#Fallen tree advice

[chigwelltreeservices1]

After a storm damages a tree, ensure safety first—stay clear of downed branches or power lines. Assess the damage from a distance, then call a certified arborist for a professional evaluation. Avoid DIY fixes, as improper cuts can harm the tree or pose safety risks. Prompt action is key.

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Hello! How does a beast cookies x reader sound? Also the reader has a calming effect on cookies and is basically the groups therapy cookie. Like what if-

Shadow milk after episode 8: DO YOU KNOW WHY IM LIKE THIS?!?

Reader:Wanna talk about it?

SMC: haha..hahahHAHAHA-

*ten minutes later*

SMC leaning on our shoulder: And that was after Mystic started going off the deep end-

Reader calmly listening: mmhm

Interesting 👀👍

I'd like to imagine they're a Legendary who's been around for as long as the Beasts have, travelling the world to give therapy and healing to those who need it. So they're def more powerful than the average cookie

......

As a Legendary Cookie, it was your job to help give all denizens of Earthbread healing--mentally and emotionally, that is.

Your calming abilities enable virtually any cookie to feel relaxed in your company. Even those who are totally closed-off and were baked with the hardiest dough will eventually confide in you about whatever's on their minds.

And you give them advice, always knowing what to say, or simply listen and let them express their emotions.

You've been around for as long as the Five Beasts have, so you've seen a lot in your travels...including the many days and nights they spent terrorizing the world after they twisted their virtues into vices, trying to ease cookies' fears.

The Witches deemed them monsters worthy of being locked up in the Silver Tree...yet you realized they have never once considered why they fell from grace.

Having spent so much time helping the normal everyday folk, you felt some guilt in not checking in on the Beasts to make sure they were okay.

They were adored and revered figures..but even they might've needed somebody to talk to every once in a while.

Maybe they wouldn't have fallen down that dark path if you paid more attention to the signs....

But after they break out of the Silver Tree and face the Ancient Heroes who've "stolen" their soul jam, they hide away until they can figure out how to restore their powers and take their revenge.

That's where you come in, having visited Gingerbrave's kingdom and hearing about the Ancients' encounters with them.

You decided to go on a quest to Beast Yeast, hoping to find them and simply talk, which obviously wouldn't be easy had it not been for your powers.

They have some resistance to it, but one by one...their walls come down and you start to understand them better.

Shadow Milk

Of course, the last one to fall from grace had to be the first one you come across.

It's not long after his retreat from his Spire, still not back at his full strength, wanting to get away from Candy Apple and Black Sapphire Cookie for a while.

They finally saw him be defeated and..humiliated by Pure Vanilla Cookie, yet they're willing to stay and follow his every word?

Either way, he wanted to be alone--but unfortunately for him, that doesn't last long as you seize your opportunity to talk to him.

"Shadow Milk Cookie. The Fount of Knowledge-"

"Pah! Dunno who that other guy is. Only Shadow Milk Cookie is....here..?" He spins around, his eyes comically wide as he instantly recognizes your face. "You....you're-"

"Not dead? I've been around for as long as you, my friend." You chuckle. "I don't crumble easily."

"...it's amazing you haven't. Thought you would'a cracked under the weight of everyone's problems by now. But you're still trying to play the hero, huh?" He sneers. "Just like.....him. Riddle me this, [y/n] cookie...do you feel any guilt?"

"...I do."

"HAH! Well you...wait, you do?" He blinks. "Do you even know what I'm talking about?"

"Yes."

"..you're terrible at following this script. You're supposed to be confused and scared-"

"We're not on a stage, Shadow Milk Cookie. I'm not fooled as easily." You cut him off, firmly yet gently. "This is reality. And the reality is...you've been hurt so profoundly. Watching so many cookies embrace deceit instead of your gospels of truth must have been...difficult. You felt betrayed by them."

"........"

"Ever since..that day..I've felt guilty for not reaching out to you or the others sooner. I probably wasn't clear about my doors being open for you, too. I've been waiting for a chance to talk to you again. To help you feel heard, even though this was long, long overdue."

"Wow...and I thought Nilly had the biggest savior complex." He scoffs, trying to resist your magic's advances on his psyche. "Nice try, but you're not gonna get inside MY head, too. Nope. Nuh-uh. I'm not one of your fragile-minded cookie who unloads their entire sob story in one measly conversation!"

"It's not fragile to-"

"Besides..we haven't spoken in eons, so you don't even know HALF of what I've been through!! Not within the Silver Tree! NOT with Pure Vanilla Cookie! Not even before I turned to deceit!!"

Despite his anger, you remain unperturbed. "Exactly my point. So..why don't you help me understand? Let's talk about it."

"....like....right now?"

"Yeah? Unless you have an important date tonight."

"....hahahaha...AHAHAHAHA. Didn't you hear me, stupid cookie?! Obviously not, so allow me to rephrase it.......THERE'S NO WAY IN HELL THAT I'M EVER GOING TO-!!"

Fast forward to sometime later, when Black Sapphire Cookie finally finds his master...leaning on your shoulder while basically trauma dumping. The deceitful Beast was speaking from his mind, unfiltered, to a Legendary Cookie he's never met before.

"-and that was after Mystic Flour Cookie started going off the deep end. But could anyone blame her? No. Those damn cookies got greedy and began asking for the impossible."

"Mhm." You simply nod. "And after seeing her like that...what was going through your mind?"

"...like we were all just...losing it. So I guess hopeless? Scared that we were getting out of hand? I dunno. All I wanted was to be their teacher, to show them the truth....and look at me now!! I warned Pure Vanilla Cookie he'd fall down the same path if he continued the way he was headed...that traitorous prick.."

"He did tell me you rejected his friendship. But..would you consider revisiting that?" You hummed.

"I...no. I mean..I....I-I don't know.." He seems confused with himself. "I told the guy I hated him! What doesn't he get? He could have finished me off! Why does he still try after all I did to him?!"

"Because he sees the good in everyone, even you. I don't fully understand the soul jam connection, but...it seems like he's aware of your true feelings. Your loneliness after all that time spent in the tree. And you keep trying to deny them, afraid to draw back the curtain and express what you really feel."

"But when you've been a ruler of deceit since forever..why would I ever do that?! I don't need anyone! I....I especially don't need you or that stupid goody two shoes soul jam thief! But he....he just...why doesn't he just quit already?!" His voice cracks at the end. "H-He knows I'm a lost cause.."

Even though you can't see his face, the eyes on his hair are weeping, and that prompts you to put your arm around him. "It's easy for you to lie to others, but lying to yourself is way harder."

Despite not saying anything back, he doesn't reject the comfort.

In fact he unknowingly leaned against you more.

Black Sapphire can't believe what he's seeing--almost certain it's an illusion, but no.

This was the master of deceit confiding in someone else. Someone more familiar.

Despite feeling slightly jealous, he decides to leave you two be, distracting Candy Apple Cookie so she doesn't barge in and ruin things.

Burning Spice Cookie

"Ah, Burning Spice Cookie. Herald of Change, time hasn't been kind to-"

"You DARE utter that title?!! It is dead to me..just like you will be in a few moments!!" The Great Destroyer looms over you with his axe at the ready, scowling as you crossed paths with him in the ruins of his Spice Temple.

It was considerably difficult to even speak to him alone, especially with the last remnants of the Wild Spice warriors and Nutmeg Tiger Cookie trying their damnest to fight off your calming abilities...but not even their hardy dough can block it forever.

They let you through to see their master at his lowest point, even though he was still on a high from battling the recently awakened Golden Cheese Cookie.

"That's too bad. I was hoping you'd remember me. I was there when you once held that title with pride" You huff. "You welcomed me into your kingdom with open arms, allowing me to speak to the Wild Spices who had troubles on their minds, and the warriors who came home scarred by the things they've seen."

"....ah...you do seem familiar." He muses. "That's right. You're [Y/n] Cookie. The Legendary warrior of words. I bet you've never lifted a weapon in your life."

"My tongue is the only weapon I need, Burning Spice Cookie." You counter with equal sass.

Least to say...you intrigue him. You didn't cower, and even after all this time and knowing the things he's done, you sought him out anyways.

All just to....convince him to share his feelings?

He had a lot to say, but didn't even know where to begin.

He wondered where you were when kingdoms crumbled around him.

He wondered where you were when he kept watching those he loved die while he continued on living.

He wondered where you were when he decided that the only cure to his pain was destruction.

"Well, it's useless here. You could never understand what I-"

"So help me understand. That's why I do what I do. To better understand all Cookies I meet." You frowned slightly. "You were so convinced that you had to be strong for your people. To act like the passage of time hadn't dimmed your light. I understand why you never visited me. And for that, I apologize. I should've put more effort into-"

"Don't apologize. There's nothing you could have said or done to change the way I felt back then." He growled. "What would have been the point?"

"Maybe not, but talking about what and how you're feeling is better than keeping it all inside. You have your generals, sure..but you seldom speak with them. Not wanting to seem weak or soft-doughed in their eyes."

"When they only ever see you as a god, why would...." Suddenly, he's aware of the vulnerability he was showing, and his whole demeanor flips on its head. "GRRRAHH!!" He slams his axe down, nearly splitting the earth between you. "All I feel is pissed off that you're trying to get inside my head! Who told you where I was, mind reader?!!"

"Oh..just a little golden birdie." You calmly reply. "I heard you two had a glorious final battle."

"...ah yes. In spite of my loss, it was...the most entertaining battle I've had in a long time." He grins, recounting that fight.

"Really? Do tell."

Before you know it, he's back to talking again--about the battle, what happened before that, and the rest is history.

Your calming powers have been hard at work, but you've finally gotten him to open up a little more, and somehow he feels...lighter?

It's weird feeling. Weird, but new.

At that time, Nutmeg Tiger returns to her senses and sees you talking to him, furious that she let her guard down and that you were speaking to her lord without permission--

Only for you to calmly stand up and walk away, while she's shouting for you to come back and explain your actions.

"Hexing a Wild Spice is one thing, but turning your back on one will be your LAST mistake-!"

"Enough, General. They will not trouble us anymore."

"...they won't? But my lord, they put a spell on us-!"

"I said enough." He snaps. "I've known [Y/n] Cookie since before you were baked. Has their spell impeded your duties?"

"No, but-"

"Then return to your post."

"....as you wish, Great One." She eventually leaves, and he continues to ponder over your talk with him.

Mystic Flour Cookie

Tracking her down in Beast Yeast was a rather simple task.

All you had to do was look where the white fog has gathered. Luckily, your abilities grant you immunity to the apathy that ordinary cookies would easily be overwhelmed by.

When Mystic Flour laid waste to the world with pale ailment storms, doctors, nurses, and healers dealt with the physical symptoms of patients--while you assisted with the mental.

They may not be crumbling and have flour-white dough anymore, but apathetic thoughts linger in their minds long after treatment. Passions are lost and replaced with nihilism, and your duty was to bring them out of those dark places and remind them of what they loved and how it's all worth it and meaningful in the end.

Luckily, you were able to guide them back on the right path again, and suddenly their eyes regained their spark; their dough's color was returned, and you'd send them off to resume their normal life.

After the Dark Cacao Kingdom was 100% liberated from the flour storm, you ventured to Beast Yeast to find her, eventually meeting Cloud Haetae Cookie, who had been revived.

They didn't seem bothered by the fact their own master killed them, taking you personally to see her and giving you steamed rolls as they talked about her battle with Dark Cacao Cookie.

"She almost convinced him to accept futility. She was so, so close..but then that fool had to go and summon these two dragons to help him-"

"Who are you speaking to, Cloud Haetae Cookie?"

Before you could respond, Mystic Flour takes one look at your face and immediately knows who you are.

"[Y/n] Cookie. You're the reason why my clouds of apathy have lifted.."

"Well..having a bunch of nameless, faceless cookies moping about doesn't exactly make the world go round, my dear." You jest, although you fall silent as she just stares through you. "I know your heart carries a most heavy burden. The burden of not being able to satisfy everyone..and being a victim of-"

"You have not once set foot in my Ivory Pagoda to talk. And now, after all these years..." Given her pause...you knew her emotions were trying to bubble to the surface. Like yeast rising.

"I understand. I've heard it from the others already. This...comes much too late." You bow your head. "I remember seeing those lines, and I didn't wish to be perceived as another beggar. I'm sure you already knew my wish."

"They always expected you to solve their problems." She continued. "But it never feels like enough, does it? Don't you grow weary of their endless demands? Their pleas for you to "fix" everything wrong with them? You can only help them so much before they bleed you dry and give you nothing, [Y/n] Cookie. Not even a "thank you". Trust me...I have been there." Her face darkens. "We are not so different."

"Perhaps not. We've always looked out for the best interest of cookies...at our own expense." You agreed. "But I know a lot of them have appreciated my help. I'm sorry they never gave you that same respect, Mystic Flour Cookie."

"I do not dwell on it, for it is futile. It's a shame that you would never come to accept that same futility."

"I don't see a reason to start now," you chuckle, before you talked to her more about your recent work and the cookies you've helped, including Shadow Milk and Burning Spice.

It's clear that you reminded her of her old self a lot--before all the selfish cookies came along and attributed to her pain and corruption and imprisonment.

She thought she could talk you out of that path, certain you'll realize what true futility is like she did...

But you remain steadfast in your duty to help all cookies you meet. Even her.

[cosmique-oddity]

Phew, my last weeks of work are now complete >:)

I loved Dratchet and Ratchlock since the very beginning of my attachment towards Transformers, first TFP Ratchet…..but yeah….two of my favorites character….plus Keferon’s Mech AU…..I had to make my own thing about it.

A story….no…an illustration ! I couldn’t choose. So I did both :}

—————————————————

That was not the first time Ratchet came back to his private lab angry, but this time, yelling at his superiors, and at the system, and basically at evverything that could be yelled at except the pilotd while leaving the manufacture, was certainly the last. He quit. That was enough,

you don’t win a war with feelings they said

well yes,

exactly,

but you win a war with soldier, and frying their mind before they have their first fight because you want them to be more perfectionned ? That was a little counter productive.

So he gave up. They are on their own now.

The lightly humming of his car was barely enough to keep him awake, it have been a long time since he last returned home, usually, he stayed at his work place, to have more time to sleep, but then, he was sleeping even less. An endless vicious circle, things were often like that.

But all of that was over for him.

He granted these young greenhorn with his experience, and what did they do ? Ignored his advices. Sending pilots to death. So now, he had himself out of the infernal machinery. This mindless waste of human life, even where this is what they tried to save was absurd.

In the middle of his quiet and late ride, he heard a noise. Rumbling, was it the engine ? As he stopped the car backroad to check, the noise wasnt stopping. Came from the sky, military patrol ? He raised his two tired eyes on the sky and saw a shining rail approaching his forest, falling fast. Not quintesson shaped, and with the gaze of an experimented biomechanist, Ratchet identified a mech.

At this moment, its violently crashed on the ground, behind the trees at maybe three or four miles away. No matter how hard he argued with the scientist sooner this day or how bad he wanted to say fuck to all of this death industry who killed young soldiers, he could do something for the one trapped inside the mech....maybe.... the man regained his car as fast as possible and urgently headed for the crash area.

Deafened sound of tires on the damaged road. Ratchet was already projecting, mentally stocktaking the tools he took with him, and lucky enough for the poor pilot, he quit with almost all of his material, and even if it was mainly mechs repairing material, he also bought some instruments which were used for the subtle neuromedicine between human and mech. Could adapt some of it and stabilize the pilot....then he may have the time to go home and grab proper materials. If there was life there was hope.

" bold of him to crash himself just the day i insulted all of his hierachy".

He frowned. Almost there.

The trees nearby were crushed and uprooted. A flickering pink light catched his gaze.

Almost immediately, the Ratchet analyzed the mech. It was different. He didnt know in wich country it was made but that almost looks alien. The curves and shapes, busted and burned on several places were demonstrating an incredible display of genius ingeniery he could just admiring. But time was not for being amazed on plating.

Someone was trapped there.

He stopped and parked his car in front of a fallen tree, rushing to the car's trunk, taking few indispensable objets, including some of them to help a safe disconnection between pilot/mech. In case he wasnt out already. And a crowbar, the cockpit might be stuck, seeing all the damages the mech has taken...

The sound of slightly wet grass under his feet was covered by a frenetic noise of aeration. Ratchet listened to it, while cautiously approaching the unknown mech. It almost sounded like a breath, but was certainly a depressurisation issue. The mech had fallen from so high on the sky....

The damaged plating were hot, probably from atmosphere friction. He raised his crowbar and his eyes followed the curves of the chestplates, searching for a familiar shape, that could lead him to the injured pilot inside. His gaze stopped on a deep wound, that might have cut through the cockpit.

The engineer stepped on the hot metal, his thick boots preventing him from feeling the heat, and he started searching for a hint....anything that could be a mechanism, anything that could open this damn mech !

Ratchet considered the damaged chest plate he noticed earlier. The surroundings of the wound were leaking bright pink, a very unusual color for fuel. Another of these definitively strange things about the mech. Again....not the time for that. Maybe if he could widen the gap, then he would be able to have an idea of what was going on under this armor.

He tapped the plate, -it was starting to cool down- with one of his finger. It was a very little tap, but the whole mech startled. A hiss of pain, recognisible easily by an emerite engineer-but-i-fix-people-too, it had come from the head of the mecha. Was this modele controlled from the head, like Vortex ? But Vortex was insanely huge for a mech, way taller than this one. He moved careful, noticing the shaking of his support.

"You hear me, kid ? Its going to be ok. You crashed in a safe area.".

He spoke in his medic tone, wich mean, of course brusque, serious, but also reassuring and calm.

He mumbled about the mech's features and tiny words of comfort while reaching for the head.

A red light, not regular and rather epileptic was coming from the head, and while he was almost there, on all four of his limb to keep balance, Ratchet saw it.

A spectacularly humanoid face, with sculpted nose and lips was tensed in a painful expression, frowning, but the thing who trapped his gaze was the two optics....

....staring back at him.

Mechs dont stare. Their eyes are glowing, oftenly to mimick human face, after all, human are pretty prideful creature, no point in piloting big ass metal titan if no one could tell these where their creation.

What human couldnt mimick with technologie, on the other hand, was the subtle expression between trying to evualuate a threat, his own injuries, and looking rather on the verge of death but also ready to tear any enemy's limb appart with its teeth.

With just one....very long....look at the other's eye, Ratchet was suddenly understanding what was going on.

Well....probably not but he knew what he had to save.

The pilot, the pilot he had to save.

The mech was the pilot.

He was the one he had to save.

He stopped trying to -certainly- open his chest. If it wasnt good for human it probably wasnt for living technology.

The giant technological humanoid seemed in a high distress, exhaling a lot of air from his vents, his eye still intensely staring at him and the engineer doubted his usual technique -including trying to make himself as small as possible- would work.

"Its going to be okay Kid. I can help you. There is nothing here that want to harm you".

He did his best to convey all of these emotions with his facial expression and gaze, still firmly watching back at him.

"the world better wait till im home and officially retired before killing me".

The mech's gaze -damn it was so more living than ANY human made machinery- seemed to soften a bit but still radiated with suspicion.

Deadlock had been in several bad situations. It happened quite a lot when a specie of giant aliens with tendrils tried to invade your homeland, and he was ready to it.

Trained to kill, and to do it efficiently.

And he was *good* at it.

This time was just another of these ‘i went too far in my excitation’ moments, and he has crashed on a random planet he hoped was not inhabited. He landed hard, and pieces of his ship must’ve been thrown near his location.

And now, now there was an organic like no one he ever saw, and the organic was on his *lap* and he had the kindest warmest eyes he ever saw.

And these eyes were directly looking at his own eyes, and the well named ‘Deadlock’ was starting to wonder if he finally had reunited with the Allspark. His pained and tenseful grin faded a little and he tried to move his head forward, searching a better point of view to watch the singularity in front of him.

Ow.

Moving hurt.

Some sound came out of the organic’s mouth, probably a language. He didn’t had the proper tools to decode it but the tone of the language was extremely….comforting ? Soft ?

This was scary.

He wasn’t used to be welcomed like that after a fight.

Usually it was either another fight, either the yelling of a superior, either nothing at all. But this actual living being was carefully examinating his chestplates, and he recognized the gestual of someone who was used to heal. A medic perhaps ?

He tried to move something, maybe a hand, to reach for the pale organic, to be sure he was real, but his body was rather uncooperative, from what he could say, one of his legs was missing, and a lot of wound were releasing energon on the ground he couldn’t saw.

The high probabilities of bleeding out and crash was an issue.

He let his head hang, too tired to watch for every moves of the organic, and barely aware of his environment.

There must be a big problem somewhere….

He confusely thought, while watching the stars.

Must be a bigger injury I haven’t saw……..

Ratchet saw the bright light coming from the alien’s eyes slowly fading, and cold swear ran through his back. Yet, he could still say the soldier was alive, the lights of his body were shining, not a lot, but it was enough. He looked at his first aid kit with disappointment. That wouldn’t be very efficient since the form of life he was trying to preserve wasn’t a tiny human. The nearest thing he could compare the Mech to was….well their own mechs, or eventually….Quintesson. An horrible mess of organic and technology. It was partially thanks to their weird constitution that Ratchet had been able to make sense with the ‘he is alive’ thought.

At this moment and with this material, he couldn’t help the kid, and didn’t possess enough knowledge to tell if he was even dying or not.

He had already an idea of what to do….to fix him, at least trying to, but it involved several objects he hadn’t right now. Leaving to search for these so called objects was risking to let an injured alone, he couldn’t take that risk. He was trapped with the mech, and had to hurry and find something. He stood and reached for more adapted material in his car, trying to find something…. Anything.

Surprisingly, the most useful artifact he came across was his electric screwdriver and a bunch of screw along with a long metallic cabke. A parallel between human stitch, with sewing threads and the material he had with him right now. He could manage something between human fixing and mech repairing, that was what the ‘bio’ in bioengineer stood for.

The kid would be ok. He would live and tell Ratchet why he fell from the sky, and maybe if he saw his friend Jazz….out there…….

.

.

—————————————————

:)) @keferon

(I swear I’m not insane, your AU is just kinda giving me infinite drawing stamina lmao)

[theplotmage]

50 Worldbuilding Setting ideas for your fantasy book

Cities and Settlements

1. Capital City - The central hub of political power and culture in the realm.

2. Harbor Town - A bustling port city crucial for trade and naval activities.

3. Elf Village - A serene settlement hidden within a forest, home to elven inhabitants.

4. Dwarven Mines - An underground city where dwarves mine precious metals and gems.

5. Nomad Camp - A temporary settlement for wandering tribes and traders.

6. Market Square - The commercial heart of any major city, filled with vendors and artisans.

7. Sky City - A floating metropolis held aloft by magic or advanced technology.

Natural and Enchanted Locations

8. Mystic Forest - A dense, magical woodland filled with ancient trees and mythical creatures.

9. Enchanted Lake - A serene body of water with mystical properties.

10. Secret Cave - A hidden cavern that might contain treasure or danger.

11. Dark Swamp - A treacherous wetland often home to dark magic and creatures.

12. Forbidden Desert - A vast, arid expanse known for its harsh conditions and ancient secrets.

13. Floating Island - A landmass suspended in the sky, often home to unique flora and fauna.

14. Hidden Valley - A secluded, fertile valley protected from the outside world.

15. Charmed Meadows - Peaceful fields imbued with protective enchantments.

Magical and Supernatural Places

16. Wizard’s Tower - The abode of powerful sorcerers, filled with arcane knowledge.

17. Sacred Temple - A place of worship and spiritual significance, often protected by divine magic.

18. Haunted Castle - An ancient fortress inhabited by ghosts or malevolent spirits.

19. Necromancer’s Crypt - The lair of a dark sorcerer who practices necromancy.

20. Oracle’s Sanctuary - A holy site where oracles deliver prophecies and visions.

21. Magical Academy - An institution where young sorcerers learn the art of magic.

22. Alchemist’s Workshop - A place where alchemists experiment and create potions and elixirs.

23. Time Portal - A gateway to different eras, allowing travel through time.

Dangerous and Uncharted Areas

24. Ancient Ruins - The remnants of a once-great civilization, often hiding secrets or dangers.

25. Dragon’s Lair - The home of a fearsome dragon, filled with treasure and peril.

26. Cursed Forest - A dark, haunted woodland where malevolent forces dwell.

27. Battlefield - The site of a significant past conflict, often haunted by the spirits of the fallen.

28. Volcanic Wasteland - A desolate, fiery landscape wrought with volcanic activity.

29. Giant’s Keep - A massive fortress built and inhabited by giants.

30. Pirate Cove - A hidden inlet where pirates gather to plan their exploits.

31. Shadow Realm - A dark, parallel dimension filled with malevolent entities.

32. Frosty Tundra - A vast, icy wasteland where few dare to venture.

Cultural and Social Hubs

33. Royal Palace - The lavish residence of the ruling monarch and their court.

34. Thieves’ Guild - A secretive organization of thieves and rogues.

35. Warrior’s Training Grounds - A facility where soldiers and heroes train for battle.

36. Arena of Champions - A grand coliseum where warriors compete in combat.

37. Goblin Market - A chaotic and colorful marketplace run by goblins, offering exotic goods.

38. Hermit’s Hut - The secluded home of a wise hermit, often sought for advice.

39. Secret Hideout - A concealed refuge used by rebels or outlaws.

Mystical and Legendary Sites

40. Ethereal Gardens - Magical gardens with rare plants and enchanting beauty.

41. Celestial Observatory - A tower dedicated to studying the stars and celestial events.

42. Sanctuary of Lost Knowledge - A hidden library containing ancient and forbidden texts.

43. Sunken Ruins - The underwater remnants of a lost civilization.

44. Gryphon Nesting Grounds - A mountainous area where gryphons make their nests.

45. Spiral Staircase - An enigmatic, seemingly endless staircase leading to unknown depths.

46. Giant’s Keep - A colossal fortress built and inhabited by giants.

47. Protean Plains - A region where the landscape constantly changes, reshaped by powerful magic or ancient curses.

Adventurous and Explorative Spots

48. Treasure Hunter’s Camp - A gathering spot for explorers seeking lost relics.

49. Relic Seeker’s Cave - A cave rumored to contain powerful artifacts.

50. Explorer’s Outpost - A base for adventurers preparing for expeditions into unknown territories.

***

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[otkuhotgirl]

─── 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐍𝐈𝐀 .

# with trafalgar water d. law.

despite the overextended manner with which law behaved, and the fatigue that crept into his soul due to his tendencies of avoiding a decent rest, sleep could not find him in the slightest. when his insomnia lurked around the corner, law could always count on your mouth to tire him out.

⎰ & smut (mdni!) gn!reader. oral (male!receiving). deepthroating. praise kink. no y/n used.

