#ornate silver pendant

[theseimmortalcoils]

Ornate gothic silver and marcasite pendant. My photo.

[gaddaboutgriffon]

The Year of the Dragon.

(Name edited, credit to @jedipirateking for the suggestion.)

A joke the fandom has been making for a while is that Tim is forever stuck at 17. What if we make that something the rest of the Batclan notice too? (I am not following cannon.)

It was just after the annual Family picture day and the new group portrait was taking the place of last year’s and looking at it they noticed 15 year old Damian is now almost the same height as Tim. And Tim is pretty much the same as last year.

Jason and Damian take the opportunity to tease Tim calling him a shrimp and other short jokes. Which Tim rolls his eyes and goes to work on a case or something with Wayne industries. But Bruce, Dick, and Alfred are more concerned, may feel guilty thinking letting him be a vigilante stunted his growth. And looking back at the photos they have of him notice that he wasn’t growing as much as a normal teen boy should have.

Bruce decides he is going to be more active in running Wayne Enterprises while Alfred plots to cut back Tim’s coffee limit. And Dick is going to help out coordinate the patrols. (He had to move back to Gotham when the Bludhaven city spirit forced all the people out before the city got blown up. It’s a long story but dick has been really down and unmotivated after that.)

Tim is not taking any of this well, and feels like his family being stifling. So he decided to start going through the basement and vault of Drake manor. Which he has been putting off since he didn’t really have time for it between patrols and WE. And in the family heirlooms vault, shoved way in the back with covered in dust and many other things sitting on top, he finds an oak box with an ornately caved dragon on it. Opening it up he finds it is velvet lined and has a large pendant that looks a silver dragon curled deep violet amethyst egg. And next to the pendant is a scroll made of thin leather.

He pulled out the scroll first and tried to read it but it was too faint of lettering to make out in the somewhat dim vault light. But what little he could make out it it was really old 14th century English and mentioned something about a coming of age. He rolls it back up and puts it aside to instead pick up the pendant. When he touches it there is a faint static shock that surprises him other then that the silver and purple necklace doesn’t seem out of the ordinary.

His phone lets off a chime to remind him that diner is in an hour, so he pack the pendant and scroll back in the box and places it in his bag with a few other items he finds interesting and wanted to look into more later. Then returns to Wayne manor to eat before patrol. It isn’t until he wakes up the next morning he realizes that he should have probably read the scroll before touching the pendant.

He wakes up to knocking on his bedroom door and someone yelling at him to get up. He had gotten into the habit of locking his door back when Damian first moved in. He yelps in surprise, falling over because his center of balance is all out of whack when he tried to stand. Now he is fully awake and takes stock of himself.

Scales?

Scales! Why are his arms covered in scales?! His hands look like a mix of paws and talons. He struggles out of the sheets to look at the rest of himself. His pjs are stretched and torn in places to accommodate the new digigrade shape of his legs. Not to mention he now has a long tail and wings and a longer neck. He rushes to his personal bathroom and awkwardly stands up on his two legs so he can get a good look in the mirror. And yep that is a distressed dragon face looking back at him. He catches himself making a weird keening sound as he plops down to sit on the bathroom floor.

Moments later he hears the sound of his bedroom door’s lock being picked. Bruce calling his name and Duke explaining he had heard animal noises from the room. Tim scrabbles to try and get the balcony door unlocked so he can escape and find a way to change back before anyone can see him, but moving on all fours and the new talon hands he is not used too take up too much time and the bedroom door is open.

Living in a family of vigilantes, their reaction time and fight or flight instincts are quick, and Tim is tackled to the floor by Duke while the others start looking at every inch of the room for clues as to what happened to their seemingly missing brother.

Bruce is looking at the dragon in Tim’s pajamas for a second before saying, “Tim? Is that you chum?”

Tim tries to answer but all that comes out is a warbling chuff. Which takes Tim by surprise and has him nearly start to cry in panic. He can’t Talk!

“Hey, you’re ok Tim. Deep breaths. Duke get off him. Breath with me Tim. In 1, 2, 3, 4. Out 1, 2, 3, 4.” Bruce spoke in his soothing a scared child voice. Tim was half annoyed at himself for how much it helped.

“B, Look at this!” Dick said holding the box with the scroll and dragon pendent instead open. Now the gem is a very pale see through purple with only a sliver on the bottom the original color.

They take it down to the bat cave and get to work deciphering the scroll. Turns out the Drake family line are descendants of some ancient medieval prince named Aragorn and that there was a family tradition that on the sixteenth birthday the child would have to live a year in dragon form to let it catch up in maturity. But after the dragon form catches up they will be able to freely shift between forms. But if they don’t follow the tradition they don’t age properly, and the longer they put off the tradition the longer they have to spend as a dragon.

And that is all I had time for before bed. So who does this affect the family dynamic? What about the relationship between Tim and Damian? How do we bring Danny Phantom into this? Does he think Tim is a ghost dragon at first?

[zinaaatjuh]

Transitional Kitchen - Great Room Photo of a large open concept transitional kitchen with a dark wood floor and a farmhouse sink, as well as raised-panel cabinets, blue cabinets, a white backsplash, stainless steel appliances, an island, granite countertops, and a backsplash made of mosaic tiles.

[tainsan]

destiny.

➾ synopsis: waking up in the past is a disorienting experience. what’s even worse is it seems like you’re the only person in the world who is experiencing it. so when all of a sudden, a distressed man shows up claiming he has also woken up in the past. you realise he may be the key to your way home, yet he also just so happens to be a member from your favourite kpop group, ateez.

➾ word count: 25k

➾ pairing: idol! San x non idol!reader, soulmate au (kinda)

➾ warnings: slight violence, mentions of death, fluff

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Sitting regally in front of a beautifully adorned vanity, you are surrounded by your maids who are diligently preparing you for the grand banquet in the royal palace. You take a deep breath, the scent of incense and flowers filling the room, as your maids flit about you, attending to your every need. The dress you are to wear is a magnificent creation of delicate silk, adorned with intricate embroidery and adorned with gemstones that sparkle in the soft glow of the chamber's lanterns. The fabric is a rich shade of deep crimson, the colour reserved for the royal family.

You have always been fascinated by the process of dressing for such occasions. Your maids are skilled artisans, their fingers deft and nimble as they fasten your dress, adjust your ornate hairpins, and adorn you with exquisite jewellery. Your attire is a reflection of your station, a symbol of your lineage, and the embodiment of your role as a princess in the esteemed Joseon Dynasty. Yet, no matter how much you tell yourself, this is your life, you are just not able to get used to it.

Whilst your maids work, your thoughts turn inward. You can't help but feel a sense of unease, a mysterious foreboding that gnaws at your heart. Your life was so normal until you awoke to privilege and luxury, the weight of your responsibilities is never far from your mind. In this moment, with your heart fluttering like a caged bird, you need a respite from the constant attention and the constraints of the role you know you must get used to.

"Could I have a moment alone, please?" you ask your maids softly, your voice tinged with a sense of vulnerability.

The maids exchange glances but nod, their expressions filled with concern for their beloved princess. They step away, leaving you to collect your thoughts. You walk to the large window that overlooks the palace gardens, the night air whispering through the delicate curtains. The view is magnificent, with the moon casting a soft glow over the sprawling landscape. The sky, however, is what captures your attention.

Your eyes fixate on the heavens, your heart racing as you observe the unusual display above. The clouds seem to be moving in strange, swirling patterns, unlike anything you have ever witnessed. It's as if the heavens themselves are painting a picture of a world in turmoil. You shiver, feeling a strange connection to the celestial dance above, as if the heavens are trying to convey a message to you.

The events of the day have been shrouded in mystery and intrigue. Whispers of distant threats have reached your ears, and your ‘father’, the king, has been preoccupied with matters of the state. You've overheard hushed conversations in the palace corridors, and your intuition tells you that today holds more significance than a mere banquet.

As you continue to gaze out the window, your hand instinctively reaches for the silver pendant hanging from your neck, it was the only thing you had kept from your life before this one. It's a reminder of your true home, where you belong. Yet it also reminds you of how far away you are from it.

Your heart aches for a moment of clarity, a deeper understanding of the strange, foreboding feeling that clings to you. You know you can't linger too long; the banquet will soon begin, and your presence is required. But for now, you allow yourself this stolen moment, watching the enigmatic sky and silently praying for a way home and peace in the tumultuous times that lie ahead.

In the midst of your contemplation, you hear a soft, discreet knocking on the ornate wooden door that leads into your chambers.

You turn your head in the direction of the sound, and you call out, "Enter," in a voice just loud enough for the person outside to hear, careful not to disturb the serenity that surrounds you in this grand castle.

The door swings open, and in walks Lady Maid Jiyun, the only person who knows the true depths of your situation. Over the time you've been in this unfamiliar world, you've grown surprisingly close to her, even though she insists she's known you since you were a child. She closes the door behind her with a gentle, muted click, before turning towards you, her eyes cast downward in a gesture of respect.

“Jiyun,”

"Are you ready, your highness?" she questions, her tone respectful but impersonal, echoing the title that has begun to grate on your nerves. In your heart, you know you're not a princess, but a simple girl who owns a café.

"Jiyun, please, you need not talk to me like that when we are alone," you reply with a sigh of frustration. The misuse of your title feels like a constant reminder of the life you've been thrust into, and you long for your old existence.

"It is out of habit, I apologise," Jiyun says, her voice filled with sympathy and understanding. She moves closer, her demeanour less formal in the privacy of your chamber.

"I am not your princess, you know that, Jiyun," you say, your frustration palpable. The weight of the title and the expectations it carries weighs on you heavily.

Jiyun rushes to your side, her voice hushed as she hurriedly whispers, "Do not utter such words so loudly. You know what they will do if they suspect you."

You nod in reluctant agreement. "Yes, I know," you concede, your voice barely above a whisper. "They will call me an alien, throw me into a dungeon and kill me. I know."

The concept of aliens and monsters beyond human understanding has become increasingly popular in this era, with rumours circulating about strange, otherworldly creatures inhabiting the Earth. In a sense, you can relate to those suspicions, for you feel like an alien yourself. The bizarre circumstances that brought you here remain a bewildering enigma. You woke up one fateful day in this body, trapped in a world that feels like an intricate dream.

At first, you believed it to be a nightmare, a surreal experience that couldn't possibly be real. But as the days turned into weeks and then months, you came to the unsettling realisation that this was your life now.

To your amazement, you found yourself in the body of a Joseon Dynasty princess, bearing an exact resemblance to your own appearance in your real life. It was a miraculous twist of fate that allowed you to maintain a semblance of who you once were, but it did little to ease the overwhelming sensation of displacement and the constant yearning for your old life.

You've pondered on it countless times, searching for answers in the depths of your thoughts. Perhaps, you've considered, this is your past life, some inexplicable twist of fate that has sent you hurtling through time. Maybe you were cursed, or perhaps it's a mysterious test that you've yet to fully comprehend. The truth eludes you, shrouded in the uncertainty of your bewildering existence.

You wish more than anything to return to your simple life, the one where you spent your days managing your café, where anonymity was your closest friend, and the only thing you had to worry about was choosing the right blend of coffee for your customers. How you long to wake up in your own bed, in your familiar house, where everything was just as it should be. You yearn for the simple pleasures of life, the mundane joys that once filled your days. The desire to relax in front of your TV and lose yourself in captivating TV shows, or to watch endless fancams of your favourite singers, immersing yourself in their artistry. You long to indulge in the music you love, to turn up the volume on your headphones, letting the melodies envelop your senses and transport you to a world of pure enjoyment.

Those ordinary comforts, the sounds of the city, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee, and the warmth of your own home, are like a distant memory that you yearn to embrace once more.

“Which is why you must keep it quiet,” Jiyun says, her voice full of remorse for you. Jiyun is someone you are forever grateful for.

“Have you found anything to help me get back?”

“Unfortunately, I have yet to find anything of use. The library has many books, yet most of them are just theories.”

Despite the unsettling rumours and tales of aliens and monsters that have gripped the world, Jiyun has remained steadfast in her commitment to keeping you safe. She's been your guiding light, helping you navigate the complexities of this unfamiliar existence. She knows the challenges you face, and the gravity of her responsibility in ensuring your well-being to protect the princess.

Jiyun understands the enormity of your predicament, and she's tirelessly devoted herself to helping you find a way to make sense of this uncanny journey. Her support and guidance are the threads that keep you anchored in this tumultuous world, offering a glimmer of hope amid the chaos that surrounds you.

"Only ever theories. Perhaps we can discover something beyond what's written in books?" you suggest, searching for an elusive solution to your predicament.

"As much as I would love to inquire with others, your highness, you know my limitations in this matter," Jiyun responds, her voice tinged with regret.

You sigh, frustration gnawing at you. "Yes, I'm sorry. I'm just feeling desperate."

Jiyun moves closer, her gaze unwavering, and she bows to you with a warm smile. "We will find a way, your highness. We won't give up."

You offer a grateful smile to Jiyun, her unwavering support, a source of solace in your bewildering existence. She continues, her tone shifting to one of urgency, "Though we must get going. The banquet is to begin prominently."

With a nod, you gather your strength, determined to face the palace banquet and the demands of your role as the princess, even as you yearn for answers and a way back to the life you once knew.

Making your way to the grand banquet hall, you can't help but be awestruck by the opulence and grandeur that surrounds you. The palace's opulent architecture and intricate detailing are a testament to the wealth and power of the king and queen, your parents. Elaborate tapestries hang from the walls, depicting scenes from the dynasty's rich history, and the flickering torch light casts a warm, inviting glow over the intricate designs.

The double doors to the banquet hall swing open, and you step inside. The sight that meets your eyes is nothing short of breathtaking. The hall is a symphony of colours and textures, all bathed in a soft, golden light. Golden silk drapes adorn the walls, cascading like waterfalls of molten sunshine. The ceiling is an intricate masterpiece, a mosaic of gilded patterns and frescoes that tell the stories of the dynasty's heroes and legends.

The long, ornate banquet tables stretch out before you, covered in sumptuous silks and adorned with glistening china and golden cutlery. Each place setting is a work of art, meticulously crafted and sparkling under the ambient light. The scent of exotic, mouthwatering dishes wafts through the air, making your stomach rumble with anticipation.

The room is alive with a hum of activity as nobles and dignitaries from far and wide mingle, their lavish robes and headdresses sparkling with jewels and precious gems. The clinking of glasses and the soft murmur of conversation create a melodious background to the visual spectacle before you.

In the centre of the hall, a grand dais stands proudly, and it's upon this elevated platform that the throne awaits you, its back adorned with a shimmering tapestry depicting the dynasty's emblem. The throne itself is an ornate masterpiece, a creation of carved mahogany and gilded detailing, with plush velvet cushions in rich crimson and gold.

Stepping forward, you can't help but feel like an intruder in this world. The weight of the princess's responsibilities is almost suffocating, but you have no choice but to carry them with grace and dignity. Jiyun, your loyal confidante, is at your side, her presence a reassuring anchor in this sea of uncertainty.

The banquet hall seems to stretch on endlessly, filled with revelry and celebration. The nobles and dignitaries bow respectfully as you pass, their eyes filled with awe and respect. It's a strange dichotomy, for you are not truly the princess they believe you to be, but you play the part with grace and poise.

The table settings are a masterpiece of artistry and craftsmanship. The fine china glimmers in the soft light, reflecting the golden theme of the banquet. Each plate holds a gastronomic masterpiece, a culinary journey of exotic flavours and textures, from delicate dumplings to succulent roasted meats.

The banquet hall is filled with laughter, music, and the intoxicating scent of spices and incense. The musicians play traditional melodies on intricate instruments, filling the air with their enchanting tunes. Dancers in resplendent costumes move gracefully, their motions mirroring the flowing silk of their dresses.

Taking your place on the grand throne, next to your parents, you can't help but be overwhelmed by the majesty of it all. The banquet hall is a breathtaking display of wealth and culture, a testament to the dynasty's grandeur and history. You are a stranger in this world, but for now, you must play your part as the princess, all the while longing for answers and a way back to the life you left behind.

"Why the delay, daughter?" your father inquires in a hushed tone, his curiosity evident as he awaits your arrival.

"I apologise, Father," you respond, bowing your head as a sign of respect. "It took longer than expected to prepare."

"Have no worry, my dear," your mother chimes in from beside you, her voice filled with warmth.

Over the two months that you've spent in this strange world, you've come to realise how caring and kind the queen is. Her compassion is matched by your father's unyielding strength and determination. Together, they make a formidable team that rules their kingdom with wisdom and grace. Their subjects hold them in high regard, and the feeling is reciprocated.

The bond between your parents is evident to all who know them. Their love is the bedrock of the dynasty, and it resonates in every aspect of their rule. The kingdom flourishes under their leadership, and it's clear that they not only love their people but are deeply loved by them in return.

The grand banquet commences with a flourish of activity. The banquet hall is now abuzz with life as nobles and dignitaries from all corners of the kingdom gather, their resplendent attire creating a kaleidoscope of colours that mirrors the opulence of the event. The rich, melodic sounds of traditional instruments and the rhythmic beat of drums fill the air, setting the stage for a night of revelry.

The banquet tables are a sight to behold, adorned with golden candelabras that cast a warm, flickering light over the ornate settings. The aroma of exquisite dishes wafts through the hall, a symphony of flavours and spices that tempt the senses. Guests fill their plates with delicacies, from succulent roasted meats to fragrant rice dishes, each bite a culinary delight.

You, too, are captivated by the festivities. For a moment, your worries and the strangeness of your situation melt away. You find yourself caught up in the joy of the evening, watching as people laugh, chat, and share stories, the room alive with the clinking of glasses and the gentle hum of conversation.

The dance floor is a whirlwind of vibrant colours and graceful movement. Dancers in splendid attire twirl and spin, their footsteps matching the rhythm of the music. The dancers' costumes shimmer as they move, creating a visual spectacle that enchants all who watch.

At the head of the banquet hall, your father, the king, stands engaged in conversation with a group of merchants and nobles. He listens attentively to their concerns and disputes, displaying the unwavering resolve and wisdom that have earned him the respect of his subjects. Your mother, the queen, stands beside him, offering her insights and guidance, her caring nature a comforting presence amidst the discussions.

As you watch your parents in action, it's clear how they've earned the love and admiration of their people. The way they handle disputes and settle matters demonstrates their commitment to maintaining peace and justice within the kingdom. The hall may be filled with merriment, but their responsibilities as rulers are never far from their minds.

However, amidst the festivities and the rhythmic music, a strange feeling creeps over you. It's as if an invisible force is tugging at your senses, urging you to pay attention. Your gaze is drawn to the towering double doors that lead into the banquet hall, their grandeur a stark contrast to the vibrant revelry within.

You can't quite put your finger on it, but an unease washes over you, and you sense that something significant is about to happen. It's as if the very air in the room holds its breath, waiting for the storm that's about to descend. Your heart races, and you can't shake the feeling that those two wide doors may soon reveal a momentous event that will change the course of the evening and, perhaps, your own destiny.

"Jiyun," you call out to your trusted maid, and she appears at your side with remarkable swiftness, her head respectfully bowed.

"Yes, your majesty?" she replies, her voice filled with unwavering loyalty.

"Have you sensed it too?" you inquire, a tinge of apprehension in your voice.

"Sense what, your majesty?" Jiyun asks, her eyes focused on your every word.

"The feeling that something unexpected is about to transpire," you explain, your gaze shifting toward the grand doors as if they hold the key to the looming uncertainty.

The second you utter your words to Jiyun, a sense of foreboding hangs heavy in the air, and the atmosphere in the banquet hall takes on an eerie stillness. Before you can even finish your sentence, the grand double doors, adorned with exquisite carvings, burst open with a thunderous boom, sending the revelry to an abrupt halt.

In a chaotic rush, two guards burst into the hall, struggling to restrain a shirtless man who seems to be writhing and resisting their grasp. The unexpected intrusion sends ripples of shock through the assembled nobles and dignitaries. The musicians abruptly silence their instruments, and the dancers come to a standstill, their expressions a mix of curiosity and trepidation.

The king and the queen, who had been engaged in discussions with the merchants, rose swiftly from their thrones. Their expressions shift from surprise to stern authority as they take in the unfolding scene.

"What is the meaning of this intrusion?" the king bellows, his voice carrying the weight of his authority. His words echo throughout the grand hall, quelling the previous merriment with an air of solemnity. The sudden silence is broken only by the shuffling of feet as the guards continue to drag the shirtless man toward the thrones, his struggles growing more frenzied. It appears as if the man has tattoos adorned all over his body and for some reason you cannot help but have an awful feeling of recognition as you peer at him.

The queen stands regally at the king's side, her countenance reflecting a mixture of concern and determination. The courtiers in attendance exchange hushed whispers, speculating on the nature of the commotion, while a palpable tension fills the room.

The shirtless man's writhing and protests become more desperate, and his incoherent mutterings are barely discernible over the hushed murmurs of the crowd. The guards eventually manage to bring him to a halt, though his wild, dishevelled appearance remains a stark contrast to the opulence of the banquet hall. Throughout all of this, his head remains bowed, nobody able to see his face.

The man is positioned before the thrones, on his knees, the king's piercing gaze fixates on him, his face an impenetrable mask of authority and curiosity. The queen, her hand resting lightly on the arm of the throne, watches with an unwavering presence. The courtiers wait with bated breath, their eyes darting between the king, the queen, and the dishevelled intruder, uncertain of what will transpire next in this unexpected turn of events.

The dishevelled intruder, who had been forcibly brought before the king, stands silent and disoriented as the guards explain their discovery.

“We found him outside the palace, lurking and behaving suspiciously, which prompted our cautious approach.” The guard's voices are tense as they speak, “this man, in his moments of distress, declared that is from a different time, claiming he does not belong here.”

The king and queen share nervous glances before peering back at the guards who are cautiously watching over the man.

“Your highnesses, I fear that he is an alien.”

The hushed shock that washes over the assembly is palpable. Whispers of fear and disbelief ripple through the room like an unsettling breeze. The nobles and courtiers exchange uneasy glances, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and trepidation.

The king, his brows furrowed in contemplation, leans forward on his throne, his eyes fixed on the man before him. The queen stands beside him, her poise unwavering as she assesses the unfolding situation.

The courtiers remain silent, awaiting the king's judgement.

In the midst of the whispers and speculation, the king calls upon the disoriented intruder, “lift your head boy, make your presence known.”

The man obeys, and as he raises his eyes to meet the king's gaze, a collective gasp sweeps through the room.

Your heart stops in your chest and you cannot believe your eyes.

The man who stands before you bears a striking resemblance to San from Ateez, the boy group you fervently fangirled over in your previous world. His appearance, his features, the way he holds himself, all are uncannily reminiscent of your idol.

His eyes scan the bewildering faces of the courtiers, and it's evident that he's utterly lost and bewildered in this foreign world. His expression reflects a deep sense of longing, as if he's desperately searching for a familiar face or a comforting presence.

"What is your name, young man?" the queen questions, her voice carrying a tone of cautious empathy. It's clear that she feels a sense of compassion for the disoriented intruder, even as the mystery of his presence looms.

"Choi San," he responds, his voice tinged with a mixture of fear and confusion.

The moment those two simple words leave his lips, a wave of emotion crashes over you. It's not just the sight of an idol you adore, but the realisation that he, too, has been uprooted from his world and thrust into this unfamiliar one, much like yourself. The overwhelming weight of this revelation washes over you.

“He doesn't look like an alien.” the king says, his eyes scanning San diligently.

“I’m not, I swear. I have no idea where I am. I woke up and I was in this random forest surrounded by people I have never seen before.”

"Show respect to your king and queen," the guard to Choi San's left commands, his voice stern and unyielding. With a swift motion, he strikes San's back, causing him to stumble forward and crash onto the polished floor. San's palms catch his fall just in the nick of time, and you can't help but feel a pang of sympathy for him. The image of his fall, the vulnerability of the idol you used to admire, stirs a mixture of emotions within you.

The desire to rush down there, to offer comfort and understanding, wells up within you. You long to convey to him that you share the same strange predicament, that you, too, have been thrust into this unfamiliar world. But you understand the delicate balance that hangs in the air, the potential for suspicion and chaos that could arise if your secret were to be revealed.

The room watches in tense silence as San struggles to regain his composure. He rises to his feet, a mixture of embarrassment and confusion etched on his face. His eyes dart around the room, searching for some semblance of familiarity, some connection to the world he once knew.

You can't help but notice the vulnerability in his eyes, a silent plea for understanding and assistance. Your heart aches for him, knowing that you share this extraordinary journey and the burden of its mysteries. But for now, you remain on your elevated throne, concealing your true identity and the emotional turmoil that brews beneath the surface, for the sake of the kingdom, the king, and the queen who have so graciously extended their protection and hospitality to you.

The air in the grand banquet hall crackles with tension, as everyone grapples with the enigma of the stranger who claims to be from a different time, a supposed alien who defies all reason and explanation. The room remains suspended in a moment of uncertainty, and the world as you know it seems to hang in the balance, poised on the brink of an extraordinary revelation.

You exchange a swift, knowing glance with Jiyun, her eyes are filled with concern, mirroring the emotions that churn within you.

“Show him to the dungeon, tomorrow he will be sent back to where he belongs.” The king bellows, his voice stern as your eyes narrow in fear.

In a fleeting moment, San's eyes lock with yours, and your heart leaps in your chest. The intensity of that brief connection sends a shiver down your spine, and you can't restrain the tears that well up in your eyes as you witness the guard seizing him and forcibly dragging him away from the grand hall.

A sense of dread envelops you, and the heaviness in your chest becomes suffocating. You share a wordless glance with Jiyun, who is already formulating a plan to aid San. Her gaze meets yours, and she nods gently, a silent assurance that she is committed to helping him. With that unspoken understanding, the weight that had burdened your heart begins to lift, replaced by a glimmer of hope that you may be able to make a difference in this unexpected turn of events.

With a deep breath, you compose yourself as the king commands the musicians to resume their melodies. The haunting, suspended atmosphere in the room gradually gives way to the spirited tunes of the instruments, infusing the space with renewed vitality. The mood in the grand banquet hall begins to shift, and the weight of the unexpected intrusion is momentarily eased by the enchanting melodies that fill the air.

The grand palace lies hushed and dark, save for the soft, flickering glow of the torches that line the hallways. It's the deep of night, the hour when even the most vigilant souls have succumbed to slumber. The world outside your window is cloaked in darkness, with only a few distant stars punctuating the sky.

In the seclusion of your chamber, you pace restlessly, the pattern of your footsteps a silent testament to your growing anxiety. The ornate furnishings and intricate tapestries seem to close in around you, their grandeur and opulence providing little comfort. You can't stop your heart from racing in your chest, its frenetic rhythm echoing the turmoil of your thoughts.

You cast occasional glances at the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of the first pale light of dawn, a harbinger of the world's awakening. Your hope lies in the arrival of Jiyun, who promised to fetch something that might provide a connection between you and San, the ‘stranger’ who shares your extraordinary predicament.

Minutes stretch into hours as you wait in solitude, each moment feeling like an eternity. The silence in the palace is profound, the hush of night amplifying every creak of the floor and rustle of the curtains. You can almost hear the beating of your own heart, a relentless reminder of your desperate circumstances.

As the night wears on, you recall the mysterious events that unfolded during the banquet. The revelation of San's presence, the shared bond of otherworldly displacement, and the unspoken promise of hope—all weigh heavily on your mind. You can't help but wonder if there's a connection between the two of you that defies all logic, a connection that Jiyun might be able to unearth.

The anticipation gnaws at you, the longing for answers and a sense of purpose driving you to pace even faster. You're acutely aware of the significance of the cloth Jiyun is meant to bring, and the potential it holds to unveil the truth of your peculiar journey.

With each passing moment, your anxiety intensifies, and the minutes tick away, carrying with them the uncertainty of your fate. You can only hope that the arrival of dawn will herald the arrival of Jiyun and, perhaps, the answers you so desperately seek.

As you continue to pace around your room, the waiting becomes almost unbearable. The faintest light begins to seep through the edges of your window, heralding the impending dawn. Just when your hope is beginning to wane, a soft knock at the door breaks the silence.

You rush to the door and swing it open to reveal Jiyun, her face etched with determination. In her hands, she holds a folded piece of cloth and a small bottle containing a mysterious liquid. She steps inside your chamber, and you close the door behind her.

"The plan is ready," Jiyun says, her voice a hushed whisper. "I've brought the cloth and this," she adds, indicating the small bottle. "The liquid inside will temporarily incapacitate the guard who protects the dungeon. It should give you enough time to get the man out of there."

Relief washes over you as you take the cloth and the bottle from Jiyun. The weight of your purpose now feels tangible, as if a glimmer of hope has emerged from the depths of the night.

You listen intently as Jiyun outlines the plan, the details falling into place like pieces of a puzzle. Your heart pounds in your chest, but there is a newfound determination within you. The connection you feel with San, the shared journey you both unknowingly embarked upon, has given you a sense of purpose that propels you forward.

Jiyun hands you a bag filled with essential supplies. Her voice is steady but laced with concern as she explains the plan. "I can provide for you for three days, maybe four at most, without raising suspicion. Within that time, either you or the true princess must return."

You contemplate the necessity of your absence and inquire, "What reason will you give for my absence?"

Jiyun's eyes convey a deep sense of loyalty as she replies, "I will inform them that you've contracted a highly contagious sickness that has left you bedridden and wanting to see no one."

You nod, absorbing the gravity of the situation. Gratitude wells up within you as you look at Jiyun, her gentle smile a source of reassurance. "Thank you, Jiyun. I realise the danger you're putting yourself in for my sake. Your sacrifice does not go unnoticed, and I am profoundly grateful for your unwavering support."

“You would do the same for me, I’m sure.”

With the bag of supplies and Jiyun's invaluable guidance in mind, you make your way through the palace's labyrinthine corridors and hidden passages. The palace, under the cover of night, seems to take on a different character—a mysterious, almost haunting quality. Torches line the narrow passageways, casting long, flickering shadows on the ancient stone walls as you move stealthily through the dark.

The secrets of these passages, entrusted to you by Jiyun, are your lifeline in this mission. You navigate the intricate network with practised ease, ensuring that your movements are discreet, and your presence remains shrouded in the veil of night.

Finally, you reach the entrance to the dungeon, your heart pounding in your chest. Peeking around the corner, you spot the guard responsible for its protection, pacing up and down before the heavy wooden door. The flickering torchlight casts eerie shadows across his face, and the faint echoes of his footsteps reverberate through the corridor.

With impeccable timing, you wait for the moment when the guard turns his back to you, his attention momentarily diverted. Swiftly, you uncap the small bottle and pour its contents onto the cloth, making sure to keep your own hands clear of the liquid. The chemical scent is pungent, and you struggle to suppress a cough as you press the cloth to your mouth to avoid inhaling it.

As the guard's boots echo down the corridor away from you, you seize the opportunity. Soundlessly, you move closer to him, each step taken with the utmost care. With one hand gripping the cloth and the other steadying your movements, you approach him from behind.

When the guard looks away, his focus on the dimly lit passage beyond, you seize your chance. The cloth is pressed firmly against his mouth, and you brace for a moment of hesitation, uncertain of the outcome. The seconds stretch into eternity, but eventually, the guard's struggles wane, and his eyelids droop heavily.

He crumples to the stone floor, unconscious, his keys jangling as they hang from his belt. You offer a silent apology to the fallen guard before deftly retrieving the keys. With trembling hands, you unlock the heavy door to the dungeon, the creaking hinges echoing through the silence of the underground chamber.

The dungeon lies before you, a foreboding abyss. The uncertainty of what awaits within gnaws at you, but your determination is unwavering. The answers that may await you drive you forward as you step into the darkness of the dungeon, the flickering torchlight casting long, wavering shadows on the stone walls.

As you step into the dimly lit dungeon, you carry a candle torch to guide your way through the labyrinthine corridors. The passageway is narrow and oppressive, the cold stone walls seemingly bearing witness to the suffering of countless souls who have languished within its confines.

The cries and wails of the imprisoned echo off the damp stone, reaching your ears with haunting intensity. Desperate pleas for help, mournful laments, and the sound of hands beating against iron bars form a dissonant chorus that seems to reverberate through the very walls themselves.

Each cell you pass houses a new tragedy, a new story of despair, and it takes all your strength to press on, to bear witness to the suffering around you. As you move deeper into the dungeon, the cries of the prisoners grow louder, more heart-wrenching, and your heart aches with empathy for their plight.

But as you reach the very end of the corridor, a silence that is almost palpable falls upon you. It is a silence that is too profound, too ominous, and your heart clenches within your chest as you peer into the last cell. The flickering candlelight reveals a scene that fills you with dread.

There, in the corner of the cell, you find San, curled up in a small, trembling ball. His face is etched with exhaustion and fear, his eyes wide with a mix of confusion and despair. The harsh, cold stones of the dungeon floor serve as his only comfort in this nightmarish world.

You approach the cell, your steps careful and measured, your candle torch casting eerie, flickering shadows on the walls. As you draw closer, you can see the anguish etched into San's features, his ragged clothing and unkempt appearance a testament to the trials he has endured in this unforgiving place.

Your heart goes out to him, the connection you share with this stranger deepening with each passing moment. The dungeon, with its heavy atmosphere and its occupants' mournful cries, bears witness to the suffering of many, but it is San's vulnerability and isolation that capture your attention.

"San," you whisper, your voice a soft, comforting presence in the dimly lit cell. He turns toward you, his eyes glistening with unshed tears, a reflection of the pain and fear that have plagued him.

"Please don't hurt me," his trembling words break your heart, and you struggle to hold back your own tears as you witness his vulnerability.

With gentle assurance, you reply, "I'm not here to hurt you, I promise." Your words are a lifeline, a beacon of hope for the scared and confused young man before you. With the keys in hand, you unlock the cell door and step inside.

San's eyes search your face, filled with a mix of disbelief and curiosity as you offer him some food from your bag. He hesitates before accepting, his trust gradually building as he takes the sustenance you provide.

"Why are you here then? You're the princess, aren't you?" San questions, his voice quivering with uncertainty.

With a deep breath, you choose your words carefully, wanting to ease his fears. "This might sound crazy, but I think we're from the same world."

San's eyes widen in astonishment, his disbelief slowly giving way to hope as he watches you closely. He lifts himself onto his knees to be closer to your level, the shadows of the cell casting eerie patterns on the walls.

"Really? How do you know?" San asks, his voice filled with a glimmer of expectation.

You offer a reassuring smile and pose a question that will connect your two worlds. "Well, I know you're San, Choi San from Ateez, right?"

San's eyes glisten with tears of relief, his voice quivering with emotion as he confirms, "Yes, yes, yes. I am. I'm from Ateez, and it's 2023, not the 1300s." The weight that had burdened his heart is lifted, and the possibility of a return to the world he knows is within his reach. He continues, “what is happening? How did we end up here?”

“I’ll explain as we walk, we need to get out of here.”

San's confusion lingers, but the glimmer of hope in his eyes grows stronger as he stands up. With a sense of newfound determination, the two of you make your way out of the cell, leaving the door unlocked behind you. As you exit the dungeon, you can't help but glance back, knowing that you've left behind the shadows of suffering that still haunt its depths.

Together, you navigate the secret passages that brought you to the dungeon, retracing your steps with the candle torch guiding your way. The path is familiar to you now, and with San by your side, it feels like the journey is filled with a sense of purpose and unity.

The passageway eventually leads you to the royal stables, a place of shadows and echoes, where the silence of the night surrounds you. Jiyun's foresight is evident as you find a horse tethered and ready for your departure. It's a magnificent creature, a steed fit for a princess, and its presence is a testament to Jiyun's unwavering support.

You help San mount the horse, his grip on the reins steady but cautious. The animal is surprisingly calm and cooperative, as if it senses the urgency of your mission. With San in the saddle, you mount your own horse, and together, you prepare to ride into the night.

Making your way out of the royal stables, the world outside awaits you, shrouded in darkness. The streets of the ancient city are quiet, its occupants fast asleep, unaware of the extraordinary events that are unfolding within the palace walls.

The night air is cool and refreshing, and the rhythmic sound of hooves hitting the cobblestone streets resonates through the quiet city. You ride with determination, guiding your horses through the labyrinthine streets, following the route that Jiyun has carefully planned.

With each passing moment, you draw closer to the edge of the city, your breath visible in the cold night air. The feeling of freedom, of escaping the palace and its secrets, surges through you. You and San are bound by an unspoken connection, a shared journey that defies time and place.

The town's lights grow distant, you can't help but steal a glance at San, who rides beside you. His face, once etched with fear and confusion, now carries a glimmer of hope. In the silence of the night, the world holds its breath, and the weight of the unknown future rests on your shoulders.

Together, you ride toward the horizon, leaving behind the palace and the secrets that shroud your extraordinary journey. The path ahead is uncertain, but the possibilities are boundless, and in the darkness of the night, you find a shared purpose that unites your fates in this unfamiliar world.

You and San ride through the night, the rhythmic clatter of hooves against the cobblestone streets gradually fading into the distance. The ancient city of the palace is left behind, its towering walls and mysteries hidden in the darkness.

The first light of dawn tints the horizon and you continue on your journey, venturing into the unknown.

Hours pass, and you ride together, the bond of your shared experience growing stronger with each mile that falls behind you. The quietude of the countryside surrounds you, the only sounds are the rustling of leaves and the gentle song of birds in the distance. San wishes to ask questions, he has thousands on his mind, yet he stays silent as the two of you continue your journey.

Finally, on the horizon, a small town comes into view. Its quaint cottages and bustling marketplaces offer a glimpse of civilization in the midst of the open countryside. With each step you take, you hope to find reassurance and a glimmer of hope in this unfamiliar place.

You and San guide your horses toward the town, a sense of anticipation filling your hearts. The town represents a new beginning, a place where your shared journey can find some direction, where answers may await you, and where the extraordinary circumstances that have brought you together may start to make sense.

Approaching the town's outskirts, the warmth of the rising sun casts a golden glow on the streets and rooftops, and the townsfolk go about their daily routines, unaware of the two strangers who have arrived on horseback.

Among the quaint buildings, you spot a charming cottage with a wooden sign hanging above the door, which reads "The Golden Horseshoe Inn." The inviting aroma of freshly baked bread wafts through the open windows, and the cheerful hum of conversation emanates from within.

You dismount from your horses and tether them to a nearby post before entering the inn. The interior is cosy and warm, with wooden beams and rustic furnishings. A fireplace crackles in the corner, casting a gentle, flickering light that dances across the room. A friendly innkeeper stands behind the bar, wiping down mugs and chatting with a group of locals.

