#she is alone and cold. the city has fallen silent. there’s no one there. there’s no one to balance out her view

[itspileofgoodthings]

is everything terrible or is it just the damp of the first spring rain

[calaroseeey]

You are the Dawn

Adar x Galadriel. Rated G. 3825 words. One-shot.

Together they walked in darkness, yet apart. Now a star shines upon the valley that will one day be known as Rivendell, and it's never too late - not for Adar, or even for Galadriel.

My Adariel Secret Santa gift for Silvershade

───── ※※※ ─────

There was a time when Galadriel still saw the world in color. During the Years of the Trees in the naivety of her youth, she would go down to the shore. Sometimes she was in company with her brother Finrod, closest to her in kin. Other times she was alone, but never lonely. The cold water rushed up the shimmering shore and ran over her feet. The Gold Tree Laurelin reflected her light on the topaz-blue surface of the waters, while the brilliant shore was filled with gems beyond count such as diamonds, rubies and opals. The salted air was fresh and filled her lungs with an ambition and hunger for what lay beyond the Sea. It was easy to imagine the adventures that await her in Middle-earth before the War. She could not foresee the death, betrayal, and utter loss that would find her.

Finrod was gone with the rest of her brothers, Celebrimbor was no more, the great city in Eregion and its smiths had fallen, and Halbrand- she could not even think of him. The very thought of him sickened her and the wound to her chest burned with echos of pain.

She remembered the ring, shining bright on Adar’s hand. Adar. Memories rushed into the front of her mind. His hand trembled as he held it out to her, the same hands that killed too many of her kin. When he turned around for her to see what Nenya had healed, it was as if she saw him for the first time.

She called out his name. “Adar…”

“When last I looked like this, I was known by a different name.”

“What was it?”

“A meaningless name. It does not matter now.”

Galadriel was silent, awaiting for Adar to say more. He slipped off the ring without saying anything else. She stepped nearer to him, and reached out her hand. She let him brace her wrist as he slid it on her finger.

“There has been great pain and sorrow I have caused, Alatáriel.”

“Nor am I blameless, I have killed many of your children. I was prepared to kill you as well.”

“I forgive you.” The wind blew gently through the forest, rustling her hair as it shone in the sunshine. They were still so close. “No more flame. No more darkness. I have much wisdom received from your ring, but it remains yours. I know I cannot vanquish Sauron with this, and it would be selfish to keep it for myself.”

She looked in awe at the ring on her hand, then at him.

“He will not find us here in the forest.” she turned to the hillside they came from. “I must find Elrond. Command your army to ceasefire-”

“Us?”

Her gaze darted back to him. “You can come or not, Adar. But I would much prefer if you did.”

Although she had multitudes of reasons to feel hatred for him, she knew she could trust him now. With her life, with her ring, with the future of the world.

There was no going back now.

Yet, between the holly trees and pine in the forest, there was a Maia clad in false light who had assumed control over the Uruk. And while the spell that kept Adar constrained in darkness was broken, his children had now fallen under the same shadow.

The memory retreated as Galadriel’s surroundings came into focus, and her chest ached again from the cold burn of Morgoth’s crown. She heard the voices of her kin, the wind running through the valley. The rest of what followed rushed into her mind. She remembered the Uruk had found her and Adar first, followed by their enemy. There was a clash of swords and there was shouting, and Sauron had played a cruel dance with her, while Adar was left to fend against his fallen Uruk. Upon opening her eyes she could see the top of the tent softly rippling like waves in the wind.

“Galadriel?” A voice called her out of her lull. She saw at the entrance to her tent Adar standing there. She shouldn’t be surprised by now, as he had taken to frequently checking in with her, although it was he who had sustained far worse physical injury. Her wounds had been of a deeper nature. Adar seemed to be aware of this and was all too familiar, as he had drank of the same cup that had been poured upon her. He could sit with her in shared silence or in conversation. Although their time spent at each other’s bedsides had been at first hesitant and strange, quickly they had grown accustomed and familiar to each other’s presence. His insight had been more keen than even that of her closest friend Elrond.

She repositioned herself on her bed to sit up, bracing herself against the headboard. Adar walked around to a seat by her bedside. “You slept all night,” he stated.

“It would appear so,” she said.

“Come,” he stood up. “I have something to show you.”

He left the tent and waited for her outside. Their camp was made some ways north of the fallen city in a cloven valley settled next to the Misty Mountains guarding them to the east. The river Bruinen narrowed in the valley and several streams came from the river, with small waterfalls cascading down the mountains and even smaller ones in and around the dell.

Galadriel found him waiting outside. Then, he led her to a small open meadow in the forest where elves were planting seeds in the fertile ground. Adar invited her to work with them, and she joined. Although the other elves kept their distance from him, the atmosphere grew a little less anxious with her presence.

Her heart fluttered when his hand brushed against hers by accident, or when the silence between them was brimming with words left unsaid.

───── ※※※ ─────

Galadriel had stayed in the valley to help Elrond establish a fortress. She felt like she was sinking further and further since the siege of Ost-in-Edhil. Sauron taunted her with every worry spoken of the future, every conversation she shared in council with the High King, in the way Adar appeared resigned to his sorrow and how utterly broken his sense of self was. An unnamed hunger dug itself into her, and it fueled her to help her kin, but it was unbearable alone. Most of all, she wanted to know what it is she longed for.

The shame of the siege of Eregion was now laid fully on the shoulders of Sauron. Adar had led the siege on Ost-in-Edhil against Sauron and many Elves had died both by his hand and the Uruk army. Despite this, Adar’s role was overshadowed by the greater enemy in the midst of collective recovery.

Still, there was doubt and a little unrest, but nobody said anything to go against a guest of the High King, and Adar remained a guest of the valley under Elrond, even after the departure of Galadriel to Lindon.

The temporary camp soon grew fortified and became a stronghold of military might, as well as shelter for those who fled Sauron’s continued onslaught on Eregion. But before the people had fully established the fortress, Sauron led a siege on the valley. Galadriel arrived under the High King Gil-Galad’s forces. But it was too late, for many Elves had been killed by Uruk. Adar had been unable to bring himself to kill any of the Uruk, unable to see them as anything other than his children. Although Sauron was driven out again, what the Elves had established had to be rebuilt, like autumn’s harvest was pulled up half-wrought by summer storm.

Destruction and death weighed heavy on the people from fallen Ost-in-Edhil. There were whispered hopes of sailing to Valinor. Some had spoken of remaining in the valley they now called Imladris.

Within those years war brought Galadriel and Adar united against the forces and allies of Sauron. But a distance remained between them. Elrond noticed from then on Adar remaining by himself. This was not uncharacteristic of him before, but there was a new sadness Elrond sensed in him.

───── ※※※ ─────

Adar awoke from dreams of slaughter and death. Pale moonlight spilt through the open window into his room. He laid atop the cold sheets on his bed. The house was quiet and the trees outside were still. True, restful sleep had eluded him for weeks. Whenever he started to feel like he belonged here, the glimpses of peace he had tasted turned bitter with the reminder of what Sauron had stolen from him.

The cool breeze from the window carried the subtle scent of spring flowers. He left his room and made his way to the gardens outside the Homely House. The moon was bright but emitted no warmth. The stars, though outshone by the moon, flickered like jewels set in the mural of the night sky. He followed a lowly path between the trees up the mountainside to an overlook where he could see across the valley.

The stars seemed all too distant. The ghost of the memory of his endless nights and years atop a nameless peak came to dance in his mind’s sight. His thoughts turned then to Galadriel’s ring, and from there to the greater beauty of the ring-bearer. He thought of her often, far too often. The memory of her was a light in the shadows when healing was more of a battle than a straightforward path. It had been autumn when he had last seen her, after the valley was besieged by Sauron and she came with her forces as aid. But a small and selfish part of him wondered if she thought sometimes of him with the same warmth in her heart.

The horizon between the valley to the east became a dusted blue. There somewhere, a light dwelt that evil could not touch. Adar was sure that there was a place in Arda where he could afford such peace. It would not be in this valley, that much was sure, although it had started to feel like a home. He was unsure if the rest of Elvenkind would welcome him as Elrond had. But if he could live among the people of fallen Eregion, perhaps there was a place out there where he was not only welcomed but wanted. And perhaps, he would not be alone.

His sight grew weary at the coming of the dawn.

───── ※※※ ─────

Years had come and vanished like vapor in the wind. It was summer again, and Galadriel had reached a standstill in the war against Sauron. The passage of time felt far more fleeting after the fall of Eregion than it had before.

Her heart grew weary from worry gnawing down her defenses. Hope was more of a wave than anything. Sometimes she was sinking and rough waves tossed her under, while other times she was above the surface managing to get a breath in before the waves grew strong again. There was a yearning that dwelt within her. In her dreams she saw visions of bountiful green forests filled with mallorn trees. Somewhere beyond the reach of Sauron, somewhere safe and hidden where good things could grow and live. She also dreamt, on occasion and often fleetingly, of Adar.

Too much time had passed. And so she returned to Imladris. She missed the company of Elrond, or at least that’s what she told herself was the reason for her visit. On horseback she rode under midsummer sun across the bleak northern terrain. The setting sun shone bright on the eastern side of the Misty Mountains, illuminating the tips of the peaks with molten sunlight and bathing the whole forest in the sun’s warm gaze. She vaguely remembered the sensation of the light of Laurelin on her skin while the land basked in her glory. The newly laid white stone path zig-zagged across the otherwise rocky and steep earth. The air was warmer as she descended into the hidden valley.

There were guards posted on the path. They welcomed her with recognition and a quick bow of their heads. She had only sent word to Elrond of her visit the day of her departure from Lindon. She wasn’t sure if Adar knew yet of her arrival.

She crossed on horseback a bridge of stone without a parapet over the rushing river. Elrond was at the entrance of the grounds ready to meet her, embracing her. There were more people up and about the grounds than she expected. Most of them were unfamiliar to her.

“Galadriel!” he said. “It is good to see you, my friend!”

“Thank you for welcoming me on such short notice.”

“That’s what this valley is for now, you see.” Elrond walked with her towards the Last Homely House. “How long do you intend to stay?”

“Until I find the reason I have been drawn back to this valley.”

“You will always be welcome here.” He turned to her, and laid his hand on her shoulder. “Know that.”

“Thank you,” she said. “This looks more like a sanctuary now than a fortress.”

“Can it not be both?” Elrond smiled.

───── ※※※ ─────

There was a feast that night to commemorate Galadriel’s visit. For some reason or another a nervous sensation settled in Adar’s stomach as he prepared to leave his quarters.

Dusk had bathed the valley in a blue hue as some of the stars above began to glimmer in the darkening sky. A gentle haze settled over Rivendell, the white fog sheer like a layer of one of Galadriel’s gowns.

Elrond had invited his guests to an open grove for the feast. Adar was already outside when Galadriel emerged from the house. She was wearing a gown blue as sky topaz decorated with flowers embroidered with silver thread, and her partially braided hair was draped around her shoulders bright like the last touch of summer over September dusk. Perhaps she caught Adar’s gaze, because he soon found her beside him. He was suddenly very aware of his plain, unadorned clothes and second-guessed his decision to have his hair loose.

“Adar.” she said, her eyes with a glint of delight.

“Alatáriel,” he said, “too much time has passed.”

“It’s barely been a few months since last autumn.” she smiled, before they began to walk down a path through the gardens. Fireflies danced in the bushes among gardens, and the summer air was perfumed by the forest flowers and pine. “There is peace here.” she said.

“There is.” he agreed. “Although still I am discontented. I will not deny Elrond’s kindness, nor the peace that dwells within this valley. Yet I do not belong here.”

“You do belong among us, Adar.”

“Perhaps Elvenkind, yes. But not among these Elves. It is a place for healing, and there can be no peace while the war still goes ever on and on. Not for us.”

“You grieve for your children?” It was more of a statement of what she already knew than a question.

“My heart, no- my whole soul aches for my children who are lost. There is nothing I can do. Here I am, healing and safe in Rivendell, while they are damned to be slaves of Sauron.”

“I will help you.” The words came out before she could catch up to them.

“What? Why would you do that?”

“Because I am your friend,” she stopped and turned to face him. “I do not share your love for them, Adar. But I too am acquainted with loss. If my brothers had been taken by the enemy, if they had been captured rather than killed, I would not rest until I had done all I could. Let me help you, to do what we can.”

“I will accept your help, my lady.”

She could see the surprise and joy in his expression, and it brought a little bit of hope to warm her heart. Merry laughter and conversation was already ignited when they arrived. Elrond gave Adar a quick but kind smile as they approached. The grove - sheltered between pine and aspen - was lit up by lanterns hung upon the trees. The aroma of roast meat with herbs and vegetables was enchanting.

Once the rest of his guests had arrived, Elrond announced Galadriel’s arrival and sat down at the head of the table. Galadriel settled into a seat near Elrond, and Adar sat beside her. During their feasting they drank fine wine from Rhovanion east of the Misty Mountains, and the table was filled with laughter and song mingled with sorrow. Elrond told of the progress of Imladris, and of those, both Elf and Man alike, they had sheltered. Many Elves shared stories of a time long past. Nearly a year had passed since the Elves last had seen war. The loss they had sustained started to settle into the hearts of the people in this momentary peace. Grief was too recent to become history, but healed enough not to weep for. Some had mentioned those who departed Middle-earth and sailed west over the Sea. The enemy was not mentioned by name, but they spoke of the war, of the dead, and of the greatness of that which was lost. Adar caught glimpses of fear in her eyes when the war was mentioned and when they spoke haphazardly of what is to come.

Galadriel, though he knew she carried secret sorrow, laughed and drank and sang songs with their kin that night. Perhaps it was the lanterns or the moonlight spilling through the trees, but she looked aglow. He understood why Men considered the light of Alatáriel’s hair to be magical, or attribute the feats of Elven craft to the magic of wizards and sorcerers.

He wondered if those of their kin who sat around him had casually dismissed such things as ordinary.

Adar was becoming re-accustomed to beauty. Before, his sight was sullied and grey after Sauron, and now the light shone out the clearer in the world around him. He wondered if the ring’s power truly was responsible, or if it simply gave him the clarity to do with it as he will.

The hour was late when the celebration ceased and they returned to the Homely House. Adar lingered longer, as did Galadriel.

“Walk with me?” he asked her. He half expected her to decline but she smiled and even more surprisingly took his arm in hand. A warmth settled in his heart as he guided her to the white-stoned path. She let go of his arm when they began to walk, the echos of her touch left on his arm.

“Often have I walked this path during the night.” Adar said. “Much time has been spent in quiet contemplation, or silence, or lament.”

They walked close beside each other along a white stone path between the beech and oak. The silence was heavy, though not unbearable. Although the eastern mountain range and the shelter of the valley hid some of the sky, still overhead the moon was bright and the stars glistened like jewels.

The path descended to reach a soft trickling stream, the water gently gliding over mossy rock. The warm air, thick and rich with the smell of flowers, was interrupted by a cool breeze. The gloom of war was lifted, if just for them this night.

They came to a small fall in the stream. White gushing water ran over the moss covered rocks and earth. Beneath the water were little blue flowers while white flowers grew upon the surface.

Adar sat down beneath a beech tree, then Galadriel sat close beside him. The light came not just from her ring. There was a light in and of herself, soft and cool, as if she were drenched in starlight. Had he not noticed before?

“I have dreamt of you.” she said. “And of forests, of a secret place beyond the reach of war.” She turned to sit in front of him.

“Come with me.” she said.

“Where would we go?”

She laughed, sweet and melodic. “We could go anywhere, but first come with me to Lindon. There is work yet to be done.”

He turned to look at her hand where the ring glimmered bright like a pulsating star. She reached for his hand and took it within her own. The cool metal of the ring buzzed against his skin. He wrapped his other hand around hers and pulled her a little closer. Night birds sang sweet melodies as the wind blew through the tops of the trees.

“Galadriel,” he whispered, reluctant to interrupt the song of the forest. “The stars pale against your countenance. I have never been witness to such beauty; if I had, I do not want to remember it. Perhaps I can only see it now, with the clarity that came from your ring.”

“Shhh.” she pressed her finger gently to his lips.

Silence hung between them for a moment, before Adar closed the distance and gently pressed his lips against hers. She returned the kiss, with a desperation and desire he did not expect. As her heartbeat quickened, the tension in her body relaxed.

The sounds of the gently splashing water, the birdsong, the swaying of the trees when wind rustled them, had interwoven with the gentle thud of her heartbeat, and the song her beauty was already singing.

The thorns in his heart had been ripped out, and in that wound left in its wake, he felt the embers of hope begin to burn again. All of the suffering and grief, from when she held him at knifepoint in the Southlands, to the fall of Eregion, every enmity between them seemed in this moment like an ugly dream from which they had been awakened.

