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aspenmissing · 2 months ago

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omg idk what it is about you writing creatively inclined readers but i LOVE IT, and i’m not even musically inclined ;^; . i had an idea, what about silcoxreader where the reader is a relatively famous musician that jinx really LOVES, like her music really speaks to her and the loud sounds and stuff. soooo silco being the good father he is takes her to one of her gigs under his and sevika’s surveillance only to realize that they both know her and that he kinda had a thing with her in his youth, maybe they can go out for a drink after the show? reminiscing on the past, and questioning the present? idk feel free to change this to whatever fits your ✨creative self✨the best. love your work :333🫶

ᴄʜᴏʀᴅꜱ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀ��ᴋ

ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ/ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ-ɪꜱʜ || 3138 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ᴀʙᴀɴᴅᴏɴᴍᴇɴᴛ?

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰᴏʀ ꜱᴜᴄʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴋɪɴᴅ ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ ᴍʏ ᴅᴇᴀʀ! ɪ'ᴍ ɢʟᴀᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏɪɴɢ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ, ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ᴅᴏ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ᴛʜɪꜱ! <3 <3

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴊɪɴx | ꜱᴇᴠɪᴋᴀ

The bass was pounding through the old walls of the venue — a run-down warehouse tucked between layers of Zaun smog and forgotten alleyways. Once, it might’ve been a shipping depot, its bones made of rusted steel and reinforced concrete, the kind of place that saw too many hands and too little care. Now it pulsed with life. Fluorescent neon strips twisted like vines up the metal support beams, casting violet and crimson shadows over the sea of moving bodies. Smoke machines hissed in the corners, sending plumes into the rafters where old signage still clung, chipped and stained with time and ash.

The crowd was wild. Unapologetic. Youthful, furious, desperate. They danced like they were trying to shake the world loose from its hinges.

Jinx was already lost in it, her boots grinding into oil-stained floors as she bounced to the rhythm. Her manic laughter burst through the strobes like lightning. She swayed like a live wire, her blue hair whipping in time with the snare hits, arms thrown up like she was trying to catch the sound itself.

��Isn’t she amazing?” Jinx shouted, turning to Silco with wide, dilated pupils and a grin that carved straight through the noise. She clutched her face in mock-reverence. “Her tracks sound like a bomb going off in your soul, right?! Like—like everything's on fire and it’s beautiful! Gods, I think I’m in love.”

Silco said nothing.

He hadn’t said anything for the last two songs.

He stood rooted to the edge of the chaos, his black coat dragging like a pool of shadow, absorbing the flash and frenzy around him. The crowd flowed around him without touching him, like they could feel the gravity he carried—like something coiled inside him might snap if disturbed.

But he wasn’t looking at Jinx. Or the crowd.

His eyes were locked on the stage.

On you.

You emerged in a blaze of light and sound. Not as someone he recognized—not at first. No. You were a storm given flesh, backlit by crimson strobes and framed by digital flames. You hit the first notes like they owed you a debt, voice cracking through layers of distortion and synth like a war cry. Hair damp with sweat, eyeliner smudged into sharp wings, you gripped the microphone like a blade, like it was your only weapon in a world too cruel to yield.

Behind you, the projection screen exploded with your name in graffiti-style lettering—sharp, jagged lines that pulsed with every drop of bass. The visual shattered, rebuilt, morphed. The letters danced, burned, faded into cityscapes and glitching stars.

Your music was pure defiance. Anarchy and art stitched together with neon thread. You didn’t just perform—you claimed the stage. Claimed the room. Commanded every wandering eye like gravity incarnate.

And Silco… Silco had been staring for nearly three minutes before he realized he wasn’t breathing.

Not fully.

There was a tick in his jaw. A subtle tilt of the head. The slow narrowing of his eye as something clawed its way up from the depths of memory. Familiarity. Disbelief.

“No,” he murmured, mostly to himself.

He took a step closer to the edge of the crowd, ignoring how Jinx kept dancing, shouting her praises with abandon. Ignoring Sevika’s side-eye from where she leaned against a pillar, cigarillo glowing faintly in the gloom.

Another spotlight arced across the stage. You spun with it, caught in the light.

And then you smiled.

That crooked smile.

The same one you used to flash him across low-lit tables in bars that reeked of sweat and electricity. The one you wore when you sang him your unfinished songs, barefoot and drunk on possibility. The one you gave him the night before he walked away—for a cause he chose over you.

His blood ran cold.

He didn’t hear the crowd anymore. Not the static of the speakers, or the thump of the bass, or Jinx yelling something about “murder-synth soulcore.” He didn’t hear Sevika stepping closer, or the hiss of smoke at his shoulder.

All he saw was you. You, alive. You, still burning. You, not a ghost like he’d convinced himself.

“Shit,” Sevika muttered beside him, exhaling slowly. “You didn’t know, did you?” Silco’s jaw clenched, the muscles twitching.

His voice was barely audible. “I thought she was dead.”

Sevika scoffed, dry and bitter. “You thought she would die quietly?”

The memory hit him like a punch.

You, throwing your boots up on his table, demanding he listen to your demo. You, shouting at him in the rain outside the Last Drop, tears mixing with stormwater. You, laughing in bed, half-naked and strumming your guitar with chipped black nails. You, gone before the war started in earnest—vanished without a goodbye.

He’d told himself you ran. Got out. Got lost. But part of him had mourned. Quietly. Privately. He’d never expected to see you again.

And now here you were, standing under a sky made of smoke and lasers, electric and untouchable, and singing like you had a score to settle with the gods.

Your last note rang out like a scream in the dark. The lights faded. The crowd erupted.

Jinx was still howling, now practically vibrating with excitement. “That was insane! I wanna die and come back as one of her guitar strings!”

She was halfway through tackling a merch girl for signed posters and a guitar pick when Silco turned away from the stage, his expression unreadable. He nodded once toward Sevika, who took the gesture without question.

“Deal with the crowd,” he said, his voice low and tight.

Sevika grunted. “You going to talk to her?” He didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure if he could. Because there you were—his past, his what-if, his Y/N—very much alive.

And walking straight toward the green room at the back of the warehouse.

The corridors behind the stage were narrow and hot, the walls stained with decades of grime and layered graffiti. The air was a cocktail of ozone, sweat, and the tang of electrical burn. Overhead, exposed copper wiring pulsed like veins beneath flickering overhead fixtures, casting sickly light across the concrete floor. Every few feet, speakers mounted with duct tape and rusted brackets buzzed with residual feedback, a ghost of the music still echoing.

Silco walked slowly, footsteps silent on the worn metal grating. His presence made people part around him, even back here—stagehands, lighting techs, and a bassist vomiting into a bucket. None of them met his eye. None of them dared to.

He moved like a shadow, a storm wrapped in black wool and leather. His coat brushed the backs of his calves, weighted at the hem, and in his gloved hand he carried nothing but time—measured and heavy. He passed cases of battered equipment, tangled cords, a cracked amp with your name stenciled on it in peeling neon ink.

Your name.

He hadn’t seen it in years.

And he hadn’t known—not truly, not until the lights hit your face—that it was you.

His Y/N.

He had stood still in that pulsing warehouse, like someone sucker-punched him clean in the gut. Watching you—alive, electric, on fire beneath a sea of ultraviolet chaos—had made the rest of the world drop away. Gone was the thrum of bass. Gone was Jinx’s delighted shrieking. Gone was Sevika’s voice in his ear.

All that remained was you. Like you always had been, in the places that mattered. In the quiet corridors of his mind that shimmer hadn’t touched.

Now, as he approached the dressing room, the air thickened. The hallway narrowed like a throat. He could hear the gurgling pipes in the walls, the hiss of an ancient ventilation system wheezing above him, the buzz of a half-dead neon arrow pointing toward your room.

He stopped in front of the door. Chipped paint. A faded sign that once said “Talent Only” now read “Ta__nt O__y.” He didn’t knock.

He pushed it open.

Inside, the room was a cluttered shrine to noise and heat and memory. A cracked mirror stretched across one wall, its corners yellowed and rust-specked, ringed with old band stickers and torn setlists taped in crooked lines. A string of coloured bulbs hung haphazardly above it, only three of them still working. A vanity littered with makeup, empty bottles, guitar picks, cigarette butts.

And you.

You sat on a worn leather stool, elbows on your knees, head slightly bowed. A towel hung around your neck like a medal from battle, damp from the performance, curling at the edges. Your eyeliner was smeared down your cheekbones in the way Silco remembered—effortless chaos. A chipped ceramic mug steamed between your hands.

For a second, you didn’t see him. Then your eyes lifted—and found him. The tension hit the room like a dropped amp. Your whole frame stiffened, knuckles going white around the mug. The moment stretched like a guitar string pulled too tight.

“…Silco.”

The name escaped you like breath punched from lungs. Quiet. Staggered. But unmistakable.

And it did something to him.

His spine locked, his fingers curled slightly at his sides. You saying his name—it echoed in him. Like it always had. Not a greeting. Not yet. But recognition. Memory.

“You remember,” he said, and his voice was lower than the room, smoother than the ruin in his face would suggest.

You scoffed. One corner of your mouth quirked upward, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “Hard to forget the man who gave my sound system its first explosion. Literally.”

That smile. Still dangerous. Still sharp enough to draw blood.

Silco huffed, just a shadow of a laugh. “You always said the acoustics in The Sump were shit.”

“They were,” you said, standing slowly, the towel slipping from your shoulders. “You didn’t have to detonate a bass amp to prove it.”

His eyes traveled over you with something like reverence—haunted, careful. You looked older. Hardened. But not broken. Never broken. Your boots were still scuffed, laces fraying. Your jacket was patched with mismatched fabrics, sleeves rolled to the elbow to reveal forearms inked with soundwaves and jagged lyrics. Your hair was wilder than he remembered—longer, streaked with fresh color—and your eyes had that same molten fire behind them.

“You’ve changed,” you said finally, voice softer, not accusing—just noting.

“So have you.”

“The world forced us to.”

You walked past him then, slow, deliberate, and tossed the towel over the back of a folding chair. The room felt too small for the two of you now. Too cramped with unsaid things, shared ghosts. You picked up a half-smoked cigarette from the edge of the vanity and lit it, exhaling toward the ceiling.

“It nearly killed me. Twice,” you said after a moment, voice bitter around the smoke. “But the music? Still mine. Still loud. Still me.”

Silco didn’t move. Just studied you in the mirror’s fractured reflection.

“I looked for you,” he said, eventually. Your gaze snapped to him. He continued, slow and honest. “After the Undercity burned. After the refinery riots. I searched for months. I asked everyone.”

“And when they told you I was dead?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

His jaw clenched. “I believed them.” You turned away, shoulders rising and falling with something held back. The smoke curled around your fingers. “That night,” he said, “the fire by the old rail yard—”

“I made it out. Barely,” you cut in, tone clipped. “No thanks to you.” Silco took the blow without flinching. He deserved it. You both knew it. “But I stayed gone,” you continued. “Let people think I didn’t make it. Easier that way. Cleaner. No attachments.” He let the silence settle.

Let you have your breath.

“There’s a bar not far from here,” Silco said finally, voice quiet. “Quiet. Safe. I’d like to talk. Just… talk.” You didn’t respond right away.

Instead, you looked at him—really looked. Your eyes moved over his face, the scars, the strange stillness in his frame, the ache in his expression he probably didn’t realize he wore so plainly. The silence stretched again, this time different. This time uncertain.

Then—your shoulders lowered. Just a fraction. The wall cracked, only slightly, but enough.

“…Ten minutes,” you said, reaching for your bag. “I pack fast.” Silco nodded once, turned to go—but your voice stopped him again. “Silco.” He glanced back. You met his gaze. “I thought you were dead too.” Then you turned away.

And Silco stood there a second longer, letting those words sink deep into the place in him that still burned, still bled, still remembered you.

The bar was nestled deep in the industrial underbelly of Zaun, tucked behind a set of rust-flaked freight containers and a chain-link gate no one bothered to lock anymore. It wasn’t the kind of place you stumbled into by accident. No neon sign blared its name; only a dangling green bulb buzzed above the door like a half-dead firefly. The door creaked on its hinges when you pushed it open, reluctant to welcome guests. The interior was a dim sprawl of shadows and amber light, with low ceilings and peeling wallpaper the color of dried rust.

The few patrons inside didn’t look up. Regulars, mostly—men with oil under their fingernails, women in soot-smeared coats, the occasional Shimmer-burnt junkie curled in a booth like a warning. Smoke hung in the air like old memories, clinging to the warped wooden beams overhead. A radio in the back crackled low, the signal warped and static-laced, playing some jazz tune that had no business surviving down here. It was a place for ghosts and those who hadn’t realized they were ghosts yet.

You slid into the cracked vinyl booth across from him without a word. The seat hissed beneath you. The table between you wobbled slightly when you leaned your elbow on it. Silco was already seated, his coat draped neatly beside him, shoulders tense beneath the clean lines of his black suit. He hadn’t touched his drink.

You glanced down at his glass—brown liquor, ice long since melted—and then to your own. Whiskey. Cheap, warm, but sharp enough to hold your attention. You took a sip and let it burn down your throat before you spoke.

“So,” you said, casually, as if the question didn’t ache behind your ribs. You tapped a slow rhythm against the side of your glass, just three knuckles brushing the rim. “Is this nostalgia… or guilt?”

The corner of his mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. Not quite denial.

In the amber light, Silco looked smaller somehow. Still sharp around the edges—those knife-like cheekbones, the molten scar that split his face like a broken seam—but the years hung on him now like extra weight. He looked tired. Older. Not just in the grey at his temples, but in his posture, his eyes. In the way he sat like the world still had teeth.

“Is it wrong to say I missed you?” he asked, voice low, barely rising above the hum of the bar.

You studied him for a long beat. Watched the way his fingers curled around the base of his untouched glass, the way his gaze stayed on the table like it might crumble if he looked up. You remembered that voice. That silence. The way he used to speak only when the words truly mattered.

“Not wrong,” you said softly, “just late.”

Your fingers never stopped moving. They traced a lazy beat on the rim of your glass, a sound only the two of you noticed. You always tapped when you were thinking. He’d once called it your metronome—your way of keeping time in a world that never stopped trying to take it from you.

“I waited for you once,” you said, the words heavier than the glass in your hand. “Back when you disappeared after the refinery raid. Everything went to hell, and you just… vanished. No note. No word. No body.”

He flinched, barely perceptible. But you saw it. Felt it like a drop in pitch.

“I thought you were dead,” you went on, quieter now. “Or worse—that you chose to walk away. To let go of everything we built.”

“I didn’t think I had a future to offer you,” he said, voice frayed at the edges.

You watched the shadows move across his face. His eyes flicked up, met yours. Still sharp. Still unreadable.

“And now?”

There was a pause. A beat in which the world seemed to lean in, listening.

“Now I have a kingdom of ash,” he murmured, “and a daughter who only smiles when she listens to you scream into a microphone.”

You blinked, startled. Not at the metaphor—Silco had always spoken in poetic ruin—but at the word.

“…Daughter?”

He gave a single nod. “In every way that matters.”

