#source: a Sky Beyond the Storm

[ceilidho]

take me home, country road

[ao3]

You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (chapter 19)

masterlist

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A blood-orange sun hangs low in the sky.

You might think it ominous on any other day, but not this one. What more adversity could stand in your way? 

Instead of sharing a saddle with John, you ride the same horse that Graves rode out of town. Days spent on horseback have finally caught up to you, pain radiating up and down your legs, a soreness embedded deep in your inner thighs, the skin positively chafed from the constant friction. At least you no longer have the handcuffs digging painfully into your wrists, the metal cuffs long since unlocked using the key in Graves’ pocket and discarded, now lost some acres back for the coyotes and the hares to prod at and sniff. 

You drift in and out of conscious awareness, coming back into your right mind every mile or so, losing track of time along the way. Sometimes you blink and trees disappear out of sight, already ten miles back. Scouring the landscape for something familiar only to come up empty. 

Recent events lour over your conscience. It’s difficult not to let it get to you. So much has happened in such quick succession that part of you still thinks you’re dreaming in the abandoned shack with Graves sleeping just a few feet away. 

A distinct sound scrapes against the inner recesses of your mind and eardrum. If you were to look behind you, you’d find the source of it wrapped in a shroud and dragged behind John’s horse. Drying blood stains the fabric. The head, obscured under the fabric, jostles from side to side as it passes over rocks and undergrowth. 

It’s beyond you now though, the future shuttling forward at an unfathomable speed and taking you with it, willing or not. The world hurrying on to repeat its past mistakes. 

So you don’t look behind you. 

“Won’t be much longer,” your husband murmurs from beside you, speaking just loud enough for you to hear him over the influx of thoughts in your head, which rapidly empty out at the sound of his voice. 

“We can stop for a break after?” you ask, turning your head enough for your eyes to land on the hard, bristled line of his jaw. He nods. 

“Just gotta get this part out of the way.”

He says it so casually, like a bit of unpleasantness that has to be dealt with; no way around it. Unfortunately, a body isn’t something that can be just swept under the rug. No matter how much your muscles beg for a moment’s reprieve, you won’t get it until all the loose ends are tied up. 

“How do you know the land around here so well?” you ask as John leads the two of you deeper into the plains.

“The boys and I have been out here before. Grew up in this county anyway; been wanderin’ these parts since I was born.”

You can’t imagine John as a young boy, uncertain of his place in the world. He seems like someone who emerged from the womb ready-made, already able to skin a deer and build a bushcraft shelter by hand. But he must have been young at one point. 

Finally, he comes upon a suitable place to bury the body. 

Deep in the wilderness, he digs a shallow grave with the short shovel strapped to his horse, sweating up a storm before the hole is big enough to bury the body. You dismount your horse and wander off while John handles the burial. 

This is the part where you have to turn away and pretend it isn’t happening. You stave off the urge to plug your ears and close your eyes. Dogear any page in your life except this one. This is the only memory that you want to fade into obscurity, pretend that it never happened, that this was some bad dream that you only half-remember twenty years from now. 

You glance back only once to find John breathing heavily at the edge of the hole, having just hauled himself out. Sweat slicks his brow and drips down the side of his face near his temple, a dark flush spreading over his cheeks from exertion. Even his shirt is damp with sweat under the pits and around the collar. 

You force yourself to look away. Now is not the time for your libido to trouble you. 

Graves’ body lands with a dull thump when John rolls it into the makeshift grave. You bite your lip and let your eyelids slide shut. Then he starts the process of covering the body, shoveling the dirt back into the hole. It takes a while. An offer to help hovers on the tip of your tongue, but you can’t quite make yourself say the words. 

A half hour later, it no longer matters, the hole covered until the only thing demarcating the grave is the layer of upturned soil, slightly darker than the dirt in the surrounding area.

“That’s it,” John announces, making his way back to you with the shovel slung over his shoulder. You can smell the ripe scent of sweat wafting off him even from a foot away. “Let’s head out; we’ll wanna make camp before it gets dark.”

You don’t answer. Not verbally anyway. The guilt almost makes it hard to breathe. In all your stupidity and poor decision-making, you’ve inadvertently made John an accomplice in your crimes; forced him, in fact, to commit one as heinous as the one that had started this whole debacle. 

You travel the next mile in relative silence, scouring the landscape for a neat patch of land to set up camp. The sun plummets towards the ground at a faster and faster pace until it’s tugged below the horizon, vanishing with a green flash. Then it’s too dangerous to keep going, the way back far too dark to keep traveling down. 

John builds a small fire after tying up the horses for the night. The temperature drops exponentially as the sky darkens, the cold sinking low to the ground. You help with gathering the kindling, mostly twigs and clumps of dry grass, then take the packs off both horses to use as makeshift seats by the fire, unrolling the sleeping bags as well. 

It comes as a relief to finally sit down after the fire is struck. Rest is a double edged sword though; the longer you sit with Graves’ old pack propping you up, the more the pain has time to sink its claws in deep. 

In the hours since he shot Graves, neither of you have spoken more than a few words to each other. You certainly haven’t brought it up. The memory of Graves revealing the truth of what you’d done back east to John looms over you. It’s inevitable that you’ll talk about it eventually though. It’s heavy in the atmosphere, almost oppressive; the weight of everything said and unsaid. You can’t take back what Graves revealed to John. At some point you’ll have to face it. 

At what point will you have to beg for forgiveness? It sits on the tip of your tongue. 

The small fire crackles in front of you. Red tongues of flames lick at the darkness, the light extending out in a circle around the two of you. You’re grateful for the warmth though, particularly after spending the previous night in the cold.  

“Nothing to eat, m’afraid,” he says apologetically, brow creasing. “I didn’t exactly pack before coming after you.”

You shake your head. “That’s fine. I’m not hungry anyway.”

In a few more hours, you might work up an appetite again, but for now, you couldn’t be further from it. All you want to do is lie down on your bed back home and sleep through to the next day. 

“Yeah,” John sighs. “Me neither.”

He picks up your hand and holds it in his for a time. It’s strange how such a small gesture has become such an immense comfort for you. You wish you could thread your fingers through his and bring his hand up to your lips to kiss all over, but you’re too tired for a gesture of that magnitude. 

When he lets go of your hand, it’s only to transfer it to your face. His thumb runs over your split lip, pulling away when you wince. “Looks like it’s healing on its own.”

“That’s good,” you mumble. “��It hurt a lot more yesterday.”

John’s nostrils flare. The fire reflects off his eyes in such a way that, for a moment, it almost looks like it’s coming from within him. “I’d kill him again if I could.”

Your stomach clenches at the ferocity behind his words. 

“You—you shouldn’t have done it in the first place,” you croak. “Not when he was—” right, you don’t say. Right to haul you out of town by your hair and drag you back to the scene of the crime, back to pay for what you’d done. 

“Now I ain’t gonna hear you go spoutin’ that horseshit,” he growls, clasping you by the back of your neck and tugging you to his side. It’s so sudden that your butt skids across the ground, raking up a small mound of dirt with the weight of your body.

You look away, unable to meet his eyes even as he pulls you forward until you’re nearly nose to nose. “It’s not—”

“Yes, it is, darlin’. That shit weren’t none of your fault. You ain’t done a thing wrong by keeping yourself safe.” 

It’s almost hard to hear. It’s taken you months to scrub the dirt from your soul, which until recently was raw to the touch and pained you to even think back on. And the hopelessness. And the longing, the irreversibility of it; irreversible in the way that you couldn’t turn your pain inside out. You could never go back to the way things were because the only way out was to keep on trudging forward. 

Like rain in a drought, you’ve been missing someone’s mercy. You’ve been waiting for someone to come and forgive you for your sins; someone to absolve you of them. 

You lean forward, burying your face in his neck. Not making much of a sound except for a harsh exhale, your throat quavering with something unsaid. 

Then you grip him by the back of his shirt and pull him to the ground with you. 

Out in the open like this, John doesn’t dare remove your clothes, but he does reach beneath your dress to pull off your underclothes. He’s silent through it all, eyes fixed on yours. Never wavering or dropping your gaze. It’s intoxicating to be stared at with such a fierce intensity. Vaguely overwhelming, the sensation creeping up your chest and lodging in your throat. 

The light of the fire he built for the two of you flickers across his skin, illuminating his face in shades of orange and gold. 

He holds your gaze when he rucks the skirt of your dress up and crawls down the length of your body until his mouth is level with your center, slick already dripping from your sex. Your breathing goes haggard, anticipating his mouth before it’s suddenly there between your thighs, planting a gentle kiss on your inner thigh before dragging his lips over your sensitive skin until they brush your clit. Your mouth opens to a soundless gasp. Electrical impulses travel up your spine, your arching back following their trajectory. 

He pulls back to stare at your dripping hole. “Missed me, my love?” 

You’d answer if you could form words, but then you realize who he’s talking to and your mind goes blank. 

When he runs his tongue up the seam of your pussy, you jolt, legs slung over his shoulders kicking at the air. He eats you out with gusto, with reverence, sighing into your pussy that it’s been too long, that he’d worried himself nearly half to death over you. 

Rough hands hold you by your waist and pull you down onto his face. Long, crude licks of his tongue, rubbing the flat of it over your clit until you’re a roiling, twisting hotbed of pent up arousal. 

The urge to suppress your noises is almost overwhelming. When you twist your head from side to side, there’s nothing but miles of land; trees and shrubbery and a deep, impenetrable darkness. Not another person around for miles. It makes you shiver when you stare out into it. 

“I can’t, I can’t, I can’t—” you gasp, chest getting tighter and tighter until you expect it to burst but it doesn’t. It stays all pent up, all itchy and scratchy and you can feel the sweat slicking the small of your back and the blood furiously rushing to your cheeks, heating you up from the inside out. Sweat-laden and flustered. 

Your toes curl in your boots, throat tightening up the closer it gets. All it takes to push you over the edge is John cupping his hands under your butt to tilt your hips up, licking you from hole to hole. The impertinence and thrill sends a rush through your body, the coil in your belly twisting and releasing, core pulsing around nothing. Your body gives a violent jolt when he gives your clit one last wet, suckling kiss.

“Are you comfortable like this, darlin’, or should I wait until we’re home?” John asks when he positions himself over you again, beard still wet with your desire and a big hand cupping the front of his trousers. You stare down at the hair dusting his knuckles and the bulge straining against his pants. 

The shadows make it seem even larger than usual. Your throat goes dry the longer you stare down at where he fists his length through his trousers.

“Darlin’?” he repeats, drawing your attention back up to his face.

“Oh?” you ask, cheeks heating. “I’m, um…I’m quite comfortable.”

It seems absurd to have such a conversation when your husband’s hand is reaching into his trousers to pull out his cock and fuck you with it, but the nervous tickle in your belly is far from unpleasant. 

He’s so careful with you, cognizant that your muscles are already sore and aching from days of being on the road and the abuse Graves put you through. Gentle hands maneuver your legs around his hips and move your hair from your face. Again your belly flips. 

Your grunt is involuntary when he first pushes in, walls stretching around the head of his cock. It hasn’t been long enough for the blunt intrusion to be painful, but it’s overwhelming all the same. You wince and grimace through it all. 

“Easy does it. You’re alright,” John shushes when you whimper, rough hand cupping your cheek. It sends a thrill down your spine, but doesn’t lessen the intensity. 

He stays like that for a time, hovering over you and stroking a thumb over your cheekbone until you relax around his girth, gradually finding your breath again. In and out; one after the other. When he pulls his hand away, it’s to plant his forearms on the ground beside your head and grind his hips forward, taking your breath away. 

“Oh Lord,” you wheeze, then brace your hands around his neck. 

“You’re doing great, darlin’. Just hold on; I’ve got ya.”

It’s nothing like the times before; your arms link around his neck and your breath goes shallow, hitching with every measured thrust. It’s too much and not enough. You feel windswept and battered, bruises smarting now that you’ve had time to feel them, but still you need more from him. 

He works himself into the wet flex of your pussy with slow, heavy thrusts. Taking his time. Not rushing it just yet because though the threat of you being taken from him still looms over his head, he’s sated his bloodlust. His reassurance now comes in the form of your legs spread to receive him and the fat head of his cock fitting snugly in you. 

The heels of your boots press firm against the flesh above his buttocks. Taking him this way with your clothes still on feels debaucherous, filthier than usual; like you were so desperate to have your husband inside you, that you couldn’t even be bothered to remove your garments. 

He must feel the way that thought heats you up because he rasps, “Need a lil somethin’, love?” 

Before you can even answer, he’s reached a hand down and tucked it between your thighs to strum the tight bundle of nerves at the apex of your sex. 

“John—”

Your fingernails must dig into the back of his neck because he grunts. Serves him right, you think, digging your nails in all the harder when grinds a knuckle against your clit and you briefly see stars. 

You’re splintering down to the root, coming apart in his hands like clay; when he says your name, the darkness fades and for a moment, you’re in the light, a shaft of it haloing your face. Chasing it no matter how fast it runs. A hare in a snare, a shadow captured in the palm of your hand. 

It comes fluttering down from somewhere beyond sight. Gasped out in another voice, a truer voice. From the depths of you, true as stone and air. 

“I love you.”

Give it time and it’ll come naturally. Now, it comes as a gut punch. Even John stills over you when he hears the words, and you can feel the shudder that runs through him under your fingertips. There’s no time to sit and talk about it though, not with the frenzy that comes over him, blue eyes glazed over by a manic glint. 

He braces one hand on the top of your head and surges forward, so rough with you that your teeth clack together, eyes rolling back in your head. 

“Say it again,” John growls, leaning down until his mouth is right next to your ear. 

“I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you—”

Then it hits you. A wall of heat. Your belly rolling and cheeks burning, walls squeezing around John’s cock, tighter with every thrust. You yelp when he lifts himself off you to yank the skirt of your dress up higher and presses his hands to your inner thighs, spreading your legs wider for him. Bullies his cock into your channel even as you try to squeeze him out, pounding into you until the lurid torrent of words spilling out of his mouth go slurred and his release floods into you, his hips slapping against yours until he’s emptied the last of his spend into your womb. 

It’s a while before either of you can move after that. Your energy melts into the ground like rainwater, purifying the earth. Maybe life is already germinating beneath you, grass seedlings about to burst from the dirt, flower buds curled up in tight coils until they’re ready to bloom. 

Your hands shake when you lift one up to wipe the sweat from your face. 

When he finally pulls out of you, the feeling of his come leaking down your inner thighs makes you fussy. You lift your thighs just enough to let him pull your drawers back up before lying back down, no energy left in you to do more than that. You only scrunch your nose a little at the feeling of your combined juices already wetting the gusset.

Time seems to come apart and then piece back together. You roll over onto your side and nestle up against John’s chest, staring up at him wordlessly. His eyes stay shut for some time until he feels your stare on him and they peel open, the color of his irises barely discernible in the flickering light. 

“Somethin’ on your mind?” he asks in a tone so devoid of accusation or condemnation that you’re almost thrown by it. He says it like it’s just another day, like something horrible and monumental didn’t just happen. 

It takes you a while to find the words. Even when you do, they come out jumbled and disjointed. “How long have you…—when did you find out?”

“‘Bout what happened back East?” he clarifies, blunt as usual. 

The question makes you swallow impulsively, anxiety secreting from you again. “Yes.”

John looks up into the dark sky, quiet for a spell. “Not until recently. The arrest warrant drifted across my desk probably around the time Graves first stopped by. Wasn’t hard to put two and two together after that—you showing up in a tizzy around the same time as the warrant was issued. General description matched as well.”

You feel a bit foolish in retrospect, certain that you were getting away with it all this time. 

“You know my name.”

“I do.”

“My real name.”

“In a manner of speaking. Got yourself a new last name since then though, didn’t you?”

Your lips pull up at the corners involuntarily. “Yes. I guess so.”

You can almost hear it now. The penultimate note of the overture writhing against convalescence like you might stay this way for a second longer. But it isn’t right to keep feeling the same old pain. At some point, it has to heal. 

“Hey,” John says, giving your shoulder a little shake to draw your attention back to him. The look in his eyes is serious. “This is as far as the story goes, alright?”

You stare up at him silently until you nod against his chest. 

“You’re my wife. End of story. The rest ain’t anyone’s business but ours.”

Off in the distance, an owl hoots, and its call hits your ear as a distant evocation to sleep. You press one last kiss to his chest before rolling off him, letting him put the fire out before the two of you turn in for the night, and then drawing a blanket over the both of you. 

And then, you go to sleep.

[beloveds-embrace]

Quotation marks around worshippers because they’ve lived long, brutal lives, constantly in war and fights and skirmishes and tearing others apart in a bid to simply survive and keep a malicious god content enough it doesn’t kill them and destroy what little they’ve fought hard to win.

John is the oldest. He’s lived long enough to know hope is just a word made by those already deafeated. It doesn’t exist. He has fought bloody and dirty to have his own spot. It’s all his, his only source of safety and isolation from the rest of the god’s violent domain. It should be just his, because trust should also not exist.

Yet he still took in Ghost. His old name burnt away in the ashes of the crumbling arena, more scars than clear skin, face hidden with a mask and all his opponents dead, John still took him in.

He also takes in Johnny. Bright Johnny, with blood coating his teeth and who laughs in the face of death, as if the chaos only strengthens him. Johnny, with his wild grin and reckless spirit, has survived every fight, every slaughter, not by brute force alone but by sheer audacity. He revels in the violence, thriving in the blood-soaked madness that their war god delights in. Despite John’s reluctance, Johnny becomes part of his world- part of the strange, brutal family they’ve formed under the watchful eye of a cruel god.

But John doesn’t stop there. He takes in Kyle, too. Kyle, quick and resourceful, with sharp eyes and sharper instincts. He’s newer to this war, but no less hardened. He knows how to fight, how to survive. He has to, in order to endure the hellish existence demanded by their god. Like the others, he’s marked by the battles he’s fought, by the lives he’s taken, the blood that stains his hands. There’s no room for softness here, no room for weakness.

Together, the four of them are bound by the violence they’ve endured and the desperate struggle to appease a god who feeds on their suffering. They don’t question it. They don’t dare. It’s all they’ve ever known. It’s all they’ll ever know.

Then, you arrive.

But you’re not just some strange outsider, not just another fragile soul lost in the wasteland of their god’s domain. You are another god- a goddess. The goddess of fertility, of harvest, of life itself. The opposite of everything they know. Where they come from a world of blood and fire, you bring growth, peace, and something they can’t name- something they’ve long forgotten.

John is the first to notice the change. It’s subtle at first. The small patch of ground he’s claimed for himself, once barren and dead, begins to show signs of life beyond the very little moss that has made itself home on the rocks and cracks of his area. Tiny sprigs of green push up through the cracked earth, the soil somehow softer, richer. He doesn’t understand it, but he feels it- something shifting, something outside of his control. It leaves him with his hackles raised, eyes narrowed and shoulders often tense.

(He doesn’t shove you out. Doesn’t fight, or attack, or kill you. He doesn’t know why he lets you stay, like that moss that lingers.)

Ghost remains quiet, watchful as always. He doesn’t speak of it, but he, too, notices the strange calm that seems to settle around them when you’re near. The land seems less hostile, the sky a less oppressive red and more of a deep orange. It’s unsettling in a way that makes him wary, but he’s drawn to you nonetheless. There’s something about you that soothes the storm inside him, something that makes the endless violence seem… far away.

Johnny, in contrast, is the first to approach you openly, grinning through bloodstained teeth. “Yer naw like the rest of us, bonnie.” he says with a laugh, almost in awe. He doesn’t know why he feels at ease around you, why the chaos in his mind quiets when you’re near, but he doesn’t question it. You smile at him, your touch soft as you brush dirt from your hands, tending to the small garden you’ve coaxed from the dead soil.

Kyle watches from a distance, suspicious at first. He’s seen enough in this brutal world to know nothing good comes without a cost. But as the days pass, he, too, begins to feel the shift. There’s a strange sense of peace when you’re around, a warmth that feels foreign but not unwelcome.

They don’t realize it at first, but you’re pulling them out of the war god’s grasp, slowly, gently, without them even knowing. With every seed you plant, with every gentle touch, you weave them further into your domain the same way your hands weave flower crowns for each of them. They don’t know that the violent god they served is weakening, that his power is crumbling as you pull the earth itself away from him, reclaiming it for yourself.

The land around them begins to change. The once-scorched earth softens beneath their feet. Where the air was once thick with ash and smoke, it now carries the scent of growing things, of rain, of life. They don’t understand how it’s happening, why the violence that once defined their world seems to be fading, but they can feel it.

And you, always quiet, always gentle, never tell them the truth.

They don’t know that you’ve been dismantling the war god’s domain piece by piece, tearing down the walls of blood and fire that have kept them trapped for so long. They don’t know that with every moment they spend in your presence, they’re moving further from the god they once served, deeper into your realm of peace and growth.

Their trust for you starts small.

You offer them food, but not the scavenged scraps they’re used to- fresh bread, warm and soft, made from the grain you’ve grown in the earth that once seemed too dead to nourish anything. “Eat,” you tell them with a soft smile, your voice a balm against the harshness of their world. “You’ve fought enough for now.”

John eyes you warily at first, his mistrust of softness deeply ingrained. He hesitates, but the hunger gnaws at him, and he finds himself taking a piece. It’s better than anything he’s tasted in years. The others follow suit, their suspicion momentarily forgotten in the simple act of sharing a meal.

When Ghost returns from another brutal skirmish, bloodied and bruised, you’re there. Quietly, without a word, you kneel beside him and start tending to his wounds. His body tenses at first and he is almost read to push you away- he’s used to pain, used to enduring it alone. But your touch is gentle, your hands soft and careful as you clean his cuts and wrap his injuries. He doesn’t speak. When this simple act becomes a routine, something begins to flicker in his eyes, something he hasn’t felt in a long time: relief. Safety.

“You don’t have to fight alone, not anymore.” you murmur, and though Ghost doesn’t reply, he doesn’t pull away either. The next time he’s hurt, he seeks you out before anyone else.

Johnny, always bold, is the first to embrace your presence without hesitation. He grins when you touch his arm, your fingers brushing away dirt from his skin. “You’re soft,” he says quietly, as if he can’t quite believe someone like you exists in their world. You only laugh gently and tousle his messy mohawk, unfazed by his wildness. “Maybe,” you reply, “You deserve it. All of you.”

Johnny’s grin widens, and soon, he’s lingering around you more often, like a star drawn to the sun’s orbit. He chatters about nothing and everything- battles he’s won, places he’s seen, jokes that make no sense. And you listen, never once judging the darkness behind his stories, always meeting his reckless energy with calm kindness.

And Kyle… Kyle is the last to trust. He watches you from a distance, wary and skeptical. He’s been burned too many times, lost too much to believe in something as simple as kindness. But even he can’t deny the peace that settles over him when you’re near. One evening, after a particularly grueling fight, you sit beside him, your presence quiet and soothing. You don’t push, don’t ask him to open up. You just sit there, offering him a slice of bread and a cup of fresh water.

“Why are you helping us?” Kyle asks, his voice low, guarded.

You smile, your eyes warm. Your face is always so open, so welcoming. Kyle does not know how you do it. “Because you’ve fought enough. You deserve rest. Peace.”

He doesn’t respond, but the tension in his shoulders eases just a little. He still watches you from the corner of his eye, but slowly, he begins to let down his guard.

As the days pass, you continue to tend to them- feeding them, healing them, offering warmth in a world where warmth is rare. They don’t understand it at first, but they begin to feel the shift. The land around them is changing, softening. The earth that was once barren begins to bloom with life. Where there was only death and destruction, now there are signs of growth- flowers, crops, greenery creeping up through the cracks in the wasteland.

John, who has spent his entire life guarding himself, feels it most of all. He watches you with something like confusion, like a man seeing the sun for the first time after years of darkness. He doesn’t understand why he feels calmer, why the constant tension in his body is easing. But despite his better judgment, he finds himself drawn to you- drawn to the softness he’s fought so hard to keep out.

You smile at him, always gentle, always kind, even when he’s rough around the edges. “You don’t have to fight anymore, John,” you tell him one evening as you hand him a fresh scone, drizzled with sweet honey and cream. “There’s more to life than just surviving. Let me show it to you.”

Ghost remains distant, but even he starts to let his guard down around you. The mask he wears, both literal and figurative, feels less necessary when you’re near. The weight of the violence he’s carried for so long feels lighter, though he doesn’t know why. It helps that he comes to you for every injury, your hands gentle and tender on his scarred skin.

Johnny is the most at ease with you, laughing more, fighting less, as though the fire that once consumed him is finally starting to burn out. And Kyle, ever watchful, finds himself relaxing for the first time in a long while, though he’s still unsure why he feels so drawn to you, so at peace in your presence.

Little by little, without them even realizing it, you’re pulling them away from the war god who has held them captive for so long. You’re bringing them into your world, a world of life and peace, where they can be more than just warriors, more than just tools of violence.

And the war god, once so powerful, is fading. His domain is crumbling, and soon, he will be nothing more than a memory.

But they don’t know. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

There is no need to drag them into what happens between gods, you reason to yourself, humming a sweet melody. Catching John’s gaze- they are working on your ever-expanding garden, tending to the soil- you smile and wave at him, delighted by the way his shoulders untense.

Yes. There is no need to ruin this little haven you’ve created.

[sweetercalypso]

New Gods ✩ Abby Anderson

Word Count: 2.8k

Summary: The first time Abby meets seraphite!reader, she shows her mercy. The second time they meet, reader repays her kindness

Notes: minors dni; fingering and oral (Abby rec.), semi-public sex, afab reader, dom!Abby, mean!Abby, mentions of guns, brief violence, religious references, enemies to lovers

When Abby hears that she’s being put on a patrol headed for the abandoned side of town, she thinks it’s a joke.

Surely this was some form of punishment, or a test of her loyalty to Isaac’s command. Two weeks in an unoccupied base with a batch of new recruits – it has to be a mistake.

It’s not until the transport truck pulls away from the stadium that Abby accepts the reality of the situation, groaning into her hands to hide her indignation.

The only good thing about this patrol, she thinks, is that absolutely nothing can go wrong.

Abby and her entourage of WLF recruits arrive at their assigned base late in the evening, the sun already sinking low behind Seattle’s derelict skyline.

The city is silent beyond the hum of the armored truck rolling to a stop in front of an old office building. Years ago, the area had been a thriving hub of WLF activity, but the threat of Seraphite armies had shifted attention elsewhere, leaving the bases to sit empty and collecting dust.

Abby swallows her complaints as the truck’s engine shuts off, leaving a jarring silence that prompts her fellow gunmen to turn their collective attention towards her.

Her expertise is better suited to combat than to training, and the thought of being in charge of four wide-eyed rookies makes her question the sanity of whoever put this team together.

She briefly explains the patrol assignment before dolling out tasks to each of the recruits, leaving herself the duty of surveying the perimeter.

Early WLF soldiers had cleared most of the infected while the area was still active, and with the lack of excitement in the streets, Abby returns to the base with the verdict that this patrol will be entirely uneventful.

While the others are setting up camp on the second floor – five cots lined against a wall with a radio station by the windows and supply crates littered around the room – Abby keeps herself busy with watching the thick, heavy clouds rolling in the distance.

She imagines what she might be doing if she had been placed on a different patrol and she crosses her arms over her chest with a bitter sigh.

 Anything has to be more exciting than this.

 –

Abby awakens while the sky is still dark, the remaining light of dusk swallowed by the inky black threat of storm clouds overhead.

Thunder cracks viciously in the air, rumbling the dusty room and promising to crumble the building’s frame already bowing under years of neglect.

The sound of her distress is barely audible over the harsh rain beating against the windows and, for a moment, Abby can’t remember where she is.

Her mouth feels dry, and it takes an effort to slow her labored breaths. She runs a hand over her face, wiping away her momentary confusion before checking that the other patrollers are still asleep, slipping off her cot and stumbling blindly through the darkened room.

Her weapons and her pack are still resting against a nearby crate, exactly where she’d left them. She slips the strap of her backpack between her fingers, hoping that the familiar worn canvas will distract from the deafening thunder crackling in her ears.

She holds her breath and counts the seconds between the streaks of lightning and claps of thunder – a trick her dad had taught her when she was young.

Somewhere between flash and bang, the sound of footsteps overhead catches Abby’s attention. Her head jerks up towards the source of the noise and she quickly forgets about the looming urgency of bad weather.

The door to the stairwell is propped open, and although Abby knows it was left ajar to air out the stuffy office space, she can’t help but imagine something sinister looming beyond the doorway.

She grabs the closest gun and makes her way to the stairs, listening for the sounds of movement overhead.

All the floors had been checked for infected and all the windows had been secured, but Abby still couldn’t shake the thought of someone invading their base in the dead of night.

She treads up the stairs and pushes the door open, only to be met with the sight of a lonely silhouette moving through the darkness. Abby jumps into action just as she’d been taught, heart thumping wildly as she raises her weapon and aims.

“Get on the ground – now!”

She spits out the stern command, harsh but still quiet enough that it barely fills the room. Despite the anger twisting in her chest, she’s rational enough to know better than to alert the other patrollers sleeping downstairs.

From the looks of it, the intruder was here alone, unarmed. It seemed better to deal with the situation on her own than to cause unwarranted panic the first night in to a new assignment.

The sound of her voice must’ve caught you by surprise because you stop dead in your tracks, not even moving to lunge for cover from the stranger gunning you down.

Illuminated by only the sharp flashes of lightning cutting through the shadows, it takes a moment for Abby to piece together the scene before her.

You’re soaked to the bone, cloaked in brown cloth and shivering from the rain clinging to your skin.

At first, she thought you might’ve been a soldier from another patrol, separated from your group and seeking shelter in an expectedly empty outpost. Or maybe you could’ve been a straggler roaming the city in search of supplies left behind by its former inhabitants.

But when a crack of lightning catches your features at the right angle, Abby recognizes the mark stretching across your cheek, and realization washes over her.

“Fucking Scars.”

She keeps her gun steady, though her fingers flex against the heavy, steel grip.  

With eyes trained diligently on your figure, she closes the distance between the two of you in a few short steps, scowling when she’s close enough to discern the look of confusion on your face.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” She doesn’t wait for a reply, shoving the muzzle of her gun roughly into your shoulder and spitting out a sharp “answer me”.

Her boot hits the back of your leg and you crumble into the floor with swallowed discontent.

“I’m not- I didn’t know you would be here.” You scramble to explain yourself, chancing a look at Abby standing behind you. She pushes her gun further into your shoulder, silently instructing your gaze back to the floor.

“This building’s supposed to be empty. It says so on the map.”

“You’re spying on our bases?” Her voice rises with every word, no longer concerned with who might hear. “Planning a fucking ambush?”

“No! Nothing like that. I’m not a soldier, I was supposed to collect supplies from the city, but I got caught in the rain.”

She laughs and rolls her shoulders reflexively.

“I don’t care why you’re here – Scars don’t get second chances.”

Thunder rattles the thin-paned windows lining the room. Abby’s heartbeat fills her ears. Prayer tumbles from your lips like the nervous chatter of teeth – uneasy, repetitive, instinctive.

Abby had never given much thought to prayer before, especially not that of a Scar. It’s always the same routine pleading that’ll never be answered. But it doesn’t sound like you’re begging for salvation, it sounds like you’re making peace.

Something about the situation doesn’t seem fair. You’re completely helpless, caught in a trap you couldn’t see laid out in front of you. Your people must’ve known something like this could happen, yet they sent you into the wolves’ den, anyway – a sacrificial lamb led to the slaughter.

A foreign pang of uncertainty resonates through Abby’s chest, and she lowers her gun with a shake of her head.

“Just- just go.”

A beat passes before you look back at Abby in disbelief. You gape blankly at her for a moment before mouthing a small “what?”.

She huffs impatiently and grabs you by the arm, hauling you up from your position on the floor. If anyone came in and found the two of you standing this close, you’d both be dead before you could part.

“Leave. Now. If the others find you here, they won’t be so nice.”

Her eyes flit over your face, searching for confirmation that she was doing the right thing. She expected to find fear etched into your features, maybe gratefulness, or even shock. But she’s met with only curiosity in your wide, unblinking eyes.

She pushes you away and turns to leave before she can change her mind, shutting the door behind her with a soft thud.

Abby knows what the other patrollers would’ve done if they had found you first. She knows what she would’ve done if the circumstances had been different.

You should be dead – or worse. It hadn’t been that long since she’d assisted in the interrogations that happened to Scars who’d been captured and strung up in cells for the rest of their days.

When Abby thinks about those people now, only one face stares back at her.

–

The next morning, Abby is forced to bite her tongue when someone finds the upstairs window open, raindrops clinging to the wood frame serving as the only evidence of your intrusion.

She blames it on one of the other patrollers, suggesting that they didn’t do a thorough enough sweep the night before, but not everyone is convinced.  

They search the building anyway but come up empty-handed, and the situation is defused and entirely forgotten by midday.

For the remainder of their two-week patrol, Abby wonders if you had really been there at all, or if you were a product of some underlying guilt she had stored in the back of her mind. She would stay up through night and listen for the sound of footsteps, not sure if she should feel relief or disappointment when the mornings arrived without any sign of you.

When the familiar rumble of the armored truck rolls in to collect Abby and the recruits, she returns to the stadium and does her best to keep you off her mind.

She volunteers for extra shifts; she monitors the communications radio; she listens to stories of other patrollers and wonders if they’re describing you in their encounters with unnamed and faceless Scars.

When she hears about another group headed for the abandoned side of the city, she jumps at the opportunity to join their patrol. Anything for some peace of mind, she tells herself.

They’re dropped off in front of a different building, a couple blocks west of where her last patrol had been located. Abby’s chest deflates when she realizes the absurdity of her desire to find you again.

It’d been weeks since she’d let you go, and surely you’d learned your lesson about venturing near WLF bases alone. Maybe you hadn’t, and someone else had found you before Abby had the chance.

She shivers at the thought and moves to catch up with the rest of her team, abandoning her concern for something more practical.

She offers to check the upper floors while the others bring in supplies, and no one objects to avoiding the endless flights of stairs and dusty rooms waiting for her.

Four floors up, Abby stops to inspect a window that had been broken some time ago. Shards of glass and a handful of dead leaves lay at her feet, and when stoops down to look for anything out of the ordinary, the door to the stairwell creaks shut behind her.

“It’s you.”

Her head whips around at the sound of your voice, familiar but different now that you’re no longer at her will.

From where she stands, Abby can see the way your chest rises and falls with anticipation, the way your hands twist at your sides. She waits for you to speak again, but the room falls silent.

“What’re you doing here?” she hisses, praying that the others were too busy to come check on her progress.

“I heard the truck – I knew you were coming.”

Abby frowns and moves a step closer. “Are you trying to get yourself killed? Do you know how many of those soldiers downstairs would like to get their hands on you?”

You cock your head to the side, as if you didn’t understand.

“You saved my life once already. I wouldn’t have come if I thought I’d be in danger.”

She scoffs at the presumption that she would betray her people again, but a small voice reminds her that’s exactly what she’d planned to do.

