#nobody knows what shes allowed to say or if its even safe for her to come out

[gender-euphowrya]

the way my grandma tries to shove her irrational fears on me and then guilt-trips me when i don't indulge her

[sheastri]

Can I Call You Rose? ft. ln4

Pairing: lando norris x fem!black reader

Genre: Social Media AU + Story

Summary: In which the reader grew up in a household where she was never able to express herself properly due to her father. Lando heals her inner child and helps her experience all the things she wasn't able to when she was younger.

Warning(s): None.

A/N: No specific facecast, just the gorgeous black girls of pinterest!!

Also please send requests, whether they're movie based, book based, song based, or even original. Spill your brains and I'll bring the ideas to life the best I can.

Dedicated to all the young girls around the world growing up with immigrant parents who they knew loved them but didn't know how to show it. You will find someone who allows you to express yourself and heals you inside out.

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Flashback To Y/n's Childhood

13 years ago

Y/n had just turned 10 years old and was excited to celebrate her birthday. Her mother had suggested they all go out and grab dinner at a restaurant of her choice as her birthday treat. They were at home getting ready and just about to leave when her father had said something.

He had insulted her mother and she knew immediately that it would prompt a whole argument so she grabbed the car keys. She made sure to tell her sister, who immediately followed behind her, before she went outside to the car to wait for their parents.

When everyone had gotten in the car it was dead silent. Nobody spoke a word until her father attempted to break the silence with a joke, not an apology, a joke.

Her mother had laughed and went back to speaking to her father like nothing had happened. Y/n and her sister had looked at each other before going back to their phones. Out of nowhere her father begin to go on a rant, well yapping spree, about how this generation was always on their phones and started to talk about how his life growing up in Jamaica was.

Both her and her sister laughed as their mother commented on his very animated story and the atmosphere felt lighter, as though everyone could breathe again. They laughed and conversed until they pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant, Olive Garden.

It wasn't giving birthday dinner but Y/n's been craving it for weeks now, the only reason they couldn't go was because of her dad. He didn't like their food and made sure to make it known. He had eaten something before they left so she could hopefully enjoy just eating her food.

They ordered and while they were waiting her dad decided that he needed to complain more. He started with a joke about how she kind of left him to starve and how next time she should be more considerate. Her mother laughed and her sister spoke up about how she didn't like Olive Garden that much either.

Y/n eventually excused herself to the bathroom and went into a stall deciding to just cry. Safe to say her 10th birthday was ruined.

Alexa play "Can I Call You Rose".

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Current Time

liked by landonorris, whosimani, maxverstappen, and 246,789 others

Tagged: whosimani

y/nsdiary ya'll the view is next level 🤭

view all 13,729 comments

whosimani girlll you so fine, lemme take you out and treat you right.

y/nsdiary time and place babes username she is thirstyyy username shii I can't even blame her

username hold on a minute bc which view is homegirl talking about??

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username ik thats not a whole man up on my wife's bed half naked...

username no right... hope he knows hes sleeping in my reserved spot y/nsdiary hes just warming up the bed for you, trustt username nah bc im distraught

username its so much going on right neoww

username y/n and imani serving as per usual

username ok but what are max and lando doing up in these likes??

username i was js about to say... username i mean y/n's been invited to a race before maybe they're just friends?

username Can I call you Rose? 'Cause you're sweet like a flower in bloom…

liked by oscarpiastri, mclaren, y/nsdiary, and 567,293 others

Tagged: oscarpistri

landonorris the view is just spectacular

y/n'sdiary this man is who i'd be if i never had an original thought in my life

username not her clocking himmm oscarpiastri GAGGED username lando are u js gonna let oscar and y/n eat you up like this??

username whos the girl in the last picture??

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username now wait a damn minute...

whosimani whos the smoking hot chick in the last photo🫦

landonorris shes all mine ↪ username my heart just broke into a million tiny pieces ↪username nah wdym by this lando??

username Can I call you Rose? 'Cause you're fragrance takes over the room...

୨୧–------------------------------------------୨୧

I Wanna Plant You in my Heart, Oh, So Love Can Grow

Y/n and Imani had bought tickets to attend the Miani Grand Prix since they happened to be in town. Y/n wasn't so much as interested in formula one as Imani was so she was pretty much just tagging along for the ride. It was Thursday and they had come in for what was known as "a pit-lane walk" because Imani had wanted an oppurtunity to talk to some of her favorite drivers. Most notable were Oscar Piastri and Lewis Hamilton. Y/n, personally was a Lando girl. She wasn't a hardcore fan but she tuned in every once in a while and used social media to keep up with everything going on within the formula one community. They were walking around when someone bumped right into y/n knocking the cold matcha out of her hand. It had gotten over her and the opposing force. She looked up, feathers a bit ruffled and was jumpscared, mostly because she expected some rando, with the face of Lando Norris. They were both frozen for a bit before he helped her up. After he had helped her though he stared at her for a long time and she just averted her gaze before accidentally getting caught in his eyes. She let out a soft laugh at the situation before apologizing. Lando's eyes momentarily widened before he quickly began to stutter out apologies. Y/n just laughed at his nervousness before he offered to help her find some clean clothes. Y/n looked at Imani who had given her a thumbs up before giving her that look with her eyebrows raised which made Y/n let out a soft sigh. She took Lando up on the offer and they walked off. Many people looked up at them seeing them both giddy and drenched in Matcha. The upcoming weekend Lando had won and joked with Y/n about having her come and visit again along with a cup of matcha in hand.

Can I Call You Rose? 'Cause Your Thorns Won't Let Blood In Too Soon

It had been almost 2 months since the incident and since then Lando and Y/n had kept in contact. At the moment Lando was trying to convince Y/n to go to the beach and have dinner with him but as more than friends. Y/n had turned the idea down due to being scared of the prospect of a romatic relationship. Eventually due to a bit of convincing from Imani and communicating her feelings to Lando directly she had given him a chance. She had dressed up in a cute pink two piece in which she wore her swimsuit under. She had 2 gold necklaces stacked on top of eachother, one shorter than the other along with some lightly colored bangals. Her makeup was pretty light and she had on strawberry sceneted perfume. She heared the doorbell ring and rushed down with her purse before taking a deep breath and fixing up her hair. She opened the door and was met with a giant boquet of pink flowers. Lando angled the flowers in his arms so that he could make himself visable but also be able to take in her look. If the weight of the flowers hadn't kept him grounded he would've thought he had died, had ascended to the heavens, and had seen an angel. He took her in with all his five senses. His eyes had been blessed, his ears had the pleasure of being able to listen to her soft voice, his hands had the ability to caress and hold hers, his nose was able to take in the scent of strawberry that surrounded her, and his mouth was able to taste wonderful cooking. He never wanted to depart from her. She invited him in and had him place the flowers on the dining table until she came home later to figure out where to place them around her house. He held out his hand for her and led her to his car.

"What a gentleman you are tonight Mr. Norris." Y/n teased with a soft smile on her face.

"Only for you Mrs. Norris." Lando teased back earning him a soft slap from Y/n.

They ate at the restaurant first before going to the Beach soon after. It was late evening but the sun still had yet to set. Y/n wore a swimsuit but didn't plan on going in the water. She had brought a book. It was more out of habit since she was stuck watching her siblings play instead of being able to enjoy the trip. Lando had gotten into his swimsuit and wasted no time jumping in the water before coming out a bit after. He gave her a look with his eyebrow raised and she immediately got up, book long forgotten, and began to run. He chased her for a while, letting her think she was getting away before sneaking up behind her and wrapping his arms around her torso.

"Lando, no. Don't do this to me." Y/n had said dramatically while dying of laughter, already out of breath from all the running.

"Sorry love, it had to be done." Lando says laughing as he now moves one his arms under her legs and runs into the ocean.

After they were both soaked and tired but for Lando the most important thing was that Y/n had fun.

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Current Time

liked by landonorris, whosimani, mclaren, and 524,936 others

Tagged: landonorris

y/nsdiary meet mr. totally in love with me

landonorris and proudly so

y/nsdiary u tryna be the patrick to my kat? ↪ landonorris always baby username well damn, i love this for herrrr username glad to see that shes being treated like a queen

whosimani ya'll are cute ig

y/nsdiary like she didn't tear up when i told her the news

username ouhh i see you girl

username the famed caption stealer

mclaren can't wait to see you guys in the paddock again soon!

y/nsdiary cant wait to be back!!

username I js know he lets her embrace her inner child

whosimani AND DOES!!

username Can I call you Rose? 'Cause your roots have the power to consume...

liked by y/nsdiary, mclaren, oscarpiastri, and 736,927 others

Tagged: y/nsdiary

landonorris Meet Mrs. Norris. The woman of my hours, my days, my years, and hopefully my forever. There is never a day spent in her arms in which I lack love. I thank my God for you every time I think of you and I hope that you know that you are the pinnicale of my existence.

y/nsdiary nah because you have me over here trying not to sob, you couldn't have waited till I wasn't out?

landonorris nope, the world needed to know how deeply rooted in my heart you are ↪ username thats it, im never settling username girl js like me fr, i do not need those people knowing im a crybaby ↪ liked by y/nsdiary

username my girl just looked at me and sighed

username just looked at my bf and sighed

maxvertsappen1 my gf wants to hang out with your wife.

landonorris sorry shes never leaving the house again ↪ y/nsdiary Mr. Norris, dont make me beat you up again. y/nsdiary I WOULD LOVE TOOO

username I love them together so badddd

username I wanna plant you in my heart, oh, so loving grow

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And that's all folks, follow for more amazing stories!! Remember to leave suggestions in my box!

Please like and reblog, not necessary but would help out!!

[rose-tinted-kalopsia]

literally nobody touch me. i am in a puddle of my own TEARS right now over that card.

i'm gonna yell guys i'm gonna SAY SOMETHING bc they gave him SO MUCH CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT IN THIS and so many INSIGHTS and i'm about to go INSANE,

DO YOU REALIZE. DO YOU REALIZE HOW MUCH THIS LINE MEANS TO HIM?

THIS AFTER THE LUMIERE SHENANIGANS IN HIS LAST EVENT? AND FOR ALL I'VE SAID IN THIS POST?

like i don't know where this card falls plot-wise or in the timeline of their relationship but SHIT LIKE? this means he's aware of everything i said in that post ?!!!!!!!

"by now, he's had so many identities. he's fragmented, maybe; unsure of himself, a little lacking in the confidence of which part of him mc will truly love, especially after all this time. and maybe he's aware of that or maybe he's not, but— even the most conflicting parts of us are still us. and the more we attempt to be who or what we are not, the more we remain the same. the only way he'll move forward from all of this is to accept the fact that even "prince xavier", even "lumiere", are part of him—maybe parts of him he doesn't want, but that still contribute to him as a whole. and it's something xavier needs to realize for himself."

and WITH THAT LINE??? "EVERY VERSION OF ME BELONGS TO YOU, AND ONLY YOU"

IT'S LIKE????? HE GETS IT?

he realizes that mc knows he has so many fragments to him, and that he's been trying to keep it separate, and she's going to keep asking "which xavier, then?" and he's like. fuck that. it's all of me.

"i would love you in every universe", while simultaneously "i would love you no matter who or what i become", while simultaneously;

LIKE DO YOU—?

DO YOU SEE HOW THE INTENSITY OF HIS FEELINGS COMES FORWARD WITH MORE CONFIDENCE? A CONFIDENCE THAT'S GENUINE AND NOT NONCHALANT, NOT LIKE HE'S TRYING TO "PLAY IT OFF" ANYMORE?

iT'S LIKE. NO MORE GAMES, THIS IS REAL. KIND OF VIBES?

ITS LIKE WATCHING HIM MATURE A LITTLE AND GROW A LITTLE AND :(

he's learning to accept all of those parts of him as HIM, and he's willing to allow mc to love ALL OF IT because he can let all of it love HER, and itS THE GODDAMN GESTALT THEORY COMING FULL CIRCLE BECAUSE HE'S FINALLY, FINALLY ALLOWING HIMSELF TO BECOME WHOLE AGAIN 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

if it's safe to assume they've had kisses and such beforehand, especially considering previous cards, then this—this is the "first" because it's more real and genuine than it ever has been. he's been waiting this long for this moment, not just in line with how long he's waited to be hers again considering his whole story, but—

because they finally have both their feelings out in the open.

the communication they have here, for once??? like you just KNOW it's not like the others????

because now he's finally able to give and receive wholly, as himself, as the xavier he recognizes to be a culmination of every persona he's taken in the past.

AND JUST 😭😭😭

FUCK LIKE 😭😭😭 MY HEART 😭😭😭😭

MY HEART ISN'T OKAY UGH I'M SO EMOTIONAL I CANNOT BELIEVE THIS!!! 😭😭😭

[aquanova99]

𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕊𝕙𝕒𝕕𝕠𝕨 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕊𝕖𝕣𝕒𝕡𝕙𝕚𝕞

Azriel x reader(kinda)

Part 1 Next >>

A/N: okay be easy on me I haven’t written for ACOTAR before. But at the end of the day I always say I write for myself so 🤭

A/N: i do genuinely hope everyone who likes this series enjoys! Have a beautiful day ♥️

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The snow was stuck to the ground. It was high time they started. But he was late. The white crystals crunched under Cassian’s heavy pacing. Rhys leaned against a tree, tapping his arm, periodically and pointlessly searching for Azriel’s shielded mind. A mind that had never been off limits to him before. He knew Cassian suspected him of doing something to upset Azriel, and he had in fact used his authority as ruler to forbid him from conversing with Elain. But he could have never imagined he’d go radio silent. And certainly, he would never miss this. It was tradition, what brought them together. He had hoped this day would be what finally allowed him to see his own point. The following weeks after the order was passed had met Rhysand with nothing on Azriel’s end unless there were necessary updates on whatever was happening in Prythian. Any attempts to communicate were met with, ‘anything else?’ ‘Is that all?’

Feyre had finally demanded for him to tell her why Azriel didn’t want to speak to her or Elain anymore. Safe to say if it wasn’t for Nyx, Feyre would be giving him the silent treatment as well.

“Alright. What did you do?” Cassian growled

“Nothing.”

“Rhys.”

“I told him to stay away from Elain. The last thing we need is for a war to break out against Autumn Court. They may just take Lucien sides if he decides to duel him. She isn’t his mate. I thought he would understand. Its been a year. I thought Mor--”

He could see Cassian shaking to control his anger, “Told, as in ordered?”

“…Yes.”

“Because all mated pairs work out so well.” He scoffed. “Where is he?”

“I…I don’t know. He’s only been communicating whatever’s been necessary.” Rhys hears Cassian think about how perhaps Nesta was right and flies off. Rhysand can only sit down, exhausted. It was the winter solstice. They would be exchanging gifts soon, how would he explain his brother’s absence? “Where the hell are you Az?”

➽───────────────❥

He could have easily traveled through his normal shadows, but flying the distance hurt more. And he deserved it. He told himself it was pure curiosity, but he knew he was running. Or flying. He reached Vallahan and still… he kept flying. Wondering what he would find beyond the expansive faerie realms. Maybe more possible allies even further west. Days he flew until his wings physically couldn’t hold him anymore. This was dangerous, he should star flying lower, not so high up. He looked at his hands shaking at the sheer exhaustion of his travels.

Pathetic, he thought. Pining for centuries for someone who showed him time and time again she would never be interested. And why would she be? He was nobody. Strong, sure but what else? His own family rejected him, hated him. Then Feyre came into their lives, and subsequently her sisters did too. Two of the three mated to his “brothers,” the third…the kindest, the only one who seemed to have even noticed him, mated to someone else. It wasn’t fair. He wasn’t owed Elain, by any means. But when would he find a mate of his own. Would he even know if he found her? Was he so desperate to have someone he would focus on Elain, so he, like his brothers had an Archeron sister? No, Rhysand was right. He needed to stay away from her. From all of them, until he could figure out what was wrong with him. Maybe he should just disappear forever…save himself any more suffering. Suffering. Endless suffering. He could hardly remember a time where he was happy. Within the Inner Circle, he suffered at seeing Cassian and Mor. Never really forgetting that betrayal. When he was young…

A pain wracked through his body. He’d pushed his body to its limits. He began falling. Making no effort to help himself. Somewhat glad it could all be over. He was falling backwards, not seeing the giant trees about to break his fall. He groaned as his wings took the majority of the impact, vines intertwining and suspending him halfway above the ground. Any movement he made everything hurt. His eyes looked at the sky, his eyelids fluttering shut. Finally giving in to his exhaustion.

‘I’ve never seen wings like that.’

‘Where do you think he’s from?’

‘Both of you quiet. He will be waking soon. Go. We may need to hide.’

 He should disappear right now. Use the shadows. But he didn’t even know where he was, let alone where to go. East, he supposed until he reached something familiar. But then he’d have to explain himself. Allies. Looking for allies. Azriel struggled to open his eyes. Worried about what he would see. Or wouldn’t see. The room seemed to glow around him.

“Before you decide to run, or even move. I would suggest you move slowly.”

Even with warning, Azriel’s head snapped towards the voice. He ignored the pain as he took her in. A woman he could only describe as regal. She looked serious, her skin seemed to shimmer in the warm orange glow of the room. Her wings were down but even he could tell they were magnificent. Dark hair flowed down to her waist, different braids woven in and small flowers adorning it. Azriel blinked a few times, trying to get his voice back. Trying to memorize this place. Trying to memorize her, “Where am I?”

“You crash landed in our home. This is Luminia Grove. Now, where are you from?” Azriel grows quiet, “Listen, we took you in, last I checked. If you don’t want to talk, fine. Try not to get tangled in anymore trees, yes?”

“I’m from Prythian.” Azriel spoke softly, embarrassed. Here he had gone crashing into their home, they had taken him in and still he demanded answers.

“Should I know where that is? How long were you flying for?”

“A few days…I think.” How far exactly had he gone? She only nods and leaves the room. When she enters she is followed by two others carrying in plates of food, meanwhile the one who been waiting for you to wake, carried a pitcher of something.

“Eat and drink. We can get you more if you need. You need to rebuild your strength to get home. I’m Callista. These two are Aurora, and Venia.” They both nod in your direction before leaving. She leans down next to him, When he flinches, her voice softens. “I’m just going to help you sit up, okay?”

She is careful about his wings, still healing from the magic she must have used when he slept. “Thank you.” he whispers hoarsely

“If you need to rest longer do so, but only as long as you need to heal.” Azriel nods, and begins eating some of the food he was offered. Before he can thank her again, she exits the room leaving him alone.

You could leave. It would be as if you were never here. He thought to himself, but he also wasn’t ready. He couldn’t go back, continue living in the shadows. Both figuratively and literally, it had drained him. He was so tired. Worthless. Maybe a couple days, if they allowed it. Callista certainly didn’t seem keen on his presence. But her words did not sound impatient, but rather worried. He wonders if she was trying to give him a warning. Azriel decides to shift his focus on the meal in front of him. The food is better than anything he’d ever had anyway, so much so he had to stop himself from licking the plate. The drink seemed to replenish any lasting pain. Reenergizing him. Aurora and Venia entered the second he was finished.

