versed in Liyuen history. She was quite impressed by it, and left a few – what did she call them – ‘alternate resources’ for your perusal.”

You paused at the railing of the balcony, no doubt about to launch yourself off it, to shoot him a surprised look, eyes wide and mouth slightly open. The longer you didn’t say anything, the more self-conscious he felt under the weight of your gaze.

“You- Xiao, that’s so sweet!” Your surprise turned into elation, and you bounded over and threw your arms around him. He could withstand blows from deities and immortals, but a hug from you left him a little winded, and it was a long moment before he awkwardly patted your back in reciprocation. You pulled away, your smile now tinged with embarrassment and your cheeks tinged with pink, and cleared your throat.

“Thank you.”

“It’s nothing,” he all but choked out, avoiding your eyes. Even after you waved goodbye and dove off the edge of the balcony and headfirst into a wind current that carried you up and out of sight, Xiao stood there, red and frozen in place, struggling to get the memory of the way your hair brushed his cheek and the press of your arms around him out of his mind.

He insisted on accompanying you to domains and ruins whenever Aether was unavailable, claiming you’d ‘made yourself his responsibility’ and ‘such are the terms of his contract.’ You were unnerved by his sheer strength at first. It seemed no enemy could best him, and he cleared ruins and domains without breaking a sweat leaving you to solve mechanisms, rootle through treasure chests and search for Geoculi. The day you headed to Lingju Pass to investigate the debilitated structures without telling him, he was livid.

“You could’ve been hurt, you fool,” he snarled, kicking the remains of a mitachurl off his jade spear. You buried the point of your sword into the ground, leaning on its hilt and breathing heavily.

“I had it under control,” you snapped back, wiping the sweat off your brow with the hem of your shirt. Xiao scoffed.

“Lies,” he hissed, stalking closer until he towered over you. “Next time you decide to explore a place infested with filth, tell me.”

“Or what, oh mighty Alatus?” You bit out, shooting him a glare. It wasn’t your intention to feed the fire, but Archons, it had been a long day and the last thing you wanted to deal with was his fickle temper. These spats the two of you were so fond of having really could be emotionally laborious at times; his unwavering discipline and your carefree, adventurous outlook were bound to clash every now and then.

“Or I’ll make a point of following you everywhere from the shadows.”

His utter lack of hesitation caught you off guard. You tugged your sword out of the dirt and sheathed it with a sigh. The spike of anger had completely left your body, leaving nothing but the ashes of exhaustion.

“Let’s go back to the inn,” you grumbled, unfolding your glider. “Damn these ruins. Aether can bloody well explore them himself instead of chatting up the perfume lady.”

“No,” he interjected bluntly, grabbing your wrist before you could strap on the glider. “Walk with me. Clearly I can’t let you out of my sight for a moment, what with you barrelling into dangerous situations without a second thought.” He didn’t leave you much of a choice, slotting your hand in his and pulling you along. They fit quite nicely together, he thought. Perhaps he should do that more often.

“Why walk when we can fly?” You protested, stumbling after him.

“The complaints of a mortal unconcerned with their own safety mean nothing to me,” he snapped without any real bite. He couldn’t stay angry at you. It puzzled and infuriated him no end; theoretically speaking, everything from your carelessness to your unwaveringly beautiful eyes should get on his nerves, but it never did.

You decided to take the opportunity to tease him. It wasn’t as if you were upset at him, anyway; you took the liberty of dragging him places he had no business visiting all the time. “But you’re concerned with my safety, even if I’m not. Were you worried, Xiao?”

“Yes.”

You blinked. Stumbled.

“O-oh.”

You didn’t say much else until he stopped at a mountaintop dotted with qingxin flowers and motioned stiffly for you to sit down. A gentle breeze blew, ruffling your hair and sending the qingxin swaying back and forth. Too flighty a wind for take-off, but gliding off the mountain would be fun. Quarrel forgotten, you rummaged through the pouch at your hip and procured a lavender melon, offering it to Xiao. He stared at it for a moment before accepting.

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten the idiotic stunt you pulled today.”

You chuckled, laying back on the grass to admire the sky. “Well, I haven’t forgotten your unnecessarily overbearing attitude, so we’re even.”

He huffed, staring resolutely at the cluster of qingxin to avoid your teasing smile.

“I am upholding a contract. I have reason to behave the way I do.”

“Oh, of course. I forgot about your eternally noble intentions.”

“How can you be so irresponsible?” He demanded, finally looking at you. “Humans are fragile. Breakable. You shouldn’t be so lax when it comes to your own life.”

You shifted, propping yourself up on your elbows. “Not this again,” you complained with a bemused smile. “I already told you, if I’m going to die anyway I might as well do it style.” You giggled. “Go out with a bang, y’know?”

“Your reasoning is absurd,” he grumbled, irritated by the idea of you dying at all. Incomprehensible; human mortality was hardly something that he could afford to be shocked by anymore, and yet… “I won’t let you die in some senseless way.” You’d made yourself his problem, as far as he was concerned, and the statement was more of a vow than a chastisement.

“I won’t,” you replied, far too cheerfully for such a morbid topic. “There’s still so much of the world to see, and it’d be a shame to miss it. I’ll be around for a good long while yet.”

