#plate and a chamber filter plate

[gingerteawrites]

BY THE HEARTH: Meeting Yuji

A/N: Welcome to the second part of this mini-series! I am so glad to have you read this piece. Make sure to read the prologue here before you continue with this. Please let me know what you liked (or maybe did not like) about the piece, and I'll be sure to take that into consideration with the following parts. Enjoy!

Content: Royalty!AU, Nanami x female reader, king Nanami, Princess Y/N, Widower Nanami, Toddler Yuuji, hurt, angst. Not beta read

Word count: ~1K

banner from @cafekitsune

ACT II:

You woke up with a stiffness in your neck, groaning as you tried adjusting your position in the bed. You tried rolling your body away from the source of light, only to realize that you had fallen asleep and stayed in a sitting position all night. Heavy lids finally opened, squinting at the sunlight that dimly filtered into the opulent bedroom. It reflected off the overhead chandelier, causing thousands of fluttering lights to glimmer on the chamber’s walls. Still in a sleepy haze, you removed the velvety cover from your lower body and rested your feet on the floor, leaning on your hands against the edge of the bed. You sighed, finally looking up to examine the room.

He did not come, everything looks the same as last night. Your lips pursed in thought.

A resounding knock on the heavy door pulled you out of your haze, and a new fleet of servants filtered in, not waiting for you to respond. You sat up straight, startled by their sudden entrance. They all carried indifferent looks, carrying a multitude of items in tow. You finally relaxed a bit when you saw Alma enter last, closing the door behind her before she turned to smile gently at you.

“Good morning Your Highness. We are here to help you get ready and serve you breakfast”, she explained, inviting you to sit at the vanity.

You smiled back politely and greeted the woman “Good morning Alma.”

They all worked to get you ready, helping you change into a pastel gown with floral appliques and pinning your hair up into a loose bun. Another group of servants plated the breakfast which you ate slowly, noticing that all the dishes were from your homeland. You itched for a good conversation, looking around for someone to talk to, but everyone you settled on averted their gazes, while Alma, who had shown some modicum of kindness to you seemed preoccupied with quietly directing the servants to clean up in various ways. She had to be the head maid but was here assisting you personally. Odd, you thought.

You turned your attention back to the food, thinking of your cheerful ladies-in-waiting back home. What a shame it was that they did not let anyone from home accompany you. In many ways, this marriage felt like your kingdom abandoning you; selling you away for political advantages. But you had been given the choice. You had agreed, so you shook the negative thoughts out of your head. You were doing your duty. Despite the fact that you did not know who your husband was. That he had not written you the customary courting letters. And that you had not seen him since your wedding. You had agreed, so you had to live with the consequences.

You soon finish the breakfast, wiping at your mouth with the napkin and setting the silverware onto your empty plate. The servants took this as a cue and started taking the utensils away. You adjusted your dress, and stood, walking towards Alma, who still stood by the door, giving instructions to some young maids outside.

“Alma, am I allowed to leave this room?”, you ask, and she startled a bit, directing her attention towards you.

“Of course Your Majesty,” she said, bowing her head slightly in response.

“I expected to have breakfast with my husband this morning…” you remarked, trying to sound casual to assess her response

She waved her hands, donning an apologetic smile as she quickly explained “His Majesty usually has breakfast in his office, he is a very busy man.”

You inched closer, head tilting slightly at her words a dedicated king… Or maybe just a workaholic you hummed in thought

“I want to get some fresh air,” you announced, holding your hands behind your back. Alma nodded immediately, calling over two servants who stood not far from you “Of course Your Majesty, let us accompany you to the gardens.”

You smiled at her quick response, At least I am allowed to move within the castle.

The maids gathered around you, flanking your sides as they prepared for the little excursion. They pushed your heavy doors open, allowing for the group to walk out into the gigantic hallways. The stone, which had seemed more ragged and dull the night before now held a certain glow. The glow of resilience, like something sacred that had witnessed many a thing. The crests engraved into the pillar were surrounded by flags that hung heavy, displaying the territory’s richness. You held your breath, carefully examining the decor, reminded of your own smallness in this place. These gigantic walls held a history you were so separated from, and a growing sense of foreignness enveloped you.

Your group passed various servants and guards in the castle, offering a range of reactions at you, their new queen. Some threw curious glances your way, quickly averting their gazes when you noticed their looks, while others single-mindedly focused on the tasks at hand, ignoring you completely. Towels were being carried around, floors scrubbed and instructions shared, bringing the cold castle to life with the bustle of its inhabitants. You kept walking, observing the new scenery with keen interest.

Your party finally reached the gardens, which sprawled open in a scape of flowers and trees. The outside air felt moist but cool, carrying the remnants of last night’s storm. You closed your eyes and let it fill your lungs, stepping out onto the cobblestone path that snaked around the garden. Your eyes reopened with a smile, the breeze caressing your cheek as a silent welcome.

“We could wait here if you would like to walk through the garden alone, Your Majesty,” Alma announced, noting your delighted expression. You turned to her, eyebrows raised in surprise at her suggestion “I assure you there is nowhere unsafe within the castle walls.” she added.

“Oh no, that was not my concern,” you waved your hand and shook your head. “Thank you for the suggestion, I would like to do that.”

She nodded, offering another smile and stood a few paces away with the other servants to allow you room to wander. You engaged on the stone path that curved into a deeper part of the garden, turning back to see that they had not moved, only their eyes followed your movements. As you ventured deeper, the group eventually faded out of sight and you focused on admiring the white lily bushes that littered the entry of the path. The warmth of spring had yet to take full force, still, the flowers already showed signs of bloom, small buds and green leaves covering each plant. The trees still lay fruitless, and your fingers brushed against the bark of a fig tree as you thought of its future growth. Birds chirped melodiously over you, and you allowed yourself to enjoy this moment of peace.

It’s not all bad. I don’t have to have a bad life here, you mused, your heart filling with silent encouragement.

After some time, you wandered into a small opening in a more isolated corner of the garden. The space held an intricately carved fountain in the middle, and two benches across from each other that faced it. You sat down and titled your head back to enjoy slowly moving clouds, noting the small birds that dashed overhead.

Your moment of respite was interrupted by the sounds of quick steps running in your direction, causing you to crane your neck towards the corner from which they came. You thought they might have belonged to a small dog, but a child soon appeared, dashing at full speed towards you.

The boy had delicately combed strands of pink hair, a determined look in his eyes, and a mischievous smile that pulled at his lips. His own eyes widened when he noticed you, digging his heels into the path to stop the momentum from his run. He stared at you, wide-eyed and you returned the look, not sure how to react.

“You’re not a maid!” he asserted, pointing his finger at your attire with an assured look on his face.

His assertion made you chuckle a bit, equal parts amused by his conclusion and taken by his cuteness. His wide eyes shone brightly, and you immediately felt drawn to his carefree aura only a child would possess.

“That is a correct guess,” you said, offering your warmest smile “And who are you, boy?” you asked, tilting your head slightly, resting it on your wrist in interest.

“I am Yuji, my Lady!” He announced proudly, bumping a fist to his chest. You wanted about to giggle again at his attitude, but the sounds another group of footsteps approaching caused you to look up from his small stature to the path from which he had arrived.

“Hey, quick!” he whisper-yelled, coming to wrap his hand around your index and middle fingers “We need to hide, come!” He pulled at them with strength that surprised you enough to almost make stumble as he led you to another section of the garden that resembled a small maze. With vines climbing wooden screens that cast long shadows behind them. You both quickly stood behind them.

“Is this a game of hide and seek?” you asked quietly, and he made a ‘shhhhhhh’ sound, finger placed on his lips and his brows knit in seriousness.

You stifled another chuckle but straightened when you heard the footsteps near, holding the boy closer to your feet as a group you couldn’t see hurriedly passed through the space you had previously been sitting in.

That sounded like quite a few people. You looked at him, lips pressed together in thought.

“Did you do something wrong, little Yuji?” you whispered even quieter when you were sure the group was out of earshot, and the boy fixed you with an offended look

“Firstly, I am not little!” He said, lip upturned “And I didn’t do anything wrong.” he crossed his arms, turning his face away.

Your experience with countless little cousins told you that making him mad would not be a productive way to get the answers you wanted, so you squatted so you reached his height, and held a hand over your chest “I am sorry for my assumption,” you expressed, mustering the most sincere tone you could.

He eyed you suspiciously for a second, but after a huff, a smile returned to his face “Apology accepted!” he said, to which you smiled in return. You wanted to ruffle his pink hair and pinch his pink cheeks, but refrained, not sure of how he would react. He extended his hand at you, seemingly wanting you to grab it.

“You look new around here. Want me to show you around?” He beamed, swaying on his feet in anticipation of your reply.

“Another correct assumption,” You smiled, holding your forefinger to the air “And that would be very kind of you, how could I refuse?” You added, grabbing his hand before standing up to your full height. You could probably find his parents while in the castle with him. Yes, that was the best course of action.

His face beamed at your response, and you could swear you felt a fresh pulse of energy from him radiate through the air “Yay! But one condition!” he urged, holding his palm up to you “No one can see us. Come on!” He pulled you, causing you to almost trip again at the strength this kid displayed, which you were now sure someone his age should not possess.

The boy dragged you to an exit completely different from where you had entered, opening into a separate terrace with a gazebo standing in the middle. Vines climbed up its delicate metal frame that was itself molded in the shapes of blooming flowers. Your mouth hung open at the sight, wondering about the craftsmanship that went into it. Yuji also stopped at your feet for a moment, but you felt him pull at your arm again, causing you to look down and notice a forlorn look in his eyes.

“Is everything okay?” you asked softly, the other hand itching to caress his hair, but settling on resting it on his shoulder.

He shook his head, and the mischievous determination you had noticed earlier returned to his face “Let’s go to the library!” He announced, “It’s the most interesting place in the palace anyway, and they have books about worms!” he added, pulling you into the adjacent hallway, and eventually through more isolated corridors.

The way he expertly navigated the space, knowing which doors servants would come out of and how to hide made you realize that he was intimately familiar with this castle. “Worms you say? That sounds very interesting!” you said, trying to mirror his excitement “I know right!” he beamed right back, his hold tightening around your fingers

He must be the son of a servant here, you mused while he quietly pulled you along, eyes narrowed in concentration as he led you, as if on a secret mission. He’s too well-dressed to not have rank though, you kept wondering. Regardless of his birth, the boy had shown you more warmth than anyone in this castle, and you were grateful for his presence. You eventually reached a heavy ebony door with thick metal handles, and he used his entire body weight to pull them open, before urging you in.

The room you entered was lined with large windows that extended from roof to floor, flanked by opulent curtains that caused the light to filter in bright streaks. The room smelt of old books, causing you to marvel at all the volumes that endowed the gigantic shelves. Thick spines, some ornate with gold engravings, others plain, but equally precious under your gaze. You were surprised to note the library’s emptiness and turned to look at the boy who had already shut the door and was moving a few paces away. You caught up behind him, following his movements.

“Why is this place so empty?” you inquired, feeling he would know the answer.

“Visitors are not allowed these days,” he responded absently, starting to run towards a specific shelf, and plucking a book out. You reached his location, bending down curiously to see what he was doing. His eyes shone at the thick volume he had pulled out, and he held it towards you proudly. “Worms, Millipedes, and other small critters” was written in cursive across its cover with an illustration of various insects in a circular arrangement.

“This is the best book in the entire library!” he announced.

You smiled again at his attitude, taking in the kid’s enthusiasm. He started opening the book, the pages fluttering as he searched for a specific chapter but paused to look up at you. “Are you going to pick out a book?” He asked, head tilting in thought when he noticed you had not left his side. You were tempted to look around, but shook your head and decided against it for now. You crouched down to his height again and rested your chin on your knees.

“Let’s read that one together”, you pointed to the book he was holding

His eyes shone even brighter, and his face morphed into a wide pink-cheeked smile. “Let’s not waste any time, then! Come on!” He said, taking off towards another corner of the library, and you ran after him.

This kid has way too much energy for his own good. You finally came to a stop when you reached the opposite corner of the library, hand placed on your chest as it heaved with quick breaths. It was furnished with a small coffee table and a silver sofa set by one of the large windows. He sat down closest to the window, and you joined him on the small sofa. The boy then scooted closer, opening the book to the chapter named “Helminths”, with an illustration of an earthworm gracing the first page. Yuji moved the book over to rest on your knee so that both of you could see, and your heart warmed at how comfortable he acted around you.

“Do you want me to read it for us?” you suggested, tilting your head down to look at his face. He looked up, and his brows furrowed a bit before he nodded bashfully. “I can’t say some words yet,” he admitted, looking down at his lap with a small pout.

Your resolve to not ruffle his hair finally broke, and you gently tousled his hair at the cute display “Don’t worry, I struggle too, sometimes,” you whispered your confession, causing a smile to return to his face. You softly cleared your throat and started reading from the piece, enunciating the long classifications of worms, from benign to parasitic, noting with a raised brow how he practically thrummed in excitement when you talked about tapeworms feeding from and reproducing in human hosts.

Soon enough, you felt his weight lean against your arm, and you knew that the peaceful atmosphere and the melody of your voice had lulled the boy into sleep. You closed the book, making sure to bookmark the page you ended at, and adjusted him so that his head lay in your lap and his neck wouldn't hurt when he woke up.

I have to find his parents, you thought, running your fingers up and down his arm in soothing motions. He looked so peaceful sleeping, nuzzling softly against you.

The calm moment was interrupted by the sound of the heavy library door being pushed open, and frantic footsteps walking around the library. Your head rose and your brows furrowed at the intrusion. Was this place not supposed to be empty now?

“Yuji! Yuji!” a voice resounded, gravelly and loud, the frequency of the calls betrayed a tinge of worry. Your back straightened instantly, recognizing the voice and your arm paused its gentle touches across the child's arm. Before you could react, the king emerged from behind a shelf, his expression hardening immediately at the sight before him.

“What are you doing with my son?” His low voice came out rough with displeasure and contained anger, and you wanted to burrow into the ground and disappear.

Oh no.