Approaching the innkeeper, you offer a polite smile and address them. "Good morning. My friend and I are in need of a place to stay. Do you have any rooms available?"

The innkeeper returns your smile with a warm one of their own and nods. "How long will you be staying?"

You exchange a quick glance with San before answering. "We're not entirely sure. Perhaps a few days to start with."

The innkeeper retrieves a key from a nearby rack and hands it to you. "Very well. We have a couple of rooms upstairs. You can choose the one you prefer."

You thank the innkeeper and head upstairs with San, the creaking wooden steps leading you to a hallway lined with doors. The rooms are simple but comfortable, each furnished with a bed, a small writing desk, and a window that overlooks the bustling street below.

After inspecting a couple of rooms, you settle on one with a cosy, inviting atmosphere. You take out some coins and return downstairs to pay for the room. The innkeeper accepts your payment with a friendly smile, and you can't help but feel a sense of relief at having found a safe haven in this new world.

With the key to your room in hand, you make your way back upstairs with San.

The moment you are in the room, you hand San some more comfortable clothes than the rags he is currently wearing.

“I forgot to give you these earlier, I’m sorry. Go change, I’ll wait outside.”

"Thank you…" San trails off, his voice tinged with gratitude but hesitating as he doesn't know your name.

You offer a warm smile and reply with your name. San's eyes light up as he hears your name, and he nods in appreciation. With that, you exit the room, leaving him some privacy to get ready.

While San prepares for the day, you make your way downstairs to the inn's tavern, which is located beneath the lodging area. The scent of fresh bread and brewed coffee fills the air, creating a cosy and welcoming ambiance. You take a seat at a wooden table and glance around the room, observing the locals who are starting their day with hearty breakfasts and lively conversation.

You place an order for two breakfasts, ensuring that San will have a warm meal to start the day. As you wait for the food to arrive, you reflect on the journey that has brought you to this new world and the newfound bond you share with San. The townsfolk, too, go about their daily routines, their world untouched by the extraordinary circumstances that have reshaped your lives.

Sitting at the wooden table in the cosy tavern beneath the inn, your gaze is drawn to the staircase that leads down from the upper rooms. Moments later, you watch as San descends the stairs, his steps graceful and fluid.

Even in the plain, old clothes he now wears, there's an undeniable magnetism about him. His raven-black hair framing his face, his features are striking, and his presence exudes a certain charisma that you recognize immediately. It's as if he possesses a natural star quality, a glow that transcends time and place.

A smile tugs at the corners of your lips as you observe him. The way he moves, the confidence in his steps, and the undeniable aura that surrounds him—these are the very qualities that made him an idol in your world. As he reaches the bottom of the stairs and meets your gaze, you exchange a knowing look.

It becomes clear to you that the essence of who San is goes beyond his role as a performer. His appeal, his talent, and his undeniable charm are deeply rooted in his very being. You appreciate that there's more to him than meets the eye, and the unique connection you share in this extraordinary journey only deepens your admiration for the person who is not just an idol but also a fellow traveller in this unfamiliar world.

San takes a seat in front of you at the wooden table, his eyes filled with gratitude as he speaks quietly, "Thank you so much for the help."

"Of course," you reply with a warm smile, appreciating the opportunity to assist someone in this unfamiliar world.

Curiosity sparks in San's eyes as he leans in slightly, his interest piqued. "So how did you know it was me, from Ateez?"

You consider the question for a moment before deciding to reveal the truth. "Well, in our world..." you begin, hesitating for a brief moment.

San's eyes widen with surprise, and he leans in closer, eager to hear more. "What is it?"

You lower your voice, as if sharing a secret. "I may or may not be an Atiny, and I recognized you right away."

A smile spreads across San's face, and a sense of camaraderie fills the air as you both share this unexpected connection. In this extraordinary world and situation, your shared love for Ateez transcends time and place, and you find comfort in the bond that links you together.

"Seriously?" San's eyes widen with a mix of surprise and disbelief.

You nod, your voice earnest as you reply, "Yes, why would I lie about it?"

San chuckles softly, still trying to process the information. "I don't know, that's actually insane, though."

You can't help but smile at his reaction. "I guess so."

San's curiosity shifts to a topic that seems of utmost importance to him. "Who is your bias?"

You raise an eyebrow, a playful smirk on your face. "Is that really what's important right now?"

San's eyes widen, his tone as serious as if discussing a crucial matter. "Yes, very important."

With a mischievous glint in your eye, you respond, "It's a secret."

San grumbles and rolls his eyes, his familiar antics making you giggle. It's reassuring to see that, despite the extraordinary circumstances, he remains somewhat himself from the world you both know.

After taking a bite of his bread, San shifts the conversation, his expression curious. "What do you do? You know, in our world."

You offer a genuine smile as you share your passion. "Oh, I run a cafe in Seoul."

San's face lights up with enthusiasm. "That's so nice! Where is it?"

"It's actually really close to the KQ building, next to the flower shop."

San's eyes widen in realisation. "Wait, really? That's very close. I'll stop by there when we get out."

A bittersweet smile crosses your face as you admit, "If it's still in business."

San's concern deepens as he probes further. "What do you mean?"

You meet his gaze and explain, "Business was really slow when I was there. I've been gone for a few months now, so I doubt it'll still be open."

San's expression turns serious as he processes your words. "Wait a second... a few months?" The realisation dawns on him, and he looks at you with a mixture of surprise and understanding, as the magnitude of your situation sinks in.

“Yeah, I haven’t had the chance to get out due to being a princess,” you look up at San, your eyes grateful as you look at him, “which is why it’s so great you are here. It feels like I have a chance to get home.”

San smiles at you, sympathy and understanding in his eyes as he realises how long you've been trapped in this world. But then, a spark of curiosity ignites in his gaze.

"So, what was the last thing you remember before getting here?" San inquires, his voice filled with intrigue.

You furrow your brow, the memories of that moment still vivid. "I was working in the cafe, and all of a sudden, it just went black. When I woke up, I was in the palace."

San nods in recognition, a shared experience that links your worlds. "Me too," he admits, "I was practising for our comeback. It suddenly went black, and I heard Hongjoong yelling my name. But when I woke up, I was in the forest, wearing the same clothes I had in my 'Warriors' music video."

Your curiosity piques as you catch a detail you hadn't expected. "Wait a second. What music video?"

San's eyes widen with enthusiasm as he realises that you've been out of touch with their latest work. "Oh, you haven't seen it because you've been here!" he exclaims. "I did a dance cover, and that's why I have these tattoos."

You chuckle at his response. "I was wondering if you had gotten so many tattoos in two months."

San laughs, appreciating your humour. "It was just part of the concept. We filmed it in front of the Gyeongbokgung Palace."

San's words strike you like a bolt of lightning, and you find yourself needing to clarify the astonishing coincidence.

"What did you just say?" you inquire, your voice tinged with amazement.

San blinks, seemingly unaware of the profound revelation that's unfolding. "What?"

You lean in closer, your eyes searching his face for any sign of recognition. "Gyeongbokgung. I went there a few months ago, a week before I appeared here. How long has it been since you've been there?"

San's eyes widen in realisation as the pieces of the puzzle start to align. "Uh, well, it was filmed on Wednesday, so... a week ago. Wait."

The implications of your shared experiences weigh heavy on your minds. The timing and location seem more than just a coincidence. It's as if a bridge between two worlds has been formed, connecting the moments you both mysteriously entered this unfamiliar reality.

"You went there a week ago yesterday?" you inquire, your mind racing as the pieces of the puzzle align.

San's eyes light up with realisation as he nods eagerly. "Then it must be something related to Gyeongbokgung!"

The shared excitement between you and San is palpable as you uncover this incredible connection. Gyeongbokgung, the place where you both last remember being in your respective worlds before finding yourselves in this strange new reality, is the common link that binds your experiences.

"We should go there now," you suggest, a sense of urgency in your voice. "It should be here around this time, maybe we can find something to help us."

San nods enthusiastically, his focus now on finishing his meal as quickly as possible. He stuffs down his food, eager to expedite your departure.

Once his mouth is free of food, San inquires, "Do you have a map?"

"Ah, yes," you reply, reaching into your bag to retrieve the map that Jiyun had thoughtfully packed for your journey. Carefully, you unspread the map on the wooden table.

"Okay, so we should be here right now," you say, tracing your location with a finger, "then Gyeongbokgung will be…"

San's eyes follow your finger as he points towards the parchment, spotting the small letters displaying 'palace.' "I see it."

You calculate the distance and the remaining daylight. "If we leave now, we can make it before sundown."

San's determination matches yours as he eagerly exclaims, "Then what are we waiting for?"

With your destination set and a shared purpose driving you forward, you and San finish your meal, gather your belongings, and prepare to embark on a journey that may hold the key to unravelling the mysteries of your extraordinary situation. The tavern, once filled with chatter and the clinking of mugs, now watches you both as you stand, ready to venture into the unknown in search of answers.

You and San make your way to the stable where your horses were kept. The sun is still high in the sky, and a gentle breeze rustles the leaves of the nearby trees. As you approach the stable, the familiar scent of hay and leather fills the air.

However, as you step into the stable, a sense of unease washes over you. One of the stalls is empty, and you immediately notice that your horse is missing. Panic begins to rise within you.

San senses your distress and looks around, his expression mirroring your concern. "Where's your horse?"

You hurry over to the stable keeper, who is tending to the remaining horses. "Excuse me," you say, trying to keep your voice steady, "my horse is missing. Do you know what happened?"

The stable keeper wipes his hands on a cloth and turns to face you. "I'm so sorry, miss. When I went to get their food, your horse got spooked and ran off into the woods. I tried to catch it, but it was too fast."

Your heart sinks at the news, and you exchange a worried glance with San. Losing a horse is a significant setback, and you'll need to find a solution to continue your journey.

San speaks up, "Is there any way we can track it or find it?"

The stable keeper scratches his head, deep in thought. "There are some villagers who know the woods well and might be able to help. But it could take some time."

With no other options, you share a glance with San.

“We can share mine, we have no time to look for it,” San offers and you let out a sharp exhale.

“Okay…”

The stable keeper helps you prepare the horse, ensuring that the saddle and reins are secure. It's not ideal, but you don't have much choice if you want to reach Gyeongbokgung Palace before sundown.

San climbs onto the horse, offering you a hand to help you up in front of him. Settling into the saddle, you can't help but feel the warmth of his presence close behind you. The two of you share a glance, and you notice his red cheeks.

San's concern for your comfort is evident, and he expresses it as you both share the horse. His apology for the close proximity reflects his consideration for your feelings.

"I'm sorry," he says, his voice filled with genuine regret. "I didn't expect us to be so close. I can move back a little if you want. I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

You offer a reassuring smile, eager to put his worries to rest. "It's okay, San. Let's just get to the palace."

Beginning to lead the horse in the direction of Gyeongbokgung Palace, San shifts his position on the saddle, inadvertently causing him to bump forward and press his chest against your back. A rush of warmth fills your cheeks, but you do your best to stay composed.

"I'm so sorry," San says, his face turning a shade of crimson. His embarrassment is evident, and you find his reaction endearing.

You guide the horse along the path, focusing on your destination, when San inquires, "Where should I put my hands?"

Your heart flutters at the question, and you're grateful that you’re facing forward so he doesn't see your flustered expression.

"Just wrap your arms around my waist," you reply. "I don't mind, really."

San hesitates, his concern still evident. "I don't want to make you uncomfortable..."

You smile at his thoughtfulness but gently urge him, "San, please, just hurry up. We need to reach the palace before nightfall."

San follows your instructions and wraps his arms securely around your waist. His touch is gentle, yet you can feel the warmth radiating from his body. It causes you to momentarily lose focus, the surreal nature of the situation overwhelming your thoughts. Never in your wildest dreams could you have imagined being in this position with one of your favourite idols.

San's chest presses against your back, and you can sense the beating of his heart, echoing the rapid rhythm of your own. Both of you are embroiled in this unique experience, and you remain unaware of the thoughts racing through San's mind.

For San, the situation is equally unprecedented. His face is flushed with a bright shade of red, and he holds onto you with a mixture of embarrassment and excitement. The proximity between the two of you, the shared adventure, and the bond that's forming in this extraordinary world are causing his heart to open up in ways he couldn't have anticipated.

With each moment that passes, your connection deepens, and you become a source of support and comfort for each other in this unfamiliar and often challenging world. It's a journey that neither of you could have predicted, but as you ride together, you find solace in the warmth of each other's presence.

Continuing your journey together, San's voice takes on a low, intimate tone. It's as if he wants to keep the conversation between the two of you, sharing this moment in the midst of your unusual adventure. His breath tickles your ear, sending a shiver down your spine and causing goosebumps to rise on your skin.

"Tell me about yourself," he asks, his voice gentle and curious.

You find his proximity comforting and decide to share a piece of your past with him. "What do you want to know?"

San listens attentively, his breath soft against your ear. "What was your favourite part of running the cafe?"

You smile at the memory, feeling a sense of nostalgia for your old life. "I think my favourite part was seeing people come in, enjoying their coffee or a meal, and leaving with a smile. It was like creating a little oasis where people could take a break from their busy lives."

“That’s nice.” San's warm presence and the intimate conversation create a sense of connection that transcends the boundaries of time and place. You find yourself opening up to him, sharing stories from your past and learning more about his own experiences.

"I have an important question," San suddenly says, his tone becoming playful as he awaits your response.

You raise an eyebrow, mirroring his playful tone, "And what would that be, San?"

A mischievous glint dances in San's eyes as he asks, "What's your favourite Ateez song?"

You chuckle gently at his question. "I'm being serious!"

San's playful demeanour and the imagined pout in his voice make you smile. You can almost picture the look he's giving you, having seen countless videos of him making that expression.

"Okay, okay," you reply, "that's a tough question. I tend to like the b-sides more, to be honest."

San encourages you to share more, his curiosity piqued. You reflect for a moment before answering, "Turbulence and Mist have a special place in my heart."

"Really?" San's voice carries a warm and intriguing tone. "Why is that?"

You pause, considering your response. "Well, I was going through a really tough time a while ago. I don't know, these songs just feel like a warm hug. Like someone is there for me."

San listens intently to your words, his heart swelling with compassion and understanding. "I'm glad we could be there for you during that difficult time."

“Thank you,”

San's eyes soften, and his voice takes on a soothing tone as he responds, "You don't have to thank us. Music has a way of reaching people when they need it most, and it's an honour to know that our songs could be there for you during those difficult times."

Tears well up in your eyes as you remember the moments when you turned to music as your solace. You've found comfort and strength in the melodies and lyrics that resonated with your emotions. It's a powerful connection that transcends time and place, and it's something you and San now share.

Drawing closer to your destination, the palace towers in the distance become more prominent, the air is filled with a mixture of anticipation and curiosity. The scenery around you is both breathtaking and mysterious, mirroring the unique connection that has grown between you.

San glances over at you, his curiosity getting the best of him. "Can I ask you something?"

You meet his gaze and offer a warm smile. "Of course."

He takes a moment to gather his thoughts before he finally asks, "Do you have a boyfriend?"

The question catches you slightly off guard, but you answer honestly, "No, I don't have a boyfriend."

San raises an eyebrow, and a playful smile tugs at the corners of his lips. "I didn't expect that."

You chuckle at his response. "What do you mean by that?"

San's gaze softens, and he offers a sincere explanation. "Well, you're really kind, caring, and incredibly determined. Not to mention, you are very beautiful, I guess I thought someone like you would already have someone special in their life."

A heat creeps up on your cheeks as you feel a flutter in your heart. San's compliments catch you by surprise, and you find yourself at a loss for words for a moment. Burying your face in your hands to hide your flustered expression, San watches you with a fond expression.

You smile and say, "Thank you, San. You're pretty amazing yourself."

Hesitating for a moment, unsure if you should say this, you decide to speak. "I have a husband, though."

San's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "What do you mean? I thought you were single?"

You can't help but grin mischievously before you clarify, "His name is Mingi."

San's incredulous expression is almost comical. "Your bias is Mingi?"

You nod with a playful glint in your eye. "Yes. Why is that such a bad thing?"

San can't help but laugh, "It's not, Mingi is amazing, but come on? I'm here right now. I should be your bias."

You raise an eyebrow, teasing him further, "You have to earn it."

San scoffs before retorting, “what, did Mingi body roll his way into your bias spot?”

“Precisely.”

San leans in closer, a playful glint in his eye. "And what about my cyberpunk performance?"

You contemplate for a moment, then acknowledge with a nod, "Ooh, nice. I have to admit. But Mingi in bouncy was a whole snack."

San pretends to be offended, teasing you back, "What, are you a pervert?"

You protest, "No, you started it!" However, San’s laughter at your reaction causes a wide smile to grow on your face.

San's thoughts drift in the midst of the journey towards Gyeongbokgung Palace, he finds himself mesmerised not only by your unique personality but also by your captivating beauty. He can't help but be struck by the allure of your presence and the way the soft light of the setting sun enhances your features, making you glow in an almost ethereal manner.

To him, you are not just intriguing and kind, but you're also incredibly beautiful, inside and out. Your allure has a magnetic quality that pulls him in, leaving him in awe of the remarkable person he has come to know. The warmth he feels in his heart is not just from the shared connection but from the undeniable appreciation of your inner and outer beauty.

"San?" you question, noticing his distraction and wondering what has captured his attention so deeply.

San blinks, almost like he's been caught in the act of something secret, and quickly replies, "Yes!"

You can't help but chuckle at his somewhat startled expression. "We are here."

The magnificent Gyeongbokgung Palace stands before you, its grandeur and beauty making the journey worthwhile. You both dismount from the horse, and as you step onto the palace grounds, the weight of the world's mysteries and your unique connection continues to loom over your heads.

The palace grounds are a bustling hive of activity, even as the day inches towards twilight. Commoners from all walks of life have gathered to admire the magnificent architecture, wander through the lush gardens, and soak in the historical splendour of Gyeongbokgung Palace.

San and yourself make your way through the lively crowds, you discreetly raise a scarf to drape over your head, partially concealing your face. Though you are not accustomed to the recognition and respect bestowed upon you as a supposed princess in this world, you are aware that you must maintain your appearance. To the people here, you are not the cafe owner from Seoul but a royal figure who demands respect.

Your attire and the scarf shroud your identity, giving you a degree of anonymity as you navigate the palace's vast courtyards and intricate passageways. San walks alongside you, blending seamlessly into the throng of visitors, his presence a source of both comfort and companionship.

The whispers of the crowd, the laughter of children, and the gasps of awe as they take in the grandeur of the palace envelop you. It's a vivid reminder of the rich history that envelops you, and for a brief moment, you forget about the strangeness of the world you've been thrust into. The palace comes alive with the shared fascination of the visitors, and you and San are just two more among the countless souls wandering through its storied halls.

You are keenly aware of the importance of maintaining your facade as you traverse the palace. The scarf that conceals your features becomes your shield, protecting your true identity and allowing you to move freely among the people, your thoughts locked in a delicate balance between the two worlds you now inhabit.

Continuing to meander through the throngs of people, San leans in close to you and murmurs in your ear, "So, what exactly are we looking for?"

You contemplate for a moment, the palace's grandeur and historical significance surrounding you, before replying, "I don't know, maybe something that still exists in our world."

San offers a smile of approval, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "That's a good start. You're super smart."

You chuckle, appreciating the compliment but also trying to play it cool so he doesn't notice the way your heart beats faster, "Stop flattering me; it's not going to make you my bias."

San lets out a laugh and rolls his eyes playfully, his lips curving into a grin. "Well, it's worth a try, right?"

The two of you share a moment of lighthearted banter, the playfulness of your conversation providing a brief respite from the mysteries that shroud your current circumstances.

As you and San navigate the bustling palace, you suggest a plan, saying, "I'll go around the left, and you go around the right. It'll be quicker for us to split up." Your eyes dart around, on the lookout for any sign of noblemen or advisors who may recognize you.

San, however, appears concerned and holds your arm gently, restraining you from moving away. "What if you get in trouble?"

You smile reassuringly and reply, "I'll be fine. I'm more worried about you." You chuckle softly, trying to hide the fluttering sensation that his touch on your arm ignites. "Stay low, and please don't go around announcing you're from another world. If you end up in the dungeon, it won't be as easy for me to rescue you."

Your words carry a sense of caution, the weight of your shared journey growing more apparent as you prepare to part ways temporarily within the palace. It's a moment of both anticipation and apprehension, knowing that your decisions in this unfamiliar world can have unforeseen consequences.

"Just meet me back here in an hour," you say, giving San a warm smile before parting ways.

San nods, his expression affectionate and filled with genuine concern. "Stay safe."

With those parting words, you both venture into different directions within the bustling palace, each with your own quest and the hope of uncovering clues that may lead you closer to understanding the mysteries of your dual existence.

You methodically search through the palace, scouring every nook and cranny without raising suspicion. Every rock, every brick, and every detail of the architecture comes under your scrutiny, yet nothing stands out as the mysterious link between your two worlds. It's a challenging task, as you're not even entirely sure what you're looking for.

After what feels like both an eternity and the blink of an eye, you glance up at the position of the sun in the sky. The hour has nearly passed, and it's time to make your way back to the agreed meeting point. The crowd begins to thin, and you're aware of the increasing risk of drawing attention to yourself if you continue your search.

Heading back to the designated spot, you spot San already approaching, a sense of defeat etched on his face.

When he reaches you, he inquires, "Did you find anything?"

You shake your head, disappointment clear in your expression. "No, nothing. It's hard to look for something when we don't even know what we're searching for."

Desperation creeps into your voice as you continue, "Tell me everything that happened when you were filming, every small detail that could be significant."

San furrows his brows in deep thought, trying to recall every detail from that day. "Well, one of the dancers ripped his pants during a take. There was an odd rock that almost all of us tripped over at one point..."

You press him for more, your sense of urgency growing. "And what else?"

San's eyes light up with realisation. "I don't know if this is relevant, but there was this old lady. She wouldn't leave us alone unless we bought one of her tassels. The owner told us she's always there, selling charms and whatnot."

Your heart skips a beat as San mentions the old lady. The pieces start to fall into place, and you can't help but feel that you're on the verge of a breakthrough. "An old lady? I saw an old lady too! She sold me a charm to bring love into my life."

“She also sold me one for love!” San exclaims as the dots line up in his head also.

Walking together toward the area where your horse is stabled, you and San discuss the topic about the old lady.

"If only she were here right now," San grumbles, his lips forming a pout. "We could see if her charm is what made us end up here."

You both engage in light banter, acknowledging the absurdity of the situation. The prospect of the old lady's charm being the catalyst for your parallel journeys is almost too surreal to contemplate.

Then, unexpectedly, something, no, someone captures your attention. Emerging from the grand palace doors is a woman who looks incredibly familiar. Your heart skips a beat as you experience a moment of déjà vu, as if the universe is playing a cosmic joke on you.

"San," you say, drawing the young man's attention. He had been aimlessly kicking around stones out of frustration.

"I think she's here right now," you explain, your voice quivering with a mix of excitement and disbelief.

“I thought you were smart, that’s impossible,” San pivots to where you're looking, his eyes widening with shock upon seeing the woman exiting the palace.

In an instant, your eyes meet, and an unspoken understanding passes between you. You both know that you must act quickly to seize this unexpected opportunity.

Without a word, you take off running together in the direction of the woman, your hearts pounding with anticipation.

"Lady!" you yell, your voice echoing through the palace courtyard. Your cry catches her attention as you and San draw nearer, but instead of stopping to address you, she immediately turns and bolts away, disappearing into the forest.

Determined, you give chase, your heart pounding as you follow her into the dense woods. It's puzzling how an elderly woman can move so nimbly, but you're driven by the urgency of your quest.

After a few intense minutes of pursuit, you finally manage to close the gap. Your hand lands firmly on her shoulder, bringing her to an abrupt halt. The old lady, her breath laboured and eyes wide, is now captive in your grasp, and you're ready to seek the answers you've been searching for.

San is close behind the two of you and when he reaches you he places his hand on a nearby tree, trying to catch his breath.

"For an old lady, you're really fast," San exclaims, trying to catch his breath.

You can't help but chuckle at his dishevelled state. "Aren't you supposed to be really athletic?" you retort, teasing him lightly.

"In this world, no," San replies, catching his breath before turning his attention to the old lady. "Please, give us answers."

The old lady, her voice hoarse, attempts to catch her breath as well. "I don't know what you're talking about."

San looks at her with an expression of disbelief, as if he can't fathom her response. "Yes, you do. You bolted in the other direction when we approached you."

The lady, appearing somewhat offended, glances between you and San before responding, "Approached? I beg your pardon. How would you like it if two strangers were hurtling towards you?"

You almost burst into laughter at her retort, and you can see the incredulous look on San's face. The situation has taken an unexpected turn.

"Look, ma'am," you interject, trying to steer the conversation in a more serious direction. "We're well aware that you know something about us. We just want some answers."

The lady rolls her eyes before scanning her surroundings as if she's checking for any potential eavesdroppers. This action puzzles both you and San, and you exchange bewildered glances. San simply shrugs his shoulders in confusion, unsure of what to make of this mysterious encounter.

“Not here though,” her tone turns serious as she leads you further into the woods.

The woods, although unfamiliar, have a hauntingly beautiful quality to them. Tall, ancient trees stretch their gnarled limbs towards the sky, forming a canopy of leaves that filter the low sunlight, creating a mystical, ethereal atmosphere. The ground is carpeted with a thick layer of moss and ferns, lending an otherworldly green hue to the forest floor. Birdsong and the rustle of leaves in the breeze provide a melodic backdrop to your journey, adding to the sense of enchantment that surrounds you.

Despite the woods' eerie charm, there's an undeniable feeling of isolation and obscurity as you venture deeper into its depths. The silence here is deafening, save for the occasional chirping of a distant bird or the rustling of unseen critters in the underbrush. Shafts of muted, golden sunlight pierce through the dense foliage, casting elongated shadows on the forest floor.

As you approach the fallen tree blocking the path, you marvel at its sheer size and age. It appears to have been lying here for centuries, with gnarled roots and crumbling bark that hint at the passage of time. The tree's massive branches extend into the undergrowth, creating an imposing and challenging barrier to your progress.

The old lady, still leading the way, jumps lithely over the tree, demonstrating a remarkable agility that seems out of place for her age. Her movements are fluid and graceful, as if the forest itself welcomes her presence.

San stands beside the fallen tree, offering you his hand, his eyes filled with concern and support. You grasp his hand, and he assists you in navigating the obstacle. As you make your attempt to cross, your foot catches on a stubborn root, causing you to lose your balance. Just as you teeter precariously, San's strong arm wraps around your waist, ensuring you don't fall. His touch is comforting, and for a brief moment, you both share a wordless connection as you regain your footing. San's heart lurches in his chest upon making contact with you, and he can't help but smile when he notices the flustered expression on your face.

The old lady observes this interaction from a distance, her knowing eyes filled with a fond amusement, and she motions for you to continue following her deeper into the forest. The journey becomes even more enigmatic and intriguing as you move forward, leaving the fallen tree behind and plunging further into the mystical beauty and mystery of the woods.

Slowly, the sun dips below the horizon making the woods take on an eerie quality. The once vibrant and lush forest now transforms into a mysterious and dark place. The temperature drops, and a shiver runs down your spine. You can't help but feel a little scared and vulnerable in this unfamiliar environment.

San, noticing your discomfort, moves a bit closer to you, not touching but making sure you know he's there for you. His presence brings some comfort, and you lean slightly into him, seeking warmth and assurance. Just as you're starting to relax, a howl echoes through the woods, sending a jolt of fear through your body. You instinctively press your arm against San, finding solace in his nearness.

"Are those wolves?" you ask, your voice quivering.

San, his cheeks slightly flushed, offers a reassuring smile. "It's okay, I'm here," he says with a touch of affection in his tone, making your heart skip a beat.

Still feeling uneasy, you keep your eyes on the darkening forest.

San notices your increasing anxiousness and quickly starts a conversation to distract you, "have you ever been to one of our concerts?" San asks, his curiosity piqued.

You shake your head, the tension slowly easing. "No, actually. I've been so focused on my education and then opening the café that I've barely had time. But now it's just a money problem. I've put all my savings into the café."

San nods, showing genuine interest in your dedication. "You're really dedicated to the café."

A soft smile plays on your lips. "It's been my dream since I was young."

San's curiosity heightens, he wants to know more. "Why is that?"

You take a deep breath, allowing the beauty of the moment to wash over you, the eerie woods, the presence of San beside you, and your shared stories. "Well, when I was a kid, my mother owned a cafe. I used to help her around when I was young, and I always wanted to own the cafe when she retired. I loved the way it brought people together. It's like a place where you can escape from your daily life, enjoy a cup of coffee, and maybe even make a new friend. I wanted to create that for others, a space where people can find comfort and connection.”

Sharing the story of your café and the emotional reason behind your dedication, San's eyes begin to glisten with unshed tears. He listens with intense attention, his heart swelling with empathy and understanding.

"My mother passed away when I was young, and my father couldn't make enough money to support us, so we had to sell the place. Ever since then, I've dreamed of carrying on her legacy."

San's voice is filled with emotion as he responds, "I'm so sorry to hear about your mother. It must have been tough for you." He takes a deep breath, his own experiences coming to the surface. "Being an idol, I don't get to see my parents often, and I really miss them. But I keep going to make them proud. I know how you feel."

Smiling at San, you feel the connection between you deepen, and San finds himself experiencing an overwhelming amount of respect and admiration for your strength and determination. He can't help but feel a powerful emotional response to your story, and his heart jerks in his chest. He's touched by your vulnerability and the way you've persevered in the face of adversity. In this moment, the small but growing feelings he has for you become even more evident.

You and San share a meaningful gaze, both of your eyes shimmering with unshed tears. The warmth of his smile provides a comforting connection between you, and in that moment, you can't help but feel a deep sense of belonging. Unbeknownst to you, the same feelings of belonging, understanding, and connection are mirrored in San's heart, as he finds himself drawn to you more deeply than he could have ever imagined.

“When we get out of here, you are invited to all of our concerts, free of charge.” San exclaims, his wide smile contagious.

“Then I can see Mingi body rolling with my own two eyes.”

“I'm going to feed you to the wolves.”

“We are here.”

The old lady's voice gently breaks your bickering with San, and you shift your gaze towards the source of her words. With a silent nod, she points to a small grotto-like cottage nestled deep within the woods. Covered in vibrant, velvety green moss, it looks like it has been plucked from a Pinterest post. The quaint little dwelling is simultaneously cosy and inviting, yet there is an eerie and somewhat unsettling quality to it that sends shivers down your spine. It seems as if ancient stories and secrets are hidden within its walls, waiting to be uncovered.

The forest that surrounds the cottage adds to the eerie charm. It is a mesmerising place, where the faint light of the setting sun dappled the landscape with warm, golden hues, casting long, enchanting shadows that seemed to dance with every passing breeze. It is beautiful, mysterious, and somewhat foreboding, a fusion of emotions that keeps you on edge.

You can't help but glance over at San, who shares your cautious expression. His eyes meet yours, and his warm smile attempts to soothe your nerves.

Following the old lady's lead, you cautiously approach the charming cottage, hesitating before the small door, which seems to be inviting you inside. The soft glow emanating from the windows adds to the enigmatic ambiance. It is a place that begged exploration, yet also invokes a feeling of hesitancy, as if stepping across the threshold would mean willingly delving into the unknown.

Taking a step closer to the cottage, San reaches out, gently grasping your hand and intertwining your fingers. There are no words exchanged, but his actions speak volumes. His warm touch conveys a silent reassurance, as if he is seeking solace and support just as much as he was offering it. His grip is a mixture of emotions, perhaps fueled by fear or the desire to protect you, and it sends your heart into a flurry of emotions. Your cheeks warm up, and butterflies flit through your stomach as you continue your journey towards the mysterious cottage, hand in hand with San.

Stepping through the small door of the cottage, you and San are greeted by a warm, cosy interior. The walls are adorned with wooden panels, giving the place a rustic, cabin-like feel. The ceiling is supported by wooden beams that add to the overall charm of the room. An inviting fireplace stands against one wall, its embers casting a comforting glow that bathes the space in a soft, flickering light.

In the heart of the room, there is a comfortable, worn-in sofa that beckoned for weary travellers like yourselves. Its deep red cushions invited you to sit down and rest, and you can’t help but admire how perfectly it fits into the rustic décor of the cottage. A wooden coffee table sits in front of the sofa, adorned with trinkets, dried herbs, and a collection of weathered books.

What captures your attention the most, however, is the large, cast-iron cauldron set in the centre of the room. It stands on a sturdy wooden tripod, and it appears to be empty, its black interior gleaming in the firelight. The cauldron is ancient, with ornate patterns etched along its rim, hinting at the history it holds within its iron confines. Taking in the warm and cosy ambiance of the cabin, you can't help but wonder about the mysteries it holds. The combination of old-world charm and the feeling of being in an entirely different realm is both alluring and unsettling. It is as though time has stood still in this hidden refuge, waiting for someone to uncover its secrets.

Taking in the cosy surroundings of the cottage, San's hand remains gently intertwined with yours. The warmth of his hand, combined with the comforting ambiance of the room, help ease the nervousness that has settled within you. The flickering firelight dances across the wooden walls, casting a soothing, amber glow on the two of you.

The old lady bustles around the room with a sense of familiarity, fetching cups and a teapot. Her movements are both methodical and graceful, as if she has been performing these tasks for many years. She has a kind, grandmotherly air about her, and her actions feel like a welcoming embrace.

With a warm smile, she pours the fragrant tea into delicate, porcelain cups, the gentle aroma wafting through the room, filling the air with the comforting scent of herbs and spices. The cups clink softly as she places them on the coffee table in front of the two of you.

You decide to take a seat on the plush, red sofa, and San sits down beside you. Your thighs touching, and the contact between you brought a sense of comfort and security. The cushions embraced you like a familiar friend, and the two of you found yourselves sitting close, as if the physical closeness mirrored the connection that was growing between you.

Sipping on the warm tea, you feel your nerves slowly begin to fade, replaced by a newfound sense of curiosity and wonder.

San and you sit in the cosy cabin, sipping tea and gathering your thoughts, the pressing question of how to return to your own world lingers heavily in the air. You know it is time to seek answers, and you exchange a glance with San before turning your attention to the old lady, a mix of curiosity and frustration in your voices.

"So, how do we get back to our world?" you inquire, your voice filled with a hint of desperation. "And what brought us here in the first place?"

San's voice is more direct as he joins the conversation. "Yeah, we understand we need to find our way out, but why were we brought here in the first place?"

The old lady, who had been bustling around the cabin to fetch cups and a teapot, pauses in her tasks. She takes a moment to consider your questions and then offers a thoughtful response, her voice laced with wisdom. "You were brought here by destiny, not by me. It appears that fate has a plan for both of you."

Your brows furrow with disbelief, and you shoot a sceptical glance at San. This answer hardly provides any solace, and San decides to voice your collective concerns.

"But you gave us those tassels. Weren't they what brought us here? So, it is your fault, and you need to help us get back."

The old lady lets out a weary sigh, understanding the frustration etched on both your faces. Her eyes betray a mix of amusement and sympathy as she speaks, "You are correct; the charms you were given had a role to play. However, they were more like keys, opening the door that destiny had laid before you."

You share another puzzled look with San, trying to grasp the cryptic nature of her explanation. San's patience wears thin, and he leans forward, his eyes locked onto hers. "Okay, so if we were brought here by destiny, how do we go back? What's the way out?"

The old lady leans back in her chair, reflecting on her next words.

“There is the existence of a rare and precious thread that can be woven into a tassel, allowing you to return to your world. It is the sister thread of the charm that brought the two of you here. However, the thread is a rarity, and it can only be made every six months. I know someone who has some, yet they live on the other side of the woods, it’ll take you the whole day for me to get it and return.”

San's frustration becomes more noticeable as he asks, "So, when can we get this thread? Tomorrow?"

The old lady shakes her head gently, a sense of regret in her eyes. "I'm sorry, but I have visitors scheduled for tomorrow. It will be the day after tomorrow before I can fetch the thread for you."

You and San exchange a sigh of frustration, aware that your predicament has become increasingly complicated by the constraints of time.

"What if we get it? We can leave in the early morning and be back in the evening for you to make it." You suggest the plan with a glimmer of hope in your eyes, your voice brimming with determination.

The old lady observes you and San thoughtfully before offering her response, her expression reflecting a mix of curiosity and contemplation. "I suppose that could work. If you get it back to me before dark, I will make it for you."

"What's the catch?" San asks with a hint of scepticism.

The old lady reassures him, "There is no catch."

San's doubt lingers as he continues, "Don't play with me. You're a witch; there's always a catch."

She maintains her composure and responds, "I am not a witch."

Your eyes narrow in disbelief, and you press further, "Girl, you have a cauldron in the middle of your house. Be for real."

Your incredulity mirrors his as you try to make sense of the unusual surroundings and situation.

"You will find out the catch when you return with the thread," she calmly expresses. "This is the risk you have to take. Do you really wish to go home?" Her words are enigmatic, leaving you and San uncertain about what lies ahead on this unexpected journey.

"For now, though," she says, standing up from her chair, "get some rest. I'm sure you are tired from your travels."

You and San walk through the dimly lit corridor to the small room the old lady has prepared for you. It's a cosy, rustic space, with wooden walls and beams overhead, giving it a warm and inviting ambiance. The room is adorned with various knick-knacks, and the window reveals the occasional flicker of fireflies outside, casting fleeting shadows across the room.

Upon entering the room, you both find a comfortable, albeit not very spacious, resting place. There's only one bed, and the realisation causes a simultaneous blush to creep across both your faces. You feel a pang of guilt about the potential awkwardness of the situation, but before you can protest, San insists on taking the floor.

He quickly arranges a blanket he found in a nearby chest and lays it out on the wooden floor, attempting to make a makeshift bed for himself.

"I can't let you sleep on the floor," you object, worried about his comfort.

San chuckles, his eyes reflecting the soft glow of the lanterns outside. "It's fine, really. I'll be comfortable."

You give in, though you still feel a bit uneasy about it. San's considerate nature is touching, but you can't help but wish for a more suitable solution.

After a moment, you ease yourself into the plush bed. The soft mattress seems to envelop you, and you can't help but let out a contented sigh. The bed feels like a luxurious escape after the long, tiring journey you've had. As you lay there, the comfort and warmth of the bed begin to lull you into a state of drowsiness.

