#oh I need to update the masterpost

[emry-stars-art]

now rhat we're in hot jean autumn (aka the announcement of tsc) would you ever focus on jean's arc more in the royal au?

I have had PLENTY of thoughts about jean in the royal au ahhhhh and yes naturally most of them are angst but also. I do regularly smile to myself about jean becoming a fine metalworker and making incredible delicate jewelry and sending a few pieces as thanks/friendship/courting to Renee, take your pick the reasons (she loves them, they go on all her outfits right beside Allison’s ribbons in her hair) because of these tags that I still think about occasionally

And then the day prince/king Jeremy Knox is suddenly struck with the realization that he HAS seen this man before, despite Jean’s protests, going like “!!! Jean? Jean Moreau?? You can’t be, you’re - you’re taller!!” Because he was so used to seeing a younger, more terrified, less healthy Jean from across halls and grand dining tables at various summits between all the neighboring kingdoms. Little Evermore attendant Jean Moreau and decently-practiced Trojan blacksmith Jean Moreau are VASTLY DIFFERENT BEASTS

But lest I let you go without some angst, I do have thoughts (see: screenshots of a snippet) on Jean and Nathaniel’s relationship when they are both younger still in Evermore below the cut

Find the royal au masterpost here 💕

(Anyway also thank you @knickknacksandallthat so very much for the tags up there) 🥰

[a-sentimental-man]

Harry Potter

Baby I'm yours (until two + two is three) (Regulus/James) (i did not expect this au to blow up as much as it did, and it always holds a special place in my heart because this is the first fest i ever joined <3)

Soul-Mate Identifying Words AU: "I always knew you were meant to be a Slytherin. How did you fool the Hat?" Everyone got their Soulmate marks from the minute they were born. Regulus should have been happy to not be one of the rare people who wasn't born with a soul mark, but with the conspicuous marking on the side of his arm, equal parts salvation and damnation, he couldn't help but wish he was born without one.

i wish (i found love) (Harry/Draco)

Harry really didn't expect fourth year would turn out like this. His godfather on the run, unwillingly being entered into a death tournament, and most importantly, Draco fucking Malfoy speaking French. That, more than anything else, was driving him slowly mad. inspired by the tumblr post: goblet of fire au where draco talks to all the beauxbatons girls in fluent french and that’s the story of how harry potter lost his fucking mind

the dumb, the wild, the free (Harry/Draco)

It all started when Draco had the brilliant idea of flirting with Harry fucking Potter. Or more accurately, when he went to a summer camp for two weeks, his parents apparently determined to make him realize that he needed to survive on his own, especially since the whispers that the Dark Lord would rise had become louder and louder (Written as a prequel to I wish (I found love), but can be read as a stand-alone)

knew nothing of romance (love at second sight) (Harry/Tom) (one of my favourites!!!) (tomarry and more supernatural elements??)

Something about the forest had called to Harry ever since he had been two, him always going to the edge of the forest by himself until his parents or big brother caught him. Each of those moments, he wondered why his Mama and Papa had such odd looks on their faces, or why his brother treated him as if he would break afterward. For now, he followed the strange sensation that let him know he was going the right way, a soft tug that was comfortable and slightly hungry, though he didn't know how or why. There was a strange boy in the woods that only ever approached Harry, no one else. And there was also the matter of the lightning-bolt-shaped scar on Harry's forehead.

young god (Harry/Tom) (prequel to knew nothing - i just love tom)

Tom Riddle hadn't meant to fall in love. It hadn't really been a conscious decision—after he had seen how destructive the love - if he could call it that - between his parents had been, and how both his parents hadn't come out of it the same people they had been, he had sworn never to fall in love.

Tom Riddle, and what he came to be.

the beauty of a secret (you have to keep it) (Remus/Sirius) (first long one-shot i wrote :^))

When Remus asked Sirius to be his fake-date for them to visit his parents for the Christmas holidays, he hadn't expected it to go that well, not really. No one, least of all Remus, could have predicted how rapidly it deteriorated, especially with his long-hidden feelings that were too close to the surface.Wake Up and Notice (You're Someone You're Not) (Harry/Draco) (Unfinished and Discontinued) Draco Malfoy really didn't expect his fourth year to go like this. First, the Dark Lord comes to the Malfoy Manor, giving him no privacy and traumatic memories to last a lifetime. And now, Potter, of all people, wants to be friends with him. Voldemort, instead of going to Riddle Manor during 1994, goes to the Malfoy Manor instead. Draco or his family were never equipped to handle him in the first place. And Harry could never resist his saving people thing.

505 (Remus/Sirius)

The Hanahaki Disease, it read, is a curse that would cause its victims to discharge flowers through their mouth in the presence and when thinking of someone they love romantically, and who they believe would never be able to return their feelings. While this curse may not seem harmful at first, if left untreated, the afflicted would be forced to give up their life to the curse due to blood loss and suffocation through how the vines wrap around the victims' heart. Sirius had known this since he was eleven, eagerly expecting Hogwarts. He just hadn’t expected Remus to consume his life so utterly.

In Dreams We Speak (Tom/Harry) (The Sandman Crossover) (The sandman and tomarry, two of my favourite things)

The story of how Harry dies in the hands of Voldemort have always been set in stone. He must either die, or come back to his own life, and make of that what he will. But this time, he gets another choice: to stay and rule with Tom Marvolo Riddle, the new Dream king, who would do anything within his grasp to have Harry by his side.

could we pretend (this won't end?)

For the Prompt: Set after Deathly Hallows, ignoring the epilogue, and with Regulus already out of Hogwarts: Regulus knows better than to mess with objects in Grimmauld Place, but he has been brewing over books on Horcruxes for hours and didn't pay attention. There's a lurch and a lot of dizziness, and suddenly Grimmauld Place looks like it hasn't seen a living person in decades. There is a boy of Regulus' age though, looking exactly as exhausted and done with the world as Regulus feels. Regulus survived the cave filled with Inferi. Sometimes - like when he's hurled through time into a future that is incredibly different from his own - he couldn't help but wish he didn't.

Ending Doesn't Sound (Like the Happiest Around) (Gen)

Harry dies in the Forbidden Forest. Now his soul is stuck; he is merely a ghost, having to watch as his friends and loved ones move on without him, living the lives he didn't get a chance to, and eventually, his name becoming but a distant memory.| Avada kedavra. It was ironic, wasn't it, that the last words he expected to hear had merely only been the beginning?

On my mind girl (like a drug) (Luna/Ginny, Harry/Draco)

Ginny didn't know when her feelings for Luna became entirely non-platonic. She supposed it had been coming all along, and she, in true Weasley fashion, hadn't realized until it was right in her face.

Summertime (Remus/Sirius)

Sirius remembered when he had first met Remus; this vulnerable and precious boy who had kept catching Sirius’s eyes like no one else. He had never felt the need to be someone’s someone - his parents’ influence, mainly - but he had felt it with such intensity at that moment; to be his friend, to be his best friend, to be his so much more, to be his everything. An interlude set between Prisoner of Azkaban and Goblet of Fire.

at death's door (Gen)

There was a figure haunting Harry's every move. Somehow, he knows what it is.

A twist on the usual MOD! Harry fics.

She-Ra and the Princesses of Power

laughing till our ribs get tough (that will never be enough) - soulmate au (it’s mostly canon compliant this far, but it’s going to get more and more not in the next few chapters)

They didn't know what Soulmates were, at first. None of them knew; even Catra, who pretended she knew everything, couldn't contain her curiosity when Kyle woke up on his thirteenth birthday and gaped at Rogelio as if he had seen a ghost.Catra and Adora are Soulmates who can share their thoughts and feelings with each other. It goes as well as can be expected.

fallingforyou (sequel to the soulmate au - let's all pretend i have actually updated and haven't had a 1k draft for the next chapter on my google docs for years)

Catra didn't know how it became a thing, but she always woke up before Adora, nowadays. It might have happened somewhere between how Catra had continued staying at the Horde after she had willfully blocked their bond, and Adora had found some friends that weren't Catra and had finally learned to relax. No matter what the reason was, it still made one thing true; that Catra always, always woke up before Adora.

An interlude, after everything.

a love song for lost youth (prequel to the soulmate au)

Do you ever wonder what it's like? Adora asked after they had sat down, Catra sitting cross-legged on the floor while Adora sprawled down, paying no heed to where her arms and legs were. Catra just looked at her, for a moment, at the way Adora was staring up at the sky, a wistful expression on her face that made Catra want to take her face in her hands and whisper, I'm here, and it's okay. It was becoming increasingly harder for Catra to remain optimistic, and not wonder whether Adora would leave her behind.

This is a tie-in to my soulmate AU, but you don't have to read that to read this at all!

can we always be this close? (fake-dating au, with a surprising lack of focus on the fake-dating part)

Catra, surprisingly, had been the first one to suggest it. When Adora had complained about her mother who had been pressuring her about settling down and getting a proper boyfriend for Thanksgiving—even though Adora had told her that she was a lesbian multiple times, something in Catra had snapped. She had found herself suggesting going as Adora's date, knowing that other than Adora having a girlfriend, Adora with Catra as her girlfriend would be Adora's mother's worst fear personified. It was the perfect plan. Too bad it derailed fairly quickly.

honey, would you like to come with me? (just fluff tbh)

"You know I can see you staring at me, right?" Catra asked, and Adora was delighted to see a blush light up her dark face, knowing that she was the only one who could get under her skin like this, who knew her well enough, even after all— everything that had happened. Their fingers were still intertwined. Adora never wanted to let go.

They did it. They saved Etheria. And in the aftermath, Catra and Adora decide to live instead.

Death Note (all of these are L/Light)

Perfectly Numb (Major Character Death) (another one of my favourites!)

numb; deprive of feeling or responsiveness.

Ryuk had experienced countless dimensions before. This was the first time where L and Light never met.

it's not living if it's not with you (series) (i love soulmate aus, can you tell?)

Light Yagami was thirteen when it first happened. First, it was a slip of emotion–more of curiosity and wariness than anything else. The curiosity-only intensified when both realized what this foreign feeling was–their tentative soul bond, calling to each other. Where Light and L are soulmates who can share their thoughts and feelings with each other.

My Hero Academia (all of these are Katsuki/Izuku)

to make you bleed (only thing i wouldn't do) (series) (bkdk has a chokehold on me currently)

When Katsuki was little, he remembered listening to Izuku explaining the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice. It was one of the days when Katsuki had decided he didn't want to deal with any other people, but he had still let Izuku tag along. He still remembered how Izuku had made daisy chains while explaining the story, clearly not understanding the point of the story in the first place, but unwilling to not impart any new knowledge he had gathered. "But it's so stupid," Katsuki had said, with all the brevity of a six year old. "Why would he want to look back?" Izuku had shrugged, and settled the daisy chain on his head. Katsuki had allowed it, just this once. The look on Izuku's face when he had been allowed—surprise, delight, and fondness—had made him look away with a small "tch." At six, that was as close as he had come to understanding why.(Ten years later, he understood it much more.) The Ground Beta fight goes a bit differently. Katsuki grapples with his feelings as a result.

there's a supercut of us (MCD) (I finished reading the manga and wrote this is an hour. enough said.)

"He was so driven -” To the point that it killed him, Izuku thought, but didn't say aloud, angrily swiping back the tears that came, unbidden, to his eyes. And this was new, the anger that lurked around the edges of his heart, the urge to rage and thrash at a world that was cruel enough to let a sixteen-year-old die. “I just - I just wish we had more time. It was hard, to let go.

i wanna be yours (just straight up smut)

Katsuki couldn't help the moan that escaped his lips at that, involuntarily jerking his hips against Deku's. Deku pulled back, his eyes filled with lust and mischief. "We could always reheat it later," he said, the absolute fucking bastard. "Unless you want to stop?

MCU

if it's torn (we can stitch it up) (Artemis Fowl II/Tony) (Artemis Fowl Crossover) (i also... need to update this)

Tony and Artemis had been best friends from the minute they had met each other in a fundraising event when they were both 18. It shouldn't come as a surprise that this changed the events that were supposed to be set in stone; that Tony, really and truly, had some people who he could rely on no matter what happened, even if they weren't entirely human.

Nights were as dark as my baby (Tony/Loki)

When Tony stumbled into his favorite cafe blearily in the morning, the last thing he expected was to find a trickster god sitting in his usual place. The ensuing conversation wouldn't be the last thing he expected, but wasn't among the top either.

[bookwyrminspiration]

changed my ao3 username shaking and crying and weak in the knees

[phoenixiancrystallist]

Month 5, day 8, mah boi is done! All shaded and highlighted and nice and pretty :3 Uh, no halo for him, though >.> I'll give you three guesses what I realized I hadn't made for him when I was adding the final touches >.> First two guesses don't count >.>;

[kirby-souljourney-au]

By the way, the timeline of events mentioned in the tags of the previous post is currently in the works, and the main (actually sharable) part is basically ready to be posted!

The way I’ve decided to do this is by separating each “set” of events (so to speak) into different sections, referring to them as ‘eras’ in the document. Each era has a numbered list of events, starting at the very beginning with the birth of the Godsisters, and ending with the end of Soul Journey’s planned sequel.

So far, I’ve finished the Ancient Past (a.k.a. the Godsister Era)and the Unholy Return (a.k.a. the Eterna Hero Era), and the Yore’s Time (a.k.a. the Galacta Knight Era), and I’m about to start work on the Birth of a Starlight, or the HNK/Kirby Series Era.

After that’s all finished, it’s time to work on Soul Journey’s (the fic, this time, not just the AU itself) events!

Oh, and also, I’ll mention this real quick — each event written down has ‘dates’ set next to it, though they’re not actual dates. Rather, it’s just the amount of years that passed between the stated event and the start of the Godsister Era, being… (checks notes)… 734 billion years ago. Yeah, when I referred to their time as the Ancient Past, I meant it. These ladies are OLD.

Anyway! Separated events that happen in the same year only have the date set at the first event happening in that year. For example, Yemekkum’s sealing begins 560,000,023 years after Her birth, and Her creation of Void as a substance happens just days afterwards — so, Her sealing being the first event to happen in that year , is the only event taking place during that timeframe that is marked with the date.

Goddesses, I hope that makes sense.

Anyway, all this being said, stay tuned for rewritten oneshots and moderator updates in the future!

— Mod Koko

[angelpuns]

Kid Leo Au: Reunion

Part 3...

Oh gosh, the little dude couldn't take it anymore :/

I am so interested to hear everyone's thoughts on this part. I have many many many thoughts in my little brain about this entire arc, but I'm just really curious to hear other people's insights..

Anyway! What a fun Friday update, right?

NEXT TIME ON KID LEO....yikes can someone get this guy a juice box and a blanket? he needs a better hug than this one apparently :/

Kid Leo Au Masterpost | First | Next

[sm-baby]

I updated the Carnival Masterpost.. and.. oh my god the amount of times I had to start over... i need some serious pampering after that

[tadc-harlequin-au]

𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠. . .

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██████████ 100%

┍━☽【❖COMPLETE!❖】☾━┑

Welcome, New Player, to The Amazing Digital Souls-like AU Masterpost! [Still a wip!]

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If you happen to have stumbled upon the wrong AU, You can go to The Harlequin AU Masterpost!

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If not, you may: > Click CONTINUE to Main Menu!

┕━☽【❖CONTINUE!❖】☾━┙

𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠. . . Don't shut off your computer. ... ... ... ...

>┕━☽【❖CHARACTER GALLERY:❖】☾━┙

Play the game to unlock the cast!

>┕━☽【❖LOAD SAVE FILES:❖】☾━┙

You have none yet!

>┕━☽【❖GAME INFORMATION:❖】☾━┙

GENERAL PREMISE! | About spoiler censors! | All you need to know about The Puppetmaster

>┕━☽【❖BLOOPERS:❖】☾━┙

Art style direction test! | Hell nah this Harlequin bisexual...

>┕━☽【❖FAQS:❖】☾━┙

What is The Amazing Digital Souls-like supposed to be about?

Well, since this is a game AU version of the Harlequin AU, It's quite the canon-divergent one! And closer to canon TADC!

it follows Pomni, a nervous Harlequin player who happened to stumble upon an old souls-like game, where she must undergo a boss-rush type of playthrough if she ever wants to get out of this hellish landscape! (and tons of dying!)

It's set in a grimdark fantasy MMORPG souls-like game, with a heavy stylized art direction to go along with it's darker themes. Though, it's also topped with a lot of dark comedy elements.

She's guided by 'The Puppetmaster' Caine, the "AI gamemaster/advisor" of the whole shebang.

However... as Pomni's relationship with the Puppetmaster grows... so does the terrible allegations of the game and it's main guide.

How do the boss fights go down in the story?

Oh, like Dark Souls.... Bloodborne.... God of War too since I'm too biased (even though that game's not a Souls-like)...

Canon ships?

Showtime [Caine x Pomni]! Other than that, it's free game.

Is there as much lore here as the original Harlequin AU?

I wouldn't say so, this is more so an open type of story "game".

And I'm not planning on withholding information for it since it's a little too far in terms of the story between the two AUs.

Though, there will be references to the ACTUAL story of the Harlequin AU...

Fanarts/Fanfics?

GO WILD! Same boundaries as the Harlequin AU, of course.

Will this be anything like the original TADC?

Actually it kinda is! It's so much closer to canon than the Harlequin AU, since this one is ACTUALLY a "game" in-universe of the AU and thus, complies with some canon stuff and plays around with it.

(@ 20██ C&A Games Ent. The Marvelous Mechanical Harlequin is a trademark of C&A Games Ent. America. All rights reserved.) ══════☸☸☸════════════☸☸☸══════

⚠️ This masterpost is still under construction! Please excuse the technical difficulties. ⚠️

In the meantime, I hope you had a fun read nonetheless! Things will get updated overtime. - Ziku/IAmESpecter

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[veronicaphoenix]

the unmaking of a warrior | epilogue pt. 1

word count: 17k | reading time: 1h aprox. | series masterpost | my works ✨

Tags & trigger warnings: this takes place 2 years after the previous events; established relationship; noah & reader are married; fluff; sexual content including p in v (unprotected), creampies, masturbation (not on page), breeding kink, mentioned shibari practices; thoughts/feelings related to fertility issues; pregnancy; childbirth; dad!noah; angst; cliffhanger. — I'm sure I'm forgetting a bunch of things because this is super long and there's a lot going on. I'll keep updating it, but please do let me know if you notice I forgot sth.

This entire thingy is dedicated to @somebodyels3. Needless to say, this epilogue is 17k and not 3k because of her endless ideas and permanent brainrot. I'm forever grateful for your constant messaging and obssessive behavior towards samurai!noah. This fic is exactly what happens when readers reach out to writers 💕🥹

Thank you to all of you for reading and giving my writing a chance. I'm so happy how this turned out.

Author's note: writing this entire thing was a journey on its own. It's super long so I've divided it into "pages" (11), to make it easier to follow in case you need to take breaks or can't read it all at once :) Also, I've revised it a couple of times but my brain is mush now. Oh, and I have 0 experience with pregnancy and delivering a baby so please bear with me, I did my best 🫣

THE UNMAKING OF A WARRIOR — EPILOGUE PART 1

— page one

2 years later

I knew I was ready when I saw Noah coming down the steps from the training grounds, carrying a little girl in his arms. 

She couldn’t have been more than three or four years old. 

While it wasn’t unusual for parents at the sanctuary to introduce their children to defense and archery at a young age, this little girl seemed far too small. I didn’t recognize her, but she looked completely at ease in Noah’s arms as he made funny faces at her.

A light breeze blew through that spring day, and the sun graced us with a gentle warmth. The girl had her hair pulled up in a high ponytail, but Noah, whose hair had grown to his shoulders since his last haircut the previous summer, hadn’t bothered to tie his own back. When a gust of wind rustled the trees, it caught his hair too. His strands swept across the little girl’s face, and she scrunched up her nose, leaning back in his arms and closing her eyes, her hands flying up to shield her face.

“Sorry,” Noah said, stiffling a laugh.

“It tickles!” she giggled.

“I lost my hair tie,” Noah explained.

Moving her hands away from her face, she sweetly offered, 

“I can lend you one.” 

“That would be very kind of you,” he said, tapping her nose playfully.

Her response was a bright smile, followed by her resting her head on his shoulder, settling in comfortably.

Noah noticed me, then. 

“Oh, hello, love.”

I was still in my training suit and gloves, having just finished an archery session. I had stayed a few minutes longer to chat with Rika before heading home.

“Hi,” I replied automatically, my mind elsewhere.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his brow furrowed in concern as he quickly scanned me to make sure I wasn’t hurt.

The girl glanced at me shyly, clearly unsure who I was.

Noah called my name, snapping me back to reality.

“Hm?”

“Is something wrong? Your cheeks are flushed.”

“Oh,” I stammered, “yeah, must be from training. I’m fine.” I smiled, but Noah didn’t seem convinced, studying me with a raised eyebrow—until a soft voice interrupted.

“She’s pretty.”

Noah and I both looked down at the little girl in his arms, who was comfortably settled against him, with one of his arms holding her easily—though that was no surprise, given how small she was and that he stood at 6’3”.

“She is,” Noah agreed, smiling down at her and then at me. “Prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”

If I was already blushing before, I was blushing more now. I didn’t know what was happening to me. Embarrassed in front of a girl? Or was it because seeing her in my husband’s arms awakened something in me?

Obviously, it was the latter, and even if I didn’t say anything explicitly, it didn’t go unnoticed by Noah, of course. 

“This is Lila. Her parents want to know if she’d like to learn to train, but she’s still very little, so they’ve let her watch one of the trainings. She’s tired and hungry now, so I’m taking her home. Thomas has been left in charge of the group until I get back.” 

When he touched my cheek (for his own amusement because my reaction was obviously amusing him), he watched me with an intensity that made me clench my thighs. Noah leaned over and left me a kiss on my wrist after assuring me that we would meet in the common dining room at lunchtime.

— page two

I couldn’t stop thinking about it since that moment. The realization lingered in my mind, and throughout the day, it haunted me like a secret I was too embarrassed to admit—even to myself. 