W.C: 2K.

the incessant ticking of the obstinate clock on the wall had the opposite effect of what was meant to be soothing. law had quit on writing the reports that dwelled on his mind, finding that his grip on the pen was unusually harsh — and enough to split it in two. law wasn’t against the vision of black ink on his skin — the tattoos on his body were enough proof of that — yet, when the ink that stained his palm was born from the destruction of one quite expensive and favored pen, pleased was the last adjective he’d use.

he scrubbed his eyes with the cleaner fingers, shutting them with a sense of bubbling rage born from intrinsic exhaustion. the strained muscles of his back began to ache an hour ago. he failed to concentrate on even the smallest of details, his synapses so lethargic he’d probably end up writing their instead of there in his paper. law clenched his jaw; stressed, sleep-deprived, and frustrated.

bepo had knocked on his door ten minutes prior — for the fifth time that night — with the same advice prepared. law’s answer remained equal, empty promises and meaningless deadlines that he had no intention on following. it was but a matter of time until the navigator pulled out his secret weapon, or that was, at least, how you were called under that context.

law sent a piercing gaze towards the closed door, fidgeting and quietly begging for your intervention, as though a religious fool who placed his trust on the force of manifestations. he thought of seeking you out himself, hours prior. yet, during instances drawn to his duties, law was but a rooted tree lost amidst a vexing fog, incapable of moving even one miserable inch; hence the urge to have you. his refugee; his medicine. the surgeon of death — more than a billion-worth bounty hovering over his head —, had succumbed to both the plague and blessing of love. with his head nearing the table’s surface, a weary sigh past his lips, law pictured your face and found that he would have fallen victim to such a feeling a thousand times over, so long as that meant claiming you his.

he heard the scratch of the door against the ground, and perked up upon the knowledge of, at last, having you in his office — for no other crewmate was allowed to barge in without a warning knock.

you walked towards him — slowly —, your hips swaying, malice-filled eyes. law felt but a prey under the gaze of its hunter; one left with a sense of gratitude upon the approach of the searing and delicious taste of death’s kiss.

you sat on the edge of his desk, careful as not to meddle with his papers, and softly removed his hat to caress the disheveled locks of black hair. law surrendered to your touch, sighing with relief.

“it’s getting late,” you stated, drawing circles on his cheek. law intertwined his fingers with your own, pressing his lips to the back of your hand.

“can’t sleep,” he answered, chasing your scent; drowning his nose on the skin of your wrist.

law glanced up at you, enamored. you tilted your head to the side, gears turning as you deconstructed his sentence and stance, figuring the innuendo underneath. there were moments in which his restlessness was a product of his past. from the plague, to the death of cora-san, nightmares hunted him down as though starved beasts aiming at a dying creature. however, in other instances — such as the current one — law was but too overworked to fall asleep. whatever the context of the disease, the cure remained the same: your touch.

you moved to the back of his chair, massaging his shoulders. law relaxed, leaning his head back with a low groan. your lips hovered above his jaw, the tip of your tongue darting out to lick a stripe on his skin. your fingers lost themselves under the fabric of his coat, re-drawing the patterns of the tattoo on his chest.

“and how should i cure your problem, doctor? hands or mouth?”

law breathed out heavily upon the hearing of his title, sounding oh-so-sinfully on your tongue. he cleared his throat. “mouth. doctor’s orders.”

you hummed. law watched through half-lidded eyes as you knelt and crawled under the table, the brief sight of your ass enough to harden his neglected cock. he unzipped his pants, not having the patience for the teasing you, for sure, had in mind.

“getting hasty?” you teased, and law moved in his chair, pressing his crotch closer to where — he guessed — your face was.

“get on with it,” he bit back, searching for the back of your head.

when law did find it, he froze. under his palm was the familiar texture of his hat. the thought of having you wear it, with your face stuffed with his cock, made him desperate. a shambles followed-in-suit to a room, and the desk that had once hidden you from his glance was moved to the other side of the office, papers and pens and books falling over. law ignored the sound and the chaos, forcing your face against his covered erection, eyes trailed to that damned hat.

you pushed his underwear enough to free his cock from its cuffs; your hand gripping it before it had the chance to meet his abdomen. law all but shuddered, one hand gripping his chair as the other bruised the skin of your nape. your movements were slow at first. your thumb rolled over the tip and smeared his pre-cum over his shaft, causing his hips to buckle ever-so-slightly. before law could repeat his command, you moved forward, licking the essence coating his tip and encasing it in your mouth. law gasped, keeping his palm on your head and gritting his teeth at the warmth of your tongue.

“shit,” he cursed, biting the inside of his mouth to avoid louder noises, tasting the metal of blood.

your eyes narrowed, and he could see the resolve in them; the utter determination to tear him in pieces. you sucked, savoring the salty taste before beginning to slide down; another hand clawing down a clothed thigh. law huffed at the sight of you. your eyes had rolled with pleasure when you swallowed him down to the base, his hat secured on your head. with a jolt of overwhelming desire, law rolled his hips up to make you gag.

your head moved on its own, a futile attempt to free itself and retreat. he pushed it back, forcing your nose to brush against his pubes, witnessing the tears pooling in your eyes.

“you can take me,” he stated, hissing for a second at the swirling of your tongue. “you always do— ngh. take me so well, love.”

you hummed, relaxing for a second. law’s glance met yours, and his grip laxed at last, allowing you to take over. you popped off his tip with a gasp, mouth open, briefly regaining the lost air. your hand jerked his shaft, replaced by a sudden lick that traveled from the base to the head in one long stripe. you teased him with the sight of your cock against your hanging tongue; allowing his eyes the grace of his pre-cum latched on the warm muscle.

law trembled, his chest heaving at the swirling movements around his tip. “so gorgeous, make me wanna stuff you so bad, love.”

a whimper spilled from your lips before claiming his shaft yet again. law buckled his hips mid-shout, reprimanding himself for the sound. your hand gripped one of his balls, and the settled pace — with the bobbing of your head —, had him gasping.

he shoved himself down your throat, gripping the edge of his hat. saliva dripped down your opened mouth; hollowed cheeks increasing the pressure around his cock.

“that’s it,” he moaned, rolling his hips as his tip hit the back of your throat.

law felt the muffled whimper around his shaft, transfixed on the sight of your stuffed cheeks; the watery eyes that stared back into his. the room was filled with the erotic, borderline sinful, sounds of your gags; the constant bobbing of your head coating his cock with saliva. law buckled his hips, and your nails dug on his thigh, fingers tugging at the fabric of his pants as you audibly choked. with a harsh grip, he pulled your head back, giving you a few, precious seconds to breathe.

“look at you,” he voiced out in awe. “willing to empty your lungs for the sake of my pleasure.”

law guided his cock closer, fingers curling under his hat and nails digging into your head. “open up, love. just like that.”

your tongue darted out, and he slapped your cheeks with his tip, struggling to drown the urge to cum at the sound of your whimpers; the sight of you, following the movements of his cock with desperate-filled eyes, as though you could not wait to take him again. law placed himself at the entrance of your awaiting mouth, breathing out a moan.

“so pretty like that, all fucked up,” he mused, groaning once your lips claimed him yet again. “fuck, that mouth was made for me.”

the responding moan resonated around him, and law arched his back against the chair, feeling hot under the layers of his coat. his head latched itself on the back of your throat, and the harsh grip on his balls had him on edge. law’s voice sounded pathetic to his own ears when your tongue teased the underside of his dick, his movements growing hectic.

“i’m gonna cum,” he warned through a grunt, struggling to keep his eyes open and glued to your face.

you let out a muffled whimper, begging for it; your mouth nothing but a ruthless lover, swallowing him whole, yet demanding more. his hat fell from your head, and law lost his sense of self, whimpering at his release; his cum painting your throat white, stealing the breath from your lungs. law held you there, spasming with weakened and hectic thrusts throughout his orgasm, crumbling down to ruins as he bore witness to droplets of his essence escaping past the gaps of your stretched lips.

“let me see,” he mumbled, exhausted at the expanse of his own height.

with a teasing, edging suck, you pulled your head back with a pop. a stripe of saliva and cum connected his tip to your lips, and when you opened your mouth to spare him a sight of your whitened tongue, law’s fingers weakly gripped your chin, beckoning you closer.

dried blood lingered on the inside of his mouth, and mingled with the taste of his own seed. his teeth clashed against yours. a meek note of the coffee he drank priorly settled in between. yet, it was one of the best kisses he ever had.

“thank you,” law mumbled, an exhausted and dangling man nearing the edge of a lethal cliff. a soaring feather that remained tethered to the earth as a consequence of your tender grip.

you hummed, pressing a loving kiss to his cheek while zipping his pants. “cured enough to sleep, doctor?”

he smiled — enamored; sweet —, the particular showcase of teeth, born from the devotion directed towards you. the spark on his chest whose light was born from your mere presence. his hat clung to your figure, and law had half the mind to use his devil-fruit to teleport the both of you to his bed, before crumbling against the mattress, blindly searching for your chest.

law pressed his thigh against your core, lazily motioning for you to rub yourself against the fabric. a small giggle echoed through the walls, a sound he wished to steal and seal; a selfish shell of a man who had no desire to share a single thing related to his lover whatsoever.

“there’s no need for that. sleep,” you whispered, caressing his hair. law hugged your waist; drowned his face in your chest.

“want you to feel good,” law insisted, sleep-drunk, drooling on your bare flesh.

“too tired,” you voiced out matter-of-factly. whether he was the subject of such a statement or not, he failed to tell. law fell under the influence of slumber the second thereafter, sheltered in the confines of a loving dome whose barriers were sealed from the looming insomnia outside.

— 🐈‍⬛ : IT’S FUCKING LAW STUPID FRIDAY LET’S GO.

[valacre]

: ̗̀➛ Insufferable to the Core

Ratchet x Reader - transformers prime

The children were insufferable, his growing concern for them was insufferable, but you… you brought him the most suffering of all. And the worst of it was that you didn’t even know it, because all that you did was to try and make things easier for him, doing whatever you could to hold back the children in hopes of giving him a break.

He’d openly complained about having to watch over Miko all the time or keeping his optics on Rafael to make sure he didn’t hurt himself, being as small as he was, and even Jack tended to come up with mischief, especially when Smokescreen was in the picture.

But you… You and your insufferably kind smiles and softly spoken words were meant to soothe, to calm him. You’d once said you’d never wanted to be a mother, but Ratchet found that hard to believe because acting like a mother was something you did so very well. You made Rafael feel seen and appreciated, you helped calm Miko’s explosive and wild tendencies by engaging her imagination, and you gave helpful advice to Jack, who in turn appeared to listen to you quite well.

The children adored you, and so did he.

That is what made you insufferable, because how could you ever feel the same? You were human, first and foremost, and he was an old mech with a short temper who was good for little else than patching up his team when they were hurt, and even that he didn’t see as entirely too useful, because he still hadn’t found a way to fix Bumblebee’s voice box, so what good was he?

What good was he in comparison to someone young like Smokescreen, who seemed to have taken a great liking to you, or to someone as wise and strong as Optimus, who so clearly had a soft spot for you?

And you, lovely, beautiful you… Was it pity that made you come to him? Pity that drove you to ask him how he was, how his day had been, if he’d recharged enough or gotten enough energon? Was it pity that forced you to forgive him when he’d shouted at you…

He could still remember the way your face had fallen, how your eyes had welled up with tears, and how you’d swallowed thickly as you held back your hurt. You’d smiled at him, sadly, and apologized for bothering him before you’d left to return home.

Home… You didn’t live in Jasper, you didn’t even live on the same continent, but circumstances and bad luck had made your paths cross, and though Agent Fowler had wished – wanted to force you – for you to move there, you had adamantly refused to permanently leave your home. You were steadfast like that, and he could understand your reasoning.

If Cybertron wasn’t dead, then he’d refuse to leave it too if he’d been offered a place to live on Earth. And yet… If he’d done so, then he’d never had the chance to meet you. Would he have wanted that?

“Ratchet?” your voice called, and he turned. You were smiling, beaming in fact, as you hauled a massive present in front of you. It sagged against the floor, and you huffed as you caught your breath. “Lost in thought? Busy with work as always, I assume?” you asked, smiling still as you put your hands behind your back.

You were giddy about something.

“Yes, I am busy, so mind telling me why you’ve decided to interrupt me now?” he asked and turned back to the monitors, attempting to return to work before you loudly cleared your throat. He moaned in annoyance but turned to fully face you this time. “What is it?”

“Your present!” You chirped, grinning and practically vibrating with excitement.

“Present?”

“It’s Christmas,” you said, as if that explained everything.

He’d heard the children mention it, heard you most of all as you’d brought a tree into the base; fake, of course, and you’d spent such a long time decorating it and the platform you and the children spent your time on, that Ratchet had thought you’d passed out from exhaustion once you’d finished.

No, no, you’d said. You’d only been resting atop the carpet you’d brought. Just resting, not sleeping. Yes, as if he was supposed to believe that. It had been difficult to resist a small smile at the sight of you, splayed out like that, half asleep.

“Right. Christmas. I must have forgotten,” said Ratchet, holding back the fact that he hadn’t bothered to remember it. Human traditions held little importance to him, but as you stood there, beaming like the sun, he could almost feel a small sense of wonder at what you’d brought him. It was huge in comparison to you; massive.

He took it and felt the softness against his servo. Tearing gently at the paper, he revealed something long and woolly in his colours. Pulling it out, it stretched and stretched until finally, it hung limply in the air. What—

“A scarf! I know you don’t need to wear one, and I’m not sure if you even want to, but I didn’t know what else to make that would be easy for you to wear, sooo,” your grin widened, and Ratchet’s spark gave a pleasant pulse, “a scarf! Took me eleven months to finish it. That’s the reason why I’ve been so sluggish these past months. Had to stay up rather late in order to finish it in time.”

“You…” Ratchet felt speechless, and his spark continued to pulse with warmth, making him almost dizzy from the sensation alone. “You made this… for me?” he asked, and your eager nodding forced him to look down, right at the scarf still held in his servo. He had no use of it, none whatsoever, but it was soft and pleasant, and it was made by you.

You’d spent valuable time; time that your preciously short human life didn’t have much of, on something like this? And just for him alone? You clearly didn’t have anything else with you, and you must have waited until he was alone before you approached him.

You’d wanted to be alone with him so you could give this to him…

“I… I have nothing to give in return,” he said, and he felt embarrassed and stupid for not thinking of it. You’d been so excited for Christmas; he should have thought of something for you.

“A kiss,” you said.

Ratchet almost dropped the scarf as he stumbled on nothing.

“What?!”

Your cheeks flushed red, and you looked down; shy.

By the AllSpark, you were far too precious.

“…” Ratchet glanced around. “… Come closer.”

Your face grew redder as if you hadn’t expected him to agree, but you approached and stood flush to the railing, turning your head slightly to present your cheek. However, a digit came to tilt your chin forward, and carefully, as though you were made of glass, Ratchet gave you a gentle kiss on the lips.

It made his spark tingle, and it made your heart soar.

“Merry Christmas, Ratchet,” said you, voice soft as you smiled at him.

“Merry Christmas, sweetspark,” said he, returning your smile.

Perhaps you weren’t as insufferable after all, and perhaps Ratchet has found a human tradition that isn’t quite as strange or worthless as he first believed, because as it has helped in finally revealing how you truly felt about him, then it certainly couldn’t be all that bad.

[hadesoftheladies]

im genuinely fatigued by male heroism in literature. no i do not want a "girl-coded" villain with floppy dark hair, i want an interesting FEMALE CHARACTER GOODDDAAMMNITTTT.

I want to see an eldest daughter fighting for her family's honor. I want to see a girl facing a moral dilemma prematurely, abandoned and decieved by everyone she trusted. I want to see her revolt at the betrayal of her superiors. I want a mother to see what a monster her child has become. becoming a fugitive from her own spawn. I want to see an old woman watch those she loves die because they did not heed her warnings. I want to see old prophetesses outsmart authorities and fight to stop the inevitable. i want a bunch of sisters braving the wild because they are the only hope of a small town. a pathetic heroine who only survives because of luck and charm. young girls with strong limbs because they're used to working in factories and farms, who can run far and leap over fallen trees. who can bat a ball and scale a wall. i want girl gangs, where teenage girls get up to no good until the consequences catch up to them, or not. i want socially awkward queens who lean on the advice of aunty-like advisors, be they witches or muggle. i want to see an older sister be betrayed by the brother she raised and it climaxes in a duel. i want to see the reverse, where the brother she raised becomes her second-in-command, strong and wise because of her and wouldn't betray her for the world. i want genius little girls that are kept in secret towers because of their prophetic dreams. who terrify kings because of their intellect. i want female spies and soldiers who are stupid and devoted. i want an arrogant heroine who gets caught up in a plot bigger than she can handle. a kind girl who inevitably breaks the world and destroys everything. i want her to be destined for doom and glory. I WANT HER TO SELF-DESTRUCT IN THE FACE OF HER OWN POWER. I WANT HER DREAMS AND HOPES FOR THE FUTURE TO INSPIRE A NATION TO CHANGE, ONLY FOR HER TO LEARN THE HARD TRUTH OF THE COST OF TRANSFORMATION. I WANT HER TO WRESTLE WITH THE ISOLATION THAT COMES FROM GREATNESS. TO DESIRE LOVE AND BE TOO SHREWD TO FALL FOR IT.

I AM SO FUCKING TIRED OF BOY ANGST YOU WILL NEVER BE AS DEEP, COMPLEX OR NUANCED AS A GIRL YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND THE HORRORS YOU'RE JUST A PARODY OF WOMEN'S LIVES GET OUT

[illyrian-dreamer]

Our Girl – Part 4

Azriel x Cassian x fem reader angst

Summary: Deeming you unfit for a mission, the Inner Circle have betrayed your trust and shattered your life’s mission to avenge you sister. And the two males you love most were at the centre of it all.

Word count: 7.3k

Warnings: Smut [18+, minors DNI]

You stared at the gold invitation, cursive writing announcing Cresseida to be wed in a months time. And there was your name printed, Y/N and partners. You had scoffed when you first saw it – maybe in another life.

You were chewing your lip, lost in thought on whether to attend or not. You knew at the least, Rhys and Feyre would attend the wedding – that meant seeing them. And word would surely spread of your work at Spring Court once you got to chatting to other guests – that would reveal your location. 

“Whats bothering you, young spark?” Finbark asked from the kitchen, busy chopping vegetables as a pot of stew boiled behind him. He looked up briefly, spotting the invitation in your hand. “Don’t tell me you’re thinking of not attending?” 

“I don't want to risk what I have here.”

“Y/N, everything you’ve worked for is already yours. Your home here, your work, even your privacy, no one can take that away from you now, not even a High Lord or Lady.”

“I know, you’re right. It’s just… I've so enjoyed my little bubble away from everything that happened. Seeing them… they made me feel so small Fin, so helpless. I don't know if I can stand going through that again.”

“So much has happened since then. Look at all you’ve done, all you’ve accomplished. Thousands of fae, gods, even the entire damn court is mending thanks to you. You were never small, and you have proven that to yourself over and over again.”

A wobbly smile jerked at your lips, tears pricking in your eyes. He wiped his hands, leaving the vegetables to come cup your face, brushing away your tears.

“You cannot lock yourself in Spring Court forever, sweetheart. Don't punish yourself for their mistakes, expand your horizons, celebrate with friends that are equally yours as they are theirs. And celebrate yourself, you deserve that even more.”

You reached for your uncle’s rippled hand, holding it tight. “Thank you, Finbark. You mean the world to me.”

“And you me, young spark.” 

So it was decided. You would attend the wedding, without any partners.

————

“Where are we going?” you called from Podie, Tamlin a few paces ahead on his own horse. He was leading you through a trail you weren't familiar with.

“For the umpteenth time Y/N, it’s a surprise.” He called back without turning his head. 

You let out an audible sigh, to which Tamlin chuckled. You did your best not to admire his ass as he straddled a horse – it helped neither of you how handsome Tamlin looked in his riding clothes. You pressed your heels to Podie, coming to trot beside him.

“You should know I hate surprises,” you sang.

“Even the good kind? What a shame,” Tamlin responded, clearly not letting up on where he was taking you. You poked your tongue out, earning another chuckle.

It had been several months since your first dinner with Tamlin, and you had fallen into a comfortable pattern with the High Lord. You enjoyed a regular drink or meal together when your work crossed paths, and he had even consulted you on advice for his court, which flattered you. His company was a consistent pleasure, and you treasured the friendship you had formed – the Gods knew you needed it.

You managed to bite your tongue for another twenty minutes, and just as you were about to pester him again, Tamlin spoke. “It’s just up this trail.”

Pulling the reins of his horse, Tamlin led you down a steep path, hidden much by overhanging trees and bushes, only to reveal a clearing.

No, not a clearing – a field, blossoming with rows of carefully planted pink flowers. And as you got closer, the size of the field was revealed, bordered by a low wooden fence. It was… a farm?

You drew in an audible breath as the scent of the flowers hit you. You widened your eyes at Tamlin, who was grinning at your shock. You dismounted Podie quickly, rushing to brace the fence as you took in the site with awe. 

“Wild Gernaium?” you choked, your eyes still wide. 

“The healing flower,” Tamlin nodded. “It took a while to learn how to farm them, months in fact, but Spring has Prythians best botanists.”

“And here I thought they could only grow in the wild,” you shook your head with disbelief. “Tamlin, these are so rare, how on earth you were able to farm this many?”

“Spring Court is a land that gives back, the soil here is rich of nutrients and the weather forgiving. It is of course only something we were able to do, thanks to your mission work to help recover the land. This is your accomplishment as much as it is theirs.”

Tears pricked in your eyes then. The amount of fae that could be helped with this crop – it was an overwhelming thought. 

“And they are for you, of course.”

You gaped at the High Lord, who laughed again. 

“For me?”

“Of course, for your work. Whatever you need – farmers to pick the flowers, a factory full of workers to grind and bottle the pigment – say the word and it’s yours.”

“Tamlin, I… I don’t know how to thank you.”

“Please, don’t. It’s not a thanks I deserve, I’m just… trying to look out for my people. Just as you do.”

“Well… you’ve done a Gods damned good job,” you said with raised brows, blowing out a loose breath at the extend of the farm. 

Tamlin threw his head back and laughed, and you grinned at his happiness. You reached for his hand, giving it a squeeze. “Nice work, High Lord.”

Tamlin squeezed your hand back. “It wouldn't be without you.”

He pulled on your hand then, leading you through the flowers as you admired the plants up close. He explained that a factory could be built at the farms edge, attached with a pressing mill and grinders. Your heart fluttered with excitement, your work could extend past manual labour, you could now offer medicine and healing. There was a force brewing inside you, something unstoppable and good, something that lay dormant for centuries, finally unleashed and free.

You still held Tamlin’s hand as he lead you through the field, making your way to a lush hill that overlooked the farm. You sat together, Tamlin listening contently as you excitedly spoke through your ideas on how to harvest the medicine, noting that your small growing team of mission workers could also help to distribute throughout the court.

“How many aid workers have you recruited now?” Tamlin asked. 

“Seven, and we’re currently inducting Nyvya in the east. She’s a trained healer, so will be delighted to hear of the Gernaium.”

“That’s wonderful,” he smiled. 

“It is,” you said warmly, and it occurred to you that you owed Tamlin a truth. An idea you were planning to run by him at a much later time. But with the offer of the Gernaium, the access to this kind of healing, that changed things. “It is,” you repeated almost flatly, chewing at your lip as your eyes fell distant, dancing with thought.

Tamlin caught the movement, and he frowned slightly as he shifted from his lounging position. “What is it?”

Your heart rose in anticipation – you felt sheepish. So you stared at him, deciding on whether it was in fact the right time.

“You can say it – whatever it is,” he said gently, taking your hand. Your silence lead him to start guessing. “Are you leaving Spring?”

“No, no I–”

“Because you are free to come and go as you please. I know my past behaviour speaks for itself, but I would hate to think that you feel trapped or–”

You grabbed his shoulders then, squeezing the muscle underneath. “Tamlin, gods I know that.”

The action seemed to stun him, and his lips pressed into a thin line. You felt a slight twang of guilt for drawing out such a distinct shame in him. 

You took a deep breath, pulling your hands to your lap. “With the mission work expanding, along with my team, we have been able to help fae at the borders, some from Summer, even a few from Autumn.”

Tamlin nodded assuringly, a sign for you to continue. He didn't startle over the technicality of Spring members helping foreign fae – that was a good sign. 

“And it felt good to help them Tam, they were isolated, and just as vulnerable as some of those in Spring.”

“Of course,” he said softly.

You had to take a deep breath, and your eyes found the horizon beyond the rolling hills around you. 

“You know,” you spoke softly. “My ambitions to help and protect others, it has always existed beyond court borders.”

You could see Tamlin shift, before giving a slow nod. 

“After talking with my team, we believe our mission work could gain traction in other courts, should they be willing. We could share knowledge, resources too if it was agreed, and provide aid across Prythian without being conformed to borders.”

You forced your eyes to Tamlin then, grimacing at what you might find written on his face. But it was just as neutral, his eyes soft, his jaw chiselled and handsome and – damn him.

“This is not the way I wanted to propose this to you Tamlin, please know. Especially after your generosity with the Gernaium, I understand completely if you have grown them purely to aid your own subjects. But that doesn't stop the need for mission work across Prythian. I plan to gain the support from as many High Lords and Ladies as possible, and I would be honoured if that started with you.”

Tamlin eyed you with those sharp green eyes, the kind of look that made you shift under the weight of it. And after an insufferable silence, he spoke. 

“You are incredible.”

You blinked in shock, Tamlin’s lips pulling at your reaction. 

“Truly,” he smiled, grabbing your hand to kiss it. “I have never met anyone who was to see a need as great as this, and think to grow it beyond borders. Magic anchors a High Lord or Lady to their Court, it makes us territorial and protective, violent even. But you, this,” he said waving his hand to you, before sighing, contemplating how to say what he felt in words. “You are what this world needs.”

Your eyes welled before two fat tears rolled down your cheeks. “Tamlin,” you chocked, unable to think of anything else to say.

He shifted closer, brushing the tears away with his thumb as he cupped your face. “You have my support Y/N. Thank you for teaching me to be better.”

Emotion surged through you, as if flushing you from years of doubt and hate, replaced now with inspiration, kindness and good, honest love. And then your lips were on his. 

Taken aback, Tamlin caught himself on one strong arm as you held his face and kissed him. You pulled away, worried to have overstepped your boundaries. But then a strong hand laced around your waist, his other propping himself up as he leaned in, closing his mouth over yours, a sharp breath drawn as his nose brushed against your. Friendship, understanding, a blossoming love – how quickly Tamlin had welcomed you to a world capable of healing, of growth. 

Every fibre in your limbs begged to be closer to him, to bask in the vulnerability he had shown you, and you him. In only half a year, you had grown together, healed together, and learned to love one another. You did, you loved him, for whatever he was to you – a dear friend, a High Lord, it didn't matter. It was equal, and genuine, and you craved it in every way. 

Fuelled in by dizzy passion, you quickly straddled his lap, pulling at his broad shoulders to bring him further into you, letting him encompass your senses. 

Tamlin’s own hands slid across your back, moving up to your neck, gripping at the roots of your hair, the other grasped at the flesh where your thighs met your hips. 

He seemed to realise where this was heading, pulling away with a sharp breath through his nose. “Y/N–”

You shook your head, dismissing him immediately with another kiss, your tongue begging for entrance to his mouth. “Tamlin.” His name was a plea.

“Are you cer–?”

You didn’t give him a chance to finish his question, peppering kissed in between words. “I’ve–never–been–more–certain.”

A low growl rumbled from his chest, and goosebumps pricked at your skin as you felt it vibrate through to you. Your excitement peaked, it had been so long since you had shared yourself with another, and your core fluttered with anticipation as every fragment of you seemed to chant yes, yes, yes. 

Which is exactly what you moaned as Tamlin entered you, your skirts pulled high, his riding pants pulled low. You placed a flat palm on his chest, your eyes clenched shut as you stretched around his girth, your walls already throbbing as you slowly slid down. Tamlin let out a stifled growl, one laced with satisfaction and a lot of restraint. 