Tag list: @ofcqdesi @tomiokasecretlover

Please comment if you want to be added to the tag list. Thank you again for reading, I would love to know your thoughts on this!

[luxtout]

Flames Unveiled (Chapter 1- Leather and Letters- Aegon II Targaryen X (Bastard Velaryon) Reader X Aemond Targaryen

Summary: After six years living away from Kings Landing, you and your family are summoned back, for reasons unknown. Your mother, Rhaenyra, has different plans for you. You swore to always protect your family, but at what cost?

Warning: Cursing, angst, injuries

The air was sweet as you stepped out of your chambers, a gentle breeze brushing against your legs and sending a shiver down your spine. The place you've called home for the past six years was eerily quiet, not even your younger brothers were awake in these early morning hours. Normally, the songs of dragons would awaken you, but on this particular morning, the silence was unnerving.

The corridor echoed with each step you took, the faint sound of your dress grazing the floor causing your fingers to clench the fabric. You finally heard the soft murmur of your mother, Rhaenyra, speaking in Valyrian.

As if she sensed your approach, her voice hushed, waiting for you to open the large wooden door to the viewing room. A sense of curiosity overcame you as you wondered if someone else was in there with her. Your hand brushed the ridged doorknob, twisting it gently, as if you intended to surprise her. You could hear her mumbling in Valyrian.

You pushed open the heavy door, a rush of cold air meeting your face. Rhaenyra stood beside a massive wooden desk, engrossed in reading a parchment.

"Skoros iksos sīr secret ao līs whisper se ȳzaldrīzes isse nonnative ēngos?" What is so secret that you must whisper and speak in a nonnative tongue? Your lips curled upwards as you noticed her jump at the sound of your voice. She was dressed in a deep red gown with black accents around the skirts and collar, her hair elegantly braided on her head, creating a crown-like effect.

"Gōntan nyke wake ao, tala?" Did I wake you, daughter? Her voice was soft and genuinely concerned.

You quickly shook your head, your smile softening as your hair cascaded over your shoulders. "Daor. Nyke istan worried everyone ēdan geptot issa." No, I was worried that everyone had left me. It was a genuine fear that occasionally plagued you, which caused you wake in the middle of the night, drenched in cold sweat, fearing your family had disappeared. You kept your head down, lacing your fingers together, trying to ignore Rhaenyra's gaze.

"Your Valyrian has improved significantly. It is good for the future heir to the Iron Throne to know the ancient language." You were lost in your thoughts, not realizing that Rhaenyra had approached you, gently taking your hands in hers. Her smile was warm and comforting, knowing the challenges you faced as the eldest daughter, with high expectations from everyone in the court and beyond.

"Mother, you have not named an heir yet," your smile faltered. "The last I heard; Grandsire has been in good health. Why discuss such politics?"

Your mother's eyes softened, and her smile waned ever so slightly, a change so subtle that only you would notice. Her hands left yours suddenly, and she held your face in a surprising manner. "You're right, my love. Let's have breakfast."

She guided you out of the room, but you couldn't help but steal a glance back at the parchment left on the desk, a raven perched beside it. You were about to voice your concerns, but by then, you were already walking down the hall, entranced by the delicious aroma coming from the kitchen.

Entering the dining room, a long wooden table stretched from wall to wall, a fireplace at the far end of the room warming your cold hands. The curtains were drawn, allowing natural light to filter through the windows, while candles on the table illuminated the carefully set place settings by the handmaidens.

The cook's assistants hurried around, bearing plates of various meats, such as bacon, pork, and sausage, alongside bowls of porridge and poached eggs. The meal was complemented with cheese and bread. The table's centerpiece featured a colorful array of fruits, and you couldn't resist plucking a grape from its vine.

Your stomach rumbled in anticipation as they finished and bowed to your mother, then to you. You wanted to sit down and devour everything in sight, leaving nothing behind, but you waited for your brothers to join you, wherever they might be.

"It's best that you allow your handmaidens to assist you with dressing," Rhaenyra began, "and perhaps let them brush your hair."

She did not glance in your direction, already seated and waiting for her sons. You looked down at your dress, a simple blue gown adorned with gold embroidery, resembling tree leaves, you thought. Your hand instinctively went to your hair next, where knots had formed at the nape, although your mother couldn't see it beneath the cascade of waves falling to your waist. Your hair was brown, but a streak of white at the front of your hairline framed your face like an artist's touch.

"I can manage on my own. I am not a child; I am seventeen years of age, soon to be eight-"

Your words were abruptly cut off as you saw disappointment in your mother's eyes. "Exactly. You are a woman grown, yet you dress and act like a child."

Biting your lip, you tried to hold back hurtful words. "If you didn't make me leave, I would be a properly educated woman like you want!" Rhaenyra remained silent, her expression reflecting her sadness.

Footsteps echoed as your brothers entered the room. Jacaerys and Lucerys walked in silently, their hair in disarray, and their clothes looking unkempt. You couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at your mother, but she smiled slightly, conceding defeat. You were well aware of how you were treated differently; your brothers could do whatever they pleased, say anything they want, fuck whoever they want, while you, a lady, were constantly reminded of what not to do, what not to wear, and how not to speak. It was fucking annoying.

"Good morning, Y/N!" Luke greeted you with a smile as he took a seat next to Rhaenyra. He reached for the mead, but she swiftly pushed it out of his reach.

"Good morning, Luke, Jace. Finally, you've awakened." You tried to suppress your anger, but, in an instant, your previously hungry stomach felt completely satisfied. Nonetheless, you loaded your plate with bacon and eggs, deftly taking most of the fruit before Jace could protest.

"Where is Daemon?" Luke asked, looking around with a fork halfway to his mouth.

All eyes turned to your mother, who cleared her throat awkwardly. "He is... not here. He will be back before nightfall."

Luke nodded and continued with his meal, hummed appreciatively as he took another bite. Jace, on the other hand, nearly ignored his utensils entirely, and your mother had to intervene with a stern, "Jace."

The cries of your younger brothers could be heard as Joffrey ran into the room, with a wet nurse following close behind. "Ma, Aegon and Viserys won't drink their milk, they just cry."

A chuckle escaped your lips as Joffrey described the morning ordeal with the infants. Rhaenyra tried to explain that they didn't yet understand the timing of their meals, still being quite young.

"Come, Joffrey," You pulled out a chair with your foot, earning a disapproving look from your mother. "I'll make you a plate."

Joffrey eagerly hopped around the table and climbed into the chair. You filled his plate with fruits, porridge, and bacon, although he protested about the eggs, which he didn't like.

Seeing the heartwarming sight, your mother offered a gentle comment, "You would be a beautiful mother."

It was barely a whisper, but it caught your attention. "May I be excused? I would like to fly Lyrax; he has been quite stubborn of late."

Silence filled the room as Rhaenyra nodded, and you quickly left, heading towards the door.

Dressed in your riding leathers, you hadn't taken more than a few steps before someone called your name.

"Y/N!" Turning around, your brother raced after you. "Wait!"

You slowed your pace as you continued weaving your hair into a braid, "What is it, Jace?"

His steps quickened, and he finally caught up to you. "Mother wants me to recite the Targaryen lineage... in Valyrian."

"What does that have to do with me?" You laughed as you finished your braid, noticing his softening expression. "When I get back, I will help."

Jace spun you around, wrapping his arms around you. "Thank you for this, sister!"

You nodded and made your way to the "Dragon Pit." It wasn't as grand as the one in King's Landing, but it served its purpose in keeping your dragon safe. "Lyrax! Māzigon naejot issa, Lyrax," you called. His cooing and heavy steps greeted you as he approached. His scales were white and light gray, resembling the moon, with eyes a shade darker than black.

"Sȳz, Lyrax. Ivestragī īlva sōvegon." Good, let's fly. He lowered himself so you could mount, and you grabbed the reins. "Sōvegon."

Lyrax took a running start, leaping into the air and spreading his wings. The wind whipped through your hair as you gripped the reins with leathered gloves. He soared beyond the clouds, gliding with outstretched wings.

There was one word in Valyrian that you had always wanted to command Lyrax with, something your mother would kill you for and feed your remains to Syrax.

"Dracarys!"

Your voice echoed as you felt the vibrations from your dragon's throat, spitting a ball of fire. Unknowingly in awe, you found yourself heading too close to the flames, the heat burning your leather, but you didn't mind. You held your hand in the fire until Lyrax descended.

Taking a breath, you looked back at the puff of smoke. "Good boy, Lyrax." You were surprised to find that your leather had melted off, and your skin was singed but not blistered. It felt similar to sitting too close to a fire in the winter, leaving your skin hot but not scalded.

When you landed, you gave Lyrax one last hug before he went to feed, and you tended to your hand. To your amazement, it was as if nothing had happened, despite your expectations of blistered skin.

As you walked up the dirt and stone pathway, you noticed Daemon waiting. "Mother said you would be back by nightfall."

He smirked. "Nyke istan, yn nyke kesīr sir." I was, but I'm here now.

You bowed your head and said, "Indeed, lead the way."

Daemon's smirk made your skin crawl, and your hatred for him boiled within you. You missed your father, Laenor, who used to take you on walks around King's Landing, singing songs and teaching you dances. He was full of life, whereas Daemon was devoid of joy.

Entering the drawing room, you heard Valyrian as you noticed Jace and your mother. He looked up from the table, his hands propped up against the edge, giving you a dirty look.

"Tell me, who was Aegon Targaryen?" She inquired, a smirk forming in the corners of her mouth as she watched her son struggle.

"Aegon nyke..." He began, but the pronunciation proved challenging. "Aegon nyke istan..."

"Aegon nyke istan se ēlī targārien naejot conquer se unite se sīkuda dārȳti hen vesteros. Ziry rode se zaldrīzes balerion se zōbrie dread. Zȳhon reign marked se beginning hen targārien dynasty isse vesteros," you offered, unable to witness your brother's struggle any longer. Aegon I was the first Targaryen to conquer and unite the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros. He rode the dragon Balerion the Black Dread, and his reign marked the beginning of the Targaryen dynasty in Westeros.

Your words caused Daemon to chuckle, and you earned a sympathetic sigh from Rhaenyra. "How else is Jace going to learn if you do it for him?"

You removed the other leather glove with a sigh. "My apologies, dear brother. Please continue." Jace cracked a smile at you as you took a seat nearby. He opened his mouth to continue speaking, but your mother interrupted.

"Actually, I have to inform you both of something important..."

You sat up attentively. "Would you like me to fetch Luke?"

She raised her hand to stop you. "No, it will be quick. I have received a letter. It's from... the Queen."

You sprang from your seat, and Jace moved closer to you. "Is Grandsire all right?"

Rhaenyra put an end to your questions, saying, "He is fine." You scanned the room, trying to grasp the issue. "Then what, mother?"

She gritted her teeth. "She wants you to be in court. She wants us all home." You noticed her voice quiver with emotion. Daemon had an amused smirk as he observed your perplexed expressions.

"Back to King's Landing? After all these years?" Jace's voice held bewilderment, unable to comprehend the sudden turn of events.

"The Queen is a woman that no one can understand, her reasoning for many things is questionable. Mother, when do we leave?" You couldn't hide your excitement, finally escaping this dreaded isle and returning to what you considered home - your true home.

"Tomorrow at daybreak." Your mother's decision to leave made sense, which explained Daemon's presence now, and why he remained silent, akin to a snake.

You were ready to rush out the door to start packing, but Jace's voice shook. "Are they going to be civil?" It didn't take long for you to connect the dots; the question was about your uncles. The last time you were all in King's Landing, there was an incident, and someone lost an eye...

"Jace... I..." Your mother was at a loss for words, an unusual occurrence, but Jace had no intention of listening to whatever she might have said as he rushed past everyone and into the hall. You wanted to say something, but first, you needed to console your brother.

"Jace! Brother!" You raced after him, the sound of your boots clicking with each step. He paused for a moment, turned around, his fists clenched, and his lips pressed tightly together.

"Dear brother, do not let the past weigh you down. Perhaps they have matured? Maybe they are now men grown..." Your statement turned from a question to a plea. The last time you saw your uncles, they were calling you all... bastards.

"You have too much faith in them, sister. You always try to see the better in people," Jace said with a smile, lifting his hand to your face.

Yes, your optimism might well be your downfall.

[crying-fantasies]

This is a life... (3)

Masterlist

Part 1 | part 2 | part 3: with you | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7

Procreation is the way your people live on, how they ensure their existence out of their own short and sometimes futile lifeline, they keep their species alive, passing down not only genetic information but also in some beliefs that can be learned by the next generation.

Procreation it's an almost foreign and forgotten word for his people, they don't interface with creating a new spark in mind since it can hardly happen, you can spike whoever and not get any results, let alone carry, almost no mechs or femmes have functional gestation chambers to get a spark to end inside their bodies and it has been way too long since a new spark was given life from another bot, you want to know how long? Way before the war, that long, but with Vector Sigma and their supposed peace no bot was concerned about their numbers for a millennia and half.

At least before the war and the end of it, that's it.

Now, numbers are minimal, worst and nowhere near to the numbers they had once even in their most terrible energon lack that is dated back to when Kup wasn't even online, you ask him how long was that and Prowl answers you saying that not even the sea of rust existed then.

So, a very, very long time ago.

And so, Prowl wants to take your worry away when he goes on his day without recharging for 10 cycles straight, he tells you how important this is and how important is to have him be responsible to make this spark make it, the ones in New Cybertron and the ones in Luna-1 are ripe and trying to get their own bodies, but protoform metal is scarce and he may need to make it happen even when he doesn't know how, he will make it anyway.

You worries make him feel bad even when he tries to tell himself this is his job, wearing his usual stoic nature and acid comments, occasionally returning to your shared living unit from time to time when he really can't keep hearing Pyra Magna never ending claims on how the sentio metallico is scarce and how her blacksmith team is beyond exhausted with the continuous work or how the Senate pressure him, saying he needs to get Rodimus back with his whole ship to bring more energy to the whole operation even if Prowl has to tear apart that ship with his own servos or how the survivors of the functionalist world still need help adapting to this reality and-

"Prowl"

And then there is you, little and unafraid you that has waited for him to return home, strange human word, for Primus knows how long, he can feel and see his terrible physical situation everywhere there is a glass like structure but can't afford to see your tired eyes when you caught him trying to get some basic energon down his intake after so long without a break.