I wanted to be a mother. I wanted Noah and I to become parents, to bring a life into this world that was a part of both of us. I imagined a little one, a perfect blend of Noah and me, running through the gardens, learning to wield a bow or defend him or herself with a sword, just like their mother and father.

At lunch, a swarm of butterflies fluttered wildly in my stomach, their wings beating in rhythm with the thought of Noah getting me pregnant. My hands trembled slightly as I held my chopsticks, moving them aimlessly across my plate.

“You’re very quiet today,” Noah observed, his voice soft yet curious.

I glanced up at him, caught off guard. His eyes, filled with a mix of curiosity and amusement, met mine. The faintest smile played at the corner of his lips, as if he knew I was hiding something.

“What’s going on in that little head of yours?” he teased gently.

“Nothing special,” I replied quickly, lowering my gaze to my plate.

“Nothing special?” he repeated, not convinced by my response.

“No, nothing,” I insisted, shaking my head, hoping to divert the conversation. But Noah wasn’t so easily deterred.

“This wouldn’t have anything to do with your reaction when you saw Lila in my arms, would it?” he asked, his voice laced with a knowing tone.

I felt my cheeks flush. “What? No, of course not.”

“Are you sure you’re not having any thoughts about… us?” He leaned across the table, lowering his voice to a whisper, “About me… emptying myself inside of you?”

“Noah!” I hissed, glancing around quickly to ensure no one could hear. My face grew even warmer, and I looked away, mortified.

Noah’s expression softened the moment he noticed my hesitation, his usual playful smile giving way to something more thoughtful. He tilted his head slightly, his dark eyes searching mine, the stillness between us broken only by the quiet rustle of leaves in the wind filtering through the open gates and windows.

“Is that what this is about?” he asked, leaning forward over the low table that separated us in the dining room. The air smelled faintly of jasmine, carried in by the breeze that swept through the open doors, revealing the stunning view of the distant mountains. The sacred sanctuary where we had made our home over the past two years was nestled deep within the heart of the Japanese wilderness. These mountains had become our refuge, our place of peace after years of turmoil and uncertainty.

I swallowed, feeling the weight of my own silence. My mind raced.

“Maybe,” I whispered finally, staring down at the uneaten rice in my bowl.

“Maybe?” he echoed, lifting a brow.

“I’m not sure,” I admitted, glancing out at the garden where the soft glow of the sun bathed the wildflowers in golden light. The deer that roamed freely here, so at ease with us, grazed quietly in the distance. “I saw you with Lila earlier… and something shifted.”

Noah studied me for a moment, then nodded slowly.

“Okay…” His voice trailed off, his gaze still lingering on my face as if he were piecing together my unspoken thoughts. “Should we talk about it?”

“Can we finish eating first?” I asked softly. “And then take a walk?”

He agreed with a small nod.

After eating, we wandered through the gardens that stretched out beneath the towering peaks. The trees swayed gently, their branches heavy with late autumn leaves, casting long shadows in the fading light. This sanctuary was the life we had dreamed of since childhood, free from the constant pressure of being a born the daughter of a Shogun and a Samurai bound by honor and duty. 

Yet, as we walked, my thoughts were anything but peaceful. The gardens, the scent of pine and mountain air, even the distant sound of water trickling from the springs—they all blurred into the background. My hand fidgeted at my sides. I couldn’t bring myself to hold Noah’s hand. His silence only added to the tension, until finally, after several minutes, he stopped. 

Noah took my hand, forcing me to halt beside him.

“You can’t stop thinking about it,” he acknowledged quietly, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. He didn’t need to say more; we both knew what he meant. We had been dancing around this conversation for months now, maybe even years, but it had never gone beyond the idea that it would happen… one day.

I looked up at him, my heart in my throat. We had survived so much together, ever since we were children. But this? This next step had me edgy.

Noah stepped closer, his broad shoulders blocking out the last rays of the sun as it dipped behind the mountains. His presence was strong, reassuring, as it had always been. 

“You’re right: I can’t,” I admitted. “It’s been in my head every since this morning.

“Then don’t treat it like it’s nothing,” he urged. The weight of his words hit me hard, making my breath hitch.

I opened my mouth to speak, but for a moment, nothing came out. Then, I said, 

“I want it, Noah,” I confessed, my voice trembling as I looked up into his eyes. “I want us to have a family. I want a baby. But I’m scared.”

He cupped my cheek with his roughened hand, the warmth of his touch grounding me. “Scared of what? Carrying our child? Of the journey? Of the future?”

“All of it,” I whispered. “But mostly… I’m scared I won’t know how to be a mother.” 

I dropped my gaze, my fingers twisting anxiously in the fabric of my sleeve. 

“I grew up in a palace, surrounded by rules, discipline, and duty. My mother… she was so distant, always the perfect wife to my father, the Shogun. But never my mother,” a loud sigh escaped my lips. “And my father… well, you know what he was like. The Shogun never had time for his daughter’s needs, only for his ruler’s duties. I was never shown love, not the kind I imagine a mother or a father should give.”

Noah’s hand paused for a second as he absorbed my words. His thumb traced a tender line along my skin, a soft contrast to the roughness of his palm. 

“I understand,” he said quietly, his voice steady. “It wasn’t easy for you, living like that. So much expectation, and so little warmth.”

I bit my lip, the storm of emotions swirling inside me. 

“How can I be any different? What if I make the same mistakes? I’ve never been shown how to love a child. What if I end up like my mother… cold, distant, too concerned with doing things ‘right’ to actually love?”

He shifted closer, his hand moving from my cheek to the back of my neck, his grip both grounding and protective. 

“You won’t,” he said, his voice certain. “You already know how to love, even though you never saw it from them.” His eyes searched mine, unwavering. “Look at how you love me.”

I blinked, stunned by the simplicity of his words.

“You had nothing to guide you, no real example,” he continued, his gaze holding mine steady, “yet you love me with a strength I never thought I deserved. You’ve given me more than I ever dreamed of, and I know that same love will pour into our child. You didn’t learn love from your parents, but somehow, you’ve always known how to give it.”

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes. 

“But you’re different, Noah. You’re not a child. You don’t need me the way a child would. What if I can’t…”

He shook his head, his hand moving to cradle my face again. 

“No. You didn’t just find a way to love me. You made me believe in it. If you can do that—show someone like me, who’s spent his life in war, discipline, and hardship, what love really is—you can do anything. And you won’t be alone in this. We’ll figure it out together.”

I closed my eyes, leaning into him, trying to absorb his calm certainty. 

“But I don’t want to lose myself. I don’t want to become so wrapped up in expectations or doing everything right that I forget how to feel.”

Noah’s hand stayed firm, steady. 

“That won’t happen. You’re stronger than you think, and more loving than you give yourself credit for. If we do this, we do it our way. Not the way you were raised, not the way your father would have expected. We’ll make our own path, just like we have ever since we left that castle.”

His words wrapped around me like a protective barrier, pushing back the fear that had held me in place for so long. 

His eyes softened, and he smiled. 

“You’ve already done the hard part: You escaped that world, found your own way. If you could only see the woman standing in front of me… You’re more than capable of being the kind of mother you want to be. And whatever happens, we’ll figure it out together. That’s all that matters.”

I swallowed hard, feeling a wave of emotion crash over me. 

“Is it really that simple?”

Noah’s lips curled and his eyes glimmered with something deeper than love—hope. 

“It won’t be simple. But we’ll make mistakes and learn. You’ll show our child the kind of love you never had, and I’ll be by your side through it all, doing the same.”

His hand rested over my heart, where it beat fast beneath his touch. 

“I’ve wanted this for a long time,” he confessed. “You, carrying our baby, your belly growing with each day, and you—so radiant it’s like you’re lit from within.”

I scrunched my nose, fighting a smile. 

“Radiant, huh?”

He chuckled, his eyes sparkling. “Like nothing else in the world.”

He stepped closer and reached down to pluck a small daisy from the ground. 

“I can already see it,” he continued, “you walking down this path, your belly sweet and round, a few flowers in your hair...” With a careful touch, he tucked the daisy behind my ear, his fingers lingering just a second longer than necessary. “Just like this. You’d be perfect,” he murmured, his hand brushing against my cheek as he pulled back. “When you’re ready,” Noah concluded, “I am too.”

When we returned, the sky had darkened, and the streets were alive with the quiet activity of the townsfolk. We made our way home, walking over the cobblestone streets and exchanging evening greetings with neighbors lounging on their porches. As we approached our house, the familiar warmth of its wooden walls and the soft flicker of lantern light welcomed us. The building was newly finished, larger than the first one we had been assigned, and tucked away from the busier center of the sanctuary. It stood in a peaceful corner with a few other homes nearby, offering enough space for a growing family—three or four children could easily fill its rooms.

I could feel Noah’s presence behind me as we stepped into our room. I needed space, time to process what we had talked about, and Noah—being Noah—seemed to understand that without needing to say a word.

I moved slowly, undressing in the quiet of the room. 

The fabric of my robe slipped from my shoulders, falling to the floor with barely a sound. I could feel his gaze on me, warm, but he didn’t say anything. He simply watched me with a quiet patience, his expression soft, thoughtful. Noah had always looked at me like I was something precious—something worth waiting for.

I didn’t rush either. The weight of the day lingered, but it wasn’t overwhelming anymore. It was just there—settled between us like a quiet understanding.

When I finally slipped into bed, Noah was already lying there. He didn’t reach for me right away. He just watched as I settled beside him, the cool sheets quickly warming beneath my body. For a moment, we both just lay there, listening to the sounds of the night—distant crickets, the faint rustle of leaves beyond the thin walls of the sanctuary.

Then, slowly, Noah’s arm draped over my waist, pulling me gently into the circle of his warmth. I pressed my back against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing, his heartbeat a soft, reassuring rhythm beneath my cheek. 

I could feel his breath against my neck, soft and even, as if he, too, had found peace in the quiet. He made no move to do anything more, no hint of impatience or expectation. Instead, his body curled around mine, protective and comforting, and I let myself start to drift to sleep in his arms.

For so long, our lives had been filled with chaos—fleeing the expectations of a princess and a samurai, navigating the dangers of our forbidden love. And now, we were here, in this quiet, sacred place we had found together, where there was no rush, no fear chasing us. Just us, in the stillness of the mountains, knowing that we had all the time in the world.

Eventually, my eyes grew heavy, and I felt Noah shift slightly, his lips brushing softly against the back of my head in the gentlest of kisses. 

— page three

A week later

Verbalizing my desire to become a mother seemed to have triggered the doubts and fears I had felt briefly when I discussed it with Noah the week before. 

In the days that followed, I kept asking myself what would make me feel ready—what needed to change for me to take the next step. 

The answer, I realized, was nothing. I was with Noah. We were married, happy. We had a home, and we were safe and healthy.

Still, it took me a few more days to actually say it out loud. It felt like if I didn’t speak up, Noah would wait forever, unwilling to take any steps until I clearly told him I was ready.

So one morning, shortly after we’d woken up, I stood in front of a full-length mirror wearing cotton shorts and a plain t-shirt. My hair was still messy, and my face showed signs of sleepiness, even though I had already washed up and tried to make myself presentable in the bathroom just minutes earlier. We had slept well. The night before had been exhausting, but Noah had coaxed me into sleep by spooning me, his fingers moving in soft circles between my legs until I came with a gasp. I don’t remember much after that—I must have drifted off to the sound of his breath against my ear.

As I stood there, I placed a hand over my stomach, imagining it. A smile crept onto my face, and I was so lost in my thoughts that I didn’t hear Noah approach until he was right behind me.

He wrapped his arms around me, enveloping me not only with his long limbs but with his familiar masculine, earthy scent. He had just shaved and was wearing his training suit. The only thing missing was his katana, resting on the bamboo stand across the room.

He pressed a kiss to my hair, waiting for my eyes to meet his in the mirror. I let out a long, heavy sigh. Before he could frown, I said, 

“Okay. I’m ready.”

His eyes darkened with realization.

“You mean...?”

I took one of his hands and gently slid it down until it rested over my stomach. His hand was so large, his slender fingers covered most of it. The sight was both comforting and thrilling.

I bit my lip and nodded. 

“Ready ready,” I whispered.

He stayed tense behind me for a moment, holding my gaze with a fierce determination. Finally, his shoulders relaxed, and he nuzzled my hair with his nose until his lips found my ear. His hand, which had been resting on my stomach, slid a little lower.

“Should we start like this?” he murmured, his voice sending a shiver through me. “With you standing in front of this mirror, naked?”

“I—”

“I can undress you in no time,” he promised. “Are you thinking about it? Me thrusting into you from behind until I spill inside of you?”

I bit my lip harder, my mind going fuzzy as my body weakened under his touch. 

Yes. Yes. Yes.

Without giving him a verbal answer, I rubbed myself against him, pressing my body into his, my derrière against his front. 

He growled softly and nibbled at my earlobe. 

“I can’t believe this is finally happening...” His teeth lingered on my earlobe as his hands tightened on my kimono. After a brief pause, he let go with a growl of frustration. “Lamentably, I need to be at the training grounds in five minutes. I’m in a bit of a rush.”

Right, so did I, and I was still in my pjs. I couldn’t help pouting a little.

“Oh, don’t give me that look,” he said, stepping back and adjusting his pants. “You don’t deserve a rushed orgasm. You deserve to be given a sweet time.” 

Sensible enough to aknowledge our agenda, I turned around and wrapped my hands around his neck, hanging from him as his arms came around my waist. 

“Tonight,” I concluded, my voice low but content.

“How could I say no?” he said, and he leaned down to kiss me. 

— page four

What turned into some sort of frenzy began that night.

Noah became increasingly determined to achieve his goal of getting me pregnant, even when there was a high chance it had already happened within the first few days, when we made love on every possible surface in the house.

The first time was in bed, though we had undressed each other hurriedly against the wall, his lips on mine, our hands exploring every inch of each other’s bodies. We had been building up to that moment all day—stealing glances whenever we spotted each other on the training grounds, brushing past each other whenever our paths crossed, each touch sparking the fire that smoldered between us. Finally, when we reached the privacy of our newly built home, nestled further up in the valley just a ten-minute walk from the center of the sanctuary, we let that tension consume us.

What began as a heated, passionate encounter soon slowed, Noah letting me have my way with him. I flipped him over, moving above him as he panted beneath me, his lips parted, hands roaming my body, worshipping every curve and imperfection.

Noah let me take control for a while, his desire evident, but as his hands tightened around my waist, he suddenly shifted, rolling us over until I was beneath him. His body was strong, and his gaze filled with a mixture of intensity and tenderness. Hovering above me, he held back, his muscles tense with restraint.

“May I?” he asked, his voice thick, barely controlled. His eyes searched mine, waiting for permission, much like a samurai would wait for his commander’s signal to strike, bound by a discipline that demanded patience, even in the face of raw need.

I could only nod at first, my lips parted, a breathless “yes” escaping me. 

He moved with deliberate precision until finally, with a growl deep in his chest, he let go. His release surged into me, filling me up as he trembled against my body. I could feel the warmth of his seed coating my insides, settling deep within me.

When he tried to pull away, I placed my hands on his rear, my fingers gripping him tightly, keeping him pressed against me. His body was still, hot and heavy against mine, our breaths mingling in the charged air.

“Don’t,” I said softly, feeling the heat of him inside me. “It’s warm,” I added, the sensation grounding me, making me want to keep him there, connected.

He let out a low, guttural sound, somewhere between a growl and a groan. His eyes darkened further, the control he had just moments ago slipping away. The disciplined samurai had vanished, leaving behind a man driven by pure instinct and desire.

We lay there in silence, our eyes locked on each other, and after a few moments, I reached up to run my fingers through his hair, a small smile tugging at my lips.

“It’s getting so long,” I said, my voice light. “We’re going to have to do something about it soon.”

But even as I spoke, I could feel him stirring inside me again, ignoring my attempt at distracting him. His body had barely softened, and now he was already hardening once more, his breath catching, his gaze growing darker. Where moments before he’d held the controlled discipline of a warrior, now he was undone, overtaken by the primal urge.

It turned him on, breeding me. 

I bit my lip, my own body reacting to the thought, a flush spreading through me.

“Not helping,” he muttered, his voice low and teasing, though the heat in his eyes said otherwise.

As I tightened around him, I felt Noah’s entire body tense. He groaned, his muscles flexing, a thick vein protruding from his neck as he fought for control. His jaw was set tight, teeth clenched, nostrils flaring, and a bead of sweat slid down his temple. The sight of him like this—on the edge of restraint, barely holding back—was intoxicating. It felt like the first time all over again, because this time, everything was different. He had never emptied himself inside me before, and the look on his face, etched with fierce desire and control, was a masterpiece.

I tightened around him again, deliberately, savoring the way his breath hitched, the way he dug his fingers into my hips just a little harder. He muttered my name in warning, his voice a low growl.

I didn’t care.

“I’m not scared,” I whispered, my voice steady and full of intent. “Fill me up. Again.”

And he did. Over and over. Night after night. In the mornings, in the evenings—sometimes we couldn’t wait until we got home. 

On some days, we’d pack a simple lunch and walk to the quiet spot we’d found months ago, a little clearing not far from our house, near a peaceful pond. We’d spread a blanket under the shade of trees, surrounded by flowers and butterflies, and sometimes we’d forget what we’d even come there for, losing ourselves in each other instead, making love under an oak’s shadow. 

Some nights, we’d go two, three rounds. The energy surprised me—how neither of us seemed tired despite everything we did for the sanctuary. Noah spent hours training, guiding both children and adults. His dedication showed not just in his skills but in his body. He was bigger now, his muscles thicker, his presence more commanding than ever. I taught archery, though not for as many hours, and when I wasn’t teaching, I’d help tend the animals or the gardens. But no matter how much we exerted ourselves throughout the day, the moment we stepped into our cozy home, all that energy seemed to refuel. We’d fall into each other, our hunger and desire stretching well into the night, neither of us ever quite ready to stop.

One of the last times, I’d been on all fours, my head hanging low, utterly spent after Noah had had his way with me, first by tying me up to his mercy then having me in that position. Noah was still behind me, his hands gripping my hips firmly, keeping me flush against him as he pulsed inside of me. His breathing was ragged, rough.

“Round three?” he asked, his thumbs tracing lazy circles on my skin, teasing me even though I was already undone.

I turned my head, looking at him over my shoulder. My skin was flushed pink, my hair a mess, my legs aching, my core sore from the intensity of it all. But I didn’t care. I wanted Noah. I wanted him to move inside me again. I wanted him to get me pregnant. I wanted to carry his child.

“Round three,” I whispered with a tired but eager smile.

He pulled out slowly, muttering a curse when he saw some of his release slip out of me. In one swift movement, he flipped me onto my back, positioning himself between my legs. Still on his knees, he grabbed the backs of my knees, lifting me slightly so my hips rested on his lap. His cock was already hard again, throbbing and ready. He didn’t waste time sliding back into me, thrusting deep with a rhythm that never failed to steal my breath.

Every movement was controlled and purposeful, and each time he drove into me, I felt the fire build inside again, spreading through me until I was trembling beneath him. When we finally finished, he pulled out carefully, his hand immediately moving to my hips to lift me higher, ensuring none of his release escaped. He wanted it deep inside me—he wanted it to take.

We stayed like that for what felt like forever, my hips elevated in his lap, his hand gently caressing my navel and lower belly. The room was silent, the air filled with the scent of our intercourse and sweat. Even as we lay there, naked and sticky, a flood of images washed over us. I could feel Noah thinking the same things I was.

We could see it—our future. Us, lying in bed with a tiny baby nestled between our bodies, Noah cradling our child to sleep, gently cooing him or her. I pictured myself breastfeeding in the comfort of our bed, surrounded by pillows and blankets, Noah watching from across the room, his eyes soft and filled with love. His gaze would be alight with that same tenderness he had now, but even more so, as we became a family.

This is what we wanted.

— page five

Weeks began to slip by, and with them came a quiet restlessness. I kept waiting for something—some sign, a shift within me that would hint at the pregnancy we were working so tirelessly for. But nothing came. The thought that there might be a problem, that maybe we couldn’t have children, was a worry I hadn’t wanted to entertain, yet it was growing, subtle but persistent, at the back of my mind.

Noah and I were still consumed by each other, our sex life as wild and frequent as ever. Nearly every day, we made love, keeping it thrilling and passionate. On special days, Noah would devote entire sessions to binding me in every possible way he knew—tying me up, restraining me from different angles, making me feel like each time was the first time all over again. Some of the orgasms were so intense that I completely forgot why we were doing it in the first place. That was the beauty of it—to create life without the pressure of it hanging over us. In those moments, we weren’t thinking about making a baby. We were simply focused on each other and the joy and pleasure we brought to what we had. 

I couldn’t have asked for a better husband. Noah was everything—attentive, loving, adventurous—but still, a creeping fear began to gnaw at me. What if we got tired of this? What if the constant focus on sex eventually wore us down, eroding the very foundation of our relationship? I was afraid that one day we’d need a break—not just from trying to get pregnant, but from each other.

When that fear became too loud, I started taking time for myself in the afternoons. I’d leave the noise and bustle of the sanctuary behind, wandering deeper into the forest, away from everyone. I’d explore areas I hadn’t yet ventured into, discovering hidden corners where the trees grew thicker and the air smelled richer, heavy with the scent of earth and moss. It was peaceful out there, a quiet place where I could escape the pressure I felt building inside of me. I found comfort in the endless varieties of plants and flowers that grew around the sanctuary, as if the forest itself was alive with possibility and beauty, even when I felt uncertain.

On one particular day, I set out farther than usual, letting my feet carry me to a part of the forest I hadn’t yet explored. As I walked, I heard a noise—a soft cry. It wasn’t the sound of a bird or any animal I recognized. I hesitated for a moment, my heart skipping in response, before I reminded myself there was no need to be frightened anymore. My father’s pursuit had ended, the Shogun’s reach didn’t extend here, and Noah had seen to every possible detail of our safety.