Strong arms hugged you then, and you began to writhe together, moving gently and sensually as you ground against each other. Chasing release was far beyond you, there was so much pleasure to be had in sharing your bodies, relishing in the trust you both had found in one another.

Tamlin did his best to keep a leash if his instincts, his beast form begging to be released and he grunted and growled when you moved your hips in a certain way, nipping at your neck and ear as claws now ran down your back. You ran your fingers through his hair, using it to guide his face to yours as you kissed him and fucked him how you pleased. His own hands moved to grip at your ass to do the same. 

“Y/N,” he breathed, his deep voice breaking, strained with pleasure. 

“Tamlin, gods, you feel–”

“So. Good,” he gritted, finishing your sentence. You leaned back, head thrown back as your hands found balance on his thighs as you rode him in the warm spring air. 

Pleasure found both of you again and again in that afternoon. You climaxed on his lap, and not twenty minutes later he was pushing into you again, your bare thighs spread on the lush green grass as he moved above you. You clung together, a writhing, sweaty mix of passion and pleasure until the sun began to set over the rolling hills. 

Tamlin reached for you, his fingers lacing with yours as you ate the last of the berries he had packed. He kissed your forehead before turning you to rest against his chest, not wanting you to miss the view. 

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he murmured into your hair. 

Stroking his arms that were tightly wrapped at your waist, you swallowed, debating on what to say. But no, Tamlin deserved the truth, you must always choose truth. You sighed , saddened by what was churning through your head after such incredible sex.

“I’m thinking we need to discuss what this afternoon means.” 

You loved him, you did, but Tamlin was bound to his court, and your life called beyond it. It wouldn't work, no matter how much you cared for each other.

Tamlin knew this too. “What if,” he spoke softly, brushing your hair away from your neck so he could place a gentle kiss on it. “What if we enjoy this moment for what it is, just for today.”

You smiled, kissing his hands. “Tomorrow then.”

“Plenty of problems await,” he joked, and you laughed before settling further into him. You smiled cockily as you felt him harden against you. Tomorrow indeed.

————

One month later

Peering from the carriage window, your heart thundered in your ears, drowning out the clap of horses hooves as guests arrived at the summer estate, music floating gently from within.

Dawned in all colours, you watched guests gasp in awe at the beauty of the building. This was one of many of Tarquin’s estates - one you had never visited. It was an open, grecian style home, golden columns holding the impressive entrance carved with shimmering vines. Fae flocked in groups, sparkling wine already in their hands as they made their way to the gardens, no doubt where the service was being held. 

“Are you alright?” Tamlin asked, the velvet of his deep green suit brushing against your bare arm. 

“Uneasy to say the least,” you said thickly, your tongue stiff with nerves. “And you?”

Tamlin looked beyond the window, eyeing each of the guests. “One step at a time,” was his response as he squeezed your knee. 

————

The curtesy wine offered to you at the entrance was gone within the first few moments of arriving. You wouldn't make a fool of yourself here, but a little wine to take the edge off couldn't hurt. 

Tarquin stood proudly, wearing a fine turquoise suit detailed with gold thread, shaking hands as he welcomed guests. 

“Y/N,” he beamed, taking your hands and kissing each of your cheeks. “I’m honoured you came.”

“The pleasure is mine, Tarquin. Thank you for having me.”

“Nonsense, both Creseida and I might have forced you here if you had not come willingly.”

You laughed freely. “How is she?”

“A wreck of nerves,” he chuckled. 

“I’m sure she looks beautiful,” you laughed lightly back. 

“She does, just as you do,” he winked, raising your hands he still held to take in your dress. A silken, soft blue dress fell of your body, its back open as material gathered just before your rear. The dressmaker had done an incredible job, fitting style and colour alike. You had politely declined her suggestions of a sage green, a Spring Court signature. It was kind, but you were courtless for over a year now, and proud of it. Instead, you had asked for sky blue – as no one ruled the skies. 

Blushing, you let out another soft laugh. “You are too kind, High Lord.”

Tarquins eyes flashed behind you, catching Tamlin as he spoke with some familiars a few paces away. “Have you…?” he questioned, trailing off.

You smiled knowingly. “I’ve come alone. Tamlin and I shared a carriage, journeying from the same court. You remember of my work there?”

“Remember? Sweetheart, there is talk of your mission throughout my court. There are guests here who are very keen to meet you. And we will need to formally discuss your work, and give a proper thanks to the aid you have provided at the border.”

You were smiling wide now, shaking your head with gratitude. “I would like that too, but perhaps not here.”

Tarquin grinned. “No, perhaps not. Welcome, sweet Y/N, please enjoy the festivities, and accomodation.”

You smiled politely as Tamlin approached, exchanging a firm handshake before raising his brows at you. “Shall we head in?”

Nodding tightly, you let Tamlin guide you with a hand at the small of your back. At the very least, the warmth of his skin against yours was a small comfort. 

The estate was even more impressive the further you ventured, white marble and golden staircases twisting this way and that, leading to corridors of rooms, each door carved to perfection. These were the guest accomodations, and included your own for the evening. 

But the jewel of the home was its view, where a perfectly groomed garden now catered to almost a thousand fae, overlooking the crystal blue Adriatic, the waves beneath crashing the cliff quieted by the string quartet. It was an overwhelming beautiful home, and you were glad to be lost in a sea of guests. 

 A golden arch was set at the end of a the aisle, a High Priestess exchanging words with a groom you did not recognise. But you smiled – you were happy for Creseida. 

“An impressive turnout,” Tamlin muttered, sipping his wine as his green eyes turned sharp, scanning the crowd. You ignored the glances being cast your way, whether it was from your attendance with Tamlin, or Tamlin’s presence alone, you didn't care. What did these fools know of either of your stories to judge.

And you tried not to look, to not let your heart beat fast as you scoured for a rare set of wings amongst the finery of the wedding, telling yourself you wouldn’t turn your heel and run at the site of any siphons or shadows or night. But you were thankful to not find any. 

That was, until you felt them. Muscles jerking, goosebumps pricked your skin as your power began to tingle sharply, spreading across your body like a rash. Shit – you hadn't anticipated to lose your lid in such a way, your power had been so forgiving this past year. 

A small gap parted in the crowd of guests at the stairs of the estate, and the High Lord and Lady of the Night Court were revealed. Arms loop, night curling around them in the fashion that impressed and threatened all at once. Rhysand shook hands with a nearby male, Feyre kissing the cheeks of a curtsying female. 

It shocked you, how quickly your spy instincts found you. As if in one of your many life-threatening missions, your senses narrowed, the noise in your brain focusing to immediate details – taking in only what you needed to survive, just as Azriel and Cassian had trained you. Your vision barrelled to the couple who still greeted others some distance away. Scanning behind them, you anticipated the remainder of your old family, and of course, your exes. 

Yet no one followed. Not even Mor. It seemed the High Lord and Lady had attended alone. It was strange – had things turned bad at the Court, that even the Morrigan had forgone a wedding?

Rhysand wore a handsome smile as he guided Feyre down the stairs to the garden, guests parting even further, bowing as they strode through. They were getting closer, and you ignored the clench of your heart as their scent filled your nose, before mixing with others. It was the smell of home.

No. it wasn't home. Not anymore, and not for a good while now. You hated that instinct, to curl into it, to let it welcome you, claiming you still. 

You glanced behind, conscious that they would find you standing with Tamlin. But he was no where to be seen, and you thanked him silently for the courtesy of having stepped away.

Rhysand and Feyre glided closer and closer, exchanging nods and accepting bows. And then they halted, violet eyes scanning before locking to yours, grey eyes shortly followed. And Rhys’s smile, the one that he used in the face of the public, it softened, his eyebrows twitching upwards almost unnoticeably. 

Feyre’s hand gripping at his arm tighter, and you could hear her heart fasten from where you stood. You almost resented how in-tune you were to them, these micro-behaviours. 

Glancing between them both, you followed the order of those next to you, lowering yourself to a polite curtsy. 

They couldn't reach you, not without drawing attention, not without the watchful eyes of hundreds of guests. So with a nod from Rhys, and a soft smile from Feyre, they continued on, finding their seats in the queues. 

————

Cresseida was the most beautiful bride you had ever seen. Golden vines were cuffed along her arms, as a silk gown as white as her hair trailed behind her as she walked the aisle, Tarquin proudly at her side. 

You smiled through your tears as she was married. You were happy for her– you were happy –you were… An unmarketable emotion filled you as you couldn’t help the run of tears that continued to pour, even after the ceremony ended. 

————

“And is it true that you were able to help the children at the border?” questioned one of Tarquin’s emissaries as she leaned in, raising her voice over the music. 

The party was in full swing, food had been served and hundreds of fae drank and danced, celebrating Creseida’s courtship, each of them eager to get even a glimpse at the bride and groom. 

“Yes, we were lucky to have an experienced healer join the mission, and she was already aiding some of the fae in Spring.”

The female smiled, and squeezed your arm. “On behalf of my court, we are grateful.”

“Not at all,” you smiled back. “Your authorities were notified, and from what I heard your own healers were already on their way. We were simply closer to that area, and had supplies to spare.”

It had been hours, and your company was still in high demand as endless Summer Court members were eager to meet you. Tarquin, it seemed, had been spreading you just as much praise as Tamlin. You had danced with many, exchanging jokes and stories, enjoying the festivities with some familiar faces and many new ones. 

It was a struggle to keep your eyes from averting, your instinct to find Rhys and Feyre in the crowd was loud and stubborn. Old habits, you supposed. 

Tamlin approached you then, having made himself scarce from your company for most of the evening, something you both had agreed to do. But you were comforted by his presence as he easily slid into the conversation, slipping a glass of fae wine into your hand without even asking. You smiled, giving his shoulder a thankful squeeze. 

There was an itchy, uneasy feeling that tugged at you, and you knew you were under watchful eyes. You found them, surrounded by their own acquaintances, and while Rhys masked his curiosity perfectly, Feyre’s stare bored into you from across the dance floor. 

Taking a large sip of wine, you let it warm you as you squared your shoulders. You would not cower, you would not shy away. And now was a better time than any.

So you strode directly to them, Feyre’s stare softening as Rhys pardoned himself from his conversation. Then, they were walking towards you to. 

You stopped a few paces shy from each other. Staring. It was…. awkward. 

But then Rhysand smiled. Warm and genuine and familiar. You hoped he didn't hear your silent curse to him. 

“You look well,” he said. 

You nodded, acknowledging the half-compliment, sensing their relief. No, you weren't that broken withered girl you were when you left. 

“How is Nyx?” The words flew from your mouth before you could stop them. You would have been more annoyed at yourself, but your care for that child was pure, and you knew they would never withhold him as currency. 

“He’s well, growing every day,” Feyre replied. “And walking all on his own.”

Your smile, be it small, was sincere. 

“He still… asks about you,” she added. 

Pain sliced through your heart then, and you weren't quick enough to hide it in your face. “Don’t,” you whispered, your voice strained. Gods, that didn't take long.

“I’m sorry,” Feyre said quickly, hands reaching out before she quickly drew them back in. “I didn't mean–“ she cut herself short, shaking her head. “I’m sorry.”

You cast your eyes to the side, blinking away the sting of tears. “It’s alright.”

Rhysand watched you intently. “Perhaps we can all use some fresh air? I spotted a terrace, free from other guests.”

The choice was yours, you knew that. You had things you wanted to say, and you were sure they did to. You nodded, following their lead as you quickly cast a look backwards, Tamlin offering you a tight nod as you left the room.

————

“So, mission work in Spring?” Rhys asked, wine swirling in his hand as he leaned casually against a column, warm summer breeze surrounding the three of you as the party continued faintly below. 

You nodded, your arms crossed at your chest. 

“It’s very impressive,” Feyre added from where she sat, offering a genuine smile. 

You didn't respond, unsure of how much detail to reveal. Rhysand caught on, sighing slightly. 

“We didn't bring you here to interrogate you for detail, It’s only that your work and whereabouts is quickly becoming widespread knowledge. We thought it was best to acknowledge that we know it too.”

“And what of Cassian and Azriel?”

“We have held true to our bargain on that.” You believed him. 

There was an award silence, unasked questions looming. 

“Are you safe there?” Feyre asked quietly.

“Very much so.”

“And Tamlin is–”

“A friend,” you said quickly. 

“– respectful to you, was what I was going to ask,” Feyre said with a knowing look.

You sighed then, running a hand through your hair. “I didn't do it to hurt you,” you said, with a straight face. You owed her no allegiance, but, you were done hurting others, and her concern did no one any good. 

“I know,” Feyre acknowledged, with the grace of a High Lady, of someone who knew that the past was the past. She shook her head then, before adding. “We worry for you, that is all.”

“He’s changed.” You were shocked at how quickly those words left your mouth. 

It was Rhys who threw you a condescending look. You hated how small it made you feel. 

“Look, I appreciate your warning, but Tamlin has shown strides of growth, he has acknowledged his mistakes and is working endlessly to undo them. When was the last time you looked within yourselves?”

Rhys flashed his eyes at you with warning, bringing an arm to comfort his wife. “Careful,” he said plainly, but a flash of darkness passed through those violet eyes. 

Damn him. And damn Feyre too. “You didn’t so much as try to stop them,” you breathed, your eyes welling with tears as you focused on her. Gods damn it – you thought you were past this, past them. But it was as if a year away meant nothing, you were just as hurt as that night you left the Night Court. Feyre watched with a pain expression as your lip wobbled. “And you didn't so much as try to apologise,” you whispered, your voice moments away from breaking. 

Feyre’s eyes now glistened with the same tears. “You shut us out,” she countered, and you could see how much your own choices had wounded her.

“What choice did I have?” you asked, brushing away a stray tear. “You think I want to be this way? You think I wanted to cast myself out? You broke my trust and lied to me, alienating me from this family. And I was supposed to come to you for an apology?”

Feyre gulped guiltily, looking at the floor. Rhys watched you intensely, a concerned frown on his face. 

“You’re right,” Feyre said quietly, grey eyes now finding yours. “But you must know Y/N, I am sorry. I’ve been sorry since the day it happened. I thought it wise for Azriel and Cassian to want to protect you, but I realised very quickly how it was that kind of thinking that trapped me within warded walls,  and that had me fleeing my home all those years ago.”

You nodded, casting your eyes upwards to not let the tears stain your face yet again. “We can't keep doing this.”

“What’s that?” Rhys asked gently. 

“This,” you gulped, waving your hands between you. “These sorry confessions and apologies, it hurts us all.”

“Alright,” Rhys said neutrally. “But you acknowledge our apology?’

“Yes.”

“Do you forgive us?”

Your lips pressed tight as you grimaced. 

“That would be a no,” Rhys said sadly, his smile broken. Feyre couldn't force one if she wanted to. 

“I want us to move forward,” you offered instead. “There is no use in resentment. It may be that we’ll continue to cross paths, and it is important to me that you know I will not respond illy.”

“Of course,” Feyre nodded, smiling. 

A sharp pain throbbed at your temples then, the kind that came about when you had to keep your emotions and powers under tight strain. It was instinct to rub at your temples. 

“Can I heal that for you?” Rhys was now standing in front of you, his smile remained but his eyes – heavy, saddened. 

You blinked up at him before flicking your eyes to Feyre who waited eagerly for you to respond. Was this a test? Could it be, after all that had happened, you could consider them just…friends? You searched within yourself for the right answer, but nothing came about. It was just too soon. 

But there was no harm in letting Rhys work some of his magic. “Alright,” you replied, and you heard Feyre loose a breath. 

Rhysand’s hands cupped the side of your face, his fingers pressing to your temples as the familiar feeling of him slipping into your mind sent a shiver down your spine. There was something in you, something impossible to kill that was comforted by his touch. He was, after all, your High Lord of decades. He had been your home, your family, and maybe there was some part of that would always remain. It upset you how much you had to resist the urge to wrap your arms around his waist, to pull Feyre in too, to sob of how much you missed home, your family, how much you ached while you were apart. 

It was over as quickly as it began, Rhys slipping from your mind, leaving no trace of a headache behind. You hadn't clocked that you had closed your eyes, your lip quivering as your cheeks were now wet with tears. Rhys kept his hands on your face, brushing them away. 

“Y/N–,” he said softly, his face pained. You knew what he would say – come home, even if you hate us, come home. But you wouldn't give him a chance. 

“T-thank you,” you stammered, pulling away from Rhysand’s hold and fleeing the terrace, leaving the two to their shock. 

————

You were brushing away hot, fast tears as you fled the wedding, racing towards your guest room. 

Gods, what was wrong with you today? You hated feeling like this – an unstable, blubbering mess. Nothing had changed in a year, not really. You were still the same, broken and alone. It hurt just as much to see your family now. 

To hell with this wedding. You craved a sleep tonic and to be rid of this night. That was when Tamlin fell into side-step with you. 

“Are you hurt?” he asked simply, muttering the words to avoid drawing attention as you passed through the crowd. 

“No,” you managed to say, and you could have kissed him for playing into the nonchalance. He seemed to respect privacy, even when there was little to be found. 

“I’ll walk you to your rooms.”

“No, Tam, I’m fine, you should–”

“Nonsense,” he replied, and you knew you wouldn't shake him. So you walked to your room,  sniffing through your tears as you tried to calm the current brewing at your fingertips, Tamlin by your side.

You reached your quarters, a private corner in a long corridor or rooms. The door was carved in  unique artwork, familiar somehow, as if beckoning you to enter from within. 

“If you’re sure you’re alright,” he said with an unconvinced look. 

“I will be, Tam, thank you.” 

You gave his hand a quick squeeze, before turning the handle to the door. 

And made it two paces in, before shadows filled your vision. 

————

You swore as strong hands held your shoulders, blue siphons a blur as shadows cast around you. You fought on instinct, but it was impossible to shake Azriel’s grip. 

“What in Mothers name–?!” you cursed again. 

“You’re safe,” Azriel spoke with relief. Despite yourself, your skin ignited at the husk of his voice.

“Get your damn hands off me,” you gritted, taking in the room as the smog of shadows finally cleared. 

Cassian was between you and the door, where Tamlin still stood, completely stunned. The General’s hands quickly curled into fists.

No one moved, each of you just as shocked to see the other. They had come for you, yes, but you were certain Tamlin was an unpleasant surprise. 

“Fuck,” you ground out, almost rolling your eyes as you knew the strife that now awaited your friend. 

Azriel moved you behind him, as if you needed to be shielded, protected. “What are you doing here, traitor?”

“Let her go at once,” Tamlin growled, stepping into the room. 

You stepped out from behind Azriel, your mind reeling at the sight of the two Illyrians in you room. You hated them, but something in you churned - a yearning. It was easy to stamp down as a rage took over. 

“What are you doing here?” you countered.

Azriel gave you a piercing look, running his eyes down your body. There was love in that look, but a sternness too. 

“Answer me,” you ground out. 

Cassian was still facing Tamlin, his siphons so bright they radiated heat. “Did you hurt her?” he growled at Tamlin, a shaking rage consuming him. 

“You hunted me? Like a mare?” your voice was ice cold, colder than any of these males could ever hope to perfect. Your trust, betrayed, again. 

That voice snared their attention. Cassian casting a look back at you, desperate, like he wanted to give you all of his time, to never stop drinking in the sight of you. 

You prowled closer, fingers twitching as your power grew so strong zapping could be heard. “Rhys’s promise to me, the bargain. You broke it,” you spat.

“Y/N.” Cassian said your name, begging you. His pain cut through to you, your power dampening as a sick, sick part of you folded at his plea. Go to him, that part of you begged. 

The room was filled with a sharp coldness and breeze as Rhys and Feyre winnowed into your quarters, Feyre’s face one of shock, Rhys’s one of fury. 

“What in Gods name are you doing here?” he growled at his brothers. 

“You left us no choice,” Azriel seethed back at Rhys, his wing stopping you as you silently moved to join Tamlin. 

You glared at him. “Try that again,” you growled. 

Azriel’s eyes were dark, predatory, but his brows pulled with a softness only reserved for you. “I do not trust him.”

“And I do not trust you,” you spat back. 

“The promise,” Rhys growled, glaring between his brothers. 

“Y/N, we had no idea they had come,” Feyre spoke with a desperation that you had to believe her. 

“Leave. Now.” Rhys ordered, but the males ignored him, his power underwhelming in another court. 

Cassian’s brow pulled, his face truly broken as he spoke to you. “You left us. And joined him?”

You snapped at the accusation. “I joined no one, because I belong to no one. I pursued a life beyond you, and I am a free female. Free to roam wherever I please, and fuck whoever I want.”

You words landed their mark, because both Azriel and Cassian recoiled.

And then Cassian’s face turned grave, as he slowly faced Tamlin again. “You-you touched her?”

You cursed yourself for the pointed insult – you should have known it would put Tamlin in the firing line. To his defense, Tamlin held a high chin. 

“She is a free female. Nor you or I can rob her of that.”

Azriel snarled, and Cassian was on Tamlin in an instant. 

“Stop that! Get off him! You will not hurt him!” you cried, broken at the thought of Tamlin being hurt because of you. 

But before you could throw yourself at Cassian, night magic filled the space, pulling the males apart, commanding the room to its master. And you were surprised to see Feyre walking towards them, her palms outstretched, night pouring from her as her eyes now glowed with silver. 

“Sensless violence ends now, I don’t care about the circumstance.” 

What did she mean by that?

“Leave,” Cassian snarled at Tamlin, but Tamlin held his ground. 

“He is welcomed to stay so long as Y/N sees fit,” Feyre spoke coldly, forcing Cassian’s eyes back to her. Now that, was a High Lady. “I can not believe you two–“

“You weren't invited?” you interjected, untrusting of your exes as you scowled between them. 

Rhys shook his head from across the room. “We went as far to hide the papers.”

You gulped as you stared up at Azriel. “Pray tell, how you found me, then?”

Azriel wore no remorse as he said “Amren – she possessed an invite and–”

Exasperated sounds from each of you filled the room. Amren, of course. She was the only one to know to play games above Rhys and Feyre’s head, and cunning enough to pull it off. 

“And what is your plan, then?” you added coldly. “Drag me back to the Night Court, kicking and screaming?”

“No, of course not,” Cassian responded softly, stepping towards you, stopping as you retreated back. “We had to know that you were safe.”

You stared at him, the sorrow in his voice, the bags under his eyes and the way his shoulders sagged. He was broken. 

“You were not well when you left, Y/N. It’s been killing us not knowing how you are faring now,” Azriel added, his eyes soft, looking just as worn as his brother. You knew he sang silently to his shadows as they coiled in on themself, they would be begging to reach you. 

“Please, don't be angry,” Cassian begged, his eyes welling. “We’ll go, we’ll go now, it’s just–”

“We love you. We- we need you,” Azriel interjected, his own brow clenched with pain. 

Each of their words were a dagger to your heart, piercing it’s way through the walls you had built. 

“Stop that,” you whispered, your hand pressing against your chest to ease the pain. Were these your feelings, or theirs?

“It’s true,” Cassian continued. “You’re our girl. We'll do better, Y/N, we promise. Please.”

It was painful to hear, and you faltered slightly as your body jerked in pain. Something was breaking within you, crumpling around something else, something buried deep. 

“Please Y/N, come home.”

Your knees gave out as you let out an anguished cry, your heart tearing and swelling to the point where you thought you just might die. 

“Y/N!” Tamlin called in panic, but Azriel and Cassian were already at your sides, holding you, asking where it hurt. 

Palms braced on the floor, you tried to breath through laboured breaths as you finally felt what was concealed for so long. It was unmistakable, a tether of sun-lit rope, tying you to the males at either side of you. You felt it all – their fear, the instincts to take you far from this place, their overwhelming, unconditional love. 

And you hated it. 

“No,” you gasped, your hand finding your heart as you tried to calm its pounding.

Azriel glanced at Cassian, who gave a single nod in confirmation. Feyre gasped from where she stood. 

“What is it?” Tamlin panicked. “What’s going on?”

“No!” you repeated, standing quickly and backing away from the two males. It couldn't be – you were free, you had left…

They watched you with saddened eyes at the horror that beheld you. 

“The Mother is cruel,” Rhys tutted, lowering his head in sympathy.

“What in the gods-forsaken realms is going on?” Tamlin yelled.

“No, no, no, no! Please, no!” You clutched at the roots of your hair, your mind reeling as you begged to no one. You were bound to them, whether you liked it or not. An enslavement of kinds.

“It snapped,” Feyre answered to Tamlin without ever turning his way.

It was too much to bare – their instincts, your newly ignited ones, their love, your hate. Your brain scrambled for sense, fighting itself over and over as you shook at your knees. 

A final ‘no’ pushed past your lips before your body gave out, the world tipping and your vision darkening as strong hands caught you. 

You succumbed to the gods damned mating bond. 

-------

Part 5>>>

AN: Helllllllllo my lovelies! I am so so bloody excited to share this part with you! It was a rollercoaster to write, hope you held on tight for this angst-train! Always, always, ALWAYS want to hear your thoughts and feelings on where this story is heading, so please drop a comment anytime. And thank you endlessly for your support with this fic - it means the world. MWA!!

[doingitforbokuto]

Eddard Stark x fem!reader | arranged marriage

Though you hadn't been married long, you were sure to have made a good match. Lord Eddard Stark was strong and understanding, much kinder than you had ever anticipated your husband to be. Just as every other highborn woman in Westeros, you knew exactly what was expected of you: Serve your house, marry who your father decides and bear children. Almost all other Ladys you conversed with had given you advice on how to live with a husband who does not care about you or your wellbeing, only being interested in your family and the connection it would give him. Of course, there were those whos husbands were fond of them, maybe even loved them, but they were so few and far between, that you had already written that off as a possibility. No need to get your hopes up.

With your house being one of the strongest in the Riverlands, you had always expected your husband to be lusting after your families power. What you had not expected, however, was being wed to the Warden of the North. Though he was undoubtedly more powerful than any Lord that you knew, he still had duties to fulfill and one of those was keeping the houses of the North and the Riverlands at peace. 

For a few years, the Lord of Winterfell had stayed unmarried after his Lady wife Catelyn Tully had succumbed to lung fever shortly after arriving in the North. But a new marriage could not be put off forever, the demand for security and stability after the all too bloody war was a never-ceasing chorus of the Lords surrounding him. Peace among the houses and a strong leader, with a strong bloodline was what they all wanted. So, marriage it was. 

When your husband had first brought you to the North, he had warned you how cold and hard it was. You were no longer in your beloved Riverlands. And though your husband would speak about how the winter never truly ceased in the North, how the cold could be harsh on man and beast alike, how it could be unforgiving to live in a land almost constantly under a blanket of snow, you never failed to catch the sincerity and the pride resonating in his voice and face alike. As harsh and cold as the North may be, he loved it. You could see it in his eyes now, too. 

He was walking you through the Godswood of Winterfell, the calm and peaceful atmosphere surrounding you. You had often walked the Godswood in your home, in the Riverlands, but this place felt different. Perhaps it was because it was dedicated to different Gods, or perhaps it was because you were there with your husband, but you could not deny that the trees and the snow fascinated you. 

“I want to show you something,” he said, his deep voice stirring something deep inside your belly. 

He changed directions and started walking off the trail, into the woods. You followed him, careful not to trip over the snow and ice. Your Lord husband waited patiently for you to catch up to him, stepping forward to meet you halfway. Gently, he took a hold of your elbow as you stepped over a stump that had fallen over, making sure you were walking safely by his side.

It didn't take you long to see where he was leading you: The tree line opened up and revealed a lake, surrounded by flowers and grass, the snow melting away, steam rising up gently from the water's surface. 