He pulled away for a moment. To his surprise her reaction was kind and soft as moonlight. He had never seen the Two Trees or the blessed land of the Valar, yet he didn’t feel the need to. For the very light of Laurelin and Telperion was captured within Galadriel's countenance. Fate had been untangled to reveal that Adar’s life was not fixed. There were many paths he could choose now. He had lived in that waiting in this valley, but now only one path was clear.

“I will come with you.” he whispered, just loud enough to chime in with the songs of the forest. “You are as bright as the morning star, Alatáriel, and your beauty surpasses all the jewels set in the heavens and on earth. You are my dawn.”

She reached for the side of his face, gently tracing her fingers over his scars. Perhaps in another lifetime he would’ve flinched from her touch. But not now. He leaned into her embrace and closed his eyes.

“You are my ocean of color.” she said, before he felt her lips, soft and warm, meet his again.

[mya-valentine]

Eternal Frost and Stone

Summary: In a world where only two yakshas remain, Xiao and the Cryo Yaksha, fate has brought them together in their eternal duty of protecting Liyue from the remnants of their past. While their bond as the last remaining yakshas is undeniable, the Cryo Yaksha has always felt a deeper connection with one individual—Zhongli, the former Geo Archon, who walks among mortals under a new guise. As ancient memories stir, the Cryo Yaksha must face the truth of her past and the growing feelings she has for the one who once led the yakshas into battle.

Liyue Harbor, a city bustling with life, felt both foreign and familiar to the Cryo Yaksha, whose real name had been forgotten by the ages. She went by the name [Name] now, one given to her by Zhongli, the once-reigning Geo Archon, who had also bestowed names upon the other yakshas. Her true name, lost in the eons of battle, was but one of the many sacrifices she had made for the peace of Liyue.

[Name] stood on the cliffs overlooking Liyue Harbor, her arms folded as the bitter winds of Dragonspine swirled around her. The cold never bothered her; it was as much a part of her as the frost in her veins. She watched the bustling city below, her expression calm yet distant. Beside her, Xiao stood in silence, his golden eyes reflecting the city’s lights, yet his gaze was unfocused.

“Do you ever tire of watching over them?” [Name]’s voice was as cold as the air around her, though there was a hint of warmth reserved for Xiao alone.

Xiao’s response was brief, as expected. “Our duty never ends.”

She nodded, knowing his words echoed her own thoughts. They had been the only ones left for centuries now. She remembered the others—Bosacius, Indarias, Bonanus, and Menogias. All had fallen to their karmic debts, consumed by the madness they had fought so hard against. [Name] could feel that same madness clawing at the edges of her mind, but she had long since learned to suppress it, to freeze it in the depths of her soul as she did with everything else.

“Do you think we will ever be free of it?” she asked quietly, her eyes fixed on the distant horizon. “The duty, the karmic debt?”

Xiao hesitated, his hand tightening around his polearm. “Perhaps… someday. But not yet.”

Her lips curved into a small, almost sad smile. “Not in this lifetime, at least.”

The wind howled in agreement, and they stood in silence, two ancient beings bound by the same cursed fate. Yet, even as the world changed around them, one thing remained constant—Zhongli.

---

Later that evening, Y/n found herself walking the familiar path toward the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor. Despite her stoic nature, there was a certain comfort in visiting Zhongli. His presence grounded her in ways that even Xiao’s did not. Zhongli was a constant, an unwavering pillar of strength and wisdom, much like the element he once wielded.

As she approached, the scent of incense and the soft hum of conversation greeted her. Hu Tao, ever the mischievous soul, waved at her from the entrance.

“[Name]! Back from your silent vigil already? You’re just in time! Zhongli is about to tell one of his famous stories.” Hu Tao’s grin was infectious, though [Name] only offered a polite nod in return.

She stepped inside and saw Zhongli sitting by the hearth, his amber eyes glowing in the firelight. He looked up as she entered, and a small, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips. It was a gesture meant only for her, a recognition of the long years they had shared, both in war and in peace.

“[Name],” Zhongli greeted, his deep voice resonating through the room like the roll of distant thunder. “It’s good to see you again.”

She inclined her head in acknowledgment before taking a seat beside him. There was a silence between them that felt as ancient as the mountains of Liyue, but it was not uncomfortable. It was the silence of understanding, of countless lifetimes shared.

“How goes the harbor?” Zhongli asked, his gaze steady, though there was a hint of something deeper in his eyes—something that had always intrigued her.

“Quiet,” she replied. “No new threats, at least not yet.”

Zhongli hummed in response, leaning back slightly as he regarded her. “And how are you?”

It was a simple question, one often asked between friends. But from him, it held more weight. Zhongli, despite his mortal guise, knew the burden she carried. He had watched over the yakshas for millennia, had seen them rise and fall, and had always been there to guide them. Now, with only her and Xiao left, his concern was more personal.

[Name] hesitated, the cold mask she wore cracking ever so slightly in his presence. “I’m… fine.”

It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth either. Zhongli seemed to sense this, as he always did. His golden gaze softened, and for a moment, she could almost feel the warmth of the sun in his eyes, melting the frost that clung to her soul.

“You’ve done well, [Name],” he said quietly, his voice a balm to her weary heart. “But you don’t have to carry this burden alone.”

Her breath caught at his words, an old ache stirring within her. “And yet, there’s no one else left to carry it.”

Zhongli was silent for a moment, and she wondered if she had said too much. But then he spoke, his voice laced with an ancient sadness that mirrored her own. “You are not alone, [Name]. You have Xiao. You have me.”

The unspoken meaning behind his words sent a shiver down her spine, but it wasn’t the cold that caused it. It was the weight of something unspoken, something that had always lingered between them but had never been acknowledged.

For centuries, [Name] had suppressed the feelings that stirred in her heart whenever she was near him. It felt wrong to feel anything for the one who had once been her leader, her Archon. But Zhongli was no longer the Geo Archon—he was simply Zhongli, a mortal walking among mortals.

And she was no longer just a weapon of war.

---

Days passed, and the weight of her unspoken feelings began to wear on [Name]. She found herself returning to Zhongli more often, drawn to his presence in ways she could no longer ignore. He was a constant in her life, a reminder of the past, yet also a promise of something more—something she had long denied herself.

One evening, as the sun set behind the mountains of Liyue, painting the sky in hues of gold and crimson, [Name] found herself standing before Zhongli once more. This time, the air between them felt different, charged with something unsaid.

“I remember the days when you led us into battle,” she said softly, her gaze distant as memories of the past flickered before her eyes. “You were… unshakable. Like the mountains.”

Zhongli’s expression was thoughtful, though there was a hint of sadness in his eyes. “I was merely fulfilling my duty. Just as you and Xiao continue to do.”

[Name] looked at him then, her icy blue eyes locking onto his golden ones. “But it was more than that for me.”

Her words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. Zhongli’s gaze softened, and he stepped closer, his hand reaching out to gently touch her cheek. The warmth of his hand against her cold skin was a stark contrast, but it was a contrast that felt right, like two halves of the same whole.

“I know,” he whispered, his voice like the low rumble of the earth. “I have always known.”

In that moment, the walls [Name] had built around her heart began to crumble. She had spent centuries suppressing her emotions, denying herself the simple act of wanting something for herself. But here, with Zhongli, she couldn’t deny it any longer.

“I’m tired, Morax,” she admitted, her voice trembling with the weight of her confession. “I’m tired of fighting. I’m tired of being alone.”

Zhongli’s hand cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing away the single tear that had slipped down her face—a tear that froze as soon as it left her skin. “You are not alone, [Name]. You never have been.”

His words, so simple yet so profound, broke something within her. Without thinking, she stepped closer, resting her forehead against his chest. The warmth of his body seeped into her, chasing away the cold that had long settled in her bones.

For the first time in centuries, she allowed herself to feel—to truly feel.

Zhongli’s arms wrapped around her, holding her close, and for a brief moment, the weight of her past, her duty, and her pain seemed to melt away, leaving only the warmth of his embrace.

“I will stand by you, [Name],” he whispered against her hair. “For as long as you need me.”

And in that moment, as the last of the sun’s light faded from the sky, [Name] finally allowed herself to believe him.

.

.

.

Masterlist

[punderdome]

The Fine Print: Chapter 2

Summary: Rapidly running out of options, signing Raphael’s contract was the only way to free herself from the tadpole and defeat the elder brain.  She should have paid closer attention to the wording of the contract before she signed it.  Now, Tav gets more than she bargained for, and the devil has come to collect.

Rating: SFW, some suggestive language

Word Count: 3,637

Chapter 2: The Terms and Conditions

It was over…mostly.

Tav felt strangely empty as she sat on the docks of Baldur’s Gate with her knees pressed tightly to her chest.  Alone.  The consummation of her promises to Raphael felt particularly shameful, and she did not want anyone else to see how low she had fallen.  The Netherbrain was defeated and the Crown rested in her hands, glittering in the dawn.  She heard a snap and a familiar stench of cherries, musk, and sulfur invaded her nostrils.  This was the last thing she had to do to fulfill her contract: present the Crown of Karsus to Raphael.

“Such a glorious sight to behold,” Raphael swaggered, standing behind her.  She silently refused to turn towards him.  “A Netherbrain falling from the sky in an arc of fire, such a grand conclusion to a very epic tale indeed.  The bards will be singing your praises for centuries to come.”

“Alright, Raphael.”  Tav was too exhausted to think and the emotions of the hurried goodbyes on the dock left her feeling numb.  “Here is your Crown.”  She rose and finally looked up at him.  The sinister glee on his face made her stomach turn.  She handed him the Crown, and he took it gingerly, in a mocking display of reverence.

“My beloved Little Mouse, my most cherished client.”  Raphael said softly.  “I have business to attend to, and I expect you desire some rest.  I shall leave you to conclude your business for three days, after I will collect you for our dinner at the evening bells.”

“What dinner?”  Tav exclaimed.

“One of the obligations of your contract.  A lovely feast in celebration.”  She paused but then remembered his grandiose promise of dinner when he received his heart’s desire.

“Alright, our dinner.”  She was too tired to argue with him, and an agreement was an agreement.  It was just a line on a contract.

“Three days.  Until then, I bid you a pleasant rest.”  With a snap he had gone in a flash of embers.  Regret pooled in Tav’s stomach.

*******

Tav returned from an aimless and completely unproductive afternoon in the ruins of the Lower City and retreated to her room in the Elfsong Tavern.  There was wreckage strewn everywhere in the streets and a gut-wrenching stench of decomposing bodies of Baldurians and mind flayers alike.  She wanted to help with the rebuilding efforts, but with neither strength nor necessary skills, she was more of a hindrance than a help.  Some of the tradespeople had weakly accepted Tav’s offers of aid, due to her new status as Savior of Baldur’s Gate, but after the third time of being asked to alphabetize spare tools, she finally took the hint.

Her room was quiet and lonely.  What used to be a center of enlightening conversation, jokes, laughter, and breakup awkwardness was now silent.  The beds they shared together were cold.  Tav brushed her hand over the other pillow on her bed, wishing Karlach was still there to share it with her.  Lae’zel and Karlach had been the only ones to truly still support and trust her after her unceremonious breakup with Gale.  For the last month of their adventures together, Gale had refused to speak with her, preferring to speak around her as though she never existed.  He had done as he promised by continuing to fight with her, even though she had not followed through with her promises to him by giving the Crown of Karsus to Raphael.  Her sternum had started to ache with the loss over the last day or so, but she wasn’t completely sure it wasn’t just heartbreak or loneliness.

It had been three days since the Netherbrain fell and their departure at the docks.  Astarion had fled into the Underdark, hoping to lead the other vampire spawn to a more satisfying existence.  Wyll and Karlach were in Avernus until Karlach’s engines could be fixed.  Lae’zel had immediately left to lead her people against Vlaakith’s tyranny - inspiring them with Orpheus’s memory and legacy.  Jaheira went home with Minsc.  Halsin was in Reithwin and permanently renamed ‘Daddy.’  Shadowheart and Gale left for Waterdeep, her to seek the Temple of Selune and he to find a permanent solution for the Orb, now that there was no way to remove it.  That left her.  Tav.  Alone.  Having dinner with fucking Raphael.

That fucking bastard and his fucking contractually-obligated dinner in the Hells.

All she had to do was play nice for one stupid fucking evening, and their contract would be complete.  

Tav ruminated on what would happen in her future.  She could go somewhere else.  Become someone else.  She could do anything she ever dreamed of with her new life, but she had to put that on hold for a brief moment.  What she had to do next was get through one stupid, terrible dinner in a stupid, terrible place.

She turned and noticed two parcels on the opposite nightstand that had appeared while she was out.  A note was neatly laid atop the parcels, and she immediately recognized that fucking perfume.

Please enjoy these gifts, I look forward to our dinner at the House of Hope this evening.

-R.

Bastard.

She opened the larger parcel and unfolded a beautiful boreal blue gown of silk with delicate gauzy sleeves and intricate silver embroidery of roses and vines everywhere across the bodice.  She balked.  This gown must have cost several small fortunes.  She paused for a moment.  Boreal blue was her favorite color, but how did he know?  Was Raphael spying on her?  No.  She banished the thought quickly, he obviously noticed that her sorceress’s robes were a similar deep color and figured it was a safe choice.

The smaller parcel was a wrapped wooden box the size of her hand.  Oh Gods no. It had to be jewelry. Why the fuck was that smarmy asshole getting her jewelry?

It was a silver bracelet with links like chains, small diamonds embedded into the linkages.  There was a larger ruby dangling from one end, encircled delicately with silver.  Why was he giving her a gown and a bracelet?  At least he realized at some level that silver was much better with her cool, pale complexion than gold.  The ruby she could do without.  She could probably get a jeweler to remove it later.

A resigned sigh slipped from her mouth: Raphael clearly expected her to wear his gifts this evening, and she already knew she was going to be treated like some kind of exotic pet.  His pet adventurer wearing his gifts.  His pet adventure wearing his beautiful gifts.

Tav departed for the bath, relaxing in the warm water.  Her thoughts raged within her through the steam and the nagging ache in her chest.  I only have to play nice for one night, she repeated to herself.  This is what he demanded in his damn contract, and so I must do this to save my soul.

Her mind slipped inadvertently into a dark and lonesome place.  The memory was seared into her mind in a haze of beauty and pleasure, and now as she recalled it, it was transformed into loneliness and regret.

Gale’s hands, trailing all over her body, basking in the afterglow of lovemaking in his tent.  He smiled at her before gently tracing his thumb over her lower lip.  He said he had a question for her, and she told him to ask.  He pledged her his soul, and that he was hers.  He would do anything for her.  She was annoyed that he wasn’t asking his question. Verbose wizards.  He traced his hands over her body before pulling her closer.  He ran his fingers gently over the scales on her cheekbones.  He still wasn’t asking his question.  Quit stalling.  Overly dramatic wizards.  He asked her to marry him after their tadpoled adventure was over.  They would return together to Waterdeep.  She agreed and realized that perhaps it was ok that he took his sweet time to ask her this burning question.

Over the coming days and acquisition of a singular Karsite book from beneath the Sorcerous Sundries, he had reiterated that his soul belonged to her but again renewed his obsession for ascension to godhood.  They would be together forever in Elysium, and Waterdeep was forgotten in his mind.  

Tav refocused to the situation ahead of her:  Gale was gone.  There would never be any life for them in Elysium or in Waterdeep.  Her adventure was over.  Her friends were all gone.  The only thing she had left was dinner.  Dinner with fucking Raphael.

After she had bathed and dried, she started to do her hair.  Raphael hated disorder, so while she was tempted to fuck with him by leaving her dark brunette curls to run wild, she tried to tame them into something that resembled order.  She secretly wished they would rebel and escape to frizzy, chaotic freedom.  Her Trobairitz knot was mostly neat, with her curls pinned back carefully in a semblance of order.  Respectable indeed.

A small amount of kohl around her eyes and a quick smear of red pigment across her lips would have to do.  Raphael did say he was collecting her at the evening bells, and she wanted to play the part of his good little mouse until she was free of her contract.

She donned a chemise and corset before donning the gifted gown.  She was amazed by how perfectly it fit her.  Gods above, what kinds of tailors did the Hells actually have?  The gauzy sleeves were the perfect length.  The square neckline showed off her collarbones.  The length was perfectly tailored to not brush the floor in the flat slippers she donned.  She clasped the bracelet around her left wrist and examined in the remaining dusk how it sparkled and shimmered in the sinking sunlight.