 “You’d better be,” he muttered under his breath, watching the slight flutter of your lashes as the sun emerged from behind a cloud and shone into your eyes, lighting them ablaze. He tore his gaze away, chest strangely tight.

The day you arrived at the balcony in a flurry of feathers and enough confidence to overflow a giant’s teacup, announcing that you were going to make it the Qingyun Peak or die trying, Xiao was less than pleased.

“Too dangerous,” he said with a shake of his head, knowing his dismissal wouldn’t be enough to discourage you.

“Aether descends into the Spiral Abyss every month and comes back non-fatal injuries every time, a bit of hiking can’t be that dangerous!” You countered with a grin, knowing that you’d get him to crack eventually and come with you.

“The Traveller isn’t human,” he replied with a pointed look in your direction.

“So I even have an advantage over him!”

Xiao sighed, already half-resigned to accompanying you to the towering mountain range. “Only you would think mortality is an advantage,” he mused, pushing himself off the balcony’s railing and walking towards you. “I don’t suppose I’ll be able to dissuade you in any case.”

Your grin only widened triumphantly. “Nope! Are you coming or not?” 

“I don’t trust you not to come back with a broken leg,” he deadpanned, stopping in front of you and staring you down in a last-ditch effort to convince you to spend your day doing something a little less hazardous. When you didn’t relent, meeting his stare head-on with a victorious twinkle in your eyes, he gave in with a sharp exhale. “Yes, alright, fine,” he grumbled. “I’ll come with you.”

You headed out not a moment later, and almost immediately began bickering over the best route to take.

“The Jueyun Karst route is faster.”

“But I want to go through Tianqiu Valley and Nantianmen,” you protested, tracing the road on your map as you walked.

“And waste all that time? Don’t be absurd.”

You shot him a playful grin. “The day is young. What do we lose other than a few hours?”

He levelled you with an unimpressed look, grabbing you by the hood of your cape to steer you around a puddle you’d failed to notice. “Only our limbs, if the Geovishap that lives in the valley is feeling generous.” Recovering from the stumble that came with Xiao’s dragging, you replied with a maddeningly sunny tone, “As if some dragon could be a match for you anyway.”

“So that’s your strategy? Your ulterior motive for bringing me along?” His sternness quickly devolved into reluctant, subtle amusement. “To have me act as a glorified bodyguard?”

“No, of course not!” You cried, clutching your chest in a show of  exaggerated horror and teetering to lean against him as if on the verge of fainting. “You’re so much more than that, Xiao! I need someone with an Anemo vision to activate the wind current mechanisms up in the mountains, too.”

He pushed you off him gently - more gently than you deserved - with a roll of his eyes, your laughter carrying across the plains while he grumbled about “the disrespect of mortals” and “foolish reliance on others’ strength.” It didn’t aggravate him as much as it used to, though. It was nice, being someone you relied on.

In the end, after much squabbling, you and Xiao ended up taking the long, meandering path through Jueyun Karst, on your condition of exploring the Stone Forest as well. You couldn’t even pretend to be miffed that he’d won the argument; each step you took revealed a view of the towering mountains more picturesque than the last, the grassy slopes on either side were scattered with wildflowers and every now and then you caught sight of a white crane circling the sky.

“Look, Xiao! There’s that crane again,” you said, tipping your neck back and shielding your eyes from the sun to watch it cleave through the air with slow, methodical flaps of its wings. Xiao made a noncommittal sound of acknowledgement, and with his trademark lack of subtlety attempted to drag you onwards.

“Oh my Gods it did a flip,” you declared, completely unconcerned by his strange behaviour even as you stumbled on an uneven patch in the road.

“I’ve seen even you do a flip before. It can’t possibly warrant that much amazement.”

You twisted in his grip to land a punch on his shoulder. “What do you mean, ‘can’t warrant that much amazement’? Are my talents in the flipping mid-air department not good enough for you?”

“Passable at best,” he replied, shooting a strangely apprehensive glance up at the sky. You followed his gaze to the crane still circling above you.

“What, don’t tell me you’re scared of the bird?”

Xiao bristled, looking very much like bird himself, all indignant and puffed-up. “I am not scared of the bird.”

“No?” You grinned, falling back into step beside him. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“Anything could fool a mortal mind,” he huffed, still smarting from your jokes at his expense.

Slinging a placating arm around his shoulder, you resolutely ignored his immediate protests and pulled him into your side, sending you both stumbling along the road. “Don’t be all grumpy, Xiao,” you cajoled. “It’s alright, there’s nothing to be ashamed of. I was afraid of dogs for most of my childhood.”

“I’m not- you-” Spluttering indignantly, he wrestled your arm off him.  “For the last time, the damn bird doesn’t scare me!”

“Hey, look! It’s back!” You exclaimed, pointing upwards.

“Where?” He demanded, whipping his head around and quickly realising he’d been played at the sight of an empty, bird-less sky. You dissolved into a fit of laughter, the sound carrying across the mountains and echoing in his head for the rest of the walk.

