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koegama · 8 months

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Hanasei

Avg. height: 1.70-2.20m | Avg. weight: 80-150 kg | Hyper-carnivores | Semi-aquatic lifestyle | Lifespan: ~120 years

Hanasei are a semi-aquatic species that originate from lakes, but expanded their settlements into rivers and other large bodies of water. They're a medium-sized biped with a hard keratin helmet where horns sprout from and a tail with large fins. Their skin is slightly damp, and can range from smooth to bumpy, that affects their transpiration and how often they must hydrate. They have both two nostrils located at their helmet and from 2 to 4 gills on both sides of their neck, of which are used for speech in land and breathing underwater, while the nostril's only function is on land respiration. Their necks are strong and well develop, and can expand or contract.

Both hands and feet have webbed fingers to facilitate swimming, but the webbing on the hands can retract for better dexterity when handling utensils. Their amphibious lifestyle left them being only decent at both types of locomotion, but their versatility makes up for it as they can comfortably transition to both environments. They're hyper-carnivores and will eat anything made of animal matter, including bones.

They are the only sexless sophont in Koegama, using Aether as a reproduction tool instead of a biological system.

More physiology dump undercut! Warning, long

Head

The common head structure of a Hanasei is somewhat flat, with a stout snout and large jaws. Proportions and shape vary per individual, and slight deviations from standard models are common. Sometimes, small barbels, whisker-like structures, will grow from their jaw and upper lip area. They give a small boon to the olfactory systems, but otherwise have no major benefits.

Horns

While the protrusions on Hanasei's heads are not anatomically horns but a different keratin appendage, horns are the most common colloquial term. Their main purpose were for fighting and a display of health and fitness to potential partners. Nowadays, most Hanasei have no real use for their horns other than decorative, but individuals may favor different horn styles compared to others.

They don't shed, growing through their infancy and plateauing around 23 to 27 years old. If a horn is broken mid-development, it will continue to grow, resulting in mismatched horns and branched protrusions depending on the type of damage. Once the horns stop growing, the blood and nerve system will shrink and be absorbed, leaving the area with no sensation and regrowth impossible. Cracks and missing pieces being a common sign of age.

Variance

Horns are very vulnerable to Aether tampering, leading to a numerous amount of styles and types to exist. Larger, more elaborate horns can make swimming more difficult, but overall the range is stable and harmless.

The presence of horns and the pair number is not affected, with 2 horns always present.

Eyes & Ears

Hanasei have good night vision, but poor eyesight in general. They can recognize the shapes around them and a few colors, but their daylight and night vision are almost the same otherwise. Their eyes can have different shapes and colors, but the effect is purely visual as their eye sensors work the same regardless of their appearance.

Hanasei don't have visible ears, but a tympanic membrane around their cheek area, which is able to pick up vibrations both in and out of water. They have great hearing, and are more aware of vibrations such as tremors and footsteps. They can voluntarily close their inner ear and stop themselves from picking up sounds, a common method for falling asleep.

Mouth

Hanasei lack teeth, using their upper jaw protrusions to hold and rip food instead. They have a powerful bite, being able to hold down things with immense pressure. Their tongues function like a catapult, with the tip facing the inside of the mouth on a resting position and launched outwards when needed, their saliva being sticky and helping trap prey inside their mouths. With cooking and more efficient methods of getting food, this isn't a common practice anymore, unless one spotted a quick snack. Unlike the other sophonts, Hanasei are still able to eat raw meat and may supplement their normal diet with bugs, fish and other easy to snag creatures in between activities.

They have very powerful and sensitive taste buds, coupled with a taste disc that lets them distinct between minute differences in food. Their mouth, just like most of their organs, tend to take the most prominent color of their Aether.

Respiratory system & Speech

Hanasei has two different systems for breathing. Outside of water, their nostrils are open and air moves through their cavity into their respiratory organs, and their gills are used for channeling sound. Air can be directed to their larynx, which is specialized for manipulating air into sound similar to vocal cords, which is only connected to the gills and not nostrils. This separate system means Hanasei can talk while breathing, and their vocalizations are very impressive, being able to mimic almost any sound they hear with practice. They can alter these sounds with the opening and closing of the larynx openings and changing how open or closed their gills are. To keep their gills from drying, the parts used for respiration often retract or close, but Hanasei in drier climates must moisturize their gills at intervals to prevent internal damage.

Underwater, their nostrils close and their gills stay open. Most of their larynx close, and filter capillaries expand to better capture oxygen diffused in the water. This makes vocalization underwater impossible, and sign language is the most common replacement. Hanasei can have 2, 3 or 4 gills on each side of their neck, and the shape of the gill can be varied, creating "accents" for each Hanasei in their relaxed voice.

They have a good olfactory system, being one of their most reliable senses. They're able to smell the humidity in the air and incoming rains and droughts. Because this uses their nostrils, they're unable to smell anything underwater.

Body

Hanasei size and builds are diverse, with individuals building muscle mass, fat and other outside factors influencing how they look. Their proportions stay consistent, with necks around the same size of their torso, short arms and elongated legs bigger than the torso itself, but deviations aren't uncommon.

Limbs

Hanasei arms start with their shoulders placed at the lower area of their torso, and stop with hands on their hips. Despite the shorter length, they have impressive arm strength and weaker Hanasei are known to rival other species' average. This makes them great at carrying things, and grabbing and holding down prey and foes. Their hands are dexterous when the webbing is retracted, but they lose a lot of maneuverability when extended.

Their legs are long and muscular, granting them an upright walk. They're not very fast, averaging 7 km/h running speed, but they have great endurance and the ability to jump high vertical distances and can pounce forward if crouched. Their muscle system can lock into a crouching stance, a comfortable stance comparable to sitting. Their feet are digitigrade but their fingers are big and wide, with a large base, keeping their body in balance and stable at the cost of mobility and grace.

Tail

Hanasei tails are long, with a vertical caudal fin that often extends beyond the base and helps them swim. This fin can regenerate when damaged, and broken or rotten tissue can lead into an entire chunk or the fin removed to speed recovery and promote an even replacement.

Fins are classified into two types, regular and segmented. Regular fins are connected into one piece, while segmented fins are broken down into various fins of different sizes and shapes, similar to fish fins. No matter the type, their shapes are kept hydrodynamic and tailored for swimming. Sometimes, the size of the base tail will also be shorter or longer than average.

Hanasei swim in two ways: a horizontal wave movement and by kicking their legs. The former is done with the help of their tail fins and is the slower of the two, but costs less energy. Hanasei will often alter the surrounding current with Aether to make this movement faster, with an average of 11 km/h. Leg kicks are less common as long term swimming and rather used for short bursts of speed and distance, and the longer one uses it the more they'll tire and may be unable to swim without resting. The peak swimming speed of Hanasei is around 20 km/h, taking leg kicks into account. As they were ambush and endurance predators, the lack of speed was not an issue for them. Depending on their fin shape, individuals may have different ways of swimming.

Aether

Their natural Aether is Nam Aether. They make use of it to help their swimming and underwater hunting, and to keep themselves damp. They tend to cast Aether from their mouths, as their Aether glands are present on their throat.

In their breeding months, their Aether start producing cells for reproduction and lose their usual abilities. This months-long limitation leads Hanasei to not be involved with using their Aether proactively or learn new skills, preferring to rely on technology to harness and utilize Aether instead.

Reproduction

Egg

To create an egg, two or more Hanasei spit out and mix their Aether together in a body of water. The resulting foam will stick together and in 3 days will develop into an egg, and one healthy Hanasei can produce enough reproductive Aether to make 200 eggs. This can only happen in the breeding period of Hanasei, usually on the 2nd and 8th month of the year. Modern Hanasei societies will instead send their reproductive Aether to the labs of the area, which will store it to create eggs with more efficient mixing machines and incubators.

The Aether inside the egg will segregate itself into larva stem cells and the nutritious yolk. After 12~14 days, the egg will be completely dry and the larva will eclode. The volatility of Aether means many larva never form or form incorrectly, and these eggs are discarded and repurposed or eaten. Only 1 in 50 eggs actually eclode, and this high rate of failure leads Hanasei to not view eggs as their young or a new generation, but more of a vessel that can fail or succeed. They have no qualms with re-purposing eggs in food, experiments or any other procedure.

Larva

Larva, often called notes, are very different from their adult counterparts. They're not considered sapient when they first hatch, but their growth is rapid and by 3 months in, they'll have the intelligence of a one year old toddler and have legs and arm stubs growing, alongside the keratin helmet and an underdeveloped nostril. This growth is fueled by a great appetite, and Hanasei larvae are omnivores and will eat almost anything they can fit in their mouths.

At the 9th month, they'll have most of their limbs developed to their young proportions, but their respiratory system will need an additional 3 months to allow for respiration outside water. Larvae at this stage will take short dips into land to push their muscles and lungs, until they no longer need to return to water to breathe.

Young

Once a larva can leave the water, they're called a young. "Young" encompasses the children and teenager years, lumped together as they no longer share any major physical differences from each other or to adults. The rest of their growth will be in size and intellect, slowing down from the quick pace of their larval years into a more normal 20 or so years to reach maturity. The main exception are horns, which only start growing around their 5th year and can take over a decade to finish growing. Smaller horns may plateau faster.

#hanasei #koegama #worldbuilding #speculative biology #specbio #spec bio #new info post for hanasei bc i dont like the old one #teehee #art #species info

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spoonguy · 17 days

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Light Underwater

Pairing: Deep Sea Alien x Gender Neutral Reader

Word Count: 1255

Synopsis: Shipwrecked on an alien planet, miles underwater, you are rescued by a lonely alien.

Content Warnings: Claustrophobia, emetophobia, thalassophobia

They couldn't get over how soft you felt, how warm you were to the touch, the fine hairs coating your skin. They pulled you closer, flush against their gelatinous body, and enveloped you in their countless tendrils. You hummed and traced a finger lazily across their membrane, watching the bioluminescent trail that followed. They hummed as well, and cascades of warm, orange light rippled over their body.

The tidepool you were reclining in was warmer than any back on your home planet, and the air was muggy and hot, so you couldn't say you didn't enjoy the feel of their smooth, cool skin.

When you first crash landed, the air was nearly too thick to breathe, but by now your lungs were mostly accommodating for the lack of oxygen. You inhaled another deep, measured breath and sank further into the embrace of your rescuer.

Their real name was an incomprehensible combination of burbles, hums, and clicks, but they seemed happy enough when you called them by your best approximation, Qila. They had picked a name for you, also, a wavery melodic hum layered with the sound of a bubbling stream. Their native language was so beautiful, it almost made you forget about the oppressive, dark cave you were stuck in.

Your ship had crash-landed, leaving you stranded miles below the water’s surface, leaving you to watch the oxygen levels slowly diminish until a pair of tendrils wormed their way around the seams of the airlock and pulled you to safety. They had come to investigate the noise, only to have their echolocation clicks drowned out by the panicked beating of your heart. Since they had first laid their

A few of the more prehensile tendrils wrapped around your waist and pulled you gently towards the underside of their gelatinous body. You were pulled into an air-filled pocket they had formed inside themself lined with glowing fluorescent algae from above the water’s surface. It seemed to do an alright job converting your expelled carbon dioxide to breathable oxygen, but you couldn't go more than an hour before you started to get lightheaded. Qila seemed to pick up on your lethargy whenever this happened and was sure to begin to surface shortly after.

The ride to their cave was mostly uneventful, albeit slow. Qila seemed to be even more susceptible to pressure changes than you were, ascending at a snail’s pace. The view was less than spectacular, inky black darkness stretching out for eternity, broken up only by plankton the size of your fist that Qila would ensnare with barbed tendrils that unfurled with uncharacteristic speed.

Their cave was small and far from any other members of their species, or anything else for that matter. Anytime they took you out of the cave, the only thing you could see for miles was ocean. It was always a relief when the opening of their cave came into view, decorated with algae and various aquatic plants. You slipped back out through their permeable skin and swam towards what could be considered your room. It was closer to a pantry than anything, housing materials that could not be stored in water. The walls were coated in the same glowing algae that made it possible to breathe inside of Qila’s body, but the greater volume allowed you to stay here indefinitely. You pulled yourself up onto a ledge, careful not to knock over onto the nearby cubes of salt, sugars, and other soluble minerals, wrapped in hydrophobic coatings.

You turned back to Qila, watching as the vesicle you had traveled in slowly healed itself, closing over until you could no longer see any break in their outer membrane. Only the top part of their bell-shaped body was above the water; the thirty or so feet of tentacles below them were submerged, well past the extent of your vision. They bobbed gently in the water and let out a series of clicks undercut by a high-pitched buzzing.

Well? A single thought resonated in your head, the result of the translation device embedded in your auditory cortex.

“I’m fine, just a little winded. Give me a second.” You weren’t sure if they could actually understand the words you were saying, but they seemed to be able to pick up on the general meaning of your most prominent thoughts and even better from your spoken words. “Can I get some food, though? I’m getting pretty hungry.”

Wait. Will return. Qila disappeared below the still water, leaving you in complete darkness without their bioluminescence. You sat in unlit silence for only a few minutes, listening to the periodic drips of condensation falling back to break the still surface. They returned holding half-a-dozen semi-opaque spheres, each containing a different plant or creature.

The first sphere held what looked to be some sort of crustacean. You peeled open the sphere and pulled out what might have been an arm or leg, encased in a thick black carapace. The shell was easier to remove than you expected, pulling it off in fragmented chunks, which you set beside you in a pile.

Discard. Why?

“The shell—I think that’s what it is, at least—is too sharp for me to swallow. It will cut up my mouth.”

You sniffed the meat and decided that it smelled close enough to crab that it was probably safe enough to eat. A tiny nibble let you know that the taste was at least palatable, if not a little sour.

Acceptable?

“Yeah, for now. Let’s wait to see if I get sick, though.”

The other containers held food that Qila and you had already vetted through trial and error. Who would have thought you could get food poisoning from seaweed? But the purple kelp-looking leaves had left you vomiting and feverish until you bounced back. After that, Qila had become extra cautious in monitoring you for symptoms of food intolerance.

“Thank you; I appreciate it,” you said after you had finished. Qila vocalized happily. “I appreciate you, also. I would have died without your help.”

Enjoy presence. Alone before. Now partner. Happy.

“Partner?” you questioned.

One to share thoughts. To sing with.

“Like a friend?”

Qila was quiet for a while before they responded.

Unsure.

“Qila, are there others like you?”

Far. Inaccessible.

“You can’t see them?”

Correct. Population too large. Exiled.

“Oh. I’m sorry.” You placed a hand along their body.

Request?

“Yeah, what’s up?”

Sing? Together? Qila let out a tentative hum.

“Of course. Um, what do you want me to sing?”

Important song. Meaningful.

You softly began to hum the melody of your favorite song before you broke out into the first verse. Qila began to harmonize, adding percussive clicks and ethereal droning. The muted light inside them grew brighter, more brilliant, until it illuminated the whole cave. Each note their produce lit up different spots on their skin, only to fade as the sound faded. As you came to the end of the last line, you let your voice trail off, and the echos grew quieter until they were inaudible.

Qila was glowing; mesmerizing swirls of bioluminescence cast warm light throughout the dark cave. They continued to murmur bits and pieces of the melody that had stuck with them.

Request?

“Anything.”

Stay. Here, together.

“You know I can’t exactly leave. My ship is broken.”

Unimportant. Promise.

“Absolutely.”

The wave of light that radiated off of Qila was so bright it hurt your eyes. They warbled happy melodies, only parts of which your translator could pick up.

Joy. Companion. Here. Together. Always.

