#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.

[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]

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

[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

[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 !!

[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.

[crypic-cyanide]

New Kid (Larry Johnson x GN! reader)

Larry Johnson x reader, multi-chapter, not proof-read, TW// smoking

Note: I never fully checked if this story is gender neutral (if it is not please tell me and i'll fix it!). Other than that, it is mentioned that the reader has an older brother! this is only mentioned for a quick second so you can change it to anyone!

Masterlist

chapter one

You were sitting in the back of your mom's car looking out the window at the passing scenery. You were moving from your hometown, (h/t), to the middle of nowhere. You heard your mom mention the place you were moving to once. The place was called Addison Apartments. You never really lived in an apartment building before so warming up to the place was gonna be something you didn't know if you were going to be ready for or not.

You zoned out at the thought of how much your life was going to change from this very moment, not even realizing you pulled up to the barely mentioned apartments. Your thoughts were stopped when you feel eyes staring at you. You look over and make eye contact with your mom who gave you a tight-lipped smile and nudged her head in the direction of the building's front door.

You slink out of the backseat and onto the dirt. It felt weird getting out of the beat-up car your mom owned. You groaned at the feeling of your joints popping as you stretched your arms above you. Your outfit consisted of a Sanity Falls t-shirt with a baggy black hoodie, a baseball cap under the hood, cargo shorts with poorly sewn-on patches, and some worn down shoes you found in your closet as you cleaned it out. 

You didn't know what to expect but it was definitely not this. A red brick building covered in a slight layer of dirt and moss laid in front of you. You raised an eyebrow at the building, you didn't want to judge your mom for the apartment building she picked but it was just unexpected. Not even a step in and you had a feeling in your gut. 

You watched your mom walk in after grabbing her purse and decided to grab your bags from the back, one in each hand and your guitar slung over your shoulder. You walked into the building and found your mom talking to a door. You walked over confused but realized that someone was talking back through the mail slot. 

“Hey, honey! I was just talking to the owner of the building, meet Mr. Addison.” You smiled and waved at the eyes peeking out from behind the metal flap that was lifted. “Hello! you must be (y/n).” said a British cheery voice. 

“Hello, Mr. Addison,” you said with a small smile feeling more weirded out by the second. You turned to your mom and gave a small nod signaling that you were going to head up to your apartment and start unpacking your things. She gave a small nod back with a small smile. 

You give a quick goodbye to Mr. Addison and start your walk to the elevator. As you enter you can't help but get a feeling of unease as the anxiety of the floor caving underneath filled you but you continue. As you look at all the number keys you see a slot at the bottom, looks like a card was needed to enter that floor. You ignore it and press the floor 4 button and wait for the small box to carry you upwards.

As you look down at your feet you hear the ding of the elevator and the screech of the door opening. You look up and are met with the slightly off-looking yellow walls of the apartment hallways. You walk out, looking both ways trying to figure out how the apartments are ordered.

You walk down the small hallway and finally find the apartment with the number “403” written on a plaque in gold lettering that was screwed on. As you reached for the door you realized you never grabbed the key from your mom. You first had the thought to groan and bang your head against the door, but soon the thought of picking the lock popped up in your head.

You learned how to pick a lock from your older brother. He had to move away to college but you had a lot of memories with him. You grabbed the little pick lock kit you had in your bag and started to work on the lock of the door. After you heard the final click of the lock opening

you opened the door and walked in and set down your bags after kicking the door shut behind you. You made your way around the small apartment and looked for a room, there being only two you gave your mom the bigger one. After setting down your things you decided to familiarize yourself with the building.

You were on the fourth floor and heard that the top floor was being redone so going down was the only option. You walk back into the tiny elevator and hit the 2nd-floor button. You walked out and looked to your left and saw a lady in blue coveralls with a mop working on the dirty floor. She looked up and met your eyes; she smiled. 

You gave her a small smile back. “Oh hello there!” she said, she had a slightly deeper yet still warm voice. “Hi, I just moved in so I'm just looking around the building,” you said shoving your hands in your pockets and fiddling with the loose strands. “Ohhh, you must be part of the (l/n) family,” she said, recalling Addison telling her about the new incomers. You smiled but slightly furrowed your brows “It's just me and my mom.” you said, she smiled at the response “It's the same with me and my son. ” 

“Oh, that's nice” you smiled at the thought. It was nice meeting families that understood what it was like. “I think you two would get along perfectly.” she thought aloud with a small smile and relaxed yet emotion-filled eyes. “It's hard for him to find friends that are like him, are you okay with meeting him? I know you just moved but I feel like it would be nice for the both of you.” she had hopeful eyes as she handed you a keycard. 

“Uh, yeah that's fine. I can at least try,” you said as you slightly stuttered to take the card from the older woman. “Thank you, I hope it turns out well,” she said as she turned to continue mopping the floor that was stained a weird color. As you walked to the elevator, you had so many feelings and thoughts running through your head with every step you took. 

‘Is he a creep?’ ‘I just met her and she is asking me to meet her son?’ ‘Why is a key card involved?’ You cautiously entered the elevator and soon realized that you don't even know which floor he lives on. As you look at the old, slightly worn down, buttons you see a slit at the bottom. ‘Key card… key card slit… ohhhhhhh’ ‘Where does this lead?’ So many questions that were left unanswered. 

You slid the key card into the little opening and waited for the elevator to start moving. You felt it go down and then just started panicking, why did you agree to do this? This elevator came to a shaky stop and when the door opened you saw … a basement? What the fuck?

You agree to meet this random lady's son and she lives in the basement? Honestly kind of weird but can't judge, there has to be a reason behind it. You take small slow steps towards the door and grab the handle, ‘Should I just walk in? Should I knock? Fuck it, I’m going in. I mean she invited me. I have a right to.’

You grasp the door handle and turn it. As you walked in you noticed that there was nothing wrong with the apartment, it looked the same as every other apartment just in the basement. You walk over to the doors that were lined up against the hallway and look for which one could belong to the son of this woman.

You see one that has a black sign that had the words “KEEP OUT” written in bold red lettering. Must be his, can't guess who else would have a door like this. You knock on the door, not wanting to barge in, and wait for a reply “yeah? What is it?” comes a slightly deep raspy voice, a slight lisp coming out. “Um, my name is (Y/N). Your mom sent me to see ya,” you said not knowing what else to say.

