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callsigns-haze · 26 days ago

Text

-ˋˏ The week it all went south ˎˊ-

Part 4

Part 1 here Part 2 here Part 3 here

Pairing: Azriel x Rhysand's sister!reader

Azriel has the perfect life. You as his wife. Kaia as his daughter. But him and the boys are stupid enough to challenge you for a week and then his perfect life might simply...disappear

Warning: ANGST, mentions of past lovers, mentions of sex, cursing, kissing, mentions of injured child, drinking, mentions of character death (nobody is dead though they just mention it), throwing up, Az being an ass and MC being a badass mama, kidnapping, mentions of physical force against characters, mentions of bleeding.

Word count: 13.9k

As you stepped into the freezing wind, snow immediately began to cling to your coat and hair, but you didn’t care. You were determined, your steps purposeful as you marched into the storm. The icy air burned your lungs, but it didn’t slow you.

Behind you, the sound of hurried footsteps crunching through the snow broke through the howling wind.

“YN, wait!” Azriel’s voice rang out, desperate and strained.

You ignored him, your jaw clenched as you pushed forward.

“YN, stop!” Rhysand called, his tone sharper, but still layered with concern.

You felt the flicker of his magic against your mind, a gentle attempt to tether you, but you shoved it away with all the force of your fury. “Don’t you dare!” you shouted over your shoulder. “If you’re going to stop me, do it outright! Don’t use your tricks on me, Rhysand.”

Azriel’s wings flared behind you as he caught up, his breath visible in the frigid air. He grabbed your arm, not forcefully, but enough to make you stop. “YN, please,” he begged, his eyes pleading. “You don’t have to do this alone. Let us come with you.”

You wrenched your arm free, glaring at him. “You had your chance to help, Azriel. Now stay out of my way.”

Rhysand appeared at your other side, his face pale and drawn. “You’re not going out there alone, YN. That’s not happening. You can hate us all you want, but we’re coming with you.”

Your fury wavered for just a moment as you saw the raw fear in both of their expressions, but you shoved it down. “Fine,” you snapped. “But keep up, or I’ll leave you behind.”

Azriel exchanged a look with Rhysand, a silent conversation passing between them, before they both nodded.

The three of you pressed on into the storm, the snow whipping around you in fierce gusts. Azriel’s shadows darted out ahead, scouting through the white expanse, while Rhysand kept his magic spread wide, searching for any sign of Kaia.

The storm was relentless, the wind screaming through the trees as snow lashed against your face. Your boots crunched through the deep drifts, the icy chill seeping through your coat, but you didn’t care. Your heart pounded in your chest as your eyes darted desperately over the landscape.

“Kaia!” you called, your voice raw and hoarse. The wind carried it away almost as soon as the words left your lips, but you didn’t stop. “Kaia!”

Azriel’s shadows darted around you, slithering across the snow and disappearing into the storm. He kept close, his eyes scanning the ground, his wings tucked tightly against his back to shield him from the biting cold. Every now and then, he would whisper her name, his voice trembling with fear and guilt.

Rhysand was on your other side, his magic rippling outward in a steady pulse. He moved with purpose, though his face was pale and his lips pressed into a thin line. Occasionally, he would glance at you, concern flickering in his violet eyes, but he didn’t say anything.

You reached a clearing, the snow shallower here but no less treacherous. The wind swirled violently, and you paused for a moment, your breath heaving as you tried to decide where to go next. “She’s close,” you whispered to yourself, clutching the bond between you and Azriel like a lifeline. “She has to be.”

Azriel stepped forward, his shadows coiling around him protectively. “YN,” he began softly, but you cut him off.

“No,” you snapped, your voice shaking. “Don’t try to stop me. Don’t tell me to rest or wait or anything else.” You gestured toward the storm. “She’s out there, Azriel. Alone. Scared. I won’t stop until I find her.”

His jaw tightened, but he nodded, stepping back to let you lead.

You moved forward again, your eyes scanning every snowdrift, every shadow. You strained to listen past the roar of the wind, praying for some sound—anything—to guide you.

“Kaia!” Rhysand called, his voice strong despite the storm. “It’s Uncle Rhys! Sweetheart, we’re here! Call out for us!”

Nothing but the howl of the wind answered.

You stumbled over a hidden root, catching yourself against a tree, and for a moment, you let out a choked sob. But you couldn’t give in to despair. Gritting your teeth, you pushed forward, your fingers brushing against the rough bark of the trees as you searched.

As you climbed a small hill, your foot caught on something beneath the snow. You crouched down, frantically brushing it away, only to find a small toy—a teddy Kaia had been clutching earlier.

“She was here,” you whispered, your heart lurching. “She was here.”

Azriel was at your side in an instant, his hands steadying you as he looked down at the toy. His face crumpled, and he pressed his lips together tightly. “She can’t be far,” he said, his voice low but determined.

Rhysand placed a hand on your shoulder, his grip firm. “We’ll find her, YN,” he said, though the worry in his eyes was impossible to miss. “We won’t stop.”

You nodded, clutching the toy tightly in your hand as you pressed on, calling her name into the endless storm.

The hours dragged on, each step feeling heavier than the last. The storm seemed to grow more violent with every passing minute, the snow swirling around you like an endless sea of white. Your breath came in ragged gasps as you called out for Kaia, your voice strained and hoarse, but the only answer was the howl of the wind.

Your heart ached with every inch you covered, your mind racing with worry and guilt. Each snow-covered tree, every shadow, every crevice was scrutinized, but there was no sign of her. Nothing.

You could feel the chill settling deep in your bones, the cold seeping past your layers and gnawing at you. You were freezing, numb, but you didn’t care. You couldn’t stop. Not when your daughter was out there, somewhere in this cruel storm.

Azriel’s shadows had been everywhere, searching in places the eye could not, but there was still no sign of Kaia. His voice was almost lost to the wind, but you could still hear him calling her name, his tone strained with worry.

Rhysand, though his eyes were filled with sorrow, didn’t stop either. He was using his magic to try and sense her, but it was futile against the wild winds and the snow that blocked everything from his view. His power pulsed with growing desperation, but it wasn’t enough.

Cassian had been beside you the entire time ever since he flew back from day, his wings tucked to shield him from the worst of the storm, his face lined with frustration. Even he, usually so strong and unshaken, was showing signs of wear. His eyes flicked over every inch of snow, every shadow, every movement, but it was the same. Nothing.

After three hours of searching, your body was exhausted, your movements sluggish, and the hope you clung to was beginning to feel more like a fading dream. You wanted to scream, to tear at the sky for its cruelty, but you just... couldn't anymore.

Finally, Rhysand’s voice broke through your fog of determination. “YN, we have to go back. It’s too dangerous to keep going.” His hand on your arm was gentle but firm. “You’re too cold. You need to rest.”

You shook your head violently, refusing to give in. “No. I can’t. I won’t stop until I find her.”

Cassian’s voice was softer now, but there was a firmness to it. “You’re not helping her if you freeze, YN. You know that.”

Azriel stood behind you, his face grim. “We’ll keep searching, YN. But we need to go back for now. We need to regroup, to think this through. This storm... it’s too much.”

The words pierced through you, but you didn’t want to admit they were right. Your body screamed for rest, but your heart wouldn’t stop. You couldn’t stop.

Yet, when you saw the concern in their eyes, the worry in their voices, something inside you broke. You were too tired to fight anymore, to push through the storm. With a final glance at the empty, snow-covered landscape, you gave in.

They led you back to the cabin, your steps slow and heavy as you let them guide you. Your mind was numb with the weight of everything, your heart still aching with the fear of what might happen if Kaia wasn’t found soon.

As you stepped inside, the warmth of the cabin hit you like a wave, but it did nothing to ease the coldness in your chest. Rhysand, Azriel, and Cassian exchanged a glance, their faces drawn with exhaustion and worry. They had been as close to losing their resolve as you had been.

Azriel stepped toward you, his voice low. “We’ll find her, YN. We will.”

You nodded, though you didn’t believe it. It was hard to. With every minute that passed, the chance of finding her seemed more and more impossible. But as you sank into the warmth of the cabin, you closed your eyes, too exhausted to think, to fight.

For the first time in hours, you allowed yourself to slip into the fragile embrace of sleep, praying that when you woke, Kaia would be safe in your arms again.

-----

Kaia shivered, her small form trembling in the dim, cramped space beneath the desk. The cold air scraped at her skin as she tried to curl into herself, her wings aching with every movement. The hooded figure, whose presence loomed over her like a dark cloud, grabbed her roughly by the shoulders, yanking her out of her fragile hiding spot.

"You're going to be worth a lot, little one," the figure croaked, the voice raspy and laced with malice. "Those wings of yours will fetch a great price."

Kaia whimpered, her tiny hands reaching for the figure’s cloak, her mind fuzzy with confusion and fear. "Mama... dada... wanna go home," she muttered, her words slurred in her toddler speech as she struggled to free herself. The desperation in her voice was clear, but the figure’s grip on her was unrelenting.

The cold fingers wrapped around her wings next, pulling at them sharply. The pain sent a cry bubbling up from her throat, but the figure paid it no mind. “So fragile,” they sneered, tugging harder. “You’ll be worth a fortune once I’m done with you."

Kaia’s sobs echoed through the small, dark room as the figure dragged her, completely unaware of the devastation they were about to unleash. "Mama... please," she cried, reaching out for someone—anyone. But there was no one to hear her.

The figure grinned under the hood, their fingers twisting in her wings again, causing Kaia to flinch, her face scrunching up in pain. “They’ll pay so much for these,” the figure muttered, focused entirely on their cruel intentions.

Kaia could barely hold back the tears, her small body shaking as the cold pressed against her skin. "Dada..." she whimpered again, trying to curl into herself, her wings twitching with pain as they were handled so roughly. "I wanna go home..."

But there was no home in this moment. Only the cruel grip of the figure, and the darkness closing in on her.

-----

The grand meeting room of the Day Court was bathed in sunlight, golden rays streaming through the tall arched windows. The High Lords sat around the gleaming marble table, each adorned in the symbols of their respective courts. Despite the grandeur of the setting, the tension in the room was palpable, an undercurrent of unease rippling through the air.

Rhysand sat at the head of the table, his usual calm demeanour stretched thin. His violet eyes were shadowed with exhaustion, his jaw set tight as he addressed the gathering. Cassian stood to his right, his massive frame tense, and his hazel eyes filled with barely restrained fury. Morrigan stood to Rhysand’s left, her golden hair gleaming in the sunlight, her expression a mix of worry and resolve.

Helion, seated closest to Rhysand, leaned forward, his sharp gaze flicking between the others as he clasped his hands. Thesan’s calm, analytical expression did little to hide the concern in his soft eyes. Tarquin sat upright, his brow furrowed in quiet contemplation, while Kallias and Viviane exchanged uneasy glances. Tamlin’s expression was unreadable, though his presence alone carried the weight of tension from years of strained alliances. And Eris, with his trademark smirk, lounged lazily in his chair, a mocking gleam in his amber eyes.

“I appreciate you all coming on such short notice,” Rhysand began, his voice low but carrying the weight of authority. “I wouldn’t have called this meeting unless it was of the utmost importance.”

Eris raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. “No Azriel here to lurk in the shadows? And where’s your sister, Rhysand? Surely, the infamous beauty wouldn’t miss a meeting like this.”

Cassian’s fist slammed onto the table with enough force to rattle the glasses of water set before them. The room fell silent as every gaze turned to him. His hazel eyes blazed with fury as he leaned toward Eris, his voice a dangerous growl. “Watch your mouth, Vanserra.”

Eris merely chuckled, unfazed. “Touchy, aren’t we? I was only asking.”

Rhysand lifted a hand to silence Cassian, though his gaze was a razor-sharp warning to Eris. “They aren’t here because they are both dealing with something far more important. My niece—Azriel and my sister’s daughter—has gone missing.”

The smirk dropped from Eris’s face instantly. The room grew heavy with shock as Rhysand continued, his voice breaking slightly, though he masked it with a carefully controlled tone. “She disappeared in the Illyrian forests. Given the terrain, the weather, and the search efforts already made, it’s clear she is no longer there. That leaves us with the terrifying possibility that she could be anywhere—any court. She’s two years old, defenceless, and vulnerable.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Even Eris’s usual mockery was absent as he processed the gravity of the situation. Tarquin’s blue eyes widened in alarm, and Kallias’s hands clenched the arms of his chair. Helion’s golden eyes darkened with uncharacteristic solemnity, while Thesan leaned forward, his voice soft but firm.

“Rhysand, you have our full cooperation,” Thesan said. “Anything we can do to aid in finding her, we will do without hesitation.”

Viviane nodded in agreement. “Anything. Just tell us where to start.”

Tarquin placed a hand on the table, his expression grim. “I’ll have my soldiers begin searching the coastline immediately.”

Helion spoke next, his voice rich and serious. “I’ve already informed my spies to keep their eyes and ears open. If she’s anywhere in the Day Court, we’ll find her.”

Tamlin, who had remained silent, finally spoke, his deep voice steady. “The Spring Court will join the search. No child should ever be taken like this.”

Eris’s tone was unusually sombre as he added, “The Autumn Court will assist as well. If she’s crossed into my territory, I’ll know.”

Rhysand inclined his head, his voice heavy with gratitude. “Thank you. She means everything to us—everything to her parents. Time is of the essence. If anyone hears anything, no matter how small, inform me immediately.”

The meeting shifted into focused strategizing, the High Lords leaning forward as they poured over the possibilities. A map of Prythian was unrolled across the table, detailing borders, territories, and the regions closest to the Illyrian wilderness where Kaia had gone missing. Rhysand tapped a finger against the eastern forests, his violet eyes scanning the map with methodical precision.

“She couldn’t have wandered far on her own. Someone took her,” Rhys began, his voice sharp and unyielding. “It’s not a question of if, but who.”

Helion leaned forward, his golden robes catching the light as he studied the map. “The borders between the Day Court and the Night Court are vast, with countless unpatrolled areas. If the culprit is clever, they could easily slip through undetected. But transporting a child—especially one as unique as Kaia—will leave a trail. Someone must have seen something.”

Thesan nodded, his brow furrowed. “I’ll send word to my sentinels to question travellers passing through. If anyone saw a figure with a child, we’ll know. They’ll be watching the skies for anyone attempting to fly, as well.”

Tarquin gestured to the southern coastline on the map. “If they’ve headed toward the sea, my ships will intercept them. No one leaves my waters without my permission. I’ll send my fastest messengers to my fleet commanders.”

Kallias traced a gloved finger along the northern borders of his court, his icy blue eyes narrowing. “If they’re heading north, the frigid weather will slow them down, but it also means Kaia is at greater risk. Viviane and I will deploy scouts to comb through the areas closest to our border with Autumn.”

Eris’s amber eyes lingered on the section of the map marking his court. “If they’ve crossed into Autumn, I’ll know. My patrols are ruthless, and no one enters my forests without me hearing about it. But this wasn’t random.” He leaned back in his chair, his tone calculating. “Whoever took her must have known what they were doing. She wasn’t just stolen by accident—they had a plan.”

Cassian growled low in his throat, his wings flexing as he loomed over the table. “Whoever they are, they’ll wish they never laid eyes on her.”

Rhysand shot him a look, silencing him with a subtle gesture. “He’s right, though. This wasn’t a random act. Kaia’s unique heritage makes her a target. She’s an Illyrian child with the blood of a High Lord running through her veins—there’s power in that, even if she’s still too young to wield it.”

Viviane’s voice was soft but steady. “Do you think it could be someone targeting your family specifically? Perhaps someone from the Illyrian war camps?”

Rhys’s jaw tightened, his voice cold. “If that’s the case, they’ll regret it. But we can’t rule out other courts—or even forces outside Prythian. We’ve made enemies over the centuries.”

Helion drummed his fingers on the table, his expression thoughtful. “You’ve been at peace with Hybern’s remnants since the war ended, but there are always factions that resist. Rebels who would see chaos sown by taking someone as valuable as Kaia.”

Tamlin, who had remained quiet until now, finally spoke. “Have you considered the possibility that this could be the work of fae traffickers? Children like her would fetch a high price in certain circles—especially with her wings.”

Cassian’s fist clenched, and the table creaked ominously. Rhysand’s face darkened, his power swirling faintly around him. “We’ll explore every possibility. No matter who it is, no matter where they’ve taken her, we’ll find her.”

Morrigan’s voice cut through the tension, clear and resolute. “I’ll winnow to Velaris and send out more of our spies. If anyone hears even a whisper of where she might be, we’ll know.”

Thesan tilted his head, his calm demeanour masking a sharp intellect. “If this is organized, they may already be moving her between locations. We need to act fast and be ready to strike as soon as we have any lead.”

Rhysand nodded, his eyes blazing with determination. “I need all of you to coordinate with your courts and keep your networks on high alert. We don’t rest until Kaia is home. Whatever resources you need, I’ll provide.”

The High Lords murmured their agreements, each of them committing their forces to the search. As they continued analysing the map, discussing potential routes and weak points in the borders, the storm outside the Day Court raged on, mirroring the fury and fear driving the meeting within.

-----

The silence of the house felt deafening, an unnatural stillness that made every creak of the floorboards and sigh of the wind outside seem louder. You sat on the floor of Kaia’s room, surrounded by the small, delicate reminders of her—the tiny bed with its soft blankets, the colourful stack of books she loved to make you read again and again, the wooden blocks still scattered from the last time she played. The faint scent of her still lingered, sweet and innocent, like lavender and the fresh breeze she always brought with her.

In your trembling hands was her favourite teddy, the one Azriel had given her when she was barely a few days old. The well-worn plush was soft from constant hugs and carried the faintest trace of her baby powder and warmth. You clutched it to your chest like it was your lifeline, your body shaking with silent, heaving sobs that wracked your frame.

You didn’t even try to muffle them anymore. The walls had already heard your grief for days now, and the house had absorbed the weight of your despair like a sponge. Your tears soaked into the teddy’s fur as your fingers curled tightly around it, desperate for something—anything—that could bridge the widening void in your chest.

"Kaia," you whispered brokenly, your voice cracking as fresh tears streamed down your face. The sound of her name was both a balm and a dagger. "Oh, my baby... where are you?"

You couldn’t stop the flood of memories that rushed in—her tiny laugh as she chased after bubbles in the garden, the way she’d reach her arms up to you and call for “Mama” in her sweet, high-pitched voice, the warmth of her little hands tugging at your hair. You pressed the teddy closer to your face, inhaling deeply as though you could still capture some remnant of her presence.

Azriel’s absence weighed heavily, too. He was out searching again, and you knew he wouldn’t stop until he dropped from exhaustion. But even his unyielding determination hadn’t been enough to bring her back. You felt the bond between you two faintly, muted by his distance, and you knew he was feeling the same crushing guilt, the same helplessness that had been suffocating you for two weeks.

A knock on the door broke through the haze of your grief, soft and hesitant. You didn’t even bother to look up as it creaked open, revealing Rhysand. His usual composure was gone, replaced by a raw, haunted expression that mirrored your own.

He hesitated for a moment, as though unsure if he should intrude, but then he crossed the room and knelt beside you. Without a word, he wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pulled you against him. You didn’t resist.

"I’m so sorry," he murmured, his voice thick with his own sorrow. "I—if I could take all this pain away, I would. If I could trade places with her, I—"

"Stop," you croaked, cutting him off. Your voice was barely a whisper. "Just... stop. This isn’t your fault."

But it felt like everyone’s fault. Yours for not being there. His for not protecting her. Azriel’s for trusting anyone else to care for her. The guilt swirled endlessly, eating away at all of you.

"I don’t know how much more of this I can take," you admitted, burying your face in the teddy again. "It’s been two weeks, Rhys. Two weeks, and we’ve found nothing. Nothing!"

He tightened his hold on you, resting his chin atop your head. "We’ll find her," he said, but the words sounded hollow, even to him.

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. Instead, you let your sobs consume you again, your grief pouring out into the small, empty room that no longer felt like the sanctuary it once was.

You took a shaky breath, wiping at your tear-streaked face with trembling fingers. The silence hung heavy between you and Rhys as the weight of your grief pressed down on your chest, suffocating. When you finally spoke, your voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper, but it carried years of buried pain.

“I feel... exactly like I did the night Mom and Kaia were killed, I knew I'd name my daughter after our sister straight away,” you choked out, gripping Kaia’s teddy so tightly it felt like the seams might burst. “That same... hollow, hopeless feeling. Like I’m stuck in a nightmare I can’t wake up from.”

Rhys stiffened beside you, his breath catching audibly in his throat. You knew he remembered that night as vividly as you did—he’d been there. He’d seen the blood, the chaos, the heartbreak. And he’d seen you, broken and battered, left wingless and shattered in ways no one could ever truly fix.

“Don’t,” he whispered, his voice strained, pleading. “Don’t go back there. Please.”

“I can’t help it,” you said, your voice cracking as fresh tears spilled down your cheeks. “This... this is the same, Rhys. That same crushing helplessness. The same... loss. I wasn’t enough to save them, and now I wasn’t enough to protect Kaia. My own daughter.”

“Stop it,” Rhys said firmly, his hands gripping your shoulders now, forcing you to look at him. His violet eyes were glassy, full of guilt and anguish, but they burned with a desperate determination. “Don’t do this to yourself. You didn’t fail Kaia. And you didn’t fail Mom or our sister. You fought for them. You fought harder than anyone could have asked.”

You shook your head, your voice trembling. “But I lost them anyway. I lost them, Rhys. And now it’s happening again. I don’t... I don’t know if I can survive this a second time. I can’t lose Kaia. I can’t.”

Rhys’s face crumpled at your words, his composure slipping as he pulled you into his arms, holding you as tightly as he could without hurting you. “You’re not going to lose her,” he said, his voice raw. “We’ll find her. We will. I promise you that.”

His words were meant to comfort, but they only made the ache in your chest worse. “You don’t know that,” you whispered, burying your face in his shoulder. “You can’t promise me that.”

He didn’t respond, because you were right. No one could promise anything anymore. But he held you anyway, his embrace a silent vow that he would do everything in his power to bring her back.