#x reader #alien #alien x reader #alien x human #terato #teratophillia #x y/n #sfw #fanfic #original character #yandere #if you squint #gn reader #platonic or romantic #yandere alien #yandere x reader #claustrophobia #emetophobia #thalassophobia

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trashmouth-richie · 2 years

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Eddie x fem! reader [vol i, vol ii, vol iii, vol iv]

⚠️trigger warnings: mentions of a exual assault, accusations, mentions of domestic abuse, teenage drinking, panic attacks etc

w/c: 7.9k

a/n: s/o to all my favorite people helping me continuously with this series! @agentmarvel @sweetsweetjellybean @jo-harrington !! 💋💋💋💋💋

You’re spinning, spinning, spinning. If you couldn’t smell your own hair products on your pillow, you would swear that you were in a dystopian world, twirling like a frisbee through a pink blossomed sky and being caught in a three headed cat's mouth.

It’s true, hangovers get worse with age, but you were only twenty one— and they’re supposed to go up from here? What happened to ‘the best years of your life’? Whoever said that should be shot and killed on site. Stupid bastard.

Opening your eyes seems like the worst idea you could do, so you don’t. You slowly let your other senses bring you back to reality. You recognized that you were in your bed. Something soft is wrapped around you and judging by the feel of the fabric between your fingers it’s your robe.

A pungent smell of sour bile presents on your breath, one whiff of it and it’s instantaneous: vomit.

Fuck, that would explain the burning in your throat and the graveling dry sensation in your mouth

Pieces of the puzzle that was last night start fitting into place in your mind.

The drinks. The shots. The food. The clinking sound of ice in Steve’s Bloody Mary as he tipped it back and the ice swam towards his teeth, is like nails on a chalkboard.

Oh Christ how there had been so many drinks. Damn Robin and her mischievous ideas for wanting to do shots. Memories of the fiery tingle of the top shelf vodka Steve insisted on having, hitting your lips is enough to make you pass out.

The hollow feeling in your stomach gets queasy as you remember the greasy bar food served at Louie’s. Your stomach quenches, clutching around itself, ridding its salmon colored lining of the disastrous evening.

But nothing comes up. Just heaving dryly in your bed as tears escape your eyelids and your feet hit the floor. Throwing your body into a whirlwind of dizzy flips— your brain swimming in a sea of Diet Coke and Malibu, membranes bursting with the carbonated bubbles.

You’ve never needed a toothbrush more than you do right at this very second. You stand and the world feels like its raging war on your head. Pulsing and throbbing, like a concert was playing in your head and the guitar solo never ended.

You open your door and are met with the thought of how the fuck did you get here last night? Fuck it, you’d ask questions later, for now you needed to empty your bladder and brush your teeth.

As soon as you lay a hand on the bathroom door, Eddie emerges from his bedroom. Sweatpants are riding dangerously low on his hips and purpling hickies decorate his neck. He’s rubbing his eyes but when he catches sight of you he smiles lazily.

“Holy hell,” Eddie quips, eyes scanning over your body. You robe is hanging loosely off one shoulder, it’s crooked but the tie is in place covering your lower half. They land on the wild mess of hair atop your head, “normally I’d say good morning but it’s—“ he leans back into his room to look at his alarm clock, chuckling at the realization, “—two in the afternoon.”

You don’t fight Eddie for the shower, too tired and weak to argue. You fumble through the medicine cabinet finding the ibuprofen and the Disney cup with the swirly straw on the sink, filling it and taking the slick coated medicine. Swallowing harshly, your throat still raw and aching.

You settle for brushing your teeth while Eddie is in the shower. He’s singing Teen Spirit and getting louder and louder. The circles of the vigorous brushing of your teeth mixed with Eddie’s singing are making your head pound. A long look in the mirror leaves you suddenly feeling embarrassed, as if you needed to look drop dead gorgeous at every single minute you’re around him.

What the hell is going on?

“Please,” you beg, spitting the last bit of toothpaste into the sink, “for the love of everything holy— stop.”

The screeching noise of the shower curtain rings being pulled back pull your head up as you see Eddie half naked, torso covered in soap and your loofah in his hand, the dripping curls on his head turned to long waves with the weight of the water.

“Don’t act like I don’t sing like an angel, sweetheart,” he says with a wink, “besides, lying is not good for your health.”

The suds are traveling south, further and further and further downward, your eye fixated on one particular bubble as it pops right at his belly button.

You train your eyes on his, your cheeks heat from your staring. You reach up and shut the curtain.

“I wasn’t saying you sound bad—I just feel like my head is going to implode.”

Eddie thinks for a minute, “want me to sing you a lullaby? I’d put your baby ass to sleep just like I did last night.”

A million different scenarios flood your mind of what happened last night.

Did you kiss him? You remembering staring at his lips, the soft pillowy pinks, the way his tongue peak—

Oh fuck.

Are the hickies on his neck from you? His Adam apple bobs as he swallowed.

Shit.

Did you sleep together? Blankets, over your head.

What the fuck?

Where are your pants? You can’t even remember what pants you were wearing.

Where’s your car? Did you drive home?

Did Eddie pick you up from the bar?

Did he see you puke? You faintly remember puking on the floor of the front seat of a vehicle.

Your head continues to spin as you sit on the edge of the closed toilet seat. Suddenly feeling violated and disgusting.

“Tooty?” Eddie’s voice rings out.

This time you’re the one throwing open the curtain. Ignoring him as he shields himself with your loofah and his arm. “Jesus Chr—!“

“How fucking dare you!”

“What?!”

“You fucking pig, how could you do that to me!”

“Do what!” Eddie yells back

Your tossing shampoo bottles and bars of soap at his naked body, he’s surprisingly agile, dodging every one.

“How could you sleep with me when I was that drunk?! Jesus Christ I can’t believe you! Why would you do that to me?!”

Tears well in your eyes, you can’t believe that someone you once trusted, and were getting used to trusting again, after only being able to confide in three people over the last five years, would do something so vile, so fucking awful.

“After everything we’ve been through? I’ve known you since I was a kid Eddie! I get drunk one time and you take it upon yourself to forc— “

“Tooty!” Eddie hollers, turning the water off to the shower and stepping around you out of the way to grab a towel, he wraps it around his waist and turns to face you again.

“I didn’t do anything to you.” His eyes are wild but filled with hurt, he lowers his voice, and backs away from you. “If you don’t believe me, call Harrington. I talked to him after I carried your drunk puking ass to your own bed last night!”

“Then where are my pants?! If you ‘didn’t do anything to me’ where are my pants at?!” Eddie heads into the kitchen and pulls the short overalls you were wearing off the back of a chair, still damp from the wash. He tosses them towards you and they land at your feet.

“I washed them because you barfed all over them and I thought you would appreciate them being cleaned instead of in a vomit covered ball on the bathroom floor!”

Your accusations sting his eyes, and burn his nose.

You blink rapidly and rack your brain, the blurry sight of Steve’s car covered in puke comes into view. You struggling to get your clothes off alone in the bathroom. One? Or maybe two girls yelling at him as his back is turned to you, Eddie’s honey dripped voice talking to you as you throw up into the toilet, cheek nestled against the seat. And finally, the feel of his chest on your cheek as he carries you to your room, arms and hands never touching you inappropriately.

Before you can apologize Eddie is thrusting the cordless phone into your palm, Steve’s voice faintly heard from the speaker. He turns with a huff and not another look towards you as he slams his bedroom door shaking the frame.

Shutting your bedroom door, Eddie hangs his head, his forehead and one palm on the door, a small smile gracing his lips. His head is spinning, he’s not drunk, in fact he only had one beer tonight, right before their set started.

What is this feeling inside of him? Butterflies in his stomach? Nah, that shit was juvenile. He could only pray that it was indigestion, nothing a couple gulps from a Pepto Bismol bottle couldn’t fix. But he couldn’t deny it.

The instinctual gut feeling of needing to protect you rang true all day. He was ready to fight everyone and anyone who talked ill of you. He just couldn’t help himself. He hadn’t felt this protective of someone since his own mother. He didn’t even feel this way towards Chrissy, and they dated for almost a year.

He pulls his head from the door, wondering if he should have put you on your side so if you vomited in your sleep you wouldn’t choke. He shakes his head, removing his hand slowly down your door, letting his fingers hang to his side.

What is this? Why is he acting like a parent? He rubs his eyes and turns to go to bed, your wadded up overalls in his peripheral vision. Would it be weird? Him washing your clothes? It’s not like your panties were in here it was just the overalls. He could be a good guy, he could be a decent human being, for you— he’d be it all.

Stomping down the dingy, murky basement steps he quickly throws your overalls into the washing machine, adding way too much powdered Era but figuring it was better than having them stink like puke. Slamming the metal lid closed with a wonky bang, he trots back up the stairs.

Stomach grumbling and realizing the only thing he had to eat all day were the poptarts he packed for work, he opens the fridge. Inside sitting on a shelf is a fading spaghetti stained Tupperware, on the lid is a sticky note, and written in your beautiful loopy handwriting:

“Got off work early and made the Tater tot casserole. Warm it up in the microwave for a minute thirty, hope you had a good show tonight. -T ”

You didn’t always love when your clients canceled last minute, it meant money gone from your pocket and an annoying increasing anxiety building in your gut when bills showed up. But today, you could actually enjoy the sun's rays on your shoulders for a bit as you drove down the streets of Hawkins, stopping at Bradleys Big Buys to get a pound of ground beef and a can of cream of mushroom soup.

Pushing the cart through the aisles you found the two items you came for, hoping to make it home early so that you could make the casserole before Eddie played tonight, or maybe he could enjoy it when he got home.

Cooking for someone was a labor of love, the simplest act of kindness anyone could offer. That’s what Karen Wheeler had taught you when she would spend her Saturday’s teaching you and Nancy how to cook good hearty meals that would last a while so you wouldn’t starve in college.

“And someone enjoying the food you cook? Girls, that’s the best feeling in the world.”

She wasn’t lying. Even that first week with the lasagna when Eddie had basically came in his pants with every bite, you felt a skip in your chest.

It was the least you could do after he gave you a sense of calm whenever he was around. You didn’t trust many people. Not after what happened. In fact Nancy, Steve and Robin were the only people you could put any sort of hope in.

After browning the ground beef with an chopped onion and mixing the canned ingredients together, you season the mixture with salt, pepper, and garlic powder. One last wipe around the bowl with your spatula and it was good to go. Spreading the mixture into a greased 9 x 13 inch pan and added shredded cheese, you line the tater tots across in horizontal rows and toss it in the oven, covering the dish with tinfoil.

Steve confirms everything that had happened. Even down to the minor details of you calling him ‘Steeb’. You feel stupid. Your stomach sank when he said that Eddie had stayed up all night making sure your overalls were clean and that you weren’t choking on your vomit.

“He’s a good dude, Tooty,” he explains, “he’s a perv and a complete douche most of the time, but he would never in a million years do that to someone, especially you.”

“…I know.”

“But do you?” Steve prods, “you said so yourself that he kinda looked out for you, almost better than your own brother did.”

“He did— but that’s just because I was with Chrissy’s brother and he was dating Chrissy.”

“That doesn’t matter, what does matter is that he’s a good guy— someone trustworthy. Make it right.”

With that Steve hung up.

You sit on the couch, head in your hands, feeling like a big pile of shit for what you did. Eddie wouldn’t understand. How could he? You blatantly accused him of doing something that you know in your heart and in your soul that he never could have done. Tears drop from your eyes and into your palms. You allow yourself to cry, something you hated doing, for a few minutes. Angry with yourself for the wrong that you did, but also hurting from the past. When your eyes were puffy and snot was sliding from your nose, you call it quits. Fanning your face you realize you still haven’t taken a shower yet this morning.

Making your way to the bathroom, you turn your head towards Eddie door, Steve was right, you needed to fix this.

But how?

The shower was exactly what you needed. The scald from the water was helping ooze the booze from your pores as your dehydrated body soaked it up. Eddie didn’t deserve your harsh words, your accusatory statements, the way his face fell in horror when you screamed at him was burned into your memories, something you saw whenever your eyes were closed. You sit on the floor of the shower. You couldn’t tell him what was going on, you were stronger than that. You didn’t need his sympathy, his pity parade, you would get through this on your own just like you always had. You may have been wrong and and you should probably apologize but you dismiss the idea. What the hell does Steve Harrington know about it?

Eddie bangs on the door, bringing you back to reality.

“What?” You holler out.

“Hurry up so we can go get your car before you accuse me of stealing that too.” His voice is angry and hurt. Finishing up in the shower you leave the bathroom to see an impatient Eddie huffing around the living room, looking at his empty wrist as if he wore a watch and throwing his hands in the air.

“Christ will you hurry the fuck up? I’ve got places to be.”

“Oh fucking relax,” you pout, slamming your door and toweling off. You settle for a pair of denim shorts and a cotton t-shirt. When you reach for the comb to untangle your hair you hear obnoxious honking.

He wouldn’t.

Eddie is sitting in the van laying on the horn. Grabbing your ratty white keds you fly through the house, grabbing your purse and combing your hair as you fling yourself through the door. The pavement is hot on your feet, an exceptionally warm day for September. The hot sun and humid temperatures are the worst mix for a hangover.

Indian summer in full swing.

“Fuck I’m right here, knock it off!” He’s staring at you with dead eyes, hand planted on the horn until you slide your ass onto the cracked leather seat.

Without another word he throws the van in reverse and reaches a hand over to your headrest twisting his body, the cut off flannel he is wearing isn’t buttoned, the powdery musk of his deodorant burns your nose.

Nothing has changed with the old van, tape decks are still littered across the dash, stumped out in the cup holder are a mountain of cigarettes and joints. Too many pine scented Little Trees hanging from the rearview doing a horrible job of hiding the smell of weed. Judas Priest screams through the speakers. You place a foot on the dash to get your shoe on when suddenly you are lurching forward. Eddie taps the brakes.

“No feet on the dash.”

You set your face in a scowl, words bitter on your tongue, “yeah, cause my shoe is really going to hurt the value of this piece of shit. I’m just putting my fucking shoe on since some asshole with a small dick complex couldn’t wait five minutes.”

A mocking chuckle escapes Eddie’s throat, “you really are such a pleasure to be around, how did I get this lucky?.”

“And you’re such a prick,” you seethe, bending over and tying your shoe, “why did you even answer my ad in the paper? All we do is fight because you fucking hate me.”

He’s had enough, slamming his foot onto the pedal, Eddie turns towards you and spits, “Do you really think of me like that? A predator? Someone who would move in with you just to violate you the second you pass out?”

“No I—“

“All the years you’ve known me, you think I’d just up and turn into a fucking rapist?!”

“Jesus Christ Eddie!“

“No, I wanna know, right now,” he turns to you, eyes angry and filled with hurt, “do you get off on this shit? Treating people like they’re nothing? Automatically assuming the worst about someone because of where they grew up? I’m not like that Tooty, I’m not like my—“ he stops himself, pushing his tongue to his cheek, “you are not the girl I knew. I don’t even fucking recognize you.”

“The girl you knew was fourteen, Eddie! My biggest problem back then was wondering who I could convince to buy Boonesfarm for the weekend rager, shit changed. I changed! I had to adapt to shit that was way out of my control. And you don’t even know half of it!”

“You’re right, I don’t and I bet if I were to ask, you wouldn’t even tell me, so fuck it, where am I going?”

“What?”

“I can’t read your mind, where is your car parked?”

You tell him. And as soon as you pull alongside Louie’s and beside your car, you realize you don’t have the keys.

“Open the door. Get out.” Eddie spits in a condescending tone.

Looking at him and smiling, with an extra side of cunt you sing, “I don’t have my keys.”

“Of fucking course.”

Lighting up a cigarette and cranking the wheel Eddie flies through Hawkins. He misses the turn on Kerley to get back home. “Missed the turn,” you announce, putting your other shoe on.

Eddie takes a deep breath and sighs lips tight in a line and exhaling through his nose. “Groceries.” He says through gritted teeth.

Pulling into the grocery store parking lot, Eddie parks, taking up for spots, a tire in each one, before the van even stops moving he’s already out and slamming the door, flicking his cigarette across the parking lot. The heat of the day already high.

Finishing lacing up your other shoe you run across the parking lot to catch up to him. He already has a cart and is whizzing through the aisles before you finally see him. Reaching into your purse you unfold the list and take a look at it.

Dunakaroos

Twizzlers

Gobstoppers

Spaghetti o’s

Bologna

Mayo— NOT MIRACLE WHIP! And no it’s not for that.

Lotion, yes for that 😉

the soft bread, not the brown one.

Carton of reds

Case of Busch Light.

Sunny D

Red kool aid

Hot dogs

Cocoa Puffs

Sliced cheese

Baby food since you think I’m a child (just kidding, don’t be mad)

whatever chips you got with that salsa the one time

My milk— not that skim shit you drink

Your milk— the skim shit

Mac n Cheese

“What kind of a fucking list is this? Most of this shit is snacks.”

“Oh for fucks sake, what are you pissed about now?” Eddie says, dumping two bags of marshmallows into the cart.

You’ve never met a twenty-six year old that ate like he was dining at Willy Wonka’s Factory every night.

“Not a single fruit or vegetable!” You say, waving the list in his face.

“I smoke green, I don’t eat it. Unless you wanna make some pot brownies, I’d eat the shit out of those.” He throws a box of brownie mix into the cart for good measure.

You yank the cart from his hands and turn around, heading back to the produce aisle. He huffs when you place a paper bag of apples neatly in the cart, whines when the bananas sit by your purse, and almost passed out when the tomatoes and a head of lettuce make their way into the cart.

“You’re such a baby! Literally an overgrown man child in the flesh.” He’s walking in front of you mimicking you and whoops! The cart may have slipped out of your hands and made a fleeting dash towards his Achilles tendon, banging against.

“Ouch, Jesus Christ!” Eddie groans under his breath, holding his leg he glares towards you, shooting daggers.

“It slipped,” you smirk.

He scoffs and turns on his heel walking away. You finish in the produce aisle, looking through the boxes of noodles and calculating what you could make for dinner this week. Eddie comes back arms full, you only see his hair sticking out on each side of the three boxes of cereal, a 10 lb ham and seven tubes of cinnamon rolls. He drops them all into the cart with a heavy thud.

After crossing everything off the list and getting a few more things despite Eddie’s protesting exhales, you have a cart full. He seems to have calmed down by the time you make it to the beer fridge, taking two thirty packs of Busch Light and putting them on the bottom of the cart, he rips the side of one of them open and takes a can out. Cracking it open in the middle of the store, downing it. The light colored lager is spilling down his chin, into the collar of his open shirt. He tosses it into a lady’s cart as she’s walking past, wiping the foam from his lips and belching loudly.

You roll your eyes, “You can’t wait until we’re home?”

“What?” He says, looking at you with a stupid grin, “I’m gonna pay for it.”

Waiting in the checkout aisle he cracks another one as he unloads the groceries onto the conveyor belt with one hand. Tossing most of the items onto the belt and grabbing another beer and chugging it. The checkout lady puts her nose in the air and huffs a disapproving grunt.

“I was thirsty.”

“You’re so imp—” your insult is cut short when your eyes sweep over him.

It had been a full two years since you had seen him last. His blonde hair was combed to the side like it always was. The blue of his icy eyes still burned holes through you like dry ice to the exposed skin. The navy blue suit jacket and white Oxford shirt with a red patterned tie and the tan khakis he was wearing suggested he was coming from a late Sunday brunch after church. Awful crippling memories of spending hours ironing those pants to make sure the creases were perfect cloud your memory, you unconsciously hold the two fingers on your left hand, the ones that held misshaped triangle burn scars.

You don’t realize that Eddie is talking or that you’ve stopped moving until the shape of his curly head shakes in front of you. Your breath is hitched in your chest, you feel small. Physically and mentally.

Two years without seeing the face that was the sole purpose of most of the fear in your life. Two years without seeing the demon grin and crazy twitch in his eye. You were frozen in place and your blood ran cold.

It was evil in its truest form. Standing in the checkout behind you— stood Chad Cunningham.

Eddie couldn’t make heads or tails of what was going on. Putting the grocery sacks in the cart, he turns to look in your line of vision. He doesn’t recognize him at first. But the strawberry blonde hair and blue eyes ran in the Cunningham blood. He was with a woman, who was so obviously pregnant she seemed like she was about to burst. Judging from the horrific way your eyes were bulged out of your head and the way your body was almost catatonic, Eddie figured it was time to get the fuck out of here. Reaching in his pocket for his wallet he paid the cashier and impatiently waited for the change, keeping his eyes on you.

You were trembling with fear. Not from the sudden run in with an ex but something much deeper than that. Eddie places his hands on your shoulders and looks into your eyes, “let’s go sweetheart,” he whispers gently, he crowds behind you and puts a small hand on your back, guiding you forward towards the automatic doors. Eddie keeps his head on a swivel for Chad.

The woman who was with him was waddling towards the bathroom, his eyes never leaving your body. As soon as she was out of ear shot, Chad puffed out his chest and said, “Lookin’ good honey bun, I will say though, the downgrade,” he points to Eddie, “..yikes.”

The nickname made your skin crawl. You never liked it, and he knew that. He only said it to get a rise out of you, which was successful. “See you soon,” he gloated, smiling with perfectly straight teeth, eyes never meeting his smile.

You don’t make it five feet outside before the shock wears off and the tears stream down your face in salty waves. Eddie takes control of the cart with his left hand and ushers you forward with his right, minimal pressure on the small of your back as he keeps his head on a swivel, dark curtain of curls crowding his eyes as he moves his head around.

Unlocking the doors he helps you in, buckling your seatbelt and saying he’d be back in thirty seconds. The back doors of the van fly open as Eddie all but tosses the groceries into the back. At thirty seconds exactly, Eddie is back in the van, starting it and roaring out of the parking lot.

He still didn’t know what happened with Chad, but it wouldn’t take an absolute idiot to know that it was bad. Really fucking bad. He looks over to you and your head is stuffed into your shirt, your knees under your chin and you’re rocking back and forth on the seat.

“Five minutes, Tooty— we’ll be home in less than five minutes, okay?” Eddie says, frantically. He’s trying to stay calm. Trying to be the voice of reason, composed and serene. But he is horrified. Scared to death at how you responded to seeing Chad. How your body froze up and your face looked as if you weren’t breathing. Even now, hearing you gasp for air as your body shook and swayed with each turn he made. He slams on the gas, pausing slightly at stop signs and ignoring any yield signs.

He parks in the driveway, coming around to help you out of the van. Just like he did last night, he carries you, only this time you remember it. Your body is shaking violently, chest racked with sobs. His chest is wet with tears from your face being buried into it. He’s whispering to you that everything will be okay. Opening the door he kicks it shut with his boot. He brings you into your room and sits you on your bed, you’re cradled in his lap, like a parent would hold a child. He caresses your head, holding you closer to him. His warm breath in your hair grounds you. You feel him lean forward grabbing on your nightstand for something, the phone.

He dials the number without even thinking. Waiting impatiently on the other end as a familiar voice answers.

“Hello?” Steve breathes boredly into the phone.

Eddie sighs with relief, “Harrington, it’s me.”

“Oh God, listen dude I don’t know what to te—“

“Shut up, Steve.” Eddie interrupts, “listen—something, happened.”

Steve almost chokes on his popcorn, frantically firing off questions. “What? What’s going on? Is she okay? Are you okay?”

“Ye—no, I mean—“ Eddie is stuttering and trying to explain, “we ran into Chad at the gro—“

“I’m on my way!”

The line goes dead and Eddie hears dial tone. He sets the phone back in the holder and wraps a blanket around you. Your heart is racing and you can’t even form words. You haven’t had a panic attack in over a year. It feels like the world is crashing in on you, the walls are tight and shrinking, the whole room feels smaller by the minute. Eddie’s voice is gentle and soothing, like a warm cup of coffee on a cold winter morning.

“Can you take a deep breath for me?” He murmurs, “try to match your breathing with mine.” He remembers what he was taught as a kid. His emotions always ran high and Wayne would have to settle him down, get him to take deep breaths.

He’s rubbing soft circles into your back. Rocking you back and forth. You try to speak but all that comes out are gasps and the whirling noise of sharp intake of breath.

Steve and Robin make it to the house in record time, running to your room and taking everything in. Your disheveled appearance brings Steve to his knees in front of Eddie. Grabbing your hand and squeezing letting you know it was going to be okay.

You slide off Eddie’s lap and lay on the bed, curled in a ball. Robin lays beside you. Brushing your hair from your face with her fingers.

Steve pulls Eddie out of your room with great force he didn’t want to leave but he didn’t know how to help.

“I’m sorry— fuck man, I’m sorry for calling you — I just— she just locked up. She couldn’t talk, she couldn’t move!” He runs his hands down his face, trying to will the tears away. “I didn’t know what to do.”

“Hey, give yourself a break, you got her home, she’s safe,” Steve says patting Eddie on the back, “so explain what happened.”

Eddie begins explaining from when you both got to the grocery store. He goes into detail how distraught you seemed, how your body was rigid and full of fear. The burn of tears threatening to spill from his eyes has him blinking quick before they fall. Steve listens intently, face warped with shock and disbelief.

Throwing his head back and running his hands down his face Steve lets out a loud exhale and throws his hands on his hips, “fuck I hate that guy.”

“Yeah he seems like a fucking psycho,” Eddie agrees, “but what the fuck is going on?! I mean yeah they dated but, I don’t stiff up like that when I run into Chrissy or Trish.”

A shiver runs down his spine as he thinks of how upset you were, your body crumbling with fear the minute you made it into the van. Anxiety trickling through your body like electricity to a wire. He hated to admit it but he was scared for you.

Remembering the groceries in the back of the van, the two guys brave the sweltering heat to retrieve them. Eddie starts to put the items away, Steve rolls his eyes watching him put the canned items in the small cabinet designed for spices, the endless snacks he purchased thrown on the counter nestled up against the flour canister and slamming the lettuce into the fridge like a bowling ball.

Eddie could give a rats ass where the things went, he was worried and getting a headache from wondering if you were going to be okay. Half thinking he should find where good ol Chad lived and pay him a nice little visit. Only three tires slashed and the insurance won’t cover it.

Throwing the groceries sacks in the garbage and making his way to the living room, sitting down on the couch, he sits with his elbows on his knees, bouncing them in quick repetitions. “So are you gonna tell me what’s going on or should I put a paper fortune teller on my fingers and we can decide what’s wrong with Tooty with the help of crayola markers?”

The wailing cries and sobs have dissipated in the last half hour, only Robin’s soothing words can be heard now.

“Dude, it’s not my place to say,” Steve says, “it’s one thing to tell you about her parents and Kevin, but this—“ he takes another deep breath, running his hands through his thick tufts of hair, “this is 100 times worse than that,” Steve explains lowering his head.

“…But you’re right, you’re her roommate and you should know what happened.”

Eddie nods his head slowly, silently agreeing with everything Steve had said. Standing quickly and pacing around the living room, his mind is running a million miles a minute. The fight you two had didn’t matter, the only thing that mattered to him in this moment— the only thing on his mind for the past twelve hours— was you.

Steve stands and runs his fingers through his hair, placing his hands on the waist of the old fading green gym shorts he was wearing. “I’m gonna go talk to her, and when you guys are done, I’m gonna make you guys something to eat. I’m sure you idiots haven’t eaten today given the timing of when shit hit the fan.”

Eddie nods again, biting the fingernails on his right hand until they bled, a habit he hadn’t done since he was a teen, facing possible jail time for destructing private property when he spray painted, “Your mom swallowed EM’s monster cock” on the front doors of Hawkins High. He was pacing, itching for a cigarette. Pulling the pack from his flannel breast pocket he goes outside and sits on the concrete steps, lighting up.

Three squashed cigarette butts sit next to him on the step before Steve finds him. Eddie stands and stubs the cigarette out blowing smoke out of the crooked twist of his lips away from Steve’s face. The nicotine helped take the edge off but he was still anxious, fidgeting his rings.

“H-how is she?” Eddie asks apprehensively, “can I talk to her?”

“She’s better, taking deep breaths and relaxing as best as he can, she’s gonna explain everything, just give her space— let her talk and don’t ask anything until she’s finished.”

“Yeah, ‘f course.”

“Alright. Robin is gonna help me make supper,” Steve says holding opening the front door, face in a grimace he jokes, “wish me luck.”

Eddie was the one who thought he himself needed the luck, he was scared shitless that you were afraid of him.

He walks gently to your room and knocks softly on the door with one knuckle, palm facing him. He remembers just hours ago how he was standing at this very door, and how very different he felt then.

“Come in,” Robin chirps.

Eddie takes a quick breath holding it as he steps foot into your room. You’re sitting on your bed cross legged, blanket wrapped around your shoulders. Your eyes are red rimmed and tissues surrounding you, a cemetery of drying tears. You look at him and muster a smile, a twitch of your lips raising at the corners.

“Well, I’m needed as a sous chef in kitchen a la Harrington,” Robin says brightly, standing from the bed and skipping towards the door. When she passes Eddie she touches his arm squeezing and giving him a reassuring nod.

Eddie stands with his hands stuffed in his pockets as the door clicks shut. You both don’t say anything for a while, you’re twirling the end of the pillowcase in your lap and he’s burning holes with his eyes into the carpet.

“I’m really sorry, Eddie,” you say quietly, “I’m—“ your voice catches in your throat, sore from the the wailing, “I’m hoping that when I’m done telling you, you’ll be able to understand..”

He nods and leans against the wall. Hands wrapped around his triceps.

“Before I explain— I just need you to know that only Robin, Steve, Nancy, and her parents know about this— not my parents, or Kev or anyone else— and now you.

Eddie’s face is full of concern, he whispers an “okay,” and you continue.

“I can’t remember but I’m pretty sure that you and Chrissy started dating around the same time that Chad and I did, and as you remember I’m sure, Chad and I were together almost all the time. When you graduated, and my sophomore year was the year my parents moved away— things changed with him. He was suddenly callous about everything, needing control of who I was with and when. Mostly he was pissed that I was staying with the Wheeler’s. He always thought I was cheating on him with Mike.”

Eddie rolled his eyes, the Mike Wheeler he knew wouldn’t know what to do if a chick laid butt naked in his bed. Probably piss himself.

You work the corner of the pillow case in your fingers as you keep going, “The first time he hit me was on a night that I told him I couldn’t hang out because Mrs. Wheeler wanted everyone home for supper. He called me a slut and told me that I should just go and fuck Mike already even though he knew I wasn’t.”

Eddie’s eyes flicker with anger when you admit that Chad hit you, his fists clenched together tightly. With your head down and looking away from him you continue, your voice wobbly.

“We didn’t even have sex yet, at that time, I wasn’t ready. After he hit me, I thought we should break up. He followed me around, begging me to take him back and like the naive kid that I was, I did. He would be sweet for a few weeks, and then it was like a flip would switch and he’d back hand me for giving Lucas a pencil during History, pulled my hair out in chunks when Mike brought me to school, he even choked me until I passed out when Dustin sat next to me at lunch. He was extremely jealous of everyone around him, and couldn’t handle seeing anyone he didn’t ‘approve of’ be near me. He hated that I worked at Family Video, he would show up almost every shift and wait in the store for me to clock out, even threatening to kick Steve’s ass on more than one occasion. He finally gave up on that when I told him Steve was dating Robin, just so I could go to work in peace.”