The peals of the evening bells told her it was time.  One terrible, stupid dinner with one terrible, stupid devil.  Perhaps she was the terrible, stupid one for not negotiating out of this dinner.

****

As soon as they arrived at the House of Hope, Raphael shed his human guise and appeared in his cambion form.  “Welcome, my dearest, to the House of Hope.”  Raphael stood tall, wearing fine embroidered silks in black and gold with red patterns that resembled the lick of a fire.  Atop his head was his very own halo: the Crown of Karsus, framing his four horns in a regal sight.

Having some sense of self-preservation, Tav swallowed her instinct to remind him petulantly that she had been here before for a different feast at their original meeting.  “Thank you, my Lord, I do appreciate your invitation.”

“Ah, but invitations are no longer necessary, hmm?”  She didn’t know what he was implying.  Was he inviting her to show up whenever she wanted?

Raphael clapped gleefully before breaking the silence.  “You look ravishing, my darling.  Your gown suits you so well.”

“You have fine taste.” 

“I do, don’t I?” he bemused.  She smiled politely, and deigned not to roll her eyes or point out his obvious demands for attention.

“You do have good taste, my Lord.” Formal.  Dignified.

His sharp grin widened, and he extended a hand to her.  Play nice.  She gingerly placed her right hand in his, observing how large his cambion form really was.  He towered over her, and as his wings outstretched, she felt every bit that she was a tiny rodent.  He shifted her hand gently to the crook of his elbow and led her to the dining hall where they first met.

Thick curtains were pulled across the windows to shield the room from Avernus’s perpetual daylight.  Hundreds of candles brightened the room while bathing it in a soft glow.  The fire in the hearth was simmering but not raging.  Dozens of cambions stared down at Tav from dozens of portraits, all different versions of Raphael in different situations and wearing different regalia.  It would have almost been majestic if it just hadn’t been so ridiculous.

Raphael gestured grandly at his dining table, adorned with a staggering variety of different foods from the Material Plane.  There were fruits, raw and cooked, from every part of Toril.  Dozens of different vegetables were stewed or roasted with different sauces and seasonings.  Tav struggled to identify all of the cooked meats, whether they be in roasts or pies.  She only prayed that none of them were constructed from humanoid creatures.

“A glorious feast, my dear, for such a wonderful celebration.”  The smug coo in his voice irked her, but only politeness was on the menu this evening.  She smiled brightly up at him, but she knew it would never appear sincere.

“Thank you, my Lord,” she repeated like a clockwork toy.  Whenever his ego was hungry, she would feed it.

Raphael led her to a pair of chairs on the far side of the dining table where two places were set.  He pulled his arm out from under her hand and offered her a dramatic bow before pulling out her chair and motioning for her to sit down.

“This is kind of you, my Lord.”

“My dearest Mouse,” he whispered in her ear as he pushed her chair into the table.  He brushed his hands lightly over the embroidered shoulder of the gown he had purchased for her.  An involuntary shudder worked its way down her spine.  Small sprays of snowflakes worked their way down her dress as she struggled to reclaim her decorum.

Raphael sat down at the place next to her and grabbed a bottle of wine.  He poured them each a goblet and offered a disarming smile.  Why didn’t he have the mage hand serve them like he had before?

“I propose a toast!” he grabbed his goblet and gestured towards her.

Tav gingerly grabbed her own goblet but made a genuine attempt at a cheerful toast.  “To what are we toasting, my Lord?”

“To a most fruitful partnership.” There was a mischievous catch that caught her off guard.  She only responded with a smile before the gentle clink of the glass goblets.  She drank a sip of the lush red wine and noted that it was clearly even smoother than anything he had served her in the Devil’s Den while trying to earn her favor.

Raphael gestured eagerly for her to begin feasting.  Tav looked around at the options, and decided to eat something where she could definitely discern the origin.  She wouldn’t have put it past Raphael to have a rack of roasted Dwarf hidden behind the breadbasket.  He smiled at her before beginning to carve a suckling pig.  Seeing him decapitate and bisect a roasted animal was definitely not something Tav had expected for this dinner, but then she remembered that she was dining in the Hells, so maybe she should have anticipated something like that.

Only one evening.  She repeated silently.

Raphael offered her the carved meat from the suckling pig, and she wordlessly accepted, allowing the fiend to gracefully place the meat alongside her other choices on her plate.

“Tell me, my darling, what have you been doing the past few days?” Raphael politely inquired.

“I have been assisting in rebuilding the ruined Baldur’s Gate,” Tav stated assertively.

“Oh?” Raphael hummed as he began to cut his food, his diet clearly carnivorous.  “Please regale me with tales of your heroics in the rebuilding of the Gate.”

He had been following her, and he knew that she had failed at doing anything really meaningful during the rebuilding process thus far.  She should have offered the Flaming Fist cold drinks by means of her magic, that would have been more interesting than the reality.  As much as it pained her, she told Raphael the truth.  “I have alphabetized the tools of many a great tradesman, my Lord.  I shall soon see all of the masons and woodworkers have order in their workshops.”

The cackle that followed unnerved her.  

“You are so endearing, my Little Mouse.” He took incredible pleasure in his condescension.  

“I aim to please, my Lord.”  Raphael bristled very slightly at her continuing formality.  Good little mice keep their good little souls.  She ate gently and gracefully like her rodent counterpart.

“You are wearing the bracelet I gave to you, please show me.”  His request was hungry and eager.  The desire was clear in his golden orbs and blackened sclera.  She offered him the bejeweled wrist for inspection.  He turned her wrist over a few times looking for something unknowable.  “I shall seek more gemstones next time.”

Next time?

“You are too generous, this is a fine and lovely bracelet.  I have been admiring it, my Lord,” Tav responded truthfully. 

Raphael unexpectedly rose from his chair to stand behind her.  His form seemed to grow larger in comparison to hers at every opportunity.   She opted not to shy away from him and defiantly sat straight up in her chair.

“I think something different is in order.”  Raphael gently traced his claws from collarbone to collarbone spending a great deal of time at her throat.  He could easily slice her skin and make her bleed out in his dining room if he had wanted to.  Tav wondered absentmindedly if he did slit her throat now, where would her soul go?

“What do you have in mind, my Lord?”  Her question was flat, testing the waters.

“A necklace to match the bracelet, but with additional gemstones this time.”  Tav hummed an acknowledgment but still felt the pricks of danger as Raphael’s cambion claws traced along her throat.  His claws gently traced to the back of her neck and lightly through her hair, absently playing with a single curl that had fallen out of her Trobairitz knot.

What in the nine hells of Baator was he doing?

Tav scrambled to change the subject and lean away from his touch.  “Would you prefer a sweet course for dessert?  I can also serve you the traditional fruits and cheese.”

Raphael declined dessert altogether, stating a different type of hunger, and a wave of realization washed through her.  Tav wriggled quickly out of his grasp, and she could feel his frustration at her motions. To break the tension, she requested tea from the servants out of pure panic.  As Raphael nodded to the servant with her request, prayers to save her from this particular situation flooded her mind.  He thinks this is a date.  Lathander!  Azuth!  Umberlee!  Waukeen!  Tymora!  Tempus! Lloth!  Save me!

She tried to make light conversation, and Raphael seemed to relax again.  His eyes moved over her hungrily.  He was clearly mentally undressing her, spending a great deal of time at her chest and the upper part of her thighs.  He was prepared to devour her, and the look of pure lust sent her back into a panic.  The servant returned within a few moments with a cup of hot tea for her, but Tav scrambled out of her chair, knocking over both tea and chair and bringing a fresh wave of chaos into Raphael’s house.

“My great thanks for your hospitality, Raphael,” she managed to stammer out, trying not to trip over freshly upended furniture.  She fled towards the portal chamber, eager to return to the Elfsong Tavern.

“My darling-” Raphael started as he followed her.

Gods, he really did think that was a date, didn’t he?  Would he expect some sort of kiss at the end of the night?  No, he clearly expects more than that.

She was only mildly out of breath when she reached the portal chamber, and Raphael looked less than amused by her antics and attempts at flight.

“Tavara,” he started and took a long breath trying to subdue his quickly rising anger.  “What are you doing?”

The portals were all inactive.  She eagerly touched each one hoping somehow that they would hum to life and one of them would bring her home.

“Raphael, thank you for the dinner, but please take me home,” Tav pleaded.

“No.”  His response sucked all the air out of her lungs.

“No?”

“No.”

“Raphael, I thank you for the hammer, but now I want to go home.”  Her voice raised at least a half octave, hoping the devil would hear her, but the look in his eyes clearly betrayed that nothing was going to change his mind.

Raphael grabbed her by the shoulders and was surprised at the fear response she showed.  She genuinely cowered before him, her internal fire fading into embers.  A brief moment passed before he understood.

“My dearest, you are not going home to Prime Materiel.”  His voice was assertive and final.  “You live here now.”

“No I don’t!”  Her response confirmed Raphael’s suspicions and he silently cursed every reading tutor in all regions of Faerun.

“Tavara, my dear,” Raphael started, with his voice far gentler than she thought possible.  “You are my wife.”

“You’re fucking joking, you sick fuck.”  His jaw immediately clenched with barely contained rage, and his grip on her became much more punishing. “I never agreed to anything like that.”  Her voice became more desperate with every word, cracking and faltering.  She knew the devil standing before her was concentrating his wrath and determining which debtor was going to experience it all firsthand.

“Tavara,” Raphael started again, annoyed at her continual challenges to his patience.  “We are wed.  You signed the contract.”

“I signed no such thing, our only deal was for me to give you the Crown for the Hammer.  I agreed to nothing about some ridiculous imaginary relationship with you!” Tav desperately countered.

“Tavara.”  He was mentally cursing whomever taught her Infernal and vowing to disembowel them before slowly removing every fingernail then severing every limb before restoring them to perfect health and doing it all a second time.  “Tavara, that contract for the Hammer is our marriage contract.”

[nature-writes29]

An Oath fulfilled |Vanathi × Ponniyin Selvan

      It was a quiet, silent Night. The city of Thanjai was getting ready to sleep. It has been 6 weeks since Sendhan Ammudhan's death. The throne was widowed within a night. With no Chakravarti to rule the place, the whole chola kingdom faced quite a threat from other kingdoms. Everyone knew that Ponniyin Selvan would ascend the throne sooner or later. It was inevitable and everyone knew it. The whole palace had started preparations for the coronation. Everyone seemed to be in the festive mood, exept the person who was about to get coronated.

      Arulmozhi knew that one day he will ascend the throne. At first he didn't even had many problems with it, but now, it seemed impossible for him to do so. 13 years back, when he was to be coronated, he had faced a problem similar to his current one. Vanathi and her her oath.

      He wanted to deny the fact that she had taken the oath, but he just couldn't. He wanted her to stay with him till his last breath. He wanted to hold hands with her even at an old age. He wanted to close his eyes with her face infront of him, giving him the last goodbye, and not the way around. He wanted her.

      Yet, he found himself catching her fall after she fainted between a pooja 1-2 weeks ago. Yet he found himself tending to her high fever. Yet he found himself holding her hair as she vomited like there was no tomorrow. Yet he found himself comforting and cuddling her as she shivered from a non existent cold. Yet he found himself listening to the Vaidya say that she was getting nearer to see Vaikuntha (heaven). Yet he found himself being comforted by his Akka and Vanthyathevan as he cried like a baby after hearing the news.

      Yet he found himself alone in their chambers with her . The night was quite and chill. Arulmozhi was laying beside Vanathi as she slept. His strong hands running through her now weakened and frailed hair. He hated how she looked right now. Her skin was almost sticked to her bones. Her usual bright doe eyes were sulking. Her hair were withered. And what he hated the most was, how sick she looked. He hated seeing her in pain, but he wasn't ready to let her go yet. A bit selfish? Yes. But she was just too precious for him. She was his brain, she was his heart. She was his soul. She was in every breath he took. She was a part of him. Inseparable.

      He was shaken out of his thoughts when he felt her stire beneath him. He quickly but cautiously pulled out his hand from her hair, as if she were a really fragile piece of glass.

      Vanathi slowly opened her eyes. She felt someone was there beside her and looked over. There she saw her husband, her Ponniyin Selvan, her yaanai paagan beside her. He had a serious and... What was it? Sad expression of his face. She knew that he knew, and he knew that she knew. And since today morning she had been feeling that weird feeling far more strongly that it had in many days. She knew that her time was almost finished.

      She looked at him, studying his face. His beautiful face, the same one she had fallen so hard for. But right now, there was something glistening around his eyes and cheeks. Then she understood, he had been crying. For her. Because of her actually.  She felt bad for this.

   "Swami-" Vanathi croaked out. Even slight talking was starting to feel like a big task to her. Arulmozhi quickly grabbed the glass which had her drinking water in it and he slowly made her sit a bit with his other hand, and started to feed her water little by little.

      After she was done drinking, she quitly asked him.

   "Swami.. Why are there tears on your cheeks? She asked in a low voice

   " Tears? -" Arulmozhi hadn't even realized that he had started to cry. He quickly wiped them away but Vanathi stoped him and tried to do it herself.

   "It's actually nothing chellam, I wasn't crying" He started.

   "Swami, I know that I am not actually able to think properly right now, but, I do know when you are sad" She said. He looked at her more intensely after this. What had he done to deserve her?

      "Aay.. Forget it, look what I got you few hours back." He pointed at the table beside her. It was a flock of Kodupul flowers. These flowers had always been the symbol of their love. He had gotten then for her in all of their milestones as a couple, or when he had gotten a bit too romantic.

   "Kodupul? " She smiled a bit saying this. Remembering all those beautiful times. A single tear rolled down her cheek. Arulmozhi was quick to notice it.

      "Kanne, why are you crying? " He asked slowly tilting her head towards his.

   "It's nothing" She said. But she didn't wipe it. She didn't think that she had enough strength remaining for that. Amv took her hands into his own.

   "Tell me, please. Don't hide what you are thinking, please. " He said with plea written all over his face.

   "It's just... I was thinking of all our memories which are tied with this flower." She said. Her tone was getting lower and lower. He smiled at the thought. She continued. But it was evident that talking was getting harder for her. Yet she wasn't stopping. It seemed like she sense that this was going to be it.

   "How many times you bought these for me... One time you even climbed a tree right? Just to give me these before our wedding. Our every single moment was tied with this flower in one way or another. Till now. It was great wasn't it? " She said while looking at him. More tears were forming under her eyes.

   "Haan- wait- was great? Dear, we are going to have those moments again. We just have to wait till your sickness goes away! Look! you are improving! There is no need to say anything like this Chellam! " He said. Vanathi smiled sadly at this statement.

   "Natha, I think we both know that I don't have much time left-"

   "Don't say anything like that! You are going to recover. I know it!" Amv interrupted her.

   "Natha, there is a thin line between what we want and the facts-"

   "Vanu-"

   "No! Let me finish. I have been wanting to tell you this Swami from a few days. I heard what the Vaidhya said. And I am also feeling myself slipping away. Initially I was scared of the very thought of leaving you. I want to stay with you for an eternity. I really do. B-"

   "You can Vanathi, You can! Please listen to me,-" He took her hand in both of his palms "-I can't live without you! I want to listen to your laughter, I want to see your eyes in mine, I want to hold hands with you like this, I just... Just want you Chellam! " His voice croaked at the last word. Why was this happening to them, why was this happening to her! Why does parmeshawara opt to take the bestest of people first along with them! Why?

      "Swami, pleased don't make this difficult for me, I also don't want to die, but it is fate swami, fate! And I have also taken the oath-"

   "To hell with your oath! I don't care about your oath Vanathi! I. Just. Care. About. You!! And the very thought of you- yo- not-" He fully broke down. His head bended down in defeat and rested on their hands. He wasn't able to comprehend this fact. He knew that she was telling the truth, but it. was. just. too. much!

    Vanathi's heart broke down seeing this. She didn't wanted to die, but she knew that her life was going to be short the day she took the oath. So she had excepted this fact long ago, and used to cherish every single moment she had with him. Today morning when her Akka had visited her ( she used to be there in the morning and he used to be there for her at night time. ) she was also holding back her tears. Vanthyatevan had also been there and he was already in the crying state.

   "Swami.. " She gently kept her free palm on his cheeks, forcing him to look at her.

   "We can't do anything about the oath, and I knew that this day was going to come. But now, I will have to take my leave-" She said breaking down a bit herself. Arulmozhi quickly stoped her by placing one of his hand on her mouth.

   "Please don't say anything like this Vanathi. Please. We are supposed to get old together! And what about Madhu! He needs a mother. We were supposed to see his marriage together! When he first goes to battle, when he will be crowned the next prince, when he will become the chakravarti, whe were supposed to see all this together Priye! " After listening to this Vanathi grabbed his hand pulled it down. And said quietly.

