#multi-chapter !

[endursent]

- God Shattering Star

【 content; morax | rex lapis x reader , slow burn , mutual pining , multi-chapter , archon war period , afab!reader 】

【 summary; You have always been sensitive to the foul miasma left behind by dead gods, the terrible energy that seeps into the earth and poisons any living creature that comes into prolonged contact with it. You've made a living of cleansing and purifying these energies from humans and fields in small villages in exchange for food, places to sleep and clothing, you had just settled in a particularly affected village when you are suddenly summoned to the palace of the gods of this land and have no choice but to accept.

Through corruption and war, Morax can only hope the stones of the earth are steadier than your fate, plagued by a sudden misfortune that threatens your balance on solid ground. 】

【 note; this is an ongoing fic i've been posting on ao3 and decided to post it here too. please keep in mind that this is a multi-chapter slow burn, this is the first chapter, and i'll be posting the others over the next days to not clog the tags. read it here on ao3 if you're impatient, it might also be a good idea to look at the tags while you're there. 】

【 word count; 5.322 | next chapter | masterlist 】

- Chapter 1 - Left in the Woods

“Please… stay still,” you practically plead with the small boy, he’s barely a child and is currently wailing and pulling on your sleeve as you try to cure his ailment. His mother is on the other side of the bed, prying his small hands off of your clothes to let you work, but the loud crying makes it difficult to focus.

 “I’m sorry, he doesn’t usually cry like this, Si Leng is a polite boy,” his mother apologises, holding the boy’s hands gently, her greying hair is disheveled and sticks to her forehead as she tries to calm her son down with soothing strokes of her thumbs over his small hands.

 You shake your head but say nothing, you don’t have much time to extract the miasma from the boy’s skin before it seeps deeper. His mother had barged into your home holding him as he wailed and cried, a dead bird in his dirty hands–you had instantly sensed the foul energies clinging to the bird, and now seeped into Si Leng’s body. His skin is pale and the dark taint visibly wriggles under his skin, having wormed its way into a cut on his knee he got from playing this morning after having held the bird for so long. How the bird came to near seep with corruption was something you intended to find out after finishing your first task.

 The corruption is spreading from his knee, prodding at his skin, you judge the distance both by Si Leng’s increase in crying–it really isn’t helping your focus, but you can’t blame him–as well as the way his skin softens where the area is affected, like poking pudding. You reach for a small cart next to you and bring out an old bell, the bottom is rusted and chipped, but it works better than any newly crafted bell the village chief has gifted you. The chime causes the darkened slithers of the corruption to jolt back, then return their advance, and jolt back as it chimes again. Si Leng’s hands fly to his ears as it chimes, it sounds short and unimpressive to your and his mother’s ears, but the taint in his body increases his sensitivity fourfold, especially to blessed tools.

 As the darkness jolts and twitches, you dip your brush in the ink next to where the bell had been, and utter under your breath as you paint intricate lines over his thigh and calf, in the middle of an uncompleted circle around his leg, you drag the brush into a character that seals the circle. The corruption touches the ink, but doesn’t progress, it’s confined to the area of his knee, and just a bit above and below.

 Si Leng’s mother watches carefully, relief in her dark eyes as the spread halts. “Ah, thank you, it’s–”

 “It’s not done, please be quiet,” you don’t mean to sound harsh, but the extraction requires a lot of focus and having someone talk to you is probably the largest distraction you face when cleansing. “Hold him tightly, he will squirm and thrash,” you warn, setting your brush aside and taking a jar from the same cart. Holding your palm over his knee, you close your eyes and take a breath, searching the energy in his body, trailing the lines down to his knee–there, you fist your hand and Si Leng’s wail turns to a scream.

 “W-why!?” his mother cries, holding him into a sitting position so she can encircle his torso better, the little boy’s hands clutching at his mother once more and tighter than before. “Why is he screaming?”

 The extraction takes your utmost focus, so you don’t reply–or really listen, anticipating questions. You usually purify or extract such miasma from objects or fields of wheat, not people, thus there never been a mouth to scream with and the sound is difficult to adjust to… a scream as a result of your work makes every nerve in your body twitch and demand you stop, but you press on regardless, stopping in the middle of a cleansing would only make the spread worse. Dark tendrils akin to thick mist flow from the deep scratch on his knee and into the jar, it takes almost eight minutes of focus and careful extraction to pull the last of the taint from his leg and as soon as the last is out, you shut the jar and slap a paper talisman over it–it’s a temporary solution, dispersing it will come later.

 Si Leng doesn’t stop crying–he does stop screaming–but seems more aware of his surroundings, enough to cling to his mother like a lifeline. It’s not unsurprising the poor boy still cries, all he knows is that it hurt and the lady at the end of the street made it hurt more before it was finally gone. You wouldn’t be surprised if he bolts away after seeing you on the street for a few weeks.

 You let out a breath, feeling as if you had just run five laps around the village and took a dip in the cold springs down the hill… but it was done. You set the jar aside and stood to set your hands in a basket of water, rinsing them before drying as Si Ling’s mother calmed him down, he fell asleep in only a few minutes. “Thank you,” his mother lifted him up and held against her chest, his head pressed into her shoulder. “I’ll fetch payment straight away, I don’t know how this happened, he was just playing in the woods with his brother–they never go further than the stream.”

 You walk to the burning incense on the table, set up to cleanse the air and ensure the corruption couldn’t escape if anything went wrong before the extraction could begin, but now that it was over it only made the house feels stuffed, the thick smell of the incense made your nose tickle if it stayed for too long, you place the burning end in the small bowl of sand next to it and open a window, waving your hand slightly to usher it out. “Could you ask your oldest son where they went? I need to investigate what happened to ensure it doesn’t happen again.”

 “Of course! I’ll be back momentarily!” she nodded and bowed thrice before hurrying out of your home, you stepped outside and meant to tell her the recovery process… but if she’s coming right back, there’s no need to rush after her.

 Closing the door behind you, your eye catches the deceased bird laying on your kitchen table–it was practically reeking darkness and foul energies, surely it didn’t gain all of this from around here? Your village is small and tucked against a tall mountain south inside the Guili Assembly, just a two day trek to the “disputed” border to the next territory. Every few weeks the Millelith Brigade would pass by either coming to or leaving the border, it was a line of tall mountains, and every so often either side would inch over the top and gain the higher ground, ensuring their position until the next storm drove them off and the other would regain it. They would occasionally come to your village for small things that the village could afford, they even brought two strange artifacts to you once that were steeped with corruption–the amount of mora plopped in your hands after cleansing them was enough to let you travel east and shop in the larger town closer to the ocean for produce that wasn’t readily available in your small village.

 Could the bird have flown from there? The situation wasn’t particularly perilous at the moment, or so you’ve heard in passing, so why would such dark energies gather there? Perhaps it came from somewhere else…

 As you consider where it must have come from and try to ignore the exhaustion that pulls your muscles downwards–as if it wants to pull you into the earth–you prod at it’s body and examine the flow of the corruption, you were about to reach for your bell when a knock comes from the door. Expecting it to be Si Leng’s mother–you never quite got her name, she lives alone with her two boys and primarily sews… she even has a small box you can put your clothing into with your name on a wooden slab wrapped inside and she’ll have her sons bring it back when she’s done–you don’t make a move to turn around, merely calling for them to enter.

 “I apologise for the intrusion… but is this the village exorcist’s home?” an unfamiliar voice says, you turn and see a man in your doorway. He has slicked back brown hair and wears common travel clothes, a bamboo box on his back and a hat of the same material on top of it, there also seems to be a faintly green streak in his hair on the left side.

 “Ah, yes, that would be me, can I help you?” you moved to stand in front of the bird… it would be quite strange that you just have a dead bird on your kitchen table–it clearly hadn’t been prepared enough to eat, you would usually at least pull the feathers outside.

 The man stepped further inside, it was difficult to read his expression… but he didn’t seem to be in a bad mood, your village doesn’t get many visitors so your introductory skills are lacking. “My name is Houzhang, I was trekking further south in search of a specific herb when I began to feel ill… I already saw a doctor at the Millelith camp by the border but they couldn’t find anything, I fear lingering miasma from the recent battle may be affecting me and they sent me here.”

 You put a hand on your chin, inclining your head to the side as you looked him up and down… he wasn’t particularly pale, there was a healthy tan to his skin and his face didn’t indicate any discomfort, it indicated very little in fact. “Okay, let’s have a look, come sit,” you gestured to the table where Si Leng had been before and moved to clean your hands again, you didn’t want to touch a potentially tainted person with hands that just prodded at a dead bird. Approaching the man as he sat down, you slowed your breath to focus, you had always had a keen affinity for sensing fouler energies, ones of corruption and death. The war between gods had reigned for many human generations now and every time a god perished, they released a terrible amount of miasma into the earth, dark energies that seep into the soil and poison the land and creatures around it. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the only circumstance this taint could appear under. Immense despair, pain or grief can breed it as well, though it requires either a powerful being or a large collective to do so.

 The man sat patiently under your scrutinising gaze. Surprisingly, you did sense a thick gathering of dark energies in his body–his left hip specifically. “Were you injured?” you asked. The miasma would only gather like this in one specific spot if there was a terrible injury there, if it was exposure by being close to lingering energies, the entire body would seem to have a heavy blanket of it over it.

 “No, but I was directly under the mountain for three days,” Houzhang said.

 “…” your eyebrows furrowed, no sign of sweating either… you counted his breaths and they had a normal frequency. “Hm, please lie down.” he did as you asked and you brought your little cart of tools over, less intimidating than that of a doctor’s though. You poked and prodded at his torso, asking if any specific place hurt or felt numb–he had probably already been asked this by an actual doctor, but you were doing it for a different reason and thus the answer would gain different results. He always said no and you began to doubt there was really anything wrong with this guy, if it weren’t for that condensed spot.

 You poked at the corrupt spot with two fingers… and it moved… you blinked.

 You poked again, and it seemed to fall down his side.

 “…”

 “…”

 He pulled out a small wooden doll from inside his robes, it was round and carved like a furry forest creature. “It was this,” he didn’t sound surprised at all, and he held it towards you. “Can you cleanse it?”

 Why didn’t he just lead with that? What was with making her examine him? Is he a weirdo of some sort? You sighed and took the doll. “Sure, please be patient.” You stood and brought it to a table next to the bed, you had already extracted the taint from a human today, so this would absolutely drain you, but you kind of wanted this guy out of your house because of the weird… display, and interaction. Doing the same as you always do, you lit the incense on the table and closed the windows, you lit the two candles on each end of the table and took out a talisman to lay on to the table. Houzhang watched you work in silence, eyes following every single move you made. Eventually, the doll was clear of the foul energies clinging to it and you handed it back to the man.

 You honestly felt as though every movement you made was akin to wading through stomach-high water.

 He examined the doll carefully and then nodded. “Very good.”

 Very good? Are you being graded?

 “This one apologises for deceiving you,” Houzhang said. “The doll being corrupted was intentional, one did not want to waste your time.” He stands up and hands you the doll back. You’re not entirely sure what to do with it, or why he handed it to you, so you just hold it. “Please come to the capital, we have need of a cleanser, if half-skilled.”

 The capital? Half-skilled ?

 You handed the doll back to him, and he took it to your surprise. “The capital? Who is ‘we’? The capital isn’t exactly close by, and this village is high-risk when it comes to taint and corruption due to its proximity to the southern mountains. Who is going to take care of things here?”

 Houzhang didn’t seem particularly pleased with your questions, it seemed that he expected you to simply say yes and trot along. “The nearby Millelith Brigade will protect it, if they have problems they can’t fix, they can travel to the capital.”

 “You make it sound like a day trip,” you said, slightly exasperated… after two cleansings, you really just want him to leave and let you sleep until midnight. “Do you ride on a cloud or something?”

 He blinked at your question. “No, this one travels normally.” How vague. “It is only a twelve hour journey.”

 Twelve hours? It took you four days every single time that you have gone there, what are this guy’s legs made of? Even by cart it would take two days at best. “You’re lying.”

 “This one doesn’t lie,” he insists, clearly offended that you would suggest such a thing.

 “Okay,” you waved your hand vaguely, why had he changed his speech a minute ago? “But do you expect me to come along with you just because you said so? I’d need some–” you were cut off by a scroll being thrust into your hands. You looked down at it with bewilderment.

 The outside had an intricate golden pattern over a deep brown cover that protected the paper, it was bound with a blue silk streaked with a pale grey pattern that was different to the golden one and a small white ore attached to the end of the silk. Oh… this is a scroll from the palace, where the two gods of this land reside. From them.

 You stared at Houzhang as if he had grown two heads, he simply folded his arms over his chest and waited.

 Opening the scroll, you carefully set it out on the table after moving some blank papers aside. ‘We ask that you travel to the capital of the Guili Assembly to provide cleansing services to the palace. Travel safely.’

 Who wrote this? It’s not exactly what you expected of a godly summon, you were expecting more… grandiose? Something like ‘By mandate of the heavens and the will of the gods, you are hereby summoned…’? Though, the calligraphy was absolutely beautiful… you write a lot for your talismans and seals, but whoever wrote this could write poems and have the characters convey it equally in writing and art.

 Houzhang seemed impatient with your dumb staring and spoke. “Well? Let us depart.”

 Snapped out of your thoughts, you nearly clapped the scroll shut. “How long will this take?”

 “There are a lot of people in need of cleansing,” was his only answer.

 You can only help two people in one day, tops, at your skill and energy level… you’ll need to work hard. It’s not like you can say no to the palace of the land’s gods, and you can safely assume this man works in the palace at the very least–honestly, this guy is so weird you would almost think he was one of the gods in the palace.

 Houzhang stood and waited as you tossed some clothes in a basket, he took the bamboo box from his back and set it down, telling you to use it as well… there were three corrupt dolls on the bottom of the basket, so you declined, you’d rather like your clothes to be clear of foul energies. After packing your tools at last, you looked around… there might be a while until you come back home. It hasn’t been your home for a very long time, only a few years… but it’s quiet and peaceful, it’s been nice and it feels a bit bad to leave, like there’s a small force trying to keep you tethered to it. You moved here only three years ago to assist the village with its frequent corruptions, you had set up barriers and cleansed the farms, but it always seemed to slip through the cracks, no matter how tightly you sealed it. You just hope they’ll be alright, they’re a hard-working bunch.

 As you and Houzhang leave, Si Lang’s mother was just about to knock on the door. “Oh…” she looks at the basket on your back. “Where are you going?”

 You give a small smile, it’s almost sheepish, like you were caught doing something you shouldn’t–and you probably shouldn’t leave without warning, but goodbyes are hard and you suspect Houzhang won’t wait patiently while some villagers ask you to stay, or try and bribe you with their rice dishes (you would cave). “Ah, I’ll be going to the capital for a while, but I’ll be back soon.” you decided not to delve into too many details, but you do hope you will return relatively soon.

 “Ah,” she seemed surprised, but then set a heavy robe in your hands. “Then, this might help! Yu Ming gave me this, saying she didn’t need it anymore, and… it was a bit torn, but I fixed it and it’s too small for me,” it was a heavy travel robe, perfect for colder months and coloured a deep blue with brown fur lining, though it’s freshly spring so it wouldn’t exactly come in handy at the moment. Either way, you knew better than to reject a payment, you gave her a smile and thanked her as she saw you off. You made sure to double-check the seal protecting the village and ensured it would hold for a good while… it should be fine for almost a year if nothing catastrophic happens.

 After walking for a while, the robe was getting very heavy in your hands, and your basket was stuffed… Houzhang took it from you and set it in the basket on his back wordlessly, as soon as he had convinced you to go, he seemed to have lost interest in talking, as if he only had done so to begin with because he had to.

 Despite that, he did speak about two and a half hours into the trip. “This one deceived you twice, one is not named Houzhang. Now that we are away from the village and you have agreed to come, you can call this one Moon Carver.”

 You stared at him.

 Why does he say that so casually? As if you have never heard that name before? “No way. You’re not. You’re deceiving me for the third time.”

 He immediately seemed both offended and annoyed at that. “Believe what you want, it won’t affect your surroundings.”

 “Prove it,” you insisted. “There’s no way, Moon Carver isn’t just some guy,” you looked him up and down, he was entirely normal, there was not a thing that stood out except perhaps for the green streak in his hair.

 ��This one doesn’t need to prove anything,” he folded his arms, gaze forward… and thus, he began to ignore you. No matter what you said or did, he didn’t reply nor even look at you, it was entirely annoying as well as slightly amusing. If he really was Moon Carver, one of the adepti at Rex Lapis’ side that has saved countless people and villages, felled beasts and gods… it was rather funny how easily frustrated he got–but perhaps it was best not to intentionally get on his bad side… just in case he wasn’t lying. It would be a rather bold lie, if he was caught lying it surely wouldn’t be hidden for so long.