San finishes arranging his makeshift bed on the floor beside you and glances over with a warm smile, his gaze a mix of concern and reassurance. As you're beginning to drift into slumber, he whispers softly, "Goodnight," in the dimly lit room.

The only sounds are the gentle crackling of the fireplace and the faint rustling of leaves outside, making you feel cosy and safe as you slowly succumb to sleep, with San's presence nearby providing a sense of comfort.

The sun's warmth bathes the forest in a golden glow as you and San step onto the path marked on the map. The cool, crisp air fills your lungs, invigorating you for the journey ahead. The forest around you is enchanting, with tall trees and vibrant flora that create an ethereal ambiance. Birds sing melodiously, providing a sense of tranquillity despite the challenges that await you.

The path, as the old lady described, is well-worn and meanders through the woods, guiding you further into the heart of the forest. You follow the landmarks indicated on the map: a peculiarly shaped tree, a massive boulder with moss clinging to its sides, and a serene, babbling brook. Each one reassures you that you're on the right track.

As you continue your journey, you come across a part of the forest that is denser and more shadowed than before. The old lady's warnings echo in your mind as you quicken your pace, your grip on the map tightening. You feel a sense of determination to return safely and bring San with you to your world.

The terrain gradually changes, leading you uphill and into a section of the forest where the trees are thicker and their branches intertwine, creating a natural canopy. The hushed whispers of the leaves add to the eerie yet captivating atmosphere.

"The old lady mentioned a hidden grove up ahead," San says, studying the map intently. "She said we need to pass through it with caution."

You nod, sharing a look of understanding. The forest seems to hold its breath as you venture deeper. The sense of isolation is palpable, and you start to feel a growing unease. The cool, serene forest from before now feels more mysterious, almost foreboding.

The passage through the hidden grove is narrow and winding, creating an otherworldly setting. Shafts of sunlight cut through the dense foliage, casting intricate patterns on the forest floor. You can't help but marvel at the beauty around you, even as you keep an eye out for the thread's location.

Moving forward, the path begins to broaden once more, and the map indicates that you are nearing the area where the thread can be found. An excitement fills you both, and you exchange a hopeful glance. The anticipation of success fuels your determination to complete this mission.

The map guides you to a small clearing where, according to the old lady, the thread can be collected. But as you reach the area, you realise that there are multiple threads, each one shimmering in different colours, suspended in the air as if by magic. They sway gently, casting colourful reflections on the ground.

San looks at you with a mix of confusion and curiosity. "Which one do we choose?"

The old lady's advice comes back to you: "The thread must be chosen carefully, as it will determine where you return to."

Your heart pounds as you weigh your options. The forest around you holds its breath, waiting for your decision. The threads await your touch, their ethereal beauty a stark contrast to the perilous journey that brought you here.

Yet the second you reach out for a thread, a woman appears in front of you, halting you from grabbing the threads.

The air becomes charged with tension as the mysterious lady appears, her presence sending shivers down your spine. She stands near the threads, her eyes filled with an otherworldly wisdom.

San instinctively moves closer to you, blocking you from her, and you can feel his apprehension as he interlocks your hands.

“You mustn't take without giving, child. There is a price.”

"What is the price?" San asks, his voice trembling slightly.

The lady's expression remains enigmatic as she speaks, "To claim the thread that calls to your soul, you must offer me your most precious memory. Memories are the threads of your life, woven together to create your identity, and the idea of parting with one is a heavy burden to bear. It is the only way to ensure you are taken to your rightful place. This is the balance of the forest's magic."

The lady's request for a precious memory leaves you both in a state of shock. Your mind races as you consider the magnitude of the request. Your memories are a part of your very essence, each one holding a special place in your heart. You look at San, his eyes mirroring your own feelings of uncertainty.

San squeezes your hand, his voice a whisper, "What do we do? We can't give up our memories."

The lady, her gaze unwavering, adds, "I can see the bond you share, your connection is strong. One memory will be strong enough for the both of you."

You share a wordless, meaningful glance with San.

With a deep breath, you nod in San's direction, your silent gesture conveying your readiness to move forward. San meets your eyes with a deep sense of gratitude, an unspoken acknowledgment of the sacrifice you're both about to make.

The lady extends her hand toward you, and you accept it cautiously, your trust in her growing by the minute.

"Now, think of the memory," she instructs gently.

The room falls into an eerie silence as you stand before the threads, tears still glistening in your eyes. You can feel San's supportive presence beside you, his concern unspoken but palpable.

The lady extends her hand toward you, and you accept it cautiously.

You close your eyes, delving deep into your thoughts to find the memory that holds the most significance. Tears gather at the corners of your eyes as the memory surfaces, the emotions tied to it overwhelming.

You take a moment to collect yourself, focusing on the cherished memory, replaying it in your mind like a vivid film. It's a memory from your childhood, a day at the beach with your mother, building sandcastles and laughing. You remember the feeling of the warm sand beneath your feet, the sound of the waves crashing, and the pure happiness in your mother’s eyes.

San watches you attentively, his concern evident in his gaze. He wants to rush to your side, to comfort you in this vulnerable moment, but he restrains himself.

Opening your eyes, you're greeted by the gentle yet piercing gaze of the lady. Her hand is extended toward the threads, waiting for your choice.

Your heart guides you toward a particular thread, one that stands out in a rich, dark purple shade. It shimmers with an otherworldly luminescence, a vibrant and mysterious aura that beckons to you. You reach for it, your hand trembling slightly as you grasp the thread, and it feels warm to the touch, like a connection to the past and the future.

For some inexplicable reason, your heart guides you to the thread, tugging at your emotions. It feels like the right choice, and you reach out to take it, a profound sense of purpose filling your heart.

With the thread secured in your hand, you turn to face San, a mixture of emotions passing between you. Gratitude, determination, and a hint of sadness are reflected in your eyes.

San smiles softly, offering you a reassuring nod, understanding the importance of the memory you've chosen to give up. He knows you've made this sacrifice willingly for both of your sakes.

You and San begin the journey back through the dense forest, the dimming light of the setting sun casts a warm, orange glow through the trees, a weighty silence hangs in the air. The precious thread safely tucked in your satchel serves as a constant reminder of the memory you've willingly sacrificed. Both of you understand the gravity of the situation.

After a while, San breaks the silence with a gentle voice, "If I can ask, what memory did you give up?"

You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of the memory in your heart. "It was a memory of a day at the beach with my mother, from my childhood. We were building sandcastles and laughing together. It was one of those moments of pure happiness that I never wanted to forget."

San looks at you with a mixture of understanding and sympathy. He realises that it was a cherished memory you held dear, and his respect for your sacrifice deepens.

San speaks again, his expression one of curiosity, " If it were me who had to choose, I wonder what memory I'd give."

You glance at him curiously, your satchel gently bumping against your side as you walk. "Have you thought about it before?"

San nods thoughtfully. "Not specifically, but... I guess a memory from my trainee days, one from the first time I saw our fans at a concert, or maybe our first win. Those moments are really special to me. But, it's a tough choice. I can't imagine giving up any memory willingly."

You both walk on in thoughtful silence, the significance of the thread and your memories weighing heavily on your minds.

"It's peculiar," San says, breaking the silence as he gazes over at you.

"What is?" You ask, your curiosity piqued.

"I wasn't expecting you to pick the purple thread. In my opinion, you strike me as more of a pink person."

A laugh escapes your lips. "I look like a pink person?"

San nods, a playful smile forming on his lips. "Yes, but I guess appearances can be deceiving."

You chuckle at his observation. "I do like pink, to be honest. But something about that purple thread just felt right, like it was calling out to me."

"That's even more interesting," San utters, his eyes sparkling with curiosity.

"How so?"

"Purple is my favourite colour," San confesses, his eyes fixed on the path ahead. You turn to look at him, a hint of confusion on your face.

San gazes at you, a warm and affectionate expression in his eyes. "Maybe it is destiny that we found each other."

Flustered by San's words, a warm sensation spreads across your cheeks as you quickly hide your face behind your hand. Your heart flutters at the affection in his gaze, and you can't help but sneak a few more glances at him, stealing moments to admire his comforting presence. His eyes, filled with fondness, occasionally meet yours, and a faint, mischievous smile dances at the corners of his lips. San bites his lip, suppressing a grin as he watches you.

The journey back to the old lady's cottage takes you through the dappled forest as the sun begins its slow descent. You and San, side by side, share unspoken words of comfort. San's unwavering presence helps you navigate the intricate path that weaves through the woods, while the echoes of rustling leaves and bird songs in the distance create a serene ambiance.

Arriving at the cosy cottage, you find the old lady tidying up her small abode. She turns to the two of you with a knowing glance, causing your heart to race. An exchange of puzzled glances with San only deepens the sense of mystery.

Hastily, you present her with the valuable thread you secured. She accepts it, murmuring the word "peculiar."

You and San exchange yet another look, curiosity gnawing at your minds. Despite your burning questions, you both decide not to press her further at this moment.

With the thread in her possession, you turn to the old lady once more, your curiosity now focused on the catch you've been wondering about.

“What is the catch?” You question, desperate to know what it is that could be at risk.

“I need time to thread the tassel, then I will tell you the risk. For now, please eat.”

“How long will it take?” San inquires, also desperate to get home.

“An hour or so, it won't be long. Help yourself to food, it is still warm.”

Sitting at the old lady's humble wooden table, you and San eagerly devour the food set before you. It's a simple meal, but after the day's adventures, it tastes like a feast. You're both so engrossed in eating that your earlier question about the odd word "peculiar" remains on hold.

Taking another bite of the hearty stew, San leans in, a mischievous glint in his eye. "So, since we have some time to kill," he begins, "which performance is your absolute favourite?"

You swallow your food, a burst of excitement rushing through you as you recall the various stunning performances you've seen, yet you can't help but to laugh. San’s dedication to find out your favourite parts about his group is endearing as well as funny.

"Well, there are so many, but if I had to choose, I’d probably say Take Me Home."

San grins widely, his eyes lighting up. "Really?." He leans closer, like an excited child, "is it because of my dance solo?"

You laugh at his words and finish another bite and ponder for a moment. "It is really cool. The way you used the mirrors is really cool to me also."

“Thank you for supporting us,” San says quietly, his smile gentle as he looks down at his food.

“Now San.” you say loudly, catching his attention. Pointing your spoon at him, you return the question, “what is your favourite performance to do?”

The two of you continue to chat and savour your meal, the tension lifting up the more you get engrossed in each other's company. Sharing your favourite Ateez moments and music creates a sense of connection which makes the wait for the old lady to finish the tassel more bearable.

You and San sit at the old lady's table, your empty bowls pushed aside, you're engaged in an animated conversation. The room is filled with laughter and shared stories, a comfortable warmth filling the air. You've found that you share many common interests and hobbies beyond just K-pop and Ateez, forging a deeper connection as you discuss your favourite books, movies, and travel destinations. It feels like you've known each other for ages.

The moments pass quickly as you both become lost in the flow of conversation, sharing tales of your personal experiences and dreams. Your voices resonate with passion and excitement as you talk about your aspirations, and you can't help but admire the way San's eyes light up when he talks about his music and performances.

Suddenly, the room's door creaks open, and the old lady enters, holding the completed tassel in her hand. The stunning charm catches your breath in your throat, a masterpiece of intricate weaving and vibrant colours. The thread glistens in the soft light of the room, and it looks as if it carries the power to transport you back to your world. Its craftsmanship and beauty are beyond anything you've ever seen before.

San and you both fall silent as you gaze in awe at the tassel, momentarily speechless. The old lady smiles as she approaches the table, placing the tassel gently in the centre. "Here it is, the thread charm that will take you home," she says, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

You and San exchange a look, both of you sharing a sense of wonder and gratitude for this woman who has helped you.

Suddenly, San's voice pierces the room, grabbing your attention. "Where is the other?" he inquires, his tone filled with urgency.

You and San exchange anxious glances, sensing that something is amiss. The old lady takes a deep, sorrowful breath, her expression growing more serious. "That is the catch," she confesses, her voice heavy with regret. "Only one of you may return home."

San's anger flares, his face flushing with frustration as he runs his trembling hands through his dishevelled hair. You take a step back, your heart sinking with disbelief, and a wave of despair washes over you.

The old lady calmly elaborates, "There is only enough thread to create one tassel. I can retrieve the thread again in six months when it becomes available. But for now, a difficult decision must be made—one must return home, while the other must stay."

The weight of the revelation hangs heavily in the air, the room filled with tension as you and San grapple with the realisation that a choice must be made.

“I will leave it here,” she utters, carefully placing the tassel on the wooden table, “you must sleep with it beneath your pillow, then when you fall asleep, you shall awake in your world.”

The old lady gazes at the two of you, and for the first time in her long life, a pang of guilt washes over her. Letting out a deep sigh, she retreats to the room she emerged from, her expression marked by the gravity of the situation.

You watch as the old lady retreats to the other room, you find a chair near the table and take a seat, deep in thought. San, on the other hand, begins to pace around the room, his frustration evident in his movements. He repeatedly runs his hands through his hair, his expression conflicted and troubled.

After several minutes of silence, you both turn to face each other simultaneously. In unison, you utter the same words, "You take it."

"No, you take it!" You exclaim firmly, determination shining in your eyes.

San responds, equally resolute, "You saved my life, you take it!"

"I saved your life so you can go home," you counter, your voice unwavering.

San's gaze softens as he insists, "You've been here for months, you take it. I want you to go home."

You shake your head, a hint of sadness in your eyes. "You have an important life ahead of you, San. Go home, and I'll meet you there in six months."

San mutters your name, his heart heavy, “you have to run the cafe, you can't wait six months.”

“San. This is what my mother would have wanted… there are more people who need you than people who need me.”

“What if I need you?” San exclaims, tears coming to his eyes.

“San…”

“I can’t leave you here.”

"San," you say firmly, standing up. You grab the tassel and then take his hand, gently pulling him towards the sofa. He follows, looking into your eyes, silently pleading.

Gently, you place the tassel in his hand and he looks up at you, tears threatening to fall as he looks at your face.

Taking a deep breath, you begin speaking, your voice gentle and filled with emotion, "San, I know you want me to go home, but you need to understand something. Your world needs you. Your family, your friends, and your fans all rely on you. You have dreams to fulfil, music to create, and a life to live. You have a purpose, and it's vital to so many people."

You reach out and place your hand on his, holding it with a reassuring grip. "I've learned so much from you during our time here, and I'm grateful for every moment. But I can't take away your chance to return to your world, to be with your loved ones. I'll wait for my turn, and when the time comes, I'll make it home."

San's eyes glisten with unshed tears as he absorbs your words. You continue, your voice steady, "We'll see each other again in six months, and by then, we'll both be where we're meant to be. I believe in you, San. It's time for you to go back and fulfil your destiny."

San listens intently, his eyes fixed on yours as your voice conveys your deep concern and affection.

“I just…” he begins, his voice cracking, yet you stop him.

“It’s okay. Let's go to bed.”

Starting to make your way toward the bedroom, the knowledge that San will disappear by morning brings tears to your eyes. The weight of impending separation presses on your chest, and it's hard to hold back the emotions welling up within you.

Before you can enter the room, San's strong yet gentle hand reaches out, grabbing your wrist with a firm but tender grip. He pulls you toward him, and suddenly, you find yourself enveloped in his arms. The world around you seems to fade into the background as the two of you share a moment.

The hug is a powerful mixture of emotions. San's heart beats rapidly against your chest, its rhythm a reflection of the anxiety and sorrow he feels about the upcoming separation. His tears, warm and wet, seep into the fabric of your clothing as he buries his face in your shoulder, seeking comfort and solace in your presence.

The comforting warmth of his body contrasts sharply with the chill in the room, creating an immediate sense of intimacy and solace. It's as if his body heat radiates into your very soul, offering a shelter from the storm of emotions raging inside both of you.

The subtle scent of him mingles with the earthy, forest fragrance that has clung to your clothes from your time in this peculiar place. It's a blend of familiar and foreign, marking this moment as uniquely special.

You can feel the rise and fall of his chest as he takes shaky breaths, his body trembling slightly with the weight of the impending parting. Each inhale and exhale shows the unspoken emotions that surge between you.

In this shared embrace, the world beyond the two of you fades away. Tears are a silent language, and your tears mix with his. This hug carries the bittersweet weight of the parting, a physical manifestation of the depth of your connection, the pain of separation, and the fervent hope of reuniting in the future. It seems almost insane to you the fact that you met less than three days ago. The person in front of you feels like a person you have known your entire life.

"I'm sorry," San mumbles into your neck, his words laced with regret, his warm breath causing shivers to run down your spine.

Your hand instinctively moves up to pat his head, fingers tangling softly in his hair as you try to provide some comfort. "It's okay, Sannie," you murmur, your voice gentle and reassuring.

With a mixture of emotions, you watch as San takes the bed in the spare room and places the tassel under the pillow. He glances back at you, standing in the door frame, and you offer him a warm smile, your eyes filled with understanding.

"I know what you're thinking," you say gently, a knowing look in your eyes, “I’m not sleeping tonight, don’t think about moving it.” San furrows his eyebrows in confusion, silently wondering how you've seen through him so clearly.

Without hesitation, San stands up and turns to face you, his eyes locked onto yours with intensity. It's clear that he has something important on his mind. His hands move gently to cup your face, his warm touch both comforting and electrifying. He wipes away the tears that have begun to fall from your eyes, a tender expression on his face as he looks deep into your soul.

In a slow, smooth movement, San rests his forehead against yours. You feel your eyes naturally close, giving in to the moment as the world around you seems to disappear.

“I promise to find you.” San whispers with his eyes closed and his promise lingers in the air, playing with your heart strings.

The two of you stay in this intimate position for a while, the only thing that exists being the warmth you share and the unspoken connection between you.

It's almost surreal to you that you've found yourself in this situation, not just with anyone, but with Choi San himself. The circumstances that led to this moment were beyond imagination, and yet, there's a profound sense of gratitude in your heart that it was him who ended up here with you. The closeness you feel in this moment is something you never expected to experience in your life, and it's a bittersweet reminder of the depth of your connection, the vagaries of fate, and the promise of a future reunion.

With a heavy heart, you bid San a quiet goodnight as you leave his room, pulling the door closed gently behind you. It's a slow, painful process, knowing that this may be the last time you'll see him for a while. You turn away from the door and walk down the dimly lit hallway, the weight of the situation bearing down on you.

Reaching a secluded corner of the hallway, you can no longer hold back the emotions that have been building up. Collapsing to the floor, you succumb to the overwhelming grief that has been gnawing at you. Silent sobs wrack your body, and you clutch your chest, trying to muffle the sounds of your heartache. You bite into the flesh of your hand to stifle the cries that threaten to escape, tears streaming down your face.

Each tear that falls feels like another piece of your heart breaking, and you struggle to come to terms with the harsh reality of having to stay here for longer when all you yearn for is to be home. It's a pain that cuts deep, one that only time can heal. But for now, all you can do is let the tears flow, allowing the raw and unfiltered emotions to have their moment.

Whilst you cry, the exhaustion from the day's events and emotional turmoil begins to take its toll on your body. The sobs gradually subside, replaced by a deep sense of weariness. Your eyelids become heavy, and your limbs feel like lead.

In the dimly lit hallway, you find yourself unable to hold back the fatigue any longer. Your body craves rest and respite from the emotional rollercoaster that has consumed your day.

You slump down against the cold, hard floor, your back resting against the wall. Tears still glisten on your cheeks as you close your eyes. With each ragged breath, your eyelids grow heavier, and a sense of drowsiness envelops you.

The world outside the hallway begins to blur, and the soft hum of the forest fades into the background. In your state of emotional exhaustion, you drift into a fitful slumber, the hallway serving as a makeshift bed. The tears have left their mark on your face, but your body is finally granted a moment of respite.

The night had been an unending cycle of sorrow and confusion, leaving you emotionally drained.

The first rays of dawn filter through the window, causing you to stir from your slumber on the hard hallway floor. Your memories rush back with brutal clarity, a sense of urgency and panic gripping your heart.

With trembling legs, you push yourself to your feet, the weariness still clinging to you. The echoes of the hug, the warmth of his presence, and the desperation to see him again fueled your determination.

Stumbling, you made your way to the room where San had rested. Each step feels like a lifetime, the anticipation of what you might discover palpable in your racing heart. You yearned to see him, but also hope that he has returned home.

The door creaks open and your heart sinks at the sight that greets you. The room is in disarray, pillows strewn, and sheets rumpled, signs that someone had indeed slept there. But it was devoid of San, leaving an aching void where his presence once dwelled.

Tears welled up, blurring your vision as you came to terms with the empty room.

To your left, you hear footsteps approaching, and you turn to find the old lady, her eyes downcast and guilt etches across her features. She knew, and the dread that had been building inside you only deepened.

With a quavering voice, you asked, "Where is he? Where's San?"

The old lady sighed heavily, her eyes meeting yours, bearing the weight of a heavy truth. The anticipation of her response filled the air like a thunderstorm on the horizon.

“He made it back safely.”

You turn back to the room, feeling relieved and torn at the same time.

“I will help you,” the old lady says gently, “I have never felt like this before, but your connection stirred something deep in me.”

“What do you mean?”

“There's a horse outside for you, it'll take you directly to your palace. Go there and in six months I will bring you the tassel. I give you my word.”

“Thank you,” is all you manage to say, your thoughts too occupied with San.

What if he is in the wrong world? What if he is stuck in limbo? What if he doesn't remember anything from this world?

Will you ever see each other again…?

—

San gradually becomes aware of his surroundings, a thick fog of grogginess enveloping his senses. The faint, continuous beep of a machine and hushed murmurs echo in the background. As his eyes open, the harsh hospital lighting makes him squint. The sterile, clinical setting becomes apparent, with white walls and the metallic gleam of medical equipment creating an otherworldly atmosphere.

His vision adjusts, revealing a monitor to his right, its rhythmic beeping punctuating the sterile air. An intravenous line is connected to his arm, administering an unknown liquid into his veins. The scent of antiseptic hangs in the air, intensifying the disconcerting feeling of being in an unfamiliar place.

His head pounds with a relentless ache, and confusion clouds his thoughts. Why is he here? What happened to lead him to this hospital bed? The hunger in his stomach intensifies, adding to the growing sense of disorientation.

In an attempt to make sense of the situation, he pushes himself to sit up. The movement catches the attention of someone in the room—a figure in the corner. The familiar voice of his manager pierces through the ambient sounds, a mix of concern and relief evident.

"San, are you okay?"

San rubs his temples, trying to clear the fog in his mind. The events leading to this hospital room elude him, and he struggles to piece together the fragments of memory. Disoriented and perplexed, he turns to his manager, a multitude of questions forming on his lips.

“What happened?” His voice is hoarse as he speaks, and he can feel from his breath that he hasn't brushed his teeth in a day or two.

“You don't remember?” his manager inquires, worried about San’s wellbeing, he continues upon seeing San’s nod, “you were in practice and suddenly fainted, you've been asleep for almost three days. We thought you were in a coma.”

The second his manager recounts the details of being in a coma, San's mind races, trying to make sense of the fragmented memories flooding back. Flashes of the alternate world, the old lady, and most prominently, you, fill his consciousness. The vivid experiences he shared with you seem surreal, yet the emotions are still fresh, and an urgent restlessness takes hold of him. If he was in a coma for three days, you would be in a coma for almost three months.

Ignoring his manager's pleas for rest, San becomes increasingly agitated. The desire to find you, to confirm the reality of the shared adventure, fuels his determination. He can't stay confined; he needs to know if it was all real or just a vivid dream.

With a burst of energy, San attempts to swing his legs off the side of the bed, dislodging the wires and monitors attached to him. His manager rushes to restrain him, urging him to stay put and recover, but San's sense of urgency overrides any rational thinking.

"No, I need to find them!" San exclaims, desperation in his voice as he struggles against his manager's firm grip.

Ignoring the protests, San manages to free himself from the medical paraphernalia. Disentangling from the monitors and IV lines, he bolts out of the room, driven by an unrelenting determination to find you. His legs are wobbling as he walks, but he manages to regain his composure as he walks quickly around the corridors.

The hospital stretches out before him, a maze of unfamiliar hallways and doors. Panic sets in as he realises he has no idea where he is or where to begin. The sterile environment amplifies his disorientation, and every passing moment without a clue about your whereabouts intensifies his anxiety.

Frantically, he searches for a reception area, hoping for guidance. The urgency of the situation pushes him forward, and despite the lingering weakness, San charges through the hospital corridors, driven by an unshakable determination to find you, no matter the cost.

In a frenzy, San navigates through the hospital corridors until he finally stumbles upon the reception area. The receptionist, a weary woman surrounded by stacks of paperwork, looks up with a half-hearted smile as San approaches, still clad in his hospital gown.

"Excuse me," San gasps, breathless from both the urgency of his quest and his hurried journey through the hospital. "I need to know if someone is here.”

Slowly, the receptionist's eyes narrow, “what is their name?”

San replies with your name and the receptionist furrows her brow, perplexed by the urgency in San's eyes.

"I'm sorry, but I can't disclose information about patients without proper authorization," she explains, adhering to hospital protocol.

Desperation flickers across San's face as he pleads, "Please, it's important. I need to know if she's here. Is there anyone with that name in a coma for almost three months?"

The receptionist hesitates, studying San for a moment. "How do you know this person?" she inquires, her curiosity piqued.

San, quick on his feet, replies with urgency, "They are a really close friend. We lost touch, and I just found out about their condition. Please, I need to know if they are okay."

The receptionist sighs, her empathetic instincts prevailing over protocol. She lowers her voice and says, "Wait here."

San anxiously watches as the receptionist scans through her files. The seconds feel like an eternity, and his heart pounds with anticipation. Finally, her eyes light up, and she raises her eyebrows, a glimmer of surprise crossing her features.

"Yes, there is someone by that name…” she reveals. "Room 302. But you need to understand, only family members are usually allowed in."

San's gratitude is immense as he thanks the receptionist before darting off toward Room 302, his pace almost a sprint. The journey through the sterile hospital environment seems to stretch endlessly, but San's determination propels him forward. Room 302 holds the promise of answers, and he's willing to face whatever awaits behind that door.

San stands outside Room 302, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he catches his breath. The weight of the unknown presses on him, and he takes a moment to steel himself before gently pushing open the door.

The door swings open and a hush falls over the room. San's eyes widen as he takes in the sight before him.

There you are, lying in the hospital bed, surrounded by machines and wires. Your hair, longer than he remembers, cascades gently over the pillow, is a sign of the time you've spent in a seemingly endless slumber.

San's heart clenches at the sight of the wires connected to you, a lifeline that has kept you tethered to this world. The room, bathed in the soft glow of monitors, feels both sterile and charged with an emotional intensity that hangs in the air.

Approaching the bed, San's gaze lingers on your peaceful face, now adorned with the marks of time passed. Tears cascade down your closed eyes, and San's heart aches for the pain you have endured in your unconscious state. It's a heartbreaking revelation, but at the same time, there's a profound beauty in the connection they share, transcending the boundaries of worlds.

With a shaky deep breath, San takes a seat in the chair beside your bed. The chair creaks softly under his weight as he reaches out, his trembling fingers gently interlocking with yours. He can feel the warmth of your hand, a tangible connection that defies the barriers of the physical and the metaphysical.

"Hey," San whispers, his voice breaking with emotion. "It's me. I made it back safely." He pauses, swallowing the lump in his throat. "Thank you so much for everything."

San's words hang in the air, a heartfelt acknowledgment of the intertwined fate that brought them together across dimensions. The room, filled with the rhythmic beeping of machines and the soft hum of the hospital, bears witness to a moment that transcends the ordinary—a reunion between two souls bound by an extraordinary connection.

—

“What's with this marker on your calendar?” Wooyoung questions as he walks into San’s room.

San turns away from his desk to see what Wooyoung is pointing at. The mark, indicating six months from the time he awoke, brings a gentle smile to San's face. "Just something important," he replies before redirecting his attention back to the game on his desk.

“Okay… are you okay?” Wooyoung questions, taking a seat on San’s bed.

“Yeah, why?” San responds.

“You've been acting weird ever since you woke up from that coma.”

San turns around again, furrowing his brow. “What do you mean?”

“I don't know, you've been all bittersweet, acting as if you’re going through a breakup. And all these trips to the hospital?”

San scoffs at the analysis before resuming his game. The characters on the screen move around, engaging in virtual battles.

“I’m serious,” Wooyoung insists, “you've been weird.”

“Whatever you say.”

Wooyoung shakes his head, a light chuckle escaping him. “We leave in ten minutes, finish your game quickly.”

—

The dance studio is filled with the rhythmic beat of the music, echoing off the mirrored walls. A palpable energy buzzes in the air as the members practise their choreography for the upcoming comeback. San, adorned in his dance attire, moves with precision and passion, putting his heart into every step.

The past three months have been a whirlwind for the group, with preparations for the comeback taking centre stage. The demanding schedule has left little time for personal matters, and for San, that means infrequent visits to the hospital. The initial relief he felt upon waking up from his own coma has been replaced with the stress of managing a packed agenda.

During those initial two weeks, he diligently visited you every day. Flowers, particularly pink ones, became a weekly tradition, a small gesture to brighten the sterile environment of the hospital room. However, as the comeback drew nearer, the relentless cycle of recordings, dance practices, and promotional activities consumed his time.

Today, the dance practice is particularly gruelling. San can't help but feel a pang of guilt, knowing that it has been weeks since his last visit to you. He worries about how you might perceive his absence, fearing that you'll wake up and think he didn't wait for you, or worse, that you'll wake up and be gone.

Whilst the music plays and the members execute each move with precision, San's mind is a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Every leap, every spin, is a dance of dedication to the group and a silent plea for understanding from you. He longs for the moment when he can return to your side, bringing not only flowers but the warmth of his presence and the assurance that he hasn't forgotten the promise he made.

The dance studio pulses with energy as ATEEZ members tirelessly rehearse their choreography for the upcoming comeback. The atmosphere, however, is tense, and a sense of impatience permeates the room as San repeatedly messes up his steps.

For the fourth time, San's foot collides with Mingi's, disrupting the flow of the routine. Frustration bubbles within the group.

Hongjoong's voice cuts through the air, demanding attention. "San, what has gotten into you? Pay attention." His leader's authority echoes, making it clear that patience is wearing thin.

San mumbles a quick apology, his eyes cast downward. Yet, as the group restarts, it's evident that his mind is elsewhere. Another misstep follows, and a collective groan emanates from the group.

Seongwha, although fatigued and annoyed, can't help but express concern for his younger friend. "What's going on? Your mind is somewhere else."

Hongjoong's stern tone is layered with genuine worry as he addresses San. "You've been all over the place since you fainted. It's been more than six months; you need to straighten up." The leader's frustration is palpable, but there's an underlying tone of care. The members, despite their annoyance, share a collective sentiment of concern for San's well-being.

“It hasn’t been six months,” San grumbles under his breath, also frustrated at himself. San of all people would know if it has been six months.

"It has," Wooyoung exclaims, eyebrows furrowing as he gazes at San. "I thought you'd know, it's on your calendar."

San's eyes narrow in disbelief as he retrieves his phone from his pocket, turning it on to check the date. Widening, his eyes register the reality that it has been exactly six months and four days since he emerged from his coma.

"Fuck," San exclaims, shoving his phone back into his pocket. Running his hand through his hair, he's consumed by a sudden rush of guilt. How could he lose track of time? You must have already been awake for more than three days by now.

"I need to go," San mutters under his breath.

"What did you say?" Yunho questions, not catching his soft mutter.

"I need to go. Now," San asserts, this time with more volume. He rushes to his coat and bag, desperately shoving his belongings into it. Meanwhile, his groupmates stare at him with a mix of disbelief and confusion.

"San, what are you doing?" Yeosang inquires, walking up to the man frantically preparing to leave.

"I need to go somewhere."

"San, you can't just leave; we have to practice," Jongho attempts to reason, but his words seem to bounce right off San.

"Choi San," Hongjoong's voice booms through the studio, causing San to momentarily halt his actions. Turning around, San faces Hongjoong, who wears a deeply furrowed brow, an angry expression etched into his features.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Hongjoong's voice drips with exasperation as he takes in the dishevelled appearance of the younger male.

“I'm sorry. Really sorry. But there’s something I need to do, and if I don’t, I feel like I’m going to hate myself for the rest of my life,” San exclaims, his voice hoarse, tears welling up in his eyes.

Hongjoong's gaze softens upon seeing San’s vulnerable state. The six others standing around him try to make sense of the situation, but the dots just don’t add up.

“San,”

“I’m sorry, really, I’m so sorry.”

“San,” Hongjoong booms, though not unkindly, his voice carrying a sense of understanding.

“How long will it take?”

“Just today, then I will put all my time and all my effort into this comeback. Just like I always do. I just need today.”

All around him, his friends are confused yet feel their hearts weigh heavily as they witness the desperate state San is in. Never have they seen him like this before, and it feels strange for San to be in such a state.

“Go. But be back tomorrow,” Hongjoong says gently.

“Thank you. Thank you so much. I promise to make it up to you. All of you,” San says before bolting out of the room, headed straight for the hospital. He just hopes that he can make it there before visiting times end.

Hongjoong isn’t sure why he allowed San to go, knowing how tight time is right now due to the comeback being in a few weeks. Something in San’s eyes spoke to him, as if destiny were compelling him to go.

San dashes through the bustling streets, weaving through the crowd like a determined arrow cutting through the air. His long strides cover the familiar path to the hospital, the urgency in his heart making the surroundings blur. The city hums with life, but for San, everything else fades into the background.

As he moves, apologies spill from his lips like rapid-fire as he bumps into people on the way. He can't afford to slow down, can't spare a moment for anything but reaching his destination. The KQ building looms behind him, a distant memory as he sprints toward the hospital.

Breath heaving, he bursts through the hospital entrance with a singular purpose. The reception area blurs by as he skips any formality, not bothering to check in. His entire focus is on reaching your room, his heart pounding in sync with the rhythm of his hurried steps.

The sterile, white hallways echo with the familiar sounds of a hospital; the soft footsteps of medical professionals, the distant chatter of visitors, and the rhythmic beeping of machines. San barrels forward, expertly navigating the maze-like corridors, fueled by a mix of anxiety and determination.

Arriving at the elevator, he jabs at the button for your floor, impatience etched across his face. The doors slide open, and he steps in, the confined space providing a brief respite. Taking a moment to catch his breath, he gazes at the floor numbers lighting up as he ascends.

The elevator doors part once more, revealing the hallway that leads to your room. San's pulse quickens as he sprints toward the familiar door. His mind races with worry, uncertainty clouding his thoughts. What will he find when he enters? The anticipation builds with every step, and as he reaches your room, he takes a deep breath, bracing himself for whatever awaits on the other side.

San gingerly turns the doorknob, a mixture of hope and dread swelling within him. The door creaks open, revealing the room where you should be resting. His eyes scan the space, desperately seeking any sign of your presence.

Stepping inside, the reality of the situation crashes over him. Your bed is there, neatly made, but the first thing he notices is the fact that it is empty.

Panic rises in San's chest, and he rushes to your bedside. The room is silent, save for the hum of medical equipment, amplifying the void left by your absence.

San's breath catches in his throat as he clings to the remnants of hope. He gazes around the room, half-expecting you to materialise before him. The silence in the air is deafening, a stark contrast to the lively conversations he had envisioned sharing with you once you woke.

His eyes fall on the wilted pink tulips, a cruel reminder of the hopeful gestures he made in anticipation of your awakening. The vibrant hues have dulled, mirroring the fading optimism in San's heart. San's mind swirls with a whirlwind of thoughts. Guilt creeps in, taunting him with the possibility that he failed you somehow.

He replays every missed opportunity, each day he prioritised work over being by your side. The weight of his choices bears down on him, and a profound sadness envelopes him. Doubt consumes him, questioning if he's truly deserving of happiness or if he's destined to be haunted by regret.

Desperation tightens its grip on San as he moves to the window, hoping for a glimpse of you in the hospital courtyard or perhaps walking down the hallway.

The pink tulips in his hands serve as an emblem of his optimism, now crushed beneath the weight of reality. He recalls the anticipation that accompanied each visit, the flowers symbolising his unwavering belief in your eventual awakening. Now, their wilting petals tell a different story, echoing the fading flame of hope in his heart.

San clutches the tulips tighter, a silent plea for forgiveness to a presence that's no longer there. The room seems colder now, devoid of the warmth he associated with your presence.

The sounds of the hospital, distant footsteps and hushed conversations, serve as an eerie backdrop to San's internal monologue. Doubt creeps in, questioning if he's truly deserving of happiness or if he's fated to be haunted by the spectre of regret.

San's fingers trace patterns on the wilted tulips, his thoughts spiralling into a vortex of introspection. He replays every missed opportunity, each instance where he chose to chase fleeting success over cherishing the moments with you. The room feels smaller, closing in on him as the burden of his choices becomes increasingly unbearable.

Shoulders slumped, San sinks to the floor, still clinging to the flowers. The weight of his heartache is unbearable, each beat echoing a symphony of sorrow. In the quiet room, time becomes elastic, stretching and contracting as he grapples with the reality that he might have lost you forever.

The shadows lengthen as San remains on the floor, lost in the labyrinth of his thoughts. The hospital room, once a space of anticipation and hope, is now a shrine to what could have been. In the hushed stillness, he wishes he could turn back time, rewrite the script that led to this heart-wrenching moment.

“San?”

San's world comes to a screeching halt, the single utterance of his name from behind him slices through the heavy silence like a lifeline. For a fleeting moment, he remains frozen, caught between the realms of disbelief and desperate hope. The air hangs thick with anticipation as he dares not turn around, fearing that acknowledging the voice will only amplify the crushing weight of his recent realisation.

A gentle touch graces his shoulder, a tender reassurance that pierces through the numbness that has settled over him. It's a touch so delicate, yet laden with a gravity that sends shivers down his spine. Still reluctant to face the truth, he keeps his gaze fixed on the emptiness before him, afraid to let hope blossom only to be crushed again.

When he finally musters the courage to turn around, the world tilts on its axis. There you stand, a vision of ethereal beauty in your hospital gown, tears mirroring his own streaming down your face. In that moment, the lines between reality and dreams blur, and San feels as if he's been transported to a realm where miracles are not only possible but tangible.

Time seems to suspend as San takes in the sight of you; the person he thought he had lost. Every detail becomes etched into his memory; the vulnerability in your eyes, the traces of weariness on your face, and the overwhelming emotion that courses through the room. It's a tableau of raw, unfiltered emotion that threatens to overwhelm both of you.