By the time you’d reached the Statue of the Seven, the heat of the afternoon had firmly established itself, the sun hovering directly in the middle of the sky as though suspended from a thread and casting a layer of warm, golden light over the mountains like silk thrown over a table. The Stone Forest towered around you, their peaks wreathed with clouds and the river below a winding blue ribbon, glinting in the late sunshine from where it weaved throughout the landscape of the valley. Contentment settled in your veins, warm and reassuring, even as a gust of wind swayed you precariously close to the lip of the jade platform and Xiao instinctively seized your arm and dragged you back. You sent him an amused look, pulling him down to sit next to you at the edge.

“Relax,” you told him, bumping his shoulder with yours and letting your legs swing. “I can fly, remember?”

He made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat, with a tone that you’d learnt to distinguish as the doubtful, ‘yeah right’ one. You ignored it, leaning your weight against him and sighing as you took in the view. He grumbled, but made space for you regardless.

“Tell me the story of these mountains,” you said, breaking the silence.

Xiao shifted to raise an eyebrow at you. “Not everything has a story.”

“The epic tales you’re always telling say otherwise,” you replied with a laugh.

“You never cease with your ridiculous demands,” he complained, failing to sound anything other than slightly bemused and just a little fond, his usual curtness softened with the warmth of the afternoon, the tranquillity of the moment. He hoped you didn’t notice. “First I’m a bodyguard, then a wind current activator, and now a storyteller. Make up your mind, you fickle human.”

“You forgot ‘personal jester’.”

That drew a rare laugh out of him, and your chest warmed with the satisfaction of it.

“Disrespectful little mortal.”

“Aloof, haughty, holier-than-thou adeptus,” you countered without missing a beat.

“The adepti of yesteryear would never tolerate such insolence.”

“Lucky for me, you tolerate it just fine,” you remarked with a grin, pushing yourself away from him. Xiao watched you stretch, silhouetted against the sun, rimmed in gold, caught in the world’s embrace as if it, too, knew how precious, how radiant you were. He’s staring, unable to tear his gaze away, unable to stop a pang of envy from twisting his stomach; did the sun’s rays know how fortunate they were to caress you so lovingly, to paint your skin aglow?

Seemingly unaware of his scrutiny, you shield your eyes with your hand, squinting up at a Waypoint just above the two of you.

“I’m going up there,” you announced, shucking your bag and preparing to jump. Resigned to your constant need for adrenaline, Xiao simply looked on as you snapped open the wings of your glider in preparation.

“And then what?” He asked instead of trying to fruitlessly convince you otherwise. He already knew you’d never stop chasing the next thrill, the next most dangerous thing. You flashed him a grin over your shoulder, devilish and laden with  challenge.

“You’ll head over to Mount Aocang and catch me,” you said, as if it were a simple matter, a walk through the park. Xiao felt his heart rate spike.

“You’re going to jump from up there, towards me, and I’m supposed to catch you,” he repeated, deadpan.

“Unless it’s too difficult for you,” you replied with a raise of your eyebrows. He exhaled sharply through his nose. You were going to be the death of him.

It took you a disturbingly short amount of time to scale the enormous rock upon which the Waypoint rested, scrabbling quickly up to the top despite the lack of footholds, graceless yet undeniably efficient. Xiao could see you from his place at the peak of Mount Aocang, a you in miniature, your glider a burst of colour against the sky. He’s jittery, from the apprehension of you being in such a precarious position and the knowledge that you’re both in Cloud Retainer’s territory; the memory of seeing a snow-white crane follow you up the mountain trail only worsened the feeling. And yet, every thought was pushed from his mind as he watched you step towards the edge, waving energetically at him before leaping off with a holler of excitement and a flurry of feathers. Heart in his throat, his eyes tracked your rapid descent, arms tucked in and wings flattened against your sides as you performed what you called a nosedive; he hated it, the way he couldn’t tell whether you were falling deliberately or had simply fallen victim to something as inescapable as gravity, moments away from proving the inevitability of death. But as always, you never did fall without intention, without control; within moments of you disappearing below his line of vision, he heard the swoosh of your glider unfurling and you shot upwards with the suddenness of the air filling your wings, a flock birds taking flight as your shout of delight pierced through the silence. Xiao relaxed despite himself, your joy so unmistakable, so obvious, that he couldn’t help but be put at ease by it. You were back above him, and he could tell you were preparing to descend from the way you angled your body to the side, tucking one of the wings into your side to make wide, lazy turn in his direction, and then you were hurtling towards him, maniacal grin flashing, hair streaming out behind you. Just as quickly as the tension left his muscles, it returned, and he braced himself; when it became clear you’d overshot the landing he took off running until you were directly in front of him, eyes shining and hair wild and mouth pulled into a grin-

You tumbled into him with a whoop, and his arms immediately tightened around you, sending you both spinning with the momentum of the collision though he didn’t fall. Your cheeks stung from the wind, pulse dizzyingly fast as you laughed breathlessly into Xiao’s ear, the sound making him a little giddy and the brush of your feathers tickling his cheeks as you pulled back to look him in the face, stun him with the full force of your delight.

“Did you see that?” You panted, exhilarated, as though he could’ve done anything except watch you raptly in those few minutes.

“I did,” he confirmed instead of saying so, feeling his own lips pull into a smile entirely against his will. You were safe now, no longer subject to the whims of the sky, but his heartbeat still hadn’t calmed in the slightest; if anything, he felt even more agitated than before, finding himself suddenly hyperaware of all the places you were touching, the perfect way you fit against him, the weight of your arms around his neck, the brightness in your eyes, your parted lips as you gasped for breath… What in Teyvat is this feeling?