You sat back, brows furrowed. “The girl with the grenades and the warpaint?”

He exhaled, a ghost of a smile flickering across his lips. “Jinx.”

You let out a low breath, almost a laugh. “She’s… electric. Beautiful, in a terrifying way. I didn’t know she was yours.”

“She isn’t,” he said. “Not by blood. But by choice. I took her in when the world abandoned her. Or maybe she found me. Hard to say anymore.”

“And my music?” you asked, softer now. “She listens to me?”

“She memorizes your lyrics. I hear her singing them in the dead hours of the night. When she thinks no one’s listening.” He paused. “It’s the only time she’s truly calm. Your music gives her something that isn’t rage. That isn’t pain.”

You stared down at your drink. Your hand had gone still.

“That means more than you know,” you whispered. And it did. More than applause, more than credits or fame. That it reached someone.

A silence settled then. Not the brittle kind that comes before a fight, or the aching kind that follows regret. This was heavier. Thicker. Full of things unspoken—of years lost and moments too fragile to touch.

Silco leaned forward. His voice dropped to a near-whisper. “Stay. Just for a while. Play more shows here. Let her have this. Let me have this. Even if it’s only a flicker of what we lost.”

You didn’t answer at first. You couldn’t. You looked at him—really looked—and saw not the man you’d once loved, but the remains of him. Scarred and shrouded, built of ash and fury and compromise. But somewhere under the soot… the ember still burned.

You slid your hand forward, fingertips grazing his.

“For one drink,” you whispered, “and one song.”

He didn’t smile. Not fully. But his eyes lit with something old. Something vulnerable. And you both knew.

There would be more.

#Arcane #arcane fandom #arcane fluff #silco x reader #silco x you #silco x y/n #reader insert #arcane angst

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oligbia · 1 month ago

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omg yes plsplspls

domestic daichi comes home from work (timeskip fs) and you cook his fav meal and hes just like omg im so in love how did i get so lucky 😼

SO okay this started as a 3k word thing but I cut it down to make it more bite-size... this only means I have another Daichi thing I'm sitting on teehee. I also didn't edit this as close so... my bad

Labor of Love

Sawamura Daichi X Reader

Tags: Sawamura Daichi X fem!reader (reader is referred to with she/her pronouns), Fluff, yearning, small and vague mentions of 'home checks' in police work

⠀˳ ˳ . ⋅ ॱ ˙ ॱ ⋅ . I take requests! Visit my profile to submit!˳ ˳ . ⋅ ॱ ˙ ॱ ⋅ .

Word count: 1k

Songs I thought about while writing this: "Unkown/Nth" by Hozier, "So Highschool" by Taylor Swift, "Banana Pancakes" by Jack Johnson

Daichi swore he would spend the rest of his life wondering what he did to be so lucky. He lived what he thought was a good life, holding doors for strangers, acting with kindness, and saying “sir” and “ma’am”, but he was convinced that a lifetime of goodness would have ever been enough to be blessed with an angel like you. He would spend the rest of his life devoted to you, the rest of his life spent solely to make sure he treated you right.

When he married you, writing vows was the hardest thing he ever had to do. Not because he didn’t have anything to say, but rather because he had so much to say there was no possible way to put it into words. There was no way to possibly capture just how much he loved you. No words could ever convey the way that you are the reason he continues to breathe, his devotion to loving you is his only purpose. He would get on his knees to worship every inch of you. He would go to the depths of the earth and claw his way back to show you how much he loved you.

And if he ever had to doubt why he loves you, it is the little scene in front of him that reminds him why he loves you.

You stood over the stove, humming a soft song to yourself as you cooked- wearing one of his discarded police academy shirts you reclaimed as your own and pajama pants. You were ethereal in the soft lights of the kitchen, glowing beautifully. He didn’t need to see your face to feel the familiar warmth in his chest when you smile- that soft, almost subtle smile when you think no one looking. But he’s looking, he sees it every time. and he cherishes it- revels in it.

He undoes his police shoes, hanging up his hat and vest in the coat closet, trying to be quiet- not wanting to startle you. He didn’t want to ruin such a perfect moment, such a perfect view. His blue police button down and black slacks still on, he creeps up behind you, wrapping his large arms around your waste.

He presses a firm kiss to the back of your neck, body immediately relaxing the second he notices the softness of your scent- the smell of home in his arms. He lets his head rest on your shoulder, eyes closed. He doesn’t say a word.

“hi, ‘mura,” You say with a soft laugh, resting one arm above his and the other still stirring dinner.

He hums softly into your neck.

“My love,” He mumbles softly, arms tightening, “I missed you.”

You sit the spoon down entirely, both of your hands now on top of his as they rest wrapped around your waist. He’s wearing the watch you bought him as a gift when he finished at the Police Academy. “I missed you. Long day?”

He just nods against your neck in response. It had been a long day, it was the day of the month all the community officers had to visit the homes listed for home checks. He hated those days- he hated the guilt he felt when he couldn’t save everyone who needed it, the guilt of knowing sometimes there is nothing he can do.

“Dinner will be done soon if you want it,” you offer softly to him, your fingers loosely intertwined with where they rest. He nods and reluctantly pulls back to change. He notices what you’re making-

“Shoyu Ramen.”

It was his favorite. He knew that you knew that. But what he also knew is that making it was a multiple days-long process of preparing meats and broths that need days to sit before you can cook. It’s a labor- but a labor of love. Once again- he wonders what he ever did for the universe to ever even consider allowing him to have someone as perfect as you.

You turn your head back to smile at him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “yea, it is,” you say softly, your voice sounds sweeter than honey to him. “Go put your work clothes to wash,”

He nods and catches your face gently in his hands, pressing a soft and firm kiss to your lips, all the worries and weight of his day melting as his lips meet yours. “Have I told you lately how much I love you?”

You smile again- this time one of the smiles you give him, a grin that makes your eyes sparkle just for him. “You have-“

He had told you- he told you the first thing when he woke up, he told you right before he left the house, he told you at least three times over text, and he was telling you right now. But to him, with how you absolutely held his entire universe in his hand, it would never be enough.

He takes your face in both of his hands, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Well, then let me remind you,” he starts, his voice soft and smooth, forehead to yours, “You, my love, make my world spin. You make me a better man, you keep my heart beating and my soul warm. I would be nothing without you, and I am forever grateful to be loved by someone as perfect as you.”

You hands come to rest on top of his,he can see the wedding band he put on your finger as soon as he was able to, a constant and physical reminder that love for you would be everlasting and would be with you for the rest of eternity. Until you were both in the ground next to each other, he would spend his lifetime loving you.

You were the best thing to ever happen in his life, and he was determined to make sure he could spend the rest of his life repaying the universe for the blessing of your life by being nothing but good.

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#[vanilla⭐️]#[Xreader🌿]#[haikyuu🍂]#haikyuu fanfic #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu #haikyu fanart #haikyu x you #daichi imagine #daichi headcanon #sawamura daichi #daichi x reader #daichi sawamura #Sawamura Daichi #daichi sawamura x reader

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speaknow-sw · 6 months ago

Text

THE POET AND THE ROSE

Content : fluff, betrayal, fluff, fluff, mentions of pregnancy.

A/N : 8.3k words omg I’m proud of myself. I like this chapter because it’s pure fluff with plot. Anyway there’s only three chapters left after this one 😭.

꧁ Chapter 6 : A Life Begins ꧂

From the Lays of General Anakin Skywalker, XIII century

The flesh is weak, yet burns divine,

A hunger shared, a sacred sign.

In whispered touch, the world unwinds,

Desire consumes, as hearts entwine.

Two Months Later

The signs had been subtle at first, easy to dismiss amidst the chaos of court life and the lingering shadows of betrayal. You had felt the change before you fully understood it—a gentle tiredness that seemed to settle into your bones, the way your body rebelled at certain foods, and a strange, unfamiliar ache deep within you. But it wasn’t until one quiet evening in the solitude of your chambers, painting at your easel, that the realization had struck with the force of a storm.

You had paused mid-stroke, the brush trembling in your hand as you pressed a palm to your abdomen, instinctively protective of the life you now knew was growing there. A child. Anakin’s child. Your chest had tightened with a mix of wonder and fear, tears slipping unbidden down your cheeks as the weight of the revelation settled over you.

But how could you tell him?

Days had passed, and the secret felt like a flame in your chest, burning brighter with every glance he gave you, every touch of his hand, every stolen kiss. You waited for the right moment, for the perfect words, but they never seemed to come. And now, lying in the soft cocoon of your shared bed as the morning sun painted gold over the walls, you knew you couldn’t wait any longer.

The bedchamber was bathed in the soft glow of early morning, sunlight filtering through the gauzy curtains, painting the walls in golden hues. Anakin stirred beside you, the warmth of his arm draped possessively over your waist. For the first time in months, there was no urgency, no danger clawing at the edges of your lives—only the fragile peace that had settled between you like a long-awaited truce.

He opened his eyes slowly, their stormy depths softening as they found you already awake. A rare, unguarded smile curved his lips, and he reached to brush a strand of hair from your face.

"You’re watching me again," he murmured, his voice still thick with sleep.

"I am," you admitted with a teasing smile. "You’re easier to study when you’re not scowling."

He huffed a soft laugh, his hand slipping to your cheek. "And you’re easier to adore when you’re smiling like that."

Your cheeks warmed under his gaze, and you turned your face slightly, pressing a kiss to his palm. Anakin shifted, propping himself up on one elbow so he could watch you more fully. The intensity of his gaze had always unsettled you before, but now, it made your heart race for entirely different reasons.

"Why do you look at me like that?" you whispered, your voice barely audible.

"Because I can," he said simply, his thumb brushing over your lips. "Because I don’t want to waste a single moment."

A comfortable silence followed as you lay there, tangled in the quiet intimacy of shared breaths and fleeting touches. It was in this moment, with his love laid bare and your heart so full it felt as though it might burst, that you knew you couldn’t keep your secret any longer.

"Anakin," you began, your voice trembling slightly.

He tilted his head, concern flickering across his face. "What is it?"

You hesitated, nerves tightening in your chest. Then, with a deep breath, you placed his hand gently over your abdomen. "We’re not alone anymore."

For a moment, there was only silence. Anakin stared at you, his brows knitting together in confusion before realization dawned. His hand tensed against you, his eyes widening.

"You mean…" His voice faltered, and he sat up fully, his gaze darting between your face and the place where his hand rested. "You mean there’s…?"

You nodded, tears brimming in your eyes. "A child. Our child."

A strangled sound escaped him—a mixture of disbelief and unbridled joy. He leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours, his hand trembling against your stomach.

"A child," he whispered, as if saying the words aloud would make them real. "Our child."

His other hand cupped your face, his lips finding yours in a kiss so tender it left you breathless. When he pulled back, his eyes were damp, his expression unguarded in a way you’d rarely seen.

"I never thought…" He shook his head, his voice breaking. "I never thought I’d have this. That I’d deserve this."

"You do," you said firmly, your own tears spilling over. "You deserve this, Anakin. You deserve everything."

He kissed you again, his hand never leaving your abdomen as if he feared the moment might vanish. When he finally pulled back, a mischievous grin tugged at his lips.

"I suppose this means I’ll have to be even more careful with you now," he said, his voice light but full of meaning.

"And you’ll have to stop taking so many arrows," you countered with a laugh, wiping at your cheeks.

He chuckled, the sound reverberating through you like a promise of brighter days. Then, with all the reverence of a man who had finally found something worth living for, he rested his head against your stomach and whispered, "I’ll protect you both. Always."

For a moment, neither of you spoke. He pressed his forehead against your abdomen, his hands cradling you as though he could somehow shield both you and the child within.

"I’ll protect you both," he repeated, his voice low and fierce. "I swear it. Nothing will ever harm you."

You ran your fingers through his hair, your heart swelling with love for this man who had so carefully guarded his heart until now. "I know," you whispered.

In that moment, with his arms wrapped around you and his love radiating so fiercely it felt like a shield, you believed him. For the first time, you dared to dream of a future beyond war, beyond duty—a future where love, not fear, shaped your lives.

From the Lays of General Anakin Skywalker, XIII century

Beneath my hand her womb softly sings,

A fragile promise, the weight of all things.

A vessel of stars with her body divine,

Carrying the future, forever entwined.

The morning sun cast long rays of light across the castle courtyard, gilding the stone walls and brightening the faces of the assembled crowd. Nobles in silk and armor lined the balconies, their curiosity veiled behind composed expressions. Below, commoners packed the square, their chatter a rising tide of speculation. The air was thick with expectation, the kind that settled before great moments.

Anakin Skywalker stood on the dais, his broad shoulders cloaked in a formal mantle, though his armor still bore the scratches and dents of battle. The sight of him commanded respect—his presence, forged in countless wars, left no room for doubt that this was a man of action, even amidst diplomacy.

Behind him, you lingered, draped in a gown of deep crimson that framed your figure elegantly. Your hands rested gently on your stomach, though the gesture was discreet. You were still adjusting to the weight of the news, the sheer gravity of what was to come.

Anakin turned slightly, his sharp blue gaze finding yours. The flicker of a smile softened the resolute lines of his face, a private exchange amid the public spectacle. Then, he faced the crowd and raised his hand, commanding silence.

“My people,” he began, his deep voice carrying effortlessly over the gathered throng, “we stand today in the fragile peace that follows war. These stones underfoot have borne witness to centuries of bloodshed and strife, of alliances forged and broken. Yet, today, I bring you a new promise—a reason to look beyond the scars of the past.”

The murmurs quieted entirely, the crowd hanging on his every word.

“It is with pride and humility that I announce a union not only between lands but within my own house. My wife,”—he paused, gesturing toward you with a reverence that made your breath catch—“carries within her a child.”

A ripple of astonishment coursed through the crowd. Gasps escaped lips, eyes widened, and an audible shift of energy swept through the courtyard. The nobles exchanged glances, their veiled thoughts unreadable, while the common folk clutched at their neighbors, whispering fervently.

“A child,” Anakin continued, his voice unyielding as he cut through the rising murmur, “born of two nations. A symbol of unity in a time when division would seek to undo us. This child will embody not only the blood of two kingdoms but the hope of peace that binds us all.”

The crowd’s reaction was a mixture of awe and uncertainty. Applause began hesitantly, building into a crescendo of cheers. Yet not all faces were jubilant. Among the French nobles, Count Aulbry’s expression tightened, his calculating gaze fixed on Anakin. Nearby, a cluster of English lords exchanged furtive looks, their smiles forced.

Anakin stepped closer to you, his hand extending. You accepted it without hesitation, your fingers trembling slightly in his firm grasp. He turned to face the crowd with you at his side, his voice now softer, yet no less commanding.

“This child is more than a bond of blood. It is a covenant,” he said, his eyes sweeping the audience before returning to you. “Let this life be a bridge, a reminder that no force of man or steel can sever what love and hope have built.”

The cheers erupted anew, though you could still sense the undercurrent of tension among the nobles. Even as their voices rose, clapping hands and ringing bells filling the air, you caught sight of Count Aulbry turning away, his lips a thin, displeased line.

