#to shine bright with hope of the good in the world and of the young innocence of a child

[goatpaste]

mmm thinking with my stupid brain about how i'd rewrite mountain tim so hard its making me ill

[strangelittlestories]

It is a little known fact that angels cannot step foot in hell.

Note: this does not mean that angels *don’t* enter the burning depths, only that they cannot touch the floor. You see, the fires that rage below are not regular fire. They do not consume fuel and oxygen and spit out heat. Instead, they chew on reality and drink down order, and the flames that lick up at you are made of chaos-filled void.

This is antithetical to the very substance of angels. If it touches them, at *best* the angels will be spat out as they are forcibly reminded that *they don’t go here*.

At medium, they will be unmade.

At worst, they will be *changed*.

You might think they could avoid this by simply flying through the pit, right? Oh, would that it were so simple. Remember the flames that burn up reality? Hell is an alchemical reaction of exploding space and logic and time and souls. You try flying through a place that is not a place, where up and down can hardly agree on which is which for more than an instant.

But there is a way around this. It was originally discovered by the guardian angel Cambiel. You see, under Cambiel’s protection was a woman named Ruth. Ruth was a shining light who Cambiel cared for greatly.

Ruth, in turn, had a woman she cared for very much. And, sadly, a demon had stolen Ruth’s love away from her.

“Do not follow her,” warned Cambiel, “for if you follow your heart through the gates of perdition, I cannot go with you.”

“Sorry, babe,” replied Ruth, “but I am *very* gay and *very* romantic and that has made me reckless.”

And Cambiel nodded sadly, for all of this was true and good.

But as Ruth walked the lonely, tortured path into the underworld, an idea occurred to Cambiel.

Sure, they couldn’t walk or fly into hell, but maybe they could *ride* there.

Now, a fully grown horse could not hope to navigate the depths beneath the world, for their sense of self-preservation was too strong. An adult horse would flee from the screams of imploding souls and the winding geometry of impossibly winding roads.

But a young horse? With a child’s innocence, with bright young eyes, who had not yet been tricked into believing in its mortality?

That was a mount that could bear an angel (who was, after all, light enough to dance on the head of a pin) into the fearful caverns of the beyond. Honestly, the little horse seemed weirdly enthused about the whole thing. 

And so did Cambiel guide a pair of reckless and romantic (and useless) lesbians out of hell.

When the pair thanked the angel, all they said was this:

“Don’t thank me, thank the little horse. It turns out … foals rush in where angels fear to tread.”

[lxkeee]

TWO SIDES OF THE SAME COIN

—PART TWO

Pairing: Lucifer Morningstar x Seraphim Angel! Fem! Reader

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Genre: Angst (for now)

Warnings: Daddy issues.

Notes: Glad you guys loved the first part despite it being so short.

PART ONE | PART THREE | NAVIGATION

The sunlight passed by the small gaps of the curtains, shining down on the face of a sleeping boy. Light blond hair messy but perfectly framing his beautiful face, red circles on his pale cheeks, a pop of color. He groans as he buries his face underneath the large fluffy white blanket, eventually groaning as he opens his eyes, [e/c] eyes adjusting to the brightness of his room. Sitting up on his queen sized bed that is surrounded by pillows. As much as he wants to sleep in, he has duties as an angel and as the son of [y/n] Caeles.

Getting out of bed, slipping his feet into the fluffy white slippers. He moved across his large room, stopping by a large mirror.

He frowns when sees his reflection, the only thing he can see is his deadbeat father who left his mother for another woman.

He hated it, he could see his supposed father staring back at him through the mirror. The fallen angel, Lucifer staring right back at him. A cruel reminder that he is his father's son.

He's thankful he has her eyes, at least he was able to have a piece of her on him. He hated his father, his mother never hid his father from him and told him everything what he wanted to know. He'd do anything for his mother. He loves her so much.

He knows that his mother often gets sad when he sees him, he knows because she could see the man that hurt her on his face. He doesn't blame her. He hated his face too, despite it being heaven's most beautiful facial features. He wished he had his mother's face instead.

Getting a large robe that was placed on the cushioned chair, draping it over his body. Time to get ready, he has a lot of work to do.

[Y/n] looks up from her newspaper, seeing her son finally entering the dining room, dressed in his military like uniform but in colors of white and gold. She sat on one of the chairs of the dining table, a breakfast already made by yours truly—pancakes and bacon and of course, two cups of steaming black coffee.

[Y/n]'s eyes lit up when she saw her son, “Good morning Xavier, did you sleep well?” she asked with a small smile, watching as the boy sat next to her. Xavier gave his mother a close eyed smile.

“Good morning to you too, mother. You look very beautiful this morning.” he says softly, closing his eyes as he felt his mother's hand ruffle his hair, playfully groaning. “Hey! I just brushed my hair.” Xavier says with a small pout and [y/n] chuckles and places a gentle kiss on the boy's forehead.

“I couldn't help it, my boy is just the sweetest.” [y/n] says and Xavier blushes softly and just chuckles.

“It is because I have the most amazing mother in the whole world, that's why.” he says.

[Y/n] smiled at him, “Oh, you... Aren't you just the sweetest?” she giggled and he just chuckled.

The two made a sign of the cross, praying to say thank you for the blessings they have received. Finishing the prayer, the two finally ate breakfast.

“So you're going to be training with your uncle today?” [y/n] asked, looking at the young man beside her. Xavier nodded, he would be training with Uncle Michael today.

“Yes, mother. I am hoping he can help me improve on how to fight.” He says with a small smile and [y/n] squished the young man's cheek, the latter pouting.

“I know you'll do great, you make me so proud.” [y/n] says softly and Xavier had to try so hard not to cry. He loves it when he makes her happy, his mom deserves the whole world after all.

“Thanks, mom.” he says softly and her eyes soften and they continue to eat breakfast.

After breakfast, Xavier helped his mother clean up the table and offered to wash the dishes. [Y/n] wanted to insist on doing it as she feared it would dirty his suit but the boy insisted. He just rolled up the sleeves and wore an apron.

When he was done doing his morning routine, he walked to the living room to see his mom already dressed for work. His eyes saddened, he won't be seeing her for a couple of days again.

Walking towards his mother, the older woman hugged her son. “Don't miss me too much, dearie.” [y/n] says with a giggle. Her hand rubbing circles on the boy's back.

“I'll try not to. I'm just worried.” Xavier says softly, he doesn't like it when she leaves to go to the mortal realm. He worries for her physically and mentally. Humans, human way of living is very... Mentally unhealthy and he fears it will affect his mother too.

[Y/n] smiled softly, patting the boys light blond hair. “Do not worry about me, Azrael would be there to protect me if needed.” she says with a smile.

With the mention of the angel of death, Xavier sees the older man like a father figure. The man has always been present in his life.

Xavier smiled and nodded, “Alright.”

[Y/n] smiles, “Good luck with training, don't overwork okay? Summon me if you must.” she says sternly as the two finally let go of the hug, her hand was placed on her waist.

Xavier nodded, “I promise and I will make you proud.”

[Y/n] grins, “That's my boy,” she says and snapped her fingers and a portal appeared, “Goodluck kiddo, I'll see you in a few days.” she says softly and places a kiss on his forehead before going inside the portal. The portal closes.

Taking one last look of himself on the mirror, the face of his biological father staring back at him. Xavier rolls his eyes and scoffed. Unrolling his sleeves, adjusting his collar. Unfurling his large and majestic white wings. It's time to train, he promised to become one of heaven's protector and he promised he'll rise the ranks and join his mother.

Training with his uncle went by smoothly, he did lost but at least he learned something. Xavier was flying around heaven, wanting to return home but his eyes landed on a familiar seraphim. Emily, his heart started to beat faster. He always liked the girl, the girl is pretty and kind, okay?

His eyes landed on the person wearing such bright red suit. An eyesore, really. A pop of color in heaven.

Xavier tilted his head and decided to approach the girls.

Emily jumped slightly in surprise, seeing the beautiful and handsome and nonchalant looking young general that is her friend landed beside her gracefully.

Yes, Xavier puts up a front in public. He doesn't want others to know he's a total Mama's boy.

Xavier nodded and gave Emily a gentle smile, “Greetings, Emily. Off to showing off a new soul around?” he asked, voice gentle and calm.

Emily grinned and blushed slightly, nodding. “Not exactly a new resident, just a visitor.” Emily explained and Xavier turned to look at this supposed visitor and he could feel himself freeze slightly.

Who wouldn't freeze when seeing the same face as you but in the opposite gender.

“Xavier, this is Charlotte Morningstar...” Emily says hesitantly, now remembering who's the biological father of the boy.

Xavier's eyes narrowed but was quickly replaced as he gave the new girl a closed eyed smile, a forced one. “Really? So that makes you my half sister then?” Xavier says with a grin and Charlie's whole being froze.

Emily looked at the two nervously, she knows Xavier isn't violent but she does know how the boy hates his biological father to the core.

“... Half sister...?” Charlie asked, her voice in disbelief.

“Indeed! We share the same father. It is a pleasure to meet you, Charlotte.” Xavier says with a grin but his eyes dull, no longer have the usual shine on them. Charlie was nervous, she doesn't know how to act around the boy. She knows he isn't lying because the boy literally looks like her father.

“How rude of me,” Xavier says with a small gasp, “Let me properly introduce myself, I am Xavier Caeles. Son of [y/n] Caeles. It is a pleasure to meet you, dear sister.” he says with a smirk, looking down on the girl (literally because he's taller than her, a trait he is thankful that he inherited from his mother. Good Lord, he would be miserable if he had his father's height), offering his hand for a handshake which the girl hesitantly and nervously returned.

“It is nice to meet you too... Xavier..” she says and Xavier grins, Emily just looked at the two nervously. Thanking that a fight nor an argument haven't started yet.

“It was a pleasure meeting you but I must go, I still have far more important matters to attend to. Emily, I'll catch up to you later.” Xavier says with a small smile, turning his back from the two girls.

Before he flies away, he stopped. Not bothering to look at his half sister, “Tell our dear father I said hi, okay? Farewell.” he says, not a single emotion in his voice. He quickly spreads his wings and flew off.

“Stars... I didn't expect to see my half sister today..” Xavier murmurs to himself as he flies back home.

Meanwhile, Charlie stood in disbelief next to Emily. Turning around to look at the Seraphim, “Was he really my...?” Charlie asked hesitantly and Emily nodded with a small sad smile, “Yes but it's not my story to tell.” Emily explained softly and Charlie nodded.

“Let us just continue showing you around, yeah?” Emily says softly and the princess of hell nodded.

Emily knows that Xavier's interest has been piqued. She knows he'll be there during the meeting now that he knows his half sister is going to be there.

@valerie-36 @blackbleedingrose @adaizel @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @thedarkkitten @selvyyr @froggybich @brithedemonspawn @kottenox @totallymitya @many-fandoms-lover @dou-dou @mezzyb0nb0n @n1chxyaaenthusiast @cherry-4200 @koirb @galaxyj3lly @crystalplays28 @luleck @scootinonyourmom @rory-cakes @mixplara @crescent-z @bitchyzombienacho @kalisha2004 @altervex @nehy019 @napbatata @kouyoumarryme @sxgacxbe @kooidoom @cadelinhadochoso

Taglist:

[nhlclover]

𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐘 𝐏𝐄𝐎𝐏𝐋𝐄 | 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐓𝐇

summary: you finally get to watch will live out his childhood dream, but become a source of comfort when the game doesn't end the way he'd hoped.

warnings: childhood friends to lovers, tooth rotting fluff, use of flashback scenes (which are italicized), appearances from wills family + macklin (very briefly), sad will after the sharks lose

word count: 2.20k

notes: i had so much fun writing this oh my gosh. sucks that the sharks lost but will had a good game (and so did macklin but this isn't about him right now)

The roar of the crowd felt deafening in your ears as you watched Will and Macklin skate out onto the ice, the bright lights of the SAP Center shining down on them like a spotlight. You clutched the teal jersey tighter around you, the number 2 stitched onto the back. Your heart swelled with pride as you watched Will glide effortlessly across the rink, his movements a graceful blend of power and precision.

“I can’t believe it’s really happening.” his mom said, voice trembling with emotion. You glanced over at Colleen who was clutching her chest with a smile that looked like it could light up the entire arena.

Next to her, Grace, Will’s sister, wiped a tear from her cheek as she reached for the both of you, pulling you into a hug as you shared this moment together. Even Will’s dad Bill, who was always so composed, had a telltale glimmer in his eyes, his lips twitching into a smile of unmistakable pride. You’d watched him grow from a gangly kid into a young man now living his dream. And now here he was, skating in his first NHL game.

It was a warm summer afternoon nearly a decade earlier when you first met Will …

You sat in a heap on the grass, chest heaving as you attempted to catch your breath. A fresh scrape ran across your knee, a testament to your failed attempt at learning to rollerblade. The purple and green skates on your feet had been a birthday gift, and in your stubborn independence, you were determined to teach yourself how to skate. But the balancing part was proving much harder than you’d imagined, leaving you bruised and scraped after several falls.

As you sat there, huffing and pulling out tufts of grass in frustration, you heard a voice. “You okay?”

You turned to find a boy standing there, about your age, with shaggy blond hair falling into his eyes. He held an oversized hockey stick in one hand, donning black, sleek rollerblades on his feet. Will, as you'd soon learn, had just moved into the house next door. He smiled with a confidence that seemed far too big for his small frame.

“Yeah,” you muttered, wiping at your tear-streaked face, trying to maintain some semblance of dignity. “I just…fell.”

Will nodded, studying your skates before dropping his hockey stick on the ground. “Want me to show you how to stop falling?” he asked.

You tilted your head. “You could do that?”

“Yeah! I’m a pretty good skater,” he said with a proud grin.

Will helped you to your feet, keeping your hand in his as he eased you back onto the pavement. You spent the rest of the afternoon with Will teaching you how to find your balance. He patiently caught you every time you wobbled, never laughing when you stumbled. By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, you could glide down the sidewalk without feeling like you’d crash into the pavement.

“Thanks,” you said shyly, tugging your skates off for the day.

“You’re not bad," he grinned, leaning against his hockey stick like it was the most natural thing in the world. "You just need a little practice."

“Will! Dinner’s ready!” a voice called from the nearby driveway. His mom, Colleen, waved him over. He glanced back at you, still seated on the sidewalk, and smiled. “See you tomorrow?”

You nodded. “Definitely.”

From that day forward, it was always “you and Will”. He became your constant companion. Through scraped knees, missed goals, and late-night talks, you grew together.

It was during your sophomore year of high school when things began to change. You noticed the way Will would look at you a little longer when you were talking, his eyes lingering on your face like he was trying to memorize every detail. You’d find yourself holding your breath when he’d sling an arm around your shoulder, pulling you into one of his endless jokes, but the warmth of his touch would linger long after he let go.

One late night after a particularly tough game, Will dropped by your house, his hair still damp. You were sprawled out on your bed, textbooks and homework scattered around you when he knocked on your bedroom window. He always did that, never bothering with the front door.

“Need a break?” he asked, pushing up the window and climbing in like he'd done a thousand times before.

“Definitely,” you laughed, shoving your books aside, letting him sit on the bed beside you. “What’s up?”

“Nothing,” he shrugged, but there was a nervous energy about him you hadn’t seen before. He ran a hand through his hair, hesitating. “I was just thinking about something.”

You tilted your head, raising an eyebrow. “About what?”

“Thinking about you,” he said plainly, your heart stuttering. “And about how I always feel better when I’m around you.”

You felt your stomach twisting into knots. “What are you trying to say, Will?”

His eyes searched yours for any clue that he should either stop or keep going with his confession. “I guess… I’m trying to say that I like you. A lot.” he laughed, shaking his head as if trying to brush away his own nervousness. “Like, more than a friend.”

Your breath caught, the world narrowing down to just you and him at that moment. You’d thought about this, dreamed about it even, but hearing him say it made it feel more real than you ever imagined. “I…I like you too, Will,” you admitted, the words tumbling out before you could second-guess yourself.

The smile that spread across his face was the most genuine, heart-stopping thing you’d ever seen. “Really?” he asked, disbelief colouring his tone.

“Yeah,” you said, laughing softly. “Really.”

Without thinking, he leaned closer to you, his hand reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. You could feel his breath against your skin, his eyes flicking to your lips before meeting your gaze again. “Can I kiss you?” he asked, voice trembling.

You nodded, and the next moment, his lips were on yours, soft and hesitant at first but quickly growing more confident as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer. It was everything you’d imagined – and more.

When he pulled back, his face remained close, breath mingling with yours in the quiet space of your room. “I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” he confessed, his thumb tracing circles on your cheek.

“Me too,” you whispered, your heart still racing.

After that, you were no longer just best friends. You were something more, something that had been quietly building for years, just waiting for the right moment to finally come to life. Now as you stood in the packed arena years later, watching him take to the ice, you felt the past and present intertwine.

You felt tears welling up in your eyes, a few slipping down your cheeks despite yourself. Will stopped along the glass in the corner, looking up into the section where you sat. For a split second, your eyes met, and even from a distance, you could see the brightness and unmistakable joy in his gaze. He gave you guys a small wave before looking back to the ice, taking a playful hit from his teammate.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” you whispered, squeezing Grace’s hand.

The game itself was a blur of excitement and nerves. Every time Will touched the puck, your breath caught. You watched him fight for possession, skate with the kind of speed and agility that only came from years of practice.

The first two periods were played well by the Sharks, with them taking a 4-1 lead, but the game soon slipped closer together towards the end of the third. When the Blues tied it with 45 seconds remaining, your heart tensed, the end of regulation buzzer echoing in a silent arena. Will didn’t see the ice in overtime when the Blues ended the game within the first 40 seconds of extra time. A collective groan sounded through out the arena, fans quickly clearing out.

Your heart sank, knowing how much this moment meant to Will. You watched as the team walked down the hall to the locker room, heads hung in disappointment. You spotted Will, Macklin patting him on the back, a small gesture of solidarity, but you could see how much it stung for both of them. They had given their all, but sometimes that wasn’t enough.

Fans continued to flow out of the stands, the usual post-game chatter was quieter, a stark contrast to the earlier excitement. A staff member instructed you to stay in the stands while Will changed and did media. You stood with his family, exchanging hugs, and offering words of comfort, but your eyes kept flicking back to the tunnel, waiting for him. 