He murmured your name, helpless, enamoured by your joy.

You blinked up at him. “What’s wrong, Xiao?”

It was the way you said his name that tipped him over the edge; sweetly concerned and whispered like a secret only you were privy to. All of a sudden seeing you, hearing you, touching you wasn’t enough; overwhelmed by the need to find out what you tasted like, Xiao tipped your face upwards and kissed you.

You tensed, let out a little noise of surprise. He panicked, already formulating an apology, appalled at himself-

Then you slowly relaxed back into his hold, bringing one hand up to the nape of his neck, and Xiao thought that this was probably what you felt like whenever you flew;  weightless and floaty, everything a blissful haze. He could feel your pulse, fluttering against his hand where it cradled your jaw, and he was painfully certain that this was the slice of heaven, the sliver of ecstasy sinners like him were allowed; more than he deserved but too wonderful to even consider letting go. He could’ve stayed there forever, until the mountains around you flattened and every stream ran dry; even then, when you resurfaced to breathe, the lingering delight and the creeping shyness you shared was just as magnificent. He would’ve slaughtered thousands for the coy little smile on your face, if only you’d asked-

“One is rather shocked by your scandalous display, Conqueror of Demons.”

The bubble shattered.

Startled, you whipped around; impossible though it seemed, the voice came from a crane, an elegant thing of white and blue and a sloping arc of a neck, beautiful and familiar.

“W- what- ”

“Fret not,” the crane continued with a startlingly human-like wave of its wing. “I shall not impart any punishment upon either of you. Despite the rather indecent nature of your offense,” it- she?- added.

You wondered if you were dreaming. Or hallucinating. But stranger yet, Xiao seemed to know her; he bowed his head in a show of deference.

“Yes, Cloud Retainer. You have my thanks.”

The bird nodded, then disappeared with a flap of her wings. You stared at the place where she’d stood, dumbfounded.

“A fellow adeptus,” Xiao told you, still fiercely mortified at being caught. “We… This is her territory. Mount Aocang.”

Understanding dawned on your face. “So that’s why you were so nervous about the bird!” You exclaimed, turning back towards him with a grin. “Because you were planning this the whole trip and you didn’t want to get caught, like a scoundrel-”

“I don’t appreciate your implication,”  he interrupted in what should’ve been a warning tone but instead came off teasing and light-hearted.

Your grin sharpened. “Seems like you do appreciate some other things of mine, though.” Xiao hummed in agreement, pressing a thumb to the corner of your mouth and watching in unabashed fascination as your lips parted under his touch.

“Perhaps I should convey my appreciation once more,” he mused, leaning in closer. “With as much… enthusiasm as I can muster.”

⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘

[the-millennium-curse]

You're not wrong for feeling sad or disappointed or even betrayed when a fic you put time and work into gets very little attention. But I do want to remind you that one (1) kudos is a whole-ass human being who read through what you wrote, experienced it, thought about it, and realized they felt so strongly positive about it that they had to send that feeling to you. Try to let the feeling reach you. Feel that you changed someone's day, maybe even more.

Be proud of what you've done, even as you wish you did more.

[illogicalvulcans]

[Fic Book Covers 11+12/?] Integrative Approaches by Nnm / @mouseonamoose

Demonology and the Tri-Phasic Model of Trauma

As soon as Aubrey Thyme, psychotherapist, had opened her office door and seen her new client, Anthony J. Crowley, sitting in her waiting area, she was observing and assessing him. At first glance, she paid attention to the following: --His clothing was expensive and stylish; --He wore very strange but noticeable cologne; --His relationship to the seat he occupied could only, very loosely, be described as “sitting;” --He looked angry; --He was wearing sunglasses. What Aubrey Thyme, a professional, thought, upon first seeing her new client was: you’re going to be a fun one, aren’t you?

Angel-Centered Therapy Through A Multicultural Lens

“I’d love to meet with you,” Davey said, apologetically, when he had been called up by a fellow looking to initiate therapy, “but I’m all booked up for months.” “Are you sure?” The fellow said, through a poor connection that crackled. Davey had been sure. And yet. Right there in his calendar was a blank spot, just a few days away, which he had somehow completely overlooked before. “How about that…I’ve got Wednesday at eleven, if you can make that work.” “What a miracle,” the fellow said, “that would be just the perfect time.”

[nana-mizu-shiki]

"Yeah. That sounds like Tim."

[starry-mang0s]

More practice trying to get these human designs right. Idk about Scarab quite yet but I’m pretty happy with how Prismo turned out!

[perfinn]

you're out of touch, i'm out of time

aegon ii targaryen x reader

wc: 3.3k

summary: you have a tendency to pick up strays, but when you pick up the king of westeros (who was supposed to have died hundreds of years ago), things begin to get a little complicated

cw: NSFW, f!reader, aegon being a creep (shocker), aegon being deeply pathetic (also shocker), aegon is drunk or possibly hung over, attempted sex (aegon begs for a handjob but doesn't get one)

masterlist, read on ao3, divider by saradika

You’ve always been too nice. You’re aware of this unfortunate fact, though you staunchly refuse to admit it’s a weakness. Has this trait left you without necessities from time to time because you gave them to someone who needed them more? Yes, but you sleep better at night knowing that that homeless girl had sturdy new shoes, even if you had to walk home barefoot. You can always handle a bit of discomfort if it means improving someone’s day marginally. It’s not as though you’re without any sense of self preservation– you know when to say no, or when to walk away. When someone is out for their own self interest, or just plain dangerous. 