You squeezed Anakin’s hand, grounding yourself in his steady presence. He glanced down at you, his expression softening in a way few had the privilege to see. His thumb brushed your knuckles, a silent reassurance.

As the crowd’s cheers continued, Anakin leaned closer, his words meant only for you. “Their faces betray their smiles,” he murmured. “This news binds us together, my rose, but it also stirs those who would see us fall. Be vigilant.”

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. For a fleeting moment, you longed to retreat from the weight of it all, to find solace in the quiet of your chambers, where the world’s scrutiny could not follow.

As the crowd slowly began to disperse, Anakin led you back toward the castle. The walk through the corridors was quieter than you had expected. His hand never left yours, his touch an anchor against the storm brewing in your mind.

Once you were alone in the warmth of the great hall, he paused, turning to face you fully. His hands framed your face, roughened palms gentle against your skin.

“Thank you,” he said softly, the intensity in his voice making you blink.

“For what?” you whispered, overwhelmed by the depth of his gaze.

“For giving me this,” he replied, his hand dropping to your abdomen. “For giving us this.”

The vulnerability in his voice, the way it cracked under the weight of his emotions, made your eyes well with tears.

“And thank you,” you whispered back, “for standing beside me when the world watches and whispers.”

He kissed you then, deeply, as though trying to etch that moment into his soul. The world outside the castle walls could rage and plot, but in that instant, nothing else existed but the two of you.

From the Lays of General Anakin Skywalker, XIII century

Within her womb, a kingdom stirs,

A bridge of blood, where hope confers.

The wars may rage, the world may scheme,

But here we stand, love’s quiet dream.

The soft glow of candlelight filled the room, casting long shadows on the walls as Anakin held you close. The sound of murmurs from the bustling servants outside seemed a distant hum. It was just the two of you, in a world where only your love existed.

His hand moved from the curve of your waist to wrap around you, pulling you nearer. The women outside the chamber whispered their gossip, but none of it mattered now. He only cared for you.

Anakin placed his chin on the top of your head, inhaling your scent. His breath was warm against the crown of your hair, and for a moment, there was silence between you both. He just wanted to feel you close, to savor this rare peace.

"I love you, more than my own life," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

You leaned back slightly, a soft laugh escaping your lips as you smacked his chest playfully. "Don't say that," you protested. "It’s bad luck."

He chuckled, but there was no humor in it. Instead, his arm tightened around you, pulling you even closer, his breath fanning across your neck. A quiet sigh escaped his lips, and he spoke again, this time softer, as though surrendering to his own feelings. "I love you… more than my own life."

You bit your lip, the weight of his words pressing against your heart. "It’s not something you should say," you whispered. "Saying you value someone over your own life is a serious thing."

He nodded, a hint of seriousness creeping into his eyes. Gently, he turned your chin so that your gazes met. His blue eyes locked onto yours, and for a long moment, neither of you moved. "I know," he said, his voice low, "and I mean it."

His hand cupped your face, his thumb brushing under your eye, tracing the outline of your cheek. "I mean it," he repeated, his gaze unwavering. "I would rather die a thousand deaths than live without you."

His words struck you, not with fear but with the deepest affection you had ever known. A small tremor passed through you as you tried to find something to say, something to counteract the weight of his promise. "You shouldn’t say that, Anakin," you whispered, shaking your head. "It’s wrong on so many levels."

He nodded again, knowing the truth of your words but unable to keep from speaking them. His thumb slid gently over your lips, as if tracing the very words he had just spoken. He leaned in, his voice a whisper now, close enough that his breath brushed your skin. "I know. But I’m being honest. I do love you more than my own life."

A soft sigh escaped you, and you closed your eyes, the tenderness of the moment overwhelming you. "Did you come here to recite poetry, Lord Skywalker ?" you asked playfully, a smile tugging at your lips.

He chuckled, his fingers brushing along your cheek and jaw, moving with the ease of someone who knew you better than anyone else. "No," he replied with a smirk, his voice playful yet sincere. "I didn’t come for poetry." He held your chin gently, looking deep into your eyes, his thumb caressing your lips once more. "I came back to see you," he murmured, his voice softening. "I wanted to see my wife after hours apart."

You smiled, a warmth spreading through you at the thought. "Isn’t that worth a little poem from you?" you teased, raising an eyebrow.

He grinned, his smile broadening as he kissed your forehead. His fingers lingered on your waist before he pulled you closer, his hands soft on your skin. "A poem for my wife ?" he repeated, his voice playful. "Hmm, I’ll have to think about what to write." He acted as though deep in thought, then looked at you with a smirk that made your heart race.

"I hum softly to your beauty, love, and grace," he began, his voice taking on a tender note. "I will search for your heart, if you take it elsewhеre. Even if in your dances, othеrs fill your hours. I will search for your soul, in the cold, in the flames. I will cast magic spells at you, for you to love me forever."

The words hung in the air, like a promise, like a vow. He kissed the tip of your nose, and you closed your eyes, feeling the depth of his feelings wrap around you.

"You got me used to better, Lord Skywalker," you said softly, the words tinged with amusement.

He chuckled, shaking his head. His thumb moved to your lips once more, brushing them softly. "You are my better," he said with quiet confidence, his voice low and tender. "Don’t doubt that for a second. I am a better man around you. I’m softer, gentler... and I like being gentle with you."

His words warmed your heart, and as his thumb gently traced the outline of your lips, you couldn’t help but smile. "Am I worth your poetry then?" you asked, a teasing tone in your voice.

He smiled, his eyes gleaming with affection. "You are worth more than that," he said, his voice serious now. "I could write a whole damn book full of poetry about you. Every single page would be filled with words about the love I feel for you... and it still wouldn’t be enough to express it all."

You laughed softly, your heart swelling with the love he poured into you. "Did you write that in your little poetry notebook ?" you teased, giving him a playful smile.

He chuckled, shaking his head. "No," he replied, his voice warm and full of affection. "I said it from memory... for how many times I’ve thought about it, for how many times I’ve said it to myself."

His hand slipped from your lips, and he kissed your forehead once more. "For how many times I’ve wanted to write it down," he whispered, his words lingering in the air between you.

He pulled you into a gentle hug, his arms surrounding you as he pressed his chin to your head. And in that moment, you knew, without a doubt, that the love you shared was something beyond anything you had ever dreamed.

Three Weeks Later

The grand ballroom shimmered in the soft light of hundreds of candles, their flames flickering like little stars suspended in time. The rich, velvet tapestries that adorned the walls caught the light, painting the room in hues of deep red and gold. The melodies of a string quartet filled the air, gentle but with an underlying tension that seemed to hum just beneath the surface. Tonight was supposed to be a celebration, a grand ball thrown in honor of the child you carried for now three months, a moment of joy in a world shadowed by war and betrayal.

Anakin, looking every bit the warrior he was, stood at your side as the evening unfolded. His gaze, though warm when it met yours, seemed to flicker with something else—a restlessness that had become more pronounced in recent weeks. His hand, ever so gentle on your waist, was the only anchor you felt in the sea of polite chatter and forced smiles. But even his touch could not mask the distance that had been growing between you both. Anakin was a man of action, of purpose, and the palace's ornate dances—both literal and political—had never been kind to him.

The music played on as Anakin stepped away from you with an apologetic look, his lips curling into a half smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Please enjoy yourself, my rose," he murmured, the words laced with affection but also an unspoken understanding. He had to leave you—duty called. As the host, it was his responsibility to oversee the evening, but it was more than that. Anakin had his eyes on a different prize tonight: the King.

You watched him slip away, his figure becoming a blur in the crowd of dancers and courtiers. He moved with purpose, his sharp gaze scanning the room as he made his way to the King. Your heart sank just slightly, not from jealousy, but from the ache of knowing what awaited him in the King's chambers. Another attempt to open the monarch’s eyes to the treachery festering within his own court. You knew he would fail again, just as he always did. The King, blinded by his pride and political games, refused to acknowledge the threat that lurked at their doorstep.

You had no intention of following him, not tonight. Instead, you sought refuge in the dimmer corners of the ballroom. But even as you tried to lose yourself in the music and the laughter of the nobility, your mind kept drifting back to him.

The King’s chambers were draped in opulence, a grand, imposing space filled with the weight of centuries of power. Rich velvet curtains hung over tall windows that overlooked the expansive gardens, their vibrant colors muted in the late afternoon light. The room smelled faintly of incense and old parchment, a blend of history and authority that had long been unchallenged. And yet, in the midst of it all, Anakin felt a weight heavier than the gold on the walls, a suffocating pressure that was more than the King's physical presence—it was the weight of his ignorance.

King Edward sat at the head of an immense wooden table, his posture regal, but his eyes were distant, unfocused, as though he were far from the matters at hand. A goblet of wine sat before him, untouched, a symbol of his disinterest in the serious matters his kingdom faced. His advisors, those loyal sycophants who hovered like vultures, waited in silence for their King to speak, but it was clear they, too, were tired of this endless charade.

Anakin stepped forward, his boots scraping against the cold stone floor, breaking the silence with the weight of his own presence. His heart thudded in his chest—not from fear, but from the anger that simmered beneath his skin. He had seen enough, heard enough, and he was ready to lay it all bare.

“Your Majesty,” Anakin began, his voice a low, controlled growl that betrayed the tension in his body. “The French are preparing to strike. Their treachery has already begun. If we do not act now, the bloodshed will be on our hands. My sources—”

King Edward raised a hand lazily, his fingers brushing the surface of his goblet, the motion more dismissive than anything else. “General, please.” His voice was smooth, like silk slipping over stone, but it held none of the urgency or gravitas that the situation demanded. “I do not need to hear your reports of spies and rumors. I have dealt with these matters before.”

Anakin clenched his jaw, the need to maintain his composure burning inside him like a wildfire. He was no fool. He knew the King’s mind, and it was as stubborn and inflexible as the walls of the castle itself. But even so, he pressed on, his words a sharpened weapon.

“The reports are not rumors,” he insisted, his gaze steady and unflinching. “I have seen their movements myself. The French are gathering forces. They have spies within our borders, and I have witnessed their military preparations. This is not just a skirmish; this is the beginning of something far worse. We cannot wait any longer. War is coming, and we must be ready.”

The King’s eyes flickered, but he did not rise from his chair. He took a languid sip from his goblet, his gaze never leaving Anakin. “War, you say? And who exactly are we supposed to declare war on? The French nobility? The King of France himself? No, Skywalker. I will not throw this kingdom into chaos over the whispers of an unsettled general.”

Anakin’s hands balled into fists at his sides. His pulse quickened, blood rushing to his head, but he held back the fury that was threatening to explode. “The French have made their intentions clear. We cannot sit idle and hope this resolves itself. They will attack. If you do not act now, there will be no kingdom left to protect!”

King Edward set his goblet down slowly, his eyes narrowing, his voice dripping with condescension. “And what of my kingdom? What of the people I rule?” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as he studied Anakin. “Your zeal for battle is admirable, but you fail to see the bigger picture. I will not waste resources, time, and men on a war that is not yet upon us. You speak of French treachery, but what of our own treachery? What if this is nothing more than a product of your own paranoia?”

Anakin’s patience snapped.

“Paranoia?” he spat, his voice rising with a dangerous intensity. “I’ve fought on the frontlines, Your Majesty. I have bled for this kingdom, for you. You sit here, comfortable in your ivory tower, while the world around us burns. You think this is paranoia? These are facts, not delusions!”

The room seemed to hold its breath, the tension thickening with each passing second. The King’s face hardened, his eyes cold as they met Anakin’s. For a moment, it seemed as though the two men might tear at each other, their differences too vast to bridge.

“You forget your place, Anakin,” the King said, his tone low and dangerous, a warning that rang louder than any shouted command. “You are a soldier. You have no right to question me, to demand anything from me. You are my subject, nothing more.”

Anakin’s chest heaved with a deep, ragged breath. How humiliating the King was by calling him by his name. The truth of it hit him then—the King was not just blind to the truth; he was willfully blind, choosing to live in ignorance for the sake of his own comfort. Anakin could feel the weight of the crown’s power in the room, but it was not a weight that humbled the King. No, it was a weight that corrupted him, twisted him into something less than a leader and more like a petty tyrant.

“If you refuse to see reason,” Anakin said, his voice a low, dangerous promise, “then I will take this to the people. I will not sit back and watch while you put us all in danger.”

The King’s lips twisted into a humorless smile. “And what exactly do you think you’ll do, Anakin? You’ve no power here. You’re a soldier, nothing more. You may have been given a title, but you forget who holds the power in this kingdom.”

Anakin took a step forward, his gaze unwavering, his body tense with suppressed rage. “Then let me remind you, Your Majesty. I have the loyalty of your soldiers, the respect of the people. And when the time comes, it will not be your gold and your title that will protect you. It will be the strength of those who stand with what is right. And right now, that is not you.”

The room was still, deathly silent. The King’s eyes flared with anger, but he did not move. He simply looked at Anakin with the same cold detachment he had displayed all evening, as though this was all some game.

“You will regret this, General,” he said, his voice dangerously calm. “Mark my words.”

Anakin’s lips tightened into a grim line. “Perhaps. But history will remember the truth, Your Majesty. And it will remember those who acted in the face of it.”

Without another word, he turned and walked out of the chamber, his footsteps echoing through the silence, the weight of the King’s indifference following him like a shadow.

Outside the chamber doors, Anakin’s heart pounded in his chest, his mind racing with fury. He knew the King would never change. But he also knew that the battle was not over, not by a long shot. The kingdom was on the brink of destruction, and no matter how many times Anakin tried to warn him, the King would not listen until it was too late.

And by then, it would be Anakin’s job to pick up the pieces.

Hours passed, but no word came. The night seemed to drag on, each moment more strained than the last. Anakin had not returned, and you felt the weight of his absence in your chest. The idea of him facing the King, alone, with nothing but words to defend a kingdom, made your stomach twist. You knew he would be met with the same stone wall, his words unheard in the face of the King’s stubbornness.

And then, just as you began to wonder if perhaps you should find him, the doors to the ballroom burst open. Anakin stormed in, his jaw clenched, his expression fierce and unreadable. The room, once alive with conversation, fell silent at his entrance. All eyes turned to him, but none dared approach. He was a tempest contained in human form, his anger a palpable force that hung in the air. He moved toward you, not stopping to acknowledge the curious gazes or hushed whispers, his stride unyielding.

You were already rising from your seat, but before you could speak, he reached you, his hand gripping your arm tightly, as though needing to anchor himself to something—someone. His breath came in quick, shallow bursts, his chest heaving as though he had just been in a fight, though the only battle he’d faced had been with words.

“Anakin…” you murmured, your voice soft, laced with concern. His name fell from your lips like a prayer, a desperate attempt to reach him, to soothe the storm that raged inside him.

He didn’t respond right away. Instead, his gaze seemed to bore into yours, as if seeking comfort in the only place that still made sense to him. His free hand clenched into a fist, then released, only to repeat the process. Finally, he exhaled a shaky breath and spoke, his voice thick with anger.

“The King,” he spat, his words sharp as daggers. “He refuses to see reason. He will not declare war against the French, despite the clear treachery, despite the evidence that—” He broke off, shaking his head in disbelief. “He refuses to act, and all because he is more concerned with his own image, his own power, than the safety of his people!”