The sobs wracked your body before you could stop them, your chest heaving as you clung to Rhys. Your hands balled into fists, gripping the fabric of his tunic like it was the only thing keeping you grounded. Tears streamed down your face, hot and relentless, soaking into his shoulder as you buried your face against him.

“I can’t do this, Rhys,” you choked out between sobs. “I can’t. She’s just a baby—my baby. She must be so scared, so cold, and I’m just sitting here, doing nothing. I—”

Your words broke off into a guttural cry, your voice hoarse from days of screaming and sobbing. Rhys’s arms wrapped tighter around you, his hand smoothing over your hair in slow, calming strokes, but it did nothing to quell the storm raging inside you.

“You’re not doing nothing,” he murmured, his voice steady but thick with emotion. “You’re here. You’re fighting for her, even if it doesn’t feel like it. We’re going to find her.”

But his words felt hollow, and your sobs only grew louder, more desperate. “It’s been two weeks, Rhys! Two weeks! What if—what if she’s gone? What if I never see her again?”

“Don’t,” Rhys said sharply, pulling back just enough to cup your face in his hands. His violet eyes met yours, filled with both sorrow and determination. “Don’t let yourself go there. She’s out there, and we’re going to find her. We will. I swear it.”

You shook your head, fresh tears spilling over as you collapsed against him again, your body trembling with the weight of your grief. “I feel like I’ve already lost her,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “And I don’t know how to survive that, Rhys. I don’t.”

Rhys’s arms tightened around you, his own breath hitching as he rested his chin on top of your head. “You don’t have to do this alone,” he said softly. “You’ve got me, and Cass, and Feyre, and Az. We’re all in this together. And we’re not going to stop until she’s home.”

His words settled over you like a fragile thread of hope, barely enough to hold on to, but you clung to it anyway. Because you had to. Because the thought of Kaia out there, alone and afraid, was unbearable. And if hope was all you had left, you would hold on to it with everything you had.

Your body felt like it was shutting down, the weight of exhaustion finally overpowering the adrenaline and grief that had kept you awake for days. Your sobs slowed, your breathing evening out as Rhys's steady presence soothed you into a reluctant calm. Your head rested against his chest, your limbs growing heavier by the second, the emotional storm leaving you utterly drained.

“You need sleep,” Rhys murmured gently, his hand still stroking your hair. “You can’t keep going like this.”

You mumbled something incoherent, too tired to argue, too tired to do anything but let the weight pull you further into darkness. Rhys felt it—the way your body grew slack against him, the way your breaths deepened, the tension in your frame slowly unravelling.

Carefully, he shifted, sliding his arms under you and lifting you as if you weighed nothing. He carried you through the silent house, his footsteps soft and deliberate, not wanting to stir you even the slightest bit. The familiar scent of home surrounded you, but you didn’t stir as he pushed open the door to your and Azriel’s room.

The room was quiet, untouched since you’d last been there together. Rhys laid you down gently on the bed, his movements careful as if afraid you might shatter under his touch. He straightened the blankets around you, tucking them in snugly, and hesitated for a moment, his gaze falling on the teddy bear you had been clutching earlier.

Reaching over to the chair where he had set it, Rhys placed the soft, worn toy in your arms, arranging it so your fingers naturally curled around it. The sight of you holding it, even in sleep, made his chest ache.

Rhys stood there for a moment longer, watching you breathe. Your face, though tear-streaked and weary, had finally softened in the grasp of much-needed rest. “We’ll find her,” he whispered, his voice breaking as he said the words aloud, as much a promise to himself as to you.

With one last look, he quietly left the room, closing the door behind him. For the first time in days, you slept, Kaia’s teddy tucked tightly in your arms, as Rhys carried the weight of your grief with him into the silence of the house.

-----

Azriel stood in the training room of the House of Wind, the silence only broken by the dull thud of his fists against the punching bag. His knuckles were raw, his movements relentless. Sweat dripped from his brow, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop.

Two weeks. Two weeks of searching. Two weeks of nothing. No tracks, no scents, no shadows whispering a single clue about where his daughter had been taken. He was fraying at the seams—rage and despair warring within him, eating him alive. His mind was a loop of dark thoughts: I failed her. I failed my mate. I’ve failed everyone.

He hadn’t spoken to you in days. Not since you’d screamed at him, not since you told him how disappointed you were in him. The memory of your words was another blade twisting in his chest, a constant reminder of how deeply he had let you down. He deserved it.

The door to the training room creaked open, but Azriel didn’t stop. His fists connected with the bag again and again, the sound reverberating in the empty space.

“Az,” Cassian’s voice broke through, steady but cautious.

Azriel didn’t acknowledge him, his focus fixed on the bag, each punch harder than the last.

Cassian sighed, stepping closer. “Az, you’re going to tear your hands apart if you keep this up.”

“Good,” Azriel muttered darkly, his voice low and hoarse.

Cassian frowned, his wings shifting behind him. “You need to let it out. Really let it out. And beating that bag into dust isn’t going to help.”

Azriel paused for a moment, his hands falling to his sides as he panted, his shoulders heaving with every breath. He didn’t look at Cassian, his gaze fixed on the ground. “What do you want me to do, Cass? Sit here and pretend I’m not losing my mind? Pretend I’m not—” His voice cracked, and he shook his head.

“No one’s asking you to pretend,” Cassian said softly, stepping closer. “But this... This isn’t going to help you. You need to get it out. Properly.”

Azriel’s jaw clenched, his shadows curling tightly around him.

“Come on,” Cassian pressed, grabbing a pair of sparring swords from the rack and tossing one to him. Azriel caught it reflexively, glaring at his brother.

Cassian smirked faintly, a poor imitation of his usual grin. “Let it out on me. You look like you need to hit someone.”

Azriel stared at the sword in his hand, his grip tightening around the hilt. For a moment, he said nothing, but then he finally looked up, his hazel eyes burning with a mix of fury and anguish.

“Fine,” he growled, stepping onto the sparring mat.

Cassian mirrored him, adjusting his stance. “Good. Don’t think, just fight.”

Azriel’s first strike came hard and fast, the sound of steel clashing against steel echoing through the room. Cassian barely blocked it, grunting at the force.

“Damn, Az,” he muttered. “Not holding back at all, huh?”

“Don’t ask for it if you can’t take it,” Azriel snarled, his movements sharp and precise, his sword an extension of his rage.

Cassian met him blow for blow, the sparring turning into a brutal dance of strikes and parries. Azriel fought like a man possessed, every swing of his blade fuelled by the storm raging inside him.

“You’re angry. Good. Use it,” Cassian encouraged, his own movements growing faster to keep up with Azriel’s relentless assault.

“I’m not angry,” Azriel snapped, his voice raw. “I’m fucking—” His words broke off as he lunged forward, the clash of their swords sparking in the dim light.

“Furious. Heartbroken. Lost.” Cassian finished for him, blocking another strike. “I know, Az. I know.”

Azriel let out a guttural sound, a mix between a growl and a cry, as he pushed harder, his strikes wild yet calculated. Cassian absorbed the blows, giving as good as he got, but never aiming to truly hurt. This wasn’t about winning.

The sparring ended abruptly when Azriel dropped his sword, falling to his knees on the mat. His chest heaved, and his hands trembled as he stared at the ground, his shadows writhing chaotically around him.

Cassian crouched in front of him, placing a steady hand on his shoulder. He didn’t say anything, just stayed there, offering his silent support.

Azriel’s voice was barely above a whisper when he finally spoke. “I just want her back, Cass. I just want my daughter back.”

Cassian’s grip on his shoulder tightened. “We’ll find her, Az. I swear to you, we’ll find her.”

“Alright,” Cassian said, rising to his full height, his voice calm but firm. “Enough with the swords. You need to fight. Really fight. No weapons. Just fists.”

Azriel didn’t look up, his hands pressing into the mat as his breath came out in ragged gasps.

Cassian stepped closer, crossing his arms. “Az. Get up.”

Azriel slowly raised his head, his hazel eyes bloodshot and brimming with pain. “What’s the point?” he muttered, his voice hollow.

“The point,” Cassian said sharply, “is that you’re going to explode if you don’t let this out. And I’m not letting you fall apart. So, get up, brother. Hit me, like you always threaten me you will.”

Azriel stared at him for a long moment, the war within him playing out across his face. Then, with a deep, shuddering breath, he pushed himself to his feet. His movements were slow, his body heavy with exhaustion, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—a spark reignited by Cassian’s challenge.

“You want me to hit you?” Azriel asked, his voice low and dangerous.

Cassian spread his arms, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “I’m asking you to stop holding back. Stop punishing yourself. Take it out on me instead, it's my fault anyway.”

Azriel’s jaw clenched, his shadows curling tighter around his body like a second skin. Without another word, he squared his stance, his hands curling into fists.

“Good,” Cassian said, stepping onto the mat and raising his fists. “No thinking, no holding back. Just fight.”

Azriel moved first, his fist cutting through the air like lightning. Cassian dodged, narrowly avoiding the punch, but Azriel followed up with a swift jab that connected with his shoulder.

“That’s it,” Cassian said, grinning despite the impact. “Come on, Az. You can do better than that.”

Azriel’s next swing was faster, harder. Cassian blocked it, countering with a punch of his own that Azriel deflected. The sound of flesh meeting flesh filled the room, the fight turning into a brutal rhythm.

Each hit was a release—each swing a way for Azriel to vent the storm raging inside him. His movements were precise, controlled, but there was a ferocity behind them that Cassian had rarely seen.

“You think this is your fault?” Cassian growled as he dodged a hook. “You think you failed her?”

Azriel’s fist slammed into Cassian’s ribs, and he grunted, stumbling back. “I know I failed her,” Azriel snapped, his voice cracking.

“No, you didn’t!” Cassian shouted, stepping forward and landing a hit to Azriel’s side. “You’re her father, Az. You’ve done everything—everything—to find her! Me and Rhys lost her not you!”

“Not enough,” Azriel spat, his punches coming faster now. “It’s never enough. She’s out there, Cass. She’s out there, and I—”

Cassian ducked under a wild swing, grabbing Azriel’s arm and twisting it just enough to stop him without causing harm. “And we’re going to find her. But you killing yourself over this? That’s not going to help her.”

Azriel wrenched his arm free, shoving Cassian back. “What do you know?” he hissed, his voice raw with emotion. “You don’t know what it’s like to lose a child! You don't know how it feels to leave your precious little girl with the only two men you trust just so they could lose her!”

The words hung in the air like a heavy weight, and for a moment, neither of them moved.

Cassian’s expression softened, his hands dropping to his sides. “You’re right. I don’t know what it’s like to lose a child. But I know what it’s like to lose a brother. And I’m not losing you, Az. Not like this.”

Azriel’s fists trembled at his sides, his chest heaving as he struggled to hold himself together.

Cassian stepped closer, his voice firm but gentle. “You’re allowed to be angry. You’re allowed to break. But you don’t get to give up. Not on her. Not on yourself.”

Azriel’s shoulders sagged, the fight draining out of him as the weight of Cassian’s words settled over him. His knees buckled, and Cassian caught him before he could fall, holding him up with a steady grip.

“You’re not alone in this, Az,” Cassian said quietly, his voice steady. “We’ll find her. Together.”

Azriel didn’t respond, but the tension in his body slowly eased as he leaned into Cassian’s support, his head bowing as he let out a shuddering breath.

Cassian sat beside Azriel on the training room floor, his breathing still heavy from their fight. Azriel’s knuckles were raw, bloodied from the hits he’d thrown, and his face was a mix of exhaustion and despair. Cassian studied his brother for a moment before speaking, his voice quieter now, softer.

“Az,” Cassian began, his tone laced with both authority and care. “You need to go to her.”

Azriel didn’t move, didn’t even look at him. His hazel eyes stared blankly ahead, shadows still curling faintly around him. “She’s better off without me right now,” he muttered, his voice hollow. “I can’t… I can’t look her in the eye. Not after this.”

Cassian frowned, shaking his head. “You’re wrong.”

Azriel’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t reply.

“Rhys told me,” Cassian continued, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “He said she’s been crying nonstop. That she hasn’t slept, hasn’t eaten properly. She’s falling apart, Az. And you know what? She misses you.”

Azriel’s head dropped into his hands, his fingers gripping his hair as if trying to ground himself.

“She needs you, brother,” Cassian pressed, his voice firm but compassionate. “You think you’re the only one suffering here? She’s your mate. She’s feeling every ounce of your pain, your guilt, your anger. And she’s carrying it all on top of her own grief.”

Azriel’s breath hitched, his shoulders trembling slightly.

“You’re a team,” Cassian said, placing a heavy hand on Azriel’s shoulder. “And she loves you. More than anything. Don’t push her away because you’re drowning in your own guilt. Go to her, Az. Let her remind you why you’re fighting so damn hard.”

Azriel finally looked up, his bloodshot eyes meeting Cassian’s. “I don’t know what to say to her,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “How do I look at her and tell her I’ve failed her? That I’ve failed our daughter?”

Cassian squeezed his shoulder, his expression both understanding and unyielding. “You don’t have to have the answers, Az. Just be there. Hold her. Let her hold you. That’s all she needs right now.”

For a long moment, Azriel said nothing, the weight of Cassian’s words settling over him. Then, with a deep, shuddering breath, he nodded.

Cassian stood, holding out a hand to help Azriel up. “Go,” he said, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Before I have to drag your stubborn ass to her myself.”

Azriel managed a faint, humorless chuckle as he took Cassian’s hand and stood. “Thanks,” he muttered, his voice thick with emotion.

Cassian nodded, watching as Azriel made his way toward the door. As the shadowsinger disappeared from view, Cassian let out a long breath, hoping his brother would find the strength he needed in the arms of the one person who could truly ground him.

-----

Azriel winnowed directly into the quiet of the living room, the familiar scent of home hitting him like a blow to the chest. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across the room, but it was the figure hunched over the map table that immediately caught his attention.

Rhysand didn’t look up right away. His shoulders were tense, his hair dishevelled as he stared down at yet another map spread across the table, lines and markings indicating potential search areas. He looked as exhausted as Azriel felt—worn thin by the weight of guilt and desperation.

“I knew you’d show up eventually,” Rhys said without preamble, his voice heavy with fatigue.

Azriel didn’t respond, his jaw tightening as he stepped further into the room. His eyes flicked to the maps, the endless marks, and notes that Rhys had likely been pouring over for hours. The High Lord finally straightened, turning to face him.

“You’re a coward for staying away this long,” Rhys said bluntly, though there was no malice in his tone—just weariness. “But I guess you already know that.”

Azriel’s shadows coiled tighter around him, his gaze dropping to the floor. “Where is she?” he asked, his voice strained, almost hesitant.

Rhys sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “I carried her to your room not long ago,” he said. “She finally passed out after days of crying and screaming herself hoarse. I’ve never seen her like that, Az. And I’ve never been so angry at you for not being here when she needed you most.”

Azriel flinched, the words hitting their mark. He didn’t try to defend himself. He couldn’t.

Rhys stepped closer, his violet eyes sharp and unforgiving. “You think you’ve failed her? You think you’ve failed Kaia? You’re not the only one carrying that guilt, brother. But staying away only made it worse. For her. For all of us.”

Azriel swallowed hard, his fists clenching at his sides. “I didn’t know how to face her,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Rhys softened slightly, though his expression remained stern. “You’re here now,” he said. “That’s what matters. Go to her, Azriel. She needs you.”

Azriel nodded stiffly, his shadows flickering as he turned toward the hallway leading to their room. Rhys watched him go, his own exhaustion etched deeply into his features. Once Azriel was out of sight, Rhys turned back to the maps, his jaw tightening as he resumed the relentless task of trying to bring his niece home.

Azriel stepped into the dimly lit bedroom, the familiar scent of lavender and you enveloping him like a long-lost comfort. His steps were slow, hesitant, as if the very air around him carried the weight of his guilt and exhaustion.

There you were, curled up on your side in the massive bed you once shared so easily. Now it felt like a chasm had opened between you. Your face was turned toward the door, cheeks streaked with dried tears, your lashes still damp. In your arms, you clutched one of Kaia’s favourite teddies, holding it as if it could somehow tether you to her.

The sight nearly broke him.

His heart clenched painfully as he took in how fragile you looked, how drained. It wasn’t just the sleepless nights; it was the ache of a mother separated from her child, compounded by the distance he had forced between you. He had done this—added to your suffering when he should have been your anchor.

Azriel approached slowly, careful not to wake you. His shadows coiled around him like silent sentries, sensing the heavy turmoil in his heart. He stopped at the edge of the bed, his gaze drinking in every detail of you. The way your fingers were knotted around the teddy, the way your breathing hitched slightly even in sleep, as though the pain lingered even in your dreams.

He sank down onto the mattress beside you, his hands trembling as he reached out but stopped short of touching you. He didn’t deserve to. Not after everything. But gods, he wanted to.

The soft glow of the bedside candle flickered, casting shadows across the room, and for a moment, he let himself imagine Kaia curled up in the bed with you, her tiny wings tucked in as she clutched that same teddy. The thought nearly undid him.

“I’m so sorry,” Azriel whispered, his voice hoarse and broken. The words were meant for you, for Kaia, for the version of himself he didn’t know how to forgive.

His head bowed, his hands gripping his knees as he sat there, keeping vigil by your side.

You stirred, groggy and disoriented, the remnants of an uneasy sleep clinging to you like a heavy fog. The dim light of the room filtered through your lashes as you blinked, trying to clear the haze from your mind. Your arms instinctively tightened around the soft teddy you had been clutching, the faintest trace of Kaia's scent still lingering on it, a bittersweet comfort.

As your eyes fluttered open fully, you felt the presence before you saw him. You turned your head slowly and froze when you saw Azriel sitting on the edge of the bed, his shoulders hunched, his head bowed. His siphons caught the faint light, but it was the exhaustion etched into his face that stopped your breath.

“Azriel?” Your voice was a rasp, raw from days of crying and lack of sleep.

His head lifted at the sound of your voice, his hazel eyes locking onto yours. The weight of his guilt and anguish was unmistakable, almost unbearable to look at. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice trembling, barely audible.

You sat up slowly, the teddy still clutched in your lap, as the memories of the past weeks came rushing back. The empty space in your arms where Kaia should have been. The suffocating silence that had stretched between you and Azriel. The raw ache of hope slipping further from your grasp with every passing day.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, your voice sharper than you intended, though it carried the undertone of your pain.

“I had to see you,” he admitted, his voice cracking. “I couldn’t—” He stopped, his hands running through his hair as he struggled to find the words. “I know I’ve failed you. I’ve failed her. But I—”

“Stop,” you cut him off, your voice trembling as fresh tears pricked your eyes. “Don’t sit there and tell me things I already know, Azriel.”

The words came out harsher than you intended, but the dam holding back your emotions had cracked wide open. He flinched, but he didn’t look away. Instead, he leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he clasped his hands together tightly, as if trying to hold himself together.

“I don’t know how to fix this,” he finally said, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I don’t know how to fix us.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence in the room as heavy as the grief you both carried. Then, slowly, you reached out, your hand brushing against his. His head snapped up at the touch, and you saw the raw vulnerability in his eyes.

“We can’t fix this,” you said softly, your voice thick with emotion. “Not until we find her. Until she’s home.”

Azriel nodded, his jaw tightening as he swallowed hard. “We will. I swear to you, we will.”

Azriel didn’t say anything else. Instead, he moved closer, closing the distance between you. Slowly, cautiously, as if he feared you’d push him away, he reached out and pulled you into his arms. His hands trembled slightly as they slid around your back, drawing you against his chest.

Your face pressed against the familiar curve of his shoulder, and you breathed in his scent—a mixture of shadows, cedar, and something uniquely him that had always made you feel safe. A fresh wave of tears welled in your eyes, spilling silently as you clung to him.

His wings unfolded, draping around you like a protective cocoon, shutting out the world beyond the two of you. The warmth they provided was immediate, a stark contrast to the cold emptiness you’d been feeling for weeks. His chin rested lightly on the top of your head, and for a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence filled only with the sound of your shaky breaths and his steady heartbeat.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured into your hair, his voice cracking as his arms tightened around you. “For everything. For not being enough. For not protecting her. For letting you carry this alone.”

Your hands fisted in the fabric of his shirt as you buried your face deeper into his neck, your tears soaking into his skin. “Azriel,” you choked out, your voice muffled against him. “I can’t do this without her. I can’t.”

“You won’t have to,” he whispered fiercely, his wings pressing closer, holding you as if he could shield you from the unbearable pain. “I’ll bring her back. I’ll find her. I swear it, Y/N. I won’t stop until I do.”

His voice broke, and for the first time in weeks, you felt the weight of his own grief, his own torment, as he held you. You tightened your grip on him, the bond between you trembling but unyielding, even in the face of your shared despair.

For now, in the safety of his arms and the shelter of his wings, you let yourself believe, just for a moment, that maybe, just maybe, there was still hope.

Rhys’s knock on the door was sharp and purposeful, and you pulled back from Azriel with a soft sniffle as he gave you a moment’s space. Your eyes were still swollen from crying, and your throat ached with the weight of the grief you had been carrying for the past two weeks.

Azriel stood as you slowly wiped your face, his wings folding behind him, his jaw clenched tightly. Neither of you spoke as Rhys’s voice came through the door, his usual calmness tinged with urgency.

“Azriel, Y/N,” Rhys called from the other side. “Lucien and Eris have arrived. They have information. We need to talk.”

You looked at Azriel, his gaze steady but full of unresolved pain, before he nodded at you to stay close. Without a word, you followed him as he opened the door.

Lucien and Eris stood just beyond the threshold, their presence filling the room. Lucien’s amber eyes flicked to you briefly, but he quickly turned his attention to Azriel, who had stepped in front of you protectively, his posture rigid with barely contained tension.

“Azriel,” Lucien began, his voice low, “Eris has been tracking some unusual movement around the area. We believe there’s been some trafficking—human and other species—passing through. If Eris’s calculations are right, more might be coming through soon.”