You’re smart about it. Mostly. Sometimes, though, your sympathy gene takes over, and you approach the danger because you feel there’s more beneath the surface. So far, it hasn’t put you in any troubling positions. Still, first time for everything. And as you stand on the edge of the pavement, toes of your shoes swinging down into the gutter as you sway back and forth, you wonder if you’re about to break your successful streak.

There’s a man in the busy city street, raving and desperately trying to get someone’s attention. Usually, he’s the type you’d regretfully ignore for your own safety, but he seems different. He doesn’t seem like the usual King’s Landing crackheads. He’s dressed too nice, for starters. Strange, yes, but still nice. In fact, it looks to be better quality than anything you own. And he’s young– which isn't uncommon in this situation, but it always makes your heart ache when they’re young. 

He looks desperate, terrified, and as another person ducks their head and walks past him, you feel yourself moving toward him. You don't know why. Maybe because you know if you leave now, you’ll not sleep tonight for the sheer guilt of passing him by. He spots you making your way over and turns to you, seeming to hope against hope that you’re going to acknowledge him. 

“Hi,” you say in a calm, even voice. It's a tone you’ve gotten quite good at. You’re not professionally trained by any means, but these things generally come with the territory. “Let's get you out of the road, okay? You could get hurt.”

“What the fuck are those things?” He demands of you as a car stops to let you take him across. You wave your thanks to the driver, who looks mildly disgruntled, and take the young man gently by the arms to get him onto the pavement. “Where are the horses?”

You know he must be confused, so you’re gentle with him. “There's no horses,” you say, still holding his arms as he finally looks away from the disappearing car and into your eyes. He looks so deeply afraid, but you notice he does take a moment to look you over. You let him, trying to see the best in him and hoping it's just curiosity. It doesn't matter right now anyway, you tell yourself. “Are you okay?”

“No!” He snaps. “Course I’m not bloody okay! Where am I?!”

“You’re in King’s Landing,” you say. “Let's get you somewhere quiet, okay? Are you hungry?”

“This,” he laughs in disbelief, looking around. “Is not King’s Landing, I know what King’s Landing looks like!”

“Okay,” you nod. “I believe you. Let's go sit down, I’ll buy you something to eat.”

The man looks at you with what you think is an offended scowl, but the offer of food does seem to intrigue him. “And wine?”

“No,” you say, and he deflates. 

He scratches at his chin, but nods in agreement. “Yes, fine.”

You smile, a bit of relief easing the worry in your ribs. Sometimes people won't cooperate, or they’ll turn you away when you say you won't buy them booze or give them money outright. This young man seems to be content enough without wine, so you wave your hand and lead him down the road toward the nearest fast food joint. 

He follows behind you, panicked eyes still looking around as though he's never seen the world before. It's not wonder, but something close to anger, indignation maybe. You make it to a diner you like, opening the door for him. He's clearly astounded by the ugly cacophony of colours inside, but you can't blame him. You don't come here for the aesthetics. 

“Go sit down?” You tell him gently, framing it like a suggestion as you point to your favourite booth. He scowls, but does as bid. 

The teen behind the counter takes little notice of your strange company. It's King’s Landing, he's probably seen something ten times as strange already today. Once you’ve paid, you join your new stray, sitting down across from him and folding your hands on the table. 

“So, what's your name?” You ask him, and he looks away from the bustling street outside the window to stare at you in what you assume is disbelief. 

“What’s my name?” He echoes, leaning slightly over the table. “Are you serious?”

You blink. That’s… not a question anyone’s ever been mad at you for. You learned quickly which questions to steer clear of to avoid pissing people off.

He scoffs, leaning back in his seat and tapping a dirtied fingernail against the peeling surface of the table. “Aegon,” he says, almost experimentally. Like he's testing the waters. 

You nod politely, and tell him yours.

He stares at you. “Nothing? Aegon? You’ve not heard the name Aegon?”

“Well, of course I have,” you say, confused smile pulling at your lips. “It's a common enough name. I think I knew a guy in school named Aegon–”

“You have been to school?” Aegon asks, eyebrows shooting up and a laugh spilling from his mouth. He leans back, dragging his hands over his clammy face. “Have I been drugged?!”

You’d put serious money on that being a resounding yes. 

“This is crazy,” he says, leaning forward again. He says your name slowly, glancing around before his eyes land on you. “Can you tell me what's going on?”

You bite your lip, thankful when the cashier calls out your order number. You rush to get up and get it, fearing you may be way out of your depth this time. He talks like he’s never seen the world before, and his comment about you having gone to school… none of it makes any sense. You’ve never even had the thought of dropping someone off with someone who’s better equipped to handle problems of this magnitude, but Aegon has you really considering it. When you return with the tray of food and set it down, Aegon has the specials menu in hand and is squinting at it. 