“Winterfell is built upon hot springs, my Lady. This is where one of them leads to.” 

You couldn't believe your eyes. Amidst all the ice and snow, you never expected to see a thing such as this. 

“We are surrounded by the cold, but in Winterfell, there will always be warmth.” You turned to look at your husband as he continued to speak about his home. “I know that it must be hard for you, coming here, into a strange land, with a strange man, that someone else decided you should marry.” He was looking at you now. “But I hope that you will find comfort here.” He squeezed your hand. “Perhaps one day, you will find beauty in the North, just like I do.” 

Your husband's face was flushed, though you did not think it was because of the hot spring. His long hair had snowflakes melting in it, his dark eyes were filled with sincerity and his handsome mouth curling into a soft smile to reassure you. 

You reached a gloved hand up to rest it upon his cheekbone, the other one still safely tucked away in his palm.

“I found beauty in the North before I ever came here,” you whispered into the cold air between you, watching the words travel in a cloud from your mouth to his as he pulled you closer to him. 

Your husband could only hope that whoever else walked the Godswood would stay on the path, for none of them should ever see the sinful way his wife's - your - mouth parted the moment he kissed you to let his tongue slip into yours. They shouldn't hear the way you whimpered as he took you into his arms when your knees got weak. They shouldn't see how he held your body against his own, with your hands under his coat, holding onto his back as his hands wandered along every curve of your body. They shouldn't hear your moan that escaped you as he pressed you against a tree, one knee wedged in between your shaky thighs, your dress bunching up where you wanted him the most. And the definitely should not see how he ripped one glove off with his teeth, whispering into your ear how he would take care of you properly in the safety of your bedchambers - bur perhaps he could help you ease some of the tension for now.. if you wanted him to? 

[madamechrissy]

Up in The Air

♡ ♡ Pairings ♡ ♡ Suguru Geto x Fem Reader

♡ ♡ Warnings ♡ ♡ MDNI- Cunnilingus and fingering, and a lot of Suguru eating reader out bc... it's headcanon Sugu loves to eat it lol.

♡ ♡ Word Count ♡ ♡ 7,657

♡ ♡ Summary ♡ ♡ You have been jilted at the altar by your groom, Mahito, who has led you on for years. Your best friends, Maki and Yuta, suggest to go on this Honeymoon alone, to get away and find yourself again. On the plane ride, you run into a gorgeous man on a business trip, who holds your hand when you say that you're terrified of planes, Suguru Geto. You all fall into easy conversation, and there's chemistry, he makes you feel better than you had in a long time. You think to ask his number, when he realizes that his room has fallen through. Well, you have a big honeymoon suite, and you suggest he stays with you. What can go wrong?

Chapter 2 - Masterlist- Playlist

Chapter 3

You stretch, waking up with the most beautiful view, sunlight streaming in, you sit up and see the ocean outside, the bright sun, the breeze swaying the trees. It is absolutely stunning… and you’re here… With Suguru Geto, at the thought of that alone you hop up, checking your reflection in the mirror, adjusting your top.

You smooth out your hair, brushing your teeth and washing your face in the bathroom mirror, and your eyes… they’re glittering. There’s life in them, life you had not seen in so long. You feel better, you feel so hopeful, and it’s such a new and foreign feeling that it’s hard to take.

You peek out, and don’t see him, your heart falters a moment, but all his things are there, so you breathe easy. Your fear of abandonment is hard to handle. You go and find your phone, checking on texts from Maki and your mom, updating them and snapping pictures. You tell Maki about Suguru, she demands a picture, you muse on how you’ll do that later…

There’s a message from him.

Your stomach flip flops.

Suguru: Headed to do work things… wish I could just lounge by the beach. You totally should. Dinner at 7?

You squeal, you fucking squeal. Are you fifteen again?

You: That sounds perfect! Where should we go?

…

He’s typing!

“Fuck…”

You nibble your lower lip.

Suguru: There's this little restaurant by the marina that is supposed to have the best seafood. Do you like seafood?

You: I am down for that! Yummy!

Suguru: You are.

You’re flushing, sitting down for this, so nervous… was he flirting with you? Fuck, what even was this? Someone desiring you, someone complimenting you, and he happens to be gorgeous. And his fingers…

Welp.

Your own tremble as you type.

You: You don’t know if I am yet.

Did you just say that? You nibble on your nail nervously, watching the three dots wiggling, freaking out. You take a shaky breath, wondering if that was too far, if it was too suggestive, if…

Suguru: I have a feeling you are. Taste yourself and tell me. If you remember those lessons.

You fall backwards on the couch, covering your face, you’re dying. “Fuck, I need advice.” You call Maki. “Maki, I need you!”

“Oh my god, tell me!”

“Okay… you alone?”

“Just with Yuta. What’s up?”

“Oh god, he can’t hear this, take me off speaker!”

“Okay let me walk out… alright, what is it?”

“Maki… okay… this guy is the dude you said was hot at the airport.”

“What!”

“Yes and… okay… he got me off.” Maki is squealing now too, you laugh, breathlessly. “Nothing went too far. He just touched me…”

“Oh my god. I’m so happy for you! Just marry him?”

“Maki it’s been two days, chill. Okay, so, he wrote me this.” You screenshot the message, and Maki gasps.

“Ooh, he’s fucking sexy too. Bitch! Okay, snap him a pic of your-”

“Maki, no!”

“Trust me.”

“I can’t!”

“Oh gosh… then, finger yourself and taste yourself? We are really being super close right now, you know.”

“No kidding.” You’re shaking nervously, thighs pressing together. “Okay, just tell him I taste… good? The fuck.”

“Yep, if you won’t do the pic. Hmm, wear a cute bikini and take a sexy pic!”

“I don’t know how!”

“Oh gosh. Video chat.” You get on with her now, flushed as can be, Maki is grinning. “You look like you got off.”

“Oh god.” You cover your mouth, laughing, but then you ease your hand down, his words getting you. “Maki, I really like him, and this is stupid fast.”

“Just roll with it. Okay, put me down somewhere.” You do so. “Now, get on your knees. Perfect, arch those tits out. Now, pick me up, hold me up high. Not that high, yep there. Push em together. That’s the shot!”

“How do you know all this?” You ask, giggling again.

“Don’t ask.” She rolls her eyes with a smirk. “Get to it, girl scout.”

“Wait, what do I say with it?”

“Say… that you wanna know if it’s cute.”

“Okay, bet. I love you!”

“Love you too. Kisses!” She ends the call, and you nervously run to get on a bathing suit, finding the pretty pink one she had packed for you. You slide it on, and get another text.

Suguru: Fuck, was that too forward?

Shit!

You go take a bunch of photos, sliding through each one, you end up sending three you like to Maki, asking her to pick. She sends back her favorite, and you flush at how your breasts are on full display. You take several breaths, before sending it to him then.

You: I was getting in my bikini, oh my gosh no, not too forward. I totally kissed you on a plane? So I think there’s no such thing.

You: What do you think? Is it cute?

Suguru: Fuck.

You’re giggling now, and then you go to the bed, sitting nervously, leaning back and cautiously running a hand down your tummy, into the waistband of the bikini bottoms, finding your clit, pressing up. You gasp at it, at something that used to feel so wrong, but now, with Suguru’s help it felt good. So good. Not as good as his fingers, of course, but…

You nervously taste yourself, and it’s sweet and tangy, you are surprised by it, and feel yourself heat up, imagining him tasting you. Now you’re stupidly wet again, something that has been going on since you met him. You struggle to compose yourself, picking back up the phone.

Suguru: You look so good.

You smile.

You: Thank you!! Okay… um, I taste good.

“Fuck… I just did that?” You cover your face, sinking back into the pillows, your cunt is slick, aching, just from the thought of him. You’re having fun, for the first time in so long.

The phone blings, and you eagerly pick it up, rolling on your tummy and nibbling on your nail, swiping it open to read it.

Suguru: I am now hard in a meeting with a bunch of dudes. This is awkward.

You snort in laughter.

You: That’s your own fault! You wouldn’t let me take care of that.

Suguru: I’ll be fine. Okay, I’ll see you tonight… and maybe I will find out if you’re telling the truth.

You: Maybe you will. Okay see you soon!

Your entire body is overheated at this point, the cool water sounds more and more inviting. You throw on a cover up and some shades, grab your sunblock and your things, and go to nibble on something downstairs. You notice some men there are looking at you, some have flirted, and it’s flattering maybe, that you’re getting noticed, but you already have no eyes for anyone.

You may be foolish, but you are too eager to see Suguru again than anything, and even if it led to nothing, for the moment he would be all you would focus on. You were a one person girl, even if the last person was total trash, it did not change that for you.

The sand is warm beneath your feet as you stroll along the shore, your pretty room visible as you turn back to see. The waves are crashing rhythmically against the shore, the prettiest bright blue waters, warm against your feet. You find a quiet spot under a palm tree, spread out your towel, and begin to slather on the sunblock, turning on your little bluetooth speaker.

You pop on music, then lay back, letting the sun bathe your skin, it feels so nice and warm, so comfortable. The salty air carries the scent of the ocean, you inhale it, feeling so peaceful, hearing the sounds of the waves and the birds mixing with your favorite music. You had forgotten what it felt like to be so relaxed, to feel so excited about something.

The day drags on leisurely, and soon you head back, and peek in the mirror, you have a pretty glow from the sun, just a little red on your cheeks and nose. You have about an hour or so to get ready for your date with Suguru. You’re nervous, but the excitement is bubbling in your stomach, so you shower, then blow dry your hair, and start to put on makeup.

After getting dolled up, in your towel still, you go over to the dresser, heart fluttering as you peer through all the lingerie. Fuck. Which one?

He mentioned the white one, so you start putting it on, the white lace so delicate and pretty, and it reveals everything, the color of your nipples, the apex of your thighs, hugging your curves. There are little straps along your breasts, pushing them up, and garters attached. You have never seen yourself look so hot.

You decide to slide on a pretty, thin white dress, perfect for the weather, it gave Marilyn vibes, a halter, cinched in skirt, accentuating everything, and there is a hint of that lacy lingerie. You eagerly peek at the time, it’s a little before seven, and you hear him walk in now, closing the door behind him quietly.

Shit.

“Hey!” You come out of the room to greet him, nervously fidgeting with your hands in front of you, his lips part, his chocolate eyes sliding down your body, caressing it as if it were his very hands. Goosebumps rise everywhere they touch.

“You look amazing.” He says softly, walking to you, holding out his hands. You take them and he makes you spin, whistling, you giggle. “Just gorgeous.”

“You’re too sweet to me. Thank you, Suguru.” You look down shyly, he tilts your chin up, you are breathless, the look on his face so entranced, mirroring your own.

“Let me get ready real quick? I already got reservations.” You nod, smiling, you can’t stop yourself from smiling actually, even if you try to come down to Earth, it’s not working well.

“Perfect! Go right ahead.” He dips into the room, then the bathroom, and you take a selfie for Maki, who replies back with a bunch of heart eye emojis.

After a few minutes, he comes out, dressed more casually than his three piece suit, he had a short sleeve button down, light blue, that revealed much of the corded muscles of his arms. He wore slacks that hung looser over his hips, and your eyes swallowed him in, until they got back up to his face, his hair was fully up, in some little knot, but some fell over his forehead.

“I’d like to see your hair down.” You tease, coming up to him and brushing his hair back. He smirks.

“So bold!”

“I am, huh?”

“I…” He clears his throat, a little pink on his cheeks. “I really liked that picture, I wish I was just on the beach with you.”

You’re blushing too. “That would have been lovely! Does this scare you, Suguru, how easy this feels?” You murmur, holding his hand. His tenses, and you meet his gaze, seeing his jaw clench a bit.

“Yeah. It’s scary as fuck. I’m trying not to look into it too much but, it’s pretty comfortable with you.” He exhales, picking your hand up, kissing it.

“Should I just enjoy it, not look too much into this either?” You ask softly, and he tilts his head a bit.

“You should feel whatever you feel. Don’t hold back just to not scare me away or something. I’m not easily frightened, mind you. If you knew my friends you would understand.” He smirks.

“Maybe I’ll meet them? Fuck, that’s stupid.” You ease back, turning, but he snatches your wrist, coming up behind you. Your pulse races.

“You never know. You might.” His voice is husky.

“You know how to make me feel better.” You smile sadly back at him, as his hard chest is pressed against your back, warmth emanating from him.

“You worry too much.” He kisses the side of your head, at your temple, your eyelashes flutter close in bliss.

“I really do. Sorry-”

“I wonder if I spanked you every time you say that if you’ll stop.”

Fuck you’re wet again.

“Or… if you’d do it to get spanked.” He snorts a bit in laughter, and you glare back at him now.

“You’re cheeky.” You poke at him, turning, he grins.

“A bit. Come on, we can actually just walk there, it’s across the beach just a bit.” You nod, sliding on some glittery sandals, snatching up your purse. “Oh and I’m buying remember?”

“I do! Buying me drinks too?” You wink at him, he grins, and you all step out, arm in arm, walking to the elevator.

“Of course, I’m a gentleman after all.” You’re alone in the elevator now, your mind goes awry, looking down at where your arms were joined up, your hand in the crook of his elbow. “You got color today.”

“I know, I got a little burnt on the face.” He gently touches your nose.

“Should have put aloe on it before we left. It’s cute though.”

“It is? The Rudolph look?”

He shakes his head, rolling his eyes. “You do not look like rudolph. But, you know, he’s cute so.”

“Well thank you.” The elevator dings, and you two walk out the doors, until you’re down on the sand, heading towards the boardwalk.

You walk side-by-side down the boardwalk now, taking in all the sights of the evening as the sun has set. There are stands everywhere, of jewelry, food, paintings, you name it. As you approach the marina, the sweet smell of seafood fills the air, making your stomach grumble.

He laughs at you.

“My tummy tells on itself.”

“Well perfect timing.”

The little restaurant is nestled amongst the colorful wooden boats, all lit up, as a hostess takes you all to your table. There are twinkling lights hanging from the thatch roof above, giving it the perfect beachy vibe. It’s so cozy, with a live band playing local music, everything is wide open and breezy.

Your table is overlooking the marina and the ocean beyond, so peaceful as the evening begins, casting a pretty purple and orange glow across the water. You look at Suguru across from you, sitting your chin in your hand, studying him as he speaks to the waitress, who was fawning over him.

Well, you were too.

The wind is flowing, blowing those little bangs of his, and you imagine him with his hair down, he’d look like some romance cover. Your own hair is in a loose bun with wispy tendrils, that flow, and his eyes seem to watch you then, his lips are moving, was he talking?

Shit.

“What do you want to drink, Princess?” He asks softly, and the waitress swoons, holding her chest.

“Oh, you’re so lucky!” She tells you. “To have such a man.”

You blush furiously, he just grins, wiggling his brows. “He’s not my man… yet…” He raises his brows now. “But I am lucky, this is totally kind of a date?”

“Totally kind of.” He agrees, his broad shoulders shaking with humor.

“Ah, new love. And he’s so handsome.” She fans herself, her accent is thick, and you nod.

“He is.” You agree, winking at him.

“But, you are so pretty too!” You smile at that.

“Yes, she is.” Suguru agrees, leaning forward, his fingers together, that charming smile and his sexy eyes glowing in the soft lights.

“Thank you.” You murmur, and then peek at the menu. “Can you recommend a good drink?” You ask her.

“Absolutely.” She points out some tropical looking drink with a weird name. You shrug.

“Sounds good.” Suguru orders his drink, he is simple and gets a beer, as they bring the drinks soon you laugh at how wild yours looks, all different colors and a big umbrella and fruit on the top. “Okay, that looks good.”

“Let’s try it together!” You scooch it in the middle of the table, and pop two straws in the glass, leaning forward, his amused eyes narrow as they stare at your lips hovering above the drink.

“All right.” He stands up, hands on either side of the table, and you both sip the frozen drink at the same time. You pause as you two just stand there, hunched over, lips on your straws. He licks his lower lip, so full, now glossy and tempting you, and your tummy clenches in desire from the smallest act.

You were simping bad already, shit.

You clear your throat, licking your lips, and his eyes dart back down there, you wonder wildly if he thinks the same. The part of you that is damaged from Mahito and insecure screams that he couldn’t really, that he just feels sorry for you so he is nice, but this other part? The part that used to be you, the part that Geto brings out? It thinks that you’re pretty hot.

It’s fucking nice, to feel sexy, desired, by someone you would kiss right across this table. In fact, you are both staring at each other, paused, as if you both were in some sort of trance. You reach down to sip again, laying your elbows on the table, your breasts are pressed up, and you enjoy his quick look, lingering just a second.

“Are you teasing me?” He asks softly, tugging on one of your strands of hair that has come loose, sipping some again. You cover your face, nodding.

“I don’t know what I’m doing though.” You admit, sitting back, he sits back as well, legs wide you notice, an arm back over the back of the empty chair next to him.

“You’re doing a pretty good job of it.” You look at the seat, then get up your courage and hop up, sitting next to him. He grins. “A very good job.”

“It feels so formal across from each other, doesn’t it? This reminds me more of the airplane.” He brushes the backs of his fingers along your cheek, and you feel yourself aching for more.

“It does, hmm? Not just an excuse to be closer?” He’s teasing you now, and it works, you’re all red.

“I won’t say either way.” You pick up the menu, and you both start choosing different food, crab legs and shrimp, and all sorts of things. You fall into a comfortable conversation, it was always so easy with him, since you’d met, this whirlwind of meeting someone you could be yourself with.

It seemed quick when the food started coming out, but time just passed quickly around him. The moonlight was already rising along the sky, reflecting in the water, and it got a little chilly with the wind, making you shiver. His arm wrapped around your shoulders, big hand rubbing your upper arm, pulling you a little closer, scooching your chairs together.

You smile up at him, and when his eyes catch yours, your breath catches in your throat. “Thank you, Suguru.” You murmur. He just smiles, and you drink in the sight of him next to you, probably embarrassingly so.

“Of course. I should have brought a jacket with me.” His hand runs up your shoulder, then his eyes drop to your chest, where the lines of the lingerie below were just barely peeking out.

“It’s a beach, of course you wouldn’t think you’d need a jacket, silly. It’s just the breeze.” He hums, thumb playing with the strap on your shoulder now, sending desire through you, hot and heavy. Your hand gently goes to his thigh, and you feel the tense hard muscle underneath.

“Is this…” He breaks off as the waitress comes back, and you tense, but he does not take off his arm, as Mahito would. Mahito had not shown public affection towards you, deeming it embarrassing.

“Dessert?” She asks, and Suguru looks at you then, his hand still firm on your shoulder, reassuring you.

“Would you like any, love?” He purrs those words, they send a shiver through your body. You shake your head.

“I’m so full. But thank you!” You smile to the waitress, and she goes off to get cases for your food and the check. You turn back to look at Suguru then, his gaze is back to the straps of the lingerie.

“Everything okay?” He asks softly, you nod, scooching a little closer, he pulls you against him, so warm, you sink into his embrace.

“You’re not embarrassed of me?” You curse inwardly as the words slip out, as Suguru tenses, glaring down at you with those narrowed eyes now.

“What stupid question is that? Why would I be. Why would I ask you to come out with me?”

“I… because you feel obligated? Or sorry.” You feel tears prick the back of your eyes, blinking them back, and his grip grows tight on you.

“No to both.” He says through gritted teeth, and you immediately feel you have fucked something up. “Is this another thing that happened?”

“I don’t want to keep annoying you with those things. Please, forget I said anything, I don’t want to ruin the night.” You put your hand on his chest, looking at him pleadingly, he exhales, grip on you tight.

“You won’t ruin anything. It’s just a little ridiculous at this point, you’re sitting here looking fucking beautiful, breathtaking…” Your cheeks heat up, your tummy flipping as he studies you so intently. “And you think I’d be embarrassed?”

“It was just what I am used to.”

“I’m not him.”

“Not even close. You’re a man.” You murmur, and his jaw eases just a bit, grip easing as well, sighing. “I don’t think you’re anything like him. Just stupid thoughts, I’m so sorry.”

“I’m sorry that you think that way.” He eases away, and you feel the tears burning again, so worried that you’re so damaged you’re fucking up the one good thing you’ve ever really had happen. You look away, clearing your throat.

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom, be right back.”

You ignore him when he says your name, softly, and once you’re in the little bathroom you lock yourself in the stall, feeling the tears start to flow. You curse, yanking toilet paper down, struggling not to fuck up your carefully done makeup.

“Stupid, stupid.” You curse yourself, sighing tremulously, leaning your head into your hands. You’re fucking this up. But how could you just get over everything that’s happened to you?

You stay a few moments, going to the mirror, popping on some concealer to cover where your mascara had smudged from your tears. Suguru had called you beautiful. Breathtaking. And the way he looked to you, you felt that way, you just had to trust this, you had to move on.

Setting your shoulders straight, you walk back out, and Suguru is not at the table anymore, your heart falters a bit when you see him up towards the front, with numerous women gathered around him. You can’t feel anything about it, you barely knew him, and he wasn’t yours, but there was a little odd feeling there, as you see the beautiful women that giggled around him.

You stood there, before slowly walking up, and the women parted. Suguru smiled to you, holding his hand out, and it meant so much to you then, him acknowledging you, looking at you, smiling. You smile, placing your little hand in his own, comfortingly swallowing yours.

“Shall we head out?” You nod. “Perfect, thanks so much for dinner.” He says to the staff, and they all swooned and fawned over him as you all walked out, hand in hand, stepping fully out into the breeze, he looks at you then.

You turn your head, looking up at him, Suguru gently lifts your chin up, wrapping an arm around your waist. You feel yourself heat up at the contact, at feeling his hard, warm body against yours. You shyly look down a bit.

“Look at me.” He orders, silkenly, and you’d do anything he asked, anything he said, if it was like that. You do as he says, eyes meeting his now, your lips parting just a bit. “I’m not upset with you. Promise.”

“You’re not?” Your voice broke just a bit. He sighs, bending down lower, noses nearly touching.

“Not one bit. I just got mad someone made you feel that way. Fuck, I’d be mad that anyone feels this way. But never mad at you.” You exhale, gratefully, nodding and blinking back the stupid emotion.

“I’m so glad. I am having so much fun and I don’t want to ruin it.” He smiles, a little half turn of his lips, thumb tracing your jawline.

“No way, you’ve made everything better.”

“Me?” He nods. “You made everything better.” Your hands go up to his chest, feeling his hard muscles, his steady heartbeat on your palms.

“By what, being here with a beautiful girl? In her fancy fucking suite? While she wears lingerie that’s driving me insane thinking about?” You’re bright red now, and he laughs softly at you.

“I’ve never had so much fun. Please, stay the rest of the time? Even if a room opens up?”

“Of course. I’m having fun too.” He presses a little kiss on your lips, and you wonder if these things only mean so much to you, but for now you shove that thought down, and enjoy his full lips on yours. You moan softly, and he inhales, sharply, easing back.

“Earlier, those texts… they really got me excited. And nervous?” You giggle thinking about it, he grins, easing away now, and you all start to walk. “I’ve never felt like that.”

“You give me too much credit, thanking me for having dinner with you, thanking me for staying, now you’re thanking me for sending horny texts?” You giggle into your hand, then think better, grinning up at him, he pauses on the boardwalk, smiling. “You’re listening huh?”

“You’re a good teacher, you know.” You tease, tapping his lips with your fingertip, he nips it, and your thighs clench together, heat pooling between them. “I think I need more lessons.”

“Oh do you?” His voice is husky, eyes going hooded, you can’t believe you have been so bold.

“Yes, I think I could use one tonight. If you don't need to go to sleep super early? I don’t want to interfere with anything.” You look away, but he stops you.

“Ah-ah.” You peek back up. “I’ll do another lesson, as long as you allow me to see this. It’s been driving me crazy all night.” He murmurs, sliding his fingers under the straps. You nip your lower lip, drawing his eyes to it, you’re growing wet under the lacy panties of the lingerie.

“It has?” He rolls his eyes, sighing, snatching up your hand, continuing your walk back to the resort.

“Yeah.” Was all he said, quietly, and you watch a faint color on his cheeks, making you flush more. “Very much. Is that why you wore it?”

You look down, giggling. “Maybe.”

“Maybe, hmm?” You grin up at him, and he grins back at you, soon you all are back up to the room, you’re taking off your shoes, and he is as well. “I am going to take a shower real quick? Is that fine?”

“Of course! I’ll just get you some towels, hang on.” You murmur, he pauses you then, a hand on your wrist as you are grabbing him towels. “Hmm?”

“Why don’t you…” He trails a hand gently down your straps again, straps he had been teasing all night, backs of his fingers trailing against your sensitive skin, making your pulse race, desire hitting hard. “Get more comfortable?”

You feel everything spinning then, at the deep voice, the suggestion, the look in his pretty eyes. You nervously run a hand along his where it met your skin, rubbing little circles along the back of his hands. “I can do that.”

“Perfect.” He gently kisses your forehead, something you like far, far too much, and heads into the bathroom.

You freak the fuck out.

You text Maki, asking for advice, and then you nervously peek in the mirror as you wait, looking in the mirror, your entire face is pink, a mix of sunburn and being flustered. You nervously take off your dress, revealing the pretty lacy number, snapping a pic and sending it to Maki.

Maki: Bitch you look perfect!

You: Thank you but how do I get… comfortable?

Maki: Get a drink and lounge on the couch, all sexy and shit, I totally believe in you!

You take a breath, doing as she suggested, walking over to the stocked mini bar, deciding to get some wine and pour two glasses. You didn’t know if Geto drank wine, but you wanted to have him something too. You go sit nervously on the couch, positioning your body this way and that, over analyzing everything, trying to look casual, to look sexy…

It ended up being you just leaning against the side of the arm of the couch, legs crossed, and you had thrown on the little sheer mesh cover that hung on your shoulders loosely, not covering anything but it looked so elegant. You hear the water shut off, and busy yourself looking at the phone, trying to control your heated breathing.

This was wild right?

Fuck it.

When Geto steps out, shirtless, your throat goes dry, your heart fucking hammering at the sight of him. It’s not something you could get used to, how perfect he looks, and as your eyes slide up, you see his hair is loose, and soft, fucking shiny and gorgeous. It’s softly falling around his face, making him look even more attractive, and his full lips are parted, staring at you.

You watch his eyes glide up and down your body, your legs, your breasts, until they get to your face finally, and he exhales. You are just sitting there nervously, palms sweaty, you bend over to grab his drink, standing and handing it to him, your fingers brush as you both pause.

“I didn’t know if you like wine?” You ask nervously, he clears his throat then, sitting both of your glasses down, and you frown. “There’s plenty of other drinks, or we could just have water?”

He cups your face gently, bending low, your breaths are mingling, his tasting like mint. “You look fucking…” He trails off, hands trailing down the lace of your lingerie, along your curves. “Yummy.”

You giggle. “Yummy hmm?”

He grins, stepping back and looking down your body. “That fucking describes you perfectly right now.”

You bravely kiss him, on your tip toes, eliciting a moan from him. “Do I taste yummy too?” You whisper, he moans then, and before you know it he’s snatched you up in his arms, you squeak in surprise, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Fuck, you’re super strong.”

“You don’t weigh much. But I do work out.” He teases, and you’ve never been grabbed like this, felt so excited and… safe.

“I see this.” You tease, kissing him again, he is grabbing your ass, moaning, as you wrap your thighs around him, and he’s just carrying you? Like it’s nothing. Until you feel your bed against your back.

“Even prettier on your back.” He whispers, you’re soaking wet now, arching your hips up and whining as he watches you.