“Would you like more?” Venia asked

“No. Thank you. I was won—” The second they got their answer they left again. Azriel immediately regrets it. In truth, more food sounded wonderful. He got up and stretched his limbs, slowing testing his wings. He could have sworn he heard them crack but he felt next to nothing now. Just some soreness. Azriel realized the room he was in was very simple, a few beds lined up on one side. A couple dressers on the other. There was a single closet, locked. He decided to explore whatever place this was alone, maybe he could find figure out why no one had ever found this place, and if they had why had no one mentioned it? Not fast enough. Callista opened the door as he reached for the handle.

“Escaping already?”

“No. Just…I just wanted to see more. I can stay here…if you need me to.”

“You’re welcome to walk around. You may get some questions. Just so you know, since you don’t seem like the talkative type.” She was right, his lips formed a tight line. When he took a few steps back, she reached for his hand. “I’ll show you around.”

When he grabbed it he glanced down, suddenly ashamed at the sight of them. When she followed his gaze, Azriel pulled his hand back. He didn’t want to talk about them. Callista noticed, but her face remained unchanged. She grabbed his hand again and led him out the door. Azriel’s face felt red. He didn’t pull away this time. He was thankful the lady had said nothing, acted as if there was nothing. The door led directly outside, Azriel realizing he had been in some sort of infirmary. A whole room somehow built into and concealed by trees and foliage.  The branch the two stepped on was wide. When he looked up he could only see glimpses of the sky. He wondered how long he’d fallen, how hard he crashed. And how long he’d been out.

“Yeah, I don’t know how you fell all that way. You must have been up pretty high.” Azriel stared, wondering if she could dig into his mind like Rhys could. “It looks a lot better at night.”

“What is this place?”

“A hideaway of sorts. We don’t get many visitors. And the ones we do get…well they can never find this place twice it seems.”

“I could.”

“Maybe. You do have some ability, I assume. There’s a power that surrounds you. And those things adorning you. They give off some very powerful energy.”

“Syphons. They allow me to control my power in battle. Magic.”

“Hm. So do you want to talk about what it is you were searching? Why risk your life flying for that amount of time?”

“I- I don’t know what I was flying for.” This was true, Azriel had decided to start flying. To escape, to find allies, whatever. He figured he could find a reason on the way. He looked back down at Callista. She was studying him, curious. Probably worried about the shadows that never seemed to leave him, he thought. She tilted her head and motioned for him to follow. Her wings unfurled into four beautiful leaf shaped wings, with colors he could only describe similar to the sunrise. Only more breathtaking. Yellows turning into pinks, purples barely touching the edges. Her wings shifted colors depending on where the light hit. He’d never seen wings so beautiful. They were almost translucent, they looked as if they could shatter like glass. His own wings, the same ones that he had always hated seem to pale in comparison. He’d never felt more like an Illyrian. Filthy. Unworthy. A monster.

He followed her down into the deep thicket of the woods. He could see the homes concealed through magic. Still most fae should be able to find this place, if they so desired they should see through the glamour. So how has no one returned upon finding this location? She landed on what appeared to be a giant root, a home hidden on the forest floor. Azriel sat down next to her, face serious, determined to get more answers.

“You carry much pain.”

“Do I? Tell me what you see.”

“I do not know. I just see sadness, pain.”

Azriel scoffed, “You think you know me. You don’t even know my name.”

“I do not need to know your name. You will be gone soon. You have unfinished business. Everyone who finds us, they always have some kind of unfinished business.”

“And if I wanted to stay?” He means this as a threat. He was a stranger, surely they would fight to keep their precious village secret. She pauses but after a moment Callista only shrugs.

“Then you would stay.”

“Wait…what?”

“You will not stay. But if you chose to, we would welcome you.”

“You know nothing.” Azriel could feel his anger rising, his guard up. Years of being silent threatening to spill from his lips.

“Then teach me.” Callista offered, her voice unwavering, “Tell me about your life. From the beginning. We don’t get many guests here. I would love to learn about your life. Learn how others grew up.”

“You cant just dig into my mind?”

“Why would I do that? Your thoughts should be yours and yours alone.”

“So, you have the ability to?”

“No.” She giggles, “It is good to know that there are those with those kind of abilities. Sounds like a nightmare to never be able to hide anything. Besides, what if this person shares secrets that aren’t his to share?”

“It is useful--”

“I’m sure. Listen—you are under no obligation to speak to me. You are more than welcome to fly up to the room you were in when you woke. I would suggest you make your decision soon. Time seems to move differently here, or so I’ve been told. You will have been gone longer than you think upon your return home.”

“Who is the high lord here?”

“High lord?”

“Who rules these lands?” If he did want to make alliances or threats, he supposed it was best to know who he should be directing his questions towards. Azriel was already warming up to Callista, he’d rather not involve her. Of course, as usual, luck was not on his side.

“I suppose I do, along with a council of peers my parents selected before they died. I have no interest in leading, and more voices and ideas are heard that way. Not that we’ve called a meeting in a few centuries.”

“I…apologize. I did not mean—”

“You are avoiding my questions. I don’t find that very fair. I have answered all of yours honestly. Am I not owed the same respect, or do you not do that in Prythian? Is it only High lords that talk over each other?” She smirked, and Azriel couldn’t help return a small smile. It was a habit to go straight into interrogations, he supposed. And if he could really never find this place again, it couldn’t hurt. Maybe she would have advice to carry back to Prythian. He would say the facts, avoid emotion. Make it quick and painless.

“I suppose I’ve been rather rude. Where would you like to start?”

“The shadows. Tell me about them. Are they always there?”

“They’ve followed me since I was a child.”

“Do they hold a purpose?”

“I can travel in them. See and hear things others don’t.”

“So, you were running from something.” She says this so matter of factly it is almost enraging. Callista studies the creature in front of her. His eyes, almost golden seemed so tired. As if he had been tired for far longer than the days he had flown to get here. The despair so evident, she wondered if he had anyone at all. Her words had set something off, “I only say that, because if you can travel in the darkness why fly at all? Does it take a lot of energy?”

Azriel’s shook his head, cursing himself for jumping to conclusions again, “Not anymore. I suppose you aren’t entirely wrong, I wanted to distract myself. So, I just…flew.”

“I would be careful using your gift prematurely here, there is a chance you get lost. And you need at least one more day until you are fully healed to fly the same distance.”

“Has no one really come back?”

“None in my time. There’s always something that they really need to go back to. One had been in a long battle, he was weary…he’d lost so much. He stayed here for years, one day he was suddenly heartbroken about his wife. Swore he would bring his family here, he never came back. He stayed the longest but there have been others. They stay as long as they need and continue their journey. Like you.”

Azriel wanted to argue but she was right. He couldn’t disappear from the night court for long. But this place… something about this place sang to him. He wondered if this is what Callista had meant. The thought of having to leave was becoming more difficult, if there was some kind of enchantment over these lands then Azriel may well have to concede and leave sooner than he’d like. He was likely already wearing down Callista’s hospitality.

“Have you ever left?” Azriel asks, curious of whether she was, in her own way, trapped. His theory was unfortunately, proved right. She bit her lip, trying to figure out the best way to explain her situation.

“For a while, I got so bored I couldn’t seem to care about ever finding this place again. I would fly for miles in one direction, somehow always ending up back here. The people here have had children of their own, and we have expanded but…its like a dome of some kind growing with us but not allowing anyone to escape.” She was right, he could see a faint outline surrounding the sky.

“My home had something similar. A protection spell. Several actually. Kept us hidden for years, only known to those who lived there.”

“By the same person who reads minds, I assume.” When Azriel nodded, she looked towards the sky, with a look he was longing. A freedom so close yet still, out of her reach. “If there is a spell it wasn’t placed by any of us. The elders have mostly passed on, and no one has left me any information. We can only learn so much, many advancements were made by those who happened upon us. Even then, we don’t always have the resources.”

Azriel decided then that he had to go back. He could figure out how to undo the spell, he was sure of it. At the very least he could bring back more books for them to entertain themselves with, he could contribute to their peaceful home. If he could make it back anyway. He enjoyed a good challenge. When Callista looked back at him she smiled sadly, knowing he too would leave, same as all the others before him. They both knew it. A guilt tugged deep at his heart, if he couldn’t return, he would be the same as all the others who had come and gone, she may forget him with time. But he knew he would never be able to forget her… or this place. He wondered if this is what Velaris was to the Archeron sisters.

“Would you really want to know how I can move through shadows?”

“No.” Azriel’s face dropped for a moment, “I want to know why you can move through shadows. That is not something you learn, and I doubt something you’re born with. The magic around you shaped itself that way for a reason, yes?”

“Hm, yes I suppose so.” Try as he might, the words got stuck in his throat. He had his hands clasped in front of him, but now one of his hands began picking at the, pushing back his nail bed. A habit he had long pushed away. His legs shook nervously, and no training could have prepared him for startling at Callista’s touch. Her hand resting gently on his thigh. She smiled, and gave him a reassuring squeeze. Azriel forced himself to take a deep breath and recount those horrible early years.

‘Please!’ He screamed into the darkness, ‘Please! It’s too dark!’

‘Please…’ the screams turned into whimpers, ‘I’ll be good. Please…’

‘Please…’ His voice was hoarse by the end of the day. Close to no sound coming out. The following days would be him curled into a ball humming to pass the time.

Then his weekly day of freedom came. His moths arms almost crushing him in an embrace. He begged for her to let him stay. Pleaded for her to run away with him. He had to be dragged away at the end of day, the following day he would worry about possible claw marks on his mothers arms. He was always thankful for their ability to heal quickly if only for that.

The cycle repeated. On and on for years. His pleas went unheard to everyone except himself. His voice bounced of the walls and eventually even his whispers that reverberated back sounded crystal clear. His eyes grew adjusted to the dark, making out every chip on the wall, every groove. An ability others would always be wary of. He didn’t mind, it kept him safe. kept him from feeling the almost endless pit of loneliness and despair. The singular hour he would be allowed out for a meal was often forgotten, but never long enough to let him waste away. No, he would live a long life, his stepmother would ensure that, a long and miserable life.

 If they came and got him out it would be at the same time without fail, he could count the seconds of every day and know immediately whether or not he would be allowed to see the sky, the sun, eat whatever scraps they served him. So, when he was blinded nearly an hour earlier than normal he knew it couldn’t be good. His brothers had planned it out so perfectly. The light, unexpected at this time, blinded him, and they all knew the two older boys were stronger, never knowing a day without a full belly. One forced him down onto the ground, the other quickly throwing oil in his direction. Lack of training or not, Azriel had the mind to know he needed to protect himself. His reflexes fast enough to shield his face.

The he heard the match strike and the smell of burning flesh lingered in the room for weeks. At eight years old, a part of him hoping the fire would finish the job. But someone cared enough to put the fire out. Some guard who pitied what they were doing to the child. A child who should have been learning how to fight, how to fly. He had a full day out to recover, his hands now always holding a reminder of where he stood in. He held no hope he wouldn’t be thrown back into his dungeon. But for the following week, at least he got some better food. This incident caused him to try and remain hidden. No matter who was opening the door he focused his entire being on being undetected, and eventually he began to blend into the darkness. He realized his anility to move within the shadows, panicking a few guards into thinking he’d escaped and then suddenly reappearing behind them. He kept silent about this until he was thrown into the Illyrian camp. It became a tool used to not discard him, to continue training him. And he had trained well.

He learned to defend himself. He was sought out by Cassian and Rhysand, at first curious of his abilities and soon after for fighting practice. His memory was foggy on how eventually they all agreed to remain allies, then friends, and eventually brothers. The wars they had fought, the battles they would have to fight…

Had he been foolish to think his friendship would be anything more than a convenient alliance. He knew his ability made him valuable, he didn’t want to let it define him. As much as he tried to rationalize it, Azriel couldn’t help feel as if Rhysand had chosen Lucien over himself. An alliance over his “brother.” He shouldn’t feel this way at all, Rhys was right, everything was in a delicate balance right now. Still, Azriel couldn’t release the hurt, the resentment that had grown in him until he collapsed here. He flinched at the sudden touch, frozen at the hands intertwining themselves with his own. He hated pity. He wanted to pull away but instead he found himself returning the gentle squeeze.

“I could remove them.”

“What?”

“Your scars. I quite like them actually, but I can remove them if it’s something you want.”

“How?”

“I’m not the only one who feels trapped here, nor the only one who has tried to escape. There was a fire. Someone felt death was a better option than an eternal bubble of isolation from the rest of the world. The trees were so bare then…” Her eyes seem to glaze over the memory, as if she remembers an entirely different forest than the one they sit in now.

“Everyone was working to control it, but the damage was done. Many of us didn’t want the reminders of what the fire had taken. For the following years everyone focused on learning and perfecting different kinds of magic; healing, elemental, conjuring, protection.” She chuckles dryly, “All that learning and we still cant figure out how to escape.”

“It helps with ignoring the pain.” He thinks out loud

“Yes. I lost my father then. Got several burns myself trying to drag him out.”

“And you got rid of them?”

“No.” She released his hand and waved it on her opposing arm, the burn marks appearing immediately after her hand passed, it seemed to stretch across her entire arm, like tree roots stretching up to her neck. “ I got off fairly easy. Its just this arm. I had thrown my body over my father once we were out of harms way and shielded my face. They found passed out with my arm and a lot of my hair singed off.”

“I thought you had said you could get rid of it.”

“It used to be worse believe it or not. Had scars on parts of my face and neck, so when we figured out a salve for it I immediately slathered it on those parts first. I ended up regretting it. I only hide my arm so others aren’t so uncomfortable. No one likes to think about those times.”

It was his turn to not pity her. He became even more determined to be able to return. To find his way back. He could technically try and take her with him when he traveled but he only had one day left. Certainly not long enough for her to trust him.

“I’ll keep them.” Was all he could say, he hated the scars but they had reminded him of how far he’d come from those awful years.

“Good.” She waved away the scars and stood up, “It will be dark soon. Feel free to rest some more before you leave. I will ask Aurora and Venia to bring up some more food. Thank you for letting me get to know you a bit more.”

The shadows around him began whispering, Azriel could not tell if it was warning or not. One, she still had no idea what his name was, and two for the first time since he was a child, he was not able to see her glamour. She had told him how many of the people here had studied magic intensely, but even then she had underplayed it. These people would undoubtedly be useful in the war, but their numbers were small. Most courts would rather them all be dead than give another court even more unnecessary power. Azriel would never be able to reveal this location, but unfortunately his High Lord had the ability to drag it out of him no matter how unwilling he would be. His best chance would be Feyre, but ultimately she was loyal to her mate, maybe with enough guilt she would at least tell him to not invade his thoughts. Maybe the fae here would have the ability to make some sort of mental shield or him, or at the very least teach him how to make one himself. He would not give these people up. He flew back in the room he woke up in and decided to try and rest.

Callista gently nudged him, Azriel shot up. He should have heard her come up, been warned she was coming up. Were his own abilities weakening while he was here?

“Sorry, I didn’t want the food to go cold.”

“Its fine. I apologize for being so on edge.”

“You’re in a strange place, far from home. Its normal for you to be more guarded.” Guarded as he may be, he still felt more at peace than he had in months. He had been silent, brooding for an entire year. Claiming to be busy with his duties to Rhys. He had maintained normalcy with Cassian and Nesta but that was about as much as he could manage. He finally felt like he could breathe here. Not so restricted by the formalities he would have been forced to placate during the solstice. He would not be able to stay away for much longer. He would need to head back, assure Feyre everything was fine, assure Rhys that he was only doing as he was told. Continue following instructions. Nyx’s birth was plenty of reason for the Night Court to maintain diplomacy, but it wouldn’t hold out forever. The courts were patient, Amarantha waited ages to win Tamlin over, things had been mostly quiet but they would not remain that way forever. And he couldn’t risk the other’s lives over a petty dispute. He had to remember his place, and his place was an Illyrian bastard who got lucky.

Callista stared at the anguished soul before her, desperately wanting to comfort him. She had already pushed to much in asking him to relive his past. She knew even then he had kept his retelling brief. Whatever was plaguing him seemed to chipping away his own health. He’d healed miraculously quickly with the salves and medicine they had placed on his wings for them to heal. She wondered if whatever healing magic was inside of was the only holding him together most days, surely most people that went through even half of the mistreatment he had would have broken, turned cruel. This man was just…guarded.

Azriel blinks and finds her staring, “Is everything alright?”

“You just seemed troubled. Do you have to leave soon?”

“Unfortunately, I have to admit you were right. I do have to leave soon, I worry in the worst of circumstances others could find this place. You can clearly control magic to a degree even I cannot see through. There are people who would hurt the people here to even get a sliver of it.”

“It is nothing for you to be concerned over.” Callista’s sudden sharp tone takes him by surprise, not knowing his concern for them was making it harder for her to deny any feelings of amicability. She enjoyed his company, and that was dangerous for someone who could never leave her forested prison, and who likely never be able to meet with again. She’d learned early on to never get too attached to those who stumbled into her home. It always ended with disappointment. But it had never felt like this before.

“Perhaps not, but it should concern you. Does anyone here have anything they could do to put a shield of sorts on my mind. I don’t think Rhysand would dig too deep but I don’t want to take any chances. Please, for my own peace of my mind.” Azriel would never be able to live with himself if something happened to Callista because of him. And her people had suffered enough. Callista softened at his genuine concern.

“I can think of something that may work. But I should discuss it with some of the elders. They have all specialized in very specific magic I can only do so much. Please stay here, eat. I’ll be back shortly.”

“Will you join me? I’d like to go with you.” He had to admit to himself that if he was going to leave he wanted to see more of this place. And he had no interest in being alone any longer, he wanted company, her company.

“Of course.” They continued learning about the others lives. Azriel admitted why he decided to fly so long he put himself at risk. How the one who he thought he was in love with continued to disregard him, how he felt constantly used but could never blame her. How when he finally felt like he could move on, he was immediately forbidden from having any communication with. Callista became aware of how serious things were in his realm, it was no wonder he worried it would reach them. She decided she wasn’t fond of his friends at all, his retelling of his life being miserable at camp until the others conceded into an alliance infuriated her. He told her how he had always hated what he was born into, how he hated almost all of his kind. She didn’t want to agree but the hurt they were encouraged to enforce on another was completely barbarian to her.

“Are you alright?”

“You speak about these things as if they are completely normal experiences, I admit I feel… sad for the hand you were dealt. You’ve done quite a bit for others,” she says thinking about Mor and some of the nymphs he saved. “You should be proud. I feel honored to have met you.”

Azriel smirked, she was right in a sense. Her words made him feel, warm? He told himself, it was nothing. He was surely redirecting everything he wanted Mor to feel, and what he believed he should for Elain with her. And he could never do that to her, “Does this mean you’re ready to know my name. I mean wouldn’t you want to know the name of someone you’re so honored to have met?”

“Am I going to regret being nice to you?” She laughed, as she turned to lead him out of the room she tried not to let her disappointment show on her face, “I’ll think about learning it before you go.”