Still, I felt a strange pull toward the sound. I stepped carefully through the underbrush, following the cry until I saw it—a small creature struggling in a tangle of thorns and spiky branches, just beyond a mossy boulder. 

A wolf cub.

It was tiny, barely more than a pup,  grey dark fur matted and caught in the sharp tendrils of a thorny plant. I crouched down slowly, unsure at first if it was injured, but its trembling told me it was terrified. The cub dark eyes locked onto mine, wide with fear, and my breath caught in my throat. There was no sign of its parents, no sign of any other wolves. The pup was alone.

I approached cautiously, my voice low and soothing, 

“It’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you.”

As I reached for the small creature, intending to gently free her from the thorns, the animal suddenly barked, a warning sound that made me pull back. The animal growled, baring its tiny teeth, its body trembling with fear. 

I was unsure what to do. My instinct told me to help the cub, but its fear made it unpredictable.

I held my hands out, palms up, hoping the creature would sense I meant no harm. 

“It’s alright, I just want to help you.”

It growled again but didn’t back away. I let the pup sniff my hands, my heart beating fast as I watched it and got closer. That’s when I noticed it was a she.

Her nose twitched as she caught my scent, and after a long, tense moment, she seemed to relax—just a little. 

Slowly, I reached out to pet her, brushing my fingers lightly against the top of her head. She flinched at first, but then, to my surprise, she leaned into the touch.

“Good girl,” I whispered. 

There was something calming about petting her, as though the trust we were slowly building was enough to quiet both her fears and mine.

But the thorns were still tangled in her fur, the sharp spines digging into her leg and holding her captive. She wouldn’t be able to free herself, not without more pain. I realized I couldn’t do it with my bare hands either, at least not easily. That’s when I remembered the knife.

Months ago, Noah had insisted that I carry a small knife with me, just for safety. It didn’t matter how much I had tried to convince him that we were safe here in this sanctuary, that nothing could harm us in these mountains. Noah had needed the reassurance that I would be able to protect myself if he wasn’t there, no matter how remote the chance of danger. Reluctantly, I had agreed, even though I never thought I’d need it.

Now, for the first time, I reached for the small blade at my waist.

“I’m going to help you, okay?” I whispered to the cub, more to reassure myself than her. She didn’t seem to understand, of course, but she had stopped growling, her dark eyes now watching my every move.

Carefully, I brought the knife to the tangled mess of thorns, using its sharp edge to cut away the thickest parts of the plant. The wolf cub shifted uneasily as I worked, her little body tensing, but she didn’t fight me. I spoke to her softly, trying to keep her calm. 

“I’m almost done, I promise.”

The thorns were stubborn, but after several moments, I managed to free her leg from their grasp. I set the knife down and gently checked her leg. It was swollen and scratched from where the thorns had dug in, but the wound didn’t look too deep. 

“There you go,” I said, stroking her head again. “You’re free now.”

As if in response, she licked my hand, her tongue warm and rough. The small gesture of gratitude caught me off guard, and in that moment, a strange dizziness washed over me like a sudden gust of wind. 

I closed my eyes, steadying myself with a deep breath.

When the dizziness passed after a couple of minutes, I opened my eyes again to see her nuzzling my stomach, her small nose pressing curiously against me. I frowned, unsure why she was doing that. She nudged my abdomen again, and again. With her injured leg, she moved in slow, careful circles around me, her little tail brushing against my skin. Without giving it a second thought, I scooped her up into my arms, her small body trembling slightly but no longer resisting me. She felt fragile but also strong in a way that reminded me of the quiet strength Noah always said I possessed.

“Let’s get you to the sanctuary,” I said, standing up and making my way back through the woods.

The cub stayed nestled in my arms as I made my way back. I could feel her warmth against my chest, but I was worried, that’s why I decided I needed to get her to the temple. If anyone could help her, it would be the elderly couple that lived there, with their healing hands and wisdom.

As I approached the ancient stone steps of the temple, my eyes caught the soft rays of sunlight filtering through the trees, casting everything in a warm, golden glow. The place always felt timeless, as if untouched by the worries of the world. The old couple, whom everyone in the sanctuary regarded with quiet reverence, would be behind the main gates, always tending to those in need—human and animal alike.

I climbed the steps carefully, the cub stirring slightly in my arms. When I reached the door, I knocked gently. After a moment, the door creaked open to reveal the warm, gentle smiles of Master Jiro. His wife, Yumi, who had tended to Noah’s wounds a couple of years ago, was kneeling in front of the hondō but immediately rose to greet me. Their eyes, bright with age yet sharp with wisdom, softened as they took in the little creature cradled in my arms.

“Come in, child,” Yumi said softly, her voice like a lullaby, soothing and warm. She stepped aside, gesturing for me to enter the quiet temple.

Jiro followed her, his movements slow but purposeful, a peaceful aura surrounding him. His ever-present gentle smile grew a little as he saw the cub, his eyes taking in the situation with quiet understanding. 

“You’ve found a friend,” he said, his voice carrying the weight of calm, like a steady river.

I stepped inside, feeling a wave of calm wash over me as the familiar scent of incense filled the air. The temple was quiet, save for the soft sounds of nature filtering in through the open windows. I laid the cub down on a woven mat, her leg still swollen and bruised from where the thorns had gripped her.

Jiro knelt beside her with his slow movements, his eyes filled with compassion as he examined her wounded leg. The cub, sensing the shift, bared her small teeth and let out a frightened growl, her body tensing with fear.

Yumi, always watching, always knowing, knelt on the other side, her hands folded in her lap, calm and still. She smiled softly at the cub, her eyes twinkling. 

“She’s scared,” she said quietly, looking at Jiro. “But her fear is only natural.”

Jiro nodded, his expression never changing. “Fear can be soothed with time and care,” he whispered, gently reaching out to touch the cub’s leg.

The cub snapped at him, her little teeth missing his hand by inches. But Jiro didn’t flinch, nor did his gentle smile fade. He continued working, his hands patient and sure, as if this kind of resistance was something he’d long grown used to. He dabbed a soothing balm on the scratches. 

Yumi watched quietly, her hands still folded, her eyes flickering from the cub to me with that knowing look she always had, as if she could see more than what was in front of her. 

“Are you feeling alright, my dear?” she asked, her voice kind but curious, her head tilting slightly as if she could sense something I couldn’t.

I blinked, caught off guard. 

“I’m fine,” I replied, though her question left a strange sensation swirling inside me, the same faint dizziness I’d felt earlier. I brushed it off, smiling at her. “Just tired, I think.”

Yumi’s smile never wavered, but there was a flicker of something in her eyes—something almost maternal, like she knew something before I did. She didn’t press further, only nodded and patted my arm softly. 

“Be sure to take care of yourself, child.”

I nodded, her words would echo in my mind later on as I made my way down the temple steps, the cub resting peacefully in my arms. 

For now, the cub, despite her initial resistance, began to relax under Jiro’s steady hands. Her growling subsided, replaced by soft, almost resigned whimpers. Slowly, she allowed him to treat her, her body going limp as if she understood, finally, that she was safe.

“There,” Jiro said after a few moments, finishing up with a soft bandage. “She’ll heal just fine.”

I breathed a sigh of relief, kneeling beside the cub as she nuzzled into the mat, finally calm. My hand found her soft fur, and I stroked her head, feeling the tension in my own body begin to ease.

“Thank you,” I said.

“Take her home with you,” Yumi suggested. “She’s found you for a reason. She’ll rest better with you.”

I hesitated for a moment, imagining Noah’s reaction when I brought the cub into our home. 

As if sensing my doubt, Yumi placed a hand on my arm, her touch light but grounding.

“Don’t worry. Sometimes, creatures like her come into our lives to remind us of something important.”

Jiro nodded slowly. 

“She needs you,” he added simply.

With the cub nestled back in my arms, I made my way out of the temple, the warmth of their words still settling in my heart. The afternoon sun was beginning to dip, casting long shadows through the trees as I walked back home. I looked down at the sleeping cub, her tiny breaths even and calm now, and I felt that same strange pull inside me. Something about her nuzzling my abdomen earlier still lingered in my thoughts, but those were quickly replaced by Noah. He was always so protective—of me, of this place. Bringing a wolf cub into our home felt like crossing a line, one I wasn’t sure he would understand. But leaving her alone to fend for herself wasn’t an option either.

With a sight, I climbed the steps to our porch. The house stood quiet and peaceful as I stepped inside. I set the cub down on a blanket near the windows facing the back garden, her leg still tender from where the thorns had torn at her. She sniffed around cautiously, her tiny paws padding across the floor as if testing her new surroundings. I watched her for a moment, chewing my lip. 

Maybe I could explain it calmly, show Noah the cub’s innocence, how small and harmless she was. But the thoughts in my mind twisted into nervous energy. Wolves weren’t exactly house pets, especially in these mountains. He might see her as a threat, or worse, a reminder of the dangers we had escaped.

The main door opened a while after. I heard the familiar soft clink as Noah removed his katana. The thud of his boots followed, and his steps grew louder as he walked through the entrance of the house.

I exited the living room to meet him there. His dark hair slightly damp from his training session, his eyes softening when they found me. His presence, always so solid, always so calm, made my heart race for an entirely different reason now. He crossed the steps to me with a quiet grace, leaning in to kiss me softly on the lips, his hands cupping my face. But I was stiff, and the moment I pulled back, biting my lip nervously, he noticed.

He narrowed his eyes, instantly reading the tension in my stance. 

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“Nothing,” I said too quickly, offering a smile I didn’t feel. 

“Why are you standing like that?” 

Before I could respond, a loud crash echoed from deeper in the house—something falling and breaking. I winced, glancing toward the noise.

Noah’s eyes darted over my shoulder, and just as he stepped forward, the wolf cub came barreling into the entrance, her small body bounding toward us, paws skittering across the wooden floor. My heart leapt into my throat as I stepped aside, and before Noah could react, she leaped straight into the air, aiming for him.

His reflexes kicked in, and he caught her midair, holding her at arm’s length. The look on his face was a mixture of surprise, confusion, and disbelief.

“What the hell is this?” he asked, staring at the wriggling cub in his hands. The cub, oblivious to his shock, wagged her tail furiously, her tiny teeth trying to nip playfully at his fingers.

I hesitated, wringing my hands nervously. 

“I found her in the woods,” I began, my voice shaky. “She was hurt, tangled in some thorns. I couldn’t just leave her there”

His eyes darted between me and the cub, still struggling in his grasp, as if trying to make sense of the situation. 

“And so you brought her home?” His tone was incredulous, but not yet angry.

“She needed help, so I helped her. Then I thought… we could keep her,” I continued, stepping closer, my heart racing. “She’s just a baby. Look at her.”

Noah glanced down at the cub, her small body wriggling with energy, her bright eyes full of innocent curiosity. But his expression remained skeptical. 

“You thought… what?” he prompted, still holding her at a distance.

“I thought we could keep her,” I said, biting my lip, trying to sound more confident than I felt.

His brow furrowed, and he gave me a long, searching look. 

“You can’t be serious.”

“She’s a baby,” I argued. “She’s harmless.”

“She’s a baby wolf,” he corrected, his voice firm but not unkind. “And a she, on top of that.”

“What does that matter?” I asked, frowning at his tone.

“Have you thought about her mother?” he replied, his voice lowering as if explaining something to a child. “Wolves are fiercely protective of their cubs. If her mother’s nearby, and she scents her here, it could bring trouble.”

I shook my head.

“She was alone, Noah. I’m sure her mother abandoned her. I searched, but there were no signs of other wolves nearby.”

Noah’s eyes softened, but his grip on the cub didn’t loosen. 

“Even if she was abandoned, this isn’t wise. Wolves don’t belong inside homes. When she grows, she’ll be wild.”

I took a deep breath, stepping forward and gently taking the cub from his hands. She nestled into my arms, her soft fur brushing against my skin as she relaxed against me. 

“But she’s so small now. We can train her, teach her.”

Noah ran a hand through his hair, exhaling deeply. 

“Training a wolf isn’t like raising a dog. She’s wild by nature, and when she gets bigger… it could be dangerous. She’s going to hunt the deer, eat the chickens… She could hurt you.”

“I know… You make a valid point…”

“A few, actually.”

“Yes,” I conceded, “and obviously you’re worried,” I said, understanding. “But look—she already likes you.” I gestured toward the cub, who was now pawing at his arm, her tail wagging furiously. “We could tame her and…”

He glanced down at the pup, his expression wavering. She let out a small bark, and Noah’s stern façade cracked just a little. He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“She’s just a pup,” he acknowledged, more to himself than to me. 

I sensed his resolve weakening. 

“Exactly. And you think she’ll suddenly stop liking you as she gets older? From what I’ve seen, the opposite happens,” I said, smirking a little.

He chuckled at that, shaking his head and looking up from the pup at me.  

“You’re impossible.”

I grinned, pressing closer to him, the cub still cuddled in my arms. 

“Please, Noah? Just until she’s healed. We can decide what to do after that.”

He sighed deeply, giving in at last. 

“Fine. But if she chews through my boots, I’m holding you responsible.”

I beamed, standing on my toes to kiss him. 

“Thank you,” I whispered against his lips.

Noah glanced down at the wolf cub, who had now settled in my arms, her eyes slowly closing. 

“But remember,” he said, his voice serious again, “a wolf isn’t a pet. We need to be cautious. Her instincts could change as she grows.”

“I understand,” I said, though I couldn’t help but feel a sense of victory.

— page six

Three weeks later

I found myself walking through the forest near the temple, Trouble padding along by my side. 

Her legs had grown remarkably strong, her once clumsy steps now confident as she darted between trees, stopping occasionally to sniff the air. 

Despite Noah’s concerns, she had become a loyal friend, never straying far from me. 

I smiled as I watched her chase a falling leaf.

Her adaptability to the sanctuary had been extraordinary so far. Each day, she learned more about her new home, her instincts slowly reshaping as she experienced the tranquility of the forest and learnt to become familiar with our little community. At first, she had been wild and skittish, causing trouble wherever Noah and I took her—hence her name. Her eyes had been wide with uncertainty as she navigated the unfamiliar sounds and scents. But now, her confidence was blossoming like the flowers in spring.

In just three weeks, she had transformed from a fragile cub into a robust young wolf, growing almost a third of her body length and gaining noticeable muscle. She had gone from fitting snugly in the crook of my arm to nearly matching my height at the shoulder, her powerful legs carrying her with grace and agility. 

Noah and I devoted ourselves to her training, determined to help her shed the wild instincts that could pose a threat to the sanctuary’s other inhabitants. We spent countless hours teaching her commands, introducing her to various animals, and reinforcing positive behavior. Her ears would perk up at the sound of my voice, her tail wagging excitedly as she responded to commands. With Noah’s patient guidance, she learned to obey—“come”, “stay”, “don’t”, and even the critical “leave it,” which became essential when we were near the smaller animals that roamed the sanctuary. She even seemed to grasp Noah’s firm “don’t you dare,” though I suspect it had more to do with the sharp look Noah would shoot her just as she was about to misbehave.

There had been a lot of misbehaving, of course.

One afternoon, I returned from tending to the garden to find Noah in the entrance of our home in a fit of frustration, standing over his chewed-up boots. Trouble had taken a particular liking to them, her little teeth having left marks all over the leather. Noah’s face was a mix of anger and disbelief as he scolded her rather loudly. He stood tall, his posture rigid and commanding, embodying the discipline of a samurai as he confronted the wolf. The authority in his voice was terrifying. Trouble understood quickly. She bowed her tail and retreated, her ears flattening against her head as she scampered off to hide beneath a bush in the back garden. For two long hours, she remained hidden, a small bundle of fur trembling in fear, while Noah paced back and forth, trying to calm down.

Eventually, his irritation faded, replaced by concern. 

“Where did she go?” he asked after giving up on his boots—he would need new ones. 

I pointed towards the shaking form behind the plants and bushes in the garden. He walked outside, barefoot and knelt down, taking a deep, resigned sigh before calling her name and coaxing her to come out. 

“Come here, little one. I’m sorry I yelled. It’s okay.” 

It took him fifteen minutes to convince her to come out. Her big eyes cautiously met his, and the moment they locked gazes, she stood on her four legs and stepped out, approaching him hesitantly.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, extending a gentle hand. “I shouldn’t have gotten so mad. I won’t do it again.”

She sniffed his hand, then gave it a quick lick.

“But please, promise you won’t chew on my boots again.”

Maybe it was the softening of his tone, but Trouble barked as if agreeing, and as soon as Noah smiled, she charged at him, knocking him down into the grass. I burst into laughter, watching the two of them tangled up, Noah grinning beneath her playful assault.

From that day on, they became inseparable. Noah had learned to temper his frustration, and Trouble, having experienced his wrath, understood the bond they shared was deeper than a moment of anger. She followed him everywhere whenever I stayed at home—otherwise Noah would command her to follow me. Her loyalty was so dedicated—it felt as if she had made it her mission to be by our side. Whenever the three of us went for a morning or evening walk, it was a sight to behold—my husband, once a formidable warrior, now calmly navigating the forest with a young wolf trotting obediently at his heels.

I could see the joy in Noah’s expression as he worked with her, his deep voice steady and calming. He took her on long runs through the forest, where she could expend her energy and learn the boundaries of her new environment. The more we trained, the more she thrived. She became a graceful creature, her body maturing rapidly, and I marveled at her transformation.

But it wasn’t just our training that made a difference; I couldn’t shake the feeling that the magic of the sanctuary played a role in her growth and adaptation. The land itself seemed alive with a higher power, its essence wrapping around us every second of the day. I noticed the way the sunlight filtered through the trees, casting ethereal glows that danced around us, and how the gentle whispers of the wind felt like the sanctuary itself urging us forward. Perhaps it was this nurturing environment that allowed her to adapt and grow so quickly, her size now nearly matching mine, her presence so majestic and commanding whenever she would walk next to Noah or just as she stood by herself guarding our home. 

We even included her in our daily routines, teaching her how to interact with the animals we cared for in the sanctuary. I introduced her to the goats and chickens, her curiosity piqued as she approached them with cautious enthusiasm (she did, unfortunately, kill a couple of chickens the first few times we set her free when she was just a pup). However, the way we taught her to interact with the other animals was a step forward, and her behavior became more refined every day. Soon, she was lying beside the goats or running with the deer or chasing kitchens just for the fun of it. Her wildness was tamed but never fully extinguished, and it was beautiful. Her spirit was still there, vibrant and alive, just now channeled into something more harmonious in par with the place Noah and I were building our life. 

As Trouble and I grew closer, I began to notice how she mirrored my movements, always keeping me in sight, as if she were as intent on protecting me as I was on protecting her—or as much as Noah was on protecting me. Although I suspected this had something to do with the time she spent training with him, a swell of pride filled me.

Now, as I watched her chase that leaf, I couldn’t help but think of the journey we’d both been on, how we were shaping each other in ways I never anticipated. The sanctuary was becoming a place of growth for all of us, and I looked forward to the adventures yet to come.

We meandered along a narrow path, the sounds of chirping birds and rustling leaves surrounding us. I paused to admire a cluster of wildflowers, their vibrant colors brightening the forest floor. Glancing down at my companion, I noticed her ears perked up, as if she too was taking in the beauty around us. 

After a while, as my feet began to ache a little, I glanced down at Trouble and ran my hand through her fur. 

“What do you think about visiting the temple to pay our respects to the spirits of the forest?” I suggested. 

Trouble tilted her head, as if contemplating my words.

As we approached the temple ten minutes later, a wave of nausea hit me, sudden and overwhelming. I stopped in my tracks, one hand instinctively going to my stomach. Trouble noticed immediately, her ears perking up, and she bounded back to my side, her bright eyes full of concern as she started to bark in alert. 

I tried to steady myself against the wall of the temple, but the pain intensified, and I let out a scream. Before I realized it, Jiro and Yumi emerged from the temple’s main gates just a few feet away, their robes fluttering around them, faces a mix of sudden concern and reverence as they approached. Instinctively, Trouble placed herself between us, letting out a low, warning growl, her body tense and protective as she stood guard, ready to defend me if necessary. 

“No,” I struggled to say to her, kneeling to her level and placing a calming hand on her head. “It’s okay. Let them.”

Trouble hesitated, her dark eyes fixed on the elders, then backed off slightly, though she remained watchful. I straightened, forcing a reassuring smile as the elders finally reached me.

They nodded toward the wolf, then looked back at me. 

“We need to take you inside. You don’t look well.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but another wave of nausea rolled through me, stronger this time, making my vision blur. I nodded weakly, letting them guide me toward the inside of the temple, my feet feeling heavy and unsteady. As I took a step forward, Trouble let out a sudden bark and bolted into the trees, vanishing from sight.

The elders followed her with their gazes until she disappeared, puzzled, their brows furrowed with concern. 

“She’s going to find Noah,” I managed to say. 

They brought me inside the temple, laying me gently on a cushioned bench. The aroma of herbs and incense filled the air. My mind swirled with confusion and discomfort as I lay there, one hand resting protectively on my stomach. 

I closed my eyes, whispering a silent prayer, trying to calm my racing heart. The dim glow of the temple’s candles flickered against the walls, casting long shadows that danced eerily around the room. The gentle murmurs of the elders filled the space, their voices a soothing balm against my unease.

Suddenly, I felt the coolness of a cloth on my forehead. I opened my eyes to see Yumi’s kind face hovering above me, her expression warm and knowing. 

“There is nothing to worry about. You will be fine,” she said calmly.

And I believed her.

— page seven

Ten minutes later, I found myself kneeling in front of the hondō, alone. The elders had slipped away, leaving behind a stillness that helped soothe my racing heart. 

As I breathed in the fragrant air, I felt a shift, a subtle energy dancing through the atmosphere.

I heard the familiar rustling of leaves being stomped upon. The hurried footfalls of Noah drew closer, and I couldn’t help but feel a surge of happiness at the sight of him as I turned my head. 

He looked especially handsome today.

Trouble padded softly behind him, her eyes bright and alert, darting between us as if trying to communicate something to Noah. 

Noah’s voice cut through my thoughts as he called my name, his tone laced with concern. I felt a wave of warmth wash over me as he hurried to my side.

