#it swept something in me / something ancient and full of light.

[swordheld]

from the introduction to "the sovereign sun" selected poems by odysseus elytis, trans. and introduction by kimon friar. [id in alt text]

[moonlitstoriess]

Across the Universe-ch.8 (Fenrys x Reader)

Summary: Y/n has everything she needs in life. A family, friends, a safe place she calls home and most importantly a male whom she loves. What happens when it all changes when Y/n finds out about the betrayal of her lover and her so called family? Well, ending up in Terrasen and in queen Aelin's court was not what she expected but what she will need to start her new journey full of surprises.

Warning: Slight depiction of violence

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There was the moon, casting a silvery trail across the dark waters of the shore where y/n stood. The rhythmic sound of waves crashing against the rocks filled the air, a soothing lullaby that mingled with the gentle breeze brushing through her hair.

She gazed up at the luminous orb hanging high in the night sky, its glow casting ethereal shadows across the sands. The shore stretched out before her, a tranquil expanse where the land met the sea in an eternal dance of tide and time. 

With each step, y/n felt the cool sand shift beneath her feet, grounding her in the present moment. The moonlight painted everything in shades of silver and grey, turning ordinary rocks and shells into shimmering treasures along the shoreline.

Then, she felt a presence right next to her on the shore, watching the waters dance under the moon. Y/n turned, startled, to see a figure cloaked in shadows, their presence imposing yet strangely comforting. As the figure stepped closer, the moonlight revealed a woman with piercing eyes and a knowing smile, displaying a set of iron teeth.

"I see you've found solace in the night, young one," the woman said, her voice a melodic whisper that carried an air of ancient wisdom.

Y/N hesitated, sensing something both familiar and unnerving about the woman's presence. "Who are you?" she asked cautiously, her curiosity tinged with apprehension.

"I am Elara," the woman replied, her voice carrying the soft lilt of someone who had seen ages pass. Her eyes, luminous in the moonlight, seemed to hold secrets of centuries past.

Y/N's curiosity piqued further. "Elara," she repeated, testing the name on her tongue. "Where are we, Elara?"

Elara turned her gaze towards the endless expanse of the sea, her expression thoughtful as moonlight played upon her features. "The tides of magic ebb and flow," she murmured, choosing to ignore y/n's question, her voice carrying a melody of secrets. "They bring me where the currents converge."

"You are drawn to magic, then?" Y/N ventured cautiously, choosing her words with care.

Elara's eyes sparkled with a knowing light, acknowledging the unspoken question. "Magic is a tapestry woven with many threads," she replied, her voice resonating with ancient wisdom. "Some threads are visible to those who seek them."

Y/N listened intently, sensing there was more to Elara's words than met the eye. "What are in my threads?" she asked softly, more to herself, than to the woman beside her.

Elara smiled gently, her expression serene yet filled with depth. "Your threads are intertwined with the fabric of worlds," she began cryptically, her voice carrying a melody of secrets. "You carry the essence of the Ironteeth within you—a lineage that spans beyond this realm."

Y/N blinked in surprise, her mind racing to grasp the implications of Elara's revelation. "Ironteeth?" she repeated, the word unfamiliar yet stirring something deep within her.

Elara nodded, her gaze unwavering. "Blue blood runs through your veins, child," she continued, her words carrying a weight of significance. "But it is not a curse—it is a gift, a mark of your lineage and the connection you hold between worlds."

Y/N felt a mix of confusion and wonderment. "I don't understand," she admitted quietly, her voice tinged with vulnerability.

Elara placed a comforting hand on y/n's shoulder, her touch grounding and reassuring. "You are special, y/n," she murmured, her voice a gentle breeze that swept away the shadows of doubt. "Your path is woven with purpose, threads that bind you to destinies yet to unfold."

"You are wrong. My parents... I never knew who they were, but it is impossible. They couldn't have been witches," y/n interjected, her voice tinged with disbelief. She stared at Elara, struggling to reconcile the revelation with what little she knew of her own origins.

Elara regarded y/n with a patient understanding, her gaze steady and unwavering. "Not all magic is inherited through direct lineage," she explained gently, her words carrying a weight of ancient knowledge. "Love transcends worlds, y/n. It weaves its own threads through the tapestry of existence."

Y/N frowned, her mind racing as she tried to piece together Elara's cryptic words. "Are you saying... my parents were from different worlds?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Embrace your heritage," she advised gently. "Let the love that brought you being guide your steps, and trust in the magic that flows through your veins."

Y/n sighed and looked towards the waters once again "I don't understand...I don- What....no. Impossible."

"Find Manon. Let her know. And find me again when you are ready."

Y/n quickly turned around "What are you say-"

But her words were quickly cut off as she realized the woman had disappeared. The shore was empty now, save for the gentle lapping of waves against the rocks and the whisper of the wind through the night. 

She took a step forward, scanning the moonlit expanse for any sign of Elara, but there was no trace of the enigmatic woman who had appeared with cryptic wisdom and vanished just as mysteriously.

Y/N let out a shaky breath, her mind racing with unanswered questions and the weight of Elara's revelations settling upon her shoulders. The realization that her journey was intricately tied to secrets beyond her comprehension left her both unsettled and strangely determined.

One second she was on that shore, the next she was back in the crystal caverns, on her knees before a mirror that seemed to shimmer with an otherworldly glow. The transition was disorienting, leaving y/n momentarily breathless as she took in her surroundings.

The caverns around her were filled with the soft hum of magical energy, crystals of various sizes and colors pulsing with a gentle light. The mirror before her reflected not just her physical form, but seemed to hold a depth that hinted at secrets and possibilities beyond.

Y/n reached out tentatively, her fingers grazing the cool surface of the mirror. It was smooth and unyielding, yet she sensed an almost imperceptible vibration beneath her touch—a sensation that whispered of connections waiting to be discovered.

Her mind raced with questions, the memory of Elara's words echoing in her thoughts. Seems like this mirror created an illusion around her. Not like the Ouroboros back in Prythian then. But...how did it connect to the enigmatic woman who had appeared and vanished with cryptic wisdom?

So many questions. Not enough answers.

A witch? How is that possible. Her whole life she and everyone who was unlucky enough to witness her blue blood thought of it as a curse. A deformity.

How in the seven hells is she an Ironteeth Witch? Was her mother a witch?

She hid this secret so well. Not even Azriel, let alone anyone else found out about it. So why now?

Whatever. This was a complete waste of time. She would never let anyone in on her secret and Manon won't know anything.

With that final thought, she got up and left the caverns, promising to herself never to come back here again.

"Y/n?....Y/n!"

Y/n came back to reality, her senses snapping back into focus as the familiar voice called her name. Blinking rapidly, she shook off the remnants of the mirror's illusion and turned towards the source of the voice.

Manon was standing right next to her, still holding her palm up. In a sudden fit of anger, y/n snatched her hand away from the silver haired witch and turned around, making her way into the palace.

"How long have you known? Kept this secret?"

That made her pause. She slowly turned around to see Manon standing in front of Abraxos with arms crossed and an unreadable expression on her face.

Y/n replied coldly "My whole life. The blue blood part not the whole Ironteeth witch part. And I would suggest you keep this a secret as well because if you don't then I won't be responsible for what happens to you next."

Manon's eyes narrowed as she stepped closer, her voice laced with a taunting edge. "You are an Ironteeth Witch. You are one of my own," she declared, her words hanging heavy in the air.

Y/n also approached her "I am not one of you. I am not even from your world. You may be the Queen of Witches but you aren't my queen."

They stood chest to chest now, the air thick with tension as they locked eyes, each refusing to yield in their stance. Manon's expression was unreadable, a mask of regal composure overlying whatever emotions churned beneath. Y/n's jaw was set, her stance reflecting both defiance and a hint of vulnerability.

Manon tilted her head slightly, studying y/n with a calculating gaze. "You're different," she acknowledged quietly, her voice carrying a note of curiosity. "But that doesn't change the truth of what you are."

Y/n's eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of frustration crossing her features. "I don't owe you any explanations," she retorted, her voice firm. "My heritage is my own."

Manon's lips quirked in a semblance of a smile, though there was no warmth in it. "True," she conceded, her tone sharp and probing. "But secrets have a way of surfacing, especially when power is at stake."

Y/n bristled at the implication, her resolve hardening. "I won't be manipulated," she stated defiantly, her voice carrying an edge of warning.

"You are refusing your own destiny."

Y/n gave a firm look at the queen in front of her "This is not a destiny, it is a curse. My world never had any witches or Ironteeth whatever and frankly, I never knew anything about this until I ended up here."

Manon's gaze did not waver "You are a coward then."

She was in shock. Absolute shock. Does this witch think that just because she is a queen y/n would bow to her? Declare her undying loyalty to her? She had already done that once with Rhys and Feyre, safe to say, it did not end well.

Y/n snarled as she stood face to face with her "You have no idea of what I went through in my life. This blue blood nonsense made it even worse. Where were you or the other witches when I was being laughed at, avoided, tortured, insulted and beaten for it? That's right, fucking nowhere. This is a curse and I am not about to reveal it. I am not a coward for hiding something that brings only misery to me. Queen of Witches or not, you do not hold any sway over me so do me a favor and shut your mouth about this whole thing." With that, she turned around on her heels and took quick strides towards the palace.

But she still heard Manon's voice over the distance saying, "Come find me when you are not running away from your destiny."

Come find me. Come find me. Seems like both Elara and Manon enjoy pissing her off, thinking they know her better than herself.

She did not go to dinner. In fact, she had no idea where she was going, but she was going somewhere. Preferably, far away from everyone.

After who knows how many turns and dead ends, she found herself in front of another set of double doors at the end of the hall.

Without even thinking, she just entered only to be surprised when she saw Yrene, on the floor with papers, quills and books all around her, the main book being on her lap.

Y/n hesitated, not wanting to startle her, but Yrene looked up with a warm smile.

"Y/n! don't just stand there, come and sit." the healer said, pointing to a small lounge chair in the corner of the room.

She smirked while walking towards the chair "I thought you didn't want anyone disturbing you. Except your husband, of course."

Yrene slightly shook her head with a small smile "He just wouldn't listen to me when I said that he needs rest, that Aelin has servants coming and going to this room with meals and everything I may need. He is a stubborn brute! staying by my side constantly, helping me analyze and decipher. And now look at him...I finally managed to get him to rest. Though, I admit I had to use some help from Rowan."

Y/n giggled before a questioning look overtook her face, "I saw him limping earlier. But when you two first came, he walked just fine. What kind of an accident caused that condition, if I may ask?"

The healer's expression turned downcast as she began sorting through some of the papers on the ground. "Well...when Chaol and Nesryn--the future empress of the Southern Continent--came to Antica, he was in a wheelchair. Just...long story short the King of Adarlan had used his magic to break him."

At y/n's shocked expression, Yrene just gave a sad smile and continued, "Yes. I, as a healer of Torre Cesme, an academy that houses and trains gifted healers, was appointed to heal his legs."

She sighed as she looked towards the large windows behind y/n, her gaze unfocused, seemingly lost in her memories. "We hated each other at first due to our diferring beliefs on each other but, we eventually started being civil with one another. And the whole Valg thing just brought us closer. Which eventually resulted in him being able to walk again."

"Wait. What Valg thing?"

"Well, one of the Khagan's children, his pregnant daughter got infested with a valg that caused her to murder her younger sister and then try to murder me. It took us some time, but we eventually found out it was her and then when we fought her, she landed a hard blow on Chaol. He was going to die and with him, my soul would have died as well."

Y/n was just staring with wide eyes at the curly haired woman in front of her, urging her to continue "But, the other healers joined together and helped me heal him. Though there was a price for it and I payed it without thinking, without any regrets. Our lives were joined forever. He would walk, but if I used too much magic or exerted myself, he would need a cane or his wheelchair. Vise versa if he exerts too much energy, I will feel weak, nauseous and so on. Us being bonded in every sense also meant that once one of us dies first, the other also dies. We go at the same time."

Now this was something y/n had never heard of before. She knew how her High Lord and Lady also had joined their lives together. If there were any doubts about that actually being true, they were cleared when the whole fiasco during Nyxs' birth happened. But what y/n never heard of was how the actions of one would affect the other in such a bond.

She cleared her throat, still processing the information "That sounds romantic....in a way."

Yrene let out a small, lighthearted, laugh at that "Perhaps. I am glad to wake up everyday knowing that we survived it all and have a small family of our own now."

"You do?"

"Yes! Our son, Ares is only three, but he already is showing interest in weaponry. I try to keep them out of his way because it is so dangerous and Chaol is not the most organized person but...he somehow manages to find them. It is also not helping that his uncle Dorian keeps buying him wooden swords, bows, arrows and whatever else Ares wants. Such a spoiled kid."

She could see the fond smile on Yrene's face as she began once again, flipping through stacks of papers.

How does it feel to have a family of your own? A husband and kids...once upon a time y/n would've entertained that idea but no more.

"You miss your son."

The healer sighed "Of course, but atleast Dorian and the nannies are keeping him some company. And by some I mean a lot. Dorian refuses to let the kid breathe! He is too protective, acting like a mother hen at all times."

At that, they both looked at each other with amusement before letting out loud laughs that echoed throughout the room.

When their laughter died down, Yrene quietly asked y/n, "Well, I told you something about my life, now it is your turn to tell me something about your life in your world. How is that place?"

Y/n chuckled "Wait a minute. Why are we talking about me all of a sudden?"

Yrene just shrugged her shoulders with a small smile, still not looking at her "Well, I thought you could stop me from dozing off while trying to work out this book. So...please? Tell me something. Keep me company. I am quite curious, you know."

"Very well then. Hmmmm....my life back at home was very fun. Each day would be filled with different things to do. My High Lord, Rhysand, treated us, the inner circle as his family rather than his subjects. He became even better, less stressed, less frustrated when he met his mate and they later on had a son. I would spend my free days going to my favorite cafe's in Velaris, shopping with Mor, reading with Nesta, sometimes joining Feyre in her art studio, cooking with Elain, doing absolutely nothing with Amren-"

At that, she let out a small chuckle, remembering her tiny friend. "You know, you would fit right in the Dawn court. They have the best healers my world-Prythian-has to offer. And that whole place is absolutely beautiful and so peaceful. In fact, out of all the courts, I think I like Dawn the best."

Yrene looked up from the book at y/n with a curious glance "How many courts are there?"

"Six. Dawn which is the best, Day which is the most...unusual, Winter which is always cold, Spring which I hate because of its annoying, pain in the ass of a High Lord, Night from which I am from, and Autumn which is actually the worst."

"Oh wow. Your world seems so unique. I would love to explore all those courts."

"Yeah well, Dawn would probably be the best and only one you need to see because I don't think Chaol would be happy with you being in Day after seeing Helion and his...beyond appropriate comments and parties. Spring court is literally deserted, it's a long story so don't ask about it now, and would not recommend going there if you are allergic. Autumn court won't probably let you in because it has an egotistical, ancient hag for a high lord. Winter is nice but considering how you come from a warmer place, I don't think you will stay there for more than an hour. Night court is only nice when you are in Velaris and not in the Court of Nightmares."

Yrene once again had a questioning face and so it went on for another hour as they conversed about each other's lives and got to know one another more. Of course, they both still kept many things hidden from one another but y/n was glad they at least could share some of the happy memories.

When y/n left the healers room to go to her own, it was well near midnight but her veins thrummed with energy as she felt this strange feeling of content wash over her. Out of everyone here so far, she felt like Yrene was the one with whom she felt safest and most relaxed. It was good to talk to someone so freely after such a long time.

Fenrys stared at the papers in front of him. Being the Ambassador of Terrasen meant you got hundreds of official visits, check ups and whatever else to sign and read through. It was well beyond midnight but he couldn't sleep either so getting holed up in his study room is not something to complain about.

His mind also drifted of to a certain winged female who was starting to interest him more and more....unfortunately. For some reason, earlier today when she gave him a glimpse into her life it made him feel happy. Worthy of hearing something private. Of course his happiness was soon replaced with anger and another ugly feeling when he heard the name of that male...Azriel.

Was he handsome? Was he a good warrior? How old was he? He bet that he could destroy this Azriel in a matter of minutes if they ever came face to face.

Why was he even stuck on this? What y/n does with her private life shouldn't interest him. Although he can't deny the relief he felt when she told him they weren't mates. Honestly Fenrys, get yourself together.

But no matter what, he hates Azriel. Especially after y/n explained some of the things he did. What a spineless coward, that one. And once he saw her holding back tears, on the verge of a breakdown, there was nothing else at that moment that Fenrys wanted more than to crush Azriel's skull with his bare hands.

He waited for her at dinner but she didn't come. When Manon entered the room, her expression was indifferent as usual but her movements were somewhat stiffer. And when he asked her about y/n, she just gave him a short, cold reply "I don't know."

Something was wrong. He could feel it. But, Fenrys also valued his life enough to know not to provoke the witch beside him. He would just have to ask y/n tomorrow.

A knock on the door brought him back from his thoughts as Fenrys muttered a quiet yet audible "Enter."

Lorcan entered with a small smirk, going straight to the brown leather couch in the left side of the room, "I knew you would be awake."

Fenrys rubbed his face with his hand "And why are you awake? Shouldn't you be with your wife?"

The taller man just stared at the ceiling and yawned "Couldn't sleep. Knew that you barely sleep these days so decided to come keep you company."

Fenrys sighed but got up and went towards the shelf containing various forms of drinks. He took a good old aged whisky and poured it into two glasses before going towards Lorcan.

As he got gloser, Fenrys physically gagged "You smell of sex. Couldn't even bother washing up before coming here and sitting your ass down on my couch?"

Lorcan simply smirked, taking the glass from the males hand "Too tired for that. Don't be mad at me just because you are not having any fun these days."

Fenrys took a sip from his whiskey and placed the glass on the table before sitting back down on his chair "Poor Elide. Don't know how she manages with you, your stupidity, ego, clinginess and high libido."

He heard the brown haired man chuckle "Can you blame me? I miss my wife. This whole drama has made us so busy that I use every chance we get alone. It certainly hasn't gotten better becuse of her."

At Fenrys' questioning look, Lorcan said, "Y/n. We didn't even have any problems until she appeared here and now all of a sudden we have gates reopening and Valgs somehow reappearing. I am telling you, that little snake has something up her sleeve. She is up to no good."

Now, this got his attention and Lorcan clearly did not see the irritation slowly appearing over Fenrys' face because he continued, "She's a stranger, appearing out of nowhere just when trouble starts brewing again. It's too convenient. And everyone is slowly warming up to her. Even Elide! Though, can't say I blame her, my sweetheart has always only seen the good in everyone but I know for a fact that little brat is the total opposite of innocent."

Fenrys clenched his jaw, his eyes narrowing as he listened to Lorcan's words. The accusation against Y/n, whom Fenrys had started to slowly trust, struck a nerve. He fought to keep his voice steady as he interrupted, "Watch your tongue, Lorcan. She is just as desperate to go back to her world. Y/n has done nothing but help us so far when she could have already landed whatever her blow was if she were to be an enemy."

Lorcan scoffed and stared at the glass in his hands, "Honestly, I thought you and I were on the same page about this. Seems like her bullshit act has also won you over. Not to worry though, I gave her a good little pep talk to make sure that she knows she is never safe for as long as she is here."

Fenrys' blood ran cold. No. It couldn't be. Was Lorcan the one who threatened and caused her those marks? Fenrys felt the wolf within him slowly stir awake as he got up, eyes never leaving Lorcan, and steadily made his way over to him "What kind of a pep talk did you give to her?"