   "Do you really think that I will leave you that easily Swami? I will always stand with you, whether I am there or not. I will always look for your back, be there with you. And in the end we will meet again right? I will always wait for you Natha" She said with a weak smile. Arulmozhi just looked at her. Impressed by how greatly she was handling it.

      He then took her completely in his arms so that one of her hand rested on his heart and his on her shoulders. One of both their arms were interlocked together. They were looking at each other. Comfortable in their positions.

      He was comforted by the fact that she will at last be free of all of her pains. All he wanted now was for her to be happy. He quickly pecked her and looked at her with an expression which can only depict love, sadness, excepted fact, and adoration.

   "I love and will always love you my Vanu" He said just after giving her a deep kiss.

      This was all she wanted to hear. This is what made her heart free of every burden, worry and questions she was carrying. Her family will be okay. She will meet him again in few decades and she was sure about it.

   "I love you, My Yaanai Paagan.. " She said in a soft voice. She knew she only had a few moments left. All of her energy was drained.

      He looked at her peaceful expression as she closed her eyes. Her last thought being of him. The last thing she saw, was him. Her last breath was of his name. Her heart beated for the last time with only him in it. She was his, and she will always be his. For an eternity.

      He stared at her lifeless body. Tears building up in his throat. His Vanu, his Kadhal, his Chellam, his Kadambur illavarasi was gone. He held her more closely. He bought her shoulders close to him and kissed her forehead.

   "Vanu, you not only did just leave me, but you also took my peace, my love, my brain, my heart, the half of me, my soul with you Kanne. You took a big part of me with you chellam, you did. " He said hugging her close. She had left him to deal with this world alone, without her love, without her enchanting doe eyes, without her laughter, without.... Her. He had no one now to come home back too. She had taken his life away along with her.

_Epilogue_

Kundavai came rushing into the room after hearing the noises. Only to find the scene which shattered her heart beyond anything. Vanthyatevan came rushing behind her, just in time to catch her as she fell down crying. Her sweet best friend, her thozhi, his maya kanan had left them.

The night was filled with cries as Amv's other 2 wives were crying too. They also loved their Akka. Madhu's cries were the loudest, as he had lost his mother at the tender age of 12.

Arulmozhi didn't make any sound, but his grief made the loudest sound. He and his Akka, after some time, we're only starting into the abyss. Vanthyatevan was trying to console Kundavai but Arulmozhi had no one.

He was the one who had given fire to her. The whole country was in awe and shock... For the queen had completed her oath, but at the cost of her life. After persistent requests from his Akka, he did proceed with the coronation. He did it 'cause he knew that this is what his Vanathi wanted. His other queen sat on the throne with him, but in his heart, Vanathi was the only queen he ever lived for.

•••••~•••••~•••••~•••••~•••••~•••••~•••••

( A/N )

Ha ha ha, I made you all cry, didn't I? This is the longest OS I have written standing at 2300+ words. And of course, the saddest on also. I started writing this yesterday instead of studying for my Marathi exam. (It went well), and here I am completing this. Please tell me your thought on this. I hope that you guys liked this one shot. Instances mentioned are from the book. If any confusion let me know! :)

Any suggestions and feedback appreciated.

If you want to read more from my works, visit my wattpad page. Same Id name.

∆ Requests Accepted ∆

_ All work is original. Do not copy _

( I usually do not mention anyone unless it's an request, but, I want to hear your feedback :) and I got some of your id's from a fellow writter. And I won't tell who, but they told me to tag people, so it reaches to more ps lovers. )

@nspwriteups @thelekhikawrites @dr-scribbler @kovaipaavai @dosai-maavu @matka-kulfi @curiousgalacticsoul @harinishivaa @chiyaanvikram @celestesinsight @thegleamingmoon @ragkee @inlovewithfictionalbeings @voidsteffy @whippersnappersbookworm @hollogramhallucination @thereader-radhika @sowlspace  @favcolourrvibgior @ponniyin-selvan @ponniyinselvann-blog

please tell me I made you cry :)

[angelaristotle]

The Snow Angel and The Moon

The snow angel is made to be loved; made from the strain of her mother and the falling of snow. 

She is designed, like all people, to be cherished. 

She is of gentle touches and soft kisses to her cheeks. 

She is of hot showers and cold mornings. 

She is of the earliest of sunsets and latest sunrises.

Of a chilled breeze and warm coffee; of heavy coats and thick boots.

Of music played so softly, it’s barely a whisper.

Of red cheeks and a frost-nipped nose.

She is happy; for now.

The snow angel is a girl, loved but then forgotten.

She is created, in a moment of beauty and loved for that moment and a half.

She then melts into the dampness of the spring; forgotten as she grows up.

Not one person recalls her; She is of the clouds for now.

She cries. How does one create something so amazing, and not yearn for her?

How does not a single person miss a daughter?

The snow angel is silent. Terrified of the erasure of herself. She is but a girl.

T’is summer by now, and she has nowhere to go. 

The earth is haunted by her ghost, shifting in a fog across cities and forests,

Wondering if she shall ever be loved.

Silent she stays, lonely and yearning; for a second chance, to be loved, wanted, kept.

She is kept company by the streets and whispers of life.

She quickly befriends the night,

Lightless and unknown it sits, alone, in wait for something, anything. Please.

The snow angel feels better now; people begin to remember who she is, 

What she is from, what she means.

The skies return to clouds and the trees paint the ground with their leaves.

Nobody misses her however, they miss the warmth her ghost had left.

They miss when she hadn’t even been a thought; 

When all she had done was make their lives a bit easier.

She misses the feeling of being loved, but she can't say she ever truly has been.

Maybe in the short moment of her creation, but as people grow up, 

They forget what it was like to love her.

The snow angel feels alive again, the people she had known seasons ago have changed; grown out of loving their little creation.

And so a cloudless and chilling night, just as the day the snow had first fallen

She meets the moon. Just a girl herself, the moon to lies there in wait

Of love, of gentleness, of anything.

Her beauty stays there untouched by the eyes of people, unloved by the ones who named her

All those seasons ago.

Unwanted and yet, she stares back at the Snow Angel; gorgeous and soft, upheld by wishes and yearning.

For more, for love, for everything she is from.

The moon is a girl; made to be loved, from the strain of her mother and ideas a man once had.

She is of soft music and paintings; of love and the shadows of those better than her.

She is of a gentle mist and mornings lit only by the reflections of everything she could have been.

Of the greys of her eyes, and the blues of the Snow Angel.

She is a lover, of herself and everything she will be.

So the moon and the snow angel become intertwined, at one they finally each belong.

They stay in the silence and wait for the other no matter where or when.

And each time the snow angel remembers her start, the moon is there:

It’s barely a whisper, how does not a single person miss a daughter? Please, love her. For everything she is from, and everything she will be.

And so, it is how it shall always be until the lights fade, and the snow never returns. 

The Snow Angel and The Moon.

[allerya-christinet]

To fall for you

Allerya was a secluded Aasimar, one that never met one of her own and knew nothing more than to accomplish her mission with Faerun. Her life, lonely, bloody and indoctrinated left her nothing but a deep need to feel something else but the obligation to serve.

That's when that pale elf and his suspicious routine at night cought her attention.

AO3

Pairing: Astarion/Tav (Aasimar) (non tav named OC) Warning: None. Words: 2147

Image: Mykiel, Allerya's guide.

Ch. 1: When the need was from her, not from an order.

Life as an Aasimar was… different, maybe just for her, maybe for every one of her kind there was. She didn’t know, never met another winged being as ethereal as her creators said she was.

She met a demon once, she thought it was one of hers, soon enough her guide screamed at her to kill it. It was weird, but the creature fought to kill her, so she did back and painted her hands with the burning blood of the demon that laid dead before her.

She learned about Avernus on her early years, then about everything else there was. At least what Mykiel considered “everything”.

She liked to wander around at night, walking on the roofs, spreading her wings for once. Away from the praying eyes that tried to look under her hood. She would sit down, her legs hanging on the edge of an old house, and she would watch. There were usually a few drunk men going back home, a couple kissing on an alley, all of them oblivious of her presence.

She usually found herself wondering how it must feel, anything, kissing someone, getting drunk, be free. She wanted to feel something more than her eagerness to fulfill her duty with the celestials, she wanted something else, so she watched and pretended for a while.

One of those nights she saw him, an elf with white hair, walking alone at night. She wouldn’t have paid him more attention if it wasn’t for his face, he was too handsome to be alone, too beautiful to wander around that flophouse.

Her gaze couldn’t leave him, for a briefly moment she thought he may be one of hers, but without wings, she decided that “ethereal” was what he was, so he might be an Aasimar. A fallen? How did fallen Aasimar look? Like him?

She followed him around, saw how he went from the flophouse to the tavern, then got out with a lady, both of them giggling as he guided her with a hand on her lower back. Allerya understood he was not strange then, just looking for his partner to go home. She smiled softly, pretending again it was her who knew how his hand felt like on her back.

Things turned suspicious when the next night the elf was there again, and the next, and the next. He always did the same, but his partners always changed as well as the name he claimed to have. She followed him like a cat, jumping through the roofs and trying to be as silent as possible as the three walked towards a palace she knew for having great view of the city.

The couple got inside, she tried to look but every window was covered even at night, she thought of breaking in, an utter desire to know, to see what he did. But why? She didn’t know.

“What’s inside, Mykiel?” She whispers, her hands touching the cold glass of the window, she has never been so anxious about something.

“Barely our business, Allerya.” Her guide answered on her mind, she frowned.

“Barely?” She repeated. Mykiel stayed silent.

She sighs, that was all she was going to get from them. She looked around, wanting to get in but knowing better, so she flew away. Maybe another time she would find out, she wished to learn his name.

Mykiel was fast to gave her things to do, but she always found a way to get back to the same roof and watch the elf, she noticed how he always wore the same clothes even though he lived on that big palace. How his movements seemed rehearsed and he always touched his partners on the same places. She was positively intrigued, so she looked for him at day too, when she was supposed to kill some evil guy she forgot about as soon as she thought she saw him around the corner, she turned her head so fast her helmet almost flew away from her head, leaving the men to bleed out for themselves as she ran behind that person, only to realize she was wrong when the blonde woman stepped back in horror when she saw the bloodied hand of Allerya almost touching her expensive dress.

Allerya blinked a few times, what was she doing? That elf would probably do the same as that woman if he saw her. She was no one to him either.

She turned to finish her duty, defeated and confused, the feeling of disapproval from Mykiel burning within herself.  

It was weeks later that she finally was able to go back to the Lower City, her limbs sore and her wings stinging where her feathers were ripped out by the ambush of goblins that tried to cut her wings off of her. They were long death by now.

She sat on her usual stop at the top of that old house, she learned that it was abandoned by now, and waited. The hours passed by but the elf didn’t come around the tavern nor the flophouse, she tilted her head to the side and raised to her feet, maybe he was somewhere else, so she looked around for him.

She jumped through the roofs, flew around a little and waited, but he wasn’t there. She came to the conclusion that he wasn’t coming that night, so she left to sleep, disappointed that her gaze wouldn’t wander on his hair, that she wouldn’t get to try and sneak a peak at his eyes to see what color they were.

Mykiel weren’t happy about her behavior, they were sure Allerya would forget that wretched thing as soon as she was out of the city long enough, as soon as she killed enough, did enough. They were wrong, and Allerya felt the building contempt of her guide the moment she looked for the elf another night.

Normally she wouldn’t even make her guide upset, she was the perfect Aasimar, the shiny protector, the sword of the celestials, the chosen one so bright she had to hide behind a hood to not make everyone turn her way.

She didn’t know what to do, so she did nothing, maybe if she was good enough to do this herself… What this? Do what? Find the elf? Learn his name? She frowns at her own questions, what was this thing that possessed her?

Week after week she looked for the elf everywhere, at day and night, but he was nowhere to be seen and Mykiel were firm with their order to not get close to that palace. But he had to be there, it was the only place she didn’t get to go, if was eating her alive, why was she so desperate so see him? She was positive about being possessed at this point, it killed her inside to not see him around, she never felt something alike, much less for a man she didn’t even know his name. It’s because he must be an Aasimar, she convinced herself without a better answer, she wanted to be with her own for once, to know someone like her.

Her feet hit the ground of the palace’s roof, “Cazador Szarr” she read on a plate, was that him? Cazador? His name didn’t fit his face.

She walked around the building and reached a door, tried to look inside but the windows were as covered as the first time she was there. The anxiety was eating her alive, Mykiel was almost raging and Allerya felt it, but she couldn’t help herself no more, she had to find him for once.

And just when she was opening the door voices startled her, was it him? No, two females. She ran to hide in the shadows and she watched the couple go inside the palace, it was similar at how that elf behaved, how he talked and moved, almost luring.

“This is not a place for you.” Mykiel said, almost like a mantra of his previous warnings through the days. “Turn around and leave.”

But she didn’t listen, her wings bringing her up to let her look better at the façade of the palace, something pulled her towards the graveyard and so she went there. Allerya took her time reading every tomb, the epitaph nothing like she saw before, just names without an ounce of love for the once living that laid there.

There was a faint sound, a whisper? Maybe even a scream if you paid enough attention, she turned and searched for the source but there was nothing but a brick wall and more tombs, she frowns.

Allerya walked the path silently, following the screaming and soft thuds, maybe an animal in a cage, she thought.

The sound came from… under? Her. She frowns and reads the tomb “Astarion Ancunin” the name didn’t ring a bell on her mind. She bends down and presses her ear to the ground, her light vibration of the sound coming from it.

“Gods! There is someone alive there, Mykiel!” She gasps, unconsciously starting to dig wit her own hands.

“And maybe they should stay there.” Mykiel warned in return.

“We can’t let someone die like this! I can’t, help me.”

“I won’t do such thing, there are more important things to do than save the weak. Much less just one.”

She kept digging like her life depended on it, her hands sore and her skin ripping with every movement she made against the dirt.

“If you keep going on, I will have to punish you. This is none of your business nor your destiny.”

“You said I was made to protect, im doing that,”

Mykiel remained silent.

She looked around, there must be a better way, the screams slowly becoming louder as Allerya took layer after layer off the casket.

She found a shovel behind a mausoleum and started digging with just that. The casket glowed with a faint golden light, enchanted perhaps. It was spotless, no damage on any side of it from the weight of the dirt or the shovel hitting on it each time she digged too deep.

“Take me out!” Screamed who was probably Astarion Ancunin. She tried to open it with little success, the enchantment to strong to fight with just force.

“What do I have to do for you to help me?” She asks Mykiel as she sits on the ground, her nails broken and bloody just as the rest of her hands.

“I won’t.”

“Please.” She hears her voice say, though she gets surprised by that. “I’ll do anything.”

Mykiel stayed silent and she thought of taking the coffin with her somewhere else. They weren’t going to take this from her, she left a lot of people die because they just weren’t “the greater good”... not anymore.

“Well, fuck you! Fuck all of you! I lived a life to serve only for you to turn your backs on me when I ask for something in return!”

Suddenly the enchantment broke and the lid flew open, the pale elf, the one she was looking for everywhere crawled out of the pit, his hands a mess of blood and dirt, his eyes raged, scared, lost.

“Who are you? Why are you here?” The elf, presumably Astarion, asked. “No! you made it worse! Bloody hells, what did you do?!”

Allerya was out of words, she expected everything but this, her own bloody hands shot up in a sign of peace. “Are you alright?”

“Alright? Alright?! I’m not alright, you have no idea what you caused!”

She stuttered, unable to get her words out of her mouth. “I’m sorry? Ah!” She bent down and hold her head, a piercing pain on her eyes consumed her every thought.

“Oh, and now you do this.” The elf scoffs, looking down at her form, thought he was curious.

She kneeled down, her limbs failing to hold her up as she feels like all of her body burned, she grunts and screams as her hands become ashes.

“What’s your name?” She asked between gritted teeth.

Astarion was weirded out to say the least, that thing, the only Aasimar he ever saw, was becoming ashes in front of him after taking him out of his punishment. It made it worse for him, probably, and it was no use to blame her for that, but he did anyways.

“Astarion.” He finally said, he stood there watching, not an ounce of sympathy on his face as the creature became nothing but ashes at his feet.

The wind took what was left of her, and he waited. What for? He didn’t know, but he knew deep down that the moment he stepped inside the palace a punishment would come his way just because he escaped from his prison on the ground. He didn’t know what was better, but he hoped he wasn’t the only one suffering.

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

Hey there! This is kind of knew to me, i never wrote a fanfic in English before.

Welcome to this mess Astarion have made me. I feel the need to share my character with anyone willing to know her.