Eddie’s gut is rolling, the anger boiling in his blood, his nostrils are flared, it is taking everything in him to not react the way he wants to, a simple trailer park style beating to Chad’s car, his face, whatever would hurt the little prick more. Heads would fucking roll if Eddie ever got ahold of him.

“It didn’t end there. Like I said, we weren’t having sex because I wasn’t ready, I had enough shit going on with my parents up and leaving and buying all the concealer that Melvald’s carried to cover up the bruises.”

You take a shaky breath, fighting back tears for as long as you could. Chewing the inside of your lip and un crossing your legs, bringing your knees to your chest you continue.

“Af—After prom our junior year, we were driving around and he was drinking, I just wanted to go home but he didn’t. He parked way outside of town on the south side, on some dead end road… I mouthed off to him about how cliche it was to lose our virginities on prom night and the next thing I knew,” your voice pitches to a high volume, your lips are tight as you remember the pain you felt in your head from him knocking you out, the way his hands were groping your body, “I was waking up to him on top of me, and inside of me.”

The dam breaks, the tears fall from your eyes like rain in the spring time. You throw your head back against your headboard and sniff loudly, your palms pressed to your eyes.

Eddie doesn’t know what to do, he’s afraid if he tried to comfort you it would only cause you more pain. Against his better judgment he stands and walks towards the bed, scooting across the lavender bedspread he sits across from you, reaching for your ankle and tenderly squeezing it, letting you know that he was there.

“I’ve never felt more alone in my entire life then when I was dating him,” you sniffle and reach for the tissues, blowing your nose loudly, “Eddie, this went on for years, it didn’t fucking stop. After senior year, he didn’t want me to go to college, because I would be too far away from him, and we argued and he kicked me out on the opposite side of town with two swelling black eyes. By the time I made it back to the Wheeler’s, my eyes were almost shut. That night, I told Ted and a very hysterical, Karen everything, and they called the cops. Of course, Tim Cunningham was the state prosecutor at the time, so it didn’t go far— Hop did what he could but there was never any judgment made against Chad, and everything was over after that.”

“I went to beauty school with Nance, and when we moved back home, I was living in the little apartments off of Sawmill Road, he found out where I was and broke in, luckily Steve and Robin were my neighbors so they heard everything and came running before he could hurt me.

“After that.. Ted and Karen bought this place for Nancy and I and last year I saved up enough and bought it from them. Last I heard, Chad had moved to Indianapolis and was working for his uncle at the law firm until he finished school. I haven’t seen him in over two years— anyway,” you finish, wiping your eyes, and blowing your nose once more, “that’s the story.”

Eddie doesn’t know where to begin, he partially is taking the blame for what happened to you, knowing that if he were there, if he had stuck it out with Chrissy maybe he could have seen the signs, maybe he could have stopped it before it ever started, maybe he could have put that little fucker in his place and made him think twice about ever touching you again. He’s full of regret, full of shame and turmoil as he thinks about how you must have been feeling this morning.

“Oh, Tooty.” Eddie starts his eyes glistening with wetness, heart aching for you, “I’m so sorry, Jesus Christ, I— I don’t even… Fuck! I should have been around.”

“There wasn’t anything anyone could have done— he’s a lunatic.” You take a breath and look down at his hand on your ankle, abandoning the thought of reaching for it at the last minute, “I know you would never do something to hurt me, or anyone— I’m sorry about last night Eddie. I just, I don’t ever get drunk enough to not remember what happened. Not after the shit I’ve been through. ” You fold your arms into your self, wrapping around your ribs, in a small voice you whisper, “and today when I couldn’t remember, I was fucking terrified—going right back to how I felt that night when I was sixteen.”

In the van today, he fully intended on chewing you out, making you feel about three inches tall. He had been accused of many different things during his teenage years. Hell he even spent a night or two in jail after fighting a guy in Indianapolis when he threw a beer at Gareth. But one thing Wayne taught him was to respect women. Sure he wasn’t the average guy, his lever leaned a little further towards pervert than most. But he would never hurt a woman. The way you looked right now scared him. Like you were afraid to be near him. Unsure if he would scream at you or worse. And it broke his heart.

“Sweetheart,” he says, leaning forward, finger dipping under your chin and tilting your head up so you were looking right at him. A fresh brim of tears clung to your lashes, “as long as I’m here, being the thorn in your side, pain in the ass, good looking mother fucker that I am— you don’t ever have to be scared again.”

You shutter, body exhausted and giving in, letting the tears fall.

“Promise?”

Your doe eyes are wet and staring into his, the swirling chocolate of his eyes, melted as he looks into your soul. Shedding any walls around his heart, baring himself of his discretions, his eyes are deeper than the galaxy. You swear you’ve never seen anything prettier in your life. You can feel your frigid heart thawing for the first time in years.

“Always.”

You never thought a single word could have so much meaning, a sense of security washed over you with Eddie’s promising word. A silent devotion from his eyes of keeping you safe and out of harm's way. You felt your soul open up to him. A higher power bringing you closer to him. You reach down and grab his hand. Rubbing the rough knuckles and tracing the rings on his fingers. An angel’s smile dances on Eddie’s lips. He decides right there, in that moment, that he would be whatever you needed. For as long as you needed him. Because he needed you.

///

SEE YOU IN VOLUME VI

a/n: hope you enjoyed this, it was a little rough but the next chapter is pure fluff 💋

#eddie munson angst #eddie munson #eddie x you #eddie x fem!reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x reader #eddie x y/n #honey i’m home

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really-fanny-longbottom · 2 months

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Echoes of the Past

Summary: A new rebellion in the Court of Nightmares brings the revelations from the past to the surface.

Warnings: Angst, mentions of death, loss, grief, forced marriage, violence, blood and fights.

Words: 8.3k

Rhysand hated this day.

He wished he had the power to be able to skip it every year.

As always, he found himself unable to sleep.

So, without the intention of disturbing his beautiful mate who was sleeping peacefully next to him, Rhys slipped out of the room and went to his office, where he made sure to fill a glass to the brim with his most expensive whiskey and add three ice cubes before sitting in his black leather chair and looking at the painting.

The painting that caused pain in his heart every time he saw it but would never dare to get rid of.

Not only because of the person who had offered it to him but also because of the two persons who were represented in it.

His mother and sister.

The painting was beautiful.

His sister was sitting in a wooden chair with her long black hair loose over her shoulder, a violet dress with small sparkles at the ends of the fabric matched the color of her eyes, a silver star-shaped pendant decorated her neck and a pair of matching earrings in her slightly pointed ears.

His mother was standing next to the chair with one of her hands on her daughter's shoulder. She was wearing a shiny black dress with a small golden necklace decorating her neck while long earrings of the same color took place in her round ears.

Their wings were beautifully painted with dark tones and a light red on the membranes, and both females had a tiara resting on top of their heads to match with the color of jewelry they wore.

Rhys' favorite part was how Feyre managed to portray the motherly love that filled his mother's eyes and his sister's innocent and caring smile.

It was just like he remembered.

Feyre gave him the painting as one of her gifts for the Winter Solstice.

The painting was given to him in the confines of their bedroom, as Feyre, thoughtful as always, felt that receiving the painting in front of their family might have been too much for Rhys.

So she gave him the gift after everyone went to their own rooms when the night of celebration came to an end.

There, Rhys stared at the painting with tears in his eyes and a sinking heart.

When Feyre had asked him to see his mother and sister, he had no idea it was for this reason.

There weren't enough words to express how grateful and loved Rhys felt that night.

The painting now hung on the wall of his office behind his desk next to the painting of Feyre that Rhys had placed there after they moved into the River House.

The most important females in his life gathered on the same wall and how he wished it wasn't just on the wall that they were side by side.

It had been so long, but Rhys remembered that day as it had been yesterday.

Today marked the anniversary of their death. One hundred and ninety-seven years, to be exact.

One hundred and ninety-seven years since the day that changed his life forever.

One hundred and ninety-seven years of longing.

Gods, how he hated this day.

His glass has already been refilled three times since he sat down in his chair, but before he could continue to drown his sorrows, several knocks on the door sounded throughout the office.

"Come in," Rhys said without taking his eyes from his loved ones.

Heavy footsteps reached his ears after the door opened and stopped when they reached his desk.

With one last look at the beautiful females, the High Lord turned in his chair and was met with his brothers.

The males were wearing their Illyrian leathers and armed.

At the sight of his brothers, the ones he loves so dearly and went through so much together, he knew something was wrong.

Because it wasn't his brothers that Rhysand was seeing. It was his General and Spymaster.

Rising to his full height and placing an air of indifference on his features, Rhys assumed his role as High Lord and asked "What is it?"

"The Court of Nightmares." Azriel began by telling him, "My spies haven't detected anything this past week. No fighting, no commotion, not even a sound. Nothing."

The hairs on Rhysand's arms stood up, and a shiver ran down his spine.

To an outsider, this would seem like a good sign - a sign of peace, but it wasn't. Silence in the Court of Nightmares was worse than any reports of violence and screams.

Rhys braced himself. They all knew what this meant.

Cassian broke the silence, and his General's voice filled the office. "It's happening again," he said while crossing his muscled arms over his chest. "They're preparing for a new rebellion."

Rhys let out a sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose, "Not this again," he leaned against the desk before continuing. "Why do they keep doing this?"

"Have you noticed that it always happens around the same time?" Azriel asked him, making his brother's gaze meet his, "The First Rebellion happened on this same day one hundred and ninety-seven years ago. The Second Rebellion also took place on this same day, one hundred and thirty-four years ago."

"As did the Third and Fourth Rebellions." Cassian finished his brother's thought, "Always on the same day."

"The same day that your family was killed, Rhys, and you became High Lord." Azriel told him.

"You think it's related?"

"I'm not sure. I think if it was related to you, you would be the target of their attacks, but you're not and never have been."

"Exactly," Cassian continued. "Instead, they attack each other, and it's always the same two groups: the Nightmares and the Dreamers."

They never discovered the reason for the rebellions.

No one ever spoke, not even when interrogations were carried out.

When the First Rebellion happened, Rhys and his Inner Circle assumed it was due to his ascension to the throne and that one side defended him as the new High Lord while the other side opposed him.

But the truth is that it continued to happen, so that thought no longer made sense.

But the fact that it always happens on the same day his family left this world?

It couldn't be a coincidence.

Whatever it was, had to be related to the events of that day.

Rhys turned to look at the painting one more time.

Longing and pain always invaded him on this day. He had no doubt whatsoever that if they were here, things would be very different.

After a long minute of silence, Rhys turned and met both his brothers' gazes and began to say, "These rebellions need to stop. The last one caused too many deaths, and we can't continue to tolerate them," Rhys voice became serious before telling his orders.

Rhys still remembers when he received the report of the Fourth Rebellion.

That one happened during Amarantha's reign, and with Rhys trapped in Under the Mountain and Azriel, Cassian and Mor trapped in Velaris, it meant that there was no one to stop them, leaving them at each other's mercy for days until they decided to put an end to it.

That was the most violent and bloody rebellion of all and caused a high number of deaths.

"I want answers. I want to know what is causing these rebellions, and we are not leaving without getting them first."

Cassian and Azriel nodded their heads in agreement before Cassian proceeded to speak. "Feyre and Mor insist on coming with us."

"Very well," Rhys said and started heading towards his office door and down the hallway with his brothers right behind him "Let's get this over with."

The Hewn city didn't look like the Hewn City.

The well-known Court of Nightmares was ruled by chaos with violence, shouting, and despicable activities as its style.

Silence and peace were unknown to its inhabitants.

But it was the first one that was happening when the Inner Circle arrived.

Silence hovered over the interior of the mountain, making the footsteps of the newcomers echo throughout its entire extension.

Not a soul was in sight, making the place not only look abandoned but cursed. It was as if there had been a war a long time ago, and it had exterminated everything and everyone who lived there, leaving behind the taste of destruction in the air.

While walking, no one dared to speak with the thought that it might be an ambush.

That thought was proved false, when minutes later, on the other side of the mountain, on a level below them, Rhys and his family found two armies facing each other with armor on their bodies, weapons in their hands and the promise of 'blood' written in their eyes.

Keir was in front of what appeared to be the Nightmares while a young man with dark hair and skin was in front of what could only be the Dreamers.

The moment Rhysand prepared to speak, a war cry filled the air, causing a tremor through the mountain walls.

The two armies advanced.

And so the Fifth Rebellion began.

Two hours.

It took two hours for them to declare the Fifth Rebellion over.

No deaths had been caused this time, only leaving both sides injured and much angrier after being doused by the High Lady who used her powers to distract them while they were separated by the High Lord and his brothers.

Those who were involved in the fight were taken in turn to the room where Azriel was carrying out the interrogations. Despite the male's persuasion and insistence, none of them broke.

Rhysand couldn't understand why no one was talking. It was as if both sides had made a pact with each other not to reveal what was happening even if they fought each other until they shed blood.

With the interrogations over a few hours later, the Inner Circle began heading to the meeting room where they would finally speak to Keir.

With a little luck, perhaps he would be the one to give in and finally reveal the reason behind all of this.

However, their paths were interrupted. As they passed by the orphanage, they came across something that caught their attention.

Azriel was the first to see it.

To his right, a large painting of a young female encased in a gold frame rested against the wall of the mountain.

Several bouquets of flowers of all types, shapes, and colors occupied the place at the foot of the painting.

Azriel found himself captivated by it. He was never an admirer of art, but of course, he could tell when a painting was well executed, but this one - this one was a true work of art.

The painting captured the beauty and details of the young female in a stunning way.

Azriel could feel her sympathy and generosity through it. He could feel that she had a good heart, that she gave warm hugs, and had a sweet voice accompanied by an even sweeter smile.

Azriel also didn't miss the sparkle in her eyes, which was rare considering the place they were, but it was there.

He couldn't look away - she must be the most beautiful female he's ever seen.

'The artist who painted this must be very talented,' Azriel thought.

But the Shadowsinger wasn't the only one captivated by the painting - Feyre was too.

The High Lady went through every brushstroke represented in the painting, every detail that the artist managed to represent, and it was simply incredible.

Feyre had always appreciated art, she never had the opportunity to see much of it in her life but she had no doubt that the painting in front of her was the best she had ever seen and that not even herself, with all of the time in the world at her disposal, would ever be able to recreate such piece.

She could admire the painting forever, and if it weren't for the movement she caught in the corner of her eye, she probably would have.

To her left, Feyre saw an old female wearing a black dress and her hair in a bun coming out through the orphanage door.

The old female carried a bouquet of lilac tulips in her hands and Feyre saw her lowering herself to the foot of the painting where she rested her tulips next to the other flowers and began to organize the floral arrangements.

Seeing that her family was still observing the painting, Feyre decided to approach the old female.

She stopped to pick up a fallen flower in front of her before approaching the female and crouching down beside her.

Feyre was aware that this was not the type of behavior she should display in the Court of Nightmares, but after witnessing what had happened earlier, she did not care how she was seen in the old female's eyes.

"Here," Feyre said gently as she lifted the flower towards her.

When their eyes met, the female didn't shrink from who she was staring at. It was as if she didn't care that it was the High Lady who was at her side.

"Thank you," she replied in a quiet voice before taking the flower from Feyre's hands and adding it to a bouquet of flowers that matched it.

Feyre looked around and took in all the flowers around her. There were dozens - if not hundreds - of them.

But the ones that stood out the most were tulips, especially lilacs tulips.

She shifted her eyes to the painting, which was now so close that she could see details she hadn't had before. It was even more beautiful in this proximity.

When Feyre looked at the old female again, she noticed her crooked posture and dark circles under her red eyes, revealing tiredness and sadness.

It was after a long moment that Feyre dared to ask, "Who is she?"