Minutes felt like hours, until finally you spotted Will climbing the steps into the stands, changed back into his game-day suit, his damp hair falling in curls over his forehead. His face was a mixture of exhaustion and frustration, but the moment he spotted his family, a small, tired smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

Will made his way toward you all, the arena now almost empty except for a few lingering staff members. Colleen was the first to meet him, wrapping her arms around him tightly, and he buried his face into her shoulder for a moment, letting out a deep breath. Bill clapped him on the back, offering a few quiet words of encouragement. Grace was next, standing on her tiptoes to hug her brother, whispering something in his ear that made him smile faintly despite everything.

And then, his eyes found yours.

For a second, you weren’t sure if you should say anything, if you should be the one to comfort him after a loss like this. But when he stepped closer, his body radiating exhaustion and vulnerability, you knew he needed you. Without a word, he pulled you into his arms, his chin resting on top of your head as you hugged him back, tighter than you ever had before.

“You played amazing,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath.

He didn’t say anything at first, just held you closer, as if drawing strength from your presence. His heartbeat was steady against your ear, but you could feel the tension in his muscles, the disappointment lingering in the air.

“That fucking sucked,” he finally muttered, his voice thick with frustration. “I wanted to win so badly.”

“I know,” you replied softly, rubbing his back in slow, comforting circles. “But you’ll get another chance. Tonight wasn’t the end.”

You felt Will shake his head. “I could’ve done more, I should’ve gotten on the sheet.”

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him, your hand resting gently on his chest. His eyes were a mix of frustration and exhaustion, still tinged with the adrenaline from the game. “Will, it’s not all on you. It’s a team game — you know that. You can’t carry it all on your shoulders.”

He exhaled sharply, his hands still holding you close as if he was afraid to let go. “Yeah, but… I wanted to, you know? I wanted to prove something.” His voice faltered, and the vulnerability in his expression tugged at your heart. You could see how much this moment meant to him—not just the game, but his debut, this night he'd dreamed of since he was a kid. And even though the team had lost, all you could see was how proud you were of him.

“You did,” you said, your voice steady and sure. You brushed back a lock of blonde hair that fell over his eyes. “You proved that you belong here. And not just to everyone else, but to yourself. This is just the beginning, Will.”

He stared at you for a long moment, the weight of your words settling in. You could see the way his tense shoulders started to relax, his grip on you loosening ever so slightly as if he was finally allowing himself to believe it too. A small smile, soft and tired, tugged at his lips. “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he murmured, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek.

You smiled back, leaning into his touch. “Good thing you don’t have to find out.”

Will let out a small chuckle, the sound lightening the weight between you. “I can’t believe you came all the way from Boston for this.”

“Of course I did, Will. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” you smiled. 

“I love you,” he breathed out, and before you could say anything else, he kissed you. It was warm and soft and tasted faintly of the Gatorade he’d probably chugged all game, and it was everything you needed to feel how much this moment meant to him.

When you finally pulled away, Will kept you close to him, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Thank you,” he murmured, the words barely a whisper. “For always believing in me.”

“Always,” you promised.

[supercrazyangel4]

The thing I've always loved most about aa4 is how much darker the tone is than the rest of the series in a way that isn't just edgy for the sake of it, but subverts your expectations from the original 3 games in a really interesting way. The trilogy was built upon the trust Phoenix had in others, and it was something we as players could almost always feel certain in. AA4 flips this on its head and makes it so Apollo effectively can't trust anyone but himself.

Your mentor, who the in the trilogy was a paragon of wisdom you could always turn to no matter what, gets revealed to be the culprit and sent to jail in the first trial and by the end of the game his list of crimes has stacked high but you still have so few answers on why he did any of it.

Your boss, the goofy protagonist of the trilogy, is now inexplicably a washed-up, disgraced, cheating poker player with an implied drinking problem who seemingly found a new hobby in evidence forgery and jury rigging.

He has a codependent relationship with his daughter, your assistant, who usually is a completely innocent and hapless victim of circumstance. She sees herself as the provider for the house and will help her father cheat at poker, or forge evidence, or guilt trip the poor attorney they knowingly screwed of out of a job into working for them for dirt cheap.

The detective, the only other returning main character, a previous assistant, is completely changed since we last saw her. In the trilogy she was chipper and bright despite the hardships she faced, and now she's unfriendly and burned out, turned bitter by the world. The scene we're first properly introduced to her in Apollo genuinely spends several minutes thinking his boss is making him bribe her with cocaine.

Every single defendant is a criminal guilty of something other than what they're charged for. Each case centers around an underground black-market poker ring, a mafia family and medical malpractice, a smuggling ring, and a family of forgers and an incredibly shady troupe of magicians. The one thing all of these people have in common is that none of them will tell you literally anything about what's happening, half of them clearly reveling in being as big of cryptic assholes as possible.

The only person who doesn't fit this description is, for once, the prosecutor. Usually your biggest obstacle and the most morally corrupt of the main cast, he's the only person who's both 100% on the side of truth and on the same page as you for the entire game. He's just as clueless as you, being used nothing more than a chess piece just like you are.

But the truly masterful thing about AA4 is how morally grey it is. These characters aren't just one note villains. They're not even villains at all. Most of them aren't even malicious.

Your boss, for all the low levels he stoops to, is underneath it all the same guy he's always been, doing everything he can to bring a criminal to justice and protect his family. Your assistant is a sweet girl who truly cares about you, she's just prioritizing herself and her fathers safety before anything else. The detective is the same passionate and kind woman under everything else. The rest of the defendants are genuinely well-meaning young people who got involved in shady stuff they didn't fully understand.

The game is filled with good people trying to make the best of bad circumstances. The game has just as many fun moments as the original trilogy. For all it's rough appearance, the game has a similar heart. For every unanswered question or unrighted wrong, there's a smile or a hope for a better future. For every bad action, there's usually someone trying their best behind it. The game is melancholic and dark, but isn't afraid to let good shine through. It knows there's no shadows without the light.

[jbaileyfansite]

Interview with W Magazine (2024)

Jonathan Bailey has traveled the world to promote Wicked, but there was one person he was especially eager to share the film with: his 94-year-old grandmother. She nurtured his love for musical theater and encouraged him to pursue ballet as a child, thus shaping his career in the arts.

So, the day after Wicked came out in the U.K., Bailey hosted a private screening at a local cinema for four generations of his family. While sitting in between his nana (who had painted her nails green for the occasion) and his mom and dad, Bailey became overcome with emotion.

“It’s a miraculous thing to know that what it came down to is having parents who let me go to the local village hall, and a grandparent who let me play, dance around and sing, and be free at such a young age,” Bailey tells W. “If you can catch a passion and just ring-fence it at such a young age, you never know what it can amount to.”

Adapted from the iconic Broadway stage musical, the film, which is set before the events of 1939’s The Wizard of Oz, chronicles the friendship between Elphaba (Cynthia Erivo), the future Wicked Witch of the West, and her classmate Galinda (Ariana Grande), later known as Glinda the Good.

Bailey’s scene-stealing portrayal of Fiyero Tigelaar, the charismatic Crown Prince of Winkie Country, only reaffirms his status as a Hollywood triple threat. In fact, “Dancing Through Life,” the earworm that serves as his character’s introduction at Shiz University, just cracked Billboard’s Hot 100 charts this week. (“That’s amazing. Do I get a certificate? What happens now?” Bailey quips.)

Bailey began rehearsing for Wicked in 2022 while shooting Fellow Travelers, the groundbreaking Showtime limited series that earned the 36-year-old his first Emmy nomination, and the third season of Bridgerton, the smash-hit Netflix romantic drama that made him a household name. Speaking on a video call from London in early December, the British star reveals that he is in the middle of reprising his role as Viscount Anthony Bridgerton, who is expecting his first child with wife Kate Sharma (Simone Ashley).

“There’s such an important relationship with the [Bridgerton] bros that has been developed over the series. Season four is going to be Luke [Thompson] and Yerin [Ha] being absolutely extraordinary, and there’s a whole plethora of new characters coming in,” Bailey says. “It’s so nice to come back, and it’s about celebrating the romance stories we’ve had and digging into the ones that are starting.”

Patience will have to be a virtue for Wicked and Bridgerton fans alike; the second half of the former, which Bailey coyly describes as “rich, bruising and hopeful,” will premiere next November, while the latter will debut in 2026.

How did you think about building your own interpretation of Fiyero?

The starting point was “Dancing Through Life.” He creates chaos around him, like he does in that song, because he’s got to match the chaos that’s going on inside. The challenge that I felt was the trope of a cool caddish prince. He’s deeply unnerved by stillness and adhering to rules and structure. That is probably a sign of someone who’s never really experienced love. When you see someone causing that sort of disturbance, it’s usually because they’ve never felt seen. An organizational psychologist, Adam Grant, sent me a message saying, “It’s a masterful portrayal of superficiality masking depth.” Out of all the things I’ve heard, that is the thing I’m going to get printed on a T-shirt.

The Shiz library scene was inspired by the work of Fred Astaire in Royal Wedding. What did you want to convey in those moments?

Fiyero has to come in and change the physical language and the emotional landscape of that school in one number. His fluidity, ease, and elasticity speak to his ability to maneuver and avoid. He’s quite avoidant. He has these bright, shining moments with everyone but never really allows the other person to land it with him. For those who understand the physical language of Fiyero, there are many Easter eggs and nods to what happens to him later in the story.

Fiyero is at the center of a love triangle between Elphaba and Galinda. What do you think he sees in each of them?

The brilliant thing about the film is that these slightly trivial tropes mask extraordinarily deep and shifting understandings of social experiences. The superficiality, the privilege, and the sense of easy chemistry make sense with Glinda. But I feel like he’s yearning for something more, and, as Elphaba sees, he’s unhappy and depressed. Fiyero and Elphaba can click in terms of the way they sing, dance, and move together. Elphaba has a calming presence on Fiyero and allows him to be himself. It’s a real privilege to meet someone who sees you for who you really are.

Are there any songs from the second Wicked movie you are most excited about?

“No Good Deed”—I cannot wait to see that come together. And “Thank Goodness”—it’s just such an incredibly operatic, Wagnerian opening. We know how brilliant the girls are, and I’m so excited to see the tonal shift that will inevitably happen to get to the end of the story.

You’ve been leveraging the success of projects with massive, global appeal (Bridgerton, Wicked, the next Jurassic World) to return to the theater (like your next role in Richard II).How have you been balancing these big tentpole franchises with projects that feel more niche and intimate?

I always lead with joy, and I’ve never accepted a job cynically. It goes back to this instinct—it feels like romance—where you have butterflies in your stomach and clarity of thought. I go back to the stage because I want to get better—and I want to be the best I can be. The best performances I’ve ever given on screen have been directly after coming off stage, where you hone your craft every single night. It’s brilliant, joyful, academic, and exhausting.

I’ve read more scripts in the last four years than probably in 20 years of working. It’s amazing to get sent scripts that you’re like, “This is absolutely brilliant. It’s not quite right for me, but I wonder if I can help that get made.” I’ve got a producer's hat that’s been popped on a few times in the last year, and I’m sure it’ll be coming out to play soon.

I want to keep working until something like Fellow Travelers isn’t seen as niche. We’re only on this planet for a short time, but if Fellow Travelers can be a mainstream show by the time I’ve finished my innings, I’d be very happy.

The last time Bridgerton viewers saw Anthony and Kate, they were on their way to India to meet with Kate’s family. Now that those characters are married, what are some of the new layers you’ve found in their relationship?

Anthony and Kate are these two planets that have always been in orbit of each other, and they finally come together. But then, what is life beyond [their courtship]? What’s so interesting about Anthony and what I so enjoyed in his season one arc is his relationship with duty and the power that he wielded over Daphne and his family, the isolation that he felt, and the anger that ensues because of [the passing of] his father.

I always said that you want Anthony to smile, and he does with Kate; he’s found his soulmate. In season three, they have that playfulness and, for the first time, they disregard anything that’s going on around them. They were the heart of every bit of drama and complication and, my God, how dramatic it was! Now suddenly, they’re having the time of their life, getting to play games again. They’re having a baby—everything they’ve ever wanted. What’s brilliant is to see how there are elements of yourself that you can’t grow out of. So, maybe, we’ll see hints of Anthony from season one.

Source

[shirefantasies]

Hello! I would like to request a little prompt if you'd want to do it. Kili/Reader where Kili is insecure about not looking "dwarfish" enough; hard time growing a beard, and being seen as too young for stuff. The reader has to comfort him, maybe with some hair braiding and fluff. I just wanna see my little boy getting the love he deserves. If you'd be comfortable with it could the reader be male presenting, otherwise gender-neutral is cool too. Hope you have a good day :)

Bro sorry this is so late but hope you enjoy friend 🥰

Warnings: one suggestive joke

See Me- Kili x GN!Reader

Sometimes it simply shocked you how beautiful Kili was. Your One, the apple of your eye, he whose smile alone lit up your eyes like the whole of the stars. The way his long black locks tumbled effortlessly over his shoulders. Looks of focus that overcame his handsome features as he took a shot or when he attempted whittling.

It would have never occurred to you to think he'd never be enough. In fact, you had to suppress a laugh when he first expressed this concern, not out of finding his struggles humorous but simply a sound of pure incredulity, the same reaction you'd have had to as blatant a lie as someone telling you the sky was green.

Kili had been sitting by your side on watch, only you two awake for the chill wind of the night as the rest of the company stayed wrapped up in their bedrolls. Wistful in the breeze, he'd been thanking you for caring about him so much as he leaned back on his log, one leg crossed over the other and one hand fidgeting with the edge of his boot to match the nervous downward shift of his gaze.

"It's hard sometimes being the extra brother, you know? The one the future king's always standing up for."

"You are one of the strongest people I know," you gaped, "And I have no doubt you would do the same for him. And what is this of being the spare brother? Fili and you are nothing alike. Both of you are blessings to your family. Both of you are kind, strong, and selfless, yes, but you are bright and daring and dare I say fun in a way that he is not. There is no comparison."

"That's just it, I guess. Being the fun one doesn't help them always thinking I'm still a kid," he replied, rubbing at the back of his neck.

Fireglow flickered around his handsome profile, illuminating the vulnerable shine in those deep brown eyes you so loved. For once, all the confidence, the bravado he was always able to summon in the company's presence, had melted away. Kili was no child, but you could see the helpless boy within making his slight emergence. No matter, though. Who could see this dwarf man, this one who made you feel so strong and so safe and made jokes that never failed to flare warmth beneath your skin, and see a boy?

"Your mother?" You asked, leaning closer and resting your hand upon his arm.

"Everyone," he shrugged, looking up and giving a small smile to your contact, "They tell me I'm tall for my age or ask what is wrong with me that I haven't a full beard. They see my brother, proud and golden-haired with those great dangling braids and say there goes the future king. Then comes me, the princeling who gets to have fun, the one lucky to live in so many great leaders' shadow."

"I love my brother," he hastily amended, waving his hands, "None of it is his fault and I do not want his life, his possible throne. Moreso it's the way they expect me not to care, not to have a bother in this world. So I guess I grew into giving them what they want. Acting like just that. Suppose that's part of why I rush into things so. Some part of me hoping I'll prove myself this time. Make up for the times Fili had to rush to my defense from some bully picking on me before I vowed to show them."

As Kili's words trailed off, you shook your head, eyes still shining into his with purest disbelief. "If only you could see what I see. See not only your beauty, but your heart. A beard doesn't make a man, after all, a heart does. And yours is bold, resilient, and would do anything for those it loves. In turn it loves freely and acts courageously, even when the world would have it falter."

A smile crept its way back onto Kili's lips at your words, his dark gaze going a bit bashful. Firelight overtook more of it as he shyly swiveled back away.

"A real man defends those he cares about and those who cannot defend themselves. He knows who he is and fights just as strongly for that. Just like you when you stood up to those imbeciles who mocked your archery and became an expert with a bow. When I look to what being a man means, Kili, I look to you. Now come here. Turn around."

Looking a bit puzzled, Kili obliged, rotating in his seat to face totally away from you, that flickering glow glistening off the long black locks that now faced you. You ran a hand through them, relishing in their softness despite the bristling pine needles that fell from them and dirt that had surely caught there. Running your fingers again and again, you combed carefully through it all.

"You take such good care of us. Of your mother, who gifted you a beautiful promise to return to her arms. Now let me care for you."

Wordlessly he nodded, melting into your touch as your fingers caressed his scalp, running through his hair one final time before you began separating the flowing locks and braiding them.

"Great dangling braids, you say? Great dangling braids you shall have, and I daresay they'll be more than a mite longer than Fili's."

"Not the only thing of mine longer than his," Kili shoots back, turning his head enough to give you a wink.

Smiling and giggling, you swatted his shoulder and shook your head. Deflection or not, your heart was warmed for the return of Kili's humor. You would do anything it took, you reflected as your hands worked at weaving his hair, to keep his smile present. After all, you knew he would always do the same.

Your rock, your strength, your heart, your One. Words you spoke to him over and over that night until they stuck, and if they never did, well, you would be right there to speak them again. To be Kili's eyes and see him for all the beautiful things that he was.

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[theta-walti]

Dreams Under The Sun

Summary: Olga teaches an afternoon class, there she meets Daisy and you.

Warnings: none :)

A/N: This is one that l have kept in my drafts for ages now, but here we go! This is also a request by someone l used to like, l hope you had fun reading this 🫶 request if yall want a part 2!

Word count: 1k, short blub :)

The sun was just beginning set, sending out a golden glow over Madrid. Olga sat on a chair near the dining table as she laced up her boots. Today was a special day – not because it's a match, but because of a promise she had made.

Olga walked out of her apartment and headed quickly toward a small local football pitch. She was almost late so she had to hurry. It was a Saturday, and she had agreed to host a training session for a group of young girls from all around the neighbourhood. When she arrived, the girls were waiting for her, their faces lighting up as she approached.

“Good morning, everyone!”

She greeted, her smile bright and kind. The girls, ages from six to twelve, gathered around, their excitement increased as more time passed.

“Are you ready to play?”

Olga asked, kneeling to be at eye level with them. They all nodded enthusiastically.

For the next hour, Olga led them through simple drills, sharing tips and tricks she had learned over the years. She showed them how to control the ball, how to defend, and most importantly, how to believe in themselves.

“Remember, it’s not just about skill,”

She said, pausing the practice for a moment.

“It’s about your hearts. Never give up, no matter what.”

One of the girls, Daisy, who was particularly shy, but she seemed to do better under Olga’s teaching. Olga noticed her potential, so she spent a little bit of extra time encouraging her, showing her how to dribble past defenders with confidence.