 After passing a stream, you stepped off the path causing ‘Moon Carver’ to halt, he watched as you took our a small jar, the one you had used earlier to contain the miasma extracted from Si Leng, and dissipated it into the wind gliding above the water, making sure it didn’t enter the water.

 Three hours later, you stepped off the path again, this time to dispose of the bird, pressing a more advanced seal to its body and burying it into the ground, it will slowly erode the miasma and the ground will claim the corpse. You don’t have the energy to cleanse another thing today, so this is the next best thing, though not an immediate solution.

 It’s almost a straight walk north towards the capital, it’s mostly hills and plains, flanked by high mountains that shield the cool winds from the eastern ocean. There is a brief period of woods on the last day of walking, but you would need to sleep under the open sky for two nights. Before the forest is a small village that makes most of its mora housing travelers and Millelith making the trek between the capital and the southern border.

 In silence, you and ‘Moon Carver’ continue walking towards the capital, as you had said, it was indeed not a twelve hour trip and the alleged Adeptus was very unhappy with the slow progress. You set a blanket on the ground as the two of you took a break for the first night–you had to almost plead to stop and rest, maybe this guy really is who he says he is, he wasn’t at all bothered with the trek… meanwhile you are dead on your feet from the events of the day and an eight hour walk. “You know, if you really are Moon Carver, why can’t I just ride on your back to the capital? Then it would only take a few hours.”

 He didn’t even consider it. “No, not just anyone can ride on this one’s back, one is not a form of transport,” he crossed his arms again, his robes would gain permanent wrinkles if he didn’t keep them uncrossed for more than five minutes at a time.

 The walk took four days, but you arrived earlier than usual on the fourth day, just before noon—you had always arrived at the capital after dark and seen the way the lights lit up the large city, after everyone had retired and the streets were relatively empty.

 Today, it was the opposite.

 The crowd was so large that you thought every single person in the Guili Assembly had just gathered here today, the gates were wide open and you could barely hear yourself or ‘Moon Carver’ (you still don’t entirely believe him, he certainly made it more difficult by refusing to prove it, it’s a game at this point) as you walked the streets. “What’s going on today?” you called to him, almost walking into three different people just to enter through the massive gates to the city. You don’t recall there being a specific holiday.

 ‘Moon Carver’ leaned closer so that you could hear him better. “When the oceans warm with the spring, the oceanic gods slumber for three weeks to adjust to the temperature, allowing fishing further from shore–the first batch of seafood has arrived and culminates in a festival of foods.”

 The village you left, as well as your birth village aren’t within appropriate distance for the villagers themselves to fish in the ocean and thus it wasn’t celebrated there, but you do recall that the fish bought from traveling merchants always seems larger halfway through spring.

 After a while of practically wading through the crowd like you would a swamp, ‘Moon Carver’ suddenly tells you that he must see to a task that will only take a short while, and that you should wait exactly where you are for him to return. Thankful for the breather–there are a lot of steps up to the palaces and the peak of the capital–you find a good rock to sit on that reaches about to your knees and decide to rest and observe the festival.

 The capital is huge, larger than any other village or town in the Guili Assembly, built over several human generations under the rule of the same two gods, two gods… that you kind of hope you won’t have to directly face, surely the scroll you were sent was penned by some civil official? Perhaps a doctor or some kind of supervisor in the palace? Though there are technically two palaces at the peak of the capital, one belonging to Rex Lapis, and the other to the Lord of Dust, there are several connecting buildings between them that make them appear as a single palace with two large buildings on opposite sides. The thought of standing before the gods of the land is nerve wracking, especially since they requested your specific help.

 You’re far from the only exorcist or cleanser in this land, but you like to think you’re alright at it… or ‘half-skilled’ as ‘Moon Carver’ so eloquently put it. Now that you’re in the capital, directly under the gods’ gazes… you’re starting to think he was probably not lying, which is a bit embarrassing–but can you be blamed for being doubtful? Who would believe you if you said an adeptus came to your house, played a trick on you and gave you a scroll that summoned you to the gods’ palace!?

 Now deep in thought as the festival continued around you, you barely noticed your rumbling stomach, it wasn’t until it stung that you realised how hungry you are. Considering this is a festival celebrating food, why not try it out? If you can get through the crowd, that is.

 Elbowing yourself through some people–and being elbowed thrice–just standing around in the middle of the street, you manage to observe some stalls. Most of the food was a type of seafood, predictably. Fish cooked in all possible ways from grilled to boiled, squids to prawns, crab to jellyfish. A lot of the options were both curious and enticing, there was a lot of foods cooked in ways you hadn’t tried before, but you were hungry and needed something filling that you knew you wouldn’t dislike, you’re sure the festival goes on for a few days, you can come back and try some new things later. You purchased three large steamed buns, two for eating and one for saving for later, they were stuffed with smoked salmon and vegetables and you hoped it would taste just as good as it smelled.

 Returning to your little rock, you saw that your spot had been stolen, you were certain it was a safe spot to use as respite as it was directly under the sun and had no cover, most people sitting around did so under some shade or next to trees lining the wide streets. You stuffed your buns into your sleeve and approached the rock… what kind of creature is this?

 It was small but long, it had brown scales that shimmered and reflected under the sun, giving it a strangely golden shine that didn’t take away from the earthly colour. It had a thick mane leading from it’s head and down slightly below it’s faintly glowing antlers, and after that did lighter fur take its place, lining the spine of the creature all the way down to the tuft at the end, twitching faintly as it stares at you without blinking once.

 You had never seen anything like it before, it was too skinny to be a cat, and cats don’t generally have antlers like this, or scales… but it was similar in size… you stared down at the creature for a while, unsure if just to give up your spot or try and scoop it away. You have no idea how long it will take Moon Carver to return, and you don’t want to sit on the ground, maybe this little thing will accept sharing? If you share first, you assume.

 So, you take forth one of the buns in your sleeve and crouch in front of the strange creature. “Hey… you,” you hold the bun to its small nose. Its nose twitches as the creature sniffs the bun and its two long whiskers sway. “You kind of took my spot, and I need to wait a while… will you scoot if I give you one of my buns?”

 The creature’s eyes are so… almost aggressively noticeable, the glowing amber burning holes in your own eyes before it turns its snout up and away… that’s a no, then. Your shoulders slump slightly. “Please? You can sit with me? I’ll pet you?”

 It’s head turned further up, so far you thought it might fall backwards and roll off the stone.

 “What are you doing?” you heard a voice behind you and looked over your shoulder, Moon Carver stood behind you, looking at you as if he wished he wasn’t there at the moment.

 You turned back to the rock to see the small creature gone, maybe Moon Carver’s presence scared it away, or it took the opportunity to leave before you could just simply pick it up and move it off the rock. Well, since Moon Carver is here there’s no need to sit on the rock anyway so you stand up and straighten your clothes. “Nothing, I just saw a little creature here, I’ve never seen one like it before.”

 “Creature? Bugs are hardly creatures,” he says simply.

 “No, it was a long creature, it had scales and antlers, it didn’t want my bun as a bargain,” you explained, making a gesture with your hands as to circa how long the creature had been. “Brown with sun-orange eyes?”

 Moon Carver only stares as you try to explain, to a point you thought you might have hallucinated the encounter. You gave up and lowered your hands, it doesn’t seem like he believed you. And why would he believe you? Is he supposed to believe that the esteemed Rex Lapis was lounging around on a rock on a random street as a miniature version of himself? Absolutely not.

[divine-blade]

Because I’ve been dying to write sonadow fake/pretend relationship trope. 🙏

Summary: To top the success of the Year of Shadow, Sega sets its sights on something bigger, better, and more popular.

Introducing 2025: the Year of Sonadow.

[incandescentlysomething]

Lady of the Ashes: Chapter 1

House of the Dragon Season 1

Aemond x TargaryenOC

Chapter Word Count: 7390

She was his everything... For her...he would do anything.

From the moment of her birth, Aemond Targaryen swore himself to the protection of his niece Aelinor Velaryon. As the two grew up inseparable, they find themselves entangled in the Dance of Dragons, battling to stay together even as their families try to pull them apart.

A/N: Canon compliant but things change around. Currently cross-posting on A03. Will be approximately 12 chapters aligning with season 1.

Let me know what you think!

Masterlist A03

115 AC

On the second day of August, in the year 115 AC, the worst storm in a hundred years swept through King’s Landing. Ships smashed against each other in the harbor, livelihoods and people being whisked away by the tossing waves. The maesters — or the bolder ones anyway — whispered that the gods were unhappy with the Westeros, or specifically, with the ruling family. But those whispers were silenced almost immediately, for this was King’s Landing after all, the very seat of Targaryen power.

Rhaenyra Targaryen watched the storm from her window, one hand braced against each wall, her face being bathed by the pounding rain. Her maids had begged to close the shutters to conserve some of the warmth in her room, but she would not have. Her labors had been ongoing for nearly a full day, and only the sound of the wind and the cool spray of the rain could calm her as she breathed through the pain. From her spot high above the city, she could see clay tiles being ripped from their roofs, and in some places entire buildings were collapsing. It shouldn’t have been calming, but it was a welcome distraction and a stark reminder of her place in this world.

“Please, Princess,” her midwife pleased with her. “You must keep warm.”

“I am plenty warm!” Rhaenyra snapped, “and I will stay where I damn please.” As if summoned by her anger, another painful contraction rippled through her abdomen. 

She could hear the midwife turn to one of her maids, beseeching the woman to find her husband. Rhaenyra let out a scoff. Since they had returned from their yearlong sojourn to Dragonstone, during which time she had entertained her uncle Daemon and his wife, Laenor had taken to spending time with one of the knights of the house. He was no uncaring nor unfeeling, but she doubted he felt any guilt about sheltering elsewhere in the city while his wife labored.

A door opened behind her. “The Queen wishes for news of the Princess.”

Rhaenyra groaned loudly, feeling the child move lower. She could hear her maid speaking in hushed tones to the intruder, assuring her of the steady progress of the birth. It didn’t feel steady. In fact, it felt rather like being torn in two. 

A heavy gust of wind pelted her face, and she found she could breathe easier under the onslaught. It was a necessary distraction from the conversation happening behind her, which was in itself an echo of the same conversation that had been happening every hour on the hour for the past day. She should have expected it. Alicent had been even more of a presence when Rhaenyra had labored with Jace, insisting that her own maids be present to ‘assist the Princess’. It had been for that very reason that, following the birth of her son, Rhaenyra had withdrawn her family to Dragonstone. But there would be no escaping Alicent this time.

Something smashed against the stone walls, and Rhaenyra screamed as another contraction hit her. She was not made for this. What did it say about her, that she was bringing her child into the world on such a day?

Queen Alicent Hightower paced in her chambers, bundled in a fur as the fire roared to keep the chill of the wind out of her room. The windows in her rooms had been boarded up immediately after the King’s, and she had ordered her children be brought to her. They played on the floor now, Aegon with a small collection of wooden knights, and Aemond and Helaena looking over a book of insects.

The Hand of the King, Lord Otto Hightower, sat at her desk, putting pen to a stack of letters that had amassed in the past week. They both turned when the doors opened and Alicent’s maid, Talya, stepped inside.

“The Princess’ labors are nearly finished,” Talya announced. “The midwife expects the babe within the hour.”

Alicent picked at her fingernail. “Have it brought to me and the King as soon as possible,” she ordered, “so that we might offer our congratulations.”

Talya curtsied and left the room.

Congratulations were far from Alicent’s mind, thought she knew her husband, who was sequestered in his own rooms to work on his model, would be anxious to see his grandchild. Alicent, too, was not without sympathy for the Princess, who had returned from her months away heavily pregnant and now labored alone in her chambers. But the birth of Rhaenyra’s first son had all but confirmed rumors of adultery, and Alicent was anxious to see if the second would lend further proof to the theory.

“I wish she had summoned a maester,” she said, half to herself. “So we might trust she is in good hands.”

“Her first son arrived without issue,” Otto said, seeming bored with his daughter’s worry. “Put it from your mind.”

But how could she? Rhaenyra’s child it might be, and Jacaerys too, but Alicent could not, by the light of the Seven or her own love for her own children, see a bastard seated on the throne. But that did not mean she wished for Rhaenyra to suffer in childbirth.

“Will the dragons be alright in the storm, mother?” It took her a moment to realize who had spoken. Aemond, her third child, looked up from his book, eyes shining in concern for the creatures he loved more than anything. Aemond was…a soft child, though she knew it delighted her husband to see him so enamored with the dragons and his Targaryen heritage. Alicent struggled to imagine a place for Aemond if Rhaenyra’s children were to succeed the throne, soft and sensitive as he was.

“They have survived far more difficult storms than this,” she assured him. “They will be fine.”

Aemond gave her a relieved smile, flipping the page for Helaena.

“What do you care?” Aegon sneered. “You don’t even have one.”

“I have an egg!” Aemond protested.

“It’ll never hatch,” Aegon laughed.

Aemind stood and ran from the room, tears already brimming in his eyes. Alicent sighed, moving to go after him. Some version of this argument was a near weekly occurrence between her two sons, and she struggled to decide if it was childish rivalry or if it represented something deeper.

“Let him be, Daughter,” Otto cautioned. “Boys must work through these things on their own.”

The urge to comfort her son already fading, Alicent resumed her pacing. She needed to be ready when news of the birth came. Through the cracks in her boarded up window, she could see rolling gray clouds in the distance.

Prince Aemond had managed to stop crying by the time he emerged from the tunnels and into the Princess’ Tower. He knew there were many passageways in the castle, but he was only aware of the ones that led from his room, as they afforded him the opportunity to seek out his freedom, and to hide his tears. He was embarrassed to admit, event at the tender age of five, how often he wept behind these cold stone walls.

It wasn’t fair how Aegon treated him, and it wasn’t fair that he had a dragon. Aegon might love Sunfyre, but he didn’t love dragons the way that Aemond did. He didn’t pour over stories of Old Valyria, trying to learn things that seemed impossible for a boy of his age. He deserved a dragon. He was ready for it.

Even Helaena, who did not have a dragon, had her love of science and bugs and all crawling things. It wasn’t proper, or terribly interesting to Aemond, but at least she had something. The only thing he had ever really loved or wanted, continued to be out of his reach.

He hadn’t meant to come to the Princess’ Tower, but it seemed to be the one place in the Red Keep with any type of activity. His mother usually forbade the children from playing here, wanting to keep them far away from his elder half-sister for some reason he didn’t quite understand. And if he wasn’t going to be allowed to go outside and see the dragons, which his mother had strictly forbidden, then he must find entertainment elsewhere.

Two maids scurried past his hiding place. “The babe is here, but the Princess has asked us to delay so that she might compose herself.”

This interested Aemond. He knew that his mother had ordered the babe to be brought to her immediately, though he didn’t understand why. Surely a babe was still a babe an hour after its birth as much as a few minutes? But the babe was here, and he was here, which meant he might get a chance to see his new niece or nephew before his mother and Aegon did.

His mind made up, he ducked out from behind the tapestry and marched up the stairs to his half-sister’s chambers, knocking sharply on the door. The chatter inside fell to silence, and he listened as a pair of footsteps moved toward the door.

A maid answered. “Prince Aemond?” She curtsied through her confusion. “Whatever are you doing here?”

“I wish to see the babe,” he declared, trying not to look like a little boy who had been crying not too long ago.

“My Prince, this is a birthing chamber, and it is not—”

“He may enter,” his half-sister’s voice carried, and it was all the invitation he needed to push around the maid (rather rudely, as his septa would tell him) and into the room.

Rhaenyra’s chambers were confusing to him. The window was wide open, and the sounds of the storm and a wicket chill swept into the room. Someone had stacked blankets at the base of the window to soak up all the rain coming through. Despite this, the fire was roaring in its hearth, nearly suffocating in its heat. Two women he had never seen before were rolling blankets stained with crimson into a bundle, while another was dumping red-tinged water from a metal tub out of the window. He blinked in confusion. That was more blood than he had ever seen in his life, even more than when Aegon had broken his nose with a practice sword. 

His half-sister was reclined on her bed, propped up by pillows, a bundle of blankets in her arms.

“Are you injured, sister?” He asked, creeping forward and trying not to think of the blood. He might not be overly close with his half-sister, as she was much older and not liked by his mother, but he did not like to see anyone hurt.

“No more than is expected, Aemond,” she said, not exactly warmly, but with a fresh dose of kindness that made his press a bit closer. He thought she looked exhausted, and her hair hung in sweaty mats about his face. Perhaps it was very difficult to have a baby, if it made such a mess. “Would you like to meet your niece?”