She moves past you to leave but you stop her with a hand laid over her arm. Abby’s jaw tenses at the contact, but when her resentful gaze flickers up to meet yours, she’s met with the same unabashed interest you’d worn before.

“I owe you, wolf. The Prophet commands us to repay those who show mercy.”

You pause before continuing. “Anything you want, it’s yours.”

Abby takes a moment to consider. What does she want?

She wants your leader’s head at her feet; she wants to make her friends proud; she wants to understand why she had let you go that night in the storm.

Her eyes trail down to your lips, to the mottled scar etched into your cheek. She wonders what you’d look like without its crooked ridges marring your skin. She wonders how it would feel under her hands.

It catches you both off guard when her parted lips press against yours, teeth clacking together from the fervency of her kiss.

Her hand comes up to cup the back of your neck, though she’s not sure if she wants to pull you closer or push you away. She grunts into your mouth and slides her other hand around your waist. An unfamiliar heat licks at the base of your spine.

“I want you to thank me for letting you go,” she declares.

Seraphite leaders had spoken on end about the corrupt morals of ‘new world’ adherents, but this was not the danger you’d learned to fear. Abby was unique, addicting, and you wanted more.

You fall to your knees at her feet, almost a mirror image of the night you’d met. This time, however, you’re the one in control.

She hums and rubs the pad of her thumb over her swollen bottom lip, still wet with your spit. “That’s a good start.”

Nimble fingers work open the button of her jeans, shimmying the dark denim down her toned, freckled thighs. Her black boxers follow suit, revealing a smattering of blonde hair trailing down from her naval.

Your hands smooth over her heated skin, palming at her hips in an attempt to pull her closer. She concedes and shuffles forward until her cunt presses to your awaiting mouth and your tongue dips out to taste her.

It’s like nothing either of you have experienced – the guilt of betraying your own people, the trust that comes from such inconceivable circumstances. It’s all too much to comprehend, so you choose to ignore it for the time being.

Abby’s head tips back with a sigh, little breaths and chirps of pleasure pushed from her lungs as your tongue flattens over her clit.

It almost looks like you’re praying, Abby decides. Kneeling in front of your altar, eyes screwed shut, searching for a sign from some divine being. She cards her fingers through your hair and tugs at the roots, pulling you impossibly closer.

It’s messy, greedy, downright sinful the way you press your mouth to her. Slick coats your chin and your cheeks, glistening in the dim light streaming through the windows.

You’re spurred on by the way she tilts her hips, the wet squelch of her cunt against your mouth. Her thighs flex against the sides of your face, smothering your cheeks in her arousal.

“Ah- just like that.”

In addition to your tongue roaming everywhere you can reach, your thumb comes up to rub firm circles against her clit. After a moment, you switch positions, dragging your fingers through her slick and dipping two digits inside her.

She gasps at the intrusion and bucks her hips harshly, urging you to move faster. Your fingers curl inside her, driving into that gummy spot at the top of her walls while you suction her clit into your mouth.

“Fuck,” she pants, grinding down on your mouth. “M’gonna come.”

It’s not long before she’s shuddering through her release, choking back a poorly suppressed moan while she fights to keep her eyes open. You continue to work over her mound until she releases your hair from her grip and takes half a step back on shaky legs.

Remembering her earlier request for gratitude, you lean back on your heels and lick the remnants of her slick from your lips.

“Thank you, wolf.”

She looks down as if she’d only just remembered you were there and her eyes sparkle with renewed interest. A lazy smirk tugs at the corners of her mouth.

“You gonna stay so I can return the favor?”

[kaiser1ns]

#. THE KISS OF THE SIREN

featuring 𝘂𝗺𝗲𝗺𝗶𝘆𝗮 𝗵𝗮𝗷𝗶𝗺𝗲 𝘅 𝗳𝗲𝗺!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

romance + angst. the captain of the seven seas, always wanted to see a siren, but never expected to fall in love with one.

wc :: 11,2k. thank you my lovely @kiurona for the amazing art of pirate ume! this is our mini collab, so go support her amazing art right now ♡

at such a young age, pirate captain!umemiya hajime became a threat to all on the seven seas, be it to other pirate crews, sea monsters or creatures, name it he fought it, causing fear and terror only by the mention of his name. he had faced countless dangers, still there was one mystery that had always kept him with so many questions in his mind—the legendary sirens.

legends spoke of their voices luring sailors to their doom, of the riches that could be gained from a single siren scale, and even of wishes being granted to those who managed to capture one. yet, despite all the tales, he had never once seen a siren himself. this kept him on his toes over the years, a curiosity that grew stronger with each passing sail with the ship.

the older pirates would laugh, with the memory of their own youthful days. "they’re everywhere, son," they would say, "but you’ll find them mostly where the sea is the most dangerous. deep waters, where the rocks cut through ships and the storms never seem to end. that’s where they make their homes, creating oases in the middle of nowhere, drawing in sailors with their voices." they spoke of siren scales as treasures more valuable than gold, rumored to grant wishes. but pirate captain!umemiya hajime didn’t care about wishes. all he wanted was to see one of these creatures with his own eyes since no one had seen one, and even if they did — they never came back.

the captain set sail towards the treacherous waters the old sailors had described. his crew watched as their captain steered them into the heart of danger. as the days passed, they began to grow tired and restless. one by one, they succumbed to deep slumber until only umemiya remained awake.

he heard it—a voice unlike any he’d ever known. gentle, melodic, and so enchanting. the sound stirred him from his half-slumber, pulling him from his quarters up to the deck. he stumbled, still caught between the real and dream world, searching for the source of the song.

and then he saw her beneath the moonlight, perched on a rock just beyond the reach of his ship, was the most beautiful creature he had ever laid eyes on. her skin shimmered like pearls, her e/c eyes reflected the night sky, and her voice—oh, her voice was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard. she opened her arms, beckoning him to join her in the water below, her song filling his head with thoughts of peace, of numerous illusions about him being the pirate king, the strongest and richest of them all.

he felt himself stepping closer, the rail of the ship pressing against his waist as he prepared to leap overboard. but something snapped him back to reality. he realized he was on the brink of being pulled under, of losing himself to the siren’s call. as he tore his gaze away and stumbled back, breathing heavily as he watched her continue to sing, he had never seen such beauty, it was dangerous, so unreal and magical and then she dived gracefully back into the ocean, disappearing, leaving him alone with the memory of her haunting melody.

the next day, the bofurin crew reached a port town, the older pirates immediately asked about his quest, and they were surprised to see him alive. "so captain, did you see one of them?" but they decided to be kind to him and to get him a drink. "i did, sir." the young man answered putting his hat down as he received his drink, "she was only one, but her voice was so powerful that it enchanted everyone on board, i almost died too." pirate captain!umemiya hajime recounted the encounter, leaving out no detail until the moment he stopped himself from jumping. the old man nodded, some laughing softly, others looking at him with respect. “you’ve seen one and lived to tell the tale. that’s more than most can say,” they remarked, patting him on the back.

but the memory of that song, that face, wouldn’t leave him. days passed, and though the crew indulged in the town’s distractions, pirate captain!umemiya hajime found himself wandering, with no direction in mind during one of these aimless strolls, in the bustling heart of the town, when he heard it—the same melody carried on the wind like a whisper from the sea.

he froze, his heart pounding as he followed the sound through the crowd. there, in the center of the square, surrounded by laughing children and townsfolk, was the girl from the ocean. no, not a girl—a siren, as beautiful and mesmerizing as the night he first saw her, but now she had legs and her skin wasn't as silver as the moon, she was like a human now, but her eyes and hair color were still the same.

"big sister y/n is so pretty! she is like a princess!" the little kids watched her in awe as they danced around her. she sang with the same divine voice, but this time there was no danger in her song, only joy and light. as she finished, she turned and locked eyes with him. recognition flashed across her face, and without hesitation, she bolted, leaving the crowd bewildered.

pirate captain!umemiya hajime didn’t think; he just ran, chasing her through winding alleys and down narrow streets, his heart racing faster than his legs could carry him. the town blurred around him as he pursued the fleeting figure of the siren. "y/n..." he memorized her name as she was always just out of reach, her laughter—soft and melodic—taunting him as she led him deeper into the outskirts.

finally, umemiya found himself at an old, abandoned dock, the wood creaking beneath his boots. it was foggy, the air was still, the silence oppressive as he looked around, panting, searching for any sign of her. but she was gone, vanished as suddenly as she’d appeared.

then he noticed something—caught on a jagged piece of wood at the dock’s edge was a hanging piece of fabric, torn, and his mind raced as everything clicked into place—the voice, the sudden disappearance, the water below. he walked to the edge of the dock, staring into the dark waters, knowing she was down there, watching him as he had watched her.

he crouched down reaching for the water, it was cold his fingers were starting to freeze slightly until he felt something else touch him, something scaly and with all its strength it pulled him up and he fell into the water. the young sailor was used to diving into the sea, but now he was fighting for his life when he opened his eyes—it was the siren, leading him deeper and he tried to pull himself up until she stopped and turned to face him.

pirate captain!umemiya hajime was no longer drowning in the water, but in the depth of her gaze. she reached out, her fingers brushing his face with a gentle touch that caught him off guard. he was about to lose consciousness when she pulled him closer, her lips pressing against his in a soft, unexpected kiss. but then something even more unexpected happened—he could breathe. it wasn’t just that he could breathe; it was like he’d been given a part of her world, the water no longer felt cold or suffocating; it was like air, filling his lungs. but even more, mesmerizing was the way her lips felt against his—soft, warm, and lingering.

when he finally surfaced, he lay there on the cool sand, chest heaving as he looked up at the sky. it wasn’t fully dark yet, but the sun was setting, the golden hue showing across the horizon, trying to make sense of what had just happened, he heard a soft, splashing sound.

pirate captain!umemiya hajime's instincts kicked in, and he turned his head towards the water. there, emerging from the ocean, was the siren. first, he saw her upper body—her wet hair clinging to her face, her eyes locked onto him, making his heart skip a beat. then, as she pulled herself further onto the shore, he saw her tail, shimmering in the fading light, its scales reflecting the colors of the setting sun. the sight of her struggling to move onto the sand, he pushed himself up from the ground, intending to help her. it wasn’t just a reflex—he felt and wanted to be near her, to protect her from whatever might come. but as he approached, she reacted suddenly, hissing at him with a sharp and defensive sound.

he knew that apart from looking somehow human, she was still a child of the ocean, a monster of the deep. instead, he crouched next to her while she looked the other way so she wouldn't see his face. "so you are ... y/n right?" he asked, tucking a lock of wet hair behind her ear, his hands were so gentle, and unlike other pirates or men, he wasn't looking down at her nakedness but straight into her eyes. "you are so beautiful..." it felt strange. everything was a bit weird right now. it didn’t make sense for a creature like her to suddenly drown him in water, kiss him, and let him live.

pirate captain!umemiya hajime didn’t know you had to do this, to kiss him, so he can have your scent because the captain of the seven seas was in great danger with sirens targeting him and your kiss, can protect him, for now, but not forever.

a siren's main drive is their need to be loved, and will seek it in any way; be it sexual, platonic, or familial, but now she did it because she had fallen in love with the sailor, and she would not let others have him or kill him. "don't think anything else, that night i showed up to save you... and now," her voice still so melodious, even if she wasn't singing he was still mesmerized. "when a siren kisses someone, they can breathe underwater right?" he asked his hand still on her face, caressing her cheek, "apparently those old bastards have told you a lot, it's not like they're looking for us and want to have our scales for selfish reasons." the siren raised her tail and she splashed the water, her hands in the sand until she decided to look at him, "why are you looking at me like that? i saved you but i can still kill you." he just smiled as he removed his hand and stood up, squeezing the water out of his clothes looking at the horizon "i've always dreamed of seeing a siren, with the endless legends about you i couldn't just sit still, and when you appeared."

he was telling the truth, and she knew it. no song of hers could deceive him, for she could not deceive herself anymore. she fell in love with a sailor, not to kill him, but to love him, and if any of her sisters found out about it, she and he would both be victims. "a captain of the seven seas has seen everything but sirens and mermaids, has he?" the devilish energy returned to her as she lay on her stomach and tossed her tail in the air, small waves crashing through her body "and your name is so famous both on water and land, isn't it captain umemiya?" the way she said his name, the very tone gentle yet playful, made him want to drown. what had she done to him? enchanted him for sure, but he didn't need magic to know that his heart beats faster than the waves when there's a storm. he looked down at her, the sun's rays coloring the grays and pearls of her skin, smirking "ah, you're very famous on land too, aren't you y/n?" he shrugged, his white shirt slightly unbuttoned clinging to his toned muscles. “this is the second time i've seen you, but it's like i’ve known you all my life, isn't it strange?”

she played with her hair, twirled a lock on her finger and giggled "if i'm so famous why haven't i seen you in the audience when i sing? the children will be very happy, don't you think, to see their hero who can tell them so many stories.”

pirate captain!umemiya hajime really wondered why he had never attended such entertainment in the center of the town, perhaps because he was constantly sitting in the pub and gaining experience and knowledge from the old pirates, but even if he had the time, he filled it with buying food and weapons for the next voyage. “i'll come next time, i promise you that. i have heard your song before, and can't wait to hear it again until you make me fall entirely for you.” she didn't expect this, he was serious and it showed, she knew he was true to his word as her gray face began to acquire a slight red tint, but that didn't stop her from answering. “then i will wait for you tomorrow at the same time, alright captain? make sure to show and give me flowers, make me feel like a normal human.” and with that she slowly went into the water as she dipped, making herself disappear.

his eyes widened as he walked towards the water, up to his knees when she reappeared his hat and jacket in her hands. “we don't want you to lose anything valuable do we? so you're welcome, captain.” good thing the water was up to his knees, or he didn't know if he would have been alive by her honeyed voice. he took the clothes and put them on himself and she just smiled at him and would dive in again, until he stopped her, “wait…come closer.” she looked at him, confused but came closer to him and he crouched down again looking at her so lovingly and then kissed her gently on the lips. “i promise you everything, my little seashell.” she was left without words, without a voice, and without further ado she swam to the depths, leaving him alone in the salty water, “i will wait for you.”

pirate captain!umemiya hajime was still looking in that direction she swam away with a gentle smile on his face until someone called out “umemiya, you idiot! what are you doing in the water all soaked?” it was the quartermaster, hiragi toma as he stood at the wooden deck just a little higher from the sand on the shore. “get up at once and change your clothes, the captain must not get sick.” but the captain didn't look at his first mate but smiled at the setting sun, wondering if you liked lily and beach roses. just how and why he fell for a siren? he doesn't know, but he knew he loved you.

the next day pirate captain!umemiya hajime was making his way to the center with a bouquet of flowers and a warm smile on his face, his step more hurried than usual, because he couldn't wait to see her, to hear her. and he finally noticed the siren in her human form, eyes were closed and her voice was so pleasant, but what impressed him was the red cloth that was tied around her waist … it was his. wait a minute, when did she manage to get it? well, it didn't matter, she looked good with something that was his. the thunderous applause woke him from his trance and she bowed to the audience, as he approached her, she wanted him to appear with a bouquet, and here he was keeping his promise. “captain, you showed up, huh?” she jumped off the small stage, face to face with the whitehead as he handed her the flowers, “i will always keep my promise”. she took the bouquet and smelled it. so beautiful with so many colorful petals, she didn't expect that he would do something like that, especially with everyone's eyes on them.

“big sister y/n and captain umemiya, are you two together?” the little kids surrounded them and giggled looking at them with curious eyes, and an idea came to pirate captain!umemiya hajime. he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer to his body and her eyes widened and she blushed. “y/n and hajime, sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g!” she looked at him slightly shocked at what the kids were saying but he was smiling even more at them "it's not what it see–”

“first comes love, then comes marriage, then comes a baby, in a baby carriage!” here she already turned red from the crabs and lobsters in the sea. she didn't know where and how to hide and just put her head on his chest raising the bouquet to cover her face completely. “all right kiddos, leave big sister y/n to rest, hmm? next time i stop by, i will tell you stories about the giant kraken i fought with hiragi!”

“really, captain? will it be possible to tell us when you went to the secret city of gold?” with his free hand he ruffled the boy's hair laughing "of course! i'll even show you the golden sword i found.” with that the kids were happy and left you alone with him looking at her still hiding. “y/n, they are gone now.” he was still hugging her and she lifted her head and exhaled and looked around, "thank you, captain! you really can be counted on from this to the rest of the six seas.” and then she looked into his blue eyes, they were as beautiful as the sea, calm but full of secrets and she could feel her face coming closer to his, their lips inches away until she stopped and removed herself from his grip. “eh, you didn't have a problem kissing me yesterday?” he asked, slightly mocking but not malicious, as they still maintained eye contact. "it's okay, my precious pearl."

pirate captain!umemiya hajime who was watching her and trying to read her body language, she looked slightly worried but relaxed at the same time. was the idea of ​​her being with him embarrassing her? but that wasn't going to stop him from showing his love, no matter what. he cleared his throat, putting one hand behind his back and holding out the other to her "my lady, would you like to go out with me tonight?" she hesitated, but she had nothing to lose, it wasn't every day she was around people as a human, and she had more to learn to be more like one. the siren took his hand and he kissed her knuckles "then it is settled." they let go of their hands and he put his hat on her head, the feather still sticking out, but it looked so good on her. "but i have no other clothes than these." he simply smiled at her so sweetly that the salt on her body could turn to sugar "don't worry about that, everyone likes you already." yes, everyone likes her because she is human. if they find out it's a siren from the sea, they'll probably kill her and put the head on the market too, use the magic of the scales and... she’ll just become their next prize. "i'll trust you for what you say now." it was slightly threatening, this statement of hers, but the captain smiled widely that his tea teeth were visible. "take it easy, stay with me until it's time for dinner."

and so he took her around the city, she saw streets and shops she had never seen before. the citizens smiled, rejoiced in her presence, or rather rejoiced in the captain who walked behind her as she ran and shop-windowed. until she stopped in front of one and he became curious as to what she was staring at that caused her eyes to sparkle. there was a long white dress displayed, the color of the sea foam. "do you want it?"

pirate captain!umemiya hajime was so kind and generous as he walked into the store without thinking about the price "wait, no… i was just looking." she lowered her head, but that didn't stop him from entering the shop and she quickly followed him. "captain, long time no see? how is it, have you finally found a bride?" he chuckled slightly at the nice old lady "not yet but i'm working on it." he looked around the shop where there were so many dresses but really the one in the window was the most beautiful. "how much will this dr–?" before he could finish the door bell rang and she walked into the boutique "hajime, i told you i don't want you…" the voice trailed off as she looked at the old woman "...to buy me anything." it only took one look at the woman to know who she was and what her relationship was with the young sailor. "how can you lie to old people? you've found the perfect bride!” she immediately came to the young girl and began to measure her. then he took her cheeks with both hands and looked at her "beautiful eyes, never seen such a color. and that lovely face!" she immediately went to the window and removed the dress from the mannequin "i give it to you for free, young lady, or should I say mrs. umemiya~” they both blushed at her comment as the young miss played with her hair and the captain placed a hand behind his neck. "thank you very much!" he said as he took the bag of the dress and she didn't even try it on but the old lady had been in the business enough years to know what would look good on who.

he took her hand and as they hurried out of the store they went into some building, it was a large one and she had heard that these were hotels where people slept for one or more nights. "will we...sleep together?" she asked hurriedly, she had never been so close to a pirate before, "only if you want. i'm bringing you here so you can change in peace, there will be a lot more people on the ship." a ship was equal to being in the water, which meant that the moment her skin touched the water, she would turn into a siren. she knew that he either knew too or was just looking out for her. without realizing it they were already outside the room, and he unlocked it. it was nothing much to him, just a place where he could sleep, but to her, it was something completely new, she knew about how humans lived but she had never been taken to such a place, especially with a man, a man who loved her. “i won't look so please change!” he turned his back on her, as she took the dress from the bag with her. it was really a very nice model and she put it on right away, his hat still on top of her head. did it fit her well, she asked herself. on land, she always wore the same clothes without thinking about it much. “how do i look?”

pirate captain!umemiya hajime swears he has never seen anything more graceful and elegant. he was just looking at her so lovingly, so tenderly, and smiling, she really looked like a bride. and if he could he would have married her on the spot. "beautiful as the day i saw you.” he approached her and took both of her hands, caressing them with his thumb "i don't even need to think, it's a fact. you are the most beautiful on this land, and on this sea.” she blushed terribly, even more than before but quickly masked it with confidence, "you look good too, captain.”

without even saying a word, they were already leaving the room and were the center of attention. everyone looked at them, both young and old, and everyone was happy as they kept hearing 'for the newlyweds!' whatever that was supposed to mean, she didn't know but she didn't care, not when his hand was in hers and she could feel the warmth. ”are you nervous, princess?” it was new, too new. a princess, huh? her heart began to beat faster and she didn't know if she had cast a spell on him or herself. but she just smiled no matter what others were saying. "i'm not. thanks for looking after me.” he squeezed her hand tighter and they were already in front of the restaurant, not long before they were ordering food. this time the captain decided not only to spoil himself, but also her.

“so what will the lovebirds want to eat? may i offer you some of our new fresh fish dishes?” the waitress was so kind and his eyes lit up when he heard the word fish, “i will have your two best main fish dishes!” and then he looked over at her and she was literally discriminating against his food choices right in front of her. “oh! never mind that, give me your best pork dish, as for the lady–”

she quickly cut him off, "salad, please.” she wasn't used to human food yet, but the salads were enough to fill her up. smiling at him and the waitress, and she took the menus out. “coming right away!” and she left you alone and you quickly crossed your arms "did you seriously want to eat fish in front of such?” 

as they waited for their meal, he couldn’t help but laugh at his order. "i didn’t think that through, did i?” she shook her head, a smile tugging at her lips. "no, you didn’t." he reached across the table, taking her hand in his. "i’ll get it right next time, i promise."

after their dinner, the night air greeted them outside once more. they strolled down quiet streets, it was during this walk that pirate captain!umemiya hajime finally mustered the courage to ask her, "will you go back to the sea tonight? or would you stay... with me?"

her heart raced at the question. the dress felt too precious to cast aside just yet. "just for tonight," she whispered, wanting to say more but she couldn't do that yet. and so, they returned to his room, where the space now felt too little and suffocating.

it was quiet, the world outside forgotten as they lay side by side on the bed. they had only reunited the day before, yet the bond between them felt like they knew each other forever. he couldn't sleep; neither could she. 

"can i kiss you?" he asked, his voice tentative, as he recalled how she had avoided his kiss earlier. the siren responded only with a soft hum, a sound so delicate it was almost lost in the stillness. he turned to face her, his heart pounding as he leaned closer, his breath mingling with hers before he finally pressed his lips to hers.

the kiss seemed to hold those unspoken thoughts and feelings, a tender love. he pulled back, his breath ragged as he whispered, "please, be mine from now on. i swear to protect you, i vow to love you until my last breath."

her chest tightened at his words. how could this human make her—a creature born of the sea—feel so fragile, so exposed? but she didn't care. “the night is still young, my beautiful siren. let me hear your song once more.” at that moment, she yearned to be human, to experience the love he offered. and so, she let herself be vulnerable, let him show her how humans express their love, their devotion. 

hours passed, though neither noticed the time. they were lost in each other, learning and experiencing newfound heights of affection. the man who had never loved someone so much, and the siren who cried at the fact that she felt like a human, and completely forgot that she was a creature with a tail and magic. when the sun began to paint the sky in soft hues of pink and gold, they were still wrapped in each other's arms, unwilling to let go of the night they had shared. because that night was like a honeymoon, so sweet and full of passion.

pirate captain!umemiya hajime woke up slowly opening his eyes expecting to see her sleeping body next to him but there was no sign of her. he immediately got up and moaned slightly from the stinging feeling on his neck. he walked over to the mirror and saw red-purple teeth marks, apparently he wasn't the only one marking. he looked again at the bed and saw something shiny, it was as small as a coin, he came closer and ... it was a scale. “eh, so that's why my little pearl left?” but his eyes were fixated on the chair, her dress was hanging there, and his shirt was gone, but his jacket and hat were there. he looked at it some more before getting dressed and putting it in his pants pocket. who knew, he might need to wish for something someday.

almost the whole day passed and she was still gone. there was no one to sing on stage, no one to entertain the children, no one to warm his hand. it was sad honestly, he felt somehow empty, but the young adventurer won't let anyone see this side of him. leaned against some wall, tossing a coin, heads that he would see her again and tails if he didn't. “captain idiot, where were you the whole night? were you with that girl that the whole town talks about?” it was hiragi toma again, the coin landed in the crease between his palm and index finger but he looked away to see his best friend "hiragi! is everything okay with the others? sakura didn't throw up did he?" he rubbed his temple, irritated by the crew captain's behavior and disappearance. although they had stopped here for a little rest, it was not a break from the duties of the ship. "umemiya, i know you're young, we all are. but you have to understand that you shouldn't disappear like this for some girl from the city."

umemiya’s blue eyes narrowed at hiragi's words. the usual cheerful and carefree attitude that marked his demeanor was absent, replaced by a sharp glare that made the other man take a step back. “don’t tell me what to do, hiragi,” the captain said, his voice low and steely. he wasn’t joking, wasn’t teasing. there was no trace of the charming captain who could usually talk his way out of anything. instead, he was all business, his tone leaving no room for argument.

hiragi's brow furrowed in concern, but he didn't back down. “i’m just looking out for you. for all of us. we can’t afford to have you distracted—” the whitehead cut him off, his tone growing colder. “i can perfectly balance the crew and her,” he said, his gaze locking onto his with a seriousness that made his first mate flinch. he tossed the coin into the air again, catching it without looking. hiragi had never seen his captain like this, and for the first time, he wasn’t sure if he could read umemiya at all. it was like looking at a stranger.

as he finally glanced down at the coin in his palm, hiragi noticed something—something that made his blood run cold. there, around umemiya’s neck, were red marks, deep and fresh, as if someone—or something—had claimed him. hiragi’s eyes widened in shock. “did you—?” the captain’s expression didn’t change. if anything, it hardened. he slipped the coin into his pocket and turned his back on him as if dismissing the question entirely. “i told you, i can handle it,” he said, the tone he spoke in making it clear the discussion was over.

but the first mate wasn’t convinced. the red marks and the captain's uncharacteristic mood—they all pointed to something far beyond the usual meet-and-greets with monsters. “this isn’t like you,” hiragi said softly, hoping to reach the friend buried under the captain's mask. “i don’t know what happened last night, but it’s messing with your head.”

he froze at those words, his shoulders stiffening. but then he straightened, with an unbelievable amount of pride, “she’s none of your concern, neither am i. focus on the crew. that’s an order.” hiragi was worried as this was more than just a fling, more than just another adventure. whatever had happened between him and that girl had changed him, and not for the better.

as the captain walked away, hiragi could only watch, his mind racing. he had a sinking feeling that whatever this was, it was far from over—and it was only a matter of time before it would come back to haunt them all.

it had been several days since pirate captain!umemiya hajime had last seen her, and now he hanging around on the deck, leaning against the bars and looking up at the night sky reflected in the sea. it was nice to feel the gentle breeze of the wind and the sound of the waves, but it would be even more peaceful if she was here with him. he was humming something to himself, almost singing “y/n and hajime, sitting in a tree k-i-s-s-i-n-g…” he sighed looking up at the moon which was the same color as her skin color. when would he see her again? last week's coin showed heads, and a pirate's coin never lies. then he remembered that he had her scale, and the white dress sitting in his cabin. for some strange reason, it was shining very brightly, more than the full moon in the sky and then he saw the same light in the water, it was moving fast and the scale seemed to react by getting brighter and brighter. and then something appeared a head, he narrowed his eyes and couldn't believe it, it was her. she showed herself more, the light reflecting off her face made his heart skip a beat. it was as if the moon itself had descended from the sky and taken on the form of the woman he loved.

“you—” she just swam away to the direction he knew all to well. the old docks. without a second thought, he ran as fast as he could. as he neared their secret place he could see her more clearly. she was already there, waiting for him, her tails splashing playfully in the water as she stared up at the moon. but as he drew closer, she was crying. her tears sparkled like diamonds, falling silently into the sea as she wept. umemiya’s heart twisted in his chest, and he scrambled onto the dock, not caring that he was soaked to the bone. 

“y/n!” he called out, his voice filled with worry. he reached out to her, his hand trembling as it hovered just above her shoulder. “what’s wrong, my pearl? why are you crying?” she didn’t turn to face him, but he could see the pain in her expression as she continued to gaze up at the moon. “i made a mistake, hajime,” she whispered, her voice quieter over the gentle waves. “the biggest mistake of my life…” his heart pounded in his chest. “what are you talking about? what mistake?” she closed her eyes, another tear slipping down her cheek. “i let a human mark me as his. i let you mark me as yours. i let myself fall in love.”

he felt his breath catch in his throat. “but…isn’t that what we wanted? to be together, for you to feel like a human?”

“yes,” she said, her voice breaking. “but i didn’t realize what it would mean. i ran away from my sisters, and swam so far just to find you first. now you’re in even greater danger because of me.” the siren finally turned to look at him, her eyes filled with fear and regret. “you’re still under the magic of my song, hajime. i don’t know how much of your feelings are real, and how much is just…an enchantment. if my sisters find out…i don’t know what they’ll do to you.” he shook his head, stepping closer until he was right in front of her, their faces inches apart. “y/n, listen to me. i don’t care about any of that. i don’t care if it’s magic or fate or whatever it is. all i know is that i love you. i love you more than anything in this world, and nothing is going to keep us apart.”

her lower lip trembled as she looked up at him, searching his eyes for any hint of doubt, of lies. but all she saw was the honesty that had drawn her to him in the first place. “i swore to protect you,” pulling her into his arms, holding her close as the moon watched over them, the waves lapping gently against the old dock. the night was quiet, save for the sound of their breathing and the distant call of the ocean. they were the ones who could love each other until it hurt and even if they were in danger, dead or alive they would be together.

several months have passed since then, and the siren was inseparable from the pirate. they were together, they were a couple hiding their secrets, during the day they were both human and at night she turned back into the tailed creature. pirate captain!umemiya hajime has been so doting and loving, his cheerful self was back and never leaving, unless he had to travel, but he knew that he would come back right into her arms. "my love, i'm back!” he didn't even wait for them to release the ladder for everyone to go down but jumped to the ground next to her, and she laughed "i bring you so many gifts, almost spent all the money on you." she hugged him and he put his jacket on her shoulders. "welcome home, hajime!”

they stood like that for a while until voices began to be heard behind them. "lady y/n always waits for our captain, isn't that cute sakura?" that's what suo hayato said, the eye-patched boy who didn't want to say why he was wearing it, but everyone has their secrets anyway, "i think sakura is just sick again." akihiko nirei said the small blonde boy as they looked at sakura haruka who was all red, umemiya had mentioned to her that he blushes easily when someone shows affection in front of him. nevertheless, all of his crew liked her, and were glad that their captain was so happy and full of energy...except for one person, and that was hiragi toma. he knew there was more to her than she let on, something more behind that smile and he would do his best to find out who she really was, and why she made his best friend fall madly in love with her. and she behaved nicely with everyone, she behaved like a human being. she sensed that he didn't like her for some reason, and desperately hoped he didn't know she wasn't human. but apparently, people are like that, there are types like umemiya, and hiragi. but she didn't blame him, maybe if she had been born with limbs and lungs she would have reacted the same way and hated sirens. humans too must understand that every living organism survives differently, because they may have done a lot for the world, but the world will do nothing for them, not when monsters from the deep are hot on their heels. "my pearl, are you hungry?"

she broke eye contact with hiragi when her lover asked her the question, and she snuggled into him even more, feeling the warmth his jacket gave off, but also his strong shoulders covered in scars...scars and wounds. "umemiya hajime why didn't you tell me first that you have wounds?" there was no time for food, not when he was so badly wounded, and she was always worried when he sailed away, the question was not whether he would bring her gifts, but whether he would make it home alive. they quickly settled into the little house he bought, not just for her but for him as well. this was their place, and it was close to the bay in case the magic that kept her human wore off. it was all taken care of, but now she was thinking about how to take care of him. "couldn't you be more careful? what if it was the sirens, there's no getting away from them." he sat at the end of the bed and she between his legs applying bandages and plasters. and again that gentle smile appeared, though his hair was down and slightly obscured his eyes, he could see it perfectly "only your song can enchant me, darling." how he could say such things when he wanted to, she didn't know, but she liked it. "i'm glad to know that, but please take care. you're my one and only love."

pirate captain!umemiya hajime watched as she carefully treated his wounds, her fingers trembling slightly when he suddenly hugged her waist, pulling her closer until she lost her balance and fell on top of him on the bed. his strong arms wrapped around her as he began to plant kisses all over her face "my pretty girl, i have missed you so much," he murmured between kisses, his lips finding hers once, twice, and then again as if he couldn’t get enough. she smiled into the kiss, feeling the depth of his love. "i missed you too," she whispered back, her heart beating fast.

but their tender moment was interrupted by a knock on the door. she sighed and gently pushed herself up. "rest for now, i’ll go see who it is," she said softly, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead before slipping out of the bed.

when she opened the door, she was greeted by hiragi toma and kaji ren. hiragi’s expression changed the moment he saw her, his smile fading into a frown. "tell umemiya dinner is in two hours," he muttered, his tone distant and cold. he didn’t wait for a response before turning on his heel and walking away, leaving kaji to give her a small nod while nibbling on a sweet treat. she closed the door slowly, the hurt evident in her eyes.

as she turned, umemiya was already behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her close. "mmm, we have two hours," he whispered, his voice teasing as he nuzzled her neck. "sounds nice, yeah?" but she wasn’t in the mood, the sting of hiragi’s behavior still fresh, "why doesn’t your first mate like me? does he kno—" her voice faltered as her lover gently turned her around to face him.

"no one knows besides me, and no one will know, okay? I will keep you safe," he assured her as she exhaled heavily. "i just want to be held forever in your arms, hajime. i don't want to lose you.” she hugged him and wouldn't let him go, and he stroked her hair gently, reassuring her that he would never let anything separate them. “it's okay, cry it out. i’m here.” it was also hard sometimes, seeing someone dislike her or the way they treated her. hiragi toma clearly showed this when the captain was not around them. she calmed down, no more tears, and looked up at umemiya, her beaming smile once again making its way onto her pretty face. and to him, it didn't matter if she was a siren or a human — her heart was the same in both forms.

“there, love. you are more beautiful with a smile on.” he wiped away her tears with his thumbs, kissing her forehead "and now we have two hours, let's rest.”

pirate captain!umemiya hajime felt her move and got out of bed, apparently two hours had passed and it was time for dinner. he put his hand over his eyes and rubbed them before opening them to see her in the same white dress. no matter how many clothes he had bought for her, it was obvious that this one was her favorite, and just for that, there was a little gift for her, something that would go together perfectly. he also got up and started rummaging through his luggage until he found a small box, he wished there was an engagement ring inside but for now, the pearl necklace would do.

she was looking at herself in the mirror fixing her hair and he was behind her with his hands behind his back hiding the little red box. they made eye contact through their reflections in the glass and she put down the brush and turned around. “do you want me to comb your hair too?” he didn't say anything at all, he just put his hands out from behind and she saw the box. "what is this?”

