#the colours return back to his skin and he looks alive almost. so when they sleep together after he just fed his skin will be flushed and

[swordmaid]

have particular thoughts of act 2 hag romance in the terrible awful developing a crush stage that when they get to moonrise, shri'iia would lure absolute cultists in some secluded part of the tower so astarion can eat them. PARTICULAR thoughts about shri'iia watching him drink someone dry, and he watches her watch him drink someone with an absurd fascination.

[sepheray]

you should totally write finnick angst!!!! Idk if this makes sense but maybe you can write about how the reader was taken to the capitol along with peeta and johanna and when she comes back she’s terrified of finnick because she was shown and told that he was dead

Reader has trouble distinguishing what’s real and what’s not since she was told everyone in 13 was dead

But Finnick does everything he can to help her and eventually gets her back

I HOPE IT MAKES SENSE ITS BEEN ON MY MIND FOR A WHILEEE

Also you are amazing 🫶🫶

Love you better - Finnick Odair x fem!reader

summary: reader is rescued from the Capitol and brought to district 13, where Finnick lies in waiting to welcome his love back in his arms, only her mind is warped and washed and Finnick must fight to keep her.

Finnick Odair who is down in the weapons defence unit, assisting Beetee with designing a new trident when he catches word of a rescue party returning from the Capitol. Of course his brain scrambles to his love. His poor, sweet love who he let out of his sight in what he, at the time, had no idea would be the last hour of the 75th Hunger Games. When he had woken up in the hovercraft, aching all over from the electric volts, he had a bittersweet feeling nesting in his chest. Everything had gone to plan, right? But no… something was wrong. He remembered his eyes darting around the hovercraft, searching desperately for her. But his sweet girl was not here, and sitting down with Haymitch and Plutarch only confirmed his worst suspicions. The Capitol had her, she was not safe, and even worse he felt an inescapable guilt. This was his fault. Snow had taken her to use as leverage against him, he knew it. He had lost track of the days since he had lost her, lost track of the tears and the amount of times he thought of his lovely girl. His mind had drowned in a haze of the colour of her eyes and the little knots he made in pieces of rope; he made sure there was no room for anything else.

He blinked back into reality when he feels a gentle tap on his shoulder; spinning around, he’s greeted once again with Haymitch. The uncharacteristically sober man is sporting a half-smile, something that clears Finnick’s mind slightly. Surely if Haymitch is glad, it can’t be bad news? “She’s safe, she’s alive,” Haymitch’s tone is decisive as if he’s picking his words carefully, stepping on eggshells to avoid Finnick’s newfound distress. “I thought you’d want to see her.” The bronze-haired man finds himself nodding frantically before Haymitch’s gruff voice even finishes his suggestion. Within seconds, he’s panting outside of District Thirteen’s medical unit. He stood straight for a while, chest rising and falling rapidly as he prepares himself for the moments to come. Would she run into his arms? Cower away from him? He hoped not. He thought his heart would break at the sight. He pushes through the doors before he can double think it, doctors recognising him and leading him to one of the private, solitary rooms. This was it. His sweet girl was in here, either eager to see him or broken and disheartened by the Capitol. Finnick took a deep breath and pushed the door open, stepping inside as quietly as he could, and closing the heavy door. She looked terrible. His gorgeous girl with her radiant skin, bright eyes and vibrant laugh barely looked like herself anymore. Her face was almost gaunt, and her skin draped along her, now, prominent cheekbones. She looked up at him, those eyes he loved so very much miserable but with a certain curiosity that made him hope that what they had between them could still be salvaged. The Capitol hadn’t ruined them yet.

A soft and meek voice spoke up, dull eyes analysing him carefully. “…Finnick,” His lips curl up at the sound of his name. God, how he had missed hearing his boring old name pouring like honey from those lovely lips. He took another deep breath, desperate to not scare her into retreat. “hi, honey.” Finnick spoke carefully, his tone gentle as he stood still, the doctors who had consulted him earlier had advised him to make minimum movement as to not distress her further. She stared at him silently for a second, hesitating as her pretty eyebrows furrowed. “I thought you were dead,” it was his turn to furrow his eyebrows. Hadn’t anyone thought to let her know that he was alive and well? He grimaced at her sadly, he had no idea what to say to her. Finnick had planned out their reunion thousands of times in his head over the past couple of months, and yet here she was, sat right in front of him, and he was at a loss for words. He took a few moments to pick out his words, trying to get his point across as simply as he could without confusing her pretty little head further. The man felt his heart swell with all the yearning he had endured for her recently as she reached out for him, wanting nothing but the comfort of his touch. Finnick stepped forward carefully, taking her outstretched hand in his as he stood near the side of the uncomfortable bed. She mumbled to herself, unknowingly breaking his heart as she did. “S’confused, Finnick. Had no idea whether you were alive, all I wanted was to see you.” He squeezed her hand at her confession, wanting nothing more than to soothe her lost mind. All these months he had been so angry at the Capitol for taking his sweet girl from him. Finnick was not angry now, he knew anger had no use. He had to be tender with his love, patient especially when she could not decipher the truth.

He sat down beside her gently, still holding onto her cold hand. She brought her knees up to her chest, gazing at him as if he was the only one who could rehang the stars for her. Finnick rubbed a comforting thumb across her knuckles murmuring sweet phrases of reassurance. “You’re alright now, sweet girl, I’m gonna get you well again” he meant it. He was willing to do anything to make sure that his lovely girl would go back to the sunshine she had once been. Finnick would stand with her through what was the truth and what was the capitol’s truth, sorting through her tampered memories tirelessly. She surged forward, embracing him tightly, saying a million things and yet nothing at the same time. The embrace meant trust, meant vulnerability but at the same time he knew that it would take time to work through this, time that he was willing to put in. He snaked his arms tightly around her waist, supporting her in a fragile moment that Finnick would not let the Capitol take from them. “We’ll get you better, sweetheart. No matter what it takes” yes, he was going to fix this for her. He was going to make sure his sweet girl could bare her teeth in every smile yet again, that she could squeal and splash him, giggling all the while, as he dunked her under the sea’s surface back home in their beloved District 4. He was going to get her back.

[merceyca]

Same shit, different day

Jeremy and Andrew are lifeguards for the summer.

There was a saying Andrew liked to apply to the summer break: “Same shit, different day.” It was true that his days each brought the familiar routine of donning his uniform—a disgustingly bright red tank top and shorts that scraped his inner thighs raw when wet—and driving his mother’s car to the local public pool. From there, he would deal with the same cohort of squealing children, hairy-chested men, geriatric water-exercisers and women in large straw hats, until the sun was low and the sky turned a colour Andrew dubbed Freedom Orange.

The letters in front of the days were ever-changing, but the shit was invariably the same. 

A sudden splash of water on Andrew’s sun-warmed skin startled him out of his half-doze. Not that Andrew could ever fall asleep in a plastic chair so uncomfortable, let alone a public pool teeming with people who were his responsibility to watch. Still, the sameness had lulled him into a kind of calm. He shook it off with the water droplets already seeping through the fabric of his armbands. 

‘You know, you’re going to get crazy tan lines wearing those all summer.’

Andrew didn’t need to look up to see who had spoken. ‘Worry less about my tan lines and more about the kid in lane three, Jeremy.’

Sure enough, Jeremy followed Andrew’s gaze to where a dark head was bobbing just along the surface of the water. Andrew reached for a floatation ring, lobbing it in the kid’s direction before Jeremy could make a move. They both watched the ring soar through the air and land right within the kid’s reach. The kid pulled themselves up, coughing and then gagging.

Jeremy ran over to the podium close to the kid, performing the usual routine of finding their carers and suggesting they head back to the kiddie pool for now. All of the nonsense Andrew never bothered with. 

The kid was alive. As far as Andrew was concerned, his job was done. 

‘Nice throw,’ Jeremy said upon his return.

Andrew hummed. ‘Terrible catch.’

‘What?’

‘If you had been watching the pools instead of me, you could have caught that far sooner,’ Andrew elaborated. ‘Someone almost died because of your lapse in attention. That’s gross negligence.’

Jeremy tutted, amused. ‘What would you suggest, criminal justice major? Should I plead guilty and ride out the punishment?’

‘Just change your name and flee the country,’ said Andrew. ‘You would never survive prison.’

‘I’m sure you could teach me a thing or two from your juvie days.’

Andrew held up a finger in response. Just one. 

Jeremy’s laughter was as bright as the light reflecting off the water, sending a ripple of reluctant amusement through Andrew’s chest. 

There were people who would say these things to incite a fight, but Jeremy and his soft pink mouth sought only to reassure Andrew. You are worth talking to. You are worth joking with. It’s the same shit, different day, but not all of it has to be shit.

[major-toast]

Wolfstar Microfic - Last Night

@wolfstarkinktober2024 // day 20: mirror // 744 words // mdni

The mirror is still fogged. After a hot thirty-minute shower this should be no wonder. Lazily, Sirius wipes a flat palm over the smooth surface to get a clearer picture. After all, fixing the smudged kohl under one’s eye is quite hard when one cannot see what they’re doing. Usually, Sirius wouldn’t need a mirror at all. He had enough practice over the years. But not hungover. Last night… it was something else.

The bathroom door swings open, and Sirius spies the dishevelled image of Remus entering the cramped and messy space. He looks gorgeous; brown curls sticking up to all sides, his old t-shirt rumpled and littered with coffee stains. Some of the lipstick marks are still peeking out from under his collar and the glitter, which the girls insisted on dabbing onto all of their friend’s cheeks, continues to highlight his endearing freckles in all different sorts of colours. Sirius smiles. Yeah, last night was truly something else.

“Morning”, he greets, sounding even a bit too cheerful to himself. Remus lets out a low grunt in return.

“Well, someone’s in a mood, isn’t he?”

Again, Remus merely grunts, wrapping his arms around Sirius’ waist and burying his head in the crook of his boyfriend’s neck. Sirius chuckles, patting the arms he is now safely held in.

“You smell good”, Remus murmurs, his voice still a bit hoarse from sleep.

“Why thank you, my moon.”

“God, you smell so fucking good.”

Sirius stills, lowering his kohl pencil. Remus is already nipping at his neck, kissing the soft skin of Sirius’ neck hard enough for it to leave even more hickeys. Immediately, the familiar heat stirs inside his guts, travelling down his abdomen. Sirius bites his lip, closing his eyes. Fuck. He still feels sore from the night before. But Remus feels warm, grounding. The way he is crowding Sirius against the sink, rutting against him, while breathing hotly into his ear… God, it drives Sirius mad.

“I want you”, Remus tells him, his fingers dipping beneath the towel wrapped around Sirius’ waist. Sirius lets out a low hiss a calloused hand wraps around his cock, stroking it firmly but gently. A sudden weakness in his knees, he grips into the sink, holding on for dear life. The towel falls to the ground. The kohl pencil is long forgotten.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful. So fucking beautiful.”

Moaning against Sirius’ skin, Remus is pushing in. His thrusts are jagged, maybe a bit rougher than usual, but Sirius doesn’t mind. Au contraire, he likes it.

“Christ, Moons – hah!”

As Remus presses himself even more flush against him, erasing even the last inches of space between them, almost moulding them into one, Sirius is forced to brace himself against the mirror to keep a semblance of balance. He’s hitting deep. He’s hitting all the right spots. With his mind utterly addled by lust, the last coherent thought Sirius can form is that he won’t last long. Not with Remus fucking him this frantically.

“Look at you!” Remus groans, grabbing Sirius’ chin and forcing him to look in the mirror before them. Soon, it will fog up again. And, this time, it will not be because of shower steam.  “Look how fucking beautiful you are. Fucking hell, I want to eat you alive. I need to eat you alive. I cannot stand how fucking much I love you.”

Sirius is unable to answer. His eyes are fixed on the mirror image presenting itself before him. There is him with parted lips, dazed and feverish eyes, being bent over that godforsaken sink. He can see pearls of sweat on his skin, the bitemarks on his neck, the flush of his face, and the scratch marks his nails are leaving on Remus’ arms, which are wrapped in an iron grip around him. Then, there is Remus. His blazing, amber-like eyes are firmly trained on him, following the way his body rocks back and forth with every thrust, how the moans are forming on his lips before they reverberate inside the room. Sirius wants to close his eyes. The view is obscene. If he doesn’t look away, he’ll come any second, yet it feels simply too good to let it stop.

Soon, their bathroom will be left even more of a mess, both of them properly fucked out. Only the handprints now littering the mirror will be a last reminder of what occurred after a night that truly was… something else.

[peachym00]

"No pools."

kpanniversary2024 - prompt: haunting

(post-canon, post-hospital)

When the smell hit his nose, it stopped Pete in his tracks. It was enough to tear him away from the present and take him back to the dark and painful memory that hid in the shadows of his very being—lurking there, waiting.

Haunting him.

He was only there for a favour. It wasn’t like he needed the money; for once in his life, he had more of the stuff than he knew what to do with. But he wanted to get out of the house, to feel like he had more of a purpose, to feel like he still had a friend. Porsche needed help. That much was clear to anyone within six feet of him and his attempts at being the new head of the minor family. And Pete, being Pete, couldn’t help but hold onto the hand that reached out for him.