A choked sob escapes San's lips as he surges forward, a mixture of disbelief and euphoria propelling himself towards you and into a bone crushing embrace. The world narrows down to the two of you, a cosmic collision of souls who refuse to be separated. The hospital room transforms into a sanctuary where the boundaries of time and space blur, leaving only the profound connection shared between you and San.

Your tears mingle with his, forming a symphony of emotions that speaks more eloquently than words ever could. In that embrace, San feels a weight lifted off his shoulders, a burden he carried for what felt like an eternity. It's a cathartic release, a culmination of months of longing and despair now metamorphosing into a resurgence of joy.

Whilst you hold each other, the room becomes a vessel for shared emotions, an intimate space where the echoes of heartache dissipate, replaced by the melodies of reunion. San pulls away from the embrace to cradle your face in his large hands as he presses his forehead against yours, a silent promise to savour this moment, to etch it into the very fabric of his being. Your body stays pressed against his, the closeness you have been missing and dreaming of since the moment he left

For San, it's not just a reunion; it's a reawakening. The tears that had threatened to drown him now become droplets of newfound happiness. The gravity of your presence grounds him, dispelling the shadows that had cast their spell over his soul.

In the space of the hospital room, San and you find solace in the simple truth that you are together once more. Tears continue to fall, now a harmonious blend of joy and relief.

Amid the quiet murmur of the hospital room, San's eyes flicker with a mix of surprise and profound emotion as he processes your revelation. The weight of his longing, the months spent in anticipation and despair, culminate in a single question that escapes his lips, laden with an earnestness that echoes through the room.

"You... woke up today?" he asks, his voice tinged with disbelief yet brimming with uncontainable joy. As you nod in confirmation, a wave of realisation washes over him, and he takes a moment to absorb the enormity of the moment.

“You remembered?” You mutter softly, the words barely reaching San’s ears.

"I would've waited forever for you," he confesses, his eyes locked onto yours, sincerity echoing in every word. The depth of his commitment, the unwavering dedication to your well-being, resonates in the air, and you find yourself enveloped in the warmth of his unwavering devotion.

You proceed to share the intricacies of your journey; the delayed arrival of the old lady, the challenges she faced on her way to you, and the serendipity that brought you back to consciousness today. The room transforms into a cocoon of shared stories, weaving a tapestry of experiences that led to this miraculous reunion.

A playful smile tugs at San's lips as he contemplates the unfolding narrative. "Today," he muses, "feels like a chapter from a book written by destiny."

The atmosphere takes a lighthearted turn as he shifts gears, eyes alight with mischievous curiosity. "So," he starts, "now that you're back and I've got you here, how about we celebrate this occasion with a date?"

Your heart skips a beat at the proposition, and a smile graces your lips. "A date?" you echo, genuine surprise reflected in your eyes.

San nods, his expression earnest. "Yes, a date. You saved my life; the least I can do is take you out and make it up to you."

A playful glint dances in your eyes as you ponder his proposal. "Well," you tease, "if you get me Mingi's autograph, we might just have a deal."

San feigns exasperation, mockingly clutching his heart. "I hate you," he declares with a theatrical sigh.

A laugh escapes your lips, and you playfully retort, "No, you don't."

The laughter continues, and the room becomes a sanctuary of shared laughter and affection. The weight of the past months fades into the background, replaced by the promise of new beginnings and the joy of being together once more. In this intimate exchange, the echoes of a love that transcended time resonate, casting aside the shadows that had lingered for far too long.

The air becomes charged with anticipation as San looks into your eyes, a gentle smile playing on his lips. "Can I kiss you?" he asks, his voice a soft murmur that sends a shiver down your spine.

A warm feeling of affirmation fills your chest, and you respond with a smile, "I’ve only waited sox months." The atmosphere is tinged with a mixture of excitement and a sense of inevitability, as if this moment had been woven into the fabric of destiny.

San leans in, his eyes fluttering closed as he gently presses his lips against yours. It's a sweet, tender kiss that feels like the universe aligning, a culmination of shared experiences, laughter, and the trials you faced together. The world seems to fade away, leaving only the two of you in this perfect moment.

There's a soft, playful energy to the kiss, like a dance between your lips, a silent celebration of the connection that brought you back together. San's hand finds its way to yours, fingers intertwining as if to anchor this moment in time.

The kiss lingers and it's not just a meeting of lips; it's a merging of hearts and souls. When you finally part, there's a shared look that speaks volumes, an unspoken understanding that this connection goes beyond the magical threads that brought you here. It's a kiss that feels like destiny, a promise of more shared moments, and a celebration of a love that transcends the mystical realms you've traversed together.

Perhaps it was destiny after all.

[sarawritestories]

I Wanna Be Yours Chapter 2

Xaden Riorson X Lydia Aetos

Summary: Lydia Aetos Longs to be a Ballerina, her father has other plans, and has conscripted her to the rider's quadrant with her childhood friend Violet. Reuniting with her brother he only gives her two orders. Do not bring up wanting to dance and stay far away from Xaden Riorson. Both of his orders go ignored.

Chapter Summary: Lydia is drowning in the memories of her past, and trying to get her footing at Basgiath.

A/N: I'm so sorry that it took me this long to get out. I loved chapter 1 so dearly I was struggling to make sure Chapter 2 was just as good!

I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it! I promise it won't be super long like this for every update I was just going through some things and fighting some insecurities!

Word Count: 9,235 (I wasn't going to have you all wait this long just for a short fic

Chapter 1 I Wanna Be Yours Masterlist

My breathing becomes rapid as I wait to go on stage. The anticipation before a performance has always been the reason for my heart racing and my nerves are heighten. The warmth of a larger tanned hand enveloping my own instantly quiets the noise in my mind. “You look like you’re ready to crawl out of your skin, Dove.” I smile and look at Lian, my dance partner, my love. His warm brown eyes, twinkling under the mage lights. He smiles and it’s so disarming and causes butterflies to flutter in my stomach. “You are radiant.”

I giggle, and smooth out my dance dress the flowing skirts various shades cobalt that stops at my knees. The bodice having an intricate design of silver swirls against the blue corset like top. “You say that every show.” His free hand plays with one of the lose curls framing my face, the rest of my hair in a tight ornate bun. I take in his form; his outfit matches mine in hue with his pants various levels of blue with a simply white tunic that reveals some of his tone chest the silver pendant you gave him wrapped around his neck. “I have to say, Lian, you’re not so bad yourself.”

Lian chuckles as He lifts my hand to his lips, pressing them to my knuckles specifically where the ring he had given me resides. “I mean it Lydia. I love-

The music swells in the auditorium the melody, the indication I need to appear. “See you out there, Lover Boy.” He releases my hand as I begin to leap onto the stage and into Fourth position. Feeling Lian’s warm gaze upon my body, causing my cheeks to redden. I begin the routine.

My movements are fluid, my turns sharp. Seraphina’s words in the back of my mind, “Keep those feet pointed, arms straight, girl.” Her raspy voice rings in my ears as I correct my feet and my arms. Allowing the music to enter my body once again. I am its puppet, the symphony my puppeteer.

I swirl my skirt whirling around me the shades of blue looking like rippling waves around me. And I begin the movements that lead to my big leap when I notice one of the musicians hit the incorrect note. Seraphina always said to not let the musicians’ mistakes be your downfall on the stage. Heading that advise I push through tampering my annoyance I run and take in the air. My grin big, my legs stretched wide, I feel as though I’m flying, and in this moment one thing rings true, there will never be a more freeing feeling than this.

 The other musicians’ notes turn sharp and out of tune, and the disruption despite what I was taught causes me to stumble my landing. I hiss as my ankle rolls, causing my body to collapse to the ground, but I don’t think about the pain as screams erupt from the theater.  Tanned Hands are instantly on my waist hoisting me up and the familiar smell of soap and ocean waves crash tells me its Lian. I smell the flames before I see them. “Lian, we have to get out of here.” My voice trembles as fear begins to consume me.

Flames erupt around the theater as the ground shakes before us Lian grabs me closer to me. "I'm sorry dove," he whispers.

 "For what?" He presses his forehead to mine. Panic laces my voice as he grips me tighter, his thumb grazing against my hip in a soothing manner. Confusion washes through me at his behavior, we should be trying to leave to get out of here. “Lian, you’re scaring me.”

 "I love you more today than I did yesterday." He murmurs in my hair. My chest feels heavy like someone is applying all their weight over my heart at his words. I can’t breathe. He looks at me expectantly and my stomach gets a sinking sensation.

I shake my head as tears pool in my eyes and begin to run down my face, as I cup his cheek, "Why does this feel like a goodbye?" I cry out while he waits patiently waiting for me to finish his statement. The sounds around us muted by the intensity this conversation has become.

"Finish it, dove. Please." The banisters above us crash, and the flames lick my skin as he grips me closer to his chest. “We don’t have a lot of time.”

 I tremble, and press his lips to mine quickly, "I'll love you more tomorrow than I did today." He kisses my lips once more, just when the stage collapses, he pushes me out of the way. The warmth of his touch lingering on my skin as I watch him get consumed by the hole where the stage once stood. Arms wrap around me, hoisting me up and dragging me to safety. I begin to thrash and scream, calling out to him, "Lian, LIAN!"

My Screams the only sound in the burning auditorium.

“Wake up, Lydia! Wake! Up!” Dain’s voice breaks through the darkness and my eyes open with a jolt and I sit up. My eyes can’t seem to focus, and I don’t recall where I am, Dain’s hands grip my shoulders, and my gaze quickly moves to my brother. His eyes hold concern in them, his brows furrowed, “You were just having a dream.” His thumbs rubbed my shoulders, “You were out for two days.”

“Two days.” Memories of golden yellow eyes and how the blue daggertail bowed to me. A dragon had bowed to me! I lived to tell the tale of my first interaction with a dragon.

 I slowly lift my hands and wrap them around his wrists as though I need proof, he is really with me. His eyes glance at my hand and spot the silver band with a swirls throughout the band and the initials LD engraved in it. “I didn’t think he would let you keep anything after mom left.” His brown eyes meet mine.

 I quickly remove my hands with a scoff. “The General doesn’t get to dictate what I keep and what gets thrown away. Even if he thinks he does.” My mind goes back to watching as he destroyed one set of my pointe shoes. I smile, what he didn’t know on that day, that in my bag, the new pair I had bought from the traveling market were there.

Dain releases my shoulders, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Lydia he is only trying to protect you.” He lowers his hands and shoots me a glare, “As am I.” His tone is clipped.

I blink and my lip curls, “What’s that supposed to mean?” I cross my arms.

My brother leans against his chair, also crossing his arms a familiar stance we have taken over the years. One that only led to one of us screaming and the other either with tears, or a broken nose. Dain’s nose has never looked the same since. “Are you aware whose dragon it was that you enticed?”

Rage consumes my body, “You want to ask that again, Brother?” I quirk a brow at him.

“No.” His tone is just like the general’s, too much like him.

“You know I don’t know, so don’t be a condescending prick and just tell me.” I begin to stretch my legs under the blankets my feet naturally pointing. The numb feeling shifting into pins and needles my legs has been in one position for too long. I need to get up…I need to practice.

“That was Xaden Riorson’s dragon, Lydia.” Dain snarls. “And you bowed to it, like it she was some all-powerful being. Do you know how that makes the Aetos family look? Did that even cross your mind?”

I turn to sit at the edge of my bed, my hand gripping the end so tightly my knuckles turn white. “You’re joking, right?” Anger begins to bubble; my face begins to heat up and I can feel the tears beginning to build. “A dragon approached me. In most cultures, bowing between two parties is a sign of respect. I was thinking of how I could come out of that situation alive.” Dain’s lips formed into a tight line shifting in his seat. “I thought about my life. I wasn’t thinking about who that dragon belonged to, how embarrassing it was for you. I sure as fuck did not give a shit about our family reputation.” I rise noting that I am still from my clothes from the parapet. Finally taking in my surroundings I notice the rows of beds someone brought me to the female wing. “What time is it?”

“We have about 2 hours before formation.” Dain says rising from his own scene. “I need you to lay low. Please for the love of the gods, please lay low. Don’t attract any unwanted attention, do not bring up the dancing thing.” He grips my arm, his fingers digging into my skin. “This is the most important one so pay attention. Stay away from Xaden Riorson.”

I snort and yank my arm back, “I have no interest in being near the one person in this place who would probably want to see our heads on a spike, thanks to the action of our father.” Pushing him out of my way I grab my bag that is lying beside my bed. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get ready for the day.”

I left the female wing before he could get another word in. I manage to find the showers on my own and wash off the grime that I have been sleeping in. Letting the water cascade down my skin, I rub my face my mind wandering from that interaction with the blue daggertail. To the nightmare I woke up from. Lian. My dance partner, my lover, my best friend. I twist the ring on my finger absentmindedly, it’s been months since I last had a dream about him. Tears well up in my eyes.

The rays of the sun warmed my skin as I began my stretches, Lian lying on the blanket in front of me. The sun is hitting his tan skin, his eyes closed, a smile on his face. As though he didn’t have any care in the world, except to be here with me. Finishing my stretches I rise to my feet and lift my teeth on my tippy toes. My bare feet sink into the plush blades of grass. I raise my leg above my head.

I begin to hum, and the tune shifts me from the prairie we are having a picnic at and morphs to the theater. My hums soon are replaced by the sweet sounds of the orchestra. I move my leg down pointed behind me. My movements fluid as my feet carries me through the stage. Leaps precise arms tight, various faces in the crowd, that I don’t pay close attention to. I begin my pirouette. I’m to do five spins for this routine, the most I have done. Putting myself in position I smile out to the crown and stumble, brown hair the same as my own, a smile that Dain inherited are looking back at me. It’s not that my mother is in the crowd that causes my movements to falter. Her eyes, seeming to glow in the dim lights of the theater and their color, gone were the warmth and comfort of her blue eyes. Her gaze now cold, hard and the vilest shade of red.

Hands gripped my waist pulling me tightly, fingers beginning to dance at my size as laughter begins to bubble up my chest.

“Lian!” I squeal as he spins me around, always knowing exactly when I need to be pulled from my thoughts. “Put me down! I’m rehearsing!”

He presses his lips to my ear, “You’re always rehearsing, Dove. We’re outside let’s enjoy our picnic.”

“I don’t like dealing with the wrath of Seraphina.” I murmur as I lean into his touch.

“I have a gift for though. Don’t you want to know what it is?” I whip around to face him, and he chuckles at my wide-eyed expression.

“My Love, if you want my attention, start with gifts.” He leads me back to the blanket and sits me down. “I have something for you too.”

“Me first,” he tucks what he has behind his back. Lian's curly brown hair becoming wild with the soft summer breeze rolling through. “Close your eyes, Dove, and hold out your right hand.”

I quirk a brow but obey, closing my eyes I stick out my right hand. It feels like hours have gone by though it has only been a minute at most before his soft hand holds mine. The cool bite of metal sliding down my finger until it reaches my knuckle. I open my eyes and gasp. The engraving work on the ring is beautiful, the swirling design reminding me of shadows and in the center where the shadows should my initials reside there. LD.

I look up at my partner and smile, “Lian D- He silences me with a kiss one filled with so much passion it makes me dizzy.

He pulls away, “Do you like it?” He murmurs over my mouth.

“No.” His face falls before I kiss his nose, “I love it.” Lian’s grin takes my breath away. “My turn.” I press a hand to his chest, “Sit back, and close your eyes.” Lian sat back on his heels and closed his eyes. I dig through my bag until my fingers grip the chain, pulling it out revealing the oval pendant with my name in the center. I crawl to him and gently place the chain over his head and place the necklace down gently around his neck.

Lian opens his eyes, and looks down to the pendant. His thumb grazes over the engraving of my name as though he was caressing me. My body responds to the sight of it as if his thumb was grazing me, tenderly. He looks up at me with a smile, “Now you’ll be near my heart forever.” Lian grabs my waist and pulls me on his lap. “Happy Anniversary, Dove.”

I press my forehead to his. “Happy Anniversary, Lian.”

“Lydia?” Violet’s voice rings through the bathing chambers.

“I’m in here,” I call out, her footsteps echoing through the chamber.

“Are you okay? I just ran into Dain.” Her voice is hesitant, she knows my feelings for my brother as well as I know about hers. “He seemed upset.”

“He can get in line.” Shutting off the water and grabbing my towel to dry off. “I don’t need a lecture about how he is a good person. I’m not interested in that.”

“I know what today is.” My hands still, “I’m not here to talk about Dain. He’s being an ass.” I wrap the towel around my body and step out. Violet’s blue eyes with flickers of amber were warm. “I’m sorry.” She engulfs me into a hug as I swallow the tears threatening to fall. “He would be so proud of you, Lydia.”

Today would have been our two-year anniversary. I should be at the dance studio with him rehearsing. Yet here I am in Basgiath and Lian…is gone.

Lian’s absence has hurt me in more ways than one. After our one-year anniversary he vanished. At least when my mother abandoned me, she had the decency to leave me a note. Late nights at the lake, stolen kisses backstage, his arms wrapped around me so tight the colonel’s wrath couldn’t find me there. I long for those moments once more, but clearly, he didn’t. His words the day we exchanged gifts ring in my head, “I’ll get you out, Lydia, you’ll never have to deal with your father. I’m going to set you free.”

He didn’t keep his promise. He left me behind without so much as a second glance. Freedom. My mom longed for it, Lian promised it.  I’m growing to detest the idea of freedom if it means the people I care about most fucking abandon me for it, leaving me to a cruel fate.

Confined. Controlled. Caged.

What good is freedom if it means stepping on the backs of the people one loves just to get there?

My feeling of sadness contorts to anger as I slowly pull away from Violet, she has never once abandoned me and is confined in this brick cage as I am. Violet doesn’t deserve my anger, though the sympathy in her eyes told me I could, and she would let me. I refuse to be my father or my brother and take my out-of-control feelings out on people who do not deserve it. Straightening my spine I give Violet’s hand a gentle squeeze. “Hard to be proud of someone, you actively abandoned with no word as to why you left.” I release her hand and swallow once more forcing the lump lodged in my throat back down to the pit of my stomach where it belongs. Where all my unwanted feelings belong.  “I’m going to get dressed and we can head to formation.

Violet nods, her eyes still glittering with concern. I quickly moved to change into the leathers that were near my bed this morning. Wrapping my hair in a tight bun I stick the two hair pins in. I link my arms with hers and give her a smile, a performative one, but a smile all the same.

Formation was a blur even as I am currently looking for a seat during breakfast, thinking back I can’t quite remember anything other than the list of names of those that did not make it yesterday, and everyone’s eyes on me. Kind of like they are now, though I have never been a stranger to eyes upon me, I wish it was for my ability to dance and not because I survived an interaction with Xaden Riorson’s dragon. And arm drapes around my shoulder, “Welcome back to the land of the living.” Ridoc’s voice is a welcome joy from the ominous stares burning holes in my skin. “Come, we’ve already scooped up Sorrengail.” Before I can counter, he is brining me to the table with Rhiannon, Violet, and a man who’s skinny, sandy curls lay atop his head.

Sitting at the open seat next to him the handsome man, he held out his hand, “Sawyer Henrick.” There is a twinkle in his green eyes, his freckles a stark contrast with his pale skin.

I grip his hand and give him a warm smile, “Lydia Aetos.”

Sawyer winks, “You know, you’re a lot prettier to look at than your brother.”

Heat creeps up my skin, as I release his hand. “Thanks, I guess.” I take a sip of my drink, “He is an eye sore.” Sawyer spits out his drink all over Ridoc as he chuckles, while the latter groans.

“How are you feeling, Lydia?” Rhiannon changes the subject as Ridoc continues his grumbling.

I think back to Xaden’s onyx eyes boring into my skull, or the heat from the Blue Daggertails nostril’s grazing against my neck as if a gust of warm summer’s wind was caressing me. Her yellow eyes staring at me, assessing me, for what? I’m not sure and I hope I wouldn’t find out considering who her rider is. The fear surges back up but a hand gripping my own brings me to the present. Soft, tiny, Violet, I look over to the youngest Sorrengail, “I’m alright. Nothing a few days rest couldn’t solve.”

“So, that interaction with that dragon…”Ridoc pulls my attention to him, “What was that all about?”

I shrug, beginning to devour my meal, not caring how the food tasted as I discover how hungry I am, “I truly wish I knew. I have never met a dragon before her.”

The table falls silent in contemplation. I shift in my seat and feel the familiar prick in the back of my neck. Glancing up Onyx eyes look at me in cold assessment as he eats his food, his stare never breaking from my own. I give my performance grin, the one that makes the audience fall in love with me the moment I step on the stage. Slowly raising my hand, I lift my middle finger to him.  His eyes lower and he tilts his head ever slightly ignoring the person who is chatting away in front of him. I give him a playful wink and break eye contact though I can feel his eyes on me.

“Well, should we call you the Queen of the Dragons?” Ridoc quips as the table chuckles with him and I hunch my shoulders slightly, embarrassment trickling through my body. “I mean I have never heard of a dragon that has bowed to a human in that way before. It must mean she’s destined to rule them all.” Ridoc smiles at me as I ball up my napkin to throw at him.

“Absolutely not, I would much rather you all call me twinkle toes than that.” I sip my water as the entire table, Violet included, give each other playful looks.

Collectively and in the highest decibel above screaming yell, “Twinkle Toes!” Before erupting in laughter and I can’t help but join in. I forgotten what it felt like to be surrounded by people that I connect with so well and enjoy their company. Sitting with them wiping my tears from laughter that causes my stomach to ache is a welcome reprieve from the dark corners of my mind where I usually reside.

“Mind if we join?” A man’s voice pulls the group from our bubble and back into reality. I lift my gaze and it feels as though ice has been poured over my head. The man’s eyes the same shade of brown as his, his hair like the curls I ran my fingers through countless times, lips I’ve kissed on numerous occasions. His face has the same shape as Lian’s, they could have been twins. My gaze shifts lower to the relic that peaks through his leathers and that’s where the similarities end, and the sound of my heart shattering thunder in my ears.

“Not at all We have space,” Ridoc scoots down, Lian’s look-a-like allows his handsome friend that had a matching tattoo along, with blonde hair and blue eyes, to sit closer to Ridoc and he sits in front of me. I swallow down my surge of emotions tears threatening to fall as the man smiles at me.

Ridoc takes over with the introductions, saving himself for last. “And who might you two be.”

The blonde-haired male eyes locks on Violets, as he smiles and I notice that her cheeks are red as he holds out his hand to her, “Liam Mairi.” Violet shakes his hand and averts her gaze. Sliding his hand from hers his fingers lingering slightly from her fingertips. Clasping the man’s, in front of me, shoulder, “This right here is Bodhi Durran, a second year.”

Metal clashes as my utensils falls on the plate, “I’m so sorry.” I rise to my feet acutely aware eyes are on me, “I just realize I need to do some things before class starts. Please excuse me.” I smile at Bohdi vision beginning to blur as tears rise, “It was lovely to meet you.” I turn and briskly walk away before anyone can call me back. Running down the hall and into the female wing of the dorms I reach my cot and sob in my pillow. Memories of Lian I have since buried deep rising to the surface:

“Lydia Aetos. My muse.” Lian smiles as my hips grind against his, “My dove.” His tanned hands slide my dress up my thighs they slowly reach my chest palming my cleavage resulting in a moan from me. “Who sings such pretty songs in pleasure.” He sits up and I adjust accordingly as I ride him.

“I love you.” I whisper, my eyes lidded, “I love you Lian Durran.” My fingers slide through his dark curls as his lips find mine and claim me.

A hand clamps over my mouth as I’m hoisted from my cot. My back presses against a hard back a dagger at my neck as hands grip my legs to prevent me from kicking. “Shh, Twinkle Toes. We’re going to take good care of you! I scream resulting in the hand clamping tighter around my mouth.

I lash around as Jack Barlow and his cronies begin to carry me down the empty corridor. “Jack,” the one struggling to keep my feet together groans, “Can’t we at least have some fun with her before we get rid of her?” My body stills at the implication. I know I’m in danger, but fear keeps me frozen in place.

Help

Help

Help

I am incapable of calling out to help as the duo pulls me into the shadows. They pin me to the wall, and I beg my body to move, will it to do anything besides tremble, I think of Dain, and the dream of a better relationship with my brother, of Violet whose kindness has brought me from the brink of insanity by her friendship. I think of Rhiannon, Ridoc, Sawyer, Liam and even Bodhi, friendships I’ll never get to see grow because I know one thing is certain.

I am going to die today.

Jack presses the knife to my skin keeping my head in place with his hand. “I’m going to make sure you feel the humiliation I felt on the parapet that day.” He whispers in my ear as he grazes the knife across my neck, hard enough to break skin, though not hard enough to kill. As if he was a predator toying with his food, he lowered the cold steel down to my chest where the leathers we received protected me from taking any reputable damage. “You are such a pretty little thing.” Bile rose in the back of my throat at his words. “You’ll be even prettier drenched in your blood.

“But you sai-

“Even I wouldn’t stoop that low.” And with a quick movement of his hand Jack slit the other cadet’s throat. I screamed his palm muffling the sound. His cold blue eyes meet mine, “Now where were we?”

“What do we have here?” A low voice causes Jack to turn, yanking me to his front. Hazel eyes meet mine and I take a moment to take in the person in front of me. His dark black hair with short curls allows the sharp angles of his face to stand out. His high cheekbones and perfectly set nose this man is handsome and right now his mouth is set in a firm line, “It’s not nice to hand a pretty lady in such a way.”

“I’m handling a pest problem.” Jack simply states.

The man smiles and its devastatingly beautiful. “Allow me to correct myself.” His large, calloused hand wraps around my forearm and maneuvers me out of Jack’s grasp with ease. All the while gripping the collar of Jack’s jacket, “You will not touch her or come near her ever again. “Do you understand?” Jack nods a snarl curling at his lips as the man releases him. “Good not run along, you’ll be late for battle brief.” Jack makes sure to level me with a glare as he walks down the corridor. The mystery man turns towards me and smiles, his eyes scanning me, locking in my neck where the warmth of my blood clings to my skin. “You’re hurt.”

“A simple scratch, it will be gone in the morning.” I look to the corpse lying behind him and he glances to where I’m staring, “Better than being that guy at the moment.” The man snorts as his gaze lands on me once more. He nods as though the answer is good enough for him as I reach out my hand, “I’m Lydia.”

His eyes light up in recognition, “Aetos right?” I sheepishly nod my head as he takes my hand and places a soft kiss on my knuckles, “A pleasure. You are much nicer to look at than your brother.” He releases my hand and I laugh.

“I see my brother has made quite the name for himself.” I quip as I fidget as silence fell between the two of us.

“Come on Cadet, we will be late for battle brief.” The man extends his arm for me to loop through and as my hand pressed into his muscled arm, he led me down the hall.

I look back to the body on the ground, “Um shouldn’t we take care of him?”

Garrick chuckles, “Don’t fret, Pretty girl, someone will dispose of him and his things. “Death is pretty commonplace here.” I feel his eyes are on me. I glance back in his direction to see a playful smirk on his face, “I like your eyes. How one is brown, and one is blue. Its about as unique as having a dragon bow to you.” He quirks a brow as I groan looking up at the ornate ceiling above. “Word travels fast here.”

“So much for going through these three years undetected I guess.” He hums in agreement, and I take a moment to study him as we go down the stairs. “So does the pretty boy have a name?”

The man winks at me, “He does.”

“Well, I can’t call you my hero forever,” I smile, the sadness of a former love fluttering away, as I shamelessly flirt with the man in front of me.

He whistles, “You’re good, Aetos.” He releases my arm only playfully nudges me. “My name is Garrick. Feel free to keep calling me your hero though. I won’t mind.”

I laugh, “You’re a shameless flirt.” I counter as we approach a classroom, students from every year begin filing in.

Onyx eyes meet mine, his nostrils flare slightly at the sight of me with Garrick but his lips remain in a tight line as a warmth breath grazes my ear, “Takes one to know one, Pretty Girl.”  I whip my head towards him as he stands to his full height and walks into the room without so much as a goodbye. Though he is quick to wrap what I now see as a tattooed arm around Xaden causing the Wingleader to break eye contact with me.

“Hey, are you okay? You ran off pretty quickly at breakfast.” Ridoc’s voice rings out as I find him with the others at the entryway.

“I’m fine, just needed to catch up on work.” Ridoc nodded as we all entered the large classroom with chairs that rose all the way up to the rafters. Every student in Basgiath could be sat here. The ornate look of the room takes my breath away as it reminds me of the theater I once used to frequent with my mother.

“Everyone, take your seats and we will begin.” A woman projects her voice from where she stands, at what can only be described as a stage. I’m once again reminded of the fact that I am no longer a dancer. This is not a theater. I am to become a rider. This is Battle Brief.

Waking up early, I quickly change into my leotard and tights that I sneak past my father’s nose. The last week has been a challenge to say the least. I have been struggling to gain my footing, Dain’s constant quips and critiques, the intense class schedule. Finding reasons to get up and keep moving has been a challenging one for me. Familiar dark thoughts overriding my brain my father’s words ringing in my ears. Somedays I am able to quiet them other time they were yelled in high decibels causing me to curl into a ball in my cot.

Worthless. Pathetic. Disgrace of a child.

Wrapping my pointe shoes around my ankles tying them securely I begin to tiptoe toward the Gym where there are full length mirrors.

Grateful that no one is around, I begin my stretches, my feet pointed outward, I lower my body. I focus on my breathing as I plie I reach one arm out in front of me the other above me and I sink lower once more.

Inhale

Hold 2, 3, 4

Exhale

I rise on my exhale and do this a few more times trying to keep my breathing even and the dark thoughts at bay. To keep from those feelings consuming me entirely as they have in previous years. And I begin to do my routine.

“You need to get up, Lydia.” Lian whispers as I turn over and cover the pillow over my head groaning. “Dove.” His fingers graze up my bare spine.

“Go away.” I grumble pulling the covers over me tightly.

Lian continues his tender strokes, “Is it happening again?”  He gently removes the pillow from my head to reveal my tear-stained cheeks. “The dark feelings returning.”

I nod my head, “It feels like my body weighs a ton. I just want to lay in bed.”  Lian proceeds to pull the covers off me and before I can begin to scold him, he kisses the bottom of my spine spine and leaves soft pecks all the way up to the base of my neck.  “Lian.” I warn.

“I’m not going to do anything, not like that anyway.” He chuckles as his firm hands begin to rub the tension from my shoulders. “Seraphina can rehearse with the others today.”

“You should-

“I would never leave you behind, Dove.”  He continues to massage my back and reaches a knot that elicits a groan. “I’m going to set you free, baby. I promise.” A small smile emerges on my face, “There she is.”

My spins become sloppy as memories of Lian bubble up.

I would never leave you behind. But he did.

I am going to set you free. Yet, I’m still in a cage.

I love you, Dove. Then why did he leave?

I lose my footing as I leap, and my ankle rolls before I can fall to the floor calloused hands grip my arms. My body stiffens as I see the rebellion relic, followed by the scent of leather and mint. My eyes gaze up to meet the Gold flecked onyx of Xaden Riorson. “What has you up this early?”

I writhe out of his grasp, “Why do you want to know?”

Xaden quirks his scarred brow, “I’m your Wingleader, Kitten, it’s my job to know why my cadet is not only out of bed but why she is in…whatever it is you’re wearing.”

I look down at my pointe shoes followed by my pink tights and leotard, “I’m a dancer. This is dance attire.”

His eyes graze down my body and a shiver course down my spine at his ogling. “Why are you here?”

“This space is for all cadets, Wingleader.” I begin to continue when he presses a finger to my lips.

“No, no. Why are you here in Basgiath?” His thumb idly swiped my hip the tenderness of the action pulling me from my stupor. As I whack his hand and step out of his grasp. “I mean it is pretty obvious you don’t belong here, Kitten.”

Through gritted teeth, “Well the fuck aware, Riorson. I also recall telling you my name is Lydia.”

He takes a step closer, gripping my chin he forces me to look at him, “Tell me something, Lydia. Why did you bow to Sgaeyl?”

Sgaeyl. That is the name of his dragon. Beautiful. Just like her. “Out of respect.”

“You didn’t have to.” He murmurs getting close enough that I have no choice but to look up at him. “Most people would have ran away.”

“I’m not most people. I prefer keeping my flesh intact not becoming a pile of ash.”  I pull one of the hair pins from my hair pressing it to his chest forcing him to take a step back. “Tell me, Xaden, why did she bow in return?”

He hums in contemplation, and I scowl. He bends down at the waist, so our faces are inches apart from one another. My heartbeat quickens at him being so close to me, warmth pooling in my belly as his beautiful face closes in on mine, our nose near touching. “Now where is the fun in answering that, Kitten.” His face contorts into a look of confusion. “You’re crying.”

I press my hand to my cheek to find tears there. The dark thoughts hit me like a wave crashing over a rock, unlike a rock, I get swept up in the current:

Useless, Pathetic, Annoying. Traitor

Traitor

Traitor

Traitor

I wrap my arms around myself and take a step away from the Wingleader. The warmth his body provided was now gone. “I have to go, if I want to change and make it to formation in time.” I turn acutely aware I am putting my back to him as I scurry off back from the room. Finding a vacant hallway, I slide my back against the cool brick, rubbing my chest. The words are becoming all-consuming, and I allow myself to succumb to the darkness. The words playing in a loop as though it was playing through a faulty record player.

Worthless

Worthless

Worthless

Words are so cruel but have been my constant companion when people I care about were so quick to leave me. Abandon me. Brennan, my mom, Lian, even Dain is guilty of abandoning me. It’s hard to not let the vile words keep me down when the most important people in my life constantly leave me. At some point the words that would pop up as fleeting thought began to take root and seep into my brain as something factual the moment, I found that letter on my bed. The moment I learned that I wasn’t worth fighting for, wasn’t worth defending.

Dain’s betrayal stung the most when he would stop defending me against our father when it came to my dancing and has since tried to snuff out the one good thing in my life with him.

“I highly doubt you’re good enough to make a career out of it. This is a fine hobby sure, but you need to realize that he expects you to train to be a warrior.”

A chunk of my heart deteriorated that day. Dain has never once seen me dance, for him to say that hurt. For him to then reiterate that last week stings more. Nothing has changed and I was hoping that being here away from our father would give us the chance to mend things. The hope now since squandered since I yielded my practice challenge after the first punch. He said I was embarrassing him and making father look like a fool.

Maybe I am a fool. Fool for falling in love with a performer who the moment things became complicated had left without an utterance of goodbye.

Foolish for thinking I could have a career in dance with my father carrying me like a marionette doll. Foolish for thinking him and I would ever have a loving father daughter relationship like I witness Violet have with her father.

Foolish for thinking I’m good enough to fight for, to love, to be cared for.

Foolish

Foolish

Foolish

Stray tears turn into stream of sobs as I tuck my knees to my chest and bury my face in them. I don’t care how loud I’m being, or how emotional I am. I just want the ache in my chest to disappear, for the heaviness of my existence to lift from my shoulders. For someone, anyone, to pull me from the depths of my darkness so that I may be able to breathe easier, to feel less burdensome.

My vision blurs as I allow the thoughts to rip me apart, the sounds of footsteps causing me to lift my head. Finding a tall figure hovering over me as my vison gives way to the tears, I don’t register the hands that lift me from the ground only the comforting smell of Leather and mint before falling asleep allowing the exhaustion of my episode to welcome me with open arms.

“Lydia!” Violet squeals jolting me awake, I look to see I’m on my cot. The other women filtering through. “You missed formation, I was so worried about you.” Her frail arms wrap around my neck and I’m quick to embrace her back not only because I needed her comfort but also to keep her from falling. “Were you asleep the whole time?”

I shrug, “I honestly am not sure how I got here. I was practicing in the gym before anyone had woken up. Next thing I know I am waking up to you.” She nods and a pang of guilt hits me like a dagger, I know that someone had brought me back here during my meltdown. Violet has enough to worry about on her own, she doesn’t need to be worried about me as well. “Was Dain mad?”

Violet bit her lip and her cheeks became rosy, “He was,” She looked up as though she was trying to pick the best word from a shelf. “Agitated.”

Shit.

“He was angry. I didn’t mean to miss formation. I just didn’t wake up.” I sit up and grab my leathers. Preparing for the fight I will inevitably have with my brother. “I will be surprised if he doesn’t just kill me before the year is over. That way he doesn’t have to worry about me ruining his image.”

“Well, what if I said that I have something that gives you and I an edge.”  I pause and turn to my friend. She holds up a book in her hands the scrawl so familiar.

The Book of Brennan

“How?”

“Mira must have kept it after Brennan died.” Violet shrugs and her eyes shift as if for a moment she was back home, and her brother was still alive. I reach over and grip her shoulder and she physically shake off the memories. She gives me a smile, “We’ll read this after classes. If we are even late to one. I fear Ridoc is going to become lost.”

“Can’t have that. I’ll change quickly and we can go.” She nods with a smile and the vacancy in her eyes dissipating. And I turn to go change, wishing there was something I could do to keep Violet safe from the horrors of this world.

I’m going to murder Violet.

The brisk cold air of the night still reaching my bones even with my cloak on. I cling the material tighter to my chest as I cross the courtyard hoping I blend in with the dark shadows of the night. I shouldn’t even be the one out here tonight. After reading Brennan’s guide to surviving Basgiath, Violet took it upon herself a few days ago to find out who our first challenge partners were. In turn she knew of a flower that grew in a tree near the lake that would give herself an edge next week. She had asked if she should get enough for two people, but I refused.  I had no intention of fighting anyone next week but that even if I did I would not need it.

Violet didn’t intend to have a flare up before she set off on her little escapade tonight. These past few weeks have taken a toll on her body even though she would never say anything. Dain and I knew she is suffering in silence, stubborn just like her mother. Though tonight she couldn’t even get out of bed. Her silvery blue eyes pleading as she asked if I would go get the flower for her. Even gave me a rough sketch of what I was looking for. Not being able to deny the minx anything I agreed and now out in the abnormally cold evening for summer my knee flares in pain, something that occurs when weather shifts, I sustained an injury during a performance when I first started dancing and now, I’m acutely aware of when we are getting a storm, or when General Sorrengail is having a fit. The abnormal chill causes another shooting pain to my knee, and I grit my teeth swallowing the pain.

The tree comes into focus and my mind drifts back to simpler times.

“Dain! I can’t its too high.” I scream clinging tightly to a branch closing my eyes to avoid looking at the daunting distance from the branch to the ground.