“Oh, come in!” he said, slight embarrassment showing through in his voice. You walk into the room and noticed a tall man with long shaggy brown hair sitting on a beanbag at the side of the room. Blue skinny jeans hug his legs and a Sanity Falls t-shirt hangs on his body in a size that's one size too big. 

“Uh- sorry about my mom, she gets worried about me so when she meets someone new she kinda wants them to try and befriend me” he smiles awkwardly at you, his slight tooth gap showing in the smile. You laugh it off “Nah man you're fine, I thought you were gonna be a creep at first but I'm feeling otherwise right now,” you said, shoving your hands in your pockets as you realized that they sat weirdly at your sides. “Well thanks” he chuckled, leaning forward on the bean bag. “You wanna sit down?” he nods his head in the direction of a beanbag sitting across the room while leaning back in the position he was in before. 

You smiled at him and walked over to the beanbag and plopped down getting comfortable. He smiled over at you and chuckled at your squirming, going back to nursing the blunt in his hand that he hid from you when you walked in. “Wait you smoke?” you said now just noticing the partially smoked blunt. He smiled at you and put his hand out with a raised eyebrow, motioning to the little blunt asking if you wanted a hit without even saying a word.

“Uh, yeah sure” you were shocked to be honest, not because you said yes but the fact that this man you just met offered you a blunt for free. You slowly grabbed it from his muscular hands, his nails covered in black nail polish. You brought it to your lips and inhaled, you sigh as you feel the smoke traveling into your mouth and into your lungs.

You slowly exhale and look up, your eyes meeting Larry's brown ones. You give a small smile to him and he returns it, again that small little tooth gap showing through. You leaned back and let the feeling take over, a certain calmness running over you. You take a couple more hits and feel as if you were floating in space. As you are leaning back and letting your mind drift off you fail to notice that Larry got up from his seat and started to walk towards you.

When you look back down from the ceiling you see Larry kneeling in front of you. Your eyes widen in shock but they quickly drop back down. He slowly starts to take the mostly smoked blunt from your relaxed hand and takes a hit while making eye contact with you. He leans forward and slowly parts his lips, blowing the smoke right onto your parted lips.

He falls back with a cackle erupting from his throat. You sit there for a second before cracking up yourself. “Dude… come on” you say putting your head into your hands continuing to laugh making your shoulders bounce and your face hurt from smiling. You look back up at Larry and see his smile wider than ever. His little tooth gap showing through making you feel at peace. You lean back and let your head fall back as you relax your shoulders. You couldn’t tell why but you felt at home in an almost complete strangers house. 

After a short minute you realized your mother may be asking where you are so you stood up from the beanbag and looked over to Larry. “Well I gotta go, thanks for the weed.” you chuckled at the thought of getting high on the first day you were here. “Aww leaving so soon?” he asked looking up at you with a small fake pout. “Dude, I just moved in. I have to go help my mother.” you said chuckling while walking to the door, “Anyways, thanks again.” you softly say while looking back at Larry. You softly close the door behind you and make your way back to the elevator and up to the level where your apartment is located. 

“There you are!” you hear the voice of your worried mother exclaim. You turn and see her making her way towards you with her eyebrows furrowed and a deep frown placed on her face. “Mom, mom, calm down I was just talking to the neighbors” you said giving her a small hug. “(y/n)... why do you smell like weed.”

[endursent]

- God Shattering Star

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

【 note sorry this is also late i had to redo this chapter like 3 times cause i wasn't happy with it, i should stop re-reading a song of ice and fire while writing this 'cause i keep comparing my dialogue skills with fucking george rr martin and feel sad ｡ﾟ(*´□`)ﾟ｡ | read on ao3 】

【 word count; 6.016 | previous chapter - next chapter | masterlist 】

- Chapter 8 - Consumption

You barely recognise life anymore—or anything for that matter. You feel sick, sticky and heavy, as if your body is full of liquids in every crevice. The world around you feels lighter than you yourself do, like you’re sinking below it and perpetually struggling to reach upwards to grasp at the people staring down at you from around the cot. 

  Ming Hui sets her hand on your stomach, and a pain so consuming you thrash and scream overrides any thought or consciousness. Hands hold you down to prevent you from hurting yourself or anyone else as the smaller girl tears (at least that’s what it feels like to you) blackened liquids and blood from the lacerations on your belly. 

  You throw up every day, most of the time several times a day, nights are filled with shivers and huddling under blankets when you try to close your eyes to sleep—and wake in the middle of the night, soaked with sweat and fever. 

  One night, you had a terrible dream—you’ve been having many bad dreams, terrible, suffocating dreams. Nightmares. You woke up to two pairs of hands shaking your shoulders, clapping your cheeks lightly in hopes of waking you before you hurt yourself. 

  Another night, you couldn’t sleep, you kept seeing dark snakes slither between beds—you told yourself that they aren’t real, there are no snakes so high in the mountain of Liyue… they are far more common between the mountains, in thick forests with plenty of opportunities for food for their size. 

  They never approach your bed, one circles around it before disappearing behind a shelf of ointments. Later the same morning, exhausted and dozing from a sleepless night, you thought you saw a white snake under the bandage around your left arm looking at you, you reached out to pet it, but it slid back inside. Into your bandages. Into your skin.

  The week drags on for what feels like several of them. Every morning, Ming Hui would perform a cleanse and try to purify parts of your body to keep the miasma from spreading into it, but you weren’t sure how much it was helping, at least, you didn’t start feeling better until a week and a half after the seven days of cleansing. 

  With a groan, you prop yourself up and get into a sitting position, fumbling to grab one of the seven or so books on the table next to the cot, you let it fall open onto your lap. Staring at the ceiling is impossibly boring, and you hope your body is giving you some energy to use your brain at least a little. The book doesn’t have a name on the cover, nor does it look like a printed book—it’s full of handwriting and for a moment you thought Guizhong might have accidentally lent you a diary… but as you squint and read further, you see that it’s something of a logbook. 

  Documentation of a crew’s trip on the sea, the management of resources and the direction of the winds… it’s a surprisingly soothing read, you craft the ship in your mind and imagine the soothing brush of waves against the wood, sun beating down and warming the skin.