After the session, Olga sat with the girls, sharing stories from her own career. She told them about the challenges she faced, the hard work it took to reach the top, and the joy of scoring the winning goal in the World Cup final.

“Dream big,”

As she told them, there was a lot of awes and wows. The girls did look up on Olga, a lot too in that fact.

“You can achieve anything if you believe in yourself and work hard.”

As the session officially ended and the parents slowly went to pick up their kids, Daisy stayed behind. She walked towards Olga, wearing her Real Madrid backpack and holding out a small notebook and pen.

“Could you sign this for me please?”

She asked as her eyes shined, she was talking to her hero. Daisy had looked up on Olga ever since she was able to walk, meeting her today was an absolute dream come true.

Olga had nodded with a smile, taking the notebook. She signed on the page that has her name on it and chuckled.

“Your planning to collect a lit of signatures huh?"

Daisy just giggled, and Olga smiled as she gave the notebook back to the little girl, Daisy smiled as she went and sat next to Olga.

"Keep practicing, and one day, you’ll be a star too."

"Mama always says that whatever you do, don't give up, always try your best, even though it gets hard sometimes"

Olga nodded as she continued the conversation. Although it was ready quite late, she had started to wonder where Daisy's mother was.

"What you mama is true, speaking of her, where is she? Do you know?"

She said with a soft voice, Daisy only shook her head, not sure.

"Mama has a really important job. Maybe she's late because she's still working"

Just on cue, you came running on the pitch, Hair messy and looking tired, your also wearing a dark red suit and black heels. When Daisy noticed you, she grinned and ran towards you.

"Mama!!"

Daisy engulfed you into a hug and her smile brightened, while you were hugging Olga walked over.

"Flo did really well today. She has the potential to achieve something amazing in football"

You nodded as Daisy let go, listening in the conversation.

"That's good, yes, l remember Daisy has been interested in football ever since she can run. Whenever she sees a ball, she always runs and plays with it"

Olga chuckled, her eyes lighting up as she looked at Daisy.

"Well, she's got talent, that's for sure," she said warmly. "If she keeps practising, who knows? Maybe one day, she'll be able to play with me professionally in the pitch."

You smiled proudly, glancing down at your daughter, who was beaming from ear to ear.

"She’s always admired you, Olga,"

you admitted.

"Thank you for spending time with her today. It means the world to her—and to me."

Olga dismisses the thanks with a modest smile.

"It’s my pleasure. I remember being her age, dreaming of the big leagues. Sometimes, all it takes is someone showing a bit of faith to turn that dream into a reality."

Daisy, still clutching her signed notebook, looked up at Olga with stars in her eyes.

"Will you come back next Saturday?"

she asked eagerly, Olga crouched down to meet her gaze.

"Of course, Daisy. I’ll be here as long as you’re ready to work hard and have fun."

She gave her a playful wink, which made Daisy giggle. As you and Daisy started to leave, Olga had said something.

"And remember, don’t let anyone tell you what you can or can't do. Just keep believing in yourself!"

Daisy nodded, her little face serious with determination. Her hand clutched yours tightly as you walked away, her voice bubbling over with excitement.

"Mama, did you hear that? She believes in me!"

You smiled, squeezing her hand in return.

"I did, sweetheart. And I believe in you too. Just keep chasing that dream, and who knows where it'll take you."

A/N: l finally posted after a while 🤦‍♀️ l am currently editing my lia x reader story, l'll see yall then when l post it!

This is Theta signing out, see you next time!

[romanscool]

Maxiel as a reward pretty please?

#24: a kiss as a reward - maxiel

hi anon!! thanks so much for this ask (and sorry for the long time it has taken me to write it) I had a lot of fun with this one!!

hope this is what you had in mind <3

enjoy!

->

Max looks so fucking young like this. Standing on a higher step than two fucking world champions, cheeks smushed in a big, big smile that takes up his whole face, eats at it, and makes him glow.

Kimi and Seb looking at him like he’s an enigma, wonder in their eyes and reflecting Max’s shimmer on his skin, race suits full of lukewarm champagne, stale and so disgusting, but also so so good, and Daniel knows it. How fucking good it feels. He’s known it for two years and he relishes on how it looks on Max. Young, eighteen year old, Barcelona Formula One Grand Prix winner, Max.

Daniel doesn’t see it from below the podium, though. He’s a bit too sour for that right now. The sight of Max on the big TV sweetens him, but, he won’t really admit it. 

Daniel sees it from his driver room, slumped and half-lied down on a too-stiff sofa, the same kind Red Bull introduced to him when they did this first-race interview for Max. The sun from outside is shining directly into his eyes, bright and low because it’s almost evening, but Daniel can’t do so much as squinting. It’s like his eyes have to take all of this is fucking 4K. It hurts, burns. Lukewarm and stale. So, so good.

He watches as red spreads on Max’s face from ear to ear, makes the navy blue of his fireproofs pop out, and the dirty blondish short hair look even more sweaty. Champagne-y. He watches as Max takes the big trophy in his hands and holds it until his fingertips turn white, watches him tuck too-short hair behind his ear and replace the cap on his baby face. He watches as Max takes big and heavy steps and gets off the podium, watches him until he can’t anymore because the camera doesn’t show him. He watches on as if Max would suddenly get in frame again, but. He doesn’t.

Daniel’s retina have a sun print on them, all silhouette-shaped with wide pale hands in tight fists like it’s taking everything for him not to touch. 

He closes his eyes until all he can see is ocean-blue irises and a flush that doesn’t seem to ever disappear. Closes them so hard that splotches of color appear in his vision like teenage pimples on Max’s jaw. Until they twirl and make him nauseous with the motion, until he feels like he is falling low, low, lower than he’s ever fallen before, until-

« Daniel. » 

Max’s voice breaks through. Catches Daniel’s hand that he wasn’t reaching out, pumps oxygen that he never inhaled for, stops him from drowning when all he wanted to do was wave his hands in the deep end-sand. 

« Max. » Daniel can feel himself smiling. He forgets to be sour. He forgets the shit team strategy. He forgets to remember one day, Max will be better than him.

Daniel hears ruffles behind him, because he still has his back turned to Max, lying in the sofa with his legs half bent on himself. Sitting criss cross with his fingers intertwined above his head. He still has his eyes closed. So, he opens them. He’s met with wide red-brimmed eyes and a fucking smile that Daniel wishes he could carve in his heart.

« Daniel. » Max comes closer, impossibly closer, so close the front of his shin almost touches Daniel’s knee. Daniel can see the peach fuzz sitting so prettily on it and has to tear his eyes from it before he starts thinking crazy thoughts, « Daniel, did you see? » 

Sometimes, Daniel forgets Max gets like this. Sometimes, Daniel forgets Max is still a kid. Eighteen. A teenager. It’s still pretty anchored in his mind, and that’s mostly why he hasn’t allowed himself to think foresaid crazy thoughts, and it’s also hard to ignore when his dad comes to nearly every fucking race, and that barely six months ago, Max wasn’t even allowed to drive a car. A regular car, that is, because Max is a fucking menace that gets a super license to drive race cars at 300 kilometers per hour without being of age. Fuckin’ monster. 

But, it’s also easy to forget. When Max wins a fucking Grand Prix for example. When Max talks with the engineers like he fucking belongs, like he’s been doing this all his life, and Daniel guesses he has, in a way. 

Except right now, Max is asking Daniel if he’s seen him. Like a kid asking their dad if he’s seen him win a dumb challenge in school, a football match by a couple points. Like Daniel was not driving a car at the same time Max was winning the race.

Daniel shakes his head. « Yeah, Max, I did. » It’s not a lie, per se, because Daniel has seen the replay. Has seen Max cross the line and nearly cry all over himself. Daniel realizes he’s never seen Max cry. He’s pretty sure he’d be pretty anyway. 

Max watches him with stars in his eyes. Like it’s the most important thing anyone has ever told him and Daniel feels crazy with it, with Max’s, Barcelona Grand Prix winner Max’s, attention. With the wonder and amazement. Daniel suddenly feels very big. 

« I’m proud of you, Maxy. » He doesn’t know where the nickname comes from, worries for a second that maybe it’s fucking weird, because it would be in normal circumstances, if it was anyone but Max, but Max doesn’t seem to mind it. He’s got his face contorted in this half-downturned smile that Daniel finds so fucking sweet, glisten on his cheek from the mix of sweat and champagne, some among his dark eyelashes clump together. He kind of looks like a girl. 

And, God, Max just whimpers. Like. A throaty, high-pitched sound that Daniel doesn’t think he has ever heard in his life but god, he wants to hear it again. Doesn’t know what he’ll do if he can’t. 

Max doesn’t make that sound again. He flushes a deep dark red that reminds Daniel of the beetroots his grandpa used to grow in the back of his garden. « Really? » Max asks. It’s gentle. Too gentle. Max should be fully pumped with post-race adrenaline, and even more with post-first-race-win adrenaline, and he kind of looks like he is, softly panting, cap slightly tilted to the side and retinas so wide Daniel worries if Max isn’t on LSD or something. If maybe he isn’t on LSD himself because in a way, this doesn’t feel like something real. 

« Fuck, yeah, Max. » Daniel chuckles a little, and he sees Max’s shoulder just slump. One quick motion of down, down, down, until they’re limp on each side of his waist. Daniel can even see it, his waist, clearly, so clear, too clear, a little transparent and tight because Red Bull didn’t have the time to measure him for well-proportioned fireproofs. « You did great. » 

Max nips at his lips. His full, plump and pinkish lips. They look even more vibrant among the red of his cheeks. « You think? » Max asks again, and Daniel realizes he’s asking for validation. Daniel doesn’t really answer, just nods profusely like a mad man because he’s not sure what his mouth will want to say after this revelation. Max is so, so young. Too fucking young. Fuck.

Max nods too. His smile tones down a little, and he looks tired now. Post-first-race-win-adrenaline crash or something, Daniel guesses. It doesn’t get easier. 

He sits next to Daniel, their thighs brushing against each other, connected from shoulder to hips. Max rests his head on the back of the sofa and Daniel finds it very hard not to watch the whole motion, not to focus on the way his throat works. Up, and down. Up again before Max sighs.

The words blurts out of Daniel’s mouth before his brain can even form them, « You’re gonna get so many drinks free tonight, mate. » 

It seems to make Max chuckle though. The winkles that had started to form on his forehead ease a little. « Yeah? » 

« Yeah. » Daniel’s voice is a little breathy. He hopes Max won’t take it as more than post-race exhaustion. He tries not to say anything more, tries not to say Max deserves the fucking world, and would even if he hadn’t won the race today, but his tongue works faster than his mind. « You could get anything. » Daniel feels like a teenager again, prefrontal cortex not developed enough to make rational decisions. 

« Anything? » Max asks, his head turning to face Daniel. It feels like his blue eyes are glimmer-ish. Daniel nods. His hand finds the part of the sofa just above Max’s cap. Max chuckles. « You think I deserve a reward, Dan? » 

Daniel knows Max is being sarcastic. He knows it’s a joke. And it’s not like he isn’t aquatinted with this kind of mindless banter either, because it is usually the only thing that comes out of his mouth, but there’s this deep, deep thing in his chest that doesn’t want what Max said to be a joke. Something that wants to show him just how much Daniel thinks Max deserves. « Anything. » 

Then, Max swallows. He flushes even more than Daniel thought was possible. His chest aches. 

And out of nowhere, Max says, « I want to kiss you. » 

Or at least, that’s what Daniel thinks he hears. Because that can’t be right. That must be fucking unreal. « What? » 

« A kiss. » Max parrots. Says again. Echoes. Daniel has a hard time finding synonyms to keep himself from pushing his fingertips into Max’s shoulders and pull him in. « As a reward. »

Fuck. This is-, what the. God. Fuckin’-

Max kisses him. Doesn’t even ask if that’s okay with Daniel, even it’s fucking more than okay, like a kid. Max, eighteen, kissing Daniel. How the fuck did that happen? Daniel has no idea but he’s not going to complain.

Actually, he deepens the kiss. No tongue though, because he feels like that would be pushing it too far, even when it’s Max who asked to kiss him. Daniel deepens the kiss softly, just, presses his lips harder into Max’s until he thinks he can feel the freckle on his upper lips, presses a hand on the side of Max’s neck and another in his hair. Chucks the cap away and hears the dull thud of it clashing into the window. 

This feels more like a reward to Daniel for fucking waiting. For not doing anything fucking crazy. 

But, if anybody asks, it’s a reward for Max. For winning the Barcelona Grand Prix at the young age of eighteen years old and two hundred and twenty eight days old. A reward alongside the record. 

more of this on ao3!

don't hesitate to give me more kiss/non-kiss prompts!! love 'em all <3

[fashionteahouse]

these days my lesbian ass are awake for leah so i want you to feed me MAMA with her

Can I request leah x swan fem! reader

when leah imprinting on her and got shocked because she didn't Expect to imprint on a women so leah hide this from reader ( she knows about werewolves and vampire things beacuse she stuck in her sister bella ass) but one day one of the pack expose it by mistake to reader and leah trying to explain it to reader and she find out reader have a crush on her from along time 🥺🥺🥺

Mmmm you can make the reason why leah hide it from reader because she wants to know first what she really wants thier relation be before talk to reader ...

Have a good night honey

🥑anon

gotchu gotchu hope you enjoy :)

official - leah x swan fem! reader

Her brother excitedly talking went over Leah’s head. She always heard the name Y/N, but never seen her.

Apparently, she’s coming to the bonfire.

Leah didn’t care too much for them, especially this one. She just wanted to count down the time she was there and go home.

Sitting on the fallen log near the fire, she waited with the elders for everyone to get settled down. She sighed without any interest.

She hears in a distance, gravel being rolled on. Looking around, the only person that wasn’t there was Jacob.

“I think she’s here!” Seth exclaims as he joined Leah on the log with a burger.

She shakes her head slightly at her brother’s overjoyed emotion.

She hears two sets of footsteps make their way to the beach.

Seth gets up to greet both you and Jacob after he swallowed his burger, started horsing around with Jacob, you let your eyes wander.

Seeing the scenery of the beach, your eyes go to a young woman sitting on the log, looking right at you. You froze at her beauty. Her cheekbones shining bright along the light of the fire. Her gaze is intense but, you wish she could look at you like that all of the time. You watch as the girl gets up and walk away from the spot she was sitting.

You seen her around, but people told you to stay out of her way. She was majestic, carried herself with a tolerance of nothing. You admired her from a far.

Leah tried her best to keep her cool. Her heart was pounding and she felt very nervous. She was in shock, she felt a wave of euphoria just by looking at you. She needed a second the compose herself. The feeling was foreign and she’d never felt this way about someone before, not even Sam.

Sam was forgotten, buried back deep in her head. You were now the forefront, looking away from you felt so wrong.

“Did I just imprint?” she kept asking herself as she walked further along the beach.

She needed air and she felt too trapped from where she was sitting.

“Leah!” a voice calls out.

She closes her eyes as she turns around.

“Where are you going? The stories are about to start.” Embry asks as he walks closer. Leah takes steps back.

“I need to phase.” she says shaking her head.

“What? Come on, Leah.” Embry says to get her back to the scenery.

“I..Can’t.” she says, her face forming into hesitation.

Embry takes a look at his pack sister, he’s never seen her this antsy or nervous before. She usually kept a tough front, he began to get worried.

“Leah, what’s wrong?”

Leah shakes her head, “Don’t say anything.”

“I won’t.” he promises.

“I think���I imprinted.” she says but whispers out the last part.

Embry’s eyes go big from disbelief before turning kind, he smiles, “Wow, I’m happy for you.”

Before Leah could explain her rebuke of it, two more figures come to where her and Embry are standing.

“Wait, you imprinted?” Jared asks with a curious Seth right next to him.

“Great, tell the whole world.” she says while rolling her eyes.

“That’s great!” Seth says.

“Any of you say a word, I will kill you.” she says before storming off.

That night was hard. You kept searching the beach to see if you could find the perfect face. You didn’t know why you were disappointed but, you just were.

As the night progressed, neither of you could sleep. Tossing and turning, you both rubbed a spot in your chest, trying to massage the sharp pain away.

It went on like that for a while. You spent a lot of time in La Push, feeling a pull to the place. You’ve spent your time here again and again whenever your sister or father would visit the Black family, but it felt necessary.

Leah rolled her eyes again once Sam found out. Her arms were crossed as he sat her down and explained to her, “Leah, you can’t just push it away. Just go talk to her.”

“I will talk to her…I just don’t know when.” Leah says.

“I know it’s causing both of you pain.” he says.

Leah placed two hands on the table as she rises up.

“Stay out of it.” she hisses to him and lets the door slap to a close.

With Jacob gone from his garage, you still stayed in La Push. Embry was closing his door behind him as he started to make his way somewhere.

“I’m going to Emily’s? Wanna come.” he asks.

You agree and you both fall into conversation.

“You look like you haven’t been getting rest. Are you alright?” he asks and you look to see him watching your face.

“I’m alright. It’s weird though. I’ve been getting this weird pain in my chest, it makes it kinda hard to fall asleep.” you admit but, you pass it off as something that will eventually fade away.

Embry doesn’t say anything, keeping his eyes in front of him as his mind starts to travel a mile a minute.

You nudge him a bit, “Are you alright.” you ask with a smile, he went quiet on you.

“I’m alright.” he says but you can tell when he’s lying.

“Yeah, right.” you say laughing.

He shrugs and freezes once the view of Emily’s home is there. He hears the conversation.

“Wait, Y/N.” he says but you don’t listen, still reaching for the door.

“Leah won’t accept the imprint. It will make it easier for both her and Y/N.”

Your eyebrows are knitted in confusion as you move further into the home.

All eyes look to you, but you speak up.

“What’s an imprint?” you ask.

You watch as the eyes flicker with nervousness as they all mumble and mutter.

“That’s what you get for opening your fat ass mouth.” Paul says as Jared looks the most sheepish.

“Leah should explain it to you.”

“Isn’t that what Sam and Emily have? And what you and…” you trail off as you start to piece everything together.

Leah stalks into the home, freezes when she finds you live in the flesh.

“Hi.” you say to her with a smile. Her stomach does jumping jacks as she whispers out a “Hey.”

“Can we talk?” you ask her.

Leah flashes them all looks of anger, malice, and cruelty. She changed her face as she looked at yours and gave you a smile smile, “Sure.”