You reached out, touching his arm gently, a small, grounding gesture, but Anakin didn’t seem to notice. His eyes were wild, as though the weight of his failures had become too much to bear. His voice, usually so controlled, cracked under the strain of his frustration.

“Did you see him?” he demanded, his face flushed with the intensity of his emotions. “Did you see the way he dismissed my warnings? As though my words are nothing, as though the fate of this kingdom is nothing but a game to him. He can’t see beyond his own damn selfishness.”

You could feel his frustration building with each word, the heat of his anger radiating off him. And though your heart ached for him, you knew that there was little you could say to ease the pain of his disillusionment. The King’s refusal to act had cost him far more than political approval; it had cost him faith in the very system he had fought so hard to protect.

“Anakin…” You said his name again, this time with more force, as if to pull him out of his spiraling thoughts. “You did everything you could. You tried. But if he will not listen, if he will not see reason, then you cannot force him.”

He shook his head, his eyes dark with frustration. “And what of the people? What of our people? What of your people, my rose? Shall we sit idle while they are slaughtered in the streets?” His voice had softened on the last words, his gaze flickering down to where your hand rested on his arm.

You stood in silence for a moment, unsure of how to offer comfort when there was so little hope to offer. You had known the King’s stubbornness well enough to understand that his refusal to act wasn’t about ignorance—it was about fear. Fear of losing his power, fear of facing the consequences of his decisions. And now, that fear was condemning the very kingdom they had sworn to protect.

Anakin’s grip on your arm tightened for a moment, and then, just as quickly, it loosened. He exhaled a breath, his shoulders slumping slightly as though the weight of the evening had finally taken its toll on him. He looked up at you, his eyes darkened with exhaustion and a new kind of bitterness.

“Tonight was supposed to be about celebrating,” he murmured, his voice quieter now, a stark contrast to the fiery anger that had gripped him moments before. “And yet, all I feel is…betrayed.”

The word hung in the air between you, a silent acknowledgment of the emotional toll the night had taken on him. You felt the ache of his weariness, the deep-seated frustration that gnawed at him, and in that moment, you wanted nothing more than to take away his pain, to make it disappear.

You took a step closer to him, your hand reaching up to touch his cheek. He didn’t flinch, but his eyes closed briefly at your touch, as though your presence was the only thing keeping him grounded.

“It’ll be okay…you’re resourceful, General,” you said softly, your voice a promise, a balm to his wounded heart. “And I trust you.”

Anakin’s eyes flickered open, and for the first time that night, something softer seemed to stir within them. A silent gratitude, an unspoken understanding.

For a moment, it felt as though the weight of the world had lifted from his shoulders, if only just a little.

But even in that fleeting moment of peace, the reality remained unchanged. The King had made his decision, and Anakin’s fight was far from over.

From the Lays of General Anakin Skywalker, XIII century

A soldier’s loyalty, a leader’s pride,

Can only go so far before worlds collide.

The King’s blindness is his greatest chain,

As his strength breaks free from his reign.

Unknown POV, Unknown Day

In the dimly lit chamber of the King of France, the air was heavy, thick with the scent of wax and velvet, with shadows draping over the stone walls. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting dancing shapes across the floor, but it did nothing to warm the chill that had settled in the room. Count Aulbry stood before the King, his presence a calculated weight in the silence. His gaze was steady, unwavering as he watched the monarch, who sat slumped upon his throne, the weight of the world seemingly pressing upon his shoulders. The King had aged since Aulbry’s last visit, his once-proud stature now marked by the growing weight of doubt, fear, and the heavy responsibilities of a reign threatened on all sides.

“Your Majesty,” Aulbry’s voice sliced through the stillness, rich and low, his words curling like smoke around the King’s consciousness. He had long since learned the art of speaking in half-truths, a skill that would serve him well in the game he played.

King Phillip’s gaze was sharp, though his weariness showed in the slouch of his shoulders, the way his hand rested weakly upon the arm of the throne. He had not answered Aulbry’s greeting but instead regarded the count with a long, careful stare. Finally, the King spoke, his voice gravelly, tired.

“What is it you want, Aulbry?”

The Count smiled, a practiced, predatory smile that had served him well in his rise to power. He knew how to make men bend to him without them realizing it. “I want to offer you a solution, Majesty. A way to reclaim everything that is rightfully yours.”

Phillip’s eyes narrowed, suspicion creeping into his bones like a snake. “What are you speaking of?”

Aulbry stepped closer, his boots clicking softly against the stone floor. He lowered his voice, though there was no need—he knew the King was already listening intently. “The General. Anakin Skywalker. Your daughter’s husband.”

Phillip’s face twitched at the mention of Anakin’s name. There was a deep resentment in those eyes, something far darker than simple dislike. There was fear there too. Fear of losing control, fear of a man whose power seemed to grow by the day, a man whose strength was respected and feared not just by the French but by all who knew him. But it was also that power—Anakin’s influence—that was now the crux of their problem.

“You have a plan,” the King murmured, more to himself than to Aulbry.

“Indeed,” Aulbry said smoothly, his voice like silk wrapping around the King’s nerves. “A plan that will see you regain everything you’ve lost. You see, the news I bring will shake the very foundation of their alliance.” He paused for a moment, letting the tension in the room build like a storm. “The Princess is with child, Your Majesty. The General’s child.”

Phillip blinked, a flicker of surprise—then quickly replaced by anger—flashing across his features. He straightened in his chair, his hand tightening around the armrest. “A child? This changes nothing. The treaty is sealed. Their union is a farce.”

Aulbry stepped forward, speaking more urgently now. “It changes everything. This child—this heir—makes the union all the more permanent. It ties your daughter irrevocably to him, to the General. And that, Your Majesty, is what we can use to our advantage.”

Phillip’s brow furrowed, his lips pressing together in thought. “What are you suggesting?”

Aulbry’s eyes gleamed with a predator’s hunger. He knew the King was wavering, his thoughts clouded by emotion, fear, and frustration. Aulbry had dealt with such men before. He would break him down.

“You have a chance here, Your Majesty,” Aulbry said, lowering his voice, leaning in closer to the King. “Anakin Skywalker’s influence is growing, and it is no longer just a matter of politics. His presence, his marriage to your daughter—it’s a symbol of strength, of power. But it also presents an opportunity. A weakness.”

“A weakness?” the King repeated, his voice low, cautious.

Aulbry smiled, sensing his moment. “Yes. The child, your daughter’s pregnancy. That’s where we strike. You must act before the General grows too strong. You see, the General may have won his battles, but in this case, it is not his strength that matters. It is his heart. He is blinded by love for your daughter and for the child she carries. His loyalty is torn between family and duty, and the moment he becomes too distracted, too weak, we strike.”

Aulbry’s gaze hardened, his voice growing more deliberate. “The General would lay down his life for your daughter, and he would defend her child as fiercely as he would defend his men. You know this.” He paused, letting the weight of his words settle before continuing. “But that is precisely why he will fall. His people love him. They would die for him. He has built something—something that will never be torn down by force alone.”

The King’s brow furrowed. “The General loyalty to his people…” he muttered under his breath. “His army is an extension of him. They would follow him to the ends of the earth. The Brits love their General, and he’s won their hearts with his courage.”

“Yes,” Aulbry said, almost quietly, as though speaking a dangerous truth. “His love for his people and their devotion to him are his strength. But it is also his vulnerability. He cannot bear the thought of failing them. And this is where we can strike.”

Aulbry took a step forward, his voice lowering to a near whisper, as though revealing a carefully guarded secret. “The Scots are not as united as they seem. There are traitors within their ranks, bought by the French crown. They have been undermining the Scottish leadership, feeding us information, causing strife in the ranks. It’s a delicate web we’ve spun, but one that will unravel when the time is right.”

Phillip sat silent for a long moment, staring into the flames. The weight of Aulbry’s words settled heavily in the room, thickening the air with dark possibility. Finally, he spoke, his voice a low murmur. “And what do you propose?”

“I propose that we take advantage of this moment, Your Majesty. Skywalker’s love for your daughter will blind him. His attachment will be his downfall. The General will fall, and you—will regain what is rightfully yours.”

The King’s expression hardened, and Aulbry knew he had him. The desperation, the fear of losing control, the relentless need for power—it was all too much to ignore. In that moment, the King could feel his grip on the throne loosening, slipping away like sand through his fingers. He needed to regain control. He needed to act.

Aulbry stepped back, letting the King absorb his words. “An ambush, Your Majesty. It is the only way.”

Phillip looked up at him, his face unreadable now. “How?”

Aulbry smiled, his voice soft and menacing. “You already have soldiers loyal to you, my King. You already have the means. We strike swiftly, decisively. The General won’t know what hit him.”

The King took a deep breath, his mind racing. The idea was seductive—simple, almost too easy. His daughter and her unborn child would be used as bait. The General’s love for her would make him vulnerable. And once Anakin was removed from the equation, the throne would be his again.

“Yes,” King Phillip said at last, the decision made. His voice was cold now, final. “We strike before the child is born. We do this quickly.”

Aulbry nodded, his face lit with a quiet triumph. “As you wish, Your Majesty.”

And with that, the plans for betrayal were set in motion. What had begun as a carefully orchestrated plan to use a marriage for peace had now spiraled into a dark, dangerous game. A game in which the stakes were higher than ever, where loyalty was nothing more than a fleeting illusion, and where betrayal would come at the cost of blood, love, and a kingdom’s soul.

As Aulbry left the King’s chamber, the weight of the upcoming attack settled on him, the sense of impending danger thick in his chest. He had won for now, but he knew it was only the beginning. The General would not fall without a fight. And when the bloodshed began, it would be nothing short of catastrophic.

But for now, the stage was set. The King’s power would be restored, and the Princess’s happiness was a casualty in the war for control.

Extract from an anonymous letter, dated 1294.

…and word has reached us of a significant movement of troops from France—seven thousand men, marching swiftly under the cover of darkness, now shifting direction toward England. Their intentions remain veiled, yet their numbers and sudden reorientation suggest a calculated strike. It is clear that they have been set with the aim to disrupt the delicate balance of power in the Isles. We must act swiftly before the full strength of their forces can converge towards…

The morning sun filtered softly through the canopy of trees in the royal garden, casting dappled light across the ground. The air was warm with the scent of blooming roses and the fresh earth after an early morning rain. A gentle breeze whispered through the leaves, carrying with it the soft melodies of birds singing high above. It was a perfect day, a moment of quiet peace in a world that often felt too full of noise and chaos.

You sat on a weathered stone bench near a fountain, your eyes following the gentle ripples of water as it flowed over the carved stone. The garden, with its wild yet carefully tended beauty, seemed to encapsulate everything you had come to love about this place. It was calm, it was sacred, and it was your shared space. The air between you and Anakin was filled with a quiet, gentle happiness. The world felt still for the first time in so long, as if it was holding its breath in anticipation of something new—something beautiful.

Anakin, shirtless and with a focused look on his face, was kneeling beside a pile of smooth oak wood. The rhythmic sound of his carving echoed in the peaceful air as he worked meticulously on a crib, each stroke of the blade purposeful, each curve of the wood thoughtful. His broad, muscled back rippled with each movement, and his hair, damp with the summer heat, clung to his neck in soft tendrils.

You watched him with a soft smile, your heart swelling with a mix of love and wonder. He had never seemed more at peace than he did in this moment. It wasn’t the warrior, the general, the man who fought with all his might—this was the man who, despite the weight of the world on his shoulders, wanted to carve out a space of safety for the child you carried, for the family you were about to become.

His hands worked steadily, the delicate carving slowly coming to life beneath his touch. The sight of him so absorbed in the task, his brow furrowed in concentration, filled you with a quiet joy. You had often imagined this moment—life, love, and the promise of something new—yet it was better than you could have ever dreamed.

He paused for a moment, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. Then, as if sensing your gaze, he turned his head and smiled at you, the smile that always made your heart skip a beat. His eyes, dark and stormy with the depth of his feelings, softened as he looked at you.

"How does it look so far?" he asked, his voice deep but tinged with a hint of something softer, something tender.

You rose from the bench and walked over to him, your hand resting lightly on your rounded belly, your gaze fixed on the crib he was shaping. The smooth wood, still rough around the edges, already had a certain elegance to it. It wasn’t finished, but it was something you could already imagine your child sleeping in—your child, his child, the child that would grow in your arms, with the love and strength of both of you surrounding them.

"It looks perfect," you said softly, kneeling beside him. "You’ve done something beautiful, Anakin."

He smiled again, the warmth of his expression making your chest tighten. "I want everything to be perfect for them. For you. For our future."

He set the carving tool down and leaned back, stretching his arms above his head before letting out a small, satisfied sigh. His gaze shifted from the crib to you, and there was a moment of quiet before he spoke again. This time, his voice was quieter, more reflective.

"I keep thinking about the future," he said, his eyes looking out at the distant horizon as though he were imagining a world beyond the war, beyond the bloodshed and the pain. "I dream of a world where we don’t have to fight anymore. A world where our child can grow up in peace. A world where the only thing that matters is love."

You met his gaze, your heart filling with a tenderness that you could hardly put into words. You hadn’t realized how much you had craved that same hope—that same dream of peace—until you heard him speak it aloud. It was a dream you hadn’t dared to let yourself believe in fully, but now, in this quiet moment, it felt possible. It felt within reach.

"I dream of that too," you whispered, reaching out to take his hand. His fingers laced through yours, the touch grounding you in the moment.

He squeezed your hand gently, his thumb brushing over your skin in a soothing, steady rhythm. "I’ll do whatever it takes to make that dream real. For you, for me, for our child. I’ll fight to the end to give us a world where peace is more than just a dream. I’ll carve it into being, just like I’m carving this crib."

You smiled softly, your fingers moving to rest over your heart. "And I’ll be here, with you, every step of the way."

Anakin leaned closer, his lips brushing your forehead in a soft kiss. You closed your eyes, savoring the warmth of his touch, the comfort of his love surrounding you. In that moment, nothing else mattered—just the two of you, together, preparing for the future you had yet to see, but were determined to create.

As he returned to his work, carving out the future with his hands, you found yourself lost in the beauty of the moment. The crib would be ready in time. Your love would grow in time. And despite everything—the danger, the uncertainty—you knew one thing for certain: together, you and Anakin would make a world worth living in, a world where love and peace would finally reign.

And the baby—your baby—would know nothing but that love.

The air around them stilled as a young servitor rushed toward them, breathless and pale. With a trembling voice, he delivered the news, “My lord... Sir Obi-Wan... he’s been found dead, just beyond the village. They say it was an ambush... he didn’t make it.”

From the Lays of General Anakin Skywalker, XIII century

I wonder if she’ll be like you, my love, A little girl with a soul from above. Her laughter a sound that fills the air, A reflection of you, so gentle, so fair.

I can feel her in dreams, though she’s not yet here, Her tiny hands, her voice so clear. Will she have your eyes, the warmth of your smile? I long to hold her, even if just for a while.