“A niece?” he moved forward, drawn by his curiosity. “It’s not a boy then.” A shame, for he would rather have liked a new playmate.

“No,” Rhaenyra laughed. “But rather a beautiful little girl. And you may be the first to meet her.”

Aemond wrinkled his nose. “Is she like Helaena? I like her well enough, but she talks often of bugs.”

She laughed again, a bit more brightly. “She is too little to have interests yet, Aemond. She does not even have a name.”

A person with no name? Somehow, that was utterly fascinating to Aemond, and he boldly leaned over the bed, trying to peek at the bundle in Rhaenyra’s arms. He could not imagine a world in which he was not Aemond, and this little baby did not even have a name of her own.

“Here she is,” Rhaenyra smiled down at the bundle, before lifting it to where Aemond could see.

His mouth dropped open as he beheld the tiny babe. He had expected an ugly, messy thing, and while she might be a bit wrinkly, and slightly blue, she was absolutely perfect. Small enough that he could have easily lifted her, with slick silver hair plastered to her head, and a tiny white hand curled into a little fist. He was reminded of depictions of the Mother in the Sept, who was often shown cradling a small, impossibly beautiful baby. 

“She’s pretty,” he said finally, though even he knew the word did not nearly suffice. “She doesn’t look like Jace.”

“No, she doesn’t,” Rhaenyra sounded a bit sad. “But I love her nonetheless.”

The baby cooed, and her tiny eyes blinked open, revealing a stunning shade of lavender more beautiful than anything Aemond had ever seen. She shuddered and stretched, her tiny, bird-like limbs shaking with the effort. Instantly, Aemond was flooded with worry for this little creature. How frightening it must be, to come into the world and meet so many strangers, all while a dreadful storm wailed outside. He wanted to keep her far from the world, to demand that his half-sister bar the windows and keep her locked away, warm and safe. 

But that wouldn’t be fair to the babe. Aemond knew all too well what it felt like to be suffocated within stone walls, and this little one deserved to see everything. When she was bigger, he could take her to the dragon pit, where she might watch the dragons train with him. Perhaps she would enjoy hearing stories of Old Valyria, and he worried that he may not know them well enough to do them justice. But those thoughts were overcrowded by fear. They were plans for tomorrow, when this little bird did not, to him, look strong enough to last the day.

“She’s too little,” he protested. “Will she be alright?”

“She’ll be alright,” Rhaenyra promised. “But she might need to be protected and helped while she is still small. Could you…help me do that, Aemond?”

Aemond studied the babe for a long moment. “Mother said it is a bad omen for her to be born during a storm.”

Rhaenyra frowned. The babe kicked her legs, and Aemond boldly reached forward to tuck the blanket back around her.

“But I don’t think she’s right,” he admitted. “She’s like a little sunbeam on a cloudy day.”

Perhaps the little boy did not mean to be so poetic, but his words filled Rhaenyra’s heart with a little bit of hope. It was true that the babe did not look like Jace, for they did not share a father, but she was the picture of a Targaryen beauty. No one could deny that she was Rhaenyra’s, or that she was perfect. She was a worthy reward for such a difficult labor. Not even Aemond, it seemed.

“You know Aemond,” she began cautiously. “She does not yet have a name. Might you have a suggestion?”

“Me?” He was shocked. “What about Ser Laenor?”

“He isn’t here,” Rhaenyra’s voice was harsh. “Come, we mustn’t let this little one linger without a name of her own for much longer.”

That did seem to be a terrible injustice, in Aemond’s opinion. He struggled to think of a name as perfect as the little creature in front of him. It would have to be a Valyrian name, he decided, for she deserved one, and it would have to be beautiful and unique, only to her. He was struck by the realization that this was the most important thing he had ever done.

“What about Aelinor?” He suggested shyly.

Rhaenyra smiled, looking down on her baby. “I think that is perfect. Will you help my little Aelinor, Aemond? When the world is harsh and cruel, might she have you to lean on?”

Aemond could not imagine the world ever being cruel to little Aelinor — his Aelinor, he decided — but he made the promise anyway. 

“I swear,” he said earnestly, vowing not only to himself, not to his half-sister, but to the precious thing in her arms. He lifted his hand and gently stroked one finger along her tiny arm, the skin impossibly soft and delicate beneath his touch. “I’ll become the strongest dragon rider in the world, so that I can protect you. I swear it.”

And for those few minutes, before news reached the Queen, Rhaenyra felt that the world might not have been as harsh as she knew it to be. Her daughter was healthy and beautiful, and already she was winning hearts. Little Aelinor was exactly what Aemond had said, a spot of sun on a dark day, and she was loved.

No one could ever have imagined that in the years and wars to come, it was tiny Aelinor, and her sworn protector, who would shape the future of House Targaryen. 

119 AC

At the age of four, Princess Aelinor Velaryon ruled over the Red Keep like a little queen. Though not one for barking orders — she was both too meek and too shy for that — she found the castle filled with those resolved to fulfill her every whim. Never in her short life had she known a moment’s hardship, for such inconveniences were kept fiercely away by those who loved her.

Her mother, the Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, doted on her only daughter, even as she brought a second son into the world. Her daughter was the perfect image of her mother, in looks if not in temperament, and Rhaenyra was determined to keep her under her wing for as long as possible. The motives could not be entirely unselfish, for Aelinor alone of Rhaenyra’s children bore the look of a true Targaryen, and contributed heavily to the preservation of Rhaenyra’s reputation. 

The Lord Laenor Velaryen, the girl’s father, found himself rather at odds with what to do with the girl. Though she did not resemble him in the slightest, he found her sweet, and reminded him of a calmer, meeker Laena. The reminder of his sister was enough to generate some fondness in his heart for the child, if it could not be called a true fatherly love. He did not spend much time with the girl (or indeed any of his children), but he made sure to always bring the child a bauble from his travels, and offer her a story should she ask.

King Viserys, her grandfather, doted on the child, whom he found to be the perfect image of his late wife, Aemma, and even Her Majesty the Queen could not find it in herself to hate the child. Not when little Aelinor so often looked up to Queen Alicent and declared her ‘beautiful like a faerie’.

The only true hardship in Princess Aelinor’s life came from her brothers, the Princes Jacaerys and Lucerys Velaryon. Luc was young, and so it was most often Jace who took to bullying the young girl. It was difficult to say why, and perhaps that was why their mother did so little to stop it. It might simply have been the way of things with siblings, for Rhaenyra had none of her own. But many in the curt whispered that the boys had far darker motivations for taunting and teasing the little girl, even if the children themselves were unaware.

When Jacaerys pushed Aelinor from her chair so that he might sit next to the King, the court whispered ‘it is because she has the look of a Targaryen, and the boy does not’. And when Luc pulled her hair, they suggested that his jealously moved him to hurt the girl.

Aelinor loved her brothers though, and were she a little stronger or a little bigger, she would have teased them right back. She knew her brothers would never hurt her, not truly, and so she did not let herself be too bothered by their harassment. 

Aelinor remained a happy child, through and through, in large part due to her best friend, for there was no one in the court, nor in her family, as devoted to her happiness as her beloved Aemond. On any given day, one could expect to see the young prince following behind the little princess like an ever-faithful shadow, quick to pick her up should she fall, to wipe away her tears, and fight her battles for her. For all the rumors of rifts between the factions of House Targaryen, their loyalty to each other seemed to bridge the gap of familial animosity.

“Aemond,” Aelinor said eagerly. “Can you tell me what you see?”

They were hiding in the rafters, in a space normally reserved for servants lighting chandeliers, spying on the feast and dancing taking place in the great hall below. It was Prince Aegon’s eleventh name day, and the dancing was expected to last right into the night. Aemond had been forced to attend for the first few hours, but had managed to sneak away and find Aelinor, who had been too young to be invited. Now they were hidden behind a wall on the upper level, Aemond tall enough to peer over and Aelinor trying to stand on her toes.

Aemond considered his answer. “What would you like to hear about? The dancing or the food?”

“The dancing!” She exclaimed. “Is it like in the stories?”

He knew which stories she was referring to. Aemond spent much of his time regaling Aelinor with the stories of Old Valyria, and while she loved tales of dragons and spells as much as he did (though he did tend to leave out some of the gorier details of blood magic), it was the great romances that really captured her young mind.

“The ladies are all spinning around, and their dresses are very fine,” he said. “And I can see that all of the lords are very much in love with them.”

Truthfully, he could only really see his mother, who danced with her uncle in the middle of the nearly-empty dancefloor. The hired musicians now played over the sound of drunken revelries, most of the guests draped over taples with tankards of ale in their hands. All of the other children had left by now, including Aegon, who had arrogantly boasted that he would stay up all night for his party. He also couldn’t see Princess Rhaenyra  But Aelinor didn’t need to know any of that. 

“I wish I could be down there,” the girl sighed, spinning around so that the edges of her bedrobe twirled outward. “I could meet a handsome prince.”

Aemond turned from watching the party, smiling down at her as she spun about. “Am I not handsome enough for you, Lina?”

Aelinor stopped then, looking very serious. “You’re the most handsome, even more handsome than your brothers or mine, or any of the princes in the stories.”

Aemond grinned. That was what he loved best about Aelinor. Even at the age of four, he knew without a doubt that she meant everything she said with every fibre of her being. As far as he knew, she had never even told a lie to anyone. She just loved and loved with her entire heart, and he felt grateful that she shared even a small piece of it with him.

“Come then, if you wish it, we shall dance,” he held out a hand, leading her through a clumsy imitation of one of the dances he had seen earlier. Aelinor held her skirt up with one hand and he whirled her around, careful not to let her trip over her dress.

“What’s your favorite part of the stories, Aemond?” She asked him, swaying from side to side.

He answered honestly. “I like the dragons. I like hearing about the bond between dragons and their riders, and how they became heroes and legends.” He was filled with a great sadness then, for her did not have a dragon of his own. Aelinor did, her little egg had hatched shortly after her birth, though she was too young to have done more than pet the hatchling. 

“You’ll be the best dragon rider ever,” Aelinor promised. “I just know it.”

He didn’t doubt that she believed it.

“Do you want to know my favorite part, Aemond?” She asked, giggling as he swayed her from side to side.

“Of course, Lina.”

She sighed dramatically. “I like the happy endings, when the heroes bring their princesses a troven.”

“It’s a token, Lina,” he smiled. “And yes, I know you love the happy endings.” He was prone to adding happy endings to all his stories, knowing how much she loved them. 

“Come now, it is time to get you to bed.” It was well past her bedtime, and Aelinor did not protest as he took her hand and returned her to her family.

Early the next morning, Alicent walked into her sitting room to find Aemond digging through one of her jewelry boxes.

“Aemond, whatever are you doing?” She glanced briefly at the breakfast table, where Aegon was slathering a fruit spread on a piece of bread, but chose to take nothing for herself.

Aemond didn’t reply, setting a gold chain to the side and continuing to dig. “Just looking for something.”

“Hm,” Alicent hummed. “Did you have fun with Aelinor last night?”

“Yes, we watched some of the dancing.” 

His brother laughed, but Aemond chose to ignore it. He now had a selection of jewels set next to him on the table, and was continuing his hunt.

“Why are you laughing, Aegon?” Alicent asked.

Aegon snorted. “I just think it’s funny that Aemond hangs out with babies rather than acting like a man.”

This was rather funny, especially coming from a boy as flippant and juvenile as Aegon, but Alicent couldn’t deny that the thought had occured to her as well. Aemond was nearly nine, and his closest companion was a little girl of four. Aemond was already an odd child, and it didn’t bode well for him to be so distanced from his peers.

“Aelinor isn’t a baby, she’s special,” Aemond declared, spinning to face his mother, holding his palm outstretched. “Mother, may I have this.”

Balanced on his palm was a large sapphire, too large for him to close his fist around. It was roughly cut, and had been given to the Queen for her to choose its cut and setting herself, but she had never gotten around to it, preferring emerald tones over sapphire.

“For what?” She asked.

A red flush stained Aemond’s cheeks, and Alicent did not even need to hear his reply. “Are you sure, Aemond? That is a very large gem, and she’s very little.”

Aemond held it tightly in his fingers. “Please. She loves treasure.”

That was a gross underestimation of Aemond’s motivations. Yes, Aelinor did love treasure as much as any little princess, but the truth was, her sleepy mumblings about heroes and tokens had rattled around his brain all night. She had called him a handsome prince, and he felt he needed to do something to earn it.

“Please?” He repeated.

Alicent considered her next words carefully. On one hand, she did not want the court to hear of her passing a gift of such value to the Princess Rhaenyra’s family. Or rather, she did not want her father to hear of it. But she had no real attachment to the stone, having already forgotten which visiting lord or lady had gifted it to her, and it might serve to address what she saw as the larger concern.

“Very well,” Aemond’s face erupted in glee, “but you must make me a promise.”

“Anything!” He exclaimed.

“From now on, you will join Aegon for his morning lessons. That means with the maesters some days, and in the training yard on others.”

“What?” 

“Why?” Aegon demanded.

Alicent held up a hand to silence both of her sons. “You’re not as little as you were, Aemond. This is important.”

“But Aelinor —”

“Aelinor must also study with her Septas,” Alicent said. “Do I have your agreement?”

Aemond looked a bit dejected, but nodded slowly. “I promise.”

“Well, I don’t even want him to train with me!”

The next day Aelinor had to hunt for Aemond throughout the castle. He wasn’t waiting outside her door when she awoke, nor was he in the library, picking out a new story for her. It took her nearly an hour to find him in the most unlikely of places.

He was testing out the different practice swords, trying to see which felt the least foreign in his hand, when Aelinor emerged on the walkway above the training yard. Ser Harwin Strong lifted her easily, carrying her down the steps and setting her down on a flat stone. His efforts were futile, for she immediately leapt off and splashed through the mud to reach Aemond.

“Are you going to learn to fight, Aemond?” She asked, excited. “Can I learn too?

The thought was ridiculous, but Aemond didn’t laugh. “When you are bigger, Lina, I promise.” He couldn’t bear the thought of her being injured, so this was one of the few instances in which he had no choice but to refuse her.

“Alright,” she sighed. “Can I stay and watch?”

Aemond was suddenly embarrassed at the thought of her watching him train. He would not be very good, and he couldn’t bear for Aelinor to think any less of him. The sapphire hung heavy in his pocket, and he was thankful for the distraction.

“Not today, Lina. But I have a gift for you.”

“A gift?” She bounced on her toes. The hem of her lilac dress was already stained with mud, but her silver hair was tied back neatly back with a ribbon. Her whole frame shook as she bounced in anticipation. “What is it?”

Aemond pulled the sapphire out of his pocket, unwrapping the silk handkerchief he had used to cover it. “This is for you. Just like from the stories.”

Aelinor’s gasp was almost comical as she took in the stone. “For me?”

“Yes,” Aemond said, letting her take it in her small hands. She had to grip it with both hands to hold it, the gem ridiculously large for her. “But you must be very careful with it, alright?”

Aelinor stared at it for a moment longer. In the morning light the gem reflected a ripple of cerulean blue across her palms, and she felt she could have wasted away the day studying it. Suddenly she leapt forward to wrap Aemond in a hug. “Thank you, thank you!” She cried. “It is the best thing in the world.”

Aemond squeezed her back. “I am glad you like it. “Now go, we both have lessons.”

Aelinor gave him one last squeeze, before turning to stomp back to her waiting Kingsguard. Aemond just smiled, pleased with himself.

That evening, Aelinor sat in front of the hearth in her mother’s chambers, half-listening as her brothers recounted their day, but mostly studying the sapphire in her hands. Her mother had been astonished to see the magnitude of the gift she had received, but she had not taken it away.

“Boys, stay here with Aelinor. I have something to discuss with your father.” Rhaenyra disappeared into the next room.

Jace squatted down next to his sister, pointing at the stone. “What’s that?”

“It’s my token!” Aelinor exclaimed.

“It’s pretty,” Luc was on her other side.

“I know!” Aelinor beamed. “Aemond gave it to me. It’s just like the treasures from the stories and I—”

Jace interrupted her. “Aemond? You let him give you a gift?” Unlike his younger siblings, Jace wasn’t entirely unaware of the whispers that followed him at court. And he was more than aware that while he dealt with sideways glances and whispers, he knew that Aelinor was largely immune to those comments. That spark of jealousy colored his relationship with his sister, sometimes overclouding his love for her with envy.

Aelinor was confused by his question. Why shouldn’t Aemond give her a gift? He was her Aemond after all. But Jace’s question made her worry. Perhaps she needed to give him a gift in return. But what did she have that was as wonderful as this?

“Aemond isn’t our friend, Aelinor,” Jace cautioned. “You can’t trust him.”

“Aemond is my friend,” Aelinor countered, her faith in him steadfast. “He just doesn’t like you.”