“it's for you, one of the few things you deserve." and she was worth more than anything, and one day, perhaps very soon, he would truly make her his bride. she was a little confused. still, she took the box and opened it, and in it was a necklace with sparkling white pearls, her eyes just widened, and then she looked at her lover. he noticed her pupils dilating. “hajime, you shouldn't have, i don't know what to say,” the pearls were in her hands. she was touching them and looking at them, they were real and she knew it must have cost him a lot, for such quality. "my little pearl, you don't have to say anything, just let me love you.” he picked up a necklace and motioned with his eyes for her to turn her back on him again, taking her hair so he could put the necklace on. she heard the sound of the clasp. she let go of her hair, and his hands squeezed her waist. 

“it matches your dress and i’m sure it will match your tail too!” he put his head on top of hers but as much as he wanted to stay here with her, he had to eat or he would pass out "now let's go eat, i'm starving.” leaving the house hand in hand, they went to join the others.

the restaurant was full but that didn't stop the pirates from getting special service, after all, they were the heroes of the town and probably many others. pirate captain!umemiya hajime had put one arm around her, and her head was resting on his shoulder, and with his other hand, he held a glass of liquor. how can you not love to eat in such fine company? they were all talking and laughing among themselves, but one man was not amused at all, his gaze fixed on her. it was strange to him how she didn't eat at all, and if she did it would be very little. she did not touch meat, especially fish. he remembered when umemiya said she just didn't like eating in front of people. another time is when everyone was in the water but her. the captain said that she was scared and had a phobia. it all sounded ridiculous to hiragi. just what and who is she? he swirled his glass, the ice melting rapidly into the yellow-brown drink. ice. dissolving in water. he stopped his hand and the ice melted completely as he looked at her. so that was her secret, huh? it all made sense now, the dots were connecting — she was a mermaid, or a siren. and there was one way for him to find that out.

but he would not act at once, he would wait a little longer, and watch some more. "sir, are you okay?" kaji asked sitting next to him and the older one quickly shifted his gaze to the boy. "don't worry, everything is under control." two, three, maybe more hours passed and nothing interesting happened. she never left umemiya's side, nor did she get up from her seat. and just because of that, hiragi will make her stand. everything was planned to perfection. one of the good parts of being a pirate, or a sailor in general. they act the second there is a threat.

and then the chance came, almost too easily. she shifted in her seat, a movement that drew his attention. hiragi rose from his chair, he moved until he was just next to her. the glass of water in his hand felt cool, its contents sloshing as he pretended to stumble, ‘accidentally’ spilling the liquid, splashing across her clothes and skin. the shock of it caused her to gasp, her body jerking upright. she looked up at him, her eyes wide with surprise, and then over at umemiya, whose expression had shifted from having fun to being in panic.

"y/n?" her lover asked, his voice laced with worry, but she didn’t answer. she was already standing, her breath coming in shallow, panicked gasps. hiragi watched her closely, smirking, his heart pounding in his chest, as she began to tremble. this was it. the moment of truth. without a word, she turned and bolted from the table, her feet carrying her out of the restaurant and toward the docks, as she must have run faster than she swam. the others exchanged glances, unsure of what had just happened, but the captain knew, and so did his first mate now. umemiya followed her, his eyes narrowing as he noticed the faint shimmer of something on her skin—scales. the transformation was beginning.

as she reached the docks, her breath came in like whimpers and panting, her ears sharpening to point a set of fins on each side, and those shimmering scales began to spread across her body. panic surged through her as she realized what was happening. her lungs tightened, her chest heaving as if the very air around her was turning toxic. there was only one escape, one place where she could breathe—beneath the waves.

throwing herself into the water, as she tore the dress away, the cool embrace of the ocean swallowing her whole. for a moment, there was only silence, the ripples on the surface of the water the only evidence of her presence. but then she heard it—the voices of those she loved, calling out to her, urging her to come back. and then, cutting through the others, hiragi's voice.

"why are you all confused?" he said, his tone sharp, carrying across the water. "don’t you know by now? she is a monster." umemiya’s reaction was horrifying, his fear and worry turned to anger as he stepped forward, glaring at him. "hiragi, you don't know what you're talking about!"

the younger pirates, suo, sakura, akihiko, and kaji, watched the two men in silence, their eyes darting between their captain and quartermaster.

"she put a spell on you, umemiya," hiragi continued, his voice growing more insistent. "that's why your behavior is different. she’s been controlling you, manipulating you."

“enough!” umemiya's voice was a low growl, but there was venom in his words. turning toward the water, he called out, "you don't know anything about her, she has done absolutely nothing to me. i am the one who fell in love with her." for a moment there was nothing. but then, slowly, she emerged from the water, her head breaking the surface. her eyes were wide with fear as she looked at the dock, now crowded with both the pirates and townsfolk who had been drawn by the commotion.

“lady y/n is—” suo started to say, but the first mate cut him off, “a siren.” his voice was cold and sure.

everyone was shocked except umemiya and hiragi. the citizens were disgusted by the girl whose voice they found to be art, something perfectly exquisite like herself, and she had lied to them all along. was this what they deserved after all they had given her? the old sailors and men stood behind the women and children until a small girl went to see what was going on in the water "big sister y/n is a princess! i knew she had magic-" but her mother quickly pulled her by the arm "she's no princess! don't you dare look at her, cover your ears right away!” the siren's heart was breaking as she watched the humans turn hostile towards her, and she looked at the captain. "hajime, please i-" if her heart was broken, she didn't want to know what was this doing to him. the secret they so closely guarded was revealed, and if she could drown herself, she would. "are you blind? crazy? how can you let yourself be with such a thing?” a liar, monster, freak — a killer. that was her for hiragi, that was her for everyone now. and the captain whom they all admired fell in their sight. but they preferred to have mercy on him, because he was the bewitched.

pirate captain!umemiya hajime looked at her, and she saw the emotions in his eyes. he was not enchanted by her song, maybe in small percentages, but he really loved her. but they did not know this. they didn't know the way she loved him, she treated him, and she cared. she felt like a human. alas, they didn't know that she meant them no harm. the moon was full again, and her tail began to glow, as did the scale he kept, now tucked in the inside pocket of his jacket. "swim," he turned and called to her "swim away, from this sea to the last, where only i can find you." she didn't have a minute to waste, she'd rather be killed by her sisters or some other monster than by a human. "you look like you're out of your mind, captain," shouted the men's voices "do you want to kill us too?" to some extent he wanted to because they were threatening someone precious to him, more precious than himself.

hiragi raised his hand to signal, and before the siren could get far a fishing net caught her and she became entangled in it. umemiya's anger could only grow, he was furious, but he held back as much as possible. "let her go, now." his gaze was fierce now, his blue eyes deeper than the depths of the ocean, his teeth were grinding, his heart was beating too fast, but before he could attack the hiragi, two muscular men stopped him. "will you let a murderer like her go free? her race has killed many of us and you ... want a life with her?" two pumped-up guys couldn't stop him umemiya hajime he's not the legend of the seven seas for nothing. with all his might he pushed them away and went to hiragi and grabbed him by the collar "just one hair, one scale has fallen from her. i will kill you." hiragi couldn't believe what he was saying, such a sensible and wise captain, turned into a little selfish boy. "and killing me won't change reality. pull yourself together." then he hit the captain, very hard on the cheek, knocking the pirate captain off balance.

the blow sent umemiya stumbling, but his rage only grew. he straightened himself, wiping the blood from his mouth, his eyes burning. "you don’t understand anything. she’s not what you think."

"she’s a killer!" hiragi roared back, pushing himself to his feet and charging at umemiya. the two men collided again, their bodies crashing together as the captain’s gists flew, each strike to protect her. but the first mate wasn’t the one to also back down, landing blows of his own, and soon both men were covered in blood—umemiya’s, hiragi’s, and some that wasn’t even theirs. as the fight raged on, his mind flashed back to her—her smile, the way she looked at him, the tenderness in her touch. she wasn’t like the stories. she was more human than anyone he had ever met.

the sound of her scream pierced through the air, and his body went rigid as the sound echoed in his ears. it was a scream of agony, of unbearable pain. his eyes snapped to the water, where she was still tangled in the net, but now something far worse was happening.

hiragi’s men had her pinned, and they were ripping her scales from her body. her shimmering, glowing scales, the reason for her power, were being torn away, piece by piece. each one that was removed sent a fresh wave of blood into the water, staining it a deep red. her cries grew more desperate, more heart-wrenching with every passing second. umemiya's breath caught in his throat. "no…" he couldn’t bear it. he couldn’t watch as they tortured her, as they stripped her of her very life force.

"stop it!" he shouted, his voice cracking as he shoved hiragi away. the men around him were no match for his fury, as he rushed toward the dock where she was held, his heart racing, every instinct in him screaming to get to her. but hiragi wasn’t done. he grabbed umemiya by the collar, dragging him back. "you’re a fool!" he bellowed. "she’s a siren! they’ve killed us, killed your family…and you—"

umemiya spun, his fist connecting with the other pirate’s jaw. "you are the monster, all of you are!" he roared, "she’s not what you think. she cares about me, about all of us! you don’t see her for who she really is." but hiragi wasn’t finished. "you’ll regret this, umemiya," he hissed, wiping the blood from his split lip. "you’re throwing your life away for a monster."

"one more scale," pirate captain!umemiya hajime growled, grabbing hiragi again, and pulling him close, he didn't care that a whole decade ago the boat that his parents got on crashed in the siren's territory ."one more drop of her blood falls, it's over for you."

and hiragi stared at him, stunned. this wasn’t the rational, level-headed captain he had known. this was someone driven by insanity. but before either of them could act further, another scream tore through the night, and this time it was louder. it was her voice, filled with unbearable pain. umemiya’s heart shattered at the sound, and without another word, he released hiragi, letting him collapse to the ground.

he turned and ran to the dock, his bloodied hands trembling as he reached the edge where she was held. the moonlight illuminated the water, and there she was—her glowing scales now dim, her body trembling as the men ripped more from her. blood seeped from the wounds, her tears mixing with the saltwater as she cried out. the siren wanted to sing, but a cloth was placed over her mouth to silence her.

 “y/n…no.” in his most powerful rage he knocked out the pirates who caused it. she was shaking all over, physically and mentally injured, and he sat down next to her and removed the towel and she could breathe again, somewhat. he hugged her and didn't care that his white clothes were turning scarlet. "my love, i'm here… it's me." she had no voice, lost it, and everything about her was torn out. it was crueler than her drowning a sailor, mankind was crueler than any sea creature. but only one person showed her what it was like to be one. “ha-” in her attempts to speak, blood came out of her mouth and he put his hand over to wipe it. "my lovely siren. don't speak, don't sing, i’ve heard enough.” the beauty she possessed until a little while ago was gone. it neither sparkled nor glowed, the life in her dying out, but not before she heard footsteps and voices, and she and the captain turned away. it was hiragi and the young sailors, "sir, this is too-"

"don't interfere." hiragi spoke but umemiya didn't want to see him, he didn't want to beat his fellow brother, and he did the best he could — to jump into danger. he got up and quickly grabbed her carrying her like a real bride and jumped into the water which shocked everyone again. there was only one place he could go while swimming underwater with her, luckily the water breathing effect was still working but he could feel its weakening. she was growing weak. a little more, a little more and they are there. she had to hold on a little longer. they floated to the surface, and he swam to the sand. where he saw her for the second time, where he fell in love. he let her body lie, he couldn't look at her like that, but she was still his siren. and she was looking at the night sky with tears in her eyes, stretching her hands to it. the moon, that beautiful moon that was supposed to keep their secret, revealed them to everyone. "the sky is…" the voice still had that honeyed ring to it, but she forced herself to speak "it's beautiful, isn't it hajime?" he took her hand and but she still did not look at him. 

"please y/n…stay with me. please i can't lose you i don't want to." he was crying too, tears mixing with his blood, he tasted the iron but he didn't care. gripping her hand, feeling how the strength was leaving her. "no, no, my love. i'm here please don't…" then something lit up hellishly on his chest, so bright and alive. he realized ... the scale, the last shining scale.

and she looked up at him, smiling through the pain, clutching his hand with her last strength. "make a wish and i will grant it." it was too quiet what she said but as much as she could "come on, captain. don't keep a lady waiting." that made him smile, and he was still holding her hand. "i'll never keep you waiting. i promised you I'd keep you safe, i failed. i promised you i'd love you, i always will." she closed her eyes, and the scale in his hand glowed brighter. she was currently pouring all of her remaining energy, life, and magic into fulfilling his wish. but what was he to wish for? a happy life with her, for him to give a part of his life to her, to become a male mermaid, to make her forever...human. yes, that's exactly what it was. human, she would become human and nothing more would happen. they will run away, and live happily ever after, maybe with two children? it depends on her. and he will cook delicious feasts for her, without fish meat of course, but when she is human will she still mind that? he would think about that another time. he looked at the scale, then at her, and without hesitation, said his wish.

“make her a human for the rest of her life, make everyone forget about her siren life until they die.”

pirate captain!umemiya hajime said these words, but nothing happened. maybe the wish couldn't come true because she didn't have as much strength as before. but then the magic happened, the sea was pulling her in and he didn't want to let go of her hand, but the waves were stronger, even in the shallows. her body was starting to glow from deep within, and he just watched. he was scared, he didn't know exactly what such a wish could do. the water was rough, just like the two of them and their feelings, their lives. he got up from the sand and ran into the brightness, and then she, his beautiful siren, had not a scar, not a drop of blood, no tail and scales, and the gills had disappeared. instead, she had legs, most likely normal human organs as well. she was finally a real human. she looked around, clenching and unclenching her fists, splashing the water with her feet, breathing with her lungs. she finally saw with human eyes, the man who made her change, the man she owed and gave her life, only for him to give her a new one.

she ran to him in all her naked beauty and jumped in his arms. "hajime!" she was crying with joy, she couldn't believe what was happening. she looked into his eyes before kissing him. their lips met softly, her tears mingling with the kiss, a silent promise for keeping this love forever. he hugged her so tightly, he responded so lovingly, and it was as if time stopped. it did stop, she couldn't feel the warmth of his lips nor his strong grip. the world became black and white, the movement of the water, the rays of the moonlight stopped. "what-" she was very confused and worried "what's going on? hajime, love, can you hear me?" but he couldn't hear her, he was frozen in time, in that frame. was this what the wish was capable of? she didn't know, it was the first time she was doing something like this. and then everything sped up, and she hugged him again, and the world took on color again. "it doesn't matter as long as you're with me."

"excuse me, young lady...but who are you?" her heart stopped. why is he asking such a ridiculous question after all this. "stop joking, hajime." he tilted his head looking at her curiously "i'm flattered you know my name." his hands still held her, firmly but not so affectionately. "but that doesn't explain why a beauty like you is naked in my arms?" she laughed, giggled, missing him joking too, "hajime, you're not funny at all, stop it!" but he didn't answer, just kept looking at her and smiled slightly. he did not know how or why she was in the water, and why she was completely naked and embracing him. but somehow it felt familiar yet so far away. he looked at her some more, she had beautiful eyes, nice and distinctive features, soft hair, but her smile quickly turned down. "have we met before?"

pirate captain!umemiya hajime was now feeling dizzy as if something very important had been taken away from him. what he was doing in the water, and why was some unknown girl crying in his arms. "miss?" this made her cry even more, hugging him tighter. as she felt the pearl necklace slip from her neck, one by one the white gems began to fall from the string. he promised to love her forever, but not when her true self disappeared and would never come back. the siren he fell in love with would never come back. his memories will forever be lost in time because that was the price of being kissed by a siren, such were the consequences of using one's scale.

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[lewmagoo]

try a little tenderness | rhett abbott

description: in which you take care of each other in different ways

pairing: rhett abbott x f!reader

warnings: 18+ only, slight angst, very brief mention of religious trauma, rhett's childhood trauma, smut, dom/sub undertones, rhett is a switch, mention of kink play, oral (m receiving), deep throating, cum swallowing

notes: just a self-indulgent little somethin'-somethin' with some holiday vibes to go along with it. hope y'all enjoy

You were barely holding it together. 

The rain that poured from the dreary sky seemed to encapsulate your mood as you made your way home from work that evening. It was mid-November, and the weather was just beginning to make its shift into winter. 

On your little homestead, you and your husband had been battening down the hatches, preparing the house and the surrounding property for the onslaught of frigid temperatures and snow storms that were sure to blow in over the next few weeks. 

Wyoming winters were long and hard. But somehow, you didn’t mind them that much. Not when you had your little farmhouse to snuggle into on days when the weather got bad. You’d moved into the house when you and Rhett had first gotten married. Although it was a house that had been in your family for years, it was a fixer-upper, and everyone had told you that you were wasting your money. But the two of you were determined to make a home out of it. And you had. It was a safe haven for both of you. 

And now, you were running to it, seeking refuge in its warmth, and in the comfort of your husband’s arms, because he was what made it a home. 

They say home is where the heart is. He was your heart. 

He was so much steadier than you were. At the moment, you felt incredibly fragile. As if a gust of cold wind would shatter you into millions of tiny pieces and leave Rhett to have to pick up those pieces and painstakingly glue you back together. 

You’d been trying, but failing, to hold in your tears the entire thirty-minute drive home. You couldn’t even bring yourself to turn on your driving playlist to occupy the silence, you were simply too overwhelmed and needed the peace and quiet. 

All you could think about was how deeply you longed to be in Rhett’s comforting embrace. He was the only one who could console you when you were like this. And he loved being that for you. Knowing he was your source of comfort above all others made him feel special. It made him feel needed. 

It was him you depended on. Him you allowed to see you at your most vulnerable. He cherished those moments. Even though it pained him to see you suffering, it brought him some semblance of peace to know that he was providing you comfort. 

He knew that things had been difficult for you as of late. You were at a crossroads in your life, forced to make some hard decisions that had been weighing heavily on you. You’d spent countless hours agonizing over them. 

Sometimes, it felt as if your only easy choice in life had been choosing to marry Rhett. You’d known beyond a shadow of a doubt that you wanted to spend the rest of your life with him. He was good. He was kind. And he loved you. Did he come with his fair share of struggles? Absolutely. But that was what made him human. All the things he had been through had shaped him into the perfect man for you.  

You had both gone through hell to get to each other. Your souls were bonded together, forged in the fires of great tribulation. But you were stronger together because of it. 

You had built a life together. One of peace and security, far away from those who had wronged you. Rhett had distanced himself from his family. He only kept in contact with his mother and his niece. 

Gone were the days of walking on eggshells, trying to avoid knock-down drag-out arguments with his brother. He didn’t have to use that sort of caution with you, because you never treated him that way. He’d learned how to communicate his feelings, rather than fight about them. There were never screaming matches within the walls of your home. Never a raised voice. Never a harmful hand laid upon the other. 

It was a place of solace. And that was why you were running to it. 

As you pulled into the driveway, the rain gave way as the first flakes of November snow began to swirl from the sky. Normally, you would stop to admire them, but you hardly even noticed the white flurries as you pulled into the carport next to the house. 

Your eyes were blurring with hot tears, and all you wanted was to get inside, to find Rhett and fall into his arms. But as you climbed out of the car, the strap of your bag got caught on the gearshift. You didn’t notice until it was too late, and in a very dramatic turn of events, the force of the catch was enough to send you stumbling. On the way down, your ribs clashed with the bottom edge of your car, sending sharp pain blossoming through your torso. 

You yelped, squeezing your eyes shut as you breathed through the ache. Meanwhile, Rhett was inside the house, having just seen the flash of your headlights in the window, signaling that you’d arrived home. Eagerly, he headed to the kitchen, with the intent of making dinner, because it was his night to do so. He was making grilled cheese, the one thing he had finally mastered in the kitchen, and he wanted it to be nice and hot for you, so he’d waited until that moment to begin preparing dinner. 

But as he set to work, he noticed that it was taking you a while to come inside. Curious, he glanced out the window that overlooked the carport, and to his surprise, he saw you on the ground next to your car. 

His jovial mood dissipated, replaced with concern. Without hesitation, he hurried to the door, where he shoved his feet into his worn, old boots and then wrenched the door open. 

“Darlin’?” He called out, as he stepped outside, boots crunching on gravel. Quickly, he rounded your car, which gave him a full view of you crumpled on the ground, crying. Immediately, he was rushing to your aid. “What happened?! Are y’alright?”

He knelt beside you, wide-eyed, searching your body for any signs of outward harm. His protective instincts had kicked in.

“I-I fell,” you managed to whimper out. Honestly, it wasn’t even the fact that you’d fallen that kept you on the ground. It was the fact that you were entirely depleted of physical and emotional strength, and once you’d hit the ground, you couldn’t bring yourself to stand back up. 

“Are ya hurt?” That was his biggest concern. He’d drive you to the hospital if he had to. 

Your bottom lip wobbled as a fresh wave of tears poured down your weather-cooled cheeks. “A-a little,” came your response. You knew that your ribs were going to bruise. 

“Hospital hurt?”

“No.”

Rhett nodded, relaxing a little. “Alright. I’ll help ya up. Let’s get inside where it’s warm.”

Lovingly, he helped you to your feet, securing his arm around your waist, and grabbing your bag from the car before he led you into the house. The warmth washed over you immediately. You hadn’t realized how cold you were, but the slight tingle in your fingertips told you that you had certainly gotten a chill from outside. 

Rhett closed the door behind you, effectively shutting out the cold. You stood there in the entryway, unmoving as you felt another wave of tears overcome you. Your husband hadn’t noticed yet, as he was taking off his boots, but when he stood up, he saw you frozen in place. 

“What’s the matter, pun’kin?” He asked. His pronunciation of pumpkin, the sweet nickname he’d given you years ago when you were still dating. 

His gentle concern was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Immediately, you turned, surging forward into his arms. It caught him by surprise, but he quickly recovered, wrapping you up in his embrace. You melted into a fit of sobs, burying your face against his broad chest. 

“Hey now, I’ve got’ya. Ain’t never gonna let you go.”

His assurance only made you cry harder. You loved him so much. He was so good to you. 

His hand, large and warm, came up to cradle the back of your head, and he slowly rocked from side to side, soothing you with a quiet “shh” as he let you cry. He didn’t inundate you with questions, although he did want to know what had you weeping so brokenly in his arms. It made his heart ache. 

You weren’t sure how long you stood there in the entryway. It could’ve been a few minutes. It could’ve been a whole hour. But the comfort his embrace brought you was welcome. It calmed you down considerably. 

After a while, you finally pulled back, lifting your face from his now tear-soaked shirt. His expression was soft, his lashes fluttering as he lifted his hand to dry what was left of your tears. 

“Somebody make you cry?” He asked. He’d give them what-for if they had. 

“I-it’s just…oh, it’s everything,” you whimpered. “Work sucked today, I felt like I was in fuckin’ purgatory. I don’t…I don’t know how much longer I can take this.”

Rhett sighed softly. Seeing you in pain made him feel so powerless. While he knew that he was providing you comfort, he still wished he could take all the hurt away. You didn’t deserve any of it. “I’m sorry.” He leaned in to kiss your forehead. 

And then, “Let me take care of ya. ‘ve already got dinner started. How does a bath sound? I’ll get ya set up and then finish dinner so you can eat.”

“Good,” you whispered, as if you couldn’t find the strength to speak louder.

With a nod, Rhett set to work. “C’mon, let’s get you out of all these layers.”

He began carefully undoing your coat, which he removed from your body and promptly hung on the little coat rack by the door. Then he pulled your hat off your head and placed it on the pegboard that also housed different sets of keys. 

He guided you to sit down on the bench near the shoe organizer, and there, he knelt before you, unlacing your boots. You watched him so tenderly, so reverently, care for you, and again, you felt yourself welling up with tears. 

You hadn’t retained much from the time you’d spent growing up in church, aside from some trauma and a distaste for religion. But one Bible verse in particular popped into your head as you watched your husband remove your shoes. Most men will proclaim every one his own goodness: But a faithful man who can find?

Rhett never asked for anything. He never bragged about himself or his accomplishments. He was good and kind. A little rough around the edges, but he treated you like royalty, and respected you deeply. He was faithful to you, and to the homestead you had built together. He didn’t wander. He didn’t seek intimacy in the arms of another. He was anchored to you, for better or worse. 

And now he was guiding you up the stairs and to the bedroom, his arm secure around your waist, part of him always touching you. Grounding you. He guided you to sit on the bed, leaving a kiss against the top of your head before he sauntered over to the dresser to choose some pajamas for you. 

You were in a haze, brought on by the rush of emotions you had experienced. Sleepy from crying, frazzled from your stress. You were lucky that Rhett was there to help you, because you felt so pathetic and incapable of caring for yourself in this state. You could manage alone if you had to, but you didn’t have to. As long as your husband was around, you’d never have to worry about being alone. 

“You want to wear these, or these?” He asked, holding up a set of Christmas pajamas that were your own, and a pair of sweatpants and one of his Henleys. 

Of course, you chose the sweats and his shirt, because you wanted to be entirely surrounded by everything that was him. 

With your pajamas picked out, he guided you to the bathroom, where he had you sit upon the closed toilet seat while he began filling the tub, making sure the water was the perfect temperature. In the process, he grabbed the little space heater you kept in the bedroom, and he set it up in the corner of the bathroom, to warm up the cold tiles so you wouldn’t catch a chill. 

You smiled fondly at his attentiveness. “I love you,” you spoke. 

He paused, his face softening, his eyes fluttering. “And I love you, pun’kin.” He kissed the top of your head before he motioned for you to stand. There, he began undressing you, and you allowed him to, because you didn’t have the energy to do it yourself. 

After the bath was filled, and the bubbles were in, he guided you into the water. “I’m gonna’ go finish makin’ us dinner, alright?”

But you frowned at that. “No, wan’ you to get in with me.”

“And I’d love to get in with ya, but you haven’t eaten anything since your lunch break, right?”

Sheepishly, you nodded. “Since 11:30 actually.”

“Uh-huh, exactly. That’s why I’m feedin’ you dinner. Ain’t no way I’m lettin’ my baby starve.” Another kiss was left upon your head. “Just relax and enjoy your bath. I’ll be back in a few to help ya get dressed. Then we can eat.”

That piqued your interest. “Can we watch a holiday movie?” You asked. 

He hummed, a twinkle in his eye. “‘course we can, sweet thing.”

As he turned to leave, you spoke up. “Hey, Rhett?”

In the doorway, he turned. “Hm?”

“Thank you for takin’ care of me.”

He shook his head. “That ain’t somethin’ you need to thank me for. Carin’ for you is my job, and I’m always gonna do it.”

What a man he was. Once he left the room, you found yourself reflecting upon how blessed you were to have him. When you’d first met him, he was a broken man with so much love to give, but no one to bestow it upon, except for his niece. But she wasn’t his child, so he found himself holding back, because even though he didn’t agree with the way his brother parented her, he didn’t want to overstep. 

Of course, he would’ve made a better father to Amy than Perry ever could. But that was neither here nor there. Now, Rhett barely spoke to his brother. For his own well-being, he’d cut ties with Royal and Perry. It was one of the hardest things he’d ever done, but he was better now because of it. 

There were behaviors he’d worked hard to unlearn after he entered into a relationship with you. Trouble communicating and processing his emotions was the most glaring issue. Those first few years together were no picnic. You had argued often. All you asked for was for him to be open and honest with you. He bucked against it like an untamed horse. The thought of being exposed and vulnerable in that way terrified him. 

He didn’t want you to see the wounded, ugly parts of him. Didn’t want you to see him cry, because his father had drilled into his head that showing emotion was feminine. Men don’t cry, he’d tell his son. It was simply because he didn’t want to deal with Rhett’s emotional nature. 

Rhett, who had always been a sensitive soul, learned to hide that sensitivity early on. Don’t cry, for fear of being told “I’ll give you somethin’ to cry about.”

In recent years, since Amy was born, Royal had softened a bit. But he was still just as hard on his youngest son. Rhett was the workhorse. The dependable one. The one who would grit his teeth and get the job done without complaining. 

And God forbid if he tried to complain. Royal wasn’t one for physical violence, it just wasn’t in his nature. But when Rhett was seventeen years old, he’d gotten fed up with the verbal lashing from his father. It was the first time he’d really tried to stand up for himself and tell Royal to shove it, in not-so-delicate terms. But it hadn’t ended well. Royal had backhanded Rhett so hard he saw stars, and ended up with a bloody lip. 

The man had felt bad about his reaction, but the thing about Royal Abbott was, he didn’t apologize. It wasn’t in his nature. Rhett couldn’t remember a time when he’d ever heard ‘I’m sorry’ come out of his father’s mouth. 

That moment was what made Rhett realize he couldn’t stay in such a toxic environment. He longed to leave the confines of the Abbott Ranch behind and pave his own way. But that was easier said than done. A sense of responsibility to his family kept him chained down to Wabang. He seemed to be destined to spend the rest of his days as a bull rider, living in his father’s shadow, busting his ass and receiving nothing in return. 

And then he met you. 

You made him believe there was more to life. You made him believe he could chase his dreams and achieve them. You made him believe in himself. 

He had learned so much from you. And through you, he had found freedom. You were the first person, aside from Amy, who’d ever truly believed in him. And here he’d spend the better part of ten years pining after a girl named Maria, who had never and would never return his affection 

He remembered being so glad when she returned to town after being at college for the last few years. He thought maybe things would be different. Maybe she would see him for who he was and finally reciprocate his feelings. 

But all she’d done was string him along and make him feel like shit for never leaving Wabang. In the end, she lost any interest she might’ve had in Rhett, leaving him dejected. 

And then you showed up. You were new in town. Your grandparents had just bought a new house in Florida, but still had yet to successfully sell their ranch. While they transitioned to a new house in a new state, they asked you if you would be willing to stay at their place until it sold. Dissatisfied with your current job and living situation, you agreed. 

Soon, you found yourself in an unfamiliar town in Wyoming, the last place you ever thought you’d be. You got a job through Amelia Elementary School, teaching piano. One of your students was Amy Abbott, and this was how you met her uncle, Rhett. 

You should have known it from the second you saw him. He appeared rough and tumble, but when he introduced himself to you, his eyes, bright and blue, were soft, and you swore you saw the hint of a blush in the apples of his cheeks. 

That was what did you in. There was a softness to him that tugged on your heartstrings. You had Amy twice a week for lessons. Rhett picked her up each time, and you found yourself looking forward to seeing him. 

Over the course of the next few months, he swallowed his fear of rejection and worked up the courage to ask you to go for coffee. Rhett wasn’t a fan of the fancy lattes and whatnot that Two Horns Coffee sold in downtown Wabang, but he’d noticed you often had a coffee cup from the place in hand, and he wanted to take you somewhere you liked. 

That was how he found himself seated in a quaint little cafe that totally wasn’t his style, in favor of getting to know you. That day, you talked for hours, until the coffee shop employees were shooing you out because it was closing time. And after that, you walked through the town and continued talking. 

Rhett wasn’t loud or boisterous or pompous. He was quiet and gentle. He was shy, which surprised you. He seemed so confident, but really, it was all a front. Everyone perceived him a certain way. He was the promiscuous bull rider with a new buckle bunny in his bed every night. 

But that couldn’t be further from the truth. He admitted to you that he hadn’t slept with anyone since Maria a few months ago, and before her, the last time anyone had been in his bed was the night of his 21st birthday. Some girl he barely knew. 

His family’s perception of his promiscuity stemmed from that instance, where Royal had caught the girl sneaking off early in the morning. Since then, Rhett hadn’t been able to live it down. In the minds of his family, he was the man-whoring problem child. 

Rhett never bothered to correct them, because what was the use?

But when you looked at him, you saw him. The real him. Shy and slightly awkward. Fidgety, unable to sit still. Kind and loving. Determined. 

He liked that. He felt seen and heard with you. He never felt like a burden. And because of this, he found himself drawn to you more and more. Soon enough, a romance blossomed between you. While it had its ups and downs, there was no doubt in each other’s minds that this was it. You were bonded for the rest of your lives. 

Your wedding came not long after. An intimate occasion with your closest friends and family. A beautiful ceremony in the mountains. After that, you moved into the home you’d been staying in since you moved to Wabang. As it turned out, your grandparents’ little ranch never sold, which left you and Rhett to move into it. 

You offered to pay in full for it, but your grandparents wouldn’t hear of it, insisting it was your wedding gift. The house did, however, need a lot of renovations, and that was where a lot of your money went. 

Since then, you had turned the house into everything you’d always dreamed of, and you’d started a wholesome life within its walls. 

Here Rhett was, thinking he needed to leave Wabang. But in reality, it wasn’t his hometown that he needed to distance himself from. Miraculously, his mental well-being increased tenfold when he escaped from beneath Royal’s thumb and started living his own life. 

And that was the thing of it, too. Rhett had a purpose here, on your little ranch. He could cultivate that intrinsic need to take care of things. He could take care of the land. He could take care of the animals. The only animals you had were your horse, Marabel, and Rhett’s horse, Esmeralda. But he had hopes of one day opening a horse sanctuary on your land. 

That was his dream. Not professional bull riding, like he’d spent so long trying to convince himself of. He loved horses, and wanted to do everything he could to help the animals that had always meant so much to him. 

He was working toward making that dream a reality. And someday soon, it would be. 

It was amazing to see the difference in him, since he’d started chasing after what he loved. He was no longer a man chained down to a life he didn’t want. He’d found a sense of freedom, and now, he was happier than he’d ever been. 

Yes, he had you to thank for it. But really, the determination to live a better life came from him. You were simply the one that lit the fire beneath him. Now he was a roaring flame, burning brighter than the sun. 

You were so proud of how far he’d come. And he was proud of himself, too. He had every right to be. 

He’d taken his ranch expertise and found a job at a horse ranch just outside of town. This allowed him to continuously be around the animals that he loved, while also making money. The owner was quite well off, and was paying Rhett handsomely. 

For the first time in his life, he was making a steady income, and he could provide for not only himself, but for you as well. You had your own job, and could hold your own, of course. But Rhett liked knowing he could take care of you. And you appreciated it. Coming from a family who’d never uttered so much as a thank you for all he did, it was refreshing to have someone express their unending gratitude for his care. 

Something as simple as making you grilled cheese for dinner made his heart soar, because after a difficult day, you were depending on him to care and provide for you. And he’d be damned if he was going to let you fend for yourself.

Watching you struggle had been hard for him. He hated seeing you in such a state of unrest. The changing of the seasons didn’t help, either. You were always hit with a bad wave of seasonal depression as soon as the clocks fell back. The early darkness made you sad. 

So Rhett did all he could to help you bear that burden. And tonight, he was determined to help you feel better. While you enjoyed your bath, he set to work finishing up dinner preparations. A little while later, with sandwiches at the ready and the living room set up with blankets and pillows, he rejoined you in the bathroom. 

“Hey, pun’kin. Y’ready?” He asked. 

You smiled sleepily at him. “Mhm.” 