Eris stood with his arms crossed, looking as unbothered as ever, though his golden eyes flickered with a seriousness that wasn’t typical for him. He didn’t speak, letting Lucien handle the exchange.

Azriel’s eyes narrowed. “Traffickers.” His voice was low, guttural, the word like a growl in his throat. “They could be the ones responsible.”

“They’re likely the ones who have Kaia,” Lucien added, his voice steady but carrying the weight of grim certainty. “There’s been some chatter about the wings, Azriel. We’ve heard whispers about a deal, something involving rare wings... and I suspect your daughter’s are of interest to them.”

A cold chill ran through your veins at the mention of Kaia’s wings. She was so young, so small. The thought of anyone wanting to exploit her, to harm her, made your stomach churn in a way that felt like it was splitting you apart.

Azriel’s face hardened into a mask of resolve, but his eyes betrayed the barely contained fury and anguish he was struggling with. “Where are they?” His voice was nearly a whisper, but the command was undeniable.

Eris finally spoke, his voice low but sharp. “The traffickers are known to have a base somewhere in the Autumn Court. We need to move quickly before they disperse again. If we’re too slow, we might lose them.”

Rhys stepped forward then, his hands resting on his hips as he addressed Azriel. “We need to act fast. We can’t let them slip through our fingers.”

You felt Azriel’s entire body tense, but it wasn’t just from the raw anger that coursed through him. He was terrified. You could feel it. Terrified of failing her again.

“We leave now,” Azriel finally said, his voice hard and unwavering. “Tell the courts to prepare. We’ll go immediately.”

Lucien and Eris nodded in sync, and though their faces were etched with grim determination, you could see the concern in their eyes for both of you.

Azriel reached for you, his fingers brushing against yours. “Stay close,” he murmured, his voice rough, like he had to force the words out. “We’ll get her back. I promise.”

You nodded, clenching your jaw as you fought the tears that still threatened to spill. You didn’t trust yourself to speak, so instead, you simply took his hand. The urgency of the situation loomed over all of you now, and there was no time for more words. You had to move, and you had to do it quickly.

Azriel gave you one last look before turning toward Lucien and Eris, his wings unfurling as they made their way to the front of the house. Rhys followed, his presence a constant weight of support at your back as you prepared to head into the unknown once more, your heart racing with a renewed sense of purpose.

This time, you weren’t going to let anything stop you from bringing your daughter home.

-----

Kaia sat curled up in the tiny cage beneath the desk, her small body trembling from both fear and the chill that had seeped into her bones. Her little wings were pressed uncomfortably against the bars, and her cheeks were streaked with tears as she whimpered softly, clutching at the tiny threadbare blanket the hooded figure had thrown at her earlier. It did little to keep her warm or comfort her.

“Dada,” she whispered, her tiny voice barely audible. “Mama… wanna go home…”

The hooded figure loomed nearby, rummaging through a chest filled with ominous-looking tools and trinkets. The room was dark and cramped, the faint light from a single lantern casting eerie shadows across the walls. The air smelled of damp wood and iron, making it hard for her to breathe without sobbing.

When her quiet whimpering grew louder, the figure spun around, their voice a sharp, angry rasp. “Didn’t I tell you to shut up?”

Kaia flinched, her tiny body jerking back against the cold metal bars of the cage. She sniffled, biting her trembling lip to try to stay quiet, but she couldn’t help the small, frightened hiccup that escaped.

The figure stormed over, grabbing the edge of the cage and shaking it roughly. “I said, shut up!” they snarled. Without warning, they reached in and grabbed one of her fragile wings, tugging it sharply. Kaia let out a high-pitched scream of pain, her sobs growing louder as she struggled against the hold.

“Hurts!” she cried, her words barely understandable through her sobs. “Hurts! No! Stop! Wanna go home! Dada, Mama, help!”

The hooded figure yanked harder, inspecting the delicate membrane of her wings as if assessing their value. “These’ll fetch me a fortune,” they muttered to themselves, ignoring her cries entirely. “Rare Illyrian wings like these... perfect for what I need.”

Kaia thrashed weakly, her small hands pushing at the bars of the cage as she tried to wriggle free. “No! Stop!” she wailed, her voice hoarse from screaming. “Dada, where are you? Mama, come get me!”

The figure shoved her back into the cage roughly, her head bumping against the bars as she collapsed into a heap of tears and cries. “Cry all you want,” they hissed. “No one’s coming for you.”

Kaia’s sobs turned into quiet, hiccupping whimpers as she curled into herself, clutching at her tiny blanket again. “Mama... Dada… pwease…” she murmured, her voice fading into tired whispers as exhaustion finally began to pull at her small body.

But even as her cries quieted, her tears continued to fall. She didn’t understand why her mama and dada weren’t there yet. She didn’t understand why this person was so mean. All she wanted was to be safe in her mama’s arms and feel her dada’s wings wrapped around her again.

-----

It had been three agonizing days since the High Lords' meeting, three days since Azriel had returned home to you, and three more days of utter silence about Kaia’s whereabouts. Every corner of the forests had been searched. The mountains, the rivers, the camps—nothing. No trace of Kaia. No whisper of the traffickers. No signs of hope.

You and Azriel had stayed in Velaris, though the weight of the empty nursery upstairs felt unbearable. The curtains remained drawn, casting shadows over the house, as though the absence of light could somehow ease the absence of your daughter. But it didn’t. Nothing did.

Azriel hadn’t spoken much over the last few days, his grief and guilt suffocating him like a heavy shroud. He spent hours pouring over maps, speaking in clipped tones to Rhys through their bond or sharpening his already pristine blades in the living room, the repetitive scrape of steel against whetstone filling the silence. He refused to eat unless you practically forced him to, and the sight of his haunted, hollow expression shattered you every time you looked at him.

You hadn’t fared much better. The raw ache in your chest only seemed to deepen with each passing day. Kaia’s laugh, her tiny feet pattering on the floor, her bright, curious eyes—those memories were an unbearable torment now. You clung to the tattered hope that she was still alive somewhere, waiting for you to find her. But the longer the search dragged on, the harder it became to keep that hope alive.

“Three days,” you whispered to yourself as you sat by the fire in the living room, clutching one of Kaia’s favourite blankets. It still smelled faintly of her, and you held it close, trying to ignore the sting of tears that blurred your vision. “Three days and nothing…”

Rhys sat across from you, his face drawn and pale. He had been orchestrating search parties day and night, rarely sleeping, barely eating. He looked older, wearier, as though the weight of his failures as High Lord—and as an uncle—was bearing down on him. “We’re not giving up,” he said softly, though his voice lacked its usual conviction. “We’ll keep looking. We’ll—”

“She could be anywhere!” you snapped, the grief in your voice turning sharp. “It’s been almost four weeks now, Rhys. Do you have any idea what could’ve happened to her in that time? She's out there because of you being a fool!” Your hands trembled as you clutched the blanket tighter. “She’s just a baby…”

Rhys flinched at your words but didn’t argue. He couldn’t. Azriel, who stood silently by the window, staring out at the city below, didn’t react either. His shoulders were rigid, his wings tucked tightly behind him as though he were holding himself together by sheer force of will.

Cassian burst through the front door, shaking snow off his boots. His face was grim, his eyes shadowed with exhaustion. “Still nothing,” he said, his voice rough. “The snowstorm last night erased any tracks. If they were moving her—”

“Stop,” Azriel said suddenly, his voice low and raw. He turned from the window, his hazel eyes blazing with grief and fury. “Don’t talk about her like that. She’s alive. We’ll find her.”

Cassian nodded, but his expression gave away his doubt. “We’re doing everything we can, Az. But we need more—”

“We need her back,” Azriel interrupted, his voice breaking. He sank into a nearby chair, running a hand through his hair. “Every day we don’t find her… I—”

You moved to his side, kneeling beside him as tears slid silently down your cheeks. “We’ll find her,” you whispered, though your voice wavered. You had to believe it, even if it felt like the words were losing their meaning.

-----

The air in the Autumn Court woods was sharp and biting, the trees looming tall and ancient, their bare branches reaching out like skeletal hands. Snow crunched beneath heavy boots as Eris led the search party, his face set in a mask of determination. Beside him, Lucien walked silently, his single russet eye scanning the dense forest with precision, the other hidden behind a leather patch.

Around them, Eris's twelve shadow hounds prowled the perimeter, their sleek black forms blending almost seamlessly with the darkened undergrowth. The hounds moved with eerie grace, their noses low to the ground, sniffing for any trace of the traffickers or the missing child.

Eris broke the silence first, his tone clipped but not unkind. "We’re wasting daylight. If they moved through here, it would’ve been under cover of night, and the snowstorm two days ago would’ve wiped out any tracks.”

Lucien tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword, his jaw clenching. “The traffickers don’t care about the weather. If they’re desperate enough, they’d push through.” His voice was steady, but there was an undercurrent of anger in it—a simmering rage that had been building since the meeting with the High Lords.

One of the shadow hounds let out a low growl, its head snapping toward a cluster of dense brush. The other hounds froze in unison, their ears perking up, noses twitching as they picked up something—something faint but unmistakable.

Eris raised a hand, signalling the guards to stop. “What is it?” he murmured, his sharp golden eyes narrowing as he followed the hounds’ movements.

The largest of the hounds, a beast nearly the size of a horse, nosed its way into the brush, its growl deepening. A moment later, it emerged, carrying a torn scrap of cloth in its powerful jaws. The fabric was small, delicate, and unmistakably child-sized. Eris’s breath hitched, and he took the scrap from the hound, holding it up for Lucien to see.

Lucien’s face darkened. “That’s from Velaris,” he said grimly. “One of hers.”

Eris’s lips pressed into a thin line as he handed the cloth to one of the guards. “Send this to Rhysand immediately. He’ll want to confirm it.”

The guard nodded and disappeared into the trees, his magic crackling faintly as he prepared to winnow. Eris turned back to Lucien, his voice low. “If this is hers, then they were here recently. The hounds wouldn’t have picked up the scent otherwise.”

Lucien nodded, his fingers twitching at his sides as though itching to draw his blade. “We press on. If we’re close, we can’t afford to stop now.”

Eris didn’t argue. He whistled sharply, and the shadow hounds took off again, their forms disappearing into the forest like living shadows. The guards followed closely behind, their weapons drawn and senses on high alert.

The woods grew darker as they pressed deeper, the canopy overhead blocking out what little light filtered through the overcast sky. The air felt colder here, heavier, as though the forest itself held its breath.

Lucien glanced at Eris, his voice tense. “If we find her—when we find her—what do you plan to do to the bastards who took her?”

Eris’s golden eyes glinted dangerously in the dim light. “They’ll wish they’d never been born.” His tone was calm, but the promise of violence in his words was unmistakable.

Lucien didn’t respond, but a flicker of satisfaction crossed his face.

He didn't know if this was due to respect that Eris has gained as High Lord or that his brother still has feelings for you.

They moved in silence after that, the only sounds the crunch of snow beneath their feet and the occasional growl of the hounds.

If the traffickers were still in these woods, they wouldn’t remain hidden for long.

-----

The cloaked figure loomed over the tiny cage, their form illuminated by the dim, flickering light of a single lantern. Kaia whimpered, clutching her small arms around her trembling body as the figure’s gnarled, scaly fingers reached for the latch. Their breathing was laboured and raspy, a sinister sound that filled the cramped, decrepit house wagon.

The latch clicked open with a sharp metallic sound, and the figure reached in, grabbing Kaia roughly by her wings. She let out a high-pitched squeal of pain, her tiny voice trembling with fear.

“Stop... hurts! Wan’ Mama, Dada!” Kaia sobbed, kicking her little legs as the figure dragged her out of the cage and plopped her onto a rickety wooden table.

The cloaked figure threw back their hood, revealing a nearly bald head with a few wisps of grey, brittle hair clinging to a sickly, patchy scalp. Their face was gaunt and sallow, their eyes beady and sunken into their face, glinting with malice. Scales mottled their skin, covering their twisted fingers as they moved with eerie precision.

“Quiet,” the figure hissed in a voice as dry and brittle as their appearance. They shoved Kaia down, pinning her small body against the cold surface of the table. “Squirm all you want. It won’t save you.”

Kaia’s sobs turned into wails as she thrashed weakly beneath the figure’s grip, her toddler instincts kicking in to escape. “No, no, no!” she cried, her baby words muddled with desperate hiccups. “Mama... Dada... scared! Wanna go home!”

The figure ignored her, their movements methodical as they pulled out a wickedly sharp blade, its serrated edge catching the faint lantern light. They muttered to themselves, their cracked lips curling into something like a grin. “These will fetch a fine price... such pristine, little wings. Rare, so rare.”

Kaia’s little chest heaved as she tried to wriggle free, her wings twitching painfully under the figure’s iron grip. Her cries grew louder, her baby voice desperate. “No! No cut! Dada save Kaia! Dada!”

The figure snorted, mocking her cries. “Your Dada isn’t coming, child. No one’s coming for you.”

They raised the blade, its cruel edge poised over the base of one delicate wing. Kaia screamed, her tiny hands reaching out as if grasping for the parents she desperately wished were there. “Mama! Dada! Rhysie!”

The blade began to descend, and Kaia’s sobs filled the air, piercing and heart-wrenching, her tiny voice begging, pleading in her toddler way for someone to save her.

-----

Eris and Lucien moved swiftly through the dense forest, their sharp senses on high alert. The shadow hounds sniffed and growled, leading them deeper into the woods. The faint scent of blood and decay lingered in the air, setting their nerves on edge.

Ahead, a decrepit wagon house stood crookedly on the forest floor, its wooden exterior rotting and overgrown with moss. Smoke wafted lazily from a broken chimney, and a faint light flickered through the cracked windows. Eris raised a hand to halt the group, his eyes narrowing.

"Something's off," Lucien murmured, his gaze flicking to the hounds, which were growling lowly, their hackles raised. "It reeks of foul magic."

Without hesitation, Eris strode forward and pounded on the warped wooden door, the force of his knock making the entire structure shake. "Open up!" he barked, his voice carrying the authority of a High Lord’s heir.

There was a rustling sound inside, followed by hurried footsteps. A few tense moments passed before the door creaked open slightly, revealing a hunched figure with a weathered face and wild eyes. The witch’s tangled hair hung in greasy strands, and her bony fingers clutched the edge of the door like claws.

"What do you want?" she croaked, her voice sharp and defensive. "I’ve done nothing to warrant a visit from you prissy princelings."

Eris stepped closer, his golden eyes blazing. "We’re searching for someone—a child, my old friends child actually. Have you seen anything unusual around here?"

The witch’s eyes darted to the side for the briefest moment before she sneered. "What would I want with a child? I live alone. Nothing here but me and my potions." She moved to close the door, but Lucien caught it with a gloved hand.

"Mind if we take a look around?" Lucien asked, his tone deceptively calm but his posture tense. "You wouldn’t want us to think you’re hiding something."

The witch’s lips curled back, revealing yellowed teeth. "I don’t answer to you. Be gone!" Shutting the door.

Inside the wagon, Kaia’s heart raced as she struggled against the rough ropes binding her tiny hands. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she whimpered softly, the gag in her mouth muffling her cries. The witch stormed back toward her, muttering curses under her breath. She snatched Kaia up roughly, her bony hands tugging at the ropes around the toddler’s wings.

“Quiet, brat,” she hissed, shoving Kaia into the cramped cage beneath the table. Kaia’s wings scraped against the cold metal bars as the witch yanked a heavy cloth over the cage, concealing it from view.

The witch spun around, her expression twisted with irritation as she returned to the door. "See? Nothing here but an old woman trying to mind her business. Now get out before I curse your fancy boots!"

Lucien glanced over her shoulder, his mechanical eye whirring as it scanned the dim interior. Eris’s jaw tightened, his instincts screaming that something was wrong. He gestured to the guards to spread out and inspect the area around the wagon.

“Perhaps we’ll stay a little longer,” Eris said, his tone cold and unyielding. "Just in case."

The witch’s eyes widened briefly before narrowing into slits. "You’ve got no right!" she spat, trying to slam the door shut, but Lucien shoved it open. The witch hissed.

Lucien’s patience snapped as the witch tried to block his path. “Enough of this,” he growled, his voice like a blade slicing through the tension. He grabbed the witch by her bony arm, ignoring her screeches and protests, and yanked her out of the wagon with startling force. She stumbled onto the ground, her tattered cloak flying behind her.

"Stay there," Lucien ordered, his mechanical eye glowing as he fixed her with a sharp glare. The witch glared back, her mouth opening to spew another curse, but the pack of shadow hounds surrounded her, their low growls silencing her immediately. She shrank back, clutching her cloak around her.

Inside the wagon, Eris moved with a predator's grace, his golden eyes scanning the dim interior. The place reeked of damp wood, spoiled herbs, and something else—something metallic and sour. The furniture was sparse and crude, and strange jars filled with unidentifiable substances lined the shelves. His gaze swept over the rickety table, the uneven floorboards, and the assortment of clutter strewn about.

Something wasn't right.

Eris paused, his sharp ears catching the faintest sound—a muffled whimper. His gaze zeroed in on the table in the centre of the room, its legs uneven and its surface covered in a filthy cloth. He stepped closer, his instincts prickling.

Pulling the cloth aside in one swift motion, he froze.

There, under the table, was a small cage, and inside it, curled up and trembling, was Kaia. Her tiny body was bound with rough ropes, and her wings were pressed awkwardly against the cage bars. Her tear-streaked face peeked out from the gag that had been forced into her mouth, her wide eyes filled with terror.

“Kaia,” Eris whispered, his voice softer than anyone would have expected. His hands reached out, careful not to startle her, as he crouched down. “It’s okay, little one. I’ve got you.”

Outside, Lucien’s head snapped up as he heard Eris’s voice. “Eris?” he called, stepping toward the wagon. The witch, realizing what they had found, let out an ear-piercing shriek and lunged forward, only to be intercepted by two of the shadow hounds. They snarled, forcing her back into the dirt.

Eris didn’t bother acknowledging the commotion outside. His focus was entirely on Kaia. He reached for the cage door, his hands trembling as he undid the crude latch. When it creaked open, Kaia flinched, pressing herself against the corner of the cage.

“It’s okay,” Eris said again, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. “You’re safe now.”

Lucien appeared in the doorway, his eyes widening as he took in the scene. “Is that—” His voice broke off, his chest tightening as he saw the state of Azriel’s daughter.

“It’s her,” Eris confirmed, his jaw tight with restrained fury. He carefully lifted Kaia from the cage, his movements deliberate and slow. She whimpered, her little body stiff with fear, but when she felt his arms around her, she clung to him, her tiny hands gripping his tunic.

“Dada…” Kaia whimpered, her voice muffled by the gag.

Eris’s throat tightened, but he kept his composure. “We’re taking you home,” he murmured, cradling her close.

As Eris held Kaia carefully in his arms, his golden eyes swept over her trembling body, his gaze landing on her delicate wings. His breath caught in his throat. Blood stained the edges of her tiny, soft the crimson stark against the white and silver of her wings.

The deep gash at the base of one wing was impossible to ignore, the cut jagged and cruel, as if done with no regard for her fragile form. Blood trickled from the wound, soaking into her clothing and dripping onto Eris’s hands.

Lucien, standing just behind him, froze at the sight. “Mother above…” he murmured, his voice filled with horror. His mechanical eye whirred as he scanned the injury, the details burning into his memory.

Kaia whimpered weakly, her little hands clinging to Eris’s tunic as if she was afraid to let go. Her tiny voice, muffled and broken, whimpered through the gag still tied around her face. "H-hurt… Dada... Mama..."

Eris’s jaw clenched tightly, his fury barely restrained. “Lucien, get me a cloth. Now,” he ordered sharply, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Lucien moved quickly, his hands rummaging through the scattered contents of the witch’s wagon. He grabbed a relatively clean strip of cloth and rushed back to Eris, his movements purposeful despite the rage simmering beneath his usually calm exterior.

Eris gently adjusted Kaia in his arms, careful not to jostle her injured wings further. “I know, little one,” he murmured softly, his voice thick with emotion. “I know it hurts. I’m so sorry.”

Lucien handed him the cloth, and Eris pressed it gently against the base of her wings, trying to stem the bleeding. Kaia flinched and let out a soft cry of pain, her face scrunching up as tears streamed down her cheeks.

“It’s okay,” Eris soothed, his voice quieter now. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.” His hands moved carefully, ensuring the pressure was just enough to slow the bleeding without causing her more pain.

Lucien knelt beside him, his face dark with anger and worry. “We need to get her out of here now,” he said firmly. “She needs a healer. Immediately.”

Eris nodded, his expression grim. He glanced down at Kaia, her face pale and streaked with tears, her wings trembling slightly as he held her. “We’re going home,” he promised her, his voice unwavering. “No one will hurt you ever again.”

Kaia went limp in Eris's arms, her small body sagging against him as her shallow breaths barely stirred. Her tiny wings, bloodied and trembling moments before, now hung unnaturally still. Eris felt a cold dread settle deep in his chest, his heart pounding violently against his ribs.

“No, no, no, Kaia,” Eris murmured, his voice shaking, a rare crack in his usually controlled demeanour. “Stay with me, little one.” His golden eyes darted to her pale face, her tears drying in streaks on her cheeks. Panic surged in him as he realized how cold she felt against his chest.

Lucien, crouching nearby, noticed the shift. “Eris?” he asked cautiously, his voice laced with unease. When he saw the way Eris held her limp form tighter, something dark flickered across Lucien’s features. “Eris, what—?”

“Deal with the witch!” Eris barked, his voice raw and loud, his usual calm replaced with fury and desperation. He stood abruptly, cradling Kaia closer, his hands trembling as he adjusted the cloth to keep pressure on her bleeding wings. “I’m taking her back. Handle this.” His hair glinted under the dim light as his sharp eyes burned with determination.

Lucien nodded sharply, his expression hardening as he turned toward the wagon and the witch, who was still writhing and snarling curses at them. Without hesitation, he moved to take control of the scene, his mechanical eye glinting as he calculated every necessary step.