You both walk, letting the dirt smush underneath you both.

“Do you not like me…or something?” you ask small and nervously.

“Why would you think that?” Leah asks in confusion.

“You didn’t want to accept the imprint. I mean, I totally get it.” you say in a light tone but deep down you were hurt. You hear her sigh as the walk slows down as you two face each other.

“I…Didn’t want to pop out with it, you know?” she says before looking down, “I want it to be natural. I didn’t want to rush you into things just because I imprinted on you.”

You place a supportive hand on her arm, “I wish you kind of did.”

Leah looks at you in astonishment.

“I had a crush on you for a very long time.” you say with a chuckle and you watch her face go to disbelief.

“You did?” she questions and you nod.

“You’re so beautiful. You don’t have to hide anything from me.” you say softly to her. Leah closes her eyes before admitting, “I wanted to accept it. I didn’t know what I would want this relationship to be. I promise I was going to talk to you. Just, when I figured things out.”

“Can we… Figure things out together?” you ask with hope.

You watch as she slowly opens her eyes and look at you. You smile as she’s looking at you with the intense eyes that you liked so much. She nods as she lets you lead her back to Emily’s home.

[penvisions]

return the favor {chapter 23}

Pairing: Post-Outbreak! Joel Miller X Smuggler! Reader

Summary: You can only hope to catch up with Joel and Ellie before it's too late, the warning words of your cousins on your mind as you encounter a group of people at the campus yourself. Your trio is reunited in the worst of circumstances, altering the very perception Ellie has of the world.

Word Count: 7.1k

Warnings: minor character death, canon typical violence, canon typical language, cursing, insult, sexual content, non con, allusions to non con sexual advances, mentions of nausea but no vomiting, fighting, blood, reader gets injured, ellie gets injured, joel gets injured, guns, gun violence, creepy david gets his own warning, religious imagery, allusions to cannibalism, end of the world politics, end of the world rhetoric, allusions to pedophilia and grooming (bc of david), please let me know if i missed any!

A/N: well hello there, this was unexpected but procrastinating packing has led me here and who am i to argue? i hope this isn't too heavy of a chapter, but it sets up the remainder of the fic and we will see the end of it within 5-7 chapters. i've missed this little trio and their dynamic, even if it seems like i've wronged them in this latest installment

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist || ko-fi

You groaned out, your entire chest aching and sore. Sunlight too bright on your eyes and causing the throbbing in your head to amp up a notch. It felt like you had fallen or been thrown around. Entire body blooming with sensitive spots tender to pressure.

“Fuck.”

The ground was cold beneath you, hard and solid. Wind howled faintly but you had to be inside because you couldn’t feel it jostling your body. When you moved to push yourself up, your arms flexed against something tight around them. Blinking your eyes open, the only thing you could see was a barred fence and the brick wall behind it. There was a buzzing sound that seemed to consume the air around you, not helping the throbbing in your head.

You blinked a few times, coming back into your body and the buzzing sound suddenly shifted into a familiar voice.

“Bean, please wake up. You need to wake up, they’ll be back any minute.” It was Ellie, her voice a little raspy and her words far too fast to process as you shifted into a seated position. Your hands were bound around the wrists, rope tight and knotted around them. It wasn’t an official knot, but just a tangled mess of tied off twists that had been pulled on so much the fibers dug into your skin.

“What happened…?” Your head rolls on your shoulders, feeling out the kinks and knots in your muscles that would take years to work out. Fuck, you were getting old. But the clatter of something Ellie was doing had you up on your feet in a heartbeat, eyes wide and searching. She had been trying to use a bucket to get up into the window, to see out of it where it was high on the brick wall that backed up your separate cells. It had fallen with her weight on top of it, too much for how empty it was, the side of it dented in and she was standing beside it with a sheepish grimace.

“They attacked us, they hurt Joel. I-I-I tried to remember what you taught me about stitching but I couldn’t focus and they got cut one of our bags, the stuff you packed up fell out when I was trying to get us away.”

“Who…who attacked you?” You brought your tied hands up to your mouth and dug them into the rope, it tasted of dirt but you tried not to think of what else could be soaked into the fabric as you tore into it as best you could.

“Some guy named David, he found me when I was hunting. Joel needed something to eat, he’s not….Bean, he doesn’t look good.” You looked up through your hunched over position to see the shine of her eyes, the way she was trying to keep everything in check. But she was so young, kidnapped, stolen away from the one person who she had left in the world while you….while you had just gone off on your own.

Guilt flared and burned hot in your body, making you feel shameful and like you had caused all of this to happen. She seemed to sense it.

“They would’ve attacked either way, back at the school campus. They had been looking for people, they go there a lot, at least that’s what it seemed like.”

“You said you had to stitch him up, how bad was it? All I saw was a bat on broken in half.”

“You were there?”

“I was tracing your last known steps, I- I ran into my family and they told me they had been here but that it wasn’t…it wasn’t what it was promised to be. I’ll explain later. Ellie, tell me that they haven’t touched you, please.”

“No one’s…touched me, well they did when they tried to corner me and when they carried me here. But that David guy gives me the creeps.”

The way she was speaking, you weren’t sure she was understanding what you were saying. Which was both comforting that it was such an unfathomable thought in her mind, no real weight to the phrase of the words. But it was also damning in the way she really had no idea what you were talking about, her innocence and gullibility on the matter something you thought telling of her age and life thus far. But she had to know, she needed to be aware of the way people would take everything from one another, even if it would be a hard conversation to have, a hard pane of glass to shatter in her perception of the world she was now in the midst of outside the QZ walls.

“Don’t let him get you alone, you hear me? Do not let him touch you. He is a bad, terrible man. He’s a fucking-“

Ellie said your real name, the one printed neatly on your old license she had been so fascinated with.

“I think Joel is dying. I…I tried to trade with David, for some medicine, but when his guy came back with it they cornered me and said they were looking for the man who killed someone from their group back on the campus, that he had been traveling with a girl. They knew it was me, that it was us. He’s…Joel… he’s- he won’t wake up. I tried to do it how your showed me and I didn’t know where to put the medicine but I tried, he…he hasn’t woken up yet.”

“You’re okay, Ellie, I promise. You did,” You walk up to the fence separating you from each other, sticking your fingers through the gaps to get her to grasp as your hands. You were thankful she wasn’t tied up as you were but it also made your heart weary because it meant that this David was still trying to keep her guard down. “Everything you could. That medicine, even if it was put in the wrong spot, is what saved his life, he’s not waking up because it’s strong, it was penicillin, yeah?”

“Y-yeah. I think that’s what they called it.”

“That’s perfect, Ellie. That’s exactly what he needed. It’s a strong one, it’s in his system and he’s going to be okay. You stitched him up, you can lord that over him if you want once he’s better. Everything is going…everything it going to be okay.”

You could tell she wasn’t completely believing of your words but she was taking them, her furrowed brow relaxed just a bit and her fingers tangled with your own. She rested her forehead, swollen with a gash across the left side against the fence and you mimicked her.

“I was so scared.” She admitted on a quiet breath.

“I know, baby, but it’s okay. You did it, you got through the scary moment. Now all that’s left is to get out of here and back to Joel. He’s hidden somewhere, yeah? You made sure he was safe and inside somewhere?”

“Yeah, yes, he’s,” She took a deep breath. “I don’t know how far it is, but he’s in a house, I dragged him to the basement and made sure he had all the sleeping bags and blankets on him, he…he looked so helpless. Bean, he looked-“

“Shh, shh, it’s okay. I promise you, it’s all gonna be okay. He’s strong, he can-“

“He’s so stupid! You both are! None of this would have happened if you two hadn’t fought and just- we would’ve been together and those guys wouldn’t have gotten us if you two had fought them off!”

“I know, baby, I’m sorry. We- we didn’t, we…needed some space. Joel, he-“

“He’s a fucking baby! He’s…he’s dying and he…he won’t even get to see you one last time.”

“Hey!” You couldn’t help the sharp tone nor the volume of your shout. “Ellie, you look at me and you listen.”

She does, her eyes wide and shining as she takes in the sight of you tied up and confined just like she is.

The situation is anything but ideal, it’s heartbreaking and too heavy on your shoulders. But at least you were with her now, she had help now. She wasn’t alone.

“Joel is not going to die. You got him the medicine he needed. It takes time. You and I are going to get out of this situation, we will. And then we will find him. We are going to be okay, it was a lesson that needed to be learned and it will stick. You need to understand that things happen for a reason. This is one of those times and no one is at fault.”

She nods, once and then again before she’s moving about her enclosure and explaining to you the ways she’s tried to find weaknesses in it. No screws were loose, no bars were rusted or weak. The window was too high, the fence too strong. You’re watching her as you tear at the rope once again with your teeth, the sound of it tearing quiet and rattling through you each time a thread snapped.

Ellie’s body is suddenly flying to the chain link barrier that separates you, her breathing harsh.

“Ear.”

“Ear?”

“On the floor, by the drain.”

“What- oh.” You feel your stomach lurch when you spot it, the cut off cartilage laying beside a drain surrounded by thick drops of dried blood.

“They-“

“They’re monsters.”

The door was opening before you could say anything else. The evidence of how these people lived, of how David provided for his people telling you how depraved and desperate they were. How he chose to feed his people when there was ample woods and forest to hunt in just beyond the cluster of buildings they reside in, the houses only a short trek nearby they could scavenge in.

He wasn’t what you pictured, but he was exuding predatory energy as he approached the chain link fencing of the enclosure. Rather thin and with waning fair hair, he knelt down to slide a tray adorned with a bowl of something far too bright red, a spoon, and a mug of water. You sincerely hope Ellie hadn’t taken anything offered to her, not putting it past the man to drug her. But she remains as close to you as she can get, hand reaching for yours through the fence.

“I don’t have enough for you both. But I assume you wouldn’t care for anything I offered.” David aims at you, eyes trained on the way Ellie is clinging to you as best she can. How she’s still as a statue and her own eyes are trained on the food given to her.

You don’t say anything, unsure of what you would even if your voice came back to you. The rope still wrapped but no longer knotted around your wrists allows you to feel powerful if only a little.

Ellie looks from the food finally, toward the ear and David follows her gaze as he remains kneeled on the ground. He seems almost remorseful at the discovery you two had made in his absence and you wonder if his people knew the truth about the food they were consuming. A part of you hoped they had no clue, even if it meant David felt no fear or shame about manipulating those who willingly followed him to the very edge of humanity.

“For what it’s worth, this is just deer meat. I swear.” He tries to hide his monstrosity, to no avail. You wouldn’t believe him even if you didn’t know him, even if you were starving.

“You’re going to chop me up into little pieces. Both of us.”

“I’d rather not,” He keeps her gaze, not even bothering to acknowledge your presence in the face of Ellie’s fear. He’s feeding off it, reveling in the way she’s speaking willingly for what you believe the first time since he turned on her in the woods and she ran from him. “Please, just tell me your name.”

“If you wanna judge me-“

“Judge you?” She’s shouting, her voice harsh as she lets go of your hand and storms up to the door of her enclosure, far too close to the man for your comfort. But she kicks at the tray, sending it flying across the floor and knocking into the large butchers block atop a storage table cemented into the ground, the too red meat splashes color onto the dull tile. “You’re eating people, you sick fuck!”

David is surging up, though every move he’s making is calculated. He doesn’t look shocked or surprised, not taken aback by the words or actions of Ellie as she turns her back on him and corners herself as far away from the door as possible.

“Yes. There are only a few of us that know.” “But I would’ve told you.”

He’s watching you now, just past her. Calculating as he takes in the way your body is practically shaking as instincts warn you to get as far away from this man and this place as possible.

“I would’ve told you and your mother. Sooner or later. I guess sooner, to help tide you into our group.”

“You’re an animal.”

“Well, yes, we all are. That’s sorta the point.” David agrees, not wanting to dispute her, trying to earn her favor by being frank.

“It was a last resort. You think it doesn’t shame me? But what was I supposed to do?”

“I would not let these people starve. These people who put their lives in my hands, who e-expect me to keep them safe, who love me?”

“Yeah, maybe.” Ellie replies quickly, her emotions beginning to get the better of her. But you meet the man’s gaze and sneer opening at him.

“There are woods just beyond here, houses and neighborhoods to scavenge. You have men, could they not provide in a better way? No, I suppose not, because you’re weak. Helpless in the face of the world, of the way things are. You’d rather tear people down and prey on them instead of think critically, you’re nothing but a weak leader, guiding your people to their death.”

“Starvation would’ve only set in sooner if I were to concentrate efforts on such fruitless endeavors. I don’t think you believe it would’ve been better. I don’t think your friend would either.” He’s moving, mirroring Ellie’s pacing as he looks down at the food she’s wasted. “Didn’t he take another man’s life to save yours?”

“He was defending himself.”

“He was defending you.” He meets her steps as she stops, standing right in front of her with nothing but the bars and air separating them, and you feel every muscle in your body tense. “But you knew that.”

“You see a lot. So do I. And you know what I see when I look at you? Me.” His smile is small but he truly believes the words he’s spouting, the intent behind them clear. He means to take her under his wing, to mold her into a reflection of himself. Manipulate her into an image of his likeness. “You remind me of me. You’re a natural leader, you’re smart…loyal.”

“Violent.” He concludes, seeing the was she’s trembling with emotion.  

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“But I do. If I let you out of that cage right now, put that knife of yours in your hand, you’d stick me in a second. And you wouldn’t look to the woman behind you, you would do it without a thought. You have a violent heart. And I should know.” He stalks closer, his steps quiet and measured. “I’ve always had a violent heart. And I struggled with it for a long time.”

Your blood runs cold, the words flowing from the man chilling your very soul. He was depraved, he was sick as he tried to appeal to Ellie, to connect with her. His words revealing in more ways than he realized, than Ellie was able to read. You were sure she had no clue what he was doing, not exactly. Not aware of the way he was seeking her out and it made your heart ache even more so as you watched it happen in real time, the dance he orchestrates to get those he’s interested in to see him, to hear him. To fall in line and dance with him.

“But then the world ended and I was shown the truth.”

“Right…by God.” Ellie dubiously connects the dots of the man’s speech. But he’s not making much sense to her, you can tell. The message is loud and clear to you. He’s been inspired, taken the world as it fell and turned it into his own playground of sorts. You’ve encountered men like him before, set to play God and manipulate the conditions around them to their favor. The shepherd to lead sheep blindly as they need something to cling to. Something to believe in. But he’s a false prophet, one that is selfish and wasteful, no skills of his own to fall on so he uses those around him to his advantage, to propel himself into the next day, time and time again.

“No. By cordyceps.” He sounds reverent, praising and preaching the very thing that eradicated humanity in droves. Sounding so much like those that used to deliver sermons and dictate what sins the people before him had committed, promising them salvation when he was the one to damn them in the first place with perceived power he did not truly possess. “What does cordyceps do? Is it evil? No. It’s fruitful. It multiplies. It feeds and protects its children, and it secures its future with violence, if it must. It loves.”

“Why are you telling me all of this?”

“Because you can handle it. The way the others can’t.” He stalks even closer. More measured steps, as calculated at his words. “They need God. They need heaven. They need…they need a father. You don’t.”

The room is silent, his focus not leaving her even as you shift on your aching feet.

“You don’t. You’re beyond that.” He repeats, appealing to her. Admonishing her with praise and tenacity for being ‘better’ than those he believes he needs to look out for and is responsible for. “I’m a shepherd surrounded by sheep, and all I want…is an equal. A friend.”

“What about my friend?” Ellie demands, Joel on her mind as the man in front of her displays the complete opposite of everything he stands for. It makes her wish for him to be here, to be better, to beat the threat into submission as it closes in on her. But he’s not here, it’s just her and him. You are too trapped to help in your own cell.

“Like I said, loyal. I can tell the others to stop looking for him. They’ll spare him.”

“Really? They’ll just let him go?” She’s matching his steps now and your stomach plummets.

“Yes. If he leaves us in peace, they will just let him go. The woman behind you too, should she leave peacefully as well. They do what I tell them to do. They follow me.”

“And they would follow us. Lord knows I could use the help. I- Look what’s happened.” He reaches out and places a hand on the bars of the door, causing you to step forward as far as you can into the fence that separates you from Ellie. The target the man has set his sights on. “Think of what we could do together, as strong as we are. We’d make this place perfect. We’d grow, spread out. And we’d do whatever we needed for our people.”

Ellie’s reaching to touch a hand of her own to his and you feel something in you snap, you didn’t know what she was thinking, what she was doing and it was heartbreaking to see her move toward the man manipulating her. Playing her, dancing so eloquently around her and ensnaring her in his orbit. If only she would fucking look back at you over her shoulder. His hand moves to rest over hers and you feel the cold touch of his fingers as if he had touched you instead of her. The chilling skin of someone who had done this before, who was doing it again. Heeding the example of the very thing that had ruined the world as if it was something to admire. “Imagine the life we could give them. Imagine the life we could build.”

“Oh.” Her voice is so small, so quiet. And you feel acid bubble and rise to your throat as she brings her other hand to rest over his, cradling his hand almost.

And then her shoulders tense and she’s snapping his fingers, the loud cracking of bone filling the air as the man wails out, crumbles at the assault.

Ellie makes a grab for the keys hanging from his belt, but he snatches the front of her sweater and pulls her harshly into the bars. Her head collides with one and she’s reeling back before he has the chance to tighten his grip on her again, tearing out of it.

“You little cunt.” He swears, cradling his wounded hand tight to his chest. Anger colors him, shakes him to his core as he realizes the task he set for himself won’t be as easy as he anticipated. “Let’s see what I go tell the others now.”

“Ellie.”

“What?” Turning, he seems taken aback by the quiet admittance from the young girl. As if he isn’t quite sure he heard her correctly or he could believe that she chose now of all times to answer his questions.

“Tell them that Ellie is the little girl- who broke your fucking finger!” She shouts so loudly that she shakes with it, the words nearly growled out.

“How did you put it? Hmm? ‘Tiny little pieces’?” He taunts, though you can see the fear shift into a twisted sense of admiration. Frustration at being bested turning into confidence in her skills and the desire to best her glimmering in his eye before he turns away completely.

As soon as the door slams behind him and the lock clicks, she’s rushing across her enclosed space and reaching for you. She’s hiccupping and coughing as blood drips down her nose and busted lip, smearing it all over your own sweater as you try to hold her to you as best you could through the divide.

The door opens once again, some time later but it’s not David that enters. It’s two men with a third behind them. The lock of your cell clicks loudly as they open in and step inside, two of them while the third remains by the door.