#hayden christensen #anakin skywalker #anakin x reader #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker x you #anakin skywalker x female reader #evie writes

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rose24207 · 7 months ago

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Omg your fic 'Unseen tears' gave me an lando fic idea, where lando is being distant and staying out late and reader thinks he's cheating with all the secret phone calls as well but he's not cheating it's just a new enemy that's been close to then and he's trying to take care of it.

Is there someone else?

Summary: When Lando grows distant and secretive, leading you to suspect infidelity, you uncover his dangerous efforts to protect you from a rival threatening his place in the criminal underworld.

Genre: Mafia!Lando, angst, fluff

TW: Mafia, mention of cheating

A/N: Thank you so much for the request!! I hope you like it! English is not my first language. I hope you enjoy it though! Requests are open and welcome!

Masterlist

The glow of the clock on the bedside table read 2:37 AM. The spot beside you in bed was still cold.

Again.

You swallowed the lump in your throat as you turned over, staring at the empty space.

It wasn’t the first night Lando hadn’t come home on time. In the past two weeks, his excuses grew more vague, his explanations shorter.

“Work,” he’d said the last time.

Always work.

But the shadows in his green eyes told a story he wasn’t ready to share.

And then there were the phone calls. The ones he took in hushed tones, walking out of the room whenever his phone buzzed. You'd heard snippets—names you didn’t recognize, low threats you barely caught.

The doubt clawed at your chest. Was there someone else?

It seemed like the only logical explanation. He’d grown distant, withdrawn. The kisses were quick, the touches less tender. Your mind filled in the gaps with every worst-case scenario imaginable.

The next morning, you confronted him.

“Lando, we need to talk.”

He looked up from his cup of coffee, his sharp jaw tightening. “About what?”

“Don’t play dumb,” you said, setting your mug down harder than you intended. “You’ve been distant. You’re gone all the time, and I never know where you are. Then there are the phone calls—”

“I told you, it’s work.”

“That’s not enough anymore!” you snapped, your voice breaking. “You’re hiding something from me, and I—”

Lando’s chair scraped against the floor as he stood abruptly, running a hand through his curls. “It’s not what you think,” he said, his voice low, strained.

You scoffed. “Then tell me what it is, because from where I’m standing, it looks like—”

“Don’t,” he warned, his tone icy. “Don’t say it.”

Your heart clenched at the frustration in his voice, but you pushed forward. “If it’s not another woman, Lando, then what the hell is it?”

He didn’t answer.

He just stared at you, his jaw tight, before grabbing his jacket and heading for the door.

“I’ll be back later,” he muttered, slamming it shut behind him.

The spiral of doubt consumed you the rest of the day. You tried to distract yourself—cleaning, running errands, anything to keep your mind busy—but the weight of uncertainty hung over you like a storm cloud.

When the sun dipped below the horizon and Lando still hadn’t returned, you made a decision.

You were going to follow him.

It wasn’t hard to track him down. Lando wasn’t exactly subtle with his comings and goings, and you’d memorized the way his car sounded as it pulled out of the driveway.

You waited a few minutes after he left that night before slipping into your own car and trailing him.

He drove into the city, past the busy nightlife districts, to a darker, quieter part of town. Your pulse quickened as you watched him park outside an unmarked building.

He glanced around before slipping inside.

You waited a few moments before following, heart pounding.

Inside, the air was thick with tension. Dim lighting cast long shadows across the room, and the smell of smoke lingered in the air.

You hid behind a pillar, peeking around just in time to see Lando standing at a table, surrounded by men in suits.

He looked calm, collected, but there was an edge to his posture—a tension you recognized.

“You think you can just move in on my territory?” Lando said, his voice cold and sharp, carrying easily across the room.

One of the men chuckled darkly. “Your territory? You’re losing your grip, Norris. Everyone knows it.”

Lando’s jaw tightened, and you saw his hand subtly shift to the inside of his jacket. Your breath hitched.

“I’ll say this once,” Lando said, his tone deadly. “Stay away from me. Stay away from my people. And stay the hell away from her.”

Her. Your stomach dropped.

The man smirked. “Oh, you mean your pretty little girlfriend? What’s her name again—”

Before he could finish, Lando’s fist connected with his jaw. The room erupted into chaos.

You didn’t remember how you got home. Your mind was spinning with everything you’d seen and heard.

When Lando finally walked through the door, hours later, his shirt was rumpled, his knuckles bruised.

“You followed me,” he said, his voice low, his eyes dark as they met yours.

You didn’t deny it. “What the hell was that, Lando?”

He sighed, running a hand through his curls. “It’s complicated.”

“No,” you said firmly, stepping closer. “You don’t get to brush me off anymore. I need to know what’s going on. I deserve to know.”

For a moment, he just stared at you, his eyes searching yours.

Then, finally, he sighed.

“I didn’t want to drag you into this,” he said quietly. “I’ve been trying to keep you safe.”

“Safe from what?”

“From them,” he said, his voice heavy. “That man you saw tonight? He’s been causing problems. He’s dangerous. And he’s been threatening you.”

Your breath caught. “Me?”

Lando nodded, his jaw tightening. “That’s why I’ve been distant. Why I’ve been staying out late. I’ve been trying to handle it—keep him away from you.”

The weight of his words sank in, and suddenly, everything made sense. The late nights, the secret phone calls, the tension in his shoulders—it wasn’t because of another woman.

It was because he was trying to protect you.

You stepped closer, reaching for his hand. “Lando…”

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice breaking slightly. “I didn’t want you to worry. I thought if I could handle it on my own, you wouldn’t have to know.”

Tears welled in your eyes as you squeezed his hand. “I’m always going to worry about you. But we’re in this together, okay? You don’t have to do it alone.”

He pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly. “I promise, I’ll keep you safe,” he whispered.

And for the first time in weeks, you felt like you could breathe again.

Thank you for reading!

#lando norris #lando x reader #lando imagine #lando x you #f1 #fluff #mafia!lando #f1 mafia au #mafia #angst with a happy ending #angst

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that-foul-legacy-lover · 11 months ago

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HIIIIII

I'm HERE AGAINNNNN.

I was thinking about Ajax and Legacy again because I'm a Childe Ajax Tartaglia Foul Legacy kisser.

Anyway his like...half transformation form is so cool and cute and everything nice. The one in the second phase of his boss fight, I mean.

ITS LIKE A MIX OF THEM BOTH I LOVE ITTYTTTTTT

How would he act when he's like that? It's like childe but with fangs and claws? Most importantly. DOES HE PURR?????? I need to cuddle both Childe and Legacy at the same time omg

don't worry we are all Childe Ajax Tartaglia Foul Legacy the Devouring Deep the Eleventh Fatui Harbinger kissers here

first and foremost: YES HE PURRS :) it's more subtle than when he's in full Foul Legacy mode, a quiet rumbling as his throat lightly vibrates, but it's constant and steady and tinged with an undeniable note of delight. from far away he just looks like Childe with a mask on until you look closer, a glimpse of blackened skin beneath his gloves and a tiny pair of red horns peeking out through his unruly ginger locks. he perks up the moment you turn your, dropping his weapons and jogging over to squeeze you in the tightest hug in the world, spinning you around with a happy hum. his claws tear through the fingers of his gloves, lightly caressing your face and poking your cheeks and nose and forehead. it's easier to speak, compared to Foul Legacy, so over and over he repeats your name, savoring it like some treasure made of jade and pearls as he pulls you close and buries his masked face against the back of your neck

the mask is still removable, like this, Childe's face splashed with tendrils of dark purple and black creeping up his skin. yet you can still pinpoint every freckle, his eyes following your tapping fingers, the sclera pitch black. he nibbles on your hand as it passes, grinning at you with pointed teeth and dimples before leaning against your palm with a meltingly sweet smile. this form hurts, torn between two worlds and two bodies, but under your touch and care all he feels is an undying warmth, azure eyes glinting with rare, fond light. it's like being hugged and held and squeezed and twirled by both Childe and Foul Legacy, his voice a mixture of the Harbinger's boisterous laugh and the Abyssal monster's deep, growling croons, and the violet lightning swirling around him never seems to harm you, no matter how brightly it burns. he always murmurs quietly, asking for you to please keep holding him as his body shifts and cracks, leaving you with an tired but smiling Childe or a very happy and pleased Foul Legacy in your arms

#genshin impact #childe #tartaglia #foul legacy #foul legacy childe #genshin tartagalia #genshin childe #genshin tartaglia #YALL IT IS STORMING AND THUNDERING OUTSIDE #THERE IS LIGHTNING ACTION #i'm so happy it hasn't really rained here for like a month #gonna go snuggle with foul legacy under blankets now hehe #also anon you are so incredibly right #short scenario #other's stuff #good evening #chit chat #anon #FAVE

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toadettely · 18 days ago

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What animals would Vipaintette be?

Omg I NEVER thought about that?? Vi is a black cat ofc, like, literally - canonically!! (⁠ ⁠ꈍ⁠ᴗ⁠ꈍ⁠)

When it comes to animals in general, I discussed it a lil with Paint and they said; El would be a squirrel, Paint would be a racoon, and Vi would be some kind of bird. And I totally agree :3

But speaking closer to "canon" - we are three cats with different personalities!! (⁠＾⁠∇⁠＾⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠ That's also something Paint has stated, but I can totally see it and I will explain why under the cut (⁠ ⁠ꈍ⁠ᴗ⁠ꈍ⁠) El could also be a cute lil puppy! (according to Paint and because of the golden retriever-thingy! :>)

I actually did some research for this, because I love cats and wanted to know more about the personalities assigned to each type of cat :3

Read more for some traits of the cats in general, but my opinion in short: Paint is a Calico Cat, El is a Orange Tabby Cat, and Vi is - of course - a Black Cat! ( ˊᵕˋ )

Calico Cats:

Nicknames: The Drama Queens/Kings, Chaos Goblins, Spicy Lads - Aka our beloved jester, Paint \(≧▽≦)/ Typical Traits:

Big personalities – these cats have opinions and will express them

Known for being sassy, bold, unpredictable

Can go from sweet to “claw your hand off” in 0.5 seconds (affectionately)

Loyal AF to their chosen people

Very expressive meowers – you’ll always know what they want

Often have a mysterious, witchy, or whimsical vibe

Calicos are the cats who act like royalty, flirt with chaos, and then curl up in your lap like nothing ever happened. VERY Paint coded imo!! ( •̀ ω •́ )✧

Orange Tabby Cats:

Nicknames: Golden Retriever Cats, Himbos, Sunshine Babies Typical Traits:

Affectionate to a fault – they are known for being clingy, loyal, and always down for cuddles

Often considered goofy or airheaded – like, they’ll run into walls and then purr about it

Very vocal, but in a happy, chirpy way

The kind of cat to trust strangers instantly, sometimes too much

Tend to get along well with children, other animals, and pretty much anyone

Will fall off furniture but get up like “nothing happened.”

Sometimes described as having “golden retriever in a cat’s body” energy (Which really fits El because of the Black Cat x Golden Retriever energy she has with Vi!! o((>ω< ))o )

They're soft, loud, sunshine-coded goofballs with zero concept of personal space. That's just Eldette all the way x3

Black Cats:

Nicknames: The Silent Observers, Midnight Ghosts, Shadow Babies Typical Traits:

Quietly loyal – they won’t always ask for affection, but they crave closeness in subtle ways

Often mysterious or reserved at first glance, but surprisingly affectionate once they trust you

Give strong emotional support animal energy, but with ✨elegance✨

The “watch from the corner, then melt in your lap at 2AM” type

Might follow you around the house like a silent little shadow

Can be very intelligent and cautious – not the type to rush into chaos

Deeply intuitive – they know when something’s off

They’re the soft-spoken protectors, quietly intense and secretly clingy. Whoopsie, seems like I just dropped Vi's bio :3

#i forgot about this ask yesterday are you kidding meeee #btw y'all please send Vipaintette stuff to my side blog bc that's my-#Vipaintette Propaganda blog tee hee :3 #I love yapping about them so so muuuuch #Crown and courtship #cuz even the cats give princess x jester x knight lmaoo #Vipaintette #from my crying corner

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daddyhausen · 2 years ago

Text

｡･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡「 KINKTOBER DAY FIFTEEN : ABDUCTION 」｡･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡

「 MASTERLISTS 」 | 「 KINKTOBER 2023 」

「 COMMISION INFO 」 | 「 LIKE MY WORK? BUY ME A COFFEE — KOFI — DXDDYHXUSEN 」

｡･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡｡･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡｡･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡｡･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡｡･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡

「 SUMMARY 」 — you feel his presence following you, not knowing when he was going to strike

「 WARNINGS 」 — smut, 18+ [ minors do not interact ], dubcon, cnc, abduction, chase/hunt, stalking, drugging, blindfolds, bondage, gags, fingering, praise, size kink, dacryphilia, oral sex, [ female receiving ], squirting, multiple orgasms, vaginal sex, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, male + female orgasms, vaginal creampie, internal cumshots

「 WORD COUNT 」 — 2.4k

「 PAIRING 」 — fem!reader x brody king

「 GENRE 」 — smut

｡･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡｡･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡｡･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡｡･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡｡･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡

「 TAGLIST 」 — @cosmoholic13 @thewrestlingbitch @omg-im-such-a-masochist @adamjf @wardlow @alexisquinnlee-bc @sammiejane22 @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @omegasluvbot @melissahausen @writtingrose @drummergrl1310 @unoficialy-married-to-ace-austin @bonehead-playz @cherrytheeredheadmamaclaymore @crowleysqueenofhell @romanreigns-supreme @janetreader @thenerdybaker523 @sunshinevirus @nicoleveno14 @rubyred1980 @igncrxntripley @ripleyswhore @embermdk @thepalaceofmelanie @violetmacher @seeingstarks @kennysbadkitten @darkangelchronicles @ripleyswife @selena-tyler-564 @auburnwrites @biforrollynch