"Oh Prowl" you say his designation like it hurts you, he finally takes seat where he can, you hurry to move around even when he tells you to leave him alone, the message and plead of going to sleep on your own almost forgotten when he catches how you, organic little you, tries your luck with a concoction of energon he has only showed you how to make once when he really had enough of take outs in hopes of getting him something warm and not flying away by an explosion.

It has been a while, since someone took care of him, and he doesn't like it, not even the strange attraction this simple act places upon him, because this makes him remember how all started.

He shouldn't have been weak at that moment, he shouldn't have.

You should take care of yourself, he should take care of you, not the other way around when only the attempt of filtering energon can kill you with a little mistake, that's all it takes, he doesn't care how his spark hums, he doesn't care he feels strange fuzziness when you try to get the cube near to him, Prowl quites down the growing sound of his engine revving with sheer willpower and a stoic face plate.

How does he look to you right now? Probably a mess, absolutely destroyed to some point, his wing doors are falling to his sides because he doesn't have the strength to keep them up in the familiar ground your home is, he doesn't let you do everything, getting on his pedes to take the cube and downing it on one go, is messy, hardly different from basic energon really and the rust flakes you put to add some flavor are still on the bottom, he just takes you on his servos after discarding the cube away, smiling tiredly and as non threatening as he can when you ask if it was good.

"Passable"

You look angry, you really aren't, just so tired, just like him, it has been long road and a tiny smile doesn't catch you by surprise anymore, only getting near to his servos and hugging what you can, you clothes do little to keep you warm in the cold planet that Cybertron is with the temperature regulator out in another electric failure in your part of the city.

Prowl really needs to hunt down Rodimus and get his ship even when his scientifics tell him they are near to a new energy source, he just wants it to be fast and even if he gets it the former Primer will hear a piece of his mind.

His usual terrifying and murderous train of thought is cut short when he feels the now cold fingertips of yours pass near his transformation seams, if that isn't a clear indicator of your needs then the hormones and pheromones his nostril and HUD recognized when he put a pede back home really are, it has only subsided a little when you saw him, drained and in need of recharge.

"If you are too tired it's fine"

It isn't, because he is supposed to take care of your needs.

Interfacing with you, having sex or making love with you, is strange in more ways than he really thought to begin with, apart from the names you and your people gave to the act of sexual intercourse, he knows is a way of showing affection or a deep connection, just like cybertronians did before the war.

Still, it doesn't stop the annoying bug in the back of his brain processor.

It's a stupid idea, one as ridiculous as the image of Jazz, one of the few bots he keeps considering a friend and keep contact, totally mass displaced and holding a way too young and sleepy human infant with a smile on his faceplate that goes from one audial to the other, "The name's Pauline" Prowl has to make a double take, process this slag and then ex-vent, asking to himself who let this happen, "quite the servoful, but boy, it's a delight" Jazz does look at the end of his energies too but the smile he keeps on is giving away so much happiness, the infant look at him with those curious little eyes before looking at Jazz again, neck still too weak to support the head and Jazz helps the infant to look at the screen, "Hi there uncle Prowl" he makes a childish voice while moving the infant hand, which is slowly sleeping now, he doesn't have the energy for this and he tells Jazz so even when he laughs wholeheartedly before ending the call.

And now, he can't stop thinking about it, because it's in his nature and programming to be inquisitive, how did Jazz get a human infant? Did it come from the human he is courting? Prowl doesn't know how to answer that because there is the necessity of two to create new life.

Even as one of the best mechs he has ever meet, he knows Jazz wouldn't be thrilled to share a prospective mate, since it's impossible for a cybertronian to copulate and impregnate a human, well, he realizes once again that knowing and doing are two different things while you call out his designation, bent over in search of more contact that have almost been lost with his unnecessary thinking.

You seem to think otherwise, telling him that is okay, you'll take care of things from here, Prowl doesn't want you to tire out but he can't deny you while the lays on the berth, losing himself on your kind words, talk about him in a way he doesn't even believe while his spark pulses painfully inside his chamber, you take him again, going slow, telling him to power off his optics and he does so without a second thought, your fingers dragging along his armor and derma, leading his ventilation system to near failure with the slow pace you keep, he is worried for a moment, are you already tired? Are you bored of this? He is fast to seat again and power on his optics, he stops mid movement when he notices what you are doing.

Now, Prowl wasn't the most friendly with humans back on earth but he saw them on a regular basis, especially the ones that found their way inside the ark or the ones that roamed the streets when he was patrolling, Prowl knows what you are doing, entertaining an image, a thought that was only passing by, an idea of what you two could have if you were of the same species, he needs a minute to consider why are you doing this now, why are you doing this to him.

You are touching your soft flesh, just where he can reach without inflicting damage inside your body, you look dazed before noticing the glow of his optics on you in the middle of the night cycle, blue light shinning over heated skin, beads of sweat dragging along your body.

"It's nothing" you say while returning to move and don't look back at him, he has to take a moment, decipher what's going on, his HUD taking notice once again on the chemicals in the air and giving him an answer that leaves him blank in the processor before he totally understands what is going on with you.

When he does, his spark chamber opens without his consent, almost making you fall back by the surprise if it wasn't for the quick action of his leg armor where your back impacts, it gives a new angle that rips a moan out of you and makes him clench his dentae hard while his servos hold you near his open spark chamber and keeps you in place, you both know what is going on to some degree, he let's you do what you want and doesn't even say a word out of the hard movement and sound of his cooling fans as you start to kiss his spark and the sensible cabling around, his vox start to glitch and static fills the air in an idiom he knows you don't understand, it gives him some privacy, at least to some degree, he would be more embarrassed if you could know of the promises he says than the way his servos hold you flush against him when your flesh is nothing but restless while taking from him and all he is worth.

Prowl promises a whole future even if he knows it's futile, his logic refusing every glyph spoken but that doesn't stop him, he promises new life that comes from you, he promises he will give it to you.

If others can have it; why not you? Why not him?

It's mere fantasy, one you want to indulge and one he will let you have, computer working on four thousand options in where he can give you what you want, hearing pleas for your release, which he can give you, your fingers scratch on sensitive transformation seams and your dull, sharp less teeth bite on a cable near his spark.

Prowl tries to cool down his burning frame, difficult task when he takes a glimpse of his transfluid on you, his system is about to shut down and reboot next, internal computer showing him that all his options can't be possible and there is no way for him to help you if not to let you reproduce with another human.

The idea makes him grunt in anger.

This anger dies down quickly, feeling your lips on his, hands giving loving caresses on his cheeks, and with it is that he let's his system shut down on recharge that he needs so much.

.

@dundeey here is your offering, let go of the knife in @montyuh throat slowly... Let them do their Hound content (because I also want some) while you get this.

[siriusleee]

up to light

a/n: so part 1 and 2 were the only parts of this story that were originally going to be published. i did this to wrap the story up, so it is narratively different because the first 2 parts were a story of like being enamored and panic, and all that. this is about becoming better and healing. i did a lot of research into ptsd in returning soldiers for this. tags: PTSD, arguing, some domestic arguments, breaking shit, fighting, blood, redemption, some religious imagery, did not proofread because I am lazy “Long is the way and hard, that out of Hell leads up to light.” ― John Milton, Paradise Lost part one | part two

He has fits of rage that shock him: chairs broken into pieces, plates smashed in the sink, his hand through the window, a hole in her dashboard. Sodom and Gomorrah beneath his hands. He expects her to react in kind; more than once he begs her to retaliate, to scream at him. 

She refuses, but she doesn't speak to him when she wraps his knuckles, wiping the blood away with a sting. He fixes each broken item the next day, a silent apology that he'll do better the next time he gets angry.

Once he wakes up and expects her to be in the kitchen like every morning, the golden light filtering through - a cup of coffee already made for him on the counter. She's not there. He knocks on her bedroom door, but she doesn't answer. He doesn't know what to do with himself, so he paces, carving a trail in the carpet. He sits at the kitchen table and flashes back to seeing her above him. He can't sit there long.

It takes an hour for her to come back, grocery bags in her hand. He barely registers what he's doing when he grabs her by her shoulders in a bruising grip and shakes her. He doesn't yell, but he's close to it.

"Where the fuck were you? You were supposed to be here!"

The bags hit the floor, contents spilling out onto a disarray. She shoves him, harder than he would have expected her to be able to; he stumbles backward, surprised at her strength. 

Scream at me. Please.

She doesn't move, fist clenched at her side - an archangel ready to strike him down. She rubs her hands on the thighs of her jeans, eyes downcast before she speaks to him.

"You can break everything in my house if you want, but the next time you grab me like that, you will regret it."

She is the wrath of God; Simon expects her to strike him down at any moment: his angel showing her true strength. He feels her anger radiate off her in waves. But she leaves it, dropping to her knees to grab the apples that have rolled across the floor. Simon's hands shake when he bends down to help her; the first box he picks up is the brand of tea he mentioned last week. 

***

You teach him how to garden; repenting to the dirt for all the harm you've ever caused. The dirt cakes under his nails and in the evenings he lets you wash them. You trace your fingers over the bruised and raw skin of his knuckles before he pulls away and disappears into the spare bedroom.

He stays up in the long watches of the night; you hear him through the thin walls. He showers quickly - you don't even think five minutes pass before the water shuts off. You wonder if he wears his mask to the shower. 

He's there to watch your cook dinner every night, a shepherd of the potatoes. 

"Here," you say, shoving the vegetables towards him, "cut these up for me please."

You both eat in silence, your eyes downcast so that you don't see his face. He eats everything quickly, finishing his second plate before you can even finish your first.

He leaves you at the dinner table to check the locks, to make sure the windows are latched shut against the outside world. He rotates through each of them twice, reassuring himself that they're impenetrable. He checks the shotgun behind the front door before disappearing into the spare room. Through the door, you hear the sound of a bullet being chambered; you know he puts it underneath his pillow and there's another on the bedside table. 

***

Simon spends more nights at the bar than he'd like to admit. She's always there to unlock the door for him to stumble in, feet catching the edge of the stairs. He leans on her and she helps him to bed. She doesn't complain about his weight. She slides his boots off, fingers catching in the laces. Her hands trail up lightly, pausing at the scar she knows is below his ribs, before pushing down gently on his shoulders. 

Simon lets himself fall heavily back, he pretends not to feel her run her fingers across the top of his mask, nails massaging his scalp through the fabric before she leaves him.

One night he lets himself fall into temptation, his hand snaking out to grab her wrist when she turns. His thumb traces the inside of her wrist, she smells like apple blossoms and spring. Redemption.

"What is it, Ghost?" 

She speaks so softly to him, it makes the room spin around him.

"I'm sorry I'm a disaster." 

In the moonlight, her eyes soften; she pulls her wrist from his hand. For just a moment, their fingertips linger together. 

"Go to sleep, Ghost."

It spills out of him, a prayer he wants her to listen to.

"Simon."

"Go to bed, Simon."

She leaves him in the dark.

***

You go out with Simon when the New Year comes; he promises he won't drink as much as he usually does. It's a tradition - an obligation the two of you can't seem to shake off from all the years before each other. You nurse a rum and coke for hours and watch him disappear into the dark corners with his drinks. When the fireworks go off early outside, it takes you by surprise; you push through the crowd, drink spilling onto your wrist. You find Simon in the back, hands bleeding where he gripped his glass hard enough to shatter it. 

Outside a firework explodes in the sky, bright enough to shine through the dingy windows of the bar. Simon doesn't look at you when you wrap your hands around his wrist, trying to pull his attention to you. Beneath your fingers, his muscles are taunt - ready to run. 

"Simon, come on. Let's go home."

He lets you pull him towards the back door of the bar, and into the dark parking lot, but his muscles don't - can't - relax under your touch. Outside the air crackles around the two of you, the fireworks screaming in the air. You lace your fingers through his and pull him towards your car, blood pooling where your hands connect. Three men watch the two of you, the cherries of their cigarette burn in the darkness.

One of them jeers at you - come on babe, ditch him and come with us. 

Simon rips his fingers from you, his anger exploding in the night.

***

He is Apollyon in the darkness; he comes to when his feet connect to the door of the guy's truck. It crumples beneath his boot, caving in. He hears the guys screaming at him; one tries to grab him and Simon shoves him off. Dents litter the side of the truck the guys were leaning on and one of the men has his hand pressed to his nose, blood running between his fingers.

His lungs burn in the cold air. The guys are still screaming at him, minglings of you fucked up, and call the fucking cops. Shame burns through him when he finds Hazy, her hands hanging limply at her side, illuminated by a street light. Her face is screwed up; Simon knows she's about to cry. His blood stains her jeans - he's slammed back to her begging him for his name, hands trying to stem the flow of his blood- back to her pulling him from the nightmares.

Hazy.

His angel.

He leaves her in the parking lot - the shouts and fireworks behind him. 

The door is unlocked when he gets back to her place - the sun tinging the horizon. His heart stutters - she never leaves the door unlocked, but it stills when he sees her curled up on the couch. She's under the blanket from his bed, hair haloed around her. He lowers himself down to the floor beside her and falls asleep with his head by her knees.

***

You slither from behind Simon, fingers tracing his shoulders as you try not to wake him, but he stirs beneath your touch. You lower down beside him, back pressed against your coffee table. His eyes shine in the early morning glow, the skin below dark from exhaustion. 

You reach forward to grab his hands gently, flipping them over to inspect the clotted blood from the night before. 

"I'm sorry," his voice cracks from the lack of sleep. You trace one of the cuts with your thumb before cradling his hand in your lap.

"I know you are."

"I don't know what's wrong with me," it comes out half a whisper; you grip his wrist tighter. You push yourself up enough to crawl in front of him, resting your knees between his. You hold yourself up by leaning on his thighs, hands pressing into the rough material of his jeans, dirt and blood that wasn't there the night before staining your hands.

"I'm ruining everything." His voice is rough and he looks at the ceiling above you. 