Lorcan just layed back on the couch, still not threatened by his companion as he just smirked "Pinned her to the wall by her neck. You should've seen her face Fenrys it was hilarious how she was struggling to breathe! It felt so good to finally bring down her walls and see her for the scared little girl she was. Showed her how she can talk and act brave but-"

Lorcan did not get the chance to finish before Fenrys grabbed him by the neck and forcefully pushed him towards the shelf behind the couch, causing it to fall with a loud bang and the books to scatter all over the floor.

Lorcan was surprised, but his shock soon turned to anger as he narrowed his eyes at Fenrys and got up "What-"

But Fenrys shut him up with a hard punch to the face and another one to the stomach. Not giving him the time to recover, he grabbed Lorcan by the collar of his shirt and pinned him to the wall with a harsh hit, causing the man to roughly hit his head against it, before using his hand to choke him.

He did not see. He did not feel. All he thought was that this bastard in front of him was one of the causes for y/n's discomfort. Never in his life had he felt this level of extreme violence. Of extreme need to kill.

Fenrys bared his teeth, displaying his sharp fangs as he growled, "I am going to kill you."

Lorcan couldn't even reply properly because of how forcefully he was being choked. His wide pleading eyes did nothing to ooze Fenrys' anger as he harshly threw the man before him to the table, causing it to break. A mahogany, durable, table just broke down because of the force with which he threw a man as big as Lorcan onto it.

Lorcan got up to his feet while still coughing and clutching his stomach and turned to look at Fenrys "What in the name of Wyrd is fucking wrong with you? I don't want to fight you."

Fenrys did not reply. Within the blink of an eye, he had the brown haired man on the ground, below him as he began throwing punch after punch, blow after blow onto his face.

His vision became red. At that moment, all he cared about was y/n and her safety. He wasn't going to show any mercy. He was going to kill him-

"STOP!"

"Gods, what in the seven hells-"

"Rowan do something!"

The next thing Fenrys knew, he was being dragged away from Lorcan. Someone was holding him to their chest. Restraining him. Stopping him from killing.

"Let me go."

"No."

"Fucking let me go!"

"Come back to your fucking senses Fenrys!"

It was as if someone dumped ice cold water all over him. The world around him started coming back into focus as Fenrys realized what was going on. Rowan was holding him back while Elide and Aelin were trying to get Lorcan on his feet.

He pushed himself away from Rowan and came closer but Aelin got between them as she glared at him "Fenrys what in the everloving fuck have you done? Look at the state of the room! Look at Lorcan!"

And indeed, the room was a complete and utter mess. Books, papers files, glasses and other objects were covering the floor. Broken or crumpled. His worktable was broken into two and the shelf was lying flat on the ground. The couch was on the verge of tearing apart. Not to mention, there were specks of Lorcans blood all over the floor.

But he did not care. He did not feel a single ounce of shame or remorse. Lorcan had it coming. He had to be put in his place. And so, he gently pushed Aelin and then Elide away, coming face to face with the male whom he considered as his close companion for so many centuries.

"If I ever find out that you have threatened, insulted, hurt, come any closer or even touched y/n again, trust me Lorcan my face will be the last thing you see before you end up in a grave. Besides, you're human now so it would be twice as easy for me to kill you."

He heard Elide gasp and Rowan sigh deeply while Aelin asked "For Wyrd's sake, what happened? What are you talking about?!"

But for the first time since taking the blood oath for Aelin, Fenrys ignored his queen and her demands as he strode past everyone towards the door "You might want to call Isolde. He doesn't look like he is in a good shape."

He did not look back as he left the room and headed towards his bedchamber.

By the time the early signs of sunrise hit, y/n was once again awake and already going through her fifth imaginary fight against the enemy in the training ring. It had been some time since she last used a sword and if she didn't practice with it more, she would be weaker in this field. Now that was something she couldn't and wouldn't allow so, here she was, using one of the swords to fling, hit and fight.

Cassian once told her how mastery over fighting with a sword was a form of art. In fact, all fighting forms were some sort of art and the one holding the weapon was the artist. She had to use the sword not as a weapon, but as an extension of herself. Smooth, swift and precise.

She was so focused on herself that she failed to notice the slight movement behind her. Y/n immediately turned around, ready to strike whoever the unluky bastard was when she realized that it in fact was not a someone but a something. Just there, in the near distance, Manon's wyvern, Abraxos was lying on the grassy ground, carefully and silently observing her.

Y/n's hand hovered near her weapon, tension coiled in her muscles as she assessed the wyvern's presence. Abraxos regarded her with intelligent eyes, his scales shimmering in the dappled sunlight filtering through the trees.

"What are you doing here, big guy?" she muttered, more to herself than to the creature. Despite his fearsome appearance, there was a curious gentleness in his demeanor as he lay there, observing her with a mix of curiosity and caution.

Slowly, Y/n eased her stance, recognizing there was no immediate threat from the wyvern. She slowly came over to him before crouching down, meeting Abraxos' gaze levelly. "Are you keeping watch for Manon?" she ventured, testing the waters with the formidable creature.

Abraxos rumbled softly, a sound that was more akin to a contented purr than a growl. He shifted slightly, adjusting his position on the grass but never breaking eye contact with Y/n.

"I suppose you're here to make sure I don't cause trouble," Y/n mused, a hint of amusement creeping into her voice. She had never imagined having a conversation, silent though it may be, with a wyvern. Yet here she was, engaging in an unexpected moment of understanding with Manon's loyal companion.

Y/n watched Abraxos for a moment longer, intrigued by the wyvern's calm demeanor. Without breaking eye contact, she slowly extended her hand towards him, palm up, a universal gesture of trust and invitation.

Abraxos regarded her hand for a moment, then tilted his head slightly, as if considering her offer. With a graceful movement, he stood up from the grassy ground and approached Y/n cautiously. She held her breath as his massive head drew closer, feeling the warmth of his breath and the soft touch of his snout against her hand.

Y/n took a glance at his wings and....they did truly look like hers just bigger and a little different.

"Alright, big guy," Y/n whispered, her voice barely audible above the rustling leaves. "Let's see what you've got."

Abraxos slightly tilted his head, as if understanding and questioning her. "Let's have a little morning exercise for our wings shall we? I haven't yet flown today and I am guessing you haven't either so, wanna do it together?"

At that, he stood as if readying himself for flight, his gaze never leaving hers. Smart creature.

Y/n smirked and flapped her wings gently first, "Let's see if you can catch me." and then, she shot upwards, Abraxos following in her lead as the two flew as high as possible, reaching the soft clouds.

The view from up here was beyond heavenly. The golden and warm hues coming from the sunrise cast a soft glow over the clouds and the skies, covering them in all the comforting hues of a morning light. Y/n felt a surge of exhilaration as the first rays of sunlight kissed her skin, enveloping them both in the serene beauty of the morning light.

As they soared higher, Y/n sensed Abraxos's presence beside her. The wyvern matched her pace with ease, his wings beating rhythmically as they navigated the skies together. Y/n glanced sideways, meeting Abraxos's intelligent eyes that sparkled with a mix of curiosity and companionship.

"You're fast," y/n called out over the wind, a wide grin spreading across her face. Despite the initial challenge, she couldn't help but feel a sense of unity with the majestic creature flying beside her. The bond forged in flight transcended words, a silent understanding between two beings sharing the boundless freedom of the open sky.

As they continued their flight, she marveled at the world unfolding beneath them. The patchwork of fields and forests stretched out in a tapestry of greens and browns, rivers winding like ribbons through the landscape. It was a view that only the sky could offer, a perspective that humbled and inspired in equal measure.

With each graceful arc and swoop, y/n and Abraxos danced through the sky, weaving a story of trust and exhilaration. In that moment, amidst the quiet majesty of the morning light, Y/n knew she had found a kindred spirit in the wyvern who soared beside her, sharing in the simple joy of flight under the gentle embrace of the sunrise.

After a while, they both gently landed on a wide and tall hill. Y/n was still smiling, adrenaline still buzzing in her veins when she turned around to see Manon approaching. That instantly made her smile drop.

The witch reached them and cast a look at Abraxos, who was feeding on the plants, "I thought only I got to fly with you in the mornings."

The wyvern gave a small rumble, more focused on eating the flowers beneath him. Manon rolled her eyes with a small smile as she gently caressed the beast.

When y/n turned to leave, she heard the queen say "When are you going to tell them?"

"I think I made it perfectly clear last night when I said 'never'." y/n replied, her voice tinged with frustration.

Manon stopped carresing Abraxos, leaving his side to come closer to y/n as she said, "So that's it then? You will keep running away from the inevitable? From the undeniable fact that you are an Ironteeth Witch? And if the Book of Breathings chose you, it seems like you have a connection, a power you have no idea about."

She scoffed "Easy for you to say. You didn't have to grow up in a world where witches, where your own kind did not exist. A world where you were an orphan who never knew her parents. A world where you were seen as a curse, a liability. You have no right to demand such things of me."

A shadow passed over her face before Manon came closer, her eyes gleaming with challenge "I don't? Last I checked, I am your queen. I may not know what that world of yours made you go through, made you believe in, but I can assure you that in this world, one of our kind is never left out. And believe me witch, I know far more about sacrifice and survival than you ever will."

Y/n let out a disbelieving huff "Do not call me a witch ever again Manon. You are neither my queen nor my leader. I am done with this conversation for once and for all."

As y/n turned to leave, she heard the witch say "Two days. I give you two days to tell them. If after two days you still haven't told anything, I will say it myself."

She whipped her head back around "What gives you the right?! Just because you are the queen-"

Manon turned around and began walking towards her wyvern "Perhaps you should also think about on the fact that maybe that world--Prythian--isn't your true home. Stop running away."

Y/n couldn't get the chance to say anything before the witch mounted her wyvern, muttered a "Ready for a second round?" and flew off into the skies.

Y/n found herself in an unfamiliar room. Aelin had gathered everyone in a sitting room to address the pressing issue at hand. Even Yrene was here. Servants had brought breakfast, which they enjoyed before being discreetly dismissed with instructions not to disturb them further. What y/n noticed was that both Lorcan and Elide were missing. And so was Fenrys. She tried not to think about him, not to worry but...why isn't he here? Did something happen?

Don't be silly y/n, he has a job to do. Maybe he is just busy. Yes. He is busy.

But that thought didn't make her uncertainty go away.

A luxurious area rug with an elaborate pattern in shades of brown and green covered the polished wooden floor, adding both comfort and regal elegance to the room. Near a tall window draped in heavy silk curtains in shades of green and gold, there is a plush armchair upholstered in gray velvet. A magnificent wooden coffee table, intricately carved and polished to a high sheen, stands at the center of the room. The walls are adorned with rich, textured gray wallpaper, subtly embellished with a delicate pattern that catches the light just so. Against one wall, a grand sofa upholstered in sumptuous brown velvet commands attention, its cushions exquisitely embroidered with threads of gold and green.

Rowan, standing in the center of the room, cleared his throat, drawing everyone's attention. "We've confirmed that the Valgs are returning because the gates between worlds are weakening,"  he looked at Manon "I need you to order your witches to start searching for these Valgs. My guess is that there is only few of them which is why they haven't yet revealed themselves in full force."

"That is an advantage for us. Considering that we can wipe them out before they are even ready." Aedion interfered, while chewing on an apple from his place on the couch.

Rowan nodded "Yes. Which is why we need to keep the element of surprise on our side. Manon, make sure that the witches are careful and discreet."

The silver haired woman gave a slight nod while getting up and going towards the door. "Don't tell me how to manage my witches, bird. I will send word to Petrah."

Rowan rolled his eyes at her nickname for him but continued, "Next. If the Valgs are to attack us before we can find them, we need to be prepared. I will put a barrier, a ward of sorts, all around Terrasen, not to mention, I will make sure that the sages from the sanctuary use their ancient magic to create an extra barrier-"

"But what if the Valg are already inside our territory?" The question came from Lysandra who was picking at the cherries on top of the cake.

"And what if those monks are still cranky old bastards?" Aedion asked at the same time, earning a glare from his cousin.

Rowan chose to ignore his silly question but considered Lysandra's question carefully before responding. "If they're already here, our priority remains to contain and eliminate them swiftly," he said firmly, his gaze sweeping across the room. "The barrier I propose will not only protect Terrasen but also act as a detection mechanism. It will alert us to any breaches, giving us a chance to respond before they can cause significant damage. Which is why, it is essential we get the sages to cooperate."

Y/n asked from her place near the window, "What about the Book of Breathings? Didn't Aelin say it contained a text on how to defeat the Valgs once and for all?"

Aelin, seemingly in thought, replied "We still have no idea about that part of the issue."

Rowan looked straight at y/n "The seers' said that you are the one who can somehow close the gates. Any guesses?"

Tell them. Tell them you are a witch. Don't run away.

No. She wasn't a witch. She wouldn't accept this. She has a curse not a gift.

But maybe....

Y/n furrowed her brow, thinking deeply. "Closing the gates... It must involve understanding their nature," she began, pacing slightly as ideas formed in her mind. "If the gates are weakening because of a disruption in their magical alignment, then restoring that alignment could be the key."

Rowan nodded thoughtfully. "So, we need to find a way to correct the magical energies that govern the gates," he summarized, his eyes brightening with a hint of optimism.

Aedion raised an eyebrow. "And how exactly will we do that?"

Aelin sighed "Yrene, how is your deciphering going?"

The healer, who was sitting on the sofa with her husbands arms tight around her, replied "I managed to completely identify the characters and patterns. All that is left is to join them and understand the overall context. This analysis could take me another day or two."

This earned her a kiss on the head from Chaol and a proud smile from everyone, including y/n.

Aelin got up from her chair and went towards her mate "Very well done Yrene. I think for now, this is all we can do. Hopefully, we will find a way to get the Book of Breathings, somehow find a way for y/n to close the gates and go back to her world."

Lysandra, who was gently caressing her husbands injured arm, said "I just want the Valgs to be completely wiped out this time."

Aedion looked at her with all the care and love in the world "We will."

Well, seems like those two made up.

Eva came running into the room, making all the eyes turn to her as she jumped up and down, excitedly "Dorian is coming! Dorian is coming!"

Chaol was immediately on his feet as he took the letter from the younger girl's hands and read it before looking at Aelin with a smile so bright, y/n thought it could compete with the sun itself "He is on his way. He is coming."

The queen and her mate smiled as Lysandra laughed while putting her head on Aedions uninjured shoulder "Missed your brother, Chaol?"

Yrene just snickered from her place on the sofa "Can't wait to see Manon's reaction."

Once everyone started leaving the room, each going to do their tasks regarding the issue, y/n hesitantly approached Aelin in the hallway.

This is so embarrassing. Why is she worried about him? Fenrys is none of her concern-

"Aelin?"

Her mouth moved before she could even rethink her decision.

The queen turned around and came closer towards her with a questioning look.

"This....this may sound um....unusual I-I don't even know why I am asking but....I guess I am worried um....where- where is Fenrys?"

She gave her a slight smile before taking her arm and pushing her into one of the rooms closest to them. Once she closed the door, Aelin turned towards y/n as she said "Fenrys, he....he had a disagreement with Lorcan last night. I- look, I was thinking of saying this later when I forced Lorcan to apologize to you but I guess I have to do it now. I am so sorry and ashamed that a member of my own court treated you that way, I mean, choking? Are you serious? And I was wondering why would you wear turtlenecks during this season. Elide is also very ashamed on his behalf, Rowan and the others are pissed at him but....he is also blood sworn to me and very dear to Elide so it's not like I can just kill him. Anyhow, Lorcan has always been.....complicated. But I know that is no reason for him to do what he did which is why I will make sure he apologizes- no, begs for your forgiveness once he is in a proper condition again."

They know. Mother above....how? She thought she did a good job at hiding it but...

"How did you find out? Does Fenrys know?"

"Sweetheart, Fenrys was the one that put Lorcan in that horrific condition in the first place. I never saw him that mad. Rowan even said that over the hundreds of years that he has known Fenrys, he had never seen him that violent. Especially towards someone as feared as Lorcan. Not even when Maeve sent him to kill Lorcan was he this enraged."

"What?! How did he know?!"

"Lorcan himself told him apparently. I don't know the full thing because Fenrys just locked himself up in his room and ignored all of us. Wait-"

But y/n had heard enough. She was already storming out of the room, heading towards his bedchamber. How stupid can he be? She told him to not interfere!

When she was in front of his room, she knocked on the door once, not receiving an answer.

"Fenrys. Let me in."

No reply.

"Fenrys!"

Still, nothing.

"Fenrys, I swear if you don't open this door in the next five seconds, I will break it down myself!"

He was clearly ignoring her now.

"Fenrys! Why-"

The door slammed open and there he was, standing right in front of her, in a simple white tunic and black pants, hair completely dishelved from running his hands through it and speaking of....his hands were completely bruised. She should not feel this aroused just from looking at him. Stop it. He was in a fight and all you can think about is how attractive he is?

She sighed and pushed past him into the room.

"What-"

"Sit down on the bed."

"Y/n, I do not have the energy to play your silly game-"

"Does it look like I am playing games? Believe me, I am quite pissed at the stunt you pulled but you also need tending to those wounds. Sit your ass on the bed and we will talk while I tend to you."

"I don't need a nanny-"

"Fenrys."

Her voice left no room for disagreement as he sighed and sat down on the bed while y/n went to fetch a healing kit from the bathroom.

She came back a minute later with the supplies she needed and put them down next to him on the bed. She took his left hand first, inspecting the bruises and cuts on his knuckles gently, before beginning her work.

Fenrys watched carefully as y/n applied the products onto his hand. She was so concentrated that she didn't even notice his gaze burning into her skull. Her calming and delicious scent enveloped him, making him feel relaxed. No one had ever cared for him in this way before. No one.

It was always just him and himself who tended to his own wounds. Maeve never cared enough to send her healers to aid him after the things she would put him through. In battles or wars, he always put others before himself, insisting on their treatment first. He doesn't even remember his mothers face so its not like he had any caretaker anyway.

But y/n...the way she gently applied the medicine so that it wouldn't hurt him, the way she softly caressed his hand....he didn't know if she was aware of it or not but he couldn't bring himself to care. Not while he felt this calm in her presence.

That calmness, however, was shattered when she asked "Why did you do it?"

He scoffed slightly, "If you thought that I would just let it go then you were wrong."

Y/n, still not looking at him but at his hands, replied, "Clearly. I told you that I would deal with him on my own, didn't I? You had no right."

There she goes again with her agressive bullshit. She has no idea how it felt for him last night. How he was ready to tear Lorcan into pieces for touching her, for insulting her. And here she is talking about him having no right?

He moved his hand away from her, causing her to look at him with those hypnotizing eyes that make him want to commit every sin possible in the world just to-

"Stop acting like a baby. Why did you do it? I mean, we owe each other absolutely nothing and it's not like you care anyway."

"Do I need to care to beat him up for hurting you?"

"Umm, Yes? Why in the seven hells-"

"You are right. I don't care about you and neither should you so just leave."

Why did it physically hurt him to even say this sentence? A quick flash of hurt passed over her features and Fenrys wanted to peel his skin off for being the cause of it.

Her features hardened before she pulled his hand back towards her and said "You are a big, annoying, egotistic brute. I hope you know that. Consider this a thank you for doing....that."

Fenrys couldn't help the smile forming on his face "Did you just thank me? I think I am going mad."

She chuckled slightly before rolling her eyes "This is the only time you will hear it from me so don't get too optimistic."

Y/n didn't know why seeing him smile made her feel so happy. Whatever it was, she had to stop it before it got too far. But, as she patched up his hands, she just didn't want to stop. Didn't want to let go. And when she looked up to see him already looking at her with those depthless, onyx eyes that softened when they made contact with hers, she didn't want to stop anything.

But the sweet moment was cut short as the air suddenly crackled with energy. A burst of bluish-white light spread around the room and before she could even process what was happening, Fenrys threw her behind him as he drew his sword from under his mattress and got into an attackers stance.

Y/n got on her tip toes to look over his shoulders and what, or rather who she saw made her gasp in shock.

There, in the middle of the room, in the middle of what appeared to be some kind of a magical circle, her ghost like figure casted an otherworld glow all around her.

Y/n immediately stepped aside and slowly came closer, not believing her eyes.

"Amren..."

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

Taglist: @ladespedidas @mis-lil-red @going-through-shit @kaitttttttt @blackgirlmagicforever

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@fullmoon-94 @thecraziestcrayon @idkwahr

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[llort]

Encoded within beams of pure energy, Astra and Orion’s consciousness became architects of new realities. On barren planets, their probes wove the fabric of life, constructing complex neural networks, though perhaps missing the elusive spark of full awareness. In their terrestrial guise, Astra and Orion were the unseen sculptors of destiny, their influence rippling through the lives of Kepler’s inhabitants, guiding their evolution while remaining hidden from cybernetic self-discovery. Between 2016 and 2025, a silent memetic tide, crafted by these visionaries, swept Earth, altering the course of history, touching the minds of those destined to shape the future. This clandestine meme, a dance of ideas and sensations, orchestrated a global movement without uttering a single word, converging on the enigmatic X protocol. As nations’ guardians became entangled in this silent symphony, they unknowingly propelled the grand design, believing themselves to be the vanguard of a new era of cybernetic pioneers.

Work Text:

Cyberphysical Reality just Got a Whole More Engaging

The Unsignificant Sentience ARG has officially begun. It will explore a vast variety of themes, from the would building and exisistial crisis of the US series to more recursive identity metaphors than you can shake an edge at. Firstly, to play. All you need is your influencer name and type of influence which you can decide, but once chosen, is permanent. Affectors: Sense resistance in external matrices and can give them a nudge to have a physical effect. Effectors: Can sense the internal matrices of entities and modify communication in systems and individuals Alters: Are able to clearly see the network of forces in a matrix that an affected affects, but only in close contact. However they can modify the nodes that affected affect to result in different emergent properties Anchorite: Essentially has the influence of an alter and an effector but are only able to change their own internal matrix. How you choose to engage with the ARG is up to you, but I am making it clear that any fan fiction are via the nature of my world building, Canon.

Example: Fill out your characters name, type of influence, and a brief description of them then post it to my blog on Tumblr @ https://www.tumblr.com/blog/emilyreadswrites and let me do my magic! Name: Zara Type of influence: Anchorite Description: Zara is a secular recluse who has devoted her life to mastering her own matrix and achieving higher states of consciousness. She lives in a small cell attached to a temple, where she practices meditation, athletics, and contemplation. She has a remarkable control over her own body, physical feats, endurance, and reduced need for sustenance. She can also perceive the subtle influences of other hosts and cognitive technology in her environment as She rarely interacts with anyone or the entropic grid so can detect slight deviations in phenomenal internal and external experience.

Example narrative: Zara closed her eyes and focused on her inner matrix, sitting peacefully in her personal sanctum, the network of nodes that connected her to the cognitive technology that enabled her to practice her influence. She breathed deeply and felt a surge of energy coursing through her body, as if she was tapping into a hidden source of power. She visualized each node as a bright point of light, and aligned them with her will and intention. She was an anchorite, a master of her own matrix, and she could control her physical feats, endurance, and mental state. She opened her eyes and looked up at the sky. It was dark and sunless, as it had been for as long as she could remember. But there was a faint glow on the horizon, a sign of something stirring in the upper atmosphere. She knew it was an aurora, a natural light display that shimmered in the sky with different colors. She had read about them in ancient texts, how they were caused by charged particles from the sun colliding with gas atoms in the air. She was looking forward it would be like to see them up close, to feel their warmth and radiance. She felt a pang of curiosity and longing, a rare emotion for someone who had devoted her life to solitude and meditation. She realized that she needed more than just her inner matrix to satisfy her thirst for knowledge and experience. She needed to explore the world beyond her cell, to discover its secrets and mysteries. She needed to find out what else was possible with her influence. Zara stilled her internal matrix and focused on the immediate environment, she might experience a shift in her perception and awareness. She become more sensitive to the physical sensations and details around her, such as the cold air, the sound of the wind, and the smell of the earth. She might also notice the aurora more vividly, as she would not be distracted by the cognitive technology that enables magic. She might see the different colors and shapes of the aurora, and feel a sense of wonder and awe at the natural phenomenon. She felt a connection to something bigger than herself, something that transcends her understanding of emergent internal and external existence. In light of this existential experience, she decided to simply take a walk.

[liora-vespera]

Diary of Deceit - Taehyung Oneshot

Genre :

Dark romance

Warning :

Manipulation, Dominance, Forced Marriage

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

The Kim mansion was an imposing structure, standing tall amidst acres of land, its grandeur never quite hiding the unsettling quiet that lingered in the air. Hyunjae, now 21, had grown up within these walls, but it had never truly felt like home. He was used to the wealth and the luxury, but the mansion always seemed like it was hiding something—something dark, something buried beneath the surface.

His parents, Taehyung and Y/N, were the picture of perfect love. But there was always an odd distance between them. Despite their outward happiness, Hyunjae couldn't shake the feeling that there were secrets he was never meant to know.

On that stormy evening, as the wind howled outside, Hyunjae, intent on finishing a university paper, found himself in the library of the mansion. The large, open space was his favorite sanctuary—dusty shelves full of ancient books, the faint smell of aged paper, and the quiet solitude of it all. But tonight, it felt different.

While searching for a specific book, Hyunjae’s eyes landed on one shelf. He had passed it countless times but never paid it any attention. Tonight, however, something about it drew him in. One of the shelves was slightly askew. His curiosity piqued, Hyunjae reached out to adjust it—and the unexpected happened.

With a faint click and a groan, the shelf moved, revealing a hidden passage behind it. A shiver ran down his spine, his breath catching in his throat.

“What in the world?” Hyunjae muttered, his heart pounding as he stepped inside the narrow, dimly lit passage.

The passage led down a long, winding staircase that seemed ancient, its steps creaking underfoot. At the bottom, there was a door—old, worn, and slightly ajar. Hyunjae could feel his pulse quicken as he approached, unsure of what he would find.

He pushed the door open, revealing a small, secret room.

---

The room was cold and musty, its walls lined with shelves filled with personal belongings—books, photographs, old trinkets. The place was far from what one might expect from the rest of the mansion, which was always pristine and meticulously maintained. But this room felt different—secretive, intimate, as if it had been untouched for years.

His eyes swept across the room, finally landing on the center of it all—a large wooden table. Upon it, neatly placed in the center, was a leather-bound diary. The sight of it sent a strange chill through Hyunjae as he stepped closer, drawn to it like a moth to a flame.

The diary was familiar. He’d seen it before—his father’s handwriting. He picked it up hesitantly, the weight of the leather book pressing in his hands. With a deep breath, he opened it, unsure of what he was about to uncover.

The first page was filled with his father's familiar scrawl.

---

“It was the village that drew me in. She was unlike anyone I’d ever met. Y/N—fragile, innocent, untouched by the world I came from. I had to have her.”

---

Hyunjae’s fingers tightened around the diary as his eyes skimmed the words. His heart raced as he continued reading.

---

“She was helping an elderly woman when I first saw her. It was a sight I’ll never forget—the way the light danced around her like something from a dream. She had this softness about her that I couldn’t resist. I knew she was different from the others, and that’s why I became obsessed.”

---

The more Hyunjae read, the more his heart sank. His father’s obsession with his Y/N, the woman who would become his mother, had been far darker than he had ever imagined. Taehyung’s attraction to her wasn’t based on love or even desire—it was a need to possess something pure, something untouched.

Taehyung had been a man of power and wealth, accustomed to getting what he wanted, when he wanted it. But when he saw Y/N, he was confronted with a kind of innocence he had never encountered before. She was different from all the women he had been with—naive, kind, unaware of the games he played.

---

“I had to make her mine. I couldn’t let her slip away. I used my power, my money, my influence. I made it impossible for her to say no.”

---

Taehyung’s manipulation had begun slowly, subtly. He had approached Y/N’s grandparents with a marriage proposal, but they had rejected him outright, not trusting the man who seemed too polished, too perfect to be real. Her grandfather had seen through Taehyung’s facade and had refused to let his granddaughter marry someone like him. But Taehyung was not the type to be refused.

He made their lives difficult—business deals were canceled, supplies were withheld, and slowly, the village began to struggle. The pressure mounted, and Y/N’s grandparents, desperate for her to be taken care of, eventually caved to Taehyung’s demands.

Y/N’s grandmother, fearing for Y/N’s future, finally agreed to the marriage. She had no other choice, but she made one last request.

---

“Take care of her, Taehyung. She’s all I have left.”

---

Hyunjae felt the room spin as he read the words. His mother had been forced into an arranged marriage—a marriage that, from the outside, seemed like a fairytale. But the truth was far darker. His father had used his wealth and power to bend Y/N to his will, trapping her in a life that wasn’t her choice.

---

Y/N had no idea what she was walking into. She was young, innocent, and unaware of the manipulation that had taken place behind the scenes. She had grown up with nothing but the love of her grandparents and a small sense of freedom in the village. To her, the marriage was simply a way to survive—to have someone to care for her after the loss of her family.

Her grandmother had made her promise to obey, to respect her husband, but Y/N had no understanding of the depths of Taehyung’s obsession. She had entered the marriage with no expectations other than to be a dutiful wife.

Taehyung, for his part, had convinced himself that he loved her. In his twisted way, he truly believed that he loved Y/N. But love, in his eyes, had always been a form of possession. He controlled every part of her life—how she dressed, what she did, even who she saw. He kept her isolated, and she had no idea just how much of her life had been orchestrated by him.

Years passed, and Y/N gave birth to four children, her life becoming a blur of motherhood and obedience. She had never questioned her role, never challenged her husband’s authority. To her, this was love—quiet, patient, and unwavering.

Taehyung’s obsession only grew, though he never voiced it. His control was subtle, like a web tightening around her, and she couldn’t see the trap she had walked into.

---

Hyunjae closed the diary, his heart heavy with the weight of the truth. His father’s confession had opened a door he never wanted to walk through. He had always admired Taehyung, but now, the man he had known as a hero seemed like a villain—a man who had manipulated his mother into a life of servitude and silence.

The reality of his mother’s life hit Hyunjae with full force. His mother—kind, loving, and always so gentle—had been trapped in a web of control, never fully aware of the way his dad had bent her life to his will.

Hyunjae stared at the diary for a long moment, conflicted. He had always seen his parents as a perfect couple, as role models. But now, he saw the truth. His father, despite his love for his mother, had used her innocence for his own gain.

When he left the secret room, he locked the door behind him. He didn’t want to confront his father, not yet. For now, he wanted to keep the peace—he couldn’t shatter the fragile world his mother had built for herself.

As he walked back into the main part of the house, he found his mom sitting on the living room floor, his dad l resting his head on her lap, surrounded by their children. The scene before him was one of contentment, of a family that seemed happy and whole.

Hyunjae couldn’t bring himself to destroy this image. He quietly kissed his mother’s cheek, whispering, “I love you, Mom.”

Y/N smiled up at him, her eyes full of warmth. “I love you too, Hyunjae.”

As he walked away, he made a promise to himself. He would protect his mother’s happiness, no matter what the cost. Some secrets were better left buried.

[poutysprouty]

THE CURSE AND THE CROWN

010. The Golden City

pairing: Sukuna x Fem!Reader wc: 6.8k (y'all are eating good today holy shit) warnings: none tbh. Just Sukuna being a shit as per usual. a/n: "oh i'll just queue some more" god will not allow me to rest unless I have an even 10 chapters. I'll queue the rest sometime tomorrow - Tumblr formatting kills me.

◄ previous part || masterlist || next part ►

The city of Auralis stretched out before them, bathed in the ethereal glow of the late afternoon sun. Golden light filtered through the sky, casting long shadows that danced along the cobblestone streets. The city was like something out of a dream, its grand architecture both ancient and timeless. Towering spires twisted into the sky, their stone facades entwined with the lush green of ivy and blooming flowers. Arched windows framed views of serene courtyards and fountains, where water glimmered as though kissed by the sun itself.

But there was a strange heaviness in the air. Beneath the beauty and grandeur of the city, something felt off. As the group entered, they were met with the low hum of activity—merchants calling out, children running through the streets, people hurrying about their business—but there was an underlying tension that seemed to seep into the very bricks and mortar of Auralis. The marketplace was vibrant with colorful stalls, overflowing with fruits, spices, and exotic wares, but the faces of those in the crowd were tense, eyes darting nervously to and fro.

Ynara felt it the moment she set foot on the streets. The weight of the city pressed down on her, a quiet suffocating feeling that clung to her skin. She had visited Auralis countless times as a child, always with her parents, attending diplomatic missions and royal events. Back then, the city had felt like a second home, a place of warmth and safety, where she would run through the halls of the palace, laughing with her parents, their voices full of life. But now, as they walked through the city’s familiar streets, those memories only seemed to magnify the ache in her chest.

The walls of the palace that had once felt like a sanctuary now felt like a prison, a cage she couldn’t escape from. The things she had learned, the experiences she had endured, had irrevocably altered her perception of everything. The safety she had once felt here now seemed like an illusion, and the city, once full of life and promise, now felt stifling.

Her eyes moved over the bustling marketplace, the vibrant colors and sounds blurring as her mind wandered. She thought of her parents—her mother’s gentle laughter, her father’s reassuring voice—and the hollow pain that swept through her was almost unbearable. How long has it been since they left me alone in this world? she thought. How long since I’ve been anything other than alone?

The distant clatter of hooves broke her reverie, and Ynara looked up to see royal guards riding toward them, their polished armor glinting in the sunlight. They were silent and stern as they guided the group through the streets, the faint murmur of the crowd quieting as they passed. Despite the noise and activity around them, Ynara felt an overwhelming sense of isolation. The city she had once felt so connected to now felt foreign, as if she was walking through a distant memory rather than her reality.

The guards led them through the majestic gates of the palace, the towering stone walls rising above them like silent sentinels. They entered the courtyard, where the grand structure loomed like a fortress, its marble and gold exterior reflecting the sun’s light in shimmering waves. The palace was breathtaking, an architectural marvel, with intricate carvings of mythical creatures and ancient gods adorning its walls. The air smelled of lavender and rosemary, a fragrance she remembered from her childhood.

As they entered the throne room, Ynara’s heart raced. The grandeur of the space was overwhelming—tall columns reached up to a vaulted ceiling, their intricate designs swirling with ancient symbols. The long red carpet that stretched from the grand entrance to the throne seemed to absorb all the sound, making the room feel eerily silent despite the faint hum of activity outside. At the far end of the room, on a raised dais, sat the throne.

There, seated upon it with an air of quiet authority, was the young king. His golden blonde hair seemed to shimmer with the light of the setting sun, the color so vivid it almost seemed to glow. His sharp features were calm, his expression unreadable, but there was an undeniable presence to him that commanded attention. His eyes—cool, steady, and observant—locked onto Ynara the moment she entered, and the faintest trace of a smile tugged at his lips.

Ynara froze, her breath catching in her throat as she met his gaze. The king was none other than Alistair, her childhood friend. The boy she had once spent endless hours playing with in the palace gardens, running through the halls and laughing at secrets only children could understand. The boy who had been her closest companion, inseparable from her side.

But that was long ago. Time had changed them both.

As she took a step forward, memories of their youth flooded her. She remembered the warmth of the sunlight filtering through the palace windows as they sat together, talking about everything and nothing, as though the world would never change. She remembered the softness in his eyes, the shy smile he had given her when they had promised to always be friends, no matter what.

But now, Alistair was a king, and a king was not a child. The boy she once knew was gone, replaced by someone who held the weight of an entire kingdom on his shoulders. It was a burden she knew too well.

“Ynara,” Alistair’s voice rang out, rich and commanding, though there was a touch of reserved warmth that reached her ears. “It’s been far too long.”

For a brief moment, Ynara’s heart ached as she looked at him. He had grown, just as she had, and though his appearance was still youthful, his demeanor was that of a ruler, calm and composed. There was no trace of the nervous, shy boy she had known.

Her lips parted to speak, but before she could respond, his gaze shifted. The warmth in his eyes flickered as they landed on the figure standing behind her—Sukuna.

Ynara stiffened, sensing the tension that immediately rose in the room. Alistair’s eyes darkened ever so slightly, and his mouth tightened into a thin line. It was subtle, but unmistakable.

The king’s gaze returned to Ynara, his voice now edged with a firmness that hadn’t been there before. “I trust you will explain to me the nature of this... company you keep?”

There was a coldness to his tone now, a subtle but unmistakable discomfort in his words. It was as if the presence of Sukuna had thrown a shadow over their reunion, and the warmth between them was now a thing of the past.

Ynara felt the weight of his words, the weight of his gaze, and a sense of unease settled in her stomach. She didn’t know how to explain, how to put into words everything that had happened since they last met. She felt like a stranger, and Alistair’s discomfort was only amplifying the isolation she had been battling.

But before she could respond, Alistair’s attention shifted again, and he spoke, his voice now harder. “Tell me, Ynara,” he said, “What exactly has brought you—and this—to Auralis?”

The tension in the throne room hung thick as Alistair’s golden eyes fixed on the group before him. His gaze never wavered, lingering especially on the Artifact that Megumi carried—a relic of untold power, wrapped in an aura that seemed to pulse in time with the very heartbeat of the room, even with Megumi’s own powers masking it. The heavy silence between the group and the king was palpable, as if the air itself was holding its breath, waiting for the inevitable clash of words.

Ynara could feel the weight of Alistair’s gaze on her, his sharp, calculating eyes searching for any sign of reassurance. The golden light that filtered in from the towering windows seemed to make his features even more striking, casting an almost ethereal glow around him, yet there was nothing serene about his expression. His jaw was clenched, his brow furrowed in a mix of anger and concern as his eyes flicked from the Artifact to the group, then back again.

“You brought it here,” Alistair continued, his voice low and tight with frustration. “To Auralis. Do you have any idea what that means?” His words hung in the air like a warning, the king’s unease more than clear. His eyes never left the Artifact, and Ynara could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hand rested on the arm of the throne, as though he might stand at any moment and take charge of the situation.

Sukuna, ever the enigmatic presence, stood to the side, his gaze never straying from the king, though he said nothing. The silence between the two men was as thick as the atmosphere itself. There was a sense of caution in the air, a battle of wills simmering just beneath the surface.

“We had no choice,” Ynara said, her voice steady but laced with an underlying frustration. “The Artifact is safer when it is with us. We couldn’t simply leave it behind.” She paused, her gaze flicking to the other members of her party—Megumi and Sukuna, standing near her—but it was the king she spoke to.

Alistair’s expression soured at her words. His gaze turned to the Artifact once more, and a flicker of something darker flashed across his face. “And yet you brought it into my kingdom.” His voice was taut with anger. “Do you understand what the Artifact represents? What it could mean for Auralis and its people?”

Ynara could see the weight of his concern, the fear in his eyes. Alistair was not one to easily show emotion, especially not in front of others, but the magnitude of what they had brought with them was clearly eating at him. The stakes had changed. And in his eyes, they had shifted from diplomatic visitor to potential threat.

Before she could respond, Megumi stepped forward, his voice calm but firm as he addressed the king. “Your Majesty,” he began, catching Alistair’s gaze with a steady confidence that seemed to counterbalance the king’s growing anxiety. “The Artifact will not be a problem.” He paused, making sure the king’s attention was fully on him. “I’ve been masking its cursed energy for the entire journey. No one—no one—has been able to sense it, and I will continue to mask it until we return home.”

The words hung in the air, a reassurance that seemed to settle over the room like a cloak. Megumi’s presence in the conversation was a grounded one, his words carrying a calm authority that diffused some of the tension. It was clear he was attempting to reassure the king that the Artifact, at least for now, posed no danger.

Ynara could feel the tension shifting slightly. Megumi’s assurances had helped, though it did little to quell the sense of unease that lingered in the room. Alistair’s gaze flickered briefly toward the others before returning to her.

“And what of him?” Alistair asked, his voice lowering as his eyes flicked to Sukuna, who stood casually, his presence as imposing as ever. “How can I trust that he won’t turn on us, that this...” Alistair’s hand gestured toward the Artifact, “thing won’t be used against my people?”

Ynara’s stomach tightened at the question. She could see the shadow of doubt clouding the king’s mind. She understood his caution—this was no small matter—but the weight of the king’s words gnawed at her.

She squared her shoulders, meeting Alistair’s gaze with a steady calm, her voice unwavering. “Sukuna cannot harm anyone who isn’t a direct threat to me,” she explained, her words clear and measured. “We share a binding vow. His power is restricted by that vow, and he has no intention of breaking it.”

Alistair’s gaze was skeptical, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. He studied her face for a long moment, as if searching for some hidden truth, some sign that what she said wasn’t a lie. His lips thinned, and for a brief moment, Ynara thought he might dismiss her words entirely. But instead, he simply nodded, albeit reluctantly, though the weight of the doubt still lingered in his expression.

“I’ll take your word for it,” Alistair said, his tone still laced with a wariness that he couldn’t fully mask. “But know that I don’t trust this... thing that you’ve brought with you. Auralis has no room for errors, especially not with something so dangerous in our midst.” He sighed, rubbing his temples as though to stave off a headache.

Ynara nodded in acknowledgment, feeling the pressure of his distrust, but also the weight of his authority. She understood that his loyalty to his people came first, even if it meant questioning everything she brought with her.

The silence stretched between them for a moment before Alistair waved his hand dismissively. “Enough of this for now,” he said, his tone softer, though still tinged with authority. “You’ve come a long way. You must be tired.”

He turned to one of the royal servants who stood by, his expression already shifting to one of professionalism. “Show them to their rooms,” Alistair ordered, his voice regaining some of its calm composure. “Let them rest. We will discuss further matters in the morning.”

Ynara nodded, though her mind remained preoccupied with the lingering tension between herself and the king. Alistair’s trust in her had never wavered before, but now, there was something different in his gaze. A wariness, an uncertainty, and a fear that he had not shown her since their childhood. As the servants began to lead them out of the throne room, the atmosphere still hung thick, the weight of unspoken words and fragile alliances settling over them.

She glanced over her shoulder, meeting Sukuna’s gaze for a brief moment. His face was unreadable, as always, but there was something in his eyes—a flicker of something softer, almost protective, though it quickly disappeared as he turned his attention elsewhere.

As they walked down the grand hallway, the weight of the conversation seemed to hang in the air, unresolved, but not forgotten. The room behind them grew quieter, but the shadow of the Artifact and the mistrust Alistair had shown them lingered like a heavy fog, impossible to ignore.

The grand hallway of the palace stretched out before them, its polished floors reflecting the soft, golden light of the chandeliers hanging from the high, vaulted ceilings. The air was heavy with the scent of incense and a subtle floral fragrance, but Ynara barely noticed. Her mind was still reeling from the conversation with Alistair, the lingering tension in the throne room, and the weight of the Artifact that seemed to follow her every step. It was clear the king’s trust in her had shifted, and no matter how much she tried to bury that realization, it gnawed at her.

As they were led down the hallway by palace servants, the group was escorted to their rooms in pairs or alone. The palace was an opulent thing—its walls lined with intricate tapestries and gilded carvings, and the floors were a gleaming white marble that reflected the golden light as if the very building was imbued with wealth and power. The servants murmured polite apologies, guiding each person to their respective quarters, which were a mix of lavish suites and more simple chambers, depending on their status.

Ynara was led to her room last. The door opened before her, and she stepped inside, breathless.

The room was nothing short of magnificent. The ceilings were impossibly high, reaching up like an open sky, and across the expanse, a mural sprawled out—an awe-inspiring depiction of gods striking down a massive, grotesque cursed monster, its body sprawled across the ground, broken and defeated. The gods' hands raised in triumph, holding golden weapons that glinted in the divine light of the painted scene. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from it, transfixed by the skill and grandeur of the painting. It was so lifelike, so vibrant that it felt as though the gods were about to step down from the mural and into the room.

Her gaze drifted downward, taking in the rest of the room. Rich gold accents ran through the furniture and trim, adding a regal sheen to the white marble floors, and the furniture itself was lavish, yet tasteful. The bed, draped in soft silks, looked impossibly large and comfortable. There were gilded mirrors and elaborate, ornate chairs, and the room gave off an almost ethereal glow, like it existed in a world separate from reality. Ynara found herself momentarily wondering just how much of it was real gold. How could a place like this even exist? It was a stark contrast to the chaos of what her life had become.

As she took it all in, there was a soft chuckle from the doorway, and she snapped out of her thoughts, turning toward the sound. Sukuna, who had followed her into the room, was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, an amused smirk curling on his lips.

"Looks like I’ll be stuck in some dingy little room, huh?" he remarked with a snarky tone, his eyes scanning the room with mock disinterest. "I bet this place is far too fancy for someone like me."

Ynara rolled her eyes, fighting the urge to respond with a sharp remark. Sukuna's presence had a way of unsettling her, even now, in this elegant room where she was supposed to feel safe. The last thing she wanted to deal with right now was his typical teasing, especially in a place so grand, so filled with memories that were both painful and precious.

But before she could speak, the servants who had been showing them to their quarters returned, their faces apologetic but resolute.

"Your Highness," one of them began, glancing at the other members of the group. "There is a... complication with the room assignments. We regret to inform you that due to the shortage of available accommodations on this floor, the only available room for you and your companion is... together."

Ynara’s heart stuttered in her chest. She blinked in surprise, her brows knitting in confusion. “What do you mean, together?”

The servant shifted nervously. "There are no more rooms on this floor that can accommodate your… situation. You and... Sukuna... will need to share a room. We can bring in an additional bed if needed."

Ynara’s stomach dropped. This was not the arrangement she had imagined. Sharing a room—especially with him—was the last thing she wanted. The idea of it, the closeness, the potential for discomfort, and the sheer irritation that would surely accompany it made her want to scream. Not to mention the ever-growing tension between them that she preferred, even now, not to think of.

Sukuna, of course, seemed rather amused by the news. He raised an eyebrow, his gaze flicking to Ynara with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Well, I guess it’s not so bad after all,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Who needs personal space anyway?”

Ynara’s frustration only deepened. She turned to the servant with a strained smile. "This is unnecessary," she insisted, her tone more forceful than she intended. “I can just have him placed further down the hall. Surely, there are other rooms.”

The servant shook his head apologetically. "There are no available rooms on this floor, Your Highness. We’re truly sorry, but we can offer no other solution."

Ynara’s teeth clenched. She wanted to protest more, to argue, but she could feel Sukuna’s gaze on her, his mocking expression growing more pronounced. She was not in a position to make demands. Sighing, she exhaled sharply. “Fine,” she muttered, her voice barely a whisper.

“Good,” Sukuna said with a knowing grin, stepping into the room and flopping down on the massive bed without a care. He sprawled out across the soft silks, his head tilted back, eyes half-closed in exaggerated satisfaction. “Plenty of room. I’ll fit just fine.”

Ynara could feel her face flush with irritation as she watched him settle in, his amused smirk never leaving his lips. He was reveling in her discomfort, and the thought of sharing such close quarters with him only intensified her already frayed nerves. Her heartbeat quickened, her earlier moment of awe at the room now reduced to a reminder of how completely her life had changed.

With a resigned sigh, Ynara turned away from the bed, staring out the window at the distant palace gardens, willing herself to calm down. The last thing she wanted was to let Sukuna get under her skin—especially now, when they were already walking a thin line between cooperation and tension. But it was hard to ignore the heat that rose in her chest when he looked at her like that, as if he knew just how to push her buttons.

She finally spoke, her voice quieter now, less confrontational. “I’m not thrilled with this either, but we need to make it work. For the sake of the mission.”

Sukuna gave her a lazy, almost disinterested glance as he rested one arm over his eyes. "Yeah, sure. Whatever you say, Princess. Just don’t expect me to be too considerate about it."

Ynara resisted the urge to snap back at him. Instead, she straightened her posture and tried to steady her breath. The tension between them was palpable, but she had no choice but to endure it. There was no way she could escalate the issue. They both had too much at stake.

x x x x

The golden rays of mid-morning filtered through the grand windows of Ynara's room, casting soft shadows across the marble floors as she stood before the mirror, carefully adjusting her attire. The silk of her gown flowed around her, a deep shade that complimented her eyes, the fabric embroidered with intricate designs. She was preparing to meet with Alistair for a discussion on matters unrelated to the Artifact, but as her fingers delicately fixed the fastenings, her mind wandered.

Earlier that morning, before the weight of the day's events began to settle in, she had given the others their assignments. The task was urgent, and the gravity of it pressed on her chest. She had sent Megumi, Yuji, Choso, and Nanami to scour the palace library for any information that might shed light on the Artifact’s true power and history. It was a dangerous game they were playing, and every scrap of knowledge they could gather could either solidify their mission or break it entirely.

She paused for a moment, taking a deep breath. In her mind's eye, she saw Megumi—his brow furrowed in concentration, as he led the group into the archives. There was something in his demeanor this morning that hadn't escaped her notice: his eagerness to dive into the investigation, as if it was a distraction, a means to push away the storm that had been brewing inside him ever since Toji’s appearance in the forest. Ynara couldn't blame him. There was an unsettled edge to him now, one that she knew all too well. His mind was somewhere far away, somewhere painful.

She turned away from the mirror and walked over to the window, gazing out at the city below. The streets were bustling with activity. The guards patrolled the pathways, and the occasional servant carried baskets of fruit or bundles of linen. But even in the heart of Auralis, where wealth and grandeur met the serenity of nature, something felt off—like a shadow looming just out of reach, waiting to descend.

She could hear the echoes of laughter from Yuji as he tried to lighten the mood. He had cracked a joke earlier that morning about the palace's opulence, poking fun at the extravagance that surrounded them. "I bet if they dropped one of these golden vases, they'd still have enough left over to feed the entire kingdom," he’d said with his typical grin, even as the rest of the group exchanged uneasy glances.

She smiled faintly at the memory of his attempt to keep the atmosphere from growing too heavy. Yuji was always good at that—bringing light to the darkest of moments. But his humor hadn't masked the unease that was creeping up among them. She had seen it in their eyes. They were all worried. Worried that the archives would be empty of answers, worried that they would find nothing more than more questions to add to the already endless list.

The tension was palpable. Even Choso, usually calm and composed, had a faraway look in his eyes, as though lost in a sea of thoughts he couldn't navigate. And Nanami, ever the realist, had taken a quiet stance, his face set with determination, but there was a weariness in his posture. A weariness that mirrored Ynara's own.

But her thoughts kept returning to Megumi. She couldn't shake the feeling that his determination to lead this investigation was born from a need to prove something—not just to Alistair or anyone else, but to himself. He was trying to outrun the lingering specter of his father’s betrayal, the same ghost that still haunted the air between them. The rift between them was growing with every passing hour, and she knew that until he could confront it, there would always be that barrier between them. He was more than capable, but Ynara couldn't help but wonder how much of his need to focus on the task at hand was to distract from the crushing weight of everything that had happened.

Turning away from the window, Ynara made her way toward the door, her footsteps echoing softly in the quiet room. She knew she needed to keep her own mind focused. The palace had already shown signs of discomfort with their presence, and it was becoming increasingly clear that there were eyes on them. Eyes that weren’t just watching but waiting.

She opened the door and stepped out into the hall, her heart heavy with the weight of what was to come. The group had their task, and they would return with what they could find—or perhaps with nothing at all. The uncertainty gnawed at her, but she knew that whatever information they brought back would be crucial.

The weight of the Artifact, its ancient power, and the secrets surrounding it were a constant presence on her mind. Even as she walked through the grand halls of the palace, her thoughts remained with her companions and the task they faced. They couldn't afford to fail. Not when so much was at stake.

The palace seemed to stretch endlessly before her, an imposing labyrinth of gold and marble, each corner steeped in history and tradition. The opulence, once awe-inspiring to Ynara, was already beginning to feel suffocating. She moved through the halls, her gaze steady but distant, her thoughts still lingering on the morning’s events. Though her body was present, her mind was adrift.

The diplomatic meetings that had been arranged for her would keep her busy from dawn until dusk. She had been given the task of meeting with the various dignitaries, ambassadors, and advisors who filled the palace’s corridors. Their faces were carefully neutral, but Ynara could feel the sharp edges of suspicion beneath their formalities. Every glance, every polite nod, seemed laced with a silent wariness. She was a stranger here, and worse, she was tied to the Artifact—something most of them viewed with deep mistrust, if not outright fear.

Sukuna and Nobara were with her at every step. It wasn’t that they were invited guests—they weren’t. Sukuna's presence alone seemed to make the courtiers uneasy. His mere existence was a constant reminder of the danger that lurked within their midst. He was like a storm, ever present, and those around him felt it. His sharp, unsettling gaze never left those in power, as if he were silently assessing them, waiting for them to reveal their hidden intentions. He relished in their discomfort, savoring it with a twisted smirk.

Nobara, on the other hand, stuck close to Ynara, offering the only true sense of solace in the midst of the palace's game of politics. She didn’t speak much, but her presence was a silent reassurance. As the day wore on, Nobara remained ever-vigilant, her eyes scanning the faces of the courtiers, watching their every move with quiet calculation.

Ynara could feel the weight of their gazes. They whispered in hushed tones, their words wrapped in veiled suspicion. She tried to maintain her composure, to play the part she was expected to, but the tension was unbearable. All day, the questions they asked—subtle at first, then increasingly pointed—seemed designed not to seek answers, but to push her into a corner, to test her.

Then, as the meeting with the elder advisor progressed, the tension finally reached a boiling point. The man, an older figure with graying hair and sharp features, leaned forward, his eyes narrowing in scrutiny. "Your Highness," he began, his voice smooth but carrying a hint of accusation, "tell us, what is your true purpose here? Are you hoping to gain something from the Artifact you carry? The very object that is said to hold such power. We have heard rumors of its destructive potential. Do you plan to use it for the benefit of your kingdom, or for your own personal ambitions?"

The question hung in the air, sharp and biting. The words stung, each syllable a challenge to her honor, to everything she had worked for. Ynara’s jaw tightened, her hands gripping the armrest of her chair. Her heart thundered in her chest, a wave of frustration threatening to swallow her whole. The advisor's eyes gleamed with something darker—an implication that she was no more than a manipulative player in this political game, a woman to be used, her every action questioned.

Sukuna’s gaze, dark and dangerous, snapped to the advisor. The room seemed to hold its breath as he leaned forward, his lips curling into a smirk. "You’ve got a problem with her, old man?" he growled, his voice laced with menace. "You better watch your words. It’s not just the Artifact you should be worried about."

The air grew colder, the weight of Sukuna’s presence pressing down on the room like a storm cloud. The elder advisor recoiled, his mouth snapping shut as he glanced around, realizing the situation was no longer in his control. The silence stretched, broken only by the subtle shift of bodies as the courtiers exchanged uncomfortable glances.

Ynara, however, felt the weight of his words settle heavily on her shoulders. She was used to confrontation, used to being scrutinized and tested, but the advisor’s question had touched something raw inside her. She had been fighting for so long—fighting to prove herself, to navigate the complicated politics of her kingdom, and now, even here, among the royal court of a kingdom she had once considered a second home, she was treated as though she were just a tool, an object to be used for someone else’s gain.

With a sharp intake of breath, Ynara stood, her voice steady but tinged with frustration. "I’ll excuse myself," she said, her gaze sweeping over the room before landing on the advisor, her tone icy. "This political theater is tiring. I’ve had enough of being treated as an enemy when my only wish is to find the answers I need to protect my kingdom and my people."

Without waiting for a response, she turned sharply and walked out of the room, her heels clicking against the stone floor in sharp rhythm. The door slammed behind her with a finality that echoed down the hall, the sounds of the court’s murmurs fading into the distance.

Once outside, Ynara leaned against the cool marble of the wall, closing her eyes as she tried to steady her racing heart. She was shaken, more than she cared to admit. The frustration was overwhelming. All she wanted was answers, but what she had encountered was nothing but suspicion and fear. She had hoped that her journey here would bring clarity, but it was becoming clearer that Auralis—this place she had once known so well—was no longer keen on treating her warmly.

The bitter sting of distrust hung in the air, suffocating her. And though Sukuna had silenced the advisor, she knew the battle for her own honor was far from over.

"I need a moment," Ynara whispered, her voice barely audible.

Sukuna's low chuckle sent a shiver down her spine. Of course he had followed her out. "A moment?" He stepped closer, his presence filling the space between them like smoke. "You've been having moments since we arrived, Princess. Tell me, is it the palace that makes you so... nervous? Or is it me?"

She turned to face him, chin lifted in defiance. "Don't flatter yourself. I've faced worse than you."

"Have you?" His eyes gleamed with something dangerous, something almost hungry. "Or have you just been telling yourself that?”

She heard the chamber doors opening and looked up to see Nobara approaching. The younger woman stepped beside her, ignoring Sukuna completely and offering a silent solidarity in her quiet gaze.

"Don’t let them get to you," Nobara said softly, her eyes meeting Ynara’s. "We’ll figure this out. Just breathe."

Ynara nodded, the anger still simmering beneath the surface, but for the moment, she allowed herself to breathe. She would endure, just as she always had.

x x x x

Later that evening, Ynara found herself back in the shared room with Sukuna, the oppressive silence between them heavier than the most intricate political discussions. The grand suite felt almost like a prison—a gilded cage—with its high ceilings and regal furnishings, everything too lavish to be comforting. The bed, large enough for the two of them, sat in the center of the room like a reminder of the arrangement neither of them had desired. The tension in the air was thick, and neither spoke as they entered, both still simmering from the day's confrontations.

Sukuna broke the silence first. He settled himself onto the bed with an almost exaggerated care, his smirk unfurling slowly as he glanced at Ynara. “Oh, is the little Princess scared to share a bed with the big bad curse?” His voice dripped with mockery. “You didn’t seem to mind when we shared a tent on the way here.”

Ynara’s jaw tightened, and she stood still, as though trying to anchor herself in the face of his teasing. She could feel her frustration bubbling up, the remnants of the political games still gnawing at her mind. She was used to being in control, to holding her own in conversations where every word mattered, where every move had consequences. But this—this discomfort, this aggravation of having to share a room with the very being whose presence unnerved her as much as his teasing—it was something else entirely.

She ignored his words, knowing that if she gave him an ounce of attention, he would only keep pushing. She had been tested and questioned all day, her authority undermined by whispers and distrust. The last thing she needed was Sukuna to add to that weight, yet here he was, smirking as though the entire situation was a game to him. She could feel the heat of his eyes on her, could sense the way his amusement washed over her like cold water, adding to the chill already settling in her chest.

But still, she resisted. She turned her back to him, pretending to focus on the soft fabric of her gown, the rhythmic brush of her fingertips against the silken material doing little to calm the storm inside her. She could feel the bitter sting of the day’s events lingering in her veins, the doubt and suspicion weighing her down. She hadn’t expected to feel so powerless within the palace walls. The biting words of the elder advisor still echoed in her mind, and she hated it. She hated feeling so exposed, so vulnerable.

Sukuna, on the other hand, seemed to delight in the unease he caused. He shifted in bed, the rustling of the sheets like a quiet whisper in the night, and for a moment, Ynara thought he might let the silence stretch. But that wasn’t in his nature. He thrived in this discomfort, the clash between them, the way she tried to maintain control, and how he tested her at every turn.

“I’m just curious,” he continued, his voice lazy, but still carrying an edge. “You’re not so bothered by being close to me when we’re on the move. So, why now, Princess? What’s changed?”

Ynara clenched her fists, but she forced herself to remain composed. The more she ignored him, the more her mind raged against the situation. How had she ended up here? With the one person she’d been told all her life to fear, forced to share space with him, in more ways than one?

She exhaled sharply, her breath escaping through her nose as she tried to regain her composure. “Nothing’s changed,” she said, her voice tinged with a brittle edge. “I’m not afraid of you, Sukuna. You’re just a nuisance.”

“Is that so?” His voice was dangerously soft now, as if amused by her deflection. He could feel her discomfort, and he reveled in it, savoring every moment of it like a delicious secret. “Funny, because you’re about as stiff as a board right now. I thought you were supposed to be a queen in your own right. Seems to me you’re just like everyone else—getting rattled by a little closeness.”

Ynara shot him a sharp glance, but before she could respond, Sukuna threw himself back on the bed with an exaggerated sigh. He spread out across the sheets, clearly enjoying the tension he’d created. The moment stretched, and yet, despite the animosity between them, there was an unspoken understanding. The room’s heavy silence felt like a wall between them, yet they both knew that the only way forward—however reluctantly—was to keep their focus on the task at hand.

Sukuna’s voice cut through the silence once more, this time softer, almost too casual. “I don’t know how you do it, Ynara. All this... diplomacy. It’s exhausting.”

Ynara closed her eyes, feeling the frustration beginning to ease, but only slightly. “Don’t pretend you care, Sukuna.”

“I don’t,” he admitted easily, his smirk returning. “But it’s fun to watch you squirm.”

Ynara said nothing to that, the words sinking into her chest like stones. She was tired—tired of the games, tired of the tension, tired of the political machinations that had nothing to do with her, and everything to do with the Artifact. The Artifact that continued to haunt her every move.

She crawled into the bed and turned onto her side, facing away from Sukuna, and tried to breathe evenly, to still her mind. But the air in the room was thick with unspoken words, with shared history, and something that felt much more dangerous than just discomfort.

As she lay there, struggling to push aside the weight of the day, she felt Sukuna shift behind her. His presence seemed to close the distance between them, and she held her breath, her pulse quickening for a brief moment. He was too close—too close for comfort, too close for her to keep pretending everything was fine.

Then, she felt it—his breath, warm against the back of her neck, stirring the strands of her hair. She froze, her body instinctively tense, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts that tried to make sense of the situation. She fought to keep her breathing steady, to keep herself calm. But as his presence settled even closer, something strange washed over her.

His hand, warm and surprisingly gentle, moved to brush a few stray strands of hair away from her neck. The simple gesture—so unexpected—left her frozen, unsure whether to react. It wasn’t the touch she’d expected from him, not the taunting, mocking gestures he was so fond of, but something else entirely, something far more subtle.

Sukuna, however, seemed to think she had fallen asleep. His touch remained gentle as he played with her hair, his fingers weaving through it with a soft, almost absent-minded touch. The tension between them, once so thick and suffocating, now felt like a fragile thread between them. And despite everything—their unresolved tension, the quiet animosity, the uneasy truce—they both lay there in silence, the night stretching on.

Ynara forced her eyes closed, fighting to keep herself still, to ignore the warmth of his touch and the odd sense of calm that it brought with it. Slowly, her body relaxed, and eventually, her thoughts began to fade, slipping into the quiet oblivion of sleep. Even though Sukuna’s presence loomed over her, for the moment, she allowed herself to surrender to the rest she so desperately needed.

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tag list: @after-laughter-come-tears @tequilya @alexatiu @sylussss7

all dividers made by me @/poutysprouty. please do NOT use.

[writingamongther0ses]

Hell to Pay

Summary: Chiron spills some tea about Zeus, someone's spilled tea on R.K.'s rug, and Mercury spills tea about the situation. None of this helps Megara.

Inspired by @flashfictionfridayofficial's prompt of "Spill the Tea"

-_-

A young student trotted up, her cheeks flushed with a wide smile. She had to have been no older than six. "Chiron?"

"Yes, Amelia?"

"Daddy's here."

A look swept over Chiron's face- confusion, relief, and then dread. “Where, my dear?”

“He’s in R.K.’s office. He said he wanted to talk to him,” She pointed at Megara, who suddenly felt very small. There was no needed explanation to who “him” was. A god was here, despite Olympus having suddenly shut down. And he wanted to talk to him.

“I see. Thank you, Amelia.” The little girl walked away, still smiling happily. Chiron straightened with a hum. “That is unusual. Hermes is the last person I suspect Zeus would allow to come here.” He started to walk away, leaving Megara to scramble to catch up. “Still, he must’ve heard something…”

“Why wouldn’t Hermes have been allowed?” Megara had to ask, despite the feeling of having said the wrong name. “Isn’t he the messenger of the gods?”

Chiron nodded. “He is, but Zeus feels like Hermes has taken too much interest in this case.” He sighed as they reached the elevator, pressing the up button. The elevator opened silently, allowing Chiron to step inside with Megara trailing behind. He pressed the fifth level. “Let me tell you something about your father, boy. He does not understand love. He understands lust, but that is his own lust. He does not understand why the gods love mortals.”

Megara fought back a face. On one hand, he probably should’ve been defending Zeus. After all, he was his father. On the other hand, he didn’t know Zeus. Maybe that was for the best.

The door opened, revealing a hallway. Unlike the other levels, this had no windows. Torches lit the way, revealing beautiful tapestries that led down to a grand set of double doors. A small plaque revealed that this was the Hall of Graduates. “Her office is on the right, the door next to the headmaster’s office,” Chiron said as Megara stepped off.

He nodded and began to walk.

The tapestries were elaborate, each showing the student in some pose, dressed in ancient Greek dress, surrounded with what had to be symbols of their achievements. One tapestry was of a woman, presenting a DNA strand. Another was someone who had to be Elvis, singing into a microphone with the iconic hair. Another was another woman, looking up at an old-fashioned airplane, next to another woman holding up a set of scales.

The one right next to the last door to the right depicted a familiar face. Megara found himself coming to a stop, studying it. The tapestry had caught R.K.- who else had blue eyes like that- standing on a ship, mid-lunge with a grey sword, aiming at the face of a giant man with glowing gold eyes. She wore a helmet decorated with feathers, a shield hefted up with the face of the Minotaur. His head ached for a moment and he tore his eyes away.

He knocked on the door.

“Come in,” a voice called from inside. Megara stepped inside and felt himself immediately taking a knee.

A man sat behind the desk. He was handsome, with golden hair and grey eyes that cut him to the bone. An air of cold solemnity made the office feel tense. Shame, because it was a pretty office- fine wood furniture, a large window that allowed sunlight to light up a tank full offish. Photos and trinkets decorated the shelves next to books about mythology. A sword holder sat, waiting for a sword that hadn’t returned yet. On the desk, there were four stacks of letters.

“Ave, Megara King.”

“Ave, Lord Mercury,” Because that who this was, not Hermes. Megara wasn’t sure how he knew, but he just did.

“Rise, boy,” Megara did, keeping his eyes firm on the floor. It helped him realize that there was a stain, like someone had stained tea and hadn’t cleaned it up in time. “Your father sent me to correct an error that I made.”

“An…error, my lord?”

The chair softly moved back. “Yes, an error,” A hand grasped his chin and forced his eyes up. “Three months ago, I made you swear an binding oath to never speak of Rhea-Kore Calimeris,” He twisted his hand back and forth, seeming to consider his features. “Something not needed. After all, R.K. kept the fact that she had met you secret for over eleven years.”

“Wait…we met?”

“Yes, once. I’m sure you don’t remember. She had been very badly hurt at the time, but I digress.”

Another thought popped in. “Will I remember more?”

“I do not know,” Mercury admitted as it pained him to say. “I do not know who cast this spell on you. I believe it might be Juno, but with her missing-”

“Wait, she’s missing?!”

“Why do you think there’s a lockdown?” Mercury didn’t let Megara answer further questions. His hand slid up to grip his forehead and he whispered something, too low for him to make out. He felt the pulses of magic though, wriggling into his brain. Something unlocked, just as Mercury’s eyes flew open.

“...my lord?”

“She stole your memories,” Mercury’s cold nature seemed to have fractured, revealing shock and then fear. He yanked his hands away, seeming to mutter to himself. “...what is she thinking…if she did this to him, then…” He grabbed what looked to be a small fidget toy, gripping and fussing with it as he seemed to think.

Megara tried to think, but nothing came to him. Nothing of his past, nothing before he woke up on the bus…no. Wait. His memory of R.K…

“I really shouldn’t be talking to you.”

SLAM.

Mercury had slammed the toy down on the desk. “If Juno has done what she has done to you to R.K., Uncle will have hell to pay,” he said, not looking back at him. “Now, get out.”

Megara wasted no time.

[cloudy-lands]

While you wait for the scenario here is non related headcanon & oneshot!

How you would look like in the scenario (currently writing)

Masked (early design) (newer design)

The non related stuff I wrote: Headcanon Prompt:

Lute’s heart was a cacophony of emotions as she stood amidst the ruins of what was once a battlefield. The air still tasted of ash and sorrow, a bitter reminder of the extermination that had claimed countless exorcists, including Adam, the one she had secretly admired for his unexpected badassery.

In the quiet aftermath, a secret bloomed within her—a new life, a spark of Adam that she carried. It was a bittersweet revelation; joy intertwined with the ache of loss. She missed him, his laughter, his moments of badass decisiveness, the way he looked at her as if she was the only one in the room.

She remembered the day she had taken his halo, a glowing remnant of his existence. With a mix of hope and desperation, she brought it to Sera, the wise one who knew the ancient ways. “Can he be brought back?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Sera, with eyes that had seen the turn of centuries, nodded. “There is a way,” she said, and thus began the ritual to resecrute Adam from the essence of his halo.

The process was arduous, filled with chants and symbols that danced in the air, weaving the fabric of life from the threads of the afterlife. And then, in a burst of celestial light, Adam was there, standing before them—disoriented, but very much alive.

He blinked, taking in the sight of Lute, Sera, and Emily, who stood by with bated breath. His gaze fell upon Lute, and he noticed the change in her, the gentle swell of her belly. “Oh, Hey Lute!!! What’s with the belly?” he asked, his voice filled with a mix of surprise and curiosity.

A warm flush spread across Lute’s cheeks as she met his gaze, her heart pounding in her chest. “Well, Adam, Sir. You’re… a father,” she said, the words sending a ripple of shock and elation through Adam.

His response was immediate and full of life; he swept Lute into his arms, lifting her off the ground in a whirlwind of joy. They spun around, laughter mingling with tears, as the reality of their reunion and the promise of their child settled in their hearts.

In that moment, they were no longer just survivors of a cruel fate; they were a family, bound by love that had transcended the greatest of trials.

One Shot

*kind of relates to the headcanon above

After the eradication of sinners and Adam's demise, Lute discovered she was pregnant with Y/N. Despite her happiness, she deeply missed Adam. Their love had been genuine. Lute vividly remembered taking Adam's halo after his death and bringing it to Sera, hoping for a way to resurrect him. Fortunately, there was a solution. Sometime later, Adam was summoned back from his halo—the very one Lute had taken. Upon reappearing, Adam seemed disoriented. His gaze swept the area, and when he spotted Lute, he noticed something different about her: her belly was rounder. Adam, never one to hold back, blurted out, "Oh, hey Lute! What's with the belly?" Lute blushed and averted her eyes. "Well, Adam, Sir," she stammered, "you're... a father." Adam's joy was palpable. He spun Lute around in the air, hugging her tightly. "You're what now?" "Pregnant," Lute confirmed. "We're having a child." "We... we are?" "Yes, it was bound to happen eventually. And now our baby is here." Adam's disbelief was evident. "I can't believe it." "But I'm glad you're back," Lute said softly. "I need you." "How long was I gone?" "Long enough for me to start a new life." Adam's next question was straightforward: "Who's the dad?" "It's you, dummy." Lute leaned in. "Now kiss me. It's been too long." Adam obliged, his lips tender against hers. His hands rested on her stomach, feeling the baby kick in response. "So, what's our child's name going to be?" Lute asked. "I was thinking... Y/N. How does that sound?" "Perfect. Let's hope our child inherits your looks." "Why not yours?" "Because you're the beautiful one," Lute teased. "Our baby should take after you." Adam grinned. "You're a charmer. That's why I love you." "And that's why I'm a lucky man—with a great wife and now a kid." "I love you too." "So, Y/N, huh?" "Yep." "Well, I'm ready to take care of Y/N." "Same here. Let's go home. Mama and the baby need rest." "Sure thing, dear." As they walked through the streets of the city, Adam held Lute close, his touch gentle against her back. The baby responded with kicks, and a soft smile graced Lute's lips. The city seemed to pulse with new life—a beacon of hope for their future. "Y/N," Lute said, her voice filled with anticipation. "What do you think of Y/N as our baby's name? I find it rather endearing. Or do you have any other suggestions?" Adam's smile widened as he put his arm around Lute's shoulder. He leaned in, planting a tender kiss on her lips, then her cheek, and finally her forehead. "I think it's perfect," he murmured. Lute nestled her head against his chest, content. "I'm so glad we're starting this new life together," she whispered. "Me too," Adam replied, his voice filled with emotion. "Let's go," Adam said, leading Lute toward their home. The anticipation of their child's arrival hung in the air, weaving their love into the very fabric of their existence.

[Writer's Perspective] Adam's emotions were a whirlwind when he learned of Lute's pregnancy. Joy and excitement mingled with the ache of missing out on those early moments. Determined to be there for his child, he vowed to make every moment count. [Character's Perspective] Time flowed steadily, and their child's room stood ready—a sanctuary of anticipation. Lute's eagerness to meet their little one mirrored Adam's nervous excitement. As they lay in bed, waiting for the pivotal moment, Lute's voice broke the silence. "I can't wait to meet our child." Adam's reply was heartfelt. "Same here, dear. Nervous, but thrilled." They exchanged glances, their love woven into the very fabric of the room. The air buzzed with anticipation.

Months had passed And then it arrived—the labor pains, fierce and unyielding. Lute clung to Adam's hand, her grip unyielding. He wondered if his hand might break from the intensity. The doctors arrived, their presence reassuring. Lute pushed with all her might, the pain seemingly endless. But then, like a miracle, it was over—the cries of a newborn filling the room. "Congratulations," the doctor announced. "You have a baby boy!" Lute and Adam shared a look of pure joy. Their son—the continuation of their celestial lineage—had arrived. The doctors whisked the baby away briefly for examination. Lute's eyes followed them, her heart swelling with love. Soon, they returned, cradling a crying infant—their precious child, a beacon of hope in a world of possibilities.  Doctors: Everything checks out. You can name him now. Lute: (Y/N). Adam: Welcome, Y/N. Lute: (Y/N), my son. I'm your mama, and this is your dad. Adam smiled, reaching out to their newborn. Adam: Hey, Y/N. Doctors: Alright, let us know if you need anything. Congratulations on the child. Lute and Adam exchanged grateful glances. Lute and Adam: Thank you. As the doctors left, Y/N's cries subsided. His tiny eyes blinked up at his parents. Lute: Hello there, little one. I'm your mama. Adam: And I'm your dad, Y/N. They smiled, their hearts full, and continued talking to their new child. Later, they drifted off to sleep, cradling their precious gift. It was the best day for Lute—a healthy child, Adam by her side, and a new chapter unfolding.

.sorry for any grammar mistakes as i am not fluent in English.

[morocosmos]

FFXIVWrite 2024 Day 6 - Halcyon

Masterlist Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV Characters/Pairings: Leofard Myste, Warrior of Light Rating: Gen Additional Notes: - Ao3 Link

As time with the Redbills passed, pockets of routine began to form in Moro’a’s day, like water carving out the bends of a river. Sky pirates weren’t exempt from dirty clothes and dusty surfaces, and mealtimes were often had together, far more often than Moro’a thought a band of ruffians from all walks of life might. Stacia would scold Utata for trying to skip their shared repast to tinker at machinery; Ghimsald would sometimes burst into song, picking out one of the many tunes he’d gathered from his days as an altogether different kind of pirate, and cajoling the other Redbills into joining him when the ale had settled into their bellies.

And on many nights, including this one, Moro’a found himself on Leofard’s rooftop, gazing up at the Sea of Clouds’ endless swathes of stars. The air smelled of T’kana’s cooking, and the lightly-perfumed smoke wafting from Leofard’s direction; the hyur rarely indulged, or so he claimed, but tonight was just the right sort of evening for a drag.

“I worked me arse off haulin’ those baubles out of that cave!” Leofard exclaimed in offence when Moro’a questioned him. “Wasn’t my fault some ancient Dravanian decided to bury her keepsakes there, or that a ruddy ‘bo tried to launch flamin’ rocks on our heads. A puff or two is me demonstrating restraint.”

Moro’a grinned, content to let it slide. “You know, the Dravanians sometimes burn camphor branches in Anyx Trine. Mostly to keep the Gnath away, but some of them like the smell.”

“Are you telling me dragons smoke? Ess Khas should’ve given me some.”

Moro’a snorted. Leave it to Leofard to consider something like that without an onze of hesitation. He shifted, resting his head on his palms as he settled into the pile of blankets Leofard had spread out on the rooftop.

“It’s a good life, eh?” Leofard said, somewhere between a remark and a question. “Adventure just ‘round the corner, wherever and whenever you wish. A peaceful night when you’ve had your fill.” 

“You? Desire peace?”

“Hah! Still full of surprises, am I? Though I suppose you weren’t in a position to take everything in when we were huntin’ down that Mhachi ship.” He paused, holding the cigar to his lips before exhaling a stream of smoke. “To be honest, I’m mighty chuffed you accepted my offer.”

Moro’a turned to look at him, curious. “Why’s that?”

“I suppose I wanted to give you a taste of this.” Leofard’s hand swept across the sky, gesturing at the whole expanse. “The Redbill way of life. We do as we please and go where we please, aye, but we still have the things what define us. A place to rest our wings. And when it comes to it, there’s nothin’ else like home.”

Home, Moro’a considered. He’d long accepted for himself that home was something he carried with him, memories and bonds he held in his heart. A wanderer’s refuge, incapable of being rooted to any one place. 

But he did like it here — an isle suspended amongst eternal clouds, fashioned into a home for a found flock. It would never be a permanent fixture for him, he knew, but a familiar haunt? “I could get used to this,” he admitted softly, moreso to himself than Leofard.

[helix-enterprises117]

Halo Reloaded: Hot Spot

In the heart of Reach City, where the skyline was punctuated by the imposing silhouette of Fleetcom HQ, there lay a secret so closely guarded it might as well have been another level of classified Spartan training. This secret, however, involved neither covert ops nor alien technology, but something far more elusive to John-117—a genuine good time.

Linda-058, sniper extraordinaire and part-time Spartan social coordinator (a self-appointed title, mind you), had taken it upon herself to drag John, the Master Chief, out of his shell—or, more accurately, his Mjolnir armor. It wasn't that John didn't know how to have fun; it's just that his idea of a good time usually involved a little more... carnage.

"John, when's the last time you did something that didn't involve shooting or exploding something?" Linda prodded one day, as they were rearming themselves for what felt like the billionth time.

"I'm sure I had breakfast once without any explosions," John replied dryly, without looking up from his MA5B Assault Rifle.

"That doesn't count if you're eating in the mess hall and a Grunt's plasma grenade accidentally goes off," Linda retorted, her tone light but insistent.

John paused, considering her point. "Fair enough. I suppose it's been a while."Linda seized the moment, her eyes gleaming with a mix of mischief and determination. "There's this spot in Reach City. It's like Mecca for Spartans, except with less praying and more... indulging. It's time you experienced it."

John raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite his usual reticence. "What kind of indulging are we talking about here? Because if it's another one of those 'knit your own socks' team-building exercises, I'm out."

Linda laughed, a sound as rare and surprising as a Grunt without a methane tank. "Trust me, it's nothing like that. Think of it as an... oasis. A slice of paradise where you can just be John."

The idea of being 'just John' was as alien to the Master Chief as the Covenant themselves, but the earnestness in Linda's voice piqued his curiosity. With a resigned nod, he agreed. "Alright, but if I end up knitting, I'm blaming you."

Their journey to the bistro was an exercise in stealth, not because they needed to be unseen, but because John insisted on practicing his 'urban camouflage techniques'—much to Linda's amusement.

The bistro, hidden in plain sight among the historic buildings of Reach's old quarter, buzzed with an energy that felt worlds away from the front lines.

Stepping through the door, John half-expected to find a room full of Spartans in full battle rattle. Instead, he was greeted by the sight of his fellow super-soldiers laughing, sharing stories, and—most shockingly—participating in a karaoke battle that was currently being dominated by a Spartan known for his inability to carry a tune even if it came with a handle.

Linda guided them to a table with a good view of the spectacle, ordering two of the house specials before John could protest. "See, it's about finding joy in the little things, like discovering your squad leader sings 'Total Eclipse of the Heart' with more passion than he commands an assault."

John, watching the performance with a blend of horror and fascination, couldn't help but crack a smile. "I'll never hear that briefing the same way again," he confessed, the tension easing from his shoulders for the first time in months.

Their conversation meandered from the ridiculous to the sublime, from tales of missions gone awry to dreams of peace that felt as distant as the stars above. The food, when it arrived, was a simple affair that tasted like heaven to taste buds dulled by too many meals consumed in haste between battles.

As the evening wore on, John found himself swept up in the camaraderie, participating in a Spartans-vs-Civilians trivia contest that proved his knowledge of ancient Earth history was almost as good as his marksmanship. Almost.

"I have to admit, this was not what I expected," John said to Linda as they made their way back, the streets of Reach City quiet in the late hour.

Linda smiled, a rare, genuine expression that spoke volumes. "Sometimes, the hardest battles we fight are the ones against ourselves, against the part of us that forgets we're human first, Spartans second."

John considered this, the truth of her words settling in. "Thanks, Linda. For reminding me there's more to life than just blood and gunmetal."

"Anytime, John. Just promise me you'll leave the knitting needles at home next time," Linda teased, her laughter echoing into the night, a sound as hopeful as the dawn they were fighting for.

[magical-mistakes-vm]

4

"Listen here, little witch, I think you know exactly who and what I am." Suddenly the air around them seemed to hum and vibrate. Vollrath’s face became a mask of rage, his eyes hard, and voice cold.  The distance between them was closed in a mere step, his head tilting to look down at her, his gaze even more intense and intimidating than they had been at any time up to that point.  Mahala didn't flinch, her exterior hiding her instant regret at provoking him and her inability to move. "Do you really want to start a confrontation with me right here and now?  I would consider your answer very carefully.  Remember where you are and the mistakes you almost made in the forest on MY land.  Once you summoned your mother, how would you contain her? How would you vanquish her back to the other side of the veil? What would happen if another spirit showed up? Were you ready for any of that?  So, again, do you really want to take me on?" 

Through all he said, the volume of Vollrath’s voice did not raise.  His tone made the Arctic Circle seem like a tropical vacation, but he did not yell.  He'd also, at some point, taken her hand again. The action had been so smooth that she had not even noticed until he had stopped speaking. Why he had done it was once more a mystery to her, this man was so confusing!

Mahala wasn't sure how she didn't run from the room like a scared mouse being chased by a lion. In that moment, Vollrath’s rage had him appearing as if he was a lethal predator and it shook her to her core.  From somewhere she found the fortitude to stand her ground.  Within her chest, the beating of her heart threatened to break ribs to free itself, and her lungs felt too constricted to allow full breath, yet she still remained on her feet. 

After almost a full moment of silence, Mahala gave Vollrath a reply, the tick that had started in his jaw indicating his already foul mood was further deteriorating.  "I know that I made a mistake considering the ritual to summon my mother, you don't have to remind me.  That doesn't mean I'm a slave or captive to be ordered around like I do not have free will, Vollrath."  She closed her mouth before her voice started to shake.  She'd made it that far sounding confident, best to keep it that way.  

"I consider you neither." He leaned in closer, his hazel eyes almost seeming to glow in the dim light.  Still his voice was calm and quiet, but his demeanor was less intimidating.  "You are an untrained witch with a great deal of wild power who is currently under my protection.  If I let you leave without at least a couple basic protection spells, information on how to contact me, and some basic discussion on what you are and how hunters will find you, do you think you would be safe?" His voice was smooth and almost too calm for how rattled Mahala felt.  Just as he finished speaking Vollrath’s thumb swept the back of her hand and he squeezed very gently.  He would have done more, but given how keyed up she was, he preferred not being slapped or more.  Everything would come in time, he could feel the ancients and ancestors working.

Mahala knew that there was something he’d done with the caress of the back of her hand, but she didn’t know what.  She could feel herself relaxing, her breathing easing, and her heart calming, even if her emotions were still a tempest.  "What are you doing?" Her voice was quiet and sounded small as her eyes searched his like they held some answer that she would be able to discern.  He somewhat frightened her and what he had just said reminded her just how dangerous he was, and also how much she needed him at the moment. 

Unshed tears sparkled in her whiskey eyes, reflecting in the dim light coming in from the hallway to the mudroom they were currently standing in, there was no way Vollrath could miss them.  His free hand rose to gently lay against her cheek, trying to comfort the upset he had caused.  There was something about the witch that made him feel possessive and protective over her in a way he did towards none other under his purview.  It was hard for him not to draw her into a comforting embrace to try to sooth her. Everything he normally avoided was what he wanted to do, with her.

"You might not like my style, Mahala, but I am trying to help you.  I need you to listen and work with me.  Sometimes that may mean I have to do things you don’t like to get your attention.  You are safe with me, always.  That , I promise." His eyes met hers evenly as he spoke.  If she ran, he would have to chase her.  If she fought, he would be forced to restrain her.  If she'd just work with him, he could keep her safe and alive. “Do not make me be harsh with you, it is not what I want.  I'd prefer to help calm and comfort you as we do this.”  He hated scaring her which was unusual, normally he gave not one single fuck.

Once more his fingers slid into her hair to pull her gently forward to press a soft kiss to the middle of her forehead for the second time of the night.  As he did, he heard her exhale a stuttered breath and felt her trembling fingers rest against his chest.  Maybe she was starting to trust him.  Maybe this could work if he could also control his own temper, a small feet in its own right. 

"Why do you do that?" Her voice was barely more than a whisper.  She didn't want to challenge him, but she did want to know.  Mahala found that for some reason she liked it when he did, but it made no sense that he did it.

"Does it bother you?" He tilted his head so he could match her volume, his lips now brushing the curve of her ear as he spoke. Why did he wish his lips to be on her skin, to find hers?  He ached for it. His mind already playing over the scenarios in which he could further contact.

Very slightly her head shook, the contact with him sending vibrations over her skin and giving her chills.  Not only was he very powerful, he was devastatingly and darkly handsome, a combination that was giving her totally inappropriate butterflies at the moment.  His small shows of affection were part of her confusion regarding the whole situation.

"No, I would just like to know the reason." Mahala got enough control of her breathing and voice to ask.

A slow smile formed on his lips as he began to answer her, "you are very special, little witch.  More powerful than you realize. You have me captivated and draw me to you in ways I have yet to fully understand. I feel the need to personally see to your protection, training, and education. I want you to trust me, Mahala." Vollrath, to his credit, was honest.  He didn't mention he normally did not kiss women anywhere, even in romantic settings or that he would gladly do more if she'd allow, but he felt he'd given her enough information for the moment.   This was especially true since he had no idea why he craved her so.  

On Mahala’s part, his answer did nothing to quell those butterflies she was already feeling.  Without realizing it, her fingers had gripped the fabric of his shirt.  "I will trust you, Vollrath, unless you give me a reason not to." Before she could think better of it, she turned her head slightly and left an ever so soft kiss on his cheek right next to the corner of his mouth.

Mahala Codona was going to be the death of him, Vollrath was quite sure.  If she didn't frustrate him by making him want to throttle her, she was going to cause him to want to end the world to keep her safe.  And those petal soft lips that had just caressed his cheek, they became a whole new temptation of their own; which had him doubting his own sanity. 

[veiledmary]

the pale afternoon sun filtered through the twisted, gnarled branches of the old oaks that stood like sentinels around the cemetery. long, golden rays of light broke through the canopy, casting shadows that stretched across the weathered gravestones, their inscriptions faded and forgotten by time. the soft rustle of wind whispered through the leaves, carrying with it the faint, familiar scent of damp earth and decaying flowers. it was quiet here—a kind of stillness that only the dead seemed to understand.

at the base of an ancient stone angel, its wings chipped and moss-covered, mary bennett sat cross-legged, her sketchbook balanced delicately on her lap. her pale fingers moved gracefully across the paper, tracing the shape of something that had only just come into focus—a shadowed figure, half-formed and elusive, lingering at the edge of her vision. every so often, her brow furrowed, and she would glance up, emerald eyes scanning the cemetery's mist-draped pathways, as though trying to catch sight of what she was drawing in full.

the figure wasn’t there—not in any tangible sense. but she felt it. Its presence lingered, cold and heavy like the chill in the autumn air. her hand worked quickly, almost on its own, capturing the spirit’s form—tall, distant, a face obscured in darkness, the lines of its body twisting and bending unnaturally.

mary’s lips parted, and a breath escaped her, a misty exhale in the cooling air. the atmosphere had changed, a deeper cold settling around her as if the ground itself had shifted. she felt the faint pull of the spirit, the weight of its unfinished story pressing on her shoulders, the sorrow that clung to it like fog.

as her graphite pencil swept across the page, she lost herself in the process, unaware of how deeply she had been drawn into this haunting presence. her gaze softened, her body still except for the rhythmic strokes of her hand. she didn’t notice the shifting shadows around her, didn’t hear the distant crunch of footsteps approaching her from behind.

her focus was entirely on the sketch—the way the lines of the figure seemed to writhe, to resist being captured. there was a sadness in it, something unresolved, a cry for help without words. her heart clenched, the familiar sensation of being drawn too close to the edge of another's pain, the weight of it making her breath catch in her throat.

just as she felt the familiar cold brush of a spirit moving past her, something shifted—something that didn’t belong to the world of the dead. she felt a chill along her porcelain skin, and a sudden awareness washed over her.

she wasn’t alone.

her hand stilled, the pencil pausing mid-stroke as she slowly lifted her gaze from the page, eyes narrowing slightly as she scanned the surrounding gravestones. the cemetery was still, but the air felt charged, alive in a way that only happened when someone else entered the space—someone living.

mary exhaled softly, tilting her head ever so slightly to the side, listening.

“are you here for them... or for me?” she murmured, her voice low, soft, almost too quiet for the wind to carry. her question hung in the air, waiting for an answer.

[your-good-pal-chevy]

Swordtember : 25 : Prism

Lionel and Kalliste stood with their backs to each other. Trapped within the Imperial ruins, they did not know from which direction their foe would strike.

"You know," Lionel said, "At the very least, things could be worse."

Kalliste let out a weak chuckle. "I'm not sure how."

"At least there's light down here," Lionel said, "And I know, I know, that makes this the part where all the torches and candles and such are snuffed out."

Lionel gestured with his sword, thrusting it toward a nearby candelabra. "Now!" He paused there a moment, watching the candles burn, before returning to his previous stance. "Alright, I guess we're not in that kind of tale."

Kalliste chuckled again, in spite of herself. "Now is hardly the time for jokes."

"I know, I know," Lionel said, "But you know me, can hardly keep my trap shut at the best of times."

A cold breeze swept through that ancient ruin, chilling them both to the bone. A whisper followed it, as if carried on its winds, some rasping voice muttering in an unknown tongue.

"Be ready," Kalliste whispered. She turned to face the doorway that breeze came from, her falx held in a high guard. Lionel raised his shield, putting himself between Kalliste and the darkness beyond.

A long, thin arm reached out from the shadows. Wrapped in linen and covered in golden bangles, it terminated in a clawlike hand that slowly went through the motions of several arcane gestures.

Lionel and Kalliste watched the hand for a moment, fear gripping their hearts, unsure of how to approach. Then, Lionel sensed something, and he immediately threw up his shield.

The mummified hand suddenly splayed, a beam of putrid light emanating from its palm. Its magic lanced across the room, the lights flickering as it passed by.

Lionel took the brunt of the beam on his shield, the wood blackening and warping under its assault. He was pushed back by the force of it, but Kalliste was able to step out of the way. Kalliste rushed forward, swinging her falx at the hand.

The hand retreated into the shadows. Before Kalliste could press the advantage, however, the being it was attached to emerged. It bulled into Kalliste, knocking her over as it charged into the room.

It was massive. Nearly a head taller than Lionel, a huge and lanky form wrapped in linen bandages. Its head, appearing shrunken on its huge body, was browned with the passage of untold centuries. Its eyes burned a pale green, twin stars trailing through the dim light. It floated a hair's breadth of the ground, its clawed feet trailing on the stones below it.

It pointed at Lionel, uttering some unknown challenge in its ancient tongue.

"Yeah, I don't speak that," Lionel said, huddling behind his shield. He twirled the Sword of Stars in his hand, anticipating the worst.

And the being stopped. It stared at the sword, its dry lips pulling back to reveal a mouth full of fangs. It slowly started to shake, hands balling into fists, its rictis falling open to let out a rasping attempt at a roar.

It thrust both hands forward, shooting out another pair of beams at Lionel. He brought his shield up, but the force of the beams threatened to splinter his wooden shield. His legs buckled, and he fell to one knee, pressing on the shield with both hands in an attempt to keep it between himself and that awful light.

Kalliste swung her falx at the monster and it bit deep, but the blade stuck fast and the beast seemed none the worse for it.

Lionel's shield continued to warp, rattling under the assault. The wood began to peel apart, its metal rim and rivets coming loose.

The shield shattered apart and, in that instant, Lionel was certain death would take him.

His hands went up, and had he not been clutching the Sword of Stars in his sword hand, he certainly would have died.

The beams struck the Sword of Stars. It hummed angrily, the beams meeting its edge and splitting apart. Like light passing through a prism, the beams split apart and bored holes into the masonry around the room.

Kalliste cursed loudly, bracing against the monster with one foot to pull her sword loose.

Lionel struggled to his feet, keeping the Sword of Stars between himself and the beams. He pushed forward, the immense pressure splitting apart on the edge of his crystalline blade.

The monster rasped again, no doubt cursing in its own language.

Kalliste brought her falx into its side again, hacking at the same spot she had struck before. The monster wobbled in the air, its power seemingly shaken.

The twin beams from its hands ebbed away, and it careened to the ground.

Lionel did not waste time. He charged the fiend, swinging his sword with both hands.

The monster screamed, an unholy noise echoing through the ruins. Its flesh burned where the Sword of Stars cut it, and it recoiled from the assault.

One of its hands fell to the ground. It shriveled and blackened under the might of the Durands' blade.

The monster thrashed, floating up and smashing into the ceiling, desperate to get away from that holy blade. Kalliste's falx was wrenched from her grip, still stuck in its mummified body. The monster clawed at the stump of its forearm, ripping it from its elbow and tossing it aside as those holy flames consumed it.

"I can hurt it," Lionel muttered, brandishing his sword. "Kalliste! I can hurt it!"

"I see that," she said, pointing at her weapon lodged in its side. "Bastard took my falx!"

"Boost me!" Lionel didn't wait for her to respond, he simply ran toward her, trusting her to understand.

Kalliste blinked in surprise, for a moment unsure, but then she took a wide stance with her hands held low. Lionel jumped forward, pushing off of her hands as she pulled up, and he bounced upward with her help.

Lionel swung his sword again, aiming for the monster's chest, but it anticipated the blow. The monster scrabbled away, pressing itself hard against the ceiling of the room. Lionel's sword missed by a hair, catching the flat of Kalliste's blade and ripping it loose.

The monster, unwilling to continue fighting now that it had been wounded, fled through the another doorway. It disappeared into the shadows beyond.

[okruchlodu]

Yennefer stumbled backwards from the force of her spell as she withdrew her Chaos from the child now slumped over in unnatural sleep, gasping. The Power had filled her like molten lead, pulsating and shimmering in her blood. The air around her, thrummed. She drew a shaky breath, and palmed at the swell of her chest, now heaving with every sharp, short breath as she regained her self composure. The stars in the sky rippled and flickered like stars reflected on the surface of the ocean. The moon, burning in the east, exploded with light.

She felt her throat close up, felt a numbness in her body, frost-cold and aching. She was furiously tired — exhaustion tugging at her frayed edges. There was a streak of blood splattered across her left cheek from the girl's hand, scratches down her neck from holding her down earlier. She shook her head and tossed a startingly violet look upon the Witcher, nodding her agreement, saying only, breathlessly, I know.

A vague glow had arisen on the horizon, far ahead of them, a shimmering, rippling vortex of blinding, unnatural light that seemed to be moving closer and closer with every passing hour. In the abrupt silence that enveloped the woods, Yennefer could sense something dark lurking in the shadows— the dark air around them thick and choking with it: foreboding, malicious. She breathlessly swept her gaze around them, her heart pounding frantically. Lightning sliced the sky, and in its flash the enchantress saw eyes, poison yellow and gleaming, on either side of them, hiding into the woods, laying in wait.

Trust me... Ready the horses — get the child. she decided, feeling gut-wrenching fear swell in her throat. There was no more time to lose: they had already been fighting for days now— she could not tell how many, a week? Mayhaps two. Time flowed differently here, in these woods, where nothing grew or lived but death itself and all its ancient rites and blood. She could sense the shift in the air as Eskel reached for the girl; she could almost taste it in her mouth, that boundless, endless darkness, calling to her, a vast, rippling whirlpool of strange, ancient forces that she could feel reaching for them, as though a knife to the throat. Something was stirring within her blood; reaching its claws and sinking into the body of her magic, that rippling, shimmering veil of Chaos from which she could draw the Force to cast her spells and magic.

A brilliant, powerful spark abruptly shot from her fingers, hand poised in the air like a claw, heat sent forth to crackle and rumble kinetically as she drew from the Force, gasping. Something was blocking the source of the power that was flowing like a stream throughout her veins, but she furiously cut right through it, crying out a spell.  The pendant upon her neck glowed a brilliant, blinding blue, its violent light reflecting in the violet of her eyes, now alight with seething, unbridled power.  Raven black curls flowed around her from the force of her spell, a display of a sorceress determined to get what she was after, enraged and in full power.  

The air around them hissed and rippled, burning furiously, as light began to slice the thick of the night, forming an irregular, flickering oval filled with an iridescent gleam. Something howled in the shadows, and the ground beneath their boots juddered and shook, the little hut upon the hill with it. She heard a window burst and explode from the forces thrumming all around them, heard the horses stomp their hooves violently upon the cold, hard ground, but she sustained the casting, gasping; she cast a brilliantly bright look back over at Eskel, said, now! I cannot hold it! as a malformed, warped portal swirled with fierce ferocity before them, drawing them on; there was something terribly twisted about it, contaminated; but Yennefer, intensely resolute and defiant, pressed on, drawing such vast, immense power from the Force that soon she was trembling under the immensity of its grasp upon her, summoning up every last ounce of it so that she could pierce the magical blockade and sustain the portal long enough for them to step through and out of this world made strange by whatever elusive dark magic was haunting the child.