“Mmm… Geto…”

“Suguru. Call me Suguru.” He whispers, and you bite your lip, he eases your teeth off it. “You bite it too much.”

“I do, hmm? Well… Suguru, bite it for me.” You whisper, he exhales, gently caressing your face, kissing your lower lip, running his tongue along it, before sucking it into his mouth and nipping it. “Mmnh!”

“Yummy.” He whispers, you moan as he runs his hands down your body, easing off the little mesh top, sliding it off you. His hand grazes the sides of your breasts, thumbs brushing your nipples through the lace. “I won’t go any further than you want to. I promise. You’re safe with me, okay?”

You feel emotion catch in your throat, and you nod, blinking rapidly, holding his strong shoulders in your hands. “I already knew that. I have a feeling you won’t go as far as I want.” You whisper with a smirk, and he laughs a bit, nodding.

“You’re probably right. But I want you to want this.”

“I do, I want this so fucking bad. Like anything you want to give me, or do, I want. Should I show you how much?” You raise a brow, and he nods, you take his hand then, sliding it to where you’re soaked, and he moans as he feels you over your lacy panties, you gasp as his finger grazes your clit over the material.

“Do you just stay drenched?” He murmurs, one hand grabbing your hair, the other stroking your clit, sticky through the fabric.

“This is a new development.” You admit, and he’s kissing you then, drinking in your cries as he tortures you over your fabric, leaving you wanting more, more.

“Hmm… before our next lesson, I should know if you paid attention to the first one.” He pulls back with a teasing grin. You cry out at the loss of contact.

“I did! Kinda.”

“Mmm, let’s see then.” Your mouth is wide open, and he has the biggest grin on his handsome face, picking you up and scooching you further on the bed. You gasp, and he takes your hand, kissing it, then sliding it in your panties. You gasp as your own finger finds your clit.

“Mnh!” You whine, and he eases back a bit, eyes full of desire, hands rubbing up and down your thighs, hooking in your panties.

“May I?” He asks, and you nod, trembling as he bares you to him, and his breath catches when he sees your pussy, slick and shimmering with desire for him, thighs wide open so he could see it all. “Fuck.”

You’re shaking, and feel your chest heaving as he sees you fully, it was something that had not really happened before. You grow nervous, trying to shut your legs a bit, but he spreads them, shaking his head, soft long black hair falling and flowing with the motion.

“Is it okay? I-”

“You’re perfect.” He murmurs, eyes flicking back up to yours, desire heavy in them, reflecting your own. “Fucking perfect little pussy.”

“Yeah?” He laughs a bit at you.

“Yes. You’re… perfect is the only word I can think. And it’s hard to think at the moment.” He takes your hand again, guiding your finger back to your clit, and you rub it, gasping at how good it feels. “You’re fucking beautiful.”

You feel beautiful.

“Th-thank you, Suguru.” You manage, head arching back, hips raising under his gaze, stuck on your cunt like a fucking hawk, flickering his eyes up your body to your face, then back down, his strong hands gripping your thighs.

“That’s it, you have this part down. Now what about sliding a finger in?” He suggests, fucking sexy voice of his like velvet, and you nervously do so, crying out when you slide your own finger in your slippery wet entrance. “Fuck…”

“It’s not as good as yours.” You whine, and he takes your fingers then, bringing them to his mouth, sucking them off, eyes closed, moaning. You gasp, and when his eyes open again, they’re fucking ravenous.

“You taste so good.” He murmurs, then he slides his finger up and down your slit, making you tense in desire, throbbing around him, he slides that finger out and into your mouth. You moan, licking yourself off, then he’s on you, kissing you, his weight pressed on top of your overheated body.

“Mmm! Suguru!” You cry out when he kisses down your throat, to your breasts, and he slides them out of the cups of the lingerie.

“You’re beautiful everywhere.” He whispers, eyes locking on yours when he lavishes a nipple with his tongue, you tense everywhere, the pleasure so good you can’t stand it. “Pretty, perfect breasts.”

“Fuck.” You manage, and he’s kissing lower, your tummy, and you grow even wetter if that’s possible, pulsing around nothing, his silky hair is tickling you, you gently grab it.

“I want to taste you fully.” He whispers, breath against the hood of your clit, you moan at it, hips raising up towards him. He spreads your thighs, and his gaze, seductive as fuck, meets yours. “Do you want me to, Princess, to taste you?”

“Oh please, yes. Please.” You’re begging and you don’t fucking care, he smiles, kissing the hood of your clit, teasing you, then he slides his tongue up your slit, tasting you, and it feels so fucking good you nearly scream. “Fuck! Fuck.”

“You taste so sweet.” He whispers, flicking his tongue up again, spreading your lips apart further, sliding his tongue in your entrance, you do scream now.

“Suguru! So good. So good.” You cry out, tears sliding from your eyes as pressure builds quick, like before, but so much more intense. Your hands grab his hair, pulling him to you, and he moans, vibrating your puffy little clit, and you’re panting, feeling every nerve ending on fire.

“So close already, Princess?” He murmurs, peeking up at you, a mischievous smirk on his face, which is glistening with your desire. You giggle, breathlessly, nodding to him.

“It feels too good.” You murmur, and he grins, kissing your clit again.

“I’m just getting started, love.” You’re surprised at this, but then he’s tilting his head, and holding the hood of your clit up, flicking his tongue on the sensitive bundle of nerves, faster and faster, and you cum hard, so hard, blinding you, gripping the sheets below you, as it rocks you like nothing you’ve know.

“Suguru!” You scream out his name, panting.

“Cum as many times on my face as you want.” He whispers, fingering you then, and you’re rocking your hips against his face, wanton.

“It’s okay?” You whisper. “It’s messy.”

He laughs at you, hot against your aching, oversensitive cunt, thrusting his finger up to that spot that makes you see stars. “I’ll drink it all up, don’t worry, Princess.”

Fuck.

He’s back down there again, using his finger in sync with his tongue, and you’re falling apart all over again, as another orgasm washes through you, hot sticky cum pulsing out onto his hands, onto his face. He’s moaning, and the obscene sounds of him literally slurping you up turn you on goddamn more.

“There you go. Good girl.” He whispers, and now his face is fucking soaked, he licks his lips, grinning.

“You’re really fucking good at this.” You whisper, voice hoarse from how hard you just came.

“I enjoy it. Especially with your pretty, yummy little cunt.” His words bring you up again, as when he slides another finger in you, stretching you out. “Can you take these two, love?”

“I can do it.” You nod, wincing a bit, and he laughs a bit at you, sweetly though, watching you as you adjust.

“You’re so stupid fucking tight.” He is knuckles deep, tilting his fingers up, hitting that spongy little spot over and over, and you’re cumming from just that, making his hand slick as he plays you like an instrument. “So beautiful when you cum.”

“Fucking so good. Mmm.” You lose words, you lose sense of self, and he’s going back down there, you’re not sure you can take anymore.

“Cum one more time for me, Princess. Would you?” He asks, and you whine, brushing back his hair.

“So sensitive. Ah!” He flicks his tongue on you again, you throw your head back in ecstasy.

“One more time, I’ll clean it all up with my tongue.”

“You’re too hot.”

He grins, shaking his head, and then dives back down between your thighs, and his tongue is ravenous, fast on your clit, sucking it in his mouth and humming, and you’re cumming so hard you can’t breathe. Everything fades, your ears are even ringing, your head fuzzy, as you feel so much pleasure it goddamn nearly hurts, cumming all over his face and hand.

He is drinking it all up, tongue lavishing every sensitive inch after you come, he eases up, sucking his fingers of, and licking his lips, as if he could not get enough. He’s so fucking attractive, you’re so sensitive, you sit up weakly, pulling him down, kissing him so deep, tasting yourself all over his soft, firm lips. He moans, returning the kiss, then he’s on you again.

You’re falling into each other as you try to piece yourself back together, your body heaving with the effort, legs trembling how hard you’d come, and he’s kissing you so passionately. His cock is hard and eager on your thigh, you run your hand up and down his abdomen, dying to see it, dying to touch it.

“Surugu, that’s the best goddamn thing that’s ever happened.” He chuckles against your lips, holding himself up on his arms, hand cupping your face.

“You are the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen, cumming, your little face…” He rubs your forehead. “Your brows tense.” He touches your nose. “It scrunches up all cute.” Now your lips. “And you bite the fuck out of this, leaving little teeth marks.” Now he rubs your cheeks. “They’re all flushed. And your eyes…”

“You make me feel so…” You gulp, feeling tears run down your eyes now, he softly swipes them away. “So pretty. Thank you, Suguru.”

“I’m just telling you what I see. It’s the truth.” He kisses your forehead, your eyes flutter shut.

“I’m dumb and feel things. And we barely know each other. Is that stupid?” He pauses, and your eyes meet, more serious now as he studies you.

“It’s not stupid to feel things. But, I just wore you out with orgasms.” You flush at that. “So maybe with a clearer mind we can talk about that.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s foggy at the moment. But I do know, you’re absolutely amazing, Suguru Geto. And I’ve never been happier.” You whisper, and watch him tense a bit, looking down at your lips.

“I’m pretty happy at this moment.” He admits, and you exhale, worries shoved back for now of what all this meant. “You didn’t try to reach for my dick hmm?” He is grinning now. You laugh.

“I didn’t know if this was another just my pleasure lesson?” He nods.

“It is. So, good girl.” You moan, and his eyes light up. “You like being called that, don’t you?” You nod, tucking your face into his chest. “I see you’ll be submissive.”

“You think?”

“We’ll find out.” He’s stroking your hair gently, it feels entirely too good.

“I really like you? I’m sorry if that’s weird to say.”

He pauses, it’s quiet for a moment, you tense. “No, that’s not weird at all. I did just have my face buried in your pussy.”

“Oh god!” You both laugh at that, and you look up to him shyly, he’s completely pleased with himself, clearly. “You’re way too good at that.”

“I’m good at a lot of things.” He grinds his cock against you, shocking you, it’s under his shorts but you feel it, huge as fuck and thick, hot and hard. You make a noise from the back of your throat.

“I bet you are.” You whisper, rising your hips up, eliciting a hiss from him. He holds your hips down.

“You tease me.”

“You tease me!” You both sigh, kissing again, and he eases back. “Listen, I’m down for this next lesson whenever.”

“I bet you are. Insatiable little thing.” He sighs, running his hands back down your body, admiring you again.

“Sleep in bed with me?” You flutter your lashes, pouting. He laughs.

“You’re giving me puppy dog eyes!”

“Are they working?”

“Not yet.”

“Well shit.” He shakes his head at you.

“Too hard still.”

“I could-”

“Not just yet.”

“Ugh.” He’s enjoying your torture, smirking down at you, and then he helps you up, on wobbly legs. “Fuck.”

“You okay there?” He winks, and you sigh.

“Fine, totally fine.” You stumble, he laughs as he catches you. “You’re enjoying me being gelatin!”

“Maybe a bit. Let’s get you dressed, you need some help.” You roll your eyes, sighing, and soon he’s exhausted, yawning.

“Need to get up early?” You ask softly, he nods, stretching.

“I’ll be back earlier tomorrow though. We can go to the beach together, if you want to.” He caresses your face gently.

“I would love that.” You cup his face, leaning up. “Thank you so much, that was… well… fucking amazing.”

“You’re very welcome, Princess. I loved it too, so you know.”

“Yeah?”

“Fuck yes. It’s still a whole problem.” He looks down, and you do too, finding him still rock hard, the outline of him making your sore cunt throb. “Don’t look at it so hungry, freaky little virgin.”

“Hey!” You shove at him, and then you end up giggling again, have you ever giggled so much? Ever?

“Good night, Princess.” He gives you a soft kiss, and you linger for a minute, not wanting to ever leave his embrace. “Sweet dreams.”

“Sweet dreams, Suguru.” You head to your own room, turning off all the lights, and you turn on your side in the bed, staring out at the beautiful waves crashing along the shore.

You feel sleep pulling you quick, those orgasms have sapped all the energy you had, and the thoughts of him between your thighs made you so hot you had to shove off the blankets. Suguru was quietly snoring in the next room, and all you can think is how bad you want his arms around you.

Your feelings are scary and confusing.

You’ve got it bad.

But you’ve never felt better.

Chapter 4

Ao3 chapter:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/56577688/chapters/144350392

[stuckysbike]

Moonlight Kisses

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: Angst, unrequited?feelings. Fluff.

Summary: You’ve fallen in love, but he wants someone else, and it’s you he’s asking for advice!

It was a cold December Friday night when you realised you were in love with Bucky Barnes.

Natasha had ushered you out of your solitude and over to her private apartment on the compound. Steve was already there, along with Sam, Joaquin, Yelana, a few from the medical team and a few mechanics.

The place was decorated for winter, with playful snowmen and fuzzy christmas trees stacked in the corners. Everyone got comfortable on the big couch and music played in the background whilst you snacked on festive foods and sipped seasonal alcoholic drinks.

Bucky had been telling a story, his face lit up and his big hands flying everywhere as he described his mom chasing him with a broom during his teenage years after a stray snowball missed its target and landed on her. Occasionally his eyes met yours and they sparkled with mischief, but you figured he was like that with everyone.

You’d been crushing on him since you arrived in January and he was first to greet you. He seemed fascinated by your job, research and data analyst, but it was ultimately boring to almost everyone but you.

You lunched together sometimes and you swapped books every few weeks. You even got him into podcasts and you were always swapping recommendations.

But tonight he looked happy, relaxed even, and when Natasha dropped her dainty feet into his lap you felt the world skip underneath you, you wanted to put your feet in his lap. You wanted his big hands dwarfing your feet.

He rubbed her toes without thinking, and she snuggled down as the mechanics started describing the prank they’d played on Tony this week, going so far as to rope Pepper in. Bucky was listening intently, laughing along with them but his hands never stopped moving. It was obvious they were intimate with each other from the tiny looks and touched they shared.

You couldn’t understand why your heart suddenly ached, and then it hit you like a train. You were jealous, more than jealous, the revelation of their relationship hurt.

“Wanna stay here tonight?” You heard Natasha murmur to Bucky during a lull in conversation. Yelana was changing the music and Joaquin was setting up tequila shots.

He smiled at her but shook his head. “Nah,” his voice was thick with tiredness.

“You finally made a move on that girl?” She teased wiggling in her spot.

Bucky’s cheeks tinged pink and you dropped your eyes when you realised you were staring. You didn’t want to be caught looking like some dumb kid. You studied your hands but your head was swimming with this sudden realisation.

It was foolish to think that Bucky with his wonderful abilities and handsome looks would be interested in you who spent most of your time at work or alone. Bucky had been to hell and back, he deserved someone gorgeous who could distract him from reality

“Think I’m gonna’ take her out, yeah,” he nodded. You snuck a glance at him in time to catch him looking from you to Natasha.

Oh god, he must have noticed you staring. How embarrassing!

Tears that had no right to form in your eyes were there anyway and you stood suddenly distracting Steve who was kneeling at the coffee table next to you. Sam took the opportunity to defeat him in their thumb war game much to Steve’s annoyance.

“I’m going to head back, I’m just really tired,” you said to the room, avoiding Bucky and trying to look above Natasha’s head. “Thank you for the invitation Natasha.”

There were a few comments asking you to stay but ultimately everyone wished you a good sleep. Your own room was a fifteen minute walk away in a shared block and you pulled your arms around yourself to fight the cold as you stepped outside. You wished you brought more than a hoodie to keep you warm.

You looked up into the sky and focused on the moon and sucked a deep breath of cold air deep into your lungs. It grounded you so you did it again.

“Hey Doll,” Bucky called startling you. You hadn’t noticed him leaving behind you but he was closer than you expected.

“Bucky, hi,” you frowned.

“Thought I’d walk you back,” he said falling into step with you. “And I wanted your advice.”

“Oh?”

“So there’s this girl I like. She’s not like the others, she’s not really - she’s different. And I really want to make a date special for her, you know?” He glanced as you, letting his arm bump yours as you walked.

“I do,” you sighed resigning yourself to your fate. You didn’t want to have this conversation but you didn’t want to not help him either. He was your friend after all and despite your feelings you would be there for him no matter what.

“So I’ve had a few first date ideas, but I’m thinking farmers market then making brunch together? I started this really great podcast and I was thinking we could listen together as we cook then talk about it while we eat? Then after we could go to a museum or something?” Bucky licked his lips and stopped turning to look at you.

You didn’t want him to share a podcast with her. That was your thing with him. You knew you were being unfair, childish even but right now you didn’t care. His deep blue eyes searched your face. He looked so vulnerable in that moment.

“That sounds lovely,” you said. And it did, you wished you were that girl, you wished Bucky wanted to go to all that trouble for you but instead you’d have to sit home alone tomorrow whilst he woo’d someone else. You hoped it would be a long time before you were forced to meet her.

“Yeah?” He asked excitedly. “I really just wanna’ hold her hand, at the market, in the museum, I just crave that feeling you know, like this,” Bucky reached for your hand and laced your fingers together, holding your joined hands up to inspect. “It’s been a long time since I held a girls hand like this.”

“I-I’m sure it has Buck,” you swallowed. His hand dwarfed yours and his heat easily crept onto your skin. His thumb caressed your knuckles and your breath hitched but Bucky didn’t seem to notice.

He resumed walking and you could do nothing but join him, he still had your hand in his. He described his outfit for his date and wondered if you had a cosy chunky sweater.

“I do, it’s so comfortable,” you said softly. You couldn’t hide the disappointment as you slowed in front of the doors. “It’s my favourite colour too.”

“Will you wear it tomorrow?” Bucky tilted his head to the side.

“Why does it matter what I wear?” You couldn’t help but giggle at his odd request. You couldn’t do it though, thinking of him with someone else whilst you wore what he asked you to.

“I want to know that you’re warm tomorrow. You know, on our date?” Bucky pressed his cool left hand on your cheek as he turned to face you. His kiss was soft, just a sweet brush of the lips and then he pulled away. “I’ll see you at nine thirty?”

“Uh huh,” you nodded dumbly. He kissed you again, and you caught the faint taste of whiskey on his lips. He was warm as he pressed into you and you let your hands slide up his chest to his shoulders.

“See you tomorrow baby girl,” he pressed one last kiss to your forehead then opened the building door for you.

You walked inside in a daze, waving goodbye and drifting up the stairs like you weighed nothing.

You couldn’t remember getting changed into your pj’s, all you knew was that you were snuggled under your duvet setting an alarm for your date with Bucky in the morning.

You smiled, and suddenly your legs kicked and you let out a little squeal. You were going out with Bucky Barnes and he kissed you three times.

You feel asleep to the memory of one hot hand and one cold hand cupping your cheeks as he kissed you in the moonlight.

[inky-squid]

Throughout the years -

Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

Despite not getting off on the right foot as kids, Jason and Reader quickly become close friends and remain at each other's side for as long as fate will allow it.

Once again no use of y/n, and no description (other than reader having braids as a child) also hasn't been edited, so if there are any mistakes, I'm terribly sorry but get used to it.

This one is a long one, I think it was like 3k words. It's kind of a second part of Wasn't for her, but can be read as a stand alone. I also decided to throw in a bit of angst, but it's only for a moment.

Decided to give the reader the nickname Birdie. Just makes things less repetitive (constantly using her/she) when I go back to the 3rd person POV.

Also want to clear up, I don't hate Bruce Wayne, before anyone attacks me. it was simply for the plot, and Birdie gets over that pretty quickly.

Ages 5 and 6

It was a surprisingly warm day in Gotham, the birds were chirping and your mother had decided it was the perfect weather to take you to the park down the road. It wasn't anything magical, more of a pile of scrap than anything, but a park was a park, and when you have a 5 year old practically bouncing off the walls of a small apartment, getting them outside to play was the best thing to do.

Nothing in Crime Alley was ever in the best condition. From being a prime target for the Joker or whatever other villain decided life was going too smoothly, to being significantly underfunded, it wasn't unusual for many things to be broken or just dilapidated. The park wasn't an exception to this rule. With two rickety swings, one of which had fallen off the chain years ago and just never fixed, a see-saw, and a little blue slide with burn marks on the plastic, it was far from perfect. But to a child who hadn't really been allowed outside due to the cold and rain that normally shadowed Gotham, it was heaven on earth.

Your mother had sat down on the grass just outside the park, trusting you to not get into any serious trouble while she took a few minutes to herself. You busied yourself with climbing a tree, waiting patiently for the swing to free itself (You had been checking over your shoulder every 4 seconds in the hopes that the kid on it would get off, almost falling out of the tree every time).

After 5 minutes, you had had enough of waiting and walked over to the swings, your braids bouncing against your shoulder as you moved.

“Can I have a go?”

The kid on the swing cast you a quick glance before resuming his swinging, not even giving you an answer. Furrowing your brows, you said the question louder, tacking a please on the end in the hopes of getting an answer this time.

“No, I'm using it.”

“Well, when are you gonna be done?”

“Dunno.”

Deciding this kid wasn't worth your time, You ran out of the park over to your mother. Tugging gently on the shoulder of her sleeve, you explained that you had asked, very very nicely, to have a go on the swing, and that the kid on it was being mean. After not getting anything other than a laugh and a soft “be patient baby” you decided to take your mother's advice.

Not the advice she had just given you, but rather something she said to herself quite often.

“if you want something done right, do it yourself”.

Marching over to the swing set once again, you crossed your arms over your chest and just watched for a moment before asking:

“Are you done yet?”

Repeatedly.

Clearly finding it annoying, the little boy stopped himself with the soles on his shoes and turned to you.

“I'm not done, I won't be done any time soon, and definitely not for you.”

His sentence was punctuated with a chesty sigh before he readied himself to start swinging again. Not happy with the answer at all, you moved to behind the swing, and without thinking, shoved him right off it.

Watching him fall to the floor was kind of magical. His face went from calm, to panicked once he had realised that the floor was getting closer. He met the rubber tiles of the playground with a sick smack, and as his wails filled the air, it wasn't so magical anymore. Ducking around the flailing swing, you knelt at his side, already slipping out apology after apology.

He completely ignored you, just kept repeating through cries “You made me swallow my tooth” as your mother made her way over to you both. She picked the boy up under his arms and set him back on his feet before also kneeling at his side to wipe little pebbles of rubber off his face. She cupped his cheeks and slid her thumbs under his eyes to rid them of tears but more would just replace them.

Her head snapped to you to scold you, only to find your eyes also welling up with tears. You tried very hard to keep them in, you really did. But once you made eye contact with her, the dam broke, and now she had two sobbing kids to deal with. Picking you up and placing you on her hip, she took the little boy's hand in her free one. She spoke to him in a delicate tone, asking his name, and how old he was to try and distract him as you all exited the park.

He was answering all her questions, saying his name was Jason, he was 6, and his favourite colour was red, but once she asked about his parents he went silent. Taking his silence as her answer, she took you both back home to clean the blood from his mouth and chin.

Later that night, once Jason had stopped crying and left, you were sent to your room as a punishment and only allowed out to eat, go to school, and use the bathroom for a week.

Ages 10 and 11

Despite the way you both met, you and Jason had quickly become friends after seeing him playing on the streets. It was just you two, best friends against the world. You had other friends, ones from school, but you didn't care about any of them like you did Jason. As far as you were concerned, he was your only friend. Sure you were an odd pair, a rugged little boy who traded punches like they were greetings, and a, seemingly, gentle little girl who was a mirror image of her mother, both in appearance and personality, but you didn't care.

I mean how could you? Sure he was rough around the edges, and people would say he was more trouble than he was worth. But so were you. The only difference between you both really was that you had a home to go to at the end of the day. And even then, you rarely went back without Jason. He was a constant in your life, and your mother didn't mind. She was more than willing to put a roof over his head and a warm meal in his belly. Especially if no one else was.

You were his “little shadow” as the old women in your apartment building liked to say to your mother, despite your insistence that you were his Birdie, not his shadow (A nickname given to you after you fell off the last level of the fire escape last summer and broke your arm. He liked to joke that you were trying to fly.)

The two of you were inseparable, and it was gonna stay that way if you could help it. No one else mattered to you, as long as you had Jason and your mother, you were set for life.

Unfortunately, the universe doesn't seem to like listening to the wishes of a 10 year old girl, and that autumn Jason would be taken in by none other than Bruce Wayne. You were happy for him, really. It was nice to finally see his face without the layer of grime that normally covered it. But Wayne Manor was so far away from Crime Alley, and that meant seeing less of Jason.

You'd still see him on most weekdays as he had a knack for sneaking around (not that he needed to, Alfred would willingly drive him to go see you if he'd just ask). But it still wasn't the same. You spent less time outside, and somehow your small bed felt huge without him squeezing into it. For a while you'd forget that he wasn't there anymore and make two bowls of cereal in the morning instead of one. It was a difficult adjustment, he was a constant in your life for 5 years, and now he just wasn't there.

That didn't mean he wasn't your best friend anymore, if anything it made you love him more. Mama said that distance made the heart grow fonder, and I guess she was right, because not a day went by that you didn't think about him. even when he was right next to you.

Ages 14 and 15

You had been aware that he was Robin for 2 years at this point, he felt like you deserved to know when he asked you to be his girlfriend. At the start you thought it was the coolest thing in the world. Your best friend? a vigilante? who wouldn't think that was cool. But now that you were sitting in your living room watching the small box TV that you had, you wish he'd never told you.

On the 27th of April, Jason Peter Todd died. in an “accident”.

His funeral was being held a week from now, and it was a closed event. “For family only”. meaning you couldn't say goodbye to, not only your best friend, but your boyfriend. Sure, you were only 14 and 15, how serious could your relationship be? it's not like you spent 8 years with him at your side and suddenly he was gone.

You later found out from Dick that only 4 people had known about the funeral (He had finally found you after months of searching. Jason only ever called you Birdie, never your real name). And he wasn't even one of them. You also found out from Dick that he wasn't killed in an accident, not that you believed that anyway, but was actually murdered by the joker. Who was still prancing around the streets of Gotham, a free man.

After telling you that, Dick had muttered the words “hopefully not for long” and, despite your hatred for violence, you couldn't find it in yourself to disagree with him.

Your mother had rushed home from work after finding out. Her boss was aware of your closeness with Jason, the two of you frequently popped into the diner she worked at for milkshakes, so he had no issue letting her go. She found you staring at the TV, completely unmoving, and quickly scooped you into her lap even though you were far too big for that now.

You sat there for hours, not saying a single thing. until finally you broke the silence.

“I hate him.”

“Who baby? Jason?”

You gently shook your head against her shoulder. What a silly thought. Nothing in you could ever hate Jason, especially not now.

“Bruce. I hate him, Mama. He took him from me, and now he's not coming back.”

Your voice had grown heavy half way through your sentence, the tears had finally built up in your eyes and a bubble was stuck at the base of your throat making it hard to breathe. Your mother just sighed against your head and placed a kiss on your forehead before whispering a small “I know” against your hairline.

Ages 17 and 18

It was 4 in the morning when your phone started ringing, rousing you from sleep. Picking up your phone and squinting against the light, Dicks face lit up the screen. Swiping to pick up the call, you pressed the phone to your ear.

“Do you know what time it is?”

“Jason's alive.”

Your whole world had, once again, been tilted on it's axis. Part of you refused to believe him. Jason was dead, if he wasn't surely you'd know about it. But then again, after he died, Dick had become an older brother of sorts to you. You knew he'd never lie about something like this, but how many people die and then randomly reappear?

“Have you finally lost your mind? What do you mean Jason's alive?”