"Simon," your voice draws his eyes down to yours, "you're still learning how to come home. It's not easy - I know."

He reaches down to grab your wrists, pulling your hands up until they're level with his chest. You can see he wants to say something; he struggles to form the words. His eyes stay locked where he holds your wrists.

"I'm - I'm worried I'm going to hurt you."

"I can take care of myself."

Simon squeezes your wrists, hard enough that you know you'll have a thumbprint bruise there tomorrow. 

"I know you can, angel."

***

Johnny shows up a few months later banging on the door. Simon's fingers itch for the pistol beneath his pillow at the sound, but he can't make it across the room before Hazy swings open the door. 

"It's for you Simon," she yells over her shoulder. She lets Johnny in, muttering something about another one showing up.

"What are you doing here Johnny?"

Johnny grins at Simon from his spot on the steps.

"Just wanted to check on you L.T.; make sure you were surviving."

"Fuck off Johnny. You came to eat for free."

***

Simon and Soap - no Johnny is what Simon called him - sit outside and smoke on the front steps while you finish dinner, beating the chicken until it's paper thin. Their cigarette smoke floats through the window - the same window Simon put his hand through after one of the neighbors complained about him cleaning his gun on the front steps - and curls around you. It makes your stomach turn, reminding you of how you and your Boys had sat with your feet dangling outside of the helis and passed a cigarette along when you were finally pulled out, the way you all smoked on the back of a smoking Stryker when it got hit by an EFP - the copper lodging itself just inches from your own sergeant. You hadn't been able to smoke since you came home years ago.

The chicken sizzles in the oil when you drop it into the pan - the sound of Johnny laughing cutting through the air. You hear Simon laugh just slightly beneath him, a sound you hadn't heard since he showed up at your door. 

You call to the boys from the open window, chastising them to wash their hands before they dare touch the dinner you slaved over. 

It's horrifically domestic, you think, watching the two of them eat at the dinner table from your spot in the living room. Simon has his back to you; you can see his balaclava pushed up around his nose, the two of them angle themselves towards each other. Simon's loose, shoulders slumped in comfort at the way Johnny speaks to him. The way Johnny can touch Simon's shoulder without Simon flinching away from him.

All at once it hits you - a wave of jealousy in the pit of your stomach. You leave the two of them in the house, your feet pulling you towards the rain-soaked pavement outside; the smell of ichor overwhelming you.

***

Simon hears the door shut behind Hazy - Johnny stares intently at the door, eyebrows knitted together. 

"I think your girl is upset."

"She's not my girl Johnny."

"Oh?" Johnny's eyebrows go up, disappearing into the hair he's growing out. "So you just live here and nothing? You don't fuck?"

Simon's hand hits the top of the dining room table, hard enough to knock over Johnny's glass of water. 

"Shut your fuckin' mouth; don't speak about her like that."

Simon can see a dangerous glint in Johnny's eye, in the way Johnny leans closer to him. It makes Simon's skin prickle.

"So she's open for business? I might stay awhile; I was hoping to share her like-"

Simon slams into Johnny, the chair beneath shattering like matchsticks. They land heavily on the ground, Simon's hands fisted in the front of Johnny's shirt. Johnny doesn't fight back - his hands out to the side of him, ever forgiving on the cross, as he grins up at Simon. Simon lifts him up once before slamming him back into the ground, but Johnny never winces. 

The anger rolls and bubbles inside of Simon, hellfire ready to overflow. The stupid fucking grin on Johnny's face makes it worse. Johnny's hand wraps around Simon's wrist, limply, but enough to remind Simon that Johnny can still kick his ass. 

"Be honest with me L.T.."

Simon's fingers falter in the slick fabric of Johnny's shirt.

"I'm going to hurt her Johnny."

"L.T.-"

"I get so fucking angry at everything. I grabbed her once. I'm worried I'm going to do it again."

It scared the fuck out of me.

***

You notice one less chair when you get home, hair stuck to your neck from the humidity. Johnny is gone, a thank you for dinner note scrawled in chicken scratch handwriting on the counter. The sink is empty, dishes washed and dried, and put away. 

You can see in the small backyard, Simon sitting on the back steps. His mask is off; his hair, brown and cut short, makes your fingers itch to run through it. He's cradling his head in his hands - you want to go out to him, to rub your hands across his back, but you don't. 

The shower water runs hot, burning your skin red. You let it wash over you, a Lazarus pit trying to pull you back into the mortal realm. The backdoor slams shut, hard enough to shake the walls around you. Outside of the shower, your hair drips onto the carpet of your bedroom as you dress, drenching the back of the t-shirt you pull on. It takes a moment for you to realize it's Simon's, hanging to your knees; it must have gotten mixed up in the wash. 

Simon's on the couch, balaclava pulled back on. You drop down heavily on the other end of the couch, the distance a chasm between the two of you. Unceremoniously Simon holds out a wrinkled pamphlet towards you; you take it, wet fingertips indenting the paper. PTSD for Veterans.

"It's a group; Johnny goes to it."

You trace your fingers over the words without reading them.

"I went to one like this when I got out," you tell him, handing the pamphlet back to him. "It helped a lot."

Simon doesn't speak, but he tucks the pamphlet back into his jeans. 

Next Tuesday, he comes home sober. 

***

Simon sits in the back of the group for weeks, his usual balaclava switched out for a plain black surgical mask to keep everyone from staring at him. They talk about ways to reduce anger, to get your mind back here and not there. 

The next time he curls his fist, he remembers what the group leader said about pausing and being in the moment. His hand unfurls slowly. He sets the glass he thinks about shattering back in the sink. Beside him, Hazy hums, slicing mushrooms into precise slices. He reaches around her to grab the dish soap; his hand lingers at the small of her back for a moment too long; he sees how Hazy stops cutting the mushrooms, how the next cut is uneven.

They don't speak at dinner; the sound of their forks on the plates punctuates the silence. Hazy goes to wash the dishes, but Simon beats her to it. He can feel her eyes on him, piercing him from behind as he slops the dishwater onto his shirt. 

Hazy leans across the counter, watching as Simon meticulously dries each plate, each fork tine until they shine the way he wants them to. 

"Do you want to go on a walk?" She asks as he finishes. Simon wipes his wet hands on his jeans as he looks at her.

"Sure."

They pace beside each other, the hot pavement cooling beneath their feet. They're crossing the street when Hazy reaches out and takes Simon's hand; the first time since New Year's. Simon remembers his dreams of her, golden haloed and tracing the scars on his body. 

They walk in silence, a quarter-mile trek until they circle back home, Simon's heart in his throat the entire time. He knows something is different when the door clicks behind them; in the dark, he can see Hazy fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. Simon pushes the bottom of his mask up enough to hook over his nose; when she turns back around, she doesn't speak, her hand lifts up to trace Simon's jawline, but pulls back before she can actually touch him. She starts to pull away, but Simon catches her and pulls her hand to his face.

She's so soft and warm, the way he dreamt she would be. She traces a scar on the underside of his chin and Simon feels his knees buckle, just a bit.

"Can I touch you?" His voice is soft, so quiet he can hardly hear himself. Hazy's breath catches in her throat, fingers teasing the edge of his mask. She nods; Simon wraps the piece of hair that hangs down in front of her face around his finger before resting his hand on her shoulder. He can feel her pulse quicken beneath her skin.

"Are you scared of me?"

Hazy's hand trails down past his chin to rest on his chest, nails lightly digging into his skin.

"Are you?"

His thumb rests on her clavicle; his hand tights against her skin.

"Absolutely. I wake up every day worried I'm going to hurt you."

Hazy presses herself closer, Simon's hand reaches up to tangle in the hair at the nape of her neck. Her hands slide under his shirt, tracing the scars below and Simon sees his angel again, she pulls him back from the darkness.

"You're not going to hurt me, Simon."

"How do you know?"

Her answer is to kiss him, pulling him down to her height. Her tongue traces the edges of his lips, pushing through until Simon can taste her. Simon's grip on the back of her neck tightens, and he pulls her closer until Simon can feel the heat of her through his clothes. 

She guides him to her room, fingers soft and pleading against his belt buckle. When Simon freezes at her touch, she doesn't push him farther, she stills until Simon can move again. Later, when the sheet is tangled beneath them, and she's straddled over him, fingers splayed out across his chest, tracing the scars that crisscross at random, Simon brushes her hair out of her face.

"I thought you were an angel when you were above me on that table. I dreamt about you - a golden halo."

And this.

The corner of Hazy's mouth twitches up, and she presses a kiss to the middle of his chest. 

"I thought you were going to die there; I begged god to keep you alive."

Simon's hands grip her hips, stilling her. 

"Why didn't you ever come back and see me?"

Hazy traces her fingers in circles slowly around Simon's skin, and he waits for her answer.

"You called me an angel that day when you woke up. It scared me, someone so enamored with me like that just all at once. I didn't know what to do. I thought I would disappoint you when you got your senses about you."

Simon flips the both of them, hovering over her, studying the way the light glitters in her eyes. He wants to tell her how his angel could never disappoint him - how she keeps him alive every day, but he can't make the words come out of his mouth. Instead, he presses a kiss to the base of her neck, fingers dipping below her shirt. 

taglist:

@lieblinqs, @random-thot-generator, @nervousloverkitten, @thychuvaluswife, @stillinracooncity, @1234ilikecowsthanyoumore, @fog-sama, @wordsfromshona, @soundsfunbutno

[extrajigs]

Tying down pentapod anatomy and going to do so through the sophont of the group, who I wanna call Whorls. Thinking of giving them lil spiral eggs or something to justify the name. But just getting out basic anatomy so have a lil front/side view to enjoy and then organs below the cut! 

1. Eyes- You know what these are.  2. Brain- This too!  3. Spinal cord/Nerves- Basically they have a ‘main’ cord running down their neck and branching off on either side to run to different sides of the body. Nerve also runs through the center of the hips branching out to run down each leg.  4. Voice Box- Basically a little chamber that they can manipulate the shape of to produce sounds. Two on either side connected to their lung. Talking involves different sounds out of each side, so lots of coordination.  5. Heart- 4 chambered heart, one major intake chamber that feeds into two different chambers who pump it over the lung before returning into the last chamber to pump it out into the body.  6. Lung- They have a single lung with four separate lobes, breathing involved inflating and deflating different lobes.  7. Liver- Filters blood, also functions as a kidney but directly feeds the waste into the stomach. They are very sensitive to poisoning with this settup as toxins will circulate through digestion a few times.  8. Stomach- Big basic vat, basic as in they use bases rather than acids to break down food.  9. Intestines- A big compact organ with long flaps extending into the center to soak up nutrients from the broth made in the stomach. Food remains a liquid for the entire digestion process as there is no effort to retain water.  10. Hips- The only bones in the body are the skull, jaws, shell, and hips. The hips are for muscle connection for the limbs and cradling the organs. 11. Mouth- Three tooth plates, two up top and one below, move independently to chew food.  12. Gizzard- A pouch to grind up tougher food, often puked up from the stomach, filled with bits of bone and shell from other animals as rocks are extremely rare.  13. Spear- All pentapods reproduce via traumatic insemination, this is the way that they stab each other for that. In species where parents partner up the process is no more than a quick jab where in others it can be a fatal affair. This is partially why the shell encasing vital organs is a common feature.  14. Testes- Sperm is made here!  15. Ovaries- Eggs are made here!  16. Reproductive Tract- Basically where the spear needs to hit to inseminate and where the eggs will be stored until they are ready to enter the world.  

That’s the gist, there is some variation but this is the basic body plan that I am thinking. Subject to change however. 

[valaenatargaryensdragon]

For the stepdaughter and daemon fics I was kind of hoping she was just faking falling in love with him to manipulate him. I was hoping and rooting for her to still go back with aemond lol.

A/N: I hope you like it!

pairing: Daemon Targaryen x Dark!Stepdaughter!Reader x Aemond Targaryen

summary: She was just faking falling in love with him to manipulate him. I was hoping and rooting for her to still go back with Aemond

Word count: 1,1K

Warnings: Angst, betrayal, manipulation, infidelity

Masterlist 1

Masterlist 2

"You look so beautiful, my love" Daemon complimented kiss up your neck. You grinned at him through the mirror placing your hands over his on your belly that has just emptied from your sixth child.

"You always say that, I do not feel it though" You turned around in his arms to face him. You wrapped your arms around his neck.

"You are though, the most beautiful woman in the world, your beauty rivals those of the gods" He placed his palm on your cheek. You pulled him in for a kiss, your insides twisting with disgust but this was necessary for your safety and your children's safety.

"Come, let us break fast" You grabbed his hand and led him out of your sleeping quarters to your solar where all your children were sat.

"Kepa" Father. Jacaella waved him over to sit beside her. He laughed leaning down to kiss her cheek and taking a seat beside her and you on his other side with Maelon beside you. Your eyes filtered through the maids standing around to help your children and one was holding Baeron. each one of them nodded their heads in greeting.

"Let us eat, I am famished" You handed Daemon the plate with chicken so he can help Jacaella eat. He grinned happily and took the plate from you.

You turned your attention to Maelon helping him to some mashed potatoes. One of the maids stepped over with a pitcher in hand filled with wine. She filled wine into Daemon's cup and turned to you but you stopped her.

"No thank you, I feel ill to my stomach already" You joked. Playfully glaring at Baeron making Daemon chuckle. Even after giving birth you had some of the symptoms of pregnancy.

"They will go away" Daemon assured you. You resumed eating along with your children, chatting and laughing together. After you were all done you instructed the maids to take your children to nap. You directed Daemon to your own chambers as he stumbled drunk.

"Why am I so dizzy?" Daemon wondered. You sat him down on the bed heaving from having to hold up his weight on your own.

"You're drunk, Daemon" You chuckled shaking your head. You moved over to your chaise where you had placed your riding boots under and pulled them on instead of your slippers.

"I did not drink that much" Daemon argued. True he barely finished his third cup and he was a heavy weight, three cups should not put as much as a small dent in him.

"Yes you did" You shook him off. Daemon pushed himself to stand up. You rushed over to him trying to push him back down on the bed.