First of all, "english is not my first language" because one, its true, and two, i know its kind of a meme. So you will have to excuse me when my brain wouldnt get the difference between "in" and "on" during my midnight writing. Oh, what a pain is for me to write "thought, though, through and throw" haha.

This history starts before the events in BG3, but will reach canon in a few chapters. I learned a few things about canon in D&D, so i will put them here to give Allerya a deeper background. For reference, Dame Aylin is an Aasimar, they have this glowing features and really big wings. I will describe her better from the eyes of Astarion on next chapters.

Anyways, feel free to roast my poor Allerya, she is too innocent for this world, for now.

[miss-littevi]

~ Under the open Sky ~

(Repost from Valention 2021)

As Aymeric woke up that morning, he was alone in the bedroom, not a single sign of Yorina, who arrived in Ishgard a few days before and wanted to stay a little bit longer – for him and their son Florent. It wasn’t unusual that she came to bed long after he fell asleep but normally, she was lying next to him in the morning – still sleeping and far from waking. Not today, but that had happened before too - even if it was rare. She often sleeps in her study in that case and he would look after her later. First, he went to their son’s room, where Jallia, a young Hyuran they employed as Nanny, took care of the boy. After that, he silently entered Yorina’s study and found the Duskwight sleeping with legs drawn up on the alcove bed. He took the blanket, that has fallen to the ground, and put it back over his wife’s body and left the room again.

It wasn’t that bad, that Yorina was still asleep, for it gave him the opportunity to make some arrangements before he would talk to Yorina. He decided to make a small trip with her. The Valentiones-festivities just had started and that seemed to be a good occasion to take a few days off. Florent was in good hands, Aymerics duties in the cities administration and military could be handled by his representatives and a few days off would be good for his wife’s well-being – he was sure of that.

As he returned home at noon, he got to know Yorina was awake and in her study again. Es went to that room, knocked at the door and waited a few moments. “Come in.”, came Yorina’s voice with a cold shiver from the other site of the door. He opened the door, entered, and saw his wife sitting at her desk, the baby on the arm, a quill in in her free right hand. She looked up at him in surprise and put the quill in the inkpot as he stepped next to her. He smiled, held his open hand towards her and said with warm voice: “Come, we are going on a little trip.” She looked up at him and could have asked a thousand questions, but her thought could only form one of them, the simplest one, and she asked: “What?”

(more under the cut)

Her husband was nearly amused as he repeated himself: “We are going on a little Trip. The Valentions-festivities just started and that seems like a good occasion to ‘kidnap’ you for a few days.” She rocked the baby in her arm, looked up to Aymeric and asked with dry voice: “To Gridania, then?” Aymeric nodded and Yorina continued: “I don’t want to go to Gridania… you have obligations to do there or why to Gridania of all places?” He shook his head: “No, no obligations. I just expected, you’d like to visit your old home – and a trip to the festivities looked like a good idea.” She suddenly giggled: “But you are aware, that I am from one of those caverns in the Black Shroud, right?” Aymeric laughed with his warm, dark voice, muffled by his hand to not wake up the child: “But you have that nice little Summer house in Gridania.” Yorina pressed her lips together. “I don’t want to go to Gridania and not to the Black Shroud.”, she confessed and looked at him with a sad face, “I don’t want to go anywhere, where I could meet anyone. I just would been recognized and moved into the middle of attention again. I’d rather stay here, where I have some moments of peace.” He crossed his arms and leaned against her desk. “Okay, chance of plan.”, he spoke after a few moments, “I can not promise, there will be nobody, but we wouldn’t meet other people.” She looked at him with a questioning look, didn’t say anything.” He explained laughing: “What about the Churning Mists? Just you and me, some Moogles and Dragons.” “And the knight, who are stationed at the construction works at the Zenith”, she pointed out. “We don’t have to go there.”, he determined, “So it is decided?” She sighted: “But this threat. I have so much to look up, so much preparation to do. Before anything changes, I have to” “This threat won't change for better or for worse the next few days. You know that better than I do.”, he interrupted her. Yorina looked down to her peacefully sleeping son: “And Florent” “Is taken care of.”, Aymeric interrupted her again and smiled open and warm. She gazed at him but couldn’t be angry for long. He once again held his hand to her: “Florent is well taken care of and it are just a few days anyways – only two, maybe three. The time will do you good, trust me. And when we are back, I’ll leave you alone for as long as you want. Promise.” “I hope the world will leave me alone then too.”, she said, smiling tiredly, took his hand and stood up, “I’d love to travel with you. Let’s pack a few things and then leave.”

The Mana-Cutters brought them into the Chrning Mists fast and so they did waste much time on the way. And as they arrived in the Churning Mists, Yorina decided where they would go, flew around, visited the highest places she could find and spared all the places, where she expected to meet people or Moogles alike. When they stood on one of the higher platforms of the Zenith and the wind blew round them, Aymeric looked at his wife and could feel, how the worries fell away from her, how her mood lightened up and how happy she was.

He approached her, took her hand and as she turned her head to him, he saw the joy in her amethyst-eyes, heard the cheerful laugh of her usually cold voice. And if he wasn’t sure before, he now knew it was the right decision to talk her into this trip.

Those rare Moments, when she could just be an adventurer, without all the obligations, without the heavy burden of being the Warrior of Light, those were the moments when he saw the woman he fell in love with long ago. The woman he wanted to protect from the world - the world, that was asking way too much of her. “Thank you. “, she suddenly said out of the blue. With questions in his eyes, he looked at her. “I want to thank you for talking me into this trip.”, she explained, “I had no idea how much I needed this. But now, I feel so alive, so much more than even yesterday.” Aymeric remained silent, put his arms around her and held her tight, like he couldn’t do as often as he wanted to. “Please, say something.”, she spoke, almost pleaded, “Don’t let me stand here like that. You so often find at least some words.” “I don’t ‘let you stand here like that’. But I don’t want to ruin the moment. But be sure, I am so glad, to be here – here, with you. And if I could, I’d make this moment infinite.” She smiled and spoke breathy: “Let’s just pretend, this moment is infinite.” She raised her head, her lips found his and the moment certainly wasn't infinite, but it felt like it would last forever.

[idolbound]

The cold of the Frostback Mountains is unforgiving.

The wicked winds whipping through crevices and cracks in the stones that make Skyhold an old, yet nearly impenetrable fortress sink in, cutting deep into the bone.

She glittered like the sun, but heart was ice.

Statuesque, the former Knight-Commander of Kirkwall sits, barely perched upon the edge of her chair in the Lady Ambassador’s office. Earlier, all eyes in the room watched her enter, falling upon pallid skin, carved up with red, angry scars marking her failures. Silver streaks now adorn her head where the gold crown once sat, embodying Andraste in the hope of dispensing justice in her image.

How far she has fallen.

The request written in Ambassador Montilyet’s neat hand had been handed to her in the training yard; a writ from the Inquisitor, requesting an arrangement to be made and sent in their stead, suggesting heavily that Meredith’s expertise would be... helpful. Since facing judgement, and being allowed to stay, she has not yet been sent away from the fortress’ walls, let alone taking on the responsibility if a task reserved for those within the inner circle.

Arriving on time, Meredith intentionally keeps her gaze averted; yet it is not lost upon her that the Champion’s closest compatriot sits in the chair across from the Ambassador who called them here to begin with. Her arrival was not without contention, namely protested by that of her former second-in-command now turned Commander (by his own right — though, she'd trained moulded him that way, much like a mother to a son, to take her place), but also, by the numerous whispers among the crowd, of those who once knew her, knew what she had done.

Like a silent specter, a ghost haunts the halls of Skyhold with pale skin and piercing eyes that no one can bare to look at for too long. She sits on the chair as if she barely belongs here (and really, she doesn't — it had been a blessing to save a templar doomed to eventually wither and waste away to nothing, even as the stain of blood on her hands can never fully be washed clean). Death by lyrium — a fate Meredith had once accepted — now feels a little less inevitable, though surviving its twisted, red variation and its madness has left its mark; though, as red templars now roam as a collective army, serving not the Chantry but Corypheus, perhaps, now of sound mind, she is one of the lucky ones.

The instructions come and go; they are left with the storyteller to lead them, and footsteps usher out of the office ahead. Still, Meredith's gaze finds his — golden, warm — everything she is not. So, she follows in silence. Her stride does not waver, with shoulders remain drawn back and chin held high; yet, she cuts her steps short, keeping a respectable (safe) distance between herself and dwarf. She does not object to his direction, despite the underlying anger in every terse word; she is, after all, the bringer of destruction to their city, a result of hubris, and never-ending hunger for power.

Through the bustling Great Hall, the two walk in tandem toward the hearth. Normally, it would be a welcome reprieve, yet as she stiffly finds herself a seat (first, clearing a stack of books ever so carefully to the floor), a sigh heaves from the confines of her lungs. There, she meets Varric Tethras in his realm, his corner of this ancient fortress. Flames flicker and dance, meeting the daylight filtering in from the entrance of the hall; they cast both warmth and shadows to her stone-like features. Even now as the years have found her (and they are cruel), she remains imposing; stern and icy, yet handsome beneath the scars of her sins. The people that pass them by remain almost blissfully unaware of this taut tension, wrought with anger and hatred; regret and guilt. Another breath is taken before finally, finally, she speaks.

"I understand."

A woman now of few words, her voice holds a permanent rasped edge to it; she swallows, weathered hands folding into her lap. While not an interrogation, it's close. Yet, no defense is raised; it is merely accepted, as is.

"I've no intention of insubordination," comes the explanation. While not a deferral to command, she is in no place to assume it for herself. She takes in a deep, steadying breath again, nostrils flaring, yet that gaze — it does not waver. "I serve this Inquisition. Regardless of... the past."

A heavy pause comes to follow, to let it all settle; a precaution, if anything. Before her, sits a man who also knew Kirkwall's streets, her people, her secrets and the depths of the Waking Sea; were they different people, with different stories, they would be kindred spirits, sharing the same home.

"You must... have questions."

They are like marionettes, strings along their joints, pulled at when needed, danced around in circles, spinning in golden and gilded ballrooms, elaborate keeps, and fields of battles, spun around as if there's some great underlying story to tell. Yet, the music that plays, that rings in his ears, is a different melody than one that pulls at his arms, moving him through this world. If there is control, he feels devoid of it - as if he hasn't been drug through hell before, and now this is a new sweet kiss of it, lady misery laying her face low against his and whispering all of those things, telling him he is locked to this role, locked to those strings, chained like a twin in a city rotting across the sea.

All of this crashes on him like a wave, pulling him under for a moment. It hits him, through crystal words and perfect skies, in the middle of a meeting in the middle of Skyhold. It sinks him, a deep undertow as his eyes find ice, across the room. Ice that he has known that has cut through Kirkwall, left her frozen and in pause, a great dichotomy considering she lies across the sea, on fire, in pieces, half a pulse, half a people and here are two of them - culprits, in her near death, her near flatline, her hand in hand to a funeral pyre.

Ice. @idolbound

Lyrium.

He chews his lip, and Ruffles says something; it is drowned out by the melody behind his ears, the thrumb against the palm of his hand, and he shakes out his hand. It doesn't go unnoticed, but he plays it off - a flourish, a smile, a mending injury, and Ruffles draws them back to where they will all be shipping out next to. Orders, always, orders. Yet, he doesn’t groan at these; rather, he’s reminded that this is a mission handed down from the highest degree with the highest care. He knows that’s bullshit; he knows how these are picked; it’s less a lotto and more of who needs to go and simmer somewhere else. Rarely is he on the receiving end, as it’s normally he signs up for it - a way to avoid sand, sun, and maybe snow. He regrets this one; he should have gone with the Inquisitor on their trek to the great wide wherever in Orlais ( she had given him the option this time, well, just this once - as the never-ending sea of wildflowers and broken bones of buildings had been a change of pace, but the fade drawing far too low made him sick at the same time - at the expense of Blackwall’s boots ). 

So here he stands, an emissary, a babysitter - a warden to those needing oversight. A great jailer, and he had come to this inquisition in chains, no better than those across the table from him. Like the ice, he dares to meet again. Heavy is the crown, he supposes, listening - half listening, not listening, half paying attention until he meets ice again. Then he’s on those docks, on those steps, watching her walk by someone on the street, watching a pickpocketing happen, watching the whole city unravel at the seams, coming undone like a ball of yarn. 

Makes sense; Kirkwall is a bag of cats. Several bags of cats, if he’s honest, and this time he is. So that great undertow he had mentioned, that great current leading him, washing him back up on the shore, to Kirkwall instead drops him back in Josephine's office instead, and he is still face to face with a quarter, maybe less, of those bags of cats. He knows what comes next; he’s assigned a team for some upcoming mission - a date pending, and Meredith, that ice he’s mentioned at least three times now, ends up on his roster. He is not plunged into some great cold water, nor is he taken by surprise. Ruffles does what she does best, and her coordination is paramount, a service even to their inquisition and their inquisitor. Yet. 

Yet. 

Yet, for a moment.

For a moment, he wants to say Josephine’s impressively long and titled name and add some epithets onto it, glorious, golden, insulting epithets. Others move around them, yet Varric remains, rooted in place, eyes still on Meredith, even as the other members of their team filter past him. 

“I guess we should talk.” He states, turning, one boot on the step in front of him and out of the office. “If this is going to work that is.” It’s not an entire dismissal, but it is harsh, dripping with latent anger, crumpled and discarded somewhere under rubble. The light in him flickers, and he shakes his head. 

“C’mon, follow me.” He states it’s not aggressive, nonchalant. There is no Hanged Man here; he will not take her into the garden, and those souls lingering out there will not rest with the beast lingering within him and the deeds inside her heart. So he moves, rather to the door and into the Great Hall. There is that roar of people. It reminds him of a roar of a square somewhere far across the sea. Toiling in a troublesome manner, taking his earnings to rebuild and regrow, like a vine against stone - Kirkwall too, she will rise, out of ash, smoke fire, the templar that follows the stone of his back. He cuts through the noise, to his fireplace - a nearly holy second place. 

Home? No, that wanders, meanders somewhere far from here, changing like the tides, but his desk is a refuge of books and papers along with several chairs. “Take a seat, or move the books out of one; I’m behind as always.” He jests; it’s half flat, pained nearly, but his ears are still ringing, anger and blood coursing quietly through his veins. If it were any other, he would offer tea or something stronger; rather, he takes a seat as well. 

Words have been building, toiling in the pit of his being for months, for years even, but they turn to ash. Like Haven, like the conclave, like Kirkwall - like the both of them, both of them stuck in some endless cycle and unable to give it up. “Well, this is going to be a change.” 

No shit. 

“First,” He starts, without thinking, getting himself ahead of his mind, “I don’t tolerate bullshit on my teams; that’s a way to get your ass sent back to Skyhold.”

[primofate]

im feeling kinda akward since its my first time requesting,i really really really like your writings and im wondering if you could do some angst for albedo, anything you feel like tbh, but if may i be a little selfish i was thinking on something like he hurt you, so you break up with him or maybe he break up with you and regret later, im in love with the genius and your writings so why not lol, hope you are doing well, xoxoxooxox

Thanks for the request anon. <3 Sorry it took so long, but I’m feeling angst today so here goes. Let me know what you think <3

QUEUED POST

Scenario: Breaking up

Characters: gn! reader x Albedo

Warnings: angst, break ups, regrets, did I say angst?

Categories: angst in Part 1, comfort in Part 2 (It was getting too long so split it into two parts)

Read: (Part 2) (Part 3 - Final)

Albedo

Alone.

These days you found yourself alone in your shared home. It had been nearly a year since the two of you decided to live together. Maybe that was a bad idea.

You were smitten. He was such an intelligent man, and truth be told you loved how his mind worked. He was silent and mostly kept to himself at first, but with you, there were subtle touches, fleeting kisses. Oh and his eyes, the way his eyes brightened or the way his lips turned up at the sight of you. The way he held you close at nights, up until the morning.

Gone were those days. 

He was hardly home. The intelligent man you had fallen in love with, was also a workaholic. Perhaps you should’ve seen it coming. There were so many signs.

Maybe he changed. Maybe you changed. But the little things weren’t enough anymore. He came home just to sleep and wake up, and he was off again. 

“Bedo, have you got some time off on the weekend? We haven’t been up to Starsnatch Cliff in a while,” you had prodded him a few days ago, wondering if the problem would be solved if you made the first move. 

“Sorry, Y/N, we’re just about to discover more about the properties of electro crystals... It’ll be useful if we want to sustain higher energy concentrations on...” and just like that he had gone off a tangent explaining the whole thing. You smiled a little, it was still endearing how excited he got discussing those things. 

But you couldn’t help but be lonely at how he seemed to love his research more than you. 