Eris didn’t wait another second. With Kaia pressed tightly to his chest, he winnowed, his flames licking the air as the forest house materialized around him. The moment his boots hit the ground, he shouted, his voice echoing with authority and desperation.

“HEALER! I NEED A HEALER NOW!”

His roar cut through the silence of the home like a blade. The few guards stationed nearby rushed into the room, alarm etched into their faces. They took one look at the bloodied child in Eris’s arms and didn’t hesitate to act. One of them darted off to fetch a healer, while another cleared a space on a nearby table.

Eris lowered Kaia onto the table carefully, his hands hovering as if afraid touching her further would cause her more pain. His throat tightened at the sight of her tiny form, so fragile and still. Her wings were splayed unnaturally, blood pooling beneath her despite the cloth he’d pressed against her wounds.

He leaned over her, his hands clenching into fists as he whispered, “You’re going to be okay. You have to be.” His voice cracked, the weight of the past weeks and the horrors she’d endured finally breaking through his walls.

The healer arrived moments later, her bag clutched tightly in her hands. Her eyes widened at the sight before her, but she quickly schooled her expression and approached the table. “Lord Eris,” she said, her tone steady despite the urgency in her movements. “I’ll do everything I can.”

“You’d better,” Eris growled lowly, his golden eyes blazing. He stepped back to give her room but stayed close, watching every move she made with a ferocity that promised retribution if she failed.

Lucien returned to the forest house nearly an hour later, his cloak dusted with ash and his expression grim. He entered the main room to find Eris pacing relentlessly, his golden hair dishevelled and his hands flexing at his sides. The faint scent of blood still lingered in the air, but the healer had just finished stabilizing Kaia, who now lay wrapped in soft blankets on a low cot.

Eris turned the moment Lucien stepped inside, his sharp eyes narrowing. “What did you do?” he demanded, his voice cutting through the tense silence.

Lucien’s gaze flickered toward the cot where Kaia lay before meeting Eris’s burning stare. “The witch won’t harm anyone else,” he said simply, his tone as cold as the winter air outside. “She won’t be coming back.”

Eris’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t press further. He didn’t need to; he trusted Lucien to have dealt with the witch in the manner required. His concern was focused solely on the small child resting a few feet away. He exhaled harshly, dragging a hand down his face, before turning toward the cot. “Good,” he muttered, his voice low. “But we’re far from finished.”

Lucien stepped closer, his sharp features softening as he looked down at Kaia. “How is she?” he asked, his tone quieter now.

“The healer says she has a slight chance of survive,” Eris replied, though his voice was taut with restrained emotion. “But those wings... there’s damage. Permanent damage, possibly. She’s not out of the woods yet.” He glanced at his brother, the weight of everything pressing visibly on his shoulders.

Lucien placed a hand on Eris’s shoulder, offering a grounding touch. “You did everything you could,” he said, his amber eye locking with Eris’s. “And she’s alive because of you.”

Eris shook his head, his lips curling into a bitter line. “I’m not done yet. None of this is over. I need to get to Rhysand. He needs to know his niece is safe.”

Lucien’s brow furrowed slightly. “Are you sure you want to go now? The child—”

“She’ll be safe here,” Eris interrupted, his voice firm. “I trust the healer. But her parents—Y/N she needs to— they deserve to know. Can you imagine what they’ve been going through?” His eyes burned with an intensity that left no room for argument. “I’ll winnow to the Night Court immediately.”

Lucien hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Go. I’ll stay here and keep an eye on her.”

Eris gave a sharp nod in return, his expression hardening as he stepped back from the cot. He spared one last glance at Kaia, who lay still but peaceful, her tiny form swaddled in blankets. Then, without another word, he vanished in a swirl of flame, his destination clear.

So in a few more chapters we come to an end but I think Kaia's faith is clear....

But once the series is done Traitors war starts properly so please check that out! I'd be so grateful if you do!

Part 5

#acotar #acotar x reader #azriel acotar #azriel x reader #azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x oc #azriel fanfic #azriel spymaster #azriel x y/n #azriel x you #azriel imagine #acotar fanfiction #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf #az

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marsprincess889 · 3 months ago

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The differences between women of the three Venus nakshatras:

If you're one of them, I suggest you read them all, not just yours. Most will read Bharani first, then P. Phalguni and lastly P. Ashadha, but a more interesting order would be P. Phalguni-P. Ashadha-Bharani.

Bharani:

The birth of Venus_ the intense and transformative place that determines the journey.

The most passive energetically, perhaps the most visibly defensive. Focused on self-preservation, on deeper causes of their desires, wants, needs, attachments and love, and protective of their energy while relentlessly using it to get "what they want". More compassionate then Purva Phalguni, for example.

The themes of Bharani are physical creation, preservation and decay, along with the overarching rules or "mysteries" behind beauty, desire, attachments and love. Since it's Venus channeled personally, and connected to the sign of Aries/the active manifestation of Mars and the first house, it IS Venus, and so it lays the foundation for the other two. What that means is that one of its main concerns is secrecy and gatekeeping necessary for cultivation of everything that Venus represents, more so than other Venusian nakshatras.

It's also the only one that is Outcaste(Mleccha), which gives it enormous power and energy free of conventions. There is also en extreme sensitivity here that is not present in the other two. There's an awareness of energy and the core essence of everything that leads to the understanding or embodyment of "the ultimate", whatever that is.

Bharani women are embodyments of mother nature. They seek someone who can give them exactly what they want and need and nothing else. There is definitely a broad worldview that is naturally deep in them_ Bharani is an elephant yoni nakshatra, it has deep and profound memory, and some consider it the last nakshatra (most consider its yoni consort_ Revati as the last nakshatra, so that's some great insight into Elephant yonis). Despite this broad and deep view, Bharani women have a determination and a drive that can translate into an intensity with a "one track mind". Intensity and depth is in them almost always.

Definitely have the potential to be spiritual, because of a love for depth and an understanding of purity. Their yoni consort_ Revati is perhaps the most spiritual nakshatra, connected with the theme of "Godhood". Bharani's spirituality can be fused with romantic or sexual love and manifest as fierce devotion. They have an inability to tolerate "impurity"_ the error or fault between worlds and energies between them, for example, between the inner substance and the outward manifestation, or between the masculine and the feminine, between this world and the other. This can translate to a radical love of and demand for honesty and justice.

Balance and harmony are necessary for Venus but its sign rulership of Mars is the energy that drives them and in a sense, grants identity. The fusion of foundational energy of Venus with the active Mars is the theme of sex and death so prominent in this nakshatra. Life is the result of the sexual act but the culmination of that act is called "a little death". Love and desire drive sex so they also drive life and death. So, if Venus is the equilibrium and the balance then Mars is the other side_ the need for release. Together, they grant life and rule over the two components necessary for existence_ identity and the loss of it through love. Bharani is about defining existence itself, their own or of the world, through love.

Bharani women can act in a very enthusiastic and driven way, but also have a side to them that is extremely serious, to an extent that neither Purva Phalguni or even Purva Ashadha really reach.

Archetypically they represent the "damsel in distress" or "the princess in the tower". Bharani is something or someone nearly impossible to get or even find, which could be also associated with its symbolism of the yoni. It's also connected to the Holy Grail, or "The Philosopher's Stone" (that one was said by Claire Nakti recently and I have always gotten that vibe energetically from Bharani but could not articulate why. It makes so much sense though. This can also be another confirmation of why I associate Bharani with Rapunzel's tale so much).

Another archetype that they remind me of is the princess with high standards in fairytales that is so common. A similar one would be a young women who is fearlessly defiant, especially about choosing her own love.

Out of all Venus nakshatras Bharani women need gentleness the most, since's it's the most high tension/triggering placement among them. Bharani women can feel defenseless and abused, especially from harsh or crude(mostly masculine) energies. This ironically increases their defensive nature and a need for protection, despite being naturally gentle and passive. There's a clear difference between when a Bharani women is given her justice and when she is not. Their fierceness and gentleness are, in truth, the same in spirit.

Bharani moons Claire Holt, Gaia Weiss, Isabel Lucas

Purva Phalguni:

Out of the Venus nakshatras, Purva Phalguni is the one that is the least expressive emotionally. At least, not obviously. They too feel a lot, but their Sun rashi rulership grants them an "unbothered" nature.

So Purva Phalguni is the Venus nakshatra of pure unashamed enjoyment. They have clear preferences and after establishing the foundation in Bharani, Purva Phalguni is free to be prideful about their love. It's connected to ease, contrasting Bharani, which is more full of melancholic beauty and the meaning of struggle.

Purva Phalguni women are connected to material things and love it. Their personality is more "Sunny" than other Venus nakshatras. It's the most "neutral" Venus nakshatra. Definitely very sexual along with Bharani. The difference is that Bharani is represented by the yoni and the passive feminine principle, but Purva Phalguni is represented by the phallus and the active, masculine assertion of self through Venusian themes. In this way, they have a connection that is reaffirmed by the "special relationship"(traditional texts say so) between their yoni animals_ the rat and the elephant.

Women of this nakshatra, being the feminine representatives of the nakshatra of masculine assertion, have a friendly and easygoing nature, due to being relaxed. They have an energy of being "provided for", but they're still ruled by the planet of mutual exchange(Venus), so they're very giving in their own way. They like to pamper their beloved with gifts and/or attention, they love to feel special and make them feel "special"(Leo/Sun rulership) in return. Their tendency towards fun (5th house association) makes them a memorable presence. They do love spotlight more than Bharani and Purva Ashadha.

One interesting association of Purva Phalguni is discernment, which leads to their tendency of favoritism. Bharani and Purva Phalguni both love being passive in a sense of having someone take the reigns that helps them relax into a receptive, feminine role but they both also love to give back. Bharani is more receptive though, hungrier and harsher than Purva Phalguni, which is more relaxed and willing to give. Because of this, in a way, Bharani and Purva Phalguni women might become great friends with each other.

Charisma is a big thing here, due to Leo/Sun/5th house associations. Venus here is expressed through soul identity(Sun) and shown in the most adorned light among all three Venus nakshatras.

An important association of Purva Phalguni is procreation. Bharani as also explicitly associated with the sexual act and bringing a life, but Purva Phalguni focuses on the pleasure aspect of it, on the leisure and continuing the bloodline. Its yoni consort_ Magha is associated with family trees and bloodlines and is also fully in Leo(5th house/children association). Bharani on the other hand, focuses on immortality of love, attachments and transition between worlds, and sex for them is the ultimate point of change.

Even though they're the most outwardly stoic and act the most unaffected out of the three, they're also most prone to dramatics. There's a side to them that loves to show off and display, even if they don't show everything to everyone.

The dramaticism is for self-confidence and enjoyment(mainly, their own). It's not a placement that is concerned with gossip or everyone else's lives. Quite the contrary. If they don't like you, they will just pay you no attention. In this way, they're the least personal of Venus nakshatras. They have an aversion to anything unnecessary(kind of similar to how Bharani can't tolerate impurity) and outward harmony and empowerment is essential.

The archetype that Purva Phalguni women represent is the loving wife/girlfriend or "the spoiled lady". Purva Phalguni is Brahmin(highest) caste and is associated privilege and the ease that comes with it. Partnerships are important to them(the second stage of civilization/others. Bharani is the first stage of the individual, and Purva Ashadha is the third stage of universal). They can also be seen as "the nice rich girl", but that one is not necessarily true. They value politeness and manners but they themselves are not nice as much as they're unbothered. They're just not mean. The combination of Venus and Sun ensures that they're too focused on themselves and their wants to care about most others. In short, they live by "I am what I love".

Purva Phalguni moons Taylor Hill, Jane Birkin, Mia Wasikowska

Purva Ashadha:

Venus nakshatras all embody classical traits that are associated with the planet's archetype, but none are directly associated to the Goddesses Venus and Aphrodite like Purva Ashadha. This is the nakshatra of Venus' universalization. Being in the sign of Sagittarius (ruled by Jupiter), it has an inner desire to share its Venusian ideals(Sagittarius/9th house) with others.

Bharani is intense fire, Purva Phalguni is the fertile earth, Purva Ashadha is the relentless waves of water.

One obvious difference between Purva Ashadha and the other two Venus nakshatras is the lack of sexual associations.

When Venus is filtered through active Jupiter(sagittarius/9th house), then the action is sharing or spreading it. After the birth(Bharani) and the hedonistic pleasures(Purva Phalguni), Venus is ready and has an inner desire/neediness to make itself be heard.

The drive to spread its influence on this level is not present in other Venus nakshatras. Purva Ashadha women too know the importance of privacy, secrecy and gatekeeping, but they've come to a place where they've realized that beauty, love and all that is most precious cannot exist in a vacuum, but also cannot be ruined by what is below it in value. So the natural manifestation of that curcumstance is a constant tug of war between secrecy and sharing, between shutting off and spreading outwardly. Eventually, or sometimes immediately, they realize that they need allies to maintain their "Venus"(beauty, love, aesthetic preferences, all of them tied to morals and idealism), and then maybe, after strengthening, they can conquer all that is unworthy(in their eyes) together.

They can be extremely careful with who they choose to associate with, since to these women, people are either allies or enemies. In the end, whether they like to pretend otherwise or not, that's what it comes down to. They try to not show that they're trying to silently influence you, trying to get you to see that what they value is better or superior, that they'd like people to back them up in that way. It's still a Venus nakshatra, so they move in silence, but out of all Venus nakshatras, they're the most likely ones to break that "I'm just minding myself" Venusian attitude. They can become really triggered in general when something touches their ideals.

In friendships and with acquaintances they observe to see if they're worth trying to influence. Overall, these views may be why they like the idea of cliques or elitism that much.

Purva Ashadha women can be melancholic and intense like Bharani, but Bharani has a nature of fiery anger(active Martian/1st house/Aries), while Purva Ashadha is softer and watery. Another commonality they have with Bharani that Purva Phalguni does not is a creative drive to bring something out into the world. While in Bharani that manifests as literal birth/death and karmic changes, Purva Ashadha has a need to birth ideas, ideals, creative projects.

Their tendecy to look for allies and gather strength is further explained by its title as "the former victorious" one. It can be associated with revolutions, how the power of masses(Jupiter) empowered by fierce idealism(Venus-Jupiter) can grant said people victory. Their yoni consort_ Shravana, is associated with extreme receptivity and hearing everyone/everything. In this way, it is clear why they are consorts of Purva Ashadhas, who desire allies, support and victory.

A commonly manifested attitude among them is "others just will not get me"(that rarely is true irl). Jupiter, they rashi ruler, is connected to Godhood and their yoni_ Vanar, is a being from other dimentions. This might inspire a sense of superiority but also generate a feeling of alienation.

The most fitting archetype for them would be "warrior princess" or the "alluring siren". The siren's association with this nakshatra is quite famous. Purva Ashadha is another Brahmin caste nakshatra. Bharani has associations with fighting and aggression too but they do it on a more personal level. Purva Ashadha wants to fight with and for masses, backing what they fight for together.

Purva Ashadha moons Hailee Steinfeld, Astrid Berges-Frisbey and Liv Tyler

#vedic astrology #astrology #nakshatras #astrology observations #sidereal astrology #astro notes #astrology tumblr #bharani #purva phalguni #purva ashadha #venus #venus nakshatras #venusian nakshatras #planet venus #venus women

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madewithsilk · 1 month ago

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ʟᴀᴢʏ ᴍᴏʀɴɪɴɢꜱ ᴡ/ ᴠɪ

— ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ; ᴀꜰᴛᴇʀ ᴀ ʟᴏɴɢ ɴɪɢʜᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴍᴀᴋɪɴɢ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴡ/ ʏᴏᴜʀ ɢɪʀʟꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅ, ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏʀɴɪɴɢꜱ ꜱᴏᴏᴛʜᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴇᴊᴜᴠᴇɴᴀᴛᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀᴄᴇ

— ᴄᴡ; ɪᴍᴘʟɪᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ꜱᴇx ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʀᴀᴅ (?) ᴠᴀʟᴜᴇꜱ

The sunlight was seeping in the window at 6:30, creating rays of light upon the sheets you and Vi slept under. Morning birds began to awake, singing nearly inaudible hymns. Vi was a light sleeper, often woken up by anything. It was a defense mechanism she adapted very young. Her eyes fluttered open and she stirred awake, sight landing on you peacefully sleeping. She ensured you were taken care of and didn't have to worry about being awake at a sign of danger, you slept like baby, especially with Vi.

Vi's hand was tracing circles of your hip bone, lightly and tenderly, sighing softly. A few minutes of static silence passed before Vi shuffled out of bed, only in her boxers. She let you to sleep in the room, tucking the blanket once again and kissing your forehead. The kitchen was tidy, everything where it belonged, because of you. The acts of services you were constantly gifting Vi de-stressed her, having once less thing to worry about on her days off.

Vi thought of you as nothing short of a blessing. A perfectly sweet girl, who makes her meals and takes care of all her domestic needs. Vi decided to return that favor today, taking of the pans and turning the heat of the stove on. She ran a hand through her messy hair as she waited for the butter to melt. She got to work, eggs, bacon, coffee, the basics that she knew how to make. She heard the bedroom door open, shifting on her feet and turning her head. You were messily walking towards her, a slight limp from yesterday. You only had panties and Vi's shirt on, getting closer and letting out groggy mumbles.

Vi chuckled, turning the heat down to go wrap her arms around your frame, kissing down your jeweled neck, the stack of pretty necklaces all chosen by Vi. You bestowed kisses on Vi's chest, humming against her heartbeat. "Can make breakfast, Vi." You whisper, unaware of the meal she was cooking behind her. "Nah, can take care of that, 'kay?" Your wide eyes landed on her prideful expression, rubbing your eyelids and giggling before fully returning the embrace. "So sweet.." She whispered, stroking your hair with care.

You messily walk over to the counter, bouncing and plopping on it to watch Vi cook both of you food. Her tits moved with her, all the marks you left on them visible. They were dark purple against her pale skin, a small whine leaving your lips. Vi had served the plates, letting the coffee brew. Her frame stood between your legs, caressing them up and down. "Do you work tomorrow?" You asked gently, playing around with her hair. Her strands tangled in your hands, small giggles leaving your mouth. "Unfortunately I do, dollface." You whine, audible complaints falling off your lips. Your eyebrows were furrowed into a sad face, bottom lip poured outwards.

"How about you run some errands f'me till I get home?" She offers, knowing how happy you get with the chance to please her. You nod with anticipation, wrapping your arms around her neck and hoisting yourself up on her. Her hands perched under your thighs, holding your against her. "Let me get the coffee, baby," She spoke, softly placing you down on the couch before going back to pour two cups. The breakfast was quaint, toast on both of your plates with everything else Vi made.

She sat besides you, tangling her limbs with yours as you ate together. "Vi, why don't you ask the sheriff for more days off? You work so much!" She hums, finishing chewing before replying. "Gotta' take care of both cities, baby, you understand right?" You huff gently, resting your head on her shoulder. You wanted to argue, but you understood why she cared so much about Zaun and Piltover. "Y'act so spoiled, gotta' realize some people don't get to stay home like you, huh?" Vi's words had you pouting, a petulant expression painted on your features. "S' your fault if I'm spoiled." You state with a scrunched up nose. She tuts in your ear, placing your plate on the coffee table infront of the couch. "I never said it was a bad thing. Gonna do everything to keep y' pampered."

Your smile widened, planting messy kisses all over her face. Her eyes shut, brows lifted. "Hey Vi?" You whispered, straddling her hips with her body flush against yours. She bummed in response, eyes shut. You were a solace on the free time she had, the space she had to cool down and become whole again. "Can you braid my hair like your sisters? S' so cute," Vi's eyes open, staring up at you through her lashes. "Powder?" She aske, thumb drawing shapes on your body. Your head nods, soon registering the solemn look on her face, smile falling from yours. “What did I say wrong?” You whimper, trying to please her, get her back to smiling.

“Nothing baby, turn around, ‘kay?” A smile spreads on your complexion again, shifting and moving your hair to face her. She huffed softly, parting your hair into separate braids and beginning. You hum, eyes closing at the nice feeling of her hands steering through your hair, crossing strands over the other. Your hair wasn’t as long as Jinx’s, yet it looked darling on you. Vi kissed your head, bringing the two braids to the front. “Thanks Vi,” You pecked her lips briefly, hands on her chest.

Vi thinks she could stay here forever.

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deception-united · 11 months ago

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Random Character Profiles

Prodigal slacker. An exceptional intellect, capable of solving complex problems with ease, but absolutely no drive or motivation to apply their abilities towards any practical endeavors. Others are often frustrated by the wasted talent, but they couldn't care less. If their ideas are so great, someone else can come up with them. They're just here to laze around and have fun.

Loveable annoyance. A mind that dances on the border of sanity, and a perpetual source of simultaneous amusement and irritation. They delight in making puns and bad jokes at the expense of others' patience. Undeniably loveable nonetheless.

Reluctant recluse. They present a facade of rugged independence, portraying themselves as one who thrives on solitude and despises the company of others. They project an air of indifference towards others, often dismissing any attempts at connection or sympathy with a sharp retort or a cold shoulder. But beneath this tough exterior lies a soft spot reserved for the select few who have managed to breach their defenses—though they're reluctant to show it, going to great lengths to conceal the affection they view as weakness. Their stubborn refusal to accept help or acknowledge their own struggles stems from a fiercely guarded sense of pride, manifested in their vehement denial of any signs of weakness or vulnerability, even when they're visibly on the brink of death.

Sister figure. Sharp-witted and quick-tongued; will shame, embarrass, and ruthlessly tease. Their sarcasm is as much a display of fondness as it is merciless. Fiercely affectionate, extremely caring, unwaveringly loyal. Will put themself in danger for those they love, and will not hesitate to hurt anyone who offends or hurts those they care for; but mess up, and their sternness could make a warrior sob.

Impressively patient. Reserved, caring, mature, typically polite and tolerant to an extreme extent. May lash out occasionally. Possessive of a quiet strength, tending to observe situations with a thoughtful demeanor. Their reserved nature can be mistaken for aloofness despite their deep well of empathy and care for those around them. They navigate social interactions with a polite grace; however, beneath this composed exterior lies a potential for volatility on the rare occasions when they are pushed to their limit. Often the peacekeeper in friend groups.