“Lydia, I promise I’ll catch you.” Dain voice calls out. “I promise I won’t let you fall.”

I peak an eye open and his arms only slightly bigger than mine are wide open ready to cling onto me should I decide to jump down. “I’m scared.” I whisper.

“I’m your brother, my job is to protect you. I just need you to trust me. Can you do that?” I nod my head and take a steadying breath as I ease my grip on the branch. Shifting in a seated position the skirt of my pale pink dress shifting with me. “That’s it. Now jump!”

I close my eyes and take that leap a shrill scream erupting from my throat as the air whirled around my ears. Arms gripped my shoulders and knees.  “See,” Dains voice; a soothing balm over my fears, “You are safe. So long as I breathe, I will always keep you safe, Lydia. I promise.” I latch my arms around his neck and squeeze him tight.

“I love you, Dain.”

Another cold breeze kisses my cheeks as I’m brought to the present, where it’s not warm and sunny, but warm with the looming threat of rain above. Where my brother and I are not close and may as well be strangers. The only person who would protect me from the monsters lurking in the shadows being myself. I shake the looming thoughts reminding myself that I am here for a task.

I lighten my steps to keep them quiet and not draw attention to myself. To further ease my worries of being caught as I loom closer to the tree, I imagine that I’m not a cadet out past curfew in a war college I want nothing to do with, but instead a wraith dancing across the stage, undetected from the royal guards. The orchestra’s melodies were one of short beats that matched with footsteps, a dark undertone to build the tension for the audience, as though I may be caught.  My movements highlight my ability to flip and contort my body, in place of my normal languid long movements.

My feet move on their own accord as I dance with a face covering to conceal my identity, for if the guards realized there was an assassin on their grounds, they would likely kill me. In swift movements, as though I’m galloping toward the tower, where my sworn enemy waits for me at the top. I stretch my body as if I was on my tiptoes I would be able to reach the man who was destined to be my enemy. Who became my lover instead. Lovers destined to be apart, who against the odds found moments to be together. The music roars in my ears as the short beats of the music shift to one of longing and passion.

I place my foot in the slot made for my dance shoes and begin my accent my lover waiting for me at the top of the tower. The music rises in tandem with my ascent and dramatically I falter on a step acting as though I lost my footing. The music in tandem with the music building to a climactic moment, the audience gasping thinking I will fall. As gracefully as slid, I pushed my body back against the set piece and continued my ascension.

My forehead collides with a tree trunk, and I yelp in surprise. Reality rearing its hideous form from my beautiful daydream to reveal I am halfway up the tree. How I didn’t hit any other branches takes me by surprise, but I continue, keeping my eyes peeled for the flower Violet needs.

Spotting the delicate looking but also dangerous plant I settle myself on a large branch that supports my weight and I gather a few of the buds and place it in the vile that the youngest Sorrengail sibling provided for me. Once I gather enough for Violet to use, I place the vile in my pocket and set to lower myself from the tree where I hear voices. Lying on my stomach keeping myself flushed against the tree branch as three cloaked figures come into view.

The three lower their cloaks and my heart stops. The pink hair of the marked one that destroyed Violets shoulder at our practice round of challenges. Garrick’s curls appeared from the cloak along with his annoyingly handsome smirk. Finally, Xaden Riorson, and in the moonlight, I can’t deny that his beauty whooshes the breath out of me. I especially try to keep the fact that his body close to mine when I ran into him at the gym plays across my mind periodically and heat pools in my stomach at the though of his hands on me and his lips…

The shuffling of more feet pulls me from stupor as more marked ones approach, I know because most have opted to not wear any coverings and let reveal their relics with pride. I scrunch my brows; this meeting is against the codex. The marked ones are not supposed to congregate in groups larger than three. A ridiculous rule, as these children are paying for the crimes of their parents but regardless a rule they are actively breaking. I pray to whatever gods can hear to keep me hidden. Xaden only needs to look up to see I’m there to expose that I’m listening and because of who I’m related to; he has grounds to kill me for simply being at the wrong place at the wrong time.

I am going to murder Violet.

As the group of Marked one’s settle is when Xaden’s voice booms in the courtyard. “Alright, let’s get started.”

A person in the back of the group perks up, “I am having a difficult time with History.”

Imogen snorts, “Because of the dates, or because of the lies?” I roll my eyes at her, I may agree that I don’t believe what they are teaching is accurate especially after talking to Lian last year but to stupidly question out loud in the open where anyone could hear is foolish and the quickest to get yourself executed for treason.

“Both.” The young man mutters. Movement on my leg causes me to jolt and I clamp a hand over my mouth to prevent me from shrieking as I look at my leg only to find my leg hidden in the shadows, and it almost feels like the shadows are caressing my leg as if in comfort. Feeling my heartrate regulate I lay back down in my position and try to remain quiet as Garrick answers the young boy.

As the hour ticks by I learn that Xaden is helping the marked ones get through their time here. They like me didn’t ask to be here but must make the best of the dangerous situation their parents unknowingly put them in. My eyes constantly find Xaden’s figure through this meeting and how he looks almost fatherly, the way he’s standing, and the words of comfort and advice causes my chest to tighten. Xaden is more of a loving father to these people than my father ever was to me. Once again, I felt movement against my leg only to find darkness and my brows knit in confusion.

“What of Lydia Aetos and Violet Sorrengail?”  A girl in front quips up in front and my blood runs cold.

“What of them?” Garrick questions back in a tone that can only be described as a warning as he crosses his arms.

“Their parents are the reason we’re here against our will. When do we get to punish them for their crimes? It’s clear we can’t touch Dain, but surely, we can take out the twinkle toed princess?”

“Lydia Aetos and Violet Sorrengail, are mine to handle.” Xaden says with cool indifference though his tone edged on being scolding. “I will remind you, Cadet, that Violet and Lydia didn’t ask to be here either. Violet was studying to be a scribe and you’ve all seen Aetos dance. Neither of them wanted to be here. They are trapped in the same position as we are by the exact same people.”

“You plan on sparing them?” The girl retorts her voice bordering on shrieking. “My mom and older sister are dead because of them. I think taking their children evens the score.”

“Fall in line, Cadet. The two girls are not your kill. I said I am going to handle it. Believe me no one has more reason to hate those two than me.” A sinking feeling wraps me into a state of paralysis. The memory of his hands on me shatters like glass, of course he has every reason to hate me for what my father did. Of course he would want to settle the score, blinded simply by the fact that he’s attractive, I forgot how lethal he is.

The silence permeates over the courtyard, “If you don’t have any other questions then we’re done here.” Imogen commands her nose in the air. “Make sure you go in groups of three to not raise suspicion.”

The group begins to disband in their merry groups of three murmuring about the happenings of this meeting. Imogen and Xaden left together as Garrick waved them off leaning against the tree, watching them go with ease. Silence falls leaving the creatures of the night to sing their beautiful melodies. It almost lulls me to sleep as Garrick’s voice breaks me from the trance, “Have a good night, Pretty Girl, and good luck.” He pauses as my heart thunders out of my chest, and chuckles pushing himself off the trunk of the tree, “You’re gonna’ need it.”  He begins to walk away, and I’m left alone in a state of confusion.

I wait a few minutes to ensure that everyone has left before I make my descent. Landing on the grass with a soft thud, I take a moment to admire the moonlight reflecting the rippling waves, a smile on my face in the beauty of it. Pulling my gaze away from the water I attempt to lift my leg to walk only to find it won’t move. Looking down tendrils of darkness are wrapped snuggly against both ankles keeping my feet planted to ground. I attempt to move again and almost scream out when a low chuckle emerges behind me, whipping around my wavey hair falling over my shoulder as I meet Gold-flecked Onyx eyes and my heart falls into my stomach as Xaden’s figure emerges into the moonlight. A slight tilt of his lips as he crosses his arms.

“You’re not where you’re supposed to be, Kitten.”

To Be Continued!!

Some I tagged that wouldn't let me link if that happened I'm so sorry!

Story Tags: @milswrites @lady-of-tearshed @marvelsmylife @sherayuki @misslady246

@thelov3lybookworm @a-frog-with-a-laptop @randomperson1234sblog @garricks4thwingqueen @leastlikelytoachieve

@clayme123 @sweetsformysoul @nickishadow139 @bada-lee-ily @andreperez11

@pit-and-the-pen @demi321win-chester @aelincaddel @nighttimemoonlover

Enjoy!!

[arcielee]

Ours never knew peace.

Summary: On the morning of the Great Tourney of Harrenhal, Lyanna Stark's granddam visits to give her an heirloom, a necklace with a sapphire stone... Paring: Aemond Targaryen x Stark!Reader Word Count: 7600 Warnings: Third POV and first POV, AFAB, mentions of infidelity, graphic violence, character deaths, and there is a hyperlink for the smut, so mind those warnings too. Author’s Note:  I definitely played with the timeline of the Dance of the Dragons a lot to fit with the narrative. Also, the idea is the bloodline stems from Cregan Stark's sister, which is why Lyanna's granddam is still kicking. Also, this was not beta read, please feel free to DM me any mistakes you may find 💜 A huge thank you to my Tumblr kindred spirits: to @aegonx for this inspiring gifset, and to my darling @itbmojojoejo for these perfect dividers 🦝💜 Also, to Hozier. I started writing this in June and had not touched it until I started listening to Unreal Unearth. The title for this and the smutty one-shot are from the song Francesca.

“I have a gift for you, my dear.”

Lyanna was leaning against the ornate balustrade and watching how the sun rose above Gods Eye. She drank in the sight of the rays dancing against the blue-green gemstone surface, shimmering with the rippling waves that met with the shoreline and towards the center where the Isle of Faces jutted upwards; she saw the weirwoods shift lazily with the breeze, its red foliage breaking away and littering the laketop, drops of blood.

She pulled her eyes away to see her granddam standing in her room, poised with her walking cane; a handmaiden was in tow, carrying a wooden box that had once been intricately carved into, though its detailing was now worn with age. 

Her granddamn was the matriarch of House Stark and the only mother figure she had ever known as hers passed away when she was very young, leaving Lyanna with her father and three brothers: Brandon, Eddard, and Benjen. Though she originally had come from a noble house in Oldcastle, she had been proud to don the grays and whites of House Stark, dignified in such a way it seemed that she was born into and not just married. 

Her reputation was notorious and though some would consider her shrewd, Lyanna knew her granddam had a sharp mind and wit, an undeniable ability to see beyond the façades of court with her storm colored eyes; she was gallant, devoted to her husband until his last breath and remained in Winterfell after, her devotion extending to the North. 

“This is my home,” she had explained as if it was the simplest thing. “Always.” 

Time now showed itself in silver streaks, a bold contrast with her dark hair that had been meticulously combed and knotted at the base of her neck, showing the severity that lined her features. This look alone had the other handmaidens–who before had been aimlessly flitting around her room, coaxing Lyanna to ready for the day’s events–quickly excuse themselves, allowing her a moment alone with her granddaughter.  

“Set it there,” and the remaining handmaiden jumped to command, placing the wooden box on the vanity before following after the others. 

There was the click of her cane with her sure steps, one hand resting on the gilded handles and the other coming to place on the edge of the wooden box, its brass hinges groaning in response to her opening it. Placed against the velvet inlay was a necklace of a peculiar silver that did not shine, but seemed to permeate a strength despite its delicate, celtic chains interwoven with one another; its pendant, a sapphire stone no larger than a silver pence, was nestled in the same style, curled around to hold it in place. 

Only the stone gleamed, just like the water’s surface–alluring, calling, but she kept her hand at her side. “It is beautiful,” Lyanna acknowledged. 

“It is reforged Valyrian steel,” her granddam continued, and she was pleased to see how her eyes widened with a reverence for the rare medium. “This is a heirloom that has been passed down, once belonging to your thrice over granddam. It is something for you to wear today.” 

Lyanna remained rooted, only a wistful sigh in response. “This is my duty in life now, to be adorned in gems and silks and rare silvers, just to be shown off at this event.” 

“It is our lot in life, yes,” her tone cut through the self-wallow. “Lord Whent wants nothing more than to parade the money he poured into this cursed castle, to show off his simple-minded daughter to the highest bid. The queen of love and beauty,” and her laugh was sharp, “only her brothers would defend that nepotist title!” 

Lyanna felt her lips curl; she loved her granddam, dearly, especially when she was unabashed with her bold opinions. Her eyes fell back to the necklace. “Love and beauty,” Lyanna murmured. “No man has want for a clever wife.” 

It was her turn to sigh. “This can be true, but some are fortunate with their matches.” 

“Robert has no want for a clever wife,” Lyanna continued as if she had not spoken. “He wants something docile and pretty at his side while he wags his cock at every set of tits in Westeros.” She could see how the inside sagged with the weight of the necklace and a bundle of parchment that was tucked beneath, hidden in the folds of the fabric. 

Her granddam plucked the paper bundled together with string and then moved back towards one of the overstuffed chairs in front of the fireplace. “My dear girl, love is always unexpected. Perhaps in time, despite the faults you each share,” she gave a knowing look as Lyanna moved back towards the bed, “you, hopefully, may have a gradual love and respect grow between.” 

“He is already convinced it is love,” she sat back on the mattress, sinking against the goose feather pillows piled at the head. “But it is with this idea of me. He does not know me, who I am truly or what it is that drives me…” her eyes were drawn again to the box, opened still, and to the glint of the sapphire. “How did this come to our possession anyway?” 

“It was a gift,” her granddam scoffed, untying the string and smoothing the letters on her lap. 

Lyanna closed her eyes a moment, her own smile playing at her lips. “Yes,” her tone forced, “but who would have gifted this to her to begin with?” 

Her granddam hummed, now her turn to smile. “How clever of you to ask, sweet girl,” but she did not answer Lyanna. “I saw how you are blossoming into a lovely young woman, especially after last night’s banquet,” and she saw that her granddaughter grinned, cheeky. “Ancestry has its weight with House Stark, and I thought now is the time to gift this necklace, just as your grandsire gifted it to me, and how it was given to your mother, who listened to me read this, years ago,” and she gestured to the letters.  

Lyanna reached for the pillows, fluffing them and sinking back into them, her arms folding behind to hold her head upright. “I would never deny my granddam of my company,” she teased.

“Yes, how kind of you,” her tongue wet her lips, her eyes flitting over the first page. “Now shut up and let my old eyes read.” 

And so she began.

It was the unmartyred act of my mother to bring me into the world. My father was a proud man, an honorable man who would never blame me, but I could see how he would wilt in my presence; perhaps it was that I reminded him of her as I grew, reminded him of the cost of her life so I may live instead. My brother, Cregan, kept his grief quiet, though it clouded his storm-gray eyes with this pain, this hurt that shadowed behind his irises. 

With the unsaid, I know my existence haunted my father, Lord Rickon Stark, the Warden of the North, to his grave. It was only then that Cregan truly recognized me with our sorrow now shared, as well as the burden as our uncle Bennard was quick to come to Winterfell, bringing his shrewd wife and his sons, our wretched cousins. 

I could only watch from the shadows with how Cregan fought to stay afloat with the smothering regency brought with them; our uncle was cunning, wishing to isolate my brother, which was why it was decided for me to be sent away to King’s Landing. It was under the promised lady-in-waiting for Princess Helaena Targaryen, though its true intention was for me to marry a Targaryen prince, for the opportunity to have a Stark within the royal inner circle and a direct line to the Iron Throne. 

Cregan hugged me farewell, the whispered promise that he would write, and I was ushered into the carriage, cramped with my trunks, and my aunt Margaret, with her wardrobe and endless idylls of how I would lure King Aegon II. 

I reminded her that King Viserys was not dead, and of the crowned Princess Rhaenyra. She bristled with her response: “No woman will ever rule the Seven Kingdoms.” She embellished this, and her inane plans to make me a princess; I had just turned ten and three with the soured taste of her words the further south we traveled. 

We arrived at the capital almost two months later, coming as the last of the daylight disappeared in the horizon, with the full moon and stars already glowing in response. I wished to sleep, but was forced to bathe, to be soaked in a gilded tub with rose petals that floated on the surface while hands flitted over combing and scrubbing and cleaning every bit of me, all while my aunt hovered with her critiques. 

The next day was our debut luncheon, allowing my formal introduction to the House of the Dragon. My aunt was peevish that the king did not join, we still met with the queen and Lord Hand, who introduced Prince Aegon and Princess Helaena. 

It was said that Prince Daeron was away in Oldtown and Prince Aemond would not attend either, but did not speak more of it. 

The prince and the princess held their old blood features, the shades of purple in their gazes and the gold-silver of their hair, a contrast to their mother’s auburn and her dark eyes that were watchful and worrisome. 

Prince Aegon already had an exhaustion lining his face, with shadows that stretched beneath his lilac eyes, something heavy for someone only two years older than myself. In time I would learn that his shoulders sagged with the forced Hightower expectation placed, and its accompanying slow suffocation. The prince responded to it as well as any adolescent with unwanted responsibility: to rebel. 

The princess–who we learned, to the woe of my aunt–was his betrothed, but that day she also became my savior, in a sense. Though she carried her own burdens, something deeply rooted within the ichor of Old Valyria that surged her veins, her company was enjoyable, nonetheless. 

I enjoyed my time spent with the princess, learning of her fascination with entomology, with a favoritism that stemmed towards arachnids; though I found it unsettling, I still knew it was better company than my aunt. I was devoted to the task to fill mason jars with dirt, leaves, sticks to create little habitats for her ever growing collection, and it became our daily ritual to walk the gardens of the Red Keep, always in search of more to add or to release others who dutifully served their time in their glass confines. 

One thing I noted was her utterances, her singsong riddles on repeat. “Be mindful,” she said with a hum one afternoon.

“Of what, princess?”

“A song of ice and fire,” her eyes were glassy, sorrowful. “It is a tragedy, again and again…” 

My evenings were held captive by my aunt and her ever growing determination to force her way into the royal social circles; her daily mantra to remind me of the two remaining Targaryen princes, how I need my focus to be on snaring one of them. 

I knew that Prince Daeron was a child and away in Oldtown, which left the second son of King Viserys, Prince Aemond, who I thought peculiar and quiet. He was isolated the first six months after we arrived, and I heard the whispered incident at Diftmark that had involved the crowned princess and her bastard sons; I also learned how it ended with the loss of his eye, but that was not learned until Princess Helaena brought me to visit with her brother. 

“It would be good for him,” and her lilac eyes sparkled. 

He was sullen, but rightfully so; he was still bandaged and refused the milk of the poppy, though I knew he was hurting, his anguish was vicariously heard with the roars of his dragon, Vhagar, whose bellows rattled the entire capital, leaving the inhabitants uneasy. 

Eventually, Prince Aemond healed enough to leave his room, though the queen was still adamant he not venture outside of the Keep. I watched him, a dragon caged, stalking the corridors, a dark passing in search of confrontation, his unbridled want for vengeance and his inability to see it through; a tormented unrest, an unruly anger from the injustice of what happened that fateful night at Driftmark.  

I had been present for over a year and would inevitably have the misfortune to cross his warpath, alone, without my shield of his sister. It was a foreboding presence that drained the air, a palpable anger that hung heavy, and I flinched, perched by the window, curled up with Ten Thousand Ships. 

“What are you doing here?” He spat. 

I remember how his anger darkened his features shown, but the rest was still hidden beneath bandages wrapped around his silver head. “Reading,” was all I dared reply, refusing to look away from the pages as if the very tale of Nymeria held me captive. 

“They educate the women in the North?”

His words were mocking and this is when I pulled my eyes away to meet with his one uncovered. “The North does not only teach their women how to read, but how to fight as well, my prince,” my tongue had a life of its own I could not control, sneering his title in return.

Her granddam paused a moment, peering over the edge to see how Lyanna had shifted; she was now closer towards the foot of the bed, curled up with one of the pillows, her eyes glowing with admiration. 

“My great-great-great granddam was fearless,” Lyanna concluded.

She chuckled in response. “It is a trait in Stark women, that is for certain,” she clucked her tongue. “Stark men also search for strong women to survive the winters. Maybe another day I will tell you about your great-great-great aunt Alysanne Blackwood.” 

Her eyes shone. “I would like that very much.” 

And then, her granddam continued. 

I would learn that Prince Aemond was just lonely; allowed out of his quarters, his mar was forever isolating with how the castled treated him with kid gloves, like an open wound that never healed despite the jagged red of new flesh mended, cutting from his brow to his cheek and peeking beneath the eyepatch he took to wearing. Though he would never apologize for that day in the library, the next time I found him within the walls I saw he was lost in the pages of Winter’s Kings, or the Legends and Lineages of the Starks of Winterfell. 

I could only assume it was all the apology that could be expected of a dragon prince. 

Our friendship was something predetermined by the gods, or this was what Princess Helaena wholeheartedly believed; for a time, we were a trio of lonely souls akin and knitted together until the princess inevitably became pregnant with the twins. And then, there was the subtle change of our dynamic with the seasons passed, an initial wariness that settled in the edges of his features that only softened whenever I took his hand and pulled him forward. 

Perhaps he believed that I would abandon him for his sister’s company, which would be expected of her lady-in-waiting. But I did not. 

Instead I indulged the prince and his company, and we became inseparable; whether we visited with his sister, playing with the little prince and princess, while Helaena budding with a third, or going to the courtyards to train under Ser Criston’s watchful eye and my aunt’s apparent disdain. It was then that the evenings became our own and spent in the library of the Keep; it was here that Aemond dared remove his eyepatch, the sapphire stone that showed brilliant from his scarred socket. 

The first time, I stepped closer so his nervous exhale fanned my cheeks; I could see the plumes of pinks to his features, my fingers ghosting his jawline as I attempted his ancient tongue. “Gevie.” 

Beautiful. 

Prince Aemond was respectful, always, but he was also fearless with me, allowing the same sense of freedom in return, to speak my mind as I always had. But I faltered with what I truly wished to say: that the years crafted him beautiful as any Targaryen prince, with sharp edges chiseled from marble stone, his lips that curled with a perpetual smirk as he voiced his peculiar insight which always led to a good natured battlement between us, leaving me flushed. 

And then the day came that he took my hand, that his palm now enveloped my own. 

It was the familiar touch now paired with a feeling, a fluttering in the pit of my stomach that I could not place, though writing these words allows a clearer perspective with the retrospect: that I was falling in love with him. 

My aunt grew more insufferable with the passing days, though I expected as much with the letters I exchanged with Cregan. I knew his every action in Winterfell, what he was learning, of his sweetheart Lady Arra Norrey, my new nephew, but mostly of how our uncle continued to tighten his hold. My brother was a wolf, restless, and spoke that his hour was coming; and meanwhile, I continued to play my role, a simpleminded girl from the North. 

My aunt tsked. “He will never see you as more than a plaything,” as if this was a cruel fate. In truth I was still so unaware of what was growing within the confines of my heart, but I knew that I only wished to remind at his side, devoted, present, always. 

So when Aemond asked that I finally become acquainted with Vhagar, I went. I remembered how my hand fit within his as he pulled me to follow his steps, moving through the ingresses that weaved with the castle walls. We broke out to follow the coastline, a crisp salt air and the clouds covering the sun, heavy with the threat of rain, but Aemond promised we would rise above them. 

I followed his long steps until we came to where Vhagar waited for her rider, diligent, alert. 

Dragons are magnificent creatures, and I swear them sentient with the bond I saw between Aemond and the she-dragon. Fear trickled my spine, but Aemond held onto my hand and I tightened in response to the massive eyes that focused on us, her pupils constricting in query. Aemond held up his other hand, the honey spill of his soothing voice of his old tongue to coax her and allow me to climb aback. 

I then felt the gaze of Aemond and refused to allow my fear to root me, moving to take the bottom rung of the rope ladder; he was pleased, a hum, the slight curl of his lips, and followed behind me with his promise that he would not let me fall. At the top, he pushed past to settle into the saddle, then reached to pull me behind and I settled against his backside. 

“Just hold onto me,” he murmured, bringing my arms around his slender waist. 

This moment I was adamantly aware that he was no longer that sullen child that sneered within his gilded cage, but against my hold that Aemond was solid, lithe, and so warm with a woodsy musk mixed with smoke against his skin. 

Pressed against, I was able to feel his low baritone command Vhagar, followed by her jolted steps forward, the beating of her wings to take flight. To feel this power beneath you is indescribable; I could not help my scream, my laughter from the exhilaration that that spate my veins; I dared not close my eyes, tears streaming, and I peered to marvel at how small the capital seemed beneath, how large the shadow we cast overhead. 

It was a newfound euphoria, and I felt my cheeks burn from the crisp air above the gray clouds, but I also knew it was from my close proximity to Aemond. I held onto him as we soared out over Blackwater Bay, and sighed from the touch of his gloved hand, from the heat that permeated through the leather when he placed it over my own. 

And I knew then that I never wished to let him go. 

He eventually brought Vhagar back to land onto the grassy knolls outside the city; the afternoon was growing late but there was still enough light to return. Aemond warned that my legs would be shaky and again he moved first, again with the promise he would not let me fall. 

I still trembled when he set me on the ground, his large palms kept their hold on my waist and my hands rested on his broad shoulders. My eyes were wide admiring the beauty of his mussed, silver braid, his cheeks lined with his dimples with his pursed grin. “Did you enjoy yourself?”

“Enjoy myself?” I was incredulous, I was a mess; windswept and blooming red, a grinning fool with tear-streaked cheeks, “Aemond, you showed me the heavens.” And a boldness pressed me onto my toes, my lips against his. 

It was my first kiss; it was a heartbeat’s length, it was everything, and when I pulled back, I fell solid to the earth, my soles grounded back on that gassy knoll. I looked up into his bicolored gaze, the lavender of one eye and the gleam of sapphire for the other that stared back. 

Aemond was unreadable in that moment, and I felt my blood surge from my heart and pour into my face; the quiet that settled between us the same length of the years I had spent in King’s Landing, a choking regret that burned in my throat with the thought that I had ruined everything built between us. 

Then he kissed me back. 

And I felt alive once more with the touch of his arm that curled around my waist, how his other hand followed the curve of my spine, tangling into my hair and holding me to capture my mouth. His lips were warm and soft and his tongue clever in a way that drew the very breath from my lungs. I melted against him, my fingertips soft to follow the sharp contours of his jaw, trailing his neck and grasping his collar to bring him even closer.

We only parted for air; the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath his riding leathers, the crimson on his cheeks with his quiet confession, something he held close to his heart.

“For how long?” I breathed

And he thought for a moment. “Always.” 

To take his hand now was finding a piece that I did not know was missing from me; our fingers interlaced in a way that felt akin as if I held my own hand, though I knew it was him from the warmth of his skin, from the fire in his blood. By now the tendrils of dusk began to curl over the city, its amber hues bold against the blues and purples of the coming nightfall, but we continued our leisure pace back, Aemond and I. 

We were greeted by the gold cloaks at the gates and they escorted us back, and though he did not let go, I saw that it was no longer Aemond who held my hand but the second son of King Viserys, a Targaryen prince. He was stoic, but this time I could tell the other emotions that flittered beneath, his uncertainty of what awaited, but above that was his determination. 

We finally came to the barbican of the Keep where we were greeted by his queen mother, my aunt, and several White Cloaks. 

Relief washed over the queen while my aunt raged, lifting her skirts to meet us in the courtyard, her nails biting with her grip on my arm and pulling me back; the rushed spill of her words, “I cannot believe this unseemly behavior of a lady, unchaperoned with a prince! We are leaving this moment–”

I tried to twist away but she held on still, a madwoman. Aemond moved after, quick, and his anger burning from him and his long legs moved to block her path. “She will not be leaving.”

The finality of his words, the barrier his form created halted her at once and I felt my heart between my teeth. “My prince,” she stammered in response. “We must leave this very moment! We have imposed on your hospitality far too long as it is, and when my lord husband hears of her behaviors–” 

But she was unaware that Cregan and I wrote, dutifully; he shared his life within the walls of Winterfell, as well as his growing concern with the regency our uncle imposed still. She also did not know the newest letter I had received, how my brother was now the proper Warden of the North and our uncle imprisoned; my aunt paled with my words and it was commanded for her to be taken away. She did not leave quietly, her wails echoed and I watched impassively, knowing her every action was a self-serving and a selfish ploy for power for herself, her husband, for those wretched cousin kin in the North. 

And I knew I would not miss any of them. 

Ever the diplomat, the queen stepped forward with her congratulations for my brother, her condolences for the betrayal within our family, her practiced concern for my well being and its shift to confusion that knitted between her brows when she saw how I smiled at her son. She offered my escort back to Winterfell, but I was quick to decline as I knew I could not leave Aemond. 

I saw the understanding began to roll over, and she then asked her son if he loved me. Aemond responded, “I believe I always have, mother,” and I knew I loved him in return. 

It was decided that the ceremony would be held in the Royal Sept, and chaperoned until, though Aemond stole a moment to gift me this very necklace. I could feel the power of Old Valyria thrum from the metal, adoring how it was woven around the sapphire stone; he told me it was a piece kept from the same stone fitted for his eye.  

I lifted my hair and turned my back towards him, my skin prickling from his touch to clasp the necklace around my throat. 

He hummed. “Gevie.” 

Only a week later, and the service seemed surreal. I felt his warmth that held to the robe he brought around my shoulders, the touch of my palm on top of his large hand kept me grounded while the Septon wrapped the ribbon around; shy glances shared, me to Aemond and seeing his gaze on the sapphire stone beneath my collarbone. The muted words called for a kiss and I burned when Aemond captured my mouth with his own. 

The celebration after was an intimate meal with the king, who was a man withering away beneath a gilded mark, the queen, his siblings, and the Lord Hand, who seemed pleased with the idea of solidifying a truce with the North. 

But I could not think of politics this night, not with the subtle touches from Aemond, a warmth that curled in my lower abdomen when he inevitably took my hand, his low voice that tickled against my ear. “Come with me, my sweet wife,” as we walked towards his quarters.

Her granddam stopped abruptly, flushed. “Well, you understand what is implied.”

“Understand what?” Lyanna quirked her brow. 

It was a pregnant pause that allowed her eyes steel onto her granddaughter, and Lyanna returned her gaze with a cheeky, taunting grin. 

“It would serve you well to not agitate your elders.” 

“What a bore I would be if I was just another docile woman of nobility?” Lyanna countered, gleefully. “Granddam, Robert has bastards and I am no fool, I do not believe his immaculate conception claims…” 

“Yes, you are very bright,” she huffed. “Now hush up and let me read.” 

Our marital bliss that followed left me in a haze; Aemond was not one for public displays of affection and how I craved his subtle touches, his lingering hand that would have me blushing furiously in response. He would only hum, his perpetual smirk that played on his lips with my every visceral response to him. 

I wrote to Cregan and informed him of our union; he was quick to respond with his congratulations, as well as his newfound concerns, asking if it was true that the crowned princess had sired bastards with the intention to make them her heirs without ownership of her actions. 

“Our father was honorable until his last breath,” he wrote, “I would not besmirch his memory or our house, our legacy, for an oath made for bastard-born heirs to the Iron Throne.”

This was a topic I had already discussed in length with Aemond, even before we had even kissed. I was aware of his scar and its cause, and I knew of the old blood and the features lacking when it came to his nephews, something made apparent for the claimant hearings of Dirftmark, as well as the cruel response of Prince Daemon when a lord spoke out loud what the court was thinking. 

I answered my brother truthfully, knowing full well that this would sway the North behind Prince Aegon II.

And then King Viserys met his inevitable demise; the small council moved quick to announce that his final words were that he wished his firstborn son to take the crown. Aegon panicked, but my husband and Ser Criston fetched him, washed him, fed him, but also comforted him. 

It would be Ser Criston who coaxed him to the coronation, to be the one to place the crown of steel and rubies on top of his silver head, announcing: “King Viserys is dead, long live King Aegon!”

My husband would be sent to Storm’s End to negotiate a betrothal for his brother, Daeron, to one of the Four Storms. It resulted in tragedy, or vengeance on who spoke the narrative. The room stilled with Aemond’s words, the unspoken terror in the queen’s large, brown eyes, the shock that lined the severe features of the Lord Hand, but it was his brother, King Aegon wearing the Conqueror’s Crown who spoke that Aemond had shown the true blood of a dragon. 

But in the quiet quarters we shared, Aemond lamented the loss of life, the war it started, a guilt that weighed heavily, and once more I saw the sorrowful prince when I first came to King’s Landing. 

“There will be repercussions for my actions,” he rasped, unable to meet with my eyes. “I have ruined my namesake, and I have cursed our family…” 

“War seemed inevitable,” I began slowly, my hands careful to hold his jaw, to bring his gaze to my own. “And with it comes rash decisions, with impossible choices to be made…I trust it was not intentional, but even if it was, cursed or not, I am still yours, husband.” A soft kiss to seal my words. “Always.” 

War and its bloodshed was rampant in Westeros, and my brother wrote they would travel South when winter ended to help King Aegon with his rightful claim. I feared for the delay, for what would follow Storm’s End, and how it seemingly unleashed the Rogue Prince. 

Hired men with the monikers Blood and Cheese came in the night, and I knew them to be sent for me, as one repeated, “An eye for an eye, a son for son,” but followed with his slow realization, “she is not a son,” before his sword was drawn and struck Prince Jaehaerys. 

The screams of Helaena resounded against the cobblestone; Aemond found us covered in blood, his rage and his grief conflicting on his angular features. The king cried for vengeance for his firstborn son, to search for these men and place their heads on spikes; the kingdom was repulsed by the murder of the princeling, a martyr made with his blood spilled. 

Aegon’s bloodlust made for rash decisions and the battle of Rook’s Rest; though one dragon and its rider slain, its cost was the king crippled in a way that he was not fit to rule. So Aemond stepped forward to take the title Prince Regent and the Protector of the Realm, a natural role that was suited for the second son. 

The Rogue Prince struck against the Riverlands, torching until ash remained. In response, the now Prince Regent and Ser Criston left to claim Harrenhal. 

I was told to wait, to remain at the side of our grieving queen, my sister by all accounts; I watched over sweet Helaena, coaxing her to eat, washing her, sitting alongside her in the haunting silence of the quarters that somehow still echoed her screams from that fateful night. We were often left alone, as the maesters and the dowager queen never left King Aegon’s side, and I remained with her until I received the latest letter from Aemond. 

Harrenhal had been dispelled of every Strong traitor to the crown, and he spoke of a witch he wished me to meet, that I was to leave King’s Landing and be by his side, as the gods ordained. 

A quick kiss to the silver head of Helaena and I left the castle, careful to retrace our steps that led to the coast and I continued until I was back on the grassy knolls from what felt like a lifetime ago. I waited the skies until I felt the rumbled call of Vhagar in the distance, gleeful when she finally landed and watched my prince descend to envelope me in his arms, his whispered adoration, “My love, my sweet wife.” 

We returned to Harrenhal to meet with the witch he spared, a hushed reverence when he told me of her abilities. “She sees much and more.” 

I could see she was hardened by life, but her expression was kind when she greeted us; her eyes roamed around, watchful, looking through to my bones and only then did I understand what my husband meant. 

At supper, we sat around the table, along with Ser Criston, and her eyes watched the flicker of candlelight, the flames licking her irises, before she spoke: “Madness and greatness are two sides of the same coin. Every time a new Targaryen is born, the gods toss the coin in the air and the world holds its breath to see how it will land.”

Aemond finished chewing before he asked her. “And I am which?”

Alys’ eyes were black, her painted lips curled and framed around her pearl teeth. “To be the greatness, you must end the madness,” was all that she offered, and then, “the Rogue Prince is coming.” 

Ser Criston looked uneasy, but it was a silent understanding in regards to her statement, something that pressed heavily on us both. King Aegon could only have a true chance to rule the realm if his sister lost the power she had with her husband, the Rogue Prince; it was known that he was unruly, untamed, but loyal to a fault, and willing to see it through to its brutal end. 

That night, we fell back into an intimate embrace, cherishing the feeling of skin to skin–

Her granddam was crimson. “Oh, my, I believe I should skip this as well–”

She watched her granddam a moment, the intrusive thought to take the letters for her own readthrough, but it was muted by a growing sadness that began to settle in the edges of her sharp features. Lyanna knew well the history of the Dance of the Dragons, something scrawled on scrolls and tomes, its tragedy saved in ink and tucked away.

And still, she had to know this truth.  

“Please,” and her voice was soft. “Please, continue.” 

And granddam did. 

It was the 22nd day of the 5th moon and we waited on the shores of Gods Eye, myself, Aemond, and the witch. Ser Criston rode North to meet with my brother, and we remained, waiting. 

It had been a vision for Alys, something sinister; it was no surprise when the wyrm screeched its arrival, circling above, wary of Vhagar, before finally landing. Prince Daemon had an arrogance with his dismount, with his walk towards us. 

There was a symmetry as they squared towards one another; the Rogue Prince was cloaked with the past and my Aemond embodied the future, the true hope for House Targaryen. My husband faced him, unflinching, his brow furrowed with his ever present determination, while Daemon rolled his eyes over the each of us, sucking his teeth. 

Aemond broke the silence. “You were a fool to come alone.”

“Were I not alone, you would not have come,” Daemon was amused. 

But it did not deter my dragon. “Yet you are, and here I am,” he sighed. “You have lived too long, nuncle.”

“On that much we agree.”

The prince retreated to his wyrm and Aemond looked to me, his eye pleading, the glassy lavender that bore through my skin, and the gleam of sapphire for the other. He then dipped forward to kiss me and the tears pearling in the corners of my eyes spilled onto my cheeks at the taste of him, the touch of him; I knew I could never imagine anyone else. Those words stilled on my tongue, how I wanted him to beg to stay with me, but I also knew that he must. 

“Do not say it,” my voice broke, hushed against our kiss swollen lips. “Just come back to me.” 

His two fingers pressed against the sapphire pendant I wore, before leaning forward to press his lips to my hairline, and then he climbed aback Vhagar, his lithe body quick to mount. I remained on the sand with the witch at my side, and we watched these winged beasts rise above us. 

Dragons are truly magnificent, but they are also equally deadly. I trusted Vhagar was loyal to Aemond, but also knew it matched by the bond shared between Prince Daemon and his wyrm. It was said that Targaryens are closer to gods than to men, and I believed this as I watched them on dragonback, circling above the massive lake. Their roars vibrated through to our bones, the snapping of the jaws like cracks of lighting and their flames that singed the threads of my gown from my place on the shore. 

My eyes did not leave, and I asked Alys. “Will he live?” 