「 BETA READERS 」 — @allelitesmut + @legit9thlunaticwarrior

「 COMMENT IF YOU WANT TO BE ADDED TO THE TAGLIST 」

｡･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡｡･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡｡･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡｡･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡｡･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡

your feet sore and blistered from the forest floor

jagged rocks and sharp twigs, poked and punctured your soles

sending mild jolts of pain up through your legs

yet that did not deter you

no matter how much your legs hurt, numb with a dull ache as the muscles spasmed painfully

you had to keep running

you could not let him catch you

he was hot on your tail

the wind felt as if he was breathing down your neck

a harrowing feeling to say the least

ducking and weaving through pine brush

dodging the low hanging branches, whilst avoiding any uproots

the latter being harder to spot, even more so at the speed you were traveling at

covered in moss and dirt all to similar to the forest floor

your chest burned with a primal need for escape

mouth dry with each inhale, each gasp, each swallow

an acidic almost bile-like taste

occasionally craining your head back just to catch a glimpse of him

hoping that finally he would have relented in his chase

lucky for you, it seems that he might have

the heavy trudge of his footsteps had subsided

not a sound of leaves and twigs crunching underfoot

nothing but the shaky exhales that left your lips

you were safe. for now at least

you took a moment to catch your breath

sitting upon a stone, patches of moss lined where it was embedded in the dirt

quietly observing your injuries, as mild as they were

the soles of your feet tattered with small cuts and grazes that left a sharp sting each time pressure was applied

how the blood left an iron stench in the back of your throat

mixing in with the dirt and mulch

your breath shaky, exhales caught in your throat still trying to regain your barings

the forest opening just past the clearing

the subtle earthy scent of the river met your nostrils as you peaked beyond the clearing

you had no choice but to keep moving, you did not want to fall into his hands

you started to move again

slowly this time, stepping as gingerly as your injured feet would allow

every wince and groan was kept under your breath to avoid suspicion

hobbling ever-so-silently towards the clearing

without warning your body felt tight, restricted somehow

your felt weightless, limbs flying in all directions, kicking, punching, clawing at the source

it was then you caught a glimpse of a tattooed forearm, the limb imposing and large in comparison to you

bringing forth a damp rag to your face

obscuring your mouth and nose, forcing you to breath in whatever chemical he doused the rag in

it was a sweet yet mildly pungent smell, one that left your mind reeling with haziness

limbs falling weaker the longer he held the rag to your lips

the soft lulls of his voice dragged you deeper into the abyss of slumber

the his words incoherent as you slipped further into comatose

your eyelids heavy, still reeling with forced slumber

in an attempt to open them you were met with a still blackness

like an all encompassing fog clouding your vision

you could have sworn you’d opened them

fidgeting around in your compromised and frankly uncomfortable position

you were able to deduce you’d been caught by the beast who’d been chasing you previously

he’d blindfolded you

your wrists painfully bound atop your head, knotted together to a thin pole or an iron bar of some kind

the material was cold to the touch

the same could be said with your ankles, bound, this time spread apart

your feet bound on cloth, linen you assumed

under the assumption that he’d tended to the small cuts on your feet

you’d almost feel grateful if your predicament was different

a cool breze wafted over you, the springtime air left a chill on your skin

your body felt bare, your nipples peaked and stiffened as a gust of wind blew past

through an open window it seems, judging by the soft, faint howls of the wind

you’d come to the concussion that you were infact naked

naked, afraid and bound to a stranger’s bed, unknowing exactly how it all came to be

you remember the forest that the events preceding it

you remember the hulking man and the rag with the sweet ether-scent

then the world went dead

a scream tried to pass through through your lips, nothing but muffled sounds excape

a cotton like texture on your tongue, spit pooling around it

he’d stuffed your panties in your mouth, securing them with duct tape

you struggled against your restraints, feeling the ropes tighten and dig into the flesh of your wrists

“shh little one, struggling with only make them tighter”

you froze

the disembodied voice deep and menacing

your ears pricked up at the sound

ringing as his words flooded your senses

feeling the bed dip with his weight

he was a large man, not in an weight kind of way from the glimpses you managed to catch of him back in the forest

he was built, stocky. a hulking mass of a man

his palm alone would wrap around the entirety of your face

your felt the a phantom of his fingertip graze utop your thigh

close to the axis of your hip, tracing small circles in the indent

your body shuddered at the foreign feeling, his fingertips cold to the touch

“easy, i’m not going to hurt you little one”

oddly, his voice was enough to soothe your worries, momentarily

it would be wholesome if not for the fact you were currently bound to a stranger’s bed

oh yeah and the fact that he abducted you!

your words muffled against the cotton of your panties

mind hazy still coming down from the ether

his large fingers traced over the mound of your cunt, smoothing down the skin

you’d never felt so sensitive in your life, your skin bursting with flames of arousal each time his fingers met your flesh

feeling them ghost over your clit

your body shuddered at the sensation

you could feel his weight shift in the bed as he leaned in to gain a closer view of your dripping cunt

he dipped two fingers inside, adoring the way you stretched around him

curling up into the warm crevices of your cunt

the wet sound making his cock swell with arousal

he continued the motion for a few moments, watching you squirm and try to pry yourself away from his fingers

your juices gathering against the skin as he buried himself in to the third knuckle

“so wet…” he mumbled gruffly, a low growl resonating at the end of his words

he pried his fingers out of you, admiring the way that they’d become so slick with your wetness

pearlescent droplets clinging you his fingertips

letting them drip onto his tongue, savouring it on his tastebuds like sweet nectar

he stopped for a moment, anticipating your reaction

your body trying desperately to not seem as aroused as you actually were

your thighs would have been clenched shut if it not for the ropes that held them open

your chest rising and falling with shaky breaths

nipples peaked and hardened still chilled from springtime air

you could feel him shuffling around the mattress again

this time the weight of him present between your thighs

the tickle of what you could assume was his breath brushed against your mound

his tongue licking soft, almost featherlight lines across your hip bones

“don’t be afraid…” he mumbled between the licking and sucking of your skin

“just wanna make you feel good, little one”

your breath hitched in your throat

tears stung your blinded eyes as you realisation that you had no way of escaping him set in

you wanted to scream, cry, shout the most vulgar expletives at him if i’m weren’t for your panties stuffed haphazardly behind the tape

his tongue barely grazed your clit, merely testing the waters before diving in

your body’s instant jolt in response proved just how overstimulated you were

despite the minimal contact

he did it again, this time more force behind his tongue

your body reacted the same way, although your legs did shudder with arousal this time round

he took no precautions the the third time

he dove in, lips wrapping around you clit in a primal fury

sucking hungrily at the sensitive pearl

lapping up whatever of your juices met his tongue

a choked moan ripped through your throat, you did not want to admit how pleasurable it felt

how his tongue made your thighs weak

and you mind faulter with thoughts of him absolutely ruining you

even more so than he was now buried between your thighs

you imagined how his cock would feel, how big it was

hiding from the size of his fingers and the way they were able to stretch you out

you had high hopes to say the least

he moaned into your warmth, offering subtle praise at your taste that did not go unnoticed

the sensation left a whirl of butterflies in your stomach

one that did you did not want to admit had a drastic effect on you

“you taste like heaven…so fucking sweet for me”

his voice held a deep gutteral passion to it

he was absolutely enamoured with you and your taste

your hips instinctively arched up to meet the movements of his tongue

feeling the appendage sink feeling into your warmth

“fuck yourself on my tongue little one, that’s it…good girl”

he was shocked at just how obedient you’d become after his command

the way your hips rolled and jolted against him was nothing short of mesmerising

feeling yourself clench around his tongue

you were slowly unravelling before him

juices dripping from your void in pulsed aftershocks of pleasure

leaving his beard damp with slickness

your stomach swirled with want…with need for more of him

he paused for a moment, sitting back to admire the slick-soaked bedsheets he’d purchased just for the occasion

the silk cool against your burning skin

an evident wet puddle between your thighs

still positioned between your legs, he propped himself up into his knees

the soft fumbling of him unting the ropes around you ankles pricked your ears

even more so did the thud of them as the hit the wooden floorboards below

his hands fell to your ankles, propping them up into his broad shoulders

his breath heaving in his chest, still regaining his composure after being buried tongue deep between your thighs

his fingers traced soft, delicate shapes into your calves

as if he was trying to deter the monster image you’d seen him portrayed as in favour of a more sensitive lover

his cock warm to the touch, swollen with need as it grazed against your clit

slapping the tip against your soaked folds a couple of time just for good measure

even then, you could judge just how big he was

“little one…” he cooed sweetly, noticing your choked sobs and whimpers

he entered you, a noticable squeal of pain left your lips due to the sheer force of his size stretching you out

your body thrashed violently, trying to break free from the ropes

“don’t fight it…it’ll feel better soon…i promise”

if you didn’t know any better, you’d sweat there was a shrewd of sympathy behind his words

that would be true if this man did not fucking stalk and kidnap you that is

he began to move, slowly at first but that didn’t deter the sheer force he provided

feeling your walls burn with the stretch around him

despite your walls lined with slickness

you still felt so tight

his thrusts became violent, unhinged. a desperate attempt to get himself off rather than ease you into pleasure

his cock buried to the hilt, size outlined in your abdomen rather starkly

he adored the way he would disappear and reappear in your skin

he pressed himself further into you

your legs pressed against your chest, feeling his cock sink deeper and seller into you

you let out a pleasured cry, giving in to the sensation despite not wanting to admit it to yourself

his cock had put you in a trance

one that you’d fully, physically embrace

despite your sight being absent

you still made an attempt to crane your head down to see the way his cock filled you

“you’re so eager to see my cock huh?” he remarked cockily his fingers hooking under the silky blindfold

the digits warm against your skin, instantly meeting into his touch

you nodded, far too eager for your current predicament

he preid the blindfold from you face, you blinked a few times

eyes still trying to adjust to the newfound light of the room

the drab grey concrete walls, iron bars lining the windows

a basement of somesorts?

the room bare besides the twin bed your were currently tied and being fucked into

you met his gaze, the warmth of his dark eyes gazing, surprisingly, lovingly into your soul

his features were beautifully rugged

his beard still slick with your sweetness

his hulking figure littered with intricate tattoos

the artistry contrasted with your skin so eligantly

you could not feel oddly safe buried beneath him

you peered down breaking his gaze momentarily to gaze down at his cock

eyes widening at the sheer size of it

probably about seven and a half or eight inches if not bigger

his was thick, that’s was evident by the way he stretched you out and was probably the only place on his body that wasn’t christened with ink

not that you had a long enough opportunity to fully observe him

for he grabbed your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze once more

“eyes on me, little one”

the nickname made your stomach flutter even more so now that you saw his face

“you want me to fill you up?” he cocked his head slightly

you nodded eagerly, a soft smile crossed his lips

“good because i was gonna do that anyway”

he pressed himself against you, his body almost crushing yours

your knees firmly pressed against your chest, his cock disappearing deep into your cunt

“fuck…” he grunted, forehead pressed against yours

“you’re so fucking beautiful, little one. such a good girl, taking my cock so well”

you muffled a thank you in response

feeling his cock twitch inside you

your cunt quivering around his size

drawing out his orgasm little by little

hot tears pricked your eyes, his thrusts became lazy and sloppy

yet still holding that roughness that you’d come to adore

his cock driving into your cervix

he gave a final thrust, his cum filling your womb

so warm and wet as you gushed around him

your body shuddered with delight, back arching with pleasure

he still kept himself buried is side you

offering small thrusts to send you over the edge

his cock throbbed inside you

cum seeping from your void as he slowly pulled out of you

his seed dripping onto the bedsheets

your cunt aching from the pleasure

“little one…you’re never leaving me”

｡･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡｡･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡｡･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡｡･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡｡･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡

#{ my fics : 🤍 }#brody king #brody king x reader #brody king smut #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #aew #wrestling imagine #wrestling smut #aew imagine #aew wrestling #aew fanfiction

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xylatox · 4 months ago

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Of Snow And Shattered Wings | kth

Another Serene fic!! I'm always excited to read her work hehe, unti my thoughts!

FIRE, burning hotter than the sun. Orange and yellow flames dancing before your very eyes, their warmth caressing your face, shunning the cold around and embracing you. Fire warm enough to kill, if they wanted to. — Turning forests into ash, melting even the firmest of steel armor, incinerating entire kingdoms with one mere breath. — the opening lines, the descriptions the contract between the warm, welcoming fire and its ability to kill and damage, amazing wording.

I love the introduction, the way we get some insight on reader's subtle knowledge of the dragons. The way her grandfather tells stories, their families connection to them, I think it makes the story going forward very interesting.

A cold and harsh puff of air hits your back, hard. You gulp, slowly and carefully turning around as you clutch the lamp in trembling hands. Immediately your gaze falls on the exact same scales you’d seen just moments prior. White and smooth, perfectly covering four large legs, your attention fixates on the long and sharp claws on its feet. Then over to the almost translucent and magnificent looking wings, neatly tucked against its sides. — this is amazing, it's also so sweet they reader was determined to find a dragon for her grandfather's sake.

Outside, you can hear the faint noise of your aunt and younger cousins as they approach the small cottage. “Curiosity will get you far”, your grandpa agrees, though his voice sounds almost solemn now. — “But we should not let our thoughts linger in the past.” — now this is interesting, the fact thst ice dragons are supposed to be instinct, the grandfather's reaction to their mention, is it that an ice dragon harmed his father ??

Also I think it's so cute how reader talks with the dragon like omg and the fact that she came back to help too?? adorable. The entire moment where reader helps, comes back the next day with food, I'm in love with her, she's so sweet honestly.

I don't like the Aunt, but, I sympathize with her anger towards dragons. I also understand her conversation with reader and the fact that she hasn't been there, especially considering the grandfather probably doesn't have alot of time left.

“I…” Desperately your fingers claw at his hand, trying to pry him off of you. The urge to speak is strong, but his vice-like grip overpowers it. His chest heaves, his breaths coming in ragged and rough, his hand around your throat tightening with deadly force. — “Why did you come back?” It’s the first time he utters as much as a word. It sounds strained, as though he’d gone years in silence. — and the human form of our dear Taehyun makes his debut, kinda insane to put your hand around the throat of the person who helped you, but this can be due to what happened to other ice dragons I assume.

You shake your head, “I helped you-” — “You humiliated me.” He’s looking at you now, his cold gaze reaching you from across the cave. Your stomach drops at the statement. Have you done something wrong? You thought you were helping… “You degraded me by putting your filthy human hands on me.” He spits the words out, his voice laced with a venom so poisonous that it sunk into your veins. — I love that from Taehyun's perspective the care reader gave was humiliating, but at the same time it's ironic he didn't do anything at the time to stop her, but it also kind of makes you wonder of the relative between ice dragons and humans specifically.

“Despite their love she still carried the deadly traits of the dragon. - But his death was never her fault.” Your grandpa turns to you with a solemn smile, “That’s what he would have wanted me to say.” — oh wow, I didn't expect that story regarding the father's death, this is so intriguing!!

You see it now, long and flowy hair reaching the surface, its arms outstretched as it approaches. But you do not feel fear, in fact your whole body is calm, frozen in place as you watch the siren approach. You knew what was coming yet you couldn’t find it in you to lift as much as a finger in order to stop it. — oh this I'd getting intense, I love thet despite the coldness Taehyun gave reader, he came to her rescue. —“I paid my end of the bargain”, he then says and for a moment you could not wrap your head around what he meant by that. Then it all came together. He was making amends for his broken wing, the one you had so carefully tended to, even without his compliance or permission.. Still he was willing to do the same for you, even if only to pay back the debt that seemed to weigh him down. — of course he would see it as a bargain lmfao.

His skin is cold against your lips when you press a hesitant kiss to his cheek. His jaw twitches, and you feel his heavy gaze on you once you pull back. His dark brows are furrowed into a confused frown, but he doesn’t look angry. “It’s how we say thank you.” You smile in a way you hadn’t in ages. — omg adorable, also Taehyun hating his own kind makes me think if he was related to the Dragon thr great-grandfather was in love with.

You tense up when he suddenly moves even closer, his ice cold chest brushing against your flaring hot one. “Good”, he exhales, his cool breath slapping your across the face when he leans in to press his lips against yours. His kiss is not the same sweet and hesitant gesture you’d given, but it’s not rough either. It’s… him. — SCREAMING!!!