  You open your eyes again as a healer touches your shoulder and asks to see your left arm again, you didn’t even realise you fell asleep. The prickly sensation of their fingers prodding at your arm is strange, like it’s felt through a few layers of clothing… you can feel it, but just kind of. You feel like you used to be able to tell what texture was touching you—a finger or a glove, the grass or floor. But now it all feels like the same kind of poking.

  You feel a fragment of dread every time Ming Hui comes up to your bed, but thankfully the last few times, she’s just been bringing you things. Doughy snacks from the capital, some sesame balls from the kitchens, papers and ink to draw on, anything. Unfortunately none of the foods or snacks stick in your belly for long… but it’s nice to taste them, if only a small nibble with the front of your teeth and a poke of your tongue. 

  It has been a long morning, you had woken up early due to your back starting to hurt because you’ve been laying down for so long—you really wish you could start to walk around, but even just sitting up feels like you’re leaving half your organs behind on your mattress… you look up as you hear footsteps approach and see a familiar face, though not one you expected.

  Cloud Retainer—rather roughly—takes your arm and lifts it up vertically, you make a strange startled, as well as surprised sound and try to tug it back, but she holds it firmly. Ground Mender follows behind and sighs. “Be gentle,” she scolds. 

  “Hmph, a sound of pain merely shows there’s still feeling in the limb,” she moves it horizontally and squeezes the sides of your elbow, you have no idea what she’s doing. “Squeeze into a fist for me.” 

  You do as she asks, curling your fingers as much as you can—it’s not a very good squeeze, if any, but you manage to curl them into a fist with trembling fingers, your fist twitches from the effort. “Like this?”

  “Hm, good enough,” she nods and begins to undo the bandage. You look at Ground Mender, but she doesn’t seem to stop the other adeptus, so surely it’s okay… the bandages have been changed many times, but you’ve always been either been half-asleep or too out of it to pay attention to it. The white cloth falls away from your skin and reveals a rather uncomfortable sight—your arm looks like it’s been through the ringer. The skin is uneven and looks more like crumpled parchment stretched over bone than the arm you’re more familiar with, the deep wounds were beginning to close but you could still clearly see the raised edges where it separated, having been knit together twice. 

  It’s a mangled, uncomfortable thing, your fingers twitch and a dull tug pulls at your senses where you think your joints should be—as if the entire arm was misaligned, off-kilter.

  Cloud Retainer turns your arm wrist up and then wrist down, looks at it with a scrutinising eye behind those red-rimmed glasses. You wonder if adepti need glasses or if it’s just fashion. 

  “What are you searching for?” you ask, your arm is tired, being raised like that for so long. You want to let it lay down and rest. 

  The adeptus pokes your palm with a sharp nail and your fingers twitch again, your eyebrows furrow in mild annoyance… you can only tolerate being prodded at without explanation for so long. Finally, she graces you with an answer. “The miasma is concentrated heavily in your arm, most of what was in your stomach has been pulled out… but there is little to do with this part here.”

  You look down at your arm… it doesn’t look as rotted as you recall others’ bodies would become after as long as it has stayed in your arm. A bit discoloured, maybe… just, different. “Little to do? Extraction has never failed… can’t we just dig in and drag it out…?” you don’t have the energy or capacity to recount a lengthy process, but cleansing has never failed you—you have yet to find an object or person who was too far gone.

  And surely, you are not…?

  Cloud Retainer wraps your arm again carefully, you see the golden eyes of a snake staring at you from between the bandages.

  “Then… what do we do?” you ask as if there was something for you to do. You can barely hold your arm at chest-height for too long.

  Cloud Retainer holds her hand out to Ground Mender, who hands her the familiar wooden board someone is always holding when standing by your bed. “Observe for now, the miasma is contained below your elbow—” you look at the ink on your arm, locked. “—and it doesn't seem to be rotting the skin, it’s stagnant.”

  You were better for a while, and got worse again. 

  You could imagine the ship, high tides and low, rocking among the waving ocean—a peek of sunlight. Two suns, warmth and stability. A calm sea surrounded by raging waters. 

  The perpetual taste of bile stings the back of your throat, it’s a wonder if you aren’t in danger of malnourishment—you’re unsure you’ve kept down a meal in three weeks. Your head swims and you get nauseous if you lie down, you’re nauseous if you sit up. The world spins when you try to stand, even with attendants insisting you move your legs and body to prevent clotting from forming in your feet. You are practically hauled onto a cart of some sort that holds only your upper body, when strength slips between your fingers and you slide off—only just barely caught by the attendants and brought back to bed, they decide to just assign someone to apply pressure to your feet instead to promote blood flow.

  It’s strange… it’s all treatment and techniques you’ve familiarised yourself with over the last months you’ve been working for the capital. But it feels so foreign to be on the receiving end. 

  Like a rocking ship, you managed to down some foods one morning—and kept them down over lunch time, for the first time in… how long has it been? You feed some of the congee to a smaller snake by your bedside. 

  Everyone around you seemed very excited, but you didn’t have the energy to return it—you know in your heart and gut that it could change at any moment… your day moves slowly as you flip the page of a rather difficult book Cloud Retainer gave to you, it’s only about half writing and the rest is just numbers. Your eyes rise when you see Morax approaching your bed, and you straighten instinctively—he has something in his hand, a bamboo food basket with a long handle. “Good afternoon,” he greets evenly and takes a foldable table that’s used to prop on the bed to allow patients to eat there. He sets the basket on the table over your lap—over your book—and steps away again… Morax has been very quiet recently, and you’re unsure why. You would never say you know him well, you are just barely on greeting or chatting terms, but you still feel a sense that something weighs on his mind. 

  He returns again with a spoon. “Zhou’s son recently made travels to the west, and on my walk through the streets, the old man demanded I try some cuisine his son had studied there. This is supposed to be easily digestible,” Morax takes your right hand, despite it being very much healthy and mobile. His slender fingers slide below your wrist and lift your hand where he lays the spoon against your upturned palm, your fingers instinctively curl around the cutlery despite the fact that your eyes aren’t watching it. His expression is firm, stiff and stony. 

  “It’s not dinner time yet,” you’re not sure why you said it, perhaps the silence was uncomfortable, or you want his gaze to leave your torso and rise to meet yours. 