She was quiet for a moment. “The memory of him will live on,” and I felt her hand reach and touch my stomach. 

And all I could do was hold onto my pendant with prayers to the old golds, to the new gods for mercy for my husband, whose child I carried. 

They did not listen.

It was a clash of scale and bone, something that reverberated to Harrenhal and rattled the castle walls that still stood. The wyrm’s screams were cut short as the massive maw of Vhagar clamped onto its neck, and its talons flailed and cut deep into the old dragon’s underside. Blood rained onto the lake and I watched, struck with mortification at the dull glint of Valyrian armor, the flash raise of Dark Sister, and I knew it was over. 

I remained on the shore as the waves created from the fall of dead dragons crashed against the sand, a blood foam that flooded and wet my skirts. I remained still as the sun tucked beneath the horizon, until I heard the call of the witch. 

“My lady, the wolves have arrived.” 

This would be the shift of power needed for King Aegon II; the Rogue Prince was dead and his men fell to the sword under the command of my brother and Ser Criston. Cregan was shocked to see me and I was stoic still, dumbstruck with my grief that did not feel real; we returned to King’s Landing with the Northern army, quick to dethrone Rhaenyra and place her in the cells with the company of all the lords who supported her. 

King Aegon was scarred cruelly with a gimp to his steps, but he made his way to the Iron Throne, his crown of rubies and steel, and greeted his mother and the queen. This joyous moment died as I was tasked to share the news of the death of Aemond, of my husband and father of my unborn child; we cried our heartbreak, but I had no tears left. 

This pivotal moment would be known as the Hour of the Wolf by our history. It will speak of the heroism of Prince Aemond and what he sacrificed to kill the Rogue Prince, of how my brother descended onto the capital with a vengeance and helped return the throne to its rightful heir. The casualties of war included the bastard princes, as well as both sons of the king. 

When King Aegon learned that Prince Daeron the Daring met his fatal end, he decided mercy on the remaining Targaryen princelings, Aegon III and Viserys II, with his solemn vow to raise them as his own, as his heirs to the Iron Throne. 

Cregan served as Lord Hand through my pregnancy, for the birth of my darling Lysara with a patch of silver that showed against her dark curls and her eyes the same as her father’s, lavender. My brother had also been widowed but met the Lady Alysanna Blackwood, a woman I admired fiercely, and Lysara was smitten with, and was thrilled when I learned I could call her sister. 

It was then Cregan asked to be relieved so he could return to the North, to his son, and I asked to go with him. My time in King’s Landing was over, with every stone haunted with presence of Aemond; I already swore I would never marry again, would not dare have another set of hands touch and taint the memory of his hands against my body, his touch forever etched onto my skin and seeded into the marrow of my bones. 

Aemond would return to me at night, a silver dream, my body thrumming with the warmth of his touch, his gentle kiss, the low murmur of his voice, but it always ended the same: my realization when my hands pressed to his chest and felt no heartbeat.

That I would never feel it again.

The pain of losing him has not dimmed nor diminished with time, but I do not mind it as it serves as my reminder that he was real, and that the love we shared was real. 

As the witch predicted, Aemond also still lived within Lysara who was solemn, brilliant, and as determined and stubborn as he had been. I made sure to do an annual trip to King’s Landing, allowing her to meet her granddam, her royal family, and so that my daughter could learn that her blood not only held that of the Andals, the first men, but also of the fire that licks within her veins. 

Which is also why I write this, along with the gift of the necklace. It holds legacy, but also the reminder of the words Queen Helaena spoke to me when we were girls, something said a lifetime ago and before I could comprehend the weight of them. 

There is something in the blood of House Stark that calls out to these dragons, perhaps an ancient power of the old gods or a kindred spirit, the disparate bond of ice and fire, a clash that is brilliant, violent, and tragic, always. 

As she once said: a song of ice and fire, it is a tragedy, again and again…

It ended with a finality that rested against her chest. This was a tragic history of the crown, something already written with facts and dates, but this was a personal storying stemming from the blood of Stark woman, and only now did Lyanna begin to understand how the stories remained so vivid, so detailed despite its years of retelling. 

But also…

“What does this mean for me?” Her voice was soft, an almost childlike naivety to her tone. “I am already engaged to Robert Baratheon.”

Her granddam watched her, a tight lipped smile in response as her mind returned to the feast of last night, to the looks shyly exchanged between her granddaughter and the crowned prince, Rhaegar Targaryen, as he played his harp for her. It left her unsettled with a hunch, an inkling about this interaction. 

Instead she agreed. “You are right,” and she sighed. “Let me help you get dressed for the tourney.” 

The new Harranhal swelled with the life for the festivities, with the kingdoms’ best sent in response of Lord Whent’s invites; the new cobblestone seemed bright against the darkened foundation that still held, its ghosts trapped still and trampled underfoot by the crowds as the seats filled, the echoing chattered excitement that vibrated. 

It dimmed with a hushed reverence to see Prince Rhaegar Targaryen entering the field on his steed; his lavender eyes scanned the masses, an intent to spot one soul in particular, and she unknowingly called to him with her sweet smile, by the glint of the sapphire that rested against her chest. 

There's not one thing that I would change.

Tags (Tumblr kindred spirits): @aaaaaamond @annikin-im-panicin @watercolorskyy @schniiipsel @aemondx @fan-goddess @babygirlyofthevale @httpsdoll @theromanticegoist @assortedseaglass @amiraisgoingthruit @theoneeyedprince @babyblue711 @girlwith-thepearlearring @lauraneedstochill @snowprincesa1 @hb8301 @lovelykhaleesiii @darylandbethfanforever9 @namelesslosers

arcie's masterlist

[kittenofdoomage]

At Your Throat

THIS WORK IS ALSO AVAILABLE ON AO3. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST OR COPY MY STORIES. 18+ CONTENT AHEAD.

Summary: Temptation is hard to resist…

Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe

Pairing: incubus!Steve Rogers x fem!reader x incubus!Bucky Barnes

Word Count: 5972

Warnings: dark!fic, angst, introverted!reader, dubious consent, enchantments, so much smut (somnophilia, implied invisible restraint, oral, fingering, tongue fucking, size kink, slight breeding kink, unprotected sex, anal, manhandling, throat fucking, cum swallowing, squirting, double penetration, overstimulation, praise kink, dirty talk, begging, marking/bruising, rimming - I think that’s everything), ambiguous ending

The fair isn’t anything like you remembered from your childhood. When Lucy and Mark suggested going, you had initially been excited, but as the night wears on, it’s all bright lights and screaming kids, candy floss that’s too sickly sweet for your adult taste buds, and the worry that you’re going to step in something gross. It doesn’t help that you’re dateless, and your two best friends are still in that honeymoon phase where they don’t really register the amount of smooching they’re actually doing in public. Needless to say, you’re not sure they hear you when you say you’re going to explore on your own, with every intention of finding a quiet bench until they’re done with their fun.

The site is huge, big enough that you have to remember landmarks as you stroll. Beyond the ferris wheel, there’s a quieter spot between a wall and a merchandise stall where you find a cleanish spot, and you barely notice the woman at the stall as you sink to the floor. Your feet hurt, and you’re definitely regretting your decision not to bring a coat.

“Lost your friends?” the woman calls.

“Uh,” you shake your head, “no.”

“Taking a breather then,” she chuckles.

You smile politely - interacting with strangers has always made you uneasy. “Yeah, I guess.” She smiles back, busying herself with something out of sight. Dragging your gaze along the table, you realize she’s selling trinkets, though most of it looks like the back catalog of Hot Topic. You get to your feet and wander over, perusing the rings and pendants. “I didn’t know the fair had stalls like this.”

“There used to be more,” the woman sighs. “We’d sell all sorts of things but… well, times change.” She smiles wistfully, resting her fingers on the edge of the table. “I used to be the fortune teller here. People would always line up to see their future. Now, it seems everyone is terrified to ask.”

You could sympathize with that. A crystal ball would probably show you in an apartment with a thousand cats with the way your life was turning out. Your eyes stray to the stand of pendants, and something red catches the fluorescent flood lights in the distance. It’s a stone, a ruby maybe, an oval set in ornate silver, no bigger than a dime, hanging from a silver chain. In the very center of the stone, there’s a flaw, shaped almost like a lock.

The woman notices your trance, moving just into the edge of your peripheral vision. “Something took your fancy?” she asks curiously.

“It’s pretty,” you whisper, reaching out to touch the stone but drawing back at the last second. You can’t recall a single moment in your life you’ve ever wanted something this badly, not even as a kid. “How much is it?”

The woman smiles, but you don’t see it. “It’s a gift.”

There’s a little voice in your head warning you, yet you can’t imagine why. You ignore it, focusing instead on your desire to have the necklace. “Really?”

“Oh please, no one’s come by all night,” she scoffs. “It’s nice to talk to someone. Kids these days aren’t interested in this sort of stuff.”

“That’s very kind of you,” you murmur, though your eyes are still locked on the gem, rooted to the flaw in the middle. You don’t stop staring at it even when she lifts it from the stand, walking around the table to hold it out to you.

“Would you like to put it on?”

It feels like you’re moving automatically when you turn, moving when required so that she can fasten the locket at your throat. The silver is cool, heavier than you expected, but when you look in the mirror, it makes you smile. Jewelry isn’t usually your style, but this was subtle, classy, and probably went with everything.

Someone calls your name and it’s like you’ve been dragged back into reality. The woman moves off, disappearing through the back of the tent, and Lucy comes running up, red faced and breathless. “Where’d you go?!” she exclaims, grabbing your wrist. “Come on, Mark’s waiting for us by the ghost train.”

You grin and bear the rest of the evening, pretending to be frightened of the zombies and skeletons, almost sighing with relief when you could finally call an Uber home. Lucy attempts to coax you to a local bar but your social battery is done, and besides, you know you’re the third wheel and she’s just trying to make you feel better. They see you to the car, and wave you off, and you feel like you can breathe again once you’re away from the noise. The driver doesn’t speak the whole way - he’ll get five stars for that later.

Once you’re back in your apartment, you can shed the day, stripping down before climbing into the shower. The fair has left you feeling a little gross, but five minutes under a hot spray washes the feeling away, and you forget about the necklace until you’re staring at your foggy reflection in the mirror.

Maybe you should take it off before you sleep. It might break, or choke you. You reach for the clasp, and then your phone buzzes across your nightstand, distracting you. With the necklace on, you go to answer the text; it’s a photo from Lucy with a short line of text insisting you’re missing out. You smirk, necklace forgotten, and climb into bed, putting your phone on silent until the next morning.

The sounds of your apartment lull you to sleep. The heating comes on, and you kick off your pajama bottoms, squirming in the sheets as your dreams become more vivid. You can’t see anything, can’t move, but you can feel the warm hands on your skin, touching you, moving your clothing out of their way as they kiss every inch of you. You know there’s two of them, too many hands for one person, and after a little while, they start to talk to each other, soft murmurs of indistinguishable words.

A warm tongue slides through your folds and sends a shiver down your spine. Your dream lovers spread you open, easily manipulating you like a doll, and when the mouth on your cunt attacks your clit, you want to cry out for more. Another warm pair of lips surrounds your nipple, and you’re lost in the sensation, at their mercy but wholly content to be so.

You wake the next morning feeling like you’ve actually had several orgasms, and your panties are drenched. There’s a wet spot on the bed; your dreams were very good even if you can’t quite remember the details, so you change the sheets before work, rushing so you’re not late.

It’s hard to focus at work when you’re still thinking about your dream. You somehow get through the day, zoning out while typing, ignoring all your messages and emails for the time being. When you get home, all you can think about is going to bed, but you force yourself to stay up a little longer, eating dinner in front of Netflix until you can’t resist the call any longer. The sheets are a little chilly when you climb in; you warm up quickly and doze off contentedly.

You can open your eyes in this dream. The air is warm, and your blankets are gone, along with your pajama bottoms, and though you can’t see much in the darkness of your room, you can make out the figure that’s between your thighs. His hands are pushing them wide, and he pushes his nose right against the crotch of your panties, groaning against you. Your heart pounds as his tongue drags along your seam, reigniting the delicious thrill you’ve been craving all day.

The bed sinks with the weight of another, and a meaty hand grasps your jaw, forcing your head to turn. You strain your eyes to look up, coming face to face with a thick, erect cock, and you can barely see the face of its owner smiling down at you. He doesn’t say a word, tapping the tip of his generous manhood against your bottom lip, and your mouth opens automatically, granting him permission to use you.

There’s no rush as he rocks his hips, pushing more and more into your mouth. Finally, he says something, looking down at you like you’re a miracle with one hand on your cheek. “Good girl,” he praises, and you feel a pulse of something new in your core. His voice is syrupy thick, washing over you as you take more of his cock, eager to please him.

You’ve almost forgotten about the man between your legs, until his tongue is pressing right against your entrance. It thrusts into you, feeling deeper than you’re sure is possible, and you moan around the other, letting your eyes fall shut. The need to cum is unbearable, like a pressure right in your gut, building higher as the tongue inside you squirms deeper. You try to focus on what you’re doing, inching to move your hand and touch him, but no matter how hard you think on it, you can’t. Your climax is terrifyingly close, more intense than you’ve ever felt and just as you feel like you’re going to pass out, the man between your legs stops and withdraws.

A hollow ache follows as the build up fades, and this time you moan out of frustration. Both of them laugh, and then fingers caress your throbbing cunt, cupping it and kneading teasingly. You whine, desperate to move, but you can only take what they give and beg for no more.

Two fingers sink into you. An obscene squelch accompanies the penetration, and you moan again. The cock in your mouth plows deeper, brushing the back of your throat; you realize with shame that you’re enjoying this degradation, enjoying the rush of being their fucktoy. You crave whatever they want to do to you.

A third finger sinks in, moving back and forth alongside the others, and you can feel the pressure building again. The man’s tongue slides against your clit, increasing the thrust of his hand, making stars explode behind your closed eyelids. You’re certain you’re vibrating, and the one fucking your mouth picks up speed, edging deeper until you feel like he’s bulging your throat. The lack of oxygen heightens everything, and when you finally cum, it’s hard and messy, a literal out of body experience. You feel the cock in your mouth throb, the next second your nose is brushing against hair, and he’s cumming thick down your throat, forcing you to swallow.

It’s the most erotic dream you’ve ever had.

When you wake, you’re a mess, and the wet spot is even bigger than the morning before. You’re going to need to do laundry at this rate. Sluggishly, you drag yourself out of bed, readying yourself for the day while clinging to the details of your dream, surprised that it’s still so clear even when you’ve had your first cup of coffee. It takes another two to get through the morning, and you’re relieved when it’s lunch time.

Lucy calls halfway through your sandwich. You answer with a pleasant tone, but you can tell she’s concerned by her first words.

“I thought something had happened to you,” she scolds. “You haven’t answered for two days.”

“I’m fine,” you dismiss, one hand straying to the necklace at your throat, wondering how you’d forgotten it was there. “Did you enjoy your night out?”

“You missed some fun,” she sighs. “What are you doing tonight? I thought we could go see a movie or -”

“Oh, no, uh -” You panic, trying to think of an excuse. “It’s been a really heavy couple of days at work, I’m pretty beat.”

It’s obvious she’s disappointed. “You’re sure? You can pick the movie.”

“No, you go with Mark,” you urge. All you want to do is go home to bed. “I’ll only yawn all the way through.”

“Okay, well…” She trails off, and you wait, hoping she’s just going to end the call so you can finish your sandwich. “Just let me know when things calm down. I don’t see you much lately. I thought we had fun at the fair.”

“We did!” you lie, because you don’t really want her to feel bad. It’s not her fault you prefer staying indoors and away from people. “I promise, as soon as I’m feeling up to it, we’ll have a girls night or something.”

That seems to placate her. “Deal,” she laughs. “I’ll text you later.”

The call ends, and you eye the rest of your sandwich, wondering if you could leave work early if you cut your lunch short. After a few minutes of deliberation, you toss it, deciding to get something on the way home once you’ve gotten out of the office.

You don’t even try to convince yourself to stay up when you get home. The sun has only just set as you get into bed, daringly deciding to sleep naked for a change. Laying on your back, you feel the weight of the necklace against your chest, and you touch it, wondering if you should take it off just in case, but your eyelids are already heavy, and it means moving to the dresser…

You’re woken in pitch black by two fingers slowly sliding back and forth inside you, and you mewl needily, spreading your legs wide. The realization you can move is quickly shoved aside as a thumb begins to stroke your clit in small circles, and you know that they’ve been getting started for a while when you feel how wet you are.

One of them leans over you, hovering with his face centimeters from yours. You can see him clearly now; he’s blond, blue eyed, almost ethereally handsome, and he smiles before dipping his mouth to press it to your lips. The kiss surprises you for a second and then you react, kissing him back as he pushes his tongue against yours. He tastes sweet, addicting, pulling away after only a few seconds to leave you craving more.

“Bucky wants to have you first,” he murmurs, turning his gaze to the hungry eyes between your legs. He’s a little clearer now as your eyes adjust to the dark, and where the first man is light, Bucky is dark. The only similarities between them is their eerily blue eyes and their sheer size. You feel tiny underneath them, submissive to their whims, and your easy acceptance of that is a little shocking at first.

Bucky adds a third finger, keeping his thumb on your clit. You gasp and squirm, quickly finding yourself pinned by the blond. He uses one hand to hold you down and the other cups your breast, tweaking your nipple until it’s achingly hard. With the trio of sensations, you’re helpless to the ecstasy that overwhelms you, forced to ride it out until Bucky withdraws his hand.

“She’s as ready as she’s gonna get,” he murmurs, making a lewd display of licking his fingers clean. “You gotta taste her, Steve.”

Steve chuckles, gaze locked on you. “Later,” he promises, pinching your nipple and you whimper, unable to tear your eyes off of him.

The thick warm tip of a cock brushes your cunt. There’s a second of alarm when Bucky begins to thumb it in, and he’s big, maybe too big. You’re pinned by Steve’s weight, and Bucky’s hands press your thighs wide, feeding the first inch into your tight slick channel. “She’s fucking tight,” he hisses, moving his thumb to your clit.

You can’t form words, too lost in the pleasurable stretch as he enters you. He rocks back and forth, getting a little deeper every time, and then it’s like something pops and he slides balls deep, punching a cry out of your throat. Your whole body trembles at the sudden rush of sensation, and Bucky only waits a few seconds before he starts to move with shallow strokes. You feel like you’re thrown headfirst into bliss, barely registering Steve’s hands on your tits as Bucky fucks you.

If this is a dream, it’s the most vivid dream you’ve ever had. You can feel the heat coming off of them, every throb of the thick cock spearing you open, even their breath on your skin. Steve’s fingers are soft and calloused as they continue to toy with your breasts, and Bucky’s grip on your thighs is bruising. He gets faster and faster, grunting like an animal as you come undone around him, going limp and listless while he uses you.

Steve scoots down until he’s almost laying beside you, lips against the shell of your ear. “You’ve been such a good girl for us,” he purrs, trailing his fingertip around your nipple. “You want him to cum, honey?” You nod, feeling tears of desperation in the corners of your eyes. Steve smiles, rolling your nipple between his fingers. “Mmm, you wanna feel it, huh? Tell me, sweetness, say the words.”

“Please,” you keen as Bucky growls and pumps his hips faster. “Please cum inside me.”

“Oh, good girl,” Steve groans, turning his head to look at his counterpart. “You hear that, Buck? She wants you to cum deep, see if you can’t make her overflow.”

You feel like your brain is melting, like there’s nothing in the world but the carnal need infusing your veins. Bucky’s hips stutter, and he finally hits his peak, slamming into you one last time, hard enough to make you scream as he spills inside you. Every pulse of his climax echoes in your gut, and you shake your head from side to side, dizzy from pleasure. He relaxes, releasing your legs, and they hit the bed either side of him, forcing him to withdraw.

Steve’s still laying beside you, continuing to touch you. You’re sensitive all over, shivering as the warmth abandons you, and when his fingers move south, you’re not certain you can take anymore. “I can’t,” you gasp.

He chuckles, shaking his head. “I don’t believe you,” he dismisses, and his fingertip slides down until it’s touching your clit. From across the room, Bucky laughs, watching as your thighs part again. Steve’s touch is already reigniting the craving, and when he pulls you into his lap, you gasp as your slit comes flush with his bare cock. He’s bigger than Bucky, seeding doubt as he pulls your hips to grind your cunt against his length.

“She’s nervous,” Bucky comments, kneeling on the bed behind you.

“She can take it,” Steve urges. His hand catches your chin, and Bucky presses against you from behind. “She just needs a little help.”

Strong arms hook underneath your armpits, and you’re hauled up. Steve reaches down, holding the base of his cock with one hand, using the other to spread your delicate petals, making you whine when he brushes the throbbing head against you. The men share a look, and then Bucky lowers you down.

Your head falls back as Steve splits you open. Even with your previous orgasms and Bucky’s preparation, it takes work for him to get in, and you’re quivering when gravity takes over. You slide down until your body is flush with his, gasping for breath when it feels like he’s so deep he’ll break you, and Bucky’s the only thing keeping you upright.

Steve groans with deep satisfaction. “Made for this,” he mutters with awe, running his hands over your thighs. “Look at this little cunt, taking me so well.”

The second he moves, you shatter. You have no control; Bucky holds you up as Steve ruts into you from below, forcing you to accept every inch over and over, and you know that no real life experience could ever compare with this dream. You’ll surrender everything to these men if they ask, exist as their perfect little fucktoy, beg for more when they’re done.

You see stars when Steve fucks you through one orgasm into another. Bucky shifts, holding you easily with one muscled arm as he presses his fingers between your asscheeks. He chuckles when you tense, and Steve groans when he feels it too. “Mmm, another time,” Bucky murmurs hungrily. “Bet you’d take both of us at the same time, wouldn’t you, doll?”

It hasn’t really occurred to you before that moment but now you can’t stop thinking about it. Bucky’s fingers keep teasing, steadily stoking a new craving that makes your whole face hot. You want it. You’re sure you’ll beg for it.

Steve’s fingers bruise your thighs as he cums, dragging you down so hard you think he might break you. You feel swollen when he’s done, and you resist them at last, crashing down into your sheets.

When you wake, it’s an hour after your alarm should have gone off. There are bruises on your thighs, and you’re beginning to think that they aren’t just dreams. As you stand in front of the mirror, inspecting the marks that were obviously made by fingers, your gaze drifts to the necklace, still secure around your throat. You touch it, leaning forward, making the connection that the dreams only started after it came into your possession.

“That’s stupid,” you grumble, dismissing yourself. You’re going to be late for work, and though you’re tempted to call in sick, you get into the office with thirty seconds to spare and earn yourself a dressing down for not being at your desk ready to work on time.

By lunch, it’s apparent you don’t want to be there. You feign a headache and sit through another grilling, then you escape, returning home to your bed. It’s not even three in the afternoon, and you lie there for an hour, slowly frowning more and more as you stare at the ceiling and will yourself to sleep. Nothing happens, so you get up again, deciding to eat before trying again when it’s dark. You’ve never been able to sleep very well in the light, so you put it down to that and enjoy a couple of hours of Brooklyn Nine Nine with a sandwich.

Night falls, and you feel the familiar pull to bed. You yawn your way through your apartment, undressing without thinking before you climb onto the mattress, landing face down. Your eyes flutter shut, and you drift, wondering if you’ll dream about them again. Halfway between awake and asleep, you register the bed dipping, but you’re out of it, and it takes soft fingers caressing your sex to make you realize they’re back. There’s an atmosphere of desperation about the way they’re touching you, and in seconds, the fingers are replaced, and Steve slides into you with one smooth stroke, moaning against the back of your neck.

You’re awake now, eyes open wide and fixed on Bucky’s smiling face as he takes up the space left on the bed. It’s not a dream; you’re beginning to understand that they’ve never been a figment of your imagination. Steve chuckles into your skin, wrapping his arm around your waist as he starts to thrust lazily, stirring every cell in your body. “That’s it,” he rumbles, “you’re getting it now.”

Bucky presses in close, sandwiching you between them. His fingers toy with your nipples, kissing away your sounds as Steve pounds into you from behind, pushing you towards the limit of what your cunt can endure. “You’re ours,” Bucky murmurs, as if you hadn’t understood the possessiveness in their touch, the hunger in the way they looked at you.

Still, your curiosity won’t be silenced. “W-what are you?” you gasp, struggling to form the words while Steve keeps up his punishing rhythm.

Fingertips brush over the necklace. It’s hot against your skin, and you keen quietly as Steve slows, grinding his cock deep until you’re sure you’re going to combust. “You chose this,” Bucky says softly. “You crave this.” He sighs, one hand cupping your breast. “You’re so good for us.”

There’s a deeper meaning behind his words, but you’re too far gone to think any further than the pleasure you crave. Bucky laughs under his breath and slides down the bed, lifting your thigh to expose you, humming at the sight of your pussy so stuffed full. His tongue darts out, brushing against your clit and you cry out, shuddering on the edge.

Steve withdraws abruptly, leaving behind a hollow ache that makes you reach for Bucky. He bats your hand away, and then you’re being manhandled onto your knees. Held upright with your back to Bucky’s chest, you gasp as his lips brush your ear and he grinds his cock between your ass cheeks.

“Tonight,” he breathes, voice full of desire, “you’re going to take us both.”

Your heart races, pounding so hard you can feel it in your bones. Steve smirks at you, resting against the headboard with one hand wrapped around his dick, and if you had a spare brain cell, you might have felt ashamed at the way you crawled to him, mouth open and ready to please him. He releases himself so you can take over, moaning as you wrap your lips around his cockhead, suckling needily.

You don’t really register what Bucky’s up to until his tongue traces your cunt. He grunts against you, opening you up slowly as you moan around Steve, getting more enthusiastic the more Bucky works his tongue into you. It still feels impossibly long, and when he suddenly abandons your slit and moves up, you freeze, realizing that he’s about to do something no one’s ever done.

He doesn’t rush. You move distractedly as the point tip of his tongue circles your tightest hole, gently testing as he applies pressure. It’s not unpleasant, odd, but enjoyable, and you slowly begin to relax into it. Steve slides his hand around the side of your head, thrusting his hips a little to encourage you, and splitting your attention between the two of them occupies every thought. Bucky’s tongue presses deeper, opening you up, and you break off from Steve to cry out in surprise. You find yourself quickly dragged back down by the blond, and he growls as he starts to fuck your mouth, leaving you dizzy and soaring as Bucky replaces his tongue with a thick wet digit, sliding it deep into your ass.

The penetration feels warm and unusual, and your pussy throbs with a need for attention. Your jaw is beginning to ache, and Steve somehow senses it, slowing as his attention moves to where Bucky has your ass filled with his finger. He smiles, nodding his head at the other male, and a second finger inches in, just as warm and slick as the first. You moan around the cock in your mouth, instinctively pushing back as Bucky fucks his fingers into you, abandoning slow in favor of taking you apart.

Steve doesn’t have to do much as you move with a little more vigor, taking him deep enough that your eyes roll back and it’s hard not to gag. “Oh fuck,” he drawls, tightening his hold on your hair. “Goddamn, you’re such a good girl…”

You’re not sure how you’re so close with just fingers. Where before there was apprehension, there’s now only the demand for more, and you push back onto Bucky again in a silence request. He nips at your asscheek, growling lightly. “You think you’re ready, doll?”

You nod, squeaking when you’re abruptly dragged off of Steve and hauled upright again. Bucky holds your arms behind your back, sinking his fingers into your ass easily this time. “P-please,” you beg, sobbing with the desire to feel more of what he’s offering.

He releases you, and you drop, ass in the air, cheek against the messed up sheets. Steve watches, amusement on his lips, eyes locked on your face to see your reaction when Bucky presses the tip of his cock against your clenching hole. The thought of lube races through your head when he starts to ease in; you don’t recall seeing any, but his cock is just as warm and wet as his fingers. The tip pops in and your eyes cross, a shuddering breath puffing out into cotton.

“I thought her pussy was tight,” Bucky groans, holding still. Your impatience gets the better of you, and you wriggle, trying to take more. You succeed, making him moan as more fills you. “Someone’s eager,” he comments, grabbing hold of your hips. “You want the whole thing, huh?”

You don’t get a chance to answer. He surges forward, sinking every inch into your forbidden depths and you scream, clenching tightly as the invasion makes your blood sing. It’s overwhelming, hot and thick, throbbing in your ass until you’re desperate for him to move. He doesn’t move, keeping you in place, and when you look at Steve, he’s watching you with a thoughtful expression.

“Pull her up,” he instructs. Bucky doesn’t think twice, and you’re suddenly upright again, forced to practically impale yourself on his thick length. Steve hums as he kneels in front of you, looking up at your twisted expression before he reaches for you. The first touch of his thumb against your clit makes you jerk in Bucky’s hold, and a shameful whimper escapes your lips. “Let’s see if you can cum with a fat cock in your ass,” Steve chuckles.

You know he’s going to get what he wants. Despite your achingly empty pussy, you’re hanging onto the edge, and it doesn’t take much to make you weep with ecstasy. Steve still doesn’t stop, working you harder and harder. “Please,” you sob, “I can’t -”

“You said that before,” he grunts, narrowing his eyes. “I can feel how close you are, honey.” His thumb presses harder, and your cries get louder. Bucky huffs against your shoulder, and then he begins to move too. The slow drag of his cock against your insides only adds to the pressure in your core, building to a terrifying crescendo. “Give it to her, Buck,” Steve growls. “She wants it.”

You’re drowning, gasping for breath, twitching, losing your fight. The battle is over when Steve sinks a finger into your dripping cunt, and seconds later, you’re drenching his wrist, cumming with such ferocity that you don’t make a sound. Bucky slows and stops, but he doesn’t withdraw, holding himself deep. “No more games,” he snaps at Steve, who rolls his eyes and pulls his hands away, walking closer on his knees until he can lift your legs.

Suddenly the solidity of the bed below you is gone. Something is holding you up, though you get only a few seconds to figure out what’s going on before Steve’s thumbing his cock into your sensitive and aching cunt. You gasp, eyes falling shut as he fills you, and finally, they’re both seated deep in your body - it feels more like becoming whole than it should.

They don’t wait long before they start to move. You don’t make a sound, quivering between them as they use you, so overly sensitive that one of them could brush your clit with a feather and you’d cum. Just the delicious slide of each cock inside you, in and out, in and out, grinding deep, is enough to keep the bliss ignited in your veins. It’s exquisite, like you were meant for this.

Bucky cums first, holding deep so you can feel every single burst of his seed inside you, and when he’s done, he starts thrusting again, still hard and throbbing despite his orgasm. Steve doesn’t even stop thrusting, making a mess of your already ruined cunt, chuckling when you look down at your bulging stomach. You’re not sure how many more loads you can take, but it seems they’re intent on finding out.

It feels like hours later when Steve cradles your face, wiping away the sweat that’s almost blinding you. “You wanted to know what we are,” he whispers, and it’s all you can do to nod. He sighs, brushing his fingers over the necklace at your throat, lips curling into a smile. “Incubi,” he says, so quietly you almost can’t hear it over the thump of your own heart. “You wear our stone. You called to us. So we are here.”

There are so many questions but your exhaustion silences them all. You drift off in their hold, still full of them, drunk on them.

You wake with a jump the next morning. Their touch - real, not imagined, you now understand - lingers on you, inside you, and you can’t stop thinking about it. Climbing into the shower, you wash away what they left behind, trying to make sense of it, to make sense of why you’re not freaking out. Two strange men have been in your apartment, in your room consistently every night, touching you, doing ungodly things to your body, and you aren’t the least bit frightened. They had told you what they were, why they were there, yet you aren’t scared of them, more of the deep rooted lust for them that’s burning through your mind.

Staring at your reflection in the mirror, you suddenly realize how wretched you look. Your gaze drops to the necklace, back to their words. It’s their talisman, their way of infecting you. Before you can second guess yourself, you tear it off, breaking the clasp, and it clatters when it hits the back of the sink and lands behind the faucet.

You don’t look at it again. After calling out from work, you spend the day alternating between fruitless searches online for anything like what you were experiencing, and pacing the floor outside the bathroom. The internet tells you these men are incubi, demons, and that their purpose is to feed from you during sex, among other things you hadn’t been able to stomach reading. You’re not sure how much stock to put in myths and legends on the internet.

The day crawls by. You order food, eat it in silence, flick through the various streaming services before turning the television off in frustration. No matter what you do, the thought of them is there, of the necklace sitting on the sink, of the pleasure they guaranteed you. You’ve never felt needed, felt wanted like they’ve made you feel in the last few days. You hunger for their touch like you’ll suffocate without it.

Day turns to night. You’re almost clawing at your skin. The craving for them is bone deep, the sort of desire that you should be terrified of, but mostly it’s driving you mad. You watch the clock, counting the seconds. The night gets older and you get weaker.

The bathroom door creaks when you open it. You tug on the light cord, and the fluorescent ceiling tube flickers to life. The necklace is right where you left it.

It’s not broken anymore.

You stare at it, fingers twitching when you finally reach to touch it. Their voices are in your head now, beckoning you, and you can’t block them out. The necklace is heavy in your hand, and the tiny warning you’d first felt at the fair is begging you to toss it out of the window. But the warning is not loud enough, not to override the desire drying out your mouth, and you sigh with relief as you fasten it back around your throat, closing your eyes at the familiar weight.

“We knew you’d make the right choice,” Steve murmurs.

You open your eyes. They’re both watching you from the doorway, reflecting in the mirror, and they look so, so hungry. The light flickers, and you smile your surrender as you turn to them, letting them pull you closer. Everything else falls away; it’s only you and them.

You’ll never take the necklace off again.

THANK YOU FOR READING, PLEASE CONSIDER REBLOGGING SO OTHERS CAN ENJOY IT 😁

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

I just turned 21 a few minutes ago, give me an Aemond nameday drabble if you can pls?

WOOP WOOP! Biare Brōzio Tubis, dōnus riñus!

Hope this sets your name day off with a bang ;)

Warnings: Smut Word count: ~750

She awakens to the sensation of something cold being draped around her neck. Head still foggy with sleep, her eyes flutter slowly open, hand moving gingerly to touch the object that now rests heavily against her clavicle.

Blinking languidly, she wraps her fingertips around it, lifting it to meet her line of vision. Her mouth drops open in a silent gasp as the light catches and reflects on the large sapphire pendant. Its rich hues are the deepest blue she’s ever seen, the silver chain it rests upon is dainty yet ornate.

Keeping a delicate hold of the jewel, she turns her head against the pillow, catching the gaze of her husband, Aemond. He lays behind her, head resting on the hand of the arm that is propping him up on the bed by his elbow. 

A subtle smirk turns the corners of his mouth upwards as he takes in her surprised expression.

“Biare Brōzio Tubis, dōnus ābrazȳrys.” He whispers, right eye flickering to the necklace and then back to her face. “Do you like your gift?” Happy name day, sweet wife.

She hums appreciatively, allowing it to drop back to her chest and wrapping her arms tightly around his long, lean torso as she rolls fully towards him.

“I love it. I love you. Thank you.”

Aemond strokes his long, dexterous fingers through her hair, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. “It suits you. You ought to see yourself.”

She whines at the loss of his warmth as he pulls away from her and climbs out of bed, though finds herself giggling as he leans over to scoop her from the sheets into his arms, carrying her bridal style across the bedchamber.

“What are you doing?” She asks playfully, now feeling fully roused from her state of sleepiness as she is suddenly pulled from the comfort of the bed and made to feel weightless.

Aemond sits heavily down in the armchair that faces floor length looking glass, maneuvering her so that she rests in his lap, her back to his chest. He pushes her hair away from the side of her neck, pressing a chaste kiss to the soft flesh, before making eye contact with her in the reflective surface in front of them.

“I said you ought to see yourself.” Her purrs, his hand reaching around her body to toy with the sapphire that rests against her chest. “See how beautiful you are.”

She blushes, heat prickling her skin as embarrassment overwhelms her at being put on display like this by her husband. She averts her gaze, but he is quick to place a light grip on her jaw, forcing her eyes back to the looking glass in front of them.

“Keep your eyes here, jorrāelītsos.” He instructs, pushing her nightgown from her shoulders, to reveal the plush swell of her breasts. Little love.

The peaks of them quickly pebble against the cool air of the room and Aemond circles his thumbs lazily around them, watching her reflection intently as he does so.

Her breathing becomes shaky as her jaw goes slack, the sensation of his thumbs on her hardened nipples sending molten arousal straight to her core.

“Remind me, dōnus mēres, how old are you today?” Sweet one.

“Tw-twenty-one.” She stammers breathily.

“Hmmm.” He muses thoughtfully, hands trailing down her body to ruck up the hem of her nightgown. He pulls her knees apart, grabbing her ankles and forcing both of her feet to rest flat atop his thighs.

She gasps at the obscenity of it, spread out like a common whore all for the gaze of her husband, yet there is something about it that excites her, the evidence of this is plain to see in the wetness between her legs. 

Aemond chuckles at her reaction, spreading the pads of his fingers through the slickness of her folds until he finds her sensitive bud and begins stroking lightly at it.

She shudders, her head dropping back into the crook of his neck as her hips buck up into his touch. She feels light headed and ashamed, but she doesn’t want him to stop, she needs this.

“Twenty-one.” He muses. “Do you think I could bring you to your peak that many times today, ābrazȳrys?” Wife.

Her eyes go wide, she is not sure she will survive that. “Aemond I-”

Her protest is cut off by the lewd moan she emits as Aemond sinks two digits inside of her to the knuckle.

“Biare Brōzio Tubis, jorrāelītsos. Keep looking at yourself. Focus on your pretty new sapphire today, and I shall focus on your sweet little pearl.” Happy name day, little love.