So, he began the process of helping you out of the tub. He toweled you off, and then reverently smoothed your favorite lotion onto your skin. You were in a state of bliss as his large, but gentle, hands traveled over your body. He aided you in changing into your pajamas, and then he pulled a pair of cozy socks onto your feet. 

“C’mon now, let’s go eat ‘fore it gets cold.”

With that, he bent to shut off the space heater before he guided you out of the bathroom and down the stairs. When you walked into the living room, you couldn’t help but smile. He’d spread multiple blankets and pillows across the couch, creating a soft, cozy resting place. The fireplace was roaring, the low lights were on, and when you glanced at the window, you saw the snow was now falling in white sheets, making you feel as if you were inside a snow globe.

“Oh, this is perfect,” you whispered. 

Rhett beamed. “Go on, have a seat. I’ll get ya a drink. What do you want? Coke Zero? Some sweet tea?”

“Tea, please!” You quickly replied. One of the things Rhett could make besides grilled cheese was a mean sweet tea. Not too sweet, with just enough tea flavor that it wasn’t overpowering. It was your favorite. 

“Comin’ right up, chickadee.”

As you settled into the soft blankets on the couch, Rhett hurried to grab drinks for both of you. Soon, he was rejoining you, presenting you with a glass of tea, complete with a straw. You thanked him, and he smiled before he set about selecting a holiday movie. The 1947 version of Miracle on 34th Street was his choice, and soon, you were cuddled up together as the opening credits rolled, enjoying your dinner of grilled cheese. 

And just for a little while, things didn’t seem so bad. The harsh reality of life was dulled if only for a time, softened by the sweet delicateness of this moment shared between you. 

After you finished your food, you curled into Rhett’s side, your head on his shoulder. Content, he rested his cheek atop your head. You knew it was inevitable that he’d fall asleep. With a full tummy, and a cozy couch beneath him, he was sure to doze off. Rhett liked to stay busy, so during moments when he wasn’t, such as sitting down to watch a movie, he would almost always fall asleep. Years of being a workin’ man will do that to a body. 

He expected you to fall asleep, too. You’d had such a difficult day, and he was fully prepared to spend the rest of the night asleep on the couch with you. 

However, you were still wide awake as the movie neared the ending. Instead of drowsiness, you were filled with immense gratefulness. Rhett had come home from a long day of working in the cold, and had prepared you dinner and ran you a bath, simply because you’d had a bad day. He didn’t have to do such things, but he wanted to. 

He didn’t expect you to turn cartwheels and thank him in some dramatic way, but as you lay curled against him, you were struck with an idea. Albeit a mischievous one. 

You shifted, moving to glance at him. He was barely awake, his big, round eyes droopy. But then you began to nuzzle against him, kissing his jaw lightly. At first, he didn’t think anything of it. But then, one of your hands worked its way beneath the hem of his shirt, rubbing at the skin there. 

“Your hands are wanderin’,” he murmured, eyes still closed.

“I know,” you replied with a smile. 

“What’re you doin’, girl?” He continued as your hand went toward his chest. 

“Can’t I touch my man?”

“Sure y’can. But with you there’s always some ulterior motive. Little tease.”

He let out the softest of surprised squeaks when you tweaked his nipples, feeling them harden beneath your touch. “Not teasing. Just exploring.” Your lips attached to his jaw again, where you kissed and nipped at the scruffy skin. 

He began to melt beneath you, always a sucker for your loving touch. Your wandering hand trailed down his abdomen, and stopped just above the waistband of his plaid lounge pants. 

“Darlin’…” he warned, as your fingers swirled through the light dusting of hair that led down into his pants. 

“What?” Deft fingers traveled beneath the band of elastic. He wasn’t wearing anything underneath, which pleased you greatly, and gave you easy access. You brushed against the base of his cock, gripping onto it purposefully. He sucked in a breath, his hips jolting.

“Just wanted to thank you,” you hummed against his neck. “Always take such good care of me. Thought I’d take care of you.” 

You stroked him once. Twice. Palm running over silky skin. You longed to feel him grow in your hand. It was so erotic to you. Holding that thick, beautiful cock of his while it swelled to full hardness. 

“Wanna see it,” you spoke again. 

Rhett lifted his hips off the couch and haphazardly pushed his pants down toward his thighs. That was all you needed. His lower half was exposed, just enough for you to free him from the confines. Your mouth watered at the sight, and you languidly ran your hand up and down, resting your head on his chest as you watched him harden. 

God, you wanted to worship him. So that was what you did. 

You turned, moving to trail kisses down his smooth chest, stopping to leave a kiss against the raised scar that sat upon his shoulder. An unfortunate accident with a bull some years back. 

Then you went lower, lower, lower. Hands exploring, lips traveling. Soon, you were kneeling between his strong thighs, gazing up at him. You tugged his pants the rest of the way down, discarding them entirely so you could have uninhibited access. 

“S’pretty,” you hummed, as you admired him. It took him a moment to realize you were talking about his cock. His cheeks turned a shade of pink. But his bashfulness was soon forgotten when you leaned forward and began kissing along the underside of his shaft, from base to tip, offering tentative kitten licks as you went. 

He watched as you rubbed your cheek against him, nuzzling him as you kissed at his sensitive balls. You wanted to take a moment to truly appreciate what was before you. Standing tall and proud, something Rhett had every right to boast about if he wanted. 

But he didn’t. And that was where you came in, talking him up because you loved the way it rendered him speechless and blushing. 

“So big, I don’t know how it even fits inside me,” you mused. And it was the truth. But he was careful when he fucked you, never wanting to hurt you. Of course, that didn’t mean he was gentle. He had his gentle moments when you needed them, but he also had his moments where he fucked you within an inch of your life. You loved the balance. And you loved that he was mindful of what your body could handle. He’d never push you past your limits. Getting you to safeword was not the end goal. He wanted you to be able to enjoy intense scenes, without being pushed too far to the point where it took you out of the moment. 

Together, you had built a steady trust in each other, with boundaries put in place. Even in the midst of those scenes, you felt safe with Rhett. Protected. Even in the throes of intense passion, he was still looking out for you. 

But sometimes, something simple was all you needed. Like now, for instance. Lazily mouthing at his dick, relishing in the sharp saltiness on your tongue, and the deep muskiness that could only be described as Rhett. There was something so manly about it, and it sent a needy ache thrumming through your core. 

Meanwhile, Rhett was blissed out above you, torn between admiring you between his legs, and letting his head fall back against the couch as he relished in the feeling of your warm, wet mouth. Sinful and heavenly all at once. 

After spending time kissing and licking at him, you finally moved to focus on his tip, blushed and glimmering in the low light. Eyes flickering up to meet his hooded gaze, you parted your lips and very slowly began to swirl your tongue around him. Making a show of it, you focused your attention on the slit, tongue flicking back and forth until you were rewarded with a bead of precum, which you eagerly lapped up. 

“Oh, oh darlin’,” he breathed, hands gripping at the blankets beneath him. “You an’ that mouth of yours.”

You hummed around him, closing your lips around the tip and suckling softly before you began inching your way down. Being able to deep-throat him had taken practice. You remembered the way he reacted when you first took all of him. Unbeknownst to him, you’d been using a toy that was roughly the same size as him, training your throat to be able to take him. 

Now you could take him like a champ, and it drove him wild. 

Slowly, slowly, you took more of him, relaxing your throat, until your nose was pressed against the gathering of dark hair around the base. He kept himself neatly groomed, but left just enough behind because he knew how much you loved it. 

“‘at’s it, atta girl,” he graveled, fighting the urge to place his hand atop your head and hold you in place. But he would soon quickly lose that air of dominance to you.

You swallowed around him, which stole the air from his lungs, before you pulled back, kissing at the tip, wet with your spit. As you took a moment to catch your breath, you brought a hand up to toy with his heavy balls. 

“Ha!” He gasped, and you couldn’t help but grin. 

“Sensitive?” You asked. 

“Uh-huh,” he answered. “Ain’t had ‘em played with in a while.”

“Oh, honey,” you cooed, mouth still against the soft skin of his cock. “I’ve been neglecting you, haven’t I? Haven’t played with these big sensitive balls. Haven’t milked the cum out of them in so long.”

“F-fuck!” You’d taken him all the way to the hilt again without warning. 

It was true. It had been a while. It had been a crazy few weeks for both of you, and you hadn’t had time to really enjoy each other in the way that you wanted. A few quickies here and there hadn’t satisfied that burning desire you held for one another. 

Rhett didn’t like getting off without you. Sometimes, he would, if he was ever out of town or vice versa. But he much preferred being with you. He craved you. Fantasized about you. Wanted only you. His hand didn’t cut it. Your mouth and pussy were what he wanted. 

And oh, how good your mouth was. You knew exactly how to pleasure him. Knew he loved when you swirled your tongue against the underside of his tip, where he was most sensitive. Knew he couldn’t get enough of your hands on his balls while you took him down your throat. Knew he loved when you rubbed your face all over his dick. 

When you pulled your mouth off of him again, you rubbed the tip all over your lips, kissing softly, humming against him. Then you went back to tonguing the underside, and he gasped sharply, hips jolting. 

You took that opportunity to close your mouth around him and let him slide naturally to the back of your throat again. You used your other hand to massage down his shaft as you pulled back up, never leaving him without a moment of stimulation. 

“Y’ keep doin’ that and I won’t last,” he warned. 

“That’s the idea,” you replied with a smile. 

He moaned softly, letting his head fall back as you swallowed around him. This time, you stayed down longer, gulping as you did, and the sound drove him wild. You were drooling all over him, pulling out all the stops to bring him to the edge. 

And it was working. He was so pent up, and you both knew he wasn’t going to last. He’d begun to tremble, his thighs shaking at either side of your head. His hands clenched and unclenched around the blankets he held. His hips had begun to move of their own volition. 

“You’re squirming,” you teased. 

“Ca-can’t help it,” he stammered. “Your—fuck—your mouth is so g— ah!”

He couldn’t even get the words out. You kept pressing your tongue against that damn spot, knowing it would get him all worked up. He was losing his coherence the longer it went on. Mumbled half phrases, with gasps and whines mixed in. It was so easy to work him up like this. He was always so responsive. 

Interestingly enough, he hadn’t always been like this. In the beginning, he’d been more reserved. He was shy about the sounds he made. Ashamed of his whines and whimpers. He was holding back, and you could tell. So, little by little, you encouraged him to be more vocal. 

“Wanna hear you. Wanna know it feels good for you,” you’d told him, and he hadn’t really thought of it that way. As much as he loved hearing you and knowing he was making you feel good, he realized you also wanted the same thing from him. 

It took him a little while to feel confident enough to freely make those sounds of pleasure, but once he finally got past that hurdle, you couldn’t shut him up if you tried. Not that you wanted to, either. 

There was something about this man of few words being unable to remain silent that really got to you. You’d expected him to be all gravelly grunts and groans. And he was. But he whimpered, too. A lot. Especially when you got him feeling really good. 

He was so easy to rile up. Whether he was assuming the dominant or submissive role, or just simply making love to you with no kinky games involved. Get him close to orgasm, and sounds would pour from his throat uncontrollably. 

Like now, for instance. He was so beautiful this way. His whole body trembling, his eyes rolling back, his mouth open to let out unsteady gasps. You loved how you could reduce him to such a state. This strong, steady man, who’d just so tenderly taken care of you, was now trying to hold it together so he wouldn’t come too soon. 

But you wanted it. “Nuh-uh, don’t you hold back,” you told him. 

He took a shuddering breath. “Honey…”

“C’mon,” you coaxed, wrapping your fingers around him and stroking quickly. “Know you wanna come in my mouth, wanna watch me swallow all of it.”

And oh, he did. One thing about Rhett was that he loved watching you take his cum. Whether it be smeared across your pretty face, painted onto your chest, dripping out of your pussy, or in your mouth. 

Right now, you wanted it in your mouth. And you were determined to get it. Keeping your tongue right against his tip, you tightened your grip on him only slightly, moving your hand with purpose. Your other hand was at his balls again, massaging in time with the hand on his shaft. 

His eyes swam with unshed tears, and he gritted his teeth, breathing harshly through his nose. Warmth was beginning to crackle to life at the base of his spine, as if you’d just lit a fuse. 

You pulled out all the stops, taking him to the hilt again before you resumed that pleasurable torture against his tip. Alternating back and forth, bringing him closer and closer and closer to the edge, watching through hooded eyes as he lost himself, chest heaving, body trembling. 

“C-close,” he gasped. 

“Come down my throat,” you urged, before you placed his cock against your tongue, stroking hard and fast as you brought him toward his end. 

Rhett gazed down at you, and you caught his eye, your face pleading as you eagerly awaited his load. He could barely take the sight, and he threw his head back, groaning deeply. “F-fuck, darlin’, I’m—”

And then he whined. Keening high in his chest, his hips shunted forward. You could feel him pulse beneath your touch, and in an instant, you closed your mouth around him, creating a seal so that nothing would escape. You took all he had to give, swallowing every last drop of his seed like the good girl you were, all while he gasped and whined and softly sobbed above you. 

As he came down, he twitched in your mouth, the sensitivity mounting. He hissed as you pulled off his cock, sucking any remnants of cum from his skin before you released the softening shaft. You pressed a gently kiss to the tip before you innocently looked up at him.

Breathlessly, he swore. “Get up here,” he murmured, and you smiled, climbing up into his lap. He searched for your lips, and you kissed him, letting him taste himself on your tongue. “Mm, nearly sucked m’ soul outta me,” he teased.

“That was the idea,” you said with a giggle. 

He leaned in to kiss you again. His eyes were droopy, sleepiness evident in his features. “Should return the favor,” he continued when he broke the kiss, but you shook your head. 

“Uh-uh, that was my way of thanking you for taking care of me. We’re even.”

“But I wan’...” he paused to yawn, “wan’ make you feel good, too.”

“Tomorrow,” you promised. “For now, let’s just rest.” Another kiss was pressed to his lips before you reluctantly slid off him to retrieve his pants from the floor. You had just enough time to pull them onto his body before he had fallen asleep.

Lovingly, you brushed a lock of hair away from his forehead before you settled down beside him, pulling the blanket over you both. “I love you, cowboy,” you whispered, as you nestled yourself against his side. How grateful you were for him. This good and kind man was all yours. You silently thanked the universe for giving him to you.

And sure enough, the next morning, you woke to his head between your thighs, sending you to a place of absolute, unadulterated bliss. 

Yes, you were thankful for him indeed. 

-

taglist:

@withahappyrefrain @rhettabbotts @ryebecca @up-thereinthesky @oldfangirl30 @peachystenbrough @attapullman @auroralightsthesky @sebsxphia @delopsia @damrlova @hangmanapologist @lovinglyeternal @laracrofted @callsign-magnolia @callsignspark @bobfloydsbabe @bobgasm @nobody7102 @milesmillergf @idontcare-11 @theliterarybeldam @yanna-banana @floydsglasses @whisperofsong @1-800-floyd @floydsmuse @cruel-winter-nights @goldenseresinretriever @keep-on-burnin @happyrebelruins @bamfkurt @swiftsgirlfriend @virgo-wonder @seitmai-too @bradshawsbaby @bradshawsbitch

[meownotgood]

let us live, if we must die. / chapter four: scarlet wings

You are a witch, and since the purging of all magic, you've been forced to live a life of solitude and secrecy. Your destiny was always beyond your control — until, by a pure twist of fate, you unknowingly fell for the kingdom's only prince. 

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pairing: prince!aki x witch!reader

word count: 14.6k

tags: fantasy au, royalty au, reader is fem, some very small mentions of violence, aki is getting better at flirting, way too many metaphors, two idiots who don't realize they're obvious being totally obvious

notes: this chapter is my favorite so far... I hope you'll enjoy it... thank you for your kindness and your patience as always! the next chapter may take a bit because I have some other writing plans for october, but I promise to return again soon :)

masterlist read on ao3 join the taglist here!

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soft sky, bleeding sun

I'll cradle your fear until

the clouds make it theirs

—

Growing up in the kingdom taught you to fear the color red.

Red was a staple of the seals worn by the knights and soldiers — the men you needed to be wary of, in order to survive. It symbolizes power, fear, violence. Red served as a reminder of the empire's scarlet, mage-seeking birds, of the crimson blood that would spill after every war, each brutal execution.

The same sort of bird rests in your palms now.

Kneeling, you sit in the center of a clearing, damp dirt and blades of grass tickling your bare knees, the forest's trees whispering in the faint, post-storm breeze. The air is cool and humid; it tickles the back of your neck, making the hair on your arms stand on end. The sky is obscured by a canopy of trees, and by knots of thick, dark clouds. Rain will fall again soon, most likely. You should head home. Yet, you can't seem to move. Your gaze won't tear itself away from the small, red-feathered bird you have held in both your palms.

A scarlet songbird. They're harmless, although quite rare to find in this area. Your books have told you they used to be much more prevalent, native to almost every area with the right weather conditions. Since the kingdom tamed them, they've mostly been captured — sometimes hunted. It's unlikely to find them in a place like this, departed from captivity. To the kingdom, the songbird's affinity for seeking out magical traces is too valuable to let roam free.

A particular book you read on local wildlife noted how the birds like to nab magical items to decorate their nests. They were trained to spot mages for the kingdom's benefit, to follow the traces left by spells and trail them to their source. Normally, they are timid, and try to avoid predators whenever possible. The kingdom turned them into hunters themselves.

Though, in this forest, they are finally free. From danger and captivity, from the kingdom's everlasting grasp. And so are you.

This one has seen better days. The bird's tiny body barely dwarfs one of your palms: a juvenile, most likely. It can't be more than a few months old. Most of its right wing appears to be damaged, with clusters of feathers missing, exposing a deep, fresh injury. Its breathing quickens, causing its body to shake. You brush your thumb over the bird's head, and it coos quietly in response, nuzzling further into your hand.

"What's up? Why are we stopping?"

Aki's voice rouses you from your thoughts, and you glance up to see him curiously peering over your shoulder, leaning down, his hands on his knees.

Aki reminds you of the color blue. Like the sparkle of royal sapphires, with the same sort of gleam reflected in his eyes. Like the colored sketches of the sea you've memorized from your books, and longed to one day see for yourself.

A handful of days ago, he brought you a bundle of bright blue peonies, which he found near the edge of the clearing surrounding your cottage. You placed some into a vase on the dining room table, and took the rest with you to have in your bedroom. Your eyes caught on their vibrant petals each and every time you entered. Since you first met and came to know Aki, you've never noticed so much blue. The blue of the sky, the blue of the river, the blue of butterfly wings and puffy flowers and shimmering stars.

Aki is blue; he's become synonymous with the word. With the blue of veins, instead of the ache that comes with flashes of bright, red blood.

You sigh slightly, glancing away from him, and back to the bird.

"Her wing is busted," You explain simply, clear frustration present in your voice, in the way your brows slightly pinch. "I doubt she'll be able to fly again."

Aki's eyes narrow. "A magehunter bird," He muses, "I didn't know you could find them this far out."

"There's plenty in the forest, they just like to keep themselves hidden," You reply with a shrug, your voice remaining soft and low, to avoid startling the small songbird. "I think they avoid the cottage, mostly. They don't like people."

Your words are a half-truth; before Aki, you'd often spot the birds gathering close to your home. Perching in the trees and sometimes on the roof, singing their little pleasant songs, or pecking at the mushrooms that encircle the clearing, just to flutter away when you got too close. With the addition of your new guest, and with the lack of spells you've been casting lately, they've been reluctant to continue hanging around.

The bird in your palms, however, is completely pliant. She doesn't even attempt to peck at your fingers or flap her injured wing. Her sharp breathing would lead you to believe she's still fearful, but she lacks the energy to fight or run, to do anything but timidly watch you, and hope you aren't a threat to a creature who is already dying.

It makes your heart ache, truly.

Aki examines the sudden strain in your expression. He hums in thought, and he kneels down to sit by your side; the bird shudders, drawing its wings close to its body. Almost as if it's trying to shrink away.

"You're fond of birds, aren't you?" Aki says calmly.

You huff a playful breath, and reply with a lilt of intrigued half-sarcasm, "How could you tell?"

"I kind of guessed, with all those wood sculptures," He answers, taking the question completely seriously. You think back to your living room, to the shelf of wooden birds you've hand-made, and although you're already pre-planning your rebuttal — it was just to pass the time, that's all — Aki seems to see right through you.

"I figured you liked animals, but birds were probably your favorite." He brushes a palm over the back of his neck awkwardly. His hair is up and out of his face, but his bangs still fall in front of his eyes as he tilts his head. "When I saw all those little sculptures, I thought it was… I don't know. Sort of cute."

His compliment makes you freeze up slightly, your face burning with warmth. You should be used to this, considering how open Aki has swiftly become, especially in the past few days. Still, as though it's simply effortless, he always manages to make you feel flustered.

A thin droplet of rain plops onto your arm. You shiver. The air carries the scent of a coming storm; it has your heart feeling heavy, reminding you of the day you first met him. It hasn't stormed like this since then. This time though, you won't have to return to your cottage alone.

Aki glances at you, then to the bird in your palms. "Should we take her with us?"

You know it's unlikely for the bird to survive, even if you brought it home and attempted to nurse it back to health. If it cannot fly, if it can't regain strength and let its wing heal, it'll be doomed.

And what about you? Unless the birds are trained to sniff out mages, they aren't typically a threat, but it could be drawn to the magical items you have hidden in your cabin. Aki must know their purpose better than anyone — he's from the kingdom, after all. It could give you away, if you aren't careful. The logical side of you says you should leave the bird behind, regardless of what your heart might believe.

But since you met Aki, when have you ever done what you should do?

Rising to your feet, you cup one palm over the other to shield the bird from the falling raindrops. Aki follows, standing back up in turn. Your cottage won't take long to return to. The bird's wound will need to be tended to immediately, before you start preparing dinner. It'll be thirsty and hungry. You're sure you can root around and find something to feed it.

It's settled, then.

You're smiling on the way back home, and when Aki asks you why, you tell him it's nothing, instead of admitting the truth — that you find it amusing, to have already picked up another poor thing to nurse back to health. Another him. You can't catch a break, can you?

—

With each passing, precious day, trying not to become too friendly with your new cabin-mate has been steadily becoming more and more difficult. Impossible, even. Honestly, perhaps that plan was always doomed to fail.

Aki is easy to talk to, and conversations between you flow like a river's calm stream — despite your inexperience when it comes to such discussions. Part of you worried things might become awkward after the night he comforted you, but surprisingly, nothing seems to change. Aki doesn't bring it up, nor does he act any differently. It's as though you've been friends for years, not weeks. It's nice, actually.

Your days are spent gathering ingredients and herbs from the forest, leaving early in the morning to avoid crossing paths with any devils. While your nights are spent relaxing, talking, and eating together. He's learned to make plenty of meals with your assistance. Aki swears he'll remember how to prepare them for his next adventures, should he find himself in a forest like this one.

Your greatest hurdle, at first, was getting used to his presence within the magic circle; a constant source of energy, wavering between the sensitive threads of the spell you've learned to constantly maintain.

It felt — he felt — like a persistent coolness on your skin, a knot within you that couldn't be untangled. A rift in your heart, and in your mind. Now, the ripples surging through your spell hardly bother you. They're comforting, even. Aki's presence, formed by the inner shape of his soul's mana, is calm. Deep like the ocean, frozen over like ice.

Aki is tidy, but his corner of the living room quickly begins to flourish with his belongings. His cot is always made neatly, the pillows straightened.

Books are stacked up beside the cot: various stories he's borrowed from your collection, based on your recommendations. His notebook and the jar of ink you prepared for him are set precariously on top of the stack, a bookmark poking out from the pages. Crafted from a thin strip of wood and one of the songbird's stray crimson feathers, you made the bookmark and gifted it to him.

After Aki's wound stopped bothering him — for the most part — he suddenly forgot all of your previous instructions to rest.

He does relax somewhat, when it's at your request. As his health improves, so does his level of energy. He usually stays up reading when he can't sleep — which is often, you've noticed. And as you've come to learn, Aki is a fountain of energy, and he can hardly stand to be cooped up for long.

You blamed it on the elf in him, initially. The points in his ears don't lie.

Truthfully, you haven't interacted with many elves. They were quite a rare sight in the kingdom. They're known to be on the curious side, requiring little amounts of sleep. Either way, they tend to prefer spending as much of their time as they can on their own pursuits. Novels usually paint elves as cold and stern, often taking up leadership positions because of their intelligence and status, but Aki differs from most of those stereotypes. He isn't cold towards you, anyways.

He reminds you more of a playful side, like the nature-loving elves in adventure stories. The sort of person who gets themselves into all sorts of trouble with their unbound knack for adventure.

Recently, Aki has been promising he'll stay still for a while and lie down, but once you return to the cottage, supplies in hand, he's nowhere to be found.

The first time it happened, you panicked. You felt even more anxious when you couldn't find him outside. The darker parts of your mind decided to spin some story where Aki returns with knights to apprehend you, and an army to face you.

Yet each and every time, he'd return alone.

Sometimes covered in dirt, apologizing for his absence as he interrupts your dinner preparations, dropping a palm-full of the songbird's favorite berries on the counter. We were running out, he explains guiltily, glancing away at the sight of your pout. He's already expecting you to scold him. For acting recklessly, for possibly putting himself in danger. It took me a bit to find them. Sorry if I worried you. I won't get lost next time.

In other cases, he'd return much sooner. He's a sweaty mess as he swings open the front door, slightly out of breath. He runs a hand through his hair to push it back. I was exploring, lost track of time, he says, through ragged gasps. I ran home when I realized how late it was. Got some exercise, at least.

You believe him, because why wouldn't you? Aki is kind and polite, perhaps too much so. He has always been honest. About most things, at least. He's charming, in a way. Though, you'd never admit those things to his face. You have a hard enough time admitting them to yourself.

Aki radiates this strong, fiery sense of warmth that perfectly contrasts the sensation of his aura: cool, deep, and still. A glittering sun on the surface, and a somber moon within. It's incredibly, addictively intriguing.

At this point, you've known him longer than anyone, besides your own family. His presence in your cottage has begun to feel natural. And yet, you feel as though you haven't even scratched his surface.

Nevertheless, the days continue to pass — although they definitely feel faster than normal. Your time with your elven, secretly royal guest slips by effortlessly. Most of Aki's depth continues to remain hidden, but your talks together become longer, your moments shared are always treasured.

And between the gaps in your usual routine, you continue caring for the poor scarlet bird.

Turns out, Aki might be more fond of the little thing than you are. It's endearing, to see him frequently check up on her. He helps you out with her care whenever he can.

The two of you prepared a small area for the bird together, creating a makeshift nest near the fireplace with moss, leaves, and the leather scrap that remained of Aki's old bag. You gathered some seeds and berries, and you placed them close, along with a shallow bowl of water. She was lethargic at first, but thankfully, once the sun rose, the bird began to move and eat. Since then, she's been recovering gradually. You've woken up earlier than usual a few times already, roused by the sound of her pleasant chirping.

That's a good sign, at least. Even if she can't fly yet.

Today, you and Aki rarely separated. You spent most of the morning away from the cottage, and most of the afternoon outside, on the outskirts of the clearing. You've been attempting to grow a garden there, and it needs to be tended to. Hopefully, you'll have your own berry bushes once they're in season next year. It'll make gathering them for dishes much simpler. Aki learns the process quickly, and he has no problem helping you pull weeds and treat the soil.

Once the sun finally began to lower, the trees obscuring its fading glow, the sky hued in bright shades of orange, you both headed back inside, and followed the same routine you've built up over the past few days.

You sit near the fireplace, Aki close beside you. The both of you enjoy the fire's steady, flickering warmth. Today was hot, but the night has grown cold. Dinner was simple to prepare, as was the process of cleaning up, especially with Aki's help. You watch the bird take careful breaths as it draws its wings close, settles into its nest, and closes its eyes.

Cross-legged, you rest your elbows on your knees, and your chin in your hands. Aki leans back, getting comfortable; he glances between you and the fire, the same way he does when he obviously has something to say. Firelight frames his face warmly, his handsome features lit in bright hues, his long, dark hair gently brushing his shoulders.

You'll speak first, if he won't.

"How are you liking the book I lent you?" You're inquiring, your head tilting slightly with your question.

Aki raises a brow. He brings his glass to his lips, and takes a sip of the cherry-red homemade wine. It's more like juice, really. The combination of berries make it sweet and refreshing. Considering the limited resources you have in the forest, it's one of your most impressive recipes.

He sets his glass back down on the floor when he's finished, right next to yours.

"It's good," Aki replies simply, his tone completely earnest. "I'm about halfway through."

Recently, he's been reading one of the many books you recommended to him, usually making progress after you've gone to bed, when he can't sleep. You specifically chose something you thought he would like: an adventure book, about a traveler following his father's old treasure map. The story is carefree and whimsical. You'd hoped Aki might sleep if he read a book before bed, but when he gets terribly engrossed, it just seems to keep him up for even longer.

He reminds you of yourself.

"Are you at the part where he gets to the waterfall?" You ask, recalling the last time you read that particular novel. You've read everything in your collection hundreds of times, but it's been a few months.

"With the sirens?" Aki answers, placing his hands in his lap.

"Yeah," You hum, a stupid grin tugging at your cheeks. Your gaze sparkles, and you hardly attempt to keep it at bay. "With the sirens."

You aren't sure what makes you happier. The fact that Aki is genuinely reading and enjoying the book you chose, knowing he's currently reaching one of your favorite parts in the story, or the pleasant spark you get in your chest when you imagine talking about it with him once he's finished, finally being able to share something you love.

All of those feelings are lovely enough to keep, but nothing compares to the warmth you're drowned in as Aki flashes you a quick, gentle smile.

"You better not spoil what happens," He murmurs through a small laugh, "You've gotten me invested."

"I would never, I promise." You raise your hands in the air innocently. Dammit, his smile is so contagious. "We probably shouldn't talk about it until you're done, just in case. You've gotta finish all of it. The ending is the best part, for sure."

"What about your book?" Aki asks; his gaze stays on you, as he watches you take a quick sip of your wine. "Have you finished it yet?"

You swirl the contents of your glass. "The Holy Knight? Yeah, I finished it yesterday."

"Did you like it? Or, I suppose you said you've already read it, right?" Aki corrects. "How does it compare to the last time you read it?"

Thinking to yourself, you breathe a soft hmm, and tap your index finger idly against your cheek.

"It was good. I mean, I enjoy the whole story no matter how many times I've read it. The ending always makes me tear up."

You recall the final chapter, the book's somber ending. At the very end, the knight saves the land, and as the curse is lifted, flowers and trees finally begin to grow. He inherits the kingdom, he is surrounded by wealth and beauty. But even after becoming king and marrying his love, he isn't satisfied with his accomplishments. In one final battle, the knight sacrifices himself to save the princess. He departs from her with an embrace, and then kisses her hand, her cheek, and finally…

Aki's smooth voice breaks you out of your haze. "My brother owned that one. I've read parts of it to him before, countless times. Though I can't remember if we ever wound up finishing it."

"Maybe that's for the best. It's kind of a sad ending."

You shrug, your gaze drifting away from him, and back towards the fireplace, flames flickering and wavering. The small scarlet bird rests in her nest. She appears to be sleeping, her eyes closed and her head tucked close to her patchy wing. You adjust your position, sitting with your knees drawn up, your arms around them. The living room smells like the fireplace's crisp ashes, mixed with the lingering sweet scent of crushed berries and juice.

For some odd reason ��� or perhaps there isn't one — you change the subject to abruptly state, "The knight in that story. He reminds me of you."

Aki's eyes grow slightly wider. Then, he lets go of an amused huff, he points to himself with his thumb; "Me? Honestly, I haven't read that story in a long time. I think you'll have to explain."

He's glancing at you now, back straightened, pointed ears slightly perked up.

"Uhm, it's like-" You shake your head, trying not to stutter. "It's just with how he is around the princess, you know? You remember the scene where Vincent meets Edith, right? Before she gets captured?"

Aki's brows furrow, as though he's trying to remember. "Vaguely."

"Where Edith says she hates him, and swears they'll never marry, even if the entire kingdom was at stake. But Vincent vows he'll win her heart?"

"Ah. Well-" Reaching for his drink, Aki tilts his head back to take a good long sip. His warm, confident gaze meets yours. "I don't think I've won anything yet."

When you promptly elbow him, he offers you a slight, almost nervous grin. Thankfully, he gives your heart a bit of reprieve, glancing away to carefully set his drink back down.

"Not like that," You're scoffing, shuffling with embarrassment. You drop your knees to place your hands in your lap and fiddle with your thumbs. "It was just… with how he's so nice to her, and then their dialogue changes so much as they grow closer-" You shake your head. "Ugh. Nevermind."

"No, no. I'm listening." Aki peers at you, apologetic. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't tease you. I understand what you mean. We are similar."

Too similar. You're starting to wish you hadn't spoken, or even made the connection, because you can no longer stop yourself from picturing the novel's scenes with you in place of the princess — and of course, with Aki in place of the knight.

You imagine Aki hugging you close, his strong, safe arms around you, before he pulls back to kiss your hand, soft lips delicately brushing your knuckles. You think of Aki sweeping you into his arms to carry you away from danger. Aki reassuring you on late nights spent in one another's bed chambers that he wouldn't leave you, not even if the world deemed it so. Aki offering you his sword, so you can tap it to his shoulder as he says his vows, those pretty blue eyes on yours, his smooth voice echoing through your dizzy thoughts.

Miss Edith, I do swear for as long as I draw breath to never allow my fealty to waver. I do swear to offer my life for yours, and my heart for you to bear. If I am to fall, you will be my final thought, as you are my first and last dream before sleep, my love.

You've memorized so many lines from that damn book, and paired with how vividly you can picture Aki's voice, your mind is practically whirling.

You shake your head firmly, and give your flushed cheeks a couple light slaps. Aki cocks a brow, and casually leans closer as he glances at you, hoping to catch your eyes once more.

"Are you alright?" He murmurs, his soft tone not-so different from the one you were imagining, "Don't force yourself to stay awake if you're getting tired."

"Oh," You blink, and try your best to meet his gaze without looking away. Without picturing one of your favorite scenes from the book, a moment not too different from this one. The knight and the princess are in her quarters, sipping wine from fancy goblets. Suddenly, the princess suggests she's been hiding her true feelings all along, she believes she's fallen for him, and then —

"Yeah, I'm a bit tired," You mutter, clearing your throat. The fireplace is suddenly interesting enough to catch your eyes and keep them there.

Aki waits a moment, before he gathers both of your nearly-empty glasses, and reaches forward to set them on the edge of the fireplace, placing them out of the way.

All of those moments, those scenes, those dreams, often felt as though they'd be impossible. They are just fiction. Books to get drawn into, to take you somewhere far away from here, and nothing more. Because in your heart, you know those stories were never written with you in mind. Magic and mages would often be portrayed as what people thought of them — as the evil force the heroes needed to combat, as the villians that were meant to be vanquished. You accepted them for what they were, and accepted your loneliness. You had no other choice.

Perhaps you should start dreaming again. Perhaps this new dream, the one Aki has begun to lead you into, will pave a path to a warm, blossoming future. As long as you are willing to finally let yourself trust.