‘Maybe I just need to be more proactive. That’s it! I’ll go and visit him at the lab today!’ Surprising him was one of the things that you had always wanted to do. But not a lot of things got past Albedo. He was observant like that. You made a quick run to the bakery, getting him some croissants and welcomed yourself into the Favonius Headquarters. 

You looked up at the sign on his laboratory door. That sign was always there though, Klee had told you about it, and Sucrose had also talked about it once or twice before, telling you that it wouldn’t be a good idea to go in if the sign was up. But when was it ever down? So, you shrugged, and pushed the door open with a wide smile.

“What are you doing here?!” There’s a wild look in Albedo’s eyes the moment you step in. He didn’t appreciate being disturbed. You tilted your head a little at his reaction, you weren’t expecting that.

“Oh, since you’ve been so busy these days I just thought I’d drop by and give you something to--”

“Y/N, did you not see the sign on the door? No disturbances, even from you,”

“I’ll just be quick, I’m just dropping this off,” you lift the paper bag from the bakery and lay it down on the nearest table. Albedo closes his eyes with a sigh. 

“...We’re working on something dangerous right now, I don’t have time to eat. Please take it back,”

Surprisingly, you obey quite quickly, and take the paper bag back into your hands. Annoyance start to pulse in your veins. “Anything else you want me to do? Maybe disappear so I don’t bother you or your research so much?”

Sucrose had been standing there the whole time, and you can see the slight wince on her face at your cold statement... But Albedo had returned it ten fold, snapping an answer back. “Yes, Y/N, that would be excellent, don’t get in the way. Stop being irritating at the wrong moment,”

You didn’t expect how much it would sting. Your shoulders slump downwards at the realization that this... had gone too far. You couldn’t take it anymore. Sucrose opens her mouth, but doesn’t know what to say looking back and forth between you and Albedo. 

The Kreideprinz had continued with his task as if nothing had happened at all, but he knew what he said. He didn’t want any interferences nor accidents happening in the lab and that was the only thing he cared about at the moment. 

Your foot moves to step back, but your eyes are glued to Albedo. You can only see his back. His hair tied up neatly, the shoulders that you loved to wrap your arms around and his hands that were always gentle. You took a good look, drinking the whole scene in like you hadn’t had a drop of water in days. 

This was the last time you would lay eyes on him and it broke you into so many pieces. You turned away without another word, Sucrose staring at the door, before she decided that she needed to follow you. “I-I’ll be back, Master Albedo,” she rarely ever abandoned an experiment, but she knew that you needed a friend right now. 

Ironic, because it should have been Albedo running after you, but instead the green-haired girl caught up to you just as you reached the fountain in the middle of Mondstadt. “Y/N!” she jogs, and stops when you do as you hear your name.

Tears prickled your cheeks, but they were more of frustration than sadness. You stand there for a moment, drying your tears and turning around towards Sucrose, gaze on the pavement. “Y/N...” Sucrose approaches carefully, hand resting on your shoulder.

“...I don’t know anything other than Albedo, Sucrose,” you start, a curtain of memories flashing through your mind. “...Without him, there isn’t much reason for me to stay in Mondstadt,” Sucrose shakes her head rather hastily. “H-He’s just... a little occupied right now, Y/N, I’m sure he doesn’t mean what he said,” You close your eyes, the scene repeating in your head.

“Anything else you want me to do? Maybe disappear so I don’t bother you or your research so much?”

“Yes, Y/N, that would be excellent, don’t get in the way. Stop being irritating at the wrong moment,”

A hard lump forms on your throat at how hard you try not to sob. How hard you try to keep yourself together and Sucrose sees it from the way your lips tremble. “Sucrose, please watch over him,” and that is also the last that Sucrose sees of you. 

That night, Albedo arrives home exhausted, just as he always does. But now that he was home, he could at least expect a warm meal and a warm hug. A soft smile tugs on his lips at the thought.

When he turned the lights on, he was met with a strange stillness instead. His hand stays on the switch as his eyes scan the living room. It was...quiet. There were no plates on the table, and there were no sounds from the kitchen.

Deep in the pits of his stomach there’s an anxiety that starts bubbling up. He brushes it off, opting instead to check the kitchen. “Y/N?”

Empty. 

His footsteps hasten as he opens the bedroom door, expecting you to be curled up there, asleep. 

Empty.

Albedo takes in a shaky breath. You were probably just out in town, doing some late night shopping. Yeah, that’s it, perhaps you just didn’t have enough ingredients for dinner today and--his eyes land on the bedside table.

The photo frame is gone. The photo of the two of you standing side by side together with comfortable smiles on your faces, his hand on your waist, and the house on the background. 

He throws open the closet doors. Your clothes are gone. Your shoes are gone. Even your scent seemed to have disappeared. The anxiety that was once a small bubble in his stomach had started to claw it’s way out, wrenching his heart in places that he didn’t know could hurt. The tears pooling in his eyes were so foreign that he didn’t even know what was happening until he hears himself gasp back a sob.

You’re gone. 

Suddenly it was so hard to breathe, but he pulls himself up and out the door. There’s no way. Where would you go? Perhaps you were just around Mondstadt, trying to get a breath of fresh air to calm your nerves. He searches everywhere. The church, the tavern, the Good Hunter and even atop the rooftop of the Favonius Headquarters. There was a decent view of the city there, and his eyes roam the streets, just to get a glimpse of you.

“...Please...” There’s another lump in his throat, his eyes dart around looking for any small sign of you. 

“Albedo? Tired?” you ask as he returns home one day. He merely lets out a small “Mm,” and pulls a chair out from the dining table to sit on. You walk into the kitchen to fetch him a cup of tea, and he snatches your hand to press a soft kiss on the back of it. “Thank you, love,” 

“...Please!” his grip on the stone walls of the rooftop tighten. His vision blurs.

“Al! Don’t do that!” you try to swat his hand away from the pot, a short laugh coming off of your lips at how mischievous he could be sometimes, trying to dip his finger into the sauce. He has a grin on his face as he successfully tastes the sauce off his finger, making a sound of approval as he draws you in for a light kiss on your forehead, “It’s good, as always,” 

His legs buckle, and he finds himself on his knees, hands fisted upon the cold stone wall. “At least tell me where you've gone! I can’t--” he doesn’t know when the last time he cried was, but whenever it was, he doesn’t remember it to be this bad. The pain was unlike any injury he had, it grasped so tightly at his heart.

“Anything else you want me to do? Maybe disappear so I don’t bother you or your research so much?”

“Yes, Y/N, that would be excellent, don’t get in the way. Stop being irritating at the wrong moment,”

He furiously shakes his head because he knows that it was his fault. “I didn’t mean it, please give them back,” as if there was someone else who took you away. As if there was a God listening to him right now. 

He realizes that the worst of it was not that you had left, but that you had left no traces of you behind. No photo. Not a piece of clothing. Not a trace of your existence.

Nothing for him to hold on to.

That night, he dragged himself back home. Face flushed and hot from the tears he had shed and the ones he was attempting to hold back.

That night, he painfully got into bed.

Alone.

Taglist:  @larkspyrr @rim0na @sweeti-pie @l3mon-mxshroom @hai-q-haikyuu @tkshoki @kyquu @KimbapSana @fanfictionenthusiast

Crossed out means I couldn’t tag you! Sorry!

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[peterthepark]

Could I request a Andrew Garfield Peter Parker x reader where reader gets kidnapped as someone trying to hurt Spider-Man with a happy or happyish ending?

here u go love! hopefully i brought it into fruition :)

take me home

pairing: tasm!peter parker x f!reader

tags: kidnappings, depictions of violence and blood, wounds, kinda angsty kinda fluffy, husband!peter, mentions of anxiety and loss, happy ending, she/her prns, mentions of God and church, venom and symbiote

summary: peter doesn’t know where y/n has gone and deals with the aftermath of trying to locate her.

note: sorry this took forever to get up bb!!! enjoy! trying out a diff pov for this one :)

missing out? ➤ my masterlist

The place is cold. It’s almost as if a storm has come through — a shattered window, the fist-shaped hole in the wall, the fallen vase that once held a bouquet of roses, and the torn photo of her and Peter that once hung above the fireplace mantle. It invokes tears into his vision, and suddenly, he finds himself unable to breathe in the space of his own home.

Home.

How could it be home if Y/N wasn’t here?

Peter balls his fists into the knitted blanket on the couch, shutting his eyes to inhale her lingering perfume. He wishes it were a dream, that she would walk into the room at this moment and greet him with a sweet kiss to commemorate his return from patrol, to tell him that the house was just a mess and he had nothing to worry about — he always worried. Peter thinks of her warm hands, the softness of her palms, her gaze of unconditional love. He imagines her sitting in his lap as they rest in their big red armchair, eating nothing but bowls of cereal and making fun of each other as they watch TV. But as he opens his heavy eyelids to stare at the doorway to the living room with diminishing optimism, he realizes that she, in fact, isn’t going to come back at all. Someone had been here, and someone had stolen his home from him.

The tearful boy has no choice but to push those emotions aside, struggling to catch his breath as he began eyeing the state of their house. He needs to focus if he wanted to find Y/N. The study room is the worst out of all; the papers she had been grading for the past week were scattered across the hardwood floor, the desk was no longer upright, the bookshelf was indented — he winces at the thought of her needing to put up a fight — and the novel Y/N had been reading was decorated with drops of blood. His gloved hand brushes over it, and he shudders at the knowledge of her being hurt.

He avoids calling her mother or father, not wanting to worry them until he knows what happened here. His steps are quick as he scans the house once again. Peter’s throat tightens at the sight of the doorknob to their bedroom, and his worried eyes finally widen as he realizes who — what took Y/N.

The black thick liquid swirls around the brass knob. Peter doesn’t hesitate any longer, barreling out the front door and swinging out onto the streets like second nature.

He knew Eddie Brock had been holed up in some Catholic church right outside of the city. And he also knew that Brock was losing control of the venomous symbiote within him, blinded by hatred for Spider-Man and the world around him.

What better way to taunt the hero than to take the love of his life?

Peter doesn’t bother to make a silent entrance. His gracefulness and suave as Spider-Man has vanished by the time he opens the double doors to the church with a shout, sweat accumulating beneath the confines of his mask.

“Eddie!” He yells with tears in his eyes, voice cracking as he doubles over. His hands rest on the tops of his thighs, and he finds himself bordering on insane at the emptiness of the building and the echo of his broken voice. His chest feels tight, like anytime his whole body would collapse and the hero tears his mask away from his head.

The crucifix at the front of the church is nothing but a mockery. Peter can’t look at it.

If God was real, then how could He let Y/N face this alone?

Peter freezes at the shuffling noise behind the altar. He turns quickly, shooting a web out once he feels the familiar shiver of his spine.

“Darling?” The choked sound has his bones trembling.

Y/N peeks out from behind the marble fixture. He lets out a garbled sigh, and rushes over to embrace his lover. Up close, he studies the purplish bruises surrounding Y/N’s right eye, the bloody split of her bottom lip, and the huge gash along her abdomen.

“Oh, Y/N.” Peter cries, kissing into the tangles of her hair. “Baby, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Pete, he’s still here.” She croaked, looking up at him with fearful and terrified eyes. “He said he wants to kill you.”

Almost like Eddie had been waiting for the right moment, he emerges from the shadows. The contrasting black suit to the Spider-Man one makes Peter’s soft features harden.

“I thought you said you’d leave Y/N out of this.”

“I said a lot of things, Peter.” Eddie shrugs. Peter winces at the drops of dark liquid falling from his fingertips. “Just be thankful you aren’t a widower tonight.”

Peter grows mad.

Y/N moans painfully under Peter’s touch, kicking out her legs as he applies pressure to the stomach wound. He takes his eyes off Eddie briefly, searching her face. “Apply pressure. You’ll be okay. I love you.”

She nods through shut-eyes, whispering the declaration of love under her breath as she clutches her torn blouse.

The blood stains the wedding band on her finger.

Peter doesn’t speak to Eddie any longer.

A couple punches are thrown, grunts ringing through the church as the colors of the sacred stained glass cast over Venom and Spider-Man.

Eddie is much stronger than him, but Peter is quick and agile. His only goal was to get Y/N out of here safely — out of here alive.

To take her home.

Peter evades the monster quickly, weaving in and out from between its legs and over its shoulders to keep him in a tight chokehold. The spider is thrown onto the altar, cracking the marble in half as he coughs out blood from the impact. He searches for Y/N in the chaos, seeing his wife behind one of the tall pillars, watching with slumped shoulders and a broken form as she struggles to stand. Peter rolls away before the symbiote can crush him, sliding behind the altar. He effortlessly picks up the broken pieces of marble, throwing it at the monster in defense.

The collision sends Venom flying backwards, and the stone clashes over its head as a result of Peter’s fear and anger. He’s out cold, and the hero takes the moment of vulnerability to scoop Y/N into his strong arms.

“Is he dead?” She whispers as Peter relieves her of walking, shooting a web outside the open window by one of the pews.

“You’re gonna be okay now. I’ve got you.”

“Are you alright?”

“I should be asking you that.”

By the time Peter gets to the house, Y/N is unconscious. His worry doesn’t reach the extreme, since he can still hear her shallow and wheezy breaths, plus the slow heartbeat in her ribcage.

He lays her down on the couch, like she had done many times to him before. Fishing out the first-aid kit from beneath the coffee table, his clumsy hands dig through for sutures and bandages. He rids her of the bloodied shirt, kissing at her forehead as she stirs at the movement.

“Thank you, Peter.” She mumbles, hissing as Peter cleans the bloody slash.

“For what?” He whispers, meeting your gaze for a second.

“For saving me. Like you always do. I was so scared that something would happen if — if you came. Part of me wished that you wouldn’t just in case he’d try to harm you.”

Peter tugs his lip between his teeth. “Y/N, I will always be there to protect you. No matter what. Even if it hurts me, as long as you’re okay, it’ll make it all better.” He presses his nose against Y/N’s hand before moving to kiss the ring on her finger. “You have my life. You are my life. I vowed to save you the moment I met you.”

“And the moment you married me.” She smiles down at him, letting her hand tousle with the curls in his hair. “I love you.”

“I love you more.” He tears his eyes away from her face, focusing on stitching up the gnarly wound.

Peter feels at home now.

And fulfilled, knowing that he would get to spend another day with Y/N And another. And hopefully more.

After all, home is where the heart is.

And his heart was hers.

-

[theficpusher]

Contact by myownspark | nr | 2483 A short story about two men navigating the wilderness.

Unto You by LadyLondonderry | T | 3671 Louis is a lamplighter celebrating the saturnalia season in his own way. Harry is heavily pregnant and new in the city. The holiday of Christmas is yet to be created.

Manifest Destiny by casuallyhl | E | 15210 Harry and Louis had fallen into bed together again that night, mouths greedy and hands needy. And now every time Louis stops at Fort Kearney, even if it’s weeks in between, he and Harry spend the night together. The nights are always filled with heat and passion, and it gives Louis something to think on fondly as he rides across the western territories carrying sacks of mail. They’ve never talked about it, and they’ve never kissed. Louis doesn’t know if he wants either of those things to change, but he knows that his presence in Harry’s life is sporadic at best. Probably best to leave things be. Or, Louis is a Pony Express rider and Harry runs a station along the trail.

Leave Your Damage Behind and Gone by QuickedWeen | T | 15673 It's the spring of 1882 and Sir Louis Tomlinson is a simple man with simple needs. Money. Running an old estate and dairy farm costs money, and he would much rather focus on his science experiments than take a trip to the Exposició Universal de Barcelona to beg for funding especially when everyone there is English anyway. He's taking a walk one night to clear his head when he comes upon something mysterious on the beach that may or may not change his life forever.

No One Like You by myownspark | M | 19924 Dear Niall, I was glad to have the chance to talk with you again at the AHA conference. Your idea that the Musee D’Orsay Tomlinson painting is in fact not a self-portrait is an intriguing one, and I may have discovered something that will have a bearing on that theory. Some background: as you may remember, I’ve been researching for a book I’m writing about Harry Styles. I’ve been in communication with Styles’ last living descendant, who is in possession of a trunk that her family believed to have belonged to Styles himself. It held some personal items she presumes to be his, including two unmounted paintings and a small collection of letters. Upon spending the last few days in Provins studying these items, I believe there to be a connection between Tomlinson and Styles, and I would very much like your opinion. Are you up for a trip to France? Sincerely, Liam Payne Where Liam and Niall are art historians discovering the truth about two nineteenth century painters on opposite sides of an artistic divide.