All of a sudden, Luc snatched the gem out of her hand, holding it away from her reach. “It’s so blue!”

“Let me see it, Luc,” Jace took it, holding it near the fire to see it better.

“Give it back!” Aelinor sprung to her feet. “It isn’t yours! It’s mine!”

“Why should you get a gift like this, and from Aemond of all people?” Jace, who thought himself much older and wiser, tried to reason with his sister. “You cannot keep it.”

“I can! He gave it to me!” Aelinor jumped to reach it, nearly tripping over her skirts.

“I’m sorry, sister. But this is for the best. “And Jace, with the type of carelessness that only a boy can muster, tossed the sapphire into the fire.

Aelinor wailed. “You stupid, stupid boy! Aemond gave that to me!” She beat at his side with her little fists.

Jace pushed her off, sending her stumbling to the floor. “It’s just a trinket, Aelinor. We can find you another one. A better one.”

But Aelinor already knew in her heart that there would never be a better gift than the one Aemond had given her. She pushed onto her knees and crawled closer to the fire, sniffling as she watched the flames lick at the blue gem. Already black was creeping up the edges, marring its beautiful surface. Aemond had given her that gift because he loved, she knew it. And she wasn’t going to let her brother’s jealousy take it away.

New determination flowing through her veins, Aelinor reached forward into the fire, and grasped the gem firmly in her hand.

Her screams echoed through the hall of the keep. 

Aemond was reading by candlelight, just beginning to nod off when a pounding began at his door. A thousand things occurred to him as he scrambled from his bed. It could be his mother, angry that he was still awake, or it could be something more serious, such as a fire or an attack of some kind.

He had scarcely set his feet on the floor when the door burst open, and he was surprised to see not only his mother there, looking very perturbed in her nightgown and robe, but also Ser Harwin Strong, the Kingsguard to the Princess Rhaenyra.

“Aemond,” his mother sighed. “I’m sorry, but there was no helping it.”

“No helping what, mother?” Aemond was concerned. Was that sweat on Ser Harwin’s brow? “Is there a fire?”

“No, child. There has been an…unfortunate accident.”

“What do you—”

Ser Harwin interrupted. “The Princess Aelinor has been grievously injured, and she calls for you. Her mother hoped you might calm her, so that she might let the maesters—”

Aemond was already pushing past them, running down the stairs as fast as his bare feet could carry him. Aelinor, injured? He could not imagine what might have happened, his thoughts already filled with the most horrible images. He should have been there, should have protected her. And where were her parents, her brothers, her guards? What were they doing that allowed her to be hurt?

He could hear Ser Harwin rushing behind him, but he did not stop to look. He just ran down the familiar corridors and began climbing the steps to the chambers the Princess Rhaenyra occupied with her family. No sooner had his foot landed on the bottom step of the tower that the most horrible wailing reached his ears.

“Aelinor!” She shouted, rushing up the steps and bursting into the room. He shoved past a crowd of maesters and Aelinor’s own parents and brothers, ignoring the rudeness of his arrival. Rhaenyra looked close to tears, her sons just as distraught, but Aemond only had eyes for Aelinor.

She sat on a divan, wilted against one side, her hand cradled in her lap. She was still wearing her beautiful, mud-covered dress from that morning, though the dirt had now dried into dust that flaked onto the velvet furniture. She was sobbing: great, heaving sobs that shook her entire body with the effort, letting out alternatively loud wails or soft moans of pain.

“Lina!” he exclaimed, dropping to his knees next to her. “What’s happened?”

She wailed louder, and he saw that she was gripping something in her little hand. The skin that he could see, mainly the sides and back of her hand, was a frightening shade of bright red, as though she’d left it out in the sun for too long.

“She wasn’t supposed to go after it,” Jace said. “She just reached right in!”

“What did she reach for, Jace?” Rhaenyra demanded. “You were supposed to watch her!”

Aemond ignored them, carefully lifting a hand to brush away the flood of tears. A maester knelt on her other side. “Young Prince, we need to let us see her hand. We fear she had been grievously burned.”

Burned? His Aelinor?

He spun his gaze around, zeroing on Jace. Little Luc clung to his brother’s shirt, tears running down his face. The nerve of him to cry, when his sister was suffering so.

“What have you done?” He demanded. “Why did you hurt her?”

“She was the one stupid enough to reach into a fireplace for a dumb jewel!” Jace spat back.

“Jewel? What jewel?” Ser Laenor asked, and his wife began to explain.

Aemond felt a feeling of dread come over him as he realized what Aelinor was holding so tightly in her hand. What she had hurt herself for. He leaned close, wrapping one arm around her shoulders. “I’m so sorry, Lina. Does it hurt terribly?”

She gave a pathetic nod, and he resisted the urge to cry. This was his fault, after all. He had given her the sapphire, and she had scarred herself just to save it from the fire. 

“Lina,” he whispered. “Please, you must let them help.”

Her lip quivered. “Make it stop hurting, Aemond.”

He hated himself for being unable to grant her wish. It made him want to turn around and punch Jace, and even little Luc, for putting her through this. It was their teasing and tormenting of her that had led to this, he was sure of it.

“Open your hand, Lina,” he coaxed. “And once they’ve taken care of you, I’ll tell you a new story, alright?”

That seemed motivation enough, and he moved to sit beside her, taking her uninjured hand in his as the maesters worked quickly to uncurl her burned fingers. Aelinor whimpered as the sapphire dropped to the floor, and Aemond felt like vomiting when he saw the mess left behind. A melted mass of burned skin and liquid flesh, her fingers curling in as if to protect the wound from the air. As soon as it was exposed, Aelinor began to cry anew, and Aemond drew her face into his shoulders.

“It will be alright, Lina,” he promised, even though he didn’t think it would be. “I’ll take care of you.”

Aelinor didn’t respond. She just clung to Aemond’s side and sobbed as they applied a salve and a bandage to her ruined hand. Both her mother and father came forward to try and comfort her, but any attempt to pry her away from Aemond only led to more tears.

Aelinor whispered something, and Aemond leaned down to hear it.

“Am I going to be ugly now, Aemond?” She said quietly.

“Never,” he swore. “You are as beautiful as ever, and no one could ever do anything to change that.” That, at least, he was sure of.

She seemed to take a little comfort in that, and Aemond worked with the maesters to convince her to drink some milk of the poppy. She fell asleep, slumped against Aemond’s side, her hand an unidentifiable mass of bandages. 

“Thank you, Prince Aemond,” Ser Laenor said, gently placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I will take her to bed now.”

Aemond wanted to protest, but while he might be strong enough to carry Aelinor playful around the castle, he could not move her without jostling her. Instead, he carefully passed her to her father, and stood from the sofa as she was carried away. He wanted to insist that someone stay with her through the night, but movement at the side of the room drew his attention away.

Rhaenyra had collapsed into a chair at the table, Jace and Luc sitting beside her. In Luc’s hand was the blackened sapphire they had pried from Aelinor’s grasp.

“You…you bastards!” Aemond shouted, walking up and snatching the jewel from him. “I gave this to Aelinor, not to you!”

“Boys, there is no need for—” Rhaenyra started.

“Who are you to give our sister gifts? You’re just trying to…trying to..” Jace struggled for words. “To turn her against us!”

“I’m not! I—” Aemond caught himself before he said I love her. “It doesn’t matter. You stole from her, and you hurt her, and I won’t ever forgive you for it.”

“Enough!” Rhaenyra stood. “Jace, take Luc and go to your room. I’ll be in to speak with you in a minute.”

Aemond watched as they walked away, scowling all the while. Only once the door had closed behind them did Rhaenyra turn to him.

“Thank you, Aemond,” she said sincerely. “I did not say it earlier, but you were a great comfort to Aelinor, and a great help to us all tonight.”

He did not think that his mother would enjoy hearing that he had been a ‘great help’ to his half-sister, nor was he particularly endeared to her at the moment. It was on her watch that Lina had been injured, after all. “I did it for Lina.” And not for you.

“I know you did, but I am grateful all the same.” Rhaenyra sighed. “She will be very unwell in the coming days. Can I trust that you will be there to help?”

It was a silly question. When, in all the days since Aelinor had been born, had Aemond not been there? Short of prying him from her side and locking him up, there would be nothing anyone could do to keep him away from his little princess.

Aemond looked down at the jewel in his palm, rubbing some of the soot away with his finger. “Can she have her jewel back? I picked it just for her. I didn’t mean for her to be hurt.” It wasn’t quite an admission of guilt, and indeed, no one could accuse him of being at fault save himself, but Rhaenyra could see that it already weighed heavy on the boy.

Rhaenyra held out her hand, and he obediently placed the sapphire in her palm. “Not only may she keep it, but I shall have it placed in a setting, so that she might carry it easier.”

That sounded perfectly agreeable to Aemond, and he nodded. “Very well. Then I shall look after Aelinor.” He did not say because you cannot, but the thought was in his mind. He had trusted Aelinor to the care of her mother and brothers, and now she was hurt. It would never have happened on his watch. He wouldn’t have allowed it.

“May I ask one more favor of you, Ameond?” 

He gave a slight nod.

Rhaenyra took a deep breath, as if debating whether or not to speak. “Please don’t call my boys bastards. It cuts deeper than you know.”

Aemond did not agree, or disagree, he simply cast one last longing glance at Aelinor’s door,and then left the room, determined to return in the morning with an armful of sweets for his princess.

Years later, Rhaenyra would wonder if that was the first day the lines were drawn between their families. When she inadvertently handed Aemond Targaryen the words with which to wound her own children. But at the time, she knew only that he cared deeply for her daughter, and she hoped and prayed that it would be enough to preserve this tender peace.

[its-in-the-woods]

The Woman Who Couldn’t Die Part 16

master list

Part 1 , Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Par 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10 , Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15

Pairing: The Ghoul/Cooper Howard x Original Character

Synopsis: “I think we should pull her teeth,” Nat muttered to himself, he wasn’t much for body desecration but teeth fetched a good bag of caps.

MINOR GET OUT. Rating/Warning: This is based on Fallout expect typical horror, blood, gore, death, weapons, memory loss, necrophilia themes, desecration of a body,

Hello! I am back, for those who don't know me outside of this.. I get SAD really bad between Nov-January, but I seem to be on the up and the words are flowing. Thank you for all ! Can't wait for the next chapter. New series coming soon!

***

The leaf litter rustled against the fabric of the worn coat, a bloody head covered in the dirt, and brain matter left a bloody trail behind them. The men’s heavy boots echoing against the low bush, as they march side by side, one leg in each hand. A coordinated effort to get the body out to the trail. As the bush parts open to reveal another man, going over the spoils of what they had found at the massacre site. They had found several dead bodies, the smell had alerted the ragtag group that there may have been something worth gathering. Finding an intact body amongst the other dead was interesting. They had debated dragging her out or leaving her for dead, but their ringleader Nat had pointed out she may be worth something at the chop shops. 

“Is she heavy for her size?” Rag groans as he flops her leg down beside the bags. Wiping sweat off his dirty forehead leaving streaks across it. He is a small man with dirty grey hair, thin in the way most Wastelander were. Lack of food and good nutrients hadn’t helped any. He grabs a canteen from the pile and takes a swig making a face at the taste of the water.

Trucker chuckles, leering at the smaller man from under his hat. Same worn baseball cap he had found ages ago, it kept the sun off his steadily growing bald spot. He was taller and thicker than Rags by a good amount, but that was probably because his family was chicken farmers. “Nah you’re just weak, Rags.” He grabs his bottle, wincing at the stale water, but water was water after all. Though he longed for a cold harder drink.

Rag kicks at her leg, his boot two sizes too big, nearly falling off with the motion. Trucker laughing at the way he almost falls over. “Why she not all rotten like the rest of them?”

Nat strolls over, he is a tall lean man, with dirty blonde hair and several scars across his arms. The man was older than both but carried himself like a younger man. “Not sure, she got a bullet hole in the center of her head, but it’s like she is just asleep.”

Trucker grumbles, going over to some of the bags to dig around in the pile. “Some Enclave shit, I don’t like it. Should have just left her there.”

“Maybe they will want her back?” Rag asks, looking her up and down, a dark look passing across his face. "Think we could make a few caps off her." He turns his head sideways leaning towards her, “Or maybe we could-”

“Shut up.” Nat hisses and glaring daggers, he was not having any of that. There were still lines he wouldn't cross even out here. “Why I keep you sick fucks around I will never know.”

Rag shrugs, crouching down close to her, reaching out to touch the buttons on her jacket, tongue poking out to lick his lips. “If she’s dead, does it really matter?”

The back of Nat’s hand hits Rag’s face hard enough to knock him off his feet. A knife slid into Nate's hand as he walks over to the fallen man, Trucker getting up between them. “Come on you two dipshits, not worth killing each other over.”

Nat glares at Rag but puts his knife away, going back over to the body on the ground. He would have happily let that dirty piece of roach bleed where he lay. “You sick fuck stay over there like you’ve never seen someone of the opposite sex before.”

Rag puts his hands up pushing himself back onto his feet and going through bags. The three men digging out anything that could be traded, or sold, a small pile forming in the middle of the pathway. They weren’t worried about anyone coming upon them. Auto had burned to the ground a month or so ago, and almost no one came north this late in the summer. They only did it cause they were scavengers, going places most wouldn’t go to get the goods that many wanted. They were heading north while the rest headed south, they were quick and efficient. Anything valuable left behind they’d gather before high tailing it south before any cold weather came, it was a solid grift they’d be running for going on three winters now.  

“I think we should pull her teeth,” Nat muttered to himself, he wasn’t much for body desecration but teeth fetched a good bag of caps. He drew the line at molestation, but stealing teeth from someone dead wasn’t the worst thing he’d done. They were here for caps, that kept them alive, bellies fed, and somewhere warm to stay. Leaning above her he pushed her lips up to see what he was working with. 

Her eyes shot open, nearly black with glints of gold, mouth falling open with a groan causing Nat to fall backward onto his ass. The woman groans louder, all the men now stepping in the opposite direction of the dead body. Her mouth opening and closing at it gasps for air, her body convulsing and stirring, back arched up as she awakens. 

“What the fuck,” Rag shutters, all but hiding behind the other two men, as their eyes widen in horror. “She should be dead.”

She coughs and sputters, black goop coming out of her mouth as she manages to sit herself up. Her arms and hands look more like doll parts than a human as she tries to right herself. Blinking several times she takes in the three men in front of her, one eye sticking closed before she manages to rub it back open. Hands stiff and ridge as she tries to get herself moving.

“W-here?” She grunts, her mouth dry as she looks at them. Reaching over she grabbed a canteen of water, her hands too stiff to open the lid. Nat comes over uncapping it and helping ease the water into her mouth. Coughing more the gunk onto the ground, it was thick like old oil in some of the burnt-out cars you could find. 

“How are you alive,” Rag whimpers, only the top of his head seen above Trucker’s shoulders. Sometimes being a good head shorter was good, especially for hiding.

Nat digs around in the bags, finds some dried jerky, and hands it to her. “Umm, you’re about two hours outside Auto.”

She blinks several times, gently taking the meat out of his hand. Her other hand rubbing at her eyes, fingers going up to trace against the outline of where the bullet wound was. Her fingers go around it several times, brows scrunching as she chews. Nat could see the dexterity slowly coming back as she continues to move and look around. It was like watching a newborn learn how to walk for the first time. 

“Auto,” She says quietly, hand going down across her arms to rub at marks. Nat hadn’t noticed the scars before now. There were at least half a dozen on each arm, not including what looked like old track wounds. 

“What’s your name,” Trucker asks, scooting a little bit away from Rags to snatch a bag and start stuffing stuff into it. He was not going to let her take away all his spoils. 

Blinking again, her eyes didn’t seem as dark as she looks around some more. “I am not sure, I don’t remember-” Instinctively she reaches out and grabs a machete not far from her, she grips it, fingers slotting perfectly into the handle. “I think this was mine.” 

Rag is still standing back, muttering away to himself as he keeps his body as small as possible. “Nothin’ is really anyones, yah no.”

Nat glared at him, silencing him as much as he could, “Whatever you need, feel free to grab. We are just scavengers, finding things to trade or sell.” 

She turns to look at the stuff before her, Nat staring into the back of her head. There should be a good-sized hole there, but all that is there is crusted hair. It didn’t make sense, he had never seen anyone survive a bullet to the forehead.

“You shouldn’t be alive,” Rag says again, Nat is about ready to knock his teeth out, he was dumping him at the next outpost they found. The man was becoming too unhinged even for him.

The woman stares at him, her eyes blank, it was clear she didn’t understand what was happening. She picks up a knife and pistol, the two going into a pack along with the canteen she had grabbed earlier.