"You should get some rest," Aki encourages, his tone kept low. He gestures to the bird with a flicker of his gaze and a tilt of his head. "I'll keep an eye on her."

As if led by his instruction, you promptly stretch your arms up, and struggle to form an answer through a long yawn. "Alright."

Aki awkwardly rolls his shoulders back. He gnaws on his bottom lip, and avoids meeting your eyes as he rubs the tension from his own hands, squeezing his palms, flexing his fingers.

"There was… something I wanted to do," He begins, "But I wasn't sure if I should propose it."

"Huh?" You question, "Why?"

"I thought it might upset you."

Knowing Aki, it surely wouldn't. You don't hesitate, and barely fault your budding curiosity.

"Show me. And if I don't like it, I'll tell you." Your gaze on his is sure, unwavering. You reflect sparks of fierce firelight. "I'm okay with giving anything a chance, as long as it's with you."

Aki looks away, swallowing. He seems nervous, in a certain endearing way, in a way you're sure you haven't seen from him yet; he shifts uncomfortably, his palms already sweaty. Finally, he sighs, and forces himself to not only meet your eyes, but to get the words out.

"Do you remember this one scene from the middle of The Holy Knight? When they're-" He cringes, his teeth gritting. "Riding in the back of a carriage?"

Vincent and Edith had just finished tending to affairs at a fancy dinner party. The chapter leaves out most of the details, but describes them as they traveled back to the castle. They sat together in a fancy horse-drawn carriage, and as Edith's weary eyes began to droop, Vincent guided her to rest against his shoulder.

Oh. You don't answer, but you're sure you've made your realization obvious by the look on your face.

You watch him curiously as Aki takes a deep, motivating breath. He doesn't meet your eyes, but he does begin to shift a bit closer. He ever-so slowly and ever-so tentatively places his arm around you, barely touching. You follow the rest of the way, as he guides you to carefully lean your head against his shoulder.

It's stiff, a bit cumbersome. Your cheek doesn't quite rest perfectly on the bony, hard edge of his shoulder. You have to lean over a bit too much for this to be truly comfortable, and Aki is surely sitting way too straight, clearly still awkward.

But honestly, it's perfect. It's authentic, it's warm — and when you steal a glance up at him, his pretty expression makes it all worth it. Aki is smiling. He's flustered, perhaps more than you. You doubt the light from the fireplace is all that's flushing his skin in shades of red and pink.

You smirk, and nuzzle further into his shoulder, finally closing your eyes.

"Awfully bold of you," You're murmuring in a tired tone, trying your best to mimic the fancy cadence of the princess' line from the novel.

Aki shrugs. "It's probably the wine."

It isn't, it's fruit juice you've been calling wine, but your fuzzy thoughts begin to fade away as the fire warms you, and as Aki's faint touch comforts you — his arm around you, his palm brushing from your shoulder to your back — guiding your mind to drift off into a quiet, gentle slumber.

—

When the night sky meets the trees, the moon illuminating the clearing's whispering blades of grass, and the stars shimmering with their own faint promises, you find your favorite space to be alone.

It's been a few weeks since Aki first began staying with you, and a few days since you first took the bird in. Tonight, the foggy air that settles on your skin is cool and crisp. The forest is calm and quiet, save for the sounds of rustling trees and cooing cicadas. You sit in the clearing just in front of your cottage, cross-legged, gazing up at the brilliant canopy illuminating the surrounding darkness.

This was your usual routine, before Aki. You would spend each night looking up at the stars, when it was far too late for anything to disturb you. The night often gave you peace. It allowed you to think. When it was just you and the crickets and the wind, and the smell of the dirt and the trees, you felt as though you could finally breathe.

Inhaling slowly, and then exhaling carefully, you let the night's cool air fill your lungs. Wind brushes across you ever-so faintly. At first, while Aki was resting, you took every opportunity, slipping away to enjoy this whenever you could. When your mind was racing and you just couldn't sleep, the lonesome silence helped to calm your worries. This time, it isn't helping much.

Your mind has been a mess all day today, and the day before that. Perhaps it has never truly untangled. All the usual worries you've had about Aki and the kingdom and the future have been piling up, filling your head with no way to discard them. Quietness helps you think, but you don't want to think; you've been lost in your thoughts for way too long.

Nothing works. It's a lost cause, clearly. You sigh to yourself.

The best you can do is try to relax out here for a while, underneath the pale moon, and hope your mind eventually tires itself out enough to let you sleep.

Though, the night has other plans for you.

The cottage door opens from behind you with a wooden creak, and you swiftly turn around. Aki carefully closes the door behind him. He gives you a soft, acknowledging smile when your eyes meet, before he walks down the stairs of the front porch, and comes to sit beside you. He matches you, crossing his legs; faint breaths of wind rustle his crisp white tunic and flutter through the long, dark strands of his hair.

"I'm not interrupting, am I?" Aki asks smoothly, and you quickly shake your head.

"No, no. It's fine. You can stay." Your gaze travels back to the glittering stars, as they watch over the both of you with distant admiration. "I'd like it if you stayed, actually."

So, Aki does.

He folds his hands in his lap, and falls into silence alongside you. Once again, you are no longer alone. He stays while you stare absently at the moon and the sky, continuing to think to yourself. He stays when the night seems to grow colder, the breeze nipping at your arms and the back of your neck, your eyes heavy, while your heart keeps thudding in your chest.

Finally, you let go of a small sigh in frustration. It doesn't go unnoticed; Aki's gaze flickers back to you. In the corner of your vision, you can see him eyeing you up and down, carefully considering, calmly examining.

"Are you alright?" He asks, far too gently. "It's pretty late for you to still be awake."

You shake your head. You glance down, focused on your hands and the shadowy blades of grass tickling your knees. "I can't sleep."

"Why's that? Are you cold?" Aki's brow raises as he notes your small shivers. "I can move, if you want to be by the fireplace. I'll sleep on the floor or something."

"I'm not that cold." You rub your goosebump-filled arms with your palms, somewhat contradicting your words. "I've just been thinking. Thinking too much, probably. That's all."

Aki quiets. He runs a hand through his hair to push it from his face, he idly taps his finger against his knee.

Suddenly, thinking becomes so much more difficult. It always is, whenever he's around. Yet, this is a welcome change. The night feels warmer with him near. His presence alone helps your mind find its footing. You can breathe, but you didn't need the night to teach you — you just needed him.

Foolish, isn't it?

A few moments tick by. Your thoughts drift to lighter subjects. Dreams and soft hopes. He waits for you to speak, never pressing, never pulling. And so, you do.

"I've always liked how bright the stars are out here," You murmur, almost talking to yourself, with your gaze still caught on the sparkling array in the sky. "They shine brighter where the forest is darkest. Almost like they know there's someone out there who might need them to light their way home."

On your first night alone, when you escaped from the kingdom, when you ran as deep into the forest as your tired legs could take you, with only some books in your pack and a demon-warding amulet around your neck, the stars were there. They lit your path through the trees and into the clearing. Hundreds upon thousands of steady glowing lights watched over you when you collapsed, and they made sure to look after your rest until morning.

Aki listens intently. He looks only at you. When you're content like this, staring at the sky, your pretty gaze seems to sparkle, too.

"They're gorgeous. It gets harder to see them the closer you get to the city," He says. "In the kingdom, we have this phrase about stars. It's quite famous. I'm pretty sure some poet came up with it a thousand odd years ago, and now people use it in stories and plays and such."

You turn towards him. "And that phrase is?"

"Per aspera ad astra." Aki pronounces each syllable perfectly and purposely, with a certain sense of wonder. "It means, 'through thorns, look to the stars.' But phrases in old tongue can honestly be interpreted in a thousand different ways."

"The stars will never stop watching over us, even through hardships." You give your own interpretation, while admiring those very same stars. "What a beautiful phrase."

He smiles. "Yeah. I thought you would like it."

Those stars and this moon watched over your family ages ago. They foresaw the very first mages, they looked upon their devastating downfall. No matter what future they might hold for you, their presence above your head will never change, they'll never waver.

They've been watching Aki, too. When you were younger, young enough to gaze up at the sky and dream of a brighter future, where was he? Learning to fight the devils you'd soon have to run from, pacing the halls of the castle you dreamt of visiting?

You take another deep, grounding breath, taking in the crisp night air, and you draw your knees up, getting more comfortable. Glancing at Aki, you see him intently looking at the sky, this time. For once, he isn't staring at you.

"Could you tell me another?"

Aki glances towards you with a hint of surprise. "Another phrase?"

You nod. "I didn't know the kingdom still spoke in old tongue. It's interesting."

Aki hums, considering. He holds his chin, his brows pinching as he thinks. Eventually, he continues, allowing you to hear his smooth voice once more — just as you wanted.

"Okay… let's see. Fortis fortuna adiuvat. 'Fortune favors the bold.' All the knights in training have to learn that one." He smirks, his eyes rolling slightly. The kingdom's chivalry must fail to impress him. "Devil hunters prefer morior invictus. Death over defeat."

"I think I've heard the first one." You pause to dwell on his words, before you turn back to him, eagerly questioning, "And what about the kingdom? Could you tell me more about it?"

Aki pauses. He breathes a small laugh. "I'm… not sure what you mean. What did you want to know? Just…" He shrugs. "Anything?"

"Yeah. Can you tell me what it's like?"

For a moment, he hesitates. He takes a deep, thoughtful breath. A soft, clearly excited smile forms on his features. He gazes at you like you're sparkling more than the sky.

"Well, I- I thought you might like the kingdom's gardens," He explains, a bit awkward and stuttery at first. "The castle's garden, especially. The front entrance is surrounded by huge weeping willow trees. Each path is decorated with every bright color of flower you can imagine. They flourish in the spring, and in autumn, the trees turn the richest gold hue. There's rose bushes, daffodils, tulips, orchids. Orchids are your favorite, aren't they?"

When you brought home a bundle of orchids, he watched as you carefully trimmed their stems to place them in a vase on the dining room table, and he listened as you explained how you've always found them beautiful. They're a symbol of elegance and grace, a common motif in your favorite poetry books. You've always admired them. Aki promised he'd remember.

You nod shyly. "That's right."

Aki smiles. He places his hands in his lap, slightly fiddling with his thumbs. The moon and stars form a bright halo above him, glittering down onto both of you. "I'm sure you'd find orchids in every shade. Or if you wanted some for yourself, I could buy them for you. Ah, you'd like walking through the town square, too. There's lots of flower vendors."

"Flower vendors?" You're scoffing, donning a grin of disbelief, "People are spending gold on flowers when there's thousands they could pick without emptying their pockets?"

"Well, they're usually selling flowers you can only get in certain regions. They grow them themselves," Aki explains matter-of-factly. "Besides, it's tradition. You're supposed to buy flowers as gifts. For your loved ones or your family or your partner. Something like that."

You try to ponder the implications, your mind and your heart stuck on his specific choice of words; your partner. Does Aki have a spouse? Perhaps there's someone he's already interested in. He's royalty, surely he has admirers. Or maybe, just maybe, offering to buy flowers for you meant something more — but Aki stands, pushing himself up and rising to his feet, instantly halting your surging train of thought.

"Wait-" You glance up at him swiftly. "You're leaving?"

"Only for a moment," He answers. Your expression softens. The rush of relief that fills you must be palpable.

Aki gestures towards the cottage. "I was going to get a blanket for us. Unless you'd prefer to go back inside?"

"Oh. No," You murmur in response, shaking your head. "No, it's fine."

He isn't gone for long. Aki brings one of the blankets he was using for his makeshift bed: a large, handmade quilt, messily sewn from different patches of fabric. Delightful warmth fills your body as he drapes the blanket around you, but for good measure, he shifts closer. Close enough to let the both of you share the blanket, close enough to have your legs brush and your shoulder press to his.

And as the night stretches on, Aki tells you about the kingdom. He details everything you would want to know, he provides illustrations for all of the fantasies you have wondered and dreamt about — the luxuries you wished you could afford. He makes all of them seem real.

It's late. You need to sleep, you know you'll be exhausted by the time tomorrow comes, and you're sure he knows this too. But you stay as you are. You don't want this moment to end.

For as long as the night allows, you live through what he shares with you, as though this life were different, and you were much more fortunate. Honestly, you are more fortunate than you've ever been to have this, to have him.

Aki describes the kingdom's beauty to you. Cobblestone pathways, ornate churches, bridges that overlook the entire city. The castle is placed upon a hill; you can spot its grandeur from miles away. A river runs through the city, providing canoes you can take, pooling into a beautiful sea with an abundance of fish to catch. The streets are always busy. There's merchants and performers, vendors and dancers. Nightly parties and fancy outings, and a life you could only ever dream of.

If Aki offered to take you, to show you, to give you such a life, you can't quite decide how you'd answer.

At some point, the descriptions he's painting for you blend together. The bustling depictions of the ferry port jumble with his explanation of the town's most famous grand library. Your head slips to his shoulder, and you're fading away. You can't remember the last thing you heard before you fell asleep.

Briefly, you wake up while Aki is carrying you inside, but you drift off once again the moment he places you into your bed, drawing the warm, comfy covers over you, and quietly closing your bedroom door behind him.

—

Days pass. Nights spent looking upon the stars together become more frequent.

After a while in your care, the injured scarlet songbird begins to show some positive signs. She's been leaving her bed on her own to hop around the living room, or to perch on the end of Aki's cot. Although her wing still seems weak, she's been trying to flap it, stretching and waving both wings in the air at every opportunity.

An excited Aki drags you into the cottage a few days later. You were in the clearing, tending to the garden, but you follow along when he begins tugging you by your arm.

The songbird flutters around the room, floating freely from the edge of the fireplace, to the kitchen counter, to the top of a sculpture-filled bookshelf.

Look, Aki says, exuberant. She's flying.

—

The flickering fire in front of you radiates steady, calming warmth. As you carefully tilt the small chunk of wood in your hands, your sleeves rolled up, a blanket in your lap to catch all the shavings, you can no longer feel the chill of the night.

An almost-full moon watches over your technique. Your eyes narrow in focus. Your thumb presses to the blunt side of your blade.

You've been working on this sculpture for a few days now; you have to be careful, you wouldn't want to make a mistake when you're so close to adding the finishing touches. This sculpture has to be perfect. After all, getting the chance to study a scarlet songbird up close is hardly an everyday occurrence.

Slowly and meticulously, you refine the head of the sculpture, smoothing out the bumps in the circular shape. The end of the head is spiked slightly, to form the shape of thin feathers. You've recently learned from your hours of study that songbirds have large, thick beaks, perfect for cracking open the shells of seeds. You curve your knife, and refine the simple shape of the beak into a dull, triangular point.

Aki sits across from you, one leg crossed over the other. The both of you have already finished dinner, and you now rest in the middle of the clearing, in front of the fire, sitting on some large fallen logs you dragged in from the forest. His hair remains the way it was this morning: tied back to keep stray strands out of his face. He leans backward, head tilted up as he gazes silently at the glittering sea of stars.

Normally, you would join him. You'd set your sculpture down to complete later, and you'd come to sit beside him, so the two of you could count the constellations together. But tonight, your mind is elsewhere. You're focused on the pounding of your heart and the movement of your hands, because tonight, Aki finally won.

There's a game the two of you have been playing, ever since the nights have begun to grow warmer.

To your surprise, when you brought up the idea, you learned Aki has never caught fireflies before. He's hardly ever seen them, he explains, outside of a handful of times when he was a kid.

They're useful to light up the kitchen, so you can clean up after taking your time at dinner. Most of the time though, you'll catch them in your palms, you'll place them into jars and admire the performance of their synchronized glow, just to watch them all fill the sky once you set them free. You showed Aki how he could catch them, his own hands mimicking the cupped shape of yours. And now, each night, you've been playfully competing to see who can catch more.

At first, it was to decide who would wash the plates and pans. When a few days went by with no success, Aki decided to raise the stakes. If he wins, he gets to ask you three questions, and you have to promise to answer.

You were confused. Perhaps even the slightest bit shocked. You silently mulled over his proposal as the two of you washed dishes together, a jar filled with ten busy fireflies on your side, and a jar holding just two of them on his side — both fireflies conversing, gently flickering their bulbs.

I won't ask anything too personal, I promise. And if I ever did, you wouldn't have to answer, Aki explained. His expression was soft and reassuring as he glanced up at you, while scrubbing some silverware with a worn-down rag. I feel I don't know much about you, is all. And I'd like to.

You aren't used to someone wanting to learn more about you, nor would you know precisely what you should tell them. What if you wind up saying too much? Or perhaps, you would only be able to tell him far too little?

No matter how foolish, some part of you believes it wants to tell him.

In all honesty, you weren't expecting much to come out of the deal you just agreed to. You believe him; Aki wouldn't ask anything out of the ordinary, he wouldn't press you, or put you in a situation you can't get out of. He also happens to be particularly awful at catching fireflies. He's never caught more than you, and with his lack of experience, you wouldn't expect him to — until tonight, of course.

Once you lit the firewood and a fire began to spark, you both sat down to compare how many you collected. You counted, and as the fireflies fluttered around, you recounted. Aki counted them as well before you set them free, just in case you were mistaken. He met your gaze with a sure, satisfied smile.

He caught one more than you.

Now, here you are. You wouldn't call this feeling worry. As you sit by the fire, busying yourself with your diligent work on your wood carving, your heart comes alive — with warmth that burns the chassis of your chest from the inside. You swear your fear has been swallowed by the flames, because this feeling is more like excitement, unwavering and true.

You have never revealed what lies beneath your surface, not ever before. Not to anyone but the starlight.

Gods, how you have waited for this.

"So," You begin, breaking the silence first. You drag your attention away from your wood carving, glancing up at Aki with an eyebrow raised, "What would you like to know?"

Aki finally looks away from the sky, and you try not to falter when his deep gaze meets yours. He flashes you a small smile. Then, he breathes a soft, obvious hmm, as if he's pretending you'd caught him off guard.

"Your name would be a good place to start."

Ah. After all this time, you still haven't told him. You consider the possibilities, nervously running your thumb over the grooved shape of the sculpture's unfinished wing. Your family name would be dangerous for him to know, of course. In any other circumstance, you'd consider giving him something fake, or possibly your middle name, since it'd be more difficult to trace. But this time, your first name is fine. If it's Aki who knows it, you have nothing to fear.

So, you answer. Aki grins, lacing his delicate, scarred hands together, and resting his elbows on his knees.

One question down, two more to go.

"A very pretty name. It suits you," He muses, in a tone smooth enough to make you shudder. His words feel like thick liquid gold, tingling in your veins and dripping down your back. "You already know mine. But perhaps there's something else you'd like to know about me?"

"I- I mean, maybe," You reply, trying and failing not to stutter. There's plenty of things you've been wanting to know, but nearly all of them you couldn't just say. You can't suddenly blurt out, Are you really royalty? as casually as he just asked for your name. "But I thought you were the one asking the questions. Not me."

"It'd be fair to let you ask some too. Right?"

Your fingers drum idly against the hilt of your knife.

"Okay, uhm…" You glance him up and down, trying to come up with something. Your gaze catches on the pointed ears sticking out from his hair; "You're an elf, aren't you? Is your family from the kingdom? I heard there weren't many elves there."

That was two questions in one, but Aki doesn't seem to mind.

"Half-elf," He corrects. The firelight dances in his eyes, forming fuzzy warmth in the edges of your vision. "My mother was an elf, and my father was human. My brother and I were both born and raised in the kingdom, as was my father. But my mother was considered an outsider. She left her village when she was twenty."

Was. Your eyes widen. Although you already had your hints and suspicions, you can't help but note his specific choice of words. Still, your gaze drifts back down to your sculpture. You glide your knife forwards to thin out the delicate shape of the long tail feathers, and you move along without mentioning it.

"Ah," You reply, nodding, "Sorry. You're a half-elf."

Aki cocks a brow. "You seem surprised."

Half-elves aren't exactly common, considering the tension that can still linger between both parties. Elves have always been known for discovering magic; their magic lineage leads some to distrust them. They're often blamed for past troubles. Humans are the ones revered for stopping them. A half-elf would surely face judgment from both sides.

You know what that feeling is like. Has Aki also felt like an outcast, did part of him gnaw from within, promising he would never find somewhere he truly belonged?

"I thought half-elves were a rarity," You reply quietly, "But I don't know, maybe I'm wrong." You give a heavy shrug of your shoulders. "It's been a while since I left the cottage."

If only he knew.

"That's alright," Aki answers calmly, folding his hands and placing them in his lap. "Half-elves are uncommon, but in recent times, not so much. The, uh," He clears his throat rather abruptly. "The old king and queen set a new precedent, I suppose."

You squint as his gaze meets yours, matching his coyness with curiosity and confusion.

The old king and queen. An elf and a human ruling together was unheard of, at the time.

Unfortunately, your memories of the kingdom are vague. When you were much, much younger, you heard many stories about the famous king and queen, your mother's embellished retellings filling your mind each night before bed. A few weeks before you fled the kingdom, you learned of their passing. The details weren't revealed to the public, you'd imagine. You suppose you were too young to know what was true and what was just a tale.

Before you can ask anything else, Aki is continuing, as he nervously drums a hand against his knee.

"A lot has changed in such a short time. Elves have always been welcome in the kingdom, but it's rare for people to judge them these days. The king and queen were very well remembered."

Then, he breathes a short laugh. He points to his ears, his star-shaped earrings sparkling when they catch the flames of the fire. "In some other places though, these ears have gotten me into an awful lot of trouble."

This, in fact, does not surprise you.

Your eyes roll playfully. Setting down your sculpture and your knife in favor of resting your chin in your hand, you shoot Aki a teasing glance. "Really? What kind of trouble?"

"Mmm, you know. The typical sentiments. Lots and lots of dirty looks. Whispers about magic and mages and the like. Most half-elves have smaller ears, but you can't exactly hide these." Aki taps his pointed ear, making his earring rustle. "I owe you many things- my life, for one. But I'm grateful you've never judged me, even when you saw what I was."

You shake your head and scoff, your jaw tightening, "Come on, you don't owe me anything. You needed help, that's all. So I provided."

You've told those words to yourself at least a thousand times. Oh, but it's so much more than that now, isn't it?

Aki sighs. "Gods, you're sweet, you know that?" He smiles, his gaze sparkling with saccharine sweetness. "You could have turned me away, you could have easily kept me at arm's length. But when I'm with you, I never feel anything less than welcomed."

Your heart stirs, thudding within your chest like a performer's drum, fluttering like the flap of a bird's wings, and warming your face until it feels hotter than the flames of the fire.

"Stop, you're just…" You rub your arm shyly while you glance down at your boots. "You're only saying that."

"I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it," Aki answers softly. "There's good in you, more than most I've met these days."

Good? When was the last time anyone thought of you as good? Mages have never been regarded with anything but contempt, and you have embodied that fact for so, so long. It's become who you are. You have defined yourself as a witch, you've embodied the terrible things you've heard people say and do. You aren't allowed to be anything more than that. Your life isn't worth anything more.

Aki makes you think differently. He's reminded you of what you thought you couldn't have, he's made you think that you can be you — clipped wings soft, and outstretched.

You glance down once more at the sculpture. You hold it in your palms, and run your thumb over the details: the pointed beak, the smooth body, the small feet. Carefully, you take hold of your knife. Your eyes narrow as you guide the blade, adding faint notches to the bird's thin talons.

You sigh to yourself, your brows knotted in focus. "I'm sure not everyone you've met is terrible."

"You'd be surprised. A lot of towns are still pretty intolerant towards elves. Towards mages, in specific. Even if I explained I was there to help them, to fight devils for them, sometimes they'd simply refuse to listen." Aki huffs in frustration, leaning forwards, rubbing the tension from the joints in his fingers. "I felt lucky whenever they denied me entry. At least then, I wouldn't have to deal with them."

You can definitely sympathize. Quietly, you reply, "That sounds… unfair."

"It was. My mother often tried to rationalize it. 'Those people are afraid, Aki. They don't want to be hurt again.'"

His shoulders slump when he lets go of a weighty, built-up breath. His gaze has found itself drifting, first focused on the fire, and now stuck on his hands. "I understood that. I've known since I was young. It's just… you know." A choked bite finds its way into his tone. "Frustrating."

Frustrating is a light way to put it. You certainly, undoubtedly know. Aki doesn't realize how acquainted you are with that very same feeling of hopelessness.

He pauses, brows furrowed as he thinks, and you set your knife aside. Your fingers return to trace the curves of the nearly-complete sculpture.

When Aki speaks next, he's glancing back up at you. "Could I ask about your family? Or… is that…"

He trails off, but you know precisely where he's headed. It isn't too much, not if he's the one listening. You shake your head, glancing between him and your hands.

"No, it's alright," You reply, your voice weaker than intended. "There just isn't much to say. They've both been gone for… Gods, ages now. I wasn't as close with my father, but my mother was very important to me. Losing her was difficult."

Sadness lingers in your tone, along with something anxious, something uncertain. Aki watches your hands, fiddling uneasily with the small wood carving.

Like a quiet eclipse, there's meaning behind your words, a gentleness you prosper when you give Aki a knowing, pained glance. You know the pain he's felt. You've shared it once, perhaps without realizing.

When he speaks, his voice helps to ground you.

"I'm sorry. I understand. My mother and father are gone. I lost my younger brother with them. It's a terrible feeling."

You breathe deeply, steadying yourself.

No one knows about your family. You rarely even think about what happened, you prefer to move on rather than dig up old wounds; it's what you needed to do to survive. And yet, in the face of Aki's soft expression, his calm gaze meeting yours, the words seem to spill out before you can stop them — your breath catching, your hands clenching the sculpture tight.

"I lost them. And when I did, I… I lost everything," You're murmuring, your shoulders tense as you try not to shrink in on yourself. "I was alone for the longest time. I felt… afraid."

Aki's leg bounces. For a moment, as you glance up at him quickly, before avoiding his eyes to look down again, you think he might stand up. You wouldn't mind if he came to sit next to you. Against your better judgment, you might find yourself pulling him closer, latching onto his arm or dragging him into an embrace just to savor the way your heart would skip. Instead, he forces himself to still, his hands folded and his knuckles locked.

You sigh, and continue before he has a chance to speak. "Sorry. It's difficult to… to put everything into words. I'm not used to this. I haven't really… talked about it before. Not until now."

Aki glances you up and down, noting the discomfort in your posture. He swallows, and he leans back.

"Don't apologize," He says, his tone soft. "You're doing just fine. You don't have to speak if you don't want to."

As your reassured gaze catches on his own, he brushes a palm over the back of his neck, and hurries to fill the air with something other than the crackle of the fire and the chirp of crickets.

"My dad and I- my mother always said we were the same," He begins. The fire's flames wash over his face in faint orange hues. "Stubborn. Fearless. He was an adventurer when he was my age. The kind of man that never wanted to be stuck in one place. But when he married, he finally settled down. He was… a well-respected man. Many people disapproved of him marrying an elf."

You stay frozen in place, your eyes softening at the sound of his voice. He takes a deep breath, laughing a bit.

"You know, when I was young, I was one of those kids that never stopped to think before they spoke. Ardentis is what my mother used to say. It means… filled with fire. Impulsive. When I was ten, I asked my father why he would ever marry my mother, if it made things so difficult. Thank the Gods I said it when we were out on our own, visiting another province. I can't imagine how they would've scolded me if I said it in public."

Filled with fire. Aki always burns bright, but the outline of his soul — floating and flickering within your magic — feels cold, in comparison. Like pressing your palm to the smooth surface of a frozen lake. Like falling through to drown in deep, cool waters.

Aki can't look at you. "My father answered, when you love someone, you'll find a way to bend the world to fit their shape." He pauses. He clears his throat, his shoulders slack; he glances up at you, finally. "It was one of the last things I remember him telling me, so I guess it always stuck."

You listen in silence. Everything converges and stops, your entire world pinpointed on this singular moment. The songbird sculpture rests in your hands, your grip tightening, although your gaze is unable to tear away from his. The fire crackles gently, the wind brushes your skin like a kiss.

Leaning back, Aki crosses one leg over the other. "I'm onto my third question now. Right?"

"Yeah. Right."

And what of the shape of your own soul? Would his fit with yours? Would they press together like the softness of hands interlocked, or like the sting of a knife to your throat?

Aki flashes you a warm smile. "Which do you prefer? Sunrise, or sunset?"

—

Sunset was your answer.

You adore the beautiful hues the sun paints across the sky, dying light shining through the trees in desperate rays, only for everything to fade into the alluring darkness of the night. Sunsets mark new beginnings, before the sunrise returns to embrace them. Both are beautiful — and to be honest, you weren't sure which you preferred.

When Aki asked you that night, you put little thought into your answer. You've always had an appreciation for both, but you've never thought of picking a favorite. You pondered it for a moment, before simply choosing one, like flipping a coin, like relying on a hunch. Sunsets are your favorite.

The night was stretching on for a bit too long, and since the two of you still needed to get some sleep, you left it at that. Aki thanked you. He gave you a simple, you'll see, when you questioned where he might be going with this. You yawned, watching the fire flicker weakly, and decided it'd be best to call the night there.

You slept peacefully and dreamlessly. Busy with the chores of the coming day, you nearly forgot about the conversation and the night you shared — until Aki returned to surprise you.

He'd been out for a while. You had some cleaning to do around the cottage that day, and so he promised to tend to the garden while you finished everything you needed to. You cleaned your bedroom and the living room. You washed all of the blankets and linens, hanging them up on the line out front. When you glanced towards the garden, the sun high in the sky and a crisp breeze at your back, Aki was nowhere to be found.

At last, just before sundown, he returned — along with the scarlet songbird in tow. You set down the dish you were washing as he tossed open the door to greet you in the kitchen.

In just one day, the bird has made immense progress. She's been following me all day, Aki explained earlier this afternoon. The bird flew out of the cottage when he left, and proceeded to follow Aki into the garden, perching on his shoulder whenever she needed to rest.

The bird flutters back inside, settling in her makeshift nest, and Aki holds the front door open, gesturing for you to follow.

A faint pout forms on your lips, your brow raising, arms crossing. "You're letting all the warm air out."

Aki lets go of a half-laugh, half-sigh. His hair is tied up, his sleeves are rolled slightly, but his tunic is otherwise neat. If he'd been working out in the garden, usually he'd return with his shirt and his palms covered in dirt; he's cleaned himself up already, it seems.

"There's something I want to show you," Aki says simply, "It's a surprise."

You shift from foot to foot. "What about dinner?"

"I'll help you make something afterwards. It won't take long, I promise."

You give yourself only a moment more to consider.

Following close behind, you allow Aki to lead you behind the cottage, through the clearing, and into the edges of the forest. With the end of the day fast approaching, the air is cooling down; it nips at your arms and your neck with gentle, icy teeth. Your boots crunch on leaves and fallen branches. Shadows envelop the forest floor, the thick canopy above watching over you. A large hill rests just behind your cottage, and you spot it as the whispering trees start to thin.

"Aki," You murmur, staring at his back, your chilly hands shoved in your pockets. The hill is clearly where he's leading you to, but why? "How far is whatever you wanted to show me?"

"Not far. It's right here," He replies, turning around to face you, offering you a reassuring glance. "We're just heading up this hill. I scouted the area already, pretty sure the devils have no idea this spot exists. We'll be able to run back home if anything happens, okay?"

You come to a stop at the foot of the hill, and you glance down. You watch, as you delicately step over the line that forms your magic mushroom circle. The spell splinters, losing its shape, leaving your veins in a rush. Aki is already halfway up the hill, and you hurry close behind him, following him to the top — where the sky finally comes into full view.

The sight you're met with is brilliant.

From the very top of the hill, you can see the clearing and your cottage. You can feel the breeze rustling your clothing and floating through your hair, almost as if you could fly, if you had wings. You're surrounded by hues of bright orange and pink that color every inch of the sky, vivid shades pooling around the edges of the clouds. If you squint, you can just barely glance at the line where the sun meets the horizon, glowing brightly as it begins to dip into the endless line of trees. A fierce dot of radiant yellow, alighting everything it touches in the very same hue.

The wind tugs at your clothes. You place a palm on your forehead, shielding your eyes to look at the sky clearer. You remember climbing this hill when you first made your cottage, but Gods, you've never seen anything like this.

Aki walks further, guiding you to the furthest edge of the hill — and that's when you spot it. A large log placed for the both of you to sit on, with a few blankets draped across it, and a delicately-picked bundle of flowers placed on top.

"Oh- you-" You're talking without thinking, your breath caught in your throat, your eyes wide as you glance between him and the arrangement. Aki is smiling stupidly. He looks at you and then towards the horizon, as though he's still waiting for you to follow.

"You did all of this?" You sigh. "Aki, you didn't have to-"

"I know," Aki interrupts, soft and assured, far too tender. Of course he didn't have to, but this is what he wanted.

"Come here," He says, gesturing once more for you to follow. Your hands clutch the front of your shirt absently, but you trail close behind with unsteady steps. "Make yourself comfortable. Would you like a blanket?"

"I'm okay," You answer. You sit down on the log, awkwardly resting your hands in your lap. Aki swiftly sits down next to you, a foot or so of distance still kept in between.

You shake your head. "I'm not that cold."

"Alright. If you'd like one, just say the word."

Your heart pounds in your ears to a fervent melody. As you fiddle with your hands, you barely notice Aki reaching for the flowers that were resting on the other side of your homemade seat.

They're bundled delicately, stems secured by a thin piece of twine, tied into a messy attempt at a bow. Orchids. Exquisite white blooms, with petals splattered in shades of purple and pink. Your gaze catches on his, something unreadable but surely shy flashing in his expression. The sun's low light makes him look so warm. Aki's grip tightens on the stems, and he clears his throat quietly.

"I've wanted to show you this for far too long, now. And after you mentioned it yesterday, I thought this would be a good place to watch the sunset," He explains, his tone kept smooth, despite the unsureness to his movements as he sets the flowers in his lap. "Hold on-"

Aki chooses one of the smaller orchids. He pulls at the middle of the stem, breaking it off from the rest. Your gaze follows him, as he shifts closer, closing a few threads of distance between you. He reaches forwards, then up, tucking the flower behind your ear, his fingers brushing your jaw as he does so.

He smiles — a terribly soft, utterly lovesick smile. His fingertips linger on the side of your face for longer than they have to. He admires you, the wind pulling faintly at your hair, the flower's colorful bloom practically glowing in the vibrant light of the fading sun. You feel warm, down to your veins; you can hardly think, can't hear anything besides the pound of your own heart. Aki pulls away, his gaze still caught on you, and you find yourself missing the brush of his touch.

"You're so pretty." Aki breathes a low, calm breath. "Prettier than the sun."

Oh. In your vision, Aki seems to glow brightly, outlined by the blues and pinks of the sky. His unkempt bangs brush his eyes, his earrings twirling in the gentle wind. Your hands shake slightly when you take the bundle of flowers from him, your face feels warm — and he swears, more than the flowers, you seem to blossom. A smile crosses your features, fading into the faintest, most perfect laugh.