"You must rest" You insisted. He for the first time ever pushed you away from him making you fall on the bed. He scrambled towards the door and out.

Panicked you followed after him down the hallways. He stumbled needing to use the walls as support and much to his shock there was no one in the hallways, not even guards. You still could not keep up with his long legs tripping over your dress. He made his way towards' your children's room pushing the doors open harshly only to find it empty.

"Where are they?" He bellowed angrily turning to face you the second you stepped into the room. Your eyes widened at the loud tone he used. His hand snapped up to wrap around your neck but not strong enough to cut your airway from the milk of the poppy in his system.

"Daemon-" You were cut off at the sound of something shattering. Daemon groaned falling on his knees in front of you then to his side holding the back of his head. Behind him stood one of your hand maidens with a vase shattered on the ground.

"Come on, my lady" She grabbed your hand and pulled you out of the room before Daemon could compose himself. You two sprinted down the corridors before the new guards came to their position and finding Daemon. Your had fabricated a lie and soon they will know that there was no fire int he kitchens and come back.

Your maid handed you a cloak when you reached the yard where your dragon waited. You pulled the hood on and climbed atop it. You urged him to fly as high as possible and hide amongst the clouds. A laughed bubbled in your chest feeling free at last. Your dragon lowered a small distance away from Dragonstone and you looked below you to find a small boat with your children sat in it all looking up at your dragon, having never seen you ride him because of Daemon, he was too afraid of loosing you so he forbade you from riding him.

"Mommy!" Jacaella waved up at you with a huge grin of her own. You lowered your dragon enough for the maids to tie a rope to his tail. You picked up speed letting him drag the boat faster, with little time you needed to reach King's Landing.

By nightfall you were at the docks where a carriage awaited you. You climbed down from your dragon and let some dragon keeper lead him to the dragonpit which could be hard but you could not risk leaving your children and take him to the dragonpit yourself. A hooded figure was waiting for you at the docks. Your maids helped your children out of the boat and waited for you to join them. You ran without a care in the world and the hooded figure welcomed your embrace with open arms.

"My love" You pulled back enough to see Aemond's smiling face. His gaze turned to your children huddled behind you and winced.

"Six?" Aemond asked. You nodded with a sad smile, you were so young and already had so many children. Aemond knew that Daemon had forced himself on you, you had written him a letter explaining everything and how miserable you were. Aemond tried time and time again to help you, ever since Jacaella was born but was unsuccessful until now.

"Let us go home" Aemond wrapped an arm around your waist leading you away from the docks.

What about Kepa?" Father. Jacaella asked following behind you. She pushed Aemond aside and stood between you two. Aemond kneeled down to her height and turned her to face him.

"Your father is gone now, he will no longer hurt your mother anymore" Aemond ran a hand through her fair hair. Her eyes welled up with tears, these children did not know of the horrors you had to endure.

"He hurt mommy?" She asked voice cracking along with your heart, you rarely saw your bubbly, happy baby girl cry.

"He won't anymore though, you are all safe now" Aemond promised. Surprisingly she threw her arms around his neck hugging him, seeking his comfort. He looked up at you making you smile, your children were already warming up to him, it won't take long until Daemon would be completely erased from their lives, most of them won't even remember him being too young now.

[witchofthesouls]

Okay, snippet of an alternate Cyber!Earth where Jack is directly under Soundwave’s care and Project Morpheus.

(Aka how Soundwave became deeply entwined with the Darbys in this strange, new world.)

Warnings: Mental manipulation, dubcon, implied cannibalism, blood eating, body horror, offscreen torture

“I wanna see Mama.” It wasn't a demand as much as an ask, desperate and yearning as a lost sparkling could be.

Soundwave allowed it because Jack calmed his mother down enough to slip unheeded, a crack in those mental defenses that either repelled him or attempted to eat him.

Jack, as always, was careful to stay at his heels. Quiet like a shadow and so easy to miss, if it wasn't for the occasional tug he did, every now and then. Less of a call for attention more akin to an assurance that he wasn't untethered to the world and be carried away.

He carried him as they stepped off the elevator. Easier to keep track before the sparkling wandered away as they ventured into Shockwave's territory of the ship. Fewer personnel to antagonize his mother, and the ones too hotblooded or too stupid to realize dangers or heed the warnings? Well, their own damn fault.

Shockwave redesigned a holding pen for their recent, willing acquisition. Even from a distance, powerful magnets hummed and plasma sizzled.

“Mama,” the once human breathed to the other, hand reaching out into the lightless cell. Any and all equipment designed to collect data didn't work in that space. Not even a simple light fixture.

A shift and the darkness rippled and unspooled. Countless limbs skittering and plates grinding, lights flickered in the moving void as the massive frame condensed down.

Soundwave spied the vague shapes of Insecticon frames pinned neatly upon the side walls.

There was the familiar sound of birdsong and fluttering feathers as massivr servos gripped the bars, stripped of protective armor, right down to cables of musculature and bare endostructures, skeletal uncaring of the damage or perhaps able to withstand it.

The one called June Darby could escape. Easily. Nothing they designed could feasibly hold her monstrous frame that was beyond an average Cybertronian's capabilities.

“Jack.” The monstrous thing whispered, voice echoing throughout the chamber, a mantra. The EM field, once coiled, now pulsed out in heavy, cold waves, uncaring of everything else as it ate all in her vicinity. “Jack. Jack. Jack.”

Soundwave stared into a visible pair of eyes, haunting and bright on a vague, pale distortion of a face, like a moon hanging in the night sky, hidden by clouds, and slipped into her dreams again.

The dreamscape built concrete floors of an apartment complex and dense woods surrounding the distance. As always, there was rain, this time pattering gently.

Jack was in his arms, curled into his covered neck, both of them human and alone in the scenario. No one else, not even peripheral noise of a quiet town or animals. Just the rain.

The door opened to June Darby, ushering the two inside. Upon the walls, there were insects pinned with precise work, and if he listened carefully, there was strained, dying buzzing.

(If Arachnid didn't cease her focus on Jack Darby, then Soundwave wouldn't need to do anything once she tired of her colony's failures. June would crush her like she crushed every single strange creature that attempted to spirit him away.)

“I'm trying a new recipe.” She called out from the small kitchen, and he smelled spices. The knowledge passively filtered through his mind: cumin, paprika, cayenne, and pepper.

He stayed for dinner for returning Jack from his adventures in the trees.

(Not quite a lie, the boy had a penchant for climbing high points and hunkering down in them.)

It tasted like Energon. Not from crystals or recycled from old rations. There was a peculiar twang on his lips and an electric crawl skittering down his throat.

Energon that was fresh from a living frame.

A dark reminder of his darker days, wandering and lost in the sunless crypts of Kaon's underbelly before Soundwave signed himself away to the gladiatorial clades.

He didn't stop eating. Fuel was fuel was fuel.

Nor did he question when the scene shifted to the living room, TV droning in an indecipherable language. All three of them were on the couch, Jack curled between them and tucked beneath a blanket.

The photographs, framed on the walls and dotting on shelving, stared at him, their discontent and growing wrath obvious.

GET OUT, those eyes demanded, and all the individuals morphed into a single, faceless, heavily-robed figure.

There was a scent of perfumed incense lingering in the air, unease pickling as the foreign defense mechanism of an intruder closed in. The rain pounded the windows, clawing at the glass.

Soundwave carefully nudged the dreamscape. One couldn't stop the sea, but one could guide a river. He needed to be extra careful not to be swept away and subsumed. Better by the water rather than what new game the Veiled One decided.

They're at a park. Vividly green and rain drizzling.

Woodchips wetly crunched beneath his steps as he eyed June pushing Jack's back.

There were others around them, vibrant and colorful, their faces distorted like melting paints, swirling down the drain as whispers and giggles echoed. He held still, mindful not to disturb as dream and memory blended, and it was difficult to tell which was which, and the wrong guess could lead to psychic backlash.

“This is a nice dream,” she sighed, leaning onto his shoulder, warm and real.

“How can you tell?” Even here, his voice was strange, no hints of the long-used distortion, nor did his throat pull from the damage. Perhaps it was an amalgamation of his repertoire to ground the experience. Perhaps it was his original one, aged up with a close approximate. No matter to him. Another mask to be utilized in the dreamscape. Not a broken vow.

“I never took Jack here.” He felt her head shift. “Look there, that tree gave the best rides.”

He followed her pointed finger to a darkly-colored tree, gently twisting its trunk to an easy sway for those riding tires hanging in its branches. From the distance, he spied gleams and glitters in its foliage as leaves showered the people beneath its presence.

They watched for a long time.

The corners rippled and Soundwave didn't flinch when he was pulled elsewhere, expecting another shift, but gently pushed back into his own head.

The vague face had taken on far more distinct features, serene with a motherly focus, and the powerful field calmed to an eddying sensation, like wading into a lake or during low tide. Another pair of large hands with intact protoform had a pool of Energon cupped in their palms as a smaller, skinny set easily bypassed the bars to feed Jack, utilizing micro-transformations to form a spoon with her own fingers.

Jack simply ate, frame crooning at the attention, easily finishing the offer. The spoon morphed into a thin vine, wiping away the excess before returning into a hand, affectionately rubbing a cheek and his neck before parting away.

She pulled back, resettling in the room. Shadows didn't expand, simply curled and still. Pleasantly calm and amiable in the continued presence.

Jack sighed, squirming to resettle on his back. For a moment when Soundwave met Jack's optics, burning bright in that strange grey-blue, Soundwave caught wisps of memories: blood-soaked trees and stained hands with chunks of metal and raw crystal, eyes crushed or pecked out and eaten as well.

The little femme in Starscream's care wasn't the only bloodthirsty thing. No matter how quiet or relatively docile the sparkling was, there was that same bloodthirst and cruel streak.

"Mama's gonna wake up soon," Jack murmured sleepily into his bare neck as they walked away. Dark wings fluttered, and June's gaze never wavered.

[c-e-d-dreamer]

Wonderland: Part Eight

A/N: And here it finally is! The final chapter of this fic (save the epilogue). Am I fully satisfied with this ending? No, I am not. But I realized that I will never be truly satisfied with any ending for this fic, which is part of the reason I struggled so much with it. I knew that any truly happy ending would feel like a cop-out to the struggles of this AU's Cassian and Nesta, but I am also incapable of writing anything other than a happy ending, so we've met somewhere in the middle with a bit of an open ending but happy undertones. So enjoy? Hopefully?

Chapter Masterlist // Previous Part // Next Part

Sunlight spills into Nesta's room through the tall, arched windows that line the walls. The rays of light shift and glitter through the sheer curtains blowing gently in the Velaris spring breeze. Just beyond Nesta can see the pale pinks and yellows of early sunrise, the wisps of clouds hanging over the city, and if she listens closely enough, she can hear the sounds of the fae below waking up and starting their day.

Despite the start of a new day, Nesta stays wrapped up in the blankets, counting her breaths in time with her heartbeat. She reaches within herself and finds that golden thread tucked between her ribs. It's still quiet, but it feels almost calm, peaceful. Nesta can't remember a time when the bond ever felt that way. When it didn't feel like a vine squeezing around her heart. When it didn't feel like an aching weight pressed against her chest. And yet here it is, almost shimmering, as if it too knows the decision she's come to.

Nesta gives herself another moment to soak in the quiet of the morning, the feel of the silk sheets against her limbs, before pushing herself up from the bed and going through the motions. She pads into the bathing chamber, washing up before she pulls on one of her dresses and takes the time to braid her hair back and up.

She heads down the stairs and into the large dining room. There's already a full spread across the table, various fruits and pastries and meats. Elain and Lucien are sitting on one side of the table, Azriel sitting across from them. The sight of the Shadowsinger awake so early surprises Nesta, and she wonders if he ever got any sleep last night after she bid him goodnight. As much as she wants to ask, she swallows the question down, settling into the seat beside Azriel with a quiet good morning.

Feyre and Rhysand filter into the dining room as Nesta piles her plate full, Nyx balanced on Feyre’s hip. The table falls into easy conversation, and Nesta makes sure to nod along, to laugh where she needs to, but her mind is only half on the family around her. Her thoughts, just as her heart, is already pulling her attention further north, to her plans, to her future, to what can or will be.

She tries not to get ahead of herself, to keep her attention on the here and the now, but it’s too easy for her mind to drift, to imagine what might be said, what might occur. Too easy to imagine Cassian’s face, the hazel of his eyes, the way his hair falls around his temples, the way he might smile. Even easier still to paint the scene of a future, thick strokes of a paintbrush that reveal a wolf sleeping at the foot of a bed, strong arms wrapped around her. It has the voice in the back of her head whispering and goading, promising and pleading, that thread between her ribs fluttering and going taut if only for a moment.

When her plate is cleared, Nesta waits for the perfect opportunity to make her move, for a lull in the conversation still floating around her. It finally comes when Nyx begins to sputter around his own breakfast, and she stands up, straightening out the skirts of her dress. She opens her mouth, a flimsy excuse already poised and ready on the tip of her tongue, but before Nesta can say anything, Feyre stands up as well, stepping closer and suddenly pulling her into a tight hug.

“We’ll miss you so much, Nesta, but I am so happy for you,” Feyre says against her shoulder.

“She’s not going that far, Feyre,” Elain chastises lightly, having stood up and walked over to stand beside them as well. “If anything, she’ll technically be closer.”

“I know that,” Feyre tells them both, pulling away from Nesta with a sad smile. “But you came all this way to see Nyx, and you barely got any time to spend with your nephew.”

“If you’d like, I can—”

“Don’t you dare,” Feyre cuts Nesta off before she can finish the offer, giving her hands a squeeze.

“Just make sure you come back to visit when you’re ready,” Elain agrees with a smile and a knowing look in her eyes. “When you’re both ready.”

Nesta feels her own answering smile tug across her face, and she pulls one of her hands free from Feyre’s grasp so she can squeeze Elain’s hand as well. Despite the rocky years between them, Nesta is truly grateful for both her sisters, for how far they’ve come together, and the way they have each other’s backs always. And she’s especially grateful that without even having to say anything, they knew. They knew what she needed, what she has to do, what she wants. And they support her for it.