“Hey,” I said, feeling a joy that seemed to swell within me. He knelt to meet my gaze.

He looked into my eyes with such intensity, tilting my chin upward to assess me, and I saw the love and worry etched on his face. 

“What’s wrong? You look pale. What is it?”

My heart raced. Before I spoke, I took a moment to look into his eyes—my husband’s eyes, the love of my life, the best choice I’d ever made. 

“I’m pregnant, Noah.”

He blinked, still crouched on one knee, his grip gentle yet unyielding on my chin, as if he were trying to ground himself in my reality.

“What?”

“I was taking a walk with her in the woods,” I explained, gesturing toward Trouble, who now sat proudly beside me, probably feeling content that Noah was by my side and danger was out of sight. “I decided to climb up to the temple, and suddenly I had this weird nausea and dizziness. The elders took me inside. It’s because I’m with child.”

For a long moment, there was only silence, his eyes widening with every passing second.  I could see the shock ripple through him as the words sank in.

“Pregnant?” he echoed, his voice thick with disbelief as if confirming that this was indeed real.

After so much trying, it finally happened. 

I nodded. 

“Yes, you know... the thing we’ve been trying for the past few weeks?”

The realization hit him fully now, and his expression softened, a mix of joy and concern flickering across his face. Without missing a beat, he stood up, glancing around the temple as if assessing the situation. “Sit down,” he said, his voice filled with sudden authority.

I laughed softly, shaking my head. 

“I am sitting.”

“No, I mean... stay down. You need to rest. Let me find some pillows, something to help you feel more comfortable…” His eyes darted toward the elders, who were now gathered near the doorway, watching the scene unfold with gentle smiles and waiting for Noah’s orders.

“Noah, I’m fine,” I insisted, though I could feel a certain exhaustion settling in my bones.

His gaze returned to me. 

“You’re pregnant. You need to—”

“I don’t need to be wrapped in cotton,” I interrupted gently, standing up despite the weariness tugging at me. A smile tugged at my lips, buoyed by the joy radiating between us. Noah immediately took my hand, his other arm wrapping around my waist, securing me to his side.

“You’re pregnant,” he repeated, more to himself than to me, his voice a mixture of wonder and disbelief.

I nodded, feeling a rush of emotion welling up inside me as I watched the realization dawn on him fully. The joy, the fear, the responsibility—it all played across his face as he held my gaze.

“We’re going to have a baby,” I whispered, feeling the weight of the words settle over us like a precious promise.

Trouble, who had been lying quietly beside me, suddenly lifted her head, her tail wagging with enthusiasm as if could understand the news. Noah glanced down at her, then back at me, letting out a soft chuckle. 

“She knew, didn’t she?”

I reached out, running my fingers through Trouble’s soft fur. 

“I think she did. From the very beginning…”

We stayed like that for a moment, the three of us surrounded by a profound sense of belonging. 

“Let me take you home,” Noah said. “I’ll tell Rei I’m canceling today’s remaining training sessions.”

— page eight

As my pregnancy progressed, the roles Noah and I played began to reverse in a way I never expected. While I was growing a baby in the most comfortable way possible—despite the relentless waves of nausea, the weight pressing down on my stomach, back pain, sleepless nights, and constant trips to the bathroom—I felt an overwhelming joy. There was something profoundly beautiful about carrying Noah’s child; it felt as if my body had been designed for this purpose after everything we had endured together.

But Noah, who had once been so eager to embark on this journey, struggled in ways I hadn’t anticipated. His confidence eroded with each passing day. The man who had been so eager and enthusiastic about getting me pregnant now found himself gripped by anxiety, worrying that something might happen to me or our baby. His protectiveness, which had always been endearing, had escalated to an almost suffocating level. Even Trouble, who had grown really big, seemed unable to provide Noah with the comfort he desperately sought.

The situation began to wear on me. For two months, Noah let me continue my training sessions with children, which I loved. But one day, in a moment of desperation, he knelt before me, his eyes wide with fear, and asked me to quit the sessions. 

“Please, just stop,” he begged, his worry hanging heavy in the air. 

I began to question whether he might have a breakdown or if he’d have to distance himself during childbirth to maintain his sanity.

I wanted to handle this conflict as best I could. I didn’t want to let myself succumb to tension or anger, fearing the baby might feel it. But Noah was really testing my patience with his insistence that I stop my archery lessons when I was still perfectly fit. 

“I will stop when I can’t walk two steps, Noah. There’s nothing wrong with me teaching archery. I’m okay. I feel good. I’m safe. The baby is okay.”

He rubbed his forehead, pacing back and forth in our bedroom.

His anxiety unsettled me.

“Noah…” I walked over and grabbed his hand. I could hear Trouble barking and growling outside, likely scaring the chickens away. “I know this is hard for you, but I need you to let me do this.”

Puffing out his chest to release a heavy sigh, he said, 

“I need you to have the most restful, peaceful pregnancy any woman has ever had. I can’t risk losing you or the baby,” he said, his tone serious as he enveloped my hands in his. “I’ve spent most of my life fighting for you, always believing I might never get this chance. Now that I have it, I need to do everything I can to protect it.”

I wanted to be angry at his protectiveness, but his words only made me love him more. I was truly head over heels for him. I had fallen for a boy, and now I was in love with this man standing in front of me, begging.

“I wish you wouldn’t make it so easy for me to love you more every day,” I replied. “I keep falling for you every time you say these things, even when it’s to try to keep me away from the training fields.” I said the last part through gritted teeth, finally coaxing a smile from him. “What would make you feel relieved?” I asked.

“You staying home.”

I scoffed. 

“Noah, we should go to the temple and talk to the elders. They’ll reassure you that there’s nothing wrong with me continuing my training. In fact, it’s good for me to keep exercising. I think the baby loves it,” I said, placing a hand on my belly.

Noah frowned, glancing at my growing stomach. 

“How could you know that?”

“It started moving,” I replied, my excitement bubbling over.

His eyes widened.

“Not much,” I clarified quickly, “but I think it has. Please, let me keep training?”

For a few seconds, he stayed quiet, eyeing me. Then he sighed, shoulders slumping.

“Okay, but the moment I hear one complaint from you or see that it’s taking a toll and you’re exhausted, you’re listening to me. And may I remind you I’m a very skilled samurai with ropes?”

I opened my mouth in playful disbelief. 

“Are you threatening to tie me up so I won’t leave the house?”

“Absolutely.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, a bittersweet chuckle that echoed through the tension. Here I was, a woman accustomed to overcoming challenges, and he was worried about me slipping on an apple on my way to the training grounds. I understood his fears; after all, this was uncharted territory for both of us. But it was hard not to feel like I was carrying not just our baby but his worries too.

In a strange way, I was learning about love and fear. With each flutter of our child’s movements, I could feel the weight of Noah’s apprehensions and my own anxieties blending into something more profound. We were navigating this journey together, even if it felt like we were often two steps out of sync.

Noah’s tenderness, though at times overwhelming, was a reminder of his commitment. I had to remind myself that he was doing his best, even if it sometimes felt like he was trying to wrap me in bubble wrap.

As the days passed, I found ways to reassure him. We created rituals together—talking to our baby, reading stories, and planning for the future. Slowly, I could see the tension easing from his shoulders.

In the chaos of our fears and hopes, we were finding humor in our new roles. And while Noah’s protective instincts might have felt overwhelming, they were also a testament to the love that had brought us to this moment. In this blend of laughter and anxiety, I began to understand that our journey was not just about bringing a new life into the world; it was also about growing and adapting together, one quirky moment at a time.

— page nine

But I wasn’t one to give up easily. I’d been defying my father’s rules since childhood, so it wasn’t surprising that I wouldn’t follow Noah’s either, though I didn’t like hiding things from him. 

At seven months pregnant, I was restless. After a month of bed rest due to high blood pressure—which had sent Noah into a panic—I was desperate to move.

That morning, with Noah off in town with Rika’s and Milla’s husbands for supplies, I seized the opportunity. The moment the house grew quiet, I slipped on my boots and made for the door, but I wasn’t alone in my plan.

Trouble nudged my leg, her muzzle gently but firmly pressing against my thigh. Then, just as I reached the door, she tugged at the folds of my kimono with her teeth, trying to keep me from leaving. 

I sighed, shaking my head. 

“Oh, come on. You too?” I muttered, feeling a hint of amusement despite myself.

It was ironic, really, how Noah hadn’t wanted to keep Trouble at the beginning, when she was just a tiny bundle in his arms, insisting a wild animal would be too much trouble. Yet here she was, doing exactly what Noah would’ve asked of her—keeping me home, or at least trying to. I knelt down, giving her a gentle pat on her head. 

“You’re just like him, you know? Always keeping me in line.”

Trouble gave me a soft, questioning look but didn’t let go of my kimono.

With a little coaxing, I finally managed to free myself, and Trouble, loyal as ever, followed me out the door. She walked silently by my side, her dark eyes still watchful, as though she knew she couldn’t stop me but would make sure nothing happened—to me or the baby— while I was out. She had grown so much during my pregnancy, just like the baby in my womb. There was something oddly beautiful in that—two lives flourishing side by side, both growing stronger with every passing day.

At the training fields, Trouble watched me intently as I practiced with my bow. Her eyes followed my every move, her calm presence giving me a sense of safety. I trained carefully, enjoying the freedom, while she sat watchful and protective.

Afterward, feeling the pull to visit the temple, I walked with her through the woods. The air was still, the sun filtering softly through the trees. Once there, I knelt before the hondō, my hands resting on my belly, offering a quiet prayer of thanks to the spirits for their protection. I asked for strength, for wisdom, and for the safety of our baby. 

But merely half hour into my prayers, a sudden shift in the air made me pause. It was subtle but unmistakable, a change in the atmosphere around me that by then I knew too well. 

Trouble, who had been lying at ease beside me, calmly stood up, her posture relaxed but aware. That was all I needed to know. 

Without even turning around, I already knew who was there.

A voice, stern and unmistakably not happy, broke the silence. 

“You’ve been to the training fields.”

I closed my eyes, biting back a curse. 

So much for a peaceful praying day, I thought. I should’ve prayed that Noah wouldn’t find out. 

I took a breath, biting my lip before getting to my feet with some difficulty. A sharp ache shot through my back, and I winced, suddenly aware that maybe, just maybe, I shouldn’t have spent so much time training.

Before I could fully steady myself, Noah was there, his hands on my arms, helping me up. His face was close to mine now, and I could see the tension in his jaw, the silent disapproval written across his features. He was not happy.

“Thanks,” I mumbled, avoiding his eyes for a moment.

His grip tightened slightly, steadying me, but his voice remained low and firm. 

“You shouldn’t be doing this, not in your condition.”

I met his gaze, trying to find the words to explain. But Noah’s eyes held a mixture of worry and frustration that left me speechless, and for once, I didn’t have a quick retort. Maybe, just this once, he wasn’t entirely wrong.

“I haven’t been training the kids, I swear.”

“Of course you haven’t,” Noah replied, his voice low and measured. “You’ve been training yourself.”

I narrowed my eyes at him, biting back a retort. 

“Noah, I’m pregnant. I don’t have a broken leg.”

He exhaled sharply, crossing his arms, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His tunic, dusty from the road, smelled faintly of earth and the woods. 

“Clearly you don’t, otherwise you wouldn’t be wandering around in your condition,” he said, his tone a mixture of frustration and worry.

I threw my hands up, exasperated. 

“Will you stop talking about me as if I had some kind of problem? I don’t have a problem. What I have is your child in my womb, that’s all. Now stop making a fuss about it. You’re really getting on my nerves.”

His eyes softened for a brief moment, sensing my own tension, but his stubbornness didn’t waver. 

“You’re carrying my child,” he said quietly, stepping even closer. “For that to happen, I got inside of you. We did this together. You allowed me in your body, so now…” His voice took on a teasing edge, though the worry was still clear in his eyes “you have to allow me to get on your nerves.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Noah…”

“No, hear me out,” he insisted, his hands still dusted with traces of dirt from hauling supplies in town. He’d been gone all morning with the other men, gathering food and materials for the village. “You let me in your heart, your body, and your life. I’m in. I’m part of this. We’ve talked about this, for God’s sake. You don’t get to ignore my pleas and hide things from me when it’s inconvenient for you— not when it’s something this important.” His hands gently rested on my shoulders, his calloused fingers warm against the fabric of my kimono. “I’m worried because I love you—because I can’t bear the thought of something happening to you, to our baby. Do you not get that?”

I sighed, biting my lip as I met his eyes. His protectiveness had always been a double-edged sword, one that both frustrated me and made me love him even more. I softened a little, feeling the weight of his concern. 

“I do, Noah, but you can’t treat me like I’m fragile. I’m not made of glass. I know my limits. I wasn’t pushing myself. I just… I needed to feel like myself again.”

As we spoke, Trouble, settled down beside me, lying on the ground with her head on her paws, watching the exchange. Her eyes flicked between us, calm and quiet, as if she too sensed the tension and waited for it to pass.

“I’m sorry I went behind your back when I agreed to take it easy…”

Noah stayed silent for a moment, his gaze softening as he looked down at my belly. His hand reached out to rest gently over the growing life inside me. 

“Every time I see you like this—pushing yourself, running around—it scares me.”

I placed my hand over his, squeezing gently. 

“I’m okay, though. Really. You’ve got to trust me on this.”

Noah sighed, the weight of the day’s work still visible in the way his shoulders slumped slightly. 

“I do trust you. But you’ve got to trust me too. Last time, your blood pressure increased because you refused to rest, and you convinced me to let you do more, and look where that got us. When I say I’d rather you didn’t train or walk around too much, it’s not just worry. It’s because I need you to be safe. I need both of you safe.”

I nodded, touched by the rawness in his voice. My shoulders dropped as I let out a deep breath. I was actually tired, and my body felt heavier than it had all morning. 

“Can we go home?” I asked, the admission quiet, almost as if saying it aloud made the exhaustion and guilt settle in deeper.

Noah touched my cheek gently, his other hand instinctively moving to my rounded belly, the connection between us—between him and the life we had created—undeniable. 

“Of course.”

Trouble let out a soft huff, as if in agreement, her dark eyes fixed on us. I chuckled lightly.

“You’re in trouble too, as usual,” Noah said, pointing at Trouble. “We’ll have a talk when we get home.”

In response, Trouble barked and quickly ran to my side, hiding her face from Noah. Noah shook his head with a smile and focused on helping me out of the temple.

“And I’m sorry if I was too harsh,” he said to me, his voice lower. “Ever since we found out… I’m on edge. I can’t seem to relax.”

I raised an eyebrow, a wicked smile forming on my lips. 

“Hmm. I can help you take that edge off.”

Noah paused, rising an an amused eyebrow at me. 

“I can never win with you, can I?”

I shook my head, barely containing my grin. 

“If I say yes, what do I get?” He asked. 

“Besides your release?” my voice dropping to a teasing tone. “You’ll have me on my knees for as long as you want. I won’t move from there.”

Noah chuckled, the tension in him easing even more as he fell into my playful banter. 

“On your knees doesn’t seem like the ideal position for a pregnant young lady,” he continued, his eyes gleaming. “Maybe I’ll just lay you down on the bed and tie your hands. Maybe I can take that edge off myself by keeping you on edge, considering you’ve been quite disobedient lately.”

“Whoops,” I said, grinning. “Am I in trouble?”

He leaned in closer, his voice low. 

“In a lot of trouble, young lady.”

I met his gaze, my pulse quickening, and for a moment, the tiredness I had felt earlier melted away, replaced by the familiar spark that always flickered between us. Despite everything—the worry, the exhaustion, the uncertainty—there was still this. Us. That, no matter what, would never change.

— page ten

During my last month, even the simplest tasks had become nearly impossible. Bending down, sitting up, even turning over in bed felt like monumental efforts. And putting on socks? Absolutely out of the question. 

One morning, as I sat at the edge of our bed, staring at the socks in my hand like they were the enemy, Noah walked in, fresh from the fields, his hair tousled and smelling faintly of the crisp morning air.

He looked at me, then down at the socks, and without a word, knelt in front of me, taking them gently from my hands. 

“You know you could just ask,” he said, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he slid one sock over my swollen foot.

I rolled my eyes, trying not to laugh. 

“And let you say ‘I told you so’ every day about taking it easy? No, thanks.”

Noah smirked as he slipped the second sock on, taking his time, being so gentle with me. But as he adjusted the fabric around my ankle, his brows furrowed, and he leaned back a little, scrutinizing my belly with a worried expression. 

“You’re too big,” he muttered, almost to himself. “I’m concerned. I don’t think it’s normal for you to be this big.”

I raised an eyebrow, barely containing a snort. 

“Noah, I’m about to pop. What did you expect? I’m carrying your child.” I placed a hand on my belly, feeling the familiar stretch under my fingertips. “Besides, I bet it’s probably a boy with your long legs. He’s just taking up all the room in there.”

Noah’s face softened at that, his hand moving to rest beside mine on my belly. 

“Long legs, huh?” His thumb stroked gently across the swell, a look of wonder in his eyes. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s a girl, who’s just as stubborn as you and refuses to stay still.”

I laughed, feeling our baby give a little kick as if in response.

“I guess we’ll find out soon enough.”

Noah leaned forward, pressing a kiss to my stomach, then looked up at me, his brown eyes filled with tenderness. 

“I’m just worried, you know. You’re everything to me.”

My heart swelled at his words, and I reached down to cup his face, running my thumb over the stubble on his cheek. 

“And you’re everything to me, Noah. But I’m okay. We are okay. You’ve been taking such good care of us.”

He gave me a small, sheepish smile, but I could see the relief in his eyes. He pressed one more kiss to my belly before standing up and helping me to my feet. 

“Okay, Mama. Socks are on. What’s next?”

I grinned, leaning into him for support as I stood, his arm slipping around my waist in that familiar, protective way. 

“Next? I need some food. A lot of it, actually. And then maybe a nap.”

Noah chuckled, kissing the top of my head as we slowly made our way to the kitchen. 

“I think I can handle that.”

As we walked, Trouble emerged from the back garden, her fur brushing against my leg. She sniffed at my clean socks before moving over to Noah, licking his hand as if to say thank you for taking care of Mama. I couldn't help but laugh.

— page eleven

It was a peaceful afternoon, the kind of day that seemed to stretch lazily under the warmth of the sun. I sat comfortably in the living room, surrounded by the laughter and light chatter of my closest friends, Rika and Milla. 

We had gathered for tea and pastries, a weekly ritual that helped ease the wait for the baby. I wasn’t due for another estimated two weeks, so we didn’t think much of it as we munched on sweet biscuits and sipped warm tea. 

Outside, the garden was bathed in soft light and green colors. I noticed Trouble pacing through the open gates, her large form moving with a nervous energy I hadn’t noticed before. This was not her usual behavior. I furrowed my brows, setting my tea down.

“Trouble,” I called. “What’s wrong, sweetie?”

At the sound of my voice, she paused, her ears twitching in my direction. Then, as if responding to some internal command, she trotted inside, her eyes sharp and alert. She came directly to me, nudging my legs with her nose and bumping her muzzle insistently against me, something she rarely did unless something was wrong.

I chuckled softly, brushing a hand through her thick fur. 

“What’s gotten into you?” I asked, leaning down slightly to meet her gaze. But as I looked into her eyes, I saw something there—a kind of urgency, almost pleading. Trouble let out a low whine, and then, with a deep breath, she tilted her head back and howled.

Both Rika and Milla stopped talking mid-sentence, their eyes wide with surprise.

“Trouble!” I exclaimed, gently pushing her away. “There’s no need for that! I’m fine, really. We’re just having tea.” I pat her head to calm her down. “Go on, now. Everything’s fine.”

She stared at me for another long moment, as if trying to will me to understand something. But when I didn’t budge, she let out a resigned huff and settled on the floor next to me, her body close.

Rika chuckled, shaking her head. 

“I swear, that wolf’s more protective of you than Noah sometimes.”

I smiled. 

“She’s been like this ever since forever. Can’t blame her, really.”

For the next half hour, the afternoon continued in its gentle rhythm. We chatted about everything—Rika’s latest weaving project, Milla’s son learning to ride a horse… The tea was still warm, and I felt a comfortable tiredness spreading through me.

And then, it happened.

At first, I felt a strange pressure, followed by a sudden warmth that spread across my lap. My teacup slipped from my hand, shattering onto the floor as I looked down, wide-eyed.

Oh.

“My water just broke.” The words came out of my mouth as I remained frozen on my spot. 

Milla’s eyes snapped to mine, and she immediately jumped into action, pushing the tea table aside. 

“Rika, go find Noah,” she commanded with urgency. “I’ll get her ready.”

Rika bolted up, nearly knocking over the tray with pastries and sweets in her haste. She darted out the door, disappearing down the path toward the town to find Noah, her sandals slapping against the stones.

Milla turned back to me, her face calm but determined. 

“How are you feeling?” She asked with her arms extended toward me. 

I shook my head. 

“I don’t know,” I truthfully answered. I felt like panicking. 

The baby was coming, earlier than expected, and Noah wasn’t there. 

“It’s okay. Let’s get you comfortable.”

She helped me up slowly, guiding me toward the couch where I waited with a hand below my belly while she quickly prepared a makeshift bed with a thin futon from a nearby cupboard and pillows and blankets, her hands moving with the practiced efficiency of someone who had done this before.

The windows were quickly shut, and the curtains drawn to dim the light inside. Milla kept talking to me, keeping my mind focused. She helped me remove my wet clothes, and wrapped me in clean blankets. Then she helped me lay down on the futon. 

But through the flurry of activity, I could hear Trouble outside the window, pacing and scratching at the door, whining softly to be let in.

Milla shot a glance at the door and shook her head. 

“Sorry, girl. Not this time,” she murmured, more to herself than anyone else, before returning her attention to me.

I winced as the first wave of contractions began to ripple through me. 

“Noah...” I muttered through gritted teeth.

Milla squeezed my hand, her voice gentle but firm. 

“He’ll be here soon. Just focus on your breathing.”

Outside, the afternoon had grown still. All I could hear now was the sound of my own breathing, the soft rustle of Trouble’s restless movements beyond the closed doors, and the quiet urgency in Milla’s voice as she prepared me for what was to come.

Time seemed to stretch and bend, slipping through my fingers like sand as the minutes dragged on. The early contractions, though uncomfortable, had been bearable at first—just a dull, rhythmic wave of pressure that slowly grew more intense. But now, each surge felt like a storm tearing through my body, and Noah was nowhere to be seen. Every breath felt heavier, every muscle trembling with the effort of staying calm.

Milla was still by my side, her voice steady and reassuring, but I could barely focus on her words. My mind was elsewhere, spinning with thoughts of Noah. Where was he? Why wasn’t he here yet? Had something happened?

Another contraction hit, harder this time, and I let out a low, involuntary groan. Trouble’s whining could be heard faintly through the walls, her claws scratching at the door, and that small sound somehow gave me comfort. Even though she couldn’t be by my side, I knew she was trying to get to me. She knew something wasn’t right.

Then, just when I thought I was completely alone in the room, an old, familiar presence appeared at my side. I hadn’t even noticed her slip in, but there she was—Yumi, the old woman from the temple. She sat quietly, her weathered hand resting on mine, her face calm and wise. I didn’t know how she got there or when she’d arrived, but her presence brought with it an unexpected peace.

For a moment, I closed my eyes, listening to her soft, rhythmic breathing. But suddenly, a new feeling overwhelmed me. Fear. A deep, paralyzing fear gripped my chest, and my heart raced. I wasn’t ready. I thought I was, but now that the reality of childbirth was crashing down on me, I realized I wasn’t ready at all.

“I can’t do this,” I whispered, my voice shaky. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

The old woman didn’t say a word. She simply gave my hand a gentle squeeze, her ancient eyes filled with knowing. She had seen countless births in her lifetime. She understood. But still, fear gnawed at me, filling every corner of my mind.

I wasn’t sure how much time had passed when I finally heard it—Noah’s voice outside, low and tense. Relief mixed with fear shot through me, and my head fell back against the pillows as I listened, straining to hear his words.

“It’s time, man,” Kenzo, Rika’s husband said, his tone bright and cheerful, though it barely registered with me.

But Noah’s voice, quieter, held something different. A knot of dread. I could feel it, even from where I was lying. He was scared. For the first time since this journey had begun, I realized that Noah—the man who had fought for me, protected me, never once wavered—was afraid. He didn’t know what to do, didn’t know how to face this.

“Noah,” Milla’s voice came from the doorway, soft but firm. “You need to be by her side. She needs you now.”

For a brief moment, Noah hesitated, as if unsure if he was even allowed to be there. I could almost picture him standing outside, paralyzed by fear, feeling utterly helpless. It was strange—this man who had always been so confident, now feeling as lost as I did.

He stepped through the door, and the room grew quieter, as if the world had been holding its breath for his arrival. The doors closed behind him, shutting out the rest of the world. He looked at me, and I saw the shock in his eyes. I was lying down, prepared for what was to come, but in that moment, I must have looked so fragile, so utterly different from the woman he was used to. My eyes were half-closed, unfocused, and I struggled to keep up with the pace of the pain that kept crashing over me in waves.

Noah knelt beside me, taking my hand in his, and suddenly, his presence made everything feel just a little more bearable.

“Baby?” he whispered. “I’m here.”

Through the haze of pain, I heard him, and my heart clenched. I turned my head toward him, blinking through the tears. 

“Noah,” I breathed. “The baby is coming.”

“I know. I know. It’s time, isn’t it?” Were his eyes watery as he tenderly smiled and moved some hair away from my forehead with his palm? 

I wanted to nod and smile but, but then my voice cracked with exhaustion and frustration as the next contraction tore through me. 

I screamed.

His face twisted in anguish.

“I’m so sorry,” he rushed to say, his voice trembling. “I didn’t know it was going to be this hard. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, baby.”

Across the room, Rika, who had been helping Milla with preparations, shot Noah a sharp look. 

“Noah!” she barked, her tone stern. “You’re not helping her.”

He blinked, startled, then nodded rapidly. 

“Yeah, right. Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. 

He straightened up, squeezing my hand more tightly, his face a mixture of panic and determination. 

“Okay, baby, listen to me. You’ve got this. You can do it. You need to push now, all right? Our baby wants to come out, and it needs your help. You’re strong, you can do it, I know. Now push. You’ve got to push.”

And so, I did. I gritted my teeth and bore down, the pressure overwhelming, the pain like nothing I’d ever experienced. Noah’s hand was firm in mine, his voice steady now as he guided me through the hardest moments of my life. Each push took everything I had, every ounce of strength I didn’t think I could muster, but Noah kept his eyes on me the whole time, kept talking, kept telling me how strong I was, how close we were.

I could hear the women’s voices around me, Rika and Milla encouraging me to stay strong, telling me it was almost time. Their words blurred together, just background noise to the sound of Noah’s voice and the pounding of my heart.

Finally, the pain reached its crescendo, and I felt the final push tear through me with a force I didn’t know I had left. Noah was right there, holding me, his eyes wide as he looked down at me, love and fear written all over his face.

“Push, baby,” he whispered one last time. “Just one more push.”

The world outside seemed to echo the chaos inside me. Through the walls of the house, I could hear Trouble howling, her voice raw and wild, piercing through the air. Her howls mixed with the frantic voices of the women around me, and everything felt as if it were spiraling out of control. My body was no longer my own—it was something caught in a storm, tossed and pulled by forces I couldn’t control.

Another contraction hit, and I let out a scream that tore from the deepest part of me. I gripped Noah’s hand so tightly, my knuckles white, as though he were the only thing tethering me to this earth. The room blurred, sounds became muffled, and the pain swallowed everything else. Trouble’s howls outside grew louder, almost mournful, as if she too could feel the chaos coursing through me.

“I can’t—Noah, it’s too much. I don’t think—” I cried, my voice strained and hoarse.

“You can,” Noah insisted, though his voice trembled, betraying his fear. His thumb rubbed small circles into my hand, trying to ground me. “You’re almost there. Our baby is almost here. You’re so close. Just one more push, sweetheart.”

Everything felt disjointed—Milla’s hands guiding me, Yumi’s soft murmurs of encouragement, the sound of the shutters being scratched from the outside by Trouble and her desperate howls still seeping through the cracks. It was too much. My heart pounded in my chest, my breaths came in ragged gasps. I could feel the sweat pooling on my skin, dampening my hair, as the waves of pain crashed over me, relentless.

I felt like I was losing control, drowning under the weight of it all.

Then, out of the whirlwind of chaos, I heard Noah’s voice, softer this time, cutting through the noise. 

“I’m here. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

I forced myself to meet his eyes, searching for something—anything—to cling to. His face was a mixture of love and terror, his jaw tight, but his eyes were steady, fixed on me. He leaned in close, his forehead touching mine.

“Push,” he whispered. “One more push.”

With everything in me, I bore down, gritting my teeth against the agony that seemed to split me in two. Trouble howled again, her voice almost synchronizing with my own scream, and for a moment, it felt like the entire world was suspended in that single, agonizing moment.

Time seemed to collapse, and all I could feel was the raw force of life moving through me. The pain, the noise, the fear—all of it swirled into a cacophony, and just when I thought I couldn’t take anymore, the pressure shifted, and suddenly, there was release.

A loud cry filled the room—small, sharp, and so precious—and everything stopped. Trouble’s howls ceased. The chaos around me faded into nothing, replaced by an overwhelming, breathtaking silence.

The world felt distant, like I was floating in a haze. The pain was still there, a dull ache in the background, but it was overshadowed by a deep sense of awe and exhaustion. When I opened my eyes, the first thing I saw wasn’t the room, or the people buzzing around me—it was a tiny, wrinkled baby, nestled carefully in my arms.

A baby girl.

Her face was scrunched up, her skin soft and pink, with the faintest tuft of hair on her head. She was beautiful in a raw, fragile way, the miracle that we had created, our daughter. I couldn’t stop staring, my breath catching in my throat as the weight of it all hit me. This was her. This was the life we had waited for, the one I had carried for months.

“Noah?” I whispered, barely able to tear my eyes away from our little girl. “It’s a girl. We made a girl.”

There was no response at first. I glanced up at him, expecting a reaction, but he was frozen, staring at the baby in my arms as if the world had stopped spinning. His lips parted slightly, his eyes wide in disbelief, taking in every detail of her—the small fingers, the way her tiny body fit snugly against me.

“Noah?” I said again, gently. “Do you want to hold her?”

Still silent, he finally moved, his hands trembling as he reached out. Carefully, oh so carefully, I placed our daughter into his arms. For a moment, he just looked at her as he held her kneeling on the futon, his breath uneven, his expression stunned. He held her close to his chest, cradling her in the crook of his arm as if she were made of the most delicate glass.

“She’s… tiny,” he murmured. “Like, very tiny.”

I smiled, warmth flooding my chest as I watched him—this strong, protective man who had spent months worrying over me, now completely undone by the sight of our tiny daughter. I leaned my head back on the futon, utterly drained but so happy, watching Noah hold our little girl like she was the most precious thing in the world.

Minutes passed, whispered conversations from Rika and Milla filled the background as they sorted things out, quietly making sure I was okay, tidying the space, checking on me. Occasionally, they asked for the baby to ensure she was healthy, but Noah wouldn’t let go of her, not even for a second. His eyes stayed locked on her, as if nothing else mattered. She wasn’t crying anymore, she was content just being a tiny, warm bundle nestled in her Papa’s arms, her little chest rising and falling softly.

After some time, Noah glanced down at me, his expression worrying as he noticed how tired I looked. He brushed some damp hair away from my face, his fingers warm and soothing.

“Love?” 

“Hm?” I responded, my voice barely more than a hum, utterly exhausted but content.

“She’s here,” he said, his voice filled with awe. “Our baby girl is here. And she’s perfect, just like you. I can’t believe you did this.” His fingers traced gentle patterns on my forehead, his other arm still cradling our daughter securely against his chest. “I never thought I would feel this much happiness. Thank you.”

A soft, tired smile tugged at my lips as I closed my eyes. 

“It was worth it…” I said, my voice trailing off. “Everything we went through… it was worth it.”

Noah cradled our babygirl. The soft rise and fall of her breathing, the feel of her tiny hand curled against his chest—it was everything he—we—had ever dreamed of. Beside him, I was drifting into sleep, my body finally relaxing after the hours of labor.

But suddenly, the peace shattered.

It started as a sharp, burning pain deep in my abdomen, sudden and violent, like something was tearing apart inside me. My eyes shot open, and a scream ripped from my throat before I could stop it. It was primal, a sound I didn’t even recognize as my own.

Oh God, what was happening?

My muscles tightened in agony. I couldn’t think, couldn’t speak. All I knew was the pain. It was unbearable, consuming every inch of me. I heard Noah’s voice, panicked, but I couldn’t focus, couldn’t respond.

“What’s happening? Why is she in pain?” His voice trembled, desperate. “Baby? What is it?” 

I could hear the women moving around me, their hands gentle but quick as they pressed on my stomach, their words hurried but distant, like they were underwater. Everything was spinning, slipping. I could barely keep hold of my thoughts. Noah’s hand was on me—warm, strong—but the pain swallowed everything.

I heard the cries of my daughter next to me. And I screamed again.

“Do something!” Noah shouted at the women in the room.

“You need to step back,” Rika said to him, her voice firm but fading in and out. “We need to focus on her.”

“No!” His voice cracked, and through the haze, I heard him. “I’m not leaving her!”

I wanted to reach for him, to tell him I needed him, but I couldn’t. My hands felt useless at my sides. I felt his presence, could sense him so close, but I couldn’t open my eyes. The pain was too much, pulling me under, making it hard to breathe.

“I’m not leaving her! She needs me,” I heard him say, his voice broken. “Just tell me what’s wrong.”

“Noah, we need to—”

“Tell me what’s wrong!”

“We don’t know!” she spat back. “Just let us do our job,” she continued as she tried to get him to step away.

“I said I’m not leaving her. Don’t make me leave her!”

I wanted to cry, to scream his name, but I couldn’t. I could only feel the burning agony spreading deeper, consuming me. My breathing came in ragged gasps, my chest tight. 

I could hear Rika and Milla exchange quiet, frantic words. That’s when I heard the shuffle, the loud whimpers of our babygirl, and Noah’s agonized voice.

“No,” he growled, a sound so raw, so desperate. “Don’t—don’t take her from me. Please. She needs to be with me. She needs to be with her mother.”

Rika stepped closer. 

“Noah, she needs care. Give her to us, and please, step outside.”

“No! No, no, no,” he choked, his words tangled in sobs. “She needs to be with me—I need to stay with them both.”

I tried to focus, to fight against the haze. I wanted to hold them, to tell him it would be okay, but my body wouldn’t listen…

I heard footsteps. The presence of more people in the room. Men. Rika’s husband and Milla’s. 

“Please,” Noah begged, his voice breaking as I heard the soft shuffle of our baby being lifted from his arms. His pain hit me like a wave. I could feel it, could hear his breathless cry. 

“Don’t! She’s my daughter! Please!” His voice cracked with grief as he struggled. “She needs me. She needs me!”

I felt her absence too. The warmth of her little body slipping from his arms and out of reach. It was like losing a part of me, a weight crushing my chest, making it harder to breathe.

“Noah,” Kenzo said, restraining him with his brother’s help. “You have to let them work.”

“No! I’m not leaving her! I’m not leaving them!” His cries were frantic as they tried to pull him back.

“Asher, help me!” Kenzo called out.

“No, please, don’t—don’t make me leave them!” Noah’s voice shook as I heard the struggle. He was fighting them, trying to stay, but I could hear the scrape of his boots on the floor as they dragged him away, Trouble’s howls intensifying outside.

“Noah, come on,” Asher said, his tone tight. “They need space to work.”

“I said I’m not leaving her!” Noah shouted, his voice hoarse, but even as he fought them, he was being pulled farther and farther from me. “Please, I need to help her. I need to be with her.”

I felt the door close. His voice, distant, muffled, was slipping from me, as if he was being dragged into some other world. And I couldn’t follow.

Taglist:

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@badomensls | @shilohrosechicken | @moreyoulove-moreyouknow @concreteangel92 | @alwaysfightforwhoyouare

[railingsofsorrow]

an apple doesn't fall far from the tree (until it does)

[spencer reid x reader]

summary: reader takes care of her daughter while she's sick and some memories of her childhood resurface.

pairing: s.reid x f!bau!reader

w.c: 2.2K

warnings/content: being neglected by a parent; reader has mommy issues & spencer has daddy issues; crying; discussions about a difficult childhood; insecurities; mentions of v*mit and fever (the flu symptoms); Eden Reid being everyone's source of joy; Spencer in glasses always; hurt/comfort; very brief (implied) suggestive content; spiders; I proofread this at 2am.

A/N: here's my entry for @imagining-in-the-margins kid fic challenge i was so sad that I didn't see this until after May 1 :( but here it is! absolutely love writing about dad!spencer. it's legit a source of inspiration.

navi

masterpost

cm masterlist

want to read more works about this au?

→ [recharging] - [day off]

━━━━━━━━━

“No, it's the other way around.” You laugh when Eden places the egg shells inside the cake batter instead of the egg yolk.

“Oh,” she mumbles with parted lips. Then squirms away and giggles when you tickle her sides. You do manage to get most of the egg shells out of the batter. “Sorry, mamma.”

“It's okay, baby. Now what's next?”

She studies every material in the counter thoroughly, her fingers moving as she thinks it over. That's the moment you stop and stare fondly because of how much she resembles her father. Her hair had grown longer in the past few months, it's nearly past her shoulders and the honey brown curls are exactly like Spencer's.

“Sugar!” She raises her pointer finger, giving you an eager look, anxious to know if she's correct or wrong. You take a few seconds to build suspense and reveals the veredic. Eden jumps in the chair in excitement and you gasp, holding her in place so she wouldn't fall.

One of your favourite sounds in the whole word is Eden's laughter. It's contagious and childish and unforgettable. And a bit healing, if you're being honest. In case you're feeling a little down, making Eden giggle is the cure.

When you were called at the school by her teacher today because your daughter had threw up during class, you were finishing up the pile of paperwork in your desk. It took some convincing for Spencer not to immediately run to the school, but when he heard she had asked for you in the phonecall, he caved in. Giving you one condition: to send updates of Eden's wellbeing every hour so he could know how she was.

Your husband listed at least a thousand medications and natural medicine to help with the symptoms before you were able to leave the office.

Eden had the flu, that's what the doctor said. She needed rest, the strawberry flavoured syrup, the medication to avoid nausea and cuddles to heal faster.

Thankfully, she was laughing again by the afternoon, which meant she was feeling slightly better. You noticed her paleness diminished after taking the medication and having a good four-hour nap, her fever had also went down.

“Good girl,” you praise after she takes a spoon of her medication not hiding her grimace. “Now we wait for the cake to be ready so we can have a big bite.”

She nods dutifully, rubbing her eyes with her small hands. You recognise the sign of a sleepy child, so you scoop her up and take her to her bedroom.

Although, before you place her in bed with her stuffed friends, you decide to keep her in your arms for a while longer, mumbling a lullaby softly while rocking her to sleep. Almost like when she was a baby, the difference now is that she's bigger and not bald.

It doesn't take ten minutes for her soft snores to be heard. You put her to bed and leave the door ajar in case she needs you during the night. You would come check in on her every hour anyway, to make sure her fever wouldn't rise again.

There's this weird thing about being a parent: you never quit worrying. It's not exactly weird, it is, in your case, the maternal instinct that you can't avoid. It was there ever since Eden was born.

The reason why you find that odd is because you never had that. Not when you were a child, not when you were a rebel teenager, not as an adult. In fact, you were pretty convinced your mother's maternal instinct was nonexistent.

The only time you remember being held by your mom was when you cut your head when you fell down the stairs and you had to spend an entire night for observation. She held your hand as you slept the entire time, kissed your temple and then told you she loved you. She never did it again. Eden's grandmother wasn't maternal, she wasn't a fan of bedtime stories or mother and daughter times.

But she takes Eden to school and insists on staying with her on some weekends so they can bake Eden's favourite biscuits and decorate it.

She wasn't your mother when you needed, but she is a good grandmother to your daughter.

You don't understand it. You are thankful, of course. It's not like you expected that she would treat Eden bad or anything, but you can't help but wonder if that coldness and distance was just reserved for you as a child? And what did you do to deserve that. You must have done something. Still, she never told you what.

“Why are you sitting in the middle of the hallway in the dark?”

You let out a gasp, quickly covering your mouth. You take a glimpse inside Eden's room through the small space left and notice her sleeping frame tucked in with Mr. Greenie.

You had been sitting on the floor, staring at nothing in the dark in the middle of the hall, which is why Spencer is questioning you, rightfully so. But he startled you.

“I'm monitoring,” you say rather dumbly but out of excuses. “... her fever.”

He lifts his glasses up his nose — he recently went back to wearing because his eyes got too sensitive for contacts — while squinting doubtfully at you, then he turns on the light to sit down crisscrossed by your side after also taking a look inside Eden's bedroom. He would give her a goodnight kiss in a minute.

You don't even realize you're crying until his thumb travels across your cheeks to gently wipe your tearstained cheeks. His mouth tugging downwards at your puffy eyes.

“You told me her fever went down an hour ago.”

“It did.”

“Then what's wrong, angel?”

She's fine, you're not. He thinks.

You sniffle, shaking your head. You feel like a child all over again. This is so stupid. You are an adult, why are you still feeling like this? You have your family now, there is no need to dig into the past and suffer. You cannot change anything about it.

He scoots into your personal space, wrapping an arm around your shoulders to bring you closer to him. You rest your head on his chest, hearing the thump thump of his heartbeat against your ear. For a moment, that's all you thought about. Spencer's hands drawing invisible patterns on your arms and back, muttering softly about his day as to not disturb the peaceful silence and kissing the crown of your head occasionally.

“She's perfect.”

His hands halt on their way up and down your arm. “Yes, she is.” He knows who you were talking about, he always does, like he read your mind.

“I'm scared I might ruin her.”

This sentence alone terrifies you to no end. It's so much deeper than feeling unloved as a child because it isn't about you anymore, it's about the life you created, the life you are raising and watching grow up. The life who carries your DNA, the same one you share with you mother, who is the person that made you question every single encounter with a human being and if you really deserves to be loved.

Every day, you wonder if you were cold or short with Eden at any moment. If, maybe, a comment slipped last your lips and it would define how her day would be. Or if you gave her a look of disapproval that would make her question her way of speaking or her way of being.

You are scared of ending up like her and to have your daughter regret being raised by you.

“That's just not possible.” Spencer says firmly, squeezing you as reassurance. “You're a wonderful person and a wonderful mother, there is just absolutely no way you would ruin her or do anything remotely close.”

“If I'm so wonderful, then why didn't she love me?”

Parents can impact your life in a good way or catastrophically bad. There's the line in between, the gray line. From what Spencer heard you talk about your mother, she leans a little towards the catastrophically bad. It isn't that she doesn't love you. It is about the way she didn't show it.

“It wasn't your fault.”

Spencer finds your mother a sweet woman who took care of Eden when both of you are away on cases, or just because she wants to be with her granddaughter that day. And that's fine, he likes her. She's okay. What isn't okay is how she left you to drown in doubt in your childhood as you questioned every action you did in your entire life afterwards.

That was cruel and cold and unfair. You might forgive her for how she treated you one day, but he wouldn't.

You scoff, harshly drying your tears as they kept coming. “I must have done something.”

“You were a child.” Spencer insists, caressing your cheek. He understands where the blame comes from, he used to carry that burden, sometimes he still does. Did he make his dad leave? Could he have done something to stop it? The answer is no. A child cannot blame themselves for their parents mistakes.

And that's easier said than done.

“So?”

He sighs, lifting your chin so he can look into your eyes and stick what he is about to say into your brain for good.

“Is there anything Eden could do that would make you treat her with indifference?”

Your brows raise in disbelief, “God, no. She's my everything.”