  He blinks, there are so many things on his mind that it gets pulled away even in the respite he’s taking in bringing you food. “Yes, my apologies. Master Zhou was rather insistent that I stop by and taste his son’s food no matter the time of day, he said finding me during meal hours is too complicated,” Morax lets go of your arm and his hand goes to the basket, he takes the top off and the dish out.

  While the congee you ate this morning was nice and light on your stomach—this dish was a pale yellow as opposed to the white of the congee. It smelled warm and comforting but mild, like a stone left under the midday sun, a hot spring on a cold winter’s day in the mountains where the flakes melt against your cheeks, but your body and shoulders are enveloped in a warmed watery blanket. 

  You stop staring at the dish and stick your spoon into it, it’s soft and moist, the rice separate easily as you scoop a small bite past your lips, careful not to have too much at a time—your stomach has traumatised you over the week by acting up over the smallest thing.

  “Ground Mender and Cloud Retainer surmised that though initially we thought enough of the miasma had been cleared from around your organs, your body is still too weak to push out the rest by itself,” Morax finds a stool to sit on next to your bed, not wanting to intrude on the mattress itself. In your convinced state, the bed is your only privacy space that only feels more confined when the curtains are closed around it. 

  The bite of food fills your mouth—and though your taste buds are extra sensitive now with not eating a lot of foods for so long… licking a sesame ball doesn’t count for much, it tastes very much like the warm embrace the smell and temperature brings. The rice is soft and nearly dissolves on your tongue, the creamy texture of the bite spreading in your mouth and down your throat—it’s five times more warming and powerful than a sip of warm water to smooth out your scrunchy stomach. It gets to work and you instantly feel a sense of ease. 

  Morax watches you as you lick your lips, dipping the spoon again. “What is it? It’s very nice,” you ask as you take another—now a fuller spoon—of the surprising dish.

  “Khichdi,” Morax says the word carefully, as if he were trying to mimic a pronunciation. “After master Zhou’s son returned, a lot of the dishes he learned to make have become very popular in the neighbourhood.”

  You hum, you can see why—the flavour is very unique, even if it’s not very strong, it’s likely made with ingredients not found in the Guili Assembly. “Some vegetables could add to it,” you muse to yourself, but quickly try and correct yourself. “I-I mean, it’s very good like this, thank you—”

  Morax, however, seemed sheepish for a moment. “Ah… there are vegetables in it… but master Zhou asked for your preference and I couldn’t answer, I deemed it safer to ask them to chop a chosen few of them into… miniscule pieces, in case chewing would be discomforting, or you didn’t like the taste.”

 You look down at the bowl, sure enough, there are specs of green and red—how small can you even chop a vegetable?! This looks like a crumb of salt, you think as you squint at a tiny flake of red on your spoon between two grains of rice… your taste buds are in shambles, even just the flavours of this was making it difficult to tell the ingredients, though there are some you have never tasted before. “Ah, thank you for your consideration,” you say before setting another—now spoonful—in your mouth. You almost wish you had bread now, when even two days ago you couldn’t even think about food without your stomach curling up. 

  Another silence lingers, but it’s not uncomfortable—not waiting or hesitant. You slowly eat while Morax sits, he looks around the calm ward, it’s usually only used in dire circumstances—when the usual infirmary tucked on the first floor on his side between the palaces is full, you’re the only patient being tended to now. “Perhaps you will soon be ready to go above ground,” Morax says absently, not turning his head to you yet.

  “Hm? Someone could surely carry me there now, I can try walking again,” you say after a swallow, realising you were eating a bit too fast, you slowed down; your grandmother wouldn’t have you consuming a meal made in kindness at breakneck speed without appreciating the flavour and effort. 

  “Though I’m glad you feel confident, I would rather avoid you hurting yourself,” Morax shakes his head slowly. “We will see what Ground Mender says in the morning, if you keep this down.”

  You better, you tell yourself. 

  Morax stuck around until you finished, and he helped put away the wooden board as well as placed the bowl back into the basket which had been set aside. You expected him to leave, but he walks around the bed to the side of your injured arm and extends his own right hand. “May I?”

  Raising your arm slowly, it stutters and jerks slightly, as if you were fighting against your own muscles for them to listen to your commands.Morax takes your arm kindly, treats it with a gentle touch you would expect from a seasoned healer… a soft glow emits from his hands and you feel their warmth seep into your skin, for a moment it is comforting, a taste of the khichdi from his hands to your skin.

  But suddenly, it’s too hot—it burns.

  You yank your arm back instinctively, as if you had laid it on a raging fire and not realised until the flames licked your skin. “Ah—” your right hand fingers dig into the bandage of your left arm, trying to squeeze away the pain, to inflict it differently and drain it out.

  Morax tenses at the sudden reaction, his eyes flashing with a strange emotion you didn’t see long enough to discern. “What is it?” he asks with urgency, but he doesn’t touch you again. Not if it was his touch that was the cause of your startling. “Did I hurt you?”

  “N-No,” you say quickly, but you’re not sure—it only happened because his fingers rested on your arm, but they were gentle, like leaves brushing against cobblestone in a drifting breeze. “What were you doing?”

  You don’t mean for your question to sound accusing, you hope Morax doesn’t take it as such. He looks from your eyes down to your clutched arm, eyebrows pinched in thought. “Does it still hurt?”

  “A little…” you mumble. Your arm tingles and your fingers tremble slightly, it has felt strangely cold—as opposed to the warmth that always emanated from corrupt skin, the miasma displaying symptoms of infections, because one corrupted is being infected. 

  “I was merely examining your energies, but as soon as I touched them…” he looked at his own hand. Your body had rejected his energies before—but they had not simply evaporated now, he was pushed back. 

  He does not like it. 

  You rub at your arm gently, nails scratching at the bandage now that you had the excuse. The bandage is wrapped so densely, your skin is moist and itchy. “Don’t scratch it,” Morax scolds as you do, and with a defeated sigh you look up at him again and tense. 

  There is an unmoving silence before you quickly look away again, but Morax saw the surprise and—fear? Concern?—on your face before you turned back to your arm. He says your name firmly, firmer than you’re sure you’ve heard before. “What is wrong?”