The old female stopped her movements, and without taking her eyes off the flowers, she hesitated before calmly responding, "Y/N."

Ignoring the female's hesitation, she continued, "Is she your daughter?"

She let out a sad little laugh and arranged the flowers again as she replied, "Something like that."

Feyre gave a weak smile at the statement and watched her start a flower crown for a few seconds before her voice filled the air around them again. "I don't think I've ever seen you before. Who are you?"

Still without meeting the High Lady's eyes, she said, "My name is Agatha. My children call me Mother Agatha," she smiled a little before continuing. "I'm responsible for the orphanage and for all the children and teenagers who live there.

Before Feyre could respond, a sensation appeared on her back, and when she turned around to find out the cause of it, she saw that it was her mate.

It was Rhysand who asked this time, "Is Y/N one of the orphans you took care of?"

If Agatha was surprised by the new voice, she didn't show it. The female remained calm, just as she had been when Feyre crouched beside her.

"Not exactly," Agatha paused for a few seconds and Feyre watched her swallow the lump in her throat before saying, "Y/N wasn't an orphan but I took care of her, yes. Her parents were noble and had no interest in her when she was a child, so I took her in. I took care of her, educated her, and kept her warm and her belly full."

Agatha continued working on the flower crown while finishing her answer, and this time, the old female eyes met the High Lady's blue ones for the first time. "So yes. In a way, Y/N was my daughter," another faint smile made its presence on the female's face. "All my children are."

"That's very nice of you." Cassian told her.

At the sound of the General's voice, Agatha lowered her eyes again and focused on finishing the crown.

Feyre saw the change in the female's face. She saw sadness coming back to her and couldn't help but feel guilty that she and her family could be the reason for it.

"Where is she now?" Azriel asked.

Agatha didn't respond. She didn't even look at Azriel. Whether out of fear or lack of interest, none of them knew.

To her silence, Morrigan spoke, "You don't know where your children are?"

Silence.

"I thought you were responsible for them." She added.

More silence.

And then, Agatha stood up faster than any of them could have predicted. Sadness had left her face and was now dominated by anger.

Agatha may be old and a simple inhabitant of the Hewn City with no powers, but courage was not something she lacked as she stood up to the most powerful group in the Night Court, if not Prythian.

She stared at the blonde female without ever breaking eye contact, "I do everything I can for those children. But unfortunately, I can only hold them in my arms until they turn eighteen. After that, they are on their own, and you can thank that to your terrible father. His orders, not mine."

Morrigan was lost for words. No one in that despicable city had ever dared to speak to her like that.

Before things could escalate, Rhys put an end to it by apologizing for his cousin, making Agatha calm down.

Rhys took a step forward, making the female's eyes move away from Morrigan and focus on his violet ones.

"Today's rebellion. Do you know what caused it or the previous ones?" He asked calmly but with his High Lord voice still present.

Agatha showed signs of discomfort at the question and hesitated again to answer.

Azriel recognized that behavior. He has seen it many times throughout his life.

That was the behavior of someone who knew what was going on but was too afraid to speak.

"Tell us." He said with a look of indifference on his face.

Agatha didn't respond, and this led to Cassian crossing his arms over his chest before speaking again. "We need to know. Don't you want your children to be safe?"

Agatha looked at the ground for a few moments before looking at the male and slightly nodding her head.

The children were her weakest point, and as she said moments before, she would do anything for them.

"It happened a long time ago. After the first and second rebellions, I thought it would stop, but...it kept happening."

Rhys nodded for her to continue.

"Even though it happened a long time ago, it's still a sensitive issue for us. Usually it's just shouting and small fights but when this day comes...well, you've seen what sometimes happens."

"The day my family died and I became High Lord." Rhys added.

Confusion flashed across Agatha's eyes at the male's words, and this time, she didn't hesitate to respond. "Oh, that-"

Before Agatha could finish, new sounds began to invade the interior of the mountain.

The inhabitants returned to their daily activities as if a rebellion had not happened just a few hours ago.

A few meters away, Keir was talking to another Lord and the sight was enough to make Agatha shrink and turn her back to avoid being seen even though she was in the presence of the High Lord and Lady.

With her eyes focused on the other side of the mountain, she asked in a low voice, "If I help you, will you promise to stop the rebellions? I want my children to be safe."

Feyre was quick to assure the old female that they wanted that too.

When Agatha showed intentions to speak, she was interrupted again, but this time with a younger and closer voice.

"Mother Agatha?"

The group turned at the sound of the new voice and were met with the boy who had led the Dreamers' army.

"Dain." Agatha said almost in a whisper.

Dain was young and tall, he had blue eyes that contrasted with his dark skin and hair, muscles were visible under his clothes and a sword rested on his right side while he carried a large wooden box with both hands.

"Is everything okay, Mother Agatha?" Dain asked as he came face to face with the female.

Agatha smiled at his words and placed both hands on the sides of his face before saying, "Yes, my boy."

The boy reciprocated the smile, and when she noticed the box he was carrying, she asked while lowering her hands. "You're still going?"

"Of course," the boy didn't hesitate to say. His gaze drifted to the painting, and with a sad smile, he added, "She would beat me if I didn't go."

The two laughed at the boy's words before the old female became serious again, a thought forming in her head and with a last look to the group she said to her boy "They're going with you. Take them to Kai."

Dain's eyes swept over the group, and an air of annoyance appeared in his voice. "Oh, he's not going to like that."

"I know, but they want to know the reason for the rebellions," Dain's mouth opened, ready to protest, and at that small action, the female placed a hand over her heart, "I know. But they can stop them and it will be safer for all of us, especially for the children."

"Mother Ag-"

"Please, Dain."

"But-"

"I know. Believe me, I know, but it's the only way." The old female begged, and the suffering that appeared on her face was enough for the boy to give in.

"Okay." The boy responded defeated, knowing he couldn't say 'no' to the female who did everything for him.

Agatha smiled and addressed the group. "Go with Dain. He will take you to Kai, who is another one of my children," she let out a sigh before continuing. "He won't like to see you, but he will tell you everything. It's safer that way."

She indicated the people around them with her head, and it was then that the group noticed how many people were already there.

Too many eyes and ears.

After the old female kissed the boy's head several times and he complained but with a smile on his face, the group, now with one more member, began to head towards the outside of the mountain.

It was Cassian who asked the question everyone wanted to know "Where are we going?"

Dain, who was at the front of the group, didn't turn or look at any of them, his smile was long gone, and now an annoyed expression was on his face when he responded.

"Spring."

They arrived in Spring about ten minutes ago.

Dain was very vague about where they were going, only sharing that they were going to a house that was nearby and that they would have to walk due to the wards that protected the house.

The next few minutes were filled with just the wind hitting the leaves of the trees and the flapping of the wings of some birds flying nearby.

"Do you know the reason for the rebellions?" Rhys broke the silence.

"Everyone who lives in that hell knows. Shouldn't you know? You are the High Lord, after all." The boy questioned him.

Rhys deflected a tree branch that was in his path before replying, "I know they happened on the same day my family died, and I became High Lord."

Dain stopped in his tracks, making everyone else do the same.

He snorted and shook his head in disbelief. He turned to face the people behind him before focusing on the violet-eyed male. "With all due respect, High Lord, but no one cares about you or your family. Not in the Hewn City, at least."

Rhys didn't react. Not even a muscle.

He knew that he and his family, including the Inner Circle, were not liked in the Hewn City, but hearing those words from the boy's mouth had an effect that he had not anticipated and for some reason, he didn't like it.

Before turning back to the front and leading the group the rest of the way, he added, "The rebellions are not because of you."

And with that, Dain turned back to the front and continued on his way.

Silence returned, bringing awkwardness with it.

The group looked at each other, no doubt trying to digest the boy's words. Rhys nodded to resume their walking and began to follow the boy.

However, the silence didn't last long "So, are you going to tell us who Kai is, or are we going to have to wait to find out?"

Dain turned his head slightly in the direction of the General's voice, and it only took a few seconds before he replied, "He's my brother."

Azriel asked this time, letting his curiosity get the better of him. "What did Agatha mean when she said he won't be happy to see us?"

Dain snorted again, and his response only increased everyone's curiosity. "It's not just him. No one will be happy to see you."

"Why?" Morrigan asked, but the only response she got was a disapproving look from the boy in front of her.

The same look Agatha had given her.

When she repeated the question, the boy once again preferred silence to talking to her.

Realizing she was being ignored, the blonde female locked eyes with her family, only to see their confused looks.

Feyre decided to intervene and asked, "Does this have anything to do with the female in the painting?"

"Y/N?" Azriel added.

And once again, without them being able to predict it, the boy turned quickly, letting the box fall to the floor with a loud noise and his hand reaching for the hilt of the sword. "Don't you dare say her name! You have no right to that."

The gesture surprised everyone, while Rhys raised his hands in the form of surrender to calm the boy, Cassian and Azriel took their hands to their sword and knife, respectively.

Azriel was aware that if a fight broke out, the boy had no chance but he was also aware that the boy in front of him was the same one who had led an army against Keir's just a few hours ago and managed to emerge unharmed and for that same reason, Azriel wasn't going to underestimate him.

He studied the boy. The centuries he spent as a Spymaster helped him perfect how to read people effortlessly.

Azriel got all the necessary information in a matter of seconds.

He noticed how Dain's hand was squeezing the hilt of the sword too tightly, revealing that he was nervous; he noticed how the boy's eyes did not show violence but rather hurt and suffering and how his breathing was rapid, showing the fear that ran through him.

The boy didn't want to fight. He simply wanted to make a stand.

When Azriel realized that Dain wasn't going to swing his sword, he spoke again, "It's because of her, isn't it?"

Dain's eyes looked away from Azriel, and he stared at the ground, making it clear that the topic of the conversation didn't please him, but that didn't make the Shadowsinger stop.

"Something happened to her," the male felt his family's eyes on him, but his attention was focused on the boy. "Agatha spoke of her in the past, and so did you."

The male's last words made the boy's eyes dart to theirs, thus regaining his attention, and it was then that Azriel took the opportunity to ask one last question.

"What was she to you?"

Dain was taken by surprise, and everything he felt at that moment was revealed on his face, allowing the Inner Circle to read him like an open book.

When the young male opened his mouth to speak, several sounds appeared in the forest around them, and before the group could prepare themselves, three figures emerged from behind the trees.

Two of the figures wore silver armor with black cloaks and swords in their hands, the third figure, the one in the middle, wore a black suit and looked extremely similar to Dain, except that he was taller and more muscular.

"Kai." Dain said.

Kai's blue eyes swept over the group, and he didn't hide the irritation he felt when he recognized them.

Meeting his younger brother's eyes, Kai asked, "What are they doing here?"

Dain crouched down to pick up the wooden box that had been forgotten in the grass before returning to his full height and replying, "They want to know the reason for the rebellions."

"No," Kai was quick to respond, "Leave. Now."

"Kai-"

"I said no. They're not welcome here."

Before Kai could say anything else, Dain interrupted him and grabbed his arm gently "Mother Agatha sent them," that was enough for Kai's eyes to soften "she believes they can stop the rebellions."

Feyre realized in that moment that Agatha was more respected and considered than she had thought.

A mere mention of the old female's name and the males in front of her calmed down.

A fight wouldn't happen today.

Regardless of what they thought of the situation, they would respect the wishes of the female who had raised them.

"For Mother Agatha." Dain gently let go of his brother's arm and received a slight nod.

When Dain and the rest started to make their way back to the house, the Night Court followed them, disappearing silently through the forest.

As they passed the wards, a mansion and a vast garden came into view.

Green dominated the garden. Several bushes, plants and trees surrounded the mansion, a stone fountain was in the center with some ducks swimming in its crystal clear water.

Several lilacs tulips beds were along its entire extension.

The mansion was white, with tall windows and a large oak entrance door, several vines decorated the corners of the house and the roof.

But that wasn't what caught their attention.

It was the children, teenagers and even adults. All females.

The children played with each other, some girls painted while others read and some older ones did gardening, all while smiling and talking.

No signs of fear or pain.

As they approached the mansion, it was then that the Inner Circle realized that this was not a normal house.

Above the oak door, a white signal with black words came into view: 'Y/N 's Association for Young Girls and Females'.

It was a shelter.

The entrance to the mansion was majestic, just like its garden.

The hallway was painted with white walls and golden lines, some tall vases in light shades of blue were leaning against the walls with various flowers and a bright chandelier hung in the middle of the room.

A white carpet stretched from the front door to the end of the hallway where a staircase was with two sets of stairs on each side, one on the right and one on the left.

But what stood out most were the various paintings in golden frames that decorated the walls.

Paintings that represented the same female over and over again - Y/N.

There were paintings in which the female was alone and others in which she was accompanied.

The Inner Circle's eyes swept past them all and recognized some of the people accompanying her.

A painting where Y/N was with Kai, another where she was with Dain and one with the two boys on either side of her.

The three of them had their arms around each other's shoulders and big smiles on their faces.

One contained Y/N with Agatha and Rhysand recognized the emotion that occupied the old female's eyes as it was the same one he encountered every time he looked at his mother in the painting - maternal love.

Everyone was smiling - Azriel noticed - genuine smiles.

Both in the paintings in which she was alone and in those in which she was accompanied, Y/N smiled just like everyone on her side - as if her smile was contagious.

His eyes focused on the last painting at the end of the corridor.

Y/N wore a blue dress with silver sparkles, her hair cascaded down her shoulders and a graceful smile filled her face.

"She lit up the room when she walked in, no matter where she was."

Azriel found Dain beside him, his blue eyes directed at the painting and not at him.

Dain continued without moving his eyes even as the Shadowsinger watched him. "That was her. Always smiling, always seeing the good side of things even when there wasn't one."

"What was she to you?" Azriel repeated the question that was left unanswered by the boy.

One of Dain's hands touched the painting and once again, his eyes now shone with tears, "Everything," he swallowed the lump in his throat "she was everything."

Not giving Azriel time to say anything back, the boy disappeared into the hallway.

Before Azriel could realize where Dain went, his attention was caught by the voice of the boy's brother.

"My office is this way."

The Inner Circle was sitting in front of Kai's desk, except Azriel who preferred the back of the wall to the comfort of the seat.

He despised the group and if it were up to him he wouldn't tell them anything but out of respect for Mother Agatha, for everything she did for him, Kai decided to respect her decision.

"Y/N was born in Hewn City, just like me. I met her at the orphanage after my parents abandoned me and Dain. Y/N had already been there for a few years, her parents were noble and close to the Keir and had no interest in her so they left her to fend for herself until Mother Agatha decided to take her in."

"When I initially went to the orphanage, I was problematic. I got into a lot of fights and messed up a lot until...," Kai paused for a few seconds and cleared his throat before continuing, "until Y/N decided to intervene and gave me a big lecture about what I was doing with my life."

Kai let out a weak laugh, his eyes distant with memories of the past, "We became inseparable, even though she was a few years older than me."

Kai picked up a pen from his desk and began twirling it between his fingers, distracted by the movement, until the High Lady caught his attention.

"What happened?"

The pen stopped and Kai let out a long sigh before leaning against the back of his chair and running a hand through his hair, "She turned eighteen and that's was when she first bled. Suddenly, her parents were interested in her, suddenly, she was the most valuable thing they had."

The memory of what had happened to Morrigan half a millennium ago invaded the members of the Inner Circle.

A long time had passed, but those events would haunt them forever.

Kai gripped the pen so hard his knuckles turned white.

"Keir was trying to achieve an alliance with the Spring Court. He believed that he and the former High Lord had the same..." Kai twirled his hand in the air as he searched for the appropriate word, "...ideals."

Morrigan shivered. She knew what that meant.

The Truth-Speaker had fallen victim to Keir's 'ideals' and no matter how hard she tried, she would never be able to forget the feeling of that nail on her skin.