He pulls back, lips parting only an inch from your own, his forehead resting against yours. He’s breathing softly, the tension washed from his face as he regards your flustered one. “That’s how we say thank you”, he murmurs. — that's an insane way to say thank you I fear

The grandfather dying peacefully after meeting Taehyun:(( it's like he help out hope for seeing dragons

Taehyun was there, he came when he heard your cries. Even though his embrace was cold and his arms freezing as they wrapped around you, there was never a moment where you felt yourself shiver. For there was warmth in his heart, enough for it to spread to your own. — Taehyun would help you live, just like you had helped him.— wait omg :( it ended in such a bittersweet way no. My heart breaks for reader, but I'm glad she has Taehyun by her side :((

𝓞𝐅 𝓢𝐍𝓞𝐖 𝓐𝐍𝐃 𝓢𝐇𝐀𝐓𝐓𝓔𝐑𝓔𝐃 𝓦𝓘𝐍𝐆𝐒

𝓓𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌 𝓔𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐘 ⸝⸝ Foolish girl. You should know better than to wander up the snowy and cold mountains all by yourself. Yet you march onward, not caring for the biting frost as you draw your coat tighter around yourself. The tales told by your old grandfather had been enough to fuel your curiosity, to push the bounds of danger as you sought to see the dragons for yourself. — Perhaps you got more than you bargained for when you suddenly stumble across the one everyone thought to be extinct; the ice dragon. ⸝⸝

𝓹airing dragon!taehyun x human!reader (f) 𝔀arnings descriptions of injuries/blood, supernatural au, kissing, character death (not main), shitty and poor writing, lowkey rushed toward the end, kills myself.

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ wc, 14.1k ་༘࿐

#serene adds ✎.. my contribution to The Veils Of Aethera which is kind of very shit and probably the worst piece I have ever written (I'm exaggerating, maybe..) no but theres a lot of plot holes, which I did not have time to fill out but could definitely explain if someone wants me to, because in my head I have all the answers and um yes. I haven't proofread this once and I'm not going to because im nic sick off my ass and also on the verge of just falling asleep hm, anyway I love u guys heh please don't be mad at me for posting something so below my usual level >-<

ONCE UPON A TIME… In a land far far away, where the treetops touched the soft clouds of the sky, and the water sparkled under the glowing sun. Where mountains rose high and in which long, deep caves ran. Where the sea met shore in a collision of tall waves. Where the undead walked among the living. Where the winged flew above the finned. In a land where things beyond any reason and rhyme existed. And amongst those very beings, within the veils of Aethera, there was…

The dragon’s powerful roar echoes over the mountain tops, loud enough for trees to shake. Even the wind gave way as they soared through the sky. Large wings slapping against the cool air as they danced through the clouds. Untamed beasts, that’s how most described them. Wild and fueled only by their desire and rage to destroy everything around them.

Few humans were fortunate enough to face one of these creatures and live to tell the tale. But the ones that did were graced with luck for many generations to come. These humans, those who sought not to fight but to learn about these beasts, were a different kind of people. Reckless in the eyes of other humans but courageous in the eyes of the dragon.

Together they conquered the skies, not as two but as one. Their souls connected with one another as they played a game of perfect synchronization. Moving swiftly in the dark, silently communicating with nothing but the twitch of a muscle. It was a different kind of understanding, a mutual one, a bond that ran far deeper than any other.

A raspy cough slices through the image of the dark fiery dragon gliding through the sky and your attention immediately shifts to the old man in front of you. — “Grandpa! Are you alright?” Quickly rising to your feet, you scurry toward the old man as you kneel before him. He gives a weak nod, dismissing you with the wave of his wrinkly hand.

“I’m fine, dearest..” He mutters, though the strain of his voice betrays his words. Still, you nod as your thumbs caress the back of his hand. “Now, where was I? — Ah yes, the dragons..” He shifts in his chair, the blanket slipping from his legs, and you rush to shove it back in place. Your old grandpa clears his throat as he prepares to continue.

“You see there were these formations they would do in the air and–” — “Alfred, that’s quite enough.” The brisk voice of your aunt, Fiona, pierces through the air. She sways by the doorway, her arms folded neatly across her chest as her dark gaze narrowed on your grandpa. With a small grumble he adjusts himself in his seat, muttering something about Fiona being “a persistent know-it-all.”

Your aunt doesn’t seem to care for his bitterness, for she did not enjoy hearing him talk about those “creatures” as she referred to them as. Instead she brushes past you, her arms wrapping around the old man as she helps him to his feet. “Enough about those lizards, come to bed.” — With a small glance over her shoulder, she addresses you in a most derogatory tone. “Make use of yourself out in the garden will you? Your grandpa needs to rest.”

The sun is warm against your face as you squint toward it. Your aunt had a lovely garden, situated just on the edge of the forest, by the very far end of the kingdom. Humming along to the soft tune of a slow melody, your hands busy themselves with hanging the damp garments on the clothesline that was tied between two posts.

A gentle breeze makes the wet fabric sway in the wind and you skip out of its way as you reach for one of the dresses. — “Thought I told you to let those things go.” The voice of your aunt slices through the relaxing atmosphere. She bends down to pick a pair of smaller pants from the basket, belonging to your younger cousin.

Even if her words remained vague and dismissing, there was no doubt that she was referring to the stories she’d walked in on your grandpa sharing, yet again. When your silence has gone on for a good minute she continues, “You know how he gets, going on and on about that nonsense..” Fiona huffs as she gives the pants a harsh shake before folding them across the string.

“But I should like to hear him out- His stories are beyond interesting, and he’s delighted to share them!” You chime in, a small, hopeful smile stretching across your lips. It was true, to reminisce about the tales of his youth seemed to be the only thing that brought your grandfather any sort of joy these days. It made the wrinkles around his eyes deepen when he smiled, a low breathy laugh rumbling within his chest.

Your aunt Fiona shoots you a pointed look, her attention then drifting back to the damp clothes. “That is all that they are, stories. But your old grandpa does not seem to know the difference between tales and truth anymore.” She heaves a sigh as she turns to you, “Lest us not make matters worse by encouraging these…fantasies.” Her tone was final, like a large wooden door being slammed shut in your face. You held your tongue, returning to your chores as the day continued on.

Dinner was chaotic, as it always was. With plates clattering against the small wooden table and glasses being tipped over. Your younger cousins bickered, their loud and whiny voices filling the cramped room. “Boys! Enough.” Fiona looks tired when placing the large pot of soup on the middle of the table, in the center of the whirlwind. The twins however, immediately quiet down though they continue to glower at one another.

“He started it!” William shouts as he points to his brother, Theodore, who merely shakes his head. “Did not!” — “Did too!” For each time their whining voices grew all the louder, soon overpowering any coherent thought you might have. A small tap to your side diverts your attention from the arguing taking place. Mira, your youngest cousin, points to the jug of water, silently requesting you give her some.

She was quiet, awfully so, in fact you don’t think you’d heard hear utter more than three words during meal time. You oblige by pouring her a glass, setting the jug back just in time for your aunt to give the twins a harsh tug to their ears, making them protest loudly. — “Give your mother a break will ya?” Her voice is harsh, leaving a thick silence behind as she lets go of her sons and takes a seat by the high end of the table.

Opposite your aunt Fiona, sits your grandfather. He seems lost in thought as his wrinkly fingers play with the spoon on his hand. Everyone is now turning his way, waiting patiently for him to begin eating. It was customary to let the oldest man of the house eat before anyone else, and usually your grandpa was not late to indulge… Today, he seems distracted.

“Father, are you not hungry?” Your aunt tries as she leans forward, gripping her own spoon tightly. You watch as his brows raise on his aged forehead, and your grandfather hums as his gaze drops to the bowl before him, as if he’d just realized its presence. — “Huh..” He huffs, readjusting his grip on the silverware as he stirs the warm soup. “Oh yes..” He murmurs, bringing a spoonful to his lips as he begins to eat.

Everyone sighs in relief, all following as they, too, begin to feast. For some reason you find yourself unable to. Your gaze lingers by your old grandpa, noting the slight tremble to his hand and the effort it took for him to swallow. Often did you worry for his health, for how long you had left with him. Regardless of his condition, there was little you could do for him. It pained you greatly.

Just like everynight, you tucked your grandpa in before bed. He’d gotten quite disoriented during later months and needed help getting from one place to another. With your arm around his weak frame, another one waiting to assist, you move him from his rocking chair and over to the soft mattress. — “There you go, pops. — Careful with your knees.”

Your grandfather scoffs as he waves a dismissing hand your way. “Enough dear, these legs used to conquer battlefields, they shan’t submit to a short walk..” Still, there was an undeniable tremble to him as he slowly lowered himself onto the bed. — Only once you’d drawn the thick blanket over him, did he finally seem at ease once more.

He hums to a foreign melody as you fiddle with the oil lamp on his bedside table. — “Ah, did I tell you about that one time… The one where I met a sundragon head on?” Your grandpa stifles a cough against his palm before shaking his head lightly. Though his train of thought was cut short when you place a gentle hand on his chest.

“It’s getting late pops, you need to rest.” The smile you send him is far from convincing and you quickly avoid his piercing gaze as you adjust the lamp one final time. You never turned down one of his stories, even if you’d heard it a hundred times before. He was bound to catch onto it, and he did. The sounds of sheets rustling rings in your ears as he props himself up on a weak elbow.

“Did my daughter tell you to stop encouraging me?”

It wasn’t a question but a statement. Despite your reluctance, you slowly admit to it as you give a meek nod. Your gaze trains to your hands as they rest in your lap, seated on the edge of his bed. Your grandpa makes a small noise of disbelief as he thumps back against the mattress. “Just as stubborn as her mother..” He mutters as he gazes up at the ceiling.

For a moment, a still silence fills the small bedroom, nothing but the wind tearing through the trees outside to be heard. Then your old grandfather suddenly speaks again. “Your aunt has every reason to resent those creatures, given what happened to my father..” — Your ears perk up at the mention of your great grandfather. He was, according to your grandpa, a man like no else. One who not only faced the dragons but even soared through the sky alongside them.

Well, at least until… Your grandpa’s hoarse voice interrupts your scattered thoughts. “I do not blame her”, he murmurs, sounding almost melancholic. Yet you’re able to catch the undeniable glint in his eyes, the one that would shine whenever he spoke of his past. “Still…”, he coughs, a low and weasel sound, “I would like to see them one last time.”

“To see the dragons once more, that is my final wish.”

𓍼ོ

The very next morning is cold, a lot colder than a typical summer one in Aethera. You tug your coat tighter around yourself, even your gloved hands slowly succumbing to the biting frost. It’s early, much so that the sun itself has yet to rise over the horizon. — Quietly, you slip out of your aunt's small cottage, sealing the door shut behind you as you give a final glance over your shoulder.

Your footsteps crunch against the leaves and twigs as you make your way through the thick and dense forest. Nature around you was still asleep, at least, most of it. You did not dare stop to think about what kind of creatures roamed these woods, what kind of entities lingered in its shadows.. A shiver runs down your spine and you shudder before pushing those thoughts aside, marching forward with hasty steps.

And soon enough, the trees part, making way for the large mountains ahead. With newfound eagerness, you rush forward, more than ready to leave the dark forest behind as you emerge from the treeline. — You pause, finding yourself in complete awe as you stare up at large stones, crafted by nature itself, their tops covered in a bright blanket of white snow.

Here you were bound to find what you were looking for. Dragons. Determined to fulfill your grandfather’s dying wish, the least you could do was set out to bring back the one thing he sought to see the most. You knew a lot about dragons, well, as much as he’d let on to in his stories. Still, the thought of seeing one up close.. It made your stomach tingle.

But the mountain is a lot crueler than you’d anticipated. The hike to the top is unforgiving, tearing your limbs apart as your body aches. You’re panting, knee deep in thick snow as you battle against the harsh winds. In spite of it being late July, the harsh conditions of the Frosty Peaks seemed to know no bounds as it served you whiplash after whiplash.

Frantically your gaze searches for an entrance, for any way to access the mountain. Your grandpa had long ago told you about the dark caves dragons resided in. “They’re quite tricky to find, not something you would just stumble upon. — A dragon’s nest is its most treasured place.” That’s what he’d said.

You knew to look for small, almost unnoticeable anomalies. Something that any other bypasser would mistake for nature's misfortune. A twisted branch, a cracked stone.. The cold wind hurls against you, making an almost ear piercing screeching noise. You can no longer feel your face as you keep your gaze trained to the ground, intently looking for something, anything that would give way to an opening.

But you come up short. There was nothing here. It felt like you’d been climbing this mountain for forever. It was never ending, everywhere you turned there was just snow upon snow upon snow. Every rock and every tree looked the same, perhaps you’d been walking in circles. What if you couldn’t find your way home, what if you were to freeze to death upon this quiet mountain, all alone and shivering as you take your last breaths.

The lantern you had brought along had burned out, yet you clutched it tightly as you stumbled forward. With your head bowed and your desperate eyes seeking what you thought to be the impossible, you’re unable to foresee the snare that protrudes through the white snow, not until it’s too late. It catches around your wrist, causing you to yelp as you fall forward.

It’s cold, it’s so cold that it burns. The hard ground caresses your tired body, the soil beneath welcoming you. With shaky hands you brace yourself against the mountain, daring to lift your head only an inch, wincing at the pain that throbbed within. “Ow..” You whine, clutching your temple as you screw your eyes shut.

When you open them again is when you see it. At first you didn’t know whether to cry or to laugh. In disbelief your gaze flickers between the lily that was currently in full bloom, thriving in deep snow, and over to the opening presented before you. — Unbelievable.

Excitement coursed through your veins as you scramble to your feet, eager to escape the menacing wind. It’s without thinking twice that you dart for the cave’s opening, throwing yourself inside with a relieved sigh. Your soft pants leave small clouds of cold in their wake, and you lean against the wet stone walls as you catch your breath.

With wary eyes you survey your surroundings, taking in the endless pit of darkness that awaits you. The cave curved in a C-like shape, and the sounds of water quietly dropping from its ceiling fills the otherwise eerie silence. — It takes you a moment to re-light your lantern, but once you have, its warm glow manages to bring you at least some sense of comfort.

Your hesitant footsteps bounce off the wet cavern walls as you delve deeper into the mountain. With your lantern held high, it guides you through the passages, an unexplainable tug at your chest urging you forward. Perhaps you should turn back, perhaps this had been a bad idea. After all, you did not know anything about dragons apart from what your grandfather had told you.— Was this really such a good idea?

A turn to your left leads you onto an even darker path, and you feel a shiver crawl down your spine, sending a shockwave of nervosity through you. With a small gulp, you readjust your grip on the lantern, its light casting your face in yellow-ish hues. — So far there was not a single sign of any other living being, and you had been listening to nothing but your own shaky exhales for the past twenty minutes.

Just when you had begun to consider retreat, did the tip of your shoe crash against something hard. Not being able to catch yourself in time, you stumble forward a second time that day. But this time, there’s no snow to catch you, and you hit the hard and cold cave floor with a loud crash.