People hater. Seems perpetually done with everything and everyone. Specialises in dry remarks and diminishing enthusiasm. General mood killer. However, their outward projection of disdain and superiority is really a mask of their own feelings of inadequacy.

Feel free to add on any other character descriptions you like! Happy writing ❤

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#writeblr #writing #writing tips #writing help #writing resources #creative writing #character description #character development #character traits #character design #writing characters #character writing #deception-united

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talonabraxas · 2 months ago

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Wood Snake Talon Abraxas

2025: Year of the Wood Snake Yīn Wood The Heavenly Stems developed from the ritual calendar used by the ruling elites of the Shang Dynasty (16th–11th centuries BCE) and is based on the movement of the five visible planets.

In the Heavenly Stems cycle, 乙 yǐ is the second year of the 10-year cycle and signifies yīn wood. It represents the early growth of the seedling. Having broken through the soil, it is small, tender and vulnerable. However, as opposed to its yáng counterpart, this form of wood is flexible. It is the blade of grass whose strength comes from what keeps it in the soil — its roots. It draws strength from what cannot be seen, hidden below the soil’s surface. We may look at that blade of grass as soft and weak because all we see is something small, continually bending to the wind and being stomped on by feet and hooves. But it remains because its outward-yielding nature is firmly rooted in its internal nature.

The wood phase in the Heavenly Stems represents the planet Jupiter. Thus, Jupiter’s movements in the sky are particularly important during the two wood years. The key thing about any wood year is to pay attention to what Jupiter is doing, especially against the backdrop of your own chart. Pay attention to the houses it transits and any aspects with points in your birth chart, and note those times of year and how the wood energy will influence your world.

We start this year off with its continuing movement through Gemini, signifying new developments in education, transportation and media. This transit has seen the need for fact-checking in the age of AI and deepfakes. The disruptive outer planets are indeed influencing Jupiter’s time in this sign this time around by the sudden, quick and expansive spread of this technology. There is also a curious combination of energies involving Jupiter in the latter part of the year, but more on that below. Snake: Yīn Fire

The other part of the equation is the Earthly Branch sign of 巳 sì, most commonly known as the serpent. The animal zodiac in Chinese astrology was introduced by Buddhist scholars around the 5th century CE. This version has become popular (especially in the West). Initially, the Earthly Branches was an almanac used by farmers to track the movement of the seasons; thus, there are 12 phases.

The sign of 巳 sì (snake) signifies introspection, subtle power, and transformative growth. It embodies a quiet yet potent energy capable of illuminating hidden paths and fostering deep emotional and spiritual understanding. Its strategic, resourceful nature makes it excellent for long-term growth, but must guard against volatility or over-sensitivity. In practice, 巳 sì inspires creativity, patience, and inner resilience, bringing light and warmth in a deliberate, steady way. 2025: Snake Leaving A Hole

In this sense, yīn wood’s influence on fire can continue to be seen in Jupiter’s influence in two instances.

In August, Jupiter in Cancer trines with Black Moon Lilith in Scorpio (the point where the Moon is furthest from Earth). This harmonious alignment blends Jupiter’s emotional wisdom and optimism with Lilith’s fierce, transformative power. This integration of light and shadow suggests a time of deep healing, emotional authenticity, and reclaiming inner strength. By nurturing vulnerability, embracing transformation, and setting empowered boundaries, individuals can experience profound emotional freedom and connection. This will be a good time to engage in shadow work, honour your desires, set boundaries and nurture your inner world.

Later in November, Jupiter and Lilith combine with Saturn in Pisces to form a grand trine. This alignment in water signs suggests an influential period of emotional growth, healing, and empowerment. It blends Jupiter’s optimism and expansion of emotional wisdom, Lilith’s transformative power in confronting and integrating the shadow self, and Saturn’s discipline and stability in grounding emotional and spiritual progress.

Together, they create an opportunity to:

· heal past wounds and reclaim emotional and personal power

· cultivate emotional resilience, boundaries, and maturity

· channel intuition, compassion, and authenticity into meaningful transformation

· manifest goals or dreams by integrating emotional insight with grounded, practical action

This alignment encourages a harmonious flow of deep healing, empowerment, and spiritual evolution, offering profound opportunities to transform your relationship with yourself, others, and your emotional truth.

But the deep transformative energies don’t stop there. A day after the September Equinox, a partial solar eclipse occurring alongside a Grand Trine involving the Sun (and Moon) in Libra (29°), Uranus in Gemini (1°), and Pluto in Aquarius (1°). This energy lasts for a few days and also includes a ‘Kite’ formation, where Neptune (0° Aries) and Saturn (28° Pisces) are in a semisextile aspect to Uranus and Pluto. The combination of these factors suggests a period of profound awakening and progress on both personal and collective levels. The key themes of this powerful time will be:

· Transformation Through Harmony: A balance between radical change and stability

· Awakening and Breakthroughs: Innovations in thought, technology, and communication

· Collective Progress: Focus on group efforts, equality, and humanitarian ideals

· Equilibrium Amidst Change: Aligning with the flow of transformation while maintaining balance

· Empowered Dialogue: Using communication to drive positive, meaningful change

While this eclipse will close the 2025 eclipse season, it is important to understand that an eclipse works like portals or activators to influence a particular transit or alignment. While occurring late in the year, the manifestation of the yīn wood snake energy will begin to impact us moving forward into the future. The seedling doesn’t stop growing during this phase — it is simply the beginning of the growth, maturation, ripening, and decay cycle.

The Hidden Elements

The snake also carries the hidden presence of other yáng elements: fire, earth, and metal. These add layers of strength, resilience, and decisiveness to 巳 sì’s otherwise yīn-oriented nature. These three elements are represented by Mars, Saturn, and Venus, respectively.

In late May, Saturn begins its two-and-a-half-year transit of Aries. While it will retrograde into Pisces at the start of September, it will resume its journey in Aries on Lunar New Year’s Day of 2026 (the yáng fire horse). Saturn (corresponding with the earth phase in ancient Chinese systems) in the fire sign denotes the importance of taking personal responsibility and owning your actions.

At the start of March, Venus (corresponding with the Chinese element metal) begins a six-week retrograde dance between Aries and Pisces, which signifies a period of reassessment in relationships, values, and self-worth. It will challenge us to consider impulsive actions, deepen our emotional clarity, and foster meaningful alignment with authentic desires. This sets up what emerges later in the year.

Because the ancient Chinese five-phase school only considered the planets seen by the naked eye (Mercury, Venus, Mars, Jupiter, and Saturn), the outer planets we now know and utilise in astrology correspond to combined elemental energies. For example, Uranus can be associated with aspects of metal and wood; Neptune can correspond to aspects of the water and wood phases; and Pluto can be seen as the combination of water and metal. Pluto in Aquarius will define this generation, which started in 2024.

Neptune enters Aries for 14 years on 30 March. Historically, Neptune in Aries has coincided with periods of radical spiritual and ideological change. We saw this in the 1860s when causes like abolitionism drove the American Civil War and visionary advances exploded, like the first printing press and the opening of the New York Stock Exchange. It also should be seen as an ‘autocrat alert’. Given the swings towards authoritarian-leaning parties and leaders around the world, this should not come as a surprise.

After disrupting the security of our home and private lives over the past few years in Taurus, Uranus begins its seven-year sojourn in Gemini in July. This will disrupt Geminian industries, such as telecommunications, data security, transportation, education and the media.

In the middle of the year, Saturn joins Neptune in Aries (24 May–1 September). This transit focuses on discipline, responsibility, and structured action within themes of personal leadership, identity, and pioneering new paths. Challenges arise when the impulsive Aries energy clashes with Saturn’s demand for patience and commitment. Success requires strategic, methodical courage. This period will ask you to own your actions and not hide behind excuses for them. Be bold in how you do things.

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nothingbutsweetwords · 8 months ago

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ɴᴏʙᴏᴅʏ'ꜱ ꜱᴏɴ, ɴᴏʙᴏᴅʏ'ꜱ ᴅᴀᴜɢʜᴛᴇʀ

ᴀᴇᴍᴏɴᴅ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ!ɴɪᴇᴄᴇ

"…ɪ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ʟᴏᴛ ᴏꜰ ʀᴇɢʀᴇᴛꜱ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ."

Word count: 4,900.

Fandom: House of the Dragon.

Pairing: Aemond x Reader!Velaryon!Niece.

DISTANCE — 10. Him.

When she left King's Landing, it was as if a black shadow had settled over the entire city, a dark suffocating mist smothering any ray of light despite the sun's bright rays. The Red Keep became cold and hollow. It transformed into a labyrinth of echoes from shared memories, now faded in time, like a persistent lament that could be heard in every corner.

As the days passed, he sought refuge in a rigorous and emotionless routine. Breakfasts became occasions for his mother's presence, and lunches were spent with his sister, though the conversation lacked the vimness it once had.

It was a comfort, albeit a fragmented one. Alicent was always attentive, quick to notice every visible need. However, her affection manifested in an attempt to keep him safe, shielding him from any perceived dangers, but not from the stormy sea of his own emotions. She was aware of his pain, but they never spoke openly about what truly troubled him, fearing that stirring those deep waters might overflow them. Instead, she offered practical advice and an outward calm that barely touched the surface of his emotional distress.

Helaena, with her serene and enigmatic nature, was a peculiar source of comfort. Her visions and whispers, often cryptic, seemed to touch the chords of his deepest thoughts, as if she could see beyond the obvious. In her presence, he found fleeting moments of peace.

The loss of her usual brightness after her marriage to Aegon only accentuated the air of affliction in the castle, revealing a wound in her soul that resonated with his own. It was clear that neither of them had wanted that union, but it was she who had suffered a brutal clash between her ideals and a starkly different reality she faced.

Despite this, she often repeated to him that phrase he had heard for the first time so many years ago, accompanied by a small, wistful smile: "Our wait will be rewarded."

He found it increasingly difficult to hold onto trust in those words. They had become a thin fragile thread, turning his faith into a dull ache and keeping him anchored to a life that felt increasingly distant and unrecognizable.

Her absence left him with an overwhelming void, a sense of loss so profound that it seemed to consume every corner of his being—worse even than the loss of his eye, as if a part of his soul had departed with her, his best friend, his love.

He wrote to her many times, pouring into the pages a torrent of emotions he couldn't express aloud. Each one contained a silent plea for a response, a sign that she still thought of him. But her replies never came, and with each day of silence, his misery grew like a storm that besieged him without respite.

He immersed himself in a series of mental scenarios, imagining every possible reason for the lack of response. Had she heard about his indiscretions the night before she left? Or was she angry because he hadn't allowed her to visit when she needed him the most?

He tried to convince himself that she needed space, that time and distance would heal their wounds, but as the weeks turned into moons, the lack of words became an increasingly heavy burden, leading him to question and finally accept that, perhaps, he deserved the silence.

Sometimes, when fate offered a reprieve and luck favored him, he would see her in his dreams, even if they were tumultuous. In them, she would drift away whenever he tried to reach her, her expression distraught at his sullied touch. The pain of her absence mingled with the fleeting joy of seeing her face again, creating a cut that seemed impossible to heal.

There were moments when he nearly mounted Vhagar, to escape the place where his memories kept him imprisoned, and fly to her. But fear and insecurity held him back. His heart, wounded and fragile, couldn't bear the possibility of meeting a version of her who no longer wished to see him. The thought of facing that rejection was too devastating.

His connection with Vhagar was another of the few true comforts he had left. Flying with her offered a breath from his earthly troubles, a sense of freedom and power that he found nowhere else. However, even this source of relief was restricted. His mother feared the dragon, not just for her size and might, but for what she represented: an unbridled power and independence that she could not control. With maternal concern deeply rooted in her, she limited his opportunities to fly, fearing that something might go wrong.

He and his siblings were now only permitted to fly during royal journeys, which had drastically decreased over the years, along with the king's health.

These limitations felt like heavy chains pressing down on him more and more. His desire to fly, to feel the wind on his face and Vhagar's roar beneath him, was an essential part of his being—a way to feel free and leave his worries behind if only for a brief moment. Every time it was denied to him, the frustration and resentment grew, adding to the tangled web of conflictions that tormented him.

He threw himself into his studies with an almost obsessive intensity, as if each text and lesson could offer a distraction. This rigorous pursuit of knowledge was more than just a means to an end; it was a way to drown out the loneliness that gnawed at his insides. Instead of confronting his pain, he buried it under a façade of determination, finding in discipline another means of desertion.

Physical training became another outlet. Every sword strike, every grueling exercise, was a cathartic release, a way to channel his frustration and sadness into something tangible. He often pushed beyond the limits of prudence, driving his body to exhaustion.

The relentless ache became an inescapable companion, following him even in his busiest moments. Despite his efforts to keep his mind focused on other tasks, the image of her smile and the echo of her laughter lingered like ghosts that refused to be exorcized.

He found himself wondering, with a knot tightening in his chest, if she had forgotten him, if she had found a new life on the island and no longer thought of him. This uncertainty consumed him inside, like a flame that never went out.

The nights were especially cruel, filled with restless tossing and turning as his mind replayed memories and imagined scenarios. The fear of having lost her forever and the guilt for not having done more intertwined, creating an internal struggle that left him exhausted and unable to find sleep.

As the months stretched into years, he adapted to an existence where her absence was a constant. Yet, he never stopped missing her, nor did he stop yearning for the joy her presence had once brought into his life. It was a quiet, persistent longing that he learned to live with.

His kind sister continued to bring him fresh roses every week, a simple yet constant gesture that tried to fill some of the emptiness. Sometimes, in his frustration and pain, he rejected them, leaving them to wither untouched. Other times, in a fit of desperation, he would throw them away, as if by doing so he could uproot the feelings that consumed him. But there were moments when, with an almost reverent stillness, he would lean over them, breathing in their fragrance and letting the soft petals brush against his skin, searching for a trace of the connection they once shared.

On one particularly lonely night, he dusted off the gift she had given him, a tangible symbol of their bond. He wore it with pride, like a talisman against the encroaching sadness. Next to the cherished case, on his nightstand, he kept a piece of the sapphire. Each time he looked at it, he imagined her, and clinged to the memory of her with all the strength he could muster. It was a small comfort, a glimmer of the love and friendship that had once been his.

He was sitting at the table, engrossed in conversation with his mother. It was a quiet breakfast, one of those rare moments of peace they could enjoy together lately, as she had been increasingly occupied with court matters.

She was giving him news about Daeron and the impending arrival of some nobles for the festivities in his father's honor. Everything seemed routine, just a simple update on the day's affairs.

But then, almost as if it were of no consequence, she mentioned: "A raven has arrived from Dragonstone." Her tone was casual, almost offhand, as if she were talking about the weather or some other minor detail. However, the words fell like lead. "Rhaenyra and her family shall be joining us."

For a moment, time seemed to stand still. He stopped eating, his fork halted midway to his mouth, and he sat motionless. His mind went blank, struggling to process what he had just heard. She, the girl who had filled his thoughts and dreams for all those years, would be returning.

Alicent, keenly aware of her son's reaction, watched his face carefully. Despite her attempts to maintain an air of indifference, her eyes showed a flicker of concern. She knew the significance of the announcement for him, and though she tried to downplay it, she couldn't ignore the palpable tension that hung in the air.

He finally set the fork down, his mind swirling. He tried to maintain his composure, but the lump in his throat and the quickening of his beatings were hard to hide. "When, precisely?" he asked, his voice taut with barely suppressed anxiety.

"A few days before it begins, I suppose" she replied, not taking her eyes off him. "Nothing to be concerned about." But they both knew that was far from the truth. The news was anything but trivial. Her arrival was not just another court event; it was an emotional earthquake threatening to shatter the fragile calm he had painstakingly built over the years.

As the days crept closer to the celebrations, the nights grew longer and more sleepless. He found himself going over every possible encounter, every word he wanted to say to her. Anxiety gripped him, a gnawing fear that she had changed, that the woman he had loved and lost might no longer exist in the form he remembered. The thought that perhaps nothing remained of what they once shared was a weight he couldn't bear, leaving him on edge.

The days passed wrapped in a fog of anticipation. The news loomed over him inevitably and followed him wherever he went. The arrival of servants from Dragonstone only intensified this sense of imminence.

Among these newcomers was Lyra, the lady-in-waiting who, years ago, had wished him a happy birthday with genuine warmth. Now, however, her gaze was tinged with disapproval, her brows furrowed, and her expression hardened. He felt each of these gestures like a small sign of what was to come, amplifying his own discomfort.

He had set aside the books, as they no longer worked; the words blurred in his mind, and he was unable to concentrate. Instead, he spent those hours wielding the sword, until the skin of his palms became rough and calloused.

One day, waiting for his sister for lunch, he anxiously eyed the usual vase of roses, which already appeared wilted. Helaena arrived with a smile he hadn't seen in a long time, it was bright, contrasting with the gravity of his own thoughts; however, she did not bring new roses as she usually did.

She noticed his unease and, in a casual tone, remarked, "you shan’t need them for some time, I believe."

During lunch, she spoke with overflowing energy, filling the silence of the room. He, though less communicative, felt relieved by her presence and liveliness.

As they finished, he accompanied her to the door. She bid him farewell with contagious cheerfulness and went to her room, leaving him deep in thought. He lingered in the hallway, contemplating the change in her demeanor, wondering what she had meant.

Just then a roar from Vhagar echoed through the air, strong and clear. It was soon followed by another. The sound, different from usual, carried a tone of joy, almost of celebration. It caught his attention, pulling him from his reverie.

Nervous and conflicted, he closed the door and sank into a chair, burying his face in his hands. He didn't feel ready for what was coming; the feeling of losing control overwhelmed him, it was a sensation he despised more than any other.

After some period of introspection and as the commotion on the floor of the chambers died down, he decided to head to the yard. There, more crowded than usual, he found the usual scene: guards and nobles training fervently. Criston Cole waiting for him, stood ready, morningstar in hand.

"Are you ready, my prince?" Criston asked, his voice laced with challenge and a slight smile playing on his lips.

He nodded, taking a wooden shield and a sword from the armory table. They both faced each other, taking their positions. With every muscle tense and alert, he began to move his body, eager to release the pent-up nerves consuming him.

Criston was the first to attack, his movements swift and precise. He, instead, chose to maintain a defensive stance, blocking and dodging. He heard each clash, the impact of metal against wood and the crunch of the ground beneath their feet.

As the fight progressed, Cole increased his aggression, launching more powerful attacks. At one point, he managed to hit his shield, splintering and breaking the wood. He threw the remnants aside, adjusting his grip on the sword. Even without a defense, he kept his composure, with more calculated movements.

They moved in circles, gauging each other's reactions. It was then that he spotted his nephews among the spectators. The sight of him, whom he had not seen since the attack that cost him an eye, ignited a flare of anger within him. He bitterly remembered the injustice of that day, how Lucerys had emerged unscathed while he bore the scar, a permanent reminder.

Criston, sensing the shift in his energy, redoubled his efforts, but he, driven by a surge of emotion, held his ground. With precision, he found an opening in Cole's defense. With a quick and decisive maneuver, he ended the fight with the sword pressed against his opponent’s neck, securing a clear victory. The yard erupted in applause and murmurs.

Criston, breathing heavily, looked at him with a mix of respect and pride. "Well done, my prince. You’ll be winning tourneys in no time" he said, with a playful smile.

He had little interest in such spectacles. He viewed tournaments as mere displays, insufficient to measure a warrior's true worth.

Aemond, with heavy breathing, replied firmly with an icy tone: "I don’t give a shit about tourneys." Then, with his gaze fixed on his nephews, he addressed them "Nephews, have you come to train?" The question carried a sharp edge, a latent provocation that resonated with the unresolved hostility between them.

The young men remained silent, their expressions serious. Without waiting for a response, he turned back to the armory table and took another shield, determined to continue.

As he walked behind his mother, his gaze was fixed ahead with his siblings flanking him on either side, all heading towards the hall where breakfast would be served.

The night before, she had been absent from supper, and while he felt a temporary relief that the encounter had been postponed, it was mixed with the sadness of not having seen her.

As he entered the room, his heart skipped a beat. His gaze instinctively sought her among the others, and when he found her, it felt as though time had stopped. He tried to walk with apparent calm, though inside, a battle was raging.

She was watching him too, and in that brief moment their eyes met, he felt a jolt course through his body. None of the fantasies he had harbored about this moment could have prepared him for the reality. She was completely different, yet unmistakably the same, her essence unchanged.

She was more radiant than he had ever imagined. There was an air of dignity, confidence and grace in her bearing that left him breathless. There was a dignity in her presence, a poise that was almost otherworldly, captivating him beyond mere words. Her gaze, filled with a subtle strength, seemed to pierce through his defenses, making him feel as though he were standing on the precipice of an emotional abyss.

He quickly averted his eye, fearing that his emotions might overflow if he maintained contact any longer. He took his seat, and the ensuing silence was almost palpable, heavy with tension and unspoken feelings.

As breakfast progressed, he tried to maintain his composure, but his mind was in turmoil. Every gesture she made, every word she spoke, was a new wave crashing over him. Seeing her after so long was both a blessing and a torment. His hands clenched together on top of the table as he noticed her eyes following him, her gaze inscrutable.

She was even more enchanting than what he thought was possible. The maturity of her features only served to enhance her natural allure, making her beauty more profound. Her face, framed by the dark cascade of her curls, seemed to shine with an inner light.

Every detail, from the way her eyes sparkled with hidden depths to the delicate curve of her lips, revealed the woman she had become. Her attire, the deep black fabric draping elegantly over her, accentuated her striking features.

Each glance at her was a painful, bittersweet reminder of the time past and lost.

His mother’s words echoed in his mind: “Nothing to be concerned about.” Everything in him was concerned, everything in him was engaged.