“I don’t think I should be alive,” She looks between them all, “But I am alive,” 

***

The group had debating giving her name but had decided on just calling her the girl. She had made the choice to go North back towards Auto, the town name sounded familiar but she wasn't sure why. Standing in the wreckage of the town didn’t give her many answers, it was familiar yet not familiar. Her head was pounding, the mark on her forehead was throbbing. The men kept asking her questions she could not answer, all she had were fragments of memories that would flash and disappear as fast. It was more like shards of glass that kept poking through, but it was hard to hold onto the pieces for longer than a second. 

Nat stuck near her, he seemed to want to keep her safe. Was safe the right word? She didn’t like the other two that much, Rags made her skin crawl, something about him was not right, the way his eyes never quite looked at hers. Trucker was mostly silent, he also made her edgy but not the same way Rags did. Regardless she was aware that their paths would divide sooner than later, as soon as she could figure out who she was. Something had to trigger things right? Maybe this town would, or what was left of it. Maybe it would make the pieces not so jagged. She kicks at some burnt metal wishing her mind worked, eyes whirling around the place. It was all the same blackened nothing, a black burnt metal on top of more metal.

She walks around, her legs were still stiff and aching like she hadn’t moved in days. Her fingers went back to her forehead, the mess that she had felt in her hair. How long had she been lying in the forest, what had happened in the forest? Why was she the only one alive? Who was traveling with her? 

“You’ll figure it out,” Nate says quietly, coming to stand close to her. She nearly jumps glaring at him, not wanting him any closer to her. 

“Do you know who shot me? Is that what this?” Shrub points at her forehead, the raised edges catching on to her finger. 

Nat’s eyes go wide and he raises his hands up palms out, “No, we found you like that. I don’t know what happened.”

Shrub groans and sitting down on a piece of burnt rubble, rubbing her face and then down her arms. Her fingers find the different marks on her arms, lifting up her shirt seeing more scars smattered on her stomach . Some look older than others, others fresh, what had happened to her. 

Bang

Jade!

She blinks a few times, the name Jade bouncing around inside her head. Who was Jade? Was it someone she was with, was it one of the dead bodies in the forest? Did she kill Jade? 

“Nothing makes sense.” She grumbles looking around the place. More flashes of memories, the town not burnt but whole. The streets where busy with people moving around. She could see herself walking across to the building directly from her, someone shadowing behind her. 

She is up and moving without thinking, heading towards what is left of the building, a building that is familiar. It had melted fencing surrounding the place, she carefully stepped over some of the debris. Going down along the blackened brick to the back, there are several burnout trailers. The memories hit again, the trailers not burnt, the lights low, a shower, the warmth of a fire. 

Bang!

Jade! 

“You’ve been here before?” Nat asks he had kept close to her, staying just a few feet behind her, but close enough he could see the wreckage past her.

“Jade,” She says the name out loud as if she were testing out how it fits on her tongue. It was her name and the more she said it the more it fit her.

Nat nods his head, a small smile on his face as if understanding what she is saying, “That’s got to be your name, right?” 

Jade nods her head, “I think so, I was here before this burnt. I can see what it looked like before everything went up in flames. I stayed in these trailers” She gestures at the burnt husks of metal. 

“Well, you got a name now. Maybe you’ll remember the rest,” Nat adds, looking almost hopeful as he watches her. Jade looked this way and that, explaining how things had looked before it had all gone up in flames.

Jade stands in the middle of the space, walking towards one of the trailers that she was sure was hers. She peers behind it seeing a large hole in the fence. “I went through here before it burnt to the ground.”

This is where she had escaped, something had chased her through the hole. Did someone try to kill her? Then left her in the woods? There were so many questions, without answers. They were trapped behind millions of fragments of memories.

The two turn at the crunch of gravel, coming out from behind to see that Trucker had shown up, a piece of paper in his hands. “Bounty. Wonder if this was the dude that burnt the place down?” 

Taking the paper Jade looks it over, a striking drawing of a gnarled face of a man looks up at her, his face scarred and hollowed in some area. He wears a crooked smile, missing a nose, yet she still would call him handsome. She knew him without reading the words written below, it was the Ghoul. She knew him, had met him before, maybe it was here in town.

“The Ghoul, he was here,” Jade stated, though it wasn’t anger she felt towards him. She felt remorse. As id she missed him, or something, what was it?

Nat grabs the paper looking it over, lips going into a thin line. “Bet he was the one that burnt the place down. Ghouls, nothing but zombies that think they are still human.”

Jade’s stomach clenches at his words, heat flooding her face. The urge to strike him, made her hands clench.“You sure? I don’t remember him doing anything bad.”

Trucker spat on the ground, “Yeah, I’ve heard of him. Some bounty hunter with a big ego, legend has it he was around when they first dropped the bombs. A killer for hirer type.”

“So you just assume he would burn the town down?” Jade pushes, flashes of a shadow in the shape of a cowboy making her question everything they were saying. She knew somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew they were wrong. 

Chuckling Trucker grabs the paper balls it up tossing it. “There have been outposts and towns burnt all up and down this area. He was probably looking for someone, trying to cover his tracks.”

“Whose covering tracks?” Rag walks in looking at the burntout area. Jade immediately backing away from him. He keeps himself away from her too, at least the discomfort was mutual. 

“Nothing, we should grab what we can and then keep heading north,” Nat shrugs it off, walking out of the fenced area. “No point staying here any longer than we need.”

Jade stands there looking around the place, going over to the crumpled-up paper she grabs it and smooths it out. Holding the piece up she notices that one side is ripped like it had been torn in half. She folds it neatly, stuffing it into one of her pockets to keep it safe, something wasn’t adding up. Whatever it was she wasn’t going with them, she was going to head south, that was the direction she needed to go. Following the men back out to the main part of town with her mind made up. 

“I think I am going to go south,” Jade says firmly as she catches up with the three men. “I don’t think north is the way I am supposed to go.”

The three look at her as if she is asking to walk off a cliff. Nat’s brows are scrunched together, Trucker’s are lost somewhere under his hat, and Rags looks as indifferent as ever. It didn’t matter not really anyway, they owed her nothing.

“I don’t think you should be on your own, Jade,” Nat states, taking a step towards her hand outstretched. “You might not remember, but the Wastes aren’t safe.”

Jade squares her shoulders looking at him directly, “No, I don’t remember much of anything. But my gut is telling me not to go North, so I ain’t going.”

Trucker rolls his eyes, snatching up his pack. “Yeah, good luck to yah. If you need anything, don't come looking for us.” He turns to start walking out of the town, Rag does the same without a word. 

Nat stands there, hands now clenched around the straps of his bag. “I’ll come with you then. You shouldn’t be out here alone.”

Trucker and Rags groan in unison at the words, Rags flipping them off as he continues to walk. Trucker stops to look at them, hands on his hips, face scrunched together. He grabs Rags and drags him back towards Nat and Jade. Rags moans the entire way back as he comes to a stop beside Nat.

“No, no, no way, dude.” Trucker grumbles, stopping a few feet from Nat. “We’ve been travelling together for -” He throws his hands up in the air. “Now you're just gonna dump us to play white knight.”

“I don't need anyone’s help,” Jade states, not liking Trucker’s tone and the way Rag is just standing there glaring. “Go North, I am going South.”

Nat grabs her arm, Jade grabs him, and immediately throws him over her shoulder. He hits the ground with a thud, his eyes wide in shock as he stares up at Jade. 

“What the fuck are you doing,” Truker pushes Jade back, going to help Nat up off the ground. 

Jade stood there wide-eyed and confused how she knew how to do that, it had felt like a well-practiced instinct. 

“I am sorry,” Jade replies, chewing against one of her bottom lip as bile touches the back of her throat. “I shouldn’t have done that.

“No shit,” Rags growls at her, grabbing up Nat’s bag as he scowls at her. “Lot of thanks we get offering you help.”

Nat sighs, dusting himself off, and taking the bag from Rags. “It’s fine, you don’t need us anymore.”

Jade stands there, at a loss for words as the three men turn away from her. She watches as they walk away, her heart heavy. Part of her wanting to go after them, they had helped her after all, but part of her knew better. She was not meant to go with them, her journey lay south. 

***

-> Chapter 17 <-

@pixelatedprofilepic @hiddlebatchedlokii @toogaytofunctiondangit @dionneroyal49 @dichromaniac

@whatsorceressisthis

[incandescentflower]

well whoops, I had some people asking and it got the brain turning and so now this is a multi-chapter.

[let-me-love-you-loki]

Yours To Tame--Ch. 9

Chapter 9: One Week Later

            I sat on the edge of the hospital bed and looked at Anna. My clothes were packed in a little overnight bag. There was still an edge of fatigue around me. A fuzziness to my thoughts that made it hard to focus. I’d been cleared of any major damage but told that it would be several weeks before I’d be allowed to wrestle again.

            Sammy was going to be ferociously angry. I was so afraid of what was going to happen when we saw each other for the first time after everything that had happened in the hospital. As if she could read my thoughts, Anna looked up and wrapped her fingers around mine. I was surprised to find that mine were icy cold.

            “Hey,” she said, squeezing my hand firmly. “You aren’t going this alone. Not for one second.”

            I sighed and blinked away the terrified tears that welled up in my eyes. “You can’t be with me all the time, Anna. Besides, I have to go home eventually.”

            “You could come stay with me until we figure out what to do.”

            “That’ll just make Sammy even angrier. It’s already going to be bad enough…” My stomach dropped into my toes. As if I could feel the blows, I curled in on myself, wrapping my arms around my chest. Fear burned like bile up my throat. The venom of terror roiled through my veins. “Best if I just get it over with.”

            Anna scowled and reached up to push some of my hair back from my forehead. Her fingertips hesitated over the raised scar hidden just at my hairline. There was half a dozen more, all carefully camouflaged. I didn’t want to think about how they got there.

            She scowled. “Restraining order, Morgan. Why didn’t you keep the restraining order?”

            “Lawyers are expensive. And he never lived by it anyway.”

            “That’s what the cops are for,” she replied. “His ass should have been in jail years ago.”

            Before I could reply, there was a gentle knock on the door. We both looked up, and I couldn’t help the acute fear that cut through me. It swung open slowly.

            “Everybody decent in there?” Moxley’s voice called out.

            The fear receded so quickly it left me dizzy. “Yeah,” Anna replied. “How about out there?”

            Moxley appeared in the doorway with his arms loaded down with a huge bouquet of flowers and a get well soon balloon tied to the wrist of a huge stuffed teddy bear. There was a faint smile on his face as he practically sauntered across the room.

            “What in the name of—”

            “I told you it was ridiculous,” Bryan said, appearing from around Moxley’s broad shoulder. “One or the other or the other, not all three!”

            Bryan sounded exasperated, and I couldn’t help but grin when he made a face in my direction. “How’re you feeling, Morgan?”

            “Bitch of a headache. Anyone ever tell you two that you’re louder than a frat party on free beer weekend?” I sucked in a breath and held out my free hand toward Anna. “Can I have those glasses?”

            The doctor insisted that I wear a pair of dark, anti-glare sunglasses for the next few weeks. I knew it would help. That going without them would just make the recovery process from the concussion longer. But I knew they’d go missing within an hour of being back home.

            “Those are really pretty, Mox,” Anna said, gesturing to the flowers. “And that little guy is adorable.”

            “Ain’t he?” he laughed. “Name’s Jon.”

            Anna giggled, and I could have sworn that she was blushing. “Isn’t that a coincidence.”

            Bryan rolled his eyes and sank down on the end of the bed. There was a foot or two between us, and he kept his hands in his lap. But I could see the worry in his sky-blue eyes. “Seriously,” he asked softly, “how are you?”

            I shrugged, not quite knowing how to answer. Half a dozen responses existed to that question. “I—”

            “Morgan is out of commission for a couple weeks. And she can’t travel for a few more days, so we’re stuck here for a bit longer.”

            “Where are you staying?” Bryan asked.

            “Hotel,” I replied quietly. “Just until I’m given the okay to go home.”

***

            Bryan felt the moment that Moxley’s eyes turned to him. The two men looked at one another, almost as if they could understand each other without speaking. It didn’t take a genius to realize that home for Morgan meant with Sammy Guevara. And after what he’d heard in that hallway—what he’d learned in the last few days—there was no way he was going to let that happen.

            “You know,” Moxley said as he handed the teddy bear to Anna. “I’ve got a few days off, too. Want some company?”

            Anna smiled at them with something deep and grateful in her eyes. She looked between the two of them and to Morgan and back again before giving a firm nod. “Wouldn’t be so bad, would it, Morgan?”

            He watched Moxley gently tap Morgan’s foot with the tip of his boot. She jumped and drew her knees up to her chest. Her eyes went deer in the headlights wide before going flat and distant. If he looked close enough, he could see the tremble in her limbs that she was trying so desperately to hide.

            A new rush of hate splashed into Bryan as he found himself wondering about why she felt she had to fight to hold it back. If he ever got his hands on Sammy Guevara, he was going to rip him apart one muscle fiber at a time. They’d been by the hospital a few times since their first visit, and it wasn’t lost on them that Sammy was often outside in the parking lot staring at the building. Anna had filled them in that he’d been banned from entering the hospital. Sammy hadn’t been subtle about hiding his distain for them at work this past week, either.

            There wasn’t a doubt in Bryan’s mind that the moment Morgan left this building, Sammy would get his hands on her. And God knew what would happen to her after that. He didn’t want to entertain the thought.

***

            He’s got to get that rage under control, Moxley thought as he held the flowers out to Morgan in the hope of drawing her back out of her shell. He understood the feeling, but he knew that all it would do was scare her right back off. And they couldn’t protect her if she wouldn’t even be around them.

            When Morgan wouldn’t look up, Moxley crouched down so that he could look into her eyes. The pupils were wide, irises so dark they looked black barely visible around them. The terror in them made his guts clench.

            “Hey, it’s all good,” he said quietly. He kept his voice low and his hands in sight as he spoke to her. “It’s just an idea. At least let us make sure that you get to the hotel and get settled in okay.”

            She blinked and then squeezed her glassy eyes shut. He couldn’t tell if it was from the concussion, the meds, or something else entirely. After a few deep breaths, Morgan Knox nodded. Her brow furrowed as if the movement hurt. He supposed it did.

            “Think you guys could give us a lift?” Anna asked, drawing his attention.

            Jon Moxley had never really thought of himself as an intuitive person, but somehow he got the gist of what Anna Jay was really asking. Is he here? He felt his mouth curl into a sneer as he gave her a brief, barely there nod of his head.

            “You grab the gifts and I’ll get the bags,” he said as he straightened himself out. His joints popped and cracked, making him grunt. He thought he saw the ghost of a smile on Morgan’s face. “We’ll bring the car around for princess here. Bryan can handle getting her outside.”

            The two met looked at one another, communicating in a quiet way that wrestlers had. They had both seen Sammy sitting in the driver’s seat of his car in the parking lot. It wasn’t hard to imagine the horrible things that were stuck deep in his mind. Moxley hadn’t exactly seen everything that Bryan had, but he knew for sure that he didn’t like the idea of Morgan going anywhere near the asshole who’d put her in the hospital.

            “We’ll take it slow,” Bryan said as he stood up. He held out his hand to her, palm turned upward. “If you get dizzy, we can stop or get a chair.”

***

            I stared at Bryan’s hand, confusion slipping through my thoughts. “What?” I mumbled.

            His eyes crinkled as he reached his hand closer. “Mox and Anna are going to get the car. I’ll walk out with you to make sure that you don’t get dizzy or anything.”

            My eyes darted toward the door, but Anna had already disappeared out of sight. “I… okay,” I replied, clutching the dark glasses in one hand. For a moment, I didn’t quite know what to do with Bryan’s outstretched hand.

            “It’s okay,” he soothed. “You don’t have to. I’ll just walk close enough that I can catch you if you start to stumble. Is that alright?”

            I swallowed hard, surprised by the rush of feeling that settled deep into my chest. My breath rushed out of me as I reached out and placed my fingers against his palm. I pulled myself to my feet, swaying as the world started to spin.

            Bryan’s hand tightened on mine as he stepped forward to slip his other arm around my waist. “I’ve got you.”

            Squeezing my eyes shut, I leaned into him. “I’m tired,” I whined. “My head hurts.”

            “I know. Hold onto me, and we’ll take it slow,” he soothed. “As soon as we get you to the hotel, you can rest.”

            I let Bryan lead the way, shuffling along beside him with shaking steps. He made me stop and put on the glasses when I whined at the light shining through the windows.

            “You’re going to stay with me, right?”

            Bryan’s fingers tightened on mine. He tensed for just a moment before replying. “If it’ll make you feel safe, of course I will.”

            My head leaned against his shoulder in relief as we took the last few steps toward the door.

____________________________

Tag List

@spaghetti-hoop

@rollynchwhore

@unoficialy-married-to-ace-austin

@mrsmatt

@not-that-kinda-gurl08

@librathepheonix13

[b3tsuushin]

Stories for the Sea: Masterlist

Six months after the end of a war, you have not reached the end of the war. Post-TYBW.

ft. Rukia, Renji, Matsumoto, Hitsugaya, Kensei, Rose, Hisagi; Hinamori, Kira, (Kaien)

Part I

⟢ Chapter 1: Rukia receives her first summons from Captain Commander Kyouraku since Ukitake’s death.

⟢ Chapter 2: There’s nothing brisk exercise, some Pocky, and a few weird bugs can’t solve. Renji tallies the damage and devises a game plan, sort of.

⟢ Chapter 3: Kensei’s been trying to learn how to have bygones, but it’s not like that’s the Gotei’s style. Just saying.

⟢ Chapter 4: Hinamori, Hitsugaya, and water cooler talk—minus the water cooler. And Hitsugaya.

⟢ Chapter 5: Matsumoto thought she knew how it felt to be swallowed. She is re-learning the feeling, from the inside out.

⟢ Chapter 6: Akon can tell a hell of a campfire story.

⟢ Chapter 7: Rukia’s long night of tending the dead.

[loopstagirl]

Slippery Slope, Ch 1

Given I'm on a roll at the moment, thought it was time to start posting a new story.

Scott shivered, zipping his coat further up as he stepped out of the car. The frigid temperatures slammed into him, but he tried to control his reaction.

"Friggin' hell!" Gordon didn't have the same restraint.

"What do you expect?" John joined them. "You've been in a heated car for an hour."

Gordon grumbled something under his breath, zipping his own coat, hands in his pockets, as he jumped on the spot.

John rolled his eyes, although it was barely visible with his hat tugged down and scarf pulled up. He seemed to take the cold weather in his stride. Scott wished he'd followed suit: he couldn't feel his ears.

"John?"

John looked over, and Scott nodded towards the driver. John headed over, speaking rapid French as he leant in at the window. Hiding a smirk, Scott turned to the trunk. John wanted to practice his languages, but it also meant Scott didn't have to stumble his way through the conversation.

Virgil fell into step with him. Scott offered a grateful smile, glad someone was giving him a hand. Gordon was still cursing and jumping.

He popped the lid, stepping back as Virgil dived in first.

But his brother didn't go for the top bag. Instead, he grabbed the handle of his own – from the bottom of the pile – and proceeded to try to drag it out, huffing and swearing as he did so. Scott was glad only the cab driver was around to hear them, given both Virgil and Gordon's language since arriving.

Virgil finally pulled his bag free, dropping it to the ground and looking at Scott.

"Could've helped," he panted.

Scott laughed. "Or you could've waited five seconds and helped me shift the ones on top."

Virgil stared at him. His hat was almost as low as John's, but Scott still saw the flush spreading across his cheeks.

More ->

[takemetoterrasenpls]

Chapters: 4/? Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley Characters: Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, Narcissa Black Malfoy, Luna Lovegood, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Hermione Granger, Neville Longbottom, Lucius Malfoy, Original House-Elf Character(s), Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini, Ginny Weasley, George Weasley, Minerva McGonagall Additional Tags: Hogwarts Eighth Year, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Fluff, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Trauma, Nightmares, Flashbacks, Hurt/Comfort, How Do I Tag, Deaf Harry Potter, Sign Language Summary:

During the final Battle of Hogwarts, an errant spell hit Harry Potter in the head, and has since been slowly losing more and more of his hearing. Draco Malfoy, who had been taught sign language by Severus when he was young, cannot decide whether to torment or help the Savior.

 AKA Harry is deaf and Draco flirts with him in Sign Language.

Chapter 4 is posted!! I may or may not have written the last 10k words during a manic episode but I'm not complaining. This is my first ever multi chapter fic and it's the first thing I've ever written that I actually want to share with people. 

[wings-n-bees]

SWAN UPON LEDA

Summary: At just sixteen years old, Roger's world comes to a crashing halt. Rating: E Relationship: Brian/Roger Warnings: Implied/Referenced Rape, Mentions of Stillbirth, Mentions of Pregnancy Other Tags: Found Family, Trauma & Healing, Hurt/Comfort

Read Chapter 1 Here >> On AO3

The biggest thanks to @abootfullofclogs! Without you there would be no fic.

!! PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS LISTED !!

[endursent]

- God Shattering Star

【 content; morax | rex lapis x reader , slow burn , mutual pining , multi-chapter , archon war period , afab!reader 】

【 note; as i'm taking more classes than usual for this semester i won't be able to told the 10-day schedule (as if i ever posted on time lmao) so i'm not going to adhere to that. i'll still be consistently writing, but looking at my assignment/exam schedule, i won't be able to hold a consistent-day schedule as the weeks of busywork are varying. but i'm excited for act two eheh.... happy end of act one! | read on ao3 】

【 word count; 5.286 | previous chapter - next chapter | masterlist 】

- Chapter 11 - Parching to Dust

Treading through the snowstorm is no easy feat, your feet are ice cold and hauling your body forwards is a feat of its own. You walk far behind many of the others in the long line towards the slanted hillside that leads underneath the cliff, Moon Carver is only a few steps behind you.

  You didn’t find any ink, nor did you find any parchment to bring with you. All you have are the clothes on your back and the Luo Pan tucked in your robe… you kind of feel bad for your missing noodles, you didn’t get a chance to taste them. 

  A sharp gust of wind blows directly towards you, and you have to turn your face away and into the fur of your robe to be able to catch your breath, the snow reaches up to your knees as you try to tread into footsteps someone else had made already and you’re so damn cold. 

  A small slope faces your gaze and you bend your knees slightly to not slip and slide down into the group before you, and just as you had made a few steps down—it’s there again, that brain-throbbing tug. You shake your head, but it just makes it worse.

  You can see where people are gathering in the safe area, curtains and covering have already been set up—this was an emergency spot that was planned for for a while. Your steps halt halfway down the slope and Moon Carver nearly walks into your back. “Why are you stopping?” he grumbles, he dislikes this weather as much as everyone else… if more, human skin sucks at retaining heat outside of its organs—in his sophisticated, furred opinion.

  “I want to see something,” you say and start to trek up again. If you are to set wards or a barrier of some sort to protect against falling essence—you certainly don’t want anyone to suffer from the heavy afflictions that struck the soldiers at the western border… and more importantly, you are on a blind mission to make up for what you did wrong, you’re ready to do anything to try and rectify it.

  None of those people know what you did, none of them know you’re trying to set up a safe zone for them—but it doesn’t matter, it’s not for them, not truly. It’s for yourself, a selfish need to fill the hole in your stomach that is so damn cold, so cold in a way even these winds and the cold flakes against your neck can’t stand up to.

  Moon Carver watches as you practically climb back up, the snow so deep you’re almost using your hands to push snow away to make the climb easier. He sighs and turns to continue down the slope.

  You stand by the cliffside and take a look around… but there’s not much to see, the brush of harsh winds hit your back and you wobble slightly, it carries snow in its direction and it mostly obscures your surroundings. You’re sure there’s many mountains around where you are, some likely larger than what you’re standing on—both beautiful and mighty.

  But you can’t see any of them, all you see is white and flashes above your head. Morax’s golden glow moves far more aggressively than before, when you saw the standoff first—he’s no longer waiting for an opening and allowing the winds and snow to obscure his vision.

  But Mei Lan is fast, the white-blue glow of her form dashes away every time he advances, she ducks and weaves like a fly. 

  You lower yourself down, crouching in the snow as your knees sink into it. Your hands are cold, but you ignore the dull sting that goes through them with every movement and swipe, flexing and making a claw of your fingers to try and keep some movement to them so they don’t get frozen still—you hope, at least… you’re not too experienced with such extreme cold.

  You have no ink, not parchment to stick to the ground. Perhaps you can use just a little bit of your spiritual energy to set a simple barrier over the safe zone—if only to guard against the initial drop of essence.

  Grass and stone greet your eyes beneath powdered snow, cold and frozen in time. You set your palm against the ground and close your eyes.

  It’s terribly difficult to concentrate with the hissing song of the wind rushing past your ears, small flakes of snow settle on your eyelashes and shoulders as you try to from some semblance of a sigil into the stone… you feel your energy tickle at your elbow and wrist before it spreads from your palm into a warm sign in the ground.

  Letting out a breath, you feel that you need to inhale a longer one to follow. You open your eyes and the ground is partially covered with snow again, but a faint silver sigil has formed over the pale grass.

  If you can just put a few of those around…

  You stood and began to wade through the snow again, when the tug of your mind seemed to pull down. Your steps halt and you move your legs slightly… below you? This headache is annoying, but it’s not too dissimilar to how you can pinpoint miasma within a body—it never hurts, and usually you just use your hands. 

  You kneel down again and swipe as much snow away as you can, and instead of stone and grass… you see ice. Not too unsurprising, but it’s far more blue than it should be—just how long has there been snow and frost atop these mountains? 

  With more precise wipes of your gloved hand, you squint as darker streaks reveal themselves to you. They’re too practiced to just be an air pocket beneath the ice, or a depth difference. You use your teeth to peel your glove away to reveal your bare right hand and touch your fingertips to the streaks. 

  They’re elevated from the ice, as if sharp winds had cut around the streaks and elevated them. You frown slightly as you trace the line, there’s a strange energy within them… not the same as the foul energies released by the death of gods, but very similar in emotion.

  Anger. Resentment. 

  You will need to see more of these streaks if you’re to decipher what they are.

  First, you need to complete the setup for this barrier… you can kind of see a good area reach for it—if you set down three atop the cliff and then two on the ground by the alcove, then a ward should form around it at the slightest hint of essence dropping from the skies. The snow almost reaches your waist at one point, and you have to kick and swipe like an idiot to get enough out of the way for you to dig to the ground. 

  None of the area left of the streak has more—neither is it particularly wide, only about the same as your forearm. 

  It takes a lot of energy to leave sigils like this behind, and by the third sigil furthest from the hillside leading down, sweat is forming on your forehead. You haven’t exactly eaten in a while—and using energy like this requires a lot of consumed sustenance in return. 

  You set the final seal down and your palm feels like it might start to freeze over if you don’t cover it, the icy cold ground zapping all warmth from your body through the slightest touch of skin. The winds are getting faster and you have to hold your robes close to retain some heat.

  But before you can continue to crawl around and dig snow out of the way like a dog, you hear your name called from far behind you. Moon Carver stands by the cliffside where the slope lowers beneath it. The wind is too loud to hear anything specific that he’s trying to shout in your direction, so you stand and wade your way towards him—it takes a good three minutes to get through all of it and nearly every step you leave behind fills up immediately afterwards. “What is it?”

  “They’re getting too close, you need to stay under the shelter if you don’t want to get blown away,” he says—and as if on queue to his warning, light flashes overhead. You both look up and see a bright line of every fly over the skies and impact something behind the blanket of snow obscuring your field of view of the surrounding terrain. 

  The impact causes a loud rumble to sound from the direction, but thankfully nothing beneath your feet shakes. You share a look with Moon Carver and nod, following him down under the cliffside.

  “There were weird signs in the ground,” you mention as you open the flaps to the small shelter. Some fires have been lit to bring some warmth, the heavy cloths containing it inside as the wind blows from behind the cliff and mercifully shields the small alcove. 

  Moon Carver tied the flaps shut behind you. “Signs?” 

  “Long streaks, as if trailing towards something,” you put your glove back on your hand, it’s a bit tricky now that it’s rather wet and nearly frozen over. “I’m not sure, but I want to get a better look…” it sounds like the winds have gotten stronger, you might have to wait it out.

  The adeptus next to you sets his hand closer to a nearby fire, he doesn’t say anything for a moment before letting out a soft hum. “Perhaps it will reveal a weakness.”

  You weren’t sure how to respond to his musing, what kind of weakness would it be? you’ve primarily seen the god of “sharp winds and piss cold weather” in the skies, what could possibly help her on the ground? You’re not particularly versed in… the abilities of gods, or their sources of power. Your contact with them is beyond death, where they poison the living.

  The little safe zone beneath the cliffside was very cramped, carpets had been laid out so that no one was sitting on cold snow or stone and the fires lit were protected inside braziers made of bronze, allowing flickers of warm flames through slits but kept it safe from the chilling breeze.

  You sit down close by one of the braziers, tugging your knees up and folding the robe behind your legs so that there’s no open slit for the wind to slip in. A shiver tingles your shoulders and travels down your spine, spreading along your limbs and torso as you peel your gloves off against to feebly blow at your cold fingers—your left hand is still being wrapped in bandages that provide a small additional layer, the cloth wrapped laxly around your fingers is damp as well and you’re tempted to peel it off… but as you move to do so, you hesitate.

  It’s not very… polite, to expose something so unsightly in a dense crowd like this. You can handle the chill for a while. 

  The storm doesn’t calm for a long time—long enough that you found yourself dozing off. It’s barely warm enough being two people away from the heaters… but you sit and endure, waiting around… twiddling your (ice cold) thumbs…

  Argh! You can’t do it anymore!

  Standing to your feet—though careful to not knock anyone over—you stride over to the tent flaps and untie them to leave, the same Millelith soldier that had dragged you along earlier stands there and grabs one flap before it can fly from your hand, a sharp gust of cold wind forcing its way into the shelter. “Where are you going??” he looks at you as if you’re a madwoman, and perhaps in this moment it’s such a very crazy thing to assume. 

  Perhaps you are, there’s been something prickling in the back of your brain for a while now, demanding you tread forward and don’t stop—that you do something. 

  “Out,” you don’t give him another glance and step outside into the wind—immediately your breath is stuck in your throat and you press your lips together. The wind has gotten stronger, but so has your will to do something. You can’t continue sitting around while Morax fights overhead—it’s none of your business, technically. You don’t exactly have many stones on the board when it comes to territory disputes between gods and demons, but you do have a strong sense of responsibility that’s been beaten into the ground recently.

  And now you feel that you must uplift that poor sack and fill it with something else.

  So you climb up the slope that reaches around the cliffside, you grab fistula of snow to try and shove it out of the way and make it easier for your legs to climb—it’s not too steep, perhaps a twenty degree incline at best… but with the wind in your face and snow settling in your sleeves and collar, it’s far more difficult than just climbing a normal grass hill.

  With a heaved breath, you make it back up to where you were before, your sigil is still in the ground and the darkened streaks have been covered by snow again. 

  You look up to the skies and squint, you don’t see them… no matter if you turned your eyes in any direction—you could hear the sound of grinding steel and rock, of heavy thuds and sharp energies cutting through the air, but you could not see them.

  Which is far worse, in your opinion, than seeing them close by—because they could be in any direction and potentially not know you’re there. 

  After having warmed a little inside the shelter, you feel better swiping away so much snow. The more you reveal, the more the streaks begin to shape something—only a few metres away from where you were, you found another long streak identical to the other one.

  This was placed here, cut deliberately into shapes… but for what? They’re angled slightly towards each other… as if they connect further away.

  You sure hope this discovery is useful to your current situation, and you’re not just chasing ancient artefacts that have nothing to do with the—

  The thoughts surging through your head are cut short as the ground beneath your feet trembles. You quickly duck down into a crouching position and try to grab onto whatever you can… which is nothing, there is only loose snow around you.

  Thankfully the rumble doesn’t last for long, neither does it knock you over… but it came from the mountains around you. The earthquakes have been originating from here, you can feel the deep tremble from beneath the stone—as if the mountain itself is shuddering. You quickly stand again and hurriedly begin to swipe at the ground, revealing the length of the markings—you follow them several metres until you can’t see the cliffside behind you anymore, you find two more, they’re all leading in the same direction, pointing closer to each other the further you get.

  A choked sound of surprise leaves your lips and you fall backwards into the snow as something large and heavy drops into the ground to your left—a massive and sharp pillar of stone is embedded in the ground mere three feet away from you, your heart races as you look to the skies. They’re directly above you.

  The winds are lesser under them and the stone pillar crumbles into dust, for a moment it almost seems as if you are in a safe pocket—before the bright star in the sky descends and approaches at rapid, very concerning speeds. You scramble backwards a bit and stand to your feet as sharp winds follow behind him and shape into sharp spikes dense with frost—until they appear as long icicles. 

  Unsure what to do, with several things coming into your direction, you simply turn and run—your instincts taking over as tension and fear grasps your spine like the ice heading your way. But before you can fully stand to your feet, arms wrap around your torso and you’re hoisted up into the air. 