Kai leaned back from his chair and rested his arms on the table as he faced each member of the Night Court in front of him.

"He decided to use Y/N as a means to achieve his goal and sold her in marriage to the High Lord's eldest son."

Rhysand sighed loudly. He never understood how anyone could be in favor of this but before he could say anything, Azriel, still leaning against the wall, intervened.

"We never heard about the former Heir getting married."

Kai snorted, "Of course not. Do you really think Keir would let someone ruin his plans again after the fiasco with the Autumn Court?"

Kai concluded and his eyes went to Morrigan, in time to see the female looking down at the ground.

"She married that scumbag five days after turning eighteen." Kai added with a disgusted face.

"What about her parents?"

Kai laughed loudly before facing the High Lady and responding with the truth she didn't want to hear.

"Her father was the first to accept the offer when he heard the amount of money the High Lord was going to pay for her."

"Where are they now?" Cassian asked. This reminded him of losing his mother and the actions that followed it.

"They were killed in the First Rebellion. I made sure of that."

Kai's eyes settled on Rhysand's face and as he followed his line of vision he noticed what he was looking at.

Feeling the boy's eyes on him, Rhysand asked "What was she to you?"

Kai didn't hesitate to respond this time "My big sister."

Azriel was surprised by the answer. He assumed, from the way Kai spoke about Y/N, that he had feelings for her.

But now as he watched the young male, he realized that he had misinterpreted it.

What Kai had in his eyes wasn't romantic love but sibling love.

With his brother still looking at the painting, Azriel finally pushed himself away from the wall and approached him directing his eyes to what caught Rhys's attention.

The High Lord of the Night Court was looking at the painting where Y/N was with Kai.

Y/N was sitting on the floor with a much younger Kai sitting between her legs as she read him a story.

The young boy had the biggest smile on his face.

A smile that, by the looks of it, had disappeared a long time ago.

"Do you recognize her?" Kai asked Rhysand.

The male found a set of blue eyes already looking into his violet ones. "Should I?"

The response that followed caught everyone off guard, especially Rhysand.

After the conversation in the forest, the group had already come to the conclusion that the reason for the rebellions involved Y/N.

But just that. Everything else still remained a mystery, and no matter how many hypotheses Rhys had thought of on the way there, they couldn't be further from the truth.

Never in a thousand years would Rhysand and his Inner Circle have guessed the true reason if it weren't for the male in front of them.

"You should," Kai began, his eyes darkening, letting the anger behind them show, "considering it was your father who killed her."

A heavy silence filled the hall and the air became cold like a winter night.

And that time, no one disguised their reactions, now, it was the Inner Circle that could be read like an open book.

"What?" The High Lord's voice trailed off and at that moment he was not the most powerful being everyone claimed he was.

His heart was beating so fast he could have sworn everyone in the room could hear it.

"She was at the mansion that night," Kai clenched his jaw, his anger no doubt deepening, "the night you and your father killed Tamlin's family for what happened to your mother and sister."

Rhys' mouth opened in shock. The only regret he had from that night was not being able to stop his father from killing Tamlin's mother.

Kai felt the weight of several eyes on him "When we found out about the attack on your mother and sister, it was almost the end of the day. We knew your father was going to retaliate. We tried to send a message to Y/N, to warn her, so she could run away, but...," Kai sniffed "it was already too late."

A short silence filled the office before Kai spoke again. "The news of her death arrived a few hours later."

"That's not possible." Morrigan said.

Kai stood up so quickly that his chair hit the floor at the same time his hands hit the table" My sister was innocent and he took her from me!”

Rhysand's throat was dry and when he finally managed to calm his heart enough to speak, every word that came out was scratchy.

"I didn't know about her. My father never mentioned a female in the Heir's room."

His eyes were still fixed on the blue ones, the boy's face didn't show what he was feeling and when Kai didn't speak, Rhys continued.

"The only thing my father said when he left Tamlin's eldest brother's room was that he had already taken care of the little heir."

Kai's face contorted in pain and the boy backed away from the table as if its material had burned him. His mask of indifference fell and his eyes shone with tears.

Kai turned his back and, taking a hand to expel the tears before they stained his face, he revealed the last secret.

The secret that would forever haunt the Inner Circle and Rhysand's reign.

"Your father wasn't talking about Tamlin's brother when he said that."

Rhysand's heart dropped.

Feyre clapped a hand over her mouth.

Cassian's knees almost gave out.

Azriel took a step back.

Morrigan held back her vomit.

Kai let out an ironic laugh and stared at the ceiling as he uttered the following words "Things could be different. The Hewn City could be different. You had the power to change everything. You still do but you choose not to."

And then, his eyes met the blonde female "Especially you."

Morrigan watched the young male.

"You were born and raised in that prison. You, better than anyone, know the hell it is. How females are treated. How you were treated."

Morrigan's brown eyes began to shine and she gripped the arm of the chair so hard that her nails left marks.

Even so, she didn't interrupt the boy. Nobody did.

Fed up with games, Kai let the tears fall this time, and the relief that action brought him was immeasurable.

He let out another ironic laugh, but this time so loud that Feyre jumped a little from the chair where she was sitting.

"You don't know what they do, do you?"

The question was directed at Morrigan. She wasn't enjoying all the attention being directed at her. She wanted to go back to being ignored, just like she was in the forest.

"When girls become 'eligible' for marriages, their parents chain them to the bed at night," he studied the female, and with her attention all on him, he dropped the bomb "so they can't escape. So they can't pull a Morrigan."

The Truth-Speaker needed all her strength and concentration not to vomit.

"You got out. But the others didn't. Not all females have the luxury of having a cousin as a future High Lord." Kai finished the last sentence with his attention shifting to the male in question.

Rhysand didn't protest.

"What about you? You had all the potential to be a better High Lord than your father. Yet you've sat on the throne for almost two hundred years now and the only thing you care about is your precious Velaris."

Deep down, they knew Kai was right. They all knew that not all people in the Hewn City were bad like Keir, some of them were good.

Like Y/N.

"Y/N was a dreamer," Kai glared at everyone, "and she died in her worst nightmare."

'I was a dreamer born into the Court of Nightmares. So I got out.' Morrigan's words echoed in her mind.

She got out. Y/N didn't.

How many more females like Y/N would there be? How many more like her would come?

"This conversation is over," Kai said, heading towards the door, "you are welcome to stay and watch the ceremony. After that, I want all of you out of here."

Kai didn't wait for a response as he left the office and slammed the door, leaving his almost guests to brood with guilt.

Sunset had finally begun.

The garden was full of people, all of them dressed in white and with a lilac tupila in their hands.

Rhysand, Azriel, Cassian, Feyre and Morrigan were in the last row behind everyone.

Final arrangements were still being made while everyone waited for the ceremony to begin, giving Rhysand time to be tormented by his thoughts.

The secret was out.

After almost two hundred years, they had finally discovered the reason for the rebellions.

Not because Rhysand or his family.

But because of a young female, who was loved and important to many, and had fallen victim to a terrible fate.

The High Lord's heart was heavy and he could not remove his eyes from the painting that stood in the center of the garden.

The painting everyone was looking at.

Another painting of Y/N, but now one where they could see the small swelling of her belly.

Rhys always knew that his father was a horrible male, and in certain situations, he considered what he did to be horrendous.

But this? His father was a monster.

Before Rhys's thoughts could torment him any further, Kai's voice filled the garden.

"Today marks another year. Another year since our Y/N left this world and joined the stars."

"Everyone says that when we lose someone we love, the best thing we can do is give it time, that with it the pain goes away and we finally begin to heal."

"But I think all of us who were lucky enough to know and love Y/N know that's a lie. The pain will never go away and the void she left us can never be filled."

With Kai's speech made, Dain began his "This was Y/N's dream. This shelter was her idea when she was still a teenager. She always said that one day, she would build a shelter for young girls and females. So that they wouldn't be victims of their families."

"Where they could be whatever they wanted. Where they could be more than just wives and mothers. Where they could be free and create their own futures."

"Unfortunately, Y/N was never able to fulfill this dream on her own, so Kai and I, who had the greatest honor of being her brothers, decided to do it for her. And for all of you, ladies."

"Y/N was one of the best people I've ever met and it was impossible to know her and not love her. She will never be forgotten and her legacy, without a doubt, will live on forever."

Mother Agatha came out of the crowd and stood between the boys. "It is tradition to use white roses in these celebrations, but everyone who knew Y/N knows that tulips were her favorites. Especially..."

"Lilac tulips" several voices said in unity followed by some giggles.

"Exactly," Agatha said with a smile, "so it will be with her favorite flowers that we will honor..." her voice broke and she took a few seconds to compose herself "honor my daughter tonight."

Kai placed a hand on the female's shoulder and gave her a small smile before crouching down to pick up a floating lantern and lighting it.

"Although the loss of Y/N causes us great pain, none of this would be possible without her" Kai kept his eyes on the lantern. "I would give anything to see her one more time but I know she is okay. I know that she is watching over us."

"I know she and her baby are together and at peace. And that's all I need."

"As you know these ceremonies are to celebrate Y/N's life so today two hundred and eighteen floating lanterns will be released because that would be the age she would be if she were still with us."

Dain passed a lantern to Agatha before grabbing his own. Everyone started grabbing the lanterns and attaching the tulips to them.

When the moon was high in the sky and the stars were shining brighter than ever, the lanterns were finally ready.

Kai raised his lantern and with his bright eyes and a calm voice he gave the cue.

"To Y/N."

"To Y/N." A union of voices was heard.

Several floating lanterns began to fill the starry sky.

The light from the lanterns allowed everyone to see the dozens of tulips that floated with them.

It was a magical view.

All this for one person.

Kai's words weighed more and more like the truth in them.

They only found out about Y/N today but Rhys and his family had no doubt that her memory would haunt them forever.

The five of them looked at the painting one last time. The beautiful female in a white dress with such a warm smile and hands that caressed her little tummy.

They would never forget it.

Her name.

Her face.

Her smile.

Her baby.

They would never forget what they could have saved.

A/n: Thank you for reading! I had this idea while rereading acomaf and decided to give it a try.

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#acotar #acotar fandom #azriel #azriel shadowsinger #inner circle #cassian #rhysand #feyre cursebreaker #morrigan acotar #acotar fic #acotar fanfiction

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imaginesmai · 6 months

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Hewn City, where nightmares come true

Maybe this is a bit long and excesive? Maybe, but we love good angst, hurt and comfort. Thank you @marscardigan for your request! Feel free to send anything else. This is places inside the baker!reader universe, but it's independent. You can find other parts here.

Plot: your anonymity makes you a great choice for Rhysand's mission, even if Azriel doesn't agree. But you'll do anything to discover more of Azriel's life, even the worst part. So you decided to take that trip to Hewn City - where nightmares do come true.

Warnings: males being a lil creepy with their comments, Keir, violence.

“Az” you sighed for the third time that afternoon, staring at your stubborn mate. “It’s no big deal. Feyre has done it, Nesta has done it. Why can’t I?”

“They have done it because they have powers. They…” his words died when you raised a brow and dared him to tell you that they could and were different. More capable. “It’s not even about them, don’t change the topic. It’s about us. I don’t want you to do it”

“So, it’s fine when you leave for weeks to the mountains with a target on your back but I can’t accept one dance where you and your brothers will be watching?” you asked, and he finally looked away.

Azriel and you had been arguing about the same topic for two days in a row. Since Rhysand, who you had become fond of in the last years, asked you for a favor. He had been hoping you would come with them to Hewn City and dance with some males while they snooped around. You didn’t even have to carry weapons with you, since you would be introduced as part of their family.

It wasn’t dangerous or risky. It was a favor from your friend because Hew City didn’t know you. An unfamiliar face they would be too preoccupied studying to notice Feyre, Nesta and Mor sneaking into their studies. They would play the hard part. You just had to dance.

And Azriel was having a tantrum about it.

“The fact that you can’t even answer that question is enough. I’m going. And you can’t decide what I do and don’t”

“I can talk Rhysand out of it” he tried, not looking at you.

“Oh, like you haven’t tried that already”

You decided the conversation was finished and turned around to finish decorating the trail of cookies. Azriel was leaning against the counter, his usual place to watch you work in silent adoration. The storm in his eyes died down a little at the familiarity of your movements, at the comfort of the bakery.

Yes, he was mad. Mad at Rhysand because he hadn’t asked him first, mad at himself for considering he was your owner and needed to be asked for permission for you to do something. Mad at you because you couldn’t see how tight his heart became at the thought of you in someone else’s arms, dancing in a room full of vipers.

Half of the citizens of that rotten place had been tortured by Azriel at some point, and the other half had been gently tortured. He trusted Rhysand’s glamour to hide your bonded scent, but his rebel heart seemed to think otherwise.

For a while, he watched you work in silence, hands working your own particular magic with common ingredients. The fire eventually left his soul and he felt guilty enough to leave his spot. When you set the last trail in the oven, he took advantage of the vulnerable position and wrapped himself around you.

His wings created a small cocoon for the two of you, light barely seeping through the thick membrane.

“I’m sorry for being an overbearing mate” he apologized against your earlobe, letting his warm breath make you squirm. “You’re amazing and brave and you can handle everything you want, but I worry because I love you”

“And I’m also too smart and beautiful for your own good” you scoffed when one of his hands sneaked beneath your apron. “We’re gonna burn those cookies”

“Won’t the only thing burning for you tonight”

You bursted in a loud laugh and the rest of his anger faded away, giving up space for the usual love and adoration for you. In his arms, he could hear your heartbeat, smell the faint remains of vanilla from the previous muffins and your shampoo.

Azriel pushed you farther into his arms, and you didn’t complain. One of his arms was settled on your waist, under your apron but with no further intentions. The other one crossed your chest, and you gripped his forearm between your hands.

He was all hard muscles and soft skin. Even under his usual leathers, you could feel the familiar outlines of his arm. You looked up from his chest and saved the height different when you locked your eyes with him. From upside down, he was just as beautiful as ever.

His lips curved into an apologetic smile, although you were certain it wouldn’t be the last time you heard from it. Azriel was just a little less stubborn than you.

“I forgive you on one condition. You don’t bring it up to Rhys anymore. He already feels bad about it, you don’t have to remind him” you gently reprimanded him. “If he could, he would have searched for other solution. And I’m happy to help”

“You’re happy here, but down there it’s horrifying. And Rhysand and Hewn City can fuck – “

“Besides, I like doing things with you. From your other life”

Azriel’s life as the shadowsinger, as the spymaster, was still a bit hidden to you. You had gotten him to open up little by little, and he had shared some details that had you almost regretting your decision. But it was true that, besides doing Rhysand a favor, you wanted to do it with Azriel. Watch him work and be that tough male everyone feared.

That point made him roll his eyes and drop the matter with a brief kiss to your nose. He captured it between his teeth and playfully bit you, which earned him a swift elbow to his groin. Azriel teared apart just in time for the next customer to arrive.

With a sharp look that promised worst thing than an elbow, you left him in charge of the cookies and went to the front door.

Azriel hadn’t been allowed to see you before he big night. He had tried, but had received an arguable reason – that he would leave his smell all over you. As if he was a teen with hormone problems that couldn’t control himself. He was still fuming about it as he waited in silence by the throne, still pouting but intimidating.

His shadows were scattered all over the room, and he was purposefully ignoring Cassian’s warning glances. The last thing he could do to show his discomfort was terrorize a little their guests.

Rhysand had been introducing you in the dinner hall, where he hadn’t been allowed in. For centuries, the rules had kept Illyrian out of the finest and most elegant parts of the city, and it was one of the few rules he liked. He avoided pointless and tedious conversations waiting in the throne room.