"You're ridiculous," You chide playfully, shaking your head. Holding the orchids in your lap, you brush your thumb over the soft petals of one of the blooms. You can feel the flower that rests behind your ear, tickling your face when the wind makes it rustle. "I can't believe you did all of this."

Aki hums, "It's nice though, isn't it? You can see the sky so clearly from here."

He's right. The moon is already visible — a thin crescent that plans to usher in the night to come. Crisp cool air fills your lungs with each breath, and as the sun dips lower, the horizon shimmers in fading shades of red. It's lovely on its own, but knowing Aki thought of you, planned this for you, has your mind in such a mess, you can hardly focus on the view.

Aki is no better. He rests his chin in his hand, his gaze on yours, his smile clumsy and endearing. The fading sun and the trees and the sky could never be as captivating as you.

You steal the smallest glance towards him, and when you see him still staring, your shoulders go slack with your light laughter. "You're not even watching…"

"Oh," Aki turns away, trying his hardest — and utterly failing — to hide his smile. "Yeah. I wasn't."

The sun blends into the distant sea of trees like butter melting on a skillet, and although he promised the opposite, Aki finds himself glancing at the sparkle in your gaze once more.

He rolls his shoulders backward. His voice sounds unsure when he speaks.

"I know this isn't much. But I hoped I could do something nice for you, to… I don't know." Aki sighs, struggling to put his words into place. "To thank you, for all the kindness you've shown me."

You glance towards him again, almost forming a rebuttal, but he promptly interrupts.

"And I know I didn't have to. None of this was necessary, I didn't have to do any of the things I've done. But you-" His hands are tense, and he squeezes his own fingers, trying to alleviate his growing tension. He seems so earnest, like his words are more than words, but shimmering stars simply begging to fall — "You deserve more than words could say. You're important. I thought this might be… something you'd find important, too."

Aki stalls, brushing his thumb over his own knuckles. You want to say so much, even though you're sure you shouldn't. Aki, it's lovely, this is beautiful. And this is so, so perfect. I can't remember the last time I felt so happy, if there was any time at all. But words come as stuck constellations whenever Aki has you like this; your heart skips, and you couldn't possibly pick out everything, you can only manage to utter some of them.

Your breathing wavers. "I'm important to you?"

Aki sighs, his gaze meeting yours. "You are everything to me."

Your heart thrums in your chest, iridescent in your throat, drumming firm against your ribs. You're speechless, for more than a few moments. The rest of the world — the shaking trees, the smoke billowing from your distant cottage, the dying sun — pleasantly fades away. Aki weakens, his expression soft and his voice gentle.

"And it's- it isn't just because you saved my life," He explains, "You are kind and thoughtful, and so, so special. There is so much I could tell you. Gods, every time I talk to you, the words- everything flows effortlessly. I've never felt that before. Not once."

Not once. Not with anyone. You shift, trying to catch your breath — trying not to let those words consume you.

Aki's hand rests at his side, mere inches away. His fingers nervously drum the rough wood.

"It's been a pleasure to share these days with you. To learn more about you, to talk and to just- to just be." He goes quiet, before he laughs, his gaze now focused on the distant view. You swear the lightest trace of pink dusts his face, his pointed ears. "You remember that word I taught you yesterday?"

You nod shallowly. "Ardentis." Your head tilts as you try to catch his wandering gaze again. "You aren't talking too much, though."

"Really?" Aki breathes a soft hum, almost in disbelief. "You did say you enjoyed the sound of my voice, once."

Once, and each time after. Your reply comes in the form of a slow, uneven breath, along with the subtle movement of your hand; until your pinky finger is able to brush his just slightly. Barely tender, nothing more than a faint touch, a silent promise. Still, you steady, savoring the feeling of him close to you, and melting in the heat of the thick, molten warmth inside your chest.

Glancing down, unable to face you, Aki hesitates for a fair stretch of time. You're barely able to catch the conflicted look on his features before he moves his hand away, like it'd been burned. His jaw clenches. Your hand craves more of his touch in his absence.

"That- that was too much, wasn't it?" His brows pinch, he almost sounds pained. "Maybe I should-"

He starts to stand, but you stop him halfway. You grab his hand and squeeze it tight — like the action is natural, like it isn't the first time you've tried this. His skin is soft, his palm is rough, his knuckles are ragged with crosshatches of scars. You refuse to let go, even as Aki follows your gaze, slowly sitting back down beside you.

"Don't go," You murmur simply. "Please."

Aki's expression goes terribly, dangerously soft. If you had planned to let go of him, if you hoped that your judgment could guide you and in the interest of caution, you would keep some distance — all of those ideas are rendered useless when he squeezes your hand back. Gentle yet firm, tight enough to make you think he never truly wanted to leave in the first place.

"Aki… I-" Oh, it's so much harder to talk when he's inches away, and when the only thing your mind and pounding heart can focus on is his hand in yours. His hand. You never want to let go. "There's so much I want to tell you, I just- I can't. I don't know if I ever can."

"You don't have to," Aki returns when you falter. "It's alright."

"I know, but I want to. I guess- I would miss you, if you left. So terribly. And-" You stop, sighing. Your bottom lip quivers, everything failing, converging, all of the feelings you shouldn't hold onto and the lies you've told; "I'm sorry."

Aki shakes his head, and softly coos, "You have nothing to apologize for."

You look away, glancing towards his hand in yours. Each inhale and exhale comes quick and sharp. The wind brushes the back of your neck, complimenting the heat that runs through your veins. Aki shifts. His hand is soft and warm, his palm is large, but his fingers are deft and delicate. When they lace with yours, fingers fitting perfectly between the gaps of your own, hands intertwining together, you can't help but wish they would forge. Like a stone statue. To always stay just like this.

"I would miss you more than you know," Aki admits, offering your hand a gentle squeeze. "The days have gone by so fast. It feels like I've hardly had a chance to savor them."

You nod. "I remember when we met. Like it was yesterday."

"Do you?" He smiles, exhaling with an ever-so slight laugh. It wasn't exactly the best introduction. "I was supposed to return to the kingdom that very same night. Ages ago, I should've been back. At every turn, I would tell myself… just a few more moments with you, and then I would leave. Just one more day. And now look at us."

"Oh," You glance back up at him. "Am I keeping you?"

"Of course not." Aki reaches up, and he doesn't hesitate to brush his free palm over your cheek, cupping it gently; the orchid's white petals tickle his fingertips. It takes everything within you not to lean into him. "It was my choice. Besides, I'm not going anywhere. Not without you."

The silence that begins to stretch between you is long and thick. Glowing in hues of orange through the darkening sky, you're illuminated by the almost-set sun. Aki's thumb caresses your cheek, and you give in; leaning close, you sigh, you press your hand over his to keep it there.

"If we went to the kingdom," You start; your gaze flickers up to meet his, your words trying not to tremor. "What would we do?"

Aki answers, his tone low, "Whatever you want to do."

"I'd like to visit the sea. And the town square. And the grand library."

"Then let me take you there." Aki's voice is full of conviction, laced with an intensity that strongly shudders through you, "I can show you everything you want to see. I won't leave your side, if that's what you want. We'll make things work- I'll do whatever it takes. I promise."

The impossible odds you've let define you seem meaningless when you let your gaze flicker across him, trying to put the pieces he's given you into place. Instead of the orange in the sky, the green in the trees, the red on the horizon and the red that has painted the back of your vision since you learned how to speak, you see in shades of blue. You dream of the ocean — white waves and rocky seas underneath your fingertips, as you lose yourself in the blue of his gaze.

In every romance book you've ever read, the novels you busied yourself with when you summoned them instead of something factual — sometimes on accident, but then, on purpose — this is when the two main leads would tilt closer. This is when the knight would caress the princess' cheek, whispering how fortunate he is to be together once more. His eyes would flutter shut before they kissed, lips desperately crashing together like sinking ships. Like this is the last time they ever would.

You almost grow lost in those daydreams. Almost. Almost is far too risky of a word, when it is the only thing that separates you from dragging Aki close, running your fingertips along his jaw, and forgetting all reason to press your lips to his.

Thankfully, Aki slowly pulls away. He brushes your cheek one last time, before he shifts back, letting go of your hand. Recognizing the both of you might've grown carried away, you don't attempt to reach out again. You place your hands in your lap, and look elsewhere to catch the final glimpses of the sun's vibrant edge.

You feel cold now. It'd be wise to return home soon, before the forest gets too dark to navigate. Aki seems to have the same idea. Yet, even as you glance back to him to watch him stand, you can't seem to convince your own legs to move.

"Come on," He gathers the blankets he'd brought and keeps them under his arm, before he reaches to you, offering you his hand once more. "We should head back."

Like a book snapping closed, fluttery pages pressed back together, the moment lingers, but fades. You take his outstretched hand, and allow him to guide you to your feet. You grab the bundle of orchids, holding them in front of you, staring down at the dainty, delicate petals.

"But-" You look up. "What about…?"

Aki continues once you trail off. "Don't answer. Just think about it, okay?" He drapes one of the blankets over your shoulders, carefully wrapping it around you. His gaze focuses on his hands as he ties the ends together to keep it in place. "About your choice, or about where you'd like to go first. Whichever comes easiest to you."

For now, you can ponder neither of those. When you head down the hill together, leaving the sky behind, all you can think of is how you were definitely, most certainly wrong.

Sunsets must be your favorite.

—

The scarlet songbird takes her leave a few days later.

Her wing has healed, and she's grown strong enough to fly wherever she pleases. After eating her fill of seeds and enjoying the warmth of the fireplace one last time, she patiently waited until morning, before she drifted out the front door and into the forest, her red wings disappearing amongst the trees. She didn't return, even once nightfall came. You're thankful. Her life will continue, as it was always meant to.

Tonight, Aki had promised to collect firewood and start the fire outside, so it'd be ready by the time you were finished with dinner. The cottage is quiet with the absence of his voice and the bird's chirping. The orchids he'd given you rest in a vase on the dining room table. You take your ladle, and continue to stir the warm, nearly complete pot of stew. Then, you reach up and into the cupboard, searching for the seasoning.

You ran out with the last meal you prepared, but you always keep some extra in the very back. Standing on your tiptoes, you fumble blindly, making the various jars clink together as you try to find what you're looking for.

You grab one, unsure if it's the jar you're after. When you set it on the counter, you unfortunately realize it isn't. This was where you were storing your last few shavings of white hazel.

The thin, white leaves have begun to crumble due to age. They're much less potent like this. They should be safer to handle, but a dosage of this size would be much less effective.

Gently, you pop the lid on the jar. A soft, thick scent wafts from the contents, before disappearing almost immediately. The leaves would need to be ingested to serve their purpose. And it would take all of them, most likely. You'd only have one chance.

If you touched them, infusing them with your magic, you could make their effects much stronger. All you would need to do then is dish out the bowls — one for him, and one for you — before dropping all of them into his dish, stirring for a moment until they dissolve. White hazel is tasteless. Besides, Aki never wastes your cooking.

You could make Aki forget all about you. About everything you've told him, and everything that's happened here. He'd forget your cottage, and each moment you shared; they'd all be lost on him. Meeting you, your gentle touches as you brought him back to life. Your late night talks, your days spent growing closer. Everything would be gone, even up to the bird, and that fateful, sunlit, all-too tender evening.

You sigh.

Grabbing the jar, you stroll over to the fireplace. You kneel down to dump all of the leaves into the flames. They crisp up in mere seconds, before they fade away into nothing but dust and ash.

The sea would be nice to visit first. It's the one thing you've always wanted to explore, more than anything else. The sea, and the castle. Briefly, you wonder if visiting the royal castle would actually be a genuine possibility. With the benefit of his royal status, Aki might be able to get you in — perhaps in a few months to a year, depending on when he can get the both of you a party reservation. Oh, but for a royal party, you'd have nothing to wear. Would the shops in town sell dresses?

Maybe you should save your first visit to the sea for a more special occasion. You wouldn't want to go without Aki. Would the harbor look more beautiful at night, with the lighthouses and boats casting glittering lights that rival the stars, or in the morning, when everyone is yet to wake, allowing you to hear nothing but the calm lull of the waves?

Or perhaps, you should see it at sunset.

[novaursa]

The Price of Fire (8)

- Summary: In the shadows of the Red Keep, the daughter of the Mad King, Princess Y/N Targaryen, finds herself caught between duty, love, and survival. As her father’s madness deepens and political intrigue swirls, she seeks solace in a forbidden romance with her sworn protector, Ser Arthur Dayne. With King Aerys plotting to use her as a pawn and her brother Rhaegar maneuvering to shield her from their father’s grasp, Y/N must navigate a web of deceit and desire. As tensions rise, secrets ignite into fierce passion and dangerous alliances, where the wrong move could mean the end of them all.

- Paring: targ!reader/Arthur Dayne

- Note: For all the parts to this story, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Mature 16+ (Aerys is warning on his own)

- Word count: 7 000+

- Previous part: 7

- Next part: 9

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @lightdragonrayne @onlyrealjoy @hajmola-vs-aamchaska

The night is amassed with shadows, the kind that seem to creep from every corner, swallowing the light, until only a faint glimmer of moonlight filters through the cracks in the curtains. The air in your chamber is heavy, stifling, clinging to your skin like a second layer, and you toss restlessly in your bed, caught between sleep and wakefulness. The events of the day have left a mark deeper than any wound, a scar on your very soul, and even in sleep, you find no escape from them.

The dream begins innocuously enough—an echo of familiar places and faces. The Red Keep looms before you, its towers stretching into a sky darkened with storm clouds. You walk through its halls, but something is wrong. The walls seem to shift, to warp around you as if the castle itself were alive, breathing, watching. You pass a mirror, and in it, you see yourself, but your reflection's eyes are not your own—they are molten gold, like the eyes of the dragon that hatched from your blood.

Then the voices begin, disembodied whispers that slither into your mind like vipers.

"Make the tallow from the fat of a hangman."

You spin around, searching for the source, but the corridor is empty, save for the flickering shadows that dance along the walls. Your heart pounds, a drumbeat of fear, as the whispers grow louder, more insistent.

"Sealed with the kiss of swine."

The words curl around you, filling your ears, your head, until they are all you can hear. They are followed by images—horrifying, grotesque images that sear themselves into your mind. You see a man, faceless and featureless, his body twisting and contorting as if consumed by fire, and beside him, a grotesque beast with the head of a pig and the wings of a dragon.

"Whishes and words sprout from the same seed."

The final whisper is the most haunting, carrying with it a truth you cannot yet comprehend. You feel a pull, a deep, visceral pull, towards something—or someone—just beyond your reach. The air around you crackles with heat, with the scent of burning flesh, and you realize with a start that you are no longer in the Red Keep but in the throne room. The Iron Throne looms before you, and at its base lies the dragon, your dragon, with its golden eyes fixed on you. There is a chain around its neck, heavy and cruel, and as you step closer, you see that it is not just a chain—it is a part of you, binding you to the beast, to the throne, to your father’s madness.

You try to scream, to pull away, but the chain tightens, digging into your flesh, and the dragon roars, a sound that shakes the very foundations of the dream. 

With a gasp, you wake, bolting upright in your bed. Your heart races, pounding against your ribcage as if it might burst free at any moment. Your skin is slick with sweat, your hands trembling as they clutch the sheets. It takes a moment for the familiar surroundings of your chamber to come into focus, for reality to assert itself over the lingering terror of the dream.

But the fear does not dissipate; it clings to you, wrapping around your bones like a cold, suffocating shroud. You cannot shake the feeling that the dream was not just a product of your mind, but something more—a premonition, a warning. You fear that you are now bound to your father’s madness in ways you cannot yet understand.

The door to your chamber creaks open, and you instinctively reach for the dagger hidden beneath your pillow. But it is only Arthur, his face drawn with concern as he steps into the room, the soft glow of a candle casting shadows across his features. 

"Y/N," he says softly, his voice a balm to your frayed nerves. He crosses the room in a few long strides and kneels by your bedside, reaching out to brush a strand of damp hair from your face. "You cried out in your sleep. What happened?"

You stare at him, struggling to find the words. How can you explain the horrors you witnessed in your dream? How can you tell him of the chain that binds you, of the dragon’s eyes that haunt you?

"It was just a dream," you say finally, though the words feel hollow, a poor attempt to convince yourself more than him. "But it felt… so real."

Arthur’s hand cups your cheek, his thumb brushing gently across your skin. There is something in his eyes, a sadness, a fear that mirrors your own. He knows the weight you carry, the burden of your bloodline, and it tears at him as much as it does you.

"You are stronger than any dream, Y/N," he says, his voice firm yet gentle. "Whatever darkness your father has unleashed, it will not claim you. I won’t let it."

His words should comfort you, but the fear lingers, gnawing at the edges of your mind. You close your eyes, leaning into his touch, drawing strength from the warmth of his hand, the steady beat of his heart. But even as he holds you, a part of you cannot shake the feeling that something has changed, that the dragon now bound in chains is not the only one tethered to the Iron Throne.

"And the dragon?" you whisper, your voice barely audible. "What of him?"

Arthur hesitates, and in that moment, you see the truth in his eyes. He knows as well as you do that the dragon is not just a creature born of fire and blood, but something more—something that ties you inexorably to your father’s will.

"He is strong," Arthur replies after a moment, his voice laced with the same uncertainty that plagues your own thoughts. "But he is yours, Y/N, not your father’s. Remember that."

You nod, though doubt still lingers in your heart. You can feel the pull of the dragon, the bond forged in blood, and you wonder if it is a bond you will ever truly break.

Arthur pulls you close then, wrapping his arms around you as if he could shield you from the darkness that stands on the horizon. You rest your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart, and for a moment, you allow yourself to believe that he might be right, that you might be able to defy the fate that seems to be tightening its grip around you.

But deep down, you know that the dragon has awakened something within you, something that cannot be so easily silenced. And as you drift back to sleep in Arthur’s arms, you can’t help but wonder if that something is the same madness that has consumed your father—or if it is something far, far worse.

The echo of Rhaegar’s footsteps resonates through the darkened corridors of the Red Keep, each step a reminder of the burden weighing heavily on his shoulders. The scent of wildfire still lingers faintly in the air, mingling with the stale, musty odor that always seemed to cling to the throne room and its cursed Iron Throne. Rhaegar pauses before the door, taking a moment to steady his breath, knowing full well the volatility that could await him on the other side.

The door creaks open, revealing King Aerys II sitting at a large wooden table, papers strewn about, and a goblet of wine in his hand. His hair, once silver like the moon, now hangs in greasy strands, framing a face etched with madness but, at this moment, unusually calm. His eyes, however, still gleam with the dangerous fire that had consumed him over the years, a fire that now burned brighter with the hatching of the dragon.

"Father," Rhaegar begins, his voice soft, measured. He steps into the room, closing the door quietly behind him. Aerys does not immediately acknowledge him, his gaze fixed on the flames crackling in the hearth. Rhaegar can feel the tension in the air, the precarious balance of his father’s mind. He must tread carefully.

"Rhaegar, my son," Aerys finally speaks, his voice surprisingly even. "Have you come to see our child? My dragon... our creation?" The king's voice carries an unsettling blend of pride and possessiveness, his eyes shifting to meet Rhaegar's with an intensity that makes his son’s heart tighten.

Rhaegar inclines his head slightly. "I have, Father. The dragon is a magnificent creature, a symbol of House Targaryen’s strength, of our blood." He chooses his words carefully, keeping his tone respectful. "But it is not just the dragon that concerns me."

Aerys narrows his eyes, suspicion flickering across his features. "What concerns you, my son? The dragon is ours by right. It will be the weapon that ensures our enemies bow before us."

Rhaegar takes a breath, steadying himself. "It is Y/N that concerns me, Father," he says, his voice steady but laced with concern. "She is still weak from the ritual, and Pycelle says her wounds will take time to heal. She needs rest, care. We cannot risk her health, not when she is so important to us… to you."

Aerys’s gaze sharpens at the mention of you. "She is important, yes. More important than any of them realize," he murmurs, his voice taking on a dangerous edge. "She brought forth the dragon. She is its mother, its rightful queen. No harm must come to her, do you hear me?"

Rhaegar nods, carefully concealing his relief that, for now, Aerys seems focused on your well-being. "Of course, Father. No harm will come to her, I swear it. But she needs time away from the chaos of the court, away from prying eyes and those who might seek to use her or the dragon for their own ends."

Aerys frowns, suspicion clouding his features once more. "What are you suggesting, Rhaegar? That she be hidden away? That she be kept from me?"

"No, Father," Rhaegar says quickly. "I would never suggest such a thing. Only that she be allowed to recover in peace. Perhaps at Dragonstone, where she can be close to her dragon but away from the eyes of those who might seek to control her... or it."

The mention of Dragonstone seems to catch Aerys’s interest, and Rhaegar seizes the opportunity. "Dragonstone is a place of power, a place where our ancestors ruled and raised their dragons. It would be fitting for Y/N to be there, with the dragon, away from the prying eyes of the court. There, she can grow stronger, and the dragon can be raised in the safety and secrecy it deserves."

Aerys considers this for a long moment, his eyes flickering with the flames of the hearth. "Dragonstone," he muses, the word rolling off his tongue as if tasting its possibilities. "Yes… yes, it is a place of power. She will be safe there. But I must see the dragon, must know that it is truly ours."

Rhaegar bows his head. "Of course, Father. The dragon will be brought to you, but it must be done carefully, slowly. It is still young, still growing. It needs time, as does Y/N."

Aerys nods, seemingly satisfied with this answer. "Yes, yes, you are right, my son. But remember this, Rhaegar," he says, his voice suddenly cold, his eyes locking onto his son's with a ferocity that makes Rhaegar’s blood run cold. "She is mine. The dragon is mine. They are my legacy. Do not forget that."

Rhaegar swallows, his throat dry. "I will not forget, Father."

Aerys's gaze lingers on him for a moment longer before he turns his attention back to the fire, dismissing Rhaegar with a wave of his hand. "Go now. Ensure that my dragon is well cared for. And see to it that Y/N is taken to Dragonstone, where she will be safe... and where she will remember her place."

Rhaegar bows low, retreating from the room with a sense of urgency. Once outside, he allows himself a breath of relief, though the weight of his father's obsession with you and the dragon still presses heavily on his chest. He must speak with Arthur, ensure that you are protected, hidden away from the madness that now grips Aerys.

As he walks back through the dimly lit corridors, his mind is consumed with thoughts of you—of your safety, of the secret you share with Ser Arthur Dayne. Rhaegar knows he must act swiftly, for the shadow of his father’s madness is long and ever-reaching, and it is only a matter of time before it threatens to engulf you both.

The salty breeze tugs at your hair as you stand on the edge of the harbor, the morning sun glinting off the choppy waters of Blackwater Bay. The sight of the ship bobbing gently at anchor fills you with a sense of unease, the iron cage being carefully loaded onto its deck a pogient reminder of the strange and terrible events that have led you here. Inside the cage, your dragon, the one born of death, lets out a low, restless growl. His golden eyes, now a little larger, still burning with the same fierce intelligence that haunts your dreams. You feel a strange pull in your chest, as though something within you is tethered to the creature, a bond that tightens with every beat of your heart.

Your hand instinctively rises to your chest, pressing against the spot where you can feel the faintest echo of warmth, as if your own blood still burns with the wildfire that hatched the dragon. The world around you seems distant, your focus narrowing to the creature in the cage, to the strange connection you share. A soft, persistent whisper at the back of your mind urges you to draw closer, to reach out and touch the iron bars that keep him confined, but the sound of approaching footsteps pulls you back to reality.

"Y/N," Rhaegar’s voice is gentle but firm, grounding you. He appears beside you, his presence solid and reassuring amidst the swirling chaos of your thoughts. His arm slips around your shoulders, pulling you into a comforting embrace. The warmth of his touch dispels the strange pull you felt toward the dragon, anchoring you firmly in the present.

"You will be safe at Dragonstone," Rhaegar murmurs, his breath warm against your ear. "I wish I could go with you, but I will see you again soon. I promise." He pulls back slightly, his violet eyes searching yours for any sign of distress. "And I will make sure our father remains... distracted for as long as possible."

You nod, though words seem to fail you in the face of all that has happened. The sight of the dragon, your dragon, being locked away, the very creature that should have been a symbol of your family's strength, instead treated as a dangerous secret to be hidden away—it all weighs heavily on your mind.

Before you can voice your concerns, another presence joins you. Queen Rhaella, your mother, approaches, her face pale but composed, as if she has steeled herself for what is to come. Her gaze is tender as she looks at you, though it is clouded with the same sorrow that has shadowed her for years. "Y/N, Rhaegar," she says softly, her voice carrying the weight of a mother’s love and the pain of long-endured suffering.

"Mother," Rhaegar greets her with a bow of his head, stepping back to allow her to stand beside you.

Rhaella’s hand finds yours, squeezing it gently. "Aerys has allowed me to accompany you to Dragonstone," she says, her voice tinged with both relief and resignation. "He... he sees no use for me here any longer."

The words hang in the air, a bitter reminder of how far your father has fallen, how little regard he holds for those who were once dearest to him. Rhaella’s gaze flickers to the dragon in its cage, a flash of fear and sadness passing over her features before she turns back to Rhaegar. "Take care of yourself, my son," she says, her voice wavering slightly. "You carry the hopes of our house."

Rhaegar nods, his expression softening. "And you carry its future," he replies, his gaze lingering on you. "This is likely temporary, as you well know. Father will not be content to let you remain away from him for long. And when the time comes... the small council's debate may soon become more than mere words. Our marriage may no longer be just a possibility, Y/N."

Your heart tightens at his words. The idea of marrying Rhaegar has always been one tangled with duty, obligation, and the preservation of your house. Yet, there is another side to this—a secret part of you that yearns for someone else, for Ser Arthur Dayne, whose presence you can feel even now, standing at a respectful distance near the Queen’s retinue.

Your gaze drifts to where Ser Arthur waits, his expression unreadable beneath the shadow of his helm, though his eyes—those familiar, intense eyes—never leave you. Beside him, Ser Lewyn Martell stands ready, prepared to accompany you and your mother to Dragonstone. The two of them, Arthur especially, have been your protectors in more ways than one, and you feel a sense of calm knowing they will be by your side during this exile.

But before you can take a step toward them, a sudden shift in the atmosphere halts you. The harbor grows quiet, the bustling activity of sailors and dockworkers falling away as Aerys, your father, arrives with the Kingsguard and his entourage. The sight of him makes your blood run cold, the sharp contrast between the man he once was and the mad king he has become all too clear in the daylight.

Aerys’s presence is unsettling, a mix of unpredictability and danger that makes everyone around him tense, as though they are all walking on the edge of a knife. You straighten your posture, reminding yourself not to show any sign of weakness, any sign that might provoke him into changing his mind about letting you go.

Your mother, however, is less successful in hiding her fear. As Aerys approaches, she takes a small step back, her eyes lowering to the ground, her entire demeanor shrinking as though trying to make herself as inconspicuous as possible. You sense her anxiety, feel it in the way her hand trembles in yours before she quickly releases her grip, folding her hands in front of her as she stares at the ground.

"Y/N, you are my daughter, my blood. The mother of my dragon.” Aerys croons, his voice unexpectedly warm, though there is a manic edge to it that makes your skin crawl. He steps closer, his eyes—once sharp and clear—now filled with the flames of his own madness. Without warning, he leans in and presses a kiss to your forehead, the touch of his lips cold and unsettling.

As soon as his lips make contact, a voice—a dark, twisted whisper—echoes in your mind, repeating the words from the nightmare that has plagued you ever since the ritual: "Sealed with the kiss of swine."

The words send a shiver down your spine, and for a moment, the world seems to tilt, the harbor, the ship, the dragon, all fading into the background as the voice reverberates through your thoughts. But you force yourself to remain still, to show no sign of the terror that grips you.

Aerys pulls back, his smile unsettling as he examines your face as though searching for something only he can see. "Remember, my child, the dragon is ours—yours and mine. We are bound by fire and blood."

You manage a stiff nod, your voice catching in your throat. "Yes, Father," you reply, keeping your tone as even as possible.

Before Aerys can say anything further, Tywin Lannister steps forward, his eyes gleaming with that cold calculation that always unnerved you. "Safe travels, my lady," he says, offering you a bow that seems more like a formality than a genuine gesture of respect.

As he straightens, the voice in your mind returns, louder this time, dripping with malice: "It has two mouths to lick from."

The words almost make you recoil, but you manage to keep your composure, nodding at Tywin in acknowledgment. The tension in the air is suffocating, the weight of all that is unspoken hanging between you and everyone present. But you know this is not the time or place to question the meaning of these strange, disturbing messages. Not when so many eyes are upon you, waiting for any sign of weakness, any reason to doubt your loyalty to the crown.

Finally, with a nod from Aerys, the entourage begins to withdraw, allowing you, Rhaella, and your escorts to make your way toward the waiting ship. Rhaegar lingers for a moment longer, his gaze meeting yours, filled with a mixture of worry and determination.

"This will not be forever," he says quietly, his voice meant only for your ears. "I will do everything in my power to protect you, to bring you back safely."

You nod, though the certainty in his words does little to quell the unease that churns within you. As you turn to follow your mother and the Kingsguard toward the ship, your gaze once again finds Arthur. His presence, as always, brings a small measure of comfort, even as the weight of the future presses heavily on your shoulders.

But as you step onto the gangplank, the whisper in your mind returns once more, a final chilling reminder of the darkness that shadows your path: "Two mouths, one kiss."

You force the voice back, focusing on the solidity of the wooden planks beneath your feet, the sound of the waves against the hull of the ship. Soon, you tell yourself, you will be at Dragonstone, far from the madness of King.

The wind fills the sails of the ship as it cuts through the waves, the rhythmic rise and fall of the sea a steady backdrop to the tension that hangs in the air. The sun is dipping lower in the sky, casting the waters in a warm, golden hue, but the beauty of the scene does little to calm the storm within you. You stand on the deck, your gaze fixed on the iron cage where your dragon, your bond, waits restlessly.

The creature paces within the confines of its prison, its golden eyes flicking toward you with an almost knowing look, as if it can sense your inner turmoil, the conflict between duty and the strange, irresistible pull that has been growing ever stronger since you first laid eyes on it.

Beside you, Ser Arthur Dayne stands silently, his presence a comforting weight, a reminder that you are not alone in this. His silver armor gleams in the fading light, the sword at his side a symbol of the protection he has always offered you, even in the most dire of circumstances. Behind you, your mother, Queen Rhaella, stands with Ser Lewyn Martell and a handful of retainers, all of whom have chosen to accompany you and the queen on this journey to Dragonstone. Their expressions are a mix of concern and uncertainty, none of them quite sure what will happen next.

Arthur’s voice breaks the silence, soft but firm. "Are you sure about this, Y/N?"

You turn to him, meeting his gaze. The concern in his eyes is evident, but there is also a trust there, a belief in you that gives you strength. You nod, your voice steady despite the storm raging inside you. "Yes, Arthur. This is something I must do."

He studies you for a moment longer, as if searching for any sign of hesitation, but when he finds none, he nods, stepping back slightly to give you space. You take a deep breath, feeling the salt air fill your lungs, the cool breeze against your skin. The moment has come, and you know there is no turning back.

With slow, deliberate steps, you approach the iron cage. The dragon inside, still young but already formidable, stops its pacing and watches you, its golden eyes locking onto yours. The connection between you flares to life, that strange bond you share surging with intensity. You feel it in your blood, in your very soul, a pull that goes beyond words or reason.

You reach out, your fingers brushing against the cold iron bars. The dragon shifts, lowering its head slightly, as if in acknowledgment. Your heart pounds in your chest, but there is a sense of rightness in this moment, a clarity that cuts through the fear and uncertainty.

Slowly, you unlatch the cage, the metal clanging softly as you pull the door open. The dragon hesitates for just a moment, as if testing the air, before it steps out, its movements fluid and graceful. The others on the deck watch in stunned silence, the anticipation is visible as they wait to see what will happen next.

As the dragon emerges fully from the cage, it spreads its wings, shaking them out as if testing their strength. It lets out a low, rumbling growl, more a sound of satisfaction than threat, and then it turns to you, its eyes glowing with that same golden light.

You feel the bond tighten, that pull in your chest growing stronger until it is almost overwhelming. And then, suddenly, you hear it again—that voice in your mind, the one that has haunted you ever since the ritual, the one that whispered dark and terrible things. But this time, the voice is different. It is clearer, more certain, and it speaks a single word: Terrax.

The name echoes in your mind, filling you with a strange sense of completion, as if something that was always meant to be has finally fallen into place. You whisper the name aloud, your voice trembling slightly. "Terrax."

The dragon’s eyes flash, and you feel a surge of recognition, a deep, primal understanding that passes between you. This is his name, the name that binds him to you, the name that seals the bond.

Arthur steps forward cautiously, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, though his posture is more protective than threatening. "What did you say?"

"Terrax," you repeat, your voice stronger now. "That is his name."

Arthur’s gaze shifts to the dragon, his expression a mix of awe and concern. "You named him?"

You shake your head slightly, still trying to process the enormity of what just happened. "No... he named himself. I just... I just heard it."

Arthur’s brow furrows, but he does not question you further. He knows better than anyone how deeply intertwined your fate is with this creature, how the ritual that brought Terrax into the world also bound you to him in ways that neither of you fully understand.

Rhaella, who has been silent until now, steps closer, her eyes wide with both fear and wonder. "Y/N... what have you done?" she whispers, though there is no accusation in her tone, only a mother’s concern for her child.

"I’ve released him, Mother," you say, turning to face her. "I couldn’t keep him caged. He... he’s a part of me."

Rhaella’s expression softens, and she reaches out to touch your cheek, her hand trembling slightly. "You are so much like your father, in ways that both terrify and amaze me," she murmurs. "But you must be careful, Y/N. There are forces at work here that we do not fully understand."

"I know," you reply, your voice quiet but firm. "But I can’t ignore this. Terrax is mine, and I am his."

Ser Lewyn, who has been watching with wary eyes, steps forward, his voice calm but laced with concern. "Your Grace, if the dragon is to remain free, we must ensure he is properly guarded. Dragonstone is a place of power, but it is not without its dangers."

"Terrax will not be caged again," you say, your tone leaving no room for argument. "But he will not harm anyone unless provoked. I feel it... he knows who his enemies are."

Arthur exchanges a glance with Ser Lewyn, and then he nods. "We will keep him safe, Y/N. And we will keep you safe, too."

The tension eases slightly at his words, and you offer him a small, grateful smile. "Thank you, Arthur."

As the ship sails on toward Dragonstone, the sun sinking lower on the horizon, you stand beside Terrax who is perched on taffrail, your hand resting on his small, scaled flank. The bond between you is stronger than ever, a living connection that pulses with the rhythm of the sea and the beat of your heart.

You are no longer just a princess of House Targaryen. You are the mother of a dragon, and your fate is now entwined with his, bound together by the ancient forces of old Valyria.

The streets of King’s Landing are alive with the hum of daily life, the scent of roasting meat and fresh bread mingling with the less pleasant odors of the bustling city. The setting sun casts long shadows across the cobblestones, painting the world in shades of gold and orange. Prince Rhaegar Targaryen walks among his people, his presence alone enough to draw hushed whispers and admiring glances from the smallfolk. His silver hair catches the light, making him appear almost otherworldly, a living embodiment of the storied Valyrian bloodline.