“I mean, Jason is alive. Bruce didn't want me to tell you, but he ran a DNA test on some of Red Hood's blood and it matched Jason's. Said he didn't want to tell you until he was completely certain.”

5 minutes later, you were getting into your second hand shitbox car, still in your pyjamas, on the way to Wayne Manor. You had never been before, choosing to stay away from it, but this wasn't something that could wait for the formal phone call Bruce probably had planned. You needed answers, and you needed them now. What's normally a 30 minute drive was completed in 10, and the gates of the Manor opened as soon as you drove up to them. Dick had probably told Alfred in advance that you were coming. Or at least that's what you assumed when the door sprung open the second you stepped out of your car.

Alfred quickly ushered you inside, closing the door behind you, before practically dragging you down to the Bat cave. As soon as you laid eyes on Bruce you were ready to start rapid firing questions at him, but got cut off by Dick pulling you into a hug and giving you a once over.

“You hung up on me 15 minutes ago, how the hell did you get here so fast?”

His words fell out of his mouth, stumbling over one another as they did so. only for his jaw to swing wide open when you told him you almost hit someone on the way over. (a joke, but he didn't need to know that.) Swerving around him, you stalked your way over to Bruce and shoved your finger into his Kevlar chest plate. He was still in his stupid little furry outfit, which, for some reason, only made you angrier.

You had never met Bruce Wayne, or Batman for that matter, before, only hearing stories about him through Jason, Dick, and the news. But standing in front of him now, you'd say they were all full of shit. Not a single ounce of fear was in your body, just pure unadulterated rage. Because how dare he decide not to tell you that the boy you had been grieving for the past 3 years was actually alive, and casually walking the streets of Crime Alley every night.

The feeling of Dick hovering behind you did nothing to stop you ripping into him, calling him an inconsiderate asshole for not telling you the minute he found out. The only thing that made you stop your tirade of abuse was the haunted look in his eyes. For just a split second, his mask had slipped and allowed you to really see the man behind it. Not the great billionaire Bruce Wayne. Just Bruce, the man who buried his son far before his time and didn't know how to deal with the grief that came with it.

A part of you still blamed him for Jason's death, because who lets a 12 year old boy fight crime in possibly the worst city to ever exist, only for that boy to die, and then put another child in his place a few months later? But now you understood that Jason's death played on his mind far more than he let on. That Tim was just a way to avoid the grief he would have carried with him for the rest of his life. Not to say he didn't love Tim the same as his other sons, but he definitely played a greater part than he thought he did.

It wasn't until a few months after your meltdown, if it can even be called that, that you actually saw Jason. You had been fully caught up with the situation, about him being revived in the Lazarus Pit, and were, once again in the Bat cave, helping Dick stitch up his arm, when the sound of heavy boots against concrete met your ears. You had only been helping Alfred patch up the Bats for a few weeks at this point, even taking some first aid courses so you knew what to do, but you had their footsteps memorised, and that wasn't any of theirs.

Turning your head to see who had entered the room, you were met with the Red Hood, just standing completely still staring at you. feeling your hands come to a standstill, Dick paused his conversation with Tim to glance at you. Seeing you both engaging in a staring contest, he nudged Tim up the stairs to the Manor, both still dressed in their suits.

Taking a tentative step towards him, you let out a small whisper of his name, causing him to go completely rigid before trying to cover the action with a stupid little “who?”. Rolling your eyes at him, you took a few steps closer, only for him to back up slightly in retaliation.

“I know it's you Jay, Dick told me months ago. Now, take off that stupid mask and let me see you.”

He had always struggled at saying not to you, so his shoulders sagged and he reached up to unclip his helmet. A slight hiss of air followed before it came off, but he made sure his face was pointed towards the floor, unable to make eye contact with you. You walked with slow, even footsteps towards him until you were almost toe to toe before lifting your hands towards his face. Your movements were slow enough that, if he wanted to, he could move away from your touch. But rather than flinching away like you have anticipated, he melted into your hands the second they made contact with his face.

For the first time in 3 years, you were face to face with the only boy you had ever loved. By this point tears were flowing down your cheeks freely, unashamed of the relief and pain that had settled in your chest. He was different, that was undeniable. His limbs didn't hang awkwardly by his body anymore, he seemed more sure of himself than he had when he was 15. His once jet black hair now had a bright white streak in the front of it. And his gorgeous baby blue eyes were now a deep green colour that can only be described as emerald.

But he was still your Jason. Still the little boy that would run around the streets of Gotham, pocketing loose change before curling up in bed next to you, his bear plush clutched tightly in the crook of his arm. He was still the 13 year old boy who would walk from Wayne Manor, to your house all the way in Crime Alley, simply because you asked him to. Nothing would take your Jay away from you, not even death.

[dragonridersandhighlords]

Chasing Shadows | O N E

masterlist | CS Masterlist

Summary: Conscription Day has arrived and Wrenley is already ready for the day to be over. Xaden and Wren get a Conscription Day redo. First Day of classes and Wren has about had it with Dain. Violet shows off her scribe knowledge in Battle Brief, Wren notices Xaden knows an awful lot about the current attacks. The squad makes it to sparring and Violet gets hurt. The marked one’s meet under an old tree that night and make plans to help all 41 kids survive.

Word Count: 11k

Series Warnings: smut 18+ MDNI (begins in prologue) , violence, death, swearing, torture

Chapter Specific Warnings: p in v, Xaden definitely has a rank kink maybe a size kink?, oral (f recieving), fingering

previous part

It was a cloud-covered sky over us as I leaned against the cool stone of the turret balcony, the final step before many candidates today would either join the Riders Quadrant or plummet to their death. Conscription Day was finally upon us.

I watched as Xaden paced the length of his side of the balcony, brows furrowed and jaw clenched– a reflection of the weight his promotion to Wingleader bore on his shoulders. I offer him a small smile when I catch his gaze flickering to meet mine. He offers it back before retreating back to his mask. The ache in my chest that started this morning intensified as I thought of the paths we had all taken. 

My cousin, Garrick, now Flame Section Leader, and Bodhi, with his expertise, elevated to Executive Officer for Tail Section. They would remain together in the Fourth Wing while I found myself thrust into the chaos of Flame Section Second Wing, tasked with the honor of serving under Squad Leader Dain fucking Aetos. 

Dain and I haven’t held a civil conversation since that night we sat in Violet’s room until the earlier hours. I spent 3 weeks with kitchen duty because when Dain had said Violet called for me, he lied. Worth it, I reminded myself, knowing that I was able to be there when she needed a friend most. 

As the candidates began to arrive, each announcing their name with a mixture of hope and trepidation, I steeled myself. I had learned not to watch after an hour and the horrors my precognition signet revealed. Of the 20 candidates that passed, 9 have fallen. I foresaw 7 of them falling from the parapet and then listened to their screams, the other 2 were marked ones. It was a cruel twist of fate that the relics blocking Melgren’s signet seemed to have the same effect on me. I chose to zone out, letting the second-year beside me take the responsibility of recording names. But then, amidst the sea of unfamiliar faces, a flash of blonde hair caught my eye, drawing me from my thoughts. 

“Liam,” His name leaves me with a sigh, my voice lightening the weight of the moment as he turns to face me. I pull him into a quick hug, feeling the warmth of his spirit against mine, and I can’t help but smile. Unlike the other marked ones here today, Liam has been rigorously trained for this very moment, and deep down, I know he doesn’t need any last-minute advice from me. “I’ll see you on the other side.” He offers a silent nod, determination setting into his gaze as he begins to make his way across the expansive stone parapet. 

With a lingering glance, I watch him go, ensuring he touches the soft grass on the other side before I turn back to the turret. 

“See you two on the other side!” A boy ahead of me calls out, his enthusiasm infectious. He steps boldly onto the parapet, arms wide. I can feel the air shift as another vision rings through my head.

“You need to calm yourself, Wise One. Your power is going haywire.” Desa’s voice cuts through the fear circulating my mind.

“You stand here and watch as people die one by one.”

“You know it wouldn’t affect me the way you’re letting it.”

 We can’t all be perfect, I mock her to myself.

“Ready for the next one, Riorson?” Xaden nods and motions for the next candidate. 

“You ready for this, Sorrengail?” A girl’s voice breaks in, drawing both Xaden’s and my attention. We both snap our heads to her, and the words tumble out before I can rein them in. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” 

“Good to see you too, Wrenley.” Violet’s eyes remain locked on Xaden, unwavering, as if he were the only thing in the world that mattered. 

“Earth to Violet,” I interject, my concern sharpening my tone and she turns to me. “You were supposed to be a scribe!” 

“Mom had other ideas.” She shrugs, her nonchalance like a shield. 

“You’re General Sorrengail’s youngest.” It’s not a question but an accusation that escapes Xaden’s lips. The tension thickens, tightening around us like a noose. 

“You’re Fen Riorson’s son.” Violet counters, her gaze fierce, returning to lock with Xaden’s. 

“She’s not her mother, and she’s my friend. Don’t kill her.” 

The muscles in Xaden’s jaw tense, his breath coming in slow, measured pulls. I can’t tell by the way he’s glaring a hole through Violet if he heard me or if he’s ignoring our open channel.

“Your mother captured my father and oversaw his execution.” His words hang heavy between us, a bitter reminder of the past. 

“Your father killed my older brother. Seems like we’re even.” Violet’s voice is defiant, but I can sense the quiver of uncertainty underneath. Wait–

“Hardly.” 

“Fen killed Brennan?” My gaze flicked toward Xaden. 

“So the Sorrengails say. We were otherwise occupied with getting all the children as far away from Aretia as possible.” Oh he’s got selective hearing now?

“Shit, Wren, your arm.” Violet gasps, drawing my attention down. 

Instinctively, I glanced at the relic. Right, I had been wearing sleeves the last time she saw me. I shrug it off. “My dad was a part of the rebellion.”  

“I’m sorry, Wren. I don’t remember much of your dad, but he seemed like he was a good man.” Her voice softens, a gentle smile breaking through the tension. 

“He was.” I feel the ache of memories welling up, a bittersweet pang that lingers in the air. See, Dain? That’s how you talk to your friend who watched her dad get executed. “Nice leathers.” I say, quickly changing the subject. “Mira?”

“Mira.” Violet nods, her voice barely breaking above the steady patter of rain that begins to fall, each drop a soft percussion against the stone parapet. 

“You alright?” Violet’s friend asks, glancing between Violet, Xaden, and I, brow furrowed in concern. 

“You’re friends?” Xaden questions, his tone laced with intrigue.

“We met on the stairs.” 

“Interesting,” he replies coolly, a flicker of amusement dancing in his eyes as he gazes at their mismatched shoes. 

“Mind of a scribe.” I don’t even realize I spoke it through the bond until Xaden’s response comes

“Indeed.” He’s acting weird. This can’t just be about Violet being here.

“Are you going to kill me?” Violet asks, her voice steady but I can see the worry in the way she’s holding herself. 

The sky opens up and rain begins to fall in a steady pour when Xaden moves to answer but a scream pierces through the tension. We all turn to catch the last cadet slip, fingers gripping to the side of the parapet. 

“Pull yourself up, Dylan!” Violet’s friend shouts, urgency lacing her words as she steps forward

“It's too slippery,” I sigh, knowing exactly what's about to come.

“I know.”

“Oh gods!” I hear Violet gasp, the horror palpable as Dylan’s grip falters, and he slips, the silence of the world around us consumed by the cacophony of the rain and wind. 

I turn away, blocking out what’s left of his screams as they dissolve into the storm, only to catch Xaden’s voice, cold and indifferent. “Why would I waste my energy killing you when the parapet will do it for me?” 

Violet’s friend, Rihannon Matthias as she now states for the record, steps forward, determination etched into her features. 

“Good luck.” I mutter as she steps onto the stones.

The second year cadet asks for a name and Violet recites hers. Yet, as the words tumble out, I find myself entranced by Xaden’s movements. His posture is rigid as the rain increases.

“Are you okay?” I question.

“Fine.” Xaden's response is clipped, the edge of irritation barely veiled beneath his casual facade. 

The cadet beside me says something to Violet and she responds with a hint of annoyance. For such a small girl, she’s always had a bit of an attitude.

My attention is magnetized to Violet as she begins her cautious trek across the slick stones, each step deliberate yet graceful. A fierce gust of wind roars through, rattling the parapet and setting her momentarily off balance. My breath hitches in my throat as I watch straightens her back and realign her feet. 

"And you think you'll be able to ride? Some Sorrengail, with that kind of balance. I pity whatever wing you end up with," a voice sneers, cutting through the tension like a knife. 

“Name?” 

"Jack Barlowe," he shoots back, a self-satisfied smirk plastered across his face. “Remember the name. I'm going to be Wingleader one day.” His proclamation echoes, brimming with arrogance, and a loud snort escapes me before I can suppress it. Xaden’s eyes carry his amusement at my reaction.

“I’d like to throw this jackass off,” I send through the channel and Jack starts to try and distract Violet when he starts walking across.

Xaden loudly laughs, tugging my smile wider as another candidate steps up.

Barely two hours into this ordeal, and I’m already yearning for an end so we can spend time just for us.

“Three hundred and one of you have survived the parapet to become cadets today,” Commandant Panchek’s voice boomed over the assembly, cutting through the damp chill. The second and third years stood in rigid formation beside our section leaders, their faces set in masks of stoicism. Near the dais, the Wingleaders loomed, their presence imposing against the backdrop of darkened skies. “Good job. Sixty-seven did not.”

The realization struck me like a chill wind, and I meet Xaden’s eyes at the front. “Sixty-seven?”

He subtly nods without responding.

As the official spoke again, I caught fragments of Dain’s muttered mantra, the rehearsed speech that echoed through the years like a ritualistic incantation. Unable to resist I report Dain’s actions to my boyfriend

“Such a kiss ass,” he laughs through our bond and I chuckle under my breath, drawing Dain’s attention to me. I keep facing forward and eventually my Squad Leader turns back.

“Your instructors will teach you. It's up to you how well you learn,” the commandant continued, the finality of the declaration hanging in the air like a challenge. 

“There’s so many things I’d rather be doing right now than listening to this speech,” I feel the smirk he’s currently boasting. 

“Oh really? Should we repeat last Conscription Day? I’ll sneak up to your room again.” The playful challenge slipped across my mind, teasing the thread of our bond with memories of our stolen moments in his room. 

“I’m Nyra, the senior wingleader of the quadrant and the head of the First Wing. Section Leaders and Squad Leaders, take your positions.” 

“Oh saved by the bell,” I laughed, shaking off the tension as I stepped into place beside Dain. Then Nyra starts calling the squad and new cadets

“When I get you alone, no bell is saving you.” Xaden’s words dripped with playful mischief, his smirk sending a warmth through me as he moved closer to Nyra, the teasing undertone hanging in the air between us like a spark just waiting for a flame. 

“Second Squad! Flame Section! Second Wing!” Violet and Rhiannon are both placed in my Squad, probably Dain’s way of protecting Vi like he always has.

“Is it too late to request a transfer back to Fourth Wing?” I quipped, the thought lingering like an uninvited shadow, eliciting a hearty laugh from Xaden across the bond. 

Xaden steps to Second Wing’s Wingleader, Septon Izar, then calls over the others.

“Dain Aetos,” Nyra calls, her voice cutting through the murmur of cadets like a sharp blade. The tension in the air shifts, rippling as she commands attention. “You and your squad will switch with Aura Beinhaven’s.” 

“Just wanted to watch you sweat a little,” Xaden laughs, and I swear if he was right here, I'd hit him.

“Tease." Dain gestures for the cadets to follow us as we make our way towards Fourth Wing. 

“Welcome back to the cool kids club,” Bodhi greets as we pass.

“Couldn’t keep me away for long,” I wink, the spark of competition igniting within me as I took my place in the formation. I feel the familiar warmth of the bond shared with Xaden, a shadow brushing across our connection as he steps up to the podium. Now, his speech—I’ll listen intently.

“You’re all cadets now,” he begins, his voice resonant and commanding. “Take a look at your squad. These are the only people guaranteed by the Codex to not kill you.” His words hang in the air, a sobering reminder laced with a hint of dark humor. “But just because they can’t end your life doesn’t mean others won't. You want a dragon? Earn one.” 

I watch him, the passion behind his gaze evident; he stayed up all night crafting this speech, and it’s going exactly as he envisioned. The first years cheer, their enthusiasm rising like a tide. “You feel invincible after the parapet, don’t you? You think you’re untouchable! You’re on the way to becoming the elite! The few! The chosen!” The applause swells, the cheers echoing around us like thunder, and I can’t help but snicker at the fervor, the sound of wings flapping overhead punctuating the moment.

Sgaeyl lands directly behind Xaden, a magnificent sight, puffing a cloud of steam that dances in the cool air. Desa and Glane, Imogen’s dragon, land to Sgaeyl’s right, while Chradh and Cuir, Garrick and Bodhi’s, touch down to the left. I’ll never tire of witnessing our dragons in a proud line, a breathtaking display of strength and unity. Other dragons join them, landing gracefully along the walls that encircle us, but most eyes remain riveted on the two blue dragons front and center, one navy and one sapphire, their presence commanding and awe-inspiring.

Then, amidst the chaos of excitement, a single cadet dashes forward, a blur of motion, only to be met with a fierce burst of flames—scorched before he even realizes what’s happening.

“Sixty-eight.” Xaden's voice counts just as another pair of cadets turn and run.The rhythm of their footfalls echoed like a drumbeat, creating a pulse in the charged atmosphere around us.

“Seventy.” I countered, as the two became nothing more than char.

“Anyone else feel like changing their minds?” Xaden’s smirk was almost predatory as he surveyed the faces before him, waiting to see who would falter in the face of the reality he was laying bare. Sgaeyl perched behind him, narrowed her golden eyes, her gaze piercing through the crowd with an intensity that surely sent a ripple of unease through the cadets. I laugh at the possibility.

“She’s going to scorch you next,” Desa's growl cut through my laughter, her protective instincts flaring up like a banner in the wind. 

“Sgaeyl loves me too much,” I retorted, the confidence in my voice masking the flutter of uncertainty in my chest.

Xaden resumed his speech, a maestro commanding the symphony of the cadet's emotions and the weight of their future. “No? Excellent.” His tone shifted, taking on a darker edge, a blade’s sharpness slicing through the lingering thrill. “Roughly half of you will be dead by this time next summer. A third of you again the year after that.” 

A cold shiver ran down my spine, a whisper of dread weaving its way through the fabric of camaraderie we shared. I reminded myself, do not be one of the third in my year. The harsh reality of his words hung heavily over us, eclipsing the initial excitement. 

“No one cares who your mommy or daddy is here. Even King Tauri’s second son died during his Threshing.” 

I caught a glimpse of Garrick in my periphery, his expression faltering as he visibly winced at the mention. That was their first year right? What had happened there?

“So tell me again: Do you feel invincible that you’ve made it into the Riders Quadrant? Untouchable? Elite?” The crowd fell silent, the tension morphing the air around us into something thick and suffocating, as if we were holding our breaths in the face of inevitable danger.

I met Xaden's gaze, a mixture of admiration and concern swirling within me. His expression radiated pure victory, a glow of satisfaction from the impact of his words settling among the cadets like a storm cloud on the horizon. This was the reality of our lives—the relentless grind of ambition set against the backdrop of danger and loss.

“Because you’re not untouchable or special to them. To them, you’re just prey.” 

I gasp as Xaden rips my shirt over my head once I’m over the threshold to his room, door slamming closed behind me. “I can’t tell you how ridiculously attractive that entire speech was.” I moan, pulling him forward by his own shirt to kiss him.

“You knew every word of that speech before I even got on stage.” His laugh vibrates across my skin as he trails his lips past my jaw and down my neck.

“It's the power, Wingleader Riorson.” I gasp, his lips meet the peek of my nipple.

“Oh, say that again.” He growls, encasing the bud between his lips and sucking.

“Wingleader Riorson.” It tumbles past my lips as he moans around my taut nipple, I can already feel my release building inside of me. Gods, the things he does to me. “Xaden, please.” I pleaded with him. My hands are everywhere, grabbing at his hair, his shoulders, begging for more, for anything.

He lifts his head up from my breast and smirks. “Please?” He repeats. And then, without another word, he’s kissing the swell of my breasts again, nipping lightly at the nipples. My breathing hitches as I let out a low whimper, he’s so good at this. When he finally pulls back from my chest, he stares intently at me, as if trying to imprint my face into his mind for all time. "Beg, Wrenley. Beg your Wingleader to take care of you."

His eyes flash with hunger, and it almost kills me to admit it, but the words come out in a whisper. "Wingleader..." 

He nods. "Yes?"

"I-" I can't fully get the words out as he starts tugging my pants off.

"Keep going, Cadet. Wouldn't want to hit you with a disciplinary action for disobeying a direct order." His mouth is still at my breast and I'm helpless to do anything except watch as he slips off my boots and my socks while my pants fall to the floor behind him. "Don't think too hard about it, Wrenley." He tells me in a soft, raspy voice. "I'll make sure your punishment will be worth it."

The next thing I know, I'm flat on my stomach, legs hanging off his bed, and he’s standing behind me, hands groping the curve of my ass. "Please, Xay. You have to--please."

“What do you need, love?” He asks quietly as he kneels between my legs. “Anything. Say it.” His lips hover above my ear, waiting.

“I want you to touch me.” I whisper.

He grazes the shell of my ear and laughs softly. “Is that all?”

“No.” I whimper, “I need… I need more. Please.” The last word escapes my lips like air escaping a balloon and Xaden laughs again before flipping me onto my back and lowering himself between my legs. He kisses just above the line of my underwear before shredding the material. He moves my legs onto his shoulders and places a soft kiss on each thigh. I bite my lip to stop myself from moaning out loud, as his mouth travels up until it reaches the apex of my thighs. “Oh fuck.” I groan.

“Yea?” He asks, his lips brushing against my clit.

“Gods fuck me.. please!” I beg him, writhing against the sheets beneath me.

“Say it again.” He demands, his lips still brushing against my clit, the sensation sends electric currents shooting through my body.

“Xaden-”

He pushes one finger inside of me, pushing me deeper into the mattress as he adds a second one just as quickly.

“Xa-Xaden.” I whine and writhe beneath him. “Please. I need you!”

He smiles and pumps two fingers inside of me. “Shhh, love. Shh.” He whispers. “Just relax. I’ve got you.” And then he seals his lips around my clit.

My body goes rigid. “Holy shit!” I cry, bucking my hips into his mouth.

“That's right, my love.” He murmurs.  “Let it go. Just… let it go.” He circles my clit with his tongue and I feel my orgasm creep closer.

His name slips out as a high pitched moan and I can hear his own moans as I squeeze around his fingers.

"That's it, love." He encourages, pulling his mouth away to watch his fingers slide through my folds. With a shudder and a scream, suddenly becoming more thankful for the wards on his room, my orgasm explodes through my body. “Good girl.” He murmurs, never slowing his fingers as he brings me to a second orgasm. 

“Xaden.” I pant, as he pulls his fingers free of my body. He crawls up my body, his bare cock running across my folds. When did he strip out of his clothes?

"Can you give me one more? Gods, I need to feel you." It feels like my head moves at the speed of light as I nod. “That's my girl.” He says, as he notches his head at my entrance. “Fuck," He groans as his hips meet mine, slipping in all the way to the hilt. "Do you feel that? Do you feel how tightly you're squeezing me?”

Oh, I feel him, every inch, just everything. 

“Xay…” I can barely breathe. “Please… oh gods. Please.” I push my hips upward in time with him, begging for more. I need more. 

He gasps, giving me exactly what I crave. He hikes my legs around his hips and I lock my ankles behind him, nails dragging across his shoulders as he slams into me, the new angle bringing my climax forward. Tears prickle at my eyes as I cling to him. He groans with each thrust, sweat forming in tiny beads along his brow. He looks so fucking handsome with sweat glistening on his forehead, his cheeks flushed red.

“Xaden--” I sob, feeling my orgasm build and build within me. It takes mere seconds before the wave of ecstasy hits, leaving me trembling and breathless as I try to catch my breath. He releases into me as my own climax subsides. 

He holds me close as he comes down from his own high, lips tenderly pressing against my temple.

“You okay?” He asks gently, lifting his head to look into my eyes.

I nod, resting my cheek against his shoulder. “Yes,” I murmured. “Perfect.” 

Xaden gently slips out from my core, locating a cloth and cleans our combined mess.

“So, Wingleader...” I laugh, pulling one of his pillows down as I curl around it.

"I didn't think a title could do that many things to me, but the way you said it?" He pulls back the covers and settles himself next to me. He pulls me into his arms and tosses the pillows. "It's definitely only attractive coming from you." And I melt into his embrace. I'm so in love with him. I love being held like this. The sensation alone is blissful, like a drug, so addicting I can't stop doing it. “Wrenley?”

I hum, turning farther in his hold. My head rests on his chest, listening to his steady heartbeats. “Mmm?”

“We should keep this in perspective. I still might have to slap you with a disciplinary action.”

“Yes, sir.” I laugh as he kisses the side of my head. "No go to sleep, we have a long day of cadet wrangling tomorrow."

Morning formation is my least favorite time of day, an unwelcome routine that drags me from the warm embrace of sleep. The summer sun may be rising, casting a soft, golden hue across the training grounds, but the early hour still carries a chill that bites at my skin, teasing me with the comfort of my bed. I could still be nestled beneath the covers, wrapped in Xaden’s scent, a reminder of his warmth, even if he had already risen hours before me to carry out his Wingleader responsibilities.

As Captain Fitzgibbons stands before us, his voice booming across the courtyard, I feel the somber atmosphere weigh heavily in the air. He reads from the first Death Roll of the year. Seventy souls, lost just yesterday, and a few more who didn't make it through the night. It feels like torture, each name reverberating through the ranks, echoing in my mind long after the words have faded.

“We commend their souls to Malek,” he intones solemnly, a prayer hanging in the air as we all bow our heads in respect. Thank the gods it’s over. A collective sigh of relief sweeps through the formation as we break apart, the tension dissipating like mist in the sunlight. 

Dain storms past me and Violet without so much as a glance, his focus already on gathering our squad. “Hopefully you all ate breakfast, because you’re not going to get another chance before lunch. Second- and third-years, I’m assuming you know where to go," he calls out, his voice sharp and commanding. 

I stand between the second- and first-years, acutely aware of the glare Dain has directed towards my position. He had drilled into me the importance of a ‘united front’ when he asked me to be his executive officer. 

As the senior cadets mumble their agreement, Dain sends them off with a wave. “You got the first-years,” he states, half a question, half a command, already striding away before I can muster a response. With a roll of my eyes, I turn to the eager cadets left in my charge, ready to face whatever the day has in store for them.

“Alright, first-years, I know one of you has memorized your academic schedule already,” I announce, a teasing glint in my eyes as I nod toward Violet, who stands confidently in the front row. “Aetos and I expect to see all of you this afternoon in the sparring gym.” 

“And if we’re not?” a voice calls from the back, laced with bravado. 

“Then I won’t need to know your name ‘cause it’ll be read off tomorrow,” I reply, a playful smile breaking across my lips. The moment feels lighter, a shared joke amongst us as Sawyer Henrick chuckles along with me. I can’t help but feel a pang of empathy for him; not getting bonded last year, and yet he's back.

“Don’t wanna know the name you’ll be moaning later?” another first-year smartly retorts, and I can’t stifle the laughter that bubbles up from deep within. I cross my arms over my chest, meeting his gaze with a mock-seriousness that amplifies the playful atmosphere. Just as a shadowy tendril coils around my ankle, a familiar warmth settles in beside me; Xaden is nearby, an ever-watchful presence, ready to protect.