  “Nothing,” you say quickly. There was a snake around his shoulders. Writhing and wrapping around his throat. 

  They’re not real. You must just be malnourished, sick. Hallucinating. 

  Morax doesn’t react when the snake squeezes his neck.

  It’s not real.

  You pant, heart racing and pounding against your chest—you feel it so vividly you’re sure you could lay your fingers over your chest and pinch it when it presses between your ribs. You feel dizzy, and disoriented, eyes looking down to your left arm, it’s there—all fingers attached as usual. 

  Just seconds ago it had been red, open, you could reach out and touch the bone, you could wrap your fingers around it while your skin and muscles slipped off your arm and landed with a wet squelching sound on the floor.

  You’ve been having nightmares again. 

  It doesn’t have any comprehensive or predictable patterns, one night your head is in the maws of a beast, another you’re drowning under a tidal wave of iron-tasting water, unable to breathe or see as it stings your eyes and burns your lungs. You squeeze your eyes shut, running your right hand over your face tightly, squishing your nose slightly with your palm. 

  It’s exhausting. The day is tiring enough already, and you find no solace in sleep. You don’t even have the luxury of turning from one side or the other, any position other than flat on your back feels like your intestines are going to spill out through your belly button. 

  You glance at the breakfast laid out for you, sitting on the bedside table as it cools. Congee and some bread… but you don’t feel hungry. Not for what feels like the hundredth bowl of congee, you haven’t returned your meals in a few days, but yet Ground Mender denied you when you asked if you could be brought above ground.

  “We don’t have much space in the palace infirmary.”

  “Did something happen?” you had asked, you hadn’t heard of anything, but you haven’t heard much of the outside world in a while.

  Ground Mender changed the subject without telling you, and you were starting to feel that you were being kept alone in this massive hall for… what? You’re getting better, slowly, you managed to walk around your bed with some support, but you would never make it up the endless staircase leading to the sun-touched hallways. 

  It’s been a month and a half, according to an attendant that brought your breakfast. Your muscles have atrophied terribly and even just standing so someone can help you bathe is exhausting. 

  A hand touches your breakfast tray and you look up to see Moon Carver. It feels like every person you’ve met in the last months has been coming around to check on you… it’s strange. You’ve never stayed in one place for long enough for anyone to notice absent days of sickness, to inquire why you close your home off for cleansing for a week.

  You had returned to a small village that specialised in silk weaving and no one had remembered your face, despite the fact you had discovered the foul energies poisoning a part of the nearby forest, which caused a devastating number of lost silkworms over the span of three years. 

  You had seen your reflection recently and didn’t recognise yourself either. 

  “Time to stretch your legs, come on,” the adeptus tilts his head for you to get up. “The more you skimp out, the longer it will take to build those muscles up again.”

  If you don’t move, he’ll continue to pester you… you move the blanket off your lap and Moon Carver takes under your right elbow to help you stand. You’re steadier on your feet than you were before, but you always feel like your legs’ sense of balance is different from your mind’s. 

  “Starting to think you ask for babysitting duty,” you mumble, a poor attempt at humour as you take careful steps. You feel exhausted, but not like you would after running—there’s no burn, there’s no ache or cramp. You just feel like you’re going to slink down onto the floor like a dropped paper, swaying back and forth before gliding under a cabinet. 

  Moon Carver huffs, his grip is strong. “It’s not easy to say no to this one’s Lord.”

  “Would you if it were?” you wonder why Morax would ask Moon Carver to check on you, surely he has more important things to do. 

  He doesn’t answer, changing the subject. You’ve started to notice that when an adeptus doesn’t want to tell you something, they will just become quiet or dodge your question. “Let us go towards the stairs and back.”

  You frown. “All the way? It’s far…”

  It’s barely thirty steps, sixty in total there and back. You’ve walked this distance without a thought several times, so many you can’t begin to imagine how often. Light on your feet, walking briskly with tools, trays or heavy baskets you are sure you couldn’t try to lift up now. 

  It seems so far, yet you know it’s not. You just have to put one foot in front of the other, not think, not look at the distance, look at your feet, the floor. 

  You’ve had different nightmares. 

  Strange, different.

  Sinking below the claustrophobic, choking earth. Deeper into the iron water. Sinking. Watching the surface of the world like a reflection of sunlight from above the sea, blinding. 

  They’re vivid, but not scary.

  Just strange. Different. 

  Not nightmares.

  You wake and feel the warmth of the sun on your cheeks, it filters through oiled paper and you shift to your side. You don’t feel pain laying on your side anymore, but it’s not comfortable either… but you want to sleep, and the sun—though filtered—is in your eyes. You prefer to lay on your right side when you rarely roll, it’s easier if you have to sit up. 

  “Hmm, I would have thought you would be happy to see the sun?” Guizhong sets her hands on her hips, standing next to your bed suddenly—you didn’t hear her approach, but her preference to forgo shoes makes her footsteps very quiet. 

  You are happy to see it, Moon Carver helped Ground Mender carry you up the stairs last night. There’s less quiet in the palace infirmary, more patients coming and going and attendants rushing about… but as you don’t feel as sick as you did even just a week ago, it’s not as overwhelming to hear people wandering about, if anything, it’s comforting. 

  “I am,” you mumble, giving up on your prolonged rest to turn back on your back. “It’s warm.”

  “It won’t be for long, summer is coming to an end soon,” Guizhong approaches your bed and makes room for herself on the side of it next to you. “You should try and enjoy the warmth while it’s still here, do you want to go outside?”

  You do, you want to feel the warmth of the sun on your skin, to breathe in the fresh mountain air and feel the breeze ruffle your clothes. 

  But you don’t trust yourself to make it alone, even if you were to just stand by the walkway and hold onto the railing. “Will you help me?”

  “Of course,” Guizhong moves off the bed and straightens. “Let’s greet the fishes in the gardens.”

  You want to squat down and let the carps nibble on your finger, but you worry you might not be able to get back up easily, or you might pull on something. Instead, you merely stare longingly while Guizhong kneels down and feeds them from her hand.

  There’s not much wind today, barely the breeze you longed for—but even just the soft brush of air is more than you’ve had for weeks. You squint up towards the sky, a few clouds lazily drifting across the vast expanse as the sun hangs high above your heads.

  You hear the waters of the pond and small stream that cuts through the back gardens, a usually peaceful ambiance that makes you slightly uneasy now. You can’t imagine yourself stepping into a river anytime soon… you know that rationally, there is no danger in the small waters of the gardens, but the thought of touching the waters makes your skin crawl. 

  Footsteps approach the two of you and Cloud Retainer stops next to you—she has a floating bird crafted from bamboo and paper next to her, you hope it doesn’t shoot darts at the fish—with a flourish of her hair. “Your breakfast is waiting for you.”

  Ah. “I’m not hungry,” you turn your gaze away from the eccentric inventor, looking down to the Lord of Dust that pets every fish that comes to eat from her hand. 

  “You said the same thing last night,” she folds her arms over her chest. “You need energy.”

  She’s right, of course. “... okay, I’ll try.”

  You sit on the side of the road, a weary log under you and soft grass beneath your feet, the sun slowly sinks below the treeline as you stretch your legs and raise your gaze to the pink sky, your surroundings are peaceful and silent—a captured moment in time where you get to be alone with yourself. 

  Long, high trees line the road behind you and shield you from the rest of the world, the view before you is a comfort and home. Rolling hills, distant farms and fields of flowers spread over the land, coloured orange and pink with the reflective sky.

  A child runs past you, they trip on a rock and tumble to the floor—but no sounds of pain leave them, giggles and snickers as an older sibling runs past them, grabbing their shirt and hauling them up on their feet as they continue their sprint. 

  You don’t recognise them, but they feel familiar.

  You feel no wind nor the heat of the sinking sun, the sky is clear of clouds and birds, there is nothing but the wide scroll of the heavens furling across the air, opening up to reflect their blessings of fertile lands and fresh produce. You stretch your arms above your head and stand up, patting your clothes down to rid of any grass or dirt before continuing on your way. 

  You see him in the distance, and your pace increases. A flow of white robes and long brown hair, he turns off the gravel road and walks towards the thick treeline. Where is he going? You only see his back, the golden lines glowing in the darkening surroundings—as if beckoning you to follow, a guiding light. 

  But before you can leave the road and follow him into the forest, a hand grabs your elbow and stops you.

  You hear your name and blink—there’s no trees in front of you, there is a deep crater that is centred with a pool of water. Dry dirt crumbs fall down from below your foot and roll to the body of water, creating ripples in the still waters.

  Suddenly, you feel as if all the weight of the world is bearing down on your body, you’re cold, your feet hurt—you’re not wearing shoes. You stand at the edge of a crater, one step from tumbling down, and in the battered state you’re already in, it wouldn’t be a good tumble. You look back and see Morax staring at you, his hair is tousled and eyes strangely wide—you have never seen his face make such a vivid expression, one of surprise and concern. He tugs you backwards and you fall into him, your legs give out and tremble with strain. There’s a dull, agitating throb in your arm and stomach, a pulsing throb in tune with your heartbeat, in tune with the sway of the grass around you. Back-forth. Back-forth—

  You hear your name again, his arms hold you up and prevent you from sinking down to the ground. “Can you hear me?” 

  You can, but you find it difficult to voice your confirmations. You’re cold, it’s nighttime—how is it night already? The stars dot the sky with bright flickers and you try to stand, but your feet feel like heavy weights, a thrumming prick of needles rushes through them when you try to put pressure on them. 

  Why does it feel like he is always seeing you at your worst? 

  Sick. Injured. Hurting. 

  You would rather fall into the crater, he must think you a burden on—

  “You’re trembling,” his voice is louder than the brushing wind, louder in your ear than the sway of branches and rustling of leaves. “How have you found yourself here? In the darkness of night, alone and so far from the city?”

  He sounds different, urgent and more pointed—as if a front has been reached through, a hand through fog holding your arms as he steadies you against him. Morax’s body is warm. “You… it was you, I was following you,”you finally manage. But when did you start chasing him? You don’t remember starting a journey. 

  “Me?” he hesitates for only a beat of your erratic heart. “Are you certain?” Morax reins in his urgent tone, carefully choosing his words. “Word was sent to me that you had disappeared from your bed, it has been two days—do you know where you are?”

  “No,” it’s an easy question to answer, despite it being so difficult to think of what had just happened mere hours ago, days ago—a week ago. Your tense of time is ruffled, what had been the last thing you had been doing? Were you asleep before or after finishing the book Guizhong had left you?

  “The energies in your arm have spread again,” he moves—tugging your rather limp body along with him as he kneels on the soft ground. You feel the tickle of grass on your calves and realise you’re still wearing the short pants and shirt you were put in and made to use by the medical ward. Morax tilts you towards him as he unfurls the bandage on your arm, your side and right arm rest against his chest and torso, your head falling rather lamely against his shoulder—it’s a strangely intimate position that neither of you consider given the circumstance, it doesn’t feel intimate, it only serves the purpose of not having you fall over while his hands are occupied.

  The ink that had been sealing the miasma below your elbow was smudged—this type of ink doesn’t smudge for this specific reason. Blackened veins travel up your arm, so stark against your skin that they might as well be drawn on. They rise up your bicep and fade just below your neck. Morax’s eyes are focused and firm as he turns your throbbing arm palm up to examine it further. “The seal has been torn,” his fingers ghost over the blackened veins on your arm, you’ve only felt his gloved hands before, you wonder if his fingers are softer than the texture of his clothes. “You said you were following me.”

  You were… or, you thought so. “It looked like you,” you say it more so to yourself than him.

  “Did you see its face?” he asks as he wraps your arm again,  your skin is ice cold to the touch—the weather has cooled as summer is coming to an end, and with the Guili Assembly’s elevated land, it gets colder faster. 

  “No,” you mumble, shoulders raised as a cool breeze brushes past your neck, raising shivers on your skin. 

  Morax doesn’t ask further questions, but it doesn’t leave his mind either. He believes what you say, what you saw… real or not, it only serves to drive his concern for your well-being, physical and mental. 

  His hand raises, and you feel something touch your head. You squint your eyes open—you didn’t even realise you had closed them—and tilt your head to look at his face. Morax’s face is so close you can feel the warm brush of his breath on your cold chin, it blooms over the bottom half of your face. “What are you doing…?”

  His fingers halt and lift from your head, Morax blinks down at you. “I… heard it is a sign of comfort.”

  He was patting your head, trying to comfort you—it was… rather cute, that he tried even while struggling to grasp whether it would be appreciated or not. “Oh… thank you, it’s okay,” your torso doesn’t feel as cold anymore. Morax seems to take your waiting eyes as permission, and his palm rests on your head again, carefully. He doesn’t stroke or scratch like one would do with a pet or animal, his palm and fingers lift slightly and touch back down a few times. 

  You never thought you would be petted like this by a god, had you told yourself a few months ago, you would have found it funny—silly maybe. But… now that his warm hand touches your head gently, you find that it is comforting.

[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.

[justobuy]

What result it is when a guy with too much energy on small-time screen characters of an obscure show and free time gets his writing side on the loose?

Butterfly effect, a Phantom Investigators fanfic

Synopsis: In a lot of situations, questions we can ask ourselves is:

-What if an element who could've gone otherwise would have changed the consequences?

-Can we really know a person's deepest feelings based on only what we got told in the heat of the moment?

As a tense situation reminds Professor Navarro of his past, his students will discover during the telling of a lost case that their group and Navarro's group share more connexions than they first believed!

(featuring different kinds of visuals in tribute to the series's multiple styles)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Huge thanks to @beatleswings for letting me use her OCs of Navarro's parents for this story (and helped me write their dialogue). Sometimes a collaboration helps more than simply just doing your own interpretations for the sake of difference. :)

Warning: While it's not necessary to have seen the whole series, be aware that I've never been this close to the source material's lore than this story, so some lore spoilers from episodes has to be expected, specially one in particular (other than secrets exposed) .....but I'm keeping the surprise. ;) .

[anna-pineappel]

Reblog for larger sample size!

[let-me-love-you-loki]

Yours to Tame--Ch. 8

Chapter 8: Two Days Later

            “You don’t have to stay,” I said for what felt like the thousandth time. I figured that Anna wouldn’t take a step outside of my hospital room after what had happened with Sammy. But I hadn’t figured that Bryan Danielson and Jon Moxley would basically camp out in my room as well. “Seriously. I’m sure you guys have better things to do than sit here.”

            Bryan shrugged, a guilty look in his eyes. “It’s partially my fault that you’re in here. It’s the least I can do.” I barely caught the look that passed between him and Moxley. “I saw you stumble up those stairs. I should have at least stopped you to make sure you were okay.”

            “It’s nowhere near your fault,” Anna said with a sneer. “You aren’t the one who bounced her head off a wall.”

            I grimaced, feeling sick as Anna realized what she’d just done. Her eyes shot to mine as the color drained straight out of her face. The air seemed to be sucked straight out of the room. It was like the whole world stood still—frozen completely in place. I couldn’t bring myself to look toward Bryan or Moxley. The overwhelming shame that poured through me was like gasoline. I couldn’t breathe.

            “Morgan…” Anna said so quietly that it was hard to hear her. She covered her face with her hands. “I’m so sorry.”

            The quiet was so heavy, so thick that I could feel it pressing down on me. It was stifling. Suffocating. It wrapped its fingers around my throat and threatened to choke the life out of me.

            “I’m going to tear his fucking head off.” The voice was tinged with rage, with something that was stronger and more primal even.

            I gagged and clawed at the oxygen tube beneath my nose. My fingers shook. The force of my heart beating behind my ribs was painful beyond reckoning. The noise of the monitors beeping beside me was deafening.

            “Morgan.” The voice was Moxley’s. It was barely audible over the roaring of my blood in my ears. I tried to focus, but it felt like I was trying to dig my way out of quicksand. “Morgan, look at me.”

            His voice filtered from so far away. “Morgan.” My name echoed in my ears as if it traveled down a long tunnel.

            Something settled on my wrist, jarring me back to reality as quickly as if I’d been slapped. I couldn’t breathe as memories of Sammy with his hands on me slammed into my thoughts. Vomit churned my stomach and clawed up my throat. The panic rushed through my blood, and I thrashed, trying to get away from that touch.

            “Hey, it’s okay,” Moxley said quietly. He took his hand off my wrist, but I could still feel it settled on the blanket next to me. “It’s okay. Take a deep breath, Morgan. Look at me. I’m right here.”

            I tried. I tried so hard to follow the sound of his voice. The world around me was so hazy. I could barely make out the shape of him squatting near the edge of the bed. It came into focus slowly. He kept talking.

            “Good,” he murmured. “It’s me, Mox. You’re safe, and you’re okay.”

            I gasped. “Is he… is he…”

            “No. It’s just the three of us. Me, Anna, and Bryan.” I felt my heart settle just a little. The sound of monitors slowed. “We’re not letting him anywhere near you again.”

            I tried to take a deep breath as I focused on Moxley’s words. On the sound of his voice and the way that—somehow—I trusted him when he said they weren’t going to let Sammy near me.

             “Promise?” The word came out of my mouth quietly and timidly. My voice felt like I’d never used it before.

            The very tips of his fingers brushed the side of my arm, close enough that I could feel it but also light enough that I could pull away if I wanted. I took a breath, one after the other and tried to focus all of my attention on the faint, barely there sensation of his fingertips.

            “I swear.”

            “I’ll rip him into pieces,” Bryan growled.

            My heart jumped back into my throat. I clutched at the blankets with my fingers until it felt as if I was going to rip my nails off.

            “You’re going to be quiet is what you’re going to do,” Moxley said firmly. He didn’t raise his voice, but it was strong. “You’re scaring her.”

            The sound of his voice was enough to bring some of the anxiety out of me. I focused on Moxley’s voice. On the way that there was just a faint hint of an accent underneath. Without real warning, my fingers untangled from the blankets and crept toward his. The feel of warm, calloused fingers anchored me to reality for a moment.

            Moxley gave a faint huff of breath before gently curling his fingers around my hand. “Bryan and I are here. I promise we’re going to help keep you safe.”

            I finally worked up the courage to look at him. Moxley was still there, squatting next to the bed and watching me carefully with his cornflower blue eyes. Anna was still there. I could feel her just like I always did. But there was also Moxley and Bryan.

            “Why?” I whispered around the lump caught in my throat. “Why do you care?”

            “Why?” Moxley asked, bewildered. “Why what?”