The two men who were approaching you with a needle had you standing so fast your knees cracked. In her own cage, Ellie flew up to stand from her own crouch as close as she could get to you. She watched as you stood as straight at you could, to make yourself look as tall as possible and she mirrored it. The two men worked together to lock the slim opening behind them, keys going into a front pocket. There was rope in one of their hands, the other with the needle.

“We got you cornered, don’t know why David was insistent on locking you up, you’re no bigger than the girl. Look about as frail as her too.”

“Pretty little thing, aren’t ya? Wouldn’t mind giving you the promise of safety here if it meant-“

“Enough, do not taunt her. She’s liable to be just as violent as the man.”

David appeared in the doorway of the space, watching with a newly bandaged hand. You couldn’t help the feeling of pride that swelled in your middle at that. Ellie had done good, even if it had been hard to watch. Hard to watch and hear as he propositioned her. You had been in too much pain to do much about it, but it had allowed you to see what he was truly wanting with the young girl you considered family. The same he had wanted from your younger cousin. He was a sick, twisted man. Vile in the worst way one could be.

“You think I’m trapped in here with you?” You clicked your tongue at them, bringing your arms up to fend them off should they take one step closer to you, revealing that you had gotten out of your bindings. Your smile was wicked as you stared at them both, daring them to close the gap. “You’re trapped in here with me.”

You tried to focus on the man helping David drag the young girl from her own cage and the two coming at you, but it was all chaos. Loud, screaming, threatening and chilling chaos. They lunged at you, throwing the blanket they had in their grip over you and then you found yourself being hauled up by your thrashing hands and feet, each man holding tight to your body as they carried you out of the room.

As you’re being carried out, you hear another man and David’s voice speaking. Ellie is furious, her rage and desperation coming into play as you disappear and she’s left along with the man whose set his intentions on her. You try to scream, to tell her to run, to hurt, to kill and David’s laugh is the last thing you hear before gravity shifts and you’re in a new room separate from them.

There was a table, and a few chairs, that much was all you knew as your back was slammed onto a hard surface. The feeling of your pants being tugged at striking a primal fear deep inside your chest. It’s useless, your hands are bound once again between two larger ones, and the blanket over your form prohibits you from fighting back as well as you want to. The knife that you feel cutting at the fabric of your jeans tearing into your skin around your thighs and you try to scream and snarl as you rock yourself back and forth between the two men. You manage to kick the one with the knife at the end of the table and you head him land hard on the ground, the blade clattering to the floor.

Surging up, you spin and kick at the other man, tearing the blanket from over your head and diving off the table to grab at the fallen weapon. It’s your machete and you smile, tasting blood from the scuffle as you take in the small room you had been dragged to. The man you kicked had fallen harshly enough to open the back of his head and he lay motionless on the ground, a chair thrown from his body careening through the air.

The second man is reaching for you, grabbing at your hair and pulling you to him. The needle that had been in his grip in the other room plunges into your arm and a scream bubbles up. The blade in your hand is cutting you lose, thick strands of your hair flying up into the air as you fall to the ground from the force of being freed. He’s hissing, the blade having caught along his fingers. You try to get back up on your feet just in time to see him reaching for something hidden in the waistband of his pants

You’re lunging at him with the blade gripped tight in your hand. His stomach bleeds where you cut him and he moves his hands over the seeping wound with a strangled sound of protest. Its deep, his widened eyes meeting yours just before he collapses.

Rushing, you stormed into the room you had been taken from to see Ellie grabbing hold of a knife and slashing the man who had taken a step back from where she was laid out on a table much like you had been. Thankfully all of her clothes were in place and she seemed relatively unharmed. Blood sprayed into the air and David seemed to be shocked by her violence, stunned into silence for a moment long enough to allow the young girl to scramble off the butcher’s block and through the door.

David doesn’t even glance at you as he chases after her, the door locking behind him as your body slams into it. He smiles something vile and sickly sweet before he’s off after her, disappearing from view.

A few moments later, the smell of smoke and fire waft down the hall. Your efforts intensify, the need to find Ellie consuming you. Your mind focused on her and only her even as the skin of your thighs sting and bleed. The hair that had fallen loose tangles and swings with your efforts to break the door down, the wood of it getting too hot to slam your fists into or jostle the doorknob. Huffing a breath, you look around the room but there’s nothing to use to knock it loose.

As carefully as you can, you grip the top of the handle of the machete and slam the butt of it down on the doorknob. Once and then again, the splintering of wood loud even as the crackling of flames becomes obvious as the door pops open. It’s all smoke and darkness as you shuffle through the room in the crouch. The sound of flames licking at the support beams of thick wood loud, the taste and smell of smoke tickling your lungs when you finally see a figure downed on the ground.

Heart beating harshly, you approach it with your weapon held in front, but it’s not Ellie needing to be saved. It’s David. And he’s dead. His face bloody and broke, his body limp and immobile.

Ellie is no where to be seen and the room’s heat tries to take you for a second victim.

You collided with something hard and solid as you tear out of the building, the force of it knocking you down to the ground. The impact of your body sending snow flying up, blood smearing the ground in a bright display. You shouted as you fell, terror being the only thing that could be heard in your wordless exclamation. You spun from your side quickly, neck hurting from moving so fast, only to see two more men around you, just as shocked where they had been knocked down at the impact. They didn’t have any weapons but that didn’t matter. Everyone and anyone in this whole god damn place was a threat.

A stab of worry has you gasping for air as you quickly righted yourself, hoping Ellie had gotten out of here without running into anyone else. You had no idea what had happened between the time she had escaped and you had managed to do the same. The building you had burst from was crackling behind you, flames rising high despite the freezing temperatures. But the mangled body of David was the only clue as to what had happened. You spotted a third figure approaching in the distance, though it was moving fairly slowly toward you.

With a loud shriek you lunged at the man still on the ground, the other struggling to right himself where he had fallen over his own feet. The machete in your grip came to catch the man before you across his front, his shouts and pleas falling on deaf ears as you could feel your whole-body struggle against the drugs still pumping through your veins, your mind focused on one thing: survival. The squelching sound of you cutting into his throat had the other man struggling to get on his feet stumble in shock at the brutality.

“What the fuck!” His shout was loud, his eyes wide as he watched you murder his companion. All they had done was come out see what the roaring of the fire had been, you had flown from the building as they talked over what could’ve happened.

You round on him, eyes wild as he just shouted at you, trying to get away from you as quickly as he could. The snow was falling so heavily, the denseness of it already built up on the ground tripping him up on his injured ankles. He turned back to look at you over his shoulder, freezing as he saw the figure closing in behind you. You turn slightly as well to see how much distance there was between you and both men. You sprinted forward toward the one trying to get away, him being the closer of the two. He shouts as he throws his entire body to run into you, knocking over your smaller frame, hands scrabbling for the blade in your hands. It was knocked away as your back hit the ground, the man falling over you. He righted himself, legs on either side of you and your mind went white in rage.

“Not again!” You shriek, bringing your knees up to knock into him, kicking with all your might. Your hands grappling for a grip on his arms, you managed to land a few hits and used his moment of stillness to push up. You slammed his back on the ground hard as you flipped over, the pain immobilizing him just enough for you to do so. You realized you were screaming as your clenched fists landed hit after hit to his face, his neck, his chest. Blood was flying off your knuckles to splatter in the snow, on your face, your hands covered in the thick red liquid. You were sure it was just another layer to the grime and dried blood that had already covered your entire body and form. When the man went still below you, you crawled to where the machete had fallen in the scuffle. You brought it up to cover your front as you turned on your back, the figure too close for you to risk scrambling back up. Your chest heaving, your clothes were ripped, you were covered in blood and your eyes were wild as they connected with a pair of brown ones above you.

The figure pauses, hands coming up in front of them, but you weren’t taking anymore chances. The figure didn’t make another move toward you, but you weren’t seeing anything other than a threat. Your mind blurring the figure in front of you into every man that had every tried to touch you, into every man that had. You got your feet up under you and pushed yourself to stand, machete coming up and swiping as you try to put more distance between you and the tall figure. They hiss as the sharp edge of the blade catches one of their raised forearms.

“You’re not gonna fuckin’ touch me!” You holler, voice hoarse and so unlike your own. It’s tone low, it was terrifying, it was a touch desperate, and it was exactly how you were afraid of being heard. But it was harsh, tone hard and serious. You couldn’t stop the words from tearing through your throat, nearly growled out. “Your fuckin’ friends are dead and I’ll kill you too!”

You sway on your feet, the drugs in your system still fighting to overpower you. Your hair wild and loose, the choppy strands evidence of where you had cut it to try and free yourself earlier. The move had only saved you minutes of agony, years of growth erased in one swift motion. Your shoulders ached as you kept the blade up between you and the figure. They hadn’t moved, hands still held up in front of them and that’s when you realized they were talking to you. That you were still making guttural sounds deep in your raw throat. Warnings aimed at them to not get closer to you, that you would kill them just as swiftly as you had the others who opposed your escape. The hesitant voice cutting through the haze of your mind. Your eyes focused, the figure coming into view. It was Joel. But it had registered a second too late, you had already lunged at them, blade swinging.

He grunts as the blade makes contact with his shoulder. You had tried to stop the momentum, but you had swung so hard that between him not moving to save himself and you realizing it was him too late, the blade still cut into him. It wasn’t deadly, as it would’ve been, but it wasn’t a shallow hit either. He’s missing his jacket, the remaining layers of his clothes took most of the damage, but he would need stitches. The blade is still gripped tight in your hands, but it was lowered now, shaking. He looks from the new wound to you, his hands wanting to grasp at it but not doing so out of fear of triggering another swing. His eyes are pleading, he’s desperate for you to see that it’s him, not someone who was trying to harm you

“It’s me, it’s Joel.” He didn’t dare say you were okay. He knows you aren’t. He knows Ellie wasn’t from the way she had been screaming much the same way when he had found her. Her fear had been heartbreaking, it had hurt beyond words to see her, to hear the sheer terror in her voice as she had hit and fought against him before she realized who he was. Yours was shattering, you were covered in more blood, and from the looks of it a lot of it was yours. Not the way he envisioned seeing you again after going about your separate ways. His eyes lingered on the rips in your pants, blood coating your thighs underneath.

“J-Joel?” You repeated, as if it was a foreign name, as if he wasn’t real. He hadn’t been, during the entire ordeal. Ellie telling you what had happened, the way she had tried to help him, you had compartmentalized his death already. Knowing the odds of fighting off a wound like that, dirty stitches made with a rusted needle, infection quick to set in even in far better circumstances. It had been logical, the only outcome for such a medical condition in this time with no aid, no sterile environment.

You were still heaving, trying to regain your breath, the drugs in your system making it hard to do so. You swayed again but didn’t release your tight grip on your weapon, on your salvation. You startled so badly you swung out as the building on fire lost part of its roof to a cave in. Joel stepped back quickly at the motion, not wanting another harsh cut. That machete was dangerous on its own, but in your hands, it was an extension of yourself, lethal, not to be taken lightly.

“Joel?” Your voice sounded clearer, the height of your emotions calming slightly. You shook your head, not believing it, your emotions and the drugs blurring your vision of the only man you trusted.

“It’s me, I promise.” He dared to step toward you, reaching out to you slowly. You seemed to be frozen, eyes fixated on him. He was squarely in front of you now, his hands coming out to grasp over yours on the handle of the machete. He gently pried it from you, you still beneath him. The second it was out of your hands, he moved to place it in his bag, sealing it away. When he turned back to face you, you threw yourself at him, burying your face in his chest. He could feel your body convulse with harsh sobs, the sounds of you trying to suck in oxygen hiccupped by shuddering cries. Your fingers were digging into his arms so tightly that it hurt but he didn’t dare say anything, he just slowly brought his arms around your back.

“We need to move before the rest of the town comes out.” He spoke lowly, not wanting to spook you into throwing punches. He had seen you pummel that man’s face to nothing, and it scared him you could do the same to him in a blind panic. You just nodded, not moving, body shivering against him as he tried to console you. He didn’t think he would ever be able to, not with this, not with what his brain was telling him had happened here in this nightmare of a town. He tried to take a step, but you didn’t budge, hands tightening on him. “Darlin’, we gotta move.”

“I can’t f-feel my legs. They drugged me and I think it’s kicking in.” You looked up at him, eyes shiny with tears. You looked so defeated and he was scared you were going to look like that for the rest of your life. He couldn’t see any part of the woman you were before this in your face, in your eyes. He hadn’t seen any of who Ellie had been before either and his heart hurt in his chest. He pulled away from you and moved to scoop you up bridal style, but you weakly pushed at him. “No, you’re gonna hurt yourself, p-pull your stitches.”

You shift on your feet, leaning heavily into his left side.

“I got Ellie safe in the brush, I didn’t want to leave her, but she said they still had you locked up.” He didn’t dare say locked up in a cage, the feeling of those words settling heavily in him. They had locked you and Ellie up like animals, like things to be used at their convenience. The fire spread to the surrounding buildings, the freezing air offering no relief for the town. “She told me to save you, that they-“

“They’re dead.” The parody of a conversation from long ago in the darkness of a small forest clearing not lost on either of you.

“I know, darlin’. But we gotta go. Now.” He watches as splotches of color began to pepper the snow, people emerging from the buildings. People he didn’t have the energy to kill now that he had you in his arms and Ellie was waiting for them to retrieve her. As you hastily distanced yourself from the burning town, you felt Joel lean into you as much as you were leaning into him. Two broken and beaten people trying to offer whatever solace as you retrieved Ellie. She was smothered between you both, shielding her from the world as you moved further, further, further away. The snow was blinding as it whipped around your little trio but you didn’t look back. None of you did.

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A/N: This is my gift for @readerinsertfanfiction 💜 The moment I saw Cyran on your list, I was thrilled. I hope you enjoy!

A huge thank you to @ikemenlibrary for her support and friendship and for being a generous, caring host 💜

Prompt: A servant, someone who knew Cyran from before his time in Rhodolite

Cyran x AU Emma

WC: ~4k

Obsidian: the Past

She runs across the cracked, sunbaked cobblestone streets, her treasure wrapped in a cream-colored tea towel and held protectively against her chest. Her worn leather shoes make a pleasing thunking sound against the stones as she hurries past dusty shop windows and faded porches, carefully dodging people on the street.

“Langsam, Emma!” someone yells as she flies past but she doesn’t listen to their warning. She can’t slow down. She has somewhere to be.

Finally she reaches the edge of town and takes a sharp left, leaving the cobblestones behind for a ribbon of dirt road that winds its way along tired hills covered with sparse sage-green grass and dotted with scraggly yellow dandelions. Another turn onto an even smaller path, a faint thing that meanders through the knee-high growth and then, finally, the faded barn comes into view. 

She smiles, pumping her young legs harder, willing them to swallow the distance faster and faster until she reaches the peeling, splintered wooden doors and haphazardly flings one open.

“Cyran? I’m here!!”

The boy, just shy of fourteen, turns away from the wooden beam he has been faux-sparring with, lowering the dull, well-worn practice sword he is so proud of. His hair gleams like fire in the hazy sunlight that shines through the pocked roof. 

Emma hurries over, gulping down huge breaths of musty air as she grabs his thin forearm.

“C’mon. I’m dying to see how they taste.”

Cyran laughs, struggling to sheath his sword as she drags him over to the blanket thrown over the hay in a cozy corner of the barn. This is their favorite place to meet, an escape from the outside world they discovered several years ago while exploring. It is here that Emma sometimes reads to him from one of her treasured books. She’s even shared stories she’s written, romantic tales of princesses and dragons, knights and monsters. Cyran is always the hero, the knight who slays the monsters and rescues the damsel in distress. Emma will change her roles in the stories. 

Sometimes she needs rescuing. 

But sometimes, she is the dragon.

Often they sneak treats to each other, hard biscuits or smoked meat or, if they are really lucky, sweet berries brought across the border from the lush neighboring country of Rhodolite. Cyran’s neighbor is a servant for some of the merchants that make the risky trips over and when he’s lucky, she manages to tuck away a few treasures just for him.

He settles himself down on the frayed checkered blanket and pushes his bright hair away from his forehead, eagerly watching as Emma drops down next to him, laying the tea towel down. Her face is flushed from her run and from the thrill of what she’s managed to bring him.

“Ready?”

He nods, enthusiastically motioning for her to unwrap it already. He has hands that are too big for his young body, growing the way many boys do at this age, in odd fits and spurts. 

Emma leans forward, pushing up the sleeve of her too-big dress and carefully pulls back the edges of the tea towel.

The smell hits them first, the warm spice of cinnamon, the tang of nutmeg, the slight bitterness of the cloves, the unmistakable scent of ginger. It wafts up towards them, exotic and tempting. Cyran breathes in deeply and then sighs happily as he looks at her, eyes bright and admiring.

“It smells so good.”

Cyran had carefully been saving up the exotic store of spices, some of them gifts from his neighbors, others decadent purchases made at the market from his meager earnings made mucking stalls and chopping wood. He knew that Emma would be the one who would create something special with them. Young as she was, she was a talented cook and baker, able to make the most fantastic treats out of the simplest ingredients. And now that she had been given such a treasure trove to work with, she had spun pure magic.

The spiced biscuits are dappled dark brown and gold. When she hands him one, it is with a reverence that echos a priest giving communion or a child receiving a shiny new toy at Christmas.

Their gazes meet and she nods.

“Together.”

He returns the nod, staring into the warm depths of her soft brown eyes.

“Together.”

They bite into the cookies at the same time. Emma breaks into a proud smile as Cyran closes his eyes, savoring the medley of flavor and even better, the knowledge that she made them just for him.

“It’s good, isn’t it?" she asks, grinning. She sees the look on his face, the way he is practically melting with enjoyment.

He lifts his shoulder in a casual shrug, feigning indifference.

“I guess……”

“What?!”

He takes another bite, leaning back on one hand. “I mean, they’re ok. But you know, Hilde’s biscuits are also really good–OOF.”

She’s tackled him, throwing herself at him with all the force of a frenzied feline, her nimble fingers scratching at his sides. Cyran breaks into laughter, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and tries to squirm away from her.

“Ok ok Brown Eyes, enough!”

Emma lets him go, sitting back on her heels with a glowing, triumphant smile.

“Never say that about Hilde’s cookies again.”

He pushes himself up, heart pounding furiously in his chest. Only some of it is from laughing. He tears his gaze away from the unsettling beauty of her eyes, traveling up to her hair.