“I got you what I usually get,” you say, setting the tray down and placing his wrapped burger in front of him, leaving the fries on the tray. “Aegon, I want to help you, but I’m at a bit of a loss.”

“That certainly makes two of us,” Aegon says, unwrapping the burger curiously. “What meat is this?”

“It’s beef,” you tell him, unwrapping your own. He watches as you take a bite of yours, and he nods as though in satisfaction before taking a hefty bite of his. “Aegon, I want to understand what’s going on in your head. Can you just…”

You’re not sure how to say it, really. It’s invasive, and you don’t want him to feel like you believe he’s crazy, or lying.

“What’s your deal?”

He chews slowly on his burger, eyeing you suspiciously. “My deal,” he echoes, lips turned down in a scowl. “Is that I’m the King of Westeros.”

You nod slowly, biting into your burger so you don’t have to answer right away. You hope if you stay silent long enough, he’ll feel compelled to keep talking. 

“King Aegon,” he says slowly, like you’re the deluded one. “Aegon Targaryen, Second of His Name, Protector of the Realm, all the rest. Are you serious?”

You swallow your mouthful and nod. You’re not particularly well versed in history, but the titles ring a bell. It’s some sort of messiah complex, you’d wager. Trying your best not to seem dismissive, you pull out your phone. “Let me see,” you say. 

“What’s that?” He asks, leaning forward and trying to snatch it from you. You move it out of his way, yelping softly in contrition. 

“My phone!” You say. “I’m just looking you up, Aegon.”

“You’re what?” He says, looking horrified. “Give me that!”

“Dude, no! Let me just–” You stand up from your seat to be out of his reach, hurriedly typing the name he’d told you into the search bar. “Look, I know the name Targaryen, that’s the Conqueror's name!”

“Yes! Aegon the Conqueror!” He cries. “You’re finally making sense!”

“What? No, I mean Daenerys!”

“Who!?”

“Aegon, sit back down!” You snap, and he pauses in his pursuit of your phone, stunned into silence by your firm tone. Slowly, he returns to his seat, picking up a fry to eat it. 

“Only because I want to,” he says childishly. 

You frown at him, shaking your head before looking back at your phone as it pulls up the results for your search. 

‘Aegon II Targaryen, also known as Aegon the Elder, was the sixth Targaryen king to sit the Iron Throne, succeeding his father, Viserys I Targaryen, as Lord of the Seven Kingdoms.’

The search pulls up a picture as well, one of those terribly done paintings from the dark ages. It’s hard to say whether the Aegon in front of you looks much like the one in the painting, but he does have the same pale blonde hair and violet eyes. He’s a lot more pathetic than the portrait, too. He has the qualities of a wet cat, and you hate that it’s somewhat endearing. When you keep scrolling, you find a painting that can’t have been contemporary. This is a more detailed portrait, likely from half a century ago, where Aegon is covered in burns and lies dead in a carriage. 

You look up, meeting the wary eyes of the confused but un-burned man before you, and slowly sit back down. You know that he isn’t actually the king from nearly a millennium ago, but there’s an uncanny quality about him that makes you want to doubt the logical truth. His clothes, for one. You don’t know many homeless guys with such fine embroidery on their clothes. And there’s his features… you know them to be Valyrian, but rarely does anyone still pop up with the stark blond and violet irises. You remember well enough from your high school history classes that the Targaryen dynasty had those features.

“What does your little brick do?”

You blink, looking down at it and pulling up the contemporary portrait – part of you tells you not to show him the other. He scowls at it, but nods. “Seven hells, that’s not flattering. Where did you get this miniature? You have this and yet claim not to know me? What game do you play?”

You sigh. He truly doesn’t understand, does he? 

“Aegon, what year do you think it is?”

He rears back and regards you with more suspicion. “129 AC,” he says.

“And what were you doing before this?” 

“I will not tell you that,” he says. “You’re one of Rhaenyra’s spies, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know who Rhaenyra is,” you say softly. “I’m sorry, Aegon, I’m not a history buff.”

“History–” He stops, and goes deathly silent for a long moment, as though the whole situation is finally processing for him. You wonder if it’s the stench of wine that hangs off him explains his slow processing. “What year do you think it is?”

You tell him the year, even tack today’s date on for him. He stares are you, and you can see his brain buffering yet again. 

“Seven hells,” he murmurs. You find you share a similar sentiment. 

He picks up his burger and begins to eat it slowly. He’s silent for a long while, eyes seeming far away as he contemplates. You try not to stare at him, but it's no easy task. 

“This is going to sound crazy,” he says after a long while. “But I believe I may have travelled… through time.”

“I’d say so, yeah,” you respond. At this point, it's the only explanation. You’d usually say something about eliminating all the impossible options, but that just doesn't work here. Time travel is impossible, or it should be. And it's possible Aegon is just suffering from a deeply intense messiah complex. But that doesn't seem right. Your instincts haven't led you wrong before, you’re not about to ignore them now. 

“What am I going to do?” asks Aegon.

You want to tell him you’re going to try to find a way to get him back to his own time, but you’re struck once more with the image of him burned and twisted, dead in a carriage. How can you send him back to his fate knowing his grisly end?

You take in the man in front of you, this historical figure you’d never heard of until five minutes ago, and bite your lip. “We’ll figure it out,” you promise him. “You… can stay with me until we do.”