“No point wasting time then,” Azriel breaks through the quiet to say, pushing up from the table and to his feet.

He steps around the table and closer to Nesta, his shadows already beginning to gather and darken around his ankles. With a determined nod and a final smile to her sisters, Nesta drops Feyre’s and Elain’s hands, walking over to Azriel and accepting the hand he extends toward her. The shadows swirl around them both, skittering up her legs, across Nesta’s arms, along her cheeks. The dining room of the River House fades away into darkness, and when Azriel’s shadows finally part, the Illyrian mountains come back into view.

Just seeing that cabin again has Nesta freezing, has her heart beginning to pound between her ribs. She’s not sure why, despite the short amount of time that’s passed, she somehow expected it to have changed. But it’s the same dark wood that stands stark against the Illyrian sky and mountains, still old and worn, the roof above still a patchwork of colors and paneling. At least spring has finally started to truly creep in and take hold, for however long it will be here, greens and the purples of wildflowers beginning to peek up through the ground.

Nesta half expects to see a shadow move from behind the cabin, to see Cassian step into view, just like that very first day, but it’s all quiet. Just the sound of the wind blowing between the trees, the sound of her blood pulsing through her veins and echoing in her ears. The thrumming at least drowns out any whispers of doubt from the back of her mind, and Nesta takes a shaky yet steeling breath, determination settling like stone through her bones and chasing away any lingering nerves or jitters.

“I suppose this time you don’t need me to offer to come back and return you to Velaris,” Azriel cuts into Nesta’s thoughts, drawing her attention back to him.

“Hopefully not,” Nesta tells him with a small, self-deprecating smile, but Azriel merely settles Nesta with that same look as the night before amongst the flickering glow of the embers in the library. It says enough, says everything Nesta knows she needs to hear without uttering a single word, so she offers him a soft, real smile instead, squeezing his hand one last time. “Thank you.”

“You never have to thank me, Nesta.”

They both know it’s for more than just the winnow to Illyria. Know it’s more than just their talk the night before. Know it’s for so much more left unsaid and spoken between the lines.

With a final nod of his head, Azriel’s shadows press back in around him, carrying him away and back to Velaris. Not wanting to waste another moment, Nesta closes the distance to the cabin, marching up the front steps and pulling open the front door. She steps inside, but there’s not a soul to be found, not even Vidar napping beneath one of the windows. The hearth sits cold and dark, ash piled along the bottom, and Nesta notices Cassian’s mug from the other day still sitting untouched on the kitchen table.

“Cassian,” Nesta calls out, walking deeper into the cabin.

She makes her way down the hallway and to the bedroom, but it’s as empty as the rest of the cabin. In fact, the bedroom looks the exact same as when Nesta left, as if no one has slept in it since. With a huff of frustration, Nesta steps back out into the front room. She reaches within herself to that glowing, gold thread still tucked securely between her ribs. Rather than delicately running along it, rather than gently tugging for a response like she did before, Nesta curls around that thread and yanks as hard as she can.

She doesn’t have to wait long before she can make out the sound of beating wings, before the heavy thud of feet landing on the front porch echoes through the cabin. The front door is thrown open, and then Cassian is there, his large body blocking out the sun behind him, casting him in long shadows. His hair is wild and windswept, falling free along his shoulders in tangles, and his hazel eyes are wide as they sweep across the cabin. Nesta doesn’t miss the purple bruising the skin beneath them, nor does she miss the way they darken when that gaze lands on her, the way his jaw clenches.

“What are you doing here?” Cassian asks, his voice low and scratchy, from misuse or from screaming, Nesta isn’t sure.

“Well, hello to you too,” Nesta drawls sarcastically, not bothering to swallow down her eye roll.

“Your stubbornness truly knows no bounds.”

“You would know all about stubbornness considering you kicked me out without even talking to me.”

“Back on that, are we?” Cassian scoffs, finally stepping inside properly and closing the door behind him, the wood practically creaking on its hinges from the force. He doesn’t move closer, though, keeping a healthy distance between them as he crosses his arms across his chest and asks, “what do you want, Nesta?”

Nesta just barely tapers down an annoyed growl, her blood already heating and threatening to boil over at Cassian’s blatant dismissal, that simmering rage from him sending her away in the first place rearing its head again. She clenches her hands into fists, spinning on her heel and storming into the kitchen. She roots around in the cabinets until she finds an old package of biscuits.

“Here,” Nesta orders, walking back over to Cassian and holding out her hand, one of the biscuits poised in the center of her palm.

Cassian curls his fingers around Nesta’s own, folding them back against her palm and all but shoving her hand away. “No.”

“No?”

“No,” Cassian repeats, all but growling, his hazel eyes ablaze. “This isn’t what I want, and I know it’s not what you want either.”

Nesta almost wants to laugh, feels almost hysterical. She tosses the biscuit to the ground, not caring where it goes skittering off to, not caring if it crumbles against the wood flooring. With her hands balled up, she knocks them hard against his chest. Cassian’s face shifts to surprise at the force she puts behind pushing him, stumbling back a step before catching his balance again. Nesta doesn’t stop though, hitting her fists against his chest until Cassian’s fingers curl around her wrists, halting the assault.

“You are truly the most insufferable male I have ever met,” Nesta seethes, tugging against Cassian’s hold.

“Great, thanks,” Cassian drawls sarcastically, his tone dry. “Anything else you want to get off your chest?”

“Yes,” Nesta snaps, closing that infinitesimal space between them and getting as much into Cassian’s face as she can despite their height difference. “You asked me if I was happy. One of the first days I was in this cabin, you asked me if I was happy with my life on the continent.”

“And you said that you were. Thanks for the reminder.”

Cassian drops Nesta’s hands like he’s been burned, finally stepping back and putting that distance back between them. The anger on his face dissipates right before Nesta’s eyes. His shoulders slump down, his hazel eyes glazing over until they’re just a dull green flickering with a sort of anguish that has Nesta’s heart squeezing to the point of pain. He turns his face away from her, and Nesta has to swallow hard around the lump pressing against her throat.

“I said I was happier,” Nesta begins, her voice barely above a whisper. “And I was. After the war, after everything, I was happier, but that doesn’t mean I was happy.”

“Then when were you happy, Nesta?”

A humorless laugh tears its way from Nesta’s throat. “Now, that’s a loaded question…” She stares up at Cassian, silently pleading for him to look at her again. “I was happy while I was—”

“Don’t,” Cassian cuts her off, that hardness returning to his expression, to his voice.

Nesta lets out a frustrated huff, rolling her eyes. “Dammit, Cassian. Will you listen to me?”

“I already told you, I won’t let you break my heart again.”

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you, you big bat,” Nesta sighs, giving Cassian’s chest another shove just for good measure. “I came back here to tell you that I…”

Nesta takes a moment to try and calm her fraying nerves, yet she can still feel them like lightning skipping along her skin and crackling at her fingertips. Her heart pounds away between her ribs, and she half wonders if Cassian can somehow see it, can somehow feel it. She takes a deep breath, the air stuttering in her lungs, and re-steels her spine, letting that courage, that fire spread through her veins.

“To tell you that I love you,” Nesta finishes, daring to take a step closer to Cassian again. “If I’m being completely honest, I’ve always loved you. Even when I was at my lowest. Even when I was pushing you away. And especially after spending this week together here, in this cabin. I love you.”

Nesta waits with bated breath, her heart lodged somewhere in her throat and her bottom lip caught nervously between her teeth. She searches Cassian’s expression, looking for some sort of hint from him. A twitch of the lips. A spark in those hazel eyes. But Cassian keeps his face stoically blank, his gaze staring right back at her, staring right through her. He’s always had a way of seeing her, truly seeing her. Through every mask, every layer of armor, every icy wall she threw up between them, all the way down to the bones, down to her soul.

Nesta feels especially stripped bare now. Her chest cleaved in two, ribs splayed open, her heart on full display. It’s bruised and chipped and practically dripping blood onto the wood floors of the cabin, but still, Nesta holds it out for him, a deeper offering than any stale biscuit. It’s a level of vulnerability that she doesn’t think she’s ever shown, and it has Nesta wanting to snatch the words back, bury them away where they never see the light of day again, until even the memory of them fades.

“You broke the bond,” Cassian finally whispers. There’s a broken quality to his voice, some long born sadness that still festers and burns, but it’s a crack in his own mask, and Nesta will take it.

“I know. I didn’t…” Nesta sighs softly, reaching a hand up to cradle Cassian’s cheek, her heart skipping over itself when he leans into the touch, his eyes fluttering shut. “I didn’t know what would happen, that this is what would happen. I thought you’d move on, that you could finally find someone better than me. I didn’t think I deserved you. I’m still not sure I do after everything I’ve put you through.”

Cassian’s eyes flash open, anger glinting against the gold of them. “Don’t say that. Don’t you dare say that.”

“I’m sorry. For everything.”

Nesta drops her hand away from Cassian, her gaze dropping to the floor. It’s Cassian that steps closer then, until their chests brush together with every stuttering inhale between them. A finger under her chin raises her attention back to him. Both his hands come up to frame her face, thumbs sliding back and forth across her cheekbones. The touch is so warm, so gentle and tender that Nesta wants to melt into it, melt into him.

“I have loved you since the very first moment I saw you. I’ll never forget that day. I almost went to my knees for you right then and there.”

Nesta swallows hard, bringing her own hands up to curl around Cassian’s wrists, to keep him there. “Do you think you could ever forgive me then? That you could ever love me again?”

Cassian frowns at the question, and Nesta waits for the inevitable blow. She tries to prepare for the strike, tries to shield her heart for what she’s sure is coming, but she knows that no matter what she’ll still end up shattered like porcelain across the floor.

“What makes you think I ever stopped?”

Nesta blinks once. Twice. Unsure she heard correctly. “I just thought that—”

Cassian doesn’t even let her finish speaking. He slants his mouth over hers, swallowing down any other words, any other doubts or questions before they can spill past her lips. It takes Nesta a moment to respond, but then she’s pressing up onto her toes, pressing closer to him as their lips move together in tandem. The kiss is languid, almost soft, but it still has sparks skittering across Nesta’s skin, up her spine, at that touch. Still has her chest heaving when Cassian finally breaks the kiss and pulls back. He doesn’t go far, resting his forehead against Nesta’s, their noses brushing together.

“You know, I used to imagine what it would be like to kiss you properly. After the war,” Cassian tells her, his breath fanning out across her cheeks, across her lips.

“And did it live up to expectations?”

“Better.”

Nesta snorts amusedly at the teasing before turning serious again. “I know that this doesn’t magically fix everything, but hopefully, we can try? Together?”

“I want that too,” Cassian assures her, shifting one of his hands to brush a strand of hair back behind her ear.

“Does that mean I can stay? You’re not going to send me packing back to Velaris again?”

“Sweetheart, if you think I’m ever letting you go now…”

The nickname tumbles so easily past his lips, a lightness to his eyes, to his whole demeanor, that Nesta doesn’t bother stopping the grin that spreads across her face. She wraps her arms around his neck and tilts her chin up to kiss him again, Cassian’s own arms curling securely around her waist and holding her close.

“Good. Because I had some thoughts on the cabin.”

—

Updated Taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added): @moodymelanist @nesquik-arccheron @sv0430 @talkfantasytome @bookstantrash @eirini-thaleia @ubigaia @fromthelibraryofemilyj @luivagr-blog​ @lifeisntafantasy​ @superspiritfestival @hiimheresworld @marigold-morelli @sweet-pea1 @emeriethevalkyriegirl​ @pyxxie @dustjacketmusings @hallway5 @dongjunma @glowing-stick-generation @melonsfantasyworld​ @isterofimias @goddess-aelin @melphss @theladystardust​ @a-trifling-matter​ @blueunoias​ @kookskoocie​ @cassiansbigwingspan​ @unlikelypersonalknight1​ @blurredlamplight @hereforthenessian @skaixo

[tea-withnofixinsplease]

We're makin leaps and bounds with this whole sustainability thing since we moved from our apartment a few years ago. Whenever i feel like im not doin enough I lay out all the tiny swaps we've done on the table

we no longer by styrofoam cups and reuse the ones we have

We no longer use plastic plates, we either use glass or compostable ones (and throw the compostable ones in the compost)

Our building has solar panels for electricity

Our soaps are zero/low waste

My mother and I started our loc journey so its much easier to find all-natural, plastic free hair care

I use reusable pads

I don't buy new clothes often if at all, 4 shirts in the last 7 years

3/5 of us eat strictly plant-based bc we're vegan,

We have an indoor hydroponic system growing leafy greens, tomatoes, peppers and fruits, and we bought seeds in bulk. We're planning on swapping rockwool cubes with reusable and compostable hemp fiber cubes

Since the hydroponic system is so bright, and the led lights last for 5 years at a time, we use the living area lights much less, opting for natural sunlight if the hydroponic system is not enough or is off.

We have a bokashi indoor compost bin for food scraps, and an outdoor cold compost bin for the scraps that cant go in the bokashi bin to make our own soil

We started a kitchen garden, and a pollinator/tea garden, and as of 2023 we now have a plum tree, a grapevine, two blackberry bushes, 5 reusable grow bags, 4 big planters and 2 big raised garden beds, lookin forward to fruits and vegetables in the spring, summer, fall and winter. We're planning to buy one more steel raised bed to ensure that we are cycling through what we're growing each year to limit pest-control methods, even neem oil, and planning on purchasing a lot more perennials and native perennials/annuals.

This fall Im gonna purchase a mushroom growing chamber kit for more low waste vegan meat alternatives and to add some healthy mushroom soil to the compost cycle

Our laundry detergent is environmentally safe

Our washing machine is water-efficient

We have a fridge with a water filter for cooking and drinking water

We have reusable grocery store bags

Im gonna try to grow lufas next year to replace our kitchen sponges and steel wool scrubbing pads,

Our property is small, and our neighbors are not as social/gungho about bartering or Co-Op food gardening,

but I'm proud of wat we've done so far, and I can do a lot more, and I plan to do so, so any advice would be welcome

[metashard]

Necron homebrew drabble to try to motivate myself to paint my lychguard [470 words]

The lychguard found the cryptek in a small room tucked away in the lower decks.