They weren’t even in the minor family compound. Pete didn’t make a habit of returning there very often, and Vegas and Macau even less. For obvious reasons, it wasn’t somewhere that any of them wanted to spend their time.

But Pete hadn’t smelt that smell since it happened. And when it hit him as he walked past the outdoor pool in the gentle warmth of the late afternoon sun, his body went cold with immediate dread.  

One whiff of chlorine and he was back to that night, the pain shooting through his knees as he dropped to the floor, the sight of Vegas’s skin losing its colour as the life drained from his body—the sound of his own screams as he mourned what was in front of him.

It was…visceral. The image of the scene of his worst living nightmare playing before him like he had a front seat at the theatre. And it wouldn’t stop. Why was there a ringing in his ears? Just playing over and over and over and over–

Pete.

and over and over and over and over–

“Pete!”

The ringing stopped, and he was wrenched out of the past and back into the present.

“Huh?” He asked dumbly, emotionally distraught and hoping desperately no one had noticed.

“You okay, man?” Porsche looked concerned as he pulled down his sunglasses and perched them on the end of his nose so he could peer down at him.

He blinked. “I’m fine,” he plastered on a smile, breathing in and out slowly in a bid to stave off the ever-building panic.

Porsche frowned, though he slowly pushed his glasses back up his nose, maintaining his immaculate play-pretend persona. “All right, man, if you say so. Anyway, so if I send over those files–”

Most things after that fly straight over his head. His body goes on autopilot, almost as if he blacks out. It's not until he somehow drives back home and sits in the driveway of his new house, tucked deep into a fancy gated neighbourhood, that he comes back to his senses. His hands shake as he takes the keys out of the ignition, stiffly getting out of the car and making his way into the house.

It’s quiet when he walks inside, yet his mind is anything but. The sudden need to find Vegas, to see him with his own eyes just to prove he’s still alive, takes over him. He barely remembers to take off his shoes before he rushes further inside, searching through every room until he finds who he’s looking for.

By the time he finds Vegas, who is tucked into the corner of the couch in the spare room, his heart is palpitating out of his chest. The window was perfectly positioned to let in the afternoon sun, so he could frequently be found napping there. Fatigue plagued him in his recovery, and it was not uncommon to come across him asleep. But today, the sight of him passed out does not make him smile. It makes Pete want to scream and howl and wish he would never close his eyes again (for as long as he lives).

He hardly makes a sound as he tiptoes across the room, but he manages to disturb Vegas anyway, his eyes squinting open before Pete has a chance to sit down. “You’re back,” he croaks, eyes brightening as his gaze lands on him. “how’d it go?” He yawns as Pete sits down next to him.

The answer to the question escapes him; in fact, most thoughts escape him. The black cloud of the past still looms over his brain, flooding his memories.

“Pete?” A hand on his knee makes him jump slightly, “what’s wrong?”

“Let’s not get a pool,” he manages, forcing down the need to scream.

“What?” Vegas laughs incredulously, pulling Pete’s arm so he sinks into his side.

“I don’t want to get a pool; let’s not build one,” he repeats, closing his eyes in relief when he can hear the beat of Vegas’s heart underneath his ear.

“Okay. Whatever you want,” Vegas speaks quietly, confused, almost as if trying not to scare away a spooked animal.

A kiss is pressed to his forehead, and the need to scream dissipates.

“No pools.”

[coloursflyaway]

Crystallise

Pairing: Jayce Talis/Viktor

Rating: T

Word Count: 1.600

Read on AO3

There is no light.

There is no darkness, either.

He cannot tell what it is that surrounds him, isn’t even certain if he still has eyes to perceive it.

But what there is, is touch. He doesn’t think he still has wrists and yet, slender fingers are wrapped around one of them, holding tight; not a shackle, but a piece of priceless jewellery.

The memories return in fragments – opalescent magic crystallising around him, love and loss and hope and despair, amber eyes that used to mean so much to him, a weight on his shoulder and pain shooting up his leg, dampness and the squelch of something alive between his teeth – and he shudders with them, feels them drag him down until the fingers around his almost-there wrist tighten, pulling him back.

He knows those fingers, he realises, even if he isn’t certain they ever touched him like this before. Still, he hopes they did, because they feel right where they are, like they would bend reality to keep him safe, like that is what they are doing right now. And they feel like something else as well; like he would track across the Earth to make sure they stay on him, and him alone.

A flash of something: silver light spreading from those fingers down to him, a caress as soft as a kiss intertwining his mind with one he knows and yet does not recognise. The jubilance of connection, tinted by the despair of loss.

Without knowing how, he reaches out to touch in return; fingers he isn’t sure he possesses closing around a hand, and then there is…

...not quite a gasp, not quite an intake of breath, and yet the atmosphere around him feels ready for one, like it is waiting for a spoken word.

And then, it comes.

“Jayce.”

A name, his name, Jayce realises, and as if the word put pressure on reality itself, light floods his vision, the fingers wrapping around his fully-formed wrist, and there are eyes to open, knees to bend, a body to push off the ground.

The world forms slowly around him, bathed in shimmering colours, white and lilac and sky-blue, and Jayce looks down his arm as if it was the first time he is seeing it and there they are: slender fingers wrapped around him, purple-tipped and shining with golden inlays. Their sight hurts something deep within him, heals something else, and as Jayce lets his gaze travel up the arm attached to them, his heart – how curious, he thought he had lost it – lurches, speeds up, ready to stop once more, this time forever.

Viktor is looking at him, and his eyes are the same hue of amber Jayce has known for all the life that mattered, framed by long lashes and filled with a sadness that outshines the Arcane swirling around them.

He wants to fall forward, pull Viktor into his arms, but his body won’t move, his lips won’t speak Viktor’s name although Jayce feels like it might be the only sound he is allowed to make.

“Jayce”, Viktor repeats, and the pain of all the lands is bundled into his name, yet Viktor speaks it like a prayer.

And it’s that pain that breaks the spell, breathes life into Jayce’s limbs; suddenly, he can move once more.

His hand turns so he can grasp Viktor’s arm to drag him closer, pulling the other stumbling against him, whole body curling inwards and around Viktor’s form. Even here, beyond everything they have ever known, he feels frail in Jayce’s arms, like something that needs, is worth, protecting.

Without thinking, or permission, Jayce buries his face in the crook of Viktor’s neck, his lips brushing across skin and metal alike, and Viktor stiffens when he should soften, pushes away when all Jayce wants to do is pull him closer.

He lets him go nonetheless, cannot do anything but, because even if it took him too, too long to recognise it, if given the choice, Jayce will always bend to Viktor’s will. Will always want to.

“Jayce”, Viktor repeats, still pained, still reverent, still desperate, and Jayce breaks apart in this strange void, his pieces only kept tethered together by Viktor’s fingers around his wrist. “Why are you here? You shouldn’t- this is my penance alone, surely, not yours.”

While slow, there is something frantic about his words, like his thoughts are thrice as fast as his tongue can speak them, and Jayce loves him so dearly he cannot fathom how it took him years to realise it.

“You kept me here”, he answers, looking down at Viktor’s fingers, warmth blossoming in his chest at the truth of it. Why he knows it, he cannot say, but there is no fibre of his being that doubts it: he is here because Viktor held onto him, pulled him from the endlessness that otherwise would have swallowed him whole.

And yet, instead of returning to Jayce’s arms like he should, Viktor’s eyes go wide with terror, their amber almost swallowed by the void of his pupils.

“No- no, it can’t-”, he starts, and then the fingers are loosening around Jayce’s wrist, the anchor of them lifting, and suddenly, Jayce remembers what fear tastes like.

“Don’t!”, he gasps, heart racing, and blessedly, Viktor stills, his fingers still curled around Jayce’s wrist, even if not with the same strength, the same certainty.

Even if he let go, Jayce would not fade again, and yet the thought of losing this connection, now he found it, terrifies him. Maybe it is because Viktor never used to touch him this freely, never allowed a brush of fingers to linger; maybe it is because here, in between worlds, Viktor is the only thing that Jayce can see.

“But you should not be here”, Viktor says, the words cracking open as he speaks them, gravel and coal and scorched earth, and Jayce wants to tend to them, nurture them, make them bloom once more. “Wherever we are, this is penance. For me. You- you have no part in it. My actions are not yours.”

“Does it feel like penance to you?”, Jayce asks as gently as he can, fingertips fluttering against the darkened skin of Viktor’s arm. He is warm to the touch where he is still flesh and blood, and Jayce is drawn to it like a moth to the flame. It is a familiar warmth, the same he found himself missing in the council chambers, late at night, travelling across a future hell scape, even before he had ever truly felt it. “Because it doesn’t feel like that to me.”

“What else could it be?”, Viktor asks in return, voice flat and defeated; Jayce has heard it like this before, and his reaction is the same as back then: he never wants to hear it again. “Otherwise… otherwise, there would be nothing at all.”

It feels like being flayed alive, Jayce’s heart clenching in his chest painfully as if trying to squeeze itself out of existence. Perhaps he should not be surprised by either, Viktor’s longing for oblivion or his own horror of an existence without Viktor in it, and yet, it leaves Jayce speechless for a moment too long.

Again, Viktor’s fingers loosen around his wrist, and without thinking, Jayce grips onto Viktor’s arm as hard as he can, feels bones and metal grind against each other, and yet does not think of the pain he might cause, might have caused already.

“Even if it is that, then I should be here”, he tells Viktor, and maybe he is saying more than he should, more than he ever has before; yet has he ever said enough? “And even if I shouldn’t be here, I would be. I would choose to be here.”

“What?”

“I told you”, Jayce says, tries to put all the warmth, all the affection, all the certainty he feels into the words. “But I will tell you as often as you need to hear it. We’re in this together, we always have been. And I wouldn’t want it any other way. So, if you are here, then… then that is where I want to be as well.”

There is a pause that feels like an eternity, and in this realm, Jayce isn’t sure if it isn’t, but looking at Viktor’s eyes slowly clearing, he knows that he would spend a thousand of them, if it meant making him understand.

“But-”

“There is nothing but that”, Jayce interrupts, even as he holds that one word as close to his heart as he can; it isn’t just pained anymore, doesn’t sing of only heartbreak. “I love you. I know I have never said it, but I’ve loved you for longer than even I can remember, and there is… nothing but that. If you are here, then that is where I would always choose to be. Partner.”

Viktor’s hearts are amber, devastated, hopeful and, most importantly, loved, and Jayce wants to say more, but there are no words for what he needs Viktor to hear.

How to describe longing for someone for years without knowing it, trying to steal touches without understanding why, casting fleeting glances without noticing; how to describe finally seeing the answer when the other is out of reach, all but lost; how to describe realising that after all you believed and feared and mourned, they are still there and you have another chance to hold them close?

So Jayce does not try.

Instead, he raises the hand not desperately holding onto Viktor still, and cups a sharp, purpled jaw. Strokes fingertips along the curve of Viktor’s cheekbone, marvelling at how he knew its shape so intimately without ever having touched it. Breathes out a sigh when Viktor, ever so slightly, leans into his palm; an answer to a question he has never dared to ask. And then, finally, kisses his love onto Viktor’s lips, where it has belonged since the very beginning.

[chem1cali]

EVERYTHING IN MY MIND

return to masterlist

bsf!theodore nott x fem!reader

synopsis: when she feels alone, sometimes all she needs is her best friend

warnings: hurt/comfort, depression, anxiety with a hint of panic attacks (a fluffy ending though i promise!)

word count: 1k

Your eyes were locked on the ceiling, gaze broken only by your slow blinks every minute or so. Time seemed to ignore you, leaving you in a perpetual limbo while the rest of the world carried on around you. Your dorm mates had tried to rouse you, but it was like they were speaking at you from the other end of a tunnel. You could see their concerned expressions, and the way their fingers brushed hair from your forehead, but it felt like it was happening to someone other than you.

Eventually, they left.

You couldn't blame them, really. If you'd had the ability to muster even a hint of emotion, you might have felt ashamed, or embarrassed. But you weren't.

You were just… there. Existing, kind of. Going through all the motions a human body should, just with none of the soul. Feeling air expand your lungs, and your heart thump in your chest as your body performed its necessary tasks to keep you alive. The bare minimum.

“Principessa. You're freezing.”

The voice sliced through the haze like a blade through butter, and suddenly everything was real again. You shivered violently as you felt the chill pierce through your skin, and you groaned as you shifted, your joints stiff from the hours of stillness.

The sudden onslaught of sensation made your heart race in your chest, and your eyes prickled with overwhelm. You reached a hand to your chest, almost as if you could wrap a fist around your heart and command it to slow down. Your breath began to come out in short, stuttered bursts and you lurched up in your bed, curling your knees to your chest.

A hand rested on your back, and the light touch made you recoil. Just another sensation on top of the millions that were now assaulting you. It was too much. The hand withdrew.

“Y/N.” The familiar voice spoke again. “It’s just me. You’re okay.”

Your mind was in shambles, unable to place exactly how you knew the voice. Your vision was tunnelled, and your chest was burning. Something wrapped around your hand with a tight, vice like grip, and your mind focused on it. A thumb began to trail over your knuckles, and you fought to remain present, giving as much attention as you could to the hand enclosing your own. After a minute or two, or maybe more, you couldn't really be sure, the tightness in your chest eased. And after another unmeasurable stretch of time, you finally lifted your head.

“Theo?” You said quietly as your eyes met his. “What's going on?”

His dark brows furrowed, and he peered at you closer. “I was hoping you could tell me that, tesoro.”

Another chill wracked your body, and you shook your head. “I’m… I’m not sure. I know I was… staring at the ceiling for a few minutes, I just…”

You trailed off, looking down. A hand grabbed your chin gently and turned your face back to Theo’s.

“A few minutes?” He asked softly. “Y/N, you were unresponsive for hours. It’s past dinner, your dorm mates came and got me when they couldn't get you to leave your bed or even acknowledge them.”

You blinked. Hours?

“I… it didn't feel like that long.” Shame coloured your words, your lip trembling as a peculiar burning sensation pricked at your eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Theo’s expression softened, the tension smoothing out as he sighed. “Don't apologise, principessa, I just need you to tell me what's wrong. How can I help you?”

You shake your head, pursing your lips. “I don't know what's wrong. This just… happens sometimes. Everything goes numb and I just can't feel anything.”

Theo nods, silent for a moment as he thinks. “Can I… can I hug you?” He asks finally, his voice tentative and unsure. “I’m not really sure what else to do. I'm not used to being the comforting person.”

You shift closer to him, nodding. He opens his arms and you duck your head under his chin, folding yourself into his embrace. He’s warm, the contrast of his heated skin to your freezing body forcing another bout of shudders from you, but he only holds you tighter.

His arms are wrapped around you, and he moves to sit fully on your bed, hauling you between his legs to bring you closer. Before long, tears are falling down your cheeks, staining his shirt as you sob into his chest.

“I’m- I’m sorry.” You hiccup. “Your shirt…”

You feel, rather than see his head shake in denial above you. “It doesn't matter.” His chest rumbles against your head as he speaks. “I don't care, whatever you need, tesoro.”

Once your tears slow, and you've wiped the evidence from your cheeks, you pull back to look at him.

He's staring at you with the most gentle expression you've ever seen from him, and your cheeks flood with heat. You look away.

“I'm sorry you had to see that.” You mumble, fidgeting with your fingers.

His hand cups your cheek, bringing your eyes back to his. “You're my best friend.” He whispers. “You never have to be sorry for being upset. Don't ever apologise for that.”

Your lips part, and his eyes seem to zero in on them. Your heart leaps into your throat, and you're suddenly lost for words.

Before you can second guess yourself, you lean forward, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his cheek.

As you pull away, you're sure your cheeks are flaming hotter than the sun, but the rising blush spreading across Theo’s own face is prettier than anything else you've ever seen.

[myprincejacaerys]

Rhaenyra & Jacaerys Part ii 👑🥀🖤

Now for their dynamic, this is where it becomes interesting. We know how Rhaenyra sees Jace, and this is somewhat normal. She adores her son, she loves him so much that his death is what ultimately “hardened her”. She, while grieving for Lucerys, entrusted everything to him – The next of the war plans, the futures and safety of her other children, the leadership her entire campaign on Dragonstone. The perfect son in everything but the one thing he cannot control.

Jacaerys perceives Rhaenyra as a God, and not in a healthy way. He has grown up beside her and his ‘father’, two of the most beautiful people in the royal family and he sees everything he is not. However much Rhaenyra loves Jacaerys, Jacaerys loves ten fold in return. Jacaerys lives for her. His very existence is to be her shield, her sword, her protector, her love, etc. He was born to be her successor, her replacement once she is gone, and with his most obvious flaw out for everyone to see, he must be perfect in every other regard. And the perfect Prince our Darling Jacaerys is.

When Jacaerys looks at Rhaenyra, he sees some kind of Deity. He feels something stabbing into his chest when he sees her unnatural Valyrian beauty, those Amethyst Gem eyes and long silver hair. This fanart so perfectly encapsulates all of these feelings, her glowing like a god while he watches behind her, almost like he feels unworthy to be even in her presence, let alone to be her son and heir.

And here is the thing, not one person alive knows of this, especially not Rhaenyra herself. If she had even an inkling of understanding of how Jace truly sees himself deep down, she would be in tears for the rest of eternity. She loves everything about him, including his appearance. Why else would she have continued having multiple children with the man whose genetics overwrote her own.

Now let’s discuss their physical appearances and similarities, more so referring to the show than the book. One thing they managed to get spot on was the casting for this series, because this is one of the only things I believe the show did better than the book – Something very very rare when discussing Jace. Harry Collett’s visage is some of the most perfect casting I have ever seen in any project.

He has all of Harwin Strong’s colouring, which is what immediately draws attention to the eyes. The curly brown hair, the dark coloured eyes. But this is essentially where the similarities stop. Everything else about him is Rhaenyra. His high cheekbones, his pale, snow white skin, his aquiline nose, his freckles. I even love how Harry’s eyes are brown but still not exactly brown, but more of a lighter hazel/amber colour that really glows when he’s in certain lightings. Even the way he carries himself when he is not trying to impersonate Daemon, did you guys see him at the dinner table with the dragonseeds? The perfect way he was holding his cutlery? The poise and the grace? That was all mommy.

A much as it is going to destroy me, I cannot wait to see how his death will impact her, especially because she seems to be taking his presence for granted in the show (yes, I know this is just her way of protecting him. She got him and his brother involved before and it ended in one of them eaten alive. She is not going to make that same mistake again. But unfortunately this is how Jacaerys interprets her actions.).

That one scene where she takes off on Syrax to see Seasmoke and Addam and Jace runs out to try and talk to her before she leaves really broke my heart, but demonstrated this point so perfectly. The show also has some good moments with them, like when they somewhat tried to get Jace to suggest they put distant relatives of the Targaryens on the dragons and that split moment where he turns back and grabs Rhaenyra when she’s watching Ser Steffon burn in horror – I like to view it as a metaphorical scene for what book Jace did for Rhaenyra was she was burning from the pain and grief of losing her daughter, her son and her throne, and had to have her oldest child take care of everything for her.

“Responsible, bold and politically savvy, Jace was protective of his family. He became skilled at arms by serving as a squire. Though his fifteenth nameday was still half a year away, Prince Jacaerys proved himself a man, and a worthy heir to the Iron Throne” - Writings of Gyldayn.

[kckt88]

Drowning Inside You IV

Summary:

Aemond and Valaera settle into their new lives on Driftmark.

-Features an Aemond POV

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

Warning(s): Mini Time Skip, Inner thoughts, Language, Kissing, Mild Angst, Possessive Behaviour, Child Birth, Arguement.

Word Count: 4339

Author Note: An Alpha/Omega Story.

P.S - Some Scenes/Dialogue from Dynasty has been reused.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.

“You will die screaming in flames just like your father did. Bastards”

“My father’s still alive”

“She doesn’t know does she? Lord Strong”

Aemond stared down the dark passageway and took a deep breath.

This was where it happened. Where I lost my eye.

Many weeks had passed since Aemond, Valaera and their pups had moved to Driftmark, and it had taken just as many weeks before Aemond had summoned enough courage to venture into this particular passageway.

Valaera had offered to come with him, but this was something that Aemond needed to do on his own.

The passageway was dark and cold. It almost seemed like it was endless.

As Aemond took a few steps into the darkness, he realised how much things had changed since that night.

Aemond thought of Valaera as he continued down the passage.

His sweet Omega, the mother of his children and the love of his life.

She had left her mark, permanently etched onto Aemond’s skin. Even before they were mated.

“Maybe your cousins could find you a pig to ride. It would suit you”.

Claiming Vhagar on the day of her previous rider’s funeral perhaps wasn’t the best idea, but he wanted so badly to have a dragon of his own.

His cradle egg had never hatched, and he always felt like the odd one out.

Always on the receiving end of his brothers jokes.

But Vhagar, saw something in him that night. It wasn’t just him that claimed her. She claimed him in return.

He was always meant for the sky. Sure, Vhagar was often grumpy and liked her sleep, but when they were soaring together in the clouds, he knew she felt it too.

Their bond.

The day he claimed her, was the day he found the missing part of his soul.

He wasn’t her first rider. But he would most likely be her last.

Too think one day he would be without Vhagar.

No. Not yet. Maybe they could die together. Dragon and rider bound forever.

Aemond shook his head, he didn’t want to think of death. Only life.

At last, he had made it to the end of the passage. He would never need to come down here again. But it was something he just had to do. For himself.

To finally make peace.

Aemond opened the heavy door and smiled as he was greeted by Valaera and their pups.

“Everything ok?” asked Valaera as she placed Vaella in her father’s arms.

“It’s more than ok Issa dōna” (my sweet).

“So, what’s the plan for today?”

“Well, seen as we are both free of our duties for today, I would like to spend time with my family” replied Aemond sweetly.

“Come. Helaena is waiting for us on the beach” whispered Valaera.

Aemond nodded and followed Valaera as she headed towards the beach. Vhalarr of course still fast asleep in his mother’s arms.

“U-Uncle Aemy,” cried a sweet voice.

“Daena” exclaimed Aemond as he bent down to hug his niece.

“Found a shell. Look” cooed Daena as she opened her hand and showed her uncle the brightly coloured shell.

Aemond moved back to observe what Daena was showing him and he smiled.

“That’s a fantastic one. Another for your collection” mused Aemond as he sat beside his sister in the sand.

“Mama said I can make them into a necklace” gasped Daena as she flopped into Helaena’s arms.

“I’m sure uncle Aemy would love to help” muttered Valaera.

Aemond glared at his Omega as she sat next to him.

I hate that nickname and she knows it. I only tolerate it for the sake of my niece.

Just wait until we are alone my sweet mate, I will make you regret teasing me.

Almost as if she could read his thoughts, Valaera slowly turned to him and placed a delicate kiss on his cheek.

“Don’t worry Alpha. You can spank me later” whispered Valaera.

Did she just? Yes, she did. My naughty Omega. I’ll spank her so good later.

“So, brother. How are you finding Driftmark so far?” asked Helaena.

“Better than the Red Keep” muttered Aemond.

“You were trapped there. But here you will grow into a beautiful flower” exclaimed Helaena happily as she took hold of Vaella.

“Aemond. A beautiful flower?” laughed Baela.

“I’d rather be a beautiful flower than a measly weed” retorted Aemond.

“Who are you calling a weed?” snapped Baela.

“You. You’re the weed” exclaimed Aemond.

“Oh, here they go again” muttered Valaera as Aemond and Baela began bickering back and forth and trading insults with one another.

“Best just let them get on with it” said Helaena as she began cooing at Vaella.

Initially Valaera was a little worried how Baela would react to Aemond living on Driftmark, but some awkwardness in the beginning the two of them actually got along. Most of the time.

Baela and Aemond regularly indulged in insults and small arguments. Aemond claimed it was some form of bonding between Alpha’s but to Valaera they just looked like squabbling siblings.

“Yeah, well you smell like dragon shit”.

“Well, I do ride a dragon and if I smell then so do you” quipped Aemond.

“So, Helaena how is your spider colony coming along?” asked Valaera.

“Very well. Baela found me a black widow”.

“Aren’t they poisonous” gasped Valaera.

“Yes, but they only bite as a last resort. Respect them and they respect you” replied Helaena.

“I’ll bear that in mind” muttered Valaera.

I don’t like spiders. But I won’t tell Helaena.

Suddenly Vhalarr let out a high-pitched cry.

“I-Is he ok?” asked Aemond.

“He’s fine. Just hungry” said Valaera as she loosened her dress and held Vhalarr to her breast.

“Are you two finished bonding?” asked Helaena.

“Yes sweetling” whispered Baela.

“Pass me a bucket” mocked Aemond as he pretended to be sick.

“Says you. Oh, Valaera Jorrāelagon hen issa glaeson, Issa prūmia, Issa dōna ābrazȳrys” laughed Baela (Love of my life, my heart, my sweet wife).

“Shut up” snapped Aemond.

“Maybe just be quieter when your bedding your Omega,” said Baela.

“Or maybe they should be more discreet when they have sex in the library”.

“Helaena” gasped Valaera.

“And the gardens or the beach” added Baela smirking.

“Baela” snapped Valaera, her cheeks-tinged red.

“Honestly Valaera, I’m surprised you’re not pupped again the amount of sex you two have”.

“This conversation is not happening” grumbled Valaera as she looked over at Aemond who was trying to hide a smirk.

The audacity. He’s actually proud of it. I can’t believe it.

“Too late Laera. It’s already happened,” laughed Baela.

“Is everything ok?” asked Aemond as he sat on the bed.

“I’m fine” snapped Valaera as she ripped off her dress and threw it to the floor.

“Are you sure about that. I can sense something is wrong” replied Aemond.

“I-I was just a little embarrassed by what Baela said that’s all”.

“Why are you lying to me?” mused Aemond.

“I’m not lying” said Valaera quickly as she ducked behind a privacy screen and began pulling off the rest of her clothes.

“Yes, you are. I know you well enough by now”.

“I need to check on the twins” urged Valaera as she reemerged wearing her night clothes.

“Vhalarr and Vaella are already asleep for the night. Please Laera, talk to me” begged Aemond as he sprang from the bed and took his Omega into his arms.

I can feel it. She’s nervous. Please my sweet tell me what’s wrong.

Valaera seemed to hesitate for a moment, her eyes shining with tears.

“I-I forgot to take the tea and now-“ sobbed Valaera as she buried her face in Aemond’s chest.

“-Your with child” whispered Aemond.

“I’m sorry Alpha, it’s just when Baela made that comment about us, I realised my monthly bleeding is really late” cried Valaera.

“It’s ok. You don’t have to apologize”.

“Y-You’re not angry?” asked Valaera.

“Why would I be angry my sweet, your carrying another pup” whispered Aemond.

“But the twins are only six moons old” sniffed Valaera.

“But they’ll be well over a name day old before the next pup is born. I’m sure we’ll manage, but if you’re not ready for another pup just yet, then I won’t force you” muttered Aemond.

“No. Aemond, I want this pup. I was just a little worried and overwhelmed,” said Valaera.

“I just want you to know that I will support you no matter what. Were in this together, and you know that I’ll be with you every step of the way” replied Aemond.

Forgive me for being silly. I know you’ll be there for me Alpha.

“I love you Aemond. More than anything”

“I love you too my sweet girl. But perhaps on the morrow you should call on Maester Selkin”

Valaera nodded and smiled.

I know I’m with child again. But it will be good to have it confirmed.

“I don’t suppose you fancy a stroll in the gardens?” asked Aemond smirking.

“What, now? I’m in my night clothes”.

“Or mayhaps a visit to the library” said Aemond smirking.

Surely, he’s not suggesting.

Oh my god he is. He’s insatiable. My naughty Alpha.

“Only if we find a more secluded place” replied Valaera blushing.

“For reading?” laughed Aemond.

“Yes Alpha. Reading” said Valaera smiling.

“I wonder if our pup was conceived whilst we were reading?”

“It’s entirely possible” mused Valaera.

“That’s it Princess, keep pushing” encouraged Maester Selkin.

“AEMOND!” screamed Valaera.

“I’m here my sweet” replied Aemond.

“I-I can’t do this,” cried Valaera.

“Yes, you can” exclaimed Aemond as he climbed onto the bed at sat behind Valaera.

“W-What are you doing?” muttered Valaera.

“Lean against me and take my hands” urged Aemond as he sat Valaera between his open legs.

This is better. I can feel my Alpha. He’s here. He’s helping. He’s taking care of me.

“Now, you squeeze my hands as hard as you like” said Aemond.

Valaera was sweaty and exhausted, but she took a deep breath and as the next contraction ripped across her stomach, she pushed.

“FUCK!”

“The head is out Princess, but I need you to stop pushing. The cord is wrapped around the babe’s neck” exclaimed Maester Selkin.

“W-What” cried Valaera in alarm.

“It’s ok. Issa dōna ābrazȳrys. Just breathe” said Aemond (My sweet wife).

After a few moments, the Maester had managed to cut the cord from the babe’s neck and with one last push the babe arrived.

But the room was silent.

“M-My babe?” asked Valaera her hands raised in expectation of receiving her pup.

“Just a moment” replied Maester Selkin as the babe was lifted off the bed.

“What’s happening?” yelled Valaera, her hands still grasping for her babe.

Why is my babe not crying? What’s happening? Please someone.

“Alpha” sobbed Valaera, her entire body shaking.

Aemond could only sit in silence as he watched the Maester try to save his newly born pup.

Valaera began wailing loudly in anguish, as the seconds passed. She couldn’t think of anything except his pup. Not even the pain of the afterbirth swayed her mind away from the quiet bundle in Maester Selkin’s arms.

No. Please. Don’t take my babe. Please I pray to the mother. I pray to the god’s of old Valyria.

Then the sweetest sound in the world echoed around the room.

A shrieking cry.

“A son, Princess” declared the Maester.

Valaera all but snatched the crying babe away from Maester Selkin and sobbed.

“T-Thank you maester” breathed Valaera, the tears streaming down her face.

“Your welcome Princess” replied Maester Selkin.

“H-He’s ok. Aemond, look” gasped Valaera.

Aemond who’s face had been buried in Valaera’s shoulder, let out a sob of relief as he gazed at his crying son.

My son. He’s ok. He’s alive. Thank the gods.

“What shall we call him?” asked Aemond.

“Aemon” whispered Valaera smiling as she gently rocked their new pup.

“A-After me” questioned Aemond in awe.

“There is no other name for him. He is the very image of you,” said Valaera.

He has a full head of silver hair. I don’t think I’ve ever seen that much hair on a babe.

But his eyes. They were different.

His pup had one amethyst eye and the other was brown. The exact same shade as his mother.

“He’s so beautiful, his eyes are unlike anything I’ve ever seen” cooed Valaera.

“I’m so proud of you Issa prūmia” (My heart).

“W-We have three pups now” sighed Valaera as she leaned back against Aemond.

“My sweet perfect Omega” praised Aemond as he nuzzled Valaera’s mating mark.

A good Alpha should treasure his Omega. Make her feel special. Make her feel loved.

“Alpha” gasped Valaera as he felt the rush of Aemond’s love and devotion through their bond.

“Would you like you hold your pup?”

“Please” whispered Aemond as he manoeuvred himself away from Valaera and climbed off the bed.

Their pup. They almost lost him. But he’s here. He’s safe. My son.

Aemond cried openly when his Omega placed their tiny pup in his arms.

“A-Are you ok?” asked Valaera her voice laced with concern.

Aemond nodded meekly as his gaze never leaving his precious pup.

"Princess, shall we get you cleaned up?” asked a midwife.

“Papa up” urged Vhalarr eagerly.

“Be careful sweet boy” said Aemond as he helped his son climb onto the bed.

“Mama. Baba” cooed Vhalarr as he nuzzled against his mother.

“That’s right. Vaella my darling come here” exclaimed Valaera.

Vaella shook her head and clung to Aemond, burying her head into his shoulder.

“W-What’s wrong?” asked Valaera.

“Mama no hurt” whispered Vaella.

“I’m ok, I promise” replied Valaera.

“Don’t worry issa dōna tala” muttered Aemond, as he placed Vaella on the bed next to Valaera (my sweet daughter).

“This is your brother Aemon”.

“Aemy” whispered Vaella.

Valaera had to bite her lip to stop her from laughing at the look on Aemond’s face.

“Isn’t he tiny” muttered Valaera softly.

“Gevie” whispered Vaella as she looked at her newborn brother (Beautiful).

“Well done tala” said Aemond proudly.

“Lēkia” exclaimed Vhalarr (Brother).

“H-How did they?” gasped Valaera.

“I’ve been reading to them in our mother tongue. I guess they’ve picked up a few words here and there” declared Aemond smiling widely.

“Avy jorrāelan valzȳrys” whispered Valaera (I love you husband).

Aemond sat on the edge of the bed and placed a gentle kiss on his Omega’s cheek.

“Ao issi vok issa darling” muttered Aemond (You are perfect my darling).

“Mama Zaldrīzes” said Vaella excitedly as a warming chamber was brought into the room (Dragon).

“Syrax brought forth another clutch. Your mother sent three eggs for the children”.

“Vhalarr and Vaella?” asked Valaera.

“They’ve already chosen their eggs” muttered Aemond as he opened the warming pan and showed Valaera the red and gold-tinged egg.

Valaera could sense Aemond’s unease. He feared his children would be without dragons just as he was. He did not want them to feel as though they weren’t enough.

“īlva riñar jāhor emagon zaldrīzoti valzȳrys” (Our children will have dragons husband).

“Nyke gīmigon yn nyke nykeēdrosa worry” replied Aemond. (I know but I still worry).

I have every faith, Alpha. Our children will fly beside you.

“Shall we put Aemon in his crib with his egg?” asked Valaera.

“Yes” Vhalarr and Vaella declared in unison.

“Allow me” said Aemond as he took his son and placed him in the crib beside their bed.

The egg was placed beside Aemon, and they all watched as the tiny babe, reached out and placed his hand on the ridged shell.

“Do not worry my love. Our children are meant for the sky. Just like you”

“I know they are” replied Aemond quietly as he wrapped his arms around Valaera and held her close.

That night, Driftmark was graced with the screeches of three new dragons emerging into the world eager to greet their riders.

Night time at Driftmark was always rather pleasant, the light of the moon, the sound of the sea, and the smell of salt upon the air.

It made Valaera happy; she was glad to call it home.

Not that she hated Dragonstone or Kings Landing, it’s just Driftmark was where she felt close to her father Laenor.

Sure, Valaera knew that Laenor wasn’t her biological father, but he was the man that called Valaera his daughter no matter who sired her.

She missed Laenor terribly at times, especially now she had children of her own.

But she was also glad for Daemon. Of course, the Rogue Prince still terrified her at times, but she knew for all his outwardly bravado Daemon was a good man who loved her mother the way she deserved to be loved.

Rather like Aemond in a way. Valaera had been terrified for many years that her uncle would seek retribution for his eye but here they were happy and in love with three beautiful pups.

Sometimes it’s funny how things work out.

As Valaera entered the chambers, she shared with Aemond she was stopped in her tracks at the sight that greeted her.

Her Alpha sat by the fire, with their six week old pup fast asleep on his bare chest.

“Issa dōna riñītsos” whispered Aemond.(My sweet little boy).

Valaera smiled and simply observed her husband and their son.

“Issa byka zaldrīzes” (My tiny dragon).

Despite his initial fears over what type of father he would be, Valaera could say with absolute certainty that Aemond was an amazing father.

The love he had for their pups was unparalleled.

Most Alpha’s left the upbringing of pups to their Omega mothers. But Aemond had insisted from day one that he be included, whether it was changing their soiled cloths or simply rocking them to sleep.

He was there.

The other half of my heart. My Alpha. My dragon.

“Valzȳrys” whispered Valaera. (Husband).

Aemond turned towards his Omega and smiled. His sapphire eye glistening in the dim light of the fire.

“Is everything ok? Issa prūmia” asked Aemond. (My heart).

“The twins are fast asleep with their dragons, and I’ve had my check up with Maester Selkin”

Aemond raised a curious eyebrow at Valaera’s mention of the Maester.

“He’s declared me healthy and ready to engage in matters of the marriage bed” replied Valaera.

“But-” said Aemond.

“I-I would like to wait just a little bit longer if that’s ok?” muttered Valaera.

“Of course, it is. I will wait for as long as required. The Maester can declare you sufficiently healed, but it’s your body Valaera and you’ll know when you’re ready” replied Aemond.

Could he be any more perfect? What did I do to earn such a wonderful caring Alpha?

“Besides there are other forms of intimacy besides sex” whispered Aemond as he carefully placed Aemon in his crib.

“Such as?” asked Valaera.

“I could hold you in my arms as you sleep, or mayhaps we could simply take a walk on the beach together” suggested Aemond.

“A walk on the beach” muttered Valaera shyly.

“I know how much you like the moon my precious pearl” replied Aemond as he pulled on a loose tunic and slipped his eyepatch over his head.

“I will call Tarla to watch Aemon” said Valaera as she quickly left the room and reappeared a few moments later with the nanny.

“We shouldn’t be gone long” muttered Aemond.

“Of course, my Prince. I will watch over the little one whilst you are gone” replied Tarla.

“Come my sweet” said Aemond as he held out his hand.

Valaera took one last look at their sleeping pup before she took her Alpha’s outstretched hand and the two of them left the room.

Aemond could help but smile to himself as he walked hand in hand with Valaera, the chill of the sea washing over their toes.

“Thank you for this” exclaimed Valaera happily.

“I live to make you happy my sweet. Mayhaps on the morrow I can take you flying on Vhagar, my old girl has been feeling quite restless lately” replied Aemond.

“Has it been a while since you flew together?” asked Valaera.

“I haven’t taken her out since before Aemon was born”.

That was surprising, Aemond never usually went more than a week without flying Vhagar.

“I-Is that because of me?” asked Valaera nervously.

“No, in truth I’ve been feeling a bit strange lately”.

“S-Strange?” mused Valaera curiously.

“Yes, the thought of being separated from you or our pups has me on edge. It’s difficult to explain but since we almost lost Aemon…”

“I understand Alpha” muttered Valaera.

“Things have been better recently; I feel ready to fly again” replied Aemond as he swept Valaera into his arms and held her close, breathing in her sweet scent.

“A raven arrived earlier, from your mother” mumbled Valaera.

“What does the Queen have to say?”

“She asked that we visit Kings Landing and bring the children,” said Valaera.

“No” growled Aemond as he stepped away from Valaera.

“She also writes that your father grows weaker by the day”.

“All the more reason for us to stay away” muttered Aemond.

“Aemond”

“I said no Valaera” snapped Aemond.

“I would like to introduce Aemon to the King before he passes” replied Valaera.

“WHY WON’T YOU LISTEN TO ME” shouted Aemond.

“I-I’m sorry-“ stammered Valaera.

“MY PUPS WILL NOT BE AWAY FROM ME” roared Aemond.

“A-Alpha. Please.” begged Valaera, her head lowered in submission.

The anger poured from her Alpha like acid rain and stung just as deep.

Never had Aemond been so angry. His scent was making Valaera feel sick.

“A-Aemond” sobbed Valaera, the tears streaming down her face.

I will not be separated from my pups. I have to keep them safe. I will not have my mother scorn Aemon for his mismatched eyes. I refuse to have my father pretend to care about my pups. Even if he is sick.

Wait. My Omega. She’s distressed and scared.

Suddenly Aemond seemed to come back to himself, he blinked several times and immediately tried to take the sobbing Omega into his arms.

But Valaera flinched away from him.

“I’m sorry Valaera, I just-“

“N-No. You don’t get to speak to me like that. I-I might be an Omega, but I am your mate, were supposed to be partners” sniffed Valaera wiping her snotty nose on her sleeve.

“Omega please” begged Aemond.

“NO! You stay away from me” shouted Valaera the tears still pouring down her face.

“B-But…” exclaimed Aemond.

“Don’t you bother coming back to our chambers tonight. Find somewhere else to sleep” cried Valaera as she turned on her heel and ran away from her Alpha.

Sleeping alone was the absolute worst.

Aemond tossed and turned on the lumpy unfamiliar bed and whined at the absence of his Omega.

Since they married, they’d never spent a night apart.

The Alpha cursed himself for getting so angry with his Omega. It wasn’t Valaera’s fault at all.

Sitting there holding his wailing Omega in his arms was something Aemond wouldn’t never forget.

That day he’d felt so helpless.

He was the rider of the mighty Vhagar, the largest dragon in the world and all he could do as the Maester tried to save his pup was just sit there.

But what else could I do? I don’t like feeling like this. Please Omega.

Aemond whined again and then he felt it.

His Omega. Valaera was crying out for him through their bond.

Aemond flew off the bed and raced back to his chambers.

Soon he was standing in front of the heavy wooden door. The guardsman on watch simply stepped aside and allowed the Alpha entry.

Valaera was huddled on the bed clutching one of Aemond’s cloaks. Her breath hitching every so often as she cried.

“Alpha” begged Valaera.

Please. Come back. I’m sorry. I need you.

“A-Aemond” howled Valaera.

“I’m here Issa jorrāelagon” replied Aemond. (My love).

“Alpha. Please”

Aemond didn’t need telling twice and he leapt onto the bed, reaching for his Omega.

“Nyke sorry issa dōna. Shijetra issa” said Aemond (I’m sorry my sweet. Forgive me).

“N-Never leave me again. Swear to me. I don’t want to be alone”.

“I swear to you my love that I will never leave you” replied Aemond.

“I don’t like feeling like this. It hurts to be away from you”.

“Then I’ll stay. Forever” muttered Aemond as he rubbed his nose along Valaera’s scent gland.

My Omega. My sweet. Love of my life.

“Kiss me” urged Valaera.

Aemond hesitated for a moment before he surged forward and pressed his lips against Valaera’s.

Valaera almost seemed to merge with Aemond as she pressed herself closer.

Gods, I want her. His scent. It’s driving me crazy.

The Alpha inside him was screaming at him to take his Omega and knot her. But Aemond knew he couldn’t. Not yet.

“V-Valaera. We should stop” gasped Aemond.

“No. I want you” begged Valaera.

“You’re not ready. I won’t be able to stop myself from knotting you. Let me just wrap my arms around you” gasped Aemond.

“O-Ok” muttered Valaera feeling a little dejected, but deep down she knew Aemond was right, no matter if her Omega was begging for her Alpha to take her, she wasn’t physically ready.

“I don’t want us to fight”.

“Me either” replied Valaera quietly.

“W-We could go to Kings Landing, but the pups stay with us or Tarla at all times”.

It was a compromise. Even though Aemond dreaded his mother’s reaction to Aemon he knew Valaera missed her brothers and if truth be told Aemond did kind of miss Aegon, even if he was a massive twat with a punchable face.

Valaera nodded slightly and closed hers eyes.

Aemond had reacted so strongly to almost losing Aemon that he was overcompensating on his protectiveness. His Alpha instincts going crazy.

They would sort out the details of their trip to Kings Landing on the morrow, but right now all Valaera wanted to do was bask in her Alpha’s scent and forget this day ever happened.

[somethingsomethingwords]

So, this is the third and last part of this. I really loved writing it and sharing it, and I hope y'all like it too. Enjoy 💜

His eyes fly open.

He can't see. All he feels is pain.

He needs to protect. All he sees is red.

He hurts. All he is is gone.

He soon falls again.

When he wakes up, he is not alone.

Something rough and warm is touching his right hand.

He can sense the sun on his skin, so bright its light is basically white.

He feels -not better, per se- but not as bad as before.

When he tries to open his eyes, he finds he can only see the right side of the ceiling.

Ah, so this is it. He takes stock of all the pains he is feeling. The left side of his face is burning, he has for sure some broken ribs, and his right leg is in a cast. Well then, could be worse.

He tries to lift his head, but it requires too much energy he doesn't have.

So he simply shakes his hand.

Suddenly, the pressure on it squeezes back. Soon, a mass of curly blonde hair colours his vision, followed by a face so beloved he almost aches watching it.

"Seb" is all he manages, but for his lover it's enough. He starts crying, then he can feel the same drops raining on his face, and a gentle hand in his hair.

When he stops, Sebastian dries his tears, and just looks at him like he is a miracle. Charles honestly thinks it's the other way around, but he stays silent, old arguments left behind.

Then he remembers the kids. Pierre with the cut on her arm and Dani with the wide smile and fear in their eyes.

He doesn't even have to ask, because Sebastian is already answering.

"Pierre is alright. Lando healed her cut and now she is napping with the other kids. The other one..." and then stops, not looking in his eye, expression sad.

"Dani. They distracted one of the last monsters. It threw them at a wall before I could slay it" he says, and actually feels like dying. Now that he is awake and his body pains are somewhat lessened, it's other things that are truly starting to hurt. Friends lost, children killed, trust betrayed.

He momentarily closes his eye, needing a second of stillness and quietness.

Then he opens it, determined to not stop, not yet.

"Ok. One step at a time. The kids?" he asks.

"All four of them are ok, not one wound. They have been helping around" Seb says, and his heart breaks once again. One more thing to add to the to-do list: make sure the kids are somewhat mentally supported.

"Losses report?" he needs to be focused for this part, cynical. He needs to know who was lost, who is alive and who is hurt.

"Charles, you don't have to..." Seb starts, but the son of Aphrodite doesn't let him finish.

"Somebody has to. We need to know. And I'm just lying down, with no way to really help" he is about to continue, when this time is Seb that stops him.

"No help? Charles, you sacrificed your eye. You saved Pierre. You were ready to die. Now it's your time to rest, and let others handle this"

But Charles has always been stubborn.

"No. My job is not done" then continues, after a deep breath "I know I need to rest, but I can't. The thought of me sleeping while you work is unbearable. So please, let me help"

And Sebastian never learned how to deny him anything. He is not starting now. He just sighs, and starts talking.

"Before the split, we were 279. Then 114 left, leaving us in 165. Right now, in these tents, we are 89, mostly injured but only a few heavily"

That's bad, but he can't change anything. So he starts making a plan.

"Ok. It's like this. We need to search for anyone who is still out there but can't move. And also for those who are too scared to return. We send a group out, at least four elements, so they can split up into groups of two. I don't want anyone alone. Then we..."

"Stop right there. Repeat to me who we are looking for?" he knows damn well, but he wants Charles to say it out loud again, and realize how stupid it is.

"People who can't move and people who are too scared to return" he says, defiant and stubborn.

"No. We are not going to help traitors" he spits out, the only thought already making his blood boil.

"Seb, they are our siblings. We are not going to leave them"

"They betrayed us. They sided with the monsters that killed Dani. That almost killed you. That torn Kimi apart" he can't hold back the tears anymore. All Sebastian can see behind his eyelids is his best friend missing the lower part of his body, left on the streets to die alone and scared.

Charles doesn't say anything, giving them both a moment to grieve. He didn't know the other as well as Sebastian did, but the son of Khione was the first to know about them, even before they got together, and often teamed up with him against Seb, speaking French just to make Charles laugh.

"Seb, believe me, I understand how you feel, and I'm not saying we should just forgive and forget. But we are still family. We are not like the gods, petty and vindictive and resentful. That's how Mattia took power and divided us. We help them, we heal ourselves and then we start rebuilding. It's all we can do" he says, and knows he won, once again, but the deep hurt will remain.

"I don't think I'll ever forgive them"

"And I'm not asking you to. I'm just saying, we all need to do better. To make sure something like this won't happen again. So, are you going to be by my side, philtatos?" he asks, but only because he loves hearing Seb's response.

"Always and forever and beyond"

[soulofapatrick]

Healing Wounds - Joel Miller x Reader

Chapter Four ⇢ Healing Masterlist

Summary - You and Tess go to confront Robert and encounter someone you thought dead

Words:  1.7k

Warning: gore that comes with TLOU universe

Notes: not really sure where this chapter went but enjoy 

Entering the main room I feel my steps falter, my hand gripping Tess’ arm almost painfully as I see a mop of auburn curls and piercing grey eyes. He’s standing at the far side of the room, holding a four year old on his hip and a guilty look on his face as he meets my gaze. Scott. My twin brother was alive and he was standing there, with a daughter who looks just like him, but I have to drag my eyes away so Robert doesn’t think about using them against me. My heart is pounding in my chest as I try to keep my expression neutral. Tess gives my arm a reassuring squeeze, and I take a deep breath, reminding myself why I'm here. As we approach Robert, I can feel his eyes on me, and I have to resist the urge to look back at Scott. Tess takes the lead, her voice firm as she lays out what we want from him. 

“Your men-“ 

“I know, I found them myself when they didn’t return from the trade,” Robert cuts Tess off, greasy tone to match his greasy appearance as his beady eyes flick over my body and Tess is taking a half step in front of me, “I mean can you blame then when such a pretty little thing comes to trade?” 

My blood runs cold at his words, feeling nothing but disgust and red hot anger boiling inside me and my hand is twitching to reach for my gun. I see Scott shake his head ever so slightly as Tess is tense beside me. Instead I force myself to meet Robert’s gaze, voice seething as I speak, “I will not hesitate to kill any of them who lay a hand on me. I’m not your plaything and I never will be-“ 

“What about our dear Scotty here?” Robert asks, a knowing look in those blue eyes. My heart races as Scott puts his daughter, my niece, down and walks to stand next to Robert. I can see the fear in his eyes as he glances at me and Tess, knowing he’s putting himself in a dangerous situation but I can also see the guilt as he’s probably told Robert about me. I want to reach out and grab him, to pull him back and tell him I forgive him but I know I’ll look weak if I show any emotions to Robert. My fingers clenches at my side, right hand moving towards my gun ever so slightly but Scott’s eyes dart over to the girl and I hesitate, “Would you let dear old Scotty here lay his hands on you? If it meant saving Ellie?”

Ellie. That’s her name. Bright and innocent eyes, the colour of clover fields; waves of auburn hair falling down her back in loose ringlets; freckles dotted over her pale skin. She’s looking at us, me and Tess, with a wide-eyed innocence, joy and love radiating from her and it breaks me. I’m moving my gaze from her and back to Robert who is watching with a smirk, a slimy and knowing smirk, when large and sweaty hands grasp at my jacket, moving for intimate parts of me. 

“Ellie, sweetheart, close your eyes.” I’m cooing softly at my niece and she blinks at me once in confusion before she does. As soon as her eyes are closed I’m spinning, sending my knee into the guys side before grabbing the back of his head and bringing his face down onto my rising knee. He lets out a pained shout which turns to a gurgle when my knife plunges into his neck before another is charging at me. With adrenaline pumping through my veins, I quickly dispatch the sleazy men, one after another, until a pair of strong arms wrap around my waist and are pulling me back. I turn my head to see that it’s one of Robert’s men who I hadn’t noticed before, they’re holding Tess back with a knife to her throat and my heart sinks at the sight. Robert is gripping Scott by his hair and Ellie is hiding in the corner, hands over her eyes and I realise I’m stuck. I’m going to have to choose between saving Tess or Scott when I kill the man currently trying to get his hands under my shirt. 

Just as I’m about to make a decision, there’s a sudden gunshot that rings through the room and the hands scrabbling at me slacken before falling away. The man holding Tess goes pale and stumbles away, dropping his knife and bolting at the sight of Joel coming out of the shadows with his gun pointed at Scott and Robert. Joel’s eyes are hard and he emanates the type of power that has even the hardest of men fleeing, he made the man holding Tess run crying from the room and Robert’s hand holding his gun is trembling ever so slightly. I see Joel’s honey eyes flick between Scott and Robert and crying out a “NO!” That has Joel’s gaze finding mine with confusion and anger but he takes his finger off the trigger and lowers his gun. 

Before I anyone else can react I see Robert’s hand moving, trigger flicking off and gun moving towards Scott’s temple and I’m moving impulsively. My gun is out of it’s hidden holster on my thighs and my ears are ringing, surprise in Robert’s eyes, the pain of the recoil forgotten immediately, when he crumples to the ground with a bullet hole in his brain. The silence is deafening as I drop my gun and sprint over to Scott, colliding with his chest and pulling back to punch him while yelling, “You asshole!” Scott takes the punch before he’s gripping my jacket and yanking me into a bone crushing hug than has me gripping onto him like a lifeline. 

“I’m sorry.” Scott pulls away, looking at Joel and Tess who are standing behind me, watching. 

Jealousy and possessiveness seep into in Joel’s tone as he speaks, eyes narrowing at the way Scott has his hand still on my arm, “Y/N? Who is this?” His tone is guarded and clipped, body tense with fear and suspicion until I introduce Scott to everyone. 

“Scott, this is Tess,” I point to Tess and notice the way the pair regard each other and how Tess’ face heats up a little when Scott sends her his lady charming smile so I drag my brother’s attention to Joel who is glaring, arms crossed over his broad chest, “And this… this is Joel, my boyfriend.” Joel blinks in surprise and uncrosses his arms, face flushing with a mixture of emotions I can’t quite place. He looks at me with what I think is confusion, delight and maybe a hint of possessiveness, which only makes me aware of his present, “Guys, this is Scott. He’s my twin brother and this,” I crouch down and hold my arms open for Ellie who surprises me by running into them so I lift her up onto my hip, ‘This is my niece, Ellie.” 

Joel’s expression softens as he looks at me holding Ellie, a longing in those honey eyes that has my breath hitching in my throat. His eyes travel across my body, a lightly glazed look in his eyes and I think back to Tommy telling me about Sarah and how much Joel seemed to really love her and the look in Joel’s eyes is something different. It’s like he’s stuck in a trance, somewhere between now and then before he’s taking a few big strides over to me and kissing me. Ellie lets out a disgusted sound and let’s Scott take her back so I can wrap my arms around his broad shoulders. 

The kiss is intense and passionate, Joel’s lips moving against mine in a way that feels like he’s trying to convey something. His hands move to my waist, pulling me flush against him and I can feel the heat emanating from his body. His voice is muffled against my lips, the words spoken so softly I barely catch them when he murmurs, “One day, not now but one day, I want to start a family with you.” 

I pull away from the kiss, staring into Joel’s eyes. There’s a tenderness there that wasn’t there before, a vulnerability that makes my heart swell with love for him. I wrap my arms around his neck, resting my forehead against his, “One day, Joel,” I whisper back, “but I think old wounds need to be healed first baby.” Joel nods in understanding, his fingers tracing small circles on my lower back as we stand there in silence for a moment. It feels like something has shifted between us, a deeper connection forming between us that goes beyond just being a couple. It’s like we’re starting to build a life together, one that includes a family, a future.

Scott coughs, breaking the moment, “As much as I totally love watching you guys make out, we should probably get going before we attract any more of Robert’s men.” 

Tess is nodding in agreement, “Come on, we don’t live far from here.” I can see the way Tess and Scott connect immediately, their playful banter and easy laughter filling the air as we make our way out of the abandoned building. It's like they've known each other for years, not just a few minutes. I can't help but smile at the sight, happy that my brother has found someone who can make him feel at ease.

As we follow behind them, I glance over at Joel and catch his eye. There's a sense of understanding between us, like we both know what the other is thinking. I can tell that he's happy for me and my brother, but there's also a hint of sadness in his eyes at the thought of a family without Tommy and Sarah. I reach out and take his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze and he kisses my temple before he catch up. As we walk down the deserted streets, hand in hand with our newfound friends, I can't help but feel grateful for the people in my life and I think about how I’m going to explain all of this to Bill and Frank next time we see them

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

The Last of Us Masterlist

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[spicywarl0ck]

Hello! I'm FINALLY remembering to send a DADWC prompt! OK, can I ask for Fenris/Male Hawke, number 6: “Nothing in your past will ever stop me caring about you and loving you for who you are”

Thank you for the prompt. This one sounds familiar, but I can't remember if I answered this already or not xD So I just wrote it again for @dadrunkwriting <3

“Venhedis.” Another bottle hit the wall, leaving a stain of dark red liquid against the stone. It wasn’t the first one, according to the pattern that slowly began to build on the wall, the glass shards of the bottle laying on the ground beneath it and reflecting the light of the torches. 

Fenris must have burned through Danarius' fine wine quicker than he thought.

“Am I disturbing?” Hawke asked with a raised dark brow, amber eyes warm as the fire got reflected within them though. 

A pair of large green eyes looked at him, lips pressed into a thin line, and brows arched in surprise. The gauntleted fist flexed momentarily, shoulders easing their tension when he took an almost inaudible breath.

“Hawke.” he tried not to sound surprised or embarrassed, yet… a little note in his voice and a slight flush on the olive-coloured skin told him more than the elf would have most likely wanted him to know.

“I’m sorry… I didn’t think you’d come by at this hour.” he coughed slightly, avoiding his gaze for just a second before his posture eased up again. “Is there anything I can help with?”

“If I am honest… I thought there might be something I can do for you.” Garrett answered; Fenris's puzzled expression told him this was not the answer he would have expected.

“You know… finding out your sister is still alive and all of that… it must be overwhelming,” Hawke added, watching the elf's expression darken.

“I am still not sure Hadrianna spoke the truth… She was desperate to save her life.” Fenris's eyes momentarily darted down to his gloved fist, clearly remembering how he drove it through her chest to crush her heart. Yet, there was no joy on his face. 

“I just wanted to let you know… I understand why you did it.” Garrett said quietly, knowing better than to touch the spiked and broody elf at the moment, which was why he kept his distance. “She tormented you, right?” he asked softly. 

“I really wanted to spare her….” Fenris's voice echoed across the room, fist clenching while he still looked at it, shoulders slumped. “I really did, but… I just… I couldn’t…” he didn’t finish the sentence, his voice heavy with guilt.

“It’s alright.” Hawke was on his feet within a minute, his arm stretching out hesitantly but soothingly. “I understand,” he added, stomach tingling when Fenris looked at him. How had he never come to realise how beautiful his eyes were?

//Oh whoa, slow down, bad timing, Garrett// he told himself in his thoughts, trying not to look too much like an idiot when his lips twitched into a warm smile. 

“She… did many horrible things to you when you were still a slave, right? I think it’s only natural that you want your revenge somehow. I know you gave her your word and broke it, but… I also think it shows what kind of man you are feeling guilty about it in the end.”

“How can you stay as calm as that?” The elf asked him in return, dark eyebrows furrowed in thought. “You watched me killing her… how can you still believe I won’t do the same to you?”

“Because you are a good man. And nothing in your past will ever stop me caring about you… and loving you for who you are.”

Hawke spoke those words without realising what he had said initially, only for him to slowly grasp it when he saw Fenris's eyes widen. He had just made a complete idiot out of himself., and there probably was nothing he could do to undo it.

“I.. uh… You know what… Don’t mind me.” Hawke scratched the back of his neck in embarrassment. “I actually just checked on you… and you seem to be fine, throwing your wine bottles…” he added, just before cold metal brushed over his bearded cheek, followed by a pair of soft lips against his.

“Shut up,” Fenris whispered against them before he claimed them in a long kiss, sweeter than anything he would have thought, causing a wave of butterflies to rumble in his chest. “I love you too,” he added softly, his warm body pressing into his and making him feel all content.

[mahvaladara]

Your hair is white

A Lore of Astreia short drabble

Canities subita, also called Marie Antoinette syndrome or Thomas More syndrome, is an alleged condition of hair turning white overnight due to stress or trauma.

“Your hair is white...”

Gamall stopped what he was doing, as Kadra’s voice caught his attention. He looked over his shoulder to look at the knight commander, who stood at the entrance of his tent. She, once again, held papers in her hands she planned to discuss with him and he scoffed, of course.

“What?” He asked confused at her words.

“Your hair, it’s white? Did you bleach it?” She walked in carrying papers.

Work, always work, long lost were the nights where she held him in comfort, she and Tudor. He was silly to hope for a second that she was here for anything else. Those days, those nights, were long gone.

He ran his fingers through his long hair, holding a lock of silky ghost white hair between his fingers and scoffed as he tried to realized what could have caused it.

“Oh... the purification spell,” he mumbled. “It washed off my hair dying spell... I’ll have to dye it again.”

He shook his head and walked past her to look for a potion of tar to temporarily fix that. The Imperial healer had promise him they’d look for some medecine to help restore pigmentation to his hair. Not that he desliked white hair. Not at all. No, he hated the reason associated with his hair growing white.

“Again? I thought you were naturally black haired! Since when your hair been white?”

Gamall stopped once more turning to face her with disbelief. Had she truly not noticed? It was the first thing everyone did. Yet again, when his mind returned to that fateful day, she was barely paying him any mind.

“You’re kidding, right?” He asked. “When I returned, after Jullian and his merry party kept me their prisoner for almost a year of torture and... and...”

“Really?” She looked honestly surprise.

“You didn’t notice?!”

“No, when you returned your hair was a matted mess of dirt, blood and gore! How did you expect me to notice?” She tried to defend herself.

“I don’t know! Maybe if you had spared a glance at me when I was finally washed and stitched up you would have noticed!” Gamall yelled throwing the potion at the wall.

As the potion pooled, the tent’s fabric was slowly tainted black.

“Sorry, I didn’t! I had more pressing things on my mind.”

“You didn’t! Joseph fucking Hughes noticed! The dwarf who say’s your place is in the kitchen, not the battlefied, and calls his son and inferior being due to his skin colour noticed, but you, my friend, my lover, my ally, didn’t even spare a glance!”

“No! I didn’t!” She yelled. “We are in a war! I have more pressing things to worry about than the hair color of one of my soldiers.”

Gamall stopped, straightening his back.

“That’s all I am to you? Your soldier,” he shook his head. “You’re right. So my hair is white. It’s not like it’s going to kill me, right? Isn’t that what you said when I cried why didn’t you send anyone to save me? Why did you abandon me to be tortured, humiliated, violated, by Jullian and his men?”

Kadra fell quiet, looking away as she felt her heart in her throat. He was alive, he was safe, he was with them. She had to worry about people who would actually come out of that harmed, he’d live, he’d heal through anything, and he did. She had made the right choice.

Have you?

At her silence Gamall sat down, he didn’t look at her, only keeping his hands over his mouth and nose as he looked into space.

“Can you get me Tar?”

She looked at him confused.

“Tar?”

“Yes, so I can dye my hair...”

She blinked, looking at the papers in her hands. She had come there to discuss work, she had hoped to come to a course of action where they could use his unique skills. She realized her intent to send him in a suicide mission, how dehumanizing it was, how she was specifically sending him, because he could not die. His only value, had suddenly, in her mind become, the fact he was a powerful warlock, who could not die. 

“I... I think we have more important matters to discuss, Mal, we’re in the middle of a war-” she started, looking away.

Gamall looked at her in utter disbelief.

“Either get me tar so I can dye my hair, or get the fuck out before I strangle you with the 15 or so feet of intestine I still have left!”

With that threat, she left, crumbling the papers in her hands. Alright, if he did not wish to discuss it, he’d have no choice but to do what she ordered, she was still his commander and she was still more skilled than him. With so many skilled soilders and warlocks willing to give their lives for the crown, she placed them all first before him, because he could not die and he’d return. Broken, tortured, but he’d return, they would not. And she would not sacrifice her soldiers when she had him.

Watching her leave, Gamall laid back down, twirling a lock of white hair around his finger. Long gone were the days where she’d shield him, where she’d comfort, where she’d love him. To her, he was nothing but a weapon with legs. No one could destroy its casing, but his insides? They were mangled. He closed his eyes and rolled to the side in fetal position, starting to cry.

“Hey... You pissed of Kadra... “

In answer, hearing his cries, Tudor came in. When he saw Gamall he stopped.

“Hey... your hair. I’ll go get tar.”

"She didn’t notice...”

“That your hair was white?” Tudor asked, sitting by his side.

“No, back then... she didn’t notice. I’m nothing to her.”

“Hey, come on, Gamall,” Tudor pulled the man to his lap. “She’s just preocupied, this war is taking it’s toll on her. She loves us, once this is over, she’ll remember how important you are to her, how much she loves you-”

“I’m growing to resent her greatly... with every word she utters... I’m afraid when this war is over, it won’t be her who sees me as nothing, it’s me.”

“Hey, come on, Gamall, we love you, right?” And Tudor gently brushed his hair. “I love you, white hair, scars, extra eyes, five feet less of intestine and all!”

“Seven feet.”

“You counted?”

“No. Seven sounds important...” he laughed.

“I love your white hair and your scars.”

“I’d still rather have it black than have to explain why it went white overnight.”

[effervescentnonsense]

It had been seven years.

Seven years since the squealing laughter of my child had been replaced by a laughter that was more of a disquieting, tinkling, musical giggle than the hiccupy sound I had known.

Seven years since the round warm brown eyes and rosy round cheeks had been exchanged for something slightly more angular, more gold and green toned.

Seven years since my baby had been changed for something with what *looked* like them, if you didn't know; looked like them when you didnt peer too close or pry from your peripherals. But every so often, out of the corner of my eye, that skin looked less of the healthy pink baby, and more of something akin to treebark, brown and rough and wrinkled.

Seven years since I screamed and wept and mourned because *this is not my child*, and *who had taken my baby* and *i am not fooled by this thing that they left behind*.

Six years, eleven months, and three weeks since my dear friend Katherine had slapped me across my face and accused me of neglecting my child in my sudden madness, and begged me to pull myself together for his sake.

Six years, eleven months, two weeks and six days since I realized that she was right, and even if this wasn't my child, he was still a baby who needed care. That whoever took my child and left this one would not be the cause of the harm of two children. That I could still keep him alive, even if i would never trust him, never love him, never stop mourning my own son.

Six years, five months, a week and two days since I realized his tinkling laughter was like a wind chime on a gently sunny day. That his golden and green eyes were the same colours as light shining between leaves, and that his sleeping face brought peace to my heart I had not known since m- since I had met this child.

Six years, five months, a week and two days, when I realized that I could- and *did* in fact- love this child as if he were my own flesh and blood. That I would do anything to keep his sleep peaceful and undisturbed, would protect him from all harm.

Five years and two months since his first words were spoken- not in babbling baby sounds, but in snippets of song. A lilting melody that kept me awake that night as it echoed through my head. I had almost forgotten he was not human like me- but no human child made sounds like that so early, and it was a stark reminder how he had come to be here.

Three years and eight and a half months since he first started performing what i realized was magic. That animals would do his bidding, that plants from our garden would bear him fruit of whatever colour he chose, if he but asked. When he kissed a cut on my hand better- as i had done for many of his scrapes before- and my skin knit itself whole under his gaze.

A week since a letter appeared on my door, in flowing beetroot ink on birchbark paper, thanking me for my service in my care towards... some fey word i could not read. That my son would be returned to me within the fortnight and (that word again) would be brought to his rightful place as the Prince. That my services were no longer needed, that the Seventh Rotation was about to conclude and... honestly it sounded like some fey *horseshit*, something about the exchange creating protective wards and had been done for thousands of years in fey noble families...

Six days since my resolve turned steel, and I knew they could pry my son- their abandoned Fey Prince- from my cold, dead, human hands. That if I had the chance, I'd take my human son back, of course, but that their careless disregard for both of these boys well-being-- kidnapping one from his home and leaving the other with nary a word to the unsuspecting mother? They'd not get to keep either boy, if I had any say in the matter.

They might have taken my human son from me, but they'd never forget the day they tried to take my fey son too.

You raised the changeling infant as your own. After years of loving this child, the fae have made it clear that they’re there, that they want their child back. But you won’t let them take them without a fight.

[eddiesxangel]

I Don’t Think We Are In 1986 Anymore? | Eddie Munson x Reader 1/?

Participating in the Stranger Prompts directly from the Twilight Zone. Created by @bettyfrommars @allthingsjoeq @somnambulic-thing 🖤

Choose a prompt from the list, add in your choice of Eddie or Steve, and spin the story however you like!

Combining two prompts bc why not ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

1.He shows up at your house covered in mud in the rain, but the problem is, he died two months ago

11. You find a man hiding in your house, and he says he’s from another dimension.

cw: Mentions of Eddie's death (dw he ain't dead) and his injuries from the upsidedown.

wc: 2.3k

1986

It had been two months since the events of Vecna ensued. There was a memorial for the friends and families of the victims who suffered the gruesome death caused by the supernatural creature. Unfortunately, Eddie Munson was still considered to be the culprit and did not get the chance to defend himself against the wrath of the people of Hawkins.

Only those who knew Eddie in the end stood at his grave site, unable to retrieve his body; they mourned the loss of their friend at an empty grave.

Eventually, life moved on, and his friends kept his spirit alive by regularly talking about him and the stories of Eddie the Banished turning into Eddie the Brave. They never would let one another forget the events of that fatal night...

2024

You were just getting out of the shower, walking into your bedroom to get ready for your work day. It was about 6:39am. Your usually morning routine as going to plan, you were about to pick out an outfit before sitting to dry your hair.

That was before you were almost frightened half to death. A blood-curdling scream left your throat when you saw a young man covered in dirt and filth crouched in your closet.

He screamed back in return, being more scared about what was happening to him that you seemed to understand.

Eddie had gone through literal hell, and back that had left him emotionally and physically drained. He found himself waking up back in the real world, unsure of how he'd gotten there. Looking around, he realized he was in a place resembling his hometown of Hawkins, but something was off.

He was in immense pain and covered with his own blood, demobat blood and dirt… lots of it. It was caked into his skin as he looked down at himself, it looked like he went through a mud slide. His fingers were a deep earth colour and he couldn’t tell where the blood started and the dirt stopped. He could feel the dried cracked mud covering his face. It made him think about how anyone could stand those mud masks if they made your skin feel this tight and dry.

Despite the confusion, Eddie recognized where he was. He was in the trailer park, or what used to be the trailer park. It was the same plot of land where he had lived for years. The street signs confirmed this, but there were houses instead of trailers.

As he looked around, he noticed that the tree to the west, which had always been a familiar sight, had aged considerably. Its branches were bent and twisted, and its leaves had turned a dull brown colour.

Eddie couldn't help but wonder how much time had passed since he had last been in this place. He felt uneasy, unsure of what to do next. What he did know was that he needed to get his wounds patched up, take a shower, and get some food. There was no way he was going to a hospital, so he tried his luck, and the house's back door, where his uncle's trailer use to be, was unlocked.

Eddie had no clue what time it was or what day. So he risked walking into the house, look around for any signs of life and decided to enter.

As he felt a parching thirst, he walked towards the refrigerator and opened it. Inside, he saw a clear and chilled water bottle that caught his eye and immediately reached for it. He twisted the cap open and took a few big gulps, feeling the water quench his thirst and refresh his body.

As he drank the water, his eyes wandered inside the fridge, and he spotted a shiny red apple lying on the shelf. He decided to take it, as he felt a sudden pang of hunger and knew that he needed some nutrients to boost his energy levels, not really having any since Chrissy's death a few weeks ago. It was a miracle, he didn’t starve to death let alone escape the Upsidedown.

He reached for the apple and turned it around in his hand, not bothering to wash it before he took a bite, feeling the crunch of the juicy flesh and the sweet taste of the fruit. After he ravaged the apple, Eddie spotted some packed cold cuts and some cheese. He swiped those and made his way to try and find a bathroom.

Eddie didn't have much luck on the first floor as he wandered your house, so he walked up the stairs and saw your bedroom door open. Before he could look elsewhere, he heard running water being shut off and a light hum coming from what he could only assume was the bathroom. So Eddie panicked and jumped into your closet to hide.

After a few more minutes of terrified screaming, as you stood there in nothing but your bath towel, you threatened to call the police.

"Please, no, I'm not going to hurt you, I swear! I'm innocent!"

"Innocent! You broke into my home."

"I'm sorry I was so hungry, and you have no idea the month I have had." He got up, and you flinched, stepping back and gripping your towel tighter.

As the man stood, you noticed he was limping; he had dried blood smeared on his clothes and face. He looked to be in a lot of pain.

Against your better judgment, you felt sorry for him. He looked scared and helpless, not to mention dressed peculiarly. He had a bandana wrapped around his head, covering his long hair. Guys don't have that kind of long of hair nowadays. He also wore a bulky green vest over a leather jacket—odd for the summer months? and his shoes, they were vintage.

"I should call you an ambulance or something." You mumble as you try to cover as much of your body as you can.

"No!"

He screamed, and you flinched again. You looked over to your dresser where your phone was sitting, wondering if you could get to it before this psycho kills you.

"I'm sorry, but no, no hospitals." He shakes his head; he looks like he might cry.

"But you're hurt!" you protest. Why? You don't know. You have an extreme empathy meter, and now you hate yourself for it.

"What day is it?" He changes the subject.

"Friday"

"No I mean… last I remember it was March?."

"It’s May 17th, 2024," you reiterate.

"Excuse me? I think I have dirt still in my ears. You said what now?" He chuckles uncomfortably.

"It's May."

"No, I heard that; what year is it?" He asks with a hard tone.

"Two-thousand-and-twenty-four," you sound out each syllable like it was an idiot.

"Jesus H Christ," He whispers as his doe eyes get even bigger than you thought possible.

You didn't know what to do, this guy clearly needed help and maybe a psych evaluation, but you wanted to help him. If he had wanted to murder you he would have done so already.

"What is your name?" You bravely ask.

"Eddie... uh.... Munson"

"WHAT" you scream, almost dropping your towel in shock.

"What? What's wrong? I'm innocent; I swear I didn't hurt that girl!"

"No, I know that! I know that name... But Eddie Munson died in the eighties?"

"Hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but I am, in fact, Eddie Munson and very much alive... unfortunately."

"What year were you born?" Maybe this was a coincidence? Maybe, there could be two Eddie Munsons from Hawkins, Indiana, who your father never shut the fuck up about.

"1965" He answered confidently.

"You sure about that?" you question."

"You want me to go back in time to get my birth certificate?" He still can't believe he is in the year 2024, but then again he just went through a lot of stuff he still cant wrap his head around.

"No, no, it’s just you’re very young for a 59-year-old," You giggle.

"I’m not crazy!"

He looked kinda crazy

"Ok, ok, I’m sorry." Why were you apologizing?

"What year were you born?" he asks.

"1995"

"Woah." He walks over and plops himself on your vanity chair. This was too much. Eddie wanted to go home—to be clean, eat, and be with his uncle. Now, he was stuck in another dimension. The future?

You stood there and watched as the wheels in Eddie's head started to turn.

"Listen... I uh- fuck I'm absolutely insane," You mumbled to yourself. "I will let you use my shower... and I'll give you some clean clothes. I'll give you my phone to call whoever, okay?" That would be you and him sometime.

"Thank you." He signed. His shoulder dropped and he genuinely looked relieved.

You walked to your closet to get him a fresh towel and showed him to the bathroom. You also grabbed a fresh toothbrush for him. Who knows the last time he had access to a bathroom? As he stripped, you saw a very familiar, albeit ripped, logo plastered on his chest under the layers of grime.

You had to confirm with your dad what this Eddie Munson looked like. You felt like you were going crazy.

When Eddie was in the shower, you finally changed into clothes and immediately called your dad.

"Hey, Honey, what's going on?" He sounds like he was just waking up.

"I need your help!" you half scream in a whispered tone.

"Are you hurt has happened?" Your dad piped out of bed frantically.

"No, I'm okay, I need you to come here as soon as possible, its an emergency"

"Ok im coming. Do you need me to stay on the phone?"

"No, but I need you to get here as soon as possible." You bite your nail out of habit.

"Ok, ok, you're freaking me out-" You hear the jingle of keys and your mom yelling in the background "-you promise you're okay?"

"Yes, just please get here. Now," You hang up and collect Eddie's clothes and throw them into the washing machine.

Once you hang up with your dad, you call in sick to work because there is no way you're going in now. This had to be some weird fever dream. The wheels in your head were turning, and you saw Eddie emerge from the bathroom, cleaned up and no longer dark brown from being caked in blood and dirt.

Your eyes widen as you fully take in the man standing in your house. You finally recognized him; you had seen his picture plenty of times before.

"What? What is wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost?" He half smiles, and your heart swells. You can't believe what's happening, but you have to play it cool.

"Do-uh, do you need any help with uh-" You motioned to his middle; there was a nasty gash on his side; it looked irritated and swollen.

"Um, yeah, if you have any alcohol or something to clean it?"

"Ok, I should, um, you can go to my room; I left you some sweatpants that should fit and a t-shirt." You pass by him back into the bathroom to find your first aid kit.

"Uh, so I don't know if this is expired or not; let me just google how long rubbing alcohol can be opened for." you smile, picking up your phone and not giving it a second thought.

"What a Goolgle?"

This made you chuckle.

"An internet web browser," you smile, typing away.

“What’s that?” he points to your cell phone.

"A cellphone?" Maybe he was telling the truth about being from 1986?

"That’s not a cell phone." He scoffs.

"Yes it is" you giggle.

"You can call people from that thing?"

"And go online, FaceTime; it holds music, takes pictures, text, it has a flashlight, it even has a calculator." you wink.

"Face what?"

"Oh, uh. Video call… "

"Woah," Eddie was shocked.

"It can do a bunch of other stuff, but uh, let's stick to researching the life of opened-up rubbing alcohol, shall we?"

You find out that it should be safe to use, dab it on a cotton ball, and gently pat Eddie's wound, and he winces at the sting.

After a few minutes of silent concentration, you stand up with a satisfied smile.

"That should do it. Can I get you anything to eat or drink?" you motion for him to follow you, and he does as he pulls the only band shirt over his wet mop.

"Uh yeah, anything. I'll take anything." Eddie was still famished.

You get some eggs, bread, and bacon, a quick and hearty meal for him.

As the sizzle of the bacon fills the room, Eddie's stomach growls.

"It will be done soon" You smile from over your shoulder.

"Hey, um you never told me your name..."

"Oh, everyone calls me Birdie... Kinda named after my aunt." you smile.

"Nice to meet you, Birdie." He smiles, and your heart flutters a little.

Stop it right now. You scold yourself internally. What the fuck was wrong with you?