“You’re a mess. You got straw in your hair and your braid is a disaster.”

Emma turns and scoots until she is sitting in front of him. “Since it’s your fault….you fix it.”

Cyran heaves a sigh he doesn’t mean and then settles himself into a comfortable position, reaching forward and with a tenderness and care far beyond most boys his age, begins slowly picking the straw from her messy plait.

Emma’s eyes drift closed as she revels in the attention he’s giving her, the gentle way he untangles her braid and then very slowly begins brushing his fingers through her soft, chestnut-colored hair.

It feels comforting and safe.

It feels thrilling.

It feels like the early evening has come to a standstill and they have all the time in the world.

But their time together is like a rose slowly losing its petals.

A petal falls as he tells her, wide-eyed and shaken, that his neighbor has been killed in her own home, throat opened in the dead of night and left smiling its ghastly red smile until she was discovered hours later. Emma rubs his back, not knowing what else to do. This is not the first death in their village as of late. And it will not be the last.

A petal falls as they lay, side by side, on the blanket in the hay, staring up at the patches of starry sky visible through the holes in the roof. “My parents are scared,” she whispers. He turns his head to stare at her profile and knows it isn’t just her parents who are frightened. “I’ll protect you,” he whispers, voice fierce with youth’s naïve promise. Her gaze remains on the silver stars but she reaches out, taking his hand and squeezes it.

A petal falls as she comes to their favorite spot, face pale as bone, to tell him that her family is leaving. Her father has contacted distant relatives that live far to the north, as far from Rhodolite and the dangers it poses as one can get. Cyran feels like his young heart may break right there in his chest and he will be forced to live the rest of his life with its pieces rattling around inside of him. Though filled with dismay, Emma’s eyes are as beautiful as ever. They shine with tears, rivaling any star they have ever spent time gazing at.

A petal falls as she rushes through the dark, on the night before her family is to leave, her throat burning with feelings she can’t quite name, waves too strong to try and understand for fear they will sweep her away. She bursts through the barn doors and finds him already there, his hair dark as garnet, damp with sweat. He has spent the entire day doing heavy labor, removing heavy wooden beams, hauling ancient and broken equipment, sweeping the dusty, straw-strewn floor. Several lanterns placed around the interior bathe the space in warm, yellow light. The barn is as clean and inviting as he can make it. He wanted to give her one more memory, something beautiful, that she can take with her on her journey away from here. Away from him.

Emma is frozen in place, soaking in all he has done, before finally stopping on the young man at the center of it. He’s breathing hard, his chest rising and falling unevenly. Already his shoulders carry the hint of what manhood will bring him: strength and breadth. Arms that with training will turn hard and sculpted, legs that will lengthen until he is taller than most. He is the faint beginning of what he will become. Emma wonders wildly if she will ever get the chance to see the finished masterpiece.

“Emma,” he says, his voice raw and rough, deeper than she has ever heard it.

She sets down the bundle she is holding, the one she carried so close on the way here, leaving it on top of a weathered wooden barrel.

“Cyran,” she answers, her muscles tense, like a fawn when it hears a crunching in the underbrush.

He starts forward, one hesitant step and that is enough. She flies towards him, throwing her thin arms around his neck and buries her face in his worn linen shirt, clutching him to her. There is power in her small frame, something fierce and bright, a hurricane in crystal. Cyran holds her close, his eyes closing as he breathes in her familiar scent. He’s been teased his whole life because of his last name, but she is the one who reminds him of a rose, who always smells so sweet.

The anticipation of loss that has them clinging to each other slowly ebbs and something else, something that has been burning low and quiet in every laugh, every touch, every glance begins to emerge. She is suddenly aware of the press of her chest against his, of how much taller he is, the earthy smell of his skin. She leans back to look at him and sees the same awareness mirrored in his dark eyes.

Outside a rooster crows, loud and discordant.

Cyran turns his head toward the sound and Emma, sparked by the frantic knowledge that she must leave, grabs his chin, pulling him back to her and rises onto her toes, pressing her lips to his.

It is a sunbeam bursting through gray clouds. A spark breathing life into a pile of dried leaves. It is hope and promise and wonder.

And heartbreak.

With a stifled cry, she steps away, turns and flees the barn, not wanting to see the look on his face as she leaves, not wanting that to be her last memory of him.

Cyran watches with a thundering heart as the door swings shut. Flooded with helplessness and misery, he notices the bundle she left behind. Tenderly he lifts it, undoing the sky-colored ribbon. It’s her favorite handkerchief, white with pale blue forget-me-nots painstakingly embroidered along the edges, and nestled inside are several of her spiced biscuits. His favorites.

Rhodolite: The Present

Rhodolite is so much MORE than she expected. The streets are wider and cleaner and lined with greenery, more trees and flowering bushes and grass than in the entire garden of the palace in Obsidian. There are more people than she expected too, many standing under awnings and lampposts, peeking through windows and around doorways, watchful eyes in beautiful faces following the royal procession as it makes its way towards the palace. 

When she had been told by the Head Chef that they would be accompanying Prince Gilbert and his entourage to Rhodolite, Emma had felt a familiar ringing through the cockles of her heart. Rhodolite is where Cyran was rumored to have ended up. Whispers from the south had traveled her way, over the many years since they parted. He had joined the army when he was of age. He had left Obsidian for the verdure of Rhodolite. He was employed by one of the Princes there. Crumbs of information she had managed to gather, hoarding them tightly like precious drops of mana. 

He may not even be here, she reminds herself as her tired gray mare plods along down the street. She and the other servants are at the end of the procession and most of the people have turned away, not interested in anything but the dangerous Prince Gilbert with his sharp smile and blood-red gaze. 

Still, Emma finds herself scanning the crowds as they pass, looking for any head of red hair. She spots a few but they are never him.

As the overwhelming elegant palace suddenly rises towards the heavens before her, she draws in a sharp breath. 

We’re here…….

…….Is he?

The palace looms closer, a breathtaking monument of pale beauty.

And if so….how in the wide world will she ever find him?

Cyran runs a hand through his thick mass of russet hair as his long strides make quick work of the pathway towards the training hall. It’s late evening and the young, freshly-minted knights are at the end of their training and he needs to make sure everything went well without him there. He knows Lucian is more than capable of leading them through their drills but Cyran has a responsibility to make sure. They are all under his charge.

Entering the hall, he sees several of the knights laughing in a corner. Some are sitting and catching their breath, others are pushing the heavy sandbags they sometimes train with back into their storage room. What he sees reassures him. They look tired and sore, yet satisfied, faces bright with the feeling of accomplishment a tough training session will leave behind.

He’s about to go look for Lucian, expecting a full report when he notices several of the knights standing by the wooden table at the far end of the training circle, the one usually covered with straps for shields and rope and other odds and ends. They’re smiling, far too widely to be discussing anything so mundane as weaponry. Several are chewing. He approaches the table, greeted by his men with smiles and respectful nods. Immediately he notices the tin: it’s round and black, covered with decorative golden swirls. 

“What’s this?” He glances towards the first knight at his left, a tall lad with sandy blond hair.

“They were brought here by an Obsidian servant. She said they were a present for us.”

Cyran frowns, a skeptical look on his face as he reaches inside the tin for one of the golden brown cookies.

“And you didn’t think to–” He was going to ask if they thought accepting gifts from strangers was a good idea when the scent hits him, cutting through the sweat and musk of tired men.

The warm spice of cinnamon, the tang of nutmeg, the slight bitterness of cloves, the unmistakable scent of ginger.

He goes still, the breath knocked from his lungs.

Could it be…..

Something in his face hushes the men around him. They watch, curious as Cyran lifts the cookie and takes a bite. 

The man who sees everything, ever watchful, closes his eyes as he chews and the knights are transfixed by the absolute stillness that has overtaken their leader.

And then those eyes open and something in them has begun to burn, bright and alive.

The other half of the cookie falls to the dusty ground as he turns on his heel and, practically jogging, exits the training area, leaving behind the half-eaten biscuit and a slew of surprised faces.

The rose gardens are somehow even more beautiful in the twilight of evening. The red petals seem to have darkened, shedding their bright rose-red for a sultry scarlet. Shadows emerge from the trimmed hedges, stretching across the winding stone pathways, giving a visitor like Emma glimpses of hidden benches and secret dirt paths leading into clandestine corners of the gardens.

She has taken several of these more narrow, less-trodden paths, not at all afraid of getting lost. Her heart is a bird, flitting between dark branches, full of a nervous, tightly-wound energy she can’t quite explain. 

As the sky darkens to a deep navy blue and the first stars open their eyes, Emma pauses in front of a gray stone fountain. Two swans, nuzzling their beaks together, bodies curved towards one another as a blossoming flower rises above them, water spraying outward in celebration. She tilts her head, the romantic in her sighing at the way the two swans perfectly mirror one another, two halves of a whole, two souls in perfect harmony. So enchanted is she by the fountain that she doesn’t hear the footfall on the path, doesn’t notice the man who has stopped several meters away from where she is standing, the sight of her freezing him in his tracks.

“Emma.”

She jumps at the deep voice, her eyes wide and dark as she turns towards the sound. The owner of said voice is standing, half in shadow, at the place where the small path to the fountain begins, beneath a shadowy arch of crimson roses. She is so startled, she doesn’t even register that he has said her name.

“Oh….s'il te plaît, excuse-moi,” she says quickly, doing her best to remember the phrases of the common language spoken in Rhodolite. “J'espère que ça va…” She trails off, trying to remember how to say she hopes she is allowed to be here but the man takes another step closer, leaving the blanket of shadows and stepping into the fading light.

Even the dusky hue of evening cannot hide the red of his hair.

A gasp as soft as the flutter of a bird’s wing escapes her. The young boy she knew juxtaposed against this tall, broad man before her sends her heart into a tailspin. Her hand flies to her mouth as she takes him in. She sees the same bright light of recognition and admiration and overwhelming emotion plain as day on his beautiful face.

“Cyran?” The word is a whisper, a breathless repetition of the name she has kept in her prayers for decades.

His eyes never leave her, almost as if he has the power to hold her there with his gaze, to keep her from vanishing into the realm of his dreams where she has lived for so long. Slowly, he reaches up and loosens the laces at the top of his tunic. His hand slides inside and when it emerges, he is holding a small square of cloth. As he slowly opens it, her heart falters.

It’s white, with pale blue forget-me-nots embroidered around the edges.

He holds it out to her, his chest rising and falling with every deep breath he takes. That handkerchief has lived next to his heart, in an inner pocket, one he has sewn into every shirt he has ever owned since the day he watched her leave.

“I think…..this belongs to you, Brown Eyes.”

She chokes back a sob, unable to contain the thunderstorm of emotion coursing through her and runs to him, falling into his arms as naturally as a willow bends to the wind, tears falling freely down her cheeks. Cyran wraps his arms around her, sheltering her, holding her the way he has imagined a thousand times. His throat burns with all the words he has ached to say, all those sleepless nights spent remembering the lilt of her smile, the music of her laughter, the bittersweet taste of her kiss.

Emma squeezes her eyes closed, breathing in the scent of him, at once so familiar and yet so strange. Her arms wind around his waist as she presses herself against him, drinking in the sensation of his body on hers. 

This is Cyran….her Cyran…..her….

A thought pierces her heart as she suddenly steps away from him, eyes wide, still so beautiful as they glimmer with the remnants of her tears.

“Oh…I…I didn’t mean…..you could be married. I shouldn’t have-”

His laughter is coarse, rough with emotion, a roll of rushing water as it careens over the lip of a cliff.

“As if I could ever love anyone else.”

Love…..

As if summoned by the very word, the moon itself parts the soft gray clouds, flooding the small section of the garden with silvery light. The tinkling of the fountain fills the momentary silence. 

Cyran’s cheeks suddenly flush, a hot mixture of embarrassment and panic overriding the elation of the previous moment.

“I…..I don’t mean to presume of course that you feel the same. It has been a long time and…..” He trails off, wincing. Fluster is such an uncharacteristic state of being for Cyran. “Ah, shit. I’m sorry. I–” 

His words are cut off as Emma launches herself back into his arms, hugging him fiercely.

“Please, don’t apologize.” She tilts her head up to look at him, still in awe of how she sees the young man he was and the handsome man he has become in his beautiful eyes, in his exquisite face. “It has always been you.”

Cyran drags air into his lungs, hardly able to believe he isn’t dreaming. His rough fingers capture her chin, his thumb running over the sensitive skin just under her lower lip. 

Slowly, he leans down as she stretches upwards, eager and nearly trembling with emotion. 

He kisses her, his hand still cupping her face. Gently his mouth moves over hers as he tells her a wordless story of longing, of a bruised heart that learned to somehow keep beating. 

He kisses her, a strong arm pulling her closer, his lips and tongue weaving the tale of a young soldier who never forgot the girl with the tender heart and radiant spirit. The soldier who dreamed of her face during his darkest nights and longed for her laughter on days of sunshine.

She meets him, kiss for kiss, stroke for stroke, sliding her palms along his broad shoulders, clutching him as she answers his tale, confessing without words how he has never left her heart. How his smile was her light in times of worry and despair. How seeing him again has been her northern star from the moment of parting.

Only the moon knows how long they stand there, wrapped in each other’s arms, lost in each other’s yearning.

When they finally part, Cyran rests his forehead against hers, still keeping her tightly in his embrace. He may never let go again.

“You’re….in the employ of Prince Gilbert. I am here.” He frowns ever so slightly as he brushes several loose strands of hair away from Emma’s charmingly flushed cheek. “This could get complicated.”

Their gazes meet and she nods.

“Yes…..but we’ll figure it out.”

And suddenly he is carried back in time to an evening when her eyes shone just as brightly, just as excitedly, a young girl with something to give a young boy, a homemade cookie, an offering of love.

“Together.” 

Her voice echoes across the years, that word wrapping itself around his battered heart, a balm, a blessing.

He returns the nod, staring into the warm depths of her soft brown eyes, tenderly stroking the silk of her hair, and answers her now as he did back then. 

“Together.”

Tagging: @xbalayage @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @aria-chikage @redheadkittys @tele86 @dear-mrs-otome @olivermorningstar @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @ikesimpleton @namine-somebodies-nobody @cellophanediamond @whatever-fanfics @justpeachyteastea @chirp-a-chirp @got7igot7family @kookie-my-little-sunshine @mastering-procrastinating @portrait-ninja @queen-dahlia @themysticalbeing @nightghoul381 @whitelittlebunny @chi-the-idiot @bubblexly @wordycheeseblob

[ice-cream-writes-stuff]

♤RAMPAGE♤

Episode 1: ♤AGGRESSIVE♤

{WHERE a young teen screams out her aggression with heavy death metal for a boy she barely knows.}

[Warnings: Yandere Aqua, will add more Warnings later.]

《AGGRESSIVE: Pursuing one's aims and interests forcefully, sometimes unduly so.》

♤

Aquamarine Hoshino was a strange type of person...

He was a liar, a scoundrel at best.

Yet he was a young man. With simple and unhinged desires.

Meeting you didn't change that.

What attracted him to you like a bear to honey? Was it your sweet smile and compliance? Or your features that made him feel like he was gonna melt into a puddle?

"Uh-umm, you okay?" Your voice captures his attention as you gave him an awkward smile.

"Yes." The blonde replied smoothly as he watched you nod unsurely.

"You were talking about how you felt bad for not getting in the assignment for one of your classes, right?"

You look at him blankly... Then, eruptly bang your head against your desk. Comically, whining as your female friend, laughs at you robotically.

"It's not funny!!" You cry fruitlessly.

Aqua studied you like a new breed of animal.

You weren't much of an attention bringer, yet so ordinary to the eye, while also being so secretive and polite.

People wanted to be close to you, good or bad.

He was one of those people.

Aqua believed it was possible that you held that 'star-power' that he, Ruby, and his mother had.

And you did.

But instead of showcasing it to the world with pride. You kept to yourself, going as far as tl screaming your lungs out a simple karaoke room across town.

Aqua.. Wanted to see you shine like Ai. But the selfish part of him relished the simplicity of your relationship with him.

Of course, it was held together by thinly veiled lies. But not so detrimental to his plans.

Deceiving had become easy, was this how Ai felt when she showed her "love"?

Aqua would never know. Yet he yearned to, one day.

"Hey, (Y/N)? Wanna join us for drinks at a new cafe we found?"

Aqua narrows his eyes slightly at your male friend. His blushing and humble appearance ticks the blonde off.

"Maybe it'll help you keep your mind off it?"

You groan miserably at your friend.

Aqua, used to this, expected you to decline. Yet raised your head and sighed.

Don't tell him you were considering-!

"Maybe another time.. You guys should go.. Lunch is almost over.." You mumble distracted and off into your own world.

"See you guys.."

You don't bother to get up as you shove your face back on the desk.

Your male friend eyes you worriedly as he says goodbye while your female friend taps something on her phone. Before glancing at you and Aqua.

"You'll get over it," she said simply, "you always do.." She sighed agitatedly before leaving the classroom too.

"She could of been a little nicer.." You grumble before leaning your back against the chair, a calm sigh leaving your lips as you pull out your school book.

"Hey.."

You look away from your task, giving your sorta, new, school friend, attention.

"Yeah? What's up?"

"If you need help studying, maybe you should-"

"Please don't give me advice," you said sweetly.

Ah.. He could tell your rage was rising.

Good.

"Sorry," he mutters, looking away.

Noticing his aloofness, you quickly scramble up an apology for him.

"Wait! I'm sorry! I-I didn't mean it!"

You try to back-track your words.

"It's just.. I'm suprised, you didn't really give advice.. So.."

"You think I'm not wise?" Aqua acted offended as you squeak and raise your hands, hoping for mercy.

"No-!"

"You know.. You can just ask the teacher for easier work." Aqua said in a monotone voice, hiding his smile as he sees your composure slightly crack.

"HAH... FUNNY JOKE." You grit out, your lips pulled together into a gummy smile.

Alright, Aqua knew when to quit, and he rather be kept in your good graces... For the mean time.

"I wanted to ask you something.." Aqua said seriously, his bright blue eyes giving off a small gleam.

You look at him expectedly and curious, capturing your full attention once more.

"Yeah..?"

-

You huff, exasperated at the end of the day. Your normal shoes padding down the pavement calmly as you stride with a purpose.

Finding yourself in front of a familiar Kareoke Club, the clerk nods to you.

"Party of one?"

...