“I could just tell you.” He teased her

“You could, but you would have done that already. Come, I think I know of someone that can help.” She held her hand out, and Azriel only realized he did not hesitate to take it after they landed on the balcony of another concealed home. She called out, “Syra?”

An older woman hobbled out to meet the two of you. “Is this our latest guest?”

“Yes. He has a bit of a possible dilemma,”

“Hm.” Her eye unsettled Azriel. They were a deep set of purple, so dark they were almost ba;cl. He’d never seen a fae age like a human. He wondered if they lived long enough they would eventually get that way. He supposed some of the workers didn’t always appear young but it was something that had never crossed his mind. Guilt crept up inside of him. His entire job was to be aware of everything happening around Prythian, when did he become too good to ignore the lesser fae? Had his powers gone to his head. Callista squeezed his hand, breaking his train of thought. Reassuring him.

He cleared his throat, “I know someone who read into my mind. I’d prefer to keep this place hidden due to some upcoming conflicts. There are a lot of people who would hurt the people here in order to gain a fraction of your magic.”

“They may not be able to take us out of here.”

“Theres some that would die trying.” Azriels mind races to the Autumn Court desperate for power, easily tempted by powers like Amarantha, Hybern, Koshei. Enough power can make even the strongest turn on one another, betray once strong connections.

“Is there anything we can do?” Callista interrupts

“There is always something you can do.” She sits, mixing and grinding various kinds of flowers and herbs hes never seen. A few liquids that look like a mix of starlight and fire. They both hear her mutter something gin a language they don’t understand.

“An ancient tongue,” Callista whispers, “She was one of the few who came from some other land before my people were forced to stay here.”

“Do you know it?”

“No. She refuses to tell anyone what it means.”

Azriels on alert, how could they trust this woman? What if she knew exactly what was trapping them here? Was she the one who trapped them? Voices whispered for him to hush. The shadows reacted similarly to when he would speak to Gwyn. Whoever this woman was, apparently the shadows didn’t perceive her as a threat. If anything they danced around her eagerly, as they were impatient for her to finish with whatever she was making.

“It is ready. I need something from you Callista.”

“Me?”

“Yes. Something to hold this.” The words were slurred. The womans eyes glazed. It was as if she wasn’t fully there but Callista seemed to understand. She pulled a necklace over her head gently, a thin gold chain with a circular pendant.

“What are you doing?” Azriel asked, panicked.

“Trust me.”

Syra took the chain and threw it in the mixture. When she pulled it out, the clear jewel in the circular pendant turned black as night. A shaky hand held it out, her eyes returning to its previous state. “You will wear this.”

“I—” Azriel was stuck on what to say. Should he thank her? Refuse the necklace that belonged to Callista? Be wary of whatever effects the necklace may have? “I cant take this. This isn’t mine.”

“It is only a necklace. Think of it as a parting gift. Something to establish trust or whatever it is you need to explain it. Gesture of good will.” She shrugs. When she sees Azriel’s concern she once squeezes his hand, “I have plenty more just like it.”

“My arm tires, are you going to take the necklace or not.” Azriel finally looks away unable to have read Callista’s face. To figure out whether this is of any importance to her. He grabs the necklace with as much care as he can manage. Syra begins to explain, “When you have this on any nonphysical magic will cease to affect you. Including your friend’s mind reading. Your own gifts shouldn’t be affected. Keep it hidden. Keep it safe.”

“How do you know?” Azriel looked at the older fae’s deep violet eyes. She smiled wryly.

“I simply do.”

Azriel nods, “Thank you.”

He turns to Callista who quickly places the necklaces over him, tucking it into his shirt. “I wish you the best.” She says as she gently taps where the amulet rested.

“I will be back. I’ll figure out how to come back.” He turns to Syra who he can feel studying him, “I will make it up to the both of you.”

“You will not see me again.” The old lady waves him off and he chuckles dryly.

Azriel tries to find the words for the various different emotions bubbling inside him. Callista stops him from saying anything, only echoing her last sentiments. “Best of luck, safe travels.”

She takes a couple steps back, making an effort not to show the jealousy and hurt she feels etching itself in her heart. He smiles, a mischievous smirk growing, “You should know. Its Azriel.”

Callista blinks, not expecting him to say anything more, “W-what?”

“My name. Its Azriel.”

Her face only shows a faint smile as Azriel can only bow his head before easily blending into the shadows of the dimly lit room. Though he had warned her of his ability it was still shocking to see him disappear so easily, mesmerizing. She told herself this was inevitable, that no one ever stays forever. It was wise to have not gotten attached. And while she wouldn’t admit it, it was hard to not be glad to know his name. His departure seemed to steal some of the warmth from the room. She wondered how long it would take him to travel that way. If he maybe could make it back. No one ever had the ability to travel like that.

“You worry too much child, you will see him again soon.”

“Syra, you said so yourself that we wouldn’t be seeing him again.”

“I will not be seeing him again.” She hobbled back to her bed,  “You. You will see him soon enough.”

“You’re sure?”

“Absolutely.”

➽───────────────❥

He took a sharp inhale of breath as he arrived at the house of wind. At the training area he had often helped Nesta, Gwyn and Emery. Did he mean to come here? He was barely able to take a few steps as he is almost immediately he is nearly tackled by Nesta.

“You’re back!”

“I am.” He looks around, noticing the lack of snowfall. He remembers Callista’s warning, “How long has it been?”

“You don’t know?” When he shakes his head, Nesta worries of where exactly hes been, “Its been almost three months.”

“That’s…impossible.” How long was he asleep? Did he forget how many days he had been there? How could he forget anything?

Almost immediately everyone had winnowed or flown in. They were all talking at him but he was still getting his bearings. Eventually Amren makes her voice cut through the crowd, “So are you going to tell us where you were?”

“I just remember flying to look for more possible allies.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Mor asked

Because I was upset, he thought. “I thought I had. I wasn’t in the mood for another winter solstice at the time.”

He can feel certain faces drop: Elain, Rhysand. He could see the rest of them looking or glaring at the two. Mor tries to lighten the mood again, giving him a hug he doesn’t return, “Well it wasn’t the same without you, we can celebrate late. Right?”

She asks everyone else but Azriel is the one to respond, “No. That’s all right. I think I just need to rest. Nesta can I use a room here?”

“You don’t have to ask.” Azriel nods but he feels numb…empty. When he finally does sleep he think about Callista. Her face, her smile, her scent… He was half tempted to see if he could make it back, but moreso was determined to go back with a kind of solution first.

“Somethings off.” Amren states

“He could just be tired.” Elain tried

“No, shes right.” Rhysand interjects, “Wherever he went, I cant read him. At all. I didn’t even know he had come back. Couldn’t tell.”

“Well, maybe hes practiced blocking you.” Nesta moves her head, daring him to challenge her. “Something’s happened, but we don’t need to accuse him of not caring. We’ll just push him away.”

Feyre flinches, knowing exactly what her sister went through after she finally opened up to her in private. Rhysand is aware of what shes feeling, she wouldn’t speak to anyone for weeks when she found out why Nesta had been so down. She would only talk to Nesta and pretend around Nyx. The rest of time she would be in her room crying about not feeling enough for her sister.

“So what do you suggest Nesta?”

“Watch it.” Cassian growled

“Me and Cassian will be here. Its better if don’t all overwhelm him. Can we at least agree on that?” Everyone mumbled an agreement.

“I should talk to him. Just to let him know we’re here.” Mor states

“No. Nesta’s right. He knows he will have people in this house. Leave him alone.” Feyre voice was steady but everyone knew it was a command. Mor eyes seem to flicker with rage but she nodded. Nesta shooed everyone away, and asked the house to get him some food. Cassian was silent, Nesta squeezed his hand. Leading him to their room.

“Did you see it?” She whispered as loudly as she dared

“What?”

“His shadows.” Cassian shook his head, “When Mor approached him… they didn’t go away this time. They grew.”

➽───────────────❥

[arachnixe]

What Passes For Wholesome

(Part 4 of Night’s Longing - Previous: Dinner’s On Me)

Four people dead in one night. One person missing, along with her clothes and valuables, making her the obvious suspect.

That would be the national news story if this were most other cities, but if there’s anyone that even the cops here fear, it’s Clan Sarthe. They’ll be reminded to look the other way again. The cleaners will do their work, some families will file their missing person reports, and nobody will have any answers.

Liz speculates that they’ll go with drugs as the official explanation this time. Bunch of meth-addicted girls who disappeared after a particularly indulgent binge, it happens all the time, right? The only thing to do is to increase government funding for the war on drugs once again. The cops get more funds, and the clan takes its cut from the cops. Everyone’s happy.

There won’t even be a warrant for my arrest.

Still, this is an indulgence we can’t repeat, as she reminds me. Three vampires going on a reckless binge like this? It’s too much work to be dealing with on a regular basis. Time to lay low for a bit.

The way she says three vampires makes my heart flutter. The way she praises how skillfully I killed my roommate, the way she showers me with kisses and compliments, and the way she holds me close and strokes my hair and calls me “sister” ease my doubts. Of course she’ll take care of me just like she takes care of Vicky, and even if I’m left without an income or home of my own, I can live with the two of them.

Their home is a cozy apartment through the tunnels under the warehouse district, exactly where that cell of vampire hunters planned to strike. The older, wealthier, more powerful vampires live much deeper underground, while those of similar social standing as my sisters live up here, closer to the surface. If my blood family’s plan had been allowed to proceed, my found family would be dead. I shudder at the thought.

Fortunately, I am welcomed here, since it’s not unusual to have a live-in human bloodbag, apparently. Liz’s property: that’s what I’ll have to be as far as the others in the clan are concerned. After all, I can’t quite pass as undead the way attention from hot vampires can make me blush so easily. Still, Liz promises me, to her and Vicky I’m absolutely one of them.

They haven’t shown anyone the proof of how I’ve killed for Clan Sarthe. It remains safest, Liz says, to avoid suspicion at all rather than try to broadcast proof of my loyalty and invite the possibility that it won’t be enough for influential naysayers. We’ll show off the evidence of my heroism only when we must.

Of course, while we’re laying low, I am also their bloodbag. It’s so much easier for my family to deal with their cravings as long as I’m there, happy to get passed back and forth between my sisters, a shared resource to be drained of blood until I black out multiple times daily.

I don’t know how many days I pass in this interminable, delirious haze, often waking up only long enough to have something shoved in my mouth—either for the sake of calories or for someone else’s orgasm—to then feel the sting of my sisters’ fangs and drift out of consciousness again, sometimes waking up sandwiched between two naked bodies fast asleep during the day. I know that I’m being used, but isn’t it so much less degrading than working food service for minimum wage and sending every penny I earn to my landlord? I feel happier than I can remember since that very first time I loved someone and felt loved in return.

Once Liz decides it’s safe to go hunting again, our first night out together as sisters is like a dream come true. They teach me the rules of the hunt: how to identify when you’re stepping on another vampire’s toes, how often we can feed and stay within the quota—Vicky’s hot tip is that tourists are basically freebies—and the best neighborhoods to stalk.

“And don’t forget to have some pride, Hanna,” she tells me during one coaching session. “Yeah, you can pick off as many homeless people as you like without the city giving a shit, but that’s beneath us. You’ve gotta find someone who’s well fed and lives a leisurely lifestyle. That’s the good stuff.”

The cannibalism thing gets easier every time, but even Liz agrees we should indulge in it far less frequently than ordinary feeding. Partially draining some lonely drunk after midnight and leaving them to wake up dazed in an alleyway? Basically harmless. Slicing someone to pieces and leaving a partially dismembered body? That does draw significantly more attention, and eventually the clan will come down on us. Still, even without getting my own dinner out of it, just going out with my sisters and sharing a night of hunting humans with them is more than I ever thought I’d get to experience. It’s beautiful.

I almost feel ashamed about how I rob some of these people when Vicks and Lizzy aren’t looking. Best to do so with the rare few I’m allowed to kill and eat, rather than the ones we expect to wake up with a nasty hangover the next day. The dead ones won’t miss their wallet, cash, jewelry, cards, and ID, so I can use them to make a few purchases just for myself.

By now I’ve got a modest amount of money stashed away that Liz doesn’t know about and over a year prepaid on the storage unit where I keep my vampire hunting gear. Yes, Liz told me to pawn it all since it’d be bad to get caught with any of it in my possession, but my personal collection includes powerful amulets and even such treasures as the family sword—swiped from my father’s corpse—which is itself a weapon as much of steel and silver as ancient theurgy. It seems like a poor decision to let tools like those drift around the open market where they might pose a risk to innocent vampires.

I feel a little bad about keeping these secrets. It’s not that I don’t trust Liz… or Vicky for that matter. It’s just that my sisters have made it clear that they’d prefer me not having too much independence.

When I talk about getting a job, Liz finds countless reasons why I shouldn’t. It’s true that I’d hate it, that the bus routes are terrible around here, and that I no longer have to worry about bills. Also she’s willing to spoil me with clothes and nice food and other gifts just like she does my other sister. Worse, if I made friends outside the clan, I might start developing sympathies for humans, and it’s far better to avoid that sort of complication, isn’t it?

She’s doing a fine job isolating me from having any support network or resources outside our family. I remember a conversation with my old roommate Madison who told me behavior like this is a huge red flag that someone intentionally doing these things is an abuser, which makes me uncertain enough to inspire a conversation with Liz.

“Of course I’m isolating you, babe.” She pulls me into her cool embrace. “I don’t want you to get any second thoughts about joining our family, wondering if you should try to rejoin the world of the living. You know that’s a temptation that most newly turned vampires get, right? It’s important to learn that for all the pleasures that being a creature of the night entails, you are trapped in this world now as permanently as the rest of us.”

She knows how to put it in terms that make this feel right, doesn’t she? She’s really treating me like a newly turned vampire. “But…” there’s still that nagging uncertainty. “What if I got a clan job like you so I could have a little more money of my own?”

“Ah, but then you’d be less dependent on me, and you must know how good it feels to keep you in the position you're in now. Like this…”

Liz pushes me to my knees, and without a word I know what she wants from me. I lift her skirt and put my well-trained mouth to work.

“See, babe? I don’t even have to worry that you might say no. You and I both know you only have a place to live because you won me over by being such a good girl who knows how to make me very happy.” She exhales with a satisfied shudder as my tongue effectively demonstrates her point. “You’re all taken care of thanks to my good graces, and it’s so, so smart of you to continue listening to everything I tell you to do.”

Maybe I shouldn’t find that as cozy an arrangement as I do. Maybe it shouldn’t make me desperately happy to let her indulge her lust for control. Liz is just so obscenely attractive when she’s possessive and even a little bit cruel. Besides, is it even really abuse if my sister is totally up front about her intentions like this? Well then, maybe a woman as hot as her deserves a pass on being an abuser. Maybe I don’t have a way to escape. That’s okay. I don’t want to. And if I’m in danger from her, well, maybe I’m at my most comfortable when that’s the case.

Vicks doesn’t get off on the whole control thing so much. I think she just likes having a pretty, free-use girl in arm’s reach who also happens to laugh at her goofy sense of humor. She’s incredibly casual about treating me as her personal plaything, grabbing at me without warning and demanding sex or blood or someone to talk to or whatever strikes her fancy in the moment.

One night I wake up and discover she tossed all my old clothes away, replacing them with an array of exclusively slutty outfits for her own amusement. Heated voices from the other room make it clear that I was not the only one who was not consulted about this decision. I pick out a loose crop-top that hangs off one shoulder and a pair of mini shorts that emphasize the goods far more than they conceal. Honestly, I’m kind of impressed by how well they fit. Vicky’s been putting her thorough study of my body to good use, I’d say.

“How the hell are we supposed to take her out of the apartment when she doesn’t own anything that hides her obvious hunter tattoos, Victoria?” The sharp sound of a slap carries into the bedroom.

“C’mon, Lizzy. I know you can hit harder than that. Please? It might knock some ideas loose if you do.”

An even louder crack reverberates through the apartment as I enter the room and find Vicks on the ground, straddled by a furious Liz with a hand on her neck.

The thing is, I’m a simple girl. You can’t force me to dress in an incredibly revealing outfit and then put on a show like this without my gay ass getting turned on by it.

“Aw, you two getting started without me?” I can’t resist teasing, leaning against the doorway in a deliberately seductive pose that shows off my top’s plunging neckline and my bare legs. I know I look great in this fit.

The distraction works wonders, and I enjoy watching Liz’s eyebrows shoot upward in a way that flatters me very much as she stares in my direction. “Oh,” is all she manages to say at first. Then, “Can I change my mind on this being entirely a bad idea?”

“Damn. I knew those shorts would nicely show off how thick her thighs are.” Vicks bites her lips in a way that flashes one of her very sexy fangs, her signature move. “It’s good to be a genius.”

“Almost as good as defusing an argument by being hot and slutty in front of my sisters,” I reply, opening the bedroom doorway in a wordless invitation.

That’s the start to a particularly fun evening for sure, and although we do eventually have to get me some less revealing outfits, I promise Vicky I won’t wear them more than necessary as long as she reciprocates the favor. It takes no pushing at all to get her to agree—one fun thing about Vicks is that she enjoys being objectified at least as much as she enjoys objectifying me.

---

Now that I’m actually conscious most of the time, I’m excited to learn more about the day-to-day reality of vampire life. It’s not all stalking the night, drinking blood and having erotically charged encounters with sexy women who don’t (usually) know what they’re getting into. Vicky is as unemployed as I am, but Liz has career ambitions, working her way up the clan hierarchy from the bottom. There’s a lot of political maneuvering involved, it seems, with vampires no stranger to cutthroat tactics, and Clan Intelligence seems to reward underhanded tactics more than most divisions.

“Good evening, Elizabeth. Taking your dog on a walk?”

“Ylio. What do you want?” Liz’s voice is chilly as she addresses the tall, vulpine creature accosting us on our way to meet up with Vicks at the Carmine. I recognize the name from the many times she cursed it within earshot. This is her main rival, a vicious thing gunning for the same promotion that would grant Liz access to much more of the secrets our externally embedded clan members feed to us.

“I heard you and that vapid waste you call a sister acquired a bloodbag for yourselves.” They look me up and down as though appraising me for defects. “How on earth did a pair of low-class children like yourselves manage that, I wonder? What did you buy it with?”

Liz strokes my head in a way that uncomfortably reinforces the impression that I am nothing more than her pet. “Have you considered that I’m simply that charming? Developing a personality might do wonders for you as well, if you could manage it.”

The other vampire snorts derisively. “As though a poor, fat cow like you has anything to offer besides a pair of oversized tits.”

“And where’s yours then, since you have so much more than I for luring a human into your service?” My sister bares her fangs. “Ah, right. I remember. Your last was over a decade ago, and you lost it almost immediately afterward.”

“It wasn’t my first and won’t be my last. Unlike yours, a fluke, I’m sure, and I will be surprised if little Victoria doesn’t impulsively ruin it sooner than later.”

Despite myself, I grin. Ylio has no idea.