“Sure,” I responded, still laughing, “as soon as your name is Xaden Riorson, I’ll gladly learn it.” The cadets erupt into laughter at the poor soul’s expense, while a few gasp, surprised by my boldness. Just then, I feel Xaden’s presence solidify as he steps beside me, his arm draping possessively around my shoulders.

“Word of the wise, your Wingleader isn’t bound by the codex to not kill you like your squad,” Xaden says with a smirk, the playful tone replaced by an edge of seriousness. The laughter abruptly fades, replaced by an uncomfortable silence as the weight of his words hangs in the air. “Even think about touching what’s mine and you won’t find your life in her hands but mine.”

“Mmm, I love it when possessive Xaden comes out,” I force my expression to remain smug as I call through our connection. “Sawyer?” I call over to my friend, who nods in response, ready to step into the role of guide.

“I’ll get them there,” he assures, and I watch as the first-years, fueled by a mix of nerves and excitement, hurry to follow him toward the Academic Wing.

Xaden walks beside me, our footsteps echoing softly against the polished stone floor of the rotunda, a grand space adorned with soaring arches and intricate designs carved into the walls.

I lean against the cool railing and Xaden positions himself next to me. We watch as a majority of the cadets filter out of the rotunda, their laughter mingling with the faint echo of our earlier solemnity. “You really had those first-years in their place,” he finally remarks, a hint of admiration coloring his tone as he surveys the remnants of our playful banter.

I can’t help but chuckle, the sound bright and carefree in the spacious hall. “Like we aren’t used to the horniness of first-years,” I reply, my voice laced with humor. 

“Some of these first years have some serious balls on them. I just broke up six fights in Claw Section alone,” Garrick groans, striding up to us and tossing his bag against the wall with a thud. He leans against the railing, looking between Xaden and me with a mock-seriousness. “We weren’t that bad, were we?” His eyes shift to Xaden, searching for validation.

“Considering what happened at Threshing? Worse,” Xaden replies, an amused smirk playing on his lips. 

“Are you two ever going to tell me what happened? I already know about Xay’s scar,” I prod gently, my curiosity piqued. The atmosphere thickens with unshared secrets, a bond forged through experiences I’ve yet to grasp.

"Don’t worry about it, Little Bird,” Garrick says, reaching over to ruffle my hair in a familiar gesture, but I swiftly draw a blade, its edge glinting in the light as it hovers just shy of his skin.

“Hey, you know the first years already wanna sleep with your cousin?” Xaden interjects, an eyebrow raised, expertly deflecting the conversation. 

“I’m still trying to scare off a certain third-year,” Garrick laughs, shaking his head as they drift into a light-hearted debate, their camaraderie palpable against the backdrop of the grand rotunda. 

“Already too late, buddy,” Xaden says with a smirk, the air around us buzzing with an easy familiarity. 

I watch as a cluster of eager cadets spill through the grand doors, their laughter and chatter echoing off the polished marble walls. Just then, a familiar figure catches my eye—a silver-tipped brunette slipping into view from behind one of the tall pillars. Her urgency is palpable as she darts toward the staircase, but she halts abruptly, glancing up at our group. For a moment, I’m convinced her gaze is fixed on me, a fleeting connection that dances between us, until I catch the subtle shift of Xaden's head in my periphery.

“What are you—” Dain suddenly emerges from the same shadowed pillar, his presence sending a ripple of surprise through the air.

“Oh shit,” I chuckle to myself, bemused by the coincidence. But as Dain’s eyes lock onto mine and Xaden’s, I swear his face drains of color, a ghostly pallor settling in. It’s a reaction I can’t help but find amusing.

“I already knew your parents are tight, but do you two have to be so fucking obvious?” Xaden calls down the stairs, his voice a playful challenge that gains the attention of the few cadets lingering nearby. “Let me guess, childhood friends? First loves, even?” I glance at Xaden, and the impish glint in his eyes reveals his delight in stirring the pot. Dain and Violet whisper between them, eyes bouncing from each other and us. Xaden brushes past me, descending the stairs with a confident stride. “I expected you to do a better job at hiding where your affections lie, Aetos.” A looming sense of tension crackles in the air, and I realize I need to step in before this escalates… again.

“Run, Violet. Now,” Dain urges, urgency in his tone as she bolts away, her figure a blur against the stone. Once she’s safely inside, Dain straightens, his voice steady. “I’m doing a better job than you did last year,” he retorts, the challenge evident in his posture.

“So you admit that you’re fucking a first year then?” Xaden presses, now only a few steps above Dain, the shadows deepening around him like a predator closing in on prey. 

“Leave her alone, Riorson. You and I both know she had nothing to do with your father’s execution.” Dain replies, stepping up, defiance etched into his features.

It’s a familiar dance, always escalating to this point, the weight of unspoken history heavy between them. “Do you feel the same way about Wren’s anger towards your father or you?” Xaden's voice is low, but it slices through the tension with sharp precision. 

As I step closer to Xaden, the atmosphere thickens, crackling with a tension that feels almost tangible—a storm of unresolved issues and unyielding pride swirling around us. My heart races as I prepare for the inevitable clash, knowing all too well the weight of our shared histories and the scars they’ve left behind. 

“In fact, weren’t you the one who told her that maybe her dad deserved his execution? And you called yourself her friend,” Xaden hurls the accusation, his voice sharp as a knife, slicing through the air with precision. 

The accusation lingers, a heavy shadow cast between us. “You and I both know the length of the relic labels the level of crime,” Dain retorts, his tone laced with disdain. “Your father was the leader, and yours goes up your neck. Soleil’s parents were supporters, and hers is to her elbow. Wrenley has a full arm. That’s not the relic of someone who was just defending their home, and you know it!” 

I feel the heat rise in my cheeks, anger boiling beneath my skin. “That’s enough, Dain,” I interject, stepping firmly beside Xaden, whose posture remains unyielding. “You made your choice about me on Conscription Day last year; must we continuously have this argument?”

“When he starts it? Absolutely.” Dain’s glare is fierce, like a wolf baring its teeth. I march down the steps until I’m eye to eye with my old friend, the distance between us narrowing, the air between us thick with memories and unspoken words.

“Then the next time you want to spew some bullshit about my father, remember that it’s my silence that lets your father keep his job.” My words hang in the air, a quiet threat wrapped in truth. Dain meets my gaze, searching for weakness, and I hold firm, refusing to back down.

“What are you talking about?” Dain’s brows furrow, skepticism written across his features. He’s calling my bluff, but whether he truly suspects I know something, or if he thinks I’m simply weaving lies, remains cloaked in uncertainty.

Desa’s voice echoes in my mind, a haunting reminder of the power I wield. “Not your information to share, Youngling.” 

“Now you choose to make an appearance?” I retort, frustration bubbling over. “Besides, I’ll only give him enough to back off.”

“Youngling—” 

I push down my shields, focusing intently on Dain again. “I’m sure the general would love to know what really happened to her best friend that day on the Krovlan border, don’t you think?” His body stiffens, and in that heartbeat, I realize Dain—fucking—Aetos knows the truth. “You know, don’t you?” I raise a brow, watching as he stumbles back, his confidence faltering.

“Wren, I–”

The air thickens with tension, electric and crackling as I step closer, an instinctive urgency propelling me forward. Each word hangs heavy, a taut thread ready to snap. “How. Long?” My voice trembles, but I refuse to let the vulnerability seep through. I need answers, and Dain knows it.

His stutter betrays him, lips parting yet no sound emerges. My patience frays, a taut rubber band stretched to its limits. “Before or after you saw me last year?” I demand, the frustration rising like a swell of storm clouds.

“I–”

“Before or after, Aetos!” The way his body tenses I know I projected my thoughts while saying it outloud.

“After! But you don’t have the whole truth!” His voice is a gasping whisper, a confession laced with desperation. He takes a step back, the distance between us growing, mirroring the chasm of betrayal splitting my heart.

“Violet is in as much danger with Xaden as you are with me right now,” I spit, my words like shards of glass, cutting into the silence. “And I’m bound by Codex not to kill you for another year.” The weight of my own words presses down on me, a reminder of the constraints that bind us, the unseen chains that bind our fates.

Finally, I halt, the fiery resolve flickering as he turns, fear painted across his face. In a heartbeat, he is gone, a fleeting shadow darting out of the rotunda.

The man I once considered a close friend, who knew my parents almost as intimately as he did Violet’s, has carried this secret for months. The revelation coils in my chest like a serpent, suffocating and relentless. I can’t believe he has never uttered a single fucking word to me about what happened to my mother. My breaths come in ragged gasps, each exhale a mix of disbelief and fury. I watch his retreating figure vanish through the door.

It’s only when the weight of his absence is filled by the piercing gaze of Onyx eyes that I manage to steady myself. Those eyes, dark as the depths of a stormy ocean, hold a fierce intensity that draws me back from the precipice of my thoughts. 

“Wren?” The familiar voice calls out, pulling me from the abyss of my emotions. 

“I’m fine.” The lie slips past my lips, unconvincing and hollow. Yet, the fierce determination within me ignites anew. I straighten my posture, shaking off the remnants of doubt that cling to my skin like fog. “Let’s go to class.” 

“Welcome to your first Battle Brief.”

The words echo in the spacious lecture hall, a blend of excitement and anxiety swirling in the air. Bodhi, Imogen, and I sit in a neat line directly behind the first years. Bodhi, brimming with enthusiasm, leans back in his chair, his bright eyes sparkling with mischief, as if we are the coolest people in the room.

“In the past, riders have seldom been called into service before graduation, and if they were, they were always third-years who’d spend time shadowing forward wings. But we expect you to graduate with the full knowledge of what we’re up against. It’s not about just knowing where every wing is stationed, either.” Imogen scoffs beside me, a sound rich with incredulity. I turn to raise a brow at her, curiosity piquing, but she dismisses my silent question with a wave of her hand. Her typical candor seems shrouded in something deeper today, leaving me to wonder what is going on with everyone.

Professor Devera continues her day one speech, her voice steady yet imposing, weaving a tapestry of expectations and realities. The familiar shadows circle around my knees, clinging like a second skin. The sensation makes me smile as I lift my ink pen, tapping it against the desk as I prepare for taking notes.

“First topic of the day.” Her command resonates, and a warm glow spills from the mage lights, illuminating the Poromial border that outlines the classroom. “The Eastern Wing experienced an attack last night near the village of Chakir by a drift of Braevi gryphons and riders. Naturally, some information is redacted for security purposes, but what we can tell you is that the wards faltered along the top of the Esben Mountains. Allowing the drift not only to enter Navarrian territory but for their riders to channel and wield sometime around midnight.”

I lean forward, my heart racing as I inspect the map. The air is thick with tension, and I find myself drowning out Professor Devera's steady voice, a dull hum in the background. The stark reality of her words gnaws at me: the wards fell, gryphons attacked, people died. Each phrase echoes like a drumbeat in my mind, but I can’t shake the gnawing need for clarity.

“Based on that information, what questions would you ask?” Devera prompts, her tone commanding as she scans the room for raised hands. 

I raise mine as well as multiple senior cadets. My mind is racing through the possibilities. Why did the wards fall? The question burns at the tip of my tongue, desperate for an answer that feels just out of reach.

“Only answers from first-years to start,” she declares, and a chorus of groans fills the air as our hands drop, disappointment washing over the older cadets.

“Is this the first time the wards have faltered?” A first-year from Second Wing ventures, his voice cutting through the silence. 

“No,” Devera replies, and my heart sinks. My gaze snaps up to the professors, eager for more information. The same first-year hesitates, asking how often this has occurred, only to be met with Professor Markham’s dismissive wave, a flick of his wrist like brushing away an irritating fly. Not the first time, I scrawled in my journal.

“Have you heard about the wards faltering?” I reach for Desa's bond, hoping for more answers.

“At least twice a week, but none that are followed by an attack,” Desa’s soothing voice comes back, a knot tightening in my stomach at the implication.

“What altitude is the village at?” Rhiannon's voice is sharp, cutting through my spiraling thoughts.

“A little over ten thousand feet. Why?” Professor Markham replies, his brow furrowing as he regards Rhiannon with mild interest. I can see her glance at Violet, her eyes showing she doesn't know. 

The altitude is too high for gryphons. That's why. 

Rhiannon stiffens as she speaks. “Just seems a little high for a planned attack with gryphons,” she responds, and I wince inwardly, knowing I’ve projected the answer into her mind by accident. 

“It is,” Devera confirms, her gaze shifting to Violet. “Why don’t you tell me why that’s bothersome, Cadet Sorrengail? And maybe you’d like to ask your own questions from here on out.” 

“Gryphons aren’t as strong at that altitude, and neither is their ability to channel,” Violet replies, her voice steady and clear as she peers at the map with an intensity that nearly radiates from her. “It’s an illogical place for them to attack unless they knew the wards would fail, especially since the village looks to be about what…an hour’s flight from the nearest outpost?” 

Her insight hangs in the air, a palpable tension that feels almost electric. “That is Chakir right there, isn’t it?” Violet adds, her brow furrowing in deep thought. She really should’ve been a scribe, far too smart for this place.

“It is. Keep going with that line of thought,” Professor Devera encourages, her keen gaze fixed on us like a hawk surveying its domain.

“Didn’t you say it took an hour for the squad of riders to arrive?” Violet asks, a faint edge of realization creeping in. 

“I did,” Devera confirms, her voice steady, a beacon of clarity amidst our swirling thoughts.

“Then they were already on their way,” I mutter, my words barely escaping my lips, yet in sync with Violet's vocalized conclusion. The accidental harmony of our thoughts draws the attention of Bodhi and Imogen, who turn to me with bewildered expressions. I can’t help but feel a flush of embarrassment. It definitely doesn’t sound good when I echo someone else's thought aloud, especially in a moment like this.

“Yeah, because that makes sense,” Jack Barlowe scoffs, laughter bubbling up in his chest. “General Melgran knows the outcome of a battle before it happens, but even he doesn’t know when it’ll occur, dumbass.” His voice drips with sarcasm, and I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks.

“Fuck off, Barlowe,” Rhiannon snaps, her tone sharp like a drawn dagger.

“I’m not the one who thinks precognition is a thing,” he retorts, but the smirk on his face falters as I suddenly burst into laughter.

“Wanna get caught, Little Bird?” Xaden's teasing voice dances in my mind, and instantly, the laughter freezes on my lips, a chill settling in the pit of my stomach.

“Sorry,” I murmured aloud, the apology almost a whisper.

“Cadet Tavis," Devera interrupts, "The younger one.” She confirms when Garrick also straightens. “Why don’t you carry on Cadet Sorrengail’s thoughts, since you find this so funny?”

“Of course, professor,” I reply, my tone now serious. I take a moment to gather my thoughts. “The squad arrived within an hour from an outpost exactly an hour away. It was the middle of the night which means while some riders were on patrol, others were sleeping." I continue, piecing together the timeline with precision, and I can sense the gravity of my words settling into the room. "Even if the beacons had been lit, it’d be at least 2 hours after the attack that everyone would arrive. So they had already been on their way because someone sensed the wards break.” 

“That’s the most—” Jack poised, ready to throw another jab. But before he could finish, Professor Devera’s gaze snapped to him, sharp and commanding. It was a look that silenced even the most boisterous of cadets, a reminder that in this room, the hierarchy of knowledge and respect was paramount.

“Cadet Sorrengail, do you agree?” she asked, her tone steady yet laden with expectation. The professor's question hung in the air like the final note of a melody, waiting for resolution. I could feel the collective breath of the room being held as we awaited Violet’s confirmation. Violet nodded, her brow furrowed in concentration. 

“Cadet Tavis is right,” Devera continued, her voice now a bit softer, almost reverent as she acknowledged my insight. The air shifted again, less tense now but thick with the promise of revelation. “One of the dragons in the wing sensed the faltering ward, and the wing flew. Had they not, the casualties would have been far higher and the destruction of the village much worse.” It felt as though time slowed, each cadet processing the implications of her statement in their own way. “Second- and third-years, take over,” Devera ordered, her voice cutting through the thoughts that had begun to swirl chaotically in my mind. “Let’s see if you can be a little more respectful to your fellow cadets.” 

How many riders were deployed to the site? 

What killed the lone fatality? 

How long did it take to clear the village of the gryphons? 

Were any left alive for questioning? 

Each question feels like a weight on my mind, a heavy cloak that wraps itself tightly around my thoughts, squeezing out any lingering clarity. But it’s Xaden’s query that sends a spark of intrigue racing through my veins.

“What was the condition of the village?” His voice slices through the murmur of uncertainty, resonating with an intensity that demands attention. 

“Riorson?” Markham shields his eyes, straining to glimpse the back of the room, where the imposing figure of Xaden leans casually against the wall, his presence commanding, yet deceptively relaxed. 

“The village. Professor Devera said the damage would have been worse, but what was the actual condition? Was it burned? Destroyed?” Xaden presses, his tone full of urgency. “They wouldn’t demolish it if they were trying to establish a foothold, so the condition of the village matters when trying to determine a motive for the attack.” His gaze cuts through the tension, sharpening the focus of our collective attention.

Professor Devera, with her sharp intellect and keen perception, cannot mask the flicker of approval dancing in her eyes as she absorbs Xaden’s words. It’s a rare sight, one that sends a ripple of pride through me. “The buildings they’d already gone through were burned, and the rest were being looted when the wing arrived.” Her tone is measured, laced with the weight of the dire situation, yet there’s an undercurrent of exhilaration that pulses through the room—a shared understanding that we are on the precipice of something profound.

“They were looking for something,” Xaden states, his voice steady and unwavering. “And it wasn’t riches. That’s not a gem mining district. Which begs the question, what do we have that they want so badly?” 

“Exactly. That’s the question.” Professor Devera’s gaze sweeps across the room, lingering on each cadet, her expression a mixture of pride and challenge. “And that right there is why Riorson is a wingleader. Even Tavis, despite her inappropriate interruption, is excellent at piecing together information and would make an excellent wingleader next year. You need more than strength and courage to be a good rider.” 

“So what’s the answer?” a first-year asks, his voice a tremor of uncertainty.

“We don’t know.” Well, shit. 

The air in the training gym buzzed with tension as first-years Ridoc and Aurelie circled each other, their movements a chaotic dance of adrenaline and uncertainty. Dain leaned against the wall, arms crossed, a bemused smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Well, they don’t entirely suck,” he remarked, casting a sideways glance at me.

I don’t take my eyes off the sparring pair. “Oh, I’m sorry, did I say you could talk to me?” I shot back, my voice steady despite the whirl of emotions brewing inside.

Dain sighed, a heaviness settling between us. “We have to talk, Wren. You’re my EO.”

That title felt like a shackle more than an honor, especially now. “So did you decide that before or after you found out what happened to my mom?” I turned to face him, frustration simmering just beneath the surface. “If you think I can easily forget you hiding that, then you don’t know me.”

Without warning, Dain grabbed my arm, pulling me into the shadows of an empty corner. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but did you really want to know?” His voice was low, urgent, almost frantic.

“Did I want to know that your dad not only dragged my dad to his execution but is also the reason my mom died two years prior?” I spat, my heart racing. “That’s what you’re asking?”

He winced, guilt flickering across his face. “I hear how bad that sounds.”

“Do you? Because it sounds like you gave me grief for my dad joining the rebellion, found out your father was responsible for my mom’s death, and then felt pity and made me your EO.” I crossed my arms, breaking free from his hold.

“I’m sorry, Wrenley. I should’ve told you,” he said, his voice softening.

“You really should have. Are we done now?” 

A sudden shout from the other side of the room startled us both. “What did I say? You broke his damn neck!” We turned to see Jack looming over a fallen body, a reminder of the violence that could erupt in an instant.

Dain muttered, “He’s a piece of work.”

“And out to kill Vi, so maybe keep an eye out?” I said, my voice steadying with resolve. Dain nodded, the weight of our unsaid words lingering as he led the way back to our squad’s mat. 

The spotlight of scrutiny shifted as Rhiannon and another first-year as they circled each other, their forms blurring in a flurry of movement, both desperate to claim victory. Rhiannon manages to emerge triumphant, a fierce grin splitting her face like a beacon of pride. Then, Violet and Imogen were called to the mat next.

“You got this,” Rhiannon whispered. Violet’s face was pale, a ghostly mask of anxiety, and I could feel the energy in the room pulse with unspoken fears.

“Don’t kill her, Im.” My warning slipped out before I could temper the sharpness of my words. Imogen merely laughed. I recognized that glimmer in her eyes—an intoxicating thrill that danced dangerously close to the line of control.

And then it happened—one moment Violet seemed poised to land a blow, and in the next, Imogen’s movements transformed into a blur, a cascade of swift strikes that left no room for doubt. Violet was on the ground, the impact jarring enough to silence the crowd momentarily.

“You can’t use your powers in here, Imogen!” Dain’s voice sliced through the tension, urgency underscoring his words. I felt the heat of my own anger bubbling beneath my skin, ready to erupt. 

“Knock this shit off, Im!” I shouted, my voice rising above the clamor, a desperate plea tinged with the threat of impending violence. Imogen hesitated, a momentary flicker of surprise crossing her features as she sheathed her dagger, but Violet seized the opportunity to connect her fist with Imogen’s cheek. The sound echoed and Violet rolled back onto her feet.

“What kind of armor is that?” Imogen retorted. 

“Mine.” Violet shot back, her response fierce as she ducked to evade another strike, Imogen’s movements beginning to blur again—a telltale sign that the fight was spiraling out of control. 

“Imogen! Do it again, and I’ll—” Emettario’s warning fizzled out as Violet hit the mat face-first, the thud resonating like a death knell for her hope. Imogen loomed over her, a grip on Violet’s arm that seemed both possessive and threatening.

“Yield!” Imogen shouted, but the word hung in the air, not as a plea but as a command. 

“No!” Violet cried, her spirit undeterred despite the precarious position. But with an agonizing twist, Imogen pulled her arm further, a sickening pop punctuating the air, the unmistakable sound of bone succumbing to pressure. 

“Imogen, stop!” I shouted, panic surging through me as Dain’s voice echoed my sentiment, “Yield, Violet!” 

“Yield!” Imogen repeated, her voice a sharp blade cutting through the haze of chaos.

“She yields,” Emettario intervened, his voice firm and authoritative, cutting through the noise like a knife through flesh. “That’s enough.”

Finally, Imogen released Violet's arm, but not before a harsh crack rang out—an eerie, haunting sound that seemed to reverberate through the very core of my being, a grim reminder of the cost of power unchecked.

The night covered the world in shadows as we slipped through the trees. Our cloaks are heavy, usually meant winter, but necessary for our late night escapade. The air was thick with the warmth of summer, yet a chill ran down my spine.

"You gonna tell me why you've been ignoring Imogen for the last week?" Xaden's voice was low, barely audible beneath the rustle of leaves, his concern palpable as we approached the old oak by the river.

I clenched my fists, frustration boiling beneath the surface. "She snapped Violet's arm in half after I warned her not to do anything rash. And she broke the rules using her signet during assessment." My words dripped with anger, a mix of disappointment and hurt for my friend.

"You know how everyone feels about what happened," Xaden reminded me, his gaze steady and understanding. I sighed, the weight of the situation pressing down on me, and pulled my hood back as we reached the tree's cover.

"It doesn't change the fact that I care for Vi. She’s not her mother, just like none of us are our parents," I muttered, the pain of the past gnawing at my heart. Xaden stepped closer, pulling me into a tight embrace, the warmth of his support momentarily easing my burden.

"We'll talk to everyone tonight, okay?" I nodded, grateful for his steady presence, just as Imogen, Bodhi, and Garrick emerged from the shadows, their hoods falling away as they reach us.

"Hey, Little Bird," Garrick greeted, his smile a small beacon of light in the darkness. He wrapped me in a hug that I've desperately needed from him this week. After the rebellion, it was just us left and this hug reminds me that we were still here, still fighting, and that meant something. 

"Garrick, Bodhi," I replied, deliberately avoiding eye contact with Imogen, the tension between us thick and unyielding. Xaden's gaze darted toward the grove, where more hooded figures began to gather. 

"We’ve already lost Sutherland and Luperco," Garrick reported, the grim reality of our situation settling over us like a fog.

"That leaves us with fort-one left." I sigh, doing the math. There should have been fifty-seven of us this year, instead we’re down sixteen. nighty-one left from the hundred and seven rebellion kids left after three years. What would the next three look like?

“Like it or not, we’re going to have to stick together if you want to survive until graduation,” Imogen declared, her voice steady yet tinged with an urgency that echoed in the cool night air. The dim moonlight filtered through the dense canopy of trees, casting dappled shadows on the anxious faces of the first years gathered around us. 

“And if they find out we’re meeting?” one of the younger cadets asked, his voice wavering, as uncertainty gnawed at the edges of his resolve. 

Xaden, arms folded across his chest, leaned back against the sturdy limb of the oak tree, its bark rough against his back. “We’ve done this for two years, and they’ve never found out,” he replied, his voice calm but firm, a fortress against the rising tide of fear. “They won’t, unless one of you decides to spill. And if you do,” His eyes darkened. "I'll know."

I stepped forward, the cool breeze ruffling my cloak as I felt the weight of their eyes on me. “We’ve already lost two,” I stated, my heart aching for those we couldn’t save. “We wish we could save everyone, but you have to save yourself.” The truth of my words resonated, a chilling reminder of our harsh reality. “Every Navarrean in there will come up with every reason to call you a traitor and watch you fail. You have to want to live and succeed.”

“How many of you are getting your asses handed to you in hand-to-hand?” Xaden asked, glancing around the group. Four hands shot up, and he let out an exasperated curse. “Shit.”

“I’ll teach them,” Garrick offered, his voice a reassuring balm amidst the tension.

“You’re our best fighter–” Xaden started, but Bodhi interjected.

“Wrenley’s the best; why doesn’t she do it?”

“And get trained by signetless? No thanks,” My gaze snaps over, narrowing my eyes at the first-year who spoke. Just as I reached for the thoughts brewing in his mind, a shadow surged forward, and Xaden’s hand gripped my shoulder, pulling me back.

“Don’t,” he muttered firmly, his eyes searching mine for understanding. 

“Technically, Xaden is our best,” Garrick chimed in, redirecting the conversation.

“Dirtiest fighter, maybe,” Imogen quipped, and I snapped my gaze to her, the tension rising again.

“Breathe,” Xaden urged, his voice steady. “Time and place, Little Bird.” Once I assured him I wouldn’t lose my composure, he turned his focus back to the group. “Garrick is our best fighter, but Imogen is right up there with him, and she’s a hell of a lot more patient.” 

I couldn’t help but let out a snarky laugh at his statement, and Xaden’s grip on my arm tightened, a gentle reminder to stay grounded. 

“Wrenley has her own priorities for the year,” he continued. “So the four of you split yourselves up between Garrick and Imogen. A group of three won’t draw any unwanted attention. What else is giving you trouble?”

“I can’t do this,” the smallest of the first-years cries, his voice quaking with desperation. 

“What do you mean?” Xaden questions, his tone sharp, the authoritative wingleader voice slicing through the murmurs of the gathered cadets like a dagger. 

“I can’t do this!” The first-year nearly shouts, panic bubbling to the surface. “The death. The fighting. Any of it! A guy had his neck snapped right in front of me on assessment day! I want to go home! Can you help me with that?” His eyes glisten with unshed tears, the raw vulnerability palpable in the dim light.