He gives you a pointed look at your quick answer. You didn't even think twice, you didn't have to. She is your everything. The best part of you. And you would do anything to put a smile on her face. Because that's what parents are supposed to do.

“You know that you're her first source of comfort?”

You tilt your head to show you're listening, focusing on playing with his calloused knuckles. “What do you mean.”

“You're the first person she wants after a nightmare, when she has a bad day at school or even when there's a bug in the room that you're also terrified of.”

You can't hold back the snort that comes out of your mouth.

“You're not talking about spiders, certainly. Remember that night you saw one in our bedroom and screamed so loud our neighbours made fun of us on the weekend?” Spencer rolls his eyes and you carry on, too amused to stop. “They thought we were going at it. like rabbits.”

“Okay,” Spencer huffs, pretending to be annoyed. He can't actually be annoyed at you. “It was huge and what if it had walked all over our bed before we found it? Where was it before? When did it get there? Did you know that the bite of the false widow spider Steatoda nobilis can develop infections that are unresponsive to antibiotics?”

“Baby.” You peck his lips until he stops rambling. You do love when he goes off on a rant but he will just spiral out of control if he thinks anymore about spiders and decide to clean-up the entire house to be convinced there is no spider lurking in the corner. “I killed it, okay? You're safe.”

He hums, leaning forward for another kiss. “My hero,” he mumbles into your lips.

Both of you check Eden's temperature and kiss the mini version of you goodnight before going back to the living room.

“So you do understand, right?” He wraps both arms around you when you sit on the couch, kissing the back of your head. “You're wonderful and kind and lovely and you. Our girl and I couldn't have been more lucky.”

“If you want to make me cry again just say the word, Spencer.” He chuckles, spreading little kisses down your neck, lips wavering closer to your ear.

“Never, but I do want to make you smile, so I got ice cream.”

That makes you turn around fast, an excitement glint on your eyes. “Which flavor?”

His lips twitches into that smug grin when he knows he is right about something. He shrugs pretending to be nonchalant. “Cotton candy, I guess.”

You shoot up from the couch before he can utter another word and run towards the fridge, whispering-yelling I love you so as to not wake up your daughter. Spencer nods with a fond smile, leaning against the kitchen counter to watch you moan over your favorite ice cream and remember the part of your childhood that you enjoyed. Cotton candy, afternoon walks in the park and friends sleepovers.

“I love you,” you confess as your mouth splits into a wide smile while you're kissing him. His tongues travelled through his lips after you split apart and he tastes the sweet flavor of cotton-candy provided by you.

Spencer presses his lips to both of your cheeks and the tip of your nose, gazing down at you lovingly. “I know, and I love you too.”

━━━━━━━━━

taglist: @lilyviolets ; @whore-for-spencer-reid ; @yeonalie ; @ninkieminjaj ; @hoeshissworld ; @r-3dlips ; @pleasantwitchgarden

[starriegalaxy]

Hi hi!! Your SS here, I just wanted to know if you have fullbody refs of your Eclipse? 👀

Hiya fellow SS 👀

Here ya go! :] Clippy himself!

More details in the Masterpost | Voice Claim : Michael Bublé

EDIT : HIS TOP RUFFLES ARE SUPPOSED TO BE BLUE AND YELLOW CUZ IT REPRESENTS MOON ACKKKK OTL -

I auto colored by accident - 😭💥 so pls make sure to make it blue ruffles instead. I'll also try to edit it to be blue later on maybe, sorry for the inconvenience 🙏🏻

EDIT 2 : okay I managed to change it! Feel free to reblog this again 👍🏻

Physically, I'd like to mention that Sun and Moon have different eyelash designs XD

Sun has 3 spikes whereas Moon has 2 so I took the liberty of that when I first designed him. I also wanted to supply how I drew their hands in case of anything!

Personality wise, he's a mixture of FFAU Sun and FFAU Moon in that he can be both infuriating (in an endearing way) and gentle if needed. A bit more touchy-feelier as he embodies the more intense feelings the DCAs may have. Eldest brother and more patient in terms of dealing with patrons, kids and the other animatronics. He's a combo of charm and wit too so expect major teasing sessions - I think that's it for now 🤣

P/S : I changed the character paired with my DCA of choice for my wish to be my Sona with the new hairstyle instead in the wishlist chat. Pls read the updated one 🙏🏻Oh and tell me if ya need a ref of my sona too, okay? I'm still working on her in terms of colours ^^ thanks again for stopping by 👋🏻🌌✨‼️

[squidpedia]

HI I’M PEDIA, MASTERPOST DOWN BELOW BUT HOLD ON REALLY QUICK READ MY FAQ:

Boundaries on reposting, dubbing, and pfp’s?

Please ask for permission in my messages/inbox before reposting my work or dubbing it! PFP’s don’t need permission, just include credit in bio please. Most likely I’ll be ok with it so please don’t be shy! it’s just a boundary I like having respected. Also cmon girl if you make a dub of my work I want to see🥺

Do you like [other show/video/series]?

Maybe! All my my non utdr fanart goes to @squidpedias-fanart so maybe check/ask there?

I sent you an ask a while ago/tagged you in a post but you never responded, did I upset you somehow?

NOOOOOOOOOOOO I’M JUST AWFUL AT RESPONDING TO ASKSSS OR TEND TO MISS A LOT OF NOTIFICATIONS I’M SORRYYYYYY YOUREE FINEEEEEE. ITS YOU AND LIKE 150 OTHER PEOPLE I PROMMY IM JUST TERRIBLE. don’t be afraid to rb it and tag me in the rb again, sorry for that!

I liked this drawing concept you made. Can I make fanart, redraw it in my style, or make something inspired by it?

YEAH!!!! Flattered and happy I inspired you in that way!! Just 1) tag and credit me, because I would be so sad if I didn’t see and would love love love to rb it and 2) if it’s a redraw, try to link back to original post if possible (but I forget to mention that a lot so that second part isn’t as big of a deal)

What about writing fics?

A FEW OF YOU ARE WILD FOR THAT BUT YEAH GO OFF. Still let me know, give credit, tag me if possible, and check out this other post I made too regarding fic writing and overall boundaries about my fallen kid oc’s. If you still have questions after reading that and there’s anything I didn’t go over, reach out and ask in my inbox or dm’s! I’d be happy to elaborate on anything!

What other socials do you have?

I have a Youtube, Twitter, Bluesky, and a Switch (SW-2670-2211-5056) (thats not a social but you should friend me on there anyways and crash my splatoon lobbies lmao).

Do you have any oc’s or personal works?

@an-unconscious-effort-comic and @dragontry-comic (neither stories are connected to each other and are their own projects)

Pronouns?

Please refer to Frisk, Chara, Kris, and any of my fallen human designs with they/them strictly here (or Chara by they/it) (This includes Lilac - and sidenote i am working on a post regarding boundaries for my fallen human designs should you want to use them in any personal works, I’ll be back with that another time but thank you for having an interest in them, they’re dear to me and I’m glad if you like them too). Clover also uses they/them my take too (well they/she actually but I usually just refer to her by they they/them in posts because,,,,,nervous)

Oh wait you meant me. Any👍

————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

UTDR/UTY COMICS MASTERPOST

(uty comics are highlighted in orange if you’re more interested in the strictly undertale comics)

Clover’s Memories (ongoing - i prommy)

(10/12 update - the voices………….theyre telling me to work on it again………………..meanwhile i got a big project due at midnight and have to study for a test tomorrow, some halloween related ask doodles, and commissions from both sides of my family for their individual family businesses IM GONNA EXPLODEEEE)

Silence | Memory 1 | Memory 2 | Memory 2.5 Coming Soon | Sound | Memory 3 | Discrepancy | Memory 4 | Static

Clover’s Hat (post revive au)

Part 1 /// Part 2 /// Bonus

Kanako Integrity Duo (really short mini doodle comics)

Reconciliation // Introductions // Ceroba // Chujin

Miscellaneous:

Kris and Clover Interaction // Clover’s Sacrifice // Frisk vs. Clover’s POV // Clover Tells Martlet a Secret // Who’s Your Friend? // Pipe Down // Family Visit // Unwell // Letter // Humor // Gamer // They // Kicked Out // It Keeps Happening // What’s In A Name

TAGS:

#Happily Ever After and Then Some -> everyone lives au including chara, flowey/asriel, fallen kids, where i don’t offer any sort of explanations for how because it simply makes me really self-conscious to try to come up with reasoning and really i just want to imagine these characters in fun and interesting scenarios. Theyre all alive, just go with it and have fun. Note this is not a comic series or anything, i just like doodling the scenarios sometimes

(It doesn’t really have any posted content to it’s name yet,,,other than maybe revived clover au content ig,,,and im just not even sure how hard i’ll commit??? But i think and doodle about it often enough to justify it being mentioned for now. i think)

#Phantom integrity au -> someone sent an ask once about what if clover’s narrator was integrity. It’s a fun idea to explore and where I got the concept of Lilac’s design for! It’s not something I think about very often plotwise but I like drawing ghosty lilac

#Lilac -> yes they deserve their own tag. My integrity design that i like to draw, they have diseases i love them

#Pedias art

#Other peoples art -> you should check them out please 🥺

[five-thousand-loaves-of-bread]

uh hi. got some few followers because that LSN post. some points of housekeeping:

this blog rare contained little space where actually safe when wider autism & disability community very hostile to people like me. n whenever people follow me because of posts not about severe disability / level 2&3 HrSN nonverbal autism, some new people don’t know what going on & sometimes do stuff that make this space feel unsafe. you’re more than welcome to stay as long as you follow housekeeping & have general respect

1. not written by me but read this

& do search in blog for intellectual disability too

2. use stuff like autism levels & nonverbal & impairment & deficit language & severe autism & severe disability & visible autism here to describe self & have friends who also use them. while not use for self, also have friend who been called low functioning & also call themself that. you not have to like all that for yourself but don’t police what we call self don’t tell me “um actually this is ableist… but of course you call yourself whatever!” uh. we know. basically if you uncomfortable to even see these language my blog not for you.

eventually will have actual post about this instead of respond to someone rude who blocked me after this n so blocked back… but for now this will do (probably used to have one but too tired find right now)

3. 99% time post about above topic. n blog center people with those experiences & decenter LSN level 1 mild whatever language use. reflect on your experience n who you are n your privileges n your advantages bc we all have some yea even me

4. because do experience stuff post about they not just words… no empathy, can’t mask, have very bad theory of mind, often don’t understand other people exist not to mention have different thoughts feelings knowledge experience than me. am bitter a lot, mad a lot, angry a lot. think in extremes, n immediate write what think, immediate post what write. can be angry aggressive without realize n even if do realize, can’t really do anything about it. basically have level 2/3 autism have big communication struggle have big cognitive struggle & act like it

5. don’t tell me you relate to what am saying unless am know you. keep have problem of people think they experience same thing am talking about but actually turn out very different whole other world n am wish can be like them. sorry to people am not familiar with who genuinely understand n relate but please understand need this

6. am just one random nonverbal person with level 2/3 autism & higher support needs & severe disability online. human. so make mistakes. n have bad takes like anyone. don’t treat me as write universal truth never wrong

7. oh something important. no “going nonverbal” “nonverbal episode” “sometimes nonverbal” etc

should update all this on pinned

tone sound annoyed pissed off because kind of am… but not because of this so not at any of you all not personal

[emilykaldwen]

The Maiden and the Drowning Boy | Aegon x OC | Chapter Twenty-One

Rating: Explicit Ships: Aegon II Targaryen x Abrogail Strong (Lyonel Strong's Daughter), Jacaerys Velaryon x Helaena Targaryen

Summary: As the kingdom teeters on the edge of chaos, Alicent Hightower swaps the pieces on the board: Aegon will marry Abrogail Strong, Larys’ younger sister and heir to Harrenhal. Caught in the web of intrigue and political machinations, the pair must figure out where their loyalties lie, and what they mean to one another.

No tag list. please follow @emkald-fic and turn on post notifications for updates or subscribe on AO3

Tumblr Masterpost

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten | Chapter Eleven | Chapter Twelve | Chapter Thirteen | Chapter Fourteen | Chapter Fifteen | Chapter Sixteen | Chapter Seventeen | Chapter Eighteen | Chapter Nineteen | Chapter Twenty

AO3 LINK

Author's Note: This chapter got out of control and ended up split (did I add another 1k per beta notes? yes, yes I did). I also wrote half of this chapter in the blackout haze I was in during this past season soooo take that as you will.

Many many thanks to @darkwolf76 for her un-spoiled eyes on this chapter and the encouragement I needed! Go check her work out for Strong Family Feels!

Much love to @selfproclaimedunicorn who likes to see what pretty jars we can shove these characters into to shake them around. ALSO check out her fantastic fic as well!

@vampire-exgirlfriend is my favorite person in the whole world, the Rhaenyra fan to my Alicent fan, the fox to my rabbit. I adore you and this story would not be here without you.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE - Oh, Father, Tell Me

Aegon spirals on his morning ride and in the face of Daemon's arrival. A tense conversation with Larys Strong. Won't anyone just leave him the fuck alone?

The wind howled between the cracks around the windows and Abby snuggled deeper into the covers, Wylla’s hands clasped around her own. The bed was three times the size of the one she had in the Red Keep, and she tried not to think that the last person in this bed had been her mother.

“It’s alright,” Wylla whispered. “You shed all the tears you need.”

The words had been robbed from her in this haze of grief and loss, of confusion, and so many other things that raked at the soft meat of her insides. She could only nod into her pillow, and let Wylla push her hair from her face, half unfamiliar words in the song she sang quietly to her. It was only as Abby finally began to drift off, did she hear the sound of the door open, but she did not open her eyes.

“What are you doing here?” Wylla hissed.

“You’re here to make sure nothing untoward happens,” Aegon’s voice drifted over her, followed by the soft thunk of boots on the rug. “The bed’s big enough; I can wake the other ladies to join us.”

“She just fell asleep-”

“Is she alright?” Aegon’s voice was softer and closer all the same, and Abby felt the bed dip as Aegon climbed on top of the covers behind her. The warmth of him was like a fire, soothing and comforting as he pressed up against her back, effectively keeping her contained between him and Wylla. She turned her head slightly and Aegon’s lips tenderly grazed her temple.

“She will be.” Wylla’s hands squeezed hers and Abby sighed, finally able to drift fully asleep.

Sleep had eluded Aegon, and he had woken far too early for his tastes, the murky gray light that signaled the coming dawn creeping in through the windows. The maid who had come to stoke the fire had stared at him, wide eyed, before dropping into a curtsy and hurrying from the room. He rolled his eyes, pressing a kiss to Abrogail’s temple before dragging his stiff body from the bed and slipping quietly out onto the tiered balcony. He reached up, fingers caressing the wisteria blooms he’d sent back with Ser Simon all those months ago. Abby adored them, and he wanted to bring a piece of their garden here.

His father had ordered the deaths of Lyonel and Harwin Strong.

Jace had said little after the revelation, speaking of what he’d overheard, his voice harsh and cracking between breaths and in Aegon’s hands lay the admittance that his sister had truly sired bastards by the tongue of her own son. Jace had put the lives of his family in his hands then, amid his gasping and tear filled eyes. It was the moment that Alicent Hightower had been waiting for all these many years…and Aegon only kept a hand pressed between his nephew’s shoulder blades, sat beside his childhood companion, and simply sat there with him in the dark.

By rights, Aegon should hate the boy beside him. His feelings for his sister were a tangled knot of Helaena’s embroidery thread that joined the ribbon tied through his ribs. A piece of him that he would never be free of, for Aegon didn’t know how to cut himself free of it. It was not his sister in the crypt that Jace had heard, however. It had been the king, sire and grandsire, the head of their family. The man who looked past Aegon as if he was a specter that was too painful, and then the moment where those eyes focused and for those fleeting heartbeats, Aegon thought the king saw the son that he had.

His own hand held the blade - or in this case, lit the match - and it occurred to Aegon then how obvious it felt. Targaryens believed in a cleansing fire. Their house words spoke of this, Fire and Blood. Fire and Blood had come for House Strong, not a powerful wave crashing against the towers like some suspected Lord Corlys to have been responsible for it. His weak father had taken the accusations personally, and defended his daughter with the same sort of viciousness that Mother had defended Aemond. The same sort of viciousness that he never bestowed upon them.

Too weak. King Viserys was too weak but it was not weakness, Aegon thought, to spare a child. Had Rhaenyra admitted what had happened, he doubted anyone would have faced death. Ser Harwin would have gone to The Wall, Rhaenyra’s sons disinherited. Maybe Aegon would have become her heir then. Not that he wanted it, but Aemond would have even at that age, and that might have been something.

No. Instead, the king spilled blood through the sort of schemes he disdained of.

Harrenhal was too unfamiliar for Aegon to make his way through quietly. It was early enough that he wasn’t bothered, but it meant that the murmured conversations of the servants were his to overhear.

“They say it’s a Second Great Council,” a voice had said to their companion; two servants scraping out the great hearth that had burned low through the night. “I heard that the king will name his son heir at the wedding.”

“He didn’t name him in King’s Landing,” the other voice had pointed out.

The first voice laughed. “But more are coming to the wedding. You can see the tents for miles!”

The court had whispered those rumors the whole of Aegon’s life, every time his name day came around that it would be the year that he would supplant his sister as heir. Rumor that would chase along the whispers of court each time Rhaenyra gave birth to another brunette boy.

He wants me to inherit nothing! He wanted to scream at them. They all saw it. They all saw over and over again how little King Viserys cared for his long sought after first born son. The boy he stopped caring about as soon as Precious Rhaenyra’s little Jacaerys came.

Jacaerys Velaryon, who looked like Ser Harwin and always had, who shared the same dimpled smile as Abrogail. Jacaerys, who the king doted on and spoiled and paid more attention to than Aegon.

Jace, who had come running to him when he was small, crying because something had frightened him. Jace, who tagged along after him when Aemond rolled his eyes and stuck his head in a book.

The castle was already bustling as Aegon made the long walk to the stables, Kostōba already saddled by his request. He reached up to rub his palm along his face while he fed the horse a carrot for his good behavior and left out the main gates and down the trail west, away from Harrenton and towards the roost where Sunfyre and the other dragons had nested.

His father had ordered the deaths of Lyonel and Harwin Strong in order to cover up for his sister’s indiscretions.

Sunfyre rumbled beneath him as he climbed on, chittering and confused, watching him with great, golden eyes and trilling softly; a whistle of a song. Dreamfyre was curled up a ways away, Vermax chittering beside her while Moondancer perched up along the jagged rock of the ruined tower that made up the dragon roost. They all watched as Aegon and Sunfyre took off and Aegon let his stomach drop, the wind from the ascent pull tears from his eyes and tried to escape into the nothingness of the sky.

Did he even want to be king?

He had meant it when he said that he would not contest Rhaenyra’s claim. Kingship looked exhausting, with everyone demanding and expecting and pushing and pleading. He already dealt with the favor seekers and the clout chaser amidst court, preying upon him to aid their own desperate grabs at ascent. Cassandra Baratheon had been a more dangerous indulgence; the comely heir of a Lord Paramount with eyes set on something more. He wasn’t a fool. He knew that allowing her to think she could get her claws in him had been a risky move, and one that he was pleased had worked out for the better. She had not been the only one, nor, he knew, would she be the last.

Sunfyre let out a loud shriek and swooped down, the flotilla of previously peaceful ducks floating languidly upon the still waters of the lake now a frenzy of frightened calls before the dragon let out a pleased groan and scooped a mouth full of the water fowl into his mouth, belly just skimming the water, tail splashing in the sudden descent and quick ascent to avoid crashing into the depths. Water splashed up, the droplets catching into colored streaks of light in the early morning rays. He shouted in surprise and delight, Sunfyre shaking water from his head as he indulged himself, successfully pulling Aegon from the spiral of uncertainty that he had found himself in.

He did not want to be king, nor did he want to hide himself away amidst the ash and bone of the past the way his father did. He wanted to wake each morning buried balls deep in his wife, senses filled with her to erase away the haunted dreams of loneliness and pain. He wanted to greet the day upon dragonback and watch the sunrise; a streak of blue as vivid as Abrogail’s eyes, streaked with pink and orange and purple, the rays turning Sunfyre more golden and brilliant than ever. Where the world was quiet and peaceful, where nothing chased and demanded and clawed. Aegon wanted a life away from the harsh demands of King’s Landing. How peaceful it was here at Harrenhal. Yes, he missed the sound of bells from the Great Sept, the bustle and crush of Flea Bottom, but it was not a longing that bred contempt. Aegon knew that in his bones. It was an ache of appreciation, of thankfulness, because the quiet here, unexpectedly found as he and his dragon danced above the God’s Eye, was a gift he had not realized he had needed, let alone wanted.

The Isle of Faces was shrouded in the morning mist and the high, bone white boughs of the weirwoods reached up through the fog, the sprays of vivid red leaves like drops of blood against the snow. Sunfyre kept a distance away and Aegon did not urge him closer. He knew little of the island except that it was the last home of the Southron Weirwoods, a sacred place of worship. He squinted towards the island, the little outcropping that jutted out into the water, and startled as something moved.

The antlers caught his attention; the twist of the them at first fooling him for branches of a tree before the figure moved. It was no beast, at least, not one that Aegon had ever seen before. It was a shadow in the mist, a figure of some great height but he could not tell if it was what adorned its head or if the figure was truly tall. It moved out of the trees, the damp swirling around it as it stepped into the streak of morning light that lit up the little outcropping, shrouded in shadow.

Aegon’s ears pricked as a strange sound met him. A loud but low humming seemed to emanate the closer they came to the island. He had never heard such a thing before and although it was a distant sound, it reverberated in his bones, vibrating along the back of his neck.

His father had Lyonel Strong and his son were killed to protect Rhaenyra from further accusations.

The accusations had not been erased, and Aegon had seen the way Ser Simon had looked at the boy, eyes wide, the man who was so quick with words stunned speechless.

Everyone knows. Just look at them.