They catch me and quirk an eyebrow. “Ah, I see. You’ve found the type of pathetic, lust-fueled meat that would be perfectly happy to die from a vampire’s kiss. All too many of those in this era, aren’t there? Our propaganda works wonders.” They lean down to eye level with me and flash a smile of their own that they must imagine to be charismatic. “But easy come, easy go with this type, hmm? All it needs is an invitation from someone older, richer, and more powerful. Perhaps with a little… extra… push…“

That look in their eyes, a flash of red… Oh, they’re using vampiric hypnosis on me.

I lower my eyelids and part my lips. “Wow, it’s true…” I say as though entranced. Hypnosis is not a gift all vampires have, but it is a gift all vampire hunters are trained to resist. “You really have no personality to speak of.”

With a surprised guffaw, Liz pats my head in praise. “Damn, I guess us low-class children have you beat, Ylio.”

The other vampire glares, straightening to their full height. “Watch yourself, child. There are many ways to lose a pet.” With a prim turn on their heel, they depart.

“It’s a status thing to have a personal bloodbag, isn’t it?” I don’t wait for Liz’s confirmation. “That one is definitely going to try to kill me.”

“Then I’ll have to keep you close, my dear.” My sister’s words are meant to be comforting, but I hear a certain amount of worry in her voice.

Ylio’s threatened by my presence. Just by having me around, my keeper’s reputation is improved. She’s elevated herself a notch in the hierarchy, and that’s the sort of respect that might clinch the promotion she’s after. Still, it’s clear that one is underestimating me. They don’t know that I’m much more than just a bloodbag to my sisters.

Liz pulls me along. “Let’s head on up to the Carmine, babe. I need to dance some of this anger out.”

---

I’m not much of a dancer, so I leave Vicks and Lizzy to enjoy each other’s company on the dance floor while I grab a drink at the bar. “Hey, Jax. Rum and coke?”

The bartender gives me a quick wave of acknowledgment as she slaps a spout into a new bottle of well whiskey. With quick, confident motions, it takes her no time at all to work her way through all the drinks in the queue and get to mine. Not for the first time, I wonder just how long she’s been tending bar. Jax definitely mentioned Al Capone at some point, but that also might have been a joke.

Before long, she sets my glass down with a wink. “Here you go, Hanna. Victim-coded, just how you like it.”

I take a sip, and sure enough it’s double strong. “Appreciate it! On Vicky’s tab, yeah?”

“I know the score. You have fun, kid.”

It’s nice to have a night where I’m not on the hook for either hunting dinner or being dinner for my sisters. Tonight, we’re just here to chill, and even Ylio wouldn’t dare try something here.

I scan the club. We’re well-stocked with humans tonight, but they don’t have anything I want right now. They barely register at all as people to me these days. I palm a silver coin—a small trinket, easy to conceal, easy to explain away—while I meander through the crowd. With a little bit of silver, close enough proximity, and the right skills, it’s simple enough to pick the vampires out even when I don’t know them all yet.

A tingle, a subtle warmth… no, this one is putting the moves on her own prey. That one looks too intoxicated to be interested in me. Another one just isn’t my type. Oh, here we go.

The tall dapper woman wearing an expensive looking suit and looking woefully out of place here in the club makes my breath quicken. One hand runs through her short-cropped strawberry blonde hair while the other holds a seemingly untouched glass of liquor. She carries herself with an untouchable confidence that borders on swagger, and the crowd practically parts for her wherever she moves.

Yeah, Vicks and Lizzy will absolutely understand why I need to flirt with this woman.

“Hey there,” I smile up at the hot butch. “I just wanted to say that you’re super hot. If I thought I had a chance with you, would you call me vein?” I tilt my head to expose my neck and waggle my eyebrows.

The woman blinks several times in rapid succession. “Was that meant to be one of those ‘pick-up lines?’ Does this usually work for you?”

“I, uh… yeah. Kinda?” I laugh self-consciously, feeling my face turn red. “Most vampires I meet seem to like the puns.”

“You know what I am, and you choose to pursue me?” She tilts her head in a gesture of curiosity. “Odd.”

Wow, she has that Old Vampire accent that’s so hard to place, the one that feels like a blend of every country and every age the speaker has ever lived in. It’s light, just gilding the edges of her words, but if you’ve heard older vampires speak, it’s easy to listen for.

“That’s me. I’m a bit odd, but I’d really like to get to know you.”

“Hmm. No thank you.” The look of pity she gives me breaks my heart. “If it helps, I am sorry. I am just not here in pursuit of carnal pleasures. Good night.” With that final word, the hot vampire turns away and leaves me alone.

I’m crushed.

Vicks and Lizzy, done with their dancing for the moment, have grabbed a table, and I rejoin them. Someone’s hand on my back attempts to soothe me, but I am inconsolable. “I fumbled the hot butch,” I moan into my hands.

“You fumbled the hot butch,” Liz agrees.

“Shit, is that her?” Vicky whistles softly under her breath. “I can’t blame you. I think I’d devolve into wolf whistles and howling if I tried to chat her up.”

“You said she’s probably really old?”

“Yeah.” I don’t try to hide the longing from my voice. “She’s got the same kind of accent as old Eberhard.”

“No kidding?” Vicky makes the soft whistle sound again. “That’d put her at 300 years old or something.”

“Closer to 400.” Liz shakes her head. “Assuming Hanna’s right, but she is pretty good at this sort of thing.”

“Why do the old ones have to be so stodgy about casual fucking?” Vicky’s lamentations start to sound as mournful as mine. “The four of us could have a hell of a night together.”

“Maybe I could try again.” I’m in denial. I know it. “Someone that old probably lost friends to vampire hunters over the years. I could impress her by showing her some of the photos we took of my—ah, those dead Boltmans.”

Vicky perks up at that. “It was pretty badass. They would have wrecked our shit.”

“Thinking they needed to save the world from a secret plot to bring about Dracula’s return,” I add. “Ha. I almost wish they were right.”

Liz grabs me by the chin and forces me to face her, wearing a serious expression. “You be careful about saying something like that.”

“Wh—“

“That is a highly political topic. Believe it or not, vampires do not broadly agree on whether we would be better off if we were united under him again.”

I give a tiny, earnest nod. My sister fixes my gaze with her own until she looks satisfied that I understand the gravity of what she’s told me.

A familiar voice interrupts us. “Do you ladies mind if I join you?”

It’s her, and she doesn’t wait for a response before smoothly gliding into a seat at our table.

“I could not help but overhear some fascinating snippets of conversation.” The handsome butch I fumbled earlier leans toward us. “You are all quite awful at secrecy while intoxicated, it would seem.”

“H-hi…” I sound pathetic. My crush is obvious.

“Hey, what’s up?” Despite what Vicky said earlier, she’s doing a much better job than I at keeping her composure, even if she’s not at her most eloquent right now, offering no better than that line and a flirty nod at our new companion.

Liz, as usual, is the best of us. “Please forgive the two of them. My name is Elizabeth. This is Hanna and Victoria.”

“Carmen. It’s a pleasure.” The elder vampire’s speech is formal, but her demeanor is so much less stiff than earlier. She’s putting on the charm, I realize, and that’s making it much harder to keep myself from blushing harder than ever. “And I would love to hear more about the woman who killed multiple members of the Boltman Clan.” She lowers her voice conspiratorially. “As well as anything she has heard about the Cult of Dracula.”

[namixart]

What You Cherish Most

Read on AO3!

Seek, and you are sure to find. But alas, you shall forever lose what you cherish most.

It wasn’t like he could hide it.

Cloud was sure everyone knew, everyone could see it, everyone could tell. They were just being gracious about it, protecting his dignity for once instead of teasing him to death. The only one who’d said anything had been Yuffie—she’d gotten on his ass after they’d escaped Corel prison, late at night, when the others were asleep in the buggy and it was just the two of them, him driving and her trying to keep the contents of her stomach inside of it.

“What the hell was that?” she said out of nowhere.

And Cloud knew what she meant immediately. He’d been wondering, himself.

The sandstorm approached, fast and dangerous. They were right in its path. His trained SOLDIER instincts told him to run, to find shelter, to bark out orders and get everyone to safety. But something else was pulling him in another direction, something much deeper and more powerful: white-hot panic at the thought of her getting hurt. He knew she was standing right beside him, wide open and in danger. Before he really knew what he was doing, Cloud grabbed her by the shoulders, pulling her close and shielding her with his body. She was smaller than him, lighter, softer. A sandstorm could blow her away, away from him, forever. Not on his watch. He held her closer to him as they started running towards Barret, with Cloud as the only thing shielding her from the storm.

He would stand between her and danger forever, if she allowed it.

If he got hurt, so be it. Just as long as she was safe.

With Yuffie, he just shrugged. “Dunno what you’re talkin’ about.”

She scoffed. “Sure you don’t.” She looked out of the buggy, over the dark plains of the desert around them.

“You got a point?” he asked.

“You ain’t slick,” continued Yuffie, leaning back in her seat and tossing a glance at their companions, making sure they were still asleep. “Something happen? You’ve been jumpy since the Gold Saucer.”

“I haven’t been jumpy,” said Cloud, keeping his eyes trained forward. If Yuffie noticed the way his grip on the steering wheel tightened, she didn’t say.

She sighed. “Fine, whatever. Dunno why I even bother. Don’t wanna talk about it? Fine. Just keep your wits about you, Blondie. Aerith can take care of herself. We all can.”

I know, thought Cloud. He knew she could, he’d known since he’d met her. But knowing didn’t help the knot of anxiety in his stomach. He glanced at the rear view mirror to catch a glimpse of her sleeping soundly, curled up next to Red, and he let out a sigh of relief. Of course she was okay. Of course. He shook his head, and realised Yuffie was still waiting on an answer. He shrugged again. “Doin’ my job,” he said, hoping it sounded casual enough.

“Right, you’re her bodyguard,” she said, with a hint of mockery in her tone. “And how’re you getting paid, again?”

“Shut your face,” he muttered. Childishly, maybe, but Yuffie drew it out in him. She laughed, and he flipped her off without looking at her.

---

Truth was, Cloud had been on edge since the Gold Saucer, now a good few days behind them. It was a gnawing kind of anxiety, where he couldn’t exactly pinpoint its cause or its beginning. He just knew that it revolved around Aerith. He’d always been protective of her—bodyguard and all—but the sheer panic was new. He felt as if, at any time, he was in danger of blinking and finding her gone forever. He didn’t know why, but it scared the shit out of him.

If Aerith noticed or minded him hovering around her more than usual, she didn’t say anything. After that first night with Yuffie, nobody did. But there was no way they couldn’t see it. Instead of jumping headfirst into the fray of battle, he kept to the middle distance, always making sure Aerith was in sight and, most importantly, safe.

Cloud had never been a protector, he didn’t think. Despite his promise to Tifa, his ambitions to become a SOLDIER had had more to do with the glory of battle than with protecting those around him. He’d dreamt of slaying monsters to prove that he was strong, not to keep them from hurting people. Maybe he’d changed, maybe Aerith had changed him.

Getting separated from her was a unique kind of hellish. He couldn’t literally follow her everywhere, and logically he knew that she would be completely safe back at camp while he and Barret went on to scout ahead. But, then again, nothing about his situation was logical.

There was a light smack on his back, and he realised he’d been looking back over his shoulder, as if he could still catch a glimpse of her from behind the bend in the path.

“Get a grip, man,” said Barret, putting his hand on his hip. “Everything’s gonna be fine. Campsite’s well-hidden. They’ll be safe.”

They. Not she. Tactfully avoiding the actual issue at hand. Cloud was grateful for it—hadn’t thought Barret had tact in him.

He just nodded. “Right,” he said. “Let’s—”

“Actually,” said Barret, holding up a hand, “I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

Scratch that. He didn’t have any tact after all.

Cloud winced and looked away. “About?”

Barret motioned for him to follow. As they walked together down the winding path, carved between desert rocks, he sighed. “Been sleeping? You look rough.”

Cloud furrowed his brows. “Uh, yeah.” He scratched the back of his neck. “Not too well, though, I guess.”

“How come?”

He shrugged noncommittally. The same black anxiety kept him up—listening for any noises in the night, any signs of a threat approaching. He had to be ready, he had to be alert, he had to keep her safe.

Barret hummed, a pensive and loaded sort of sound.

Cloud scowled at him. “What?”

“Okay, look,” started Barret with a sigh, “I think I know what’s goin’ on here.”

Cloud looked away, back at the path. “Nothing’s goin’ on.”

“I was there, Cloud.”

That made him stop. “There?” he asked, blinking at Barret. “Where?”

He pointed his thumb back over his shoulder. “At the hotel, the night we met Cait Sith.”

“I don’t follow.”

Barret scoffed. “C’mon, man. The dumb fortune you got. You let it get to you, right?”

Cloud furrowed his brows. “The—”

Seek, and you are sure to find. But alas, you shall forever lose what you cherish most.

Any protests he may have had in mind died in his throat.

Barret, seeing the flash of understanding in his eyes, carried on. “That’s it, isn’t it? It got to you, and now you’re all jumpy thinkin’ one of us is gonna get hurt.”

Cloud just stared at him. One of us. Technically true, he supposed.

Shit.

“But, hey, it’s nothing but a whole heap of nonsense, y’hear?” continued Barret, undeterred. “Shit, we’re in danger every day, but we’ll all be fine. We got this. But you gotta relax, man. You’re no use to anyone jumpin’ at shadows.”

Cloud nodded dumbly. He was having trouble following what Barret was saying, honestly.

What I cherish most.

True or not, that stupid fortune had gotten to him. That was the origin of his anxiety. He almost wanted to laugh at Barret. It made sense, what he was suggesting. That the entire team was what he cherished most. But the truth was clear and simple.

As much as he cared about all of them, there was only one person he’d thought about protecting for the past few days. There was only one person he kept an eye on in battle like it would kill him to look away. There was only one person he’d shielded from the sandstorm.

And, damnit, Yuffie’d figured it out before him.

It was getting hard to breathe too, now.

Barret was still talking, but all that reached Cloud’s ears was static.

“Right, yeah, sorry,” he muttered, hoping it made sense with what he’d said. “I just need to rest. I’ll turn in early tonight.”

Barret hummed, pleased, and patted him lightly on the shoulder. “Atta boy. Now c’mon, let’s secure this area and get back to camp. I think Tifa’s making stew and I do not wanna be late.”

Cloud nodded absentmindedly. He wanted to get back as soon as possible, too.

---

It was supposed to be a simple job. Some monster-slaying to scrounge up the funds to pay the pilot to take them to Cosmo Canyon. But, of course, things were never ever simple.

“Take cover!” yelled Tifa, ducking behind a tree as the monster charged towards them, surrounded by a curtain of fire.

Cloud hissed through his teeth as he scrambled out of the way. The thick jungle around Gongaga was a pain in the ass to fight in. The trees made for cover opportunities, but they also gave him very little room to manoeuvre in, and he had to resort to hit-and-run tactics just to stay alive.

There was a loud crash, and the monster roared in pain. When Cloud found it again, he saw that it had slammed into a tree, only inches away from where Tifa and Cait Sith had taken cover.

“Scatter!” he shouted. He made to touch a Materia in his bangle, but the spell died in his throat.

The tree had caught on fire, and the impact of the monster running into it had crushed the thick trunk at the base. As if in slow-motion, Cloud saw the trunk bend and fall down, down, down, setting fire to the branches of other trees in its way.

And under it, focused on casting an ice spell on the monster, was Aerith.

Cloud moved before he’d even fully registered she was in danger, the familiar black panic turning to adrenaline. He ran across the battlefield, weaving between his friends who hadn’t even noticed how could they not notice she was right there in danger and she hadn’t noticed either but he was almost there almost there almost there!

He heard her surprised gasp as he collided into her at full speed, wrapped his arms around her, and pushed them both out of the path of the falling tree.

The world sped up again as they rolled together into the underbrush of the jungle, with Cloud holding Aerith tight to his chest and trying to cushion her fall.

“C-Cloud!?” she exclaimed, out of breath, when they stopped. “Cloud, you—”

He pushed himself up on shaky arms, braced on the ground on either side of her head, careful not to crush her. She was covered in soot and flushed from the exertion and the heat of the fire. She stared up at him with wide eyes, and her chest rose and fell unevenly, but surely.

Cloud finally let out a sigh of relief.

“You’re okay…” he whispered, closing his eyes.

He heard the rustle of the grass as she nodded. “I’m okay. You?”

Probably. He didn’t care. He just shrugged as he opened his eyes to look at her again.

Aerith shot him a hesitant smile, then glanced to the side, to where their friends were still fighting. “Cloud, we should—”

He balled his hands into fists in the grass as another jolt of fear shot through him. “No. You stay here. I’ll take care of it.”

She snorted and braced her hands on his shoulders. “C’mon, Cloud, don’t be silly.”

He didn’t budge. “Please, Aerith. I…” He trailed off. The noises of the battle kept on going behind them, but Cloud paid them no mind. All he could think about was Aerith, and how she’d almost died. If he’d been just one second slower—

“Cloud?” she called, barely more than a whisper.

He pressed his lips together. “Just… Just stay here. Where it’s safe.”

“What?” Aerith blinked owlishly up at him, as if he was the one who wasn’t making any sense. “But—”

“Please.” She wasn’t getting it. Cloud had to make her understand. “Please,” he repeated, leaning down. Shakily, he pressed his lips against her forehead, just for a second, but long enough to silence her protests. “Just—Let me handle this,” he said against her skin, before drawing away. Aerith stared up at him, eyes even wider than they’d been before. Her cheeks were still flushed, but Cloud didn’t know if it was from the battle or because of him. “Okay?” he asked.

After a long, excruciating beat of silence, she nodded slowly.

Cloud hummed, pleased, then carefully climbed off of her and to his feet. Immediately, she scrambled to a sitting position, but she just stared at him and made no attempt to get up. Cloud finally managed to tear his eyes away from her. With one last sigh, he took off again towards his discarded sword.

Before he could jump back into the fray, he felt the crackle of an ice spell, and from the corner of his eye he spotted the burning tree getting encased in it, and he bit down a smile halfway through fond and frustrated.

Of course she’d find a loophole.

---

Adrenaline, Cloud decided, made him fucking stupid.

It had made him damn near fly across a battlefield to snatch Aerith out from the path of a falling flaming tree, and that was all well and good, but it had also made him pin her to the forest floor, beg her to stay safe like a terrified child, and kiss her.

And now that it was gone, all that was left inside his veins was anxiety so violent that he felt physically ill. His only solace in the situation was that nobody else had noticed what he’d done in the jungle, just assumed that Aerith had gotten separated from them by the tree. Cloud had caught suspicious looks from Yuffie and Red, but had duly ignored them. He’d only picked at his food that night, and then excused himself from the welcoming overcrowdedness of Cissnei’s house to find refuge in the cool nightly breeze of Gongaga. The rest of the team hadn’t questioned him, but he’d felt Aerith’s serious gaze on him the entire time.

Cloud wandered the streets without a destination, trying to clear his mind. Unfortunately, his thoughts inevitably drifted back to Aerith. And how he’d messed everything up by being an overprotective, paranoid idiot.

He knew it was only a matter of time until she found him and demanded to know what the hell had gotten into him. Knowing that, Cloud wanted to come up with something to tell her, something that explained his behaviour without actually explaining it.