Read on AO3

More Aemond fics

[jadeshifting]

— THINGS THAT REMIND ME OF MY HOGWARTS DR

AKA 25 DAYS OF SHIFTMAS … DAY 7

Candy Canes — What gives you DR euphoria? (like gender euphoria but for your DR…)

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

the more dissimilar your DR is to your OR, the harder it may seem to find things to connect between them. but for me, even the most mundane things can form a rock solid connection between the two. it’s all how you look at it

— SPARKLING CHAMPAGNE . it only takes one sip for you to feel like you’re at a pureblood party, probably dodging some elderly wizard politician trying to hit on you

— EMERALD-CUT JEWELRY . a ring or pendant with a sharp emerald-cut stone feels like old money, Slytherin pride, and the kind of elegance that whispers rather than shouts

— A TAILORED SUIT/FITTED GOWN . so much like those worn at every high-society wizarding world event, you can practically hear the chatter and orchestral music when you look at them

— A LOUD THUNDERSTORM . (especially at night) if you close your eyes, you’re feeling the rumble of the thunder from your cozy bed in your dorm, or hearing the lightning crack from overhead at the quidditch pitch during a stormy match

— BOOKS WITH WORN COVERS . (specifically, a faded hardcover with gold lettering) bonus points if it smells a little musty, just like the Hogwarts textbooks

— SNAKE MOTIFS . seeing a snake engraved on jewelry or printed on fabric feels like carrying your house emblem with the same pride you would at Hogwarts

— SILK ROBES . just like the ones you’d use to fight off the chill of the Slytherin common room dungeons, quietly luxurious

— OLD KEYS . ornate, slightly rusted, just like the ones to every cupboard and door in Hogwarts

— FIREFLIES IN THE SUMMER . dreamily imagining little Lumos charms were cast all around

— A MIRRORED VANITY . sitting at a mirror, surrounded by soft lighting, it feels like getting ready with the other girls for a ball. equal parts excitement and anxiety knowing appearances are everything

— YELLOWED STREET LAMPS . at night, the yellow light glows through the dark, like you’re walking through Diagonal Alley

— GREEN VELVET ANYTHING . a sofa, a curtain, a coat. the rich texture and color is pure Slytherin decadence

— THE SMELL OF WOODSMOKE . like you’re sitting in front of the common room hearth, letting it warm you after coming inside

— GOLD-TIPPED CIGARETTES . this might remind some people of their grandfathers, the aged decadence of it all, but you know that’s the exact type that the Slytherin boys smoke, and it takes you right back to them

— AN OWL/CROW CALL . it feels like a message is on its way, straight from the Owlery

— A LEATHER JOURNAL . (bonus points if it’s frayed or embossed with something) just like all the grimoires and spellbooks you’ve studied at Hogwarts, the feel of the leather is too familiar

— COLD METAL RINGS AGAINST YOUR SKIN . heavy, a weight and chill that’s comforting and familiar

— TREES RUSTLING IN THE WIND . close your eyes and you’re in the Forbidden Forest, and it’s crackling with life (NOTE: when you’re actually in the Forbidden Forest, please do NOT stand around with your eyes closed, that is NOT safe)

— VINTAGE TEA SETS . sipping from a delicate porcelain teacup feels like you’re in Professor Trelawney’s class, reading the future in the tea leaves (my friend bought me a set for cheap from an antique store, i strongly recommend)

— ANTIQUE SILVER CUTLERY . running your fingers over intricate silver patterns, it’s easy to remember dining in the ancestral dining hall of a noble family

— SMELL OF FRESHLY BAKED BREAD . smells like a sneaky trip to the Hogwarts kitchens, with the house elves getting ready for the next meal to be served

— A SET OF CHESS PIECES . the favorite game of practically everyone in Slytherin, one you’ve played countless times in the common room. running your fingers over cool marble pawns and queens is all too familiar

— RAIN-STREAKED WINDOWS . watching droplets slide down the glass feels like a quiet moment in the common room, safe while a storm rages outside

— VELVET CURTAINS . heavy, luxurious, just like the ones hung up around the common room windows

— POCKETWATCHES . the ticking is hypnotizing, identical to the ticking of the countless heirloom watches held by wealthy wizards

— FOUNTAIN PENS . writing with smooth, jet-black ink, just like the glide of writing out your homework on parchment (though a little less scratchy)

— A CAT STARING . it’s like it knows something you don’t. major McGonagall-in-Animagus-form vibes

— ORNATE SILVER SERVING TRAYS . just like the ones at the wizard gatherings, where they insist on the simplest items dripping with sophistication

— WAX-SEALED LETTERS . feels like you’re sending or receiving an owl post

— SPIRAL STAIRCASE . feels like you’re heading up to the Astronomy Tower, or to one of Hogwarts’ countless other turrets

— MARBLE/STONE TILES . walking across them, cold and smooth, feels like you’re walking through a Hogwarts corridor

— CHANDELIERS . you turn your face up to watch light refract through cut crystal, and it feels like you’re standing in the middle of a pureblooded gathering where everyone has something to prove

— A COOL UNDERGROUND ROOM . a basement, perhaps, with the chill in the air and the low, moody lighting that feels just like the Slytherin common room beneath the lake

— A FLICKERING FIREPLACE . the crackling warmth of a fire is one of the most ultimately comforting, familiar thing at Hogwarts

— DARK CHOCOLATE WITH GOLD WRAPPING . a typical Slytherin indulgence, dark and luxurious

— OLD-FASHIONED LANTERNS . seeing a flickering lantern feels like you’re about to follow it’s swinging glow down a secret passage

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

[izvmimi]

cw: reader goes to a high profile event with asta. reader is related to the silva family. characters, including reader, are referred to by nicknames. fluff.

One of your favorite but also somewhat exasperating things about Asta is the fact that his voice carries well when he wants it to, and now, as you try to fasten the last of your jewelry, a pale blue sapphire and diamond pendant that once was your mother’s and bequeathed by your father in the spirit of Undine, you realize he’s made it into your wing of the estate and is likely coming up the stairs.

He sings your name loudly and you can imagine he’d be annoying the more uptight maids at the main Silva wing, but the few servants that tidy up your home have already grown fond of him, and it’s soon that you hear a knock on your door from your father’s most trusted employee.

“Precious, your suitor is here, if you’ve failed to hear him hollering already.”

The two of you laugh, and you nod, grabbing a clutch from the edge of your bed and making your way out. Mrs. Doucevoie takes your hand and squeezes it, which makes your heart squeeze, before helping you down the winding escalier where Asta waits eagerly for you. He takes the steps by two on his way up and your maid rolls her eyes playfully before letting go of your hand and letting him take it. 

“You look amazing!” is the next thing to come out of Asta’s mouth.

Instead of saying thank you, in the true Silva way, you reply, “Would you be so bold to tell me if I looked terrible?” 

He looks quite dapper himself, hair smoothed down slightly into a softer silver coif, and a more ornate version of his usual squad cape draping over his left shoulder, lined with warm fur for the slight November chill, the aureate Black Bulls insignia stitched onto the left breast pocket of his high collared shirt. 

“Can’t say for sure given it’s never happened,” he replies with a wide grin.

You hate that he’s wittier than you simply by virtue of being terribly honest and straightforward. Scrunching your face, but inevitably too flustered to say a word back, you rummage into your bag instead to pull out a set of braided gold cufflinks.

“A gift.”

He blinks for a moment, but accepts them, thanking you with a kiss on your cheek, and you help fasten them onto his wrists. Taking your hand again more firmly this time, he bids the rest of the small crew of helpers in your estate adieu, and you wave yourself, the loose and sheer golden fabric overlaying the satin sleeves of your rose taupe dress reminiscent of wings, and you might as well be taking flight.

There is a carriage waiting for you just outside the estate which surprises you, and you can tell Asta is particularly pleased by his own foresight when he sees the look on your face.

“I knew you wouldn’t want to stomp all around the city in your high heels and would make a bigger fuss if I carried you, so…”

Pinching his cheek gently before you peck the other one, you thank him. He warms up to his ears as you pat the cheek you pinched, then make your way through the door he opens for you. The magical carriage takes flight, and soon you’re right before the Nest.

Today’s Magic Knight guards at the entrance of the once monthly engagement are members of the Green Mantises that appear far too excited for the job. It’s understandable, as budding journalists and image capturers conjure up magical paintings and other records of this month’s patrons and their dates, and the selected guards for this occasion will often get publicity in their own right, as well as the first look of the eligible selected ladies who present without partners on their arm.

This will be the first time you’ll be debuting publicly with Asta as your partner, and you know that all eyes will be on him as well. He takes this in stride, presenting your invitation labeled Raven to the guards and flashing them his charming smiles. They bow to the two of you, and you pretend you don’t see one thump Asta on the back cheerfully as you step ahead of him. He skips a few paces to catch right back up to you, his hand placed gently on the small of your back. It makes a shiver run through your spine, but you attribute it to the cold.

The Nest is particularly vibrant and embellished tonight -  

A once monthly event, exclusive to royalty, noblewomen, and women of otherwise great merit, handpicked by the Blackbird herself. You know her personally, and know that she is a lot more than the gossip she’s rumored to be, an actual personal informant of the current Wizard King without a malicious bone in her body. To others, she remains the mysterious cheery head of the Nest’s events and a formidable social force.

Soft power is real power, and the show of force tonight is less the amount of magic or anti-magic that runs in your veins, but your ability to charm and win over hearts.

Asta’s won over yours, and you hope he wins the remainder of the country’s hearts in due time. 

Tonight is open to members and their partners, and instead of games to keep the aristocrats entertained and talking over wine, cheese and fruit, and the bourgeoisie buzzing with things to talk about, the gala is more centered on courtship and networking. New links are formed in the winter Roost and new regulars are introduced.

Last year’s Roost you were arm in arm with your cousin Nozel Silva against your best wishes, and today you come with Asta, who holds your hand eagerly and delighted. You'd have been concerned about the buzz around this, but the vibrant host reassured you that no one would dare cause a commotion.

The Blackbird announces each guest by their invited name, and both you and Asta grin at her in unison as you make your entrance.

“We welcome the Raven and her lovely guest Asta of the Magic Knights, Black Bulls!”

She’s positively glowing from the Master of Ceremony’s seat, and you can spot her own date, Captain Yami Sukehiro, a few paces away and seated, watching the two of you.  You’ll tease both of them about how they managed to get him into a formal outfit but for now you manage a polite wave at everyone as you finish your entrance and get seated. Asta’s excitement has him practically bursting at the seams, and he’s bent over, elbows resting on his knees while he asks you if you want anything to drink. 

“We have to wait for everyone to sit, Asta,” you remind him, and he frowns, but there’s poured sparkling water in the table setting and he offers it to you before downing his own glass.

More guests arrive - Robin who hails from the Forest of Witches, the captain Vermillion on her arm (or rather his hers), Harpy of the Silver Eagles with a date who seems to be being dragged along questionably willingly, along with her younger sister Swan of the Black Bulls with Yuno Grinberryall, Vice Captain of the Golden Dawn; Dove who is the newest addition to the Nest and practically flies down the staircase, mysterious and gorgeous in her own right, but will surely pick a suitor soon; and Hummingbird who comes down the stairs, her eyes lost in those of the vice-captain Vermillion’s.

The seats fill sequentially, as the Blackbird smiles and clasps her hands together in glee. 

The Roost is filled and the doors close, the lights dimming, and the feast begins. 

Asta provides you with drink and dance, and enthuses you as you glide through the groups, playing nice with a couple of ancillary members of the magic parliament (but not too nice because you remember their willingness to put the object of your affections to his death), catching up with Swallow and Finral in advance of their soon to be wedding.

The Blackbird has somehow convinced Yami to dance and you find it hilarious until Asta pulls you to the dancefloor as well and you’re side by side, twirling with him, as Asta and Yami find themselves back to back.

“Not a single damn comment.” Yami warns him.

Asta laughs. “Can I at least tell you you’re at least lighter on your feet than I expected, Captain Yami?”

The two of you twirl and you find yourself back to back.

“Did you see Finch and Nacht in the corner?” you ask.

Blackbird giggles, “I’m surprised he even came to be quite honest with you.”

“Finch is persuasive when she wants to be. And so are you with Captain Yami wearing sleeves for once.”

Yami and Blackbird switch places suddenly for Yami to grunt at you.

“Watch it, you’re still under my jurisdiction until the end of the month,” he warns, and Asta switches places with you.

“She’s behaving,” he says with a smile, as you remind him he’s not your keeper. He dips you suddenly and you gasp. 

“Are you sure that’s true?” he asks, while Blackbird whistles which makes your face warm even worse.

Asta has you lightheaded as he brings you up but he doesn’t dare to kiss you in public even if he wants to, even if you can tell the desire to by the flutter in his lashes. You want to as well, but you’re quickly dispelled by the clink of glasses. The Blackbird moves far too quickly at times, by virtue of her Movement Magic but also because she is light on her feet and soon she is at the center of the room.

“Please let us know if you have any needs and thank your servers. We hope you’re having a lovely time!”

You are absolutely, you think, as Asta takes your hands again, kissing your knuckles, and asking you if you need another drink. You shake your head and place your hands on his shoulders.

“Let’s continue to dance.”

Your waltz continues under the watchful eye of the Blackbird and the rest of the Nest.

[theseimmortalcoils]

Silver marcasite and amethyst pendant from DecoEsque on etsy.

[danika-redgrave124]

Umbra Witch Yuu Ramshackle Dorm Events Part 2

Glorious Masquerade

Masquerade Mask: A beautifully ornate mask in purple and black, adorned with intricate gold filigree and small, sparkling gemstones. The mask covers the upper half of Yuu's face.

Hair: Yuu's hair is styled in an elaborate updo with elegant curls cascading down their back. The hair is adorned with small black and gold hairpins.

A luxurious, floor-length gown made of rich, purple satin and black lace. The fabric shimmers with a subtle sheen, giving the impression of opulence and sophistication.

The gown features a fitted bodice with intricate black lace detailing and gold embroidery. The neckline is an elegant off-the-shoulder design, adorned with small sparkling gemstones.

Skirt: The skirt flows gracefully to the floor, with layers of soft purple satin and black tulle creating a voluminous and elegant silhouette. The outer layer of the skirt is adorned with gold embroidery and small, sparkling gemstones, forming intricate patterns that shimmer as Yuu moves.

Train: A long, flowing train extends from the black of the gown, featuring gold lace detailing, adding an extra touch of grandeur.

Accessories

Gloves: Long, black satin Gloves that reach past the elbows, adorned with gold lace trim.

Shoes: Elegant, high-heeled black satin shoes with purple and gold detailing, completing the sophisticated look.

Jewelry: A gold choker necklace adorned with a large amethyst and delicate gold chains that drape elegantly around Yuu's neck. Matching earrings with purple gemstones and gold accents complete the ensemble.

Bride For A Day

Headpiece: A classic, floor-length white veil made of delicate tulle, adorned with intricate lace trim and tiny pearl accents. The veil cascades elegantly from a silver tiara with sparkling gemstones.

Hairstyle: Yuu's hair is styled in a sophisticated updo with soft curls and elegant twists. The updo is decorated with small, pearl-studded comes and white floral accents, creating a romantic and timeless look.

A luxurious, floor-length gown made of pristine white satin and lace. The frabic has subtle sheen, reflecting light in a soft, radiant manner.

The gown features a fitted bodice with intricate lace detailing and silver embroidery. The sweetheart neckline is adorned with delicate pearls and lace appliqués, enchancing the romantic feel.

The dress has off-the-shoulder sleeves made of sheer, white lace with a subtle floral pattern. The lace is adorned with tiny pearls and silver thread accents for added elegance.

Skirt: The skirt flows gracefully to the floor, with layers of soft satin and tulle creating an elegant silhouette. The outer layer if the skirt features intricate lace embroidery and delicate pearl accents, forming a stunning, intricate pattern.

Train: A long, flowing train extends from the back of the gown, featuring elaborate detailing and pearl embellishments. The train creates a dramatic and breathtaking effect as Yuu moves.

Accessories

Gloves: Long, white satin gloves that reach past the elbows, adorned with lace trim and small pearl details at the cuffs.

Shoes: Elegant, white satin high-heeled shoes with delicate lace and pearl detailing, completing the look.

Jewelry: A sparkling silver necklace with a large, clear gemstone pendant, and matching earrings with pearl and gemstone accent. A simple elegant bracelet with silver and pearl details complements the ensemble.

Groom For A Day

Top Hat: A classic black top hat with a white satin band and a delicate floral accent. The floral detail features small white roses and a subtle hint of silver.

Hairstyle: Yuu's hair is styled in a sleek, sophisticated updo. The hair is smooth and polished, with a few elegant curls framing their face, and adorned with a small, white floral hairpin.

Suit

Jacket: A tailored black tuxedo jacket with a white satin lapel. The jacket is adorned with subtle silver embroidery along the edges, adding a touch of elegance. It features a single-breasted design with a peak lapel and a fitted waist.

Vest: A white satin vest with delicate silver embroidery and a subtle sheen, providing a sharp contrast to the black jacket. The vest has a low V-neck and is fastened with silver buttons.

Shirt: A crisp, white dress shirt with a high collar and a subtle texture. The shirt features a hidden placket and is adorned with small silver cufflinks.

Trousers: Black, tailored trousers with a slim fit. The trousers are lined with a white satin stripe down the side, matching the jacket's lapel.

Accessories

Bow Tie: A white satin bow tie with a subtle silver sheen, perfectly complementing the vest and shirt.

Gloves: White, silk gloves thatvreach up to the wrists, adding a classic touch to the ensemble.

Shoes: Polished black patent leather dress shoes with a sleek, elegant design. The shoes feature a subtle silver trim for added sophistication.

Pocket Square: A white satin pocket square with a delicate silver pattern, tucked into the breast pocket of the jacket.

Jewelry: A silver tie clip and matching cufflinks, each adorned with a small, white gemstone for a touch of refinement.

Sam's New Year Sale

Hair Accessories: Yuu's hair is adorned with Kanzashi hairpins featuring floral designs in silver and midnight blue, with small hanging tassels that shimmer subtly. The cool tones of the accessories complement the overall color palette of the kimono.

Hairstyle: Their hair is styled in a sleek, modern updo with elegant twists, accentuated by subtle highlights of silver. This hairstyle exudes sophistication while keeping their hair neatly secured.

Outfit:

Kimono:

Design: A stunning Houmongi Kimono made of luxurious silk in shades of deep teal and silver. The kimono is adorned with intricate patterns of cascading wisteria, moonlit waves, and delicate plum blossoms. The motifs are embroidered in soft silver and cool lavender, creating a serene, ethereal look.

Sleeves: The kimono features long, flowing sleeves with a subtle gradient from deep teal to silver, giving a sense of movement and fluidity. The inner lining of the sleeves is a contrasting shade of cool lavender, adding a touch of elegance when she moves.

Obi: A wide obi belt in soft silver with intricate lavender embroidery depicting graceful cranes and swirling clouds. The obi is tied in a traditional style with an elegant knot at the back, and a small, decorative tassel in midnight blue hangs from the bow.

Undergarments:

Nagajuban: A traditional under-kimono garment in a pale, icy blue with subtle patterns of snowflakes and moonlit ripples, maintaining the cool and serene color scheme.

Footwear:

Zori Sandals: Traditional Zori sandals with a raised wooden sole and thongs in deep midnight blue, accented with silver. The sandals are designed to be both stylish and practical, matching the overall theme of the kimono.

Gloves:

Fingerless Gloves: Delicate, fingerless gloves made of sheer, silver lace with wisteria and plum blossom embroidery in cool lavender tones. The gloves add a touch of refinement while allowing for agility in combat.

Accessories:

Fan: A beautifully crafted folding fan with a design of wisteria and cranes in shades of silver and teal. The fan doubles as both a decorative accessory and a hidden weapon, with sharp edges for close combat.

Obi Accessories: Small, elegant charms dangle from the obi, including silver moon crescents, tiny cranes, and plum blossoms, adding a touch of traditional elegance.

[throughtrialbyfire]

wanted to throw my headcanons for thalmor jewelry out there! this is probably part 1 (edit: part 2 can be found here), as i want to get more into ideas for necklaces, bracelets, pendants, etc., but this is all i could think of right now. below the readmore is my headcanons of what the ear jewelry represents, who would wear them, etc!

with the symbol of the aldmeri dominion being an eagle, i wanted to get into ideas as to how that would translate into jewelry that thalmor agents may wear. here are just a few options, with ear cuffs depicting a golden wing being the most popular among the thalmor ranks.

the style of ear cuff tucked behind the ear is the most common and popular of all options, because it shows off an altmer's ears and the ear cuff at the same time. the one on the left is the least popular of the pair, because the common thought is why would you hide your ears behind something. i very much picture ancano wearing the ones on the right.

ear studs are also very popular, because they are more understated, discrete, and can be used as a smaller way to indicate one's work. ear studs depicting the thalmor insignia are, then, fairly popular. there's less risk of them falling off your ear in battle, and they can easily be hidden under cloak hoods, hair, or any number of things when in a situation where one would need to do so, and can't remove them in time. these ear studs are what i think ondolemar probably would wear, especially the silver ones, as they're discrete but show his status.

the dangle option is more common with thalmor agents within the embassy, because there's not a high chance of someone grabbing onto the chain and yanking it in combat when you're mostly filing paperwork or dealing with prisoners. there's definitely more ornate chain/earcuff combinations, but at the moment, this was the main idea. i absolutely believe elenwen would opt for a more ornate chain/earcuff combination in silver, but she sometimes leans to the gold when she's handling more official business/hosting parties at the embassy.

that's what i've got so far, hopefully i'll have more sketches/more details soon!

[zzoomacroom]

Rain Is Coming Down, but the Clouds Will Surely Pass (Chapter 5)

✨✨✨✨✨

Dreamling, Retired Dream, Multi-chapter, Mpreg, Fluff, Smut, Angst

(Start from chapter 1 here)

Rating: Explicit

Chapters: 5/12 (~6700 words)

Relationships: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Hob Gadling

Additional tags: Retired Dream, Mpreg, Pregnancy, Trans Dream, Fluff, Smut, Angst

✨✨✨✨✨

Chapter 5: 26 Weeks

Today they have a rendezvous with Death.

Hob goes through his mental checklist: he’s put the kettle on and washed the nice cups—the ones for company—and the apple crumble he nabbed from the pub is warming in the oven. He fiddles with the charcuterie board he’s cobbled together, rearranging the cheeses, grapes, and little dishes of olives for the dozenth time this afternoon. He stands back to survey his work, then checks his watch. Almost time. It’ll have to do.

He’s got nothing to be nervous about, really. He’s always happy to see his sister-in-law, despite his aversion to her function, and he knows there’s no need to try and impress her (not that he’s put together a particularly impressive spread, although he hopes it comes across at least somewhat classy). Whatever news or offers she may have regarding their child’s mortality, she’ll let them know regardless of which cup her tea is served in. Even so, his stomach has been roiling all day, and he suspects the prickles of sweat on the back of his neck can’t be blamed on the fact that he’s got the oven on in this suffocating August heat.

He triple-checks that he flicked the kettle on and wipes his damp palms on a tea towel before making his way down the hall. He breathes a sigh of relief at the immediate drop in temperature as he steps into their newly air-conditioned bedroom, where he’s greeted with the sight of his husband frowning at the full-length mirror and fussing with the hem of his shirt. Hob meets his eyes in the reflection as he settles behind him, pressing a kiss to his temple.

Morpheus is wearing all black today, he notices. Hob isn’t sure what to make of that, or if there’s anything to make of it at all. It’s not his old uniform of skinny jeans, dramatic coat, and Doc Martens, but he still cuts a striking figure in his soft black joggers and flowy tunic accented with abstract splashes of gold and silver.

“Hey there, handsome,” Hob smiles. “All set?”

(Continue reading below or on ao3)

Morpheus gulps and nods. “Yes. I believe so.”

He’s looking more than a bit peaky, and under any other circumstances Hob would suggest they cancel their plans, even at the risk of suffering the wrathful pout Morpheus would no doubt inflict upon him for daring to presume any weakness in his constitution. But this is important, and they’ve already put it off long enough. This will be Morpheus’ first time seeing his sister since last Christmas; Death keeps a very busy schedule, and Morpheus has been reluctant to call on her for reasons that Hob mostly understands, though he may not fully agree with all of them.

“It’s going to be fine, love. I know it will,” Hob says, stroking and cradling his husband’s belly in an attempt to reassure them both. “Whatever happens, we’re in this together, eh?”

Morpheus nods again, sighs resolutely, and shuffles to the chest of drawers where he keeps his makeshift “gallery,” which consists of an ornate antique jewelry box filled with an array of trinkets they picked up at a flea market. The whole thing is adorable, in Hob’s opinion. There’s a tiny leather-bound notebook, a silver ankh pendant, a tarnished gold heart-shaped locket that neither of them ever managed to open, a single earring with a stylized fish hook, and a large glass marble swirled with a psychedelic rainbow of clashing day-glo colors. No need for Dream’s sigil (where would they even find anything like it?) as Morpheus is a natural lucid dreamer and could easily contact Daniel if he ever needed to. Not that he often calls on any of them, but Hob knows that he feels more secure having the option.

Morpheus removes the ankh from the box and sets it on top of the chest of drawers, staring intently at it as he drums his fingers on the wooden surface. Not quite ready then, evidently. Hob stills his restless fingers by taking his hand—he’s shaking, poor darling—and wrapping him in a hug, gently rocking them from side to side.

He may try to hide it, but it’s obvious to Hob that Morpheus is a nervous wreck. His morning sickness has lasted well into the afternoon, and he’s been hovering restlessly around the flat all day—fidgeting, tidying this and rearranging that, checking his hair every ten minutes, and so on. He’s afraid. Hob empathizes; they’re finally getting an answer to the question that’s been hanging over them for months. What if it’s not the answer they want to hear?

But besides that, Morpheus is apparently worried that Death will scold him or generally disapprove of his recent life choices. It’s quite sweet, really, the way he holds his sister in such high esteem. And it’s understandable; Death is absolutely lovely—when he finally met her for the first time, Hob had been pleasantly surprised to find that he liked her right away. Even more shockingly, she liked him too, despite all the things he’s said about her over the years. He’d felt like a right tit apologizing for calling her stupid, but she’d only laughed and told him he had been forgiven the moment he made her brother smile.

So Hob doesn’t quite share his husband’s fear; he can’t imagine that Death will be anything but happy for them. Morpheus firmly believes he’s done some great wrong just by living his bloody life—the same life his sister enthusiastically bestowed on him specifically so he could finally live after countless lonely, miserable eons of being slowly crushed under the weight of his duties. It’s like—what’s that thing his students are always saying? Like he’s trying to get a good grade in being human, something that’s both normal to want and possible to achieve.

It doesn’t matter whether or not Morpheus’ fear is rational, though. Either way, it’s clearly eating him up inside; he’s so tense, the muscles in his back taut and rigid, unwilling to be soothed as Hob runs his hands up and down his spine. “I can’t do this,” he mumbles into Hob’s neck.

“Oh, sweetheart. You can. I know you can,” Hob whispers, bringing one hand up to the back of his head and caressing his silken hair. “My strong, brave, beautiful husband. You’ve got this, dove.”

Hob pulls back just enough to give Morpheus the most encouraging smile he can muster, although it’s probably not all that convincing. Even if he’s not anticipating a dressing-down from Death, Hob can’t help but be a bit wary of her. As much as he likes Death the Person, his distaste for Death the Actual Thing is so deeply ingrained as to be instinctual, and he’s always a little on edge before her visits. And then there’s that thought he’s been trying in vain to bury for the past four months, clawing its way to the surface once more.

What if the baby is mortal? What if they have to bury another child someday?

Well. They’ll find out, won’t they? Better to rip the band-aid off now. Hob presses himself against his husband and breathes deeply, encouraging him to do the same. “Breathe with me, love. That’s it. I’ve got you, darling. Whatever happens, I’ve got you.”

Morpheus heaves a shuddering breath before extricating himself from Hob’s embrace and picking up the ankh again. “Sister,” he murmurs, his lips barely moving. “I hold your sigil—”

His invocation is interrupted by a deafening whoosh of wind followed by a flurry of wings, like a bevy of doves startled into sudden flight.

“I’m here!” a cheery voice calls out from the sitting room.

Morpheus gives Hob a pleading look, and Hob strokes his trembling shoulders with sweaty palms. “I’ve got you,” he repeats, leaning in to kiss the deep furrow between his husband’s brows.

There’s a noise from behind them—a faint huff of laughter followed by a tiny “aww.” Hob turns to see a kind face surrounded by a profusion of sable curls peeking through the bedroom door.

“Will you lovebirds get out here?” Death grins, sighing in mock exasperation. “As adorable as this is, I’m afraid I haven’t got much time to spare.”

Hob feels his neck flushing with embarrassment, and Morpheus looks like a deer caught in the headlights after having just sucked on a lemon. He opens his mouth to rejoin, but before he can speak, a shrill beep sounds from down the hall.

“Ah. That’ll be the crumble,” Hob says sheepishly. “I’ll just go and fix the tea while you two get settled, yeah?” He squeezes his husband’s arm apologetically before heading towards the kitchen. On his way out the door, he ducks to give his sister-in-law a friendly peck on the cheek. “Good to see you again, love. How’ve you been?”

“A bit worried about my brother,” she replies. “But I see that he’s in good hands.” She turns to Morpheus, beaming as she takes his hands in her own and surveys him up and down. “Look at you! I hardly recognize you, little brother,” she coos. “You look so…”

“Pregnant?” Morpheus deadpans.

“Alive!” she laughs, putting an arm around his back and herding him towards the sitting room. “Human! You look great, Morpheus. You really do.” Morpheus scoffs, but does not hold back the small, pleased smile that creeps onto his face as he lets his sister drag him to the sofa.

Most of Hob's worry drains away at Death's enthusiastic reaction, bleeding out of him like the inky clouds seeping into steaming water as he makes the tea. He hopes his husband is feeling the same. Morpheus rarely talks about it, but Hob knows he still feels awful about Orpheus, and about Daniel and Lyta, and a thousand other things. And he thinks his sister is going to tell him he’s wrong for starting a new family after all that. Hob gets it, he really does. He often wonders what Eleanor and Robyn would say if they could see him now. Would they be hurt that he’s “replacing” them? Would they hate him? And what would they say about all the other cruel, horrific, unforgivable things he’s done? Someone like him probably shouldn’t have a family at all…

He exhales heavily, shaking his head as he loads up a tray with their tea and nibbles. Now is not the time to go down that road.

He walks into the sitting room just in time to see Death giving her brother a playful punch to the arm before pulling him in for a hug. “...No, you idiot! Of course I’m happy for you! And it’s obvious you’re happy, so stop moping, will you?” she huffs, clutching his narrow shoulders tightly.

“Thank you, my sister,” Morpheus mutters bashfully. “As usual, your words are a balm to my conscience.”

Hob can only stand in the doorway, grinning and shrieking internally at how cute they are. His anxiety dissipates further at seeing his husband so obviously relieved; just as he suspected, Morpheus had no need to worry about any judgment on Death’s part. Hob is so caught up in witnessing this rare display of Endless sibling affection that he momentarily forgets the reason for his sister-in-law’s visit and the very real possibility that she may have bad news for them.

He ambles over to the sofa, only spilling a few drops of tea as he sets the tray on the coffee table. “Tea and a bite to eat, if anyone’s interested,” Hob announces, furtively scanning the room to be sure he didn’t miss any of Morpheus’ risqué artwork when he tidied up earlier. Fortunately, the only paintings visible are perfectly inoffensive sunsets and still lifes, and Hob feels slightly more at ease as he nestles into his husband’s side. He doesn’t fail to notice the way Morpheus melts into him, the knots in his shoulders unwinding as Hob slings his arm around him.

“Thank you, Hob. This looks lovely,” Death says, taking her tea and a generous portion of the crumble. “So,” she continues after taking a bite, glancing between them with a ‘let’s get down to brass tacks’ expression on her face. Right, this is it, Hob thinks, tightening his grip on his husband’s shoulder. “Are you having a baby shower?”

“Er…” Hob begins, just as Morpheus splutters and nearly chokes on his tea. Not what either of them expected her to say, evidently. “We hadn’t planned on it,” he says dimly, looking at his husband and finding him equally nonplussed.

“But you have to have one!” Death insists. “It’s been ages since you’ve seen the rest of the family, and they’re all excited about their new niece or nephew. Del’s been beside herself. Literally; you know how she gets. And everyone in the Dreaming—”

“Sister,” Morpheus interrupts, rolling his eyes in amusement, “I do not think that will be necessary.”

“It’s sweet, but we really don’t need any more baby stuff,” Hob chimes in, hoping to rescue his husband from the mortifying ordeal of spending time with family. While it sounds like quite a nice idea to Hob, he knows Morpheus has been less keen than ever on socializing lately (which is saying something; it’s getting to be concerning, really). “Suze—er, friend of ours, think you met her at the Christmas party—anyway, she’s given us loads of things her grandkids have outgrown. We’ve already got more than we know what to do with.”

“Nonsense,” Death asserts. “I’ll talk to Lucienne about it. I’d throw it in my realm, but it doesn’t exactly have the right atmosphere for a baby shower, you know? I’m sure Daniel won’t mind us having a little get-together in the Dreaming.”

“I don’t suppose I have any say in this,” Morpheus says wearily.

“Nope!” his sister replies brightly.

“Very well,” Morpheus grumbles, looking resigned as he nibbles a morsel of Gouda. “As long as you promise it will indeed be only a ‘little get-together.’”

“Of course! Just the family and inner circle; forty, fifty people tops.”

Morpheus groans dramatically and throws his head back against the cushions, and Hob can’t hold back his snort of laughter. It’s absurdly endearing, the way they act like a pair of perfectly normal human siblings; anyone else witnessing this conversation would never guess that one’s an all-powerful cosmic being and the other used to be just as cosmic and all-powerful.

“Well, I think it sounds wonderful. Thanks, D,” Hob says, earning him a betrayed glare from his husband. Hob shrugs and smiles ruefully at him. It would do Morpheus good to get out of the flat, although if the party’s in the Dreaming they technically won’t be leaving their bed—which, come to think of it, might actually convince him to go along with it. And it would be rude to reject the offer, especially when their child’s future might be hanging in the balance. Speaking of which, Hob is eager to get that conversation over with, but he’s not sure how exactly he should broach the subject. “So, er…”

“You want to know if the baby will be denied my gift,” Death says gently.

Morpheus stiffens in Hob’s embrace. Hob gulps. “Yeah, well, we’ve er. Been wondering, is all. Will—I mean, should the baby be immortal? Don’t imagine there’s much precedent for this sort of thing, is there?” he chuckles, tugging nervously at his ear.

“You’d be surprised,” she smirks. “How about this: the baby will grow up normally, the same as any other human child, and they’ll have my protection until they’re old enough to decide what they want. Then it will be up to them whether or not they want to live forever. They’ll get the same deal I’ve given the two of you unless they choose otherwise. And they may choose to be mortal; you’ll have to be prepared for that possibility.”

Hob lets out a shaky breath. Right. That seems fair. Death’s offer is simultaneously a load off his mind and a whole new source of worry. He can’t imagine any child of his would choose not to live forever, but he supposes it would only be right to give them the option. And at least now they can take solace in the fact that they know what to expect.

Hob takes his husband’s hand and meets his eyes, raising his eyebrows in silent query. Morpheus responds with a tiny, almost imperceptible nod. All good, then.

“Thank you, sister. That is a generous offer, and a great comfort,” he pronounces.

“Yeah, that’s—that’s really good to hear,” Hob agrees. “Thank you, Death. Er, I don’t know how we can repay you, but—”

“Don’t be silly,” Death interjects with a wave of her hand. “You’re family. You don’t owe me anything. So. Now that that’s taken care of, tell me, how are you handling prenatal care? Have you been going to Eileithyia again?”

“Yes,” Morpheus says shortly, suddenly taciturn once more. He pops an olive into his mouth, apparently unwilling to elaborate further. It’s still an understandably sore subject, which Death is well aware of, and Hob feels a flash of mild irritation with his sister-in-law for bringing it up.

“She’s been coming to us, actually. Can’t beat the convenience,” Hob chimes in, awkwardly attempting to lighten the mood.

“Good. I’m glad to hear it,” Death replies. “She’s the best there is—on Earth, anyway—and it’s good that you’re mending fences.”

Morpheus scowls at that but doesn’t dispute her words, and Hob squeezes his hand in a silent show of support. He’s glad, too, that his husband just happened to know the ideal person to help them with their medical dilemma, even if they weren’t on the best of terms to start with. Because of course he knows the actual Greek goddess of childbirth and midwifery, and of course there was bad blood between them.

“What do you mean we can’t ask her? She sounds perfect.”

For weeks now, Hob has been agonizing over finding a doctor with a halfway-decent bedside manner who can treat Morpheus and the baby under the radar without asking too many questions. Morpheus hasn’t been much help; if he had his way, they’d avoid that whole mess altogether and he’d lock himself in the bedroom to give birth alone, like a stray cat. So Hob has had his work cut out for him.

And now his husband is presenting him with the answer to all their problems, yet he’s saying they can’t go to her. There’s a story here, Hob’s sure of it, but he’s a little afraid to hear it. “What happened, dove?” he asks softly.

Morpheus sighs—a heavy, creaking thing like an ancient tree toppling over. “She delivered Orpheus,” he murmurs, so quietly that Hob can scarcely hear him over the muffled din of the crowd downstairs. “She is a lady-in-waiting to the Kindly Ones. And a sister of Calliope.”

Ah. Hob can see how that would complicate things. Still, he’s been racking his brain trying to come up with a better solution and consistently coming up blank. “I understand, darling, but are you sure—”

"There is more,” Morpheus interrupts, staring down at his lap. “She—I… sent a dream to her. A portent of things to come. Her son was to be offered up as a champion in battle. Sosipolis—the child—he… he was only a babe, still at his mother’s breast. I…” he trails off, his voice rough.

“Oh, love,” Hob whispers, taking his husband’s hand and intertwining their fingers.

“It was not my wish for him to die. You must understand,” Morpheus pleads, still not meeting Hob’s eyes, “visions of the future are on the border between dreams and Destiny. I was, in essence, only an unwitting messenger—less than that; I was… merely the paper on which the message was written. Nevertheless…”

“Sweetheart,” Hob says, bringing his hand to his husband’s chin and lifting it to look him in the eye, “I know I’m biased, but this sounds like another one of those stories where you blame yourself for something that wasn’t your fault. Like you said, you were only the messenger. Besides, she chose to do what the dream told her, so it sounds like that was on her.”

“She is a servant of the Fates. She would be a fool to ignore Destiny.”

“Well, then maybe she ought to have taken it up with him,” Hob replies, a bit more harshly than he’d intended. He’s only met Destiny once, and he didn’t much care for him. No sense of humor whatsoever on that one, and he apparently has a history of letting Morpheus take the blame for things that have little to do with him.

“Even so. I… could have been kinder to her.” Morpheus sighs and shakes his head. “When the battle began, the child was transformed into an enormous serpent, and the invaders fled in fear. The serpent survived, but… it was no longer Sosipolis. Not in any way that mattered. Eileithyia came to me then, grief-stricken and enraged. I took no responsibility for my part in her tragedy. Even the boon I offered her was a paltry consolation; I told her to kill the serpent, and her son’s soul would live on in the Dreaming. He would remain a child, and she would never again see him in the Waking World. It was not in my power to offer her more.”