The mere mention of Dragonstone seemed to light up her face; the joy in her expression and the smile he adored were unmistakable. At that moment, he knew her stay would be temporary. She had found a new home, a new life away from him, and the realization was like a dagger.

Upon learning that she had become a dragonrider, he felt a profound joy for her. He recalled the long nights they had spent talking about dragons, imagining what it would be like to fly. He wished he had been there to see her take flight for the first time.

When the king remarked, “The mount of the Good Queen Alysanne. It suits you well” and Helaena, by his side, nodded slightly, a dark fear settled in his chest. It was a gesture laden with foreboding that he was reluctant to explore.

A few hours later, he found himself having lunch with Helaena in her room. The soft afternoon light filtered through the windows, bathing the space in a warm golden glow. Despite the cozy atmosphere, he was lost in thought, his mind still dwelling on the events of that morrow and the memories they had stirred.

Helaena, ever perceptive, noticed his distraction. “Brother” she said softly, her voice filling the room with calmness. When he looked up, she was watching him with a tender expression. “Are you well?”

He hesitated, the words he had kept buried for so long finally emerging. “Will we be together?” he asked quietly, his uncertainty and longing for answers evident. He trusted that fate had its own path, but he needed to know if there was any possibility of a future for them.

She tilted her head slightly, her expression thoughtful as she chose her words carefully. “Some things will depend on you; others are already woven into the fabric of destiny. But I have found that after a long winter, summer is appreciated more” she replied with a wisdom that seemed to come from a deep place. His brows furrowed with a hint of concern. “But you must always keep the door open.”

He nodded, caught between optimism and resignation. He bid farewell to Helaena, each step he took feeling heavier under the weight of her words. As he opened the door, he found himself face to face with the person who had been occupying his thoughts. For a moment, he was caught off guard, stunned by the unexpected encounter.

“Niece” he greeted with a courteous gesture, inclining his head

“Uncle” she replied with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes, a barrier he recognized immediately. “I was looking for Helaena.”

“Of course” he said, stepping aside to let her pass and holding the door open for her. With another polite gesture, she moved past him, her presence filling the space of the room. Helaena gave him a small knowing smile as the princess entered.

He let out a long weary sigh as he closed the door, feeling a growing sense of unease.

That night, after a long bath, he once again found himself unable to sleep. Sitting at the edge of his window, he gazed out at the clear sky while idly spinning a sapphire between his fingers. The distant roar of Vhagar echoed, and the restless tides mirrored his own agitation.

With a long sigh and a sudden resolve, he adjusted his patch back in place, rose and walked toward the fire crackling in his room. Lighting a candle, he moved quietly towards the back door, leaving the sapphire behind.

It had been years since he last opened it; since that night, he had avoided the path, as if keeping it shut could keep that memory at bay. Now, driven by an unknown force, he opened it swiftly and stepped into the hallway.

A light from the other end caught his attention. It was her, holding a candle, walking toward him with a serious and determined face. Upon seeing him, her eyebrows rose slightly in surprise. They both stopped in their tracks, staring at each other. Words crowded in his throat, unable to be spoken.

“I wished to speak with you” she said softly, breaking the silence gently. He nodded, still silent, fearful that his voice would betray him. “Shall we go to your chambers?” she suggested, her tone firm but laden with silent expectation.

He nodded again, feeling foolish for having been paralyzed. He gestured towards the way, even though she knew it by memory. Stepping aside to let her pass, his heart pounded with a frantic, uncontrolled rhythm. She pushed open the door that had remained ajar and entered with the same familiarity of years past.

He closed the door behind them and approached cautiously. She moved to the window, where the moonlight bathed her in a silvery glow. He noticed then how she was dressed, wearing a robe over her nightgown and her curls disheveled, contrasting with the elegance of the breakfast, yet to him, she looked utterly divine.

She faced him. A pang of sorrow struck him at her expression. “Why?” she asked, showing a vulnerability that made him feel even more guilty.

“Why what?” he replied, dreading what was to come.

“Why did you never come to see me?” The question felt like a dagger, striking with precision. He looked at her, feeling a knot in his stomach.

He opened his mouth to respond, but the words escaped him. Finally, he found his voice, though weak. “I did not know if you wished for my presence” he murmured, his words sounding hollow even to himself.

She looked at him as if unable to believe what she was hearing. “Is this some jest? I asked you so many times” she said, her tone incredulous. He furrowed his brow. “Did my letters mean so little to you that you did not even take the time to read them?” she added, her bitterness palpable.

He felt as though the world was swaying beneath him. “What letters?” he asked, trying to process everything, his voice softer, trying not to alarm her further.

“The letters!” she said, her words laced with indignation and sadness. “The ones I sent you” she continued. “I thought we had something special. Did I imagine it?” Her tone trembled with emotion. “I waited for so long, I wrote to you so many times, like a fool.” Her voice broke, and she covered her face with her hands. “I hoped… I hoped for a response, a visit, something to let me know you hadn’t forgotten me.”

He took a step forward quickly, his heart pounding against his chest, feeling an urgency he could not ignore. “You wrote me?” he asked, incredulous.

She lowered her hands, her eyes burning with impotent fury. “Do not mock me” she said, turning away, looking out the window again.

He followed her, overwhelmed by a newly discovered helplessness and a fluttering hope of reconciliation. “I wrote to you as well, hundreds of times” he tried to meet her gaze, seeking some glimmer of understanding. “I swear this to you, by all the gods” he pleaded.

“I never received a single letter from you” she replied, finally looking at him with her beautiful eyes shining under the moonlight, her anger softening momentarily with disbelief.

"Nor did I. Not one. Had I received any, I would have come to you at once. You must believe me," he said, “I thought you did not want to hear from me” he whispered desperately, his deepest fears laid bare.

“Why would I not?” she asked, still with a hint of distrust in her eyes from the revelation. Everything seemed so absurd and cruel, yet he felt as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

She shook her head, her steps carrying her nervously back and forth in the room, her mind working frantically to understand. “It does not make any sense” her voice was a barely audible murmur, more to herself than to him. “Why?” She continued to mutter, her voice filled with a mixture of frustration and anguish, while he merely watched her.

Suddenly, she turned to face him, her eyes searching for an answer he did not have. “Are you not upset about this?” she asked, her voice rising slightly, annoyed.

He continued to watch her, feeling a strange sense of peace amid the chaos. "I cannot find it within myself to be angry at this moment," he replied, "not when you are here before me once more." His voice was filled with a sincerity that surprised even him.

There were so many emotions at play, so many unresolved things, but at that moment, all that mattered was that they were face to face once more.

“I never stopped thinking about you, wondering why I never heard from you, missing you.” He wanted to reach out, touch her, somehow close the distance that had formed between them, but he couldn’t. “I never wanted to lose you.”

“Is that true?” she asked, almost whispering. “Did you truly never stop thinking about me?” She looked at him, her eyes filled with unshed tears. For a moment, time seemed to stand still, and in that shared silence, he understood the magnitude of what they had lost and what they might still recover.

He took another step towards her, his expression sincere. “Never” he said firmly, hoping she could see the truth in his eyes. “Not for a single second.”

She looked at him, her expression softening, and bit her lip, struggling to hold back the flood of emotions.. But the pain and confusion were still present, like a shadow that refused to dissipate. “This is… too much” she murmured, shaking her head slightly.

He nodded, understanding the enormity of what they had just uncovered. “I understand” he said softly. “Take all the time you need.”

She turned, intending to leave the room, and he followed, prepared to escort her to her door. But just before they could move too far, she suddenly stopped and turned back to him. In an impulsive move, she threw herself at him with force, wrapping her arms around his waist in a desperate embrace. She pressed her face against his chest, her hands clasped tightly on his back, holding him with an intensity that suggested she feared losing him forever if she let go.

He, taken aback by the gesture and despite feeling he didn’t deserve her pure affection, couldn’t help but reciprocate the embrace. He wrapped his arms around her with a tenderness he rarely showed, letting himself be carried away by the moment. He rested his face on the crown of her head, breathing deeply, the sweetest and freshest scent of roses filling his senses, enveloping him in an intoxicating warmth.

It was a silent comfort. He realized how much he had longed for this contact, this closeness, more than he had even admitted to himself.

"I'm sorry" she murmured against his chest. "I'm sorry for everything." Tears began to fall, dampening his shirt. He could feel the rapid beat of her heart against his body.

She lifted her head, her eyes shimmering with something more. He found himself getting lost in that gaze. “What do we do now?”

With a gentle smile, he caressed her cheek with his thumb, wiping away a tear that had escaped. "I won’t let us be separated again" he promised, his voice firm yet tender. “If you will allow me, I wish to mend what has been broken.”

She nodded, and for a brief moment, the world seemed to shrink to the small space between them, where only the two of them existed.

@helaenaluvr @purplegardenwhispers @callsignwidow @squidscottjeans @scarletbedlam @fics-i-love-and-recommend @oh-you-mean-me @fossface @truly-abysmal

#aemond targaryen fluff #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen x female reader #house of the dragon #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #ewan mitchell #hotd aemond #hotd fanfic

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 months ago

Text

Before the Dawn Has Come, I'd Block the Sun

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as blood and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You discover more than you could have ever expected when researching your thesis.

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: This is my fave so far.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me❤️

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The dry heat sops the moisture from your body, drawing it to the surface as sweat beads and shines on your skin. It’s so hot, the air ripples visibly, the old stone streets appearing more crooked than their ancient foundations. Your sandals hit the ground in a ragged rhythm as your bag weighs you down, your thumb leaving a smear across the screen of your phone.

You slow as you read the hanging wooden sign and compare to the text on your phone. This is the one. If you weren’t looking for it, you might miss the marquee; hand-painted by your judgment.

You black your phone and slide it into the loose pocket of your linen pants. Shorts might have been a better choice but you are on an academic mission, not vacation. You uncap your insulated bottle but in the heat of Grecian sun, it does little to keep the water cold. You don’t mind the lukewarm gulp as you tip it into your mouth.

You slip the bottle into the side pocket of your knapsack and approach the tapered door. It looks as if it might have been placed in the medieval years. The white paint is split by the splintering wood and a curious red outline is streaked around the door frame. That might be something to look into; perhaps another superstition.

You knock and wait. You wipe another sheen of sweat from your brow and fan yourself with your fingers. You stare at the door anxiously. You check your smart watch. You’re not late.

Below the time, your heart beat pulses. Even at an easy pace, the heat has you in excess. You blow out a breath and look at the door once more.

You raise your hand but before you can knock again, you hear a creak from above. You back up as the doors of the second-storey window push outward and hit the siding. The opening is shadowed by a wooden canopy built into the frame and a head of silver head peers out.

“You may let yourself in. I will be down in a moment.”

You’re surprised that the man speaks English. Most of the locals don’t know a word of it and your Duolingo crash course has carried you this far, though not without some miscommunication. You set your head straight and reach for the old hoop handle of the door. You push inward, cautiously, letting yourself in with a sense of reverence.

Within, the entryway is narrow and a set of stairs winds down into it. There’s a mat beneath your soles, woven of wicker, and table to your write. A set of Grecian urns stand on it, symbols painted around their bellies and necks, some polished, others chipped; all in varying states of decay and resplendence.

You stay by the door and fold your hand, your eyes exploring where your feet won’t. The stairs groan beneath a weight as you peer into the next room, shelves of spines looking back at you. You snap back as a large body descends to the bottom step before you.

You’re surprised to find a face that does not match the head of silver hair. The man is not young but he isn’t old either. His square jaw is chiseled like one of the country’s famous statues and his form is even more verile and burly than any god of Olympus. But his eyes, they are a shade of amber so pale they almost look golden.

You’re stunned by his appearance. You shake of that coy thought in your mind. Surely, you’re too deep in your research. After all, what you read about isn’t real, they are wives’ tales.

“Geralt?” You greet as you extend a hand.

“You are correct,” he shakes your hand firmly.

It is just as warm in the house as without. The air curls around you with heat and weaves into your hair, speckling on your scalp. Despite this, he appears unhampered. He wears a linen shirt with an undone collar, exposing the top of his hairy chest, and the short sleeves show his rounded biceps. It is untucked from his grey pants that despite their wide cut, fail to billow around his tree trunk legs.

“Thank you very much for having me,” you say as he lets you go. “Sorry, did you like English or Greek? I know around here...”

“English is fine,” he assures. His accent would suggest it’s his first language but you’ve learned from the locals to be mindful. “As it were, I’ve set aside some translations for you.”

“Oh, thank you,” you look down at your sandals.

“Leave them on,” he affirms and waves you towards the door you’d only just been peeking through. “No time to waste.”

“No, not at all,” you agree. “I was hoping to take a few pictures to bring back as well. For reference. I have a translation app that I use--”

“Mm, none of my records are digitized, for authenticity.”

“I wouldn’t share them,” you assure. He grumbles. You sense reticence. “Of course, I can just take notes.”

“We shall see,” he utters as he takes you through to the next room.

The walls are lined in crowded shelves. Books fill every inch, with some stacked along the edges of the long desk cleared at the centre. You can tell he’s made a recent effort of making room. For you, likely. A strike of guilt flickers.

“You may work here,” he goes to the desk. “Here is what I’ve put aside,” he taps a thick folder with two fingers, “and these books will do fine for your inquiry. If you have questions or require more of my collections, you might let me know. No pictures.”

“Um, sure, thank you,” you approach the desk and slip free from your knapsack.

You glance over at him as he looms, watching you with his eerie yellowish eyes. His pupils pinpoint as his gaze flicks down to your neck as you wipe away the trickle of sweat that tickles you. He quickly reverts his attention to the books.

“Interesting subject,” he intones. “You mentioned you’ve come from Romania?”

“I’ve made a trek, for sure,” you open your bag and pull out your laptop and notebook.

“Mm, I hope your battery is charged. I haven’t any outlets.”

You look around and only then realise that the sconces on the walls are lit with real flame and that oil lamps illuminate the rest of the space. Hm. It seems a hazard with all this paper, then again, even the hotel you’re staying at is more a rented room in an outdated house. The curly-haired keeper and his wife told you not to plug in more than one thing at time.

“Oh, right,” you leave it shut and open your notebook instead.

“Well, I suppose you don’t need me lurking. If you require assistance, call for me. I won’t be far,” he says.

In his accent, he sounds as if he’s reciting some Victorian script, and his cadence is like the strum of a cello. It sends a chill through despite the stolid air seeping in from beneath the drawn curtains. You nod and step in front of the chair, bracing the armrests but not sitting.

“Thank you,” you say.

He stares a moment longer then turns away. His movement is both smooth and stiff. It’s as if you can see a smear of colour with each motion. You shrug it off as another effect of the Grecian heat.

He goes and you lower yourself onto the seat. The thin embroidered cushion stretched over wood offers little support. You’ve sat on worse in your pursuit of your thesis. You ward off the unease and focus on the wall before you to scale; the books arranged like a fortress to conquer. This will surely take more than a day to get through.

📜

A day, turns into a week, turns into two.

Despite his standoffish demeanour, Geralt allows you to return to the slanted building on the corner. Each day you pass through the red door frame and sit at the desk. And just as often he adds more to the pile as if you keep you chained there. Yet, you can only blame yourself. You built this prison of academia.

He doesn’t say much more than that first day. He doesn’t ask questions. He lets you through the door and you part ways. You only see him when he comes to tell you the time. He sends you off before the sun sets on the long Grecian days. You suppose for your own good. It isn’t any good to be walking alone in the dark.

That day is different. As the moon cycle from a sliver to nothing at all, the night casts upon the Greek roof like ebony silk and the candlelight seems dimmer as you work in its haze. Diligent and distracted from the sifting of seconds through the sieve. Your eyes bore into the parchment as your fingers hover at the corners.

Vrykolakas devour the flesh, with a taste for liver, though blood does nourish their unearthly being. With fangs like wolves and hunger to match, they are born of sacrilege. They are excommunicated of heaven and hells and all the wiles of humanity. They sleep in unconsecrated earth and feast on sheep when they cannot feast upon that of what they once were.

In solace, the Vrykolakas find strength. As their hunger deepens, their power heightens, and with the fading of the moon, they float as wraiths upon their hunt to sup upon the flesh of the innocent.

A shadow, darker than dusk, darker than ink, passes over you. You lift your head, groggy with the stain of scrawled writing in your eyes. You raise your head and blink at the pale figure that emerges into the flickering light.

“It is after dark,” Geralt declares evenly.

You flinch and sit up. You glance at the curtains. They look heavier before the deep silt of night. You turn back to him and give a sheepish expression.

“Sorry, I must’ve lost track of the time.” You go to mark the page with the ribbon and he crosses his arms.

“Much too late to be venturing out alone.” He girds.

You pause, your hand in the crease of the pages. “My hotel isn’t very far.”

“It would be... irresponsible to let you go. A village as small as this would suffer greatly if its only tourist were to perish,” he drones.

You watch him, put off by his flat tone. His yellow eyes are red around the edges, as if he has not slept. You worry that it might be of your own accord.

“I have a light,” you assure him.

“You should stay,” he insists. “You haven’t eaten.”

You hesitate. You often eat your packed lunch outside between hunching over the desk. He does not permit food around the books. No good archivist would.

As generous as your other Greek hosts have been, he’s never offered you a meal. You didn’t expect it. After all, you’re there to look at old books. It isn’t a restaurant.

“I’m fine,” you stand. “Really, I hate to impose any longer.”

“It isn’t... an imposition,” his voice almost crackles. “I’ve made dinner.”

“Dinner?” You echo. “Oh, well, if you’ve gone to the trouble.”

“No trouble,” he assures.

His teeth glint between his lips, shining and long. You only get a glimpes before he hides them again. You’ve been reading this lore for far too long.

“Please, finish your reading and I will let you know when it is served,” he drawls.

“Oh, uh, right,” you sit again. “Thanks. That's... kind.”

He hums and says nothing else. He retreats just as he appeared, receding like a shadow into the hallway. You peer into the dark block of the doorway for a moment before you put your attention back to the ink.

…derived of the ‘dlaka’, meaning strand of the wolf’s hair, the Vykolakas were once many. As the mortals upon which they feast, the crowned kings to lead them into their battle of malicion. One such, proclaimed the White Wolf, or White One, in whispered tongues as The Butcher, was the corrupt lord of Haute-Bellegarde.

The white liege met defeat by the hordes of the villagers in grief of their slain children, consumed by those which he claimed as his own offspring, better deemed heathens slathering at his cloak tails. In the sunlight he melted into the earth and upon his grave boils a pit of rotted soil. Though it is claimed by some that the Wolf remains, lurking and sniffing for blood, there is little evidence to feed such suspicion.

“Dinner...” Geralt’s voice pierces like iron.

Dizziness sweeps your vision as you draw back. That was quick. You think. Again, it seems in this dimly lit room that time is still yet never ending.

“Come, I’ve set the table,” he slithers.

You rise as if summoned by his invitation rather than your own will. You swallow dryly and cross the room. He waits and beckons down the hall with his arm. You notice his attire. A black silk jerkin without sleeves, trimmed with silver twine and buttons. His trousers are just as dark and his boots meet his knees. He is odd and out-of-time.

You pass him and it’s like walking through a cloud of fog, dampy and chilly. You continue as he directs you with a point of his thick finger and a low tone, “to the left.”

You follow another pulsing light. You’ve never been further than the reading room. Behind the spiraled stairs is nestled a dining room with a square table. The dark wood is framed with slender curlicues of red paint and at the center, the illustration of human heart beneath the foot of a candelabra set with nine long tapers.

The flames only light the breadth of the table, leaving the walls to hang like ebon curtains. You hug yourself as the air kisses goosebumps to your skin. He escorts you to the table and pulls out the tall-backed chair. Your scalp tingles as the roots of your hair prickle.

The urge to flee thumps in your chest and yet, you cannot make your feet turn back. You sit as if weighed down by invisible chains. Your heart races with inexplicable panic. The compulsion within overrides any thread of dread or doubt.

You look down at the plate before you. He rounds the table and takes the seat across from yours. You look up as he rests his large hand around the base of a bronze goblet, the cup cradled by metal in the shape of talons. How strange. This room does not belong in the coastal Greek abode.

“Please, eat.”

There is no plate before him. Only the cup. The dish before you is neatly filled with rice pilaf and a strip of indeterminate meat glistening in sauce. It isn’t very appetizing, the smell both repulses and satisfies.

“What about you?” You ask as you peer between the arms of the candelabra.

“My hunger has not stirred as yet,” he says. “Please. It is only hospitable.”

His words are unnatural, strung together with a purpose you can’t unravel. You pick up the fork and knife. You taste the rice first. It’s bland. You take a few more bites and he clears his throat. You know better than to insult him by leaving your plate full.

You put the blade to the slab of meat. It sinks in easily, so easily it sickens you. As you slice into it, it seems to bleed as more sauce drips from within. It is dense but not tough. You pick up a morsel with the tines of the fork.

You stare down the meat and push it through your lips as your stomach churns and your mouth fills with saliva. You taste it, the oily sauce coating your tongue as you nearly gag. What is it?

You pull the fork free and it shines with your spit in the candelight. Your look at Geralt. His pupils are so large that his whole eyes seem to gleam black. You chew but can’t swallow. You reach to the goblet closest to you, that one plain and carved of what could be ivory.

You drink but not deeply as the iron-laced contents add to your nausea. You wretch and choke on your mouthful. The meat seems to wiggle in your mouth and slides down your throat. Your body constricts as you force it to accept what’s been offered.

“Is it tasty?” He asks.

You can’t answer him. Your stomach is agonizingly full. Your heart is hammering against your ribs, and your hands are shaking. You squint at him as your head thrums. You can hear the air around you, as still as it is. You can hear it hissing around the lit tapers, you can hear the slivers of wood pressed together in the table, and you can hear that there is no breath coming from him.

His chest does not rise or fall. He is perfectly still. Rapt by the maelstrom you find yourself sinking into.

You look down as your smart watch flashes. The small heart flashes as it turns from orange to red. The number rises higher and higher. You whimper.

Your breath sears down your throat and into your nostrils. He is calm as he witnesses your deconstruction. You are terrified.

“Sheep’s liver,” he says.