It was telling of the state of his nerves that, by the time he spotted the familiar pink dress approaching, he’d made absolutely no progress on that.

“You, mister, have got some ‘splaining to do,” said Aerith, putting her hands on her hips. She didn’t look upset, but there was a firmness in her eyes that told him that there would be no escape either.

Cloud grimaced. Great. He really wanted to have that conversation in Gongaga of all places, in spitting distance of the childhood home of her first love.

She’d found him on a bridge overlooking the stream that flowed through the village. Nobody else was around, and the only sounds to be heard were the quiet rustle of the water and the chirping of crickets.

Cloud didn’t look her in the eye. “I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “Dunno what got into me.”

Aerith huffed and leaned on the barrister right beside him. “Right. And you’ve been ignoring me all day for funsies instead of saying just that.”

He didn’t reply.

He heard her sigh. “You know, I realised I haven’t thanked you for saving me, back there. So, thank you.”

“Uh, sure. Don’t mention it.”

“But what I wanna know,” she continued, “is what happened after that.” She leaned forward to try to catch his eye, but he avoided her. “I’ve never seen you so…” She bit her lip, hesitating. “Scared.”

Yeah. Scared just about summed it up.

“I…” He fiddled with his hands over the barrister. “I, uh…”

Aerith waited patiently for a minute, but when it became obvious he wasn’t actually going to say anything, she sighed and let her gaze fall to her hands as well. “Can I ask you a question?”

Cloud hummed and snuck a glance at her. She was drumming her fingers on the wooden rail, and she looked slightly on edge.

“Barret mentioned something,” she said. “About a… fortune? Something you heard from Cait Sith back at the Saucer.”

Cloud knew that stiffening up and sucking in a sharp breath would let her know that she’d hit the nail on the head, but it wasn’t like he could help it. She looked at him and met his eyes for the first time that night.

“He said that you’re scared that something might happen to one of us, and that’s why you’ve been jumpy.”

He wished he could retreat into his shoulders. “He did, did he.”

Aerith frowned. “Don’t play dumb with me. You might fool Barret, but I know you better than that. And I pay attention.” She leaned towards him. “Where were you when Yuffie was almost crushed by Palmer’s frog robot? When Red got knocked out by that sand monster? When Barret nearly fell off that bridge in the jungle?” She bit her bottom lip for a moment, then furrowed her brows and met his gaze again, resolute. “Where were you, Cloud?”

With you.

He pulled his eyes away. “It matter what I say? Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out.”

Aerith groaned. “Why do you always have to make things more difficult?” she muttered. “Fine, you wanna play this game? Let’s play.” She spun around, leaning her back against the barrister of the bridge. He eyed the motion nervously. “Wanna know where you were? You were shielding me.” She pointed at her face for emphasis. “For a guy supposedly worried sick about the whole team, you’ve got a funny way of showing it.”

Cloud didn’t reply. How could he? His only way out was to lie, and he’d never been great at that, especially around Aerith. So, he stayed silent.

“And today,” she continued, “I know you were scared, but…” She sighed. “We’re all in this together. I can’t just sit battles out because you don’t think I can handle myself.”

That made him look at her again, his head snapping back so fast he thought he might get whiplash. “That’s what you think this is?” he said, staring at her.

Aerith blinked, a little taken aback. “Isn’t it? I mean, I don’t see you asking Tifa or Barret to stay outta trouble, right? And you’ve never—” She cut herself off and looked away for a moment. She didn’t need to spell it out. Cloud felt the heat rise to the tip of his ears as she shook her head and lowered her gaze to her hands in her lap. “I can handle myself,” she said, almost absentmindedly.

“I know,” said Cloud. “Never thought you couldn’t.” Well, maybe just for the first five minutes of knowing her, way back when.

Aerith shot him a sidelong glance. “Then… What’s really going on, Cloud?” There was a strange affect to her voice, one he’d never heard before. A little shy, a little hopeful, maybe.

Cloud swallowed a thick knot in his throat.

She faced him fully and leaned towards him. “Is it really just the bodyguard thing? Or is there something else?” She bit her lip. “If you know I can hold my own, why me? I’m just part of the team. I’m not special.”

“Yeah. You are,” he heard himself say before he could catch the words and shove them back into his throat where they belonged.

Aerith stopped in her tracks, her eyes going even wider and her mouth falling open a little bit. Cloud grimaced and looked away. He couldn’t take it back, but that didn’t mean he was willing to face her.

He crossed his arms, feeling his ears burning. “Forget it. It’s just—Whatever, okay? It’s whatever. I’m your bodyguard. Gotta make sure you’re okay, okay? Dumbass fortune got under my skin. Nothin’ more to it. Sorry I’ve been weird. Whatever.” He knew he sounded stupid and childish, but he was out of options. He was cornered like a wild animal, like a fugitive, like a goddamn idiot who couldn’t face his own feelings, much less the girl they were for.

But Aerith had other plans. Of course she did. Gently, she cupped his cheek and turned his face back to hers. He reluctantly let her. “Cloud,” she whispered, focused and tender, “what did that fortune say?” He pressed his lips together and shrugged a little. A flash of annoyance passed over her face. “Would you rather I hear it from you, or from Cait Sith? Or Barret? I’m sure they’d tell me, if I asked.”

Hell, no.

Cloud screwed his eyes shut. “Seek, and you are sure to find. But alas, you shall forever lose what you cherish most,” he recited with a grimace. “There. Happy?”

Aerith sucked in a small gasp. “What you… cherish most? You know what that could be?” she asked quietly, almost as if she was just as afraid of the answer as he was.

Cloud hazarded a glance back at her. He hadn’t noticed right away, but her hand had slid from his cheek down to his fingers, which she was holding like a lifeline. She looked almost fragile, as if her composure hung on his next few words. He didn’t like seeing her like that. He wanted her to smile again, to laugh again, to be happy again. No more of that uncertain look on her face. No more.

He swallowed thickly. “Yeah,” he whispered. “Think I might.”

She let his words hang in the air for a moment that stretched into a lifetime.

Cloud didn’t even dare to breathe.

Then, slowly, a smile spread across her face, the most beautiful smile he’d ever seen. It reached her eyes and they shone brighter than the stars in the sky. “Huh,” she said casually, cupping his face again with both hands. “Go figure.”

Before Cloud could protest—because, seriously, what the hell was that reaction?—Aerith pulled him into a hug. “Right back atcha,” she whispered, burying her face in the crook of his neck. His hands went to her waist out of pure, stunned reflex, not quite hugging back but not pushing her away either—how could he?

He blinked. Once, twice.

Right back atcha!?

“What?” he asked eloquently.

Aerith giggled as she pulled away a bit. “I cherish you too,” she said softly. “The most.”

And with that, she dragged him down to her and kissed him square on the lips.

This time, Cloud was a little faster on the uptake, as he wrapped his hands around her waist and kissed her back. It only lasted a couple of seconds, and when Aerith stepped away, she left behind the phantom sensation of her lips, sweet and tingling. She smiled up at him, and he knew he had to say something. Especially since she apparently liked him back!?

Cloud cleared his throat. “I, uh…” He scratched the back of his neck and averted his gaze for a second. “I’m… sorry about bein’ jumpy lately? It’s just—I was scared, and I don’t wanna lose—” He grimaced and cut himself off. That was not the romantic speech she deserved.

Aerith shook her head. “I get it,” she said, slipping a hand in his. “I’d have been worried too. I’ll have to give Cait Sith an earful about this—freaking you out like that.” She clicked her tongue playfully, then laughed again—Cloud’s favourite sound. He offered her a small smile, a little hesitant, a lot fond. “Still,” she continued, “I’m not going anywhere, I can promise you that.”

In spite of himself, Cloud relaxed a bit. He would make sure of that too. “I’m still gonna keep an eye on you,” he said, shrugging faux-nonchalantly. “Still my job.”

“Your job, huh?” She tapped her chin for a moment, pretending to think. “Would that be bodyguard or boyfriend?”

He felt the tips of his ears go hot. “I, uh… Whichever you want, I guess,” he mumbled, letting his eyes drop to their still-entwined fingers. “Whatever you want.”

“Hmm.” Aerith tilted his chin back up to face her. “What if I said I want both?”

Cloud huffed out a half laugh. “I’d tell you I don’t work for free. Or cheap.”

She giggled, wrapping her arms around his neck. “I’m sure we can figure something out.”

“Think so?” he asked, returning his hands to her waist. It felt right, like they belonged there.

“Know so,” she said as she pulled him down again.

Kissing Aerith, Cloud felt the knot of anxiety that had taken residence in his stomach finally unravel. She would be okay, they would be okay. Fortune be damned, he’d make sure she’d be okay if it killed him. He kissed her a little harder—a promise, he thought. She responded in kind; another promise.

When she eventually pulled away, he followed her for a moment, until her giggling finally broke the kiss. She leaned back in his arms and gave him a bemused look.

Cloud frowned. “What?”

Aerith nodded back towards Cissnei’s house. “Aren’t you just dying to explain this to Barret? You know he’s gonna ask. The others too—you haven’t exactly been subtle.”

He groaned and let his head fall on her shoulder, holding her a little tighter. “The hell I am. Keep ‘em all guessing. I don’t give a shit.”

She laughed and ran a hand through his hair. “Know what? Neither do I.”

[th3casscad3]

An Angel In Hell..

A Fallen Angel Emily X Male Reader.

After The Meeting In Heaven, Emilys Questions And Comments Were Getting Out Of Hand. At This Rate Emily Would Tell All Of Hevean About What's Really Happening Between Heaven And Hell. Sera Couldn't Have That. She Wouldn't Have That, So She Did The Only Thing She Thought Would Protect Her. She Banished Emily To Hell.

Warning/Triggers: Banishment, Rejection From Hevean, Hell.

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

Emily Wouldn't Stand For Sera Rejecting Angel Dust Of Being Redeemable. He Had Proven His Worth, That Demons Could Change. Why Would Sera See That. Why Would Sera Allow The Exterminations. It Didnt Make Sense.. Every Time Emily Asked Sera About It, She Would Just Turn It Down And Ignore Her. Over Time This Really Started To Affect Emily. She Became A Problem To Sera. She Became A Dreamer Like Lucifer. She Saw The Good In The Demons And Talked About How Everyone Could Live In Peace, In Harmony. Emily Dreamed Of A World Where Hevean And Hell Could Unite And Be One. As Emily Kept Dreaming, Sera Only Grew More Anxious. Sera Knew That If She Didnt Stop Emily Soon All Of Hevean Would Know Of The Exterminations And Hevean Would Be In Shambles. No. Sera Just Coulnt Have That.. So One Day, Emily Was Banished From Heaven. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- Emily Opened Her Eyes To Find Herself Falling. She Tried To Use Her Wings But They Wouldnt Budge. Eventually She Found Herself In The Very Pits Of Hell. Her Eyes Widen And Her Heart Picked Up Speed. She Caught Herself Before She Fell, Using Her Wings To Help. " No.. no no no no! I Have To Get Back Up There! I Have To Tell- " Emily Was Quickly Cut Off With A Group Of Demons Running To Attack Her. She Screamed And Flew Off Quickly. She Knew She Wasnt Safe Here. With Ever Turn And Look Around All She Saw Was Fire, Blood, And Demons Either Fighting, Doing Drugs Or Being Intimate. The Sounds Of Hell Was Enough To Make Emily Panick. She Just Kept Flying. She Wanted To Believe This Was All Just A Bad Dream, That She Would Wake Up In The Morning And Be In Hevean Again. As She Was Flying She Saw The Fiant Sight Of A Hotel.. The Hazbin Hotel. Yes. She Thought. If She Could Get To Charlie, She Could Probably Speak To Lucifer Too! She Quickly Dashed Over And Knocked On The Door. To Her Surprise, It Wasnt Charlie Who Answered The Door. It Was You. Sera Gave You A Gentle Yet Panicked Smile. "Hello.. May I Come In. Please. Im Looking For Princess Charlie. " Emily Fiddled With Her Fingers And Tucked Her Wings In. You Smiled And Extended Your Hand Out For Her. She Looked You In The Eyes And Took It With A Smile. You Helped Her In And Closed The Door Behind Her. " Charlie Isnt Here At The Moment But She Will Be Soon. Let Me Guess... Fallen Angel? " You Gave Her A Warm Smile, You Could See It In Her Eyes That She Was New And In A State Of Panick. That, And It Was Obvious She Was An Angel. " Yes, But I Know About The Exterminations And I Dont Stand For Them! Which Is Why I Really Need To Talk To Charlie! " Emily Spoke With A Stern Tone. " You Must Be Emily Then, Charlie Speaks Highly Of You. I Admire You. You Stood With Charlie In Front Of A Whole Court! That Was SO BADASS! Ha! I Could Only Imagine How Scary That Must Of Felt, To Stand Up For What You Think Is Right Even When Nobody Else Agrees. Its Tough Shit. " Emily Looks At You With A Touched Expression She Smiles Again And Grabs Your Hand. " I Want All Of You To Be Redeemed, It Isnt Fair. Everybody Makes Mistakes. Some.. Bigger Than Others But Still! Everyone Deserves A Second Chance! And.. I Just Know They Are Keeping Something From Me.. They Banished Me For Dreaming About Untiy And Peace. For Wanting Something Greater Than Just Fighting.. But Why.. " Emily Kept Her Hand In Yours, It Was Comforting To Say The Least. You Simply Smiled. You Could Understand That Emily Was Going Through A Lot Right Now And Based On Charlie's Lessons You Know That Its Better To Be There As Comfort. So You Did. You And Emily Talked For Hours, Going Back And Forth About Hevean And Hell. You Discussed What You Thought Was Considered Good And Evil. You Talked About How Much You Hated The Exterminations Too! You Both Discovered That You Shared A Lot In Common. You Felt Yourself Wanting To Be There For Emily All The Time. She Was A Angel That Knew Very Little On Hell And You Vowed To Protect Her At All Cost. You Both Talked Until You Fell Asleep On The Couch, Hand In Hand.

[factorialsotherfandoms]

TW: implied suicide attempt, happened before story set, people are reasonably okay. In related warnings, misuse of medication

(Probably not canon complaint they probably got yeeted IC too but you can't prove it isn't just yet)

They are curled up on the floor of the haunted library, and nobody is really sure what to do. Some bread had been shared around earlier, but all they have is what is on their persons.

Everyone has split off into smaller groups, huddled together whereever there is space. Some of them can be heard talking in low voices, but with the eggs asleep they try to keep it quiet.

Felps is already asleep again, face buried in Pac's back as he clings. Richarlyson has somehow wormed his way between them, while Ramón sleeps sat against a bookshelf. His head has drifted to rest on his father's side, Fit keeping watch as he keeps Pac's head in his lap and plays with his hair. Bagi sits on his other side, Empanada asleep in her lap. Mike thinks she was trying to keep watch as well, but joined her daughter a few minutes ago.

Mike himself is pressed against Pac's front, awkwardly propped up on Fit's knee. It's worth it, though, to be able to curl properly about his best friend. Prison has torn all of their trauma back to light, but Pac...

Fuck, they are so lucky he only managed to steal half a handful of sleeping pills.

"You good, Mike?" Fit tries to keep his voice quiet, but it's still deep enough to carry.

"He's a fucking idiot," Mike says, in lieu of an answer. "I swear, if he pulls this shit again I'll kill him."

Fit's hand shufts from Pac's hair to Mike's, not petting but instead allowing his thumb to rub circles just behind Mike's ear. Mike allows the tension to drain a little.

"We'll work on it," Fit promises. "He's safe for now. We're all safe for now."

With something called a reset and instability? It's not going to last.

Mike tells Fit as much, and gets laughter in return.

"You get used to it," Fit replies, not unkindly but not gently either. "People only trash so many of your bases before you give up on getting attached."

"I know that," Mike snaps back, and maybe it hasn't been bases but he and Pac have lost nearly as many homes as they are years old.

Between the orphanage, and the streets, and a life of crime then being on the run. The island is the first time they've had a home that felt like - maybe - it was theirs to keep, and already it is being torn away.

He should have known better than to hope.

"Hey, hey," Fit taps him for attention. "None of that shit. We've got each other still - between you, me, Pac, and the kids we'll get a house sorted in no time. Sand and concrete isn't much - we can still make that house Pac wanted. Just need to start again."

And Mike... he doesn't know how to say that, after this, he isn't sure Pac is still going to want a house. Maybe it's changed, but what he's always wanted before was a small, dark hole, somewhere hidden and secret and enclosed on all sides. There's comfort in hiding and in anonymity, and fuck knows he'll need the comfort after this.

Mike's comfort is Pac's comfort.

Either way, he doesn't care.

"It'll suck," Mike replies.

"It always does," and Fit sounds so tired. Still he says, "go to sleep, Mike - I'll keep an eye out and we can sort it in the morning."

Mike doesn't think he can, but he sees the out for what it is. He tucks Pac closer to himself - a little awkward for felps and Richarlyson also clinging, and even worse for Fit's knees - and finds his pulse.

It's still in a state of drug-induced slowness.

It's fine, though, Mike knows what it being dangerous would feel llike. They've done that before, and fuck knows it will happen again.

It's also steadily improving; if Mike didn't know what Pac had done, he would think it just the pulse of someone deeply asleep.

Fit doesn't tell Mike its fine, not again. He just keeps watch, and keeps them safe, protecting the group even as Mike protects their Pac.

[mortalfaerie]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐍𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐡

Chapter Two: Draw No Blade, Spill No Blood

Cregan Stark x (Strong)Velaryon! OC

Celaena Velaryon is the younger twin of Jacaerys by minutes. When war comes, she is sent to Winterfell to ensure House Stark's loyalty. In return, Cregan Stark only wants one thing: Celaena to be his wife.

tw: graphic depictions of traumatic childbirth/miscarriage, stillbirth (visenya)

Celaena was predictable. Each day in the afternoon, she took to the skies to fly with Seasmoke alone - for hours even, if the weather allowed for it. On that fateful day, the clouds had finally parted after days to allow her to soar as long and as far as she desired, and she wasted not a minute of daylight. Returning to the cliffside by the castle, her hair was windswept from its braid and her cheeks were whipped red from the breeze. She stood, smoothing her hand over her dragon’s scaled flank and telling him praises in High Valyrian, when her younger brother ran to her, his face as grim as she had ever seen him.

“Lucerys,” she greeted, her stomach twisting as she saw his expression. “What is it? What’s happened?”

“Our grandsire, the king, is dead,” he said, panting. “Mother went into labor when she learned the news,” he managed to get out.

“No.” Was all she could say in response. It was too soon, much too soon - and grabbing the lengths of her riding cloak in hand, she tore off down the expanse to the keep.

She skidded into the great hall on the stone floors, where her stepfather was hearing reports from the kingsguard who had brought the news. From her chamber, her mother screamed in pain and called out for her husband. He was heedless to her pleas, and with gritted teeth, Celaena climbed the stairs two at a time until she reached the landing before her mother’s chamber. A guard tried to deny her entry but she shoved past him and through the doors.