That’s probably dumb, and you’ll probably regret it. But not more than you would regret leaving him out on the streets.

“I suppose,” sighs Aegon like he’s spoiled for choice. You get up to ask for a bag for your food, glancing back as Aegon chews sadly on his burger. 

You get Aegon back to your place, and he wanders into the flat ahead of you. You watch him go with a soft huff, rolling your eyes. If everything else hadn’t convinced you, his attitude is proof positive that he’s from the past. He has all the entitlement of a prince and none of the consideration of those around him that modern men have (sometimes) gained. 

Your flat isn't much, two bedrooms and mostly paid for by your university. You had a flatmate for a time, but their sudden withdrawal left you without anyone and the school doesn’t seem to have noticed. Aegon can stay in the empty room until you figure him out. 

Aegon’s standing in your living room, staring in wonder at the decor you’ve collected over the course of your degree, at your television, maybe he’s just looking at all of it. He’s turning in a slow circle, eyes narrowed. 

“This is very nice for a commoner. Very strange, but it is not… disgusting.” He pauses in his assessing, looking between you and the ridiculous tapestry you purchased one night after far too many drinks. “Who is this man?”

“Oh, he’s this guy from a movie,” you say, not really processing that he won’t understand what a movie is. He stands there, dumbstruck, while you go to put your leftover food in the fridge. 

“A what?”

“Just… don’t worry about it. There’s going to be a lot for you to take in, but with any luck you won’t be here too long.” You come back over to him, taking him in. He looks out of place standing here in his king’s threads. “Let me get you something to wear.”

“There’s nothing wrong with this,” he says, shifting and taking in your clothes. “Where is your father? Your husband?”

“My father is in my hometown, and I don’t have a husband.”

“You live without a man?” He eyes you suspiciously. “A whore?”

“Okay,” you say, gently grabbing him by the shoulders and walking him over to the sofa. “Sit here, I have some men’s clothes lying around. Do not move.”

Aegon huffs, rolling his eyes and sitting back with folded arms. You wonder, as you go into your room to find something for him, if he’s heard the word ‘no’ very much in his life. It wouldn’t seem that way, but sometimes the way he reacts to you telling him off leaves you thinking otherwise. He’s a bigger mystery than you’ve ever faced, but something tells you he’s worth it.

You emerge after a while to see him flicking through the book you’d left on your coffee table, frowning. He looks up when you enter, setting the book down. “Your home is peculiar,” he informs you. 

“I know,” you say, handing him the soft clothes you’d found. “Student housing is kind of a lottery. You can get changed in the spare room, if you want. I’m going to go shower. If you get hungry, your leftovers are in that big white box there, okay?”

“Yes, yes, whatever.” 

You watch him enter the near-empty bedroom and shut the door, heaving a heavy sigh before you go off to your own room. You don't shower. Instead, you pull out your computer and set out to learn all that you possibly can about Aegon. 

What you learn twists your stomach into knots so tight you feel that they would trap the nausea that grips your throat from escaping. Aegon was no saint, no, but what you find is that his life is steeped in tragedy. If he believes himself to be king now but remains unburned by his cousin’s dragon, he must be near the end of his life; but the worst of his troubles have yet to begin. 

It is strange to think of the pathetic and bratty man in your flat as growing into the role of a king, if one could say he ever did. He seems nothing but a lost young man, unloved but for the power he afforded his Hightower family. 

The reports on him are so extensive and exhaustive that an hour has passed before you realise you haven’t been disturbed. You get up from your desk, wondering if Aegon has somehow wandered out of your flat and back onto the street.

When you open the door, you’re greeted by the sight of your kitchen cabinets strewn open, and your cheap bottle of vodka now empty on the counter. Aegon is sprawled on your sofa, cradling a novelty ceramic beer mug you won in a pub quiz in your first year. 

“Seven hells,” you mumble, going over to him and snatching the cup from him to be met with his whining protests. You sniff the cup, nose scrunching in disgust at the acetone-y smell. “Not even a mixer…”

Aegon looks up at you, trying to reach for the cup and whining your name. At least he changed into the sweats. The King’s Landing University jumper rather suits him, actually. 

“Please,” he says, looking even more closely akin to a wet cat. He seems on the verge of tears. “You’re pretty, do you know?”

“I’ve heard,” you say, setting the cup down on the coffee table and turning to him.

He grabs your wrist, tugging you closer with surprising strength considering how sloshed he is. “You’re so pretty,” he whispers. He almost sings your name. “Will you get me off?”

“Wh- Aegon!” You snap, tearing your wrist away. “No!”

“Please! Just your hand, you’ve got such soft hands!”

“Aegon,” you hiss. “No. You’re drunk. Even if I wanted to, that wouldn't be okay. You don't know what you're saying.”

Aegon pouts at you, falling back against the sofa and letting out a soft hiccup. “That doesn't make sense.”

“Maybe not in your time,” you say, grabbing him a blanket and laying it over him. “Gods- just- just try to get some sleep, okay? We’ll talk in the morning when you're fully sober.”

“I’ll die before that,” he says, snuggling up to the soft blanket with a ridiculous cartoon of a wolf on it. Another of your decor purchases you thought would be hilarious in the moment. You grab his cup and pour what’s left of the vodka into the sink before gathering up your remaining bottles and vowing to take them to the cabinet in your room with a lock. 