  The ground disappears below your feet and you yelp in alarm, throwing your arms around Morax’s shoulders and holding on for dear life causes the god of geo to grunt at the tight hold, but doesn’t say anything. 

  Your feet touch ground again behind a mountain you had no idea was there, a small alcove high atop the peaks where the air is thin—but where the winds are less as well. You exhale in relief, and take a deep breath… and realise you’re still clinging onto Morax’s torso as if you were attached to him.

  His chest heaves slightly against yours and you quickly let go, taking a step back—but there’s little room in this little alcove and your back hits the cold stone wall. “Y-you—” you weren’t sure what to say. You’re caught again where you shouldn’t be… to be fair, he didn’t particularly tell you not to stand out there like an idiot.

  But that’s usually left unsaid and rather implied. 

  “There’s sigils,” you blurt out as he opens his mouth to speak. As soon as you do, Morax’s lips close together again—his hair is a mess, hood dropped down to his shoulders and frost forming on the edges of his cloak. He must be cold. “In the ground, I don’t know what they’re for—but they look like they form something,” you wave your hands vaguely as you explain it. 

  “Sigils?” Morax’s eyes move to the direction he had taken you from and his eyebrows furrow. His mind seems to turn as if he’s thinking deeply. “Stay here.”

  “Here?!” you nearly exclaim. Surely he’s not going to leave you at a mountaintop you can barely breathe at—what if something happens and he won’t even be able to fetch you?

  “The wind is lesser here, if I take you to the others she will find them,” he tries to sound assuring, but you’re not sure he can tell how thin the air is up here. 

  “Let me show you,” you take his arm and Morax blinks twice in place once at the contact, golden eyes flickering down before raising again to your face. “Maybe it can be of use, maybe it can weaken her!”

  “Perhaps…” he doesn’t seem entirely convinced, but you need to try everything you can to get him to take you down again. You still hold onto his arm and your palm, even through your gloves and his clothes, feels the warmth of his skin beneath it. Despite the frost on his clothes and the snow dusting atop his hair, his body temperature is high. 

  Morax considers you for a moment, eyelids narrowing slightly until he lets out a breath. “You have… a talent—” your eyebrows shoot up and you tilt your head back a little. “—for finding trouble—” your eyebrows drop down again. “—yet you have also proven yourself in other matters.”

  It doesn’t feel quite as nice to hear the last part with that first sentence there, but you suppose he has the right of it. You understand what he’s saying, even if he has not fully completed it—you are not supposed to be here, and yet you are, so you have to take forth what makes you useful and use it.

  “Then let me help, I can read the sigils if we can reveal them better,” your voice is stronger than your spine, but you put all the courage you can muster in your body towards your mouth. “Don’t leave me behind.”

  Something in his firm gaze changes, but you can’t tell what. “Very well,” he nearly immediately accepts. Surprise colours your expression at the easy acceptance, but you have no time to respond to him before his hand takes yours that still holds onto him, and tugs you closer. Morax’s arm encircles your waist again—and suddenly you’re airborne without a single warning. 

  A near silent sound of surprise leaves you once stable ground disconnected with the soles of your shoes and you grasp his robe so tightly you worry in the back of your mind that you might rip it off—at least he doesn’t seem bothered by the cold. Chill winds whip past your face and you have to close your eyes as they tear up, the onslaught of gusts and snow making them sting as Morax descends with you in his arms towards where you had left before. 

  Mei Lan is nowhere to be seen, but you hear distant howling that could be either wind or screams. 

  Your feet finally touch snow again and you immediately drop to your knees to brush the fresh powder away from the streaks in the ground. Your heart thrums in your chest as Morax stands above you, his head raised to watch the skies and glowing eyes flickering back and forth to try and assess where the threat might be. 

  “Here,” you pant, not aware of your own breath quickening. You trace the dark streaks with your fingers, eyes locked on the shimmer of the ice below them. “they’re not natural formations, like wind cut around the ice—but it’s so precise…” a frown tugs at your lips, the top of the streaks has lines in it… like a script. “It almost feels like…”

  A deafening crack interrupts your words, the sound flashing through your brain as your head snaps upwards—a spear of ice larger than you’ve ever seen flies barely past your positions and crashes into a mountainside above you. The ice shatters and thuds against the hill of the mountain… directly above your heads. 

  Morax’s arm shoots out and a barrier of gold materialises above the two of you—the ice thuds heavy against the barrier and Morax steps forward. “Move,” he commands, and you immediately listen. 

  Scrambling to your feet—slipping a bit but managing to stand upright, you move behind him as he steps forward. His eyes flick between areas of heightened vantage, between thicker curtains of snow as well as thinner… Morax’s eyes lower to the ground where you had revealed the elevated streak and his eyes narrow—but there’s no time to inspect them further. 

  A white and blue blur streaks across the sky and Mei Lan’s voice carries on the howling wind outside the heavy shield encircling you like a bubble. 

  “Leave this place! It is a barren wasteland!” her words are ones of warning, yet the snarl of her face begets a fury you’ve never seen before. She is dressed in white silken robes far longer than her feet reach, making her appear twice her own length. The ribbons and flowing material off the old-style garment  flutter erratically with the sharp winds and her dark hair is unrestrained. 

  The storm beyond the shield intensifies as she clasps her hands together, the long sleeves on her robe twirling until they almost appear to have tied a knot together. “Will you not leave—I will have to depart your souls from this plane!” 

  That sounds like she’s about to conjure something big. You glance nervously at Morax and his gaze is fixed on the woman in the skies. “Hide as soon as I release the barrier.”

  “Hide? Where?” you look around quickly, but there’s nothing but snow around you—there’s not even a big rock!

  You don’t receive an answer as the golden shield fades into shimmering dust and Morax bends his knees—and before you can protest he launches himself skyward once more. You click your tongue and turn to run, at least you can create a distance, perhaps Mei Lan will be too busy to consider you… you hope she hasn’t been considering your presence at all. 

  Mei Lan ducks and weaves past Morax’s attacks—until he finally gets into melee with a sharp strike of his polearm, the glowing blade’s edge just barely cuts her cheek and she shrieks in alarm. You lose your footing as the ground shakes with her scream and you fall into the soft snow, getting a mouthful of cold powder before you can turn to see that Morax has finally closed in and chases her through the skies. 

  He’s relentless, she erratically tries to escape the field of reach of his spear, but as soon as the storm does not hide her from his sight and the winds do not blow his strikes away—he is on her like a hunting dragon. “You oaf!! Do you not understand?!” a spike of ice materialises as an extension of her arm, engulfing her limb. “You should not be here! No one should!”

  There is no response to her cries, she swings uselessly, but the counterstrike of the firm pole of his spear shatters any and all ice she tries to form. As soon as he has you within arms length—it’s over. 

  The lights in the sky fly like twin shooting stars, golden and blue as you finally get to your feet again and rush towards the streaks in the ground. It takes you a moment to remember which way they were leading, but as soon as you do—you sprint as fast as you can. It looks like a seal, but if it is, then there must be sigils at every interval where the streaks connect that describe its function. 

  Your lungs burn as you wade through uncovered snow, the ground beneath you rumbles softly with every strike that just barely doesn’t tear her skin apart and split her bones. It dips, and suddenly your shoes slide beneath you—the hill tilts downwards and you lose your balance with another shake of the earth, rolling down the rest that is thankfully just a few feet… or two full rolls, as you counted with a mouthful of snow. 

  Dusting snow off your shoulders and head, you swipe at the cold powder beneath you, frantically pushing it away and revealing every curve, every stroke. Your eyes widen as the character is revealed and the streaks that cut through it, continuing further along the floor… you remember this character—it was the second one in the poem sung by the performer in the tea house.

  A tale of a young cultivator, winds and cold slopes.

  You turn left and find the streak next to it, it cuts through another character, the first one in the poem. The threads connect further away from you where the centre of the seal must be. 

  The winds in the skies sharpen, the gusts quicken and there’s no rhyme or rhythm to them anymore—Mei Lan is desperate to gain distance and better ground. Morax notices her frantic movements and continues herding her away from the peaks she could hide behind towards the open sky. She raises her arms, wind swirling around her long sleeves and gathers in thick elemental energy—and he takes the opening. 

  His spear runs through her, blood splatters across the white robe and the ribbons stiffen—as if part of her body. The drops freeze in the air and fall to the ground as pearls, dotted in the snow. 

  The sound that leaves her body shakes the earth, the scream makes even Morax’s ears sting as he tears his weapon from her body and provides safe distance for himself—the attack shouldn’t be enough to kill her, but many gods would tuck tail and flee at a wound like this.

  But she doesn’t. 

  The whirling wind leaves the ground, it retreats towards Mei Lan’s body and gathers within her until the air is completely still. She clutches the wound and suddenly her eyes dart downwards. “The seal—I must—!”

  Below them, the ground lights up. A sharp and glowing blue ignites beneath the snow and evaporates all cool powder that lays atop its streaks. Morax understands the symbol of the seal before it begins to unravel… he has laid forth this seal many times—though his own is more complicated, the foundation is the same. 

  Something—or someone, is sealed beneath the mountain range. 

  His eyes dart to where he left you behind but finds the shape of your coat nowhere. Where are you? 

  Before he can scan for you further, the winds sucked into Mei Lan burst forth from her—sending Morax flying away with a stronger gust than she has released in even the earlier days he fought her this week. He just barely catches himself after many metres and immediately darts down to the earth—the seal is moments from releasing and he must find you before it does. 

  He searches near frantically, until he finally hears you shouting his name from afar. “Morax…!” he just barely sees the top of your head above some snow as you try to climb up the steep hill you slid down. The seal is directly below your feet—if whatever is contained beneath it bursts forth, you will be shattered among the ice. 

  The ground shakes violently and you lose your grip, your shoes slip and you slide back down right where you started, breaths coming in quickly as the streaks of the seal begin to shatter and crack—a deafening sound coming from beneath as the prisoner beneath the ice awakens. It’s not a roar you would expect a beast or demon to make, nor is it human. 

  You flinch back as Mei Lan suddenly appears by the sigil, her blood drips down in heavy splashes and the ground shudders again. “Stay yourself! You will not be released to this world again!” her hands press onto the seal and for a brief moment, you thought she might have reinforced it at least a little—but the light engulfing the streaks brightens. 

  The ground around the seal is a lid of ice, sitting atop something boiling beneath—simmering for release. The flat and blue floor cracks as something large opens beneath your feet. A glowing eye, red and craving release. 

  A large crack forms between your feet, but before you can take a step back—you’re ripped up into the air in the same moment that the floor cracks open beneath you and another, far louder and more deafening roar shatters the mountaintop. The shaking of the mountain from above does not look like an earthquake anymore. 

  It’s shifting, shaking and shuddering—movement, something is pushing its way through the ice, pushing through bedrock and stone. The blinding glow emanating from the streaks launches into the skies, creating walls of light until they reach the centre… and the light emitting from Mei Lan’s body coalesces into a form so vast and wide that it makes her look like a spark next to a bonfire. 

  The malevolence, the fury and the resentment that releases through the seal is crushing—you feel bile building in your throat as Morax tightens his hold on your waist. Your head pounds and you feel as if it will break you apart. 

  The head of a serpent rises from the depths, body white as snow and eyes red as demonic fire. The shriek that parts its mouth shakes the mountains so terribly that snow trembles away—avalanches roll down the sides of them and crush against cliff sides. “W-what is that?” you barely croak out. Just the head of the snake is as large as the palaces in the capital. 

  “...” Morax doesn’t reply, his gaze fixed on the creature as it lowers. Its body slams against the flat mountain and its body muscles twitch and move—as if it were moving for the first time in a long time, before it slithers between two high peaks and into the depths of the mountain range. It takes several minutes for its entire body to leave the unsealed hole, tail leaving behind a deep streak in the snow. 

  Something terrible just escaped the earth, and you can feel the malevolence it’s mere presence left behind.

[steddierecs]

took you for a working boy by pukner

Word count: 43,823 (complete) / 6/6 Rating: M Trigger and content warnings: none

Summary:

"Do you--Harrington, do you know other gay people?" "One," Steve says, and then, after a moment, "and a half." "And a half?" Eddie boggles at him, "What does that mean?" "He's figuring it out!" says Steve, defensively, "Taking his time, y'know? Whatever, the point is. It's cool you're gay, man."

Eddie comes out to Steve, and Steve's heartbroken about it for some reason. Eddie thinks Steve's dating Robin. Everyone else thinks Steve and Eddie have been dating this whole time. Robin doesn't get paid enough for this shit.

Also, Hawkins has been cracked open like a badly-baked cake, and everyone's settled into the most mundane apocalypse possible. Eddie Munson starts a radio programme about it.

Meanwhile, Steve gets his nails painted, and outsources a crisis he isn't having.

[virgo-writer]

A/N: I found the first chapter in my drafts and I have no idea what I actually planned to do with it originally, but now it has become a fully fledged story. I have lots of thoughts but for now I don't want to give anything away - so enjoy!

Title: Poveste de Crăciun (A Christmas Carol) Fandom: Make It or Break It Genre: Romance, if Hallmark Christmas Movie is a genre then that's the genre Words: 10K+ Summary: In the days before Christmas 2013 one of our favourite characters will be haunted by visions of the past, present and future. Post-Olympics Payson/Sasha

Poveste de Crăciun

December 20, 2013

He didn’t remember falling asleep and yet he found himself drowsily waking to an odd scratching sound and a low hum.  

Someone else was here.

“Sasha Belov,” the intruder spoke, the voice low and ominous.  “Hear me.

“I am here to-night to warn you, that you have yet a chance and hope of escaping my fate.”

Read on Ao3

[eleanore-delphinium]

Revival of the Familiarity AU

My announcement

I don't know if you guys remember this AU. But this is my little announcement.

I am reviving this after years. And this isn't just me BS-ing, I have the chapter done (for a month) and it is scheduled to be posted on [ Nov. 13, 2023 ] which is why I am making this post. Now, I will be honest the chapter after that is an idk-if-it-will-happen. So read on your own accord folks.

For those who need to refresh or haven't read this, here are the existing chapters.

~.~.~.~.~.~.

Familiarity AU ( A03 Link )

Note: Justice League Dark: Apokalips War AU

 1 : Damirae Week 2020 : BOUND TOGETHER

 2 : Damirae Week 2020 : SOULMATES

 3 : Damirae Week 2020 : MARRIAGE 

  4 : I remember You

~.~.~.~.~.~.

Anyone excited?

Also did you know I had planned a whole wedding for this AU. I don't remember much of it. And that would have been way down the timeline which might not see the light of day.

[its-in-the-woods]

Down the Rabbit Hole Chapter 19

Chapter one here, two here, three here, four here , five here, six here, seven here, eight here,nine here, ten here, eleven here , twelve here , thirthen here, fourteen here, Fifteen Here Sixteen here, Seventeen here, Eighteen here

master list

Pairing: Walton Goggins x You

Rating/Warning:  As always minor get out. P0rn? What? Pretty vanilla, cum eating, fingering, cowgirl, missionary, minor choking, palm ridding, some plot, older man x younger woman, look if you've made this far you know these two need to fck k?

Synopsis:

You cross your legs, trying to keep your eyes focused on him, as his fingers drag the zipper down. He was a showman in every sense of the word, he loves to have eyes on him, particularly your eyes. Licking your lips you watch his fingers run along the top of his pants, the v of material exposing the black material of his boxers. 

“Come closer,” He hushes out, you move to stand, stopping when he puts his hand up. “Crawl.”

ENJOY <3

The door shuts behind you, and Walton has you pinned against it before you can move into the space. The day had been way too long, and the flight even longer. Add the fact you both had been interrupted several times that day, and Walton was on edge. When the movers had knocked on the door with Walton between your legs, you thought he might actually pop a blood vessel. Instead, he had taken several deep breaths, fixed your pants, and opened the door. You briefly wondered when you got on the earlier flight if he would drag you into the bathroom. Thankfully, he had just crossed his legs and dug his nails into your thigh hard enough to leave marks.

Now he was kissing you, tongue pushed into your mouth, you suck on it listening to him moan as your fingers run into his hair. Your other hand is pushing under his shirt to feel hot skin, his hands have found their way to your pants pushing them down over your thighs. It’s fast and hot and dear god his fingers are rubbing against your core through your underwear. You push down against him, groaning at the friction. You push his jacket off, it thumps onto the ground, you break the kiss to get his shirt off. Your hands exploring along the hard plains of his body, finding the button of his pants. He pulls back your shirt falling onto the floor, bra not far behind. He kisses and licks down your neck, muttering sweet words as he latches onto your collarbone. Your reaction is instant hips pushing down onto his fingers as he drags a new mark to the surface 

You whine and rock, “M’close.” You whimper, continuing to move, the heat burning you up. Walton unlatching from your skin, to look down at your eyes heavy with lust. Making you shiver as he pushes his hand up so that you’re grinding against his palm. The stimulation is almost not enough as you cling onto him, mouth open. Palm against your clit, his fingers moving your underwear out of the way so he can push inside. Your hands cling onto his arms as you rut against him. 

“Going to come for me,” Walton grins, watching you melt for him. His mouth moving down to the top of your breast, sucking a new mark into it. The mix of pain and pleasure edging you in the best way possible. 

“Please, can I, Sir,” You add emphasis Sir, feeling him react to it. His fingers stilling for a moment, as he bits harder onto the next bruise he was making. You are right on the edge, Walton having memorized exactly what to do to make you soaking in seconds. 

He leans back watching you again, your hips squirming harder with his eyes on you. “Yes, come for me, baby girl.”

You fight to keep your eyes open, gasping as you tremble against his hand. Can feel wetness dampening his hand as your body contracts around his fingers, his lips leaning down to kiss you. You push back as he lets you ride the edge until it’s too much. He groans pulling back, you whine as his fingers slip out with a wet noise.

“Let’s go to the bedroom” He whispers against your ear, his fingers sliding over your lips. You open your mouth to lick at the tips. Your heart is hammering in your chest as you taste yourself on him.

You grin as you lean forward to take more of his finger into your mouth, “You’re going to get spanked if you don’t stop, little lady.”

A sigh escapes your lips but you pull back, a grin crossing your lips  “What if I want you too?”

Walton looks down at you, hand coming up to push against your throat, and you groan as you feel him squeeze a little. The way he pushes you against the wall makes you squirm. The wicked grin crosses his lips, as he watches you. “Oh, don’t tempt me, beautiful, 'cause you and I both know how much you liked it the first time.”

You flush, looking down at where his free fingers have twined with yours, wondering if you should keep pushing his buttons more. Looking back at him, you can see the weight of the day of travel. As much as you love to get him worked up, you could tell he just wanted to take you to bed. 

Leaving the suitcases in the hall, you take his hand, Walton leading you to the bedroom. He keeps the lights turned down, he has you remove your underwear in front of him, before instructing you to sit on the bed and not move. Before he turns and walks out the door. You stay as still as possible, tiredness has crept in unwanted. Rubbing at your eyes, you try and think awake thoughts, but the bed is soft and so comfy. Shaking your head a few times you blink again, perking up when you hear Walton’s footsteps. 

He comes in with two mugs, his pants hanging dangerously low around his hips, handing one to you. You take a deep breath of the coffee, thanking him as you take a sip. He takes a sip of his coffee, before placing it on the side table. You watch him over the lip of the mug, as his fingers go to the button of his jeans. You bit your bottom lip face going red, it was always hot. Despite this same thing having played out before, you can’t help the tingling sensation that moves into your stomach. Shifting slightly you take another sip, trying to play it cool even if you’re squirming on the bed. 

“I was thinking of blindfolding you again,” Walton says, as the button slips out of its loop. “But I wanted to see you, the way you look at me every time I get undressed.”

You cross your legs, trying to keep your eyes focused on him, as his fingers drag the zipper down. He was a showman in every sense of the word, he loves to have eyes on him, particularly your eyes. Licking your lips you watch his fingers run along the top of his pants, the v of material exposing the black material of his boxers. 

“Come closer,” He hushes out, you move to stand, stopping when he puts his hand up. “Crawl.”

A shiver runs up your spine, but you do as you’re asked sliding off the bed, looking up at him as you move towards him. Stopping at his feet you sit back on your heels, fingers twitching in your lap wanting to grab his pants and pull them down. 

“Yeah, just like that,” Walton grins, you can see his heart rate increasing as his chest moves. “Know how much you want to touch me, always finding ways to run your hand over me.” His hands push the pants and underwear down, your eyes moving as his clothes move. Your mouth opens a little as you pull your eyes away from his center. The way Walton stares at you should set fire to the room, his fingertips run under your jaw. You stare up at him, hips rocking slightly without permission. 

“Look at you, already so needy,” He hushes, his right hand grabbing at the base of his cock squeezing and twisting as he works at his own body. Eyelids fluttering closed as he moans, you can feel yourself clench as he moans. “Do you want this,” Walt asks, staring down at you, you nod your head, swallowing as you try to shuffle forward. 

“Use your word,” He whispers your name, watching you squirm at his feet. It had become a game you’d both played, he knew you struggled with voicing your needs. So he’d made sure to use it against you in situations such as this. 

“Please,” You squirm, saying the words always felt so much more dirty than doing the action. Didn’t matter how many times you tried to voice it. “Can I please taste you?”

He grins, continuing to stroke himself so close to you, “Keep going.” Voice breathy as he pleasured himself in front of you. 

You grit your teeth a little, trying to push past the made up barrier in your mind. “I want to taste you so bad, you always taste so good, please, Sir.”

Walton groans, the smile twitching on your lips as you watch his cock leak out, “Mmm, you know just the right buttons to push. Now open your mouth for me.”

Marking a little win in your imaginary check box, you move forward opening your mouth. Sticking your tongue out and batting your eyelashes, he moves forward the fat head of his cock tapping on your tongue. You can taste the salt of him, the familiar musk making you shiver. Thighs clenching as you feel your slickness drip out of you. 

“No hands, hold still.” He warns, you put your fingers back onto your lap. Squirming a little at the orders, him ordering you around made your stomach twist with desire as you did as he asked. 

He lets go of his dick, hands sliding on each side of your face, you suck around the head as he pushes it further in. Dragging it back out so it rests on the edges of your lips, and then push back in. Being so careful not to thrust too far. You want him to move faster, but you keep still working your tongue on the underside, trying to pull him deeper with your cheeks. Walton stills, thumbs rubbing over your cheeks before he drags you forward slowly until he is all the way inside. Your nose flush against his pubic hair, relaxing as best you can around the intrusion. Feeling your throat flutter as you try to breathe through your nose, he holds you there and you can feel your chest trying to push him out. Just as you are about to tap out he pulls out, you cough sputtering for a moment, drool stretching from your lips to the tip of his cock. You blink back tears, his thumbs wiping at them. 

Sitting back, you open your mouth again, determined to continue. Looking up at his flustered face, red cheeks, mouth open a little, his cock twitching. “Always so eager to do whatever you’re told.”

You can’t help the smile that crosses your lips as he moves forward placing the head on your tongue again, sliding himself down to the root. Than holding for a second, hand running under your chin so he can feel himself. Then he sets a pace, you suck and lick as drool drips out of your mouth, tears spilling unneeded out of the corners of your eyes. Groaning he pulls out again, twirling the spit and precum around his fingers to bring them up his mouth. You whimper watching him, your thighs wet with need. Fingers now have left more marks on your thighs from holding onto them to stop you from grabbing him.

“You did so good,” Walton leaning down to kiss you, letting yourself push into his kiss, heart pounding in your throat. “Follow me,”

You get up, legs trembling as you follow the man over to the bed. He lays down on the bed, motioning for you to join him. You crawl onto the bed, straddling his hips, keeping yourself above him as you lean down to meet his lips. Large hands cupping your ass, as he pushes you slowly down onto his cock. A moan ripping out of your throat, he felt so good. Wide head parting your soaking lips, as his shaft pushes you open. You settle on top,  the two of you joining for a moment, he squeezes your ass, one hand sliding up to cup your breasts. Heart pounding in your chest, Walton rolls your nipple between his thumb and forefinger before his other hand finds your hip. 

“You can move,” He whispers, you start to move immediately. Hips moving in circles as he starts to thrust up into you. You moan as his hands find your face, those damn hands holding you against him as you work yourself up and down. The rhythm comes easily as the two of you taste the other. You grind yourself down as he moves up, the friction as delicious as the noises the two of you make. 

Eyes rolling as his pace increases, you match the pace, rocking back and forth the two of you grinding against the other. You sit back, hands on his chest, as he plays with your nipples. Suddenly you are taken off guard as he rolls you over, biting your lip as you watch him. Hands on either side of you, his mouth opens slightly as he pushes your legs up. He shifts sitting back on his heels, big hands over your thighs to hike you up against him. Walton helps you up, a moan slipping out of his mouth as he slips back into you. You wrap your arms around his neck. It’s slow, the feel of every movement leaving goosebumps covering you. 

“Fuck,” He groans, lips and tongue running down your neck over your shoulder, “Always feel so good, don’t want it to stop.”

A whimper is all you can muster, body aching in the best ways as you keep moving. His name echoes in the space as you keep pushing, his hands holding you close. You clench around him, letting yourself flutter around him several times. Watching his face strain as he tried to hold on. 

“Want to feel you, want to feel your cum dripping out of me. Please.” You keen as he lowers you down against the bed, his hips losing pace.  

“Oh fuck,” He groans, you can tell he is close as the pace increases. You can’t help how your nails dig into his back. Your tongue licking down his neck, tasting the sweat and the sweetness that was uniquely his. Making your way along his arm, before biting into his bicep. His hips stuttering at the sensation of pain. You know you shouldn’t be leaving a mark, but you can’t help yourself. The way he reacts makes worth, feeling him sink all the way in cock twitching and spilling deep. You let out a long groan, it never got old and fuck did it feel good too. 

He stays there for a moment, chest heaving, grinning as he glances down at the small mark. “You’re so bad, leaving marks on me.” 

You flush, covering your mouth with your fingers, squirming under his gaze. “Couldn’t help myself.”

“Mmm, really now,” He leans down kissing your neck, as he slides out and you huff a little at the emptiness. “You are a needy thing, might have to keep you up all night.” 

“Is that so?” You flutter your eyelashes at him, you both know neither of you is going to stay awake past another orgasm. 

He licks his lips, and you watch as his tongue goes down your sternum, sucking a mark in between your breasts. You breathe hitching as he keeps going, kissing around your belly button, down towards your center. Pausing as his hands push your legs up and open a little, settling between them.

“Oh,” You stutter as he grabs a pillow with one hand, lifting your ass with the other. His tongue moves down to your core. A string of non-sensical words streaming out of your mouth as your hand pushes into his hair. Fingers pulling you open so that he can get at the mix of both of you. 

He hums approval as you push up against his tongue, letting you ride his face as he tries to suck your soul out of your body through your center. 

“Fuck that’s hot,” You whimper, hips pushing and grinding, his nose rubbing at your clit. His fingers move over your thighs to rub at it, tongue continuing to work as he eats his come out of you. “Please, oh god,” You squirm so hard, trying to hold back the impending rush. 

Walton's hazel eyes catch yours, “Come for me,” Your name whispers out before he goes back to his ministrations. Your hands clawing at the top of his head, stomach sucking in as you buck up. Heat pushing out as you come, his fingers continuing to work at you as you ride wave after wave of pleasure. 

“Please,” You whisper trying to pull him off, he lets up his face shiny with the combination of you both. 

Crawling up your body to lay a filthy kiss on your lips. You hold him there, hearts pounding together before separating. The world spinning around you as he climbs up to lay beside you. 

“We doing that every time we come home?” You tease, snuggling in beside him, he grabs the covers and pulls it up over you both.

Walton lays back dragging you against his chest, “Anywhere and anytime you want.”

You flush and bury yourself into his chest, leaving a little kiss on his collarbone. He hums slightly, hands running over your hair, “As for the mark you left, have to think about what you're going to do to make up for it.”

You nibble at his collarbone, Walton grumbles before kissing your forehead. 

***

You’re sitting at your desk highlighting the latest script you’ve been sent. You’re not the head of department, but it never hurt to have your own set of notes. You can hear Walton just barely through the shared wall. Upstairs you had been graciously given a room to make your office, Walton had even taken you to buy a desk and a few other pieces. You worry at your lip, a small smile when you hear his laughter. 

It had been a little less than a month since moving, as always it was easy. Well for the most part. You had pushed about paying for your part of the bills, it seemed only fair considering you were living in his house. Walton, did as he always did, and told you it was fine. It had led to a small heated discussion. You didn’t want to be a burden, he said you were far from it, neither of you wanting to back down. So the two of you had made up a contract, it was more film real than actually real, but it made you feel a little better about everything. You’d pay rent, half of groceries, and he couldn’t kick you out without four weeks notice. There were other details in there too, and part of you worried that a lawyer would have been better. At the same time, you’d been reassured seven ways from Sunday by just about anyone you spoke to that all would be okay. It wasn’t like you both were married or anything like that. 

That thought had wandered through your mind way too many times. It was way too early for any of that nonsense. You were content to enjoy this, one day at a time. Looking up at a piece of art you had made with that exact saying, two pinky fingers entwined. Walton had insisted that you frame some of the art you had made, hanging several of your sketches in his office. In turn, you had gotten some of his photos printed, putting them onto the corkboard that now hung on the walls. 

The sound of footsteps as Walton pokes his head around the doorframe, a mischievous smile on his face.  You smile back, capping the highlighter, and leaning against your chair.

“Hey, baby,” He says, pushing the door open a little more. 

“Hello, handsome,” You reply, closing the binder of notes, “How was the phone call.”

“Excellent, I believe we're going to be heading east in three days.” Walton bounces, coming into the room to sit on the corner of the desk. 

You chuckle, the fact the two of you had made it a month without Walton exploding from lack of movement was amazing. Helping you move in had helped, several press events, new scripts, auditions, you had to keep him busy. Walton had even joked that it would be your official title, “Walton’s entertainer”.

“Oh! We got start dates?” You ask, sipping on some cold coffee. It was so hot in LA you hadn’t had warm coffee since moving down here. 

Walton all but vibrates, "Yes, technically we are going to be there four days before filming. But we got make-up tests, and some camera stuff to do beforehand.” 

You giggle at him, “If you could go today we would go eh?”

Walton nods his head, stealing a sip from your coffee mug. “Maybe, I haven’t been to the East Coast in a while. Have you ever been?”

You stretch a little, “No, I haven’t. I am sure you’d show me around town.”

He is up and moving again, pacing around the small room. “Yes, I went to this bagel place last time. It was so good, also there is this underground bar. I got to take you too, the cocktails were fantastic.”

You watch him for a moment, before getting up and moving to him.  Walton turns and wraps you up against his chest, you hum content to stay there for a moment and enjoy the feel of him around you. He holds you close, it was one of the few times he wasn’t moving around the place. 

“How is my kit coming with me?” You inquire, wondering if you could pack in a suitcase. You’d traveled with a small kit before, but this show would need something a bit more extensive. Even though you were only taking care of Walton, there was also the FX side. Your heart speeds up at the thought,

“Whatever you can put in a suitcase pack. Even if you need an extra one. Anything else will be purchased there. Plus Jeff will have all his stuff there, the two of you can work out what you need and so on. Another reason we need to get there early.” Walton chattered, kissing you on the forehead. 

“I think I can manage that,” You say, over to the desk and grabbing a notebook. Lists were going to be necessary to make this as easy as possible. Mind running over all the different bits and pieces you need, realizing an inventory list would help. As well as needing to check in with Jeff, the realization that you’d be working with him was exciting  A comforting weight, knowing you would be busy soon. Maybe you were more like Walton than you realized.

“You doing okay in there?” Walton asks, hand resting on your hip, leaning in to kiss the side of your face. Your body relaxes against his touch. 

“Actually, yah, can’t wait to get back into the thick of things again.” You smile, feeling content as you lean against him. 

Chapter Twenty

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

*thank you as always\

*if you want to be on tag list let me know

@ghoulphile @hiddlebatchedloki @live-logs-and-proper @justme12200 @ryankaylamartin96

@rachmar  @therest-stillunwritten @awhoresjourney @stankface

@itsyellow @toogaytofunctiondangit @whatsorceressisthis

[malavein]

Multi-chapter: Tell the magpies

Fandom: 崩坏：星穹铁道 | Honkai: Star Rail (Video Game)

Relationship: Jing Yuan/Blade, Jing Yuan/Yingxing

Rating: M

Category: Gen, M/M

Archive Warning: Major Character Death

Tags: Background Original Female Character/Original Female Character, Background Jingliu/Baiheng, Angst with a Happy Ending, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Blade is Called Yingxing (Honkai: Star Rail), Blade is Called Ren (Honkai: Star Rail), Romance, Non-Linear Narrative, Canonical Character Death, Character Study, Trauma, Moving On, Other: See Story Notes, Jing Yuan-centric (Honkai: Star Rail), Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Platonic Male/Male Relationships, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Spoilers, Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Not Canon Compliant, Developing Relationship, Pining, Healing, Hurt/Some Comfort, Non-Canonical Character Death

Chapter Count: 4/4

Completed: Yes

Word Count: 17.3k

Summary:

Love came easily to Jing Yuan. It was vulnerability that did not.

A journey through love, loss, and the grief that comes with being the one left behind.

Ao3