He craved the sweet rush of Arbor Red down his throat, or the taste of Abby’s cunt on his tongue. He craved escape and with an anguished shout, he urged Sunfyre faster, letting his roar claw at his throat just as Sunfyre joined him, the sensation of his dragon a comfort in his chest. The pair of them yelled together, Aegon breathless and lightheaded, his throat protesting at the scream he let out.

Sunfyre let out another trilling call and took off higher, the end of his tail slapping against the water and Aegon craned back to watch the figure as it grew smaller and smaller in the distance. The feeling in his stomach was one of uncertainty; an unsettled sensation that roiled in his belly like a sloshing ale tankard. He leaned over the horn of his saddle, running a gloved hand along Sunfyre’s scales. Another strong beat of his dragon’s wings, and Sunfyre sped faster into the dawn sky, the cold of the clouds hitting against Aegon’s face, cooling the perpetual heat of his skin and stinging his eyes. Yet he inhaled the smell of petrichor and let it course through his body and wash away the odd sensations and the thoughts that plagued him.

Still, it stuck.

His father had his wife’s father and brother killed to protect his sister. His wife’s other brother had a hand in it.

His sister, Aegon would never forget, who stood in the face of their brother’s maiming, the grievous injury that could have killed him; an ugly and long, painful death from infection and agony, to change the focus to her, and the perceived injustices against her, to the expense of the rest of them. Instead of punishing her children in any sort of capacity, she turned it into something completely different. Cruel and unnecessary; no one had been speaking of it. It had to do with Vhagar, not an attack on Rhaenyra herself. But she had run with Jace’s quiet words of a foolish child, bringing in what wouldn’t have been on the table had she not been fucking Harwin Strong and trying to pass his children off as Laenor Velaryon’s.

The king had eagerly gone along with it, further than even Aegon expected. King Viserys Targaryen, first of his name, was mild, milquetoast, and so averse to conflict that he and Aemond would start muttering, “Oh no, my indigestion! Oh no, my ulcers!’” every time some sort of disagreement or conflict began to rise at whatever familial occasion came about. Their sire, who yelled and railed when he wished to be contrary to exercise his desire…had ordered the deaths of his Hand and the man’s heir—the man who his heir was fucking.

Three children too late, of course, but the king had been backed into a corner and had snapped and spread his wings to show he could be just as dangerous as Prince Daemon. Aegon knew that much about his father. Even if none knew how it had happened, did Rhaenyra know what their father had done for her? Aegon could not know her mind, but he knew if it had been himself, he would have raged at it.

He would have gone into the king’s room and torn his heart from his chest. This fool of a king who waited too long, acted too late to do anything and left them all here: fractured and broken with no hope of anything but blood across the throne.

Was Rhaenyra not also a dragon? Or had she rolled over and showed her belly in the face of their father’s twisted adoration?

Alicent Hightower’s children. Never brother nor sister..

Aegon had no choice. There was no world he existed in where Rhaenyra was not his sister. She had enough luxury to put distance between them, and how aggressively she did. Her shadow loomed behind him, and he knew that his own dogged her. She was not coming to this wedding for him. She was not coming to share in his incandescent joy to finally be bound to the one he loved. She was coming to assert her place, to remind them all that she was their father’s favorites, their father’s chosen.

What would she do in the face of House Strong who saw Jace’s face, and would soon see his brothers? What would the king feel compelled to do? Would he set the rest of the house ablaze to erase whatever physical similarities would undermine Rhaenyra’s claim? As if three sons of his own weren’t enough to undermine her? Take their faces instead of their tongues.

King Viserys despised nothing more than being made to look like a fool.

It was never just Mother who railed at what was plain to see. It was never just her.

‘Do you think Rhaenyra’s sons will be your playthings forever? When she ascends the throne, your life may be forfeit. She could move to cut off any challenge to her succession. You are the challenge, Aegon! Just by living and breathing!’

Sunfyre rumbled beneath him, the chirping purr he made one full of confusion and concern, his great head turning to look back at him. Aegon remained slumped over the saddle horn as the dragon flew aimlessly above the God’s Eye and the rolling hills of the Riverlands. It would be so easy to unhook his belt and let himself roll off and plummet into the depths below. To escape the machinations and lies and secrets of his family and replace it with the depths of blue would be a simple escape. Whatever violence his mother and grandfather saw in the future, could he simply… make it go away? If he went away?

He could not. He would not. Not now. Not when he was so close. He could not leave Abby here alone in this world; he would not abandon her the way she had been left behind by everyone else. He’d promised and he meant it.

Aegon looked up from his staring at the pink frills along Sunfyre’s neck to blink up, eyes stinging, as a warbling, undulating call echoed from the east. It echoed over the rolling green fields and the forest that hugged along the banks by the castle. It was a distant sound that sent a shiver down his spine, undulating and unnerving. His stomach swooped and dropped uncomfortably, and the half bottle of wine he’d drunk last night threatened to slosh up. Sunfyre rumbled beneath him, a growl in his throat as he whipped towards the east with a screech.

There was only a single dragon in the sky; his sister must have gone further to meet the carriage that held the children and the Velaryons. The blood red of Caraxes’ scales glinted like garnets in the morning light. The distant sound of laughter joined the dragon’s call as the red pitched and turned north.

Sunfyre’s warning call screamed louder across the sky. He didn’t need to be told; Sunfyre simply knew. They bolted after them a heartbeat later, racing towards the hulking, melted spires of Harrenhal, thoughts of oblivion, of glutting on lake fish forgotten. His friend might not be quite as old as Caraxes, but he was just as big, and fast, if not faster. A screech let out, a flash of hot light expelled from Sunfyre as they gave pursuit, but the wyrm merely dropped down and another laugh echoed back. Something hot burned in Aegon’s chest and Sunfyre shuddered beneath him.

The command rested on Aegon’s tongue, tempting as a fresh bottle of wine, as his winsome lover spread upon his bed. It was from a deep, feral place in his chest, where Sunfyre’s presence glowed warm and molten through his veins. He bit his tongue and Sunfyre screeched for him. The need to take the other man and his dragon in his jaws, rip and rend and shake the bits of them as blood sacrifice to the gods, was near consuming. A rage inside of Aegon that had built over the years threatened to bubble up. The hot tang of blood rushed into his mouth both from dragon dreams and the fact that he’d bitten himself to keep from shouting. He was desperate to do something with this rage that had nowhere to go, and the idea of rending Daemon Targaryen limb from limb, offering him as sacrifice at the feet of his mother to free her from the strangling fear that turned her angry and desperate.Aegon would take the threats of their family, prove to Aemond that he too was capable of standing up, bold and strong. To show Otto Hightower that he was not the feckless fool he sought to puppet. To prove to Abrogail that she would never have anything to fear, ever again, and that their family would be safe.

To show Rhaenyra that she could keep her claim that she so desperately wanted, but that she would not come for them, lest she meet the same fate.

To show his sire-king, the decrepit old man he was, that Aegon would defend them with fire and blood too when he would not. To force King Viserys to see him and know that this was the creature he’d turned him into; that he’d turned this family into. Where his mother had turned cruel and desperate to protect them, where Aemond was angry all the time, where Aegon lived each day with a sword above his head, wondering if that morning would be the day the king did not wake, and the dragons would scream.

Another laugh echoed as the pair ahead swooped down to skim the water before bursting back up, amused and uncaring of the screaming dragon that gave chase. Daemon was enjoying it. He howled as that rage took him, and Sunfyre screamed along with him. They were nearing the great curtain walls of the fortress now, the sun to their right casting their shadows along the glimmering blue of the God’s Eye, the antlered shadow on the outcropping long forgotten. The wyrm banked further northwest to the dragon roost and Aegon hissed.

“Lilagon, Sunfyre,” he commanded, and Sunfyre danced. The dragon glided effortlessly into the turn, coming up up along the inside as they circled Harrenhal and used the momentum to burst past and rocketed straight for the broken tower. Sunfyre let out a warning cry, banking around and rising up, wings spread. Aegon had no thoughts, no words, except to protect. This was his, and this laughing man and his strange dragon wyrm had chosen already.

Like Viserys, Daemon had chosen his side, more dangerous than the rest of them.

The dragons below in the pit started shrieking in response to Sunfyre’s call, but Moondancer shot up, her calls far less distressed, the verdant green of her scales glimmering as she twirled in the air. At the little dragon’s approach, the wyrm circled towards her, the elongated neck ensuring that Caraxes’ eyes did not leave Aegon and Sunfyre, warning him away.

“Sȳrī tymptan!” came the distant shout. Aegon felt Sunfyre shift. “Aōha kepa avy dīnagon ozūndegon amastas! Rhaenyra aderī kesīr ulza.”

Dreamfyre was ululating from the ground in response to Sunfyre’s warning and Aegon glared towards his uncle.

“We’re fine,” he murmured to the dragon, scratching at the scales along his neck. Sunfyre huffed his displeasure but did not cry out again. Dreamfyre was still making sounds, but the distressed call had stopped and the two of them lowered to the ground, Moondancer still above and circling. The Dragonkeepers were rushing about, and Ser Arryk was holding onto his horse’s bridle, the stallion stomping its feet with fear at the shouts of the dragons. Aegon could see a wheelhouse in the distance, another Kingsguard stallion leading it ahead.

He undid the hooks on his saddle and slid down Sunfyre’s wing before the dragon could settle properly, his golden eyes fixated on the other dragon settling himself away from Dreamfyre. His breath was quick and his skin felt overly hot, prickly, like he was about to let out his own flame. Daemon Targaryen was far more fluid; lazy, even, as he swung himself down, the fall of the man’s hair and his long limbs a familiar sight. There was a strange moment when the man turned and cocked his head, that Aegon thought he was looking at his brother, and wondered in a terrifying moment, if Daemon Targaryen was Aemond’s future.

The last time he’d seen his uncle had been at Laena Velaryon’s funeral. A figure seen occasionally during his childhood, Daemon Targaryen was more a staple of stories and sneers than what Aegon would consider an actual uncle. He’d holed himself up on Driftmark with the Velaryons and the twins before he married Rhaenyra, and the pair of them had refused to come to court since their marriage. The man had changed little over the years. Tall and silver haired, Daemon was a figure of health compared to King Viserys, still recovering from the long trip up from the capital.

“Welcome to Harrenhal, Prince Daemon,” Aegon said, a final, gentle pat against Sunfyre’s neck, the dragon’s head turned to keep his golden eyes on the Blood Wyrm and its rider. Aegon lifted a hand, tugging his glove off with his teeth before pushing his tousled, wind tangled hair from his eyes. He would not be intimidated. He would not let the whispered threats of what Daemon Targaryen would do if the opportunity found him overtake him. This was his home, and Aegon was still the king’s son, and the prince was a guest. He’d made his loyalties clear years ago.

He remembered with such startling clarity running after his sister, shouting her name, begging her to wait for him, struggling to get his coat on and tripping in his haste. “Nyra wait!” She was striding down the hallway, the sun catching on her long silver hair, like Visenya reborn, waving to Daemon and Laena Velaryon. His sister had paused and looked back at him but it was Daemon’s sharp, cruel smirk that had stopped Aegon short as the man reached for Rhaenyra’s shoulder and drew her attention.

“He is of no importance.”

More who did not want him.

Aegon stumbled slightly as he felt a huff of warm, sulfuric breath hit his back, followed by the gentle bump of Sunfyre, the warmth of his purr vibrating inside the hollow between his ribs and through his limbs. There was a gentle chirp, like a bird song, and Aegon turned to press his hands against the dragon’s warm snout, pressing a kiss between his flared nostrils. “Lykirī,” he murmured, calming them both. Another pat against his warm scales and Aegon shoved his gloves in his pockets. Ser Arryk was watching him from his post near the stone cottage where the Dragonkeepers were staying. The elder man’s brows were slightly furrowed, his face impassive, but his gaze flitted to Daemon’s briefly before looking back to him.

“Your Grace,” Ser Arryk said. There was a question in the simple greeting that came from the years that Ser Arryk had been his sworn shield. It was nothing specific and sometimes it caused a prickle of uncertainty and self-doubt, different in the self-conscious feelings that Ser Criston stoked.

“I’m sure the prince would appreciate the quiet solitude of the carriage ride,” Aegon said on his approach, his gaze darting towards Daemon as he stalked towards them. The carriage would be there shortly, back in sight after the bend around some of the boulders that marked the border of the shale caves here along the lake. “He does spend much of his time surrounded by the babbling of children.”

“How thoughtful you are. You certainly don’t get that from your mother.”

Aegon ran his tongue over his teeth, jaw aching with a pain that was not his own, Sunfyre still rumbling beneath his skin. The bait was blatant, so low hanging that he could kick it should he so wished. How he wished to take it and pummel Daemon with it. His mother’s hands may have left scars upon him, but she was his mother. His defender even when he disappointed her. These last few months were strange and hopeful in a way he didn’t know how to handle. Her touch had been gentle across his brow or upon his shoulder, her smiles tentative but there, the furrow between her brow easing.

His mother who cuddled him when he was small and afraid when she was pregnant with Daeron, that he would lose her, who cared about the small folk in her sponsorships and initiatives she was so busy with. Nothing Aegon would do was ever good enough, but sometimes? Sometimes it was.

The response to Daemon was on his tongue, ripe and juicy as a grape. “And we know you get nothing from yours.” Cruel and barbed and hooked, his own teeth bared if Daemon Targaryen was so eager to see what he was made of.

“I did not realize you and the queen were so close for you to recognize what qualities I did or did not receive from her,” Aegon said instead, wan smile and cursory look in the elder’s direction. “If you were wondering, I do get my good looks from her, and a taste for honey cakes.” He shrugged, reaching over to stroke the velvet softness of his stallion’s nose. “The hair is, of course, from my father, the king. I notice Baela wears the same displeased expression you wear. As well as your nose.”

The smile he gave Daemon was a bit brighter this time as the carriage pulled up, Ser Marbrand on his steed. The door opened unexpectedly and Baela herself came out, silver braids swinging and the gold bands shining in the light. He had spent enough time around his cousin over the past few months to see the same uncertain tension in her shoulders that he frequently saw in Aemond as she took in her father.

“I heard Caraxes,” she said by way of greeting, the deep greens and blues of her riding leathers scored with seahorses and dragons. Daemon’s attention swung to his daughter and Aegon ignored the rest of the conversation as it turned into High Valyrian, rapid and ancient, their accents markedly different from how he spoke with his own siblings. A raw feeling struck hard inside his chest, and he watched them for another moment before his attention swung to further movement at the carriage.

“Welcome to Harrenhal, Prince Daemon,” Larys Strong’s voice carried unexpectedly well given his low tone. “Forgive me for not getting out - it is rather difficult for me to move here.”

Daemon’s face was impassive at being addressed by the lord of Harrenhal and Aegon looked at the soft, torn up ground that the carriage had stopped in. Baela gave Aegon a nod before pulling her father’s attention, her Valyrian flowing easily. “I thought we could go riding. Just you and I.”

“Another carriage is on its way, your Grace,” Ser Marbrand said. “I shall stay here, Ser Arryk.”

Kostōba pawed at the ground and without being asked, the footman tied Aegon’s horse to the back of the carriage. Aegon bristled, opening his mouth to demand the servant cease until Larys’ voice came once more.

“Join me in the carriage, my prince. We are going to be family soon, and it’s so difficult to get time together.”

Aegon’s eyes narrowed a touch, long lashes hooding his eyes as he turned his attention back to the footman who had handled his horse. He could hear his uncle and cousin still conversing in rapid Valyrian, their words muffled just enough, so easily flowing between them that Aegon couldn’t keep up. The horses knickered and whined, pawing at the ground with the proximity to the dragons.

“Of course, Lord Larys. We will indeed.” Aegon gave him a tight smile and gestured for him to enter the wheelhouse first. The ones from the capital prioritized privacy with their screened in windows. The ones belonging to House Strong were more easily opened, the windows with little, folded shutters and fluttering linen curtains; far more open and far less like a cage.

Larys tapped the handle of his cane against the roof of the wheelhouse, and with a gentle jerk they headed back. Aegon leaned back against the plush pillows of the bench, stretching his legs out before him. In the small space, it was a sight to see how tall Larys Strong was. He was a thin man, much like Aemond, but while Aemond walked as straight as a blade, Larys made himself small. A sick feeling curled in the pit of his stomach as the understanding washed over him; the feeling of seeing one in the mirror. Aegon did the same thing. Curled shoulders and slouching to avoid the gaze of those who would bite at him.

The only difference, Aegon surmised, was that Larys’ desire to be undetected did not come from something as childish as his own desire to be unnoticed.

The soft sound of scraping drew Aegon’s gaze down to peer at Larys’ metal boot.

“When you take your seat here, my prince, you should know what you’re up against,” Larys said softly, his dark eyes pinning Aegon like one of Helaena’s bugs to the board. “You handled the council meeting well, as the squabbles of the Blackwoods and Brackens are exhausting to us all. Of course, Grover Tully approves of you. He may have sworn oaths to your father’s chosen successor, but make no mistake that he will raise banners for you. His grandson, Elmo, on the other hand…”

Aegon recalled the elder man with a wash of inferiority. Elmo Tully was tall and broad, with dark, auburn hair and piercing eyes that shifted from blue to green, he recalled, because it had unsettled him. ‘Lucerys’ eyes,’ Aegon remembered thinking when he first sat across from the man at the small council table.

“Aunt Celeste isn’t your mother, is she?” Aegon’s brow furrowed as he tried to reconcile the woman who had helped raise him with how she could bear this giant of a man. Ser Harwin let out a sad sounding laugh and shook his head.

“No, my prince. My mother was Lysa Tully, granddaughter of Lord Grover. I squired in Riverrun before my father became Master of Laws for your father.” Ser Harwin shook his curls from his face, reaching to tie it back to keep it from his face. “She died when I was a little sprog, barely walking.” A distance took his eyes and Aegon averted his gaze to offer the man privacy.

“He supports Rhaenyra,” Aegon finished, not wishing to dance around implications.

“He will, if only because he views the Hand and your mother as overstepping the crown’s wishes and the contract between the throne and its people.”

Aegon frowned at this, arms folded across his chest. “Speak plain, Lord Larys,” he said with his own hard look. Aegon understood games, he understood doublespeak, but there was much left to the imagination and he would not be made a fool of. “The throne provides for its people. What imagined overstepping is he so worried about? He’s simply sore that he lost Harrenhal to me.”

“He’s concerned about the dragon this marriage placed in his lands.” Larys shrugged softly and leaned back in the seat, the carriage jostling over a particularly large bump. “Harrenhal of course is a boon, but not in the way you might think. A comely bride is merely an additional perk, not the prize as it was for you.”

Aegon hummed softly in a way that reminded him of his brother and curled his fingers into his arms to resist the need to pick at the skin. Aemond had said something similar over the course of his nameday. How now all would see how vulnerable he was, and the way to wound him most grievously. Aegon, on the other hand, had sneered at that. Abby was not a weakness to him. To lose her would be to lose himself, yes, but it would not destroy him like Aemond tried to imply.

Of course it wouldn’t.

“They’re here to discuss the marriage contract. Lord Elmo is here on behalf of his father since Lord Tully is abed back at Riverrun. Several of the other river lords are with him, wishing to hammer out the details the crown and I worked out in regards to the inheritance of Harrenhal and jointure, the dowry, and the fact that Lord Elmo sees your placement in the Riverlands as a threat that you will take the Paramount seat from him should he not support you.”

Aegon’s face twisted in confusion, nostrils flaring at the insult at being accused of something he had no desire for. He leaned forward, a hand reaching up to the handle along the roof of the carriage to balance himself.

“He accuses me of coveting his seat?” Aegon hissed. “Just as these lords think I’m plotting to steal my sister’s throne. Why are they so quick to think ill of me? To accuse me of villainy and brand me traitor when I’ve done nothing of the sort. I plot no schemes or collusions—”

“You were born,” Larys interrupted with a soft and earnest voice. He too leaned forward, mimicking Aegon’s position. “You are the first born son of a king who murdered his first wife in the hunt for a healthy, living son, Prince Aegon. You did not choose this mantle, you did not choose to be born the son of the king, and I did not choose to be born with my own struggles. But these are the lots we have drawn in life and we must make the best of it.”

This close, Aegon noticed how he looked a bit like Ser Simon, who himself looked like the ghost of Lord Lyonel. Larys’s features were sharper than the rest of his family, he and his sister both, likely from their Frey mother. But the dark eyes reminded him of the amber glass eyes that stared out of the mounted stag heads and bear heads that lined one of the small halls in the Red Keep.

“Your own struggles?” Aegon snarled. “Like murdering your father and brother so you could have the seat instead of skulking about the Red Keep for the rest of your days?”

Aegon leaned back and so did Larys, who dropped his hand to grip the handle of his cane. He looked out the window silently, his jaw clenched, fingers tapping against the amber bauble on the cane. Larys did not ask him how he knew.

Caraxes’ whistling shriek echoed high across the lake valley. There was an even more distant answer: the long absent cry of Syrax that he hadn’t heard in years.

As Larys Strong’s dark eyes found him, Aegon felt like the elder was peeling away his skin as methodically as he peeled fruit, or the flesh of the convicts in the torture cells of the Red Keep. Aegon watched the twitch of his features and the shadow that passed over his gaze.

“Prince Aegon,” he said slowly, words measured, pausing for a moment before he finally continued. “The death of my father and elder brother was a tragic accident. It was never supposed to happen that way.”

Aegon’s mouth went dry. So what Jace said was, in fact, true;that Aegon had blurted it out to the man accused was of no matter. The bottom of his stomach dropped out with an unpleasant swoop.

Larys’ can thumped softly against the floor of the carriage. “It is not something that was done out of greed, or selfishness. Nor was it years of resentment. I loved my father very much. While a lesser father would have cast a babe born as I was aside, to dash their heads against the stone and write the babe off as another loss in a long line of tragedy, he fed my appetite for learning. He taught me how to hone my mind the way my brother honed his blade. He offered to send me to the citadel if it was what I wished, just as he attended in his youth before his brother, Tristafer, died and he became heir. When I declined to go to Oldtown, he helped me find a place in the world where I could excel.”