Inside, her mother wailed, clutching at the postbeam of her bed. Her ladies and midwives pleaded with her to let them help, but she swatted each of them off of her as they tried.

“Mother!” Celaena cried out, sounding choked. Her mother looked at her for just a moment before crying out again in pain.

“Princess,” Elinda Massey came to Celaena’s side, pleading. “She won’t allow anyone to touch her, but she needs help. The babe is coming too soon, she must submit to care.”

The plea was implicit, and Celaena nodded. Slowly, as though approaching a wild animal, she walked towards her mother.

“Lady mother - your grace,” she said softly, coming to stand several feet away from her at the other postbeam. She grasped it, just as her mother did, and tried to speak gently to her.

“Please, please, mother,” she said, her heart in her throat as she watched her mother strain and gasp. “Let us help. Let me help. Please,” she asked.

“No!” Rhaenyra ground out, her knees buckling beneath her. Celaena went to her side, shouldering her weight.

“Don’t touch me,” the princess-turned-queen wailed brokenly, but she could not remove her weight from her daughter’s support, she had not enough strength.

“Mother, please,” Celaena croaked. “Please, please, you know I will not leave you. Beseech me not to, please, and let these ladies help you.”

“They will kill me,” Rhaenyra insisted, “They will have me dead, just as my father.”

“Nobody!” Celaena insisted. “Nobody will hurt you, this is Dragonstone, you are safe!”

“I am alone,” Her mother sobbed. Celaena met the eyes of Elinda Massey and her other ladies and conveyed with a jerk of her head to approach slowly.

“Mother,” she said gently, “Please, we must get you into bed. Let me help,” she persisted.

Rhaenyra cried but nodded weakly, and the other ladies came to her side. With much effort, they got her into the bed. The midwives said that it wouldn’t be long, and did what they could to calm her. They offered her milk of the poppy but she bitterly refused, and only clutched at Celaena’s hand as the pains came more and more frequently.

At last, the babe came free into the midwife’s arms, but no cry of life came from her. The queen turned her face and wept into the pillow, and Celaena clutched her close. Gently, Elinda came to her lady’s side.

“It was a girl, your grace.” She said, smoothing back Rhaenyra’s hair. Celaena could feel her tears spill over - a sister. She would have had a sister. Her mother had told her before, sitting before the fire at night, that they wanted to call her Visenya.

Rhaenyra wept. Elinda spoke gently to her, assuring her that they did all they could, that it couldn’t have been helped, as Celaena climbed into the bed beside her, clutching her mother like a child. The midwives moved quietly, taking away the bloodied sheets and swaddling the silent child. They placed her on a pillow at the side table, as the new queen began to quiet in her sobs. When the midwives left the room out of respect, only Elinda and Celaena flanked her.

Elinda had been the most recent lady-in-waiting Rhaenyra had taken on and had joined them on Dragonstone after she wed Daemon. She was a loyal and dedicated supporter of her queen and wept along with her and the queen’s eldest daughter at the sudden turn of events. They sat in silence together, huddled like children, until at last, Rhaenyra’s breathing levelled into an exhausted sleep.

Gradually, Celaena shifted her mother’s frame to her lady. “I must tell the family,” she said quietly, and Elinda nodded.

“I will be with her if she wakes.” The older woman assured her.

Celaena left the room in silence and proceeded down the hall. At the upper landing of the stairs, Lucerys sat and Jacaerys paced. When they saw her, she made to speak but felt her face fall. Her twin caught her in an embrace before she could cry again, and held her close.

“The baby didn’t survive.” He stated more than asked. Celaena shook her head against his shoulder, and he smoothed her hair back. “It’s alright. It’s alright. You did what you could, Celaena.” he insisted. She heard Luke stand and felt him hug her too, and the three of them - the un-innocent three of them, the three bastards guilty of maiming their uncle, the three who bore the weight of their existence - clutched each other.

When finally Celaena pulled back, she said, “Let’s go down. They need to know.”

In silence, they went down the staircase together and into the great hall, where Daemon stood pouring over maps. He nodded for the soldiers to leave the room upon seeing them. Jacaerys squeezed Celaena’s hand, and she spoke.

“Mother is asleep now. The babe didn’t make it,” she drew in a sharp breath. “A girl.”

Stoicly, Daemon nodded. He was a man not prone to outward shows of emotion, but his anguish was evident in the way he looked away from them for a moment, composing himself. When he faced them again, he said, “She should sleep for now. She will need her strength for what comes next.”

It was dawn when they took the bundled and silent body of their would-be sister to the courtyard of the keep, where Syrax waited for her rider. Anxiously, the golden dragon shifted her weight from clawed foot to clawed foot, until she saw Rhaenyra approach leaning on her husband’s arm. The beast nosed at Rhaenyra, mussing her hair and whining her high-pitched noise, until Rhaenyra looked up at her and spoke a few words in High Valyrian. They committed Visenya to a dragon rider’s burial and mixed her ashes with those that came before her, and then they went inside to plan their war.

At noon, Rhaenyra summoned her eldest three children to the cliffside. Dressed formally in the colors of House Targaryen and prepared for flight, they stood before her with bowed heads, as befit vassals to their queen. With a slight smile and reminder of that though she had come into her crown, she was still their mother, she spoke.

“It is imperative, at this stage, to ensure the alliances we count on. But, know that in sending you to carry out these tasks, I am sending you as emissaries only.” She said meaningfully.

Luke looked up, seeming to want to argue but thought better of it. Rhaenyra nodded and produced a copy of the Seven Pointed Star from her pockets, and held it out before her.

“Before I give you your work, swear upon this holy book that you will draw no blade in carrying this out, and you will spill no blood in my name.” She instructed.

The three exchanged looks and then stepped forward, one after the other, and uttered statements of “I swear to the Seven-who-are-one, that I will draw no blade and spill no blood in the name of Queen Rhaenyra.”

Satisfied and setting aside the tome, she produced two scrolls. Placing the first one in Luke’s hands, she explained, “Lucerys. I entrust you with this message to deliver to Borros Baratheon. You may remind him of our kinship, as he is kinsman to your grandmother, Rhaenys.”

Lucerys nodded, and Rhaenyra turned to Celaena. “Celaena. I am sending you to the north, to Winterfell, to speak with Cregan Stark and deliver this message. He is closer in age to you than I and is said to be an honorable man. I have never known of a Stark who did not uphold a vow, but nevertheless, House Stark is a crucial ally.”

Celaena accepted the scroll and nodded deferentially to her mother. To Jacaerys, Rhaenyra spoke next.

“Jacaerys. As I am now Queen, you have become in my stead the Prince of Dragonstone, my heir.” She said and took his hands in a motherly gesture. “To you, I give the all-important task of managing this domain. Go to the towns, and speak to the people. Gain their favor. It will be crucial if we ever need, gods forbid, to defend this island.” Though evidently he would have preferred adventure, he nodded his assent to her. “As you wish, your grace,” he replied.

They walked to their dragons, a family unit, as Rhaenyra saw them mount and prepare to leave. Lucerys, and then Jacaerys took to the skies before Celaena mounted Seasmoke. Rhaenyra rested her palm on Seasmoke’s flank and spoke to her daughter again.

“Celaena, my dear. The north holds a significant army, which would be an asset to our cause. If you are confronted with a request that is in your power to grant, I discharge you to do it. Even betrothals are allowed to this end.” She said.

Celaena nodded slowly. “Including my own?” she asked.

Rhaenyra nodded. “Including your own,” she answered. They regarded eachother for a moment before Rhaenyra added, “Be safe, my daughter.”

They parted like that, and for the second time in two days, Celaena took to the skies atop Seasmoke, disappearing into the gathering storm.

[pigeonwhumps]

O

Bug and Company masterlist

Taglist: @littlespacecastle @whumpymirages @flowersarefreetherapy @painful-pooch @whumplr-reader (and @squishablesunbeam iirc you wanted to be tagged if people used object designation? Idk if you still do but anyway)

During delivery to its owner, O69 is intercepted.

2.4k

CWs: BBU, pet whump, object whump, self-dehumanisation, locked in a box, conditioned whumpee, scared whumpee, talk of discrimination against Romantics, bad caretaker, bad safehouse (with implications that it could be even worse), implied non-con, wishing for punishment, non-verbal whumpee

O69's body thrums with anticipation as it speeds down the road in its box. It's being taken to its new owner.

This is the most important day in a pet's life.

It wonders what its new owner will be like. It has been trained extensively, and it will be good for whoever it is, but it has no idea what they're like. Short hair, long hair? Kind, cruel? Where will they keep their new toy? It has no idea.

It will find out soon enough.

The van stops suddenly and O69's thrown into the wall of its box. It's not supposed to move at all so it doesn't, not reaching out to cushion itself before its head slams into the wood. It grunts.

It's not supposed to make a noise. It hopes it gets punished.

The doors to the van are thrown open. O69 wonders if it's its turn to be delivered.

Patience, O69. Objects don't get impatient, do they?

No. No, another box is removed. It's disappointed at first but then it realises that multiple boxes are being removed, multiple pairs of feet in the van. What's going on?

Its box is lifted and set down somewhere else, urgent voices surrounding it. It doesn't know what they're saying and it doesn't need to.

Someone shouts, "Go go go!", there's lots of commotion, and then O69's careening down the road, heart in its throat. It can hear screaming.

It isn't long. It isn't long, it knows it, but feels like forever.

It's not the first to be dropped off this time, either, but it feels different when it is. More careful. Like it's breakable.

That's not true. Sex toys aren't breakable. Or if they are it doesn't matter. They can always be replaced.

It can always be replaced.

There's murmuring from outside, and then a noise, a bit like hammering but different. And then daylight. Lots of daylight. The kind it hasn't seen for as long as it can remember.

More light of any sort than it's had since it was packed.

There's a face staring down at it. It tries to look appealing – it doesn't know who this is, but it thinks that regardless of that they're more likely to keep it if it's appealing.

The woman above him makes a strangled sound.

"Oh, god, you're a Romantic, aren't you? At least partly. They won't like that. Shall we get you out of there?"

And without waiting for a response that O69 isn't allowed to give, she reaches in, grabs it just below the elbows, and lifts it out.

O69 screams. Screams like its existence depends on it, like a burglar alarm, someone will come and get their property back, put it back safe, but nobody does, nobody comes.

Nobody wants it enough to come.

It's left in this woman's grip, the shocked look on her face boding nothing good, oh what if this is its owner? It didn't think so, it thought it was stolen, but maybe... maybe this is why pets don't think.

"Hey, hey, it's not as bad as all that. Let's get you sat down, then we can go over a few things." She sets it down on the carpet.

It's too soft. The lights are too much and the noise is too much and it has no idea what the expectations are and it all hurts. It wants to bury its head in its knees and jam its hands over its ears and scream until this all goes away but it can't, it's not allowed, it knows this without actually knowing, so it does the next best thing.

It tries to climb back into its box.

"Whoa, whoa, no. You don't need to go back in there, you're free."

But it's dark and familiar and safe in there and for the first time ever it ignores an order, crawling towards it, starting to climb over the lip of the box.

She wrenches it out, setting it down further away, and lifts the box. "I said, no." She's harsh this time and O69 cowers away from her tone, words like acid. "You don't need to– look, I'll be back in a minute."

And she walks out with its box. Its only safety, and she just takes it away, like it's nothing, like she doesn't care, like... like... what's O69 supposed to do now? How can it be stored, how can it be safe now? What does it mean that its storage is being taken? Retraining? Replacement? Refurbishment? It whimpers at the thought.

It needs somewhere to go. Maybe if it just stays out of the way it'll be forgotten about, allowed to stay. A dusty toy on a shelf, not played with but not thrown away, either.

It scans the room. There. A nook, tiny, in the corner, and it moves without an order, heart in its throat, desperate, crawling into it, scrunching up tight to fit. It's nearly as tight as the cage it was trained to stay still in, and it has to go really small, but that's okay. It knows how to do that. Out of sight, out of mind.

The woman comes back into the room and frowns. "Are you in here? Oh, you're... okay. Let me grab your papers and you can stay there until you're ready to come out."

She peels the plastic packet carefully off his t-shirt and moves away. It wonders how long it'll be allowed to stay here for.

_

Minutes, it thinks at first. Minutes which turn into hours, which eventually turn into days.

It keeps its eyes shut, body tiny, it knows how to keep still and it will. At least its training is useful for something, even here.

It isn't aware of everything, but it's aware of enough.

It hears voices, low and angry, an argument that it hopes it doesn't take the brunt of. There's worry somewhere. Someone says something frustrated that it determinedly doesn't listen to. Even though it shouldn't, it resists attempts to remove it.

Out of sight, out of mind, it's safe.

Out of sight, out of mind, it's safe.

Out of sight, out of mind, it's safe.

And then, a day or two (or maybe three or four) later, there's desperation and pleading. One side of a conversation, not a pleasant one, but they're not talking to it so it doesn't listen, hoping it won't be hurt for this.

It is still due a punishment though, for noises and moving and a hundred other things by now.

O69 doesn't know how long it is until there's hushed voices in the hall, and soft footsteps on the carpet. A thing that sounds like its box is brought in, set down.

"Are you sure about this Alix?" says the first voice.

"Yes," says a new voice, cutting through the air like a knife.

There's a sigh like disappointed wind, and then a set of footsteps disappears out of the door.

"Hello. I'm Alix. You must be O69, right?"

O69 looks up. The woman opposite it doesn't quite look like a knife. But then, not all knives are sharp, and not all dig in smoothly, immediately. Her voice is softer now.

Maybe she's a blunt knife, which takes a lot of force to hurt someone with. It wonders how much it would take for her to hurt it.

"Pleased to meet you. I've come to bring you somewhere safer, if you're okay with that. You can go back in your box. I know they don't like that here, but it's okay, really. If it's safer for you, that's allowed. May I call you O?" O69 doesn't know how to respond, it wasn't taught how to give an opinion. Objects don't do that. "I'm going to take that as a yes. At least one of my housemates will probably find it very uncomfortable at the least to call you 69. Pronouns. He? She? They? It?" It blinks at the last option, not deliberately choosing but just... relaxing, slightly, maybe. Hopefully not. "Okay, it/its it is. Let me bring your box closer and you can climb back in, yeah? I promise you, I have no problem with you going back in there."

Alix is true to her word, bringing its box over and then backing away. O69 unfurls itself, cramped and barely able to move from the stiffness, and crawls over to its box, climbing up and over the top. It curls up inside.

It's safe again. It's safe. It's darker and softer and safer.

"There we are. Here's a blanket in case you need one, and you can eat when we get to my house. I didn't bring any food because I didn't know if you get carsick. I'll take your lid with me, obviously, but I'm leaving it off for now, if you're okay with that. So you can see out if you like. Ready to go?"

Alix peers over the top of its box and it blinks, unsure of what's going on. All it knows is that it's being moved again and hopefully that place will be better than this one. Even though she's still not its owner, he's still not going where he should be, and what's going on?

"Great. Let's get out of here."

It's carried for a bit before the voice from days ago says hesitantly, "Alix? About this... um, thank you. I know you don't have much space."

"We have a spare room at the moment. And even if we didn't, we'd make do. Don't thank me, just... look, find someone better than Christians Against Pets to teach you this stuff, okay? You've got a good heart, good instincts. You just need to learn how to use them."

"They didn't want to help O69 at all," she sniffles.

"Yeah. They do that with Romantics. WRU allows them to exist as a rehabilitation group, think about why they'd choose them, specifically, as cover. What WRU can do, knowing where they are, where they can find a supply of unwanted and probably undefended Romantics. Find somewhere else to train, and I hope I see you again soon."

"You too. O69? I'm sorry."

O69 doesn't know what to say to that, even if it could speak.

Alix lifts its box higher in her arms and carries it outside.

"I'm going to set you down in the car now. Passenger seat. The roof's down, hopefully you can feel a breeze in there."

Alix sets it down and starts up the engine. It can see white fluffy clouds and blue skies above, the tops of green and brown trees flitting past. A flock of gangly birds honk as they pass overhead.

"Canada geese," she explains. Then she sighs, and says, "There's one of my housemates. We'll pick them up, you can meet them." Then she raises her voice and, in a knife-edge tone that makes O flinch despite itself, yells, "Bug!"

There's a moment of silence, before an indignant, "You nearly made me drop the shopping!"

"Come on, get in. Come and meet your newest housemate."

Someone flops into the back seat. "Gonna be a bit cold with the top down, isn't it?"

"You picked the car," Alix says long-sufferingly.

"I was trying to see if you'd actually buy it."

There's a pause, then Alix says quietly, "I'll always take your advice, Bug. You know that."

There's the sound of someone clearing their throat. The new voice is rougher now, like grating sand. "Who am I meeting then? Why are they in a box still?" asks Bug warily, tightly. Like a coiled-up spring.

"Bug, this is O, it/its. O, Adalia, they/them, sometimes known as Bug. Mostly by me. And O's in the box because it wants to stay there."

"Oh. Okay. Hi O. Romantic?"

O feels like it can hear Alix grimace. "Not just Romantic. Here." Papers are tossed and flicked through.

"Fuck," says Adalia. "Those monsters. I'm glad we have you now, O. You'll be safe with us. I'll make sure of it."

The way Adalia says it makes O seem certain they will. But it doesn't know what their version of safety is.

"O, when it comes to your box, you'll need to leave it fairly soon to have a wash, and so we can cover any possibly-unsafe parts of the inside. You can keep it in sight at all times though, and that's the only time I'll ask it of you. You won't have to leave it again, not until you want to, and I mean you, not me. I won't remove it from your sight, and I won't pull you from it, not even to wash."

"You'll start to smell if you don't wash though."

Alix sighs. "Bug."

No. No. She promised.

"You okay in there, O?" asks Adalia. O doesn't respond. It can't. "O, breathe. I bet you're struggling with that. It's okay. I used to be a pet, don't know if you can tell. Alix is good at this. She keeps her word. And if she doesn't, I'll punch her."

O takes a deep, slow breath. It thought it could hear something in their voice.

"Eat this."

A hand reaches in, not Alix's, this one is brown, and gives O an... an apple? O gets an apple? They bite down on it, closing their eyes blissfully (oh it's so sweet, and juicy, it's so good), almost missing the grinning face above.

"Hi. I'm Adalia. Or Bug. I'm not picky. It's nice to meet you. I'd like to be your friend."

And O thinks, so long as it can stay safe in here for as long as it likes, that it would like to be their friend too.

It doesn't know what a friend is, not exactly. But the word feels warm, and it would like that warmth.

"I have a present for you. Here."

They place something soft gently into its other hand. It looks at it closely. It's a small toy bear, looking resplendent in a tiny rainbow sweater.

It's lovely. O's eyes water. Must be the weather. Though it doesn't know why that would be, or why it would think the weather could affect it like that.

O squeezes the teddy and lets go, squeezes and lets go, squeezes and lets go. Again and again and again, over and over it does so, thinking and thinking about the warmth that being Adalia's friend might bring.