“I bet Rhys he would wear line for a week you won’t last more than five dances” Cassian muttered under his breath, not looking away from the early guests. “Mor placed it at two”

“Glad my discomfort brings you joy, Cassian” he replied. “I plan to endure the whole night, if only for your troubles. What did Rhys bet?”

“Sex ban for a week”

Azriel rolled his eyes and finished the conversation. He was in for a long night, and he would try to endure it for you. Because you had looked so excited to be part of the plot, so bright and happy, he would never smudge that out.

The remains of your smile warmed his heart, and he relaxed a bit. You had been sitting right by his side as Rhysand went over the last details the previous night, listening to him like a hawk. Where you needed to dance, opposite from the entrance. Who you needed to charm or avoid, what you needed to act like.

He hated all of that, but he couldn’t deny that it made you happy. And whatever made you happy was worthy. The part he couldn’t stand was his absence during the grand dinner, during your introduction. It would raise many suspicions since Azriel never accompanied Rhysand there, therefore he had to wait at his usual spot.

Rotten on the spot with unusual nerves and doubts, he listened with trepidation the incoming steps.

“Don’t make me lose the bet. You don’t want to see me in a sex ban. Or Nesta” his brother announced quickly before the big doors opened.

“Shut up” Azriel hissed.

“A fair warning”

Rhysand walked in with cold indifference, Feyre walking by his side like the queen she was. His high-lord deemed worth the risk shoot him a warning glance, and Azriel thanked him, because it half-prepared him.

You walked right behind them, talking softly with Mor, and you were stunning. Beautiful. Bright. Radiant beyond the stars.

Azriel found the simplicity of your bakery uniform charming and perfect. The constant stains on your clothes, the sunny dresses you wore for your dates. Even training clothes made him stare longingly.

The dress you were wearing was long and dark, hugging all your curves and letting your left leg at plain sight. The cleavage lowered down to your waist, so low he could see the burnt scar you had gotten when you started your bakery. It showed your shoulders, your arms covered by a transparent, thin sheet of stars and bright dots. Azriel was glad he got a moment to digest the sight before seeing your exposed back.

You were so beautiful he stopped breathing, that he lowered his guard for the first time in that place. Someone could have tried to assassinate him from the front and he wouldn’t have seen them coming. Not when you were looking like a dream come true.

Rhysand was by his side before he could tear his eyes away from you, Feyre on his right.

“You may dance and drink and do whatever you like tonight” Rhysand motioned with a vague hand around. “But kneel first at your majesties”

“Lower” Cassian roared when only their heads lowered.

They all fell to their knees, as you and Mor watched by the side. While all their eyes were fixed on the ground, you looked at Azriel for the first time. He tugged frantically on the bond, proving Cassian wrong and behaving exactly like a hormonal teenager. You pulled back with a small smile – so small, so hesitant, that Azriel frowned.

It was different from the radiant one you had gifted him so many times during the last days.

He didn’t have to bother looking at Rhysand to have him speaking mind to mind.

“It’s her first time, she’s just nervous” his voice broke through the mental barriers, wary and full of concern. Azriel forced himself to look away from you, for your safety and his.

“What happened?”

“Nothing”

Rhysand knew him well enough to know he didn’t believe his answer, so he was met with flash of images of the previous dinner. How you had been introduced under predatory eyes, how your smile had died down a bit at the darkness and the coldness in their stares. Azriel’s whole body became alert as he watched through Rhysand’s eyes the dinner, no one daring to come close to you.

It would be different now, he knew, so he steeled his nerves as the first fae rose his head.

They rose up one by one, and when Rhysand just kept mumbling something in Feyre’s ears, they deemed safe to start moving. Music started playing and males started looking for the company of women. Azriel’s neck vein pulsed painfully when a lesser fae walked up to you and Mor, asking for your hand.

From up there, he could smell your hesitance. You would follow the plan, as Mor stepped out with a small vow, Nesta nowhere in side. Feyre would leave shortly too, and you would only have to stay there until they came back. But Azriel had to remind himself to breath when you were taken to the dance floor by another male.

He had to give it to the first one – he was respectful enough to keep his hands your waist and not lower them. Azriel felt his power roaring inside him the whole time, and he couldn’t help but stain his ears to listen to the conversation.

Through the dances you granted, he did that, ignoring the rest of the world and looking without seeing through the room.

You’re beautiful, how is it we haven’t seen you around earlier?

I have a son, he has lands and power. Would you like to know him?

I was hoping to catch you all night. What is such a sweet flower like you doing here?

You smell nice, unbonded

Rumors say you are an unmarried female. Such a pity

The comments grew more unfortunate the longer the night went. Rhysand power was gently holding him in place, reminding him the importance of giving the girls time. The High lord was looking too much at you, for his sake, so they wouldn’t notice Azriel acting like a boiling bull next to him.

And that started to draw unwanted attention, the notice of his High Lord staring at a woman. You were nothing like the female that had walked hours ago into the ballroom. Once you had seen what Hewn City was, what your mate had to work with, you were withering away – and Azriel noticed.

Azriel was seeing every drop of your smile, every muscle you tensed. Blood dripped to the ground behind him from how hard he was clenching his fists. His shadows curled in the edges of the room impatient, ready to attack. He broke every bet they had and then the last male walked up to you.

“May I have this dance?” Keir asked as you were dropped by your last companion. “You are hard to catch, my dear”

You brushed off the last feeling of discomfort from hands on you, all night, and tried to think quick. He had been one of the few males Rhysand had warned you to stay away from, but he had scared off any other options. And your friends weren’t back yet.

“I was hoping for a break” you tried to seem confident. “Sit this one out”

“Pretty things like you shouldn’t be sitting”

You bit your inner cheek, regretting the help you had offered. You had been regretting since you had stepped in the hall, and you had met Azriel’s eyes. The way they shone with worry and concern, the desperate tug on the bond. He had warned you and you felt foolish, because you thought you could handle it.

There were reasons in fate why you worked in a quiet bakery and he spent his life in dungeons.

“Shouldn’t have dance with every male in this room if you’re gonna get scared now” he chuckled, all void and dark. It made the hairs of your arms raise. “I won’t bite. Not too hard”

Apparently out of options, you accepted his hand and kept a straight face when he pulled you closer. If you were honest, you were too close to crying. Your feet hurt, your heart was pounding way too loudly against your chest and you had been touched way too many times. Every inch of your body felt dirty and wrong, and Keir certainly had big hands.

You had avoided Azriel’s eyes all night. You knew Rhysand was looking out for you, maybe to draw attention away from your mate. But that had made more males, the worst type it seemed, to become interested in you.

Keir was the last of a long list you had endured so far. He shamelessly inhaled when he pulled you closer, his nose brushing the space between your shoulder and neck. You convinced yourself it was his nose, not his lips, that traced your pulse point.

“You smell divine. So sweet” he commented, keeping you close to his body. “Have you been taken yet, dear? Has a male unfiled you?”

“That’s not a question I want to answer” you complained. You weren’t sounding confident at all, not with his hand pressing against your waist. It sounded more like another question itself.

“Oh, how I will like to see this city defile you. A little, sweet thing. Didn’t your mother warn you about wolves and rabbits?”

You kept quiet at his words, looking down at your moving feet. That way, he couldn’t see the way your expression broke. You noticed your lip quivering, your body trying to become smaller in his grasp. Just a dance, you reminded yourself. The heat of Azriel’s eyes was still present on your back, Rhysand glamour tight around you.

Keir’s shoes became blurry when your vision filled with tears. So desperately, you wanted to be home, with Azriel. You wanted Rhysand to never need you again, to have Keir moved to another continent along with the rest of that doomed city.

“I wonder if you’ll be as quiet in bed. How much will your father make me pay for you? Maybe we can arrange things for this week” Keir suddenly gripped the edge of your chin and made you look up, with a serious look on his cruel face. “Are you fertile, dear?”

The way he was speaking about you, his fingers gripping your face, was enough to make the first tear roll down. The male actually looked surprised at the sight, but once it had fallen, you couldn’t control yourself.

It could have been like that, you realized, if you hadn’t found Velaris. If Az wasn’t your mate, instead a male like Keir or someone worse. Your eyes searched desperately for him, without need to ask for help.

Azriel had reminded you many times that only one look and he would be right beside you, court matters dammed. He had made you say it out loud multiple times, had gotten you a small bargain tattoo on the back of your ankle. His eyes were already dark and troubled when you met them, his body ready.

He winnowed between shadows before anyone noticed, and then those same shadows were besides you. Keir’s fingers were ripped from you with a sickening crack, and you only saw Azriel’s fighting leathers. His rough hands tucking your face farther into his body, his shadows crawling up to your knees and calves.

They were cool against your sweaty skin, Azriel a calming and safe presence. Your face scrunched in a silent cry as you let your pent-up emotions consume you. You hugged him tight, not looking at the source of the screams.

“Scum” Azriel scoffed at the male in the ground, shooting Rhysand a warning glance.

“This is over. Forever”

“Azriel. They will know”

“Fuck you”

Rhysand could only witness in tense silence as Keir’s body tried to fight off Azriel’s shadows. Always so gentle around your body, they wrecked the male on the ground. They burnt his arms and snapped his fingers, squeezed his throat until his eyes budged. Azriel watched with murderous indifference as he held you trembling.

That was what he had wanted to tell you, to warn you about. You were capable of everything, you were brave and amazing. But that city was filled with trash and they could suck the life out of anyone.

“I want to go home” you whispered against his chest, your knees trembling.

“You have always been stupid, Keir, but you can always surprise me” Azriel growled, so primitive and feral that the room fell quiet. “Let’s see if you can quiet your screams tomorrow”

Feyre running out of one of the many doors was the last thing Azriel saw before winnowing you both away from Hewn City. He let his shadows hide you, but used his wings for good measure of protection.

In a few seconds, you were back in your apartment in Velaris, above your bakery, the sweet scent of summer nights filling the space. It no longer smelt like death and expensive perfume, like rotten flesh and arrogance. Azriel didn’t let you go as you squeezed his middle with a surprising force.

He knew what you needed without explanation. Carefully, he unlaced the dress on your back, his hands brushing any inch of skin those males had touched. Each trembling sigh, each tear he smelt on you, made him physically hurt to go back and kill them all. Pull at their limbs and hang them from their insides.

Rhysand would be hearing for him for a while, everyone in his family would. He squeezed his eyes shut as he listened to your whimpers, that stabbed into his heart like sharped knives. Azriel ripped the sleeves off your dress and could have burned it with the sheer force of his hate.

When you were finally standing with just your underwear, he allowed himself a moment of reassuring. Since the moment he had met your eyes, he was done for. The destiny of the world could have been in risk that he would have had still acted.

His hands were shaking too when he pulled your face away from his chest, cupping your cheeks. They were wet with tears, Keir’s fingers marked on your chin. He watched those beautiful eyes, that had shone at the idea of working with him, carry the burden of that night.

“I’m sorry” you whispered brokenly, your breath speeding up again. “I’m sorry I messed it up”

“You did perfect, darling. You did so good. So good” he assured you with passion, bringing your face closer to him until you couldn’t avoid his burning gaze. “They got out and you did perfect, but you won’t have to do it never again. I promise, Y/N, never”

You cried in his hands, and Azriel broke at the sight. What type of mate allowed their partner to go through that? To have strangers’ hands on them for hours? He hated himself a little bit more for that, but tried to hide it as he kissed your forehead.

He tangled his fingers between your locks as his lips lowered down your face. To your closed eyelids and wrinkles. Azriel kissed every tear, your nose, the edges of your pointed ears. He let his lips linger at the bruises on your chin, and found comfort at having Keir paying for them next morning.

Azriel ended up picking you between his arms, and carrying you to your room. It still held the remains of your excitement – scattered clothes close to the wardrobe, make-up products opened and half-used. He pointedly ignored them as he carefully dropped you in bed. Your arms didn’t unhook from his shoulders, and he didn’t complain.

“I hate them so much” he admitted in a whisper, close to your ear. “I hate them”

He had hated them since he was a child, had wanted to keep them away from you. He considered if moving to another continent with you was far enough, or if he would be forced eventually to kill them for breathing the same air. Those decisions would have to wait until the next morning.

Still on his leather clothes, Azriel let you lay on his chest and draped the sheet over your bodies. He ignored Rhysand’s talons against his mental shields, only hug you closer. He listened to every shaky breath of yours, caressed away with his thumb the last tears you shared.

“I’m sorry I doubted you” you said eventually, almost when Azriel thought you were asleep. Raising your head from his chest, you met his eyes. “You were right. I’m sorry”

“I wish I had been wrong. I… sometimes I wish it was different. That I worked in the Archives or owned a coffeeshop” Azriel talked just as quietly. “Then I could have you with me always. I hate my job, but I love my court. I love Velaris and I want it to be a safe place, so I gotta endure those things”

“I wish that was different too”

It was foolish to wish on things that couldn’t happen. Azriel would die before letting you close to that part of his life again. He wasn’t done by far with Hewn City or his own brothers, but that night he only held your naked body close. Every now and then, he would recall a certain moment of the night and remember the exact point a stranger’s hand had touched – Azriel would caress that same spot, feeling you hug him tighter.

Neither of you slept that night, and you didn’t open the bakery the next day. It took Azriel two days to be able to leave your presence without feeling the need to rip Rhysand’s head off his shoulder, five baths to erase the memories of those hands. Keir rotted in a cell, accompanied only by Azriel’s shadows, in the meantime.

Three days later, when Azriel came back to Hewn City after leaving you in the bakery, Keir couldn’t keep quiet.

Want to read more? Check out my side blog @imaginesmaimasterlists, where I keep all the masterlists! Feedback is always appreciated

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membranedecors · 1 year

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#Event Management #Event Planning #Event Management Company in Delhi #Membrane Decors #Exhibition Stall Design Company in Delhi #Exhibition and Event management #Event Marketing #3d stall design #best exhibition stall design #Retail Interior Design

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velvetchrry · 17 days

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━━━━ WRAITHCLIFF MANOR

pairing: simon “ghost” riley x f!reader

1.8k. it is 1886 and you’ve just been married off, starting a new life in england. supernatural horror anthology.

You wondered what the town would think if you turned around and strangled her with the strings of your corset.

Who would write your life story in the paper? Surely some wretched, balding fool who returns home everyday to a wife he detests and insufferable kids he can’t wait to ship off to boarding school. Knobbled fingers click clacking away at a typewriter as he tells the unseemingly tale of a pretty young debutante turned murderess.

It leaves a soured taste in your mouth and it’s why you ultimately let your mother’s maidservant continue to stuff you into a surely too small corset without acting on your impulsive homicidal thought. Not that these delicate hands could, anyway. You’re fairly certain between you and her, she would have the upper hand.

Every inhale, every string she yanks on, makes the air seem rougher against the membranous lining of your lungs. She knows you’re aggravated, which is why the atmosphere in the room is silent. You’re thankful for it.

When you’re finally dressed and down the stairs, the lecherous look of your stepfather might make you question the validity of his claim that he desires to finally ship you off to a husband. Bile coats the inside of your throat at the glint in his eye, snaking its way up your esophagus from your empty stomach. He tuts quietly to himself and you ignore it, looking instead for your mother who is already drunk, lounging on the chaise in front of the fireplace.

“Mother, you’re not dressed…,” you note — not a question, never a question — voice pitched higher than you intended. She dons only a robe, wineglass stem rolling through her fingertips as she sloshes the red contents around the glass and stares longingly into the fire.

“Your father is chaperoning you tonight.” You bristle at her calling him your father. Though you remember very little of the man who was your father, the sting of the wound still feels fresh. You don’t bid her a goodnight as you assume she won’t remember it anyway.