You contort in the chair, gripping the armrests as tendrils of pain weave through your muscles and coil around your heart. It’s throbbing inside of you. You look down and swear you can see it through your chest. Swelling bigger and bigger.

Your eyes flick up at the recollection of the passage.

‘...so the beast is borne of a man who eats the decrepit morsel of the sheep; that who dines upon the flesh corrupted by the teeth of the wolf...’

“No...” you waft, your voice like smoke, acrid and hot.

He smiles, baring teeth like fangs, long and pointed like a wolf’s. Your neck bends to the side until you think it might snap and your legs twist out inhumanly. You twist and tie yourself, trying to fight the beast that consumes you from within.

“It won’t hurt much longer and soon enough, nothing will hurt, precious,” he snarls as he sips from his goblet, pulling it back to reveal a trickle of crimson down his chin.

“Wh-why...” you whine as you stare down at your forearms, tense as you cling to the chair. You can see your veins bulging through your skin.

“You did not read that one. I did not translate it,” he says. “’With his curse, a prophecy, that his fate should be unleashed upon the day when he should mate. When the Butcher of Haute-Bellegade claims his bride, so shall he claim the day, and put upon the world and endless night. Dusk will consume as he does, and at his side, she will devour in turn.’”

You moan and gurgle, your head hangs as you bawl and gag on your own tongue. Your bones grind together and your heart begins to miss its tempo.

“’Upon a moonless night, their vow will be sealed, and all the fates of the world too.’” He recites it as if it is poetry.

Your ears ring like a siren and your eyes blot with dark stains. Your blood boils over and your muscles knot and tangle. You fold in half and heave and expel a great deluge of guts into your lap. You turn inside out as the world mirrors your transformation. A flash of white then a bottomless black.

All is still and silent. All is gone and born again. From nothing, there is a sliver. Red, dripping, leaking, pouring gushing. All is red. All is drenched and sodden. All is flooded in the taste of iron.

A flicker between slitted eyelids. The scent of smoke yet you cannot inhale. You are weak but strong. Broken but unbreakable.

Your lashes snap wide and you stare up at the peaked ceiling. It is dark yet you can see through it. The smoke wafts to you but does not creep into your nostrils. You turn your head and he is there. Waiting, watching.

You lay upon the wooden table, naked to him and the night. You look down your arm to the only vestige of your former self. The watch on your wrist. You tilt your hand so it lights up and the little heart is grey, next to it a dash. There is no heartbeat. You are dead. Undead. Reborn into death.

“’And in consummation, they will birth the doom,’” he declares as he comes closer.

He is naked too. Strong and resilient as his pale hair and eyes shine in the darkness. He climbs over you, holding himself above you as you remain unmoving. He lowers himself slowly until his nose touches yours.

“’And upon their first kiss, the world wept,’” he grits out, lips brushing yours then all at once, covering them. He kisses you hungrily, desperately, eternally.

As his mission is done, so is yours. You’ve uncovered the secrets of the undead. You know for sure that it is more than folklore; t he is more than just a myth. And you will have all the time in the world to regret that you ever dare to ask if he was real.

The White Wolf. Gwynbleidd. White One. Butcher of Blaviken. Ravix of Fourhorn. The cursed Duke du Haute-Bellegarde. The bringer of the end.

#geralt of rivia #dark geralt #dark!geralt #geralt x reader #the witcher #au #horror au #halloween 2024 #fic #dark fic #dark!fic

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avayarising · 7 months ago

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When Mina refers to the sealed diary as ‘an outward and visible sign’, she is referencing St Augustine: ‘an outward and visible sign of an inward and invisible grace’.

This is the definition of a sacrament. Mina’s trust in Jonathan, and his in her, is holy, and a means of grace for them, one to the other.

#dracula #dracula daily #mina and jonathan #marriage of course is itself a sacrament #but mina and jonathan create this additional one #which is more between each other than between them and god #and as we hear later jonathan would rather be damned with mina than live without her

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ltash · 7 months ago

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Tease

When you first arrived at the SAS, you didn’t exactly fit in. Sure, you were good at your job, more than good, actually. You were sharp, skilled, and capable of holding your own in any training scenario. But there was one thing that set you apart from everyone else: you were funny. Mischievous, witty, and always up to something.

Most of the recruits on base were a bit too serious for your taste, but it didn’t take long for you to find your crowd. Gaz and Soap, always down for a good laugh, quickly became your partners in crime. They loved watching you stir the pot, especially when it came to Ghost. Lieutenant Simon “Ghost” Riley had quickly become your favorite target.

Ghost was the complete opposite of you, stoic, silent, and intimidating. He didn’t joke, he didn’t laugh, and most of all, he didn’t like being the center of attention. Which, of course, made him the perfect person to mess with.

It started innocently enough, with small pranks here and there. You’d hide his gloves, switch his ammo with blanks, or throw in the occasional sarcastic comment. At first, Ghost ignored you, figuring you’d tire yourself out eventually. But you didn’t. You kept going, pushing his buttons little by little.

It was a lazy afternoon on base, and you were bored. Ghost sat at a table in the common area, going over some paperwork. You noticed he had a bag of chips by his side, casually snacking between signing documents. That’s when the idea struck you.

You’d ordered a special chip online, a chip so spicy, it came with a warning label. This wasn’t your average hot chip. This was the hot chip, the kind designed to make grown men cry. You slipped it out of your pocket and swapped it with one of the regular chips in Ghost’s bag while his back was turned.

Soap, who had been lounging nearby, noticed your devious grin and immediately perked up. “What are you up to now?”

You gave him a wink. “Just wait. You’re going to want to see this.”

Soap didn’t need any more convincing. He and Gaz both settled in nearby, watching the scene unfold like a couple of kids waiting for fireworks.

Ghost returned to his seat, oblivious to what you’d done. He resumed his paperwork, absentmindedly reaching for the chips. You held your breath, watching with barely contained excitement as his hand dug into the bag.

And then it happened.

Ghost picked up the chip, the one that was designed to feel like molten lava in your mouth, and casually tossed it into his mouth. For a second, everything seemed normal. He chewed, swallowed, and kept writing.

But then, you saw it.

The slow burn started to creep up his neck, his face barely visible under the mask. His hand froze mid-signature, and you could almost see the moment when the heat hit him. His eyes widened slightly, the only outward sign that something was wrong. But you knew. Oh, you knew.

Soap and Gaz were already covering their mouths, trying not to burst into laughter as Ghost’s hand slowly reached for his water bottle. He took a swig, but it didn’t help. You could see the redness creeping up his neck, his posture stiffening as he tried to maintain his composure.

“Something wrong, Lieutenant?” you called out, barely able to suppress your grin.

Ghost’s eyes snapped to you, and for a second, you thought you might have pushed it too far. His gaze was murderous, dark and furious beneath that mask. But he didn’t say a word. He just stood up abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor as he stormed off toward the kitchen.

As soon as he was out of sight, Soap and Gaz exploded with laughter. Soap slapped the table, practically wheezing. “That was brilliant! I’ve never seen him move that fast!”

“I told you it’d be good,” you said, wiping a tear from your eye. “He’s never going to let this one go.”

“You do realize he’s going to get you back for this, right?” Gaz said, still chuckling.

You waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, I’m not scared of Ghost. What’s he going to do? Glare at me harder?”

Soap shook his head, grinning. “You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that.”

But even as you laughed, a small part of you wondered if you’d really gone too far. Ghost didn’t seem like the type to let things slide. And you were right.

But you weren't done with him yet.

Ghost had been quiet since the hot chip prank, too quiet. He hadn’t said anything to you about it, hadn’t even acknowledged it happened. That should’ve been your first warning. But instead of being cautious, you doubled down.

You were walking across the base one day when you spotted a cockroach scurrying along the ground. An idea sparked instantly.

Without hesitation, you scooped up the wriggling bug and made a beeline for Ghost, who was at the training field. Soap and Gaz were hanging out nearby, and when they saw the look on your face, they knew something was about to go down.

“Oi, Trouble,” Soap called out, smirking. “What’ve you got there?”

You held up the cockroach proudly. “My new friend. I’m gonna introduce him to Ghost.”

Gaz shook his head, laughing. “You’re mad."

You scooped up the wriggling insect and made your way over to the field where Ghost was practising.

He didn’t notice you at first, he was too focused on reloading his weapon and prepping for his next drill. But that made it even better.

The element of surprise was on your side.

“Ghost!” you called, running toward him with the cockroach clutched in your hand.He glanced up, and for a split second, you swore his eyes narrowed behind that mask. It was like he could sense that you were up to no good.

“What?” he grunted, lowering his weapon.

You didn’t answer. you just kept running toward him, waving the cockroach in your hand like a trophy.

When you were close enough, you shoved your hand forward.

“Look what I found!”

Ghost took one look at the cockroach and stepped back, his broad form tensing.

“You better put that thing down.”

You blinked, surprised by his reaction. Was Ghost… afraid of bugs? No way.A wicked grin spread across your face.

“Aw, is the big, bad Ghost scared of a little cockroach?”

“Last warning,” he said, his voice dark and low, though you detected a hint of urgency. But instead of backing off, you doubled down.

“C’mon, it’s harmless!” you said, stepping closer and waving the bug in his direction.

Ghost took another step back, visibly uncomfortable now, and you couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled up inside you.

You’d never seen him like this. This was a man who could take down an enemy with his bare hands, yet here he was, backing away from a tiny insect.That’s when he turned and started walking away.

“Oh, no you don’t!” you laughed, breaking into a full sprint after him.What followed was a spectacle that had the entire base watching.

You chased Ghost all the way across the training field, waving the cockroach like a madwoman while he picked up the pace.

You could hear snickers and laughter from nearby soldiers as they watched the ridiculous chase unfold.

Ghost was practically power-walking now, trying to maintain his composure, but you kept pushing.

“Don’t be scared, it’s just a bug!”

“I swear to God,” Ghost growled, picking up speed, “if you don’t stop..”

But you didn’t stop. In fact, you doubled down, practically sprinting after him as you waved the cockroach over your head.

“Come on, Ghost, it’s not gonna hurt you!”

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Ghost managed to slip away into the locker room, leaving you behind, still laughing and clutching your sides.

But as you stood there, catching your breath, you didn’t notice the way Ghost’s eyes darkened behind the mask. You didn’t notice how Soap, who had watched the whole thing, gave him a nudge and a wicked grin.

For the next few days, you continued your usual antics. You were on top of the world, convinced that you had finally broken Ghost’s stone-cold exterior.

You expected retaliation at some point, but it never came. Ghost was quiet—too quiet. And if you had been paying attention, you might’ve realized that he wasn’t just ignoring you.

He was planning.

It was Soap who sealed your fate.“You really think Ghost’s gonna let that cockroach thing slide?”

Soap had asked one afternoon, leaning against a crate in the common area.

You grinned, shaking your head. “I think he’s too scared to come after me.”

Soap raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “That’s what you think, huh?”

You didn’t know it at the time, but Soap had already joined forces with Ghost. They were just waiting for the right moment.

It wasn’t until a week later that you realized just how wrong you were.

The day it happened was like any other. You had finished a long day of training and were looking forward to kicking back in your room for a while.

Your backpack was sitting neatly on your bed, right where you’d left it.But the moment you unzipped the bag, something moved.

You froze.

Slowly, cautiously, you opened the bag a little wider, and that’s when you saw it.

Bugs. So many bugs. Spiders, cockroaches, beetles, all squirming and crawling over each other inside your bag.

Your heart leapt into your throat, and before you knew what was happening, a scream ripped from your lungs.

“Holy sh—” You stumbled backward, dropping the bag as you frantically tried to shake off the sensation that the bugs were crawling all over you.

Outside your room, you heard footsteps and then, laughter. Deep, booming laughter.

Ghost’s laughter. You whipped around just in time to see Ghost and Soap standing in your doorway, both of them grinning behind their masks.

Soap was practically doubled over with laughter, wiping tears from his eyes, while Ghost simply stood there, arms crossed, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

“You should’ve seen your face,” Soap gasped between fits of laughter.

You glared at them both, still shaken by the sight of the bugs.

“You put bugs in my bag?!”

Ghost gave a slow, satisfied nod.“Consider it payback.”

“For what?!” you exclaimed, though you knew exactly what.

“For the cockroach,” Ghost said simply. “And the chip. And every other stupid thing you’ve done.”

You groaned, running a hand through your hair as you tried to collect yourself. “That was disgusting.”

Ghost’s eyes gleamed with amusement as he took a step closer, leaning down just enough to be at eye level with you. “Next time, Trouble, think twice before messing with me.”

You stared up at him, your heart still pounding from the adrenaline, but you couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at your lips.

“This isn’t over, Lieutenant.”

“Oh, I’m counting on it,” he said, his voice low and threatening in a way that sent a chill down your spine.

Soap gave you a final wink before the two of them turned and walked away, leaving you alone with your bug-infested backpack and the knowledge that, for once, Ghost had won this round.

But you weren’t about to let that stand for long.

Not by a long shot.

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koegama · 1 year ago

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Hanasei

Avg. height: 1.70-2.20m | Avg. weight: 80-150 kg | Hyper-carnivores | Semi-aquatic lifestyle | Lifespan: ~120 years

Hanasei are a semi-aquatic species that originate from lakes, but expanded their settlements into rivers and other large bodies of water. They're a medium-sized biped with a hard keratin helmet where horns sprout from and a tail with large fins. Their skin is slightly damp, and can range from smooth to bumpy, that affects their transpiration and how often they must hydrate. They have both two nostrils located at their helmet and from 2 to 4 gills on both sides of their neck, of which are used for speech in land and breathing underwater, while the nostril's only function is on land respiration. Their necks are strong and well develop, and can expand or contract.

Both hands and feet have webbed fingers to facilitate swimming, but the webbing on the hands can retract for better dexterity when handling utensils. Their amphibious lifestyle left them being only decent at both types of locomotion, but their versatility makes up for it as they can comfortably transition to both environments. They're hyper-carnivores and will eat anything made of animal matter, including bones.

They are the only sexless sophont in Koegama, using Aether as a reproduction tool instead of a biological system.

More physiology dump undercut! Warning, long

Head

The common head structure of a Hanasei is somewhat flat, with a stout snout and large jaws. Proportions and shape vary per individual, and slight deviations from standard models are common. Sometimes, small barbels, whisker-like structures, will grow from their jaw and upper lip area. They give a small boon to the olfactory systems, but otherwise have no major benefits.

Horns

While the protrusions on Hanasei's heads are not anatomically horns but a different keratin appendage, horns are the most common colloquial term. Their main purpose were for fighting and a display of health and fitness to potential partners. Nowadays, most Hanasei have no real use for their horns other than decorative, but individuals may favor different horn styles compared to others.

They don't shed, growing through their infancy and plateauing around 23 to 27 years old. If a horn is broken mid-development, it will continue to grow, resulting in mismatched horns and branched protrusions depending on the type of damage. Once the horns stop growing, the blood and nerve system will shrink and be absorbed, leaving the area with no sensation and regrowth impossible. Cracks and missing pieces being a common sign of age.

Variance

Horns are very vulnerable to Aether tampering, leading to a numerous amount of styles and types to exist. Larger, more elaborate horns can make swimming more difficult, but overall the range is stable and harmless.

The presence of horns and the pair number is not affected, with 2 horns always present.

Eyes & Ears

Hanasei have good night vision, but poor eyesight in general. They can recognize the shapes around them and a few colors, but their daylight and night vision are almost the same otherwise. Their eyes can have different shapes and colors, but the effect is purely visual as their eye sensors work the same regardless of their appearance.

Hanasei don't have visible ears, but a tympanic membrane around their cheek area, which is able to pick up vibrations both in and out of water. They have great hearing, and are more aware of vibrations such as tremors and footsteps. They can voluntarily close their inner ear and stop themselves from picking up sounds, a common method for falling asleep.

Mouth

Hanasei lack teeth, using their upper jaw protrusions to hold and rip food instead. They have a powerful bite, being able to hold down things with immense pressure. Their tongues function like a catapult, with the tip facing the inside of the mouth on a resting position and launched outwards when needed, their saliva being sticky and helping trap prey inside their mouths. With cooking and more efficient methods of getting food, this isn't a common practice anymore, unless one spotted a quick snack. Unlike the other sophonts, Hanasei are still able to eat raw meat and may supplement their normal diet with bugs, fish and other easy to snag creatures in between activities.

They have very powerful and sensitive taste buds, coupled with a taste disc that lets them distinct between minute differences in food. Their mouth, just like most of their organs, tend to take the most prominent color of their Aether.

Respiratory system & Speech

Hanasei has two different systems for breathing. Outside of water, their nostrils are open and air moves through their cavity into their respiratory organs, and their gills are used for channeling sound. Air can be directed to their larynx, which is specialized for manipulating air into sound similar to vocal cords, which is only connected to the gills and not nostrils. This separate system means Hanasei can talk while breathing, and their vocalizations are very impressive, being able to mimic almost any sound they hear with practice. They can alter these sounds with the opening and closing of the larynx openings and changing how open or closed their gills are. To keep their gills from drying, the parts used for respiration often retract or close, but Hanasei in drier climates must moisturize their gills at intervals to prevent internal damage.

Underwater, their nostrils close and their gills stay open. Most of their larynx close, and filter capillaries expand to better capture oxygen diffused in the water. This makes vocalization underwater impossible, and sign language is the most common replacement. Hanasei can have 2, 3 or 4 gills on each side of their neck, and the shape of the gill can be varied, creating "accents" for each Hanasei in their relaxed voice.

They have a good olfactory system, being one of their most reliable senses. They're able to smell the humidity in the air and incoming rains and droughts. Because this uses their nostrils, they're unable to smell anything underwater.

Body

Hanasei size and builds are diverse, with individuals building muscle mass, fat and other outside factors influencing how they look. Their proportions stay consistent, with necks around the same size of their torso, short arms and elongated legs bigger than the torso itself, but deviations aren't uncommon.

Limbs

Hanasei arms start with their shoulders placed at the lower area of their torso, and stop with hands on their hips. Despite the shorter length, they have impressive arm strength and weaker Hanasei are known to rival other species' average. This makes them great at carrying things, and grabbing and holding down prey and foes. Their hands are dexterous when the webbing is retracted, but they lose a lot of maneuverability when extended.

Their legs are long and muscular, granting them an upright walk. They're not very fast, averaging 7 km/h running speed, but they have great endurance and the ability to jump high vertical distances and can pounce forward if crouched. Their muscle system can lock into a crouching stance, a comfortable stance comparable to sitting. Their feet are digitigrade but their fingers are big and wide, with a large base, keeping their body in balance and stable at the cost of mobility and grace.

Tail

Hanasei tails are long, with a vertical caudal fin that often extends beyond the base and helps them swim. This fin can regenerate when damaged, and broken or rotten tissue can lead into an entire chunk or the fin removed to speed recovery and promote an even replacement.

Fins are classified into two types, regular and segmented. Regular fins are connected into one piece, while segmented fins are broken down into various fins of different sizes and shapes, similar to fish fins. No matter the type, their shapes are kept hydrodynamic and tailored for swimming. Sometimes, the size of the base tail will also be shorter or longer than average.

Hanasei swim in two ways: a horizontal wave movement and by kicking their legs. The former is done with the help of their tail fins and is the slower of the two, but costs less energy. Hanasei will often alter the surrounding current with Aether to make this movement faster, with an average of 11 km/h. Leg kicks are less common as long term swimming and rather used for short bursts of speed and distance, and the longer one uses it the more they'll tire and may be unable to swim without resting. The peak swimming speed of Hanasei is around 20 km/h, taking leg kicks into account. As they were ambush and endurance predators, the lack of speed was not an issue for them. Depending on their fin shape, individuals may have different ways of swimming.

Aether

Their natural Aether is Nam Aether. They make use of it to help their swimming and underwater hunting, and to keep themselves damp. They tend to cast Aether from their mouths, as their Aether glands are present on their throat.

In their breeding months, their Aether start producing cells for reproduction and lose their usual abilities. This months-long limitation leads Hanasei to not be involved with using their Aether proactively or learn new skills, preferring to rely on technology to harness and utilize Aether instead.

Reproduction

Egg

To create an egg, two or more Hanasei spit out and mix their Aether together in a body of water. The resulting foam will stick together and in 3 days will develop into an egg, and one healthy Hanasei can produce enough reproductive Aether to make 200 eggs. This can only happen in the breeding period of Hanasei, usually on the 2nd and 8th month of the year. Modern Hanasei societies will instead send their reproductive Aether to the labs of the area, which will store it to create eggs with more efficient mixing machines and incubators.

The Aether inside the egg will segregate itself into larva stem cells and the nutritious yolk. After 12~14 days, the egg will be completely dry and the larva will eclode. The volatility of Aether means many larva never form or form incorrectly, and these eggs are discarded and repurposed or eaten. Only 1 in 50 eggs actually eclode, and this high rate of failure leads Hanasei to not view eggs as their young or a new generation, but more of a vessel that can fail or succeed. They have no qualms with re-purposing eggs in food, experiments or any other procedure.

Larva

Larva, often called notes, are very different from their adult counterparts. They're not considered sapient when they first hatch, but their growth is rapid and by 3 months in, they'll have the intelligence of a one year old toddler and have legs and arm stubs growing, alongside the keratin helmet and an underdeveloped nostril. This growth is fueled by a great appetite, and Hanasei larvae are omnivores and will eat almost anything they can fit in their mouths.

At the 9th month, they'll have most of their limbs developed to their young proportions, but their respiratory system will need an additional 3 months to allow for respiration outside water. Larvae at this stage will take short dips into land to push their muscles and lungs, until they no longer need to return to water to breathe.

Young

Once a larva can leave the water, they're called a young. "Young" encompasses the children and teenager years, lumped together as they no longer share any major physical differences from each other or to adults. The rest of their growth will be in size and intellect, slowing down from the quick pace of their larval years into a more normal 20 or so years to reach maturity. The main exception are horns, which only start growing around their 5th year and can take over a decade to finish growing. Smaller horns may plateau faster.