Though he often brings his harp on such walks, today it remains in the Red Keep, for Rhaegar’s mind is heavy with thoughts too dark and tangled to be soothed by music. At his side, Ser Barristan Selmy, the most loyal of his Kingsguard, walks with a steady, measured pace, his watchful eyes scanning the crowd. Even in the heart of the city, danger is never far, and Barristan’s duty is to ensure that no harm befalls the prince.

As they move through the narrow streets, Rhaegar can hear the murmur of conversation, snatches of talk that filter through the air like the wind. The people adore him, even now, when the shadow of his father’s madness looms large over the realm. They speak of his kindness, his wisdom, and, more recently, his possible marriage to you, his sister. The idea of such a union has stirred a mix of hope and curiosity among the smallfolk, who see it as holding true to the old ways, a reaffirmation of House Targaryen’s ancient customs.

Rhaegar’s thoughts turn to you, the sister he has sworn to protect. He pictures your face, the strength you’ve shown despite everything, and the bond you now share with the dragon. One that ties you both to the darkest aspects of your family’s legacy. He remembers Varys’s words, spoken in the shadows of the Red Keep: “If the nature of her relationship with Ser Arthur becomes known, it will not just be Aerys’s wrath you need fear, but the whispers of treason, the seeds of rebellion. Even the gods cannot save her from the court’s judgment if this becomes public knowledge.”

A chill runs through him at the thought. He knows Varys speaks the truth; the court is a nest of vipers, and the truth of your relationship with Ser Arthur would be more than enough to destroy you—and by extension, him. He cannot let that happen. He will do whatever it takes to protect you, even if it means denying his own desires.

As they turn onto a broader avenue, the crowd parts slightly, and Rhaegar catches sight of a familiar figure moving toward them. Cersei Lannister, her golden hair shining like a beacon, approaches with a small entourage of Lannister guards and retainers. She is dressed in rich red and gold, the colors of her house, and she wears a smile that is both charming and calculating.

“Prince Rhaegar,” she greets him warmly, inclining her head with just the right amount of deference. “It is a pleasure to see you out among the people. They adore you, as well they should.”

Rhaegar offers a polite nod, though his expression remains distant. “Lady Cersei. It is always a pleasure to see you.”

Cersei steps closer, her green eyes gleaming with a mixture of ambition and something else—something deeper, more personal. “I heard the most delightful rumor today,” she says, her voice smooth and honeyed. “They say that you may soon be betrothed. To your sister, Y/N. How... traditional.”

Rhaegar inclines his head slightly. “Rumors often carry more weight than truth within the walls of the Red Keep,” he replies, his tone noncommittal.

Cersei’s smile widens, though there is a hint of steel beneath the sweetness. “Perhaps. But some rumors hold the promise of great alliances. The smallfolk are not the only ones interested in your future, my prince. There are many who believe a strong union could secure the stability of the realm—especially in these troubled times.”

She moves even closer, her voice lowering so that only Rhaegar can hear her next words. “House Lannister, for instance, has always stood ready to support the crown. We are the wealthiest house in Westeros, and our influence could be invaluable to your father... and to you, when the time comes.”

Rhaegar meets her gaze, recognizing the offer for what it is: a calculated move to entwine her family’s power with his own. Cersei’s ambition is as bright as her beauty, and while he understands the allure of such a match, his heart remains steadfast in its devotion. Not to her, but to you, and to the dangerous game he must now play to protect you.

“I appreciate the loyalty of House Lannister,” he replies, keeping his tone neutral. “The realm benefits greatly from your family’s wealth and influence.”

Cersei’s smile falters for just a fraction of a second, a flicker of frustration crossing her features before she recovers. “And it could benefit even more from a closer alliance,” she presses. “Together, our houses could usher in a new era of prosperity and peace. A union between us would be celebrated across the Seven Kingdoms.”

But Rhaegar’s mind is elsewhere, replaying Varys’s warnings, the weight of his responsibility to you, the unspoken truth that lies between you and Ser Arthur Dayne. He cannot allow himself to be swayed by Cersei’s words, no matter how tempting the prospect of a secure and powerful future might be.

“My duty is to the realm, Lady Cersei,” he says, his voice firm but not unkind. “And I must consider what is best for it. The future is uncertain, but I will always act in the interest of peace and stability.”

Cersei’s expression tightens, the charm slipping away to reveal a flash of cold determination. “Of course, my prince,” she replies, though the sweetness in her voice has turned brittle. “But remember, peace and stability often require strong alliances. And some alliances are stronger than others.”

Rhaegar nods, signaling the end of their conversation. “I thank you for your counsel, Lady Cersei. I will give it the consideration it deserves.”

She offers him one last smile, though it no longer reaches her eyes. “I hope you do, my prince. For all our sakes.”

With that, she turns and sweeps away, her Lannister entourage following in her wake like a pack of gilded lions. Rhaegar watches her go, a sense of unease settling over him. He knows Cersei will not give up easily, but his heart is resolute. His duty to the realm, to his sister, and to the truth is clear.

Ser Barristan, who has remained silent throughout the exchange, steps closer. “She is not one to be underestimated, my prince.”

“I know,” Rhaegar replies, his gaze distant. “But my path is already set. Whatever the cost, I must protect my sister, and ensure that our house survives the storm to come.”

Barristan nods, his respect for the prince evident in his eyes. “Then we shall be ready, whatever may come.”

Rhaegar resumes his walk through the city, though his thoughts remain troubled. The weight of the crown feels heavier with each passing day, and the future looms uncertain and dark. But he knows that, for now, his course is clear. He must guard the secrets that could destroy his family, even if it means walking a perilous line between duty and desire.

And above all, he must ensure that when the time comes, he is ready to face whatever challenges lie ahead—with or without the support of the lions of Lannister.

The wind whips through your hair as you stand on the balcony of your chambers, the salt air of the Narrow Sea filling your lungs. Below, the waves crash against the rocky shores of Dragonstone, their rhythm a constant reminder of the power and isolation of this ancient seat of your ancestors. The sky is overcast, but the clouds part just enough to allow slivers of sunlight to dance on the waters, turning the sea into a shimmering expanse of silver and gray.

Far in the distance, soaring above the waves, is Terrax. His black scales glisten in the weak sunlight, and his wings beat with a powerful grace that makes your heart swell with a mixture of pride and fear. No longer the size of a hound, Terrax has grown in the past months, now large enough to be mistaken for a small horse. He has claimed the fiery caverns of Dragonmont as his lair, where the heat of the volcano suits his nature. The dragon is fed a steady supply of cattle, and though he still has much growing to do, his presence has already brought a renewed sense of awe and reverence to this ancient fortress.

Yet despite the majesty of the dragon, a shadow hangs over your thoughts. The voices in your nightmares have returned, whispering dark and twisted things that leave you shaken and fearful. You clutch the stone balustrade of the balcony, trying to draw strength from the solidness of the ancient castle, but the whispers are persistent, gnawing at the edges of your sanity.

A soft sound from behind you draws your attention, and you turn to see Ser Arthur Dayne stepping out onto the balcony. His presence is a balm to your troubled mind, and for a moment, the tension in your shoulders eases. Here on Dragonstone, away from the prying eyes of the court, you can afford a small measure of relaxation in each other’s presence. But even here, you must remain vigilant; the risk of discovery is always lurking in the back of your mind.

Arthur’s expression softens as he approaches, his lilac-gray eyes searching your face. "You’ve been out here for a while," he says quietly, his voice filled with concern. "Is everything all right?"

You offer him a faint smile, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. "I find the sea calming," you reply, turning your gaze back to the horizon where Terrax is now a distant silhouette against the sky. "But even here, it’s hard to escape... the nightmares."

Arthur steps closer, his hand resting on the small of your back. The touch is gentle, comforting, and you lean into it, grateful for the warmth of his presence. "The nightmares are back?" he asks, his voice tinged with worry.

You nod, swallowing against the tightness in your throat. "Yes. The same voices, whispering in my ear. I... I fear I’m going mad, Arthur. Just like him." You don’t need to say your father’s name; the fear of Aerys’s madness running through your veins is a constant shadow that you’ve never been able to shake.

Arthur’s brow furrows, and he gently turns you to face him, his hands resting on your shoulders. "You are not going mad, Y/N," he says firmly, his voice grounding you in the moment. "You’ve been through more than anyone should have to endure, but you are strong. You’ve always been strong."

You shake your head, frustration and fear bubbling to the surface. "But these dreams, these voices... they feel so real. They say things that make my skin crawl, that make me doubt everything I know. Sometimes I think I can hear them even when I’m awake."

Arthur’s hands tighten slightly on your shoulders, a silent offer of support. "You are not your father, Y/N," he insists, his gaze never leaving yours. "Whatever these voices are, they do not define you. They do not control you."

"But what if they do?" you whisper, your voice trembling. "What if I’m losing myself, just like he did? What if Terrax is more than just a dragon to me? What if... what if he’s part of this madness?"

Arthur’s expression hardens, and he cups your face in his hands, forcing you to meet his gaze. "Listen to me," he says, his voice low and intense. "Terrax is not a curse. He is a part of you, yes, but he does not dictate who you are. You have a bond with him, a bond that is forged in something deeper than the madness of your father. It is your strength, not your weakness."

You search his eyes, finding only sincerity and the unshakable belief he has in you. The warmth of his hands against your skin anchors you, and slowly, the cold knot of fear in your chest begins to loosen.

"You’re not alone in this," Arthur continues, his voice softer now. "I’m here, and I will do whatever it takes to help you through this. We will find a way to silence these voices, to banish these nightmares."

A tear escapes the corner of your eye, and you lean into his touch, drawing comfort from the man who has been your steadfast protector, your secret love, in the midst of all the chaos. "Thank you, Arthur," you murmur, your voice barely more than a breath.

He leans down and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, a gesture that is both tender and filled with unspoken promises. "Always," he replies.

For a moment, you allow yourself to close your eyes and simply breathe, the sound of the sea and the distant cry of Terrax filling your senses. Here, with Arthur by your side, the voices seem further away, their power over you diminished. You can still feel them at the edges of your mind, but they are no longer overwhelming. 

When you finally open your eyes, the fear is still there, but it is tempered by the knowledge that you are not facing this alone. You have Arthur, you have Terrax, and you have your own strength—strength that you will need to draw on in the days and months to come.

"We should go back inside," Arthur says softly, though there is a reluctance in his voice. "It wouldn’t do for someone to see us out here alone for too long."

You nod, though you linger for a moment longer, casting one last glance at Terrax, who is now circling back toward the island, his powerful wings cutting through the air with ease. There is something majestic, something undeniable about the dragon, and despite your fears, you can’t help but feel a deep connection to him, one that transcends the nightmares and the whispers.

With a final sigh, you allow Arthur to lead you back inside, where the warmth of the castle wraps around you like a comforting embrace. The darkness of your fears may still lurk, but here, within these ancient walls, you have found something to hold onto—hope. 

[elenasalvatore94]

The interview - Part 2

I'm so happy to be here sharing those crazy thoughts with u, guys. Let's go for more?

https://www.tumblr.com/elenasalvatore94/764737480930082816/magnetic-hearts-franco-colapinto-s-fanfic?source=share (previous one)

Chris stormed down the hotel corridor, her pulse racing and skin tingling. She pushed her hair back, letting out a shaky breath. She couldn't believe what had just happened. Franco Colapinto had flirted with her, blatantly, and she hadn't stopped him as firmly as she should have. His words still echoed in her mind, each syllable stirring something primal inside her that she hadn't felt in years.

As she reached the lobby, her reflection caught her eye in the mirrored walls. She paused, quickly adjusting her hair - thick, dark waves that cascaded over her shoulders. Her skin had a warm, olive tone, a gift of her Brazilian heritage. She had grown up in São Paulo, a city as fast-paced as her career, and had spent years perfecting the art of being both professional and alluring in an industry dominated by men. Her brown eyes were sharp, focused, and calculated, always seeking out the next story. Yet here she was, rattled by a driver who was nearly a decade younger.

Chris wasn't a woman who typically questioned her power over her surroundings. She had learned early on that to survive in the male-dominated world of motorsport journalism, she needed to be tougher than her counterparts. She'd interviewed the biggest stars, dealt with their egos, and had become a respected figure for it. She wasn't just a journalist; she was a force.

But Franco... Franco was different. He hadn't looked at her like she was just another reporter. His gaze had penetrated beyond her armor, seeing something softer, something she wasn't used to revealing. And damn it, it had made her feel... alive.

She stepped outside into the warm evening air, her heels clicking against the pavement as she made her way back to the paddock area. The Monaco sunset painted the sky in hues of orange and pink, but Chris couldn't focus on its beauty. Her mind was consumed by the intensity of Franco's green eyes and the subtle smirk that played on his lips every time he spoke. She couldn't deny it anymore - there had been an undeniable chemistry between them, and the worst part was, she liked it. The heat between her thighs as she walked didn't help. The ache was distracting, a gnawing sensation that kept pulling her mind back to him. Chris had always prided herself on her control, but with Franco, that control had slipped the moment he'd said her name.

By the time she reached the paddock, the coolness of the evening began to settle in, but it did little to soothe the heat in her body. She found her secluded spot behind the media tents, taking a deep breath and trying to calm the rush of adrenaline still coursing through her veins. Her phone buzzed, pulling her out of her thoughts. She glanced down at the screen.

**Franco Colapinto:** *When can I see you again, Chris?*

Her heart thudded in her chest. How the hell did he even get her number? The question quickly dissipated as her thumb hovered over the keyboard. She knew what the right answer was:

*Never.* She knew it would be the professional thing to say. The mature thing. The thing that would keep her reputation intact.

But there was a thrill in his audacity, a daring edge that made her want to push back just as hard. He was challenging her, seeing how far she'd go. And for the first time in a long time, she wanted to play.

**Chris:** *Not sure if that's a good idea.*

The reply was instant.

**Franco:** *Oh, it's a great idea. You just haven't realized it yet.*

She bit her lip, an involuntary smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. The rational part of her brain screamed at her to shut this down, but her body was already betraying her. She was still warm and flushed, and she couldn't stop thinking about what it would feel like to let her guard down, just once.

She quickly locked her phone, taking another deep breath. This was a dangerous game. She couldn't afford to get involved with a driver - especially one as young and unpredictable as Franco. And yet, something about the whole situation was exhilarating. The way he looked at her, the way he spoke to her, it was intoxicating.

As Chris made her way to the media area, her phone buzzed again. She hesitated before looking, knowing that whatever Franco had sent would only stoke the fire that was already burning.

**Franco:** *I'm not good at waiting, Chris. How about tonight? I know a place.*

Her fingers trembled over the keyboard, torn between the voice of reason and the pull of desire. She'd spent years being the one in control, the one who called the shots. But for once, she wanted to let someone else take the lead, to see where this dangerous game could go.

**Chris:** *Where?*She sent it before she could stop herself. There was a pause before his reply came through.

**Franco:** *Meet me by the docks after the press conferences. You won't regret it.*

Chris's heart raced. This was insane. She was walking straight into a situation she knew could implode, but something about Franco made her want to break all the rules.

She tucked her phone away, running her fingers through her dark waves, her mind a whirlwind of possibilities. The press conferences would keep her busy for the next few hours, but once they were done... She would be meeting Franco Colapinto - not as a journalist, but as a woman stepping into uncharted territory.

The next one is HOT!

[apod]

2024 August 1

Comet Olbers over Kunetice Castle Image Credit & Copyright: Petr Horálek / Institute of Physics in Opava

Explanation: A visitor to the inner solar system every 70 years or so Comet 13P/Olbers reached its most recent perihelion, or closest approach to the Sun, on June 30 2024. Now on a return voyage to the distant Oort cloud the Halley-type comet is recorded here sweeping through northern summer night skies over historic Kunetice Castle, Czech Republic. Along with a broad dust tail, and brighter coma, this comet's long ion tail buffeted by storms and winds from the Sun, is revealed in the composite of tracked exposures for comet and sky, and fixed exposures for foreground landscape recorded on July 28. The comet is about 16 light-minutes beyond the castle and seen against faint background stars below the northern constellation Ursa Major. The hilltop castle dates to the 15th century, while Heinrich Olbers discovered the comet in 1815. Captured here low in northwestern skies just after sunset Comet Olbers, for now, offers skywatchers on planet Earth rewarding telescopic and binocular views. Comet 13P/Olbers next perihelion passage will be in 2094.

∞ Source: apod.nasa.gov/apod/ap240801.html

[mangooes]

Chapter 3 - Hope Is the thing of Feathers

Chapter 1 - The Moon and The Star

Chapter 2 - Heartbeats Strumming

I recommend listening to the song while reading this chapter! Enjoy^^

Hope is the thing of feathers - Robin, Hoyomix

The day passes by in a blink of an eye, the sky sets to orange indicating the change of time as the sun waves goodbye greeting the moon and the stars. Studying in class, went by in a blur for Robin as her mind lingers to the strange encounter with the boy behind her seat. Her heart thumped softly, the course of his action, his accent, his voice, his eyes that held a gentle look, and his touch… is all familiar to her. It's just she can’t pinpoint exactly when and how. 

As the final bell rang, signaling the end of the school day, Robin packed her things and waved goodbye to her classmates. She glanced behind her, noticing Jinwoo had already left. Relieved yet strangely disappointed, she sighed and began walking home, the afternoon sun casting long shadows on the streets of Seoul.

She puts on her headphones, pressing the play button of an instrumental file as she begins her walk. As Robin made her way through the familiar paths, her mind drifted to the lyrics of the song she had been working on, the song she is currently humming to. Each note felt like it had come from somewhere deep within her, a distant echo of something long forgotten. “Let the clouds heal me of the stings…” she hums across the streets, failing to notice the presence of the boy that she met earlier. “Gently wipe the sorrow off my life…I-” before she could finish the lyrics, someone beat her to it. “I dream…” the boy continues as the girl turns to look at the source of the voice with wide eyes, stumbling down her path. “Hu-Whoa whoa!” Before she could hit the ground, a pair of strong arms caught her. The girl turned to look at her savior, recognizing his face.

The boy chuckled, “Clumsy much?” Robin turned to look away from the boy, embarrassed by the situation as the boy helped her take her balance. “Ah it’s you again, Jinwoo…How did you know? I never ever recalled releasing that song on any platforms.” the girl asked slowly. “Perhaps I've heard it somewhere, it’s a familiar tune after all.” Robin eyed Jinwoo before smiling gratefully as she offered, “Wanna walk home together?” Her request is replied with an instant yes as the boy walked side by side with the girl staring off into the sunset. Parting ways as the girl reached her home. 

That night, it was awfully quiet as the girl dreamed of a strange dream. A strange occurrence, like visions.  The world around her seemed to dissolve, replaced by something else—something like a different reality. Suddenly, she wasn’t in the confines of her bedroom anymore. She was standing in a vast, desolate battlefield. The sky was an unnatural purple, crackling with dark energy as if the heavens themselves were in turmoil. The ground was littered with broken weapons and the remnants of a great battle. Around her, the world trembled under the weight of an ongoing war that consumes humanity. And there she saw herself standing—Robin, but not quite. White dress as it shimmered with the light of the stars, her long hair flowing freely in the wind, a halo on her head and feathered wings on her ears. Her light green eyes glowed with a power that feels like peace, a lone song in the midst of a storm. She wasn’t just Robin, the high schooler and singer—she was something more. A being that held the essence of the wind, the freedom of a bird unchained, the emanator of harmony. 

Before her stood the boy from earlier Jinwoo, but he was dressed in something else, not any normal clothes. Instead black wisps covering his body, shaping into an armor . His eyes glowed with the same purple light, his form regal and powerful, surrounded by an army of shadow soldiers that stretched beyond the horizon. But his expression was not that of a powerful being in battle; it was filled with pain, loss, and desperate longing as he gazed at her. 

Behind them, towering figures loomed. The Monarchs, ancient beings of immense power, driven by destruction and chaos. Their very presence warped reality, threatening to engulf the world in death’s embrace, destroying everything in their path, ruling the world as its purpose. 

Robin could hear it, the chorus of their sinister voices, their power shaking the very air. She knew what was at stake, and at that moment she knew what had to be done. If they were not stopped, the world she loves and cherished as she knew it would be consumed. 

"I can stop them, Jinwoo," Robin said, her voice firm and confident, though it trembled with the weight of her decision. Jinwoo took a step forward, his hand reaching for her. "No!There must be another way. You don't have to—, not like this!” as he strokes his hand on her cheeks. 

"There is no other way," Robin interrupted softly, her eyes filled with affirmation, grief and determination as she held the hand in return. "You know that as well as I do. The power I possess... the Power of Harmony... it's the only thing that can disrupt their connection to this world, making it a weak spot for them. Alas a price has to be paid, in exchange for it." 

Jinwoo’s face twisted with pain and anger. "Not your life, I won’t let you sacrifice yourself for this." His shadows moved restlessly around him, as if responding to the storm of emotions swirling inside him. But the girl could only smile—a soft, bittersweet smile as if saying her goodbyes. "I’ve always been free, Jinwoo. Free like the wind, like a bird soaring in the sky.” the girl paused, as she turned facing away from the man. “But even the freest bird has a duty to protect the ones it loves, i love this world so much, i love you too much to not make this sacrifice Jinwoo…I’ll do what it takes,whatever the cost.." 

Her gaze locked with the Monarchs who loomed ahead. In her hand she summoned thousands of lyrical notes, melodies as she started to hum a tune. The manifestation of her power, the Voice of Harmony, the ability to bind all things together through song. It thrummed in her grasp, alive and ready to be unleashed. 

Jinwoo’s heart clenched in his chest as he realized her decision before his eyes. “No,” he whispered, stepping forward. “No, please… don’t do this.” 

"I am the song that will bind the heavens and earth," she whispered, her voice laced with both sadness and peace. "I am the bird that will no longer be caged, as i fight for this world. You have done enough Jinwoo, you’ve always been my protector, my shield in the darkness. But now it’s my turn to protect you… to protect everything.”

Her voice quivered slightly, but she didn’t falter. “Remember me, Jinwoo… not as the one who was caged, but as the bird that soared freely in the sky. My voice… it’s my gift to you.” She smiled sincerly as voices of harmony were spreaded across the world, creating a beautiful melody in peace. 

“Heads up, a steady rhythm. A destination that's ever near..It comes, stride to our kingdom and see the light of day!”

As she stepped forward, the ground beneath her feet shimmered. Her voice—pure and ethereal—began to rise into the air, a melody so haunting and beautiful that the world itself seemed to pause to listen.

“Heads up, the wheels are singing, The whispers and secrets they keep, To hope, we bound, whoa-whoa!” 

The Power of Harmony flowed through her, growing with each note, weaving through the chaos, pushing back the darkness. The Monarchs roared in anger, their forms trembling as her song pierced through their defenses. But the power Robin wielded wasn’t just a weapon. It was a sacrifice. She was pouring every ounce of her life force into the song, knowing that it would be her last. As she sang, feathers began to fall from the sky—white and delicate, like those of a bird finally set free, spreading her wings. 

“Break free, we chased our dreams..Beneath the starry night, In the face of God, we rose as one..” 

As she finishes her last performance, on the stage of her world… Robin’s gaze softened as she looked at her lover one last time with a single tear dropping from her light green eyes, accompanied with a smile that showed thousands of words.. “Promise me, that one day, we will meet again, in another lifetime.. alright? I love you, I love you so much Jinwoo.” 

Jinwoo clenched his fists, helpless as she began to vanish completely. His shadows writhed in anguish, powerless to stop what was happening. He could only watch as the love of his life—his star—faded into the light, leaving only the echo of her song.

And then, she was gone. Only a single white feather remained, slowly drifting to the ground..as he held on tight to that one lone feather.

HEY GUYS ASKJDANK such a long chapter l’m asdmasdsa I’ll update the acheron fanfic like tonight or tmrw SADKJAS ANYWAYSS AAAA hope u guys liked this one tho!

[vodika-vibes]

okay this follower event is intriguing so I’mma try something👀 okay so. I’m thinkin about an Apocalypse AU with Fox. romance for the genre because you know it gotta be romance with Foxy, & girl you can go WILD with the plot, I give you free reign. unless you don’t want free reign, I can just send another ask. but for now BE FREE🦅

Woe To The People

Summary: According to everything you read as a child, the end of the world was supposed to be the end of the story. It’s a shame that none of the stories tell what happens to the people left behind.

Pairing: Commander Fox x F!Reader

Word Count: 2230

Prompt: Apocalypse AU

Warnings: None

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: You said be free, and so I was free. You know how in some farming sims, the end of the world happened, and then people have to recover. That's what this is. I could have gone with apocalypse heavy, but I wanted to do apocalypse light. Please let me know if you don't like it. The title came from a CamiCat song called Woe To The People Of The Order. Also, I'm limited on how long I can sit at the computer right now. I...hurt my foot pretty badly and I can't elevate it properly from the computer, lol.

You were a child when the world ended.

You were barely 9 summers old on the day that the blue sky burned red, and acid fell from the sky. You managed to find shelter in a skyscraper, climbing higher and higher up the building as the acid water flooded the rivers and the streets.

And you refused to leave, even when the other people you were seeking shelter with did.

It took almost a week for the flood waters to recede. A week where you survived off of snacks and soda from the vending machines. A week where you didn’t have anyone to talk to, where all you could do is watch the burning sky through darkened windows and watch the flood waters slowly recede.

There was no internet, no TV, and your only source of information came from a small battery powered radio you found in the janitor’s closet. And it was from there that you learned what was going on.

You learned about the natural disasters that ravaged the world. Massive wildfires that raged for days, floods powerful enough to wash away buildings, sinkholes opening in places where it shouldn’t be possible, earthquakes destroying entire cities, storm systems creating tornadoes in countries that have never had one before.

And when the flood waters receded enough for you to leave the building, you ran home. Though you already knew what you were going to find when you arrived. Your home destroyed, completely flooded out, and your family, like every other family in your neighborhood, lay dead.

Burned almost beyond recognition.

At barely 9 years old, this should have been the end of your story. You were not big enough to fend for yourself, haven’t learned enough about the way the world works to even consider it.

But you’ve always been lucky.

Several days later, after returning to the sky scraper because where else could you go, a survivor found you.

A firefighter, to be specific.

His name was Jango Fett, and he told you about the safe haven that his family set up, where they have food, clean water, and doctors. He praised you for surviving as long as you did on your own, calling you clever and resourceful as he scooped you into his strong arms and carried you down the stairs and to the massive fire engine that somehow survived the floods.

He passed you up to another man, who settled you on top of the engine and offered you a proper sandwich while he covered you with a reflective blanket, and murmured assurances that you’re going to be fine, that everything’s going to be okay.

There were fewer survivors than you expected, as men and women trek out of the nearby buildings in groups of two or three.

And then you heard Jango call out that that’s everyone, and the truck started to move, slowly pushing through the debris covering the roads. Miles, the firefighter looking after you, adjusted the blanket so you couldn’t see the bodies strewn across the road.

Jango brought the survivors to the Mereel Compound, a massive group of buildings set up on top of, and around, a dam. The reservoir was empty, and Miles explained that the reservoir had been emptied before the flood, so you had nothing to worry about.

After that, you were sent to a creche, a place for young children to receive the care and education they needed to be productive members of society. Of course, the education was a bit different than what you were used to. But at the same time, you realized that you probably didn’t need to know what a noun was in this new reality of yours.

So you settled yourself in to learn what you needed to survive in this new world.

It’s been over a decade since the day the world ended, and very little has changed. Oh, sure, there haven’t been any other massive storms since the original ones, but it’s still a struggle to survive.

Enough of a struggle, that you had to move out of the Mereel Compound. You ended up in a building that used to be a mall. And, with help from other young people, you managed to turn it into something like an apartment complex.

Your job in the complex is to ensure that the water wheel, which provides electricity to the homes here, remains in working order.

It’s not a hard job, but it is a very physical job.

In fact, that’s what you’re currently working on. With a thick pair of gloves to protect you from the acid that lingers in the water. The filters do a good job in making sure that most of the acid doesn’t make it this far, but they’re not perfect.

The water needs to go through a seven point treatment before it can be ingested safely. Luckily, over the last decade, the survivors did manage to perfect that technology.

You look up as the door to the water room clicks open, “How’s are the water wheels?” A voice asks from the door. It’s a voice you’re intimately familiar with, seeing as it belongs to your boyfriend.

“In perfect working order,” You reply as you straighten, and stretch your arms over your head to work the knots out of your back, “I’m probably going to have to take water wheel 3 out of commission for a couple of hours to replace a part, but I want to have all of the parts on hand before I start.”

You turn to face Commander Fox properly.

Commander Fox is one of Jango’s many children, and is the man responsible for this complex. He’s a fine leader, you think, quick thinking and decisive. Not to mention protective of the people under his care.

He’s also the love of your life, so you might be biased.

“It’s not like you to check on the water wheels personally,” You note lightly as you pull your gloves off and set them in the solution that keeps the acid from eating through them, “Something wrong?”

“Thorn is ill, so I took his route.”

“That’s unfortunate,” You murmur, “Nothing serious, I hope?”

“Just a stomach bug, but better to isolate him rather than risk everyone else getting sick.” Fox allows, he moves to the side as you step out of the room, before he follows you and waits for you to lock the door behind you, “You haven’t seen anything unusual lately, have you?”

“In what way?”

He folds his arms over his broad chest, “I got a message from Wolffe-”

“From the forest compound?” You ask, after thinking a moment.

“Yeah, apparently there have been raids on the compound, and I’m...concerned.”

“Raids? All of the Compounds from the desert to the mountains belong to the Mereel/Fett clan.”

“Hence my concern.” Fox rolls his shoulders and for a moment you see just how exhausted he is, “Cody’s putting together a group to investigate, but if there are raiders out there-” He exhales sharply through his teeth.

He doesn’t need to put word to his worry.

You’re hardly stupid, your expertise with water and the filtration system makes you valuable. And a target for anyone with malignant motives.

“I’m giving you a guard detail.” Fox says, “And restricting your movements to within the compound.” He drops his hand from the back of his neck, “Your apartment is on a wall, isn’t it?”

“It is.”

He sighs heavily, and you feel guilty for a moment. But then, you didn’t ask for a wall apartment, you were assigned it. “It’s fine, you can crash in my room.”

“That’s hardly proper, Commander.” You tease lightly.

“Your safety is more important to me than propriety.” Fox counters, completely serious, “The alternative is sending you back to the Mereel Compound.”

“Please don’t.”

He chuckles, “That’s what I thought.” He motions for you to follow him, and you easily fall into step next to him, and he glances at you out of the corner of his eye, “Besides, it’s not like you’ve never crashed in my apartment before. Or even in my bed.”

You elbow him, “This situation is a bit different, Fox. There isn’t a small difference between me sleeping with you because your my boyfriend, and me sleeping in your apartment because I need a protective detail.”

He leads you through the bustling halls, and you feel a soft surge of delight when you see that the market is bustling with activity. Only a few years ago, this scene would have been impossible.

How far you’ve all come since the world ended.

Fox’s hand on your elbow encourages you to keep moving, as he guides you through the winding streets, until he unlocks the door to his apartment.

Fox’s apartment is bigger than all of the other apartments in the compound, with good reason, as a whole quarter of the room is filled with the computers that connect him with his brothers, and father. Not to mention the dozens of outposts that dot the country.

He shuts the door on the working half of his apartment and leads you to the living half of his apartment.

And you immediately head to the window, peering out at the red sky and over the wall that separated the compound from the wildlife. You hear some movement behind you and you turn to watch Fox remove his armor.

It’s leather mostly, reminding you of the old westerns your dad used to watch when he was still alive. Still, it offers a fair amount of protection against anyone who might want to hurt him, so you’re happy he has it.

He focuses his gaze on you, and a smile, soft and warm, graces his tired face. “Do you have any idea how stunning you look when you’re framed by the sky?”

Your face heats, and you turn away from him, “You’ve mentioned it once or twice.”

He laughs softly and walks over to you, his arms sliding around your waist, “Then I clearly need to tell you more often.”

You face him again, your hands settling lightly against his chest and smoothing the thin shirt he wears under his uniform, “I know you think it, Foxy.” You tease, “I know you, after all.”

Slowly he leans in and presses his forehead against yours, his gaze locked with your own. “You know, you could just move in with me. That would make everything easier.”

“We’ve had this conversation-”

“And you never think I’m serious, but I am. I want you to move in with me.”

“Ask me again after this crisis.” You counter.

Fox sighs and lifts his hands to cup your face, “We’re not guaranteed tomorrow, angel. Especially with the way the world is. We need to take what happiness we can when we can.”

“And what if you change your mind-” You start.

“Never. I will never change my mind. I love you. I’ve loved you since we were kids in the creche and you were that bossy little girl who told me that I was wearing my jacket wrong. I loved you when we were teenagers and you had your heart broken by my brother and I was your shoulder to cry on. I’m not going to stop loving you. Ever.”

You’re quiet for a moment, and then you huff, “I was not a bossy little girl.”

“You were so bossy. It was adorable. It’s why I went along with it.”

You pout at him, and he grins at you, looking young and boyish in his delighted amusement, “Fine. I’ll move in with you, but only because you’re being pathetic about it.”

“I can live with that.” He agrees, before ducking his head just enough to catch your lips with his.

You lean into the kiss, intent to deepening it, to fan the flames of passion, when there’s a loud chime from the other room, and he breaks the kiss with a sigh. He tilts his head to the bed, and murmurs an instruction to get comfortable, before he releases you.

A giggle falls from your lips as you sit on his bed to wait for him. You watch him walk into the next room and you watch, through the open doors, as he reads something on the computer.

And you watch as tension lances through his body.

“Fox? What’s wrong?”

“Cody found the raiders,” Fox replies from his work room, you get to your feet and walk over to him, “Apparently they’re not raiders. They were informed that you, and several other people who are in charge of food, water, and power were being held against your will.”

“Who are they?” You ask, offended that anyone would think something so poorly of the men who saved you.

“They call themselves Jedi. They’re demanding to meet you and the others.” Fox scowls, “Cody doesn’t think we should do it, he says it stinks like a trap. Dad says that we should, but we should meet in a neutral place. He says that survivors need to stick together.”

“And...what do you think?”

“I think I want you to stay safe, but if this is the best option…” He trails off and then turns and pulls you into a kiss.

You sigh into the kiss, melting under his skilled touch.

“I promise,” He breathes against your lips, “No one will ever hurt you.”

[stheresya]

The Drowned God vs the Storm God Or why Euron and Aeron are two sides of the same coin

The first time we hear of both Aeron and Euron is in ACOK, and through the description of each man we can see that despite being brothers they're both very different. We follow Theon's return to his homeland, and being far away for so long means a lot has changed to the point where it feels like he's experiencing the Iron Islands for the first time. But even then he's aware that Euron was a very dangerous man, and even someone as fearless as Asha spoke of him with unease. Aeron on the other hand, despite being an uncle with whom Theon grew up with and remembers fondly, had become someone so entirely different that Theon felt like he was speaking to a stranger. It's said that Aeron used to be an easygoing man, someone who liked to party and have fun, the uncle that Theon returns to is an overtly serious man, completely immersed into religion.