Recognition dawns on Hob as he listens to Morpheus’ tale. He vaguely recalls reading this story in some mythology textbook or other—the bit about the boy turning into a serpent rings a bell, anyway—although at the time, of course, he’d had no idea of his then-stranger-now-husband’s role in the whole thing. It’s always a bit mind-boggling to hear about all the legends, historical events, and even celestial phenomena he’s been involved in, especially when Morpheus talks about them like they happened down the road last Tuesday. Hob is never quite sure what to say, and now is no different.

“Er, that… that just sounds like a tough situation all around, love. And it sounds like you tried to make the best of it; hell, I’d have taken you up on the offer if I were her,” Hob says, rubbing his thumb over his husband’s bony knuckles.

“She did not share your sentiments. She was insulted by the proposition, and she… she told me that she hoped I would know the same pain one day.” Morpheus sniffs and smirks bitterly, his lower lip trembling. “I suppose she ultimately got her wish. In her grief, she eventually killed the serpent. She took some comfort in the dreams of her son, but it was not the same. He was not as he should have been. He should have lived, he…” his voice wobbles as he trails off, and Hob finds himself blinking back tears as he pulls him close, stroking up and down his back.

It doesn’t take a genius to see the parallels to Orpheus, and to Daniel. Hob thinks of Robyn, of the daughter who died before she could ever live, of the child he left behind and never knew. A tangled thread of grief and regret that winds through both of their lives, the same story cropping up again and again… It can’t go that way this time. He won’t let it.

“I’m so sorry, dove. You’re right, things didn’t turn out the way they should’ve. But you did your best. And I understand why you don’t want to ask her for help. We’ll find someone else, I promise.”

In the end, the best candidate Hob managed to find had been a veterinarian with a discreet side practice treating human patients. When he had brought it up to Morpheus, well… if looks could kill and Hob could die, he’d have been reduced to a pile of ash on the spot. He’d almost made a joke about the vet being perfect for his angry cat of a husband, but he didn’t fancy sleeping on the sofa for the next century, so he’d kept his mouth shut.

“I suppose,” Morpheus had conceded through gritted teeth, “I would be willing to speak to Eileithyia. If there is truly no better option.”

Contacting the goddess turned out to be fairly straightforward. Morpheus called on her in much the same way he would call one of his siblings, while holding a talisman that Hob didn’t recognize from the gallery—a small stone figurine that looked a bit like the Venus of Willendorf, apparently the same one he used when he was pregnant with Orpheus. Hob had found it touching that he’d kept it all this time, although Morpheus admitted he hadn’t actually held onto it and had retrieved it from his own dreams with some help from Lucienne. To Hob’s credit, he had only been slightly mystified at this pronouncement and made a mental note to remember that trick the next time he loses his keys.

Eileithyia—who now runs a small private practice in Thessaloniki for people going through difficult pregnancies—had graciously responded to Morpheus’ call and agreed to meet with them at the pub that weekend.

“I’m nervous. Are you nervous?” Hob asks, his leg bouncing involuntarily beneath the table. Not their usual table, but a booth in the back where they will, in theory, have a modicum of privacy.

“For the third time, yes,” Morpheus sighs beside him.

“Sorry, I’m just—”

“Don’t say nervous,” Morpheus snaps. He looks perfectly composed, his shoulders straight and his face that familiar old mask of aloof neutrality that had taken Hob centuries to crack, but Hob knows his husband would rather be literally anywhere else right now (including Hell, probably).

“Sorry,” Hob mutters, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. Morpheus gently bumps Hob’s shoulder with his own, and Hob smiles and knocks their knees together in reply.

They sit there in silence for a few long, tense minutes. Hob sips his beer while Morpheus barely touches his lemonade. Hob has never been a particularly introspective bloke, but he’s been making a sincere effort to be better about that, which is exactly why he’s now frantically trying to calculate how he should behave around the literal goddess they’ll be meeting. What’s the right combination of deference, gratitude, and affected nonchalance to avoid embarrassing his husband and himself? He ought to be used to this sort of thing by now, but the giddy thrill of meeting divine beings in pubs never really wears off.

Before he can overthink it any further, a woman slides into the seat across from them. She’s beautiful, in a surprisingly down-to-earth way, and looks casually sophisticated in her long white blouse and loose-cut trousers. She looks like any other middle-aged woman, so much so that Hob is about to politely inform her that they’re actually saving that seat, when—

“Eileithyia,” Morpheus says. “Thank you for coming.”

“Oneiros,” she responds with a curt nod. “You look well.”

“Robert Gadling—er, call me Hob. We really appreciate you coming all this way,” Hob interjects, reaching his hand out before wondering, a split second too late, if Greek gods shake hands or if he looks like an arsehole right now. Fortunately, Eileithyia grasps his hand across the table and shakes it firmly while giving him an appraising look.

“A pleasure to meet you, Hob Gadling. You are the father, I presume?” she asks. Her voice is low and pleasantly accented, with an authoritative and decidedly maternal tone to it.

“Guilty as charged, ma’am,” Hob replies with an awkward laugh.

Suze appears and takes the goddess’ drink order (black coffee), cheerfully oblivious to the fact that she’s speaking to a millennia-old deity, and once she’s gone Eileithyia leans back in her seat, folding her arms on the table. She seems a very no-nonsense sort of person, with shrewd hazel eyes and salt-and-pepper hair swept back into an elegant bun. Nevertheless, her stern gaze is softened by laugh lines, and she actually reminds Hob a bit of his own mother, what little he remembers of her. Formidable, but kind.

Right now, she appears to be waiting for one of them to say something. She doesn’t exactly look happy to be here, but the fact that she was willing to come all the way from Greece must be a good sign, right? Even if she did magically teleport.

Hob clears his throat to begin making awkward small talk, but Morpheus speaks first. “Eileithyia. I… owe you an apology. I am. Sorry,” he says haltingly, like the words are being wrenched from him against his will.

Eileithyia raises her eyebrows. “I have never known you to apologize to anyone. It seems Calliope spoke truly. You have changed, Oneiros.”

Morpheus blanches at the mention of his ex-wife, but he nods and cracks a wry half-smile. “Indeed. I have experienced several significant changes as of late.”

Eileithyia’s face softens as her eyes drift down to Morpheus’ midsection, just barely beginning to swell, and Hob can’t hold back the proud grin that blooms on his face. It’s true—Morpheus has changed, for the better in Hob’s opinion. And he knows very well how hard it is for his husband to apologize; the man’s held grudges for billions of years, so this is big.

“Very well. Apology accepted,” the goddess declares. “In truth, I forgave you long ago. Besides,” she adds gently, “my feud was with Dream of the Endless, and you are no longer that.”

Morpheus’ shoulders sag, in relief or regret or maybe both. “I— thank you. That means… a great deal,” he murmurs.

“So, will you be able to help us, then?” Hob asks.

Eileithyia takes a long sip of coffee before answering. “My abilities are much diminished. There are fewer and fewer worshipers; my shrines have fallen into ruin. However, as long as there are those who pray for a safe pregnancy, I retain some of my power.” Hob nods as she speaks, as if this is a perfectly normal conversation, one that he fully understands and that doesn’t sound like a passage from Homer. “Regardless,” she shrugs, “I am also a certified midwife. I doubt there will be much need for divine intervention.”

“Well, even so, you’ve got at least one new acolyte,” Hob chuckles. “I’ll be lighting a candle every day, or… making an offering? Er, how does this work, exactly?”

“I also take cash,” she says, smiling for the first time since her arrival. “But only in euros. None of your funny English money.”

Hob bursts into surprised laughter. “Yeah, alright, we can do that,” he says, shaking his head in bemusement.

“You are sixteen and a half weeks along,” the goddess says, turning to Morpheus. “We’ll start with visits every four weeks. I will come to you; I imagine that will be simpler than you coming to Thessaloniki. You can accommodate a home birth?”

“I—Yes. That… that would be ideal,” Morpheus replies, looking rather nonplussed.

“Good. We will increase to bi-monthly visits in the third trimester. Possibly once a week if there are any complications, though I don’t sense anything now.” Eileithyia looks Morpheus up and down, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “It’s not twins. Do you want to know the sex?”

Hob gapes at her. “You can tell all that just from looking? And you say your powers are diminished?” The goddess simply smirks and shrugs in reply.

“We would prefer not to know the sex,” Morpheus says, and Hob nods in agreement. “Thank you, Eileithyia. Truly. I… I was not sure you would be willing to speak to me again.”

“I would not turn down an expecting parent in need,” Eileithyia assures him. “I am glad you called for me.”

“I’ve got to say, this is all just fantastic news. We’ve been tearing our hair out trying to find a doctor, so we’re really grateful for your help. What a relief, eh darling?” Hob beams, putting an arm around his husband’s shoulders.

Eileithyia surveys the both of them, her expression thawing into something tender and wistful. “Your man cares deeply for you, Oneiros. I am happy for you.”

Morpheus smiles—a full, broad smile that shows his teeth and lights up his whole face. “Yes,” he replies softly, tilting his head to face Hob. “He is a good man. I am lucky to have him.”

“Well, I don’t know about all that,” Hob splutters, his face heating as he tugs at his ear with his free hand. “I’m the lucky one.”

They hammer out the finer details of the agreement, and Hob can feel his husband relaxing further with each question that’s answered. Apparently fathers are not typically welcome at appointments—something about sacred mysteries and arcane knowledge or some such—which Hob isn’t thrilled about, but they at least manage to talk Eileithyia into letting him be present at the birth.

After they’ve discussed and planned and finished their drinks, a muffled chime sounds from somewhere nearby. The goddess pulls a mobile phone from her pocket and frowns at it. “Ah. A patient is going into labor. I must be going.”

The two men thank her again and say their goodbyes, and as she turns to leave Morpheus calls out to her. “Eileithyia, I… If you speak to Calliope before I do, would you… give her my regards?”

Eileithyia nods and smiles warmly at him before vanishing into the crowd.

So everything worked out brilliantly after all, and Hob couldn’t be prouder of Morpheus for burying that two-thousand-year-old hatchet.

“Yeah, Eileithyia’s been a life-saver,” Hob says, nodding in agreement with his sister-in-law. “If it weren’t for her, we would’ve had to go with one of my, er… underground contacts. And they’re all either glorified drug dealers or so-called ‘doctors’ with questionable credentials whose usual gigs involve extracting bullets from mobsters. And of course anything through the NHS is out of the question.”

“Of course. Can’t have your secret getting out,” Death winks.

“Too right,” Hob agrees before downing the last of his tea. It’s a relief talking to someone who understands. “Only it’s a bit frustrating; not like we can tell any of our friends the real reason we’ve got a midwife making house calls instead of going to an obstetrician like normal people living in the 21st century. Suze keeps trying to talk us out of having a home birth. I think now she thinks we’re just artsy-granola-hippie types. What was it she was asking you the other day, darling?”

“She was impressing upon me the importance of vaccinating the baby,” Morpheus replies. “And reminding me that there is no shame in getting an epidural,” he adds with an endearingly perplexed frown, which only deepens as Death hides a snicker behind her teacup.

“And she’s certainly not wrong!” Hob says. “Still, better that we’ll be dealing with all that in the comfort of our own home. Speaking of the birth, wasn’t there something you wanted to ask your sister, dove?”

A tinge of pink appears on Morpheus’ cheekbones as Death leans forward, glancing between them expectantly. “Ah. Yes, I…” Morpheus begins, stumbling over his words. “Sister. Would you… be there? When the baby arrives?”

“It would be my honor, little brother,” she replies, her eyes shining. “Technically I’m present for every birth, but it’s lovely to be invited.” Morpheus nods, looking a little choked up himself, which naturally makes Hob’s eyes water too. “By the way,” Death continues, “are you planning on introducing the little one to mum and dad?”

Morpheus lets out a derisive bark of laughter. “No. No, I think not.”

“Probably for the best,” Death grins, shaking her head. “Oh, that reminds me, I was talking to Despair not too long ago, and she was saying…”

Hob quickly loses the thread of the conversation as the siblings discuss things that probably happened billions of years ago to people he’s never heard of. He simply watches the movements of his husband’s face, his brow gradually unfurrowing and his eyes creasing with laughter as he listens to his sister’s tales. He’s just so bloody beautiful, so extraordinary. Hob still can’t believe he’s his. He can’t believe he’s sitting here, in his flat, having tea with the former anthropomorphic personification of dreams and the current anthropomorphic personification of death, and they’re talking about literal stars that they know, and their midwife is a goddess, as is his husband’s ex, and…

And what is Hob, compared to all that? Just some bloke who became immortal by accident and knocked up someone so far out of his league they’re not even playing the same sport. The baby is going to be an incredible person, though. Hob is already sure of that. And then he’ll have two extraordinary people in his life, and he’ll still just be some doofus with nothing to offer.

His spiraling rumination is cut short as the two siblings erupt into laughter. Hob laughs along, even though he didn’t hear whatever was so funny. Still, it brings a genuine smile to his face to see Morpheus enjoying himself and looking so relaxed.

“Well,” Death sighs, stretching as she rises from her chair, “I’d better be on my way. Got another appointment nearby.”

“Oh! Wait, you’ve got to see the nursery before you leave,” Hob says, standing up with a groan and extending a hand to help Morpheus to his feet. “Mo’s mural is looking spectacular.”

“Next time. I promise,” she beams, pulling both men in for a hug. “It’s been wonderful to see you, brother. And you, Hob. I’m so happy for you both, really.”

“Thank you, my sister. For everything,” Morpheus murmurs.

Death kisses his temple and whispers something that draws a smile from Morpheus, then turns to Hob. “Take good care of him, Hob,” she says softly.

“I will,” Hob promises, nodding fervently. “Always.”

And then, with a blinding flash of blue light and a fluttering of wings, she’s gone.

Morpheus collapses back into the sofa cushions like his strings have been cut. He looks exhausted. Hob is right there with him. He settles back down beside his husband, gathering him into his lap as he begins to knead out the remaining tension in his shoulders. “Proud of you, love,” he whispers. “And hey, great news from your sister, eh? One less thing to stress about.”

“Mmm,” Morpheus purrs in agreement as he luxuriates in Hob’s touch. “Although I am not looking forward to this ‘baby shower’ of hers.”

“Party pooper,” Hob chuckles, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck. “It won’t be too bad. I’ll set an alarm, wake you up if it gets too painful.”

“I will hold you to that,” Morpheus replies.

“How are you feeling, darling? Time for a nap, do you think?”

Morpheus considers this as Hob continues to work out the knots in his neck. “No,” he says finally, “I feel. Restless. And I am craving chips.”

“Why don’t we head downstairs for a bite, then? Probably do us both good to get out and work off this leftover adrenaline.”

Hob is half expecting Morpheus to insist on staying here while Hob goes and fetches him some chips (a frequent occurrence in the Gadling household), but to his surprise, his husband nods. “Yes. I think I would like that,” Morpheus says, moving to stand up.

“Brilliant!” Hob exclaims, with a bit more gusto than he’d intended, as he hauls them both to their feet. He can’t help it; getting his husband to leave the flat feels like almost as big a victory as the positive news they’ve just received. “Shall we?” He holds his arm out in an exaggerated show of gentlemanliness, and Morpheus takes it with a roll of his eyes that belies the adoring grin on his face.

Hob has a spring in his step as they make their way down to the pub, arm in arm. There’s nothing, he thinks, that could spoil his good mood right now.

Well. Almost nothing.

✨✨✨✨✨

Thanks for reading! Reblogs, as well as kudos and comments on ao3 are always appreciated! 💗💗💗

[darklordazalin]

Trinkets Chart for Darkon

I enjoy making trinket charts for DnD. I made this d100 one for my DnD game that's set entirely in Darkon, which I've called The Iron Crown. There's a lot of easter eggs in here, but thought this could be a fun thing to share on a Friday morning while I ignore my actual job.

01-02

A star chart contained within the face of an ornate compass. A question mark is placed where the moon should be.

03-04

A frail bit of parchment containing a half-created new and highly complex summoning spell.

05-06

A flute carved from the charred remains of a human tibia.

07-08

A cane topped with a silver owl that is cold to the touch.

09-10

A silver charm bracelet that contains the following charms: an ornate eye surrounded by flames, a crown set with a single amber gemstone, a skull with small garnets in its eye sockets, and a closed book.

11-12

A vial of cloudy red blood labeled “LvZ”.

13-14

A wooden box engraved with the letter “S” containing a shimmering black, outlandish traveling cloak; brimmed hat, great cloak, and silvery skull-like mask.

15-16

An ebony brooch in the shape of a dragon that does not reflect light.

17-18

A hand mirror that sometimes reflects the translucent image of a young man instead of your own image.

19-20

A mummified hand holding a black candle that cannot be lit.

21-22

A cloak that leaves tendrils of mists in your wake.

23-24

A ring in the shape of a human skull. The skull opens to reveal a coil of coppery reddish hair.

25-26

A set of dice that always roll snake eyes.

27-28

A leather hand cuff engraved with the symbols associated with each school of magic. When someone wearing it casts a spell, the associated symbol glows.  

29-30

A ticket for free admission to The Carnival

31-32

A blanket in which silently screaming faces appear under the light of the moon.

33-34

A belt that changes color and size to match any outfit.

35-36

A finger puppet of a piebald raven.

37-38

A scabbard that always keeps the blade within sharp and clean.

39-40

A plush of a skeleton wearing a crown with the label “Is No Fun, is No Blinsky!” on it.

41-42

An hour glass containing black sand that quickens the closer one is to their own death.

43-44

A green gemstone containing the spirit of an unknown entity.

45-46

Incomplete sheet music for the song ‘The King of the Dead’ written by Andres Duvall

47-48

A tarnished wedding band with the words “Life Eternal” carved on the inner band.

49-50

Long, thin, curved blade with a handle carved from a stag’s antler that inspires its owner to take up the craft of wood carving.

51-52

A silver pendant of a raven that you are loathed to part with.

53-54

An invitation to Neverwere Manor signed by Baron Eversong.

55-56

A porcelain doll with eyes that seem to follow you wherever you turn.

57-58

A bell carved from bone that makes a sound only spirits of unrest can hear.

59-60

A monocle that, when viewed through, shows every humanoid in the form of a hybrid lycanthrope.

61-62

A burial shroud that never frays.

63-64

A tea kettle that singles a funeral dirge when the water within boils.

65-66

A blood red candle that produces a black flame.

67-68

Eye glasses that, when worn, change one’s eye color to red.

69-70

A rose made of obsidian that cannot break.

71-72

A music box that, when open, plays an eerie melody as a miniature ballerina wearing a blood-stained tutu dances.

73-74

An amulet that absorbs blood.

75-76

The fingerbone of an unconsecrated skeleton.

77-78

Strange smelling perfume from Borca contained in a glass bottle in the shape of an apple.

79-80

A lantern containing floating dim, phosphorescent lights that constantly change from green to blue to purple.

81-82

A book entitled “An Herbalists Guide to the Shadow Rift” that contains alien-like drawings of bizarre plants and plant monsters.

83-84

A pair of cufflinks shaped like skulls that glow purple during a thunderstorm.

85-86

A magnifying glass that shows the user ghostly footprints on any surface they examine.

87-88

A miniature stone dragon egg engulfed in shadowy tendrils.

89-90

A quill pen that contains red ink that refills whenever someone writes with it.

91-92

A cloak clasp in the shape of a moon that changes to match the moon’s current phase.

93-94

A book entitled “Van Richten’s Guide to the Hunter” which contains a ‘how to’ guide for monsters dealing with hunters written in a comedic and often snarky voice.

95-96

A hood that, when worn, gives one a skeletal-like appearance.

97-98

A green leather pouch containing soil from an unmarked grave.

99-100

A pendant in the shape of a golden dragon skull that occasionally speaks into your mind in an unknown tongue.

[satansapostle6]

The Man Who Sold The World | Luke Castellan

Spotify Playlist Link

Katherine. She was the one who started it all for Luke Castellan, the reason he did what he did.

Warnings: Mature themes/language. Violence. Smut. Oral(F receiving). Slight overstimulation.

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen: A Thousand Years

Katherine and Luke knew they had to be careful about the way they recruited people. They knew they had to eventually get enough people to join their cause, but they also knew that they couldn’t make too much noise too quickly. That would only get them caught faster.

They were careful about who they considered, and how they lured them in. But Luke and Katherine played it safe, not starting off telling many campers at all. Luke had started off with the most disgruntled malcontents first; they were the least work to recruit. They were careful and methodical because they couldn’t afford any mistakes; one wrong move and their plan could be set back months, or years.

Unfortunately, they weren’t off to the best start considering the two of them had racked up a total of three fights with other campers in less than two weeks of being at the camp. As much as Luke loved having Katherine close to him at the place he called home, he knew something about it just didn’t work as well as it should’ve. And of course, not having a soul in her body, Katherine had come up with a plan to maximize their army of demigods that Luke didn’t particularly like.

Katherine had decided that, although she too liked spending time with her boyfriend and living at the camp, she worked best on the road. So, the two of them eventually agreed that she would leave the camp for about a few months or so at a time, recruiting as many other scattered and disenfranchised demigods from around the country as she could.

Luke knew it was a good plan, but that didn’t stop him from hating it. He stood outside the barrier that day, watching Katherine regretfully as she loaded all of her belongings and supplies into the old Pontiac, deciding to leave the shrunken sarcophagus with Luke at the camp. The goodbyes certainly weren’t permanent, but that still didn’t stop them from being entirely reluctant.

“I don’t want you to go,” Luke admitted in a low tone as he watched her say goodbye.

“I know,” Katherine looked up at him as she touched her hand to his chest, playing with the various necklaces wrapped around his neck.

One was his necklace from camp, decorated with a unique bead for each year he’d lived at the camp, and one was a long, silver chain with a bullet-shaped pendant on it that held one of the ones he’d dug out of Katherine’s body. He’d given it to a Hephaestus kid to turn into a piece of jewelry, hoping he could carry a piece of Katherine around with him.

She’d joked that both he and the bullet had been inside her at one point or another.

“I have something for you… Before you go,” he remembered, staring at her as he tried to engrave this moment in its entirety into his head before she left.

“You do?” she asked, not expecting a going-away present.

“Yeah. Here,” he said softly, pulling something from his pocket.

Katherine looked down at his open hand, revealing a silver necklace.

“I had it made. Just for you,” he said, holding it out as she took it. “Beckendorf, the Hephaestus kid, made it. And Claire enchanted it,” he told her.

Katherine held the dainty silver chain in her hand, examining the beautiful pendant on it. It was a beautiful, red sort of glassy stone with an ornate silver backing to it.

“What does it do?”

“It’s magic. It’s tied to my necklace,” Luke explained, touching the large bullet-shaped pendant he wore around his neck. “If you touch it, I can hear you talking, and vice versa. That way, it’ll be like we’re still here together.”

Katherine smiled up at him, turning around as he gently swept her long hair out of the way, wrapping the small necklace around her as he fastened it. She turned to look at him, eyes full of love as he felt charmed by her all over again.

“Beautiful,” he said softly, and she could tell he said it with his heart.

Katherine sighed, throwing her arms around him as she leaned in for a kiss, this one long and passionate as he desperately savored the sweet taste of her lips. Luke breathed into it softly, cupping her cheeks in his hands as they lightly traced the shape of her face. He pulled away reluctantly, staring straight into her dark eyes.

“You’re everything to me,” he reminded her.

“I’ll never leave you. Not really,” she promised him, her hand slowly brushing his chest until it stopped over his heart.

“Don’t forget about me, okay?” he teased, trying to keep a sense of humor.

“I couldn’t.”

“Hey,” he murmured, his hands on either side of her face. “Do whatever you have to to get people to join our cause. I don’t care what you have to do. If someone’s in love with you, then that’s your angle.”

“Luke,” she frowned. “I might not have a soul, but I still—”

“It’s okay,” he assured her in a comforting whisper. “I trust you.”

“I trust you too,” she promised him.

“I’ll always love you first,” he nodded.

“I’m gonna get in the car,” Katherine announced softly, slowly opening the door as she sat down in the driver’s seat.

She closed the car door, looking out at him from inside the car as she forcibly got used to the fact that there was a car between them. Seeing him through the window, she touched a hand to the red stone, smiling as she watched him.

“I love you,” she said quietly.

Luke smiled sadly, touching the pendant hanging around his own neck, knowing that would probably be the last time he’d see her at least until Christmas. It wasn’t quite September yet.

“Tell me that every day,” he replied.

“Every morning, and every night,” she whispered, backing up the car and turning to leave.

Luke stood there outside the campgrounds as he watched until minutes after her car had completely disappeared. He stood there for a moment, praying to no one in particular for her safety. Just as he was ready to turn back to the camp, he saw that someone had seen him from inside, and had crept over the boundary.

“You really love her. Don’t you?”

Annabeth Chase sometimes had the worst timing for the inescapable truth. But in that movement, the way she said that, Luke felt as if she hadn’t expected it to be true as she stood there with her Yankees cap in hand, having been invisible for the past few minutes.

“I really wish you wouldn’t do that,” Luke sighed humorously, a warning smile on his face.

“Answer the question.”

He sighed in response, knowing he couldn’t deflect.

“Yeah,” he nodded, standing there as the silver bullet, usually tucked into his shirt, lay flat against his chest like a cross symbolizing faith and devotion. “I do,” he told her.

“Hmm,” she said, deep in thought.

That was all Annabeth had to say to him before she turned around and disappeared, leaving him.

*****

Almost One Year Later

Over the next nine months or so, Luke had seen his girlfriend on five different visits to the camp, each about a week or so in length. It was cruel, how seldom he was able to see his own girlfriend, but the headway they’d made in building loyalty to Kronos made up for it. The Titan was actually pleased with them.

While Luke mostly remained at Camp-Half Blood convincing other demigods to join Kronos’s army, Katherine was busy traveling the country and searching for demigods scorned by the gods of Olympus, while actually managing to get through to a few monsters along the way.

Much to Luke’s relief, he had gotten word halfway through the summer that Katherine would be able to come back to New York and visit the camp for a little while. She had told Luke to anticipate her arrival in mid-July, and so he waited anxiously for her to return for a visit, hashing out the details of a secret plan he’d been waiting to share with her.

The last time he’d seen her was in late, late May, when she had arrived some time after his nineteenth birthday. But Luke didn’t mind too much; he would’ve waited a thousand years just to see her.

In the meantime, the two of them had been making significant progress in recruiting, and were beginning to wonder how they would proceed to the next phase of their plan; turning the Olympian gods against one another and creating chaos. Luckily, together, Katherine and Luke excelled at chaos.

“Oh, baby, I’m so, so glad you’re home,” Luke moaned into the crook of Katherine’s neck as he tackled her to the bed they’d once shared.

“Home?” Katherine teased, laughing as his kisses tickled her. “I’ve been staying in motels since I left.”

“Your home is here,” he insisted, his kisses reaching her collarbone, “Because this is where I am.”

His kisses really did itch her skin, a light layer of nearly invisible stubble on his face scratching her softly.

“Baby, did you forget to shave?” Katherine wondered.

“I got too excited,” he murmured, nuzzling his head between her breasts. “Sorry, love, looks like you’re getting carpet burn tonight.”

“It’s three o’clock,” she reminded him.

“By the time I’m done with you, it’s gonna be nighttime,” he promised her, in a lovesick haze.

Katherine groaned as he suckled on he breast, taking her nipple in between his teeth as his hands squeezed her bare hips. She was naked the moment they entered the room, and he definitely wasn’t too far behind.

He lifted her legs up in one swift motion, expertly throwing her around like a rag doll. He let her bare legs rest on his shoulders, conveniently bunching her body up as he took turns sucking on each nipple while her hand was tangled in his short sandy-colored hair.

“I love you so much,” he said huskily as he focused on her neck again, making her giggle.

“I love you, baby,” she echoed.

He slowly moved down her body, his kisses moving down from her chest, to her stomach, to her navel, as he stopped with his hands squeezing the soft flesh on her hips. His grip on her thighs hardened, as he buried his face in between them, pressing a soft kiss to her clit, sending a kind of electrical surge of pleasure to her brain through the bundle of nerves.

He hadn’t seen his girlfriend in over a month and he intended to make up for lost time.

“Fuck, baby, you’re so wet,” he gasped, reveling in his work-of-art girlfriend. “I’m gonna have you dripping by the time I’m done with you… God, I’m in love!”

She gasped softly as he flicked his tongue up and down between her folds, the heat from his mouth seeming to spread all over her body. She could feel every place where his lips, and tongue, and hands had been, and it burned, aching for more.

He groped her thighs hungrily, making her legs shake and tremble as he sucked on her clit. She felt herself feeling dizzier and dizzier, wanting to scream with pleasure, like the best roller coaster in existence. Luke was absolutely a giver; he naturally loved when Katherine pleasured him, but nothing made him feel stronger than doing everything in his power to make her come over and over again.

Luke stopped for a moment, enjoying the view before him as if he were being presented with some sort of feast.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he groaned. “You’re my goddess,” he worshipped her.

Katherine looked up at him in awe, eyes lazy with pleasure as she watched him standing over him, muscular and glistening as he worked hard just to pleasure her as best as he could. She knew what he meant when he said that she looked like a god.

“You want me to fuck you, baby?” Luke mumbled, pressing lazy, affectionate kisses to her lips. “You want me to fuck your tight little pussy?”

“Do it,” she moaned into his mouth, gasping as he did the same. “Fuck me like you mean it. Show me how much you love me,” she egged him on.

“Fuck, baby, I’ll show you just how much I love you,” he rambled on and on as he pulled down his briefs, painfully hard cock springing free. “I’ll fuck you so good. My princess, my goddess.”

She laughed excitedly as he threw her legs back over her shoulders, sighing as he felt her ankles behind his head. He leaned down as he pressed more rough, loving kisses to the side of her neck, sighing at her unique sent.

“Fuck, you smell so good,” he gasped, “I fucking love that perfume.”

He kissed her over and over until the only thing she could remember was his name.

“Luke,” she whined, “Fuck…”

She sighed as he stood back up, her legs still over his shoulders as he slowly buried himself inside her, gasping at the sensation of her closing around him.

“Fuck, so tight, baby,” he moaned. “Fuck…”

It took a moment before he remembered what he was doing, slowly thrusting in and out of her as she moaned in ecstasy. Every time, she realized she’d forgotten in her absence just how huge he was. He was 6’1”, and he felt 6’1”. He slowly picked up the pace, hypnotized by the sight of her enjoying him beneath him, using him for her pleasure as she pleased.

Katherine gasped eagerly as he thrusted in and out faster than he had the entire time, fucking her so hard they both felt dizzy. He kept his hands wrapped around her thighs, squeezing them hard, almost for balance as he thrusted. He was light-headed, so lost in the sensation he wasn’t even sure if he had been breathing or not throughout the whole thing.

“I love you so much, baby,” he groaned out loud.

“I love you,” she mumbled incoherently.

Katherine’s legs trembled involuntarily as she finished with a sigh, slowly beginning to see less and less as black spots continued to enter her vision. Luke sighed as he finally came, overtaken by the feeling of her coming around his dick. He eventually stopped and flopped down beside her on the bed, looking to her to gauge how she was feeling.

Luke turned to Katherine to simply admire her as she lay beside him, but he began to feel a bit more concerned as he watched her forcing her eyes shut.

“Hey,” he breathed, sitting up beside her as he rested his hand on her shoulder, “You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” she said quickly, still seeming dizzy, “I’m fine…”

“You don’t look okay,” he thought, frowning as he helped her to sit up.

“No, I’m okay, baby, I just need a second,” she sighed.

He said nothing, watching as she slowly opened her eyes, trying to adjust.

“Here, lemme see your temperature,” he said finally, affectionately touching the back of his hand to her forehead. “Ooh. You feel a little warm there, are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, I’ve just been stressed,” Katherine sighed. “It’s just been affecting me more often.”

“Affecting you? How?” Luke asked, concerned.

“I’ve just been getting tired a lot,” she told him, “It’s not that bad… I just get a little winded.”

“You know what, here, lemme see if you’re warm all over, maybe you’re dehydrated or something,” Luke offered, slowly touching the back of his hand to various points all over her body.

He sat there, stumped, as he touched her forehead, her arm, her chest, her stomach, and her legs, trying to discern whether something was wrong. His initial fear was that this somehow had something to do with Katherine’s missing soul.

“I mean, you feel fine, for the most part,” he thought, his hand slowly moving back up her body.

His hand moved back up to her abdomen, where he hesitated for a second.

“Oh. You feel really warm right here,” he said with concern, “Maybe we should go to the infirmary.”

Katherine gave him a look as she slowly rose to her feet, throwing some of his clothes over her body. She decided she’d listen to him, considering the part about her stomach feeling warm sounded a bit concerning.

“I mean, okay, but I feel fine,” she told him, as the both of them got dressed.

Luke carefully walked his girlfriend down to the infirmary, where a bunch of the Apollo kids helped heal wounded or sick campers.

“Hey Lee, what are you doing here?” Luke said, upon realizing one of his friends was there.

Lee Fletcher was the Head Counselor of Cabin 7, Apollo’s cabin. He was just as one would expect a child of Apollo to be, calm, laid-back, and good-humored.

“Hey, Luke. Just taking one of the younger ones to the infirmary; fell off a tree,” he explained. “Hey there, Katherine,” he realized, seeing her standing next to Luke.

“Hey,” she smiled.

“Didn’t realize you were back in town. How was your trip?”

“Not bad,” Katherine shrugged, lying about the nature of her time away from the camp.

“Hey, I don’t wanna be a bother, but do you think you could take a look at Katherine while you’re here?” he asked, hoping to have a familiar face around.

“Oh yeah, sure,” Lee nodded, looking at the cot in front of him, “Here, sit down. Dr. Lee will take a look.”

Katherine sat down as Luke sat at the edge of the cot, next to Lee.

“So, what seems to be the problem?” Lee asked humorously.

“Uh… I don’t know, I’ve just been really tired lately, but I just thought it was stress,” she explained.

“Ah. I see. Well, I could just sing a little hymn to my dad, and then you’ll be cured of whatever you got,” he offered.

“Yeah,” Katherine nodded gratefully, “Perfect. Thanks.”

“Mm-hmm,” he nodded. “Is it okay if I try and see if there’s a specific area it’s confined to? It kinda helps the healing go faster.”

“Yeah, go ahead,” she nodded as Luke watched.

Lee silently touched his hand to her body, almost as Luke had, examining her head, her arms, and her legs, looking confused as he stopped.

“Uh, I don’t know if I’m just wrong, but I don’t think there’s anything actually wrong with you,” Lee admitted with a frown.

“Are you sure?” Luke stared.

“Yeah… Weird. I can get one of the girls to take a look?” Lee Fletcher offered helpfully. “They’re better healers than I am.”

“Okay,” Katherine agreed, not sure whether she should be relieved or more worried.

Lee left for a moment, sending one of the girls who’d been cleaning over to them.

“Hey, I’m April,” a girl with brown hair, maybe about sixteen years old, smiled as she sat down next to Katherine. “Lee said you’re feeling a little tired?”

“Yeah,” Katherine nodded, “Lee said he couldn’t feel anything wrong, but Luke said my stomach felt a little off?”

“Yeah, sure, I can take a look,” she nodded kindly, her hand hovering over the area. “Is it okay if I feel?”

“Yeah, go ahead,” she nodded, as she and Luke both watched.

The healer, April, gently rested her hand on Katherine’s stomach, her brows furrowed as she hesitated, completely frozen as she tried to decide how to proceed.

“What is it?” Luke immediately started to panic. “What do you feel?”

“Uh…” April looked back up at Katherine, a very awkward expression on her face. “Well, I think I know why Lee couldn’t find anything wrong.”

“What is it?” Katherine asked her, not sure what to expect.

“Have you, uh…” April hesitated before forming her words. “Have you ever been pregnant before?”

Luke’s face went pale as Katherine’s eyes lowered. She just stared at the floor for a moment, not saying anything.

“I’m sorry,” April said immediately, “It’s none of my business—”

“I think I have,” Katherine spoke finally, as Luke’s eyes widened.

“You have?” April asked.

“Yeah. I, uh…” it took her a moment to form the words.

She never thought she’d have to speak them out loud.

“I think I was when I was twelve… I think it was a miscarriage,” she explained quietly. “I found a clot.”

“Oh… I’m sorry,” April said softly, not knowing what to say. “It’s just… My mom had my little brother, when I was seven. I touched her tummy, and when she was at about a month or so, it kind of felt… like that,” she provided.

“Okay,” Katherine blurted out quietly, not sure how else to respond. “I think I’m, uh… I think I’m gonna go. Thanks for your help,” she said awkwardly, quickly leaving the room, her arms wrapped around herself as if she was cold.

“Thanks,” Luke said quickly.

April nodded with an apologetic smile as he ran out after Katherine, who he found standing outside the infirmary, nervously facing away from him as if waiting for nothing.

“Hey…”

He started speaking, but didn’t know what to say.

“I don’t talk about it,” Katherine said out of nowhere, trying to explain herself. “I just… saw the blood when I was twelve. Didn’t think anything of it ‘til I was fifteen. A little while before the clot, my dad… Well, you can put the pieces together,” she said uncomfortably.

“Katherine, it’s okay, you don’t have to explain yourself to me,” Luke promised, standing beside her. “It’s okay.”

She looked into his eyes, and in that moment, she knew it really was okay.

“We—” she involuntarily burst out laughing, completely in disbelief. “We’re gonna have a baby?!” she questioned, the word feeling almost foreign to her.

“We’re gonna have a baby!” he laughed along with her, deciding to feel happy about something for once as he picked her up.

He lifted her up off the ground as she gave a little squeal, laughing hysterically as he spun her around. He held her in his arms as he twirled her around in delight, still laughing as he set her back down on the ground, his hands on her arms as he looked at her.

“We’re gonna have a baby?” he questioned, as if trying out the phrase.

“Yeah!” she exclaimed, smiling as he pulled her into a protective hug, gently stroking her hair as he rested his chin atop her head. “We’re gonna have a baby!”

She squealed with joy for the first time in years. It was kind of sad, but Katherine knew she never would’ve reacted this way if she’d had a soul. ‘Soul’ Katherine never would’ve been able to accept the idea of a baby with Luke, especially at nineteen while building an army for Kronos. Happiness was something entirely exclusive to Soulless Katherine.

-

Chapter Sixteen