[queers-gambit]

HELLO!! I LOVE YOUR WRITING SO MUCH I DO NOT REGRET READING ALL YOUR WORKS FOR THE PAST FEW HOURS HUEHEEUEHEUE

I also really love how you write Aemond and so with that in mind, how would he react if ever in a very unlucky world, he would lose both his child and wife at childbirth (not like viserys where he was given a choice) but bec it just didnt end well esp when pregnancies doesnt really guarantee a safe delivery all the time

oh, that's a lot of reading, poppet! take a break!! (but thank you so much, you're so cute, i love you)

oh, you want ANGST angst? let's get into this - where's my coffee?

[ When Pride Married Prejudice ]

[ following this post // this post // this post ]

this post contains potentially triggering content as we discuss the labors of childbirth, and a very small skimming of what can go wrong. i want everyone to proceed with maturity and caution.

this is NOT part of the WPMP storyline, just a hypothetical.

When he finds out sweet girl is pregnant, the lad is running around as if his head has been cut off - trying to read and learn as much as he could. He'll spend hours in the library and return to your chambers with a few particularly interesting tomes, asking her if you knew about this and that while being pregnant.

He learns about the good, he learns about the bad.

He prepares for what can go right, for what can go wrong.

Yet nothing can truly prepare him for the harsh, mind-numbing reality that he faces. It's so much easier to blame something; be it an inexperienced Maester, or even something tangible - like the baby being flipped the wrong way.

Not something as simple, yet unstoppable, as herniating a blood clot and bleeding out whilst the child wriggled in distress and eventually coiled the umbilical cord around its neck.

He's kept from the birthing chambers originally, and the Maesters only allow Alicent and your hand maiden, Amira, in the room for moral support. He listens to you scream and cry in pain for a solid day and a half, until, things go quiet.

Unusually quiet.

Eerily quiet.

Heart-pounding quiet.

Aemond remains in the hall with Aegon, who had come to check on his brother and offer company, only to be present when all sounds from the birthing chamber suddenly stop. Aegon foolishly claps his brother on the shoulder and congratulates him, assuring the cease in noise was a good sign and meant the baby must've been born.

They wait another hour or more with false hope.

When the door finally cracks open, Aemond takes on look at his mother and knows something terrible has happened. She'll keep the door cracked to prevent him sight, but all is lost when there comes a procession of midwives - all clutching heavily bloodied rags close to their chest. His eye fills with tears and meets the weary gaze of his mother, and all she can muster is, "Come inside, Aemond. You should say goodbye."

"What's happened?" He demands, but there's an unspoken understanding settling over them all.

"Come say goodbye," she whispers again and opens the door for him. There's three different Maesters, plus the Grand Maester, all waiting with bowed head - standing in a line as if to greet the Prince.

Their robes are all soiled in blood, and there, in the middle of the room, laid his wife - his sweet girl - in puddles of her own life's liquid. It soaks into the mattress, blooms into the sheets laying over your cool, stoic form; and there, at the bottom of the bed, laid a bundle.

He's quiet as he assess the room and quickly understands that more blood dripped off the mattress than laid in your body. He hears Alicent and Aegon at the door, but demands again, "What happened?"

One of the Maesters slowly steps up and explains that sometimes, during birth, the stress is too much on the body and there are certain circumstances that nobody can avoid - or help. One, being when the bleeding to too great - a tear located internally that cannot be seen. The baby then went into distress and eventually choked in the womb, being born with the cord around it's neck.

When Aemond carefully pulls the cloth bundle from his baby's face, he'll freeze when he notes the purplish hue coating the pale skin of the babe. In fact, the whole of it looks darkened with bruises and he feels his heart crack right down the middle.

As the Maester explains in depth what went wrong, the Prince slowly approaches your side and kneels. He'll tilt your head towards him and just wait, thinking this was all a bad dream and not truly real; mind reeling to bring forth the facts about births-gone-wrong.

Yet nothing in his mind will comfort him as he slowly takes up your hand. It's cool, not yet cold, but not warmed like your usual touch. Your fingers are stiff and rigid, making him frown as he tries to lace your fingers together for a final time.

His heart officially breaks.

"Why couldn't you save her?" He asks the room when it goes silent, staring at your face.

"Sometimes, there's nothing, even the most trained hand, can do," the Maester explained.

He nods slowly and leans down to press a parting kiss to your forehead. It's still not real, but his temper is flaring as he lets go of you to turn and stare menacingly at the Maester. His mother and brother are on high alert, understanding the dangerous glint in his eyes meant he was beyond words and rational thought.

"Are you?" Aemond grits.

"Am I what, my Prince?" The Maester trembles.

"The most trained hand?"

"W-Well, n-no, I would imagine there's a great deal more skilled than I," the Maester stuttered, glancing to the Queen for help.

"Then there is no use for you," Aemond sighed, blinking once, and brandishing his dagger to stab the Maester's chest. He holds the dying man for a moment before wrenching his knife free and lets the body drop to the floor. "And you?" He demands of the other Maesters. "Which of you will assume responsibility for this?"

"My Prince, sometimes, a woman's body only - "

"Do not try to blame this one her," Aemond seethed, turning to the Maester who dared speak. "This was not her doing - it was your job to protect her!" He yells as he drives his dagger into the second Maester, twisting it deeper.

Seemingly realizing their fate, the others shuffle back a few steps.

"It was your job t-to protect her in this," he pants, confusion warping his mind as guilt soon plunges his stomach. "I should've been here."

"No, Aemond, there was nothing you could have done," his mother tries to insist.

"I am her husband," his voice cracks with emotion, glaring at his mother, "and I could protect her from much more. I just should've been here for her..." His gaze turns back to the bed, choking, "She was alone... She died alone."

"She wasn't," Amira, who stood crying in the corner, finally spoke. Aemond silenced himself at the sight of her, looking shroud into the corner as she withdrew into herself at the loss of her Lady; at the loss of her friend. "She wasn't alone... I-I was here with her."

"The whole time," Alicent promised Aemond softly.

"A-And should it bring your comfort, my Prince," Amira whispered, but it was like her voice echoed across the room, "I reminded her of your love until the end... And selfishly, of my love, too."

Aemond felt the emotional dam in his chest give way. He'll hold his breath for a moment and let it out, shakily, as he nods at the older woman, "You were always like family to her... I'm glad if it wasn't me, it was you with her."

"Me too," Amira whispered before breaking down in a sob.

For some reason, Aemond's feet carried him towards the corner and lowered himself to where the maid had sank to the floor. When his arm came around her shoulder for comfort, Amira was turning to cling onto his neck and sob.

"I want her back," the woman grieved.

"Me too, Mira," Aemond assured, his own tears starting.

"Come," Aegon directed his mother and remaining Maesters, "let us give them privacy, time to say goodbye."

Aemond wanted to shout his thanks but it felt wrong. Why did he need to thank anyone for leaving him alone to say goodbye to his wife?

Amira sobbed without pause for the better part of an hour, and Aemond just silently held her. Offering nothing but his arms for comfort, the words lacking him. But then, like a switch, Amira was pulling away and apologizing. "For what?" Aemond muttered.

"You just lost your wife and child," she whispered, wiping her face, "and yet sit here, comforting me... No, it should be the other way around."

"In truth, Amira?" She nodded. "I do not think there is any comfort for me. Not anymore," his gaze turns back to the bed, "not without her. I do not know what to think other than this is not real."

"I wish is wasn't," Mira nodded. "But it is our reality."

Amira eventually collects herself and leaves the room, too. Aemond slowly, so very slowly, gets to his feet and nears the drying-bed. He'll once more kneel and take your hand, laying a kiss to the back of it. "C'mon," he'll quietly encourage, "you can't be gone, my love. You've gotta get up, okay? You've gotta get up, sweet girl, I can't do this alone. I need you. Hear me?" He squeezes your hand but there's no response. "This... Cannot be," he'll whisper in defeat, bowing his head at last, and sobs horrible sobs into the bedside.

His brother, who had ushered everyone else away, is the only one left in the hall to hear Aemond sob, beg his wife to come back, swear he loved her; promising to do better - as if she died because he wasn't husband enough. As if he wasn't man enough.

At the funeral, Aemond stands alone. There's something akin to guilt that plunges his stomach to his feet and he'll want to isolate himself. His family doesn't think it's a good idea but there's never a time to approach him; he's always alone, always lost in thought. He's angry and takes it out on anyone who tries to speak to him.

Kasta burns your body, and that of your child. Aemond sets her free after that.

He'll become reclusive to the library, ignoring all other responsibilities. You thought he read everything before the pregnancy? Well, now that his wife is gone, he'll read anything he can about the complications of birth.

Some blame the father's seed. Some blame the mother's womb. Some blame wine or ales ingested during pregnancy. And some cite the Gods for playing their hand.

Either way, Aemond began to slowly understand that these kinds of accidents can happen - and there's never any one person to blame because they are simply that: an accident. He'll read until he's cross-eyed, and Amira often finds him face-down in a book, asleep on the library's table top with a single candle burning.

She becomes his hand-maiden because Amira is the only one Aemond can bare talking to you about. He needs someone to understand how incredible you were and what your absence has done to him, and Amira's always there for him.

She feels the obligation after your passing.

She sees the way in which Aemond is falling apart at the seams.

So, she'll make it her personal mission to make sure he's cared for. She's a little harsher with him then others, but it gets him to eat most days and she's satisfied enough in that.

Yet, Aemond won't talk to anyone else really. Not his mother, not his sister; not Otto, not even Cole. Aegon was overly sympathetic to Aemond's pain and lightened up on the jokes and hardened demeanor he showed his brother. Yet, he did not hesitate to send Aemond into the chaos of war.

However, it proved useful, as Aemond was ruthless in the heat of battle. All his anger is channeled into this war and Vhagar feels it. She's noted the absence of her master's wife, and from the feelings of overwhelming sadness coming from him, she understands something's happened to you. He becomes a shell of himself, but that could be expected, since it was you, his sweet girl, his darling wife, who broke him out of his original shell all those years ago.

Now there's nothing left but Aemond's anger - and his love, which has no wife nor child to go towards. It morphs into self-loathing because despite understanding the complications, Aemond cannot shake the idea of saving you when you needed it most, and it eats away at his soul.

[balbigalum]

pls pls pleaseeeee a part 2 for the stark reader x aegon flower crown fic it was so cute !!

(okay i'm trying my best with aegon's characterization! lol as always my little blurbs are not beta-read so if there is any mistake let me know)

(first part)

You didn’t hear much from Aegon after your encounter by the tree with the shield. You had told the tale giggling to your younger brother but your father was right, your mother didn’t take it as well. She had told you that’s not appropriate behavior for a lady below the neck, you could do as you pleased in Winterfell, but not here and not in front of the king. You apologized deeply to her and she made you promise by the old gods that you’d behave. Nobody else had seemed to notice that you were the one jousting at the tourney.

Night had fallen and you had to attend the feast for the night, the tourney was going strong on its third day. You sat by the northerner lords and ladies and decided to enjoy your evening. You were wearing a dress in the colors of your mother’s maiden house, House Blackwood, red and black, a direwolf sigil on your necklace. Your hair was down, as it was often used in the north, another thing southerner ladies looked down upon, another thing you did not care about. 

You were sipping ale quietly when you felt a hand on your shoulder, you looked at the owner of it and gulped. “Prince Aemond,” You said surprised. “Will you join me on a dance, my lady?” He asked while offering his hand, you knew better than to say no.

Dancing wasn’t one of your strongest skills but you were not bad at it, you moved following Aemond’s lead. He allowed a small hum escape his lips.

“Where were you yesterday, Lady Stark?” He asked. You knew what he was talking about, you were not sure about his intentions, to you it was a silly game, but maybe the Targaryens were deranged enough to think of it as a direct insult. 

“Enjoying the tourney.” You said simply.

“Mhm… I don’t recall seeing you cheering with your family. I would remember otherwise, you have a face that is hard to forget.” 

“Well, I remember seeing you. Maybe you did forget my face.” You said it like it was nothing. He smiled, he found it amusing, you were safe. He gave a quick look around.

“Come with me.” He said.

He grabbed your hand and dragged you across the feast, away from the crowd. It was a surprise to see the young prince act his age for once, finally he came to a stop.

“What are your intentions with my brother?” He questioned, not the prince, his brother. You let your thoughts rush in, what were your intentions truly? You did not come to the tourney thinking of him, to be honest you had never seen the prince in your life. You knew of his reputation but there was something that made you wanna be closer to him, to observe him. 

“How well does your brother tolerate the cold?” You asked, a mischievous smile in your lips.

“Poorly… Like a wet cat.” Aemond said complicit. “Second chamber on the left after you go up the main stairs.” He told you and walked away.

You were left alone, Harrenhal standing deformed and dark in front of you, it did not matter how many flowers they had put across the main door and walls, Harrenhal stood like a monster. The guards allowed you into the melted castle without many questions, perks of being the daughter of the Warden of the North, and made your way following the instructions Aemond had given you. You wondered how much Aegon knew about this, maybe it was a plan manufactured purely by Aemond, still you did not find yourself anxious of facing the older prince.

You found him where Aemond had told you you’d find him.

Over a dark green velvet sofa laid Prince Aegon, he had a cup in his hand which made you frown, you were unsure if you had ever seen the prince fully sober. His snowy hair was slightly messy, he was wearing his undershirt and briefs and nothing else. And then you saw it… On top of the nightstand the flower crown you had given him the day before, black and red, like his house, like your dress. You made your way to it and picked it up.

You let the crown rest on top of his head, he looked angelical. He finally opened his eyes, shock wore off quickly when he saw it was you, you smiled at him softly and he mirrored you. You took the cup from out of his hand and set it on the ground, joining him on the couch. 

“I told you the crown fits you just fine.” You said and allowed a hand to pet his cheek, he leaned into the touch like a cat. “Why are you here all by yourself? There is a feast downstairs if you didn’t know.”

“I don’t like people.” He said and it sounded like a complaint closer to a child’s tantrum.

“Those are your people, your family rules over them.” 

“I know,” He whined, you couldn’t look away from him, the crown was laying messy on his head, his purple eyes looked deeper than ever, he was as beautiful as a summer snow. “But I’m not like my family, I never know what to say, I always make a fool of myself.”

“I don’t think you are a fool.”

“You don’t?”

“No, I think you are the prince of love and beauty… I beated a Tyrell just to give you that title, I will knock anybody off their horses if they don’t agree.” He gave a small chuckle, you decided you loved to see a smile on his face. He looked at you, attentive, waiting...

“Will you kiss me?” He asked. You could get lost in his purple eyes, everything about him seemed so addicting right now illuminated by the small fire burning, the full moon letting herself in through the window, her silver light almost the same shade as his locks. 

You closed the gap between the two of you, you could feel his crown falling off his head but you couldn’t find it in you to care, he kissed softly and pleading, you made the kiss deeper and he made a sweet sound that you took in willingly. His hands were now trying to find their way on your body, your arms and your waist, fingers playing with the red embroidery of your dress. You pulled apart, his eyes were glassy and his smile was wide.

“Sleep with me today, here in my chamber.” He said, his hand found its way into your hair playing with it. “Please, my lady?” His voice was vulnerable now, you realized there were a lot of vulnerable parts to him. You wondered if he ever felt stronger when he had his dragon around, if the rumors about Targaryens and their dragons were real. The look on his face filled you with pity, you wanted to hold him closer, take him to the north. He just needed to be away from the deafening sound of the court. You nodded, you’d stay, at least for tonight.

(third part)

[brutallycarnage]

Tate Langdon x Reader

Payphone Memories (Episode 1)

TW: Gun violence, gore, Tate Langdon is a warning himself

Pair: Tate Langdon x Reader

Prologue 

The payphone is where I remember spending a large portion of my high school career. It was separated from most of the school, off in a hallway that led to a dead end. In fact, there were two payphones. It was a big fancy L.A school after all. The more popular payphone was near the cafeteria. Of course, this one had its fair share of use.. But, during classes, nobody really showed up around here. Which made it prime for hiding from classes. Tate and I spent a lot of time on this payphone. His mother didn’t work so it was typical of her to use up all their hours on their personal line at Tate’s house. At mine, however, we didn’t exactly have the money to make phone calls all willy-nilly. We really liked to make prank calls. Nobody was safe, and we especially loved to mess with his mothers boyfriend, Larry. Sometimes, I feel myself really missing those times. Leaning against the tiles of the wall, cold to the touch. Tate, his beautiful eyes - the way they crinkled up and shined in the light when he laughed. The dimples of his cheeks, sitting in his room at night, blasting Nirvana or Blondie. Man, Tate hated listening to Blondie. He owned it on cassette for me though. That’s what worked about Tate and I; our abilities to adapt for each other. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love Nirvana! I’m just a sucker for punk music. As time went on though, we began to fight more. Tate got involved with some bad habits, so I tried to get him help. He didn’t want it though, he didn’t think anything was wrong. Eventually, he ended up just.. Snapping, at some point or another. I never wanted to break up with Tate Langdon, but after he changed from the sweet, innocent boy I grew up with, it wasn’t healthy for either of us to continue seeing each other. He grew more angrier, more hateful by the day. Of course, that was an effect of his addiction. He didn’t think I noticed the way his nose always ran now, and the rapid weight loss he exhibited. In part, I could understand why. His little sister Rose died from complications to her autoimmune disease a few years prior, and so did his little brother Bo. But obviously, it wasn’t an excuse for the way he treated me. Every little thing I did set him off. He screamed at me once for breathing too loudly. I try to push the fonder memories forward, like the time I caught him listening to Heart of Glass when I showed up to surprise him one evening. I never let him live it down.

Present Day

(Third Person)

Ring, Ring. Ring, Ring. Vivienne turned around to glance at the landline on the wall. The ringing interrupted her fruitful efforts to get the kitchen clean.  ‘Strange’ She thought to herself. ‘We never paid for a landline. Maybe Ben did without telling me? I know Violet’s into all that nostalgic stuff.’ Vivienne’s hand meets with the cool sage green plastic. She pulls it off of the receiver, and holds the phone to her ear. “Hello..?” Vivienne says with confusion. “Oh, uh, hi! Sorry, I was sort of expecting someone else.” A soft voice spoke up over the phone, one of female origin. Vivienne assumed it may have been one of Violet’s school friends or Ben’s patients. She sounded quite young.  The phone tone distorted her voice, making it sound crackly. “Oh, no worries sweetie! Who are you trying to reach? I can take a message.” Vivienne said, leaning against the wall. “Oh uh, an old friend used to live here. I was just calling to talk. Are you the new owners of their house?” “Uh, Yes! We just moved in a little while ago. Are you in the neighborhood? I think I have a daughter in your age range.” “You could say that. My parents are pretty strict, so I’m not allowed out of the house very often.” “Well, if you ever need a friend, my daughter Violet I’m sure would be happy to hang out with you!” “Thank you miss..?” “Call me Viv, Viv Harmon. And you?” “Y/N.” “Well, Y/N, it’s nice to informally meet you. I have to go now, but don’t be a stranger. Bye bye!” “Bye.” Click. Ben enters the kitchen, admiring his wife and the now clean counters and appliances. “Hey Viv, who were you talking to?” Ben says, wrapping his arms around Vivienne and looking over her shoulder to watch her wash the dishes. Vivienne gestures over to the landline, still paying attention to the dishes in the sink. “Oh, a girl from the neighborhood called. She was curious about who had moved in.” “Uh, the landline.. Works? Did you get it set up?” Vivienne turns around quickly, confused. “Uh, no. I thought you did? Yeah, she called it.” Ben walked over to the landline, pulling the phone off the receiver and test dialing on the keypads. Nothing. The line didn’t work. “Viv.. Are you.. Sure?” And thus, another argument broke out between the oldest members of the Harmon family.