The Iron Islands follow the faith of the drowned God, understandably so considering they live in a barren land and the sea that surrounds them is their main source of food and prosperity. This makes the salt water from the sea holly to them, and it's present in their religious rites as well as in their rites of passage, and even death by drowning in the sea is considered a blessing. The fact that the Islanders follow one god doesn't make them monotheists, because their faith acknowledges another deity: the Storm God, "a malignant deity who dwells in the sky and hates men and all their works. He sends cruel winds, lashing rains, and the thunder and lightning that bespeak his endless wroth." (The World of Ice and Fire). If the the Drowned God is associated with life, prosperity and victory, the Storm God is associated with death and destruction, and so they both stand in opposition to one another, with the latter god being reviled by all the ironborn.

As a priest, Aeron currently stands as the greatest representative of the Drowned God in the Iron Islands. And this actually means a lot more than the text lets on. Priests of the Drowned yeald a lot of power in the Islands, the only man above them being the King. The power wielded by these prophets of the Drowned God over the ironborn should not be underestimated. Only they could summon kingsmoots, and woe to the man, be he lord or king, who dared defy them.

In ACOK when some ironborn suggest Aeron that he should make a claim in the kingsmoot he immediately rejects the proposition, we are led to believe that it's because Aeron does not see himself worthy of being king, but beyond that, as a priest of the Drowned God, he already held a lot of power in the Iron Islands and had not much need for more.

Drowned vs Storm ----> Aeron as the Drowned vs Euron as the Storm

The Drowned God religion has a lot of focus on death and rebirth. One of their main rituals include drowning someone and bringing them back, because 'what's dead may never die, but rises again harder and stronger', according to their motto. Aeron is one prime example of that ideal because he went through a near-death experience at sea, because of a storm, no less, only to survive and completely change his ways, become a wholly different person. In a way, Aeron did die because he's nothing like the man he was before that experience, and he did rose harder and stronger to an extent, because although his self-harming tendencies still exist in the form of religious zealotry, it's undeniable that the power he yields now as a priest grants him a strength and authority that he never had before. Not only is he a priest of the Drowned God, his own life experiences are also the embodiment of the ideal of death and rebirth from the religion. People pray when they see Aeron and are expected to give him things.

The speaker was the priest he had seen leading the horses along the shoreline. As the man approached, the smallfolk bent the knee, and Theon heard the innkeeper murmur, “Damphair.” (Theon I, ACOK) Wherever [priests] might wander, lords and peasants are obliged to give them food and shelter in the name of the Drowned God. (The World of Ice and Fire)

Associations between Euron and the Storm God are much more explicit in the text. When Balon dies in a supposed accident, everyone is quick to blame the Storm God, when in actuality it was really Euron who flung his brother to his death so he could rule in his stead. At some point Aeron even points out that Euron is the Storm that has come to bring chaos in the Iron Islands, and we the readers can see the truth of it both in the way he affects the lives of the people there and in his plans of conquest.

"Godless? Why, Aeron, I am the godliest man ever to raise sail! You serve one god, Damphair, but I have served ten thousand. From Ib to Asshai, when men see my sails, they pray." (The Iron Captain, AFFC)

The element of prayer at the sight of each man, people pray when they see Aeron because he's a priest and who's owed religious honors, people pray when they see Euron because they are afraid.

What do they want?

Aeron and Euron virtually want the same thing and the only reason Aeron opposes Euron is due to their personal history and because Euron doesn't do things in a Drowned God-honoring way. They both want a return to the Old Way, a time seen as glorious when the Iron Islands lived to invade and reave, killing, raping and enslaving thralling anything on sight.

Theon shifted his seat. "My uncle Euron has not been seen in the islands for close on two years. He may be dead." If so, it might be for the best. Lord Balon's eldest brother had never given up the Old Way, even for a day. (Theon II, ACOK) The Merlyn gaped at him. "A kingsmoot? There has not been a true kingsmoot in . . ." ". . . too long a time!" Aeron cried in anguish. "Yet in the dawn of days the ironborn chose their own kings, raising up the worthiest amongst them. It is time we returned to the Old Way, for only that shall make us great again. (The Prophet, AFFC)

But most showcasing of their similar values is the way Aeron initially reacts to Euron's great speech at the kingsmoot where he promises bloody conquest of the Seven Kingdoms.

For half a heartbeat even Aeron was swept away by the boldness of his words. The priest had dreamed the same dream, when first he’d seen the red comet in the sky. We shall sweep over the green lands with fire and sword, root out the seven gods of the septons and the white trees of the northmen… (The Drowned Man, AFFC)

Aeron idealizes the same thing as Euron, the only thing that gives him stop is the fact that it's Euron making the promises.

In conclusion, both Aeron and Euron are men whom the text itself associates with the gods worshiped in the Iron Islands, the gods that seem equally powerful but always in contradiction to each other. Just like Aeron and Euron are currently the most powerful men in the Iron Islands but are at odds with each other. Aeron may not share Euron's bloodlust, but both are still men with dreams of grandiosity who envision the same thing for their people, even if for entirely different reasons, and it's a grandiosity that can only be acquired through intense violence against everyone else in around them.

[hazelkjt]

"The World Beyond The Storm"

----------

If there was one thing clear about Perseverance from the moment you meet her, it's that she very much lives up to her name. Not wanting to be left behind anymore by Hazel whenever she left Solution Nine, Percy begged and begged for Hazel to take her outside the dome with her. And after a long time thinking it over, along with a short and blunt "Why not?" from Zero, the Auri woman finally agreed.

First leaving to get Percy a new set of clothes so she wouldn't stand out, Hazel and Zero began the trek on foot from Solution Nine to the one exit from the dome, Vanguard. Thankfully none of the surrounding wildlife or malfunctioning machines tried to attack the three, making it a pleasant trip apart from the quick scares Percy had over the flashes of lightning. But if you tried to ask her, she'd claim she wasn't scared! Not one bit!

The tunnel leading from Vanguard to the outside was much longer than Perseverance expected it to be. Even still, she refused Hazel's offer to carry her the last stretch, wanting to see the world outside of where she knew on her own two feet.

And she did, exiting the railroad tunnel to a light so bright, she had to shield her eyes at first. As she adjusted, Percy asked out loud "What is that?" She tried to look right at the ball of light but found it hurting her eyes, forcing her to look away.

Hazel walked up behind the young girl, a gentle smile on her face. "The sun, biggest source of light and warmth on the star."

"Around the star, technically." Zero interjected, coming to a stop next to Perseverance. Hazel simply rolled her eyes at the Voidsent's correction, still smiling.

Zero placed her hands on her hips, a faint smile escaping her lips as well. "Quite the sight to behold, is it not? I felt much the same way my first time seeing it."

Percy tried her best not to stare directly at the shining ball in the sky, but at the same time the glimpses she did catch were...she couldn't quite explain. Soon she found herself smiling as well.

"It's so pretty..."

[sheriffaxolotl]

Bleed, Survive, Remember (Chapter 3) Arthur Morgan x Reader

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 |

Summary:

You walk to the bar and lean against it, tapping the counter lightly with your fingers. The bartender looks up, a friendly smile tugging at his lips. “What can I get you?” he asks, his voice gruff but not unkind. "Whiskey," you reply, your voice rough from the dry air and long ride.

Chapter 3: A Place to Rest

Content Warning: Descriptions of death and blood. Finally getting a moment to rest before the storm that’s coming your way.   ︻デ═一・・・・・・・一═デ︻

The sun rose sluggishly, dragging the pale light of dawn across the sky. The cool air of morning clung to the forest, beading on the blades of grass and the low-hanging leaves. Your bedroll was damp with dew, and the ache in your back from sleeping on the hard ground was an unwelcome reminder of your restless night.

Tater gave a soft whine as you packed up camp, her ears flicking toward the trail in the distance. You paused, listening, but the woods remained still, save for the whisper of wind threading through the trees. Despite the quiet, an uneasy feeling settled deep in your chest.

The lackey’s words haunted you again. No one will follow you.

Yeah, and no one was following the rules anymore either, not in a place like Blackwater.

You secured the saddlebag and ran a hand along Tater’s neck, her warmth grounding you. “Let’s get moving,” you murmured. The sooner you put miles between yourself and that cursed town, the better.

The trail west was narrow and overgrown in places, the kind only someone used to traveling off the beaten path would take. The sound of Tater’s hooves against the dirt was steady and almost enough to distract you from the gnawing worry at the back of your mind. Almost.

It wasn’t until you crested a low ridge that you saw the faint plume of smoke rising in the distance. Your heart sank. Smoke this early? Could’ve been a campfire—or it could’ve been trouble. Either way, it wasn’t something you could ignore.

You guided Tater toward the source, her steps deliberate as you kept your rifle close, eyes scanning the horizon. As the trail wound closer, the smell of wood smoke mingled with something sharper. Acrid. Wrong.

The camp came into view just as the sun broke fully over the horizon. At first glance, it looked deserted. The fire was reduced to embers, but the remnants of a struggle were unmistakable—scattered belongings, overturned crates, and a bloodied hat lying just beyond the edge of the clearing.

Your stomach twisted. You didn’t need to check for tracks to know what had happened here. Raiders, most likely. They didn’t leave survivors—not unless they had a reason.

A faint noise caught your attention—a soft, wheezing breath. You swung down from the saddle, your boots crunching against the dirt as you moved toward the sound. Beneath a collapsed tent, a man lay sprawled, his shirt soaked in blood. His eyes fluttered open as you crouched beside him, his gaze unfocused.

“Help’s not coming,” he rasped, his voice barely audible. “They—lookin' for—woman—”

He broke off, his breath hitching. You pressed a hand lightly against his shoulder, your voice steady despite the panic threatening to creep in. “Who did this?”

His eyes flickered, his lips parting to speak, but no words came. Instead, he reached toward his belt, his fingers brushing against a crumpled piece of paper tucked into a leather pouch. You took it, the parchment rough under your fingertips. Before you could ask anything else, his body went slack, his head rolling to the side.

The silence that followed was deafening. You didn't think the law would do this. No.

You didn’t unfold the paper right away. Instead, you stood, your eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of movement. Whoever had done this was likely long gone, but you weren’t about to stick around to find out. Tater shifted uneasily behind you, her ears pinned back.

Whoever did this, was either after another woman, or you really have just made trouble for yourself that you may not be able to handle if it finds you.

Sliding the paper into your pocket, you mounted up and spurred her into a brisk trot. Whatever was written there, you’d figure it out later—once you were safely away from the scene.

                    ︻デ═一・・・・・・・・・・・・・・一═デ︻

Several days later, the sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows that stretched across the dirt trail. The rhythmic beat of Tater’s hooves was your only companion in the silence, save for the occasional creak of leather and the whisper of the wind through the trees. You had stayed in the big valley during that time, moving along and heading east ways. You needed to allow time to pass to ensure if the law was looking for you in towns that you gave enough cool off period to avoid any issues. The parchment paper was left unread in the satchel attached to your saddle. Unable to read it just yet, rationalising to yourself that if you needed to be rid of it, you would prefer to be more settled.

The wide-open plains rolled endlessly beneath you, dotted with the occasional stand of pines and patches of dry scrub. The air was thick with the scent of sun-baked earth, familiar and grounding, even as your thoughts drifted elsewhere. The reins rested loose in one hand while the other grazed the frayed edges of the saddle horn, fingers absentmindedly tracing the worn leather.

The miles passed in a blur. Hours melted into one another, the monotonous rhythm of the ride lulling your mind into a rare kind of stillness. Out here, on the road, it was easier to forget the things chasing you—the decisions you’d made, the faces you’d left behind. The solitude didn’t just feel like freedom; it was freedom, fleeting as it might be.

It wasn’t until the landscape began to change that the trance broke. The dusty road, long and unbroken, started to bear the subtle signs of civilization—a rise in the terrain, faint wagon tracks, and the occasional wooden post. Up ahead, a weathered sign leaned precariously to one side, its chipped arrow pointing the way:

Valentine →

You let out a slow breath and adjusted your hat, squinting against the sun as the faint outline of the town came into view on the horizon. The buildings were nothing more than shadows at this distance, but already the air seemed warmer, the stillness giving way to the hum of distant activity.

Tater’s ears flicked forward, her steady gait slowing as though she could sense the shift. The scrub thinned into open fields, dotted with broken fences and the remains of wagon wheels abandoned to time. A thin cloud of dust rose in the distance, likely a passing rider or an approaching wagon.

As you approached, the first real signs of life appeared—a solitary figure leading a mule down the trail, their eyes flicking briefly to you before they moved on without a word. The road widened, the packed dirt turning softer, muddier, and littered with hoofprints and wagon ruts. Somewhere beyond the haze, the chatter of voices and the distant bark of a dog carried faintly on the breeze.

Ahead, the town rose slowly into view, a rough patchwork of wood and stone etched against the pale evening sky. Valentine wasn’t much more than a handful of weathered buildings lining a dirt road, their faces worn by years of sun and rain. Faded signs creaked on rusting hinges, and the outlines of wagons and figures moved sluggishly through the heat haze, giving the place an almost dreamlike quality. It wasn’t the worst place you’d ever seen, and right now, it felt like a welcome change.

Tater’s pace slowed further as you passed a weathered fence lining the edge of a pasture. You tightened your grip on the reins, drawing her to a stop just outside the town’s edge. For a moment, you simply sat there, taking it all in—the sounds, the movement, the promise of something new. Not quite safety, but not the open road either.

You rubbed at the back of your neck, rolling your shoulders against the stiffness of days in the saddle. “Well,” you murmured to Tater, “guess we’d better make ourselves at home. For now, at least.”

As the landscape began to change, the endless scrub and low brush gave way to fields bordered by sagging wooden fences. The faint smell of hay, manure, and sunbaked earth drifted through the dry air. Off in the distance, livestock pens dotted the terrain. The lowing of cattle mingled with the occasional clink of chains and the sharp voices of ranchers calling commands.

The main street stretched out ahead, uneven and churned up from endless traffic—wagon wheels, boot heels, and restless hooves leaving the earth perpetually unsettled.

The church’s spire rose to your left, a pale sentinel against the evening sky, while the hum of life buzzed all around. The shouts of ranchers blended with the rhythmic creak of harnesses and the groan of wagons straining under heavy loads. The occasional bark of a dog or clang of a hammer punctuated the cacophony, each sound layering over the other in a symphony of working-town chaos.

Your gaze flicked to the signs lining the street as you rode in. Smithfield’s Saloon stood boldly ahead, its open doors spilling the clinking of glasses and muted laughter into the street. Through one window, you caught sight of a poker table, cards being shuffled as smoke curled lazily toward the ceiling.

Just beyond, the square, yellow-painted Law Office loomed, its shutters pulled tight against the fading heat. Across the way, the gunsmith’s shop sat in shadow, its darkened windows glinting faintly with the last rays of daylight. The faint tang of gunpowder and oil carried on the breeze as you passed, a familiar scent that made the muscles in your back stiffen.

Near the saloon, a few tough-looking men lingered, dirt caked on their boots and streaked across their weathered faces. Locals, by the look of them, their eyes scanning the street with idle suspicion as if waiting for something—or someone. A sheriff’s deputy strolled out of the office nearby, his gaze sweeping lazily over the scene before he ducked into an alley behind the bank.

A cluster of horses stood tied outside the hotel, their tails flicking against the persistent buzz of flies. Farther down the street, a man hefted a bundle of lumber over his shoulder, his boots scuffing the dirt as he made his way toward a construction site on the town’s eastern edge.

On the southern outskirts, the livestock pens sprawled wide, bustling with movement as cattle grazed or jostled against wooden gates. The air here was thick with the mingled scents of hay, animal sweat, and the faint, earthy sweetness of fresh grass. Beyond the pens, the train station loomed just out of reach, its iron tracks gleaming faintly in the dimming light. A steam engine idled there, its rhythmic clanging an echo of far-off destinations.

The deeper you moved into Valentine, the louder it became. Voices called out in greeting, haggling, or argument, their tones blending into the clang of metal from boots to tools and the occasional burst of laughter or groans from the saloon. Life pulsed here—not polished or pretty, but constant.

Tater’s hooves pressed into the soft dirt, her pace slowing as the scent of hay and fresh water from the stable tugged at her senses. It wasn’t comfort you felt, exactly, but the faint relief of reaching somewhere that might allow a pause—a moment to collect yourself, to blend in, even if just for a while.

Your eyes swept the street, tracking the flow of the townsfolk—traders haggling over goods, a farmer arguing over a broken wheel, a woman leading a fussy child by the hand. Then something caught your attention: a small commotion at the corner of the street.

A cluster of men stood too close, voices raised just loud enough to cut through the general din. One of them gestured sharply, his hands slicing the air as if to drive home a point. The others stood stiffly, their shoulders hunched, tension crackling in the way they shifted their weight.

Your hand brushed the worn grip of your revolver, simply reminding yourself that it was there.

Trouble wasn’t what you needed—not today.

              ︻デ═一・・・・・・・・・・・・・・一═デ︻

The first few days in Valentine passed in a blur, the kind of time that slips through your fingers without you noticing. The town was smaller than you’d imagined, alive enough to feel busy but not so bustling that it overwhelmed. You found yourself gravitating to the outskirts, where the hills rolled wide and the land stretched open, untouched by the cramped wood-and-nail confines of the streets.

Your camp sat just beyond the livestock yards, far enough away to avoid prying eyes but close enough that the occasional lowing of cattle or the distant whistle of a train served as a reminder you weren’t entirely alone. It wasn’t much—a bedroll under the stars, a small fire ringed with stones, and the quiet company of Tater.

The nights were cool and still, the kind of quiet that pressed into your skin and reminded you to breathe. Comfortable wasn’t the right word for sleeping under the open sky, but it was familiar. And for now, familiar was enough. You made a mental note to consider finding a winter coat or crafting something warmer from the hides you brought in. The chill wasn’t sharp yet, but it was creeping closer, a promise of harder nights ahead.

Mornings were for the hunt. Valentine was perched on the edge of The Heartlands, a place where the earth seemed to stretch forever, endless plains rolling into dense forests and hills thick with scruffy grass. It was beautiful country—the kind that made you feel small in a way that wasn’t unwelcome.

Tater carried you through it all with her usual calm, her dusty brown coat blending seamlessly into the landscape. She moved steady and sure, her pace a quiet reminder that the world didn’t care to rush for anyone. You couldn’t imagine trading her for another—not without damn good reason.

The first morning out, you spotted a small herd of pronghorn grazing in a clearing, their white-striped sides almost gleaming in the early light. The high ground gave you an edge, and the shot was clean. Two were enough—a few good pelts for selling and meat to keep you fed through the week.

The next day brought deer, their tracks leading you deep into the forest where the air turned still and heavy. The hunt was harder, the dense trees offering them cover, but patience paid off. A single shot took down a stag, its antlers casting jagged shadows across the ground.

By the third day, you’d tracked bison to the far edge of The Heartlands, their hulking forms moving like dark clouds across the plains. You didn’t like taking such creatures unless you had to, but their thick hides and heavy meat could fetch a good price and last for weeks.

You didn’t talk much to anyone, other than the occasional merchant or rancher you passed on the way into Valentine. Most gave you a nod, maybe a polite question—where you were headed or where you’d come from—but your answers were clipped, disinterested. This wasn’t the kind of place you wanted to plant roots. Too much noise, too many people. The plan was simple: save enough, move on. West, maybe south. Anywhere that felt less stifling.

Most evenings, after the hunting was done, you returned to your camp. The fire crackled low as you worked—sharpening your knife, mending gear, or just letting your thoughts wander. The roasted meat’s aroma filled the cool night air, a reminder of the day's hard-earned spoils. Those long nights under the stars brought a sort of clarity. Your mind drifted to the past, the ache of memory. To the future, uncertain and far away. But always, it returned to the road. The road meant freedom, and maybe somewhere along it, you'd find what you were looking for.

Valentine had its rhythm, but it wasn’t yours. It hummed with voices, wheels, and hooves—a life you preferred to observe from the fringes. You sold your pelts to the butcher, who offered a fair price but asked no questions. The general store clerk barely looked up as you gathered your supplies: coffee, beans, bread, cigarettes if you so felt the need. The gunsmith was the most chatty one, talking about not selling to gangs and such. You never payed to much attention, you just wanted ammunition. No small talk, no familiarity. Just the way you liked it.

Except once.

You’d just stepped out of the general store, adjusting the weight of your supplies, when a voice called out.

“Good huntin’?”

The man leaning against the post outside was tall, broad-shouldered, with a heavy brow and a smirk that didn’t sit right. A cigarette hung from his lips, its smoke curling lazily into the evening air. His stance was relaxed, but his eyes carried a sharpness you didn’t care for.

You didn’t bother smiling, just gave a short nod. “Could’ve been better.”

“You’ll find better,” he replied, grinning like he held all the answers. “Could use someone like you. We got work for folks who know their way around a gun. Pays a hell of a lot more than selling pelts.” He let his gaze linger a little too long, like the addition of even for a woman didn’t need to be spoken aloud.

You met his gaze, steady and unflinching. “I’ll stick to what I know,” you said, voice flat.

His grin didn’t falter, though it twisted slightly at the edges. “Suit yourself,” he said, pushing off the post with a casual shrug. “But don’t say I didn’t offer, miss.’

The encounter left a bitter taste in your mouth, but it wasn’t anything new. Men like him were in every town. They always wanted something they couldn’t have—or were looking to pass the time with someone like you. Either way, they were trouble, and trouble was the last thing you needed.

By the end of the week, your work had paid off. You had enough saved to buy a new horse if you wanted—though you didn’t. Tater had carried you this far, and you weren’t about to trade her in for something shinier. Maybe you’d splurge on a couple of extra supplies for the road, but nothing extravagant. Life on the move didn’t allow for excess, and that suited you just fine. Settling down, even temporarily, didn’t sit right. Valentine was just another stop along the way, a place to pass through.

The morning of the seventh day was clear and crisp, the kind of morning that carried a quiet promise. As the first rays of sunlight stretched across the plains, you packed up camp, saddled Tater, and guided her down the familiar path leading away from the town. The mare snorted, eager as ever, her ears flicking forward with each soft nudge of the reins. The bustle of Valentine faded behind you, replaced by the now familiar serene hum of the Heartlands.

Out on the open plains, the pull of the road returned, bringing with it a calm you hadn’t felt all week. The wind swept through the tall grasses, carrying away your thoughts like clouds scattered across the endless sky. It wasn’t much, this wandering existence, but it was yours. You weren’t entirely sure what you were looking for out here that day—routine, maybe, or just something that didn’t feel borrowed. Valentine had offered you the space to breathe, to pause, but not what you needed.

Not yet.

                 ︻デ═一・・・・・・・・・・・・・・一═デ︻

The sun is low on the horizon as you ride back into Valentine, Tater’s hooves kicking up dust with every weary step. The light turns the dirt road a muted gold, shadows stretching long and thin against the worn wooden buildings. The town has quieted with the waning day. The midday rush is long gone, replaced by the softer chatter of approaching evening.

A few townsfolk linger on porches or by the saloon’s swinging doors, their voices low and movements slow, worn from the day’s labors. A cool breeze whispers through the street, carrying the mingled scents of drying meat from the butcher’s shop and the earthy tang of livestock from the yards. Somewhere, a dog barks, sharp against the murmur of the town, and then falls silent.

Tater’s ears twitch at the faint sound of music drifting from the saloon—a fiddle, played clumsily but with earnest enthusiasm. You nudge the mare toward the stables, your own body dragging under the weight of a long, fruitless day.

The hunt hadn’t gone as planned. Hours of tracking through brush and across the open plains yielded little more than frustration. It was as if the deer and pronghorn had vanished into the deeper parts of the forest, leaving the land oddly still. By the time you turned back toward Valentine, your haul was pitiful—just a pair of small rabbits. Enough to keep you fed for a day or two, but hardly worth the effort.

Disappointment lingers, but only faintly. You’ve learned long ago not to expect too much from the road. It doesn’t always give what you want, but it never fails to teach. Days like this remind you to appreciate what little you have—a meal in your saddlebag, a sturdy horse beneath you, and the promise of tomorrow to try again.

As you swing down from the saddle outside the butcher’s stall, the familiar weight of your rifle presses against your back, a quiet ache settling in your shoulders and legs. You give Tater a quick pat before tying her to the post, your movements slow, deliberate, worn.

The butcher eyes your modest offering without much enthusiasm. “Not much on the trail today, huh?”

You shrug, your voice even. “Unfortunately.”

He tosses you a handful of dollars without haggling—just enough to buy a bit of coffee and a box of shells. “Rabbits ain’t much these days,” he mutters, inspecting the pelts. “These ones look a little rough, too.”

You don’t argue. There’s no point. Instead, you take the coins, tip your hat, and leave without another word.

The street is quieter now, the last light of day stretching shadows long across the dirt road. You pocket the money and find yourself drifting toward the saloon. Up until now, you’ve avoided the place—not out of disdain, but because solitude suited you better. A campfire’s glow and Tater’s steady grazing had been comfort enough.

But tonight is different. The ache in your bones runs deeper, your throat is dry, and the weight of the past week sits heavy on your shoulders. You want something to take the edge off—a drink, maybe, or just the hum of voices to drown out your own thoughts.

As the warm glow of the saloon’s lanterns comes into view, you inhale deeply, catching the mingled scents of whiskey and woodsmoke. Your pace slows, hesitation flickering in your chest like the faint strains of that clumsy fiddle.

This isn’t your kind of place, but for one night, you’ll let it be.

The Smithfield Saloon stands just ahead, the warm glow of light spilling out through the cracks in the wooden door, the faint sound of piano music drifting into the street. You can hear the chatter of voices inside, the clinking of glass, the occasional burst of laughter. It’s as if the town itself has a pulse—a life that continues long after the work is done, and that pulse is here, in this dimly lit building where the townsfolk gather to wash the dust from their throats and forget the hours.

You hesitate at the door for a moment, unsure if you’re ready to let yourself be swallowed up by the noise, the heat, the faces. You’ve avoided crowds like this for too long. But something in you shifts, a hunger for human interaction, a need to break the monotony, even if it’s just to people-watch.

With a final, steadying breath, you push open the butterfly doors, stepping into the saloon.

The warmth hits you first, followed by the familiar smell of liquor and tobacco. A few men sit at the poker table near the window, while others lean against the bar, nursing drinks and talking in low voices. A couple of women are perched on stools at the far end, their laughter light and flirtatious. The bartender, a thinner-set man with dark hair, nods at you as you enter, his hands moving deftly as he cleans a glass.

You stand just inside for a moment, letting your eyes adjust to the dim, flickering light of the oil lamps hanging from the ceiling. Your gaze skims the room—nothing unfamiliar, nothing particularly threatening. It’s just a saloon, and you’ve been in enough of them over the years to know what to expect.

You walk to the bar and lean against it, tapping the counter lightly with your fingers. The bartender looks up, a friendly smile tugging at his lips.

“What can I get you?” he asks, his voice gruff but not unkind.

"Whiskey," you reply, your voice rough from the dry air and long ride. 

He nods and pours a generous amount into a glass, sliding it toward you. You reach into your pocket, feeling around for the cold metal of the money you got for the pelts, placing it on the counter. You pick up the drink, the weight of the glass cool in your hand, and take a long, steady drink, feeling the warmth spread through your chest.

For a moment, you just stand there, letting the whiskey settle in your stomach and the noise of the saloon wash over you. You don’t speak to anyone, don’t make eye contact with any of the patrons. You’re just another face in the crowd.

As the drink burns its way down, you feel the tension in your shoulders begin to loosen, the edge of exhaustion dulling just enough to let your thoughts wander. Valentine had been a pause in that motion, but it’s starting to feel like just another stop, another place to pass through on your way to somewhere else.

You take another sip, savoring the warmth that blooms in your chest. There’s no hurry to leave, not tonight. The road will still be waiting for you tomorrow, but for now, you can afford to rest—just for a little while.

After, watching the two men at the other end of the bar flirt with the saloon girls would be entertainment enough for the evening.

                ︻デ═一・・・・・・・・・・・・・・一═デ︻

If only you know about the kind of trouble they would be accompanied by that evening. 

                ︻デ═一・・・・・・・一═デ︻

Time to meet the trouble ;) I’m always open to your thoughts, comments, and suggestions. <3 I would love feedback <3 My AO3 Account

[takingstockofwhatmattersmost]

in the vastness of a world that spins on with relentless indifference there is a heart that trembles caught in the endless current of time it beats with both a yearning and a dread for it has known the stark contrast between presence and absence the weight of love given freely and the burden of waiting for it to be taken away each passing hour, each lingering embrace whispers in its depths "until when?"

here, in the shadowed chambers of the soul where echoes of past wounds stir uneasily a voice speaks

it is not loud, nor is it soft but persistent like the drip of water that carves stone with patient inevitability "until when?" it asks, not in despair, but in disbelief as if the joy of being wanted the warmth of being seen is a gift too fragile...too fleeting like a flicker of light on the horizon that promises sunrise but might dissolve before dawn

and yet, beyond this tender doubt there is a force greater than fear a love that does not waver, does not recoil from uncertainty in the eyes of those who love, in their touch there is no expiration, no hidden clause there is only the open sky...boundless stretching into the unseen future where the question of time no longer matters

"as long as you'd like" they say not as a reassurance against the storm of worry but as a truth that stands outside of it, unshaken by the winds this love is not a finite thing...not a candle to be extinguished when the winds grow too strong or the night too long it is a fire, set deep in the bones, a light that lingers even when eyes close

so the heart, though still uncertain learns to trust the silence between the beats to rest in the arms of the unknown for the question "until when?" fades drowned in the vastness of love that has no end and the answer, unspoken but felt stretches far beyond what the mind can grasp

and thus the story flows, without beginning or end a tale of love that does not fear the future of hearts that cling to each other in the dark not out of fear of losing but out of the certainty of being found

**After @schuylerpeck's https://www.tumblr.com/schuylerpeck/707894906635599873?source=share

this is a story of love’s persistence of the quiet awe that follows when one realizes the people who love us do not carry clocks in their hands they simply hold us

[mya-valentine]

Comfort request!

Can I have a scenario where Class 1-A (and Aizawa) (platonic), discovering that their classmate had passed out due to exhaustion from over-exercise, and after she wakes up, she confesses that the reason she was exercising so much, is because during interships, some civilian said she was too fat to be a hero. (She’s chubby, but not un-healthy.)

Strength Beyond the Surface

The sun was high in the sky, casting light through the wide windows of Class 1-A's training facility. The students were busy with their individual workouts, preparing for the next big challenge. However, there was a noticeable absence of one classmate: you.

You had been pushing yourself harder than usual lately, arriving early to train and staying late after everyone else had left. You could feel the fatigue building, but you ignored it, determined to push past the limits your body was setting. The memory of that civilian’s comment during internships echoed in your head:

"How can she be a hero when she’s so fat?"

It had stung more than you let on, and since then, you’d been over-exercising to prove to yourself—and maybe to everyone else—that you could be just as strong and fast as anyone else. But today, your body hit its breaking point.

As the rest of the class trained, a loud thud caught everyone’s attention. The room went silent as heads turned toward the source of the sound—where you lay, motionless, on the floor.

"Oi! What the hell?!" Bakugou was the first to react, storming over to your collapsed form. But the moment he saw you were unconscious, his usual scowl turned into concern. "Damn it, she passed out!"

Izuku sprinted over right behind him, panic written on his face. "Someone get Recovery Girl! Now!"

Aizawa, who had been observing from the sidelines, quickly stepped in, his usually stoic face betraying a flicker of worry. "Everyone, clear the area," he ordered calmly but firmly. He crouched beside you, checking for signs of consciousness.

Momo ran to call for Recovery Girl, while Todoroki knelt beside you, his usually cold demeanor melting into concern. "Is she okay?" he asked quietly.

Recovery Girl arrived swiftly and examined you, shaking her head. "She’s exhausted. It seems like she’s been overworking herself. Let’s get her to the infirmary."

Aizawa’s brow furrowed as he lifted you carefully in his arms, leading the way to the infirmary with the entire class following in silent worry. As you were laid down in bed, Recovery Girl worked her magic, and after a while, you slowly began to regain consciousness.

When your eyes fluttered open, you saw Aizawa leaning against the wall, arms crossed, and your classmates gathered around your bed, all with concerned expressions. Your head was spinning, but you were more overwhelmed by the weight of everyone's worried stares.

"You okay?" Kirishima asked softly, leaning closer.

You managed a weak nod. "Yeah, I think so."

"What were you thinking, pushing yourself like that?" Aizawa’s voice was calm, but there was an edge to it. He wasn’t angry—just worried.

You felt the lump in your throat tighten, and before you could stop yourself, the words spilled out. "During internships...some civilian said I was too fat to be a hero."

The room went dead silent. You avoided eye contact, suddenly feeling small despite the room being filled with your friends. "I know I’m chubby, and I thought maybe if I trained harder, I could prove them wrong… that I could be strong enough, fast enough… I just wanted to show them I can be a hero too."

Bakugou was the first to react, his voice sharp but somehow comforting. "That’s bullshit," he snapped. "You think being a hero is about how you look? You think All Might gives a damn about what some extra thinks?"

Todoroki, always more composed, nodded in agreement. "You’ve already proven yourself. You’ve saved people. That’s all that matters."

Ochako stepped closer to the bed, her eyes wide with empathy. "You don’t have to change yourself for anyone. You're amazing just the way you are."

Izuku’s voice was softer, but no less determined. "You’re already a hero in our eyes. Don’t push yourself until you break just because of one cruel comment."

You felt a wave of warmth wash over you, and though you tried to keep the tears at bay, one escaped and rolled down your cheek. "Thanks, guys."

Aizawa uncrossed his arms and walked over, standing beside your bed. "Listen," he said in his usual calm, authoritative tone, "being a hero is about your actions, not your appearance. You don’t need to prove anything to anyone. You’ve already earned your place here."

His words hit deep, and you nodded, the weight of his approval bringing you a sense of relief you didn’t realize you needed.

Mina smiled brightly, trying to lighten the mood. "Plus, who cares what some random person thinks? They’re not the ones in training to be pro heroes!"

"Exactly!" Kirishima grinned. "You’re strong just the way you are. Don’t forget that!"

A few moments passed in comfortable silence, and you couldn’t help but smile at how supportive your classmates were. You realized that the only approval you really needed was from yourself—and from the people who cared about you.

Aizawa gave you one last look, his voice softer now. "Take the time to recover. No more overworking yourself, understood?"

You nodded again. "Understood."

As the class began to disperse, giving you some space to rest, Bakugou lingered a little longer, crossing his arms. "Next time someone says something like that, just tell ‘em to screw off. You’re stronger than them anyway."

His way of comforting you was rough, but it made you feel a little better. You let out a small laugh, grateful for the support of your classmates and their unshakeable belief in you—just as you were.

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