            Anna curled her fingers around mine. It was hard to look him in the eye. Honestly, it was hard to look anyone except Anna in the eye, and I often hated myself for it. “Why do you care? We barely know each other.”

            Moxley and Bryan shared a look, their brows wrinkled in confusion. I watched them shoot a curious glance at Anna. Shame settled deep in my gut. I just wanted to curl up and hide. Part of me wished Sammy had killed me a long time ago.

            The chair creaked as Bryan leaned forward, his elbows propped on his knees. His threatening words against Sammy echoed in my head, reverberating until it was all I could hear. Panic rose up in my chest. Bryan opened his mouth to speak, but snapped it shut again when Moxley put out a hand.

            “We care because you’re a human being, Morgan,” Moxley said at last. “Because everyone deserves to be and feel safe. Because no one deserves what you’ve gone through, whatever it is.”

            Anna squeezed my fingers. When I looked at her, there were tears running down her face. I could see the way she tried to find the right words to say. She didn’t have to. There was a clear I told you so behind her eyes.

            “I don’t know everything that’s happened. I’m—we’re—not asking you to tell us. You’re right that we don’t really know each other, but I think I speak for Bry here when I say that doesn’t change the fact that you deserve to feel safe. To be safe.” Moxley’s words were genuine and compassionate. More than I’d ever had from any guy in a very long time.

            I didn’t know what to do with them.

            I couldn’t remember the last time someone had bothered to give a shit about me. Except Anna.

            “What?” I replied cautiously. “What happens next? Are we friends now?”

            Bryan’s laugh came out of nowhere. “I wouldn’t mind being friends with you, Morgan.”

            Friends. That’s how it all started with Sammy. The charm. The attention. Then possessiveness. The slow eroding away of my sense of self, my confidence, my independence. My control over my own body.

            “What this dipshit means,” Moxley said, his words bringing me back to the present. “Is that we wouldn’t mind being your friends if that’s what you’d like. Tell us to go away and we’ll hit the bricks. Pound sand. Hit the road. Disappear. Vanish. Be no more. Ride off into—”

            “She gets it, Mox,” Bryan interrupted. There was a faint smile on his face. He turned toward me. I couldn’t argue that it was easy to be drawn into his ice blue eyes. “So? What d’you think?”

            I made myself look away. Look anywhere but at them. My gaze slid over Anna. Over monitors and generic art prints and plain beige paint. Past the wall-mounted TV playing a daytime gameshow on low volume. It finally landed on the mirror above the sink. The one directly across from my bed. The one I’d been avoiding since I’d arrived.

            A loud thump drew my attention back before I could dwell on my sunken eyes and limp, greasy hair. The sound echoed in the little room so loudly that I was sure the nurses down the hall heard. Bryan rubbed the center of his chest with one hand while flipping Moxley off with the other.

            “Again…” he sighed, shooting Bryan what could only be described as a death glare. “What this asshole is trying to say is we’d like to be friends. But absolutely on your terms.”

            For some reason, my brain seemed to short circuit at his words. My terms? I didn’t think anyone—let alone a man—had ever proposed any kind of relationship on my terms. As much as the idea was a foreign concept, I could feel the sincerity radiating off Moxley.

            “You don’t have to—”

            “I’d like that,” I replied in a rush before I lost my nerve. “I’d like to be friends with you guys.”

            Anna squeezed my hand again. As if she was proud of me.

            Both men seemed to relax into their chairs. Moxley laughed softly and grinned.

            “Well, princess, if we’re gonna be friends, I have to tell you about my buddy Mitch.”

            Bryan snorted. “The fucking ficus?”

            “Shut it. He was there for me.” I glanced at Anna, who was watching them bicker back and forth playfully. For the first time in a very long time, I started to believe I could be safe.

________________________________

Tag List

@spaghetti-hoop

@mrsmatt

@imagineall-the-fandoms

@rollynchwhore

@unoficialy-married-to-ace-austin

[marvelmaniac715]

Chapters: 2/6 Fandom: Hatchetfield Universe - Team StarKid Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Hannah Foster & Webby (Hatchetfield), Hannah Foster & Lex Foster Characters: Webby (Black Friday), Hannah Foster (Hatchetfield), Lex Foster, Wiggly | Wiggog Y'rath, Pokey | Pokotho, Tinky | T'noy Karaxis, Blinky | Bliklotep, Nibbly | Nibblenephim Additional Tags: Backstory, Light Angst, Fluff and Angst, Childhood Memories Summary:

Hannah has questions about her eldritch spider friend Webby. After an argument with her sister Lex, the girl finally gets a chance to sit down with Webby and ask some of her questions. The only catch is - she’s only allowed five. But hey, asking just five questions won’t unearth that much trauma, right?…

[marauderfic]

by Mirabella

Summary:

In which Evil faces an insurrection, Good faces an unexpected betrayal, and Harry means to find out which side Draco is on. Harry/Draco, R.

Comments:

Written pre-HBP, this fic is abandoned but still worth reading. It was not as popular as it deserved because the author was very particular and didn't like people recommending the fic on communities and such.

It explores a world where Voldemort takes his time carefully preparing his next move, Dumbledore is gone, the Ministry is as useless as ever, and it seems Lucius Malfoy has plans of his own.

SOHW has it all: good writing, solid characterizations, an interesting and complex plot, exciting magic, a great balance between romance, intrigue and action... and the chemistry between Draco and Harry is explosive.

The only problem I have with it is that the author is too biased in favour of Draco and all things Slytherin, making Harry look like a fool at times, but all the characters are three-dimentional, with their own motives and agendas. Some of the characters that stand out are Lucius, Percy, Remus, Hermione, Fred and George.

Oh, and it may get a little too expository. But only a few times.

Illustrative quote:

Narcissa smiled and ran the cool linen of Draco's coverlet through her fingers. "I love the magic you learned in Budapest. I wish you'd had time to teach me more of it."

"So do I," Draco whispered, and Harry heard his voice come perilously close to breaking.

Harry looked down, away from Draco and his mother, and squeezed his eyes closed. God, how he'd hoped never to feel this kind of crushing guilt again.

We need him. Hogwarts needs him. Our side needs him.

Take what you want and pay for it, says God.

Oh, Christ, how he hated himself right now.