You shake off your thoughts about how attracted you are by the weird stranger sitting at your kitchen table and serve him his breakfast.

Eddie doesn't say much as he wolfs down the home-cooked meal.

"Oh god, this is so good," he moans just as you head a pounding at the door. Eddie freezes like a deer caught in headlights.

"It's not the cops, I promise." You reassure him, resting your hand on his forearm.

Before you can stand up, your dad unlocks your front door, running inside with your mom right on his tail.

"Birdie, honey!" He yells out.

"In the kitchen, Dad!"

"Dad?" Eddie looks to you.

You can no longer hold back your smile, and your dad comes running into the room, running to you, pulling you into a tight death grip of a hug, making sure you are, in fact, okay.

You lock eyes with the man sitting at your table. As your dad turns to see the not-so-stranger sitting at his daughter's kitchen table.

"Holly shit Eddie?!”

"Henderson?!"

"I'm calling Uncle Steve."

Pt. 2

[cruelprincae]

@little-miss-buffy sent from 🐝  *  ―  𝑾𝑨𝑳𝑲 𝑫𝑶𝑾𝑵 𝑴𝑬𝑴𝑶𝑹𝒀 𝑳𝑨𝑵𝑬.

🌼 ― a happy memory.

The hoovesbeat of his steed are barely audible as they step upon the leaf-covered path, painted in the colours of molten gold and auburn orange. The roads are convoluted with merchandisers and tradesmen carrying cargos of flowers and fabrics, collections of animated objects and living beings such as sprites and woodland creatures and, as he passes by mounted upon his deer-like steed, he's met with the pointed, curious glares of both Seelie and Unseelie Folk alike. A glance is all that they spare him before they turn to attend their business, deeming him not important enough to waste a second more upon the stranger unless he showed clear interest in whatever merchandise they have to sell.

Cardan can't fault them; to hide is the reason why he has obsured his features and attire with the poorly stitched woolen cloak even though the rough material has been irritating his skin for quite some time now. Even so, he'd take the irritation over recognisition, for he is now threading through the Low Courts who are rumoured for their cruelty to children who are of little importance; if he gets caught, he highly doubts his father will even lift a finger to retreive him from the claws of the Unseelie Folk. No attention is for the best until he has returned to the safety of the High Court's grounds.

Despite its trickster occupants, all to eager to make bargains with desperate Folk, the Mandrake Market looks unearthly beautiful at the misty hours of dawn ― the only hours in the day that it is open, when the rest of Elfhame is sound asleep in their feather-soft beddings. Buildings of stone and wood rise tall in the sky, with their hanging signs that have the store's name written in cursive leters swaying in the morning breeze; faerie lights made of little sprites trapped in small glass containers hang in the air, illuminating the path bellow as they connect from one leafy lamp post to the other.

Aside form the built stores, stalls and cargos litter the convuluted road and, from the corner of his eyes, Cardan can spot a hag welcoming the Folk to admire a merperson she has cagged within a small tank, a love-talker with flower crowns in her hair, a vivid red lipstick and complexion in the shade of lavender pink urging people to try her steam-emitting potions and a glaisting, half human and half goat screaming over the top of her lungs of the sharpies she sells, that if you trace over the soles of your heels it will be impossible to get lost even in the most difficult of mazes. As the colour of dawn reaches the misty ground. As the rays of the misty dawn reach its grounds, the Mandrake Market is painted in the vibrant colours of Autumn, giving off a false sense of security that is impossible not to fall victim to. It is as dangerous as it is endearing and beautiful.

A fair distance in, Cardan leads his steed to store made of wooden panels, adorned with a glass showcase balcony filled with books, some resting upon feather pillows whilst others are laid upon their backs or open by their side. Vines with roses of all colours engulf the balcony and doors, seemingly sparkling beneath the morning sun, their petals swaying in the breeze in a way that makes it look almost as if they're alive and watching him. But then again, every time he has visited, this particular bookstore always looked as though it was alive, sometimes in more ways than one.

The steed shakes her silver mane as the young Prince ties her reigns to the store's enclosed parking space, meant specifically for animal trasports and takes out an apple from the leather bag strapped to the steed's flank. He gently strokes her hair between her thin ears and the deer, with a small body of palest grey, huffs her approval before diving into her lunch, trapping it between her teeth and then lowering it upon the empty tray before her filled with hay and greenery. Granted, he could have easily left her to feast on the hay and the greenery, but she has been his most loyal companion since he can remember himself. She was but a small foal when he would sleep at the stables whenever Asha kicked him out of their rooms, curled up by her side. Heart, he had named her and later on, when they were both bigger, she was accompanying him in journeys and quests of his every whim without a single complain; the least he can do is let her enjoy her favourite snack.

Unbuckling the leather bag from Heart's flank, Cardan wraps its leather wrap across a shoulder before moving to enter the store by pushing open its gigantic, wooden door. A chirpy bell rings a melody upon his arrival and no sooner than a moment later, an elderly hob with ears as big and elogated as a goblin's makes her way to the front of the shop. Her skin is green and wrinkly, her eyes ― all sclera, irises and pupils ― are black as the darkest of ink and her hair hang in loose, grey strands as she studies him with sly, curious eyes. It isn't until the young boy pushes back the hood of his cloak, revealing black eyes adorned with gold, pointed ears with several sets of earrings and a golden circlet that rests just above his brow that her eyes widen with realisation and she takes a curtsy so low that her big, pointed nose nearly brushes the wooden floor.

❛ My Prince, ❜ She greets in awe. A dismissive wave of his hand, and the hob rises from her bow, standing in attention with her hands folded before her stomach. ❛ How may Aldrarg assist you today ? ❜

❛ I want to see your latest patch of books from the mortal lands. I trust that, last time we talk, you mentioned you'd bring new ones today. ❜

For a short moment, Cardan can swear he sees panic flashes in the inky sea of her eyes but it soon vanishes as realisation hits her. ❛ Yes, your highness, of course, your highness. ❜ Stutters Aldrarg the Hob as she hurriedly makes her way to the bookcase that takes up nearly all the space of the left wall of the shop, leaving behind the young prince feeling smug. Getting things done quickly and quietly has been a welcome benefit of being rumoured to wear cruelty as a glove, and Cardan, at the prime age of eleven, could do little more than enjoy it.

Arranged in collumns, each bears a tag upon its top shelf that reads the section its books are supposed to belong to. Aldrarg's clawed hands spin upon the handle located onto the far side of the wall closest to them, and Cardan stares in wonder as each collumn of the bookcase spins in and out of sight, revealing far more collumns than a library could physically hold. It's enchanted, he concludes, enchanted to hold collumn after collumn filled to the brim with thousands of books. In the haste of their spin, he can make out several labels that don't appear quite as blury as the rest of them; herbology, botanica, law and Folklore until its spins gradually come to a stop, until the large lebel over the row after row of collumns reads 'human literature'.

In awe, the young Prince approaches the bookshelves and runs his fingertips across the spines as though intimidated by their mere presence. Amongst their numbers, he recognises books he has read before such as Frankenstein, the Lord of the Rings, the Little Prince, Don Quixote and Alice in Wonderland but, what draws his attention, are a series of small, hardpaper books that stand short before the others. Their pages are a yellowish white, indicating that they have sat there for a good while, unused and unloved; even their spine is slightly dented, their pages wrinkled at the edges.

❛ What are those ? ❜ Cardan asks.

Aldrarg's curious gaze meets the young Prince's, following it to where he was pointing. ❛ Oh, these. ❜ She huffs a hoarse laugh. ❛ I earned those in a human bargain. They're supposed to be of sentimental value to the person they belonged to. They're annotated too. ❜ She squints, as though trying to make out the writing upon their dented spine. ❛ A Series Of Unfortunate Events, written by someone called Lemony Snicket. ❜ Then, a snicker. ❛ Unfortunate indeed, considerating how their previous owner ended. ❜

He stares at them for a long moment. Reaching out to take the first book within his hands, he turns it over so that he can read its summary; all humans books have sumaries, he recalls. Black eyes skim over the lines, dark brows arching once he reaches the end. From all he has gathered, it is dark, mysterious and, as the title promises, quite unfortunate indeed ― all the things he likes in the books he reads. A reflection of himself, perhaps.

❛ I'll take them. ❜ He decides, his chin rising with pride to meet the hungry gaze of the Hob. ❛ All thirteen of them. ❜

❛ All thirteen ? ❜ She muses as a clawed digits drums against her pointy chin. It leaves scratches across her wrinkled skin, but she doesn't look like she notices any of them. After a minute of thought, she turns back to the prince, her lips curling into a sly grin that he finds is quite disturbing. ❛ That will be four roses from the royal garden then, your Highness. ❜

A frown plasters itself upon his forehead as he opens the leather bag and takes out the single, sparkling red rose he carries. ❛ Last time we called, you didn't mention the price would be more than one rose. ❜

❛ You didn't mention you'd be taking more than one book. And those weren't as aquired as easily as the others you've taken. ❜

She's right, he realises, feeling remarkably stupid for not opting to take more roses out of the patches of the royal gardan. Now all those hours he risked to travel through the Lower Court would have been for nothing. His lips purse and he moves towards the large oak door, but Aldrarg interrupts him before he can reach it.

❛ Or, we could make a bargain. ❜

Cardan stills, body stiff and turns to cast the Hob a suspicious glare. Growing up in Elfhame and being a Fae himself, he was familiar with the risk that came with making deals with his kind; one could ask for money and the Faerie bargainer would ask in return for a bucket full of human meat a day ― one that would result being their own since human meat didn't come as easily, until there was barely anything of the bargainee left, or, more commonly, an eternity of being in the bargainer's service. Granted, mortals are in a far graver position than Faes when making a deal, that doesn't mean it is any less dangerous for them; and since they can live for thousands upon thousands of years, it makes their end of the bargain all the more binding. Besides, what does he, a young Prince who is in ill favours with their High King father, have to offer to her that she doesn't already possess ?

❛ What kind of bargain ? ❜ He asks, hoping that his voice conveys just how little he trusts her. She can't trick him.

Aldrarg smiles, revealing a set of teeth sharp enough to cut through flesh. Perhaps she's a former habitat of the Court of Teeth, perhaps, or the Court of Moths. Regardless of her citizenship, the sight of her teethy smile makes him uncomfortable. ❛ You get your books, ❜ She says, pointing a sharp claw towards the bookcase's shelf. ❛ And I get the pretty rose you carry. And when you become High King, I'll come to you for a favour and you mustn't turn me away. ❜

It is evidence of how well practiced his self-strain is, for even the sound of himself being High King make Cardan want to burst out laughing. Amongst the remaining five children of Eldred, all of whom far more favoured than he is, it would be impossible for the crown to fall upon the young Prince's head. Dain had made sure of that when he put the blame of Eldred's senechal's lover's death on him. His father could hardly even bring himself to look at his youngest son, let alone crown him King of Elfhame. And if that isn't enough reason to disqualify him from ever getting the throne, then the ill-fated prophecy that has been his sole companion since the day he was born had certainly sealed the deal. Not that he minds that he'll probably never be King; He finds politics to be boring and meaningless. wrecking havoc and drinking and getting scowled by the rest of his family are far more entertaining. All of Elfhame knows that ― surely, Aldrarg must as well.

If she wants to make a fruitless bargain, then Cardan will most certainly oblige. After all, he's the winner of this arrangement; he will get free books.

❛ It would be unwise to bet an entire collection on books on the mere possibility of me becoming High King. ❜ He says, but overall hands over the shimmering rose. Aldrarg takes it, staring down at the beautiful wonder before placing it upon the vine with the rest. Cardan watches in surprise as the vibe greedily aborbes it within its roots. Before he can ask what was the reason of that, he notices that the vines start to bloom with many little shimmering roses, nearly identical to the one he just gave the Hob.

❛ Let me worry about my bargain. ❜ States the Hob with a growing smile as she starts to wrap up all thirteen of the books that Cardan chose. When the package is ready, wrapped in thin paper that feels like silk beneath his grasp, she takes a low curtsy, similar to the one she made when he first saw her. ❛ It was my pleasure doing bussiness with you, your Highness. ❜

He offers little other than a nod as he takes his package and exits the shop. Heart is still there, munching on the remainings of the apple he gave her just before enterting the shop and she huffs in disdain over the newly gained weight as he places the package upon his leather bag that he then straps to the flank of her body. Giving her head another, gentle pat, he pushes the hood the wooden cloak over his head and mounts his deer-like steed, leading her back out, into the slightly less convuluted street. Heads turn as he passes by the Folk, but for yet once, no one wastes a second glance at him as he makes his way out of Mandrake Market and into the Crooked Forest.

He stops when he reaches the lake that lays near the Hollow Hall estate and lets Heart munch on some grass there as he unwraps the books from their silky paper cover and starts reading them one by one. Although they are small in volume, Cardan can't help but notice that the sun is nearly setting when he is done reading all thirteen of the books and that he, for once again, spend an entire day lost in a book. He doesn't regret it; not since the fantastical world the books belonged to is far better than the one he's currently living in.

And when Balekin burns them at last, at least Cardan finds comfort in the fact that he has, in fact, read them. And for a while, he was happy.