“Ow..” Your groan pierces the thick silence, and you wince as you grab ahold of your already pounding head. Not again you sigh. Everything hurt, your body felt sore and bruised, you could only imagine how you looked beneath all your layered clothes.

Upon turning around, you find that what you had tripped over had been not a stone, not an overly large branch or any other of nature’s call. No, this was something entirely different… With squinting eyes you peer down at what appeared to be scales covering something the size of a smaller tree trunk. Confused you glance around in search of your lantern, it had slipped from your grasp during your fall.

You find it a few feet away, gingerly shuffling over as you retrieve it. Thankfully the flames within were still alive and you cradled it close as you turned back to the strange scaled thing you had tripped over, only to find it gone. — Your heart catches in your throat, making your eyes widen and the lantern threatening to crash against the ground once more.

Dread fills you when you realize that what you had tripped over had been its at least 10 ft long tail. With a gawking expression you watch as said tail curls around its body. In almost cinematic slow motion does your gaze shift toward its head, where sharp canines rested in its mouth. There was no doubt that this was exactly what you had come here looking for.

“A dragon..”

The words leave your lips before you can stop them. Your soft whisper of disbelief carrying out into the cold air. It looked stoic, yet far from the dragon's your grandfather had described. This was not the dark and fire-spitting beasts he’d told you about, this was… A wet droplet splashes against your cheek and you glance up to find icicles peering down at you from the ceiling, their pointy ends looking ready to pounce.

A low huff brings your attention back to the creature before you, just in time to watch as it cracks an eye open. Its ice blue irises a stark contrast to the narrow slits of its pupils. This dragon did not hold the gaze of warmth and fire. — It held one of ice cold death.

You stumble backward on trembling legs. The wet and hard cave wall feels like daggers against your back when you crash against it. Your breath comes out in jagged pants, your heart beating through your chest as you realize the dangers of your situation. The plan had been to watch them from afar, to silently slip away as if nothing had happened when you had gotten what you’d come here for. The plan did however, not include coming face to face with one of them. To become trapped within the cold and eerie darkness of these caves with the very beings that ruled them.

With fear in your eyes, you watch as the dragon rises to its feet. Cold blue eyes locked on your small figure as you stay pressed against the wall, cowering before it. The sounds of its heavy steps echo between the icicles hanging from the ceiling, it makes the floor shake and rocks move as it slowly makes its way closer.

You can feel its chilly breath all over you, freezing your already damp and shivering body tenfold. You screw your eyes shut as you turn your head away, preparing yourself for the fate inevitably to come. — Stupid, stupid, stupid girl. You should’ve listened to your aunt. You had been a fool to believe your old grandpa. You should have never come here and you should have never woken this beast.

But the sharp and soaring pain of its large canines never came. And when what feels like an eternity has passed, you finally dare crack an eye open. Your vision is clouded by blues and whites, its nose hovering inches from your face. You couldn’t understand why it hadn’t made another move to attack you, to snap your frail body in half and rid itself of your invading presence.

The dragon only watches you, the slow waves of cold air washing over you when it exhales. You swallow, gaze drifting down its long and majestic body as you wait for death to come. It is then you realize that something was wrong. There, tarnishing the translucent hue of its large wing is a large and ugly crack. Dark crimson spills from it in dramatic fashion as it taints the dragon’s shattered wing.

It was hurt.

A pang of sympathy washes over you at the sight. The frantic beating of your heart faltering for a short moment as you exhale the sigh you’d been holding in. The dragon seems to notice where your attention lays and immediately covers itself up by tucking its wing to its side. — A low, predatory sound builds in its chest, causing the hairs on the back of your neck to rise as you will down a gulp.

It pulls back, and for a second you think it might retreat. But instead it opens its terrifyingly large jaw, presenting you with rows upon rows of teeth sharp as swords. You want to scream, but the dragon beats you to it as it lets out an ear piercing roar. — It makes the icicles above you shatter, their splinters flying everywhere. Even the walls tremble under the powerful sound and you find yourself darting for the exit without a second thought.

The sound continues to plague you as you run through the murky and long cavern walls, fighting your way through the maze you had once entered with curiosity and hope. Now you claw onto the desperate feeling of life, with tears streaming down your cheeks and your heart in your throat.

It’s not until light presents itself and you catch the sun on your face that you breathe out. Your lungs burn, your legs ache and your head pounds. The snow feels warm and inviting, and your knees sink to the ground as you plummet toward it. — One glance behind your shoulder shows the entrance gone once more, and you sigh, whether it was in relief or not, you can’t tell.

But as you make your way home that day, you can’t help but think of the dragon up in the mountain, and the large wound on its side.

𓍼ོ

Your grandpa accompanies you as you prepare dinner that night. Your aunt Fiona was out gathering wild berries and fruits along with your younger cousins, and so the kitchen had become a peacefully quiet and inviting space. The air is warm, the steam coming from the hot stew cooking over the small fire, caressing your face.

Perched on his stool by the high end of the table, your grandfather watches as you prepare plates and spoons for the family. His expression is calm, serene even. He doesn’t look as exhausted today, and you’re glad. These quiet and tender moments with him were ones that you cherished, for you didn’t know how many you had left.

Yet you can’t help your mind from wandering toward the mountain on the other side of the forest. Your thoughts are plagued by the lonesome creature hidden within the stone. “Grandpa…” Your fingers drum against the rim of the glass you were wiping down, a small frown tugging across your brows.

The old man hums as he shifts his gaze over to where you’re standing, obviously waiting for you to continue. It’s just… You don’t know how to. With a small, almost inaudible sigh you set the glass down. “Did you ever.. I mean was there ever such a thing as… ice dragons?” — The question catches him off guard, sure your old man was used to your inquiries about both the dragons and his past life. But something like this had never been brought up.

“Ice dragons?” He echoes, and you think you catch a flicker of intrigue behind his otherwise pale eyes. “Where have you heard about those?” He then murmurs as he attempts to sit a little straighter. You immediately rush to his side as you place an arm around him, “Careful.” But your grandfather only swats your helping hands away as he stifles a cough.

You purse your lips, but keep a steady grip on his shoulder as you hand him a glass of water. “I’ve just… Been doing a bit of research, and I stumbled across the topic.” You bite the inside of your cheek before adding, “There was hardly anything documented, so I was hoping you knew more..”

Your grandpa hums, the sound long and drawn out as he takes a sip of his water. “Well of course there’s nothing documented, ice dragons have been extinct for centuries.” He says it so calmly, like it was the most casual thing in the world. But it wasn’t. You had just seen one, you were sure you had seen one.

Images of the dragon up in the mountains flash before you. The blue and white scales, its frosty breath, its icy and penetrating gaze. But that would be impossible then.. It shouldn’t exist if they were extinct. — “Are you sure?”

With a small scoff, your grandfather sets his glass down. “What kind of question is that?” He quirks a bushy brow, his expression gauging as he studies you closely. “If there was as much as a single ice dragon left, I would be sure to know of it”, he states with a huff. You did not want to argue over the matter any further, and thus kept your silence as you continued setting the table.

Perhaps it had been a flicker of your imagination. The cave had, after all, been dark. It was possible that what you thought was real could have been all but an illusion. — But the ice cold shiver that ran down your spine as you recall its cold breath on your skin was most real. You think of the blood, of the large wound slashed across its side. How defensive it had gotten when it caught your gaze lingering.

You pitied the being. What awful it must be to feel pain like that.

“Why do you want to know about ice dragons?” The hoarse voice of your grandfather pierces the warm air and you turn to him with a small almost helpless smile. “I don’t know… Curiosity I suppose. ” You mumble, choosing to not bring up the day’s events in front of your old man. Your grandpa nods, his face looks sunken as his eyes drop to his empty plate.

𓍼ོ

You find yourself setting out early in the morning that follows as well. But this time, you’ve brought more than a small lantern. The bag you carry is heavy on your back, making each step up the steep and snowy mountain twice the labour. Yet you persist, stubbornly trudging through the thick snow that reaches all the way to your knees.

The cold and harsh winds make for a narrow view as you squint against them. Your nose has lost all its feeling, and you’re certain that you’re developing frostbite on parts of your body. Frantically you search for the tiny lily. You had tried your best to retrace yesterday’s steps, wantonly stumbling back and forth as you scour the ocean of bright white.

“Where is it… Where is it..” Your lips are numb, your tongue feels way too big for your mouth and your words come out slurred. Never in your life had you been this cold before, and only God knows how much longer you’ll be able to carry on forward.

But then you see it, its bright pink hues lighting up your world like fireworks in the night sky. And just a few feet away, the familiar entrance presents itself. — Despite your better judgement you had returned. Pity, that’s what you told yourself. Pity and empathy, that’s what you felt for the lonely dragon. It was why you had come here, with the intention of helping, as best as you could. It would’ve been what your grandfather would have wanted.

Guilt weighs you down. It weighs heavier than the large bag on your shoulders. This secret you kept, it was bound to kill you. But such a thought seems small in comparison to the large cave that awaits you. — One final harsh thrust of the wind wins you over as you hurry inside, desperate to get out of its claws, even if it means finding yourself in the grasp of another.

The maze-like system that was the dark and wet cave is strangely familiar, even though it shouldn’t be. Your feet move on their own, carrying you through the long and narrow labyrinth. For each step you take, your heart beats a little faster. Fear and anticipation courses through you. — Scared as you may be, but this time you had come prepared. This time you knew what waited around the corner, and as you made a final turn to the left, you exhaled.

It’s dark, but now you know to watch where you place your feet. You’re silent, moving carefully through the cold air. Your lantern casts the cave in a warm and yellow glow, a stark contrast to the murky greys surrounding you. The icicles are sending gentle droplets of water down your way, one by one they splash against your cheek, the soft noise filling the open space.

You had expected it to be there, you had tried to imagine it over and over for the past day. But the large dragon still catches you by surprise when your gaze falls upon it. Hurled up by one of the rocky and uneven walls, its large wings folded over what you presumed to be its wounded side. Its chest rises and falls with each slow breath it takes, the dragon appears to be in a calm slumber. Cold puffs of air shoots through its flared nostrils, the condensation vanishing in the darkness.

It takes but one misstep on your part, the sound of rocks being crushed beneath the sole of your shoe echoing out into the silence. The disturbance wakes the sleeping dragon, and you find your gaze glued to its icy eyes as they snap open. Naturally, you expect for it to come lunging at you, just like it had the day before.

But the dragon remains oddly still, slowly exhaling yet another wind off freezing air as it watches you with an almost expectant glint. It was impossible to read the creature, no matter how hard you tried. Your grandfather’s stories only did so much, and it was admittedly far different to come face to face with one on your own.

“Hi.”

The greeting comes without you even thinking twice, it’s quiet, soft and timid. You’re surprised by your own rush of calmness at its semblance of indifference. For some reason, you did not feel threatened by the dragon today.

With slow and gentle movements, you let the bag slip from your shoulders, placing it down on the hard stone surface beneath you as you begin rummaging through it. You had not known what to bring along, for anything involving medicine was far from your expertise. The moss you’d brought from just within the forest line was thick and wet, but you vividly remember your aunt dressing your scraped knees in such.

Gauze was sacred, you had to venture all the way to the kingdom in order to acquire some. It was why you had taken as little as you could from your aunt’s medicine cabinet, hoping and praying that she wouldn’t be able to tell. — It wasn’t much, but it was something.

You feel the dragon's intense gaze on you as your trembling hands undo the roll of gauze, you wondered if it’d be enough to even go around its large body once. It was worth the shot. — You stand up straight, clearing your throat as you draw in a short breath. “I uh, I’m here to help you..” You give the dragon an awkward smile. It was impossible to know if it could understand you or not, but judging by the way its gaze narrowed at your words, you would guess it did.

It’s okay, you tell yourself, gripping the supplies in your hands tighter. You take a hesitant step forward, gauging its reaction as you keep your eyes on its head. But the dragon remains unmoving. Alright. Three more steps. Still good. — It’s not until you reach its side, your outstretched fingers reaching for the shattered wing, that the dragon flinches.

A low, menacing growl builds in its chest. The sound makes you falter, your eyes widening as you swallow the shriek about to escape your lips. “I…” Your mouth opens and closes repeatedly as your heart hammers in your chest. Had you taken it too far? Your intentions were pure, sure, but could this beast see that?

“I mean no harm…” You say as you let the moss and gauze drop to the ground, presenting your now empty hands before the dragon. The creature watches you with pupils that are narrowed into slits, clearly untrusting of your ways, but makes no move to snap you in half. — It meant something, at least so you thought.

Your attention slowly returns to the pale wing pressing against its side. If only you could get a closer look. Your palm graces the smooth and cold scales, fascinated by the foreign texture. But the action is almost immediately met by a harsh snarl from the dragon as its large head jerks your way.

Its breath is just as freezing as you’d remembered it, coming out in harsh puffs against your already shivering body. You’re so close that if you leaned forward as much as an inch, your foreheads would meet. — Your gulp is painfully audible inside the dark gave and you fumble for words.

“Y-You’re hurt…” Your shaky finger points in the direction of its wing and the dragon follows your direction. You watch in slight bewilderment as it flexes the broken wing. The wound looked harsh and deep, you were sure it restricted most of its movements, not to mention causing it great pain.

The dragon makes a small noise that sounds almost like a human grunt. The sound catches you off guard and you turn back just in time to catch its head shifting forward again, its attention seemingly fixed on something far away. It looked almost… defeated. You wondered for how long it’d been isolated up here, how many sleepless and painful nights it would’ve had to endure.

When it doesn’t make a second attempt to snap you in half, you take it as your sign to move forward. A brief inspection of the long cut helps you determine that it would probably not need any stitches. Said discovery relieved you as you had little clue of how to work both needle and thread, especially on dragon scales.

You pick at the moss you’d previously discarded, bunching the wet plant up in your hands as you sought a suitable approach. It would’ve been easier had this dragon been slightly smaller, or you slightly bigger. — Nonetheless you give it your best shot. The dragon hisses when you press the cold moss against the crimson cut, but you try your hardest to ignore the way it tenses beneath your touch, praying and hoping that it would remain as still as it had up until now.

Once the thick layer of moss is in place, your foot blindly reaches for the gauze as you roll it over. With the help of your teeth, and a lot of effort as your arms fought to keep the earthy moss in place, you managed to throw the small roll over its wing, only to catch it as it came down on the other side.

The process was tedious, and due to the size of the wound, it required you to repeat your original move a multitude of times. You work quietly, biting your lip in concentration as sweat pooled on your forehead. To try and get your mind off of the situation and task at hand, you try to figure out just what could’ve caused an injury like this.

Had the dragon taken a fall? Gotten in a fight with another of its species, or even worse, a completely different creature? You were no fool, and you knew that dragons were far from the only spirits that roamed this forsaken island. There were beings far more dangerous than a pair of claws and a large jaw. The thought alone made you shiver.

A loud thud snaps your attention to your left, your heart leaping out of your chest. But the terror subsided just as it had surfaced when your gaze fell on the dragon's head, resting atop the cold and hard cave floor in an exhausted manner. It exhales, the condensated cold air blowing from its nostrils like smoke out of a chimney.

It was impossible not to pity the lonely creature, and you feