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imninahchan · 9 months ago

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⌜ 𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐒: friends to lovers, fwb, cockwarming, sexo sem proteção [ó chiquititas não façam noooooo], dirty talk, elogios e ‘eu te amo’, creampie. Espanhol — tranqui (tranquila/o), no me lastimes (não me machuque). ˚ ☽ ˚. ⋆ ⌝

꒰ 𝑵𝑶𝑻𝑨𝑺 𝑫𝑨 𝑨𝑼𝑻𝑶𝑹𝑨 ꒱ en serio buenisimoooooo.

𓍢ִ໋🀦 O SOM DAS RISADAS SE MISTURAM ENQUANTO VOCÊ SE DESPEDE DOS SEUS AMIGOS ─────

Abraça um, Abraça outro. Falam sobre marcar mais um encontro, talvez na casa de fulano, e tals. Você concorda, vamos marcar, sim, mesmo sem saber se terá disposição para socializar quando o rolê sair do papel de fato.

— Tchau, amiga! — Francisco se aproxima com um sorriso enorme, os braços abertos. Você percebe, só pelo tom agudo, o nível de zoação que carrega, porque te envolve forte, e quando separa, deixa um beijinho numa bochecha, depois n’outra, e ameaça deixar um nos seus lábios, porém recua, rindo. — Ay, perdón, desequilibrei... — alega, cínico.

Você não segura o riso, por mais que quisesse ter repreendido. Nem se pergunta se algum dos seus amigos notou algo, vai na sorte mesmo, empurrando Romero pela porta até que possa se juntar aos outros no corredor. Depois de tanto sorrir, os cantos da boca até doloridos, você os vê descendo as escadas. Se apressa pra janela da sala, gritando e acenando novamente, mais uma sessão de despedidas e vozes embriagadas dizendo o quanto gostam de você, que Buenos Aires não seria legal sem ti, e blá blá blá de bêbado.

Os seus olhos partem dos seus amigos entrando no carro de aplicativo pra figura esguia de Francisco seguindo pela rua noturna. Quando não o avista mais, nem se preocupa, já conhece o trajeto que será feito — dar a volta no quarteirão e tocar o interfone do seu prédio mais uma vez.

Dito e feito. Não precisava ter atendido formalmente como faz, afinal não é surpresa quem está do outro lado da linha, mas não se arrepende de ter tirado o telefone do gancho, uma vez que o som da voz chiando uma canção antigaça te arranca boas risadas. Libera a entrada, e ao espiar pelo olho mágico, a imagem distorcida é mais cômica ainda quando ele chega com a boca bem pertinho da lente. Já tá aberta, palhaço, você resmunga, girando a maçaneta para recebê-lo outra vez.

— ¡Hola! Quanto tempo... — Ele adentra o apartamento cumprimentando, te envolvendo. Dá dois beijinhos em cada uma das suas bochechas. Não te libera depois, entretanto, prolonga o abraço, te aperta, os pezinhos de ambos cambaleando para fechar a porta novamente e avançar até o sofá da sala.

O seu corpo cai no estofado, por cima das diversas almofadas, e o peso do dele te faz rir, sabe que o rapaz está fazendo tudo para implicar, para conseguir te fazer gargalhar até a barriga doer. Ao finalmente conseguir arredá-lo pro canto, tem o pulso tomado pela mão alheia. A cabeça descansando sobre o seu ombro, todo mal posicionado, mas insistindo em estar emaranhado a ti feito um bichinho pedindo atenção.

— Vou poder dormir aqui, né? — ele quer saber, mas já com aquele entonação de pergunta retórica. Os olhos sobem pro seu rosto.

— Vou pensar — você responde, fingida também.

— Pensar?! Você me trouxe pra sua casa, me embebedou, me jogou pra fora e me chamou pra voltar só pra usar o meu corpinho... — começa a enumerar, argumentando com o indicador no ar — ...e, agora, quer me jogar na rua de novo?

— Você voltou porque quis...

Ele ergue a postura, te encarando boquiaberto, com drama. Dali, um sorriso se abre, é porque eu te amo, e vem se aproximando pra distribuir beijinhos pelo seu queixo.

Certo, vocês não são só amigos, porém se alguém questionar, é capaz de ambos não saberem exatamente o que responder.

Você conhece Fran porque ele é amigo de uma amiga sua, e quando menos percebeu já estavam ambos nas mesmas festinhas, tirando foto no espelho do banheiro de balada e se arrumando na casa um do outro pra poder sair. Talvez a tensão entre os dois tenha sido grande demais ao dançar coladinhos o som da canção de letra indecente, porque acabou se encontrando sentada no colo dele num pós-festa, passando mais gloss nos lábios só porque ele queria provar o saber através de um beijinho.

Mas é tudo silencioso demais. Os seus amigos não sabem, quem sabe desconfiam, só que ninguém diz nada, e muito menos vocês dois. Estão mais do que acostumados a fazer o que fizeram hoje — se ‘despedem’, ele dá uma volta no quarteirão só pra dar tempo de todo mundo ir embora, e aí volta pra ficar contigo. Já perdeu as contas das vezes em que ele dormiu aqui, tipo daquela vez em que fizeram a listening party de Motomami, quando o álbum saiu, e no outro dia ele acordou com o glitter da noite passada todo espalhado pelo rosto.

A presença dele te ilumina. A cada risada, você jura, é como se mil fadinhas nascessem, igual no filme da Tinker Bell. Vocês combinam tanto que é absurdo. O mesmo senso de humor, o mesmo gosto musical, às vezes se expressam da mesma forma no automático.

— Saaai! — você estende a pronúncia, empurrando-o com a primeira almofada que alcança. — Me ajuda a arrumar as coisas, anda. — Joga o corpo dele pro canto, se levantando.

Francisco cai no chão, teatral.

— Então, é pra isso que eu voltei? — parece sussurrar para si mesmo. — Pra ser empregada doméstica... A que ponto cheguei...

Mas vem atrás quando te vê partindo pra cozinha. Enquanto você lava as louças na pia, ele as seca com o pano de prato, tagarelando sobre algum acontecimento que se deu entre a família dele recentemente, ou sobre algum Tik Tok engraçado que viu e, com certeza, te mandou.

— Vou tomar banho — você avisa, e ele automaticamente escuta a frase como se fosse um convite.

A relação de vocês já está tão sólida que o rapaz tem uma pilha de coisas guardadas no seu armário, entre elas a tolha que pega agora para partir contigo pro chuveiro. Vê-lo tirar a roupa se tornou cotidiano, conhece cada pintinha no corpo masculino e os olhos são ágeis pra achar uma espinha aqui ou ali. Posso cortar seu cabelo amanhã, se você quiser, é o que oferece, afetuosa, ao correr os dedos pelos fios dele. E ele aceita, confia cem por cento.

Antes de entrar no box, porém, tem que colocar aquela playlist do banho pra tocar. As canções ecoam pelo celular sobre a pia, as faixas se somando no ambiente ao passo que vocês se alternam sob a água. Uma pausa ou outra pra cantar as letras com a embalagem de shampoo na mão, e logo já estão embalados na toalha.

Ele nem se dá ao trabalho de vestir algo mais do que a bermuda de algodão. Se esconde entre os seus cobertores, tapa a cabeça e tudo, esparramado pelo colchão. Você até tinha separado o conjuntinho de pijama que costuma vestir, mas aí lembra que provavelmente não vai dormir agora, e fica com preguiça de ter que tirar tudo. Pega uma blusa larga mesmo, se cobre só com isso.

Engatinha sobre a cama, procurando um espacinho pra se esconder sob o cobertor também.

— Vem, tá frio, uuuuh, que frio. — É dominada pelos braços do argentino. Rolam por cima da bagunça que se torna a cama, o rosto dele afundado na curva do seu pescoço enquanto murmura as gracinhas ao pé do seu ouvido. A temperatura está okay, é arriscado até que acordem suando, mas Romero os cobre totalmente. Os olhinhos arregalados te encaram sob o escurinho do cobertor. — Eu tô morrendo de frio, dá pra ver meus dentes batendo? — Exibe os dentes, engraçadinho, só pra te fazer rir. — O que você vai fazer sobre isso?

— Eu?

— É, você mesma.

— Não sei... — entra no joguinho dele. — O que você acha que eu devo fazer?

— O que eu acho?

— Uhum.

— Ah, deixa eu pensar... — Desvia o olhar, parando até o dedinho no canto da boca. — Tá tão frio hoje, eu preciso de alguém pra me esquentar... sabe... — Volta os olhos pra ti, a cara lavada é óbvia demais. — Dentro de você é tão quentinho...

Você sorri, feito boba. Tá, pode ser, autoriza. A diversão na face do argentino passa do doce, ao te acompanhar no princípio, para o lascivo quando te escuta permitir. Gracías, chiquita, ele responde de volta, te dando um beijo no cantinho da boca.

Te abraça por trás, e você não precisa nem espiar por cima dos ombros pra visualizar a destra masculina escorregando por baixo do endredom pra poder tocar a si próprio até estar pronto. O rosto de Fran mergulha entre o seu pescoço, arrasta o nariz pelo seu ombro, aspirando o perfume do sabonete usado no banho. Está sussurrando pertinho do seu ouvido, diz o quão cheirosa e bonitinha você está, agradece por não encontrar mais peça nenhuma no meio do caminho até as suas pernas. É reconfortante saber que as coisas que o excitam são os elogios que faz para ti.

Você mesma empina um pouquinho quando necessário, oferece um ângulo melhor ao jogar a bunda pra trás e separar os joelhos, de lado. Ganha outro beijo, dessa vez posicionado melhor na bochecha. Sente a cabecinha sendo esfregada pelo seu pontinho, deslizando pra cá e pra lá. E quando ele se encaixa, empurra devagarzinho, você morde o lábio, trocando um olhar com o argentino só pra poder vê-lo sorrindo ladino. Entra com cuidadinho, sem forçar muito porque não te deixou bem molhadinha primeiro.

— Agora sim... — Te aperta mais entre os braços, empurrando o quadril contra o seus, ao máximo, tudo, sempre parecendo querer ir mais fundo embora já esteja no limite. — Tão bom... — Chega a suspirar, de tamanha completude.

De fato, o somatório do calor natural do seu corpo junto da quentura do endredom formam um fervor delirante. Febril. Agora, vamo’ dormir, você deita a lateral do rosto sobre as costas das mãos, plena. Poderia estar externando também o prazer que sente; a sensação de fartura, a excitação por guardá-lo dentro de si, o jeito com que pisca ao redor do que te preenche, espremendo, fazendo o rapaz estremecer contigo, porém resolve manter a pose. Especialmente pois sabe que Francisco Romero não ostenta pose nenhuma quando se trata de ti.

Aqui, ele acata o seu comando. Pelo menos, a princípio. Não demora muito e ele quebra o personagem, feito já era de se esperar. Recua de dentro e joga de novo, ocupando mais uma vez. A boca se encarrega de beijar pelo seu pescoço, a voz arranhando próxima do seu ouvido, como um gatinho. Eu falei dormir, você reitera numa falsa irritação.

— Eu sei — ele fala —, mas não é o suficiente. — Sem muita dificuldade, se coloca por cima de ti, se trancando entre as suas pernas. — Necesito más, mi amor.

— E o que você quer? — pergunta, apesar de já imaginar o que vem por aí.

Canalha, chulo. O sorriso vai se alargando na face do argentino.

— Assim, sabe... — começa, malandrinho. Ergue o dedo indicador pra contornar as voltinhas dos seus lábios enquanto diz: ‘se eu te encher de porra, aí você vai ficar quentinha também...’

‘Vai, deixa’, insiste, com charme. Não vai ser a primeira e nem a última vez, e ‘eu sei que você gosta de dormir lotadinha de mim, hm? Não adianta dizer o contrário’, igual ele mesmo afirma.

A face que exibe aquele cretino sorriso vai chegando mais perto, os lábios finos encontram os seus. Selam, estalam, molhadinhos. Você o rodeia com os braços, traz ainda mais pra próximo.

Hm?, o escuta ronronar, meigo. Porra, que se dane qualquer marra, né? De que adianta continuar nesse joguinho de implicância quando pode ganhar uma foda gostosinha, sob o endredom quentinho, pra poder dormir tranquila a noite toda? Amanhã vai acordar, sim, com o meio das pernas todo melado, mas daí é só guiar o rapaz até o banho que tudo se repete e resolve satisfatoriamente. ‘Dale, Fran, me fode’, pede, então, num dengo sem igual.

Ele atende ao seu pedido, claro. As mãos escorregam pelos cantos do seu corpo porque devem chegar até a sua cintura, segurar ali, para poder meter com mais ritmo. Lento, porém, devorador de sanidade. É sensual na medida certa pra te fazer revirar os olhinhos e respirar pela boca entreaberta, o ar quente soprando contra o rosto alheio.

O silêncio da madrugada é propício pra sobressair o devasso do momento. Escuta a voz dele falhando, os arfares. Principalmente, escuta o som ensopadinho do seu corpo, cada vez que ele se soca no seu interior. É de alucinar. Crava as unhas nas costas dele, o que faz o garoto resmungar de tesão. Tranqui, nena, no me lastimes, murmurando nos seus lábios como se nem tivesse quase se derramado só pela selvageria.

Mas quando se derrama de verdade, os próprios dedos dele estão tão firmes e fortes na carne das suas coxas que você sente queimar. Tudo dobra de intensidade; o orgasmo, o gemido que você queria encobrir pra não ecoar pelo cômodo e, possivelmente, ser ouvido pelos vizinhos. O peito dói, o coração parece parar por uns segundinhos e voltar com tudo, disparado.

O corpo do argentino pesa sobre o seu, feito mais cedo, praticamente se joga por cima de ti, proposital. E é só você recuperar o fôlego que começa a importuná-lo, anda, Fran, levanta.

— Tempo, tempo — ele repete, ofegante. O rosto afogado na curva do seu pescoço.

— Fraaan — manha, dando tapinhas nas costas dele.

— Nossa ‘cê é muito chatinha... — Te agarra, repentino, um excesso de carinho que te faz colar o corpo nele, mais ainda porque permanece enterrado inteirinho dentro de ti. O garoto levanta o olhar, te dá um selinho. — Te amo muito, okay?

— Tá, tá, tá — murmura entre os selinhos que se seguem, os estalidos de lábio em lábio quando não se importa se vai causar ruído ou não.

— Hmmm — Esfrega a ponta do nariz no cantinho do seu rosto, meloso. — Quentinha agora?

Você sorri, e mesmo mordendo o lábio entre os dentes para disfarçá-lo, Francisco flagra, sorri junto.

— Sim, né? — responde por ti, e não mente. — Bem melhor agora, vai dormir que é uma beleza, né, gatinha? De nada, tá? — Se move outra vez, retornando com a lateral do corpo pro colchão e te abraçando por trás. No caminho, escorrega pra fora de ti, de tão encharcadinho que tudo ficou. — Ah, não... Deixa eu voltar, deixa... — lastima com desespero, apressa para suspender de levinho a sua coxa para se colocar fundo novamente.

— Vai dormir assim, é? — o questiona, entre o riso.

— Dentro de ti? — ri também, daquele jeitinho doce. — Se eu pudesse, ficava enfiado em você, bem fundo, pelo resto da minha vida.

— Bobo... — Bagunça os cabelos dele.

#imninahchan #francisco romero x reader #francisco romero fanfic #francisco romero fic #francisco romero smut #francisco romero #la sociedad de la nieve #the society of the snow #a sociedade da neve #fran romero #fran romero smut

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dawneternal · 6 months ago

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The Benevolent | Eight

☁︎ Eris x Healer OC

☁︎ Notes: okay. This is kind of a big one 👀 pls let me know what you think, if the descriptions make sense, etc. I'm really hoping the concept for Aya's powers is actually interesting and not dumb but here we go

I've gotten a lot of notes from new readers lately and I wanna say thanks so much for the love and comments!! 💛💛

☁︎ Warnings: battle/war, injuries, blood, death, grief (it's not that graphic I just wanna make sure I get all the tags needed)

☁︎ Word Count: 3.5k

☁︎ AO3 Link / Masterlist

☁︎ Latest Artwork

☁︎ Taglist (let me know if you want on or off) : @cauldronblssd @teddyhoneybear @tele86 @mybestfriendmademe @imma-too-many-fandoms @allyjoe755 @milswrites @shadowdaddies @zenkindoflove @landofpetrichor @secret-third-thing @bookwormysblog @mal-adaptive-dreams @daycourtofficial

The secret behind Aya’s power was the extra eye in her mind. Whether they were simply visions or she had some connection to another place, she did not know. But either way, she was born seeing things that no one else could.

Aya had discovered another world, visible only with closed eyes or when she let her vision go hazy. It was a place where wards and spells were visible things, overlayed on top of reality. She could see the building blocks of the universe, the materials that made up the world. And she could reach out and touch them. They were hers to fix and break and manipulate how she pleased.

After years of observing people and the things that they were made of, she came to understand that they could be sorted into three categories. Sewn things, woven things, and things to be fired in a kiln. The first three people Aya had known were one of each. The first memories to exist in her mind were ingrained with their imagery. Her mother, a tapestry. Her aunt, a quilt. And Thesan, a vase.

It took nearly a decade of life for Aya to understand that no one else saw things the way she did. No one else had another realm materialize when they closed their eyes. No one else healed by patching those quilts, stitching down loose threads, or filling cracks in pottery with veins of shimmering gold.

There were many, many times when she wished that she had never spoken about it to anyone. She could have learned sooner to close her eyes and not let anyone see the golden light that shone when she used her power. She could have taken less time to understand that she was different. Or maybe she could have been born knowing that she was not the same as everyone around her.

But it was too late for any of that. Her life had already been molded by her differences.

In truth, using her power was easy. So easy that it scared her. Sometimes an extensive injury or a complicated spell would draw a sweat from her brow, but even then she could go for days if she wanted to. The store of energy within her seemed endless. She had never experienced burnout, or ever been close.

There were so many terrifying truths lying underneath the lid she kept on herself. Her morbid curiosity, the things she could do, how much she was capable of. She never dug too deep, never once in her life testing the limits or possibilities. She could not bring herself to. She would not let herself become a thing that destroyed.

The fear that others carried around her was tangible. Whispers of witchcraft followed her everywhere - apparently her mother hailing from the continent was suspicious, with less known about the origins of their magic. And Aya's own tapestry was stained with the echoes of her mother calling her a liar, holding deep grudges over the discrimination that Aya had brought upon her family. There was no shortage of things that had made this existence difficult.

But on days like this, no matter how much she hated it, Aya thrived.

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The battle had seemed so endless. The shouting, screaming, and clashing of weapons were a constant song, and Aya did her best to tune it out as she ran from bed to bed, cleaning, bandaging, and healing wounds. Her ears rang, desperate for a moment not filled with terrible noise. Her muscles ached, begging for her to take a break. But there were always more buckets to haul, more soldiers to drag to safety, more wounded to heal. She ignored every protest of her tired mind and aching body as she splashed through the mud, dodging arrows and swords, zeroed in on whoever needed helping.

She also ignored the magic within her that sang, thrilled to be used and stretched and tested. It pushed her body to keep going long after she had reached her physical limits, always restless and desperate to be let loose. But she would only ever release as much power as she needed to do her job well. Never any more.

Even still, Aya was always the last standing, the glow of her healing still going steady when all the others had used their last sparks. In class, this earned her jealous looks and accusations of cheating or witchcraft. But of course today, there was nothing but murmured thanks and praise. Aya ignored those, too.

At last, dusk fell like a funeral shroud, covering the silhouettes of broken bodies littering the battlefield. All of the gore blissfully hidden in the darkness. The sky could not, however, hide the sound of suffering and grieving of those who still lived, reaching toward the heavens in desperate tones.

Now, it was an effort to keep her head upright as she sat beside the High Lord of Night, her hand hovering over the gash in his arm. Rhysand, even with his weary eyes and the grime caked into the lines of his skin, watched her heal with a keen interest. If it was a different time, and her heart felt a little lighter, Aya may have asked him about it. Maybe he knew something that she didn’t. But right now it was taking too much focus just to stay awake.

When she closed her eyes Aya was stitching silver stars into a quilt, each block made from a different shade of night. Slightly darker shapes made up the subtle outline of a city, constellations hiding in same-colored thread here and there. It was lovely work, the stars twinkling and shimmering, the night sky velvety soft beneath her fingertips. It did not take long for his arm to be healed. With eyes glittering like the thread she had just held between her fingers, Rhysand thanked her and swaggered off to find his mate.

Truthfully, Aya liked him. Often, she came away from a healing session feeling as though she had read the person's soul front to back like a book. And in Rhysand, she liked what she learned. He was deeply kind, very clever, and generous. She knew without a doubt that his story of Under the Mountain was true. She could see the scars within him, like rips and tears in the quilt that he had tried to fix himself. Some were smoother, aided in their mending by his loved ones. He did not know how lucky he was to have them.

Of course, there were dark patterns in the fabric of his being. Shadows much deeper than others seemed to carry. But that seemed to be a burden bestowed upon all of the High Lords.

Aya liked the Night Court general, too. She had healed Cassian many times over. At first she thought it was recklessness and it was an effort to bite back on her lecture about looking after himself. But she learned, upon closing her eyes, that it was all deliberate. Calculated. It was not carelessness, but devotion. He would take shots and blows for others as often as he could, his shouts and commands ringing out louder than the din of battle. In his mind, he had not done his best unless he was nearly falling apart.

Healing Cassian was like knitting homespun wool yarn. Each stitch snug and precise, marled grey and white like the Illyrian mountains. The colors were so solemn, the material so practical, but the finished product warm and comforting. That seemed to sum him up. He always had a grin and a wink for her, always a genuine thank you and some absurd compliment. He was consistent, always, like the woven pattern of his being.

Over the course of the battle, Aya collected those images, like a scrapbook of the people around her. She mended seams, knit and wove, spun thread, molded clay. Every once in a while, she was too late. The knitting had too many missed stitches, too many loops had come loose and it all unraveled beneath her hands. Every time, she mourned with her whole heart. Grieved until it hurt.

If she kept her eyes closed, tuned into that other realm, she could watch the soul depart this world. Always drifting toward the sky like a wisp of smoke. The first handful of times she had witnessed it she had not been able to look away, frozen in place by some terrifying curiosity. Or perhaps it was the desire to see them off, on the chance that her guidance could provide one last comfort.

But she did not like to watch it anymore. It would show up in her dreams that night without fail, always with her hands reaching and that soul slipping through her fingers despite her efforts. Today, she did not need to give her nightmares any more material to work with.

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Aya did not see Eris until the battle was over. The possibility of seeing him here, of seeing the worst, had haunted her every moment since she had arrived with the rest of the healers. She never had the heart to scan the lifeless bodies for his pale, freckled face, but she also feared that she would be the last to know if something had happened to him. There was a long list of people who would take priority first.

It was a strange thing, the aftermath of battle. The air was thick, relief and mourning twining together into something heavy and difficult to breathe. Celebratory laughter and singing clashed with the solemn sounds of funeral rites and grieving songs. Metal clanged as armor and weapons were moved and cleaned, soldiers lay resting wherever they could before the journey home.

Among the chaos, a glint of red captured Aya's attention and she turned to see Eris striding across the field, armor glittering in the sun and that crimson cape billowing behind him. Her breath caught in her throat as he pivoted and his russet eyes locked on hers. The relief was immense, almost painful as she drowned in it.

Even so, she was prepared to see him turn the other way and pretend he hadn't seen her, as he had done at the High Lord's meeting. And she would be content, just knowing he had lived. But he did not look away. Eyes growing wild, he turned on his heel and rushed toward her. He pulled off his gauntlets and let them thump to the ground, hands reaching for her face the moment he was close enough.

"Sparrow," He murmured, turning her head back and forth to look for injuries. He took in her tired eyes, swiping a thumb over the purple bags and lines of dirt. "I was afraid I'd find you here. I'm so glad you're alright."

Aya was speechless, staring up at him with her lips parted as she searched for words. She was still confused, her thoughts snapping back and forth between lingering anger and relief to see him. Her skin burned under his touch, under the eyes of those that watched them as she could practically hear the gossip forming on their tongues.

"I never got to apologize," He said in a rush, his voice hoarse. He paused, tongue darting out to wet his chapped lips.

Aya’s head throbbed. She did not have room for this in her mind, today. Not for the memories of their last conversation or for whatever game he was playing now, looking at her like she was the sun when anyone could see and overhear his pet names.

Her mind was still reeling from these last days, trying to process everything she had seen and heard and felt. There had been no room for hesitation and no place for her fear, all anxiety barred from her body so as not to weigh her down. Now the fear and pain rushed back in, like predators reclaiming their territory and she was nothing but a vessel for the conflict, barely holding herself together.

So, Aya let her gaze drop from his eyes and fall to the grass, breathing deeply in an attempt to placate the beasts threatening to tear her apart.

Eris watched, and she missed the understanding dawning on his face as he studied her trembling form. He swallowed the dozens of things he wished to say and put aside his desire to extinguish the nightmare that had haunted him since the High Lord's meeting. Later. He could say it all later.

As her eyes trailed back upwards, they snagged on Eris’s hurt knee, blood dripping between the plates of armor on his leg.

"You're hurt," She said, unable to resist despite her tiredness, "Let me heal you."

"Alright," He was still for a moment as he considered protesting. But right now he'd do anything to lift even a fraction of her burden, so he picked up the gauntlets and followed after her.

She led him to a quiet tent, only a few others inside, resting or bandaging fellow healers. A few heads turned at the Autumn heir, tall and regal. And then their stares flickered to Aya, the black sheep of the Dawn Court leading the way for him. She ignored them, as she was developing quite the talent for.

"Sit," She murmured, scurrying to find a clean rag.

Eris obeyed, sitting on the edge of a cot and removing the armor from his leg to reveal his bloody knee. He watched her trembling hands, chest aching as he imagined what she may have been through. The memories of his first battle had stayed sharp through the centuries, the desolation still so heavy after all this time.

"Aya," He said when she’d returned, keeping his voice soft.

Taking the supplies from her hands and setting them aside, he reached out and took her shaking fingers in his, gently pulling her in to stand between his knees. He rubbed his thumbs over her icy knuckles, grimacing at the dried blood under her fingernails. His power was nearing the dregs, but he still willed a bit of heat to the surface to warm her skin.

She looked up at him, such sorrow in her grey eyes, and when her chin wobbled, it broke him. Aya was strong and brave and could do whatever she put her mind to. But he would still choose to keep her away from this place, too full of death and hurt and blood.

"You did well, today," He whispered.

They stayed like that for a long moment, Aya standing in the shelter of his body, absorbing his heat and all the comfort he tried to emanate. This time as she closed her eyes and took deep breaths, Eris's warmth began to wash away the terrible things she had seen. The ways she had failed. The lives that had slipped into the afterlife while she had no choice but to watch.

The burlap tent dimmed the sunshine, beams of light sneaking through ripped holes in the fabric to dapple Eris’s skin. Between those golden spots and his whiskey-brown-sugar scent, Aya could almost pretend they were somewhere else, under the canopy of the Autumn forest.

"Thank you," She murmured. Her eyes fluttered open and Eris let out a breath, relieved at the return of the steadiness he'd grown used to.

Heaving a deep sigh, Aya grabbed a cloth and began to wipe the blood from his skin. With the tender moment passed, the silence between them was heavy, charged with unsaid things. It did not help that the air was filled with the tang of blood and the cries of the injured.

Aya tossed the bloody rag into a bucket and closed her eyes once more.

Through the darkness, shapes began to emerge, that other world coming into view. Searching for his essence, she found the woven texture of Eris's tapestry. It appeared before her in all its loveliness - a gorgeous scene of Autumn woods, adorned with thread that shone like rubies. She had seen it a dozen times by now, but she was always captivated by it's beauty. By the secrets hiding between the threads.

She desperately wished to know the meaning of all of them. The hounds and the maple leaves were clear enough, but what of the birds and the chess pieces and the interlocking pattern cleverly hidden in the leaves of the trees? There were stories in all of them, pieces that made Eris who he was. Her hunger to know them had never lessened, and she was beginning to wonder if it ever would.

The section that needed fixing was interlaced with gold, and Aya found herself already equipped with a length of gold thread, wrapped around her forefinger like it was a spool.

She went to work, filling the gaps in the images and stitching down loose threads. Her magic eagerly rushed to the surface, still energized and ready. Its endlessness reminded her of the time of daily faebane doses to keep her powers from being revealed to Amarantha. The memory was bitter on her tongue, the horrid taste of faebane like a vengeful ghost.

At least now, she did not have to rush. There were no rows of beds waiting for her help. It was just Eris, patient and calm and not in any danger.

There was just enough golden thread around her finger to finish the job. But as she tried to find the end of the spool and tie off her work, she found it had wrapped in a loop in the exact place her golden band should be. Pulling on the string revealed it to be as unmoving as Edana's ring, as if it were attached to her skin. Aya tugged her hand back but the thread pulled tight, attaching her to Eris’s tapestry.

Again, she pulled, but it did not budge. A pulse traveled back down it, sending a tingling feeling through her hand, as if the tapestry had tugged back.

What was this? This was like no healing she’d ever experienced. Once more, Aya yanked as hard as she could, and heard Eris make a choking sound in front of her.

Her eyes snapped open. She was met with the image of Eris, his brows furrowed in confusion, a hand resting on his armored chest. Aya's heart stuttered, her throat closing with her rising panic. Time seemed to slow to a stop, and through the blood rushing in her ears, she heard his heartbeat. Her own echoed, calling back like a songbird.

"What's wrong?" she whispered, afraid of the answer.

"A chest pain," He said, and he shook his head, any suspicion clearing from his mind. He was oblivious.

Aya could not breathe. She closed her eyes again, willing her lungs to fill with air, and she could still see that golden thread, bridging their tapestries. She dared not pull it again, not with Eris right in front of her.

Had she done that? Had she made it herself? Was she that powerful, that she could forge a bond with her own hands?

"Are you alright?" Eris asked, eyes flicking back and forth between hers.

She ignored him, thoughts whirling faster and faster. She couldn't look at him anymore. His gaze burned, burned like fire and it hurt. The space between them was painful and her body was crying out for her to close the gap, to weave every thread of herself together with his and become one.

“I need you to go,” Aya swallowed hard. Eris opened his mouth to protest but she cut him off with an unconvincing smile and added, “I just need to lie down.”

He stared at her for a long moment, anxiety written so clearly in his eyes. It took all of the strength Aya had left not to tear away from his gaze, not to let tears rise to the surface and his hands wipe them away. The magnetic draw pulling her towards him only aided in confirming her suspicions and furthering her panic.

Finally, his lips drew into a tight line and he nodded.

“Please take care of yourself,” He said, slotting the armor back into place. At the entrance to the tent, he gave her one last glance before returning to the field.

Aya managed to wait until he had left to let the tears fall, dropping slowly to her knees and bending to let her forehead rest on the edge of the cot. What had she done?

She hadn't meant to do it. She had only been trying to heal him. Oh gods, had she trapped him, by accident?

All at once, everything that she was not flooded her mind. He deserved someone better. Someone less strange, someone people weren't afraid of. Someone smart and gorgeous with a mind for politics. Someone from Autumn, who Edana would love and welcome.

Trapped trapped trapped hammered against her skull in a steady rhythm. What had she done? Selfish selfish selfish.

She cursed her power over and over. It was not possible. It could not be possible.

And yet, she felt empty, her body acutely aware of his absence. The thread itched, begging her to chase after him and be closer. She had dreamt of a mating bond before, in the way that most young people did.

But this did not feel like a rose-tinted daydream come to life. This was another nightmare.

______________________________________

p.s. there is a metaphor in here that was especially fun to write if you can find it I'll give you a prize 👀

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raccoonfallsharder · 1 year ago

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navigation | art masterlist (reminder: it's rocket raccoon all the time) fluff ✮ | spice ✩ | some smut ❤︎‬ | much smut ❤︎‬❤︎‬

check out navigation for recent updates & upcoming posts, recommended works/creators, and more. or browse these tags: #rfh art | #fic preview | #fic update | #rfh masterlist

complete fiction masterlist

sfw masterlist | nsfw masterlist | headcanons & imagines | writing thoughts & "advice"

everything is in alphabetical order with links to future projects at the end, but if you can think of a better way to organize, feel free to hit me up ♡

Domestic Scenes in Space Travel ✩°｡ ⋆ The Very Boring Adventures of Space Pilot & Sweatshirt Girl 18+ only MDNI | no use of y/n | f!reader | word count: varies. reader x rocket domestic fluff & smut with feelings. comics-based but you don't need any comics background knowledge to ride this ride. collects Installments 1-5 and an Interlude. The Very Boring Adventures of Space Pilot & Sweatshirt Girl | Outer Space Safety & Spaceship Maintenance Training | Reconnaissance for Beginners: An Instruction Manual | Critical Interview Questions for Potential Room & Crewmates [explicit & smut-free versions] | Proof: A Moment in Space | Untitled Installment 6

florescence❀ ˖⁺‧₊˚ (a meetgroot) 18+ only MDNI | no use of y/n | f!reader | 3/6 years | wip | word count: pending. Rocket & Groot leave their friends behind on Knowhere, despite the latter’s protests, and end up hiding out on a nothing-planet (with a non-extradition policy) at the edge of the Shi’ar Galaxy. It was the flowers that drew you in. mcu-based, slight au, medium-burn, eventual smut circa Year Four. tentative allies to friends to lovers. the middle is angsty but there are only happy endings here. Year Zero: Seed | Year One: Sprout | Year Two: Growth | Year Three: Flowering | Year Four: Formation | Year Five: Dispersal

˚₊‧✶ headcanons & imagines ✶‧₊˚ smut-free | no use of y/n | gn reader | oneshots & drabbles various guardians of the galaxy headcanons, minifics, and more.

°˖✧˚♡ kinktober 2023 ♡˚✧˖° 18+ only MDNI | no use of y/n | f!reader | oneshots | word count: varies. based on @flightlessangelwings Kinktober 2023 prompt list. please read all warnings.

kinktober2024 ‧₊˚♡༉‧₊ 18+ only MDNI | no use of y/n | f!reader | 3 books | word count: varies. three books based on three erotic flavors. soft & sweet [sunshine, 4 parts]. sultry & spicy [evasive maneuvers, 2 parts]. sensual & shameless [you are cordially invited, a very long oneshot].

✩࿐࿔ take what you need smut-free | gn reader | no use of y/n | 16 complete reminders | word count: varies. the world is hard, and sometimes it's difficult to complete daily tasks & take care of yourself. rocket bullies you for your own good. non-smutty. reader is gender-neutral. accepting requests via reblogs, asks, and tumblr & ao3 comments. collects various Reminders (ongoing) ࿔ eat somethin ࿔ go to frickin bed ࿔ get outta bed & get your shit done ࿔ take a damn bath ࿔ leave your frickin skin alone ࿔ take a fuckin study break ࿔ drink some goddamn water ࿔ stop destroying your fricking clothes ࿔ just buy the damn thing already ࿔ it's frickin laundry day ࿔ get some goddamn sunshine ࿔ have you taken your meds today? ࿔ schedule your fuckin appointments ࿔ do the goddamn dishes ࿔ brush your frickin teeth ࿔ nobody fucking hates you ࿔ stop biting your goddamnm nails ࿔

the raccoon, the witch, & the roadtrip. angst, friendship, fluff | rocket & wanda | 7/7 parts | complete | word count: pending. for hibatasblog ♡ During a watch party for Avengers: Endgame on Twitter, Markus revealed the idea to team Wanda with the Guardian of the Galaxy captain actually made it into several versions of the film's script. "We had whole drafts with Wanda on a road trip with Rocket," Markus wrote, "but after the Vision plot in Infinity War, nothing we came up with was anything but wheel spinning for her character." CBR prepare for departure. | pennsylvania. ohio. indiana. | illinois. wisconsin. minnesota. | south dakota. | montana. | idaho. washington. | you've arrived at your destination.

⭑˚.⚘𖡼𖥧𖤣 windfall 𖤣𖥧𖡼⚘.˚⭑ (a meetgroot) 18+ only MDNI | no use of y/n | f!reader | 3/3 parts | complete | word count: 44,521. wind·fall /ˈwin(d)ˌfôl/ noun. an apple or other fruit blown down from a tree or bush by the wind; an unexpected piece of good fortune. semi-shy ultrafeminine touch-deprived reader tries to avoid meeting knowhere’s intimidating captain. is profoundly unsuccessful. Sugared Violets. | Crystallized Ginger. | Candied Apples.

Window Across the Galaxy *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ 18+ only MDNI | rocket x f!oc | 27/27 chapters | complete | word count: 235,940. girl falls first; raccoon falls harder. Rocket is captured by a Ravager crew hoping to get rich off the excessively large bounty on his head. Throwing a wrench in everyone’s plans is the Terran girl they hired to do some freelance assessing on a recent haul of goods they’ve seized from a Xandaran luxury liner. Oops. slight AU starting pre-GOTG volume 1 (but will hit most of the same major plot points). slow burn + eventual smut with a lot of pining in the middle. kinda enemies-to-lovers? (but only one of these idiots thinks they're enemies). collects Chapters I-XXVII. *:･ﾟ✧

what's on the horizon? future projects

masterlist banner & fairylight divider by @/saradika-graphics raccoon dividers by @/thecutestgrotto

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sp1rit-realm · 2 years ago

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IM CRYING THIS WAS SO CUTE

Remus is grinning fondly until you finish and dip your head backwards. Your neck is bared to the kitchen lights and your chest is heaving dramatically, and Remus feels so lightheaded he actually has to grab the counter.

like..,sdlmv;ksfjlfkfgxadlzO:Jsadif

over the influence — remus lupin x reader

summary: remus lupin is not your boyfriend, but he sure knows how to act like he is.

contains: friends to lovers, friends trying really hard to be lovers, fluff, mutual pining, lovesick oblivious remus, drunk!reader, modern!au, rugby!james cw implied fem!reader, reader wears a skirt, alcohol consumption.

note: um welcome to my first ever remus fic!? if I’m being honest I have no idea if it’s good but I’m posting it anyway yolo

fem!reader 2.9k words

You’re plastered when Remus finds you. Absolutely hammered.

He can tell because you’re giggling madly at one of Sirius’s jokes, which you never do, because Sirius’s jokes are awful and you thankfully have a good sense of humour. But, you’re a giggly drunk, who finds just about anything anyone says absolutely hilarious. It’s adorable, usually. But right now, it’s blowing Sirius’s ego out of the water.

Remus dives in to save you as Sirius roars with laughter at his own joke.

“Dove,” he says, clasping your shoulder. You’re slumped into the sofa, your head lolling against the cushions. “There you are.”

You twist to look who it is, your face all scrunched up as you take him in. You blink very slowly. Then, just as slow, your face lights up.

“Remus!” You gasp happily. “Hi, baby. I was wondering where you went!”

Baby. Remus’s face burns and his heart does a triple backflip. You’re drunk, he reasons. Super drunk.

“Are you okay?” He asks you, bending at the waist so you can hear him better. It’s loud, the music and the people and Sirius, especially.

“I’m perfect,” you say, words all slurry and sticky and ending in a sort of ditzy hiccup.

Well, you’re not wrong about that. Remus takes the seat next to you and your droopy eyes follow him down.

“How much have you had to drink?” Remus asks, trying for curious but coming out a bit concerned. “What did you even drink?”

You shrug and hiccup again. “I don’t know.” Your shoulders drop and so do your lips, a sort of confused frown washing over your features. “Sirius made me some weird concoction … it was kinda gross, Rem.” You look at Remus very seriously, your eyelids low. “Don’t tell him I said that.”

Remus laughs and pretends to zip his lips. “Your secret’s safe with me, babe.”

Chances are it’s not, and Remus will mock Sirius about it endlessly. Not tonight, though. Tonight he’s mainly focused on making sure you don’t touch another cup of anything other than water.

You’re giggling again, though Remus isn’t sure what at. You’re just gazing at him and giggling your head off like a maniac.

“What’s so funny, pretty?” He asks fondly, a grin tugging at his lips. He knows you don’t have a chance of remembering any of this by tomorrow morning. Hence the pet names.

You stop laughing abruptly. It’s alarming and then not, because your big grin stays put. You lean in close, your chest pressing into his side. Remus smells all your smells, your perfume and your hairspray and the mystery drink you’ve definitely had too much of.

“You’re pretty,” you say, completely ignoring his question.

Remus flushes. You’re never this forward. It’s driving him nuts, the way you’re looking at him. How close you are. The way your scents wash over him and make him feel almost as drunk as you are.

“Whatever you say,” he says, brushing off your compliment because what the hell is he supposed to say to that? “I think you need some water.”

Remus gets up but you catch his wrist before he’s fully standing, your soft fingers pressing into his skin.

“Wait, don’t leave!” You sound desperate and you look the part, too. Your pretty eyes are blown wide as saucers.

Remus falters. “I’ll be five seconds, dove. M’just getting you a glass of water.”

You pout in such a way that makes Remus want to kiss you silly. “Take me with you, then?”

Remus finds he physically cannot say no to that look. He hauls you up by the forearm and you cling happily to his arm. Remus makes his way to the kitchen with you attached to his arm like a barnacle, your fingers pressing into the crook of his elbow, your thigh brushing his as you walk far too close to him. It’s dizzying, and Remus is surprised he’s managing to walk in a straight line.

In the kitchen, it’s much quieter but you’re not any less drunk. You detach yourself from Remus and skip over to the kitchen island. Before Remus can stop you you’re hauling yourself up onto the bench, so unsteady on your feet that you almost topple right off. Remus catches you by the elbow just before disaster strikes.

“Oops,” you giggle, breathless and totally out of your mind. “Sorry.”

Remus’s heart stops racing with worry and instead races with infatuation with you. Even in your drunken state.

“S’fine,” he says kindly, patiently, because you’re too sweet for your own good. You almost went toppling to your demise and you’re apologizing. “Just be careful. Please.”

You nod and sit pretty while Remus retrieves a glass and fills it with cold water from the fridge. When he turns back you’re making grabby hands for the glass. Remus looks at you, your wobbly state and your clumsy hands, and holds the condensation-ridden glass closer to his chest.

You pout and drop your arms. “Remus.”

“You’ll drop it, honey,” he says, as kindly as he can without sounding like he’s babying you. He is babying you, actually. Not that he’s gonna tell you that. “Let me.”

You let him. He brings one hand to rest at the small of your back, his fingers brushing the strip of skin just shy of your skirt’s waistband. He tries not to think about it as he brings the glass to your lips.

You drink like you’ve been stuck in a desert for six days, gulping like your life depends on it. Remus is grinning fondly until you finish and dip your head backwards. Your neck is bared to the kitchen lights and your chest is heaving dramatically, and Remus feels so lightheaded he actually has to grab the counter.

You notice, because of course you do, even in your tipsy state. You frown and put your hand on Remus’s where it’s gripping the counter for dear life.

“Remus? Are you okay?”

Remus blinks rapidly, hitches a grin onto his face. “I’m fine,” he says, fake grin at work. “Do you want more water?”

You think about it for a second. Then you look at Remus like you’re about to deliver the worst news of his life. “I need to pee,” you say solemnly.

Remus almost laughs. Almost. “Well, c’mon then.” He sets your empty glass down and grabs your forearm. “I’ll get one of the girls to take you.”

“No!” You say desperately. You throw your arms around Remus’s neck and tug him into you, and Remus is so startled he doesn’t have time to think about how close you are. You push your face into his neck. “No,” you say again, quieter this time. “I don’t want them to look after me. I want you.”

Your closeness catches up with Remus in a rush of heat all over his body. Your thighs press into his sides and your arms are like a vice around his neck. His heart thrums and his chest burns and it takes him a while to figure out what he’s saying.

“Dove,” he says gently. He pries himself off of you, albeit reluctantly, and puts his hands over your biceps, squeezing lightly. “I can’t take you to the bathroom.”

You frown. “Why not?”

Remus stutters. “Well, because. I’m- I’m not—”

“Please?” You beg, looking awfully cute when you clasp your hands together between yours and Remus’s chests. “You can just stand outside the door and wait. I’ll be fine.”

Half of Remus thinks it’s a bad idea, you might trip on your own feet and whack your head on the bathtub. The other half of him can’t ever say no to you, not even when what you’re proposing is totally dangerous and an awful idea. He’s not exactly proud of himself when he nods.

“Yeah, alright then,” he says, and you beam. “Come on.”

Remus ends up looking after you for the remainder of the night, you’re so drunk. He drives you home not long after your bathroom break. Sobers you up with some tea which you barely touch, and more cold water which you skull like you’ve been deprived of it for days.

He deposits you in your bed and you’re already half asleep by the time he does it, but you manage a sleepy, “Thank you,” that’s so sweet Remus feels his chest ache. He leaves you fast asleep in the comfort of your bed, ignores the urge to crash on your couch, and double checks he’s locked your doors on the way out.

Not that anyone’s asking, but he’s maybe just had the best night of his life.

Remus gets a call from you the next day and his heart skips. He thinks, stupidly, that maybe you’ve decided you hate him after last night. He picks it up anyway, because he misses you.

“Remus,” you say, as soon as the phone’s on his ear. You sound somewhat anguished. “Was I awful last night?”

He laughs, surprised. “What?”

“Was I awful to look after?” You ask like it’s obvious. “I barely remember anything. James said I was clinging to you for half the night.” You’re moaning like it’s a bad thing. For Remus it wasn’t. “And I’m sure I said some weird shit, I was so loopy off that stupid drink Siri gave me. I—”

Remus saves you before you fall into a self-deprecating waffle.

“Y/N,” he interrupts your rambling. “What’s gotten into you, dove? You were fine. It was fine.” I like looking after you, he doesn’t say.

“But—”

“You’re being ridiculous.” Remus tries not to laugh because you are being ridiculous, but you also really do sound quite worked up about it. “It’s fine. I wasn’t about to leave you to the crows.”

You giggle, thankfully. When you speak again you sound much happier. “‘The crows’ as in Sirius?”

Remus snorts. “Yeah. The crows as in Sirius. I think I’ll have a word with him about the drinks he passes around.”

You huff, and Remus can picture your pout. “Please do. I’m never drinking with him again.”

Remus laughs, a mixture of amusement and fondness and agreement. You’re much more yourself this morning, perky and a little dramatic and a bit of an over-thinker. Though admittedly, Remus didn’t mind loopy you last night.

“Are you going to James’s game tonight?” You ask, a smile evident in your voice.

Remus snaps out of his lovelorness long enough to reply, “Are you?”

“Yeah, why?”

“‘Cos I’m only going if you’re going.”

You laugh loud and the heat in Remus’s cheeks only grows. He loves making you laugh more than he’d like to admit.

“That’s mean, Remus,” you scold, with less heat than a block of ice. “Don’t you want to support your friend?”

“Friend isn’t really the right word,” Remus jokes. He’s happy to make you laugh at James’s expense. He’s sure James can take it.

You laugh again, and Remus knows you know he means it jokingly.

You’re still giggling when you talk again, breathless and adorable. “Alright, well. Would you mind picking me up?”

Remus agrees far too quickly to be normal, with far too much eagerness. He gets off the phone after agreeing on a time to pick you up, and knows he’s a total goner.

Remus isn’t your boyfriend. He’s your friend. And yet here you are, sitting very close to him in the stadium stands while you watch James’s rugby game. Only last night, he’d looked after you and driven you home when you got too tipsy. He’d also, at your request, given you a ride here, telling you all the while that you were the only reason he’s coming to the game at all. So maybe he’s closer to being your boyfriend than you think.

You watch James score a try and your row of seats erupts into cheers, Lily’s the loudest. The big screen above the field shows the camera panning to a close up of James. He whoops and pounds his fists in the air and blows a big smacking kiss in the general direction of your group of friends.

“He’s such a show off,” Remus drawls into your ear. You can hear him smiling.

You giggle and twist in your seat so you can look at him. He looks extraordinarily pretty tonight, in dark brown pants and a forest green t-shirt, his dark hair (in need of a cut) windswept and going in every direction possible. You want to kiss him so bad your chest burns. On the way here, he’d had his hand on your thigh for half the drive and you didn’t say a word the entire time. You think maybe you’re unhealthily obsessed with him.

“What?” Remus asks curiously, lips parted, and you realise you’ve been staring too long.

Heat washes over your cheeks. “Nothing,” you say as nonchalantly as you can.

“Have I got something on my face? You’re staring at me like I’ve grown two heads.”

The way he says it is like he knows exactly why you were staring at him. Desperate for an escape, you stand before you even know what you’re doing.

“I’m going to get more popcorn,” you declare to your friends in general. You purposefully avoid looking at Remus, afraid you’ll keel over and die. “Anyone want more?”

You get a few yes’s and one “I’m coming,” from Remus, which completely ruins the point. You’d tell him so but that would mean admitting you’re sickeningly obsessed with him. You allow him to tag along.

Sirius gives you a look as you leave with Remus, eyebrows raised like he knows exactly how much you like his friend. You’re sure he does. He doesn’t miss much, that boy. And he’s been giving you looks ever since you arrived. You flip him off behind Remus’s back.

Once at the popcorn stand, Remus insists on paying. It’s irritating, really, how sweet he is.

“Remus,” you groan, swatting his wallet away. “I can pay for myself.”

“I know you can, dove,” he says. “I’m just trying to be nice.”

And he gives you a smile so staggering that you let him pay for the popcorn. You’re still grumbling about it on the way back to your seats.

“You’re too nice,” you tell him, plonking down in your seat with a frown. “Stop being so nice, I’m sick of it.”

Remus laughs, really laughs, the kind that has you fighting a smile even though you’re annoyed at him. He’s got a lovely laugh.

“Sorry,” he says, sounding the opposite. He’s got a smarmy grin on his mouth, all teeth. You’d pummel him if he wasn’t so pretty. “Do you want me to be mean instead?”

You glare. “You’re mean to everyone else,” you say, which is entirely true and you both know it. He wouldn’t look after a drunk Sirius like he did you if his life depended on it.

To your surprise, Remus flushes. “Well, I—“

He’s interrupted by a yell of his name from Sirius, and then you realise they’re all calling your name, too. Shouts of “Remus!” and “Y/N!” and “Look!”

You twist in your seat, confused.

“What—?”

And then you see it. The kiss cam is on the big screen, colours and words blazing. And just your luck, it’s your face blown up ten times as big on the screen, your eyes wide and your lips parted as you stare back at yourself, caught mid-sentence. You think maybe you’re dreaming, because right next to your face is Remus’s. He’s just as shocked as you.

You turn to look at the real Remus, just as he turns to look at you. Your friends are having a field day, shouting, “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

You ignore them.

“I …” You’re not sure what to say, your mouth filling with nothing but silence. You want badly to kiss him. You’ve always wanted to kiss him, and you think everyone but Remus knows it.

“We don’t have to,” he says quickly, mistaking your silence for unwillingness. “It’s just a stupid kiss cam.”

But you do have to, because he’s Remus, and maybe this stupid kiss cam is the only chance you’re ever gonna get. You swallow the nerves that are building up in your throat and ignore the fact that Sirius is practically screaming at the two of you from three seats down.

“I want to,” you say quietly, too quietly, and Remus doesn’t hear you over the hubbub. So you try again. “I want to.”

Remus goes very still, his lips parted and his chest heaving. Suddenly it feels like it’s just the two of you. He stares at you like you’re made of gold and your heart does somersaults.

Then he smiles. “Me too.”

He brings his hand to your jaw and you barely have time to bask in his touch before he’s kissing you. Really kissing you. He tastes like butter and sugar and he smells exactly like he always does. His hands are soft but sure where they cup your face and your chest is on fire, your heart is punching and kicking and you worry you might pass out in his arms you’re so giddy.

Your friends are screaming bloody murder, Sirius the worst of them all, and you’re sure the kiss cam has probably panned away from you by now but you can’t stop kissing him. You kiss him and kiss him and kiss him until you can’t breathe anymore. You’d go on forever but you’re losing breath and you really do think you’re lightheaded now.

You pull away before you pass out from lack of oxygen. Remus looks as frazzled as you feel, pink in the cheeks and his lips all swollen and his eyes are bright and burning and holy shit, you just want to kiss him again.

You almost do, but then Sirius and Frank and Lily appear and clap your backs, shout words you can barely hear and Sirius is so happy he looks like he might burst into tears. You laugh, half-delirious and sick as a dog in love with Remus, and somehow your hands end up tangled with his in his lap and your thigh is crushing his and he’s looking at you like he wants to kiss you again.

Lucky you, he does kiss you again. And many more times after that, no kiss cam needed.

thank you for reading! feedback & reblogs are appreciated 🤍

#mal✧:･.☽˚｡

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coffeehighallthetime-blog · 1 year ago

Text

I am Kind Not Complacent Chpt 2

I am Kind not Complacent chpt 2

{prev},{next}

Heimdall gow x reader

word count: 6 k

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hello and thank you to every single person who has liked, commented, and reblogged my silly little story. I'm so glad I can make a few people smile and share my little fic. if anyone would like me to tag them to make finding the next chapter easier in the future please don't be afraid to ask!

as always, enjoy and have fun reading!

@engardeitsme as always, love bouncing ideas off and getting to share stuff with you before I post it! thank you for helping again! @lunaryasha @nokolla I hope you enjoy Thank you so much for your support and kind words <3

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As YN got closer to the training grounds, Her limbs got ridged and her steps were more sluggish.

“Um, Mal?”

“Yes?”

“I don’t think I can do this.” She froze in her tracks, whimpering as Mal tried to move her forward. She sighed and grabbed hold of the girl’s arm. YN leaned against her pulling, digging her heels into the mossy floor. “I-I mean I’ve only fought to get away, I don’t know anything about combat!” she looked up at Mal pleading, Her cheeks going rosy in embarrassment, “A-and I don’t know these people…” Mal huffed, looking back at Thor and Heimdall as they seemed to be waiting for YN, getting more and more annoyed the longer she took to get there.

“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice really, do you? No come on, I'll introduce you. But you need to act properly. They are the Aesir princes and as someone under Asgard they now rule over you as well, you should know,” Mal tried to encourage the girl while also pressing it was important not to keep the princes waiting, “I’m sure they won’t go hard on you, dear little thing.”

“Oh? Are they nice?” YN asked, a bit hopeful. Mal looked at her as if she had grown a second head.

“Ni-? No, they’re princes. But you’re so small and sweet, so they may lose interest in you. Where did you say you were from again?”

“Vanaheim.”

“...Mmh,” Mal just hummed, now getting s bit nervous herself for the girl.

YN frowned at Mal’s lack of help. She almost felt like she was going to throw up. Meeting new people? who were mean? And she had to spare with them?

“B-but why do I have to? Why now? I-I just got here, d-don’t you think-”

“Ah ah ah, don’t you go doing that negotiating thing. I saw what you did at breakfast. Now let’s hurry on, I rather not keep the Aesir princes waiting.” YN swallowed thickly, looking down at her feet as she allowed Mal to drag her the rest of the way. They stopped at the edge of the sparing area, where the dirt had gone wet and muddy from constant trampling. Thor quickly blocked a hit from young Heimdall and looked over at Mal and the girl.

“Lord Thor, Lord Heimdall,” Mal lowered her head and put her hand on YN’s head to elicit a bow as well. “This is YN, a guest of the All-Father’s. She is to train with you today for an introduction to Aesir's fighting tactics.”

“Took you long enough, come here, I don’t have all day.” Thor didn’t even glance an eye at Mal, his focus purely on YN who gulped as he pointed to a spot at his feet. Heimdall didn’t even spare her a glance as he made his way to the opposite side of the circle across from Thor. YN felt Mal give her one more nudge as she finally moved to stand in front of the thunder god.

“I will take my leave,” Mal stated, before turning back towards the great lodge. YN tightened her fists as she watched Mal retreat. Thor crossed his arms as the girl stood in front, craning her neck up at him. She gulped and dipped into a deep bow. ‘Just introduce yourself, don’t speak too much, and maybe this won’t be so bad. Maybe they’ll go easy if I’m polite.’ YN thought she heard a scoff come from behind her at the thought. But that was impossible.

“Hello, my name is YN of Vanaheim and I am the goddess of peace. I was brought here to-” She peeked up at the sound of Thor clicking his tongue in annoyance or boredom, she wasn’t sure. She swallowed thickly, focusing on her feet, “U-um to be of assistance in some way t-to the All-Father?”

Yn gasped at a sudden large hand on her shoulder, roughly twisting her to face the blond boy on the other side of the sparing circle, and nearly tripped into the mud as she was shoved forward.

“Quickly, let’s see where you are. Heimdall, keep her face intact. We don’t want to be scolded by Father, do we?” YN could almost hear the smirk in Thor’s voice and tried not to show her fear as the boy in front of her picked up two swords, the blades dulled for training. He tossed one to the girl and she caught it before it hit the ground, surprised at the weight of it. YN was shocked as the boy seemed to disappear from in front of her and yelped as she was kicked sharply in the back, skidding in the mud but staying on her feet. She whipped around to see Heimdall starting to circle her, smirking with his lips but glaring at her intensely.

“Gods you pathetic. ‘Maybe I’ll go easy if you’re polite’? Ha!” he laughed sarcastically, before sneering and rushing YN. She moved quickly to try and block, their swords straining against each other as he leaned in, overpowering her easily.

“Wh-what are you talking about?” Her eyes widened as she processed his words. What would happen if she failed? Would she be shunned again, would she be shut out? Didn’t she want to go home? Why did the thought of isolation suddenly scare her so much?

She thought of how to get out of the stalemate, wanting to parry and jump back to put some distance so she could have more options. But as she moved to do so, Hiemdall was quick to twist her around and shove her back from him. While she stumbled, her back turned, he moved quickly again, grabbing her by a fistful of hair and kneeing her hard in the ribs.

“And thinking we could ever get along? That you’ll ever belong here? Don’t make me laugh. Crawl on your belly like a dog and maybe I’ll tell the All-Father to send you back to your hovel in one piece, Vanir scum.” there was venom in his voice. Even at this young age, godly strength knocked the air out of her and she sputtered, coughing up drops of blood onto his once pristine tunic. He scoffed in disgust and pushed her back. Her mind raced as her vision blurred. She dissected the situation, his movements, reaction time, and words. She caught her breath, feeling him approach again behind her, and whipped around, knocking him in the brow with the hilt of her sword. Heimdall stumbled back in a daze and stared at the girl in disbelief. He wasn’t planning on retaliation, so he had stopped reading her movements.

He watched her as she panted, her face contouring into a snarl as she squared her shoulders and changed her stance from submissive to feral; like a beast trying to get away from a hunter. Desperate, scared, angry.

“That’s a dirty trick,” she growled out, straightening to stare into his eyes, “you have some nerve crawling into spaces you’re not welcome.” he was caught off guard by the statement, shocked that she had found him out so quickly. Thor meanwhile just rolled his eyes on the sidelines, thinking his brother was a fool for talking too much and revealing his hand so easily. Heimdall flushed in embarrassment as he heard Thor’s thoughts prodding into his head and growled, lunging in frustration. YN was able to narrowly dodge and the two circled each other.

“You catch on fast,” Heimdall offered with a sneer.

“You talk too much,” YN bit back, guarding her body just in time as Heimdall attacked again.

Thor noticed the following pattern:

Heimdall would always attack first, getting a few good hits in. he moved fast, and precise; then got cocky and didn’t remember to put space between him and his opponent. He had a bad habit at his young age of underestimating enemies and didn’t use his foresight as fluidly as he should be,(or so Odin thought, and told Thor to push him harder.)

YN was the opposite. She seemed to almost run away, backing away and refusing to keep her eyes off her opponent for as long as possible, and constantly whipping around to try and keep up. She would try to defend herself, taking a slash to the arm, or leg while protecting her core, and when Heimdall got careless she would go in to retaliate. Her movements were hard-hitting and violent, going for jabs hard enough to push Heimdall across the field or knock the air out of his lungs. That said, she was precise in her own way. Thor also noticed that as Heimdall seemed not to care where he hit the girl, aiming for arteries, joints, and soft spots; she only aimed for places that would discombobulate him, throw him off balance, and put space between them. Thor stroked his beard in thought, calling out to Heimdall.

“You need to use your powers, Heimdall,” He scolded, “you underestimate too much, and you need to do so quickly, process the information, and act accordingly.”

“Underestimate?” Heimdall scoffed and dropped his stance to stifle a sarcastic laugh. YN stiffened at the mockery and growled.

“Well, what kind of god who can read minds lets his opponent land hits on him?” She barked, blocking another attack and ducking to elbow him in the side. Heimdall was quick to pary and kicked against the length of her sword, knocking her off balance.

“Maybe you just think yourself too highly. What is a goddess of peace supposed to be able to do in a real fight? You haven’t attacked me once! Goddess of pushovers more like!” He cackled, nearly doubling over. YN dropped her stance, her cheeks searing red in anger and embarrassment.

“Try goddess of logic and tactic, you oaf!” Her heart pounded in her ears as her anger started to rise. She wanted to stand up for herself. She wanted to reason with him. She wanted to rip his tongue out from his teeth and-

“Ooh! Such snark! Not very peaceful of you, Queen Kindness ~”

“I’m warning you!” ‘Be calm. Be calm. Be calm. Don’t let your anger get the best of you. It will only end badly. Just breath.’

“Oh or what? You’ll sign a peace treaty? Bake me a cake? Cry and beg for forgiveness?” Heimdall was almost out of breath from laughter, and YN saw red. Suddenly time stood still as Heimdall’s laughter was cut off by a mound of mud flying into his face. YN watched satisfied as the dirt dripped down his chin and smeared down the front of his tunic.

Thor snorted and threw his head in laughter as he watched Heimdall swipe his hand down his face, his fiery pink eyes searing holes into the girl's face.

“I told you to shut up!” she shouted, She reeled her hand back with another pile of mud. Heimdall dodged, running at her full force and grabbing her face, slamming her down into the mud.

“You repulsive little worm.” he snarled, watching her sink into the ground under his weight. With her face still covered under his palm, she blindly grabbed another fistful and slammed it into the side of his head, knocking him off of her and deafening him in one ear momentarily. Thor was wheezing, doubled over the fence. YN stood slowly, the weight of water and dirt seeped into her clothes and hair dragging her down. She looked down at her grimy hands and shook them once, spraying mud and hitting Heimdall with droplets of muck.

“I don’t bake cake” she stated, smearing mud off her face nonchalantly. “But you’ll find I’m quite good at mud pies,” She smirked as Heimdall shook his head, regaining his senses. The next three minutes were full of pure chaos.

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“ Sire, are you certain that Lord Thor and Lord Heimdall were the best suited for the job of testing the girl’s abilities?” A man with curved horns spoke, walking a foot behind Odin at all times.

“Of course. Heimdall and her are nearly the same age, so it’s a fair fight wouldn’t you say?”

“Yes sir, but Heimdall is young and doesn’t know how to hold back at times. That with his fighting prowess and Thor’s…buffoonery, may cause a bit of disastrous cocktail.” Odin laughed at Mimir’s statement, holding his belly.

“I always appreciate your bluntness, dear friend!” Odin regains his composure with a sigh, still smiling slightly. “That may be true, but I need Heimdall to read the girl’s mind. And because he is progressing so slowly, he still needs to be close and be able to concentrate, making the whole ordeal less than ideal. And Thor? He’s just grounded and I knew he would hate the job of babysitting.” Mimir frowned at this, not sure why Odin was so carefree about having his two most hot-headed sons be with their new guest. “ I fear Tyr or Baldur would go far too easy on the poor creature. I need results quickly to see where she stands. I just hope they haven’t beaten her too badly.”

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Mud flew in every direction, both from wads being thrown at each other, or residual splatter from tackling each other into the ground and wrestling each other like feral little goblins.

“Ugh!! You are such a little weasel!” YN screamed as Heimdall managed to slip behind her, shoving mud down the back of her shirt, but not before she flipped around and tackled him to the ground, shaking his shoulders violently and slamming him into the mud. He growled, his eyes glowing as he flipped her over, pinning her to the ground under his hips and yanking her hair, smearing it with dirt.

“Oh yeah!? Well, you’re nothing but a squawking raven!”

YN reached up, yanking at Hiemdall’s mud-caked hair, pulling so they flipped and rolled across the floor. Heimdall elbowed her in the eye. She yelped and punched him in the nose, pinning him to the ground, and closed the gap between them. Her hands found home around his throat and she didn’t feel herself squeeze, tighter, tighter, tighter. Heimdall gasped for air, kneeing her in her already bruised ribs. She screamed out in pain, her grip loosening and Heimdall threw her off, making her skid into the mud, curling up in pain as her side throbbed.

“Hey, alright, that’s enough,” Thor called, getting closer to the two, still chuckling at the state of his brother. Heimdall heaved, grabbing a sword that lay forgotten in the mud.

“Heimdall, come on, put the sword down,” Thor spoke firmly this time, reaching to grab the sword, Heimdall yanked free of his hold and trudged over, raising the sword above his head to swing down, YN nursed her side and prepared to dodge and tackle him again.

“Heimdall!”

“ What is the meaning of this!?” A voice boomed, making the children both freeze. YN watched as Heimdall’s eyes widened in horror, dropping the sword and stepping away from her immediately, getting down on one knee in the mud and bowing his head, eyes screwed to the ground. Thor followed, not even the hint of a smile on his face anymore. YN finally looked up, seeing Odin approaching with a scowl on his face, followed by a man with curved horns atop his head, his eyes shining with what looked like opals.

Odin turned immediately to Thor, his arms crossed and his foot tapping as he waited impatiently for an answer. Thor straightened, deciding to look at the children instead of his father.

“They were just sparing, All-Father. Nothing but some roughhousing.”

“Roughhousing?” Mimir drawled out as he walked closer to YN. “They’re covered head to toe in filth. And this one’s eye is swollen shut!” He grabbed YN's face to get a good look at the bruising. He tutted and walked over to Heimdall, looking him over as well. Heimdall winced as the man checked his nose. “Oh lovely,” he spoke sarcastically, looking back at Thor and Odin. “his nose is broken!”

Odin sighed, bordering on a groan as he pinched the bridge of his nose. YN couldn’t explain it but despite what only looked like mild frustration, there seemed to be electricity in the air. She was not blind to the way Heimdall seemed to cower under his father’s gaze, and Thor seemed so small all of a sudden in the All-Father’s presence. The way everyone reacted to him unnerved YN and she hated the feeling of tension closing in on everyone.

“Boys, I told you to train her, not maim her. Mimir helps her up, will you?”

Mimir gently grabbed her arm, helping her to stand, and walked her over to Odin’s side.

“ S-sir it was my fault. I-I’m no good at fighting! I fought desperately and my temper got the better of me, I’m deeply truly sorry.” She tried to reason. Heimdall peaked up at her, confused as to why she would bother to take the blame. She didn’t know him or his brother. Didn’t she know what would happen if she spoke out of turn? Heimdall couldn’t help the pang of jealousy he felt at the way his father acted towards the girl. How his voice softened. Was she manipulating him? Heimdall tried reading her mind but he was still dazed from the scuffle the two had had.

Odin cut off the girl’s apologies by holding his hand up, shushing her silently.

“ I won’t hear it. You are a guest and in a strange new land. You were taken from your home and told to fight without any time to understand what was going on. I simply wasn’t thinking. And for that, I am sorry. I was supposed to come here to introduce you and watch you spar, not fight! But I thought to myself, ‘Surely my sons will do well in some friendly competition. I mustn’t worry so much!’ Isn’t that what I said, Mimir?”

“Yes, sir.” Mimir nodded, but YN felt his hand tense against her shoulder. Odin nodded and scowled at Heimdall and Thor, shaking his head with a sigh.

“But I suppose I was wrong to trust them with such a simple task.” YN was caught off guard as she felt Odin’s hand rest on her head.

“Are you alright, child?” YN looked up at him and nodded meekly. He smiled and pushed the girl over towards the two still bowing in the dirt. “Get up.” They stood quickly. Thor looked his father in the eyes, while Heimdall struggled to do the same, his hands squeezed tight at his sides. Odin nudged the girl forward. “I’d like all three of you to apologize to each other.”

At this, the girl immediately bowed, apologizing for letting things get out of hand. Now that her anger had subsided all she felt was anxiety at the tension in the air. YN wanted nothing more than to apologize and hopefully get along with everyone. She turned to Thor and looked up with big round eyes.

“ I apologize, Lord Thor, for not paying better attention to your encouragement and advice, and instead letting my nerves take over. Thank you for taking the time out of your day to teach me.” Thor let out a harumph, looking away. But then sighed and lowered his head in a passive bow.

“Yeah… sorry I didn’t keep a better eye on you both.” Odin scoffed, not satisfied but knowing that was the best he’d get out of Thor. He looked down at Heimdall expectantly, who just seemed to be frozen in place. Yn stuck out her hand as a peace offering.

“I’m deeply sorry, Lord Heimdall. I hope I didn’t hurt you too badly.” Heimdall tsked at the statement and didn’t move. YN looked him in the eyes and he heard her thoughts.

‘I know you can hear me. Shake my hand, and play along. Unless you want to get in more trouble.’ He clicked his tongue in annoyance but with the nudge of her thought and the searing eyes of his father, he grabbed her hand and shook it.

“No my…lady…” he strained with a smile, his brow twitching “The fault is mine for thinking you could withstand a fight with me. I must remember that you are a woman, and therefore, weak and delicate. Like a baby bird,” She smiled back, squeezing his hand so tight that the tip of her fingers turned white.

‘I’ll show you delicate, you little weasel.’She thought, her brow twitching as she pried her hands away and noticed him flex his hand subtly at his side to subside the aching of her anaconda squeeze.

“There, see? All better now! Mimir, take our guest to the infirmary will you?” Mimir nodded, guiding YN away. When they were out of earshot, Odin’s smile disappeared and he looked at his sons expectantly.

“What have you learned?”

“She is reactive in her fighting.” Thor started his report, “ only attacking after her opponent makes a move. Otherwise, she’s a bit of a chicken shit. Kept running away from Heimdall until the only choice was to fight back.”

“Hn…” Odin looked down at the younger boy. “So she was trying to run away and you still ended up like this? Honestly, Heimdall.”

“B-but father-“

“ I don’t want to hear it.” Heimdall shut his mouth stiffly. Odin repeated his original question, directing all his attention to Heimdall. The boy swallowed thickly and remembered her thoughts and the way they rushed one after the other.

“She…she’s a goddess, and she’s from Vanaheim. She wanted to avoid fighting me, kept trying to find a way to introduce herself, and thought being polite would stop me from hurting her. She kept trying to calm herself down, so I provoked her to see where she would go from there. She’s hotheaded and immature. I don’t think she can be trusted. You should just send her back.” Heimdall fidgeted as he spoke and Odin lost his patience, grabbing the boy’s chin roughly to look up at him.

“Unfortunately that’s not in the cards just yet, son. She’s a child, and a goddess, therefore powerful and unpredictable. We need to keep an eye on how she grows and see if we can use her for the betterment of Asgard before one of our enemies finds her and uses her against us. You understand, don’t you?” Odin squeezed Heimdall’s chin as he posed the question. Heimdall whimpered slightly at the pain of Odin’s bony fingers digging into his skin and just barely was able to nod. Odin abruptly released his son, smiling brightly. “Good. So then, anything that we can use to get her to trust us? Get her to work with us?” Heimdall nodded again, reaching up to rub his sore chin.

“She’s very lonely and pathetic…, which you can use to gain her trust, All-Father. She seems passive in her solutions but she is also quick to anger and frustration so it would be important to keep that in mind during any negotiations…”

Odin looked down at his son, taking in the information. He hummed in satisfaction and nodded.

“ alright. Good. I can work with that.” With that, Odin turned to walk away, paused, and spared Heimdall a glance over his shoulder. “Clean yourself up. You’re filthy.”

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“What’s his problem, anyway? Is everyone in Asgard as… volatile?” YN asked as Mimir prepared an ice pack for her. He snorted and shook his head.

“Heimdall is a special cocktail of issues, lass. Best to keep away from him. He’s a spoiled little prince, and I’m afraid the way he’s going it will only get worse.” He walked over to her with a white cloth. He dipped it in a bowl of warm water, rang it out, and pressed it to the girl’s swollen eye. She hissed, pulling away slightly, but Mimir kept her head gently in place, blotting the wound. “Stay still, I know it stings but I need to get all the dirt and blood off.” YN stayed tense but allowed Mimir to clean the wound. There was silence in the room, save for the slow trickle of water from the towel being run out every once in a while. YN interrupted the quiet.

“Are you allowed to say that about the princes?” She asked meekly, looking up at Mimir with her good eye. He raised a brow, dipping the cloth in the water again and going back to cleaning.

“Are you going to rat me out?” He posed, grabbing the ice he had prepared and holding it up to her face. YN shook her head slightly and smiled as Mimir simply shrugged, “Then I have nothing to worry about. Besides, my loyalties lie with the All-Father, not his band of brats. Like I said, best to just keep away.” YN thought for a moment and shook her head, holding the ice to her face as Mimir walked away to grab some medicine for the cuts on her face.

“That doesn’t seem right. Why should they be able to do whatever they want at the expense of others? Because they’re royalty? They should be held to even higher standards considering the power they have.”

“What we think is right and what will end up happening are two different things. Best to forget the whole thing to save yourself the disappointment.”

“And who taught you that? Was it the All-Father?” Mimir stilled, seeming to be in deep thought. YN pouted, guilty at the tension she had caused.“ I-I’m sorry.” Mimir shook his head, a smile returning to his face.

“It’s alright. It’s just… you’re quite forward for a young goddess in a new place.” YN frowned at that. She wasn’t really sure how she was supposed to be acting. She had spent so long working off instinct, that it may have made her a bit blunt in her words and actions. Mimir let the silence hang as she fidgeted with her ice pack before deciding to elaborate.

“… I’m not from here… Asgard, I mean. Hel, I’m not even from the 9 realms.” He looked back at YN and chuckled as she straightened her posture, her interest peaked. “ I’m a Fae, a Goodfellow. I used to be a fool to a Celtic faerie king.” He got a faraway look in his eye, as he slowed the grinding of herbs. She swung her feet as she waited for him to continue, tilting her head in curiosity. “What’s a Fae? What’s Celtic?” Mimir snorted at this, shaking his head.

“That’s too long a story. The point is that I’m an outsider, like you. And I wasn’t happy where I was so I left… things may seem rough here, but they are better than they were. That’s what I hold onto. This is all new to you, and new is strange. The All-Father told me a bit about your background. Going from complete isolation to being surrounded by people and sparing lessons is a lot, and I apologize for your rushed introduction to Asgard thus far.”

Yn nodded, thinking about her own home. There was nothing for her there, really. And though Heimdall and Thor were less than pleasant and Odin had not yet shown he could be fully trusted, there were already things YN felt would be hard to let go of. The food she was able to eat here, the feeling of a warm bed and a crackling fire, the sound of people moving to and fro in the morning. The sound of people living around her, unbothered.

“ Odin called you Mimir…that means wise one doesn’t it?”

“ yes. I am Mimir, the smartest man alive.” He said proudly. He saw as the girl raised her brow in confusion and chuckled, “I am the ambassador of the gods and the nine realms, I know every corner of the realms, everything that has happened, every language spoken, every moment in time past now.” YN’s eyes widened in awe, to meet someone who claimed to know so much of the world after she had been isolated from it for so long, it made her mind soar. YN pulled the ice from her eye and balled her hands together in anxious excitement.

“ Would you… Would you be able to teach me? Please?!” She pleaded, nearly shaking with excitement. Mimir pretended to think about it, stroking his beard.

“ Oh? I dunno, it’s a lot of information I’d be throwing at you. Could be a bit boring.”

“Yes, that’s what I want! I want to learn about the realms, I want to help build connections, That’s what Odin said I’d be able to do here! Will you please teach me, Mimir?”

The truth was, he was tasked with keeping an eye on the girl and taking her under his wing. Odin wanted him to teach her about the relations of Asgard to the rest of the realms and see if she could aid in Mimir and Tyr’s growth of Agard’s connections. He looked back down at the girl, guilt buried at the back of his mind. She was only here to be used. But then, weren’t they all in some way?

“I suppose I could use an apprentice. But don’t whine when you feel you're being thrown over the deep end.”

“Yes!” she cheered, hopping off the table. She bowed deeply, before looking back up at the man with a hopeful smile. “Thank you, Mr. Mimir. I hope that your teachings allow me to be more useful, so that I may continue to stay here. Maybe my first day was hard, but I’m sure I can find my place here.” She beamed, the pain of her wounds already subsiding thanks to godlike healing and the creams that had been applied. She runs to the exit, hoping to find Mal. She wanted to tell her about her fight with Heimdall and tease her for being too scared to stay and watch.

“Oi, wait, your eye! I need to put this on it!”

“I’ll be fine! I have to go! Thank you again, Mimir!” she gathered her things, a new skip in her step.

“Ah ah ah, at least take it with you.” He grabbed her by the shoulder, handing her a metal tin with the cream he had made with the crushed herbs and some bandages. “The great hall! Tomorrow at 6 am. Do not be late!” he barely got it out before she left, the heavy door slamming behind her.

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The sun had set in Asgard and YN was on her way back to her room from supper with Mal, who had apologized for leaving in a hurry and gave her an extra serving of potatoes as a sorry.

YN yawned with a stretch. The swelling in her eye had gone down, but the bruising was now a deep yellow and purple. Mimir had also found out she had two broken ribs, but with the ointment and bandages he had applied, the girl felt fine and knew they would be fine by morning.

YN was about to retire for the night, walking to her door, when she heard a loud hiss come from across the hall. She quirked a brow at the sound and turned. Dim candlelight flickered from under the door and YN walked over at the subtle sound of a pained groan.

“Hello? Are you ok in there?” She asked with a knock. There was silence for a beat, and she knocked again, “Hello?” The person on the other side clicked their tongue in annoyance and YN could hear the loud screech of a chair dragging across the wooden floor. The door swung open and YN was met face-to-face with Heimdall, scowling with a blood-stained handkerchief over his nose. She tilted her head in confusion.

“What the Hel do you want?” he grumbled, but his voice was slightly nasily because of his broken nose. YN had started to regret ever knocking but quirked a brow and pointed at his handkerchief.

“You’re still bleeding.”

“No! Really?” Heimdall gasped in fain surprise.

“ I didn’t know we lived across the hall from each other.” She spoke again, ignoring his rudeness. Heimdall rolled his eyes and went to slam the door in her face.

“Seriously, just get out.” She held her hand up to stop the door from fully closing. “What the- hey! I said, "Get out!”

“Why didn’t you go to the infirmary?”

“Tsk! Are you serious? I’m not a baby, I don’t need bandages and a cookie for staying still.” YN just rolled her good eye at the statement, pushing further against the door. “Hey!”

“You know we heal too fast for you to leave that alone. Your cartilage is going to grow back crooked.” Heimdall’s eyes widened at that, but he frowned as he looked away.

“That’s not true. You're lying.”

“Why would I lie about your nose growing back crooked?” YN watched him fidget in place. It didn’t take a genius to know that he cared about his vanity. The bright white shirts with gold trim and intricate braids in his hair when she first saw him were enough of a hint. And despite everything, she still wanted to make peace, if not to become friends then to at least have to worry less about being tackled at a moment's notice. Heimdall groaned in defeat, knowing she was right.

“ Alright, fine then. What do you suggest I do, pestering raven?” YN sighed at yet another insulting name and crossed her arms.

“ May I come in?” She asked, annoyance obvious in her voice. Heimdall frowned but opened his door wider. Yn walked in and noticed the room was nearly the same as hers, save for a vanity in the corner of the room with the chair pushed back. She grabbed the back of it, dragged it over to the bed, and sat down, turning to Heimdall and patting the spot on the bed across from her. He shut the door and trudged over, sitting across so that their knees touched.

“Can you move the handkerchief?” Heimdall hesitated but slowly did so, his face showing discomfort as he removed pressure. His nose had in fact already started to bend slightly and YN couldn’t help the concerned hiss she let out. “ I really am sorry…”

“ Whatever. Just fix it.” His bright eyes glared through her.

“ I’ll have to break it again.”

“Like hel you will!”

“OK, if you don’t mind a deep bend at your bridge.”

“… fine.”

“What was that?”

“ I said fine already!”

She just nodded with a smirk, touching at the soft cartilage, and pressing it into place. Heimdall winced and tensed at each prod, his hands squeezed tight on his thighs.

“If you keep scrunching your face, this won’t work.”

“Well, it hurts! You're doing it on purpose.”

“ I am not. Do you want a towel to bite down on?”

“ Shut up- ow! Hey!”

“OK, take a deep breath, This one is gonna be the worst but it should open up both nostrils so you can breathe better.”

“H-how do you even know what you're doing is right?”

“ I’ve been alone for a long time. I’ve always had to heal myself. And I’ve fallen on my face many times, my nose looks pretty good if I do say so myself.” She smirked slightly at him as he only gulped. YN grabbed the bridge of his nose and when he braced himself, she twisted her hand sharply, effectively knocking a piece of cartilage that had grown crooked out of place. Heimdall screamed as blood rushed out his nose. He brought the handkerchief back up to his face.

“Are you crazy?!”

“If I didn’t do that, your nose would have looked like a tree branch. Keep pressure on that for a moment.”She pulled the small tin from her pocket. “Look, Mimir gave me this to apply to my eye and ribs before going to bed. It will help with the pain.” She grabbed some bandages that were tucked in her pocket and ripped them into two strips, rolled them up into tight coils, and dipped the ends into the concoction. “Take that off, please. The bleeding should have stopped, and this will stop the soreness.” YN had started to think the boy’s brows were permanently knitted together in annoyance by this point as he moved the kerchief from his face. YN quickly pushed the wads of bandage up his nose to keep the cartilage from collapsing and to promote healing in the correct direction. That being said, he looked ridiculous and she couldn’t help the giggle that bubbled out of her mouth. His face went red and he pushed her chair away from him with his boot.

“ Alright, you’re done, right? Get out.” he hopped off the bed, pushing her towards the door.

“W-wait a minute, do you think we could-” she gasped as she was shoved out the door, but twisted and jammed her foot before it could slam. Heimdall let out an exaggerated growl, throwing his head back.

“Gods- now what do you want?” she swallowed thickly and offered a small bow.

“My name is YN, goddess of logic, tactic and peace. I will be staying across the hall from you. I hope we can learn to get along.” She stood back straight and smiled nervously. Heimdall pulled together a sickly sweet grin.

“I am Heimdall, god of foresight, and my time is too precious to be wasted on you. Good night.” And with that, he swung the door wide open before slamming it in the girl's face. YN winced and then sighed in defeat, fidgeting with her hands.

“Good night…” she called softly back through the door. At no response, she turned toward her room to retire for the night. Maybe the next day would be better.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

#heimdall gow #gow odin #gow x you #heimdall x reader #fiction #gow Heimdall #gow thor #gow x reader #god of war x reader #fem! reader #heimdall x you #mute!reader #child! reader #child! heimdall #I am kind not complacent #dance with me like the sun and moon #@engardeitsme #@coffeehighallthetime-blog

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my-heads-in-space · 6 months ago

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Introduction? About meeeee

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

"𝕀 𝕙𝕒𝕧𝕖 𝕓𝕖𝕖𝕟, 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕒𝕝𝕨𝕒𝕪𝕤 𝕤𝕙𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕓𝕖, 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕗𝕣𝕚𝕖𝕟𝕕."

Heya! I'm just someone who's weirdly obsessed with galaxies and night or evening sky aesthetics who's absolutely HOOKED on Sci-Fi's! I was inspired to create this blog because of my latest obsession, Battlestar Galactica, but my true love is Star Trek TOS! <3

If you want to know about me, I'm an artist and inconsistent writer.. never really finished a story in my life. But I love writing as an art! I appreciate good writing a lot. All my favorite Sci-Fi's have good writing. Star Trek TOS, Battlestar Galactica, and Firefly.

Though I will admit BSG certainly has it's problems. TOS had some charming issues (except Spock's brain, I will admit that was just plain terrible Q-Q) Firefly's biggest problem was its stupid movie. I will die on this hill, the movie was an okay film standing in the legacy of an incredible show and for that its a straight up O F F E N S E to me!

My favorite characters from each of these main fandoms;

James T. Kirk (Obviously I mean he's the GOAT) and Spock, Bill Adama and Laura Roslin (my OTP), and ofc, Mal and Simon Tam~

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

What to expect from my blog;

Headcanons!

Story Drabbles, like mini fics and prompts

GIFs, reposts

MAYBE art?

More Headcanons

Rants

MAYBE MAYBE MAYBE me simping for Kirk bc I'm shameless

Original Edits! :0

Requests and questions are open, although I'm making this post as an unknown account so I doubt that will be relevant for a while?

DMs also open! I don't bite! ... Okay, I bite SOMETIMES uwu

Anyways, LIVE LONG AND PROSPER!

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

#star trek #battlestar galactica #firefly #captainkirk #bill adama #laura roslin #spock #tos spock #simon tam #malcom reynolds #headcanon #minific #new account #<3

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venusianmoonchild · 7 months ago

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una noche de luna eclipsada me viste frente a la ventana de mi cuarto haciendo rituales de atracción. nunca antes había hecho esas cosas, ni siquiera sabía si iba a concretarse y para ser sincera, jamás pensé que iba a caer tan bajo solo para volver a tener una parte de vos en mi vida, aunque fuera momentáneo.

supe que no iba a funcionar cuando en medio del ritual las cosas empezaron a salir mal. supe que más que atraerte de vuelta estaba terminando de cortar nuestro hilo rojo... el universo es sabio, las cosas pasan de cierta manera por algo... y pese a que no era lo que esperaba, recibí el mensaje agradecida y acepté que ya no estás más.

siento que la luna se viene burlando de mi hace bastantes meses pero esa noche comprendí que solo me estaba haciendo un favor.

~ venusianmoonchild ☽

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meetmeafftcrdark · 8 months ago

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– ¡Fue una locura, sin duda! –coincidió. James seguía amando el Quidditch, y siempre era un agrado verlo, sobre todo cuando jugaban personas con las que él había tenido el privilegio de jugar– Lo hiciste increíble, tienen merecida la victoria.

fiesta.

—Todo fue muy loco, porque yo estaba... —Inició su relato sobre el reciente partido entre las Arpías de Holyhead y los Montrose Magpies— . Y después, puff —continuó por unos segundos más describiéndolo con entusiasmo—. Así fue —culminó—. Estoy devastada —anunció refiriéndose al cansancio físico tras un partido tan reñido y, sin embargo, no se reflejaba en su rostro más que un poco de euforia.

#el yeims y gwenog jugaron juntos en el colegio si mal no recuerdo #así que pa mi son medio pals pero si no te parece ignoramos eso #☽. 𝐣𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 – don’t wanna live as an untold story / interaction.#☽. int: james & gwenog.#cxpectopatronum

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sp1rit-realm · 1 year ago

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APPLE IS SO CUTE R U KIDDING MEEEEEE

RIGHT SHES SO CUTE

#˚₊‧꒰ა apple ໒꒱ ‧₊˚#hannah has asks #mal ✧:･.☽˚｡

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pupphe-additions · 9 months ago

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✬Evie During Blueprint✬

╰┈➤Overview╰┈➤

Evie really didn't want to wear white but she didn't really argue or throw a fit about it. The staff decided to make her white and purple instead of white and blue so she can stand out more, something they've grown to enjoy doing at this point.

During the MV the she's seen most with Lee Know and Chan however there are a couple of scenes where you can see her holding hands and clinging with Hyunjin or Felix. She is seen smiling almost the entire MV and she seems genuinely happy, it seems she's becoming a lot more confident on camera as well.

During her solo scenes she's either sitting under or leaning against a tree. Also during the scenes where they are with the white background and the chair she's playfully standing in the chair on one leg with a wide smile on her face. She also sits in it with the back of the chair facing the camera and her sort of hugging the back of the chair with a head tilt and a smile.

Evie said that she was the one who gave Hyunjin the flower bouquet for his scenes and that she skipped up to him saying "Your flowers, my prince." which caused him to blush and he shakes his head at her and smiles.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

╰┈➤ Lines╰┈➤

Han/Evie: nal jikyeobwa right now nan keuge sorichyeo

Felix/Evie: maeil gidaryeoon naeirin geol

Felix/Evie: sesangi malhan dabeun teullyeottago

I.N/Evie: naye naeireun parae

Hyunjin/Evie: nal jikyeobwa right now deo keuge sorichyeo

Felix/Evie: I’ll make you say Oh oh oh oh oh oh

Evie: Oh oh oh oh oh oh

Evie/Felix: boran deut irweonaego mal georago

All: seolleimi nal eweossa

All: nochi ana jeoldae jeoldae jeoldae

All: seolleimi nal eweossa

All: nochi ana jeoldae jeoldae jeoldae

Evie: naye naeireun parae

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

╰┈➤Outfits/Styling╰┈➤

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

╰┈➤Hairstyle╰┈➤

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

╰┈➤Hair Color╰┈➤

(The white side in the MV was actually purple see below the shade of purple)

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

╰┈➤Stays Reaction╰┈➤

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nereidestuff · 1 year ago

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☽ la isla blanca;; version cinq.

hello, hello 💕 cinq mois désormais que notre doux cocon, LA ISLA BLANCA, à ouvert ses portes. mes petits coeurs de co-admins, nox, @jeudisgris, @erinye-stuff & moi-même venons vous présenter sa sixième version. dites adieu au duel entre ombre et lumière, et laissez-vous envelopper dans la douceur des fêtes de fin d'année. au programme; décorations scintillantes, odeur de cannelle, chocolat chaud aux épices, et cadeaux sous le sapin.

l'intrigue du mois; doux manteau d'hiver enveloppe ibiza. jours s'écourtent, et lampions festifs éclairent désormais l'île blanche, féérie s'éveille au cœur des rues étroites. lumières scintillantes s'accrochent aux branches dénudées des arbres, illuminent les chemins de leur lueur magique. étoiles, complices de cette symphonie céleste, dansent dans le ciel nocturne, éclairant les visages émerveillés des enfants. façades des maisons se parent de guirlandes chatoyantes, tissant une toile or et rubis alors que les vitrines des boutiques s'animent de jouets colorés, de poupées qui sourient et de trains miniatures qui s'échappent d'un monde imaginaire. air empli de senteurs sucrées épicées, se laisse porter par les effluves de pain d'épices, de cannelle et de chocolat chaud. papilles se délectent des douceurs de saison, tandis que les mains se réchauffent autour d'une tasse fumante, créant une symphonie chaude et gourmande. rires se mêlent aux chants de noël, s'élevant dans les ruelles pavées, voix se font douces et puissante, laissant de côté le clivage qui de plus en plus, ne cesse de se creuser. comme si, le bien et le mal s'adonnaient à une guerre éternelle. cependant, trêve de noël vient amener douceur et légèreté, panser les coeurs blessés et renouer familles déchirées. mais attention, savourez cette période, parce que si un certain hadès estafador semble, lui aussi passer du bon temps en famille, cela risque de ne pas durer.

– la isla blanca se veut un forum où règnera la bienveillance, et où l'on privilégie l'intégration de chacun. un doux cocon où les personnages de tout les horizons, nous l’espérons, pourront trouver une maison. du plus sombre, au plus doux, l'île ne cesse d'accueillir de nouveaux habitants aux nuances illimitées. ✨

aucun minimum de ligne exigé sur le forum – un rp par mois. n’hésitez pas à nous rejoindre. 🌸🐚

lien du forum :: https://laislablanca.forumactif.com/ lien du forum :: https://laislablanca.forumactif.com/

#rpg #forumactif #forum rpg #french rp #forum #la isla blanca rpg #la isla blanca #roleplaying

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meetmeafftcrdark · 2 months ago

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Aquel comentario irónico, por algún motivo, lo hizo recordar a su época en Hogwarts, cuando Lily no parecía tolerarlo. El pensamiento hizo que la comisura de sus labios se alzara levemente– No pasa nada –respondió ante su disculpa– ¿Puedo arreglarlo? –preguntó, mostrando su varita. Prefería preguntar antes que simplemente hacerlo, para no tomarla desprevenida con la magia. Se debatió si decirle la verdad, y terminó por decantarse por hacerlo– A riesgo de sonar como un acosador... vine a ver que estuvieras bien –confesó, pasándose una mano por el cabello en un gesto algo nervioso.

había estado tratando de mantenerse serena, callar, aguantar, ¿tenía algún derecho a quejarse y lastimar más a quienes la rodeaban? la carga mental era demasiada y lily solo quería escapar de ella, por ello se mantiene enfocada en salir de allí aún entre quejas y con su tobillo adolorido, pero salir al fin. mirada sube instantáneamente apenas escucha su nombre en una voz que, con el pasar de los días, había aprendido a reconocer a la perfección. poéticamente, james era el que había tenido más de la nueva lily que los demás, todas sus versiones: desorientada, abrumada, aterrada, y también malhumorada. no sabía cómo adaptarse, era su esposo y no lo recordaba, tenían un bebé juntos y apenas se permitía verlo por más de cinco segundos, en especial después de haber huido de la que se suponía era su casa un par de días atrás, cuando sus respiraciones se encontraron por primera vez. “sí, perfecta.” dice con ironía, dejando que cúmulo de emociones desagradables tomarán el control por algunos segundos, antes de notar que en realidad él podía ser la última persona en el mundo a la que quería hablarle de esa forma. suspiro pesado la obliga a callar y cerrar los ojos un momento para respirar y concentrarse. “lo lamento…” se disculpa, aunque todavía no lo mira directo. “estoy bien, mi tacón se rompió.” explica aunque sabe que es obvio. “¿qué haces aquí?” pregunta, de nuevo dejando que mirada recorra facciones contrarias.

#mi shiiiiiiip aunque la lily no se acuerde de él #como que asumí que lily no está familiarizada con la magia por la pérdida de memoria #pero si está mal lo corrijo #☽. 𝐣𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 – don’t wanna live as an untold story / interaction.#☽. int: james & lily.#snitchdorvda

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blogdeproyectos · 7 months ago

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CULTURA DE PAZ EDUCACION DE LA PAZ

Así que, me pidieron hacer un blog respecto a la cultura de la paz, como la practico y algunas iniciativas que puedo dar al mundo para que mas gente lo aplique también, por eso traigo este blog :D

'•.¸♡ ♡¸.•' QUE ES LA CULTURA DE PAZ '•.¸♡ ♡¸.•'

Primero que nada, para poder entender como podemos poner en practica la cultura de paz, así que aquí va un resumen rápido:

Según la pagina de gobierno de Mexico:

"La cultura de paz fomenta una serie de valores, actitudes y comportamientos como respeto, tolerancia, igualdad, comprensión, solidaridad, diálogo, negociación y consenso, que fortalecen y restablecen la convivencia armónica y los lazos entre individuos de una misma comunidad e impulsa una mirada crítica que abona a la construcción de una sociedad más justa."

Dicho en otras palabras, es básicamente aplicar los valores que tenemos como persona en nuestro día a día, siendo el mas prominente el respeto, honestidad, tolerancia y dialogo

₊ ˚ ✩ ｡˚ ˚☽ COMO PODEMOS APLICARLA ₊ ˚ ✩ ｡˚ ˚☽

Aplicar la cultura de paz es muy sencillo, y te apuesto que ya lo haz hecho, sin siquiera saberlo.

Pequeñas acciones de tu día a día como ser amable con tus compañeros de clase, siendo cordial con empleados y generalmente tratando a los demás como quieres que te traten a ti; a nadie le gusta que le griten o lo traten mal solo por existir, ¿verdad?, pero... ¿Qué pasa cuando no se nos respeta?

Bueno, el respeto no solo se tiene que dar, sino también tu debes ser tratado con respeto; a mi punto de vista, el respeto no solo debe darse, sino ganarse, si tu no me tratas con respeto, no esperes que yo te trate con mucho respeto o si quiera cordialidad, pero para ello también se tiene que llegar a un cierto punto

A veces hay momentos en los cuales los sentimientos saquen lo peor de nosotros, para ello debemos de reflexionar y disculparnos, "pero Michi, que pasa si la otra persona me lastimo sin saberlo?" bueno, es importante conocer los limites de las personas, en especial si se trata de amigos y no sobrepasarlos y tener limites de educación y respeto hacia desconocidos como la cortesía

Otro valor que es muy importante es la tolerancia y paciencia:

hay momentos en los cuales las culturas pueden llegar a chocar y lo que tu consideres una falta de respeto, puede ser algo normal para la otra persona, por ello es importante también entender que no todas las personas tenemos la misma educación y aprender de ellos puede ayudar a entender un poco mas y evitar este tipo de situaciones.

La paciencia entra en juego aquí ya que hablando de diferentes culturas y de aprender de cada una, puede llegar a ser complicado, el ser humano aprende por repetición, por lo cual si tu le dices a alguien que hacer cierta cosa es irrespetuoso en tu cultura, lo mas probable es que no lo haga, pero hay momentos en los cuales se puede llegar a escapar, tal vez por inercia o costumbre, la paciencia es una buena virtud, recordarle el porque esta mal visto con delicadeza es una buena forma de enseñar

༺☆༻ NOTAS FINALES ༺☆༻

y con esto llegamos al final del Blog, espero y lo hayan disfrutado y aprendido una cosa o dos, nunca he sido buena con las conclusiones o como terminar el blog sin que se sienta muy cortado, todas sus preguntas son mas que bienvenidas y espero leerlos pronto

#esto es para una tarea #porfa profe me esforce haciendo esto #cultura de paz #no soy buena haciendo tags

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dawneternal · 6 months ago

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The Benevolent | Eris x Healer OC | Seven

☁︎ Notes: okay I mention Aya's powers a lot in this chapter. Bear with me, there's explanation coming soon! The plot picks up a lot after this one. 👀

I tried to stay true to the order of events in ACOWAR but it was melting my brain a little bit so if you see something wrong no you didn't

Aya's Dress

☁︎ Warnings: Angst, female character is called a slut, canon fighting and violence

☁︎ Word Count: 4k

☁︎ AO3 Link / Masterlist

☁︎ Taglist: @cauldronblssd @teddyhoneybear @tele86 @mybestfriendmademe @imma-too-many-fandoms @allyjoe755 @milswrites @shadowdaddies @zenkindoflove @landofpetrichor @secret-third-thing @bookwormysblog @mal-adaptive-dreams

The sky was an annoying shade of blue today. Its cheerfulness was obnoxious and mocking. If the sky would not respect her dismal mood, it could at least have the respect to be a little more solemn with the threat of war hanging over Prythian.

Aya sat at her desk in the classroom, staring out the arched window with her chin resting on her palm. Her other hand was curled into a fist, knuckles tapping on the table top. She was vaguely aware of a voice drifting in her direction and it took her a moment to untangle her thoughts from her grudge at the sky.

"Did you say something?" She turned toward her instructor, hoping her tone didn't hold any of her grumpiness.

"I said I have another job for you," Helene answered from behind her desk, her eyes glittering with amusement, "Set up for a visiting lecturer. Pays 40 marks."

Aya nodded, her gaze turning toward the window again.

"What's got you in such a mood?" Helene asked, swallowing her chuckle.

Everyone else avoided Aya in this state. Her temper was not easily provoked, but the consequences of it were weighty enough to make most steer clear. Helene, however, had never been scared of Aya. Not of her power, her temper, or the fact that her cousin was High Lord.

"Thesan will not let me attend the High Lord's meeting," Aya grumbled, brows drawn together in a deep scowl.

"What on earth would you want to do that for?" Helene scoffed, "You hate politics."

That was something Aya was having a hard time answering for herself. She didn't know exactly why, only that the unfairness of it burned in her chest like she was a child left out of something fun. It unraveled a restless feeling that she thought she had stitched down a long time ago. She knew that if she wanted to, she could dig deep and find the words to explain what she was feeling, but she was not ready.

"It's the principle of it," She said, "Zoren gets to go."

"There's nothing of interest for you there," Helene soothed.

"It's just such a rare opportunity," Aya sighed.

That much was true. What she did not tell her teacher, or anyone, was that she planning to do something incredibly stupid, because it was the only thing that would quell the rising beast. She was going to break her own vow not to snoop or sleuth, and she was going to take a page from the Autumn Court’s book to get what she wanted.

"At least you can still mingle," Helene said, "You could buy a new dress for the parties."

The rest of the students began to file in, the bell chiming in the distance to signal the beginning of class. Helene had managed to find probably the only silver lining of the situation. The prospect of a new dress managed to cheer Aya up just enough to stop glowering at the undeserving sky.

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Aya stood in front of her mirror, pale light illuminating her wide eyes and parted lips. She barely recognized her reflection, bundled in a wool shawl, thermos tucked under her arm. She asked herself once more if she was really going to do this. And something stubborn snapped in her chest and she knew that the disappointment of not doing it would be unbearable.

But as she squared her shoulders and wiped that cowardice from her expression, another question drifted into her mind. What was she doing this for? Aya watched her face fall again in the mirror, something solemn and pensive taking over. She still did not have an answer. Maybe by the end of the day, she would know.

Outside, Aya was surrounded by a blend of lovely pastel colors, a classic Dawn Court sunrise. As if the sky knew of the impending meeting and sought to showcase all of the beauty the court had to offer. The morning air was chilly and sweet-smelling, caressing her skin with a soft touch as she flew to the hiding place she had scouted.