Back straight, head held high, you keep your composure as you head towards your demise — a freshly painted carriage. The driver tips his cap to you before offering his hand to help you inside. Your stepfather follows soon after, acrid smell of liquor on his breath. One of his hands finds purchase on your thigh and you shiver at the connection, even through your many layers. Gooseflesh travels along every inch of your skin, making the fabric of your shift feel like canvas rather than silk.

The unfamiliar name of your host forces you to tune back into the words coming from his mouth. New money, you overheard one of the servants say earlier. From England, working on some business venture or another with your stepfather. Staying temporarily in the Laswell summer estate until he returns back to England. With a new wife in tow, you think bitterly.

The carriage pulls up and you brace yourself for the oncoming slaughter. Why pretty up the cow when the end result is the same? The frills in your dress, the light dusting of makeup will not change your fate.

You almost stumble when you see him for the first time. Like that new building you’d heard of in Chicago —skyscraper they call it — his massive frame towers over both you and your stepfather. If his ego wasn’t big enough on its own you’d assume your stepfather wouldn’t be comfortable around a man of his stature, much less work with him.

His light hair is slicked back haphazardly, a white y-shaped scar decorating his forehead and another slicing through his upper lip. The skin around his mouth looks freshly shaven, like he doesn’t opt to do it often. Is he unimpressed? Displeased? Inspired? It’s hard to tell by the look of indifference he sports. He’s rough around the edges but still brutishly handsome.

Imposing. Gargantuan. Hulking. The words flow to your lips, the ones currently pressed tightly together. You know he can smell the terror dripping off of you on your approach. You wonder if the tailor might double the fabric he uses for regular sized men on his garments when you place your hand in his — swallowed up by his large palm as you give a small curtsy before ripping your hand out of his and placing it back to your side.

“Simon Riley,” he introduces, voice as gruff as you imagined it’d be. His eyes are so dark you can’t tell if they’re actually brown or black when you give your full name back, craning your neck to look up at him.

The air stifles you, thick and suffocating as you enter the dining hall. You’re aware the weight of a heavy hand pressing on your chest is not from your corset’s impenetrable grip alone. It’s the emptiest you have ever seen this place, the few balls you've been to here over the years in comparison making it seem much more desolate.

He doesn’t speak much. Your stepfather instead fills the silence with chatter. You pick at your food like a bird. Trapped in her cage, about to be sold to the highest bidder.

His rough hand draws your attention. Hands that have known labor stare back at you. New money, you think again, but from what? You wonder what those hands would feel like on your delicate skin. Rough pads of his fingers trailing down your body. Would he be gentle or cruel? Touching you in places that should make you blush to imagine.

The mention of your luggage throws your mind back into the conversation at hand. You blink over at your stepfather as he explains how your essentials had already been packed up and brought over. That Simon will supply whatever need is left. Suddenly the bags at the back of the carriage that you paid no mind to earlier cause a small gasp to escape your lips.

Simon’s head whips in your direction for the first time since sitting down. “Did’n know?” he more so states than questions when his eyes meet yours. “We’re leavin’ for England tonight.”

On reflection of the moment, you’re quite certain your eyes were popping out of your head at hearing this. Your stepfather said nothing, his face emotionless at the news you were receiving.

You’re paralyzed for the remained of the dinner, watching through glassy eyes as your stepfather signs your name and age in the marriage certificate that already bears the signature of the county clerk. He hands it off to Simon, who folds it neatly and stuffs it in his breatpocket. “Pleasure,” he says to your stepfather. Not you. Him. Of whom he hands a very large wad of cash to.

Now that the business is over, your stepfather stands. “She’ll make you very happy,” he comments to Simon, before trudging off without saying a word to you.

Simon gets up, talking quietly to a maidservant standing in the corner who you don’t recognize. She’s older, mellow — helping you rise from your seat and leading you through the estate. You’re in a room you’ve never been in before, where she delicately buttons a light coat over your frame before bringing you out a door to the backside of the estate. After she gets you settled in the carriage she places a blanket over your lap before sitting up front with the driver. Your new husband enters the carriage after that. You’re not sure how long you’d been sitting in there alone — ten minutes or an hour. It made no difference.

You see neither hide nor hair of your husband during your weeklong journey to England. Only the maidservant who you eventually learn is employed by the Riley’s and travelled with Simon to see to his new bride. Mrs. Upton. She’s incredibly kind, especially considering how frigid your demeanor is. Her graying hair is always swept up into an elegant bun when she attends to you, helping you to dress and brushing the knots out of your hair after another rough night of sleep. She’s the one who ensures you eat, bringing every meal to your lodging on the ship.

After Mrs. Upton settles you in the carriage that will drive you to your new home, you are again stunned by the sheer size of your husband as he takes a seat next to you. This is the first carriage you’ve sat in so far to be completely covered, and stuffing both of you into this tiny box reminds you of the unpleasant feeling every morning of being crammed into your corset.

The walls start closing in on you, claustrophobic and suffocating. Your breathing picks up to the point of hyperventilation and you throw the soft blanket Mrs. Upton laid upon you off of your lap. You’re flushed, a dribble of sweat snaking its way down your brow.

Simon says nothing as he reaches over — barely, as he is just as long as he is large — and opens the window on your side. You press your cheek against the grated wood in no manner of elegance, closing your eyes as you breathe in the fresh air coming through the slats in the carriage. The crisp fall morning fills your lungs and the headache that has been pestering you since you left home a week ago finally starts to ease its grip.

Nothing is said between the two of you on the journey. Half a day passes until the carriage begins to slow, finally coming to a full stop after climbing up a rather sizeable hill. Simon finally looks over at you, as if he was taking you in for the first time. The driver opens the door to the carriage, and you can barely make out a manor around the bulk of your husband.

Surprisingly, Simon is the one to offer you his hand on the step out of the carriage. The manor looms ominously above you, ivy mangled and twisting around the weathered exterior. Dead, rotten trees cast shadows along the house. The rooftops are adorned in pointed, intricate ironwork that has started to rust. Tall windows are set into almost every wall, a few shuttered off. The front door — a massive slab of timeworn oak — has faded significantly since its initial installation. You feel as if you’ve been transported into the latest penny dreadful as you stand there, slack jawed.

Something old and sinister lives inside these walls. A shiver trails down your spine at the thought. Even though you’re outside, the air is thick… musty. Time seems to have stopped entirely here. Forgotten secrets await to be rediscovered within the grounds — untold horrors from the specters within.

“Welcome to Wraithcliff Manor.”

#call of duty #cod x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost x you #ghost cod #ghost x you #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x y/n #simon riley #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #ghost x y/n #velvetchrry

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mika-no-sekai-blog · 8 months

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Word count: 1800+

Warnings: mentions of blood, broken bone and dislocated joints, swearing

I hoped it would be a surprise, but you mostly likely already know who the reader is.

Anyway things are finally moving and reader's life is going to get complicated

Enjoy and let me know what do you think

Part VII | Part IX

You had never cried so hard or at least you didn't remember anything like that. Tamlin let you weep as much as you needed. Humming he held you firmly and gently rocked you. Lullaby-like melody made his board chest vibrate, the sound so deep and soothing. His humming and hand stroking down your spine, combing through your hair, soon calmed you down. You inhaled deeply, your lungs filling with the smell of rain.

"I didn't know one could cry so hard because of a necklace," Tamlin murmured. You felt him smirk. "You don't like it so much?"

"I'm sorry. It's all because of the lights and decorations and delicious food," you stumbled over the words, trying to find some explanation, understand why it happened on the first place. "But I do like the necklace. Very much. I've never received anything so beautiful. Thank you."

He held you tighter for a moment and then straightening up, he released you. "Ready for the next part of the evening?" he handed you a tissue.

"Isn't it over yet?" you wondered.

He shook head. "Personally, I think that this is the best part of celebration," Tamlin smiled widely.

As if waiting for a signal, a soft melody echoed around the forest coming in through still opened windows. It sounded like millions of bells and jingle bells mixed with rustling of leaves and sounds of forest creating a joyful song. You'd never heard anything so beautiful.

"I'm sorry that it isn't a real music. I had to improvise and work with what I have at hand. Shall we?" he extended hand towards you.

You gave him a questioning look.

"Dance, Y/N," he raised a brow.

"I.. I can't dance," you admitted as blood rushed into your cheeks.

"It's okay. No big deal. I can't, too," Tamlin winked still smiling. You were sure that it was a lie and grimaced at him nervously.

Hesitantly you accepted his hand. Tamlin's long fingers closed around your small hand, pulling you to your feet. His other hand wrapped around your waist, pulling you so close that with every breath your chest brushed against his. Inhaling deeply you looked up. In the moment your eyes met, losing yourself in those emeralds you forgot about everything else.

There wasn't enough space in your cottage for a big dancing figures, but for the two of you it was enough. Testing the waters, Tamlin took a small step to the side and you followed. Then another back and you again followed him. For a while you were just swaying like this around, until you got used to the rhythm.

"That's it," he praised you. "You're doing great."

By adding a few new steps you started to move all around the small space and soon enough you were really dancing. It was easier than you thought. Your body moved on its own as if it already knew this dance. Even Tamlin seemed to be pleasantly surprised. Both of you were laughing as you swirled around each other until you ran out of breath and needed a break.

Still laughing you sat down to your armchair. Mirroring you Tamlin sat down on the armrest and taking out a fiddle he joined the forest orchestra. Their combination was perfect.

"Amazing," you breathed out. He was so skilled that you couldn't take your eyes off of him. But as soon as you caught your breath, he put the fiddle down and pulled you up to another dance. You gladly complied.

In the moment your bodies met, the whole room went dark, fire in the fireplace was the only source of light. The darkest night cold like north wind filled the room. Even the music stopped playing. Tamlin instinctively pulled you to his side, his arms wrapped around you protectively.

In the middle of the darkness a male figure appeared, his violet-blue eyes blazing with rage. A pair of monstrous membranous wings stretched behind him. You winced. You saw this too many times in your nightmares, similar monster making you wake up in the middle of the night in cold sweat for years.

"Hands off of her," he hissed, his voice deep and cold.

Tamlin's muscles turned into a stone under your hands, his arms held you so firmly it almost hurt. Your own fingers clenched his clothes in your fists, you clung impossibly close to him.

"What are you doing here, Rhysand?" Tamlin growled. His green gaze hardened, gleaming with raw power.

Rhysand. So this was the High Lord of Night Court you saw at Tamlin's manor. Back then he didn't have wings, so you didn't recognize him at first. His enormous powers rumbled around, making you feel sick. Your heart pounded against your ribs. You knew you should be scared, but strangely you weren't.

You pushed the nausea back and took a proper look at him. Even angry he was still very handsome. Raven's feathers like dark short hair combed back, tanned skin, muscular body that could compete with Tamlin's. Even though he was an epitome of the worst nightmares, there was something familiar about him. You were sure you'd never met him before, but you couldn't place the feeling. You tried to search your memories further, but it only caused you a headache.

"I said hands. Off. Of. Her," Rhysand growled, putting emphasis of every word.

"This is my court and she is subject of this court. You have no power here," Tamlin snapped back. "Only Y/N decides who can touch her."

Rhysand roared with rage, tendrils of his powers shooting out to you. You closed your eyes shielding your face in Tamlin's chest. His muscles tensed, smell of two powers mixed together. You were about to faint.

There was a cracking sound and a cry of pain, and you were ripped out of his protective arms. Something jerked you back violently and arm once again wrapped around you as the sound of cracking wood sounded. Your lungs filled with a unknown and yet so familiar citrus scent.

Daring to crack your eyes open you looked up. But instead of emerald ones, the violet-blue eyes with flecks of silver were gazing down at you. You gasped in shock and tried to push him away, but Rhysand was as unmovable as a mountain.

"It's okay, Aury. You are safe with me," he whispered so only you could hear him. There was no trace of rage in his voice when he spoke to you.

Another pained moan came from behind you, smell of blood filled the air. In horror you turned around as much as possible. There in the middle of debris that used to be a table, sat Tamlin, teeth bared. Panting in pain, he held his left arm. Even from a far you could see it's broken on several places, piece of bone piercing the skin, his shoulder dislocated.

Instinctively you moved forward, but Rhysand held you firmly. Tamlin's eyes glowed in the dark and his broken bones and dislocated shoulder returned to its place with loud crack, wounds healed as well. He stood up, ready to fight for you.

"How could you do that? How could you hide her here for so long?" Rhysand snarled. "We were friends. Why didn't you tell me she is alive?"

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Tamlin fired back angrily. "If you don't let Y/N go, I swear I'll kill you." He took a step forward, his claws ready to shred this intruder into pieces.

"Who's Y/N? Are you trying to lie to my face? This is Auriela."

"Are you crazy? Y/N isn't your sister. She can't be. Your sister is dead. I saw her wings! I burned them that night after I became High Lord," Tamlin howled in frustration.

"Don't you dare lie to me," Rhysand turned you to his chest. You were fighting him as much as you could, but in your current state you weren't able to do much. He yanked the back of your dress open.

Cool night air kissed your exposed back. Tamlin gasped and stumbled back, smell of his magic disappeared. You knew what he saw. Two long scars along the shoulder blades were on your back your entire life, but you didn't remember what caused them. At some point you resolved that they were the reason of the lost of your memory and that was enough for you to stop worrying about it.

"I'm so sorry, sweetie," Rhysand whispered to you. Magic filled air once again as your dress was repaired. You felt so sick, so nauseous, so confused. If Rhysand wouldn't hold you upright, you would fall down like a puppet with cut wires.

"Do you still want to claim that this isn't my sister?" he said aloud to Tamlin. His other hand came up, too, caressing you and holding you so lovingly against his too strong body. You couldn't fight anymore, all strength left you. Your heart was painfully beating in your chest, skipping a beat at times. Your breathing became laboured, world was spinning too fast.

"I saw it.. How could she survive it.." Tamlin's voice was so small.

"You tell me," Rhysand snapped. "Do you want to say you had no idea?"

"I mean.. there was something familiar about her all this time, but.." Tamlin sat down into the debris, broken and confused.

"How could you not recognize her?! It took just one look and I knew her immediately."

Your body was failing you. You felt so small and weak, their voices becoming so muffled at times, you couldn't hear a thing. You wanted to stop this nonsense, tell this Rhysand you weren't his sister and run back to Tamlin, but all you could do was focus on breathing.

"She was just a little girl back then.. I saw her once maybe twice.."

"You and your family ripped her wings off, kidnapped her and then hid her in this poor excuse of a shelter. I could kill you right here and now, but you saved my life. I hereby repay you my debt."

"I didn't know they left her alive.. I swear.."

"It doesn't matter. Now I'm going to take her where she belongs. Back to her home, to her family," Rhysand declared.

No. Nononono. This was bad. So wrong. It couldn't be true. None of the shit this male told. No matter what, you had to stay in your cottage. You forced yourself to move, managing to half turn back to Tamlin. "Tamlin.. no," your voice was too small and shaky. But he heard you. His eyes full of pain found yours for a brief moment and then his gaze slid to the side.

"I'm so sorry," he mumbled as his shoulders slumped. "I really didn't know.. He is right.. You should be with your family.." And there it was. He gave up without putting a fight. He simply gave up. Tamlin wouldn't stop him, he decided to let you go.

The tears of betrayal filled your eyes. It hurt like dagger stuck straight into a heart, but you still wanted to give him a chance to right this. Beg him to save you.

"No, Tamlin, plea-" Darkness swallowed you before you could finish.

It was too late. Ignoring your pleads Rhysand winnowed you away.

Taglist:

@impossibelle @sevikas-whore @b0xerdancer

#english isnt my first language #tamlin fanfiction #tamlin x reader #tamlin acotar #tamlin #acotar fanfiction #acotar x reader #acotar #sarah j maas #rhysand acotar #rhys acotar #rhysand #pro tamlin #tamlin week

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