“No.” Xaden shrugs the kid off, the dismissal as cold as the biting wind that whips through the trees. “You’re not going to make it. Best accept it now and not take up more of my time.” 

“That was harsh, cousin.” Bodhi gasps, shock rippling through his voice, and I instinctively move closer to Xaden.

“What do you want me to say, Bodhi?” Xaden’s gaze sharpens, the weight of responsibility evident on his shoulders, as he stands resolute among the group. “I can’t save everyone, especially not someone who isn’t willing to work to save themselves.” 

“Damn, Xaden.” Garrick sighs, rubbing his hand over his face in disbelief. “Way to give a pep talk.” 

Xaden goes on a tirade, and I lift a hand to his chest, a gentle reminder for him to breathe and remain grounded, a small gesture that we've both learned to need. “Now, someone give me a problem I can actually solve,” Xaden orders, his voice steadying as he refocuses.

“Battle Brief.” One of the girls speaks softly, her eyes downcast. “It’s not that I can’t keep up, but the information…”

“What about the information?” I ask, shifting my gaze from the first-year to Xaden, hoping for clarity.

“That’s a tough one.” Imogen’s brow furrows as she turns to Xaden, seeking a solution.

“You learn what they teach you,” Xaden states firmly, his voice unwavering, “Keep what you know but recite whatever they tell you to.” His response is cryptic, laden with implications that leave me bewildered and my mind racing as I try to digest his words. “Anyone else?” Xaden asks, a hint of urgency creeping into his tone. “You’d better ask now. We don’t have all night.”

“When do we get to kill Violet Sorrengail?” a voice called out from the back, breaking the simmering silence, a dark undercurrent of eagerness lacing the question. The speaker's tone was almost casual, as if discussing the weather, but the intent behind it crackled with a ferocity that sent chills down my spine.

“Yeah, Xaden,” Imogen chimed in sweetly, her voice dripping with a feigned innocence that barely masked her underlying fury. “When do we get to finally have our revenge?” 

“Imogen…” Xaden warned, his voice low and steady, a soft plea buried beneath the turmoil. But before he could further intervene, I felt the adrenaline surge through me, propelling me forward.

“The minute I’m done shoving my foot up your ass,” I growled, my words punctuated by the tension thrumming in my veins. In a blur of motion, I launched myself at her, driven by a mix of fury and frustration. But just as I prepared to make contact, Xaden’s grip encircled my waist, halting my advance with an unexpected gentleness.

“I told you already, the youngest Sorrengail is mine, and I’ll handle her when the time is right,” Xaden asserted smoothly, his voice unwavering despite my thrashing in his arms.

“Haven’t learned from your actions the other day? You still have a month left of scrubbing dinner dishes for using your fucking signet.” I sneered, the heat of my anger boiling over, but somewhere deep inside.

“Her mother is responsible for the execution of my mom and sister. I should have done more than just snap her shoulder.” 

I should snap your arm, see how she likes it. Yet, as my anger threatened to consume me, a quieter voice echoed in my mind—a calming reminder. “Hurting your friend won't fix what’s been done.” Desa’s words resonated within me, firm yet gentle, pulling me farther from the brink. 

“Her mom is responsible for the capture of nearly all our parents,” Garrick countered, crossing his arms, a furrow of determination etching his brow. “Not her daughter. Punishing children for the sins of their parents is the Navarrian way, not the Tyrrish.”

“So we get conscripted because of what our parents did years ago and shoved into this death sentence of a college—” Imogen’s voice rises.

“In case you didn’t notice, she’s in the same death sentence of a college. Seems like she’s already suffering the same fate,” Garrick counters, his tone laced with frustration. 

Imogen turns away, a flicker of remorse flashing in her eyes is the only thing keeping me in place now. 

“Don’t forget her brother was Brennan Sorrengail. She has just as much reason to hate us as we do her.” Xaden’s voice is steady and deliberate, his gaze piercing into both Imogen and the first-year girl. The mention of Brennan sends a shiver down my spine. “And I’m not going to tell you again. She’s mine to handle. Anyone feel like arguing?” His words are a command, a wall of authority that looms over us, silencing any potential dissent. 

No one dares to respond. 

“Good. Then get back to bed and go in threes.” Xaden motions with his head and the marked ones turn to leave, hoods raising again. “Are you alright?” Xaden’s voice softens as he steps closer, his hand gliding from my arm to my back, pulling me into him. I inhale deeply, his familiar scent soothing the last of my anger and I nod, resting my head against his chest. “Go back with Garrick,” he whispers, the words an anchor, drawing me away from the tempest of our earlier confrontation. I pull back slightly, looking into his eyes.

“You’re not coming back with us?” I ask softly, the question hanging in the air like a fragile thread. 

“I just need a few minutes and I’ll be right behind you. I promise, Little Bird.” Before I can protest, he leans down, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead, a fleeting moment of reassurance. Then he brushes his lips against mine—brief, electric—and I feel the warmth spread through me like a wildfire. “Get some rest.” His words are a gentle command, and I nod, the fight in me dissipating as he lifts my hood up, shielding me from the night air. I turn to walk with Garrick, the weight of Xaden’s gaze still lingering on my back.

next part

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[yanderenightmare]

hey, marie! i have a question for the helpdesk!

any advice for what to describe in a scene? I find myself just sticking to the plot points, which are just action-based, but it's always sorta boring in the end.

I guess my question is how to make scenes feel natural and richer without descriptions becoming excessive?

On Scene Descriptions

Great question!

What Can You Put in a Scene?

Honestly? Absolutely anything. Anything you can think of. Anything at all.

From describing objects and surroundings, to character descriptions, their inner thoughts, memories, associations, emotions, tone of voice, dialogue, body language, facial expressions, actions, and interactions.

Anything and everything, and all things I’ll cover down below.

And so, first off…

Scenery!

Describe the surroundings. 

Where are we? What place is it? What's around? What sticks out? Observations! Is stuff new or old? Expensive or cheap? Any wear and tear, or is everything perfectly up to code? Is it dirty or clean? Messy or tidy? Is it dark or bright? Are we inside or outside? Is it day or night? What’s the weather like? 

But don’t just focus on what you can see, use all five senses to your advantage! Is it hot and humid or cold and brisk? Is there an odor? Can you taste it on your tongue? Is there anything around that makes a sound like a waterfall in the distance, bird chatter, club chatter, or a very annoying clock on the wall?

Show, Don't Tell gets important here. A phrase writers hear a lot. But what does it actually mean?

Well! Showing vs Telling basically states that describing something through visual detail is more convincing than using a simple standalone verb or noun. 

Take a forest, for example. You can state that your character is traveling through a forest, but a forest isn’t very descriptive. 

What kind of forest is it? Where is it? What’s in it? 

A rainforest is humid and hot. A birch forest is flat with skinny trees. An oak forest has a lot of branches and a ton of roots you can trip over. A pine forest is dark and misty, growing scarcer the higher up the mountain you travel. Is it an overgrown and bewildering forest, or a beautiful and enchanting one? Is the canopy thick, blocking out the light, or open and bright?

Furthermore, a forest has plenty of other things aside from just trees, like moss beds, rocks, tracks, mushrooms, wind, fresh scents, foul scents, animal noises, creaky old branches, caves that moan, shrubs that rustle, plants, bushes of berries, poisonous things, fallen leaves, barnacles, twigs on the ground, markings on the treestems, carvings left by former travelers, trash, long-forgotten cabins that might not be as abandoned as originally believed, animal dung, streams, lakes, waterfalls, sudden cliffs, dead trees, fallen trees, uprooted trees, rotting animal carcases, skeletal remains, and so many other things…

So basically, what Showing vs Telling wants you to do is paint the scene. Don’t just tell the reader they’re in a forest, or a shopping mall, or in the mountains, or at school—describe it to them. And again, don’t just focus on what you can see—taste, touch, scent, and sound are just as important!

An easy tip is to simply put yourself in the shoes of the character, close your eyes, and imagine being there, then describe that experience.

This also applies to—

Emotions!

Through the rules of Show-Don't-Tell, you should focus on describing body language and facial cues instead of standalone verbs.

Take fear, for example. You can say your character is scared, but, like anything, being scared is an arbitrary emotion and can essentially mean anything from feeling somewhat anxious to absolutely terrified beyond wit’s end. 

So instead of simply saying they’re scared, you’ll describe what they look like or do or think when they’re scared. 

Think cold sweat, stammering, shivering, feeling frozen, having big eyes, a beating chest, being lock-jawed, or screaming while making a run for it. 

Again, put yourself in the shoes of the character and describe every sensation and observation you can think of, like you’re trying to sell the emotion to your readers.

You can also play around and use the character’s inner thoughts to do this.

Take love, for example. Sure, you can say that a character is in love. But again, there are many different types of love out there. So, how does this character experience love?

This is where inner thoughts work magic:

You’re looking at him and he does everything in his power to act cool—act cool, act cool, act fucking cool. His heart’s beating with the bass of a drum—he wonders if you can hear it from where you sit. God, how embarrassing. You’re just studying together, and he can’t even focus enough to read a single sentence. He hasn’t turned the page once, and you’ve already made a whole book’s worth of notes. That’s why you’re staring at him, isn’t it? You’re probably wondering what’s wrong with him, and it’s a good question. He’s wondering as well—what is wrong with him?

The word love or crush isn’t used once, and yet, describing that feeling through showing or, in this case, inner thinking, paints a better picture of this character’s experience than it would have if it were to have been disclosed from the get-go that the character was in love.

This way, it also becomes a better journey for the reader, as if they're getting brought along on the discovery with the character.

All this being said, however, it’s not as if you’re not allowed to simply tell it how it is sometimes. Not everything needs to be disclosed in close detail all the time—but that’s something we’ll revisit later in the post.

For now, let’s move on to lights, camera—

Action!

You mention that too many action descriptions become boring. I agree! They're monotone and weak on their own and should be followed up with other scene-describing methods or joined with dialogue.

I feel like the difference between a good action sequence and a bad action sequence is that one feels like you're lining up one and one domino, whereas the other one feels like you're watching dominos fall after each other. One is work, the other is payoff.

It should be payoff.

But how do you make it feel like falling dominoes? It's not always easy, but try to limit the number of actions that happen at random and make everything happen for a reason—reactions and objectives over standalone actions. Why are the characters doing what they're doing? What made them do what they're doing? What are they trying to achieve? Is something hindering them? Is something working to their advantage? What are they thinking and feeling while doing what they're doing? And does that have any effect on how they're doing what they're doing?

Furthermore, what they've now done should be the direct cause or kickstart of the next action, and so on and so forth.

When you have two characters in a scene, you should make the action volley between them. He does this, which made her do this, but then he did this, and she had to do this.

Otherwise, if there's only one character in a scene, you should volley between action and inner thought. As I mentioned earlier, walk us through their thought process. Why are they doing what they're doing?

On another note, I often feel that actions are underrated. Or rather, that they’re often not used to their full potential.

Let’s go back to the forest real quick. Yes, the character is walking through the forest.

But what does it really entail to walk through a forest? What happens?

You get tired, of course! You get sweaty, you get dirty, weariness turns to exhaustion, you're thirsty, you're hungry, now you're cold, you're anxious to get to where you're going, you're not entirely sure if you're going the correct way, and oh my god, you're lost!

On yet another note!

Actions are described when characters do something, obviously. And they tend to do something when the plot requires it.

But actions can be used to describe the scene in ways visual descriptions can’t. So, don't just make your characters react and interact with each other; make them do so with the scenery.

Again, yes, our character is walking through the forest. That’s the action the plot requires. However, there are so many actions that’ll make the experience more vivid. For example, make the character touch things—make them balance themselves against trees and feel the branches they duck under. This way, you can describe the rough texture of bark against the character’s palm and really immerse the reader. Make the character trip and fall, and there are suddenly new opportunities. Make them climb, make them tired, make them start running because of a sound they heard, make them kick leaves, have them pick up a stick out of boredom, make them collect rocks, make them juggle as they walk. Again, there are so many options to make the scene more vivid.

Replace basic scene descriptions with scene interactions such as this, pair the entire thing with dialogue, and it'll read like a movie!

Something we'll also discuss later on, but for now, onto—

Characters!

Now, I've already described emotions and inner thoughts, which are what tell your reader most about the character.

But, appearance-based character descriptions are also neat!

Facial features, quirky things like scars and beauty marks, freckles, eye colors, skin color, hair color, how all those colors are different in different lighting, glowy skin, dry skin, patchy skin, oily skin. Have they showered? Do they wear makeup? What are they wearing? How are they wearing it? A shirt can be so many things—ironed, crumpled, buttoned up or buttoned down, patterned, white, dirty, loose, tight-fitted, tailored, cheap or expensive. Are they’re shoes well-worn or newly bought? Any piercings? Where and what type? Gold or silver? And since they have one on their lip, might it make you wonder if they have others in places unseen? Any tattoos? Where and what type? Traditional black or colored? Badly inked or impressive? Original or cliche? Muscles or not? Does it make you wonder how much they hit the gym? Any bruising? Bloody knuckles, scuffed knees, crooked nose, black eyes, popped lip. Do they have neat hair? Does it look like they frequent the hairdresser? Is it their natural color? Have they even brushed it today?

Yeah, I think you get it. Description can and should tell a lot about a character.

And if I haven’t made it clear yet, descriptions should be telling the story. Which also means that they shouldn't be used haphazardly. But again, that’s something we’ll return to later in the post.

But, before that, we must lastly cover—

Dialogue!

At this point, we’ve gone over different methods of describing a scene, but as you mentioned, a text can quickly become quite heavy if it’s solely based on descriptions alone.

This is where dialogue becomes an author’s best friend.

Dialogue is the easiest way to breathe fresh air into a text when you feel you've only been writing action sequences or long spouts of descriptions. Dialogue will break up body text like no other.

At the same time, however, dialogue is also a double-edged sword for the same reason. So even when it gives us a break from long-winded descriptions, it can be a little tricky to glue things back together again when you’ve made that break.

On top of that, making dialogue feel fluid is tricky for plenty of other reasons as well. First off, there are only so many times you can use the word said.

To be honest, if my draft didn’t start off with a lot of dialogue, I have a really hard time implementing it at any other point. And so, I don’t have too many tips right here other than saying that dialogue doesn’t always have to be isolated between “quotation marks”.

For reference sake, here’s an example of a very action-based story that has dialogue, but zero bunny ears: The Quartering Act.

Another tip is that you don’t always have to refer to the person who said something after they said it. It’s fine to simply skip to an action or other description. Let your readers do what they do best and read between the lines. They’ll know from context who it was that said what. This way, you won’t exhaust the usage of the word said and its synonyms.

Lastly, try to use different ways of breaking up dialogue. Explaining the character's tone of voice works once, then it remains spent until their tone of voice changes. Meanwhile, it’s time to use other descriptions. Having a list of synonyms for said is very useful. But you should also try to play around with other options, such as breaking dialogue with inner thoughts, actions, emotions, sudden associations, minor flashbacks, and other disturbances that come naturally.

What I’ve found useful is giving the character something to hold and fiddle with or something to do while they’re talking. This gives you more options other than needing to repeat she-said-he-said.

Again, for reference sake, here’s another short example: Stay. Read it and you’ll see how that entire conversation could have just as easily happened while they were still in bed, but by making the reader move around while looking for something, the entire scene becomes more lively with better flow.

Again, my biggest piece of advice is to try to immerse yourself and see what things you think you would feel, think, and focus on if you were the one talking or listening.

Now, finally, in order to use all of the things we’ve just covered, you need to—

Know The Scene!

Yeah, you can put anything in a scene. But does that mean that everything should go in a scene?

No.

As you mentioned, too much description becomes excessive, and only describing actions becomes monotone. Too much of anything is tedious to read, and a sure-fire way to stifle the momentum.

Take character descriptions, for instance. If it's our first time seeing a character, then of course, a description of his features and attire is warranted. But there's no need to give a full description of someone the reader knows every time they walk into a scene. The name alone will suffice. Unless, of course, there’s something fundamentally off about the character this time around. But otherwise, no, your reader does not need to know what someone is wearing every time they enter the scene.

Additionally, it also depends on whose point of view we're looking at things from. Meaning, if a character walks into a scene that’s new to the reader, but well-known by the character holding the point of view, it might be more natural to describe what relationship they have with each other in a string of inner thoughts and less natural to go into detail about their hair and the color of their eyes as the one holding the point of view is probably not going to be focusing on those details. You can still mention it throughout the text when it becomes natural to do so, but bombarding the reader with a whole paragraph of appearance descriptions is often unnecessary, boring, and sometimes even a little disorienting.

Similarly, if the scene takes place inside the home of the character with the point of view, we shouldn’t receive a full description of their house. Why would they be focusing on what type of pictures are up on the mantle or if their sofa is made of leather and has embroidered throw pillows? That’s an observation made by an outsider. But we’re supposed to feel like we’ve been here countless times before. And so the place shouldn’t be introduced as anything new, but completely familiar. So instead, we’ll focus on anything that’s out of the ordinary. Such as if anything has fallen out of their designated place, if there are dishes left out, if the character is only now noticing how the wall paint is starting to chip, how they remember when they first picked out that color. Anything you might think of when walking around in your own house.

Again, obviously, if we’re following the point of view of another character who is entering this house for the first time, it would be natural to describe their observations of the place.

But anyway, returning to my point. Yes, anything can go in a scene, but you should only keep the things that work to the advantage of the scene.

And that’s where the editor side of authorship steps in for the creator, and you start making some critical decisions where you’ll have to be tough and strike those things you’ve written that don’t work in favor of the scene.

In other words, all scenes are different because they all have a specific purpose to achieve. To know which of the listed literary devices to use, you first need to identify the purpose of each scene and create focal points for the reader. 

What’s really important here? What should be the takeaway? What’s the point of this scene? And what does the scene need in order to further that point?

If you want to slow things down to create suspense, more descriptions should be added for longer pauses. If it's a fast action-based scene, you'll want to keep descriptions short and concise to create a fluid domino effect. If it's an emotional scene, you'll want to focus on inner thoughts and body language to immerse the reader in those feelings. And meanwhile, on top of everything, there’s also dialogue to weave in.

This is all complicated stuff, and not something you learn overnight or by reading this Helpdesk edition. It’s taken me years, and I mean years, to learn any of this, and it’s still not a hundred percent.

It’s truly nothing short of a fucked up thing, because something that works in one scene won’t always work in another scene, even when they’re similar. There are plenty of scenes I post where I’m not happy with the flow, where I’ve given up on finding the right sentences, words, and structure to make it perfect for myself. But that’s the name of the game. You’re not going to get it right every time. But you can be sure that every time, good or bad, is another step towards betterment.

And so, hope this helped and good luck!

♡ NIGHTMARE'S HELPDESK

[asha-dasha]

Give me your Penelope headcanons 🧎‍♀️‍➡️🤲🏻

ohhohoho buckle up i have a lot (ignore that this took 20 years for me to get to oopsies)

headache girly, she always has a headache

she talks to her loom, she's had it for so long that it's almost more of a constant in her life than odysseus at this point. telemachus used to tease her about it and then she caught him talking to a random owl one night thinking that it was athena so they're at a standstill

her hands are NOT smoothe or soft. her fingertips and palms have a ton of callouses from weaving.

15 years into odysseus’s absence, she started to mix up his voice versus telemachus's and panicked so hard that telemachus went silent for two days like that would help

so bad at sharing the bed and is always stealing odysseus's blanket and pillow (having the bed to herself for twenty years made this so much worse but odysseus won't complain)

more below the cut teehee

has escape routes planned from almost every corner of the palace just in case the suitors tried something

cat person but she's fallen in love with dogs since her husband and son prefer them. when her and odysseus retire to a cottage on the coast she gets a cat and treats it like a baby.

post-odyssey hates the smell of strong wine, like it genuinely makes her ill. she's pretty good at telling just how drunk someone is just by watching them.

gave melantho boy advice, not knowing that the boy she had a crush on was eurymachus

teasing is her love language, no one she loves is safe from her quips

cuts her hair to look less attractive to the suitors and quickly realizes it's sooooo much easier to work at a loom without long hair

ocd penelope hcs

im not an expert in ocd, I was diagnosed as a teenager but obviously everyones experience is different.

as a kid she would have been under so much scrutiny. I think she starts to develop habits and rituals that make her as perfect as possible, especially since she's being compared to helen all the time. I think she combs her hair a lot, to the point where maybe it's unhealthy, I think she weaves as a distraction but also because it's a crafty task that requires you things to be symmetrical/perfect. she compares herself to neurotypical helen A LOT

when she meets odysseus, she falls head over heels of course, but she's so worried about making the wrong choice, it doesn't help that icarius is yapping in her ear about how odysseus isn't good enough for her. odysseus notices how nervous she is and makes her a promise that fits within her schema "as long as olive trees exist i will love you" and that helps. penelope is so taken aback that someone wouldn't just laugh at her compulsions that she starts to fight for odysseus to her father, eventually going with him despite icarius's wishes

imagine her shock and joy when THEIR olive tree, the one he made that promise under is moved to ithaca and becomes part of their wedding bed adkfhfkzkdh they're so cute anyways.

weaving is her way of control. magical thinking, ocd is very much like "if I do __, this bad thing won't happen". hc that weaving as always been this for her, but especially when she meets odysseus and learns that athena is his patron. it becomes a "if i weave, athena won't let anything bad happen to odysseus (and later on telemachus)" and while ofysseus is gone its "if I keep weaving this shroud, odysseus is still alive and if I stop he is dead"

in the odyssey, the way she uses weaving mirrors a compulsive behavior which relies on the categories of: ritualistic, self-imposed, and performed as a way to stave off anxiety. the only aspect of her life she can truly control is the shroud, which becomes an attempt to delay change

specifically coming from the suitors is also her compulsively locking her door. she will have locked it a hundred times in a night and will still get up to check it again. i think this is a habit that doesn't go away even years after the whole thing is over.

adhd ody x ocd pen creates some ISSUES in their first few months of marriage bc he doesn't have routine and she cannot function without it. they adapt, she gets some routine and he gets to randomly take her to do fun things that get her out of her comfort zone

[devildomwriter]

O Christmas Tree | Mephistopheles x Reader

1.2K Word Count | GN! Reader | Pre-established engagement | CW: none, just rich people

Mephistopheles was slowly beginning to learn that things that seemed like a chore could actually be fun and that he should try more things. One of these things was picking out a living pine tree for your Christmas decorations.

You too were beginning to learn things, or rather, compromise on things. The compromise this time was that if Mephistopheles was going to socialize near loud screaming children in the human world, then it had to be the best Christmas tree farm there was.

“I scoured locations from across the globe and this was the perfect farm for us. I checked the frequency of reviews, commonality of high ratings, and consistency through the years. I sent my butler to check the place himself as well and he agreed that was the best among the three I identified as contenders,” Mephistopheles proudly informed you as you parked the pickup truck.

The truck was a compromise from Mephistopheles. Something about getting dropped off in a limo and strapping a tree to its fancy scratch-free roof didn’t feel Christmassy to you.

Mephistopheles began to walk away from the truck not realizing the door was still open. You called him back and he looked surpassed and then flushed. He was so used to having the doors shut for him that it never occurred to him to close it behind him.

He cleared his throat and held out his hand for you to take. You held it and he straightened out his appearance immediately although nothing had seemed off to you to begin with.

You crossed the street making sure he made way for cars as they didn’t know to stop for him and led him into the rows of precut pine trees.

Mephistopheles pulled out a checklist from his phone. He’d measured the room it would be in to determine the best height and width for the tree. He also had been given advice to check for how sturdy the needles on the pine were by looking at how many had already fallen on the ground.

You watched Mephistopheles eyes wander up and down the trees and he pointed in the distance at the taller trees.

Now that you lived with Mephistopheles you could get a tree stories high if you wanted and Mephistopheles seemed to have that idea in mind but you reminded him of the pickup truck.

“We could teleport it.”

“How do we explain that?”

“Do you suppose they count the number of trees they have? I don’t believe a regular human can steal one of these?”

“Do not underestimate what a human will steal and how they manage to pull it off. I worked retail you would not believe some of my stories.” You pointed out and he seemed concerned. Mephistopheles was also the reason you no longer needed to work retail and for that, you were forever grateful.

“I see. Well…how do you suppose these trees normally go to people’s homes?”

“A logging truck maybe? I never thought about it…” you wondered aloud and you both stood there puzzled.

You shook the idea out of your head and pointed in another direction, opting for a normal-sized tree like you were used to.

“We have more space you know? It will look rather obscure in your room,” he stated his concerns but you shook your head.

“Nah. I think it’ll light up the whole room, just you wait and see.”

He smiled at your confident grin and nodded following you along to the trees you were interested in.

He scanned the ground for pine needles and pointed out a few he thought you might approve of.

As you held his hand a tree from the next row practically called to you and Mephisto noticed it at the same time, both of you pointing at it.

You looked at each other and laughed, happy and relieved you were so in sync on the perfect tree.

You cut through the row of trees to get to it more quickly on the off chance someone else would come across it. Mephistopheles nodded proudly as if he’d grown the tree himself and looked around for an attendant. He spotted one and quickly stepped away to fetch them.

As Mephistopheles left another man came up to the tree followed by an employee.

“Fine tree, isn’t it?” The man exclaimed happily and you nodded.

“Yes, my fiancée is finding someone now so we can get it.” You informed and he and the worker frowned for an instant.

“So sorry bout that…but uh, I actually came to get this tree for this gentleman here,” the worker apologized and you frowned. Before you could speak up Mephistopheles and a different worker came up behind you.

“Is there an issue here?” Mephistopheles asked and placed a hand on your shoulder, showing off his engagement ring.

The customer laughed awkwardly and explained he had come for the tree first. The workers both agreed and Mephistopheles saw a frown cross your face and decided that was unacceptable.

He reached into his wallet and handed the man a wad of cash. How much you weren’t certain but the man was bug-eyed.

“I—wha—huh?” He stammered.

“For your troubles,” Mephistopheles explained. “We’ll be taking this tree. I imagine that should be enough to get you a different one?”

You swear you heard the man mumbled something about being able to buy a nicer house with the money but couldn’t be sure as he backed away and patted the worker’s shoulder.

“It’s all theirs, I’m callin’ my wife!” He explained loudly as he giddily ran back to his car.

The workers looked shocked and hurriedly attended to Mephistopheles’ request for the tree after seeing how wealthy he was.

With more employees than necessary, the tree was carried and strapped to your pick up truck. The workers looked surprised at the vehicle after the display earlier but ignored that after they were each tipped a considerable sum, one even falling to their knees crying for joy and thanking your fiancee.

Mephistopheles wasn’t proud, instead, he was very weirded out by how a minuscule amount of money to him could move humans to tears. Despite dating you for so long, he still did not understand how much money he had in comparison to others. When you mentioned incomes less than three figures the first time he thought you were joking. This was one thing that didn’t seem to change about Mephistopheles despite how many new experiences he was sharing with you.

You got behind the wheel and Mephistopheles loosened his cashmere scarf and sighed in triumph.

“Did I do it right?” He asked you and you laughed and shrugged.

“Yeah. Not sure I’ve ever paid someone off for a tree before but otherwise yes.”

He blushed and turned the warm air on in the truck like you’d taught him.

As soon as you got back to the Devildom your normal human excursion turned back into the life of a noble with butlers rushing to the car to take the tree, another parking it out of sight, and maids rushing to grab your coats.

Mephistopheles sighed in contentment and reached for your hand. You smiled and let him take it as he walked you to the kitchen for some warm glasses of milk to perfectly wrap up your pleasant afternoon.