“Maybe. But if you vomit on my carpet, you’ll be paying the cleaning bill, your grace.”

part ii

[rafeandonlyrafe]

grilled cheese

words: 300

warnings: pregnancy

taglist: @drewstarkeyslut @thelomlisrafecameron @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @winterrrnight @drudyslut @drewsbabygirll @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @jjmaybankisbae @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog

you sigh as you look in the fridge, hoping you would find some leftovers that would spark your interest, but there is nothing that looks appetizing. 

you’re lucky that you haven’t had very many weird pregnancy cravings, no pickles, tuna or spicy foods. if anything, you’ve grown pickier since your stomach swelled up with your boyfriends baby.

you grab the sliced cheese out of the fridge, deciding that a grilled cheese sounds good enough to at least get down. you get the bread out of the cabinet next, placing a pan on the stovetop to heat up as you gather up what else you need for your meal.

“what are you doing?” rafes voice suddenly calls out, making you jump.

“oh my god, babe, you scared the fuck out of me.” you press your hand over your chest, feeling your rapid heartbeat.

“shit, sorry.” rafe says, moving around the island and pulling you into his arms, pressing kisses to your face before ducking down to kiss your belly too. you were six months pregnant, but since this was your first, you aren’t showing that much. “what are you doing though baby?” “just going to make some grilled cheese.” you shrug. 

“well, don’t.” rafe says, placing his hands on your shoulders and guiding you towards the island stools, gently shoving you down to sit. 

“don’t make lunch?” you question.

“you can warm stuff up in the microwave, i suppose, but no, you cannot make lunch on the stove or oven. i can do that for you.” rafe says, moving over towards the stove as he begins to make the sandwich for you.

“rafe, i am pregnant.” you say, and he just turns to give you a deadpan look.

“exactly. you are my pregnant girlfriend, you don’t need to cook for yourself, or clean, or anything. that’s what i’m here for baby.”

you let out a sigh, but really you can’t complain about rafe doing things for you, especially when you have felt pretty lethargic and tired since becoming pregnant.

[silvers-not-home]

rewatching double life right now but through jimmys pov and just realized how violently ill rancher duo makes me /aff

like there's no way there's a duo THIS healthy in this series. the whole fucking point of the life series is betrayal and deception and blah blah blah all that jazz but rancher duo never did any of that. they always told eachother their plans, ideas, schemes, where they were going. and even if they didn't cough cough jimmy going into the deep dark cough cough he still came clean and told tango anyways. we have someone who's death is such a staple in the fandom/series that it's become a whole thing and someone who's death you go "oh yeahhh i forgot about that one, how'd he die again?"

they're both so ignored and the fact that they pay so much attention to eachother literally makes me sick to my stomach /hj /aff

like i don't know much about flower husbands but like. i know it probably wasn't.. the healthiest of any of the ships so take my words with a grain of sand here. jimmy was practically invisible to scott no hate love him to death but c!scott IS on my hit list and tango is just so blatantly ignored by the watchers and other members sometimes i literally forget he's there and when i do my autism shoots up like a firework.

jimmy is mocked in a /lh way but we're talking abt their c!versions so that might not be as lighthearted as you think c!jimmy sorry bud so much to the point no one takes him seriously and tango is so forgotten that no one takes him seriously. though they might not be taken seriously when they're together they're still known throughout the server. jimmy has what tango doesn't: patience and less impulsive thinking. and tango has what jimmy doesn't: rage and more tactical thinking.

while tango is going absolutely apeshit over the ranch burning down and everyone is basically taunting him, making him even more upset as if either of them need that jimmy is the one to hold tango back. he doesn't want him rushing in not because they share health and trying to keep himself safe desert duo im looking at you, you toxic bastards /aff but because he genuinely CARES about him. because when they go after scar and grian they want to be prepared and logical about their attacks. he'll still listen and follow through with tangos plan but not when they don't have one, he was so excited to bring the warden to grian and scar because he genuinely believed that they would get revenge the safe way (as safe as you can get anyways)

and when the plan backfired he didn't get mad or upset at tango. he helped him through it with the knowledge they could both die just by one small slip up but damnit if he's gonna take them out he's standing tall next to him.

they never got mad at eachother. not when the plans backfired or when jimmy died and lost all his stuff and had to travel across the whole server just to not get his stuff back or when jimmy went into the deep dark, putting them both in danger or when tango got them both killed in the FIRST EPISODE, activating his curse again (i know it wasn't technically jimmy that died but he still lost a life so i'm counting it anyways shut up)

because grian would've been pissed (talking about character versions still stick with me here) at scar if the roles were swapped, probably would've kept him at their base for the whole damn season actually. but jimmy listened to tango, obviously he was upset but never at tango. he just wanted to know what lead up to that and from that they made a plan.

the difference between team rancher and desert duo is when scars falling grian yells out for him, not because he cares about scars safety but because he cares about his safety.

meanwhile when tangos falling jimmy jumps after him while screaming his name, making sure that if he's going to die it's tangos name staining his tongue and without the selfish intent of keeping himself safe.

because when grain looks into scars eyes he only sees himself. meanwhile when jimmy looks into tangos eyes he sees tango looking back.