And down the long and silent street by whimsicule | M | 86090 The year is 1881 and if you’re alone in this world you might as well be dead, because starving dogs have no mercy. Or: Wherein Louis and Harry are on the opposite ends of the social ladder, but their paths still cross on the filthy streets Louis calls his home. The odds are staked against them from the beginning, and even more when Louis' past finally catches up with him.

Coax the Cold by MediaWhore | M | 86440 England, 1897. English Professor Louis Tomlinson’s passion for the occult has been a source of mockery and derision for most of his life. When he hears whispers of a travelling freak show newly established in London claiming the existence of a monstrous sea hybrid, half-man, half-fish, Louis sees it as his ticket to credibility amongst his peers. The summer he spends undercover working on the show, however, gives him much more than that.

Victorian Boy by audreyhheart | E | 101209 Victorian AU. Harry the virgin Duke of Somerset knows little of love, while Louis the sly Duke of Warwick knows too much. When the two dukes come together for the Bilsdale fox hunt in York, Harry finds himself drawn into Louis' bed. But when secrets from Louis' dark past come to light, Harry fears that the fox isn't the only one being hunted.

A Taste of Desire by casuallyhl | E | 104414 “As forward as I have been with you this evening, I am also aware this dinner party isn’t the place to conduct business.” Mr. Tomlinson chuckles quietly to himself, shooting a subtle glance across the table towards their hostess. “And besides, I am sure our hostess would be horribly disappointed to learn that we went away this evening with a business agreement and not a mating one.” Harry, who had been sipping his wine, coughs harshly at this. He splutters, unaccustomed to such blatant statements about mating. Mr. Tomlinson continues to laugh quietly, clearly pleased at Harry’s reaction. “Mrs. Humphreys promised that there was an alpha attending the dinner tonight that I would certainly get on well with,” Mr. Tomlinson continues, voice teasing. “She assured me that we would have much in common since we both work with mills.” Mr. Tomlinson glances at Harry, eyes flashing with mirth. “Little did she know that would be where our mutual interests began and ended.” Or, a Victorian ABO where Harry is the owner of the most successful cotton mill in Manchester, and Louis is an opinionated social activist about to disrupt Harry’s world.

[beckface]

Oh lord, I just had the worst idea on how to add Rhyme and Reason to the zombie apocalypse AU.

Rhyme survived, but Reason didn't. All those superpowers she has, and she wasn't strong enough to save her best friend so she's wracked with survivors guilt. She no longer rhymes because she needed Reason to help her with it, and rhyming brings back painful memories. She wears her peanut butter toast necklace and Reason's jelly toast necklace together as tragic keepsakes of her fallen friend.

She's barricaded herself inside and lives all alone in an ice fortress made from her own frost breath with spiky walls to keep the zombies out and she wanders the city, to scavenge for supplies. She's wondering why she's even still going at this point. There's nothing left for her.

I'm gonna go cry now from thinking about it.

Rhyme becomes the ice queen REAL

She talks to the necklace like it’s him sometimes, and those are the ONLY times she rhymes anymore.

She wishes she could just freeze herself and sleep in the ice but her body is naturally made to withstand the cold. So she just stays in her little area, tired and sad. Missing him.

One day the main group is trying to fend off a zombie hoard without killing them, and Reason is in it. Becky notices and also Notices that Rhyme isn’t with him. Could there be another survivor?

She flies around and eventually finds Rhyme hidden alone in her castle, sulking. Becky tries to talk to her but Rhyme sees her and tells her to go away. Becky noses in and attempts to convince her to come back to the hideout, but Rhyme attacks her and tells her to leave. Becky’s stronger now and knows Rhyme, so the fight is more even then before.

Rhyme gets one big shove in and yells “LEAVE.” Before collapsing on her knees sobbing. Becky is unsure of what to do and just sits there cross-legged and quiet until Rhyme calms down. Eventually Rhyme just goes silent and Becky is like “Hi uh 😐😑😐 we. I saw Reason.” And explains everything, including how DTB is looking for a cure, reluctantly Rhyme agrees to go back and join the group,

She’s very adamant about not killing the zombies, and bonds with Leslie, who reminds her a lot of Reason

[watercolorfreckles]

Thanks for the Ride - Pt 3

I cannot express how surprised and happy I am that this story has gotten so much attention! I am so, so appreciative of everyone's support and encouragement. Thank you for your interest in my story. I'm not sure yet whether this will be the final part, but for now, I hope you enjoy!

Part 1 Part 2

TW: Violence

Kaira sat curled up on the couch with her cat, flipping between tv channels. Villain and Superhero flitted across the screen in a flash of showy suits, violent attacks, and--in the hero’s case--triumph over the fallen villain; The fallen villain who was really alive. She turned off the screen and hugged Missy close to her chest with shaking hands.

The villain knows where I live... What if he comes back? He had yet to hurt her, but the cold barrel of a gun to her head and the electric hum of a threat in the air certainly showed that he was willing to, if pushed. What if word got out that he was still alive and he assumed she’d told on him? What if he kept coming back and forcing her into being his accomplice again and again until--

Kaira nearly jumped out of her skin as her front door opened and closed with a whine and resounding click.

For a few seconds, she sat frozen.

“Villain?” she called out in a soft tone.

There was no resulting thud of the villain’s chunky boots; no sauntering footsteps that she could pick out of a lineup even after hearing them so few times. Instead, the superhero appeared in the living room doorway without making so much as a sound.

Ever light on his feet.

“Sorry to disappoint, Kaira Flint--” he enunciated, tone sharp, “--but I’m not your little boyfriend.”

Gyro, as the press called him, was the city’s golden boy. Its number one hero. Even now he seemed to drip with sunlight, blonde waves framing a perfectly symmetrical face always smiling. The venomous look he speared her with clashed with the honey smile he wore. It was unnerving, looking...wrong, in the way that shadows do when stretching lanky and sharp under buzzing streetlights.

The 'hero' before her felt entirely different from the one she saw on tv, yet entirely unmistakable at the same time.

Kaira merely stared, every muscle winding tight. “He’s…..I don’t--”

“--Oh but you do.” Gyro treaded closer, steps silent but sure and measured. His feet barely touched the ground. Nothing like Villain’s leisure, teasing steps that affected casualness while still setting every alarm bell in her jangling...

She blinked the comparison away and then the hero was within touching distance.

Gyro smiled again, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Otherwise," he continued, "you wouldn’t have called out his name.”

Missy, the cat, bristled at the intruder’s proximity, hissing at him before scurrying away, hiding under the sofa.

Kaira swallowed. Tracked the hero’s movements with her gaze.

"What makes you think I have something to do with Villain?" Kaira asked, tone slow and cautious.

Gyro's eyes illuminated gold, glowing like a sun of their own as he shifted the gravity surrounding Kaira. She shot up with a shriek and a flail of limbs as her back hit the ceiling and he held her there.

Kaira whimpered before going still, eyes wide.

"That sweet neighbor of yours across the street--old lady with a cane? Yeah, she called it in when she saw you leaving with that cockroach yesterday." The hero shook his head in blatant disappointment, tsking. "Not to mention you returning, alone and unharmed. Helping a dead man evade the Justice Association is a serious offense."

Her stomach sloshed cold.

"I-I have nothing to do with Villain, I swear!" Kaira gasped out. "I was under duress!"

"See, now… I don't believe that's true. If you were truly on our side, you would have called it in yourself the moment you realized Villain was still alive. The anti-power serum would've still been in his system; overpowering him would be child's play for one hero, let alone the entire Justice Association together."

Kaira shook her head adamantly, trembling like a leaf. "No, no, I'm not lying. I-I was scared…"

Gyro's head tilted as he observed her, golden gaze still burning with power.

"Are you scared now, Miss Flint?"

His level voice sent a chill crawling down her spine.

"Do you know how fast, how hard, you have to hit the ground for your bones to shatter?" That not-quite-right, sunny smile was back in full force as the superhero straightened. "Do you know how many newtons of gravity it takes to splat a person like a bug against the hardwood floor? How easy, do you imagine, would that be for a gyrokinetic to accomplish?"

He let her drop with accelerated force, stopping her before she could hit the ground. Kaira screamed, stomach swooping, and in an instant, she was flung back up against the ceiling.

"P-Please--" she squeaked.

Gyro clicked his tongue in warning, his piercing stare holding her in place every bit as effectively as his powers did.

"I'll ask once nicely. Tell me where Villain is hiding."

Kaira opened her mouth to speak, then froze as every hair on her body stood on end. The air suddenly tasted sharp with static and buzzed with energy.

"Now, now, Gyro, isn't terrorizing innocents more my scene than yours?"

Relief cut through Kyra at the sound of the villain's voice. Her gaze flicked to him where he leaned against the doorframe in an air of casualness, lightning sparking the air that surrounded him.

The superhero's eyes hardened as his attention shifted to the villain. "Innocent people don't accomplice with supervillains."

Villain snorted. "She is not my accomplice. I merely stole her car," he purred. "Though I'm afraid I will have to take her from you now. It's the principle in the matter of you calling her mine, you see."

Gyro growled and hurled a chair at the villain, manipulating its gravity into a deadly force. Villain narrowly sidestepped and it crushed into the doorway he'd been lounging against, blowing a massive hole in the wall in a scatter of drywall and dust.

Villain stepped forward, lightning coating his fists as he directed a strike at his nemesis.

Kaira yelped as she crashed to the ground when the attack on the superhero rang true, knocking him hard to the floor and breaking his focus over her. She scrambled back on her hands to get out of their crossfire until her back hit a wall.

The fight continued back and forth like a choreographed dance, destruction piling in their wake. Gyro staggered back and crashed to his knees when the Villain managed to surge him with a jolt of electricity. Burns tattered holes in the hero’s clothes, and his exposed flesh was blotched with smoldering, red skin.

Villain smirked at Gyro, looking pleased, and blew on his finger as if extinguishing candle smoke. "Does anybody smell barbeque?"

Gyro's eyes glowed again, thrusting a hand forward and surging the villain back against Kaira's bookcase where he collided with a crack.

The frame splintered apart at the forceful collision, and his body left a massive dent in the wall behind it.

Villain cried out, a grimace searing across his normally confident expression.

Gyro pushed to his feet. He strode forward to grab his enemy by the throat and threw him to the ground, adjusting the gravity beneath Villain so that the impact cratered the floor.

Villain coughed, a terribly broken sound, and lifted a hand to fight back. Electricity sparked to life in his palm.

The superhero stomped down on Villain's wrist, eliciting another pained groan. The bone crunched under the hero's perfectly polished shoe.

Kaira inhaled sharply, shoving to her feet. "Stop.” She staggered closer before her brain had time to catch up with her.

A lightbulb went off in her mind. Closer...

Gyro rounded on her. His hand shot out, closing around her throat and lifting her into the air.

Kaira gasped for breath, kicking her useless, dangling legs.

"Poor thing." The hero's voice pitied her and he stroked her hair with his free hand. "You want to be Villain's little sidekick? I know he's outnumbered these days, but still, I'd imagine he could do better than the likes of you."

He squeezed tighter and her airway cut off. She clawed at him, scrabbling at his chest and torso before swiping the gun holding the Association's bioweapon from his belt. She pressed the barrel to his neck and squeezed the trigger. The syringe plunged the anti-power serum into his bloodstream.

Gyro let go of her and she crumpled to the floor, coughing. He slapped a hand to the injection spot and swayed on his feet. "Why you--" He lunged for her and Kaira scrambled back.

Hero staggered side to side as the serum started to take effect.

Villain sat up with a labored groan and blasted Gyro with a final crack of lightning. The hero's unconscious body dropped like a rock.

Villain and Kaira both flopped over to lay sprawled on the hardwood floor, straining to catch their breaths.

Moments later, a concerned 'meow' interrupted the quiet. Kaira cracked a smile as Missy sniffed the side of her face, moving on to paw at the villain’s chest.

Villain rasped a cough and his lip twitched into something close to a smile, lifting a bloodied hand to stroke the cat’s back. “Some help you were,” he mocked the animal. “Utterly useless.”

Kaira rubbed her throat and wheezed a harsh cough. Villain’s gaze flicked to her at the sound and he sat up again with effort. “You on the other hand…”

He studied Kaira with that laser interest and her insides swooped with sudden panic.

Kaira took a few more wheezing breaths before speaking, her voice gravelly. “I-I never told anyone about you, I swear. Oh my gods, Gyro knows and-and he thinks I helped--”

The villain smiled, not unkindly. “You did help.”

“--He thinks I’m with you, and the Association must know by now, and look at all the commotion we must’ve just made, the-the attention we’ll draw--”

She slapped both hands over her eyes. She heard the gentle thud of Villain’s boots and her eyes snapped open again. He knelt in front of her, holding her inhaler out to her. It must have fallen on the ground during the fight.

Kaira eyed him warily as she took it, inhaling two puffs.

“He likely would’ve killed me if not for you.”

Kaira swallowed. “How did you know he was here?”

“Ah, I bugged your phone last I was here. Couldn’t have you gossiping about me, now could I? The tabloids live for that sort of thing.”

The corners of her mouth lifted in a gentle smile, but it quickly fell again. “The Association will come for me now, they’ll-they’ll probably lock me away, and oh my gods what if they’re on their way now?” Her gaze snapped up to look at him.

Villain straightened and held a hand out to her. “Come with me. Your firstborn too.” He flashed a winning smile. “I’ll give you a ride.”

Part 4

Taglist: @writing-on-the-wahl, @valiantlytransparentwhispers, @distance-does-not-matter, @redbircl, @lilaccatholic, @crazytwentythrees, @thelazywitchphotographer, @deadlygemuwu

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[separatist-apologist]

Aaaaand part 6 ideas - I think the timing works out and Starfall is coming. Lucien says he can’t come (a calculated lie), but Elain sends down the bond that she went to that shop along the sidra to wear under her dress. They manage to secure a private balcony. Smut ensues.

You know, I thought about doing a serial where like, Elain accidentally accepts the bond and her and Lucien hate fuck for a while before they get to know each other, but I guess we're doing this instead.

Time has no meaning in this ficlet, do not ask me about the timeline or seasons, they change based on a whim and my needs so anyway WELCOME TO COLD WEATHER AGAIN (I think? I'm unsure when Starfall actually is? And honestly, it doesn't matter).

This is, as per usual, NSFW, 18+ and unedited beyond me just glancing at it to make sure there were no red squiggles in word.

--

--

He hadn’t meant to be gone for so long. Spring had fallen to shit and what was supposed to be a two-week stay had morphed into months of trying to convince Tamlin to eat, to legislate, and enforce his border all while Tamlin used him as his personal punching bag. Lucien was exhausted and irritated when Feyre’s invitation for Starfall dropped in his lap.

No I don’t want to go to a party, he thought privately, quickly scrawling back a much politer response. What he wanted was a week of uninterrupted alone time with his mate in which he did every filthy thing he’d been fantasizing about while she begged him for more. Lucien could still taste her in his mouth, could still smell her in the air. She was a brand on his skin, a ghost trailing him everywhere he went. He wondered about her constantly. Was she thinking about him? Did she miss him? Want to see him?

Lucien hoped openly declining an opportunity to see Elain might spur her into reaching out to him in their game and admitting she not only wanted him, but she needed him, too. He was playing aloof, like always but she was just silent. He couldn’t pretend that didn’t disappoint him.

Feyre sent back her disappointment two days later and let the invitation open if he changed his mind. She swore up and down Cassian wanted to chat with him and perhaps the General did. Their friendship was an odd one but comforting and a little familiar. Of all of Rhysand’s inner circle, Lucien liked Cassian best.

He was walking to the stables to patrol Tamlin’s border when a vision slithered down the bond. Elain, standing in front of a mirror, wearing a gown that seemed to be made of pure starlight. Silver and low cut, with capped sleeves and a skin colored lining made it seem as though she only wore the glittering diamonds and nothing else. His mouth went dry at the sight. Had she meant to send it?

Yes. A note followed the image, appearing in the air before him.

Starfall?

That was all she’d written. She might have written pages and pages, for the effect that one word had. Lucien tugged his response back, a resounding yes, absolutely, if I have to crawl I will— and turned abruptly to let Tamlin know he was officially retiring from Spring, and to write if he needed any more assistance.

Back in Velaris, Lucien paid an obscenely large amount of money to secure one of the last private balconies in Velaris. It was far from where Rhysand and his ilk would watch, but still very much out in the open. The edge of the balcony, cut from smooth, gray stone, was thick enough he could hoist Elain up and fuck her brainless if he wanted to.

Lucien very, very much did.

The day before Starfall, Lucien sent Elain only the address and nothing else. There would be no polite teasing, no stolen glances. They would be together…maybe even talk and get to know each other outside of just kissing and touching. The thought of hearing her speak excited him more than anything else, though seeing her stripped of her dress was a very close second.