Typing in the numbers to the kareoke machine, you take a single breath.

"WHAT. THE. HEEEEEEEELLLLLLLLLLLL~!!!!!"

♤

{Hi! So.. This will be a slight mini project for me, and I would love for some feedback and such! Comments and art are always appreciated! Thank you!]

(Ps: The Ai Hoshino series is on my Qoutev.}

[dollfaced-erin]

𝔻𝕣𝕒𝕘𝕠𝕟'𝕤 ℂ𝕣𝕒𝕕𝕝𝕖 (Blade x F!Reader x Jing Yuan)

PART 17

PART 1 , PART 2 , PART 3 , PART 4 , PART 5 , PART 6 , PART 7 , PART 8 , PART 9 , PART 10 , PART 11 , PART 12 , PART 13 , PART 14 , PART 15 , PART 16

A/n :

i have JUST finished Penacony, and i have to say, THAT WAS A WILD RIDE FR HELP ?!?! i did NOT expect it to end that way. Okok, hear me out, you might cancel me or whatever, but opinions are opinions right, and i LOVE how they made Sparkle some little gremlin that REALLY knows how to flame people good. ye ye i know about the things happening on twitter, but push that aside. that's merely a reference. all in all, the races in the game still dont exist. and getting mad at a fictional VILLAIN is somewhat hilarious to me ngl...i never even SAW the racism until i watched tiktok. my eyes. anything on tiktok is like...corrupting my brain rn and i hope your fyps are favoring you all too ! But still. We're all humans and we all have our opinions. so dont start messing around and bullshitting people online youre never gonna meet, okay ?

Taglist : -

@rebeccawinters , @nayukiyukihira , @pix-stuff , @fluffy-koalala , @swivy123 , @starxao , @kaoyamamegami , @kimura-uzuri , @rsvye , @seikouryuu , @just-here-reading , @matsulovesyou, @sincerely-aaronette , @prettyliliy , @chibiduck , @hermosacolibri , @la-diablas-thingz , @farelady-fate , @everi-eve , @shadowfoxey , @helloyuki , @immahuman , @samptlay , @boomie-123

Back then, he was only a young man, staring up at the starskiffs that flew by in the sky. He looked no older than a mere teen, but as a Xianzhou native, looks are VERY deceiving. Even for someone as young as Jing Yuan.

The young man looked up at the sky, his adolescence was only peaking up back then. But even so, he was a splendid Cloud Knight, already the climbing up the ranks to be a Sword Champion like his master. Though she had shielded him from much the horrors she had faced when she was a mere child, she tried her best to raise her student as her very own.

He remembered seeing his friends earlier, during the crowning of Jingliu as the Legendary Sword Master, entitling her with the nickname transcendent flash due to her movements that had seemingly cut through time and space within a blink of an eye. They all came around, wanting to congratulate her.

There was the legendary craftsmen, though hailing from another land and being a short-lived species, he had come to present to her the sword made of alien material, shining ebony matte black even under the bright sun. And not far behind him, was the Imbibator Lunae, coming over adorned with his robes of silk and jewelry of jade. Then, there was the mischievous Baiheng who roamed across the stars and set to stay on the Luofu.

But clinging to the sleeve of the High Elder of the Xianzhou Luofu, like a little lost girl, though he was sure that she was most likely just a couple decades younger than the Imbibator Lunae himself. And with the glaucous horns perched atop her head, he knew that she was inevitably the relative of this royal dragon before him, the one they called Saltator Lunae.

She was a beautiful young woman, with bright, curious (e/c) eyes that shone with wonder for the world. Her silky (h/c) hair was held up with a beautiful hairpin made of glass that seemed to be sturdier than plain ceramic he saw the nobles wear. But it matched her innocent look, and it seemed to him that she had yet to see more of the outside world.

He saw her for a mere glimpse, and she seemed to be talking to either her brother, or Yingxing the craftsman who seemed to be very much absorbed into his conversation with her. The middle-aged man even seemed to adore the young woman.

'Cute...' he remembered thinking as he saw her.

It was hot that day, and he was just fresh after training. But after remembering his master's swordsmanship, he quickly got back up, grabbing the sword he used to train, and went on with his practice. There was still much to learn, much to face before he could even dream of being half the person his master was.

"Jing Yuan, meet Imbibator Lunae's younger sister. Saltator Lunae." Jingliu said, appearing seemingly out of nowhere, as he was in the middle of training.

And he saw her again, from a much closer distance. The pretty girl from the other day, this time with an intricate hand fan in her hold, closed. This time she seemed much more...reserved ? Was it because her brother wasn't around ?

"Huh ? Sister ?"

"Yes, she'll be training with you. Other than Cloudhymn magic, she wants to learn about forming wind and water together to form ice. It doesn't hurt to learn more, especially from someone with core differences like you, Jing Yuan."

"Ah..." sighed the General as he shook his head, pulling himself out of his thoughts. He chuckled softly, looking at the item in his hand, which was a small decorative hand fan.

It was a beautiful oriental fan, with intricate designs carefully inked and dyed with care and professional handling. And it was no ordinary fan, instead it was a beautiful silk fan that he had seen her hold on the day they first met....

And was entrusted to him by Dan Feng who loved his sister very much before he had to part from this world.

The fan just...was just a reminder of what sunny days he blindly lived through, never anticipating the position he'd assume current day...

"General ?" A young voice piped up, snapping him out of his dampened mood.

The General turned to see his retainer by his side, peering cautiously at the fan in his master's hand, knowing that it must've belonged to someone of position and status. Especially since the wood forming it was no ordinary slice, but rather elaborately detailed to the smallest feature.

"Yes, Yanqing ?" He responded back, the lazy cat-grin on his lips as his golden eyes met one he considered his son.

"Lady Fu Xuan has given signal that she has deployed the anomaly team towards the suspected location of the Plagues Author's devotees." Yanqing said, the young boy nodding his head to signal to his master something.

"Thank you, Yanqing. It is time for me to depart, and reunite with the princess herself face to face. I cannot have the Ace of the deck be pulled out before its time." Jing Yuan said as he placed the fan onto the table, and rose to his feet.

"An...ace of the deck...?" Yanqing asked, cocking up an eyebrow as he suspiciously eyed the General of the Xianzhou Luofu.

"Yes. One of the keys in saving the Xianzhou itself." Jing Yuan said, giving no room for his retainer to further impose on his agenda.

"Now, Yanqing. I will be leaving to coincide with the Master Diviner's troupes, and those stationed in the Alchemy Commission." Jing Yuan said with that same smirk plastered on his lips.

"Do not lay your foot in a trap laid down by yourself, lest you be the hunted instead of the hunter." Was Jing Yuan's final warning before he walked off to leave the Seat of Divine Foresight.

But what he didn't know was that his little apprentice had been exposed to the sights of the legendary without either of them noticing it. And this youngling was very much eager to try his new profound knowledge in bringing justice to the land he served.

Though the General had yet just finished another meeting with the Master Diviner, even issued her with the official warrant to temporarily command the Cloud Knights, it was clear that things were far from over now. Affairs on the Xianzhou Luofu this time wouldn't be so easily averted, not with the interference of outsider hands in this matter.

He shook his head as he remembered the contents of the earlier discussion with Fu Xuan earlier. He remembered the troubled face of (Y/n) who had not dared utter a word as he issued another errand for the Astral express team to run.

He remembered his own words, spoken with his regular slyness and his lax tone in order to conceal what he truly felt inside...

"Miss Tingyun, I would like you to continue to serve as a guide for our Astral friends. And Lady (Y/n)..." he said, trailing off as he turned to look at her.

She looked...troubled. Biting her lower lip was a habit she had built long back during the prime era of the High-Cloud Quintet. Not only did she look troubled, she also seemed quite...saddened. Perhaps...it was the memories that surged her, or even the weight of her duties to reseal the Ambrosial Arbor. And everyone knows that...Lady (Y/n) isn't quite complete in herself...

"I hope you understand the importance of your presence within this mission. I am sure that the team will be able to safely escort you through the paths, and guide you safely to the Alchemy Commission."

He had once again broken the rules and regulations of the Luofu. With the next task he issued...was to get the Astral Express team towards the Ambrosial Arbor through the Alchemy Commission's delve. It was a hard decision, knowing the routes they needed to pass through were heavily infested and affected by the growth of the Ambrosial Arbor and it would be increasingly dangerous for (Y/n) to continue venturing along.

But he had no other choice yet in this matter. She was the King piece in this chessboard. Though her Queen piece...was nowhere in sight.

But he knew that man would appear sooner or later. Along with the young prince, who served the missing half of the current king's severed power.

He just hoped she was faring well.

"Phew ! That deer sure was a tough one !" March said, a relieved smile on her lips after the team had departed from the Alchemy Commission and saying good by to a certain...Furnace Master.

"Quite a deer friend indeed." Replied her companion, Stelle, who earned a tired groan from March due to her pathetic excuse of making jokes.

"But Lady (Y/n)..." March said, looking at the woman who was walking ahead of them, her back turned towards the team. Robes of expensive silk fluttered in the wind behind her, light shining off the material. Her (h/c) swayed in the wind, giving off nothing but an air of royalty.

But despite her ice cold gaze...everyone saw how shocked she looked when Gongshu had introduced himself as the Furnace of Creation's master. The woman was silent, merely staring at the man before her, uttering not a word. But she bit her lip, as a way to prevent herself from saying more than she should.

Then there was the deer, the Ebon Deer that was nothing but an abomination. Colors of blue, gold and green, representing life, vitality and wealth. A beautiful yet horrifying mix of colors forever ingrained in her mind.

"Are you alright, Lady (Y/n) ?" Welt asked, making sure that the young woman behind her was faring well.

Fighting against the Ebon Deer was hard work, at it seemed that even (Y/n) had trouble against it before they dispelled the outer source of power it was extracting from the power of Abundance.

He watched her horrified reaction as it withered and yet regained its former state, almost as if she were haunted by the extremes of power an Aeon can possess...

Or perhaps were those the same eyes of the people who fought in the War of Abundance...? The eyes that witnessed fear and loss time and time again. Maybe...perhaps even those eyes were included in the horrors of the abominations.

Powers of the Vidyadhara were nothing short of the definition of power itself, but she struggled to face it off, as if having second thoughts while fighting, or even extending the period of fighting just to conduct a couple observations and conclude a couple thoughts.

This woman...was trying to learn something. Gain an insight, perhaps...?

Even as Welt was making his own observations and conclusions regarding the change of paths from the Abundance to the Hunt, (Y/n) stood away from them, deep in her own circle of thought.

"I...am alright." Said the regal lady, dusting of the sleeves of her dress. It was tough, but she knew there was more to come, especially with the warning Jing Yuan had discretely yet undoubtedly been trying to relay to her.

Her presence was playing a crucial part in this play of his.

Did that mean...she had to meet...his reincarnation...?

Jing Yuan had never told her what had become past the period of molting rebirth. But did she really want to know...?

"It's just...that deer..." she said softly, shaking her head. "Reminded me of someone."

The man she loved, falling at the hand of the abundance, due to some...forbidden ritual they were trying to pursue. And he too...began one of the Abundance. Healing time after time, without even having a say in his own life.

The woman looked back to meet the gaze of her worried companions. All sorts of gazes landed on her form, pity, worry, concern, understanding...she appreciated them all, but...

"That's enough. We should keep going. The Alchemy Commission...shouldn't be far from here now..." said the dragon lady before she turned on her heel to leave the scene.

Right...there was no need to say anymore. Words...could not convey the feeling of loss she felt etched deep inside her heart. Nor did the memories even fulfil the void that grew day by day, with a certain longing for times of old to resurge...

Through the gates of the Artisanship Commission, it led the team straight towards the Alchemy Commission, a delve where all the medicinal and healing practices were carried out. It was the perfect place for concocting medicines out of herbs and materials of rare items to treat unknown diseases, or a place to jot down prescription after prescription while attending to the endless stream of natives that need the attention of professionals.

Some came here to learn, and some came here to help others. But ultimately, the desire of all here was one, to make the Xianzhou Luofu more prosperous and longevous than it ever was.

But this place...was also the same place for dubious plans to be carried out. With the high-tech equipment, materials only those in the alchemy would be able to obtain, should the Luofu fall into peril, this...would no doubt be their lair.

(Y/n) led the team into the commission, walking past the walls that were once so familiar to her. Though it has been centuries, this place...was almost as same as it used to be back when she was in her prime, looking over the apprentices like a protective mother watching her eggs.

Bodies of the mara-struck, celestial bodies and the Cloud Knights littered the stone ground left and right, for as far as the eye can see. It was no doubt that a fierce war had indeed taken place within these walls, no time to reach out for help since the delve had been sealed off, and the commission was deemed to be deserted.

"Whoa, looks like the battle here was intense..." March said, the poor girl looking around the blood-bathed battlefield with fear and horror in her young eyes. Her hands were to her mouth, almost in disbelief with what had occurred here.

Tingyun sighed, looking behind her to meet the gaze of the young girl. "Looks like the Master Diviner had launched a campaign while we were delayed in the Artisanship Commission."

"She must've divined it at the right time..." responded the usually silent Stelle, only ever opening her mouth to let out the most unheard of jokes (Y/n)'s pointed ears had heard of, or to say something incredibly out of character.

"Seems like she had sent in the Cloud Knights to clear out the way before we arrived. It would've been dreadfully dangerous had she let us in without proper preparation and training like the knights." (Y/n) said, her sharp and luminescent eyes scanning the area, the scene before her like flowers wilted on the ground.

But this...was nothing compared to the flooding blood rivers she had witnessed as a young maiden. Should things continue as they are...well...the Luofu would be drenched in mixed blood once again.

But unlike last time. She would do everything in her power to stop from memories of the past haunt and overshadow her future, refusing it to take shape it once took form as.

She wouldn't dare dream of losing another person dear to her.

Not the warm and kind-hearted General that had embraced her with loving arms the moment her eyes had revealed itself to the world. Not when she had to let go of her lover that remembered so little of her yet yearned for their long lost intimate moments.

Back then...she had so much to lose. And this time was no different.

She just hoped...that his reincarnation was doing well somewhere.

Welt noticed the unease in (Y/n)'s gaze. Being the attentive man he was, riddled with experience and written with history of a distant land, he knew better than to outright voice his concern over the Dragon Lady.

"Time is of the essence. The most important task for the Xianzhou Luofu is suppressing the Stellaron." Said the brunette, his arms crossing over his chest as he too observed the concluded battlefield before him. "General Jing Yuan tasked the Master Diviner with commanding the Cloud Knights-- he would've known she'd act on the results of her divination."

"Maybe that's why they sent us through the Artisanship Commission. To avoid direct contact with the battlefield. It is too dangerous for us here. If fighting the Ebon Deer was already breaking more than our usual threshold, imagine actually engaging in a real battle." (Y/n) said softly, looking sad at the loss before her.

"But...that's out of your scope." She whispered, walking towards one of the knights to check on their conditions.

"Lady (Y/n)..." March said worriedly, and Tingyun looked a little...somber at the Dragon Lady had returned back to her post as the Miracle Healer.

"This...must be hard for Lady (Y/n) to see." Tingyun said softly, shaking her head. "As I remember records...the past Dragon Lady was someone of immense caliber and knowledge, having pulled strings no one dared to interfere with."

"But this is nothing compared to what she had seen back in her days. Centuries ago, an Emanator of Abundance besieged the Luofu with the aim of the Ambrosial Arbor. They destroyed half our delves and killed most of the Cloud Knights." Tingyun said, looking up at the sky, perhaps wondering what the sky looked like when the ground was bathed in red.

"For long-life species, such events are more like yesterday's memories rather than ancient history. This awful spectacle is child's play in comparison to what they've seen and been through."

"It's...hard to tell if the Master Diviner won or lost here." Welt said with a heavy sigh, that was until (Y/n) walked back, her (e/c) clouded with regret and shame.

"There...are many losses here. I might be able to restore and patch some up, but...it would be too dangerous for me to venture further alone without back up." (Y/n) said, her eyes never leaving the fallen soldiers. "If only Yingxing and..."

She cut herself short, her thoughts snapping back to prevent herself from saying anymore of those forsaken memories of old. She shook her head and cleared her throat, as if to regain composure.

"Nevermind." She said sharply. "There aren't many Cloud Knights here, so I reckon there's a retreat nearby, or maybe they really did make it out with a minimal count of casualties. Deeper into the delve, perhaps."

"Will you try heal those here, Lady (Y/n) ?" Tingyun asked the horned woman before her, noticing her determined gaze. And (Y/n) nodded. "I'll...try my best. I'm a healer, a doctor even, or whoever I used to be, but I'm not miracle granter."

"Please be careful, Lady (Y/n), Stelle. These monsters seem pretty tough..." March warned carefully, fearing the safety of her companions and the lady they were meant to escort safely.

(Y/n) leaned down to inspect the wounds on one of the soldiers that seemed to have been ridden with mara, rooted deep inside its body. As she scanned the figure with her sharp eyes, she noticed how this individual...a woman, perhaps in her early 300s...was far too deep in mara.

Mara was plaguing her body like flies eating away at rotting flesh. Slow, constant, but unbearable. The wounds were shrinking away beyond a usual native's ability, and with the lack of injured vital signs, (Y/n) knew it was best for her to try freeze the cores and quickly move away.

So that was as she did. To those still blessed with life, she leaned down to bestow them the gift of her healing, hoping that they would be able to be to at least endure less pain than they should. She even froze cores, wishing that it was enough to prevent the rapid outbreak of the plague, harming others beyond control.

She knew...those mara struck before her...had their regrets and their ambitions to see another day. She knew another person who was just the same, bringing flesh of a fallen Emanator, striking his beloved with a fatal blow, yet he himself was a victim to another's plan who wished to deny the cruel nature of death.

The beloved who once held her hand so tenderly, an arrogant man who was yet so soft towards her, bestowing her with a gentle kiss on her forehead as he held her close by her waist.

(Y/n) looked up, knowing that those days were no more, and the sky above them...was never a witness to the moments she held dear to her frozen and recovering heart. Her heart that was facing conflict and turmoil with her current identity and her past self, knowing both were nonetheless one of the same.

Though she had forgotten most of her past, only bits and shred able to be brought forward to her current time, she knew it was time for her to step up and once again place the crown high on her head, though it weighed so heavily on her shoulders.

"Look ! There's someone over there." March called out, taking (Y/n)'s hand to point towards a woman wearing an Alchemy Commission uniform, and a kneeling Cloud Knight by her feet.