#hanasei #koegama #worldbuilding #speculative biology #specbio #spec bio #new info post for hanasei bc i dont like the old one #teehee #art #species info

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bigmpregnm · 2 months ago

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Christmas Magic - Part 2

[Story Collection] | [Part 1] [●] ✅

Mark woke up, blinking repeatedly at the clock on his nightstand. The glowing numbers read 6:00 AM. He groaned softly, his mind still foggy from sleep. For a moment, he wondered if the previous night’s events had been nothing more than an incredibly vivid dream. He could remember Nick’s immense weight over him, the enormous cock buried deep inside, and the beautiful blue eyes locked into his while the big guy fucked him. Mark smiled as he tried to sit up, but he felt heavier than ever. His body felt different—heavier, rounder, and undeniably fuller. Alarmed, Mark threw off the sheets, his breath catching in his throat as his gaze fell on his body.

“What the—?!” Mark shouted, processing the sight. “I’m HUGE!”

Mark’s once-average build now looked gigantic. His belly was now enormous, stretching outward like a yoga ball attached to his torso, its surface taut and smooth. Its sheer size and weight were astounding, anchoring him to the mattress as he tried to adjust his position. Mark’s hands moved instinctively to cradle the massive curve, his fingers trembling as he felt the firmness beneath his skin. He could feel movement—soft kicks and rolls from within—confirming the reality of his situation. But the shock didn’t end there.

His chest had also grown. His pectorals had grown into basketball-sized, milk-filled mounds that rested heavily on his belly while also pressing against his chin. The skin was taut, flushed, and tender, his large nipples darker and engorged, prepared for lactation after the impending arrival of the babies. His hips had widened significantly, giving him an hourglass shape, and his ass was fuller and rounder, making Mark laugh at their massiveness. He had always loved his big, muscular ass, and now he had by far the biggest bubble butt he had seen on a man.

Mark’s breath came in shallow gasps as he struggled to shift his position. The sheer size of his belly made even the slightest movement a challenge. He groaned softly, planting his hands on either side of him for support as he inched himself upright. The effort sent a ripple of motion through his belly, and he winced, feeling the unmistakable tightening of a contraction. The pressure within his belly grew steadily, and he clutched the massive curve, his fingers splayed across its surface as he tried to steady his breathing. The contraction passed after a moment, leaving him panting and bewildered.

“This… this is real,” Mark whispered, his voice barely audible. He could feel the babies moving inside him, the weight of the ten babies shifting with every breath he took.

As he adjusted himself further, another contraction hit, stronger this time. Mark gritted his teeth, his knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the bed. He could feel the pressure building, an unmistakable sign that labor was beginning in earnest. The sensation was overwhelming, but amidst the pain, Mark marveled at the miracle of it all. He was scared, but deep down, he couldn’t help but enjoy the movement of so many babies inside him.

He let out a low groan as his water broke, the warm sensation flooding his bed. “Oh, fuck! It hurts,” he said, clutching his belly as the first baby moved into position. The reality of what was happening washed over him—he was in labor, and there was no turning back now. Despite the pain, Mark retained his composure, and taking a deep breath, he focused on his goal: Bringing these kids into the world. It was for Asher.

Mark lay back against the pillows, his breath hitching as another contraction rippled through his massive belly. His body trembled as sweat beaded on his brow, and the contractions peaked. The enormity of his belly dominated his frame, and every contraction sent a visible ripple across the taut surface. His breaths were shallow and quick as he adjusted himself, unsuccessfully trying to find a more comfortable position.

However, Mark managed to shift onto his back, grunting and propping himself up slightly with the pillows. The effort was monumental, his widened hips, huge pecs, massive ass, and swollen body making even the smallest movements a challenge. His hands instinctively cradled the enormous curve of his belly, feeling the firmness of his stretched skin and the restless movement from the babies within. As he tried to steady his breathing, he noticed a neatly wrapped box beside him on the bed with an elegant red and gold ribbon tied around it. With trembling fingers, he reached for the attached note. The contractions made his hands shaky, but he managed to unfold the paper and read the elegant handwriting:

“In this box, you’ll find everything you need for the delivery. Let your body do its work, and the magic in the cookie, combined with my magic in the babies, will do the rest. I’ll be back in the morning. Good luck, handsome. –Nick.”

Despite the pain, Mark couldn’t help but smile. Nick’s thoughtfulness and sweetness brought some comfort amidst the chaos of his current state. Setting the note aside, he untied the ribbon and opened the box. Inside, he found everything he could need: soft towels, sterilized scissors, clamps, clean blankets, and even small knit caps for the newborns. He didn’t know what to do with any of the supplies, but he loved how meticulously it was prepared.

Just as he reached for a towel, a contraction hit with sudden intensity, forcing a groan from his lips. Mark clutched the sides of his belly, feeling the tightness spreading through his entire abdomen. Instinctively, he positioned himself further back on the bed, his legs bending and spreading slightly as his body prepared for what was to come. The pressure intensified, and Mark could feel the first baby moving downward. His breaths came in rapid gasps, and he gripped the sheets tightly. His body stretched in ways Mark hadn’t thought possible, and though the pain was sharp, it didn’t feel as terrible as Mark expected, thanks to Christmas magic. He bore down instinctively, his body taking over as he pushed.

Each push brought the baby closer. The sensation was an intense combination of pain, pressure, and wonder that left Mark gasping. He could feel the incredible strain as the baby crowned, the burn of his skin stretching, sending shivers down his spine. Every fiber of his body focused on this singular moment, his breath hitching as he summoned the last reserves of his strength. With one final push, he felt the immense weight of the first baby leave his body, a rush of relief and disbelief washing over him.

A soft cry broke the silence, filling the room with the undeniable sound of a new life. Mark blinked back tears as his eyes fell on the tiny newborn lying against the mattress, its delicate arms flailing weakly, its tiny features scrunched as it wailed. He was overcome by emotions that nearly took his breath away.

“Come with Daddy,” he whispered, his voice trembling as tears streamed freely down his cheeks. Summoning his strength, Mark carefully leaned forward despite the protests of his sore and exhausted body. His arms quivered as he reached out, his hands trembling as they carefully cradled the squirming bundle of joy. The baby’s cries softened as Mark brought him close, settling the newborn against his chest like the most precious treasure. “Oh, you’re so big and so handsome. How can you be so cute?” He couldn’t help but notice the resemblance—the baby was the spitting image of Asher as a newborn, with the same round cheeks and tufts of soft hair. Tears streamed down Mark’s face as he kissed the baby’s forehead.

Somehow, instinct and the magic guiding the process told him what to do. Using the contents of the box, he carefully cleaned the baby, clamping and cutting the umbilical cord with precise movements. He wrapped the tiny newborn in one of the soft blankets, marveling at how cute he looked. The baby instinctively turned toward him, clearly asking for milk. Mark adjusted slightly, guiding the infant to his engorged nipple. The moment the baby latched, a new emotion crashed over him, and he wept openly, overwhelmed by the beauty of the moment.

However, as the baby suckled contentedly, Mark glanced down at his still-massive belly, realizing the journey was far from over. He sighed, feeling the unmistakable tightening of another contraction building. The realization that there were nine more babies to deliver was scary. But the bundle of joy in his arms gave him strength, and imagining the smile this would bring to Asher made him get in position again to bring more miracles into the world.

The subsequent deliveries were faster and slightly easier than the first. Each baby still made Mark face new challenges as the contractions made him groan and pushed his body to its absolute limit. He groaned and grunted with every push, struggling not to disturb the baby in his arms. His body was drenched in sweat, the salty droplets tracing paths down his flushed skin as he fought through the waves of discomfort. His massive belly was still taut and heavy, shifting with effort as each contraction sent dramatic ripples across its surface.

Despite the exhaustion etched into every fiber of his being, Mark continued pushing, finding strength in the tiny faces gathering around him after each delivery. He couldn’t help but chuckle between gasping breaths when one baby, already swaddled snugly, let out a particularly loud cry as if cheering him on. “Alright, alright, I hear you,” he kindly said despite his pain. “Your siblings are coming, I promise.”

One by one, the babies were born, their coos blending into a symphony that filled the room. Each new arrival tested Mark in different ways—one baby wanted more milk while another made its debut with surprising swiftness, nearly catching him off guard. He worked methodically despite his trembling hands, using the items Nick had provided to clean and care for each baby with tender precision. He ensured they were warm and safe before tucking them beside him, creating a growing group of soft blankets and cooing bundles of joy.

By the time the tenth baby arrived, Mark was utterly spent. His body ached in ways he couldn’t describe, his breaths coming in labored gasps. But as Mark looked at the ten tiny faces beside him, a profound sense of fulfillment washed over him. Once he delivered the placenta, he sighed deeply. He had done it—he had brought them all into the world. His bed was a delightful scene of chaos and wonder. The sheer number of little faces looking back at him was almost comical—ten tiny humans, all nestled around him, and their cuteness was a balm for his aching body. Despite the overwhelming nature of the experience, Mark couldn’t help but smile.

Mark carefully arranged the babies beside him, ensuring each one was comfortable and secure. He glanced at the clock, noting the time—6:45 AM. Fifteen minutes until Asher would wake up. Despite his exhaustion, Mark knew he needed to clean up and prepare for the surprise. Suddenly, a cold breeze appeared out of nowhere, surrounding Mark and the babies in a soft tornado-like tube and cleaning everything around. The box with the supplies disappeared, along with the placenta and the fluids soaking the mattress. By the time the tornado dissipated, the bed, Mark, and the babies were clean. The soreness, however, lingered.

Mark repeatedly blinked as he looked around. He could only smile as he realized that this was all part of Nick’s Christmas magic, which was also part of the babies. Then, Mark began the slow process of getting to his feet. His body was still heavy and sore, but he was excited. The sight of his ten newborns gave him all the motivation he needed to make this Christmas morning one Asher would never forget.

Mark took a steadying breath, feeling the ache in his body as he carefully swung his legs over the side of the bed. His movements were slow as if rediscovering how to move his new body. The weight of his body had shifted dramatically. Placing his hands on the mattress, he pushed himself upright. His muscles protested, trembling slightly under the strain, but he managed to rise to his feet. His balance was slightly off due to his widened hips and fuller frame, but he slowly steadied himself.

Mark’s gaze was drawn to the full-length mirror on the opposite wall. He shuffled toward it, still adjusting to the changes in his body. When he finally stood before the mirror, he froze. The reflection staring back at him was almost unrecognizable but undeniably him. His belly, recently enormous and tight with the weight of ten babies, now appeared much smaller but still prominent. It was a soft, rounded curve that looked as if he were full-term with one large baby. He placed his hands on the gentle swell, marveling at how plush and soft it felt compared to its former firmness.

As his hands traveled upward, his attention shifted to his chest. Without the enormous presence of his pregnant belly, his chest now dominated his reflection. It was enormous, heavy with milk, and his nipples darkened and engorged from the demands of feeding the babies. He ran his fingers lightly over the taut skin, wincing slightly at their sensitivity but smiling because he knew it was all to feed his babies.

His hips were visibly wider than before, giving his figure a rounded softness. His ass was also larger and fuller, making him laugh again at its ridiculous size. Even his thighs seemed thicker, supporting the weight of his entire body. He turned slightly, examining himself from different angles, unable to suppress a smile. The magic had changed him, but he felt an unexpected pride in the reflection that stared back at him.

The pajama pants he had worn the night before lay on the floor beside the bed. Bending down to pick them up was a challenge because his body was still sore. He straightened slowly, holding the fabric in his hands before attempting to pull them on. As he worked the pants over his legs, he realized just how much his body had grown. The material stretched tight over his thicker thighs, butt, and hips, clinging to every curve and making the waistband dig slightly into the softness of his waist. He tugged them as far as they would go, chuckling softly at how snug they felt.

“Guess I’ll need a wardrobe upgrade,” he whispered to himself, shaking his head as he adjusted the overly stretched fabric around his butt.

Just as he adjusted the waistband one final time, he heard the familiar sound of small footsteps padding down the hallway. Mark’s heart beat faster, and he quickly moved back to the bed, settling himself carefully beside the ten tiny bundles of joy. The babies were nestled snugly in their blankets, their little faces peaceful and angelic. Mark positioned himself to greet Asher with the best surprise of his young life.

The door creaked open, and Asher appeared in the doorway, his eyes widening as they took in the scene. “Dad!” he exclaimed in surprise. He hurried into the room, his eyes moving between Mark and the row of babies. “Are these… Are these my brothers?” he asked, his voice trembling with excitement.

Mark smiled warmly, inviting Asher to approach. “Someone told me what you asked for,” he said. “Merry Christmas, buddy.”

Asher practically jumped onto the bed, his small hands reaching out to touch the nearest baby. He was careful, his touch gentle as he examined each tiny face. “There’s so many of them!” he whispered, his eyes shining.

“Well, you sent ten letters to Santa.” Mark chuckled, slightly wincing as Asher hugged him and accidentally pressed against his sore belly. “Careful, kiddo. Dad’s a bit sore today.”

Asher immediately pulled back, finally noticing how much his dad’s body had changed. “Sorry, Dad! Are you okay? Why are you so big?”

Mark ruffled Asher’s hair, smiling. “I’m fine, buddy. My body’s just adjusting. It changed a lot to take care of your brothers.”

Asher’s eyes widened again, and he looked down at Mark’s chest. “Will you feed them like Lucy’s mom does with her baby?” he asked, addressing one of his classmates’ mom.

Mark nodded, his cheeks flushing slightly. “That’s right. They’ll need a lot of care. And they need their milk,” Mark said, caressing the side of his right pecs. Asher smiled, throwing his arms around Mark in a hug again and pushing his body against the enormous pecs. Despite the soreness, Mark returned the embrace, his heart nearly bursting with happiness.

“I’m so happy, Dad. This is the best Christmas ever!” Asher exclaimed, and Mark laughed softly, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten. Asher then pulled back slightly, his face alight with another revelation. “Oh! And Santa brought so many presents! The living room’s full of them! I couldn’t even get to the tree!”

Mark blinked in surprise and confusion. “Full? But I— I mean, what do you mean?”

Asher nodded, bouncing on the bed. “Come see, Dad! You have to see!”

Mark glanced at the babies, ensuring they were secure in the center of the bed. “Alright, let’s go see,” he said, carefully standing. He followed Asher down the hall, one step at a time due to his sore hips. When they reached the living room, Mark stopped in his tracks, his jaw-dropping. Towering piles of gifts filled the space, stacking so high they seemed to dwarf the Christmas tree. There were bright packages of every size and shape, ribbons and bows sparkling in the soft glow of the lights. Among them, Mark noticed a section dedicated to baby supplies—strollers, carriers, cribs—but most were clearly for Asher.

Mark’s chest tightened as he realized this was Nick’s doing, a final touch of magic to make their Christmas unforgettable. Asher sneaked into the room, spinning in circles among the gits as he tried to decide what to open first. He paused, looking back at Mark. “I want to stay with the babies, but I want to open presents too!”

Mark laughed, stepping closer and placing a hand on Asher’s shoulder. “We have time for both, buddy. It’s Christmas, so these gifts and the babies aren’t going anywhere,” he said, making Asher grin, his happiness radiating through the room as Mark watched him and smiled.

Mark stood among the presents, carefully massaging his overfilled chest. The sensation was relieving as his engorged nipples were incredibly sensitive after nursing the newborns. Despite the discomfort, he couldn’t stop smiling as he listened to Asher’s gleeful laughter ringing through the house. His son was running back and forth between the living room and the bedroom, alternating between admiring his gifts and talking to the baby brothers.

Then, the doorbell suddenly rang, startling Mark from his thoughts. He paused, his hands still on his chest, and glanced toward the door. He slowly walked toward the door, mindful of his sore hips and the heaviness in his step as he adjusted to his post-pregnancy body. Tugging at the waistband of his snug pajama pants, he only opened the door a bit to see who it was without exposing his massive frame.

Mark’s face lit up when he saw Nick standing there, his enormous presence filling the doorway. His tiny red briefs were gone; instead, Nick wore a deep green sweater that clung tightly to his broad chest and muscular arms, the fabric stretched taut over the impressive bulk of his torso. The deep V-neck hinted at his thick, corded neck, which was further accentuated by the crimson scarf draped casually around it, adding a festive touch. Below, dark jeans hugged his powerful thighs, their seams strained as they contoured to every curve of his legs. The snug fit did little to hide the massive bulge at the front, a detail that made Mark’s cheeks flush as he remembered how that cock felt inside him. Even in these regular clothes, his physique left nothing to the imagination.

Nick kindly smiled, his blue eyes shining with excitement. “Hello, handsome. Merry Christmas. May I come in?”

Mark smiled and nodded, stepping back to let Nick inside. The towering man slightly ducked as he entered, his size making the entryway feel even smaller. Nick’s eyes immediately swept over Mark, taking in his widened hips, massive ass, softer belly, and the fullness of his chest. “You look incredible,” Nick said with admiration. “Motherhood suits you,” he added, carefully reaching for Mark’s massive pecs to caress them.

Mark blushed and softly moaned at the contact, unable to resist Nick’s sweet touch. “Thanks,” he shyly responded. “It was all worth it. Asher’s been over the moon about the babies. He’s so excited, and it’s all thanks to you.”

Nick smiled broadly. “I told you it would all be worth it. And I hope you have enjoyed the whole experience too,” he said, moving his hands lower to caress Mark’s soft abdomen.

“I did. I loved it,” Mark responded, shivering as Nick’s hands explored his body. “But now I don’t know how I will go out looking like this and how I will explain that now I have 10 more kids.”

“Don’t worry. Thanks to Christmas magic, everyone will see this as perfectly normal. You and your family can live happily without raising any eyebrows. People won’t ask questions, and they won’t mind you having these massive tits,” Nick said, winking at Mark. “Well, they’ll mind, but not in a bad way. I’m sure you turn heads with that massive butt you now have. This is the hottest transformation I’ve been involved in.”

Mark chuckled, and his shoulders relaxed at Nick’s words. Then, a flicker of curiosity crossed his face. “So, you do this often?” he said, tilting his head. “That’s why you left so quickly last night?”

Nick noticed the subtle change in Mark’s expression and shook his head with a chuckle. “No. Asher’s wish was special. You’re special. A good guy on the list,” he teased, his grin widening. “You’re the only person I’ve ever done this for. But I still had to grant other wishes around the globe. But I wanted to stay.”

Mark’s cheeks flushed again, this time with pride. Before he could respond, Asher bounded into the room, his eyes widening as he took in Nick’s enormous frame. “Wow!” the boy exclaimed, craning his neck to look up at the towering man who made his dad look tiny beside him. “You’re huge! Are you a superhero?”

Mark chuckled, placing a hand on Asher’s shoulder as the kid stood by his side. “He’s kind of a superhero. Asher, this is Nick,” he introduced. “He’s the one who helped Santa bring your baby brothers.”

Asher’s face lit up with excitement, and he jumped up and down. “Thank you, Nick! I love my brothers,” he said, throwing his arms around Nick’s tree-trunk-like leg in an enthusiastic hug. Then, his eyes widened as a new thought struck him. “Wait, are you friends with Santa?”

Nick chuckled, kneeling to meet Asher’s gaze. “Good friends,” he confirmed with a nod. “In fact, if you’d like, we could go visit him in a few days. I’m sure he’d love to meet you, your dad, and your little brothers.”

Asher gasped, his hands flying to his mouth in sheer excitement. “Really? Can I meet Santa? For real?”

Nick smiled, gently ruffling the boy’s hair. “For real. But only if you promise to be extra good and help your dad with your baby brothers.”

Asher nodded so enthusiastically that Mark couldn’t help but laugh. “I promise!” Asher exclaimed, his excitement bubbling over as he looked between Nick and his dad. “This is the best Christmas ever!”

“It is, right?” Nick said, looking at Mark’s smiley face. “Oh, Asher, do you like magic?”

Asher nodded. “Yes! My dad taught me some tricks with cards a few weeks ago.”

“Okay. But about some Christmas magic?” Nick smiled and snapped his fingers. Instantly, soft snowflakes began to fall around them, glittering in the glow of the Christmas lights.

Asher gasped, his eyes wide with wonder. “It’s snowing inside! How did you do that? This is the best Christmas ever!” he exclaimed, smiling at Nick. “Do you want to open gifts with me and meet my brothers?” Asher asked eagerly, tugging on Nick’s large hand.

“We don’t want to keep Nick too long,” Mark said shyly. “He’s probably busy today.”

Nick scooped Asher up onto his broad shoulders with ease, his massive hands steadying the boy. “Now that Christmas is over, I have all the time in the world,” he said with a wink. “My work only keeps me busy until Christmas night.”

Asher cheered, and Mark couldn’t help but laugh. “Well, in that case,” Mark said, his smile growing. “You should stay and meet our babies properly,” he added and smiled.

Nick’s eyes lit up at the words as he looked at Mark. “Actually, If you don’t mind me working one night a year,” he said. “I could stay forever.”

Mark’s heart skipped a beat as Nick wrapped an arm around his waist, the touch sending a pleasant sensation through him. Nick’s hand caressed Mark’s massive ass before resting lightly on the widened hip, his thumb brushing the curve of his soft belly. Mark blushed but didn’t pull away. “What do you say, Asher? Should we allow Nick to stay for long?” Mark said, looking up at his boy sitting on Nick’s shoulders.

“YES!” Asher shouted excitedly, making Nick and Mark laugh as they walked toward the bedroom. Then, Asher looked at Nick’s face as they approached the room. “Do you think you could bring more baby brothers for me someday?”

Nick laughed as they entered the room, unable to hide his excitement at the request. “I think that can be arranged,” he said, winking at Mark.

Mark chuckled softly, his cheeks flushing. The sight of the ten tiny babies nestled in the bed made them smile. Asher’s delighted squeals filled the room, and Mark couldn’t help but caress his round, soft abdomen. With Nick beside him and his son’s joy lighting up the morning, Mark knew Asher would have a lot of baby brothers in the near future.

The End?

#mpreg #mpreg story

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