He had, for a moment, thought her to be some forgotten experiment left to rot by the ship's previous Drukhari owners. She was suspended in a massive tank of brackish coolant, held aloft like some dysplasic fetus in its sac by a thick cord plugged into the back of her neck. Eddies of silvery gray swirled along the edges of her plating as the tank and filters breathed pulses of fresh fluid into the pool. Her single eye was dark; the only lights in the claustrophobic room came from the status diodes of the tank and the sedated nodal array across her body.

Evidently, she had taken to turning it into a meditation chamber of sorts. Sawaret wanted to let her stay in this state, as she had clearly put effort into setting it up, and some part of him felt relief at seeing her at peace for once. The psychomancer's jagged, everywhere-at-once personality was so very different from the serene dreamer before him.

He stood for an hour or three. Nothing but the steady heave of the tank's pump spoke.

Soon, eventually, he pressed the release switch. The filters gasped, and the thin fluid began draining from the tank. Tefra's nodal array began cycling faster, going from a smooth, synchronized throb to its usual dance. The fluid, dense as it was, let her drift to the bottom as its level dropped, and by the time she lay curled half-upright on the floor, the cable leading into her neck had popped free from tension. Slowly, her single optic lens flickered into a glow. She looked up at Sawaret.

*Sorry. You told me to come get you. We're passing the nebula now.* He didn't speak aloud, only over interstitial comms. She had told him, repeatedly, that the lack of stimulation in meditation made things all the sharper when she came back to reality.

She unfurled herself as though it was her first time possessing limbs. He grabbed a tarpaulin from next to the tank, unfolded it, wrapped it around her broad shoulders, and pulled her to her feet. Her armor was about 40 degrees above absolute zero, his sensors told him. He held her up, and she leaned against him, her forehead pressing into the scarred remains of his cartouche.

*Feeling better?*

She took a moment. "Yeah."

The two of them stayed long enough that Tefra returned to room temperature. Once the ice haloing her plating had evaporated back into the air, she nudged slightly harder into Sawaret's chestplate.

"Hey. Thanks."

"Hm?"

"For dealing with me."

He didn't quite know what to say, so he leaned down and pressed his lipless mouth against the top of her skull. "Let's go watch the nebula before it passes."

[athenafire]

He tries to resist the urge, knows she won't like it but... Ovelrord is worried. He considers his spark chamber... but... it might not be safe. He settles on his cockpit, stuffing it full of pillows and blankets, laying Meredith in the comfortable space and closing up, resting with a servo over his chassis.

He feels.... better. She's safe. No one can get her there. He's keyed in to her vitals, filtered fresh oxygen supplied. He doesn't want to jostle her too much so he just.... sits... servo resting over his plating where she's tucked away, safe and sound.

The dollhouse has long since been cleaned but he prefers to keep her close. He's listening though, ready to free her when she wakes.

Triage took her off the drip an hour beforehand. She had been cleared to finally come out of the induced coma. Her recovery had been surprisingly rapid, despite the amount of damage the poisonous plant had on her upper respiratory systems.

The first movements were tiny, slow. Heart rate picking up as she came to in the soft light provided by Overlords internals. She felt sluggish, heavy. Her brain picking up that she had been moved, but no idea to where.

She could not see Overlord, giving her a sense of relief from his constant doting. A slow eye roll accompanied her thoughts about being human, not a pet.

What Meredith could not ignore was the quiet, yet consistent thrum nearby. That, coupled with the soft warmth, made her nestle further down into the softness. Deciding to give herself a few more minutes, she stretched her legs, feet touching ...what felt almost like a control panel.

[stesierra]

How would you like to see the book I can't publish? It's a book about disability and societal injustice and gay teenagers and terrible diseases. I'm proud of it but I wrote it in a time before OwnVoices and I don't want to take money away from writers who actually are physically disabled. But maybe it's okay to share it for free. YA fantasy that would definitely be banned in Florida.

CAST OUT

CHAPTER ONE

The smell was like nothing I'd ever encountered. It filtered through the hood of my cloak and the silk mask over my nose and mouth, and it filled my lungs the way the sun fills your eyes when you stare at it.

On my shoulders, my parents' hands weighed heavy and warm. My father's trembled.

I was not trembling. I was sixteen today. Full-aged. Full-aged women walked with their heads held high and uncovered. They looked at the world around them, at anything they liked, without worrying they'd see something that would blight a growing mind.

It wasn't gawking to stare around at the gold-plated columns, the silk-draped ceiling, and the obsidian stairs. It was being adult.

We mounted the stairs, my parents a step ahead of me.

At the top, sentinels framed the ivory entrance. Straight whole tusks made up the door, each twice my height and lashed together with silver wire. As we reached the top landing, the sentinels seized silver handles and pulled. They moved like mirrors.

The doors swung wide. A fire smoldered in the entryway, set in a grate lined with silver fish. We walked around it, onto a tiled platform that stretched into the heart of a triangular chamber. Down below, twelve robed men and women sat cross-legged on the floor. White triangles of linen capped their heads.

The Justry.

I took a deep breath. The smell was stronger here. It was a mineral scent, but sweet, almost cloying. I felt a little dizzy.

My parents' hands squeezed my shoulders. Then Father pulled my cloak away. Mother stripped off my mask. For the first time outside of my home, I stood exposed in nothing but my linen camise and baggy calsounds, which belled out all the way down to my slippers. My scalp felt the kiss of fresh air, even with my black hair braided and bound tight to my head. I stood proudly. I wore my best clothes, dyed red with madder and embroidered by Father's hand. I'd even scraped the paint from under my nails.

When my parents returned to my side, smoke choked the air, and the cloak and mask were gone. I would never wear them again. I wanted to skip and jump, but the eyes of the Justry were on me.

The youngest of the Justry rose, a woman no more than seventeen. The justa's skin was the same brown as the powdered cuttlefish ink Mother bought me. A touch lighter than my own.

The woman spoke, but I fixed my eyes on the crimson pillow she held. On the pillow sat a little golden jar.

Mother nudged me. I looked up.

The justa's mouth moved with ritual words Mother had already taught me. "As I have seen revelations, dear one, and been made pure, so will you. The first revelations are always the strongest." She smiled, revealing teeth a shade brighter than her white lip salve. "Are you ready?"

I nodded.

The justa reached down with white-nailed hands and lifted the golden lid. I caught a glimpse of a little cone, which sent up tendrils of glowing green like the essence of life itself. Oracle ore.

Then the smell caught me.

It swept me out of my body and up to the ceiling and through it, like I was no more substantial than a soul. It sparkled and churned and danced in my lungs, and I danced and churned and sparkled in the air above the city, a leaf on the wind. A grain of sand being melted to glass.

I felt as though I could shatter.

Lights burst behind my eyes like lost stars, and they showed me wonders that flashed by so fast I missed half of them. Underground caverns and winding tunnels that burned with their own greenish light. Gold-fronted mansions that lined the curve of a manicured hill. Huge automas, in shapes of animal and human and nothing living, with joints that moved smooth as oil. Their intricate, glowing guts.

A pale-faced woman with a jutting chin and stub nose, her low cheeks framed by mousy brown hair. Her eyes were the green of malachite pigment and old copper and the little cone evanescing on the pillow in front of me.

I fell into them.

I fell into myself.

I knelt between my parents on the platform. I had not moved except to fall. The justas still surrounded us, and the woman with white lip salve had replaced the lid on the golden jar.

Her smile at me was tender. I was too dazed to read her lips, but I could envision in signs what she said; Mother had drilled it into me. "Well? Child, tell us of what you have seen, and be welcome to adulthood."

I let my parents haul me to my feet. My knees felt like pudding. I closed my eyes, and Mother and Father steadied me with their hands.

"It was amazing," I said to the justa. And I laughed. "It was beautiful. More beautiful than anything I've ever seen. And the taste– it was like waterfalls in the mountains, or the way a diamond must taste. I've never seen either, but I've read–"

Mother's hand clamped down on my shoulder. Father's had fallen away. Something was happening. Something was wrong. I opened my eyes.

The justa's mouth was moving. I'd missed the first part of the sentence. But I read the last of it on her lips and guessed the rest. "–She will be cast out."

My hands clenched in dismay. "What? No, you can't! I saw the revelations! I saw!" I needed to taste it again. I needed the justa to lift the cover over that little glowing cone and let me suck its magic into my lungs.

The justa shrouded the golden case with a sleeve and stared at me with narrowed eyes. "Silence your child, perfectas. Her voice saddens this body."

Mother pulled me close. She spoke – her chest reverberated against my back – but I couldn't see, even without my hood. My eyes had frozen on the justa's mouth. I caught every twitch of her lips, as though I had known and read her face for years.

The justa replied, "She is an imperfecta. The law has no leeway." Her eyes turned towards Father. He must have said something. "Take comfort. There are always miracles. Perhaps the Great Unknowns will hear your prayers and cure her."

I set my jaw. "I don't need to be cured. There's nothing wrong with me."

The justa ignored me. "You may have one night with her before she is escorted from the city. With our blessings."

A drop splashed the back of my neck. Mother was crying.

The justa lifted a hand. "Walk in perfection."

My parents led me away.

#

They didn't speak to me until we were home, inside our own entry chamber, which I'd painted myself a year ago. I stopped just over the threshold, brushed by the draft of the door swinging shut behind me. My hands swept the air, agitated, too fast. "They aren't really going to make me leave, are they?"

My parents turned towards me. Tears glistened in the cracks of wrinkles that hadn't been there that morning. "Zisha," Mother said, her hands cupping my face. Was this the last time I'd see my name on her lips?

"They can't throw me out," I signed. "Not just because I talk strangely."

Father and Mother exchanged mournful glances. Father signed, "Little bird, they knew it wasn't only your voice."

"Just because I'm deaf? Because I can't hear?"

Mother stepped back, freeing her hands. Her fingers twitched a subdued answer. "Yes, dear one."

My face felt hot and sticky. Tears ran down my cheeks. "All those years you spent coaching me on how to talk properly, how to read lips. They were for nothing?"

Father signed, "We hoped your training would fool them. But–"

"It didn't."

"You have a beautiful voice, dear one," Mother signed.

"The Justry didn't think so."

Mother bit her lip. "They are all fools."

I signed, "Tell them I'll stay inside. I won't take revelations again. No one needs to see me–"

"They know you are here now," Father signed. "They won't let you hide."

I swallowed. Sniffed. "It isn't fair."

Father shook his head. "I will pack a bag for you, little bird. Go pick your favorite books from the library." He strode away, his back as stiff as the benches lining the entry hall.

I sank into one and signed weakly, "He's thinking of books? Now?"

"You will want them," Mother signed. "You will not find any outside the Plenary Cities. They cannot read, out there."

"Can they even paint?"

"Not like you, love."

I hugged my knees to my chest, pressed my face against them. Tried my voice. "I don't want to go there."

Her hand brushed my back, but I did not look to see her reply. I didn't want to see it.

I wanted to stay.

@anonymousfoz

@moremysteriesthantragedies

@elizababie

@sm-writes-chaos

@bellascarousel

@palebdot

@Hyba

@da-na-hae

@macabremoons

[monroeknoxwrites]

flowers on the vine chapter 2 wip

Bright. Too Bright.

Rozithel slipped free from her upside-down cocoon hanging on the wall with little grace. Her large set of eyes were sealed shut and the second smaller set, made for daytime, squinted blearily about the room.

She expected the headache but the piercing pain of sunlight filtering through the window was an unpleasant surprise. She shaded her eyes, back to the window, to see her surroundings clearer.

On the unused bed in the room was two neatly folded set of pants left by servants. Her discarded clothes from the night before were gone. All the surfaces in her private chambers were conspicuously clean and free of clutter.

It must be that time of week again, she thought, stretching two thin arms to the ceiling, the other two stretching out to the side as her wings shuddered open and closed.

Rozithel didn’t miss the clutter, not really, but there was a certain displeasure in allowing others to do it for her. When she first arrived in the Celestial Tier, it was a hard adjustment returning to her quarters at the end of the day and finding strangers had tidied up her carefully curated mess. It exacerbated the stress she was already under so much she couldn’t remain silent.

The head maid proved surprisingly reasonable and while her confuse that someone would request less service rather than more, she compromised to restrict the maids access to Rozithel’s room to once a week.

“Her Supreme Majesty might accuse us of mistreating you if we neglect your rooms any longer than that,” the head maid had said, her smile sympathetic.

Many years later, Rozithel had learned to live with it. She just reserved the right to be grumpy about it on the bad days.

And today was a bad day.

She plopped on the bed’s edge to pull on both pairs of pants easier, abandoning her sight altogether to do it by touch. She had to start over after putting the shorter pair on first. That one task felt like so much and she sat there in silence, face buried in all four hands for a long moment in silence.

“Morning.”

She groaned in return without lifting her head.

“Come eat, Rozi.”

Rozithel didn’t argue but she didn’t move either.

A tiny wrinkled hand patted her arm. In a slow, careful manner, offsetting a very thick accent, her assistant Braagyn said, “Terrible headache, yes? Come and eat, you know it’ll be better after. Up, up, up.”

Rozithel stood three times his size – an immovable object to him if she chose to be stubborn. This morning she didn’t have the energy to be. She dropped a hand for Braagyn to clutch and lead her over to an extra fat pillow in front of what was a low table to her, normal sized for him.

As she cracked open a small eye, she made note of the spread before her. Blue flower petals floated on thick syrupy soup made of tree sap, honey, and juice of the same petals. Beside the bowl was a plate of dainty pastries coated in powdered sugar and another had a stack of pink, overripe berries. In a long thin glass, honeyed herbal tea steamed invitingly, with little cubes of fruit at the bottom.

She caught Braagyn’s eye just peaking out from under his bushy eyebrows. He gestured toward the food.

“Your day’ll be worse if it starts with a cold breakfast. Eat.”

“I’ve lived for over three cycles,” Rozithel reminded him bluntly. She lifted the bowl, her tongue extended to dip the hollow tip inside and sucked up the sweet soup at a noisy pace.