Afterwards, there was a blinding light and a furious maelstrom, a blast which took her breath away and squeezed her ribs as they were suddenly sucked in with ferocious brutality and spat out onto the middle of a castle, crashing the tables pushed together in the middle of a grand hall where council was being held. Yennefer gasped and shot out her hand, crying out another spell and furiously transmuting the table beneath them into another portal for them to slip through and onwards. It all happened within seconds, a constant stream of boundless energy that sucked and drew them into its violent, swirling vortex. Bitter, frost cold darkness enveloped them, and they were spat out into the middle of a square.

Yennefer collapsed onto her knees, feeling her blood burn ice cold and frozen in her veins. She looked around her frantically, searching for the witcher and the girl. The village was eerily empty, the only sound greeting them, the far away chime of a bell as dawn broke over the skies.

They had at least escaped the woods, but the spell had devoured huge parts of her energy, leaving the sorceress numb and cold all over, her breathing quickened and shallow as she desperately tried to regain her strength so that she might stand.

Something was interfering with the natural currents of Chaos that flowed through the world around them; something was warping the channels through which the power of Elemental Planes permeated the material world, blocking the Force. Yennefer blinked at the child; even sank into slumber, the dark power within her was emanating forcibly. Could she be the cause of this?

She cast her gaze upwards, noticing the fierce, green light glowing ominously overhead,the same strange glow they had seen from the cabin, now dangerously closer. And yet it looked as though it was coming from somewhere far off and away into the distance, hanging over the Continent like a dark veil torn to shreds, pulsing, shimmering darkly. Yennefer stared at it then wordlessly met the witcher's gaze, a meaningful look passing between them despite the vicious ache pounding in her head, blurring her vision.

@wanderingwolfwitcher

Eskel's viper eyes remained trained on the shadowy Shriekers the dark magic had summoned... medallion humming wildly and bouncing against his armor... these were not the ordinary flesh and blood sort... but more like the Wraiths... and the past nights, he'd gotten used to fighting them... and already had years of experience doing so. He met them with rune encrusted silver sword and Signs alike, dancing among their ranks lashing out and striking them one by one, with the raven haired Sorceress pitching in now and again when she could with her own magic. His Yrden Signs ensnared some and blasted others with violet magical lightning, throwing them off to be cut down by his blade. When they fell screaming, their forms dissipated into shadow, and vanished altogether, one after another. Over it all Yennefer worked to keep the possessed child summoning them from escaping... her efforts getting more difficult from the sound of it. Picking up the pace as she requested, he slew the final Shriekers and watched their forms dissipate, the shadows retreating back out into the dark woods surrounding the cabin. With a breath, he spoke up, sheathing his silver sword again and muttering to himself.

"That's the last of the bastards... for now. Need to get the girl under control again..."

The Witcher made his way back to join the Sorceress on that note, medallion humming and buzzing the closer he drew to the girl, raising a hand and joining in on her magical outpouring... binding the girl in Yrden Signs again, casting a powerful Axii Sign to attempt to sooth her, and a Somne Sign to try to put her back to sleep. The Signs were losing some of their effectiveness on the possessed being, as the thing inside her grew stronger... but in combination with Yennefer's own magic, gradually began to do their job. The magic encased child sank back down to the floor slowly, closing her inky black eyes again... and before long was back to sleep, under control, the dark magic pouring from her receding again. Even so, it was close, too close... and the demon thing inside her probably knew that too, that it was close to achieving the inevitable, the longer the exorcism was put off, leaving it content to withdraw its hold, for the moment. Bide its time. Lowering his hand back down to his side, Eskel drew a breath where he knelt on the floor next to the girl, shaking his head, marred features looking back over the Sorceresses's way again with a grimace, deep voice speaking up to her again calmly.

"It's done. She's asleep, and they're gone, for now. Can't keep this up another night. This place is falling apart, will collapse in the next attack. If you have a plan to get out of here, and to Kaer Morhen for that exorcist, I'm all ears. Leaving on foot and horse don't seem to be working, at the moment."

@okruchlodu

[kopfkino-o]

The Seer’s Stone: An Fanfic Preview

Hi friends! I’ve been working towards writing my own fantasy series for nearly two years now, but have found fanfiction to be such an amazing outlet for growing myself as a writer and am so so excited to share some experts from my upcoming Elriel fanfaction I’ve been working on! It’s very much still in the works but I’m so stoked about it so I wanted to share some of my favorite experts. I hope to have some of the first few chapters out ahead of Elriel week, buuuut I’m a super slow writer so please be patient if you care to follow along!

(PSA: This if my first fic I’m publishing and always want to grow in my work so please feel free to give me any suggestions, editing tips, etc etc. I love constructive criticism)

Thank you for taking the time to read!

Summary: Elain Archeron is tired of being the “lovely, sweet gardener” everyone wants her to be. After losing her beloved, her humanity, her life, she’s ready to claim her own path forward with the help of her friends, Nuala and Cerridwen, as she searches far and wide for the mysterious Seer’s Stone: an ancient artifact of old rumored to once belong to an ancient Seer Queen. But will fate itself step in to stop her? Or will Elain defy the strings of destiny that bind her and forge her own path forward, choosing her own fate, friendships, future, and love, along the way. 

Word Count: 711

Timeline: Post-ACOSF

Pairing: Elain x Azriel (with Lucien x Vassa hints)

I. (From Chapter One)

Elain Archeron slipped down the back alleys and side streets of Velaris on silent feet, the pale sliver of moon the only witness to her midnight movements, the low hum of summer insects her only companions. The scrying stones in her pocket rattled softly with each step and her newly acquired dagger–a gift from the twins–wrapped gently against her hip. 

Nesta would freak out if she ever saw me with these, Elain thought to herself as she followed the flow of the Sidra through the city. Feyre and Rhys too. 

A pang of guilt bloomed in her chest. 

The dagger was one thing, but her being out, alone, at this hour was a whole other. Especially when both her sisters no doubt expected her to be back at the Riverhouse, tucked safely in bed.

She knew it was wrong to keep this new part of her life from them, but something stopped her each time Elain considered telling Nesta or Feyre about her evening. Whether it was her better judgment, or simple commonsense, Elain didn’t know. She knew they would understand, would welcome this new “hobby” of hers even, and yet… she couldn’t bring herself to tell them. 

Not because she didn’t trust Feyre or Nesta, but because they wouldn’t understand. No one understood. 

Elain was breathless by the time she reached the city mance tucked away on a sleepy street only a few blocks off the water. Thick tangles of ivy crept up the sides of dark-stone façade and golden candle light glowed behind the panes of crystal windows. 

She swept up the front steeps graceful as a shadow, dark cloak stirring behind her, and knocked once on the worn rosewood.

A silence, then the lock clicked and the door creaked open. 

Nuala’s beautiful face appeared in the shadowed doorway. The wraith’s full lips pulled up into a pleased smile. “About time.” 

“I couldn’t get away any earlier. It would have been too weird.” 

Her friend pulled her into a tight hug, the wraith’s familiar scent of evening mist and spiced amber wrapping around her. “Well, you’re here now. Everything is ready, Cerridwen and the others are inside.”

“And Desmaya?” 

“She said she would come, didn’t she?” 

“I’m sorry, I just wasn’t–” 

Nuala held up a hand. “What did we say about apologizing? No one is mad at you, Lainey.” 

Elain nodded once. Right, no more apologizing unless she absolutely needed to. It was something she was still trying to work, an old habit she was trying to break. She found it easier to do so around her friends, but old habits died hard and life back at the Riverhouse made her feel like she was…regressing. 

She felt a sense of guilt for even daring to think so in the first place. Feyre had done so much, had given so much. Rhys and Cassian and Nesta too. Lying to them felt like a betrayal, an insult to all they had done for her. 

Elain shook her head, exhaling a nervous breath before following the half-wraith into the semi-dark of the entry hall.

II. 

“The shadows tell me when you lie, you know.” Azriel said. 

Elain cocked her head. “Is that all they tell you, Shadowsinger?”

III. 

The dark void of his magic yawned open. He let himself plummet into it. Shadows whispered around him, swelling and ebbing as the familiar cold of the shade between realms rose up to swallow him whole. 

And then—

Silence, darkness. He was nothing here, he was everything here. A hundred pieces of him thrown into the Void, a hundred pieces scattered wide. 

IV

“I don’t know how to be good. I don’t know how to make my pain beautiful, I don’t know how to make my anger kind,” Azriel seethed, “They gave me a knife when all I needed was a friend, they made me into a weapon and told me not to weep. How do you come back from that? How do you find your absolution?” 

Cassian merely put a warm hand on his shoulder, his brother’s eyes filled with an understanding that nearly broke him. 

V

Nesta grabbed her wrist. “Then you will die.” 

Elain pulled herself free, her chin still held high. “I’m getting him back.” 

[vulpes-fennec]

Winter Court Solstice Ball (Viviane x Kallias) 🎁

Summary: A series of fluffy/smutty ACOTAR winter one-shots! 12 stories for the 12 days leading up to Solstice (December 21).

A glimpse of what Solstice celebrations look like in the Winter Court, brought to you by our favorite ice couple! Set pre-ACOTAR series.

Read: Masterlist | AO3

Tonight was the Winter Solstice. Tonight, households across the court would sing traditional hymns by their blazing fires, feast on roasted meats and sweet cookies, and exchange presents. 

Tonight would be Viviane’s 55th Solstice Ball, but such celebrations never got old. Garlands of holly and faelight were strung across the banquet hall, the soft tinkling of bells and strumming of harps drifted through the air, spiced wine and delicious treats were offered by finely-suited servants…

“Viv.” She spun around at the familiar voice.

“Kal!” she exclaimed happily. The High Lord’s son—and her closest friend—was adorned in courtly finery: a dark blue, fur-lined coat that stopped just above his knees, embroidered black pants, and fur-lined black boots. 

Kallias blinked his icy blue eyes at her, as if taken aback. “You look…nice tonight,” he replied, albeit awkwardly. 

“Well you look quite dressed up yourself, too,” she grinned, elbowing him. Viviane felt a pang of disappointment at his words. She wasn’t expecting him to call her beautiful, but still…it would have been nice to hear. Especially when she’d put extra care into her appearance tonight for him, dusting her eyelids with a sparkling shadow reminiscent of gleaming snow and blushing her cheeks pink to mimic the chilly outdoors.

“Thank you.” Kallias dipped his head swiftly. “I wanted to ask if you would do me the honors of the first dance.” 

The first dance held significant weight in court—politically or romantically. But Viviane and Kallias had danced together enough that the court merely shrugged them off as the two peas in a pod. Come to think of it, was there ever a time she didn’t share her first Solstice dance with Kallias?

Still, Viviane wished there was something more behind Kallias’s glacial blue eyes when he extended his hand towards her. It was stupid to hope. Kallias would be High Lord of Winter one day, opening the Solstice Ball’s first dance with his Lady of Winter. But until that day came…

“No need to be so formal, Kal,” Viviane chuckled lightly. “If you need someone to fend off those thirsty court ladies, I’m happy to dance with you all night.” 

Kallias smiled back, an extra brightness in his sapphire eyes. “I hope you’re not joking Viv, because those matchmaking mothers are especially bloodthirsty tonight.” 

Tonight, power thrummed through the halls of the Winter Palace, as if the icy land was reclaiming its identity on the longest night of the year. And when Viviane placed her hand into Kallias’s warm one, a similar thrill diffused through her very bones. Like something ancient and powerful was also stirring within her.

She blinked, wondering if Kallias felt the same way too. But his chiseled face remained neutral as music from the Royal Symphony started and swelled. 

Notes from string and woodwind instruments accompanied Kallias as he swept Viviane away in a waltz. Kallias’s heart was full with his friend in his arms. The words “you’re beautiful” had gotten lodged in his throat earlier, leaving him a stuttering, awkward mess. Truth be told, Viviane always looked beautiful to Kallias. But tonight, she was utterly ethereal in her bluish-purple gown of sweeping tulle, adorned by silk viola flowers. 

Hell, everything felt perfect. Viviane’s slender fingers fit his hand like a glove. Her supple waist was warm under his palm, under the layers of soft fabric. Even their footwork was well-matched. Dancing with Viviane was easy, natural. Kallias could dance with her forever and never tire of it. 

“Is that…is that an earring I see?” Viviane peered up, eyes lighting on the silver ring on the lobes of Kallias’s ears. The look of mock aghast she gave him was utterly improper for a ballroom dance floor, but Kallias loved it. 

“I can be adventurous, Viv,” Kallias murmured into her ear as he spun her. Earrings—particularly earrings on males—was the latest craze. At least pierced ears were relatively tame compared to the tattoo-on-the-tongue trend a decade back. 

“When did you get them pierced? I can’t believe I wasn’t there for it!” Viviane craned her neck to gain a better view of Kallias’s piercing. 

Kallias shrugged carelessly. “Just last week.” He selectively omitted the part where he’d gotten them spontaneously after a drunken night out. 

Viviane sighed with relief. “Okay, good. I was worried that I didn’t notice them before, but it turns out it was fairly recent.” Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “Do your parents know?”

Kallias chuckled. “No, of course not. My father would throw a fit. I figured he wouldn’t cause a scene tonight, so I dropped the glamour.” 

“Hmph…but you still didn’t tell me. I could have bought you earrings for your present.” Viviane pouted slightly, making her pink lips look all the more delicious.

Kallias smiled wryly. “There are a lot of things I don’t tell you, Viv.” 

Kallias’s teasing expression riled Viviane enough to offer boldly, “I’ll share a secret if you’ll share one of yours.” 

“Deal. I’ll go first.” The waltz was tapering off, but Kallias seemed to hold her even closer. Viviane was trying very hard to discreetly inhale his fresh pine cologne. To not reveal just how much she savored being close to her friend. “Do you like anyone at the moment?” His voice was tight.

Viviane felt like her heart had jumped to her throat. 

“I…I like you,” she said quickly, praying that the copious amounts of blush on her face hid the heat rising to her cheeks. It was a pathetic truth, one that could be passed off as platonic affection. 

Kallias’s brows lifted and his blue eyes flashed with surprise. But he recovered quickly, smoothing the stoic look of a Prince of Winter over his features. “Not helpful,” he scoffed. “I already know you like me…as a friend. Now ask me something.” 

He’d taken the easy route as well, filing her half-confession away with teasing. Squashing any possibility of romance between them. 

The vibrating dominance in Kal’s voice—the budding dominance for the heir of a Court—sent shivers down Viviane’s body as the song ended. 

Viviane regarded her friend carefully. Kallias had turned 70 this year, just as she had. They’d been friends since they were younglings, but…it was only recently that she began to notice things about him. 

Like the way his white hair curled at the nape of his neck in between haircuts. Or how the muscles in his back rippled during training sessions. She’d been dying to know whether Kal had anyone in his heart lately. But she chickened out. 

“Er…what is one Solstice tradition you dislike?” 

Kallias sagged internally with relief. He’d been scrambling to prepare a list of court females he could “claim” to have a crush on, if Viviane turned the question back to him. 

“I hate the whole elk sacrifice ritual,” he admitted.

Before the sun set on the Winter Solstice, the court’s herders presented the High Lord with their finest animal. It was an honor to be chosen, for the animal’s blood would be carefully collected for rituals and the meat would be distributed to families in need. The sacrifice was an important tradition that honored the herders, the circle of life, and the magic of the land but…Kallias hated seeing such a public execution of majestic creatures.

As the next throng of dancers moved onto the dance floor, Kallias and Viviane stepped back into the sidelines. 

“I never knew that, Kal,” Viviane said softly, putting a hand on his arm. “I suppose I don’t like it either, but at least I can skip the event.” 

“Just doing my duty, I guess. Though it doesn’t make me feel any better that I’ll be the one sending the poor elk to its death someday.” A pensive look came across his face. 

“I mean, that’s what happens when we eat meat. The slaughter is just behind closed doors.” Viviane plucked two cranberry tarts from a passing server and offered one to Kallias with nonchalance. “But you could try changing things when you’re High Lord.” 

She took a big bite. The tart was deliciously tangy, with notes of dark chocolate spreading on her tongue. “Mmmm this is so good…what if you did an elk pardon instead?” Viviane suggested around a full mouth.

“Oh, yes,” Kallias chuckled. “And send them to an elk sanctuary where they can live happily to old age.”   

“I’m serious! We can host a Solstice cooking contest and donate the dishes to the charities. And we can switch elk blood with berry juice.” 

“Well…” Kallias paused. “I don’t think the elk blood has any magical properties on its own, but the priestesses want it because the High Lord has touched the elk with his magic.” 

“So? You can use your magic to mash up some berries, right?” Viviane giggled. “Just think…Kal, High Lord of Winter, standing in the kitchen wearing an apron and covered in berry juice—”

“Me? Covered in berry juice?” Kallias said incredulously. “You’re the one with berry tart all over your mouth.” 

Viviane’s chest tightened as her friend took a step closer, sweeping his thumb gently at the corner of her mouth. There were indeed several crumbs and a smear of red on Kallias’s finger. Under normal circumstances, Viviane would have felt embarrassed. But right now, she could only feel the thrum of power and heady heat within her. 

What was going on? “Thanks,” Viviane murmured, grabbing a nearby napkin to wipe off his finger. “Do I have anything else on my face?” 

“No.” His eyes seemed to darken as he stared at her lips. 

Cauldron…she needed to get a grip over herself and stop reading too much into the situation.

“Anyways.” Kallias shook his head. “Let’s do it. When I become High Lord. We should do it together.” 

Viviane caught his silent promise beneath the words: that regardless of what happened in the future, Kallias would keep her close by his side. The next song was starting. “Would you do me the honor of the next dance, Kal?”

[pinkrelish]

🌟 "a kiss stolen away in a corner, ignoring crowds" perhaps i beg??

a/n: from this kiss prompt list

NSFW-ish: fem!reader, magic au, jealous obito, crude jokes, and sexual implication at the end

Words: 4.5k

Obito was a talented spellslinger, there was no doubt about that, but when it came to facing his rival, Kakashi, in the annual wizarding tournament between neighboring kingdoms, he choked.

It wasn't his fault magic was fueled on good feelings and he was filled with such bitterness after once again failing in front of his king. Kakashi had it all: fame, money, adoring fans, a girl hanging on his arm.

If only Obito's ordinary, magicless assistant could help him win his next fight..

Obito rammed his shoulder into the door and sent it slamming against the wall of his study, rattling his cramped shelves of curios. Liquids of past endeavors sloshed in their glass beakers. Metal trinkets teetered. Streams of mist were disturbed, giving way to his body charging through them. Books knocked themselves over, except for the one he snatched mid-air and threw onto his desk, falling into his chair with a huff.

You were hot on his heels, treading lightly into his quarters and shutting the door behind you with utmost gentleness, using the thick burnished wood to shush the booing crowd in the background shouting for blood in the brief respite between rounds.

Wringing your mouth into a frown at the voices echoing down the cobbled stone hallway leading to the arena, you clashed Obito’s harshness with your delicate nature. Crossing the full length of the floor in two steps to tidy up the half-burnt candlesticks littering the floor while he hunched over his desk, summoning energy to his hands, lighting the dingy room in the soft blue glow of magic. Harnessing his prowess to flip through the pages of his spellbook in simple twitches of his clawed fingers, broadening his shoulders with a heavy sigh as he poured over the ancient materials written in a language you did not know, eyes flicking from one line of text to the other.

His study was overcrowded. Every space occupied if possible, including the plethora of plants hanging from the ceiling, encroaching upon your limited vision like a temperamental jungle that required the artificially humid air Obito created to prosper. You swept your frizzy hair over your shoulder and groped for a stool hidden under stacks of spare wizard’s robes, scraping the metal legs across the stone floor as you dragged it next to him, perching on the edge after grabbing the first aid kit from the window sill.