(Y/n) didn't have a good feeling about this.

[yourejinx]

Undeniable Bonds

Azriel x F. Reader

Warnings: angst, as per usual. SPOILERS for other SJM series. Mentions of blood, descriptions of injuries, mentions of death, feelings. Not proof read.

Author’s note: Merry Christmas everyone! It took me MONTHS but is finally here, hope you like it. Sorry for making you wait for so long, life has been nothing short of chaotic. I'd like to thank @crazylokonugget , I read your comment. It was the rush of inspiration I needed to get back into writing 🫶🏻

CHAPTER SIX 

The moon was shining big and bright above the night sky in the city, there was music being played by the river despite the chilling winds of the winter and laughter filled the air around The Rainbow. It all seemed so livid, so peaceful and merry in contrast with the emotional turmoil brewing in your insides. 

You were feeling everything at once, every single thing you had tried to keep concealed for centuries now was ready to combust. You felt confused, and angry, resentful, wary…and underneath it all naively hopeful. It would be a lie to say you had successfully gotten rid of your feelings towards Azriel, if anything all the awful things you've done to each other hurted all the more because of that. He was a friend once, and a good one. Gentle, caring, protective, used to actually enjoy the other's presence, go on walks during the nights when the world felt too heavy, just silently supporting each other. Shared laughs at stupid jokes played at Cass and Rhys, sneaking around while in other courts just for the fun of it, knowing no one would ever find you. You were a team. Until one day you weren’t, he just decided it wasn’t worthy and that was it.  

How were you supposed to open up to this person, when he hadn’t even seen the worst in you and deemed you unworthy? How could you ever trust him again? Yet, here you were, walking side by side next to the Sidra like the old times. You could punch yourself in the face just for considering this, every anxious trait screamed at you to leave, you didn’t owe him a single thing, didn’t have to explain anything. So why did you keep walking alongside him? 

“So…uhm,” He started, nervously scratching at his nape. Trying. He was trying to be open, didn’t hold up that mask of coldness to conceal his emotions, not once. “You and Lucien..?”

“None of your business.” you snapped out of instinct. 

He avoided looking directly at you, focusing on some distant light across the bridge. 

You let out a deep breath, this wasn’t going to work. 

“Just talk to him.” Amren’s voice rang in your head. Try. You had to try, you didn’t have to let him know much just…let the conversation flow, right?

“It was a long time ago, even before Amarantha..” you started, casting a sidelong glance at him.

He turned to you, features soft under the moonlight. Gods, he was unfairly beautiful when he wasn’t an ass. You fixed your sight on the river, if only to keep on track. “Nothing really happened, we were young and drunk at one of Tamlin’s masquerades, we made out and that was it.” 

He nodded slowly and cleared his throat, “And now?”

“Is this what you really want to talk about? He’s my friend, not that I owe you any explanation. Or is this your way to ask if Elain is available now?”

You couldn’t help it, the audacity of this male prying into your private life as if he hadn’t been lusting after Lucien’s mate of all people. Hypocrite doesn’t begin to cut it. 

“I don’t care about Elain, I care about you.” 

You wanted to laugh. “Since when? If I recall correctly you despised me until a week ago, you were either insulting me or just blatantly ignoring me in favor of her, or anyone else really. Then all goes to hell and suddenly I’m worth living for?!” 

He grimaced, “You– you remember that?”

You sighed tiredly and sat down on a bench overlooking the Sidra. “Yes, I remember. I just…I don’t understand you.” 

Azriel just stood there beside you, shifting his weight uncomfortably, not being quite sure what to do.  When he didn’t move or say anything you continued, “I want to believe you,” you swallowed around a lump “but do you hear how it sounds? After all we’ve been through. I trusted you and you threw that in my face, how do you expect me to believe that you care about me?” 

This wasn’t going as he was hoping for, but at least it was something. You were speaking to him more than two sentences, which was a lot more than he deserved to be honest. You could yell at him, curse him, punch him in the face if you wished and he would take it. No complaints. Anything if it meant you’d show him how you truly felt, he wasn’t sure he could endure your silence again, knowing how much he had hurt you. He needed you to let it all out, so he could do something to fix it. 

“I don’t expect you to believe me right away, of course not. I know that I have to earn your forgiveness and one day if I’m one lucky bastard I might earn your trust back once more. But I also know that even when I try to make things right you may not forgive me at all, and I’ll accept that too. Honestly? I just want to know how you feel with all that has happened. The only thing that matters now is you.”

You let out a shaky breath, turning away from him. “I don't know what I'm supposed to feel, everything is a mess.” 

He moved then, crouching in front of you and grasping both your hands on his own, making you look at him. The earnest way he was looking at you, the desperate feeling swimming in his eyes that traveled all the way through the bond. It made you gasp, with all that’s been going on you forgot to put a shield up. Now you could feel him, all of him, which meant  he could feel you. 

“I have no damn right to demand such mercy from you, but if for a single moment you find in your heart a spec of doubt, a small sign of will to forgive this coward for wronging you so unfairly, I just want you to know how sorry I am, for everything. I regret it all, I wish I could take it all back. I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you, until the day I part from this earth I will fight for you.” 

You were quite sure your bottom lip was trembling as much as his hands were, trying miserably to contain the unwelcomed tears pooling in your eyes. Those were such nice words, the silly part of you that always longed for his recognition wanted so desperately to believe, but there were still too many unresolved things, too many questions still running frantically through your head. And one recurrent thought…

“Did I really have to die for you to notice?”  Your words hung heavy in the air, with a mix of accusation and vulnerability.

Azriel, gaze intense and haunted, looked as if you had just punched a hole through his chest. In that moment, the shadows that bound him seemed to soften, and he confessed the truth that had long eluded you both. It wasn't the brush with death that made him take notice; it was the fear of losing you that shattered the carefully constructed barriers around his heart.

"No, it's not about noticing, it's about realizing what it means to lose you," he admitted, his voice a low, gravelly murmur. Azriel's jaw tightened, a small sign that betrayed the internal struggle within him. "It's not so simple. The thought of a world without your laughter, your presence....Losing you was the worst of my nightmares coming true. I've always cared, but I let my past dictate my actions, and I was cruel to you because I couldn't bear the thought of history repeating itself. But I was wrong, and I almost lost you because of it."

“What do you mean?”

You had unconsciously leaned in closer to him and he swallowed audibly at the intensity in your eyes —obsidian black that sometimes showed swirls of violet and blue. Like lightning striking the midnight sky. They were a rare sight, a beautiful one, he knew that only happened when you felt too much. The telltale sign of the emotions you were so desperately trying to hold back from reaching him.  

“I will tell you everything you want to know, in time. I will lay my heart down for you to step on if you wish. But I believe that is a conversation on its own, I wish to explain everything to you and I don’t think I can do it tonight.” He looked almost pleading. “There’s nothing that can excuse the way I treated you, I’ve been a coward, and an asshole and you have every damn right to be angry with me, to hate me. That much I understand. I just hope you’d be willing to listen when the time’s right.” 

You supposed it was fair. It still made you uneasy and you pulled back a little, ignoring the hurt that flashed through his eyes. Given how strained your relationship was, you guessed it was normal he was still doubtful about sharing too much too soon. You weren’t that willing to particularly share much of yourself yet, if ever. 

Gods, you wished you could rage about everything that has happened, and hated the way his words had soothe an ache in your heart you were making an effort not to acknowledge. 

Time. It would take time to heal, and trust, and effort on both sides to make this work. Whatever this white flag he had weaved tonight meant. You knew it was the right call to make, for the sake of everyone, to try and make amends. That didn’t mean it was going to be easy, some things were too deeply engraved in your heart to let go. 

Did it make you a weak, spineless female to want to give in to him? What was the cost of it? 

“Alright,” you muttered, standing to your feet, Azriel followed you. “If I agree to do this, I’ll need you to be patient. I’m not ready yet to let you in, I still have my doubts about this. I think you understand why. But I want to try to be friends again, that’s as much as I can offer you right now.” 

Friends. That was a lot more than he had dared to ask for, even if in his heart he desired more. It wasn’t about him, nor his desires, it was about you and giving you what you need. So if what you needed from him was friendship, he’ll take it. Make the most of it. 

Azriel nodded, something sparkling to life in his eyes that wasn’t there before. The bond thrummed quietly with emotion. Hope. 

“One step at a time?” you offered, extending your hand to him. 

“One step at a time.” He repeated, taking your hand. 

It was awkward but welcomed, the feeling of something settling within your chest. The mating bond had been neglected for so long that the weight of it felt weird now, as if a missing limb had been spoken into existence. Azriel seemed to notice too, absentmindedly reaching his hand up to rub at his chest. 

You tried not to shudder when he gently tugged at it and opened your mouth to suggest keeping the ends closed for the time being. Unless until you were more comfortable with each other. It was way too intimate and overwhelming otherwise, and that you were not ready for yet. 

“Maybe we should–” you stopped as you felt something warm and thick dripping to your lips. Pressing two fingers to the spot and watching them stained red. Blood. 

Azriel quickly caught up to the movement, body stilling in alert.

“What's wrong?” he asked, stepping closer. 

“I don't know,” A strong pang shot too fast to your head making you gasp and causing you to fall forwards. Azriel’s arms instantly wrapped around your shoulders, holding you to him. His shadows were in a frenzy, surrounding you both while he inspected your face for any signs of injury. 

“Y/N? Talk to me, where does it hurt?” He sounded agitated. 

You could hear Azriel’s voice being muffled and muffled by the second, could feel his warmth and the firm press of his body against yours, but everything was quickly becoming a blurry image. Like some distant dream everything started to fade from sight, the whole scenery changing, twisting and re-adapting. 

Velaris had been replaced for a cold, dark room, the air thick and musty. The sound of crashing waves filling the otherwise silent space. Rusty chains hung wicked and ancient from the stone walls, an iron coffin sitting vacant across from you, open and expectantly waiting for its occupier. You couldn’t move a single muscle, only stare through eyes that were not yours, scent with a foreign nose, the smell of fear, and blood, and immense sadness. 

You blinked twice — or rather this…person whose mind seemed blending with yours did— and gazed down to gauntlet-covered hands. Iron, yet again. There was a slight tremble to this other body, a female’s body, from pain so deep from within her guts and the fire blazing underneath, it rose and rose and rose, flaring until it was pushed down and forced to remain still.

She looked up again, to the lone white wolf lying a few feet away, already watching her. The animal tilted his head to the side as if in contemplation and blinked three times. 

“Are you okay?”

—----------------------------------------------

Sound was the first thing to return to you, hurried, hissing voices coming from somewhere around you. 

“I swear on the Cauldron I'll have their heads on spikes as ornamentations for your throne.”  A low, deep growl laced with intent. You recognized Azriel’s baritone voice from beside you. 

Violet and blue-ish gray greeted you when you finally opened your eyes, immediately recognizing the Town’s House living room.

What in hell had that been? It occurred to you that you had dreamed about her before, the female, recognized the same lemon verbena and crackling embers scent from previous dreams, although never catching a full look at her. Who was she? Was she in danger? Was this a warning? 

Frowning you propped up to your elbows to sit, back resting against the couch’s armrest. Feyre gave you a soft smile, sitting down next to your legs. 

“How are you feeling?” She asked, worry staining her features. 

“I'm fine, just a little dizzy.” You craned your neck back to look at the male standing behind the couch, one of his shadows slipping away to caress your cheek before returning to his master. “What happened?” 

Azriel's honey gaze settled upon you, shoulders sagging a bit from relief at the sight of you awake. “You were unconscious for a few minutes, I flew us back here and called Rhys. I didn't know what to do. Are you sure you're ok?” 

“Yeah, I'm alright. Thank you.” You tried to smile softly but barely managed to slightly lift the corners of your mouth. He nodded, unconvinced. After a moment to cringe, you added, “Whose head are we having on spikes?” 

Silence. 

Rhys cleared his throat. “Your brother’s and Damien’s.” Suddenly the room’s temperature dropped. Feyre shifted uncomfortably in her place. We hadn’t openly discussed the situation yet. “If this is a side effect of whatever they did to you, we need to find the–” 

“It 's not.” you interrupted him. 

It wasn't like you didn't want to find them and finish what had started two centuries ago. But it was your fight, you didn't wish to trouble your family with it. Didn't want Rhys particularly involved out of anyone, he was the reason they came back. Albeit unbeknownst to him. They still lusted after his crown, his throne, they wanted vengeance. Your blood as well as his. 

Azriel stared at you, contemplative. You could sense he wanted to ask more but was debating whether it was pushing a boundary or not. It was all new to the two of you, too fresh to know what was appropriate. 

Fidgeting with your entwined fingers on your lap, you decided to offer some truth. Even if they didn't believe you, even if it sounded crazy. 

“This has happened to me my whole life. It doesn't always knock me unconscious, most of the time it's just dreams.” 

Rhys frowned but it was Azriel who asked, “What sort of dreams are those?” 

“I can't fully explain because most of the time I don't understand them. But it is almost like my mind goes somewhere else, like I share one consciousness with another. A female. Though I haven’t figured that out until tonight. I've seen scraps of her mind, and the places She's been, but I don't know her face.” 

You could practically see the engines in Feyre’s mind working.  She had stayed silent for most of the interaction, paying careful attention to each word. 

“And what happened in this…dream? What did you see?” asked Rhys this time. 

“Not much, she seemed to be in some sort of mausoleum? It was barely lit, few candles here and there. It had to be some isolated place next to the sea, I could hear waves crashing against rock. The air was thick and musty. There was a wolf with her.” 

“Do you think it is possible you're dreaming about someone in the Summer Court?” Azriel caught your attention once more. 

“I don't know, could be. But it feels off. There were chains on the walls…and an iron coffin. But she was alive, I think. Maybe she’s a prisoner?” You turned to Feyre then. “You’ve been there when stealing the Book of Breathings, does this sound familiar? Some place you may have seen?” 

She shook her head. “No it doesn't. That doesn't mean it does not exist, I didn't get to see much of the Summer Court. But why would Tarquin keep an iron coffin?” 

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “I don't know, it doesn't make sense. Why would I be dreaming of a female in the Summer Court? How do I relate to that?” 

“What if they're not dreams, per say, but visions? Like Elain's…” she pursed her lips, deep in thought. 

Azriel tensed beside me, I glanced at him from the corner of my eye. I hadn't seen Elain around that much after Solstice night, coming to think of it. Does he think it's my fault? 

“Hadn't thought of it that way. Honestly, I read too much, since I was a kid. I was convinced my mind made it all up until it started to happen during day time. But either way, I don't think this is the case. I mean, nothing that I dreamt of has happened, and if it did, it didn't involve any of us. So we have no way of knowing about it.” 

“It still bugs me. There has to be some explanation to it. It clearly affects you, I don't believe it's normal that these dreams cause you nosebleeds and make you pass out. What if it gets worse?” Rhys pointed out. 

“Beats me. I know as much as you do.” 

“We’ll have to look into it. Whatever this is, and whoever that person may be. Is there something else you remember?” Azriel's brows were pulled together tightly, but his eyes were gentle when he settled them upon me. 

“I just…one time I recall feeling her, here in Velaris. I — she— saw you two.” You pointed to your high lord and lady. Rhys stilled. “But it was like she was falling from the sky, or rather falling through. You were pregnant with little Nyx.” You told Feyre and turned your head to look at Azriel. “I don't remember much about it. I must have passed out, you found me in the hallway shortly after.” 

Azriel gave a tense nod. “I remember you lying face down on the top of the stairs, your books thrown all over the place. Your nose wasn't bleeding though, I thought you were drunk.” he said apologetically.  

I shrugged. “You didn't know, and I couldn't explain either.” 

“If this is a person that's been here without us knowing, then we must start to investigate immediately.” Rhys cut in. 

“But where do we start?” I asked. 

“I'll see if the wards of Velaris had been tampered with, for starters. Maybe we can find some imprint of magic. In the meantime I’d say you learn about bonds and connections, how they work, check your mental shields. If you have access to her mind then there's a possibility she has access to yours, there has to be a link somewhere.” 

“Alright, I'll start to look into it right away. There has to be something in the library about mental connections.” 

“You should rest now.” Azriel placed a hand on my shoulder. “I'll help with the research tomorrow. We can go to the library after training the Valkyries. If that's okay with you.” 

You nodded and relaxed a little. Ignoring the warmth that his touch had spread across your back. 

“Yeah, it's fine. Tomorrow then.” 

—---------------------------------------------------

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[ocymoron]

Tim Drake not being like the previous robins, in the sense that, he’s willing to give away too much of himself to fill the role. In the sense that, they had something that he just doesn’t.

and like, maybe that something is self preservation or maybe that something is hope.

younger Tim being exposed to the worst the internet has to offer because he has no one to stop him from looking. he’s already too old for his age, too observant and manipulative and fake and perfect because that’s the standard for a Drake. Going to galas and picking up on all the little innuendos and slimy comments that passed over his head previously and being disgusted but leaning into it a little if he knows it’ll help the company. Being cynical from a young age and finding out Batman and Robins identity and the world feels brighter for a brief moment in his life. It’s amazing for a while but like always he digs too deep, gets too curious, and the filter shatters when the second robin comes along and he’s too attached and his robin is dead.

He holds a grudge against Batman, watches a father self sabotage out of grief with something too dark to be good but steps in after the third victim he has to resuscitate. He plays the role of a starstruck but determined fanboy and adjusts as he goes along, minor adjustments here and there to keep the illusion alive and real.

But here, we come back to what he lacks. Because the previous Robins, despite what they saw and experienced and had to do to survive, were still young in way he isn’t, hasn’t been since ever.

He’s the smart one, the one that can lie to Batman and get away with it. He weighs the pros and cons, calculates the dangers and decides to go through with it anyway because he needs inside information to solve this case and it’s not like he hasn’t done something similar to close a deal for his company, this will just be further than what he’s previously done.

The club is loud and bright and crowded and he’s wearing way too little clothing and it itches and his feet hurt from the heels but he needs this information. So he leans into the wandering hands, lets his target guide his lips through a kiss they share, keeps his ears open in the mans lap as he lavishes his targets neck with teasing kisses and eventually, he gets what he needs. But he’s committed to his role, has to be if he’s gonna use it again, so when the meeting ends and the man drags him to a private room he follows and lets his inexperience shine through a little bit, bashful but eager to please. And maybe he scrubs his skin until it’s red and he burns the clothes but he closes the case and that’s what matters.