“Aye, you can claim thirty-three years. I’ll not soon forget it.” Braagyn waited until she finished the soup and nibbled through half the pastries to speak again. “Grand Healer Cold Morning Mist has time to see you today.”

Rozithel rose immediately. Braagyn held up his little hands to stop her.

“Not so soon. Finish breakfast. Her news may be bitter medicine to swallow, go with a sweetness on your tongue.”

“What did she say?” Rozithel picked at the stitching alongside her outer pants.

“Not what she said but how she said it. Save that for after you eat. It’ll make things worse for you to go hungry.” Braagyn toddled around the table to coax her to sit.

“I’ll be fine.”

“You’ll be fine until you’re not. And I’m not keen on seeing you not be fine again so soon.”

Rozithel folded her long legs underneath her, two of her hands fidgeting with different plates. “I was tired. That’s all. If she can’t help me sleep anymore I—”

“The Grand Healer has lived for many, many cycles. Twice as many as me to be sure. She’ll help you.”

Chapter One

[nyktomorphia]

Redrawing an old concept, the Königsberg Snail. Only centimetres long when hatched, the soft plate on a newborn snail's back slowly grows into a chambered shell full of air. By the time it is large enough to hide in, it is also neutrally buoyant and too bulky for constant swimming. Those that have not yet been picked off shift increasingly toward drifting in the current, catching detritus and small inattentive fish to rasp into digestible fragments and hiding in their shells from anything dangerous.

Eventually, the shell is so large it begins to snag seaweed and sessile anthozoa. This is an even harsher population filter - most snails succumb to predation at this stage of growth, too large and delicious to avoid attention and too buoyant to swim. But those that survive benefit from becoming host to a growing symbiotic ecosystem, a reliable source of food for itself shared with enough predators to protect it from most threats. It is this stage which inspired their name - königsbergs of this legendary size were long dismissed as nautical folklore, and there are rarely more than half a dozen in the ocean at any time.

[spotsupstuff]

the ending to my Children of EO playlist drives me fuckin wild cuz like-

those are sorted in the order according to who gets ascended by Saint at the end of it all. it's all instrumentals (except the last one). they no longer sing- they are unable to. their cogs are only left to stutter at this meek ending of their lives

it all starts with Boreas who's still kicking quite well thanks to his self-repair ability. he's still grand and strong, even if he's wavering and so damnably lonely. HE's the only one who puts up a fight against Saint. the instruments crescendo with all of his might and then-! ...then he fails and falls to the floor of his chamber defeated. everything goes quiet. the soft flute bids him farewell as he finally allows himself to pass on to Rubicon. finally lets go of his anger. there is nothing left- the flames of a fight have no place in these blizzards, stop lying to yourself. you are only twisting melancholy into a blade in your heart. come rest...

then Saint comes across Notos. the remnants of its chamber are chaotic, without any order at this point. the fireflies made homes in the gaps between the dislodged plates of its chamber, in the darkness they play charades- inventing new constellations with their bodies. but its still here. its still alive. it wants to help- let it speak to you. Notos' story can't be over, yet- it REFUSES an ending. it will bite and claw against death if it has to. "please, let me be your guide." begs an unusually large and sturdy overseer. you accept. the melody will accompany you still

Zephyr is a mess when they finally make it to her. she's so weak and vulnerable to everything, hardly even present- she's only here because as an Iterator there's nowhere else to go for her. complete death isn't an option. the puppet has been crushed into so many bits and blown away by the wind that she cannot be ascended as normal. it's horrifying. but it's... her corpse is beautiful, in a way. the light filters through cautiously, it's warmer than outside, animals sleep on the edges of what once used to be her ramshackle hardware. the gentle sadness and quiet despair that wandered along with her anger her whole life fades away carefully to the tones of bells as they find her heart. she finally doesn't have to hurt anymore...

they make it through the thoroughly rotted innards of Euros last of the Anemoi Iterators. it's all chaos inside- the rot may have died at last, but dangerous fauna And flora has spread through him. it's panic, it's a rush rush rush, swelling of the melody until finally... Finally they get to the puppet chamber. the melody resolves, finds some kind of order. it calms. he's lying right there, torn clothes, curled into himself

AND THEN "GROW" COMES ON AND ITS A HAHEEHOO, IT'S *SUCH* A GOOD SONG TO LEAVE THEIR STORY OFF, THEIR ENTIRE PART OF THE WORLD- ALMOST ALL OF IT FITS THEM AND THEIR CORNER SO NICELY AAAAAAAAAAA

[sinfulauthorwrites]

Power and Control - A VaaZel Fic

Vaati aims to please his Lady after a month of chastity.

Happy (belated) holidays! This is my Secret Sheikah present for @dumpster-lizard this year! I really hope you like it, and I had a lot of fun writing it! This is also (somewhat) a continuation of Day 25 from this year’s Kintober! The title comes from the song “Power & Control” by MARINA, and this was beta’d by incoherentstuttering_exe!

Rating: Explicit

Ship: VaaZel

Word Count: 1.8k

Applicable Tags: Femdom, Cock & Ball Torture, Chastity Kink, Chastity Device, Fantasy Racism, Microaggressions (it's like one brief sentence and immediately addressed, but tagging it just in case), Clothed Sex, Pillow Humping, Masturbation, Exhibitionism, Voyeurism, Teasing, Degradation Kink, Praise Kink, Dirty Talk, Orgasm Denial, Bratting, Pet Names, Historical References, Pegging

Vaati leaned against the stone surface of Hyrule Castle’s hallway with his arms crossed as he waited outside the wooden doors of the council chamber. The meeting began several hours ago, and his patience was reaching its limit. He puffed his breath at the lilac hair that hung over the right side of his face, causing it to flutter for a moment. In Hylia’s name, this better be over soon, he thought to himself.

Vaati’s wish was granted as the oak doors opened with a creak, and the representatives of the various races of Hyrule filtered out. The last one out was Her Royal Highness Princess Zelda. She turned her head and spotted Vaati, the baby pink skirt of her dress swaying as she went to meet him. “Took you long enough,” he sighed. “I’d think that discussing the trade route between Zora’s Domain and Death Mountain wouldn’t take all day. Though, I wouldn’t be surprised if the Gorons couldn’t get such a concept through the heads that are as dense as the rocks they eat.”

Zelda lightly slapped Vaati’s arm with the back of her hand. “Really? I thought you’d know better than to say things like that! Let me assure you that the Gorons are noble and intelligent people.” The auburn-haired princess walked past Vaati, turning her head to look at him. “Not everyone is an all-knowing mage like you assert yourself to be.” She smirked and made her way down the hall.

“Excuse me?! You were the one who appointed me in the first place!” Vaati chased after her, his indigo cape trailing behind him with each step. Zelda stopped in front of the door of her personal chamber, and the mage quickly wormed his way in between them. “I will not allow you to degrade me or my work, Princess. I am aware of my own power, and so are you.”

Zelda tilted the disguised Minish’s chin up, looking down at him with mirth. “I’m surprised you’ve been this bold today, Vaati. It seems you’ve forgotten the date.” The redhead paused as the gears in Vaati’s head turned, resulting in a look of horror and shame from the mage. She lowered her voice, her eyes darkening. “However, if you wish to remain… confined, I wouldn’t deny you.”

“N-no, my Lady.” Vaati sputtered. “My apologies for talking back.”

“Good boy~” The princess teased, taking out a keyring from a hidden pocket of her dress and unlocking the door behind Vaati. She stepped forward, forcing him into the room before locking the door behind herself. “Now, present yourself to me.” Zelda sat in the carved mahogany chair across from where Vaati stood, cushioned by a blue and gold brocade pillow. She gestured her hand down from the mage’s head, motioning for him. Vaati lowered his scarlet breeches to the floor, his pale skin turning almost as red as the fabric they’re made of. 

He lifted his tunic, showing the contraption that restricted his cock for the past month. Gold-plated metal covered the shaft and glans of Vaati’s length, with a ring constricting his large testicles underneath his member. The golden metal joined red leather up to his waist, forming a belt that reached around his waist and down his ass, with a removable golden plug completing the chastity belt. Zelda beckoned Vaati with her finger, and he looked at the ground as he stepped near. “Have you kept your cage on all month like a good boy?”

“Yes, my Lady,” Vaati replied, his blush deepening as Zelda inspected the belt, fondling his balls and cheeks as she did so. He squirmed at her touch, his body and soul bared.

“Hmm, it doesn’t seem to have been meddled with at all. But that doesn’t mean that someone of your magical prowess would be unable to make it seem so.” The princess looked up at Vaati and smirked, slapping his balls before sitting up straight. “I want you to get off for me. Prove that you’re desperate enough.” 

She took the keyring out of her pocket once more, picking a golden key adorned with a red stone. Zelda used it to undo the lock holding the belt together, sliding it down his legs. Vaati’s pale cock sprung free, the tip flushed red and dripping after a month of confinement. “B-but my Lady, I-”

“Do it, or else it’s another month. You want to be my good boy, don’t you?” Zelda taunted Vaati, tracing her finger along his shaft at the latter part of her order.

“Yes, my Lady.” Vaati bowed his head and turned to find a spot to toss off on comfortably, but Zelda stopped him before he could take his cape off. She pulled him by the collar of it, choking the air out of him.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed the missing pairs of panties and bras from my wardrobe,” Zelda hissed into Vaati’s ear. “I know about your perverted fantasies, and I think it’s about time I addressed them.”

“Ze- my Lady, I think there’s been a misunderstanding.” Vaati tried to free himself, but the redhead’s grasp was firm.

“Oh, I think not, Vaati.” She said his name as if it were laced with venom. “That’s why I have an extra order.” She dragged him over to her bed, grabbed one of the pillows leaning against the headboard, and shoved it into his hands. “Use this as your grinding fodder. Fitting of a desperate little whelp like you.”

Vaati looked down at the pillow and back up at Zelda. “Are… are you bloody serious? There is no way I will degrade myself to such a level! To assume I would is absolutely ridiculous!” The mage finally freed himself from her hold, glaring at her as he threw the pillow down.

Zelda sternly looked at him, tilting his chin up and looking deeply into his crimson eyes. “If you disagree, we can make it two months more. I think that’s a fair trade if you wish to be an impudent brat.” She took the keyring out again, holding it in front of his face, that golden key shining in the rays of the setting sun that filtered through the windows. “What will it be, Vaati?”

Vaati’s mind raced with the options he was presented with. Another two months of agonizing chastity or complete humiliation at the hands of his Lady? Who knows what gossip she spreads when I’m not around? This could be the absolute end of my career! On the other hand, despite my form, I can’t deny the urge of mating season approaching. I don’t know if I could survive it within that cage and not lose my sanity…

Vaati deeply considered for another moment before bowing his head in subservience and picking up the discarded pillow. “I’ll obey, my Lady.”

Zelda smirked, putting the keys back in her pocket and sitting on her bed. “Good boy. Now, up onto the bench.” She gestured to a bench under a stained glass window depicting a Piece of Heart surrounded by Fairies. The light through the glass painted him in an aura of blue as he took his position, kneeling shamefully on the stiff wood as he placed the pillow underneath his aching cock. 

He planted his palms against the stone wall, slowly rutting into the plush material. “Ah, fuck~” Vaati bit his lip, thrusting faster to match his want. His long hair fell around his face as he dipped his head and squeezed his eyes shut, solely focused on the pleasure. He whimpered louder, the blush that formed turning his pale skin deeper in hue. “My lady, please-” He loudly whined, begging for her forgiveness.

The sunset had morphed the tones of the window into a blazing red, matching the center of the Piece of Heart it featured and showering Vaati in lustful hues. His grinding only strengthened, desperate for his release as his body quivered and trembled. “My lady, I’m close-! Please let me come, please!”

“No,” Zelda ordered, pulling Vaati away from the pillow. He cried out, desperate for his orgasm. “Don’t whine like that. I want to be the one to finish you off.” She thrust him onto the bed, rooting through her grand nightstand as he lay exposed. She retrieved a leather strap-on. The belt of it was steel blue, while the accenting straps were a light mauve. She took a phallus made of ivory and placed it inside the ring of the strap. She hiked her skirt and crinoline, putting it on over her undergarments.

“I suppose I should prepare you properly,” Zelda mused. She took a bottle of oil and coated her fingers with the liquid inside before thrusting her fingers into Vaati’s hole. She scissored them inside him while he squirmed and whined, widening him appropriately for her strap.

“My lady, please!” Vaati begged, the sensation too much for him to handle.

Zelda retracted her fingers, causing him to whimper. “I think that’s good enough. Are you ready for my cock now?” Vaati nodded fervently, desperate for his release. “Good boy.” She thrust into Vaati’s ass, causing the mage to arch his back and moan.

“Fuck~!” Vaati moaned even louder as Zelda thrust into him faster and held onto his hips to keep him steady. “Dear Hylia, keep going~!” Vaati babbled and whimpered, the pleasure too much for him to handle after a month of chastity. Soon enough, tears began to stream down his blushing cheeks, unable to control the pleasure.

“Is my good boy too sensitive to take my cock?” Zelda teased. “I thought you’d have enough control over yourself. We can stop if you’d prefer that~”

“No! Keep going, please,” Vaati pleaded, his eyes glazed over with lust. He was so close again, desperate to please his lady and himself.

“Good boy,” Zelda emphasized her praise with a light slap to Vaati’s sizeable balls, causing him to moan out more. “Are you close?”

“Y-yes, my Lady!” Vaati panted, so close to the point of no return.

“Then cum.” Zelda ordered, thrusting into him at a breakneck pace. She gripped his hips, pounding his prostate.

The pleasure was too much, and Vaati keened as he climaxed. “Z-Zeldaaaa!” He arched his back as his seed mottled his tunic and cape. The princess slowed her pace, letting him ride out his orgasm.

Zelda pulled out and gently caressed Vaati’s face, smiling fondly at him. “You did such a good job,” she praised, but she receded when Vaati reached to kiss her hand. “Don’t think you’ve earned that much yet.” She retrieved the keys from her pocket once more and dangled them. “Maybe in a month if you prove yourself to me.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!”

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