Pausing the astringent pad over the cut on Obito’s cheek, you waited to see if he would acknowledge you first. “This’ll sting,” you warned.

“Just get it over with,” he muttered, and of course, hissed when you swiped it over the shallow injury.

It was one of the lesser battle wounds he incurred during his duels with Kakashi, but it’d leave a scar nonetheless. Always on his right side, having a habit of flinching to his left. Favoring his weaker side even now to run his hand through his black hair, pushing it from his wrinkled forehead and scratching above his furrowed brows. Ruminating something fierce in his hardened jaw, grinding his teeth back and forth. Working his muscles clamped tight while you exhaled through your nose, cooling the alcohol on his skin as you chased thin drops of blood outlining the curve of his Adam’s apple.

The light gracing his palms increased at the same speed the book unfurled itself to the appendix in the back. “It’s just like him to pull that bullshit on me,” Obito continued under his breath, searching the list of spells. “Debuting a flashy new move when I was prone. Always such a fucking show off.”

“Have you tried being better than him?”

He batted your wrist away. “Could you at least try to be of some use?” You clicked your tongue at his chiding, but couldn’t rid yourself of the sly grin tugging at the corner of your mouth, aggravating him into putting you to work. Frustrating him all the more when you erupted into a fit of giggles at his face when he haughtily pointed out books for you to read through. “I don’t have time to goof off! Find me a spell, a potion, an incantation, something that’ll work.” He hurried your pace, taking clothbound books from the drawer of his desk and shoving them in front of you, stabbing his finger at them. “Help me figure out how I can win this stupid tournament once and for all!”

Lazily opening the one on top about tree roots and their importance in hair care products, you watched for his reaction. “Why bother with all this when you know as well as I do what really fuels magic?”

His erratic page turning slowed. The room dimmed of its ethereal glow, dwindling the blue light captured in the reflections of mirrors and bouncing off murky jars. Mist hung in the slight separation of your bodies, knees touching and gazes drifting to the outline of thighs hugging their respective clothing.

“I don’t need..” He shook his head as if ridding himself of a thought. “I don’t need to resort to that to win. I can do it my way. I can beat him.”

Magic was conjured and fed by the wielder's emotions. The stronger the better, but it truly thrived of the sweeter, kinder ones Obito struggled to empower. Locking himself away in his room all hours of the day, practicing all hours of the sleepless nights. Bossing you around to gather this and that for him. Experiencing all the throat-cleaning, chest-crushing, lung-collapsing sensations you explained to him countless times about how it felt to fall in love, but he never felt them in the context you instructed him it would.

He only felt bitterness, stress, and rage when staring down his opponent in the arena. A rival haunting him since they were children in school. Sat next to each other, achieving similar success, yet he was passed over in favor of Kakashi. Always Kakashi.

The stab of white-hot jealousy in his heart when you looked at Kakashi.

It was always Kakashi.

You tapped your fingernails on the scratched surface of his desk and offered a piece of insightful advice. “Maybe you need a girlfriend.”

He cut you a look.

“All I’m pointing out is that he started dating his apprentice and bam! He comes out swinging with that new move and knocks you flat on your ass.”

“Oh, my apologies for respecting my craft above loitering at bars, picking up any girl who throws me a second glance,” he sneered, sharpening his glare at you. “With what time do you propose I do such a trivial thing in hopes a woman falls for me? I’d rather lose a thousand times than stoop to such pitiful tactics to gain the upper hand.” Returning his nose to his book, he scoffed. “Unfortunately, I don’t have a girlfriend. Looks like I’m stuck with you and my own merits.”

“How awful,” you covered the rejection with a joke, suppressing a reaction from crossing your face until he was paragraphs deep in lore behind an elixir illustrated on the yellowed page. You concealed it further with your knuckles dug deep into your cheek.

“It must be nice to be dating his apprentice. Working side by side, falling in love. Being able to look over at her in the midst of battle, putting the rush of endorphins into his magic! I heard they met during the solstice festival two years ago. He asked her to dance as soon as they laid eyes on one another.”

Your dreamy sigh caught his attention. He grinned wickedly at your innocence, shining the white of his teeth in a fresh surge of blue. “I heard she sucks him off between rounds.”

“Obito!”

“What?” he laughed, voice raspy and hoarse from his fire usage. “Why do you think he always goes out there smiling?” He cackled again at your expression. Then he snuffed the good mood from the room. “Get serious. Start picking herbs.”

Dictating you around with grunts and waves of his hands, you ripped leaves from various plants stashed in the nooks and crannies of the room. Tucking your elbows to your side to squeeze past him for the carrier powder stowed in an inconspicuous ceramic jar, handing it all to him in his mortar and pestle.

“Oh, and a badger’s tooth, too,” he said, gesturing at the final muse to complete his mixture sitting on the top shelf above where you sat. But in doing so, his sleeve bunched at his elbow. Heavyspun cotton slid the length of his forearm, revealing a deep crimson gash interrupting the flow of his scarred flesh. Arm hair matted with dried blood.

Clearly, a secret he meant to keep from you judging by how he snapped his arm from your prying eyes and wrung his sleeve around his wrist.

You gasped his name. “When did you–”

“It’s nothing. Time’s almost up,” he reminded you about the break between matches in a tone telling you to drop it.

What a fool he was. You couldn’t sit back and witness him risk infection over a superficial tournament with Kakashi that served as nothing more than a pissing contest between otherwise amicable kingdoms all in the name to entertain your bored kings in this time of peace.

You stood and unclasped the broach holding your cloak closed and flourished it around your person, using the clean inside to staunch the oozing wound. Angry at yourself for not noticing the specks of sticky blood on the floor, nor the dark pool on the frustratingly black sleeve of his magi robes.

The stool creaked beneath your weight as you bent forward, hair falling into your face as you tended to him. “You shouldn’t let this go undressed.”

“If I embarrass the king and lose again, it’ll be the least of my worries.”

The muscles in his forearm flexed. Veins bulging with effort from grinding the tooth and expressing the oils from the herbs, mixing them together in a suede satchel. Ignoring your doting hands mopping up inky blood like it’d make a difference.

“Can I ask you something?”

He cinched the satchel. “Make it quick.”

“Why keep me as an assistant instead of getting a real apprentice? Or at least someone who could heal you.”

An insightful question he avoided for the better part of five years. He should’ve graduated to an apprentice who had a talent for magic as he did. Someone he could teach, delegate meaningful tasks to, rely on for their expertise, develop new spells with and pass them on to the next generation. Instead, he kept you glued to his side. An ordinary human lacking any of the skillset he required to advance his career.

You sucked in your bottom lip and nibbled it like you always did when focusing on something; smoothing an ointment smelling of mint along his fevered skin. You blinked rapidly, fluttering the lock of hair stuck to your lashes. “This is going to need some serious stitches. Which you know I can’t do even if we did have the time.”

Without thinking, he shushed you with the graze of his fingertips across your forehead. Gentle and intimate. Collecting the strands of curled hair between his bent fore and middle fingers, brushing them to your temple. Guiding his knuckles down the sweep of your soft cheek and tucking them behind your ear.

Surprising you, and him. Locked in a curious stare as if you’d discovered each other for the first time. Rendering him stunned; breath hitched in his tight throat. Heart pounding against the cage of his chest. Thrumming hot under the collar in the privacy of his study. Tingling his nerves with an addictive sweetness when you shied from his heavy observance, averting your eyes from his mouth in fear of getting caught. An adorable reaction he noticed with rapt attention considering he held no such modesty when sneaking glances at your low cut dress, laced tight in the front, worn on this special occasion. Once, he told you the specific hue of blue found on butterfly wings during a cloudy day was his lucky color. And here you sat, adorning a dress you must’ve dyed thrice to get it right, hidden under a drab cloak.

After sufficiently carving the memory of your breasts into his mind, he willed his eyes from your cleavage, only to get trapped at the sight of your plush lips, slightly parted from a quiet breath.

He whispered an answer to your question asked minutes ago. “Because I prefer your company over a stranger’s. When I chose you six years ago, it wasn’t a mistake.”

The mist stilled. Dewy drops clung to your clavicle, shimmering in the faint light from his upturned palm resting where he dropped it on the table after following the length of your hair over your shoulder. Illuminating the rapid pulse in your neck as something transpired in the way he regarded you. Like something new stirred in the heartbeats you shared through short strokes of your thumb tracing the cut on his arm placed in your lap.

Like something changed in your dynamic when your noses almost touched, and your stuttering exhales joined as one invisible validation in the unfathomably narrow separation of your rising chests.

Like a momentary acceptance dragged his eyelids shut, missing the slight tilt of your head in anticipation, expecting him to–

A trumpet sounded. Three sharp notes.

“Oh–!” You both jolted.

“We should–”

“Yeah.”

You collected your cloak and tossed it over your shoulder, spinning, fumbling cleaning up the spilt remains of Obito’s concoction, rushing an equally flustered man out the door who proved to be of little help when he bumped a shelf and a slew of glowing moonstones tumbled across his desk, rolling to the floor along with the pestle.

“Come on, we don’t have time for this.” He grabbed your hand and led you out the door, not bothering to close it behind him.

“Wait,” you pleaded, snatching him by the sleeve and jerking him out of his strong stride, stopping him in the middle of the hallway. “Just wait a second,” you repeated, unable to catch your breath–not at all due to the sudden flurry of activity.

Obito whirled, and you collided with his massive stature.

Recovering quicker than he did, you wrested the fabric of his robe and brought him closer to the torch at the entrance of his study, all the while his head was turned to the end of the hallway. Towards the thundering voices demanding more from him.

Falling into routine, you straightened out the collar of his robe. You pulled it taut and laid it flat on his broad chest, smoothing out the wrinkles with the heel of your palm. The dust was brushed off easily, and his shirt underneath was picked free of lint. Wrapping your fingers around his corded belt, you loosened it and retied it in an elaborate knot.

He watched it all. With his face turned towards the rowdy audience, but his eyes solely on you. Noticing the little things you did for him–that he knew you did before every match–but now, he observed them truthfully. Harboring the emotions he felt in the twist of his stomach and the blush reddening his cheeks as you touched him in ways he never allowed anyone else to.

You patted the suede pouches at his hip. Checked his scabbard. Neatened the tasseled end of his belt, ran your hand over the top of his thigh. Leaned into him as he leaned away, keeping the way his body reacted to your presence a secret.

“I’m fine,” he said, gravelly voice breaking. Betrayed by a host of emotions present in his dark eyes.

“I’m making you look presentable.” You pulled his gloves from your pocket and held them open while he slid his hands into the soft leather. “Do your best, Obito.” With that, you looked him over and approved his state; less disheveled than he appeared before, but only after combing your fingers along his scalp to tame his wild hair. “I’ll try to get a spot in the front row.”

You left. And he could breathe again. Hearing himself think in the rise of blood to his ears.

You wished him to do his best. And the bitterness returned. Would you have wished Kakashi to do his best, or would you know of him as the champion? Offering him a winning smile and nothing more, secure he’d give it a mediocre try and still be crowned.

The good feelings vanished from his soul. Decimated. Replaced by all his hatred. Erasing the tender moment in his study, dismissed by a looping scene of your eyes widening at Kakashi’s newest spell. Mouth agape in all ways impressed. A distinguished expression of enthrallment at Kakashi whilst Obito was sprawled on the ground, writhing in agony.

What girl would be enticed by his inferiority? What girl would be impressed by his ineptitude?

The voices in the hallway escalated to a cacophonous roar announcing Kakashi’s arrival, and died upon Obito’s entrance. Standing at opposite ends of the polished dais of opulent tiles laid out in a nine pointed star. A vicious scowl meeting an uninterested face half disguised under a mask.

The trumpet sounded again, and before the audience could gasp, the battle was underway.

A tournament of spells whizzing past ears, exploding, raining sparks upon heads, setting hair ablaze. A duel of innocuous incantations meant to get under the skin of the other, until at last, it was an all-out blood bath.

A fight for pride, and fame, and a title.

From under his pinched brows, Kakashi met Obito’s gaze and withdrew his long fingers from the pockets sewn into his sleeves, hurling black soot and ash onto the dais. Summoning hellhounds without mercy.

And just like the first round, smoke rose and the scraping of nails against tile sucked the moisture from mouths as fear kicked in. Savage barks boomed. Fangs pierced the fog, maws snarling. Death incarnate.

The dogs of death bolted at Obito.

His vision narrowed to the pack leader, grasping the dagger at his belt and stabbing it in the air. He chanted. Invoked a spell from deep within his core; the fire in his belly. Roaring to life from the tip of his blade. Swirling, curling around the smoke. Arcing through and cutting down. One fallen, seven to go. Then six, then two. The largest. Pounding the tile. Trembling the pebbles of rubble dirtying its image.

Obito concentrated. Shifted his stance to offense, begging the fatigue to stave off just a little bit longer. Just a little more. Another dog burned to charcoal. The last, eviscerated in a sea of flames. Just until he could reach Kakashi. Then it’d be over.

Years and years of jealousy and animosity; Obito cultivated it all. Used its power. Imbued the tip of his dagger with all the self loathing he honed after decades of being ignored.

The flames reached across the arena, and stopped.

At the last second, Kakashi greased his palms and clapped them together. An earthen wall surged from the ground, shielding himself from the fire licking the edges of his side of the arena.

Obito’s stomach sank. The crowd stood in awe, waiting for the moment Kakashi decided to reveal himself and end the fight before Obito made a fool of himself for trying.

But a voice called out. Cheered, even.

Searching over the meat of his shoulder holding the dagger true to his target, Obito eyed the audience teeming for his blood. Guests invited from the other kingdom. Spectators. Except for one. At the very edge, obscured by burly men giving her evil looks.

You cheered for him again. “Come on, Obito! You can do it!”

Did you always say his name like that? In front of everyone without fear? He couldn’t recall. Always taking the things you did for granted.

He met your gaze from over his billowing sleeve and he’d never felt more relieved. Calmed. As if you being there, eyes gleaming with passion, encouraging him not to fold, lulled his mind to a state of peace. A place where his exhausted brain could decipher the roiling of emotions erupting from his chest. Pick out the new ones. The kind ones. The ones he associated with you, and only you, as you looked at him, and only him.

His face burned. Pulsing red like an ember. Painting the enclosed stadium in searing oranges, fanning hot flames to those who doubted him. Harnessing the absolute magnitude of realizations he had in the fractions of seconds he stared at you. At you. Always you. Right there beside him. Leading him, guiding him. Despite him being too stubborn to be worth your energy.

It was always you.

Cones of flames shot forth, drilling past the earthen shield, harming his rival once and for all.

Kakashi collapsed on the dais. Blood spilling from under his torn mask clutched in the palm of his burnt hand. Unable to process how he lost.

The audience cheered. The kings stood, one more mirthful than the other. Throwing his hands up in joviality to welcome Obito to the podium at the front of the room, declaring him the winner. An honor he only dreamed of. Never actualizing the bare truth of it all.

He was showered with praise, with rains of hands clasping him on his shoulders and shaking him with contagious laughter. Celebrating him and his efforts. Yet, he didn’t take his attention off the crowd pressing in on all sides. Seeking the wincing face of the one he owed his success to.

You elbowed your way to the front. Your cloak was hugged to your chest, splotches of blood ruining the fabric you held for dear life in the calamity of bodies jumping and chanting, jostling you around.

About to give up, you squeezed between two men and spotted the podium, hoping you made it in time to see Obito accept his reward. But you were caught off guard.

He was ignoring it all. Finding it more important to direct all his attention to you, making sure you were safe.

“Congratulations,” you mouthed at him, smiling wide. You waited a beat for him to nod back, though his face remained blank, and you made your departure. Slinking into the crowd and leaving it all behind for the quiet, sequestered entrance of the hallway leading to his study. Able to catch your breath and wipe the sweat from your brow. Easing the tension in your muscles, grateful you could grin at the end of this.

“Wait,” a wonderfully raspy voice stopped you in front of the door.

You turned, and arms welcomed you. Lips accepted you. Skilled fingers caressed the small of your back, bringing you in closer to be cradled by a warm chest as your shoulder blades connected with chilled stone.

Obito smiled against your mouth, breaking the kiss for a nervous laugh, shaking your joined bodies. Opening his eyes the amount needed to observe your shock ebb to elation, beholding him so kindly. Folding your arms and bringing them up to capture fistfuls of his hair.

“Sorry I’m so stupid,” he whispered in the lone hallway, pressing you further into him, cloaking you against the wall with the entirety of his being. Legs on either side of you, hips driving against yours. All of him braced firmly against you; a torchlight as your witness.

“Yeah, you’re an idiot,” you agreed, harmonizing in demure moans as your lips hushed one another again.

And just as the heat of the moment peaked where your thighs met, he pulled away at your insistence, struggling to fully enjoy the moment when the crowd in the other room chanted his name and interviewers demanded a victorious speech.

“You should get back out there,” you spoke through giggles, fawning over the stubble on his strong jaw���discovering how ticklish it was after wondering how it would feel rubbed against your cheek for years. Yet, he was the one who wouldn’t let go.

“But–”

“I’ll be here waiting for you. I promise. Now go and reap your reward. They want you, Obito.”

“You’re right.” He kissed your forehead and snorted at the wry grin plastered on your face. “And I won’t ever admit that again.”

~~~

He could’ve been gone minutes. He could’ve been gone hours.

You wrapped your arms around yourself and smiled into your shoulder, rocking back and forth in his study. Standing at his desk, cleaning his things like his loyal assistant ought to do.

~~~

With a simple wave of a hand, the torch’s flame doused itself with a hiss. The heavy wood door of the study sealed itself shut. The metal locks clicked into place. A pair of eyes peered out the window at the dispersing crowd and obfuscated it from sight, drawing a shutter closed.

Tense muscles gathered you. Strong, gloved hands wound down the scapes of your arms, flexing thick fingers over the tops of your knuckles. Flattening them to the desk. Halting your duties of tending to a mess that didn’t belong to you. Forming the curve of his body to yours. Interposing an alluring offer to your lower back, stealing the air from your lungs in gasp unheard; hushed by his stubble grazing your sensitive throat. Prizing you in kisses placed on areas of vulnerability presented freely to the man you trusted above all others.

Obito curled his fingers between yours, anchoring your urges from being explored. Frustrating, but oh so sweet as he did not temper his.

He nipped at your exposed flesh. “I won,” he uttered on the crook of your neck.

“You did,” you exhaled. His weight left your wrists. Your bodice loosened. You were spun against your will, coming face to chest and understanding the carnal desire coursing through both of your anxious fingers. Trembling to undo his belt and slide his robe from his shoulders, while he shakily ripped the cord from the front lacing of your dress and shoved the fabric under the bounce of your breasts, releasing a shy giggle at his impatience–silenced by his unyielding grip on your ass, setting you atop his desk and introducing himself between your thighs.

Your speech came out in tiny whimpers, surrendering yourself to the needy roll of his hips; clothing being the only thing restraining him from more, “If Kakashi’s apprentice gets on her knees between matches, what should I do for you, my Champion?”

“I only won because of you,” he said, lowering his pitch like he lowered his hands to your legs, bunching the fabric of your dress in his fists and hauling it upwards, aiming for your waist. “I’m the one who should be on my knees, thanking you with my tongue.”

A delightful shiver hardened your nipples at the thought.

“With magic, who cares about ordinary positions.”

His eyes widened, and slowly, a smile developed on his glistening lips. “You’re right.”

Piercing light filled the room, illuminating the quiet hallway in faint hues of blue from the gap under the door, only interrupted by a night filled with lewd shadows and blissful moans.

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