“Then you killed him,” Aegon said, voice low, brow slightly furrowed. “A man you claimed to love, who had done so much for you, and you burned him alive.”

The other man looked down at his cane, impassive in the face of Aegon’s words. He took a breath, a slight shake of his head, then met Aegon’s eyes once more. “Princess Rhaenyra kept my brother at her side and my father, love him as I did, he did not stop it. He could have. He did not.” Larys paused and his eyes went downcast, sweeping across the floor, but Aegon did not think he was truly looking at anything. “The king saw a threat to the stability of the royal family and made his wishes clear. When the king wishes something, it will be done. Your father wanted to silence the whispers. I would not let some assassin come after my family. We all make sacrifices in life, Your Grace. Often, that is in response to…,” Larys met his gaze, “...the actions, or inaction, of our fathers and our siblings. Duty and sacrifice are tenets of your mother’s, so I know you understand. I sacrificed them to salvage what I could of our house, and to save my sweet sister who was meant to return here as my brother finally came to take his place as future lord.”

The silence was oppressive, the air thick from it, as Larys held his gaze for several more moments before releasing him to look out the window. Aegon had nothing to say and instead looked out his own window towards the lake and the trees along the shoreline. Larys had given him much to consider and it was a new experience to not have it all blamed upon Rhaenyra or even the fleeting implications in the complacency of the king. Larys had implicated his own father and brother; a mess made of the four of them.

Aegon recalled the pale, silent ghost that Abby had turned into after the deaths of Lyonel and Harwin, barely remembering the discussion of her returning to Harrenhal. His mother had been quiet too and locked for hours in the sept. Aegon had thought she had been grieving with Abby, had grieved the loss of the relationship she had had with Lord Lyonel. Did she too know about this?

It was so much. It was too much for him to think of all right now and he didn’t want to focus on it. The danger at hand now was the presence of Elmo Tully and the other lords who were raising an issue and trying to prevent his marriage. The anger at being misjudged and assumed that he was coming for things he could not give two shits about, that took the forefront of his mind. He didn’t want to be king and he didn’t want a Paramount seat. He just wanted his dragon, and Abrogail, and whatever family they made for themselves.

Well. That was a season. This chapter got so damn long that we've had to split it in two, which at the end of the day is a good thing. I'll get to flesh out the second half and start moving us into a couple housekeeping things before we launch into the long awaited family dinner, a spicy spicy chapter, and THEN THE WEDDING! As an FYI, I'm starting a new job on Monday! I will no longer be WFH, so my writing time is going to be a helluva lot different moving forward, but we're still sticking to the 'at least once a month' chapter updates. And with the next chapter now half down, I'm hoping to get back to a small buffer. Thank you all for being here, and I always always love to hear from you. If you're not sure what to say, a reblog lets more people read this story! My askbox is also open! Thank you for reading <3

[Next Chapter]

[actual-changeling]

Uh. Hi! I'm Alex and I love writing pain.

I've seen the angst war going on and I am incredibly tempted to contribute; I'm not quite sure of the rules (if there are any) so feel free to bring me up to speed. Updates will be at whatever pace is fun/doable for me, interactions, asks etc. always very much appreciated 💚

@goodomensafterdark @daneecastle @gleafer @gahellhimself-blog @vavoom-sorted-art @kotias

I will put appropriate content tags on every chapter and make a masterpost once I have a handful of posts. Please keep in mind that this series is going to deal with a heavy dose of unreality, self-injurious behaviour, substance abuse, erratic behaviour/mood swings, and more. There will be a happy ending.

Now, without further ado, the first instalment of what is going to be us following Crowley down the path of (hopefully temporary) insanity.

rest your head \\ chapter 1

(~800 w, no additional warnings)

Sleep deprivation, while usually not fatal, is not the least bit pleasant. Human brains require sleep to function—and not just their minds, either. The entire body breaks down oh so slowly as every system designed to keep it alive deteriorates without the comforting embrace of unconsciousness.

However, the actual cause of death is yet to be identified, and luckily Crowley's corporation functions on the principle of 'what it doesn't know won't kill it'.

Over the centuries, earthly indulgences have become more and more common, pleasures easily sought and found no matter where he went, although nothing ever beat a good night's (or decade's) rest. Sleep calms his mind and allows him to drift through time without a care, surrounded by ever-shifting dream clouds and the occasional vivid interference. In short, it takes away the pain, and Someone knows there is a lot to carry when he returns home for the first time in four years.

No dust had dared to settle on the furniture, and the familiar smell of damp earth welcomes him. Locking the door behind him, Crowley blindly finds his way through the corridors, kicking off his shoes as he goes and throwing his glasses onto the nearest surface. When he pushes into his bedroom, which is just as pristine as he had left it, the anger churning in his gut cools.

Home. Has he ever had a home? Once upon a time, maybe, before time had been born, surrounded by breathing nebulae and void, and then—

Eden. Him. Right, that's done.

A snap of his fingers and his clothes change into a set of silk pyjamas, the fabric brushing over his skin like liquid silver, and the black-out curtains snap shut. Darkvision is one of the advantages of being a demon, but he finds the dark has nothing to offer him today, so he closes his eyes and pulls back the sheets to curl around a pillow.

Images flicker in the pulsating emptiness left behind, piercing blue eyes and fluttering hands, a press of lips against his, words digging into his skull like tadpoles making a home within his brain matter. Electricity crawls over his slowly numbing body, urging him to disappear, to sink into nothingness and waste away until he is a dried stain on the mattress. 

No one will come looking for him, after all.

Maybe the world will be brighter once he wakes, the pain duller, the loneliness less aching and all-consuming. Within his chest bleeds a hollow, jagged wound, dripping black blood and drowning the radiant remnants of Aziraphale's presence; his essence is familiar, it's- home. 

Crowley does not need to sleep, yet somewhere between Rome and the present, he had forgotten about it, his corporation shifting and changing, craving rest and punishing him for its absence. It will not kill him, it does not even occur to him that it might, but there are countless fates worth than death and he is already living one of them. What's another added to the mess his life has become?

His nails dig into the pillow case, his consciousness choking on the scorched battlefield of the day, but no matter how hard he tries, how desperately he commands his body to bend to his wills, sleep refuses to come. A new, different kind of pain rises, worse than fatigue and infinitely more addictive. Its sting is battery acid on his tongue, infusing him with a restlessness that is scratching on his bones, and when blue irises keep mocking him behind closed lids, he forces his eyes open, turns onto his back, and stares at the ceiling, waiting.

Light wanders and shifts, barely visible through the heavy fabric adorning his windows, and it dips behind the horizon before reappearing on the other side. Crowley stares at white paint and counts the moving dots gradually clouding his vision, absently pressing his knuckles against his sternum over and over—whether to calm himself or to chase away mental pain with physical is beyond his awareness. 

Both, neither, maybe. 

His too-human body protests and whines, and once he begins to see blue shadows in his periphery, Crowley bites his tongue and gets up. Coffee will help, then a hot shower, and yelling his plants back into order is going to occupy most of his afternoon anyway, so what's a night without sleep?

The next one will bring him the rest he needs, and Aziraphale's eyes will stop striking him down whenever he blinks. He is alone now (alone in London, alone on earth, his chest constricts and twists at the thought, stealing his breath) and he will have to get used to it; it'll be fine eventually, right?

—

Three days later Crowley is staring at his bedroom ceiling, impatient, restless, exhausted, and attempting to chase away the bone-white teeth hovering underneath lightning-blue eyes.

"Fine, have it your way," he snaps eventually, his voice too loud in an empty room, and feels the smile breathing down his neck all the way to the kitchen.

[manicpixiefelix]

head, heart, hand. {Felix Catton/Reader/Oliver Quick}

Part 22.

Summary: After mostly resolving your issues regarding Oliver and Venetia, it's much easier to enjoy the time leading up to the dinner with the Henrys. Still, Oliver seems more than a little nervous to be around you and Felix, much to Felix's ongoing chagrin. He wonders how long it will take for Oliver to take the hint.

{ masterpost }

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader/Felix. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons.

A/N: 3044 words. oh yeah, its all coming together. :) i know the last few updates have been kind of spaced out, so i'd love to get some feedback from you lovely folks about how you think it's coming along now that we're in the back half.

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One day - probably one day soon - you'd have to tell Felix the truth about Oliver and Venetia. By that time, you reasoned, you'd have come up with a way to say it that would make him see why you hadn't called Oliver out for lying, and why you'd kept it from him. His gut reaction, like your own, was to immediately jump to the worst possible, malevolent conclusion. Based on past events, it was a sound conclusion to jump to. But Oliver's not Eddie. It was a moment of weakness, and Oliver really does love Felix. Somehow you'd find a way to make this painless, perhaps even a way to show how much Oliver cared, because that's what you'd seen, that's the why behind your own deception.

Except Felix wasn't even ready to admit out loud to himself, let alone you, or god forbid Oliver, that he genuinely felt that way about him. Even if he definitely, clearly did. But again, past heartbreak makes some of his trepidation far more excusable.

At least you have a distraction for the afternoon - not Oliver, no, he would never be so bold in direct sunlight as to do anything more than make out with you on the pool lounge. No, this distraction wasn't a particularly good one.

The NDA from your parents, sitting in your study.

Part of you knows you should probably have a lawyer look over this, but there was something about the idea of involving yet another person in your parents ongoing attempts to abandoned you that left a sour taste in your mouth. So that left you to look over it all on your own. The sticky-hot afternoon in the study wears thin on your nerves, but irritation was all that ever came of it, not upset or disappointment. Reconciling with Oliver probably had quite a bit to do with it.

Dinner is a welcome reprieve. When Oliver smiles at you across the table, there's a weight that's lifted from your shoulders are you smile back. Felix too is in notably high spirits, though he's decidedly not talking to Venetia; his parents don't seem to mind, however, as long as he's happier than when he'd started the day.

"Is there anything planned for after dinner?" Oliver asked, eyes wide and earnest as he looks around the table, all present sharing an equally confused look as if one of them may have planned something all the others had forgotten.

"Not as far as I'm aware," Sir James offers after a moment.

"Tomorrow will be quite the busy night," Elspeth elaborates with ease, "I'm sure we'd all like to conserve our energy."

"Last chance to cancel dinner with the Henrys," Felix says, already knowing it's not a real option, even after Elspeth chides him for the suggestion, that they'd already had all the food brought and extra help hired.

"Has the seating chart been organised yet?" You asked hopefully, to which Elspeth smiled when her gaze landed upon you, assuring you she'd finalised it that afternoon, turning only to remind Duncan to have it delivered to your study that evening.

"You'll be seated next to Henry of Suffolk, dear," she also tells you, and immediately you're filing that information away in the back of your mind. Henry of Suffolk, partner at Richmond & Suffolk Legal; his late wife was named Clarice, he had a daughter and son a few years younger than you... their names escaped you at that moment.

Beside you, Felix is shamelessly admiring you.

"What?" You ducked your head to try and hide your embarrassed grin.

"Just watching your mind work," he teased with a laugh which had you rolling your eyes with fond exasperation.

"So you can see the cogs too then?" Venetia giggles across the table, though Farleigh chimes in before Felix has the chance to give his sister a look.

"Surprised there's not steam coming out of their ears."

"I'm not a robot," you insisted, flustered by the attention and their combined teasing.

"Just your beautiful brain then," Oliver adds fondly, and out of sheer surprise you look up to meet his endeared gaze as he looks back at you. When had he been let in on that particular joke, you wondered? Something in the back of your mind is sure that it was Venetia, after all, she was the one who most often referred to your 'robot brain' as such, but you don't have it in you to be upset. You never do at these jokes, even though you may occasionally protest about them, they're always intended as a compliment.

And there's no way you could be mad with Oliver looking at you like that.

Dinner continues on with very little fuss after that, and you return to your study feeling much lighter than you had before. Felix joins you, complaining about how you'd spent all afternoon in here, and he couldn't bare to think of you spend all evening alone in here too. Of course he knows that Oliver will more than likely join you when it gets late enough, but he's brought a book, and has quietly claimed the sofa beneath the window for himself. These nights have never been uncommon, but this Summer has seemed especially busy at Saltburn, so you more than welcome his quiet company as the day's heat slowly burns away.

It's not long before there's someone approaching your door.

"It's Duncan," you say, mostly for Felix's benefit, before the butler himself knocks and you invite him in.

"The seating arrangements for tomorrow night's event, Captain," Duncan says graciously, giving you the faintest smile as he hands the document over and turns swiftly on his heel, practically evaporating into the darkness of the house silently.

"Still have no idea how you do that," Felix sounds rather impressed from where he's draped himself over the sofa.

"Do what?" You asked distractedly, examining the seating chart in the golden glow of the lamp.

"How you know exactly who's coming and going without even seeing them."

"Duncan was just being courteous for me," you mutter off-handily, "if I'd heard nothing before he'd knocked, I'd still know it was him."

"You know that's even more impressive, right?" Felix laughs, and finally you turn to him, only to see him watching you like he can't quite believe what you're saying. Sometimes you find yourself surprised by the Cattons, and how little they seem to understand or appreciate about the Estate on which they live.

"No, what's impressive is that I can tell what kind of mood your in half the time just by the sound of your footsteps," you tells him with a grin.

"Now you're lying," Felix snorts, shaking his head. But you continue.

"No, seriously Fi, it's not always entirely accurate, but it's pretty close; I'm not quite there with the rest of your family, but I think I know you well enough."

"That's like, stalker levels of dedication," but his smile is bright in the light of the moon, and his tone turns teasing, "do you have a thing for me or something?"

"I wouldn't go that far," you huffed a laugh, playing along with the bit.

"Shame," he sighed dramatically, "I was really hoping you did, 'cos I kind of have a thing for you."

"I wouldn't if I were you," finally standing, you sauntered over to him, smirking as he beamed up at you, thoroughly pleased by this silly little bit, "that sounds like a scandal waiting to happen."

"Call the tabloids then," Felix laughed softly as he welcomed you into his arms.

"Any stalker-like tendencies of yours I should be worried about?" You asked, settling against him, leaning into him.

"Yeah, I've got a bunch of your things in my room," Felix murmurs right before you kiss him, grinning as you do so. Things devolve from there to the two of you making out in the moonlight, giggling together, teasing nonsense passed back and forth as the moon rose higher in the sky.

"Ollie's at the door," you see fit to finally tell Felix, who looks down at you with wide, surprised eyes. Sheepishly you admit, "he's been there for like five minutes." It's getting terribly late, but you really don't want to go bed right now, or go anywhere that isn't here, in this moment. Felix snorts a laugh, face scrunching up with something close to embarrassment; he knows letting Oliver get away with this kind of thing is part of the game you're all playing, but it still catches him off guard with just how aware you were of the whole situation.

"Ollie," Felix called out, and you both heard a him start behind the study door, "Christ, mate, don't linger," he insists, righting both him and yourself to something more respectable on the sofa, but still insisting on holding you close, "come in already." You're practically in his lap.

Like a deer in the headlights, looking absolutely mortified at being caught out, Oliver pushes the door open and faintly apologises, telling you both he didn't want to interrupt.

"Interrupt what?" Felix says far too easily, smile wide and a bit coy, "nothing to interrupt," though you can hear it for what it is; nothing you, Oliver, could ever interrupt if you simply asked to join. How long would it take Oliver to realise this, you wondered; Felix is getting less subtle by the day.

"I was going to ask -" Oliver pauses, focus stolen by the way Felix presses a kiss to your shoulder, before his gaze returns to your face, your expectant smile. Felix knows exactly what he's doing, "um, was going to ask about the seats for the dinner tomorrow?" Oliver manages, "I don't... know the Henrys?"

As you stand, Felix lets out a loud, disappointed sigh, but lets you go, returning to his book. Every movement, every sound Felix makes captivates Oliver in this moment, and both you and Felix are more than aware of this. Still, you swan over to your desk, looking over the seating chart before you usher Oliver over.

"They've got you next to Ven and Lady Daphne," you show him, pointing out his place along the table, "she's Henry's wife," you add wryly, and hear Felix bark a laugh behind you. Oliver, for a moment, seems confused, gaze flicking between you both.

"Aren't all the -?"

"That's the joke, Ollie," you tell him, but he still seems too nervous to properly see the humour in it, just making a faint noise of understanding in the back of his throat. "Did you want to hang out for a bit?" You offered, "this contract's doing my head in," you flicked at the thick contract on your desk dismissively, "so I'm probably going to get stuck into something lighter, but you know we always love your company."

"Thanks, but, uh," Oliver hesitated, looking to Felix again, "I think I'm gonna turn in for the night."

"Okay," you say sunnily, leaning over to give him a quick peck on the lips, which seems to startle him, "hope you sleep well, Ollie."

"Yeah," Oliver still seems to be reeling from the brief show of affection, "you too."

"Good night, mate," Felix offers with a cheery wave.

"You going to kiss me good night too?" Oliver sounds almost dazed, and suddenly looks mortified once more, like he can't quite believe he'd said that. Felix, unphased, stands and makes his way over to you both.

"Sure," he seems to take the suggestion in stride, kissing the top of Oliver's head before he bends to quickly kiss him on the lips. For a moment after Felix has pulled back, Oliver's look at him like he's staring at the sun, and Felix is wearing a sharp, knowing smile, "'night, Ollie," he says, quieter this time.

"G'night, Felix," Oliver murmurs, making his way to the door as Felix nonchalantly reaches to take the seating chart from your hand to look it over for himself. You, however, watch Oliver go, feeling both helpless and amused all at once.

"You think if I fuck him he'll take the hint?" Felix asks quietly once the door was shut, and you'd both heard Oliver's door squeak closed for the night.

"Do you think if you fuck him you'll take the hint," you asked disbelievingly, "that man is so into you, Fi," you hissed, almost furiously wide-eyed as you looked up at him. As always, Felix responds dismissively.

"Told you I'm not saying anything until he does," Felix puts the document down, choosing instead to drape his arms over your shoulders, "we can fuck around all Summer for all I care, but you know I'm not going to hold my breath for things to get more serious unless he tells me."

"He just asked you to kiss him, Felix!"

"I wasn't in love with you when we first kissed."

"Bad example; yes you were."

"Okay, bad example, yes I was," Felix admits with a faint flush, "but for the record, I didn't think I was at the time; we were twelve," he regains his composure quickly, "but it's not like you're in love with Farleigh or my sister; yeah, I know you love them, but you're not in love with them."

"That's different, Fi, we've been fucking around since forever," you sighed, resting your head against him for a moment.

"It's not different," Felix insists, "I just-" but he paused, and when you chance a look up at him, his face is scrunched up, like he's on the verge of admitting something he really doesn't want to, "I don't want to be getting my hopes up if it's just fucking around with Ollie, you know?" It comes out far more frustrated than you'd anticipated, and though you pat his back comfortingly, you can't help but add -

"He drank your bathwater."

"He fucking watched me get myself off and didn't even do anything about it until after it happened! And not even with me!" Felix points out, sounding almost like a petulant child, "I left the fucking door open and everything!" He's pouting now, actually pouting.

"He probably thinks that if he's too forward he'll scare you off, or your parents will kick him out or something," you tried to reason with him, to which Felix groaned.

"But they won't! You saw how much they loved Eddie, fucking hell," he huffed, stepping back, now wearing a scowl. Where had this night turned to something unfortunate? "Mum would throw a fucking parade if I got a boyfriend who wasn't a cheating dickhead."

"You should tell Oliver that," you pointed out frankly, "or at the very least tell him the truth about things with Eddie, so he knows that you do more than just fuck around with pretty boys."

Everything suddenly goes very still.

"What?" There's no frown, no anger anywhere on Felix's face, just pure surprise, "do you think he thinks that?" You watch Felix re-evaluate the entire situation, giving him space to sort out his feelings, "I made it clear I'm into guys too- do you think he thinks -"

"I think," slowly, carefully, you step up to Felix, voice firm but kind, "that despite how much he's seen you fuck around with other people on campus, the only person you are actually in love with is me," Felix is quiet, looking down at you with this crestfallen look like he's disappointed in himself, "and he, like most people I'll remind you, probably assumes that if he wants you to look at him like you look at me, it'll be a competition."

"Of course it's not, that's so stupid," Felix muttered reflexively.

"I've tried to tell Ollie that," you sighed, wrapping an arm around him. Felix presses his face into your hair for a very long moment.

"What if he doesn't, though?" Comes through muffled and forlorn. You're not quite sure what he means, and thankfully Felix continues, not that he moves his face at all, "what if it is just fucking around and we've misread all of this; I can't tell him I actually love him too, I'd look like an absolute freak."

"Tell him about Eddie," you advised softly, "at least he'll get the hint that you're capable of falling in love with someone who isn't me." The reminder of Eddie would always probably ache, you're starting to come to realise. For now, however, you ignore it.

Felix hugs you tightly, and mumbles that you're probably right. Something eases in your chest at that.

Curled up together in bed not ten minutes later, neither your pyjamas or duvet are as comfortable or warm as Felix's arm around you. He's still deep in thought about the night that had just passed; when he muses that at least it was a better talk than the night before, he sounds like he's still making his mind up about that. Settling into sleep, however, you're contented knowing it was true.

The following morning feels comparatively serene, chattering away to the rest of the family about the night's coming festivities. Both you and Felix drop a quick kiss to the top of Oliver's head in passing on your way to collect breakfast - Farleigh's the only one who notices, and he rolls his eyes at you both. Venetia asks you what you'll be wearing to the event and lights up when you tell her it's the jumpsuit she'd bought you from Yves Saint Laurent for your last birthday, while Elspeth coos that you'll look just darling in it.

After yesterday morning's tenseness, getting to work in your garden, planting the flowers that had arrived for you, music playing cheerily through your little speaker, it feels like a dream. The sun is warm against your back, and for some weird reason you think you see Oliver skulking around in one of the gardens by the wall of the house. Lurking again. Probably habit more than anything else, you figured. Considering the games you've been playing with him, you don't see the need to discourage that kind of behaviour. He's by the window of one of the little libraries; you wonder what must be going on in there to have caught his attention.

Oh well, you'll ask later if you remember.