He dressed in a jacket of silver and trimmed in white to match the fitted white pants he’d worn. He’d neatly combed his hair and tied it off his face after debating for too long whether he ought to leave it down or not. He slipped on clean, black boots that hugged his calves, slipped a knife inside his boot just in case, and forewent wearing any other weaponry.

He’d just made it to the balcony he’d rented when the glass, double doors that led from the building they and others were borrowing, opened, and Elain stepped out. Lucien made no show of dropping to his knee, one hand pressed against his chest, jaw hanging open. He’d lost all rational ability to speak or stand when Elain, his goddess, stepped onto the balcony, a vision in silver stars.

Her cheeks darkened with what he hoped was pleasure, though she made a big show of rolling her eyes. “You’re dramatic,” she accused as he staggered back to his feet.

“Absurd. You’re beautiful,” he replied, caressing those same, heated cheeks. He suddenly couldn’t stand the thought of marring one inch of her body and wondered if perhaps they’d just have a nice, romantic evening with nothing else between them.

She walked to the balcony, illuminated beneath floating fae lights. Lucien stood beside her, resting one of his hands over her own, unable to resist. She smiled faintly at the touch and pressed her shoulder against his.

“I missed you,” she told him without looking up, her eyes still firmly focused on the city below. His heart pounded in his chest at the admission.

“Not half as much as I missed you,” he promised, squeezing her hand. A smile bloomed fully on her face, lighting her up like the sun across the sea and Lucien thought he was ruined entirely for anyone else, regardless of what happened between them.

She turned, suddenly, her sweet smile morphing into something wicked. His body instantly tightened as anticipating thrilled up his spine. What was she thinking? She ran her hands up his chest, dragging her eyes up with them until they were firmly focused on his lips. She didn’t need to ask him to kiss her. He’d happily spend the rest of his life attached at the mouth if she wanted.

That first, sweeping kiss wrecked all Lucien’s promises to himself. She tasted like citrus coated in honey and somehow like sunshine. He was frantic, unable to get enough and all at once, desperate for more. His tongue caressed her own, licking in time with the hips he was grinding into her beautiful gown.

Elain broke the kiss with a gasp, her fingers yanking on the laces of his pants. “Before everything starts,” she said, making quick work of them. He began hiking up her dress but Elain swatted his hands away.

“The first time you have me will be private,” she informed him, her brown eyes glittering with promise. “And somewhere nice.”

He started to ask what her plan was, then, but Elain dropped to her knees and Lucien’s head immediately emptied. The last remaining shred of rationality snarled at the sight of her kneeling when he thought it ought to have been him while the animal that typical slumbered in his chest roared with appreciation at the sight of his mate eye level with his cock.

“I borrowed one of Nesta’s dirtier books,” Elain informed him, her breath curling along the skin of his hard, twitching cock. “I don’t suppose this requires any amount of skill.”

Lucien took a shallow breath as her hand cupped the base of him. She ran her tongue up the broad side of his shaft and he reached for the railing behind him in an effort to keep himself steady.

She hummed softly to herself, pumping him once. She could have done only that and nothing else and he’d have come quickly, undone at just the sight of her. She glanced up at him, her lips moistened, her eyes mischievous.

“Will you beg, Lucien?” She asked.

“Would you like me to?” He choked in response. She smiled, lowered her mouth, and sucked just the tip of his erection into her mouth. Lucien concentrated all his effort on remaining utterly still despite his body’s urge to thrust into her mouth and fuck her throat. It was her first time, he reminded himself. He didn’t need to scare her.

“Yes,” she replied, withdrawing her pretty little lips to lick his head like a piece of candy. Lucien groaned loudly.

“Elain, please—”

His words choked into another groan of need as she took as much of him as she could into her mouth, her cheeks hollowed and her hand making up the difference. Her mouth was hot and wet and utterly intoxicating in its softness. Lucien was desperate and somehow building hotly towards release despite how little time and effort she’d put into the act of sucking him.

She hummed again, the noise vibrating along his skin and settling in his tightening sac. Saliva from her mouth pooled around her hand, making it easier for her glide up and down the length of him as she licked and sucked.

First time? His mind demanded, unable to believe she hadn’t done this before. Had it been so long since someone took him in their mouth that he’d forgotten? Was the act made better when it was his mate who sucked?

Shut the fuck up, the animal in his chest demanded of his wild, out of control thoughts. Lucien’s hips jerked a little as he built higher, fire racing through his blood.

“Elain,” he gasped, unsure what else to say. She quickened her pace and Lucien hung by a thread just long enough to offer a warning. “I’m going to come, Elain—”

She didn’t pull away, didn’t withdraw and a moment later Lucien exploded into a million pieces, yelling so loud he was sure Feyre heard him, wherever she was. He pumped hot into her mouth and Elain, the angel, took all of it without moving her mouth. She waited until he relaxed to withdraw, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

“You,” he gasped, pulling her to her feet so he could kiss her. “Next, you next—”

A shooting star streaked through the sky and Elain twisted in his arms, her swollen, red lips parted with delight. Lucien quickly pulled up his pants and retied them, swallowing against the aftershock of his release.

“Another day,” she replied, letting him pull her against him, her back resting against his chest, his arms wrapped around her. He kissed the top of her head, aware of what she’d done.

She’d put him in a situation that forced him to see her again.

Did she not know Lucien wanted to see her all the time?

She wiggled a little, sighing sweetly, content in his arms.

He’d show her what he meant.

[bakingandbooks3]

A Court of Song and Serpents

A bit short but the begging of a project I'm SO excited for- hope you love this as much as I do.

Summary: What a time to be alive as Nesta Archeron, going backward to move forward and finding that the places she once called home are now empty tombs.

Nesta

Nesta held her breath for a moment, a pause, and stilled entirely. The Court of Nightmares. She knew the verdict would be severe, but never would she have expected exile to a world of terror. The horrors of that place, of how it was once the main residence of the High Lord- till Rhysand.

Rhysand, the man who boasted of lands bountiful with choice and reason, now sat across from her donning unmasked hatred. A look he kept shielded from his mate, reserved just for Nesta. The kind that rips one apart from the inside out, would carve out the belly of a beast, burn a witch on a wooden pyre.

Nesta felt nothing, she always did. It wasn’t hard to see what he was thinking of her, how his beautiful wife’s wretched sister was little more than a gambling thief who slept her way through his glorious city. Now, fingers smeared that blank canvas so pure of her darkest shades.

Eyes flicking back, she studied that same sister. The Cursebreaker, the Savior.

How small and insignificant she became next to the glimmering shining thing Feyre was. The lands spoke of her beauty and kind touch, and how she sacrificed everything to save a world of people, and Fae that she was raised to despise.

Nesta wished it’d be known that her touch wasn’t always kind.

She built her bricks firm enough that her house of grace never shattered; Held firm, it was all she had left in her. Too many eyes on her filled with grief, excitement, retribution-Nesta was keenly aware of how this Court of Dreams felt of her.

“This is an exile.”

Rhysand's smirk peaked so slightly, his mate tensing.

“No, no. This is an intervention, a chance for you to find yourself away from bad influences and habits. You can’t keep living like this, and I refuse to let it continue happening and I take the fall for it. Your decisions are impractical and immoral. You are sober much less than you are drunk and-”

“If you’re going to condemn me, do it. But don’t sit here and act as if this is out of kindness.” Nesta snarled. She hated the barbed words, but it’s what she felt. “Who are you to question my morality?”

“I think I can speak for my wife when I say that your presence here is….” Rhysand growled but pulled back, like he forgot Feyre was right there, too.

Nesta wished he would’ve let go, so maybe that facade Rhys reserved for Feyre was broken. No, that’s cruel. As much as she hated this and him, he was making her sister happy.

Something Nesta could never do.

“I do not give a shit what my presence is doing. The decision has already been made, so stop scolding me like a child and make good on your word, Rhysand.” Bile rose in her throat, the words feeling nothing but slimy and disgusting. Foreign, yet habitual all the same. Sometimes, she forgets there once was a woman called Nesta who was so much more than the viper living in her now.

Sometimes she remembers that she can’t ever be her again.

Home was nowhere for her, not in a person, not in a place, certainly not in this bombastic group of “heroes”. Nesta didn’t need a hero, she just needed someone to care. But Nesta knew better, no one would. She was taught to be unlovable, just a woman to be sold off and married- to climb her mothers' ever-growing social ladder.

But Nesta on her own was never enough, even with her mother six feet under and rotted away there were unsung expectations unmet. She was a catastrophic failure and a dark smear on a family name that never truly held weight to her.

Nesta looked up, felt everything all at once again, could only see one man pacing a worn-through tether between them. He wasn’t going to stop this, but she could see it, how it looked like he wanted to jump out of his own flesh, the veins of his arm prominent and knuckles normally so brown a new fresh fallen snow.

There was no prince to save Nesta, much less any will to save herself. So when Mor took the pleasure of bringing her to a living Hell, Nesta did not fight.

She was tired of fighting, after all, she fought an inescapable fate for the first twenty years of her life…

Flowers always made Nesta sneeze, but Elain lit like lights during winter whenever she could thread them through her hair. They all symbolized something, Laine would say. There are ones for good days, and hard storms, for sunshine and stars.

Nesta was always adorned in flowers that paralleled the estate. Astute, cold, tired, where she was warm, comforting, and smelled like cookies- ones that Celia normally baked for the sisters. She never asked Laine why she picked the ones for her that she did, her reasons would stay silent for now.

Spring was a high time of activity in the Archeron estate. There was always a flurry of activity, from preparing their mothers' obscene balls, to guests at every corner in every room. The halls were sprinkled in candles and on walls hung frames nearly kissing it was packed so tight.

They were in the gardens. It was an Elain day, as the girls would call it, and no matter how boring or mundane her wishes were they’d be fulfilled. Nesta was propped on the floor in front of Laine, who was bunching handfuls to weave in tangled auburn coils that gathered on Nesta’s head- as a bird's nest would.

Eventually, Nesta would have to learn braids or risk knotting the curls entirely.

The eldest basked in the silence she created from mentally muting her middle sister, and spared a glance at Feyre. What she saw was not surprising, but required far more willpower than she expected to not burst into laughter and risk the flowery rat's nest on her scalp.

Feyre appeared to be so bored out of her mind she was eating discarded flowers of Elains. Actually, ingesting them, as if she was a critique. When Elain wasn’t looking at Feyre, she’d grab another couple and study them- analyzing her next experiment. Glaring at the blues and yellows as if she was speaking to them, “Which one of you will make me puke the fastest so I can run away?”

In time, Feyre looked up from her taste tests to see Nesta grinning at her so violently you’d think Feyre hung the moon.

And Feyre beamed back, crossing a pinkie across her chest and pointing it back to Nesta. Then she viciously spit out the grass she’d just finished chewing, crying directly at Laine, “This MUST stop at once, my stomach hurts far too much to continue on here.”

Elain, in a garden so quiet, simply ignored her sister's poor attempts at escape. Making Nesta work even harder to stifle the shaking of her shoulders, covering her mouth and nose before she started wheezing. Elain would hardly hurt a fly but sent Nesta a glare that could’ve easily killed a man.

Nesta cleared her throat, “I do believe there are more of the blue flowers down that hill near the pond. Would you mind getting some more for Laine?”

Feyre was already on her feet, mouthing her thanks as Elain turned her back to get the next bunch of flowers, “Why of course I will!” And with a very bad curtsey, Feyre threw off her shoes and was rolling down the hill, spinning wildly, her laughter sure to be heard in meadows far beyond theirs.

You would find the Archeron sisters all together, or never in the same place.

Laine was the easiest to find, by the waters or pond on the east side, in gardens surrounded with bugs and willows calling to the young girl. She could hardly read but if the text included any mention of colors and blooms, suddenly she was a scholar. Elain was not simple or dull, but rather a passive spirit, like a summer wind- brief, fleeting, but teeming with love and hope.

Feyre, as their mother said, was a reckless wild child. Far too young to care, far too small to be whipped into shape. If you were sent to find her and your life depended on it, may the Mother bless you. Feyre liked the kitchen, because of the immaculate food and maids who would shove any sweet down the littlest Archerons throat. But, also for the immeasurable amount of sharp items to be found in there. If it was pointy and could stab a wall or scare their ice-cold mother, Feyre would be running the halls with it in hand or making targets of her fathers old trade route maps.

Then there was Nesta, the firstborn. Molded to be another woman that she somehow couldn’t fit, as if her feet were too big or hair too long, Nesta was outgrowing the standards forged into her being. You would see her as a ghost, floating in and out of rooms, comfortable in silence and slumber, but never escaping people. She loved the maids and could recite all of their names like clockwork, and the workers loved her in turn. Always stuck in new worlds between pages or willingly dragged by the two youngers, Nesta teemed with liberation. She was often alone, but never lonely, and found new loves in the library or in the fields beyond marble confines.

Adela was constantly dissatisfied with her eldest's progress inside these walls, as if at eight she should’ve already been engaged to a prince. Granted, Adela knew better. Nesta would never truly find another kingdom to buy into when she already had a crown waiting for her elsewhere. She was known as fair and beautiful beyond her years, would age like fine wine, and become so much greater than Adela ever was. What Nesta saw as fit would normally come to be, an instinct Adela was unprepared she would inherit. Nothing left her more confused than this daughter only by blood, who was hated by both her parents for reasons far from the same, and how at less than ten years had an entire mansion wrapped around her fingers.

But Adela would wait, and simply leave them be for now. When viper's strike, they kill. And even though the Matron of the house wanted her little queen gone, she had other ways to see this through.

Anyways, children's blood on her hands would stain her diamonds.

---

Cassian

Cassian was violently fucking ill. Watching whatever the fuck that was did not help in the slightest. The second she was gone, so was he.

The General and High Lord were not on speaking terms, his presence was an obligation and not a request. When Rhys first displayed his plans, Cassian just about murdered him. Had his brother on the table in a chokehold that the Shadowsinger had to come and release Rhys from. The way his so-called family planned her exile was… horrific.

Cassian was full of light and humor, but not dull the way his family made him out to be. He could see this for what it was, punishing an already broken female for not meeting every damn need of a fully grown woman that was no longer her responsibility. Cass knew better than to downplay the sacrifices Feyre made, but he was also well aware that Nesta's habits were hardly a financial problem and more of a reputation scandal.

That’s what the High Lord did best, when his Court was breaking at the bonds, the mess would “disappear”. Just like the Illyrians hidden in the mountains, the displaced families of Spring, the homeless warriors of Night.

Cassian loved his brother, but more often than not he wondered when Fate would come to bite them in the asses for Rhys’ neglect.

Now, here he was, in his mothers' cabin, wings dragging behind him wiping tears long since shed over a woman who was thrown to the wolves and torn into so many scraps he wasn’t sure how he could put her together again.

He missed his Nesta, the one who threw glares and begged for her people, not this one who hardly spoke and caved into herself enough that she couldn’t see where she was heading.

Cassian fingered for his mug in the wooden cabinets and hit his mark, soon placing water to heat over a small fire over the counter.

He was not okay, not okay at all.

When you look for something in the dark for too long, you eventually find what you need but not always in the way you expect. Cassian coped the same as Nesta Archeron in his first years post-war. It was suffocating trying to be the happy one while dying inside. He watched men he looked up to fall and a lover he admired take her last breath- too much in far too little time. Cassian was not an idiot, he was simply perplexed. Why was he allowed to grieve in unacceptable manners, but Nesta was a sinner in holy clothing?

Bright walls and unlit rooms in the house were silent, only the winds of the mountains singing outside. The newly dusted snow wrapped the dirt in a delicate kiss- a forbidden touch. It was the peak of winter, just after Feyre’s birthday and another insufferable party.

One that Nesta wasn’t invited to.

Cassian wished he wasn’t invited either.

The cup in his hands was dwarfed in comparison to the bulky Illyrian holding it, but at least it was warm. At least it wasn’t empty.

Because if there was one thing he knew, it could always be worse.

Cassian knew that if things were a little different, he’d be the one sitting in a prison of darkness and Hell because of mistakes made as a child. He’d be exiled by family, cast away by the only living remains of a life once lived.

Nesta didn’t know but long before this he had called it even, their sins atoned for in hurting each other equally.

She was the only one in the world who could tell which smiles he was faking.

To anyone on the outside, one kiss was merely that. How curious it was, the iceberg went far deeper.

So when the mug crashed against the wall, and in its wake resembled his inner turmoil, Cassian took to the skies and found himself at the door of a place far too familiar.

.

.

.

AHHHHHHHH OMG OKAY hope you guys enjoyed this:) if you want to be added to the tag list let me know!

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