In between carved sunstone ornaments and billows of ivy and flowers, there was a blind spot in the eaves where no one would see her. It was just inside the wards Thesan had set up, but she stepped through them easily. Closing her eyes, the layers of wards appeared as closed gateways, each one faintly humming and glowing a different color. She had never tried to pick apart other wards before, but she had always been able to dismantle Thesan's easily. She had never told him that fact.

Guilt spread through her body with every beat of her hammering heart as she caught sight of Thesan and Zoren waiting in the meeting room. Thesan had not exactly forbid her from attending, but then again he had never had to use such harsh wording with her. He would probably never think to check the eaves for a spying Aya.

Zoren might, however. He was not as biased in his view of her, seeing her from an angle that her cousin could not. He saw her cunning and zealousness plainly. But neither one of them looked up. Their soft, lovesick laughter echoed gently through the tower as they leaned into the other and shared their secrets. An ache spread in Aya's chest at the sight of it.

The lovers quickly straightened as Kallias made his arrival. The air around him was hazy with frost, his almost-white hair and skin stark against the warmth of the golden sunstone. Thesan rose to his full height as he stood, his unassuming power wrapping around him like a shield. Aya could see the personal wards around each figure, faintly humming and each glowing a different color. Vivian's lovely laughter filled the room as she joked with the rest of the group.

Each High Lord had loosened their glamor, for reasons both arrogant and practical, and each arrived in a wave of grandeur, the essence of their court filling the air like perfume. It was a dizzying experience to behold it all in one place, the earthy smell of spring, the frost of winter dancing through the air. At certain angles, Helion was almost painful to look at, like he reflected the entire sun. Staring at Tarquin for too long made the room start to sway, as if the space around him moved like the ocean.

As for the High Lord and Lady of Night, Prythian may have plenty of opinions, but it could not be said that their entrance was not impressive. Their powers seemed to dance together in a way that others did not, like Feyre's magic had been elevated with her status. Or it was simply their mating bond, as visible as their matching tattoos. The air around Rhysand rippled with darkness, and Feyre beside him was the glimmer of starlight. Both held equal measures of bite and beauty.

Aya had a personal policy of not believing rumors, one she shared with Thesan. In part because nearly every High Fae was robed in legends, myths, and lies. And in part because the truth always proved to be worth pursuing. And in turn, it never proved to be beneficial to believe in rumors about women that were started by men. She guessed that this was the main reason for Thesan's attendance. He wished to begin untangling truths and lies.

She knew it was true as she watched him, sitting quietly and listening with intense focus, his eyes darting back and forth as he pulled the threads apart in his mind. He had no idea how much her powers could have helped.

Watching her cousin's gaze flit back and forth around the table, paying attention to what he paid attention to, Aya listened to the High Lords’ examination of Rhysand's character. Given the events of Under the Mountain, it did not seem unfounded. Especially because they could not see what Aya saw. The High Lord had his fair share of dark threads weaving through his being, ego and temptation like clouds that sometimes drifted over the moon. But despite those things, despite the blood on his hands and the red in his ledger, he wanted to be good.

The Autumn Court’s late arrival interrupted the interrogation. They walked in a formation, Edana tucked into Beron’s side looking regal and lovely, despite the fact that she had shrunk herself into the shadow of her husband. All fire and cunning gone from her eyes. The entourage glittered in fabrics of deep green and plum, gold trim catching the sunlight.

Beron had relaxed his glamor like the other High Lords, but Aya noticed that Eris had not. Even so, he was easily the most beautiful of the group, borrowing so many features from his mother. Something he had in common with Lucien. His strong jawline and thick eyebrows contrasted with soft eyes and full lips. A lean and well-built body, covered in countless scars that hid underneath the velvet of his suit. The sunshine followed him, glowing with an extra warmth in every place it touched his skin, threatening to erupt into flames. Eris kept a leash on his power so he would not overshadow his father.

With Eris present, Aya became so acutely aware of herself that she was certain she would be noticed, that someone’s gaze would drift just a bit too far upwards and she would be caught. But all attention was stuck on the other three brutish brothers, staring down each attendee like wolves circling their prey. Eris hissed a command and they backed off, ending their show of power. Aya could not tell which brother was the one she had healed in Eris’s room, but none of them looked like they would like to express their gratitude if they knew.

As the meeting continued and more voices joined the din, it grew difficult to catch every word. The roaring wind swept away half of the conversation, other bits drowned out by the chattering birds. Aya could piece it together with context and a few of her secret talents, but when Tamlin began throwing his tantrum and hurling insults, she let the words remain lost. Beron and Helion seemed to enjoy the discourse, but Aya did not care to listen to it.

Aya did not know when the conflict between Tamlin and the High Lady had dissolved and the tension between Eris and the Night Court began. She watched each tense face carefully, straining to hear what the Autumn Heir was saying.

“....like a slut.” Were the only words she caught.

The last word reverberated through the room, and time seemed to move slower as Aya watched the Morrigan’s face contort in pain and anger. It was not even a full second between the insult leaving Eris’s lips and the shadowsinger pouncing. Azriel slammed into Eris, pushing him to the floor and enveloping the pair in a bubble of cobalt magic. Aya pressed a hand over her mouth, heart racing as she watched them grapple. Her wings threatened to spread but she pulled them in even tighter, so tight that her back cramped with the effort. Eris was not fighting back, only fighting to get free. He did not try to move out of the way of Azriel’s fist.

Several called out for the fight to stop, but it was the High Lady’s voice, low and calm, that made the shadowsinger pause. Aya watched, her breathing ragged, as Azriel knelt and whispered something into Eris’s ear, and then stood. She turned her gaze over to Edana, gripping the arms of her chair with white knuckles, still unmoving. Eris stood, murmured an apology, and smoothed his jacket.

The meeting moved on quickly, but Aya could not stop hearing Eris’s voice echoing through the tower. She almost wished she had not heard it, that the whole scene had been swept away by that persistent wind and then he would be the same Eris as before. She had heard a vague version of the

events between him and the Morrigan. She had never really thought much about it. Every person sitting at that table had done terrible things for good reasons. And everything Eris did was calculated, he would not have said such a thing without a reason. Or would he? The Eris she had built in her mind was crumbling, growing fuzzy at the edges as she realized that she might not know him at all.

She held the secrets of his scars, had collected handfuls of late night meetings, but that could very well mean nothing in the grand scheme of knowing Eris. There was a chance he was just like the rest of them. Cold, jaded, cruel. And there was a chance that up here, on the outside of everything important, she would never get close enough to find out.

The uneasiness under her skin heated to a simmer as she watched Nuan enter and present her antidote. Nuan, beautiful and smart and clever. It was a childish thing that should have faded a long time ago, but Aya could not rid herself of the jealousy. There may be plenty of room at Thesan’s table for his found family, but some days when her mind grew cloudy, she wondered if she had a place there at all.

That mood continued to roll in like a thick fog, and she laid down on the sunstone, pressing her cheek to the cool, sleek surface. Pulling the wool shawl tighter around herself, she continued to half-listen to things she only half-understood.

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Just as Aya had begun to grow bored, the tension began to rise again. A long string of scathing insults poured from Beron’s mouth, filling the air with burning heat. He spat each one with more disdain than the last, not once heeding the High Lady’s warnings. He should not have been surprised when Feyre exploded. A wave of brilliant fire pushed through Beron’s wards and managed to singe him. The vibrant flames caught Edana’s sleeve, and Aya stiffened, a choked sound leaving her throat.

Beron gathered himself and his wards, but Feyre did not relent, sending waves of water next. Aya dared to glance at Eris and saw his eyes gleaming with wicked hope as his father struggled. The others gaped at the reveal of Feyre's powers. Rhysand persuaded her to stop, managing a few jabs towards the Autumn Court as he did so, and the damage was done. None of the High Lords were particularly happy about their supposedly stolen kernels of power, even Thesan. Aya thought to herself that they didn't seem to mind so much when Feyre was the Cursebreaker and freed them all.

Beron was furious at all of it, declaring the meeting over as if he had the power to do so. His loyal entourage stood, following his every move, save for Eris.

The High Lady’s sister rose from her seat and spoke before they could leave. She had the whole room within her grip, something terrifying and ethereal in her eyes and voice. But Beron only muttered his dismissal and winnowed. A chorus of snaps filled the silence as the rest of his group followed.

Eris lingered just a moment longer, his gaze flickering upwards and finding Aya in the eaves. Almost imperceptibly, he tilted his head toward the door.

Aya's heart leapt into her throat and she forced herself to move slowly and quietly as she backed out of her hiding spot. Careful not to rustle the ivy, she crossed back through the wards and scrambled down the levels of pillars and carvings.

Eris had winnowed to the hall outside of the door, waiting with his hands clasped behind his back. Aya stood before him, her breathing heavy, eyes widening as she caught sight of the blooming bruises around his neck. His brows were knit together tightly, worry etched into the space between them.

“What are you doing here?” He asked, his voice still that of the Autumn Heir.

Aya opened her mouth to answer and found that she still had not thought of a good answer to that question. I wanted to see you, was on the tip of her tongue, but she would not let it loose.

“This is my court,” She stammered. Her mind felt slow, frosted over. His eyes searched hers and she was terrified he could somehow read what she refused to say.

“You shouldn’t be here,” He said, face softening into something more recognizable.

“Why not?” She whispered, swallowing hard.

“The other High Lords would not take kindly to finding a spy,” His voice was tight, “My father could have killed you on the spot.”

He was right. She had not thought of that. That Thesan could not go easy on her if she was caught in front of everyone. Her gaze flickered away from his intense stare, landing on that necklace of purple fingerprints. She could not help but focus a spark of her power on them. Eris frowned as he watched her expression turn distant, and then his eyes widened.

“Stop that,” He hissed, taking a step back. A hand flew to his neck, as if to keep the bruises from disappearing.

Aya flinched, her focus returning to his face. To his flushed cheeks and wild eyes.

“You can’t heal me,” He said, “My father would know.”

Aya just shook her head. This was all wrong.

“I have to go,” Eris sighed, looking over his shoulder, “Just go home, please.”

He was gone in an instant, the air crackling as he winnowed. Aya stood still, staring at the space where he had been, feeling like something of a liability.

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Aya smoothed the front of her dress, a slip of dusty pink silk with golden trim. She had picked something similar to the one Eris had seemed to like so much, with a low back and draping neckline. Her jewelry was all pearls and gold, bracelets clinking as she moved. She took one more deep breath and walked through the archway into the party.

Soft Dawn Court music played through the circular room, every surface draped in lovely fabrics and pillows. Trays of food and flutes of champagne littered the tables, servers swirling through the crowd to refill and take away plates. There were groups playing cards, boisterous laughter over drinking games, dancing, and pairs flirting in candle lit alcoves. Colors of all the courts mixed together, a rainbow of merriment.

Aya’s gaze swept through the mix of faces, searching for one peppered with freckles. She found him, sitting on a velvet couch with cards in his hand. And one of her classmates sat on the back of the couch, giggling down into his smirking face, her fingertips grazing his neck as she made his bruises fade.

If Aya had thought she felt sick earlier, it was nothing compared to now. Dizziness overwhelmed her as she understood a dozen things at once. She was realizing how attached she had grown to him, how much she had wanted his compliments on her dress. She was realizing that, somewhere between the healing sessions, in the quiet and dim light of Eris’s room, she had begun to think of herself as his.

His healer, his angel, his friend.

Now, to think she had dreamt up that intimacy was too painful to bear. And it was Fleura healing him, the one who hated her most, never failing to toss Aya a look of disgust. She stood there frozen in the archway, gaze glued to him. To make matters worse, Fleura noticed her, flashing a look of mocking pity before she giggled behind her hand. Eris followed her gaze, locking eyes with Aya, and his smirk faded.

The rest of the party disappeared. It was only Aya and Eris, staring at each other with miles of unsaid things between them.

“Are you coming or going?” A deep, smooth voice pulled Aya from that moment.

She turned and looked into the face of the High Lord of Summer. The weight of Eris’s stare was heavy, but she willed herself to hold the gaze of the turquoise eyes looking down at her.

“Oh, I haven’t decided yet,” She stammered, stepping aside when she realized she was blocking him in.

Tarquin gave her a crooked smile, revealing perfect, shiny teeth. A bit of her angst melted under the pure sunshine that radiated from him. He smelled like sea salt and coconut and summer.

“I thought I might go,” The High Lord said, “But the most interesting people keep appearing in this archway. I think I'll stay.”

Aya’s cheeks burned as she returned his smile. He offered an arm to her and added, “Would you like to get a drink?”

“Yes,” Aya breathed, taking his arm and trying to quiet her dizzy mind as he swept her away toward the bar.

She decided to be a little wicked, letting her billowing skirt brush over the arm that Eris draped over the couch as she walked by. She did not turn to see if he was looking. To inspect for any sliver of jealousy on his face. Though it felt as though her heart was splitting as she looked back up at Tarquin and realized that as lovely of a color as blue was, she still liked amber better.

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Eris did not sleep well that night.

He did not particularly care for the open, breezy rooms of Dawn, all stone and sheer fabrics. None of the cozy velvet and dark wood he was used to. There was also no fireplace, depriving him of the comforting crackle of fire as he slept. With everything that had happened, he should be tired enough that it didn’t matter. But he lay awake, trying and failing to catalog the events of the day.

He would not forget the look on Aya’s face when she had spotted him sitting there with that giggling, air-headed healer. He should have just shoved the girl away, but it was like all of the fight had drained from him and for some gods-damned reason he had simply disguised his grimace with a smirk and hoped she left him alone soon.

The image haunted him, continuing to appear no matter how many times he shoved it away. Aya, standing in the archway, her wickedly lovely dress shimmering in the candle light, with the unmistakable look of someone who had been betrayed. He should have stood, should have rushed to her, should have confessed.

I came back for you. I've been waiting for you.

But something about her never stopped causing him to act the opposite of how he wanted. So he sat there like an idiot while she was spun away and charmed by Tarquin. Young and powerful Tarquin, likely better suited for someone like her.

When he did sleep, he was plagued by a new nightmare. Cobalt blue slammed into him over and over, breaking something new every time. Those golden brown hands wrapped around his throat and pinned him down, that deep voice whispering in his ear and echoing again and again,

“Your Sparrow in the eaves has a long way to fall.”

And then Eris would shift his gaze from the soulless brown eyes above him. Up and up into the eaves of the meeting room where Aya was hidden. Blue light would wrap around her ankle and pull hard, causing her to stumble and fall. The floor would begin to crumble and give way into blackness, and the blue light would bind her wings so she couldn't fly. He would be forced to watch as she fell into the inky abyss, screaming his name until her voice disappeared into nothing.

Then he would wake. Calm his breathing and take a drink of water. Fall asleep, and dream it all again.

If he had known then that he would not see her again until the Battle of Hybern, he would have made very different choices, indeed.

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