Y/N leans against the cool tile once more, letting the phone hang off the receiver, listening to the ringing. She was desperate for some sort of mental stimulation that wasn’t the sealed-off school hall she currently sat in. Of course, it wasn’t actually 1994 anymore. Those memories she recalled have been rehearsed and repeated in her head for 17 years now, she wasn’t even sure if they were right at this point. Was Tate who she remembered him to be? Had he been that awful all along? Was she clinging onto something good to keep up hope? She wasn’t entirely convinced. Had she even ever existed at all? She hated when she felt like this. One more time, one more time she’d go over what happened. Then she’d stop, but she needed to do it one more time, just to make sure she still remembered all the details. Gunshot blasts, the smell of blood, Tate.. No.. No.. Tate, then gunshot blasts. Or was it blood first? She felt hopelessly lost as she anxiously picked at her blood caked cuticles. She inhaled, trying to calm herself. Tate.. Gunshots.. Blood.. Yeah, that feels right.

Trigger Warning: Gun Violence (will not impact the story if you skip it! Please keep yourself safe <3)

Y/N opens her eyes, she feels her heart hammer in her chest. She’s desperately loading change into the payphone, poking at the buttons. 9..1…1.. She feels a little bit of relief as the phone rings and picks up almost immediately. “911, what’s your emergency?” A feminine voice rumbles in her ear. Y/N keeps a hushed voice, eyes glued on the only entrance way into the hall. “Someone’s shooting in my school. We need the police-” The doors swing open. Tate. No, no.. Please, let him be okay. Why did he have blood on him? Did he get hurt?

Trigger Warning over!

Y/N feels a pair of hands on her shoulders, shaking her gently. A concerned looking Stephanie Boggs was greeting her gaze. “Hey, you okay? You were just.. Standing here?” Stephanie says, tilting her head. “Yeah.. Yeah.. It’s just.. The flashbacks are happening again. I called again, Steph. I don’t know why I did. Someone else lives in the house now.” She stammers, leaning into Stephanie’s firm hold. Stephanie kept her mouth shut. She didn’t know Tate before the massacre, she knew it was hard to deal with just dealing with being murdered in general. She couldn’t imagine it being someone she loved. Stephanie took a moment to take in her friend's appearance. Y/N had three visible gunshot wounds. The first being on the left side of her chest, second in her neck and third splitting open the side of her jawline. Her s/c was stained with dry blood, along with the ends of her h/c hair. “Everything is starting to get to me again. I thought I was okay with all of this now.” Y/N waved her arm in reference to the payphone, avoiding eye contact with Stephanie. “You always get antsy like this near halloween. Doesn’t help that you’re tethered to this fuck-ass phone 364 days out of the year. Just think, 4 more days and we can go do something fun during the day. Maybe this year is the year Langdon decides to speak up when we confront him. Closure, or whatever.” Stephanie tried distracting her, unsure if it was working. Y/N shook her head in a ‘no’ motion, “This is different, Steph. Something is going to happen. I haven’t felt this pull in a decade.” Stephanie frowned in response, letting go of Y/N and walking down the hall towards the exit. And just like that, alone again. Y/N remembers the first year the massacre had occurred. People she didn’t know stopped by a lot and left flowers and small trinkets as offerings. Each student that year got a vigil where they passed away on their birthdays. It was nice not to be alone. To see some life in these dark hallways. Of course, as the years went on, nobody visited much anymore. Just the occasional odd teenager looking to ghost hunt or write a history report. There was a plaque with her name on it next to the payphone now. With the rise of technology, she supposed there was no use for the payphone anymore anyways. She figured with the time she had to think until Halloween, she’d plan out what she’d say to Tate on Halloween.

A/N: Howdy! This is my first ever fic! I will be making the chapters longer as I get more practice. But I hope you liked it!

[midnightraine131]

Love Letters from the Skies to the West Coast Chapter 6 - Leap of Faith

Pairing: Armin Arlert/Annie Leonhart Cover art by: @klaradraws Tags: Fluff, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Teenage Love, Awkward First Times, Slow Burn, POV Armin Arlert, Bottom Armin Arlert, Wet Dreams Warning: R18 contains sensitive topics Summary: They say the most judgmental people are those who attend church on Sundays. Despite growing up in a Christian household, Armin Arlert felt overburdened by the pile of ministry activities assigned to him. So he made a pact with himself to never follow in his father's footsteps and become a pastor. With the goal of saving enough money to persuade his parents to let him move to another state after high school, he started accepting paid essay projects in school in secret. Everything in Armin's busy life seemed manageable until he met Annie Leonhart, a Californian girl whose parents had moved her against her will to Vermont. Upon discovering Armin's secret business, Annie approached him with a unique request- to write love letters for a long-distance lover. To craft the perfect love letters, she would help Armin embark on a journey of firsts— his first kiss, first hug, first date, and first everything in a relationship.

Dear Love,   How are you? How is everyone in Vermont? It feels like forever since I last laid eyes on your handsome face. I ache to feel your lips on mine under the moonlight, with my fingers trembling as they trace your cheek. I am writing this letter on the train somewhere in Ohio, unsure if this letter will ever find its way to you. We're hopping from town to town, praying for a safe haven where nobody cares about who we are. My mother and I had probably reached Louisiana by the time you opened this letter. It tears me apart knowing you might not even get the chance to write back. I yearn for your presence, my love, especially in these turbulent times. Here's hoping that in a few years, fate brings us back together, closing the chasm of distance between our hearts.   I love you and I’m writing this with all the love in my heart.   Yours forever darling, Brigitte Wilhelm Richter  

Hitch flipped the envelope, her tired green eyes examining the small piece of paper that had turned brittle and yellowish over time. She read, “To Stephen Arlert.” Carefully, she placed the letters back inside the box, looking up at the ceiling, digesting the contents of the letter in her mind. She commented, “I can’t believe sixteen-year-olds could write this kind of letter back in the day.”

Armin hummed, laying down on his stomach as he plucked a strand of hair from Hitch’s armpit. “Those were the letters my great-grandma sent to my great-grandpa during the war. And PS! Grandpa told me his mother was older than his father. According to him, she told everyone that she was sixteen by the time they met when her family moved here to the States from Germany— when in reality she was twenty-one.”

“Oh really? Okay, if someone dares to pull that lie off, it’s gonna be jail time in our generation,” Hitch retorted, adjusting her crop top cami to cover the upper half of her already exposed tummy.

“I know. I mean, what else can they do? It’s 1944,” Armin said, wiping the tweezer with a tissue before signaling Hitch to move to the other side so he could work on her left armpit.

The ash blonde shifted her position on the bed, twisting the white sheets on her back. The door to Armin’s room was left wide open, as his mother instructed before both teenagers climbed up to his room. Armin rolled his eyes, thinking as if they would do something more than they were allowed to.

Armin had texted Annie the night before about Hitch staying over to finish all the activities they had to prepare for the camp.

Annie: Oh, caramel drizzle girl will be taking my spot on your bed?

Armin: No, she has no plans to sleep tonight and I guess I’m part of her plans too. How’s Arnie?

Annie: I left her in Levi’s care while we were away for the weekend. Hange said she introduced Arnie to her other kittens so she would have playmates while staying in their house. They look like they're getting along well.

Annie sent a video of their kitten playing with a small pingpong ball with other kittens. Arnie’s look had drastically changed since the time Armin took her home. Her fur had finally turned pure white, like the color of clouds, as if she were a cotton ball running around with other kittens. Armin smiled while watching the video.

Armin: She’s so cute! Anyway, I can’t wait to see you at the camp tomorrow, Annie.

Annie: Good night.

Armin debated inside his head whether to reply to her last message, but eventually, he decided to leave it read. He didn’t want her to assume that he was desperate to invite her into the church.

Hitch placed their phones together on the nightstand so they wouldn’t distract them while they worked throughout the night. It was about three in the morning when they finished all the tasks, but as both thought of themselves as geniuses, they both agreed to completely brush off the thought of resting since it would only take two hours before Armin’s mom woke up to prepare breakfast for them.

“So, you’re telling me someone commissions you to write love letters?” Hitch continued, closing her eyes while she talked. “Doesn’t he have the balls to write his feelings of his own?”

“Why would you assume it’s a boy? Anyway, it’s a hundred bucks each letter, so I have no reason to say no,” Armin shrugged his shoulders.

“Because… you said… the name of the recipient is Mina Carolina.” Hitch’s eyes flew open after the realization. “Oh, now I get it. This person is a ‘she’ who likes girls.”

Armin nodded, feeling his heart ripping apart. He was as shocked as she was when Annie mentioned the name of the person she wanted to write letters to.

“How do you always get yourself involved with gay women? I mean, Ymir? Historia?” Hitch elaborated, unintentionally rubbing salt into the wound. Armin decided not to tell her what happened to them, so he hid the pain upon hearing their names.

“I just want to help her, Hitch.”

Armin’s eyes glanced lazily at the clock. 5:15 am. He sighed before refocusing his attention on his task on Hitch’s armpits, but his eyes landed on her cleavage instead. She had pulled her cami too low, exposing a part of her chest. Hitch was indeed beautiful with a body type every boy his age would fantasize about, but Armin didn’t feel that way. He was completely self-aware that she didn’t give him the same feeling he got when Annie was around.

Maybe he likes gay women?

Armin suddenly flinched, startled at the thought. He accidentally pinched Hitch’s skin with the tweezer, causing the ash blonde to squeal in pain.

“What the heck, Armin! Are you trying to rip my skin off?” Hitch jumped to her feet and ran to the mirror to check her armpit. There was a small part of her skin where the tweezer had left a soft pink mark. She massaged it with her fingers.

“I’m sorry!” Armin immediately apologized. “I’ll be careful this time. Just three more strands left, then I’m done.” He signaled for her to come back to his bed, which Hitch complied with, though she was glaring at him while he smiled.

“If you do it one more time, I will stab you with that tweezer.”

“That’s so un-Christian of you,” Armin teased.

No, it’s rather un-Christian of him to be infatuated with a girl who likes girls, and it’s driving him crazy internally. Armin used every fiber of his being not to think about it, to convince himself that it’s not appropriate.

Not long after he plucked the last strand, they both heard one of the phones on the nightstand vibrate. Not knowing whose phone it was, both teenagers exchanged glances, mentally challenging each other.

Hitch's reflexes were always faster than the blond boy's, so she flipped him down onto the bed before jumping toward the nightstand. Her actions shook Armin, but he wasn't the type to give up easily, so he wrapped his arms around her thin waist and pulled her backward. Her hands gripped tightly on the bed sheets, but it didn’t help her stay in place. She heard a loud thud on the carpeted floor when Armin jumped over her body to take his phone.

Panting, Armin unlocked his phone to check for messages, the faint light of the screen illuminating his face.

Defeated, Hitch crawled to the nightstand to take her phone, finding no messages in it. “You’re a boy! You should be a little gentle with girls like me, geez!” she ranted.

“You started it!” Armin chuckled.

Hitch knew that chuckle came from a different reason. Growing up with Armin, she knew he didn’t usually smile with a sparkle in his eyes without a reason. It must be the person who texted him, and Hitch would kill to know the person behind that smile.

Like a vicious animal, she jumped onto him, causing him to yelp from the unexpected attack as he was dragged to the floor with the taller girl’s body. Her weight pinned him to the floor. Their bodies were so close to each other that if someone caught them in this position, one might mistake them for doing something inappropriate. But…

He is dense.

She is naïve.

And in their awareness, they just fight like siblings.

“Who texted you? Show me. Show me!” Hitch shook him like a little girl wanting a toy.

“Alright! Alright! It’s just Eren!” Armin turned his phone directly into Hitch’s face, her eyes squinting at the sudden burst of light.

Eren: Armin, can I borrow your power bank? I can’t find mine, and mom is nagging like crazy!

Hitch read out loud before clicking her tongue. “How disappointing,” she muttered before hearing Armin’s mother call out from the kitchen. “Kids! Breakfast is ready!”

Armin watched the ash blonde stand on her feet, dust off her clothes, and leave to go downstairs. He, still lying on the floor, quickly looked back at his phone to check the message before smiling again.

Annie: Good morning, Tiger.

Armin hugged his phone to his chest as he stared at the ceiling, letting himself drown in his feelings.

Oh Lord, why did he have to feel this way about the wrong person?

“Armin, honey?” his mother called again.

“Yes, mom. I’m coming!”

-Read more on Ao3-

[tothestarsinvelaris]

(please no spoilers if interacting w/ this post. i have somehow avoided all TOG spoilers and know nothing more than the lil blurb on the back of the book and what i have read so far. thx <3)

{Just finished chapter 61 in Kingdom of Ash}

My heart has been racing for 3 painfully long chapters and I'm sobbing and I'm not okay!

spoilers below - its a rambling mess because processing info is hard rn!!

Lorcan is literally one of my faves. like... all the male characters are great, but he is really up there for me and I have never been so damn scared in my life after this man ran into battle and got cut down with his last thoughts being that nobody cared if he made it off the battle field... and then Elide was the only one who even noticed he hadn't made it back?!

Her screaming his name over and over, taking Farasha to get him. Hellas guarding Lorcan, Anneith, his consort, watching over Elide all this time. Farasha being called Hellas's horse!!!! stopppp!!!

Elide saying this as she's trying to get him on the horse:

"I promised to always find you. I promised you, and you promised me. I came for you because of it; I am here because of it. I am here for you, do you understand? And if we don't get on that horse now, we won't stand a chance against that dam. We will die."

and honestly, every single bit of the first page of chapter 61 broke my damn heart. I love this man so much holy shit.

She had come for him. Had found him, somehow, on this endless battlefield. His name on her lips had been a summons he could never deny, even when death had held him so gently, nestled beneath all those he'd felled, and waited for his last breaths.

and then just this whole section had me struggling to read through tears omg:

Lorcan slid his other arm around Elide, bringing his mouth close to her ear as he said, "You have to let me go." Each word was gravelly, his voice strained nearly to the point of uselessness. Elide didn't shift her focus from the keep ahead. "No." That gentle quiet flowed around him, clearing the fog of pain and battle "You have to. You have to, Elide. I'm too heavy-and without my weight, you might make it to the keep in time" "No." The salt of her tears filled his nose. Lorcan brushed his mouth over her damp cheek, ignoring the roaring pain in his body. The horse galloped and galloped, as if she might outrace death itself. "I love you," he whispered in Elide's ear. "I have loved you from the moment you picked up that axe to slay that ilken." Her tears flowed past him in the wind. "And I will be with you..." His voice broke, but he made himself say the words, the truth in his heart. "I will be with you always." He was not frightened of what would come for him once he tumbled off the horse. He was not frightened at all, if it meant her reaching the keep. So Lorcan kissed Elide's cheek again, allowed himself to breathe in her scent one last time. "I love you," he repeated, and began to withdraw his arms from around her waist.

Excuse meee???!??

this is the man who Gavriel has known for centuries and has never heard him apologize for anything.

this is the man who has been alive for over 500 years and has never once let somebody in close enough to actually care about them or let them care about him!?

ugh she saved him and he was just happy that somebody cared at all! he was at peace just knowing that she cared enough to come for him, that somebody - especially Elide - came to save him. He would die happy knowing that she was safe, knowing that she came for him.

I am not okay!!!!!

[i-mybrunettelady]

Fierce affirming sight of sunlight

Summary: Trahearne and Alysannyra spend a relaxing afternoon together. Content warnings: Implied sex and sexual situations. Minors do not interact. Rating: Mature Spoilers: None Title taken from Hozier’s song Sunlight.

Once, Trahearne loved silence. He still does, if he’s being honest; there’s something in reading alone, quiet, where the only sound is the turning of pages and an occasional meow of a cat. They have 12 cats, he can’t ever achieve the perfect silence of his early days in the Grove. He stopped classifying them as noise ages ago. 

But one thing he always has to classify as such is Nyra.

Even barefoot, she walks so forcefully that he cannot ignore the tap of her feet or the weight of her presence. Her movements are fast and efficient as she’s getting undressed to bathe. Trahearne steals a few looks before turning his attention to the book again, then he hears another piece of clothing come off and looks at her again. 

Nyra laughs when she catches him. Hair sticks to her forehead and her face is wet from sweat and water, but he still can’t look away. “Hearne,” she says as she unbuttons her pants. She’s shirtless. “To anyone else I’d have to say that my eyes are up here, though I suppose looking at my tits is less intimidating than looking me in the eye. Do I need to shake them a little to grab your attention?” 

Trahearne snorts. “We have all the time in the world, Lyss. I’m just merely going slow with the appreciation.” 

Nyra smiles gently. “If that’s the case then,” she replies and pushes her pants and underwear down in one go. Then, in all her scarred, strong and naked glory, she marches down to the tub of hot water and steps in. The low moan she lets out when it hits her probably sore muscles makes the book entirely forgotten. 

“Too bad they’re covered in water now,” she calls out once she settles in. “Didn’t get a good look when you could.”

“Do you want me to look at your breasts that badly, Lyss?” Trahearne asks as he leans over her, hands on the edges of the bathtub. She slides down further so she can get the rest of her hair wet; he watches the red claw scar on her chest disappear under the onslaught of water. She reaches a hand up and runs a soapy finger over his chin. 

“Much better,” Nyra says. Something in Trahearne shifts. 

She then sits up and leans back. On a whim, Trahearne places a tentative hand on her shoulder, the unscarred one, and presses. These last few years have been quite a steep learning curve for them both in the matters of physical intimacy, which is understandable. He remembers the late night discussions about their respective bodies, and the soft, gentle explorations of what goes and what doesn’t. 

Death takes its toll, as does rebirth. Feeling the life leave then slam back into the body is quite an experience nobody else but them shares. It takes getting used to, like new clothes that need to get accustomed to the body wearing them. Her scars have long since faded, but the skin is uneven and rough. She says it’s a reminder from Grenth of who she’d faced and what favor she’d been granted. If that makes her feel better about it, it’s a story he won’t dispute. 

Trahearne has had rough bark and darkness to contend with after Maguuma himself. It didn’t impact his eyesight much, but it was still a change he needed to get used to. His legs reminded him of dried leaves more often than not, and the year he spent learning how to use them again is something he won’t allow himself to forget. 

So his hand stays on the unmarred, safe area. Nyra looks at him and doesn’t say anything. Though her eyes are largely devoid of emotion these days, he knows she appreciates it. It’s only when she moves her hand so his fingers slide downward that he dares grip the muscle. Nyra rests her head against the edge and closes her eyes. 

They stay like that for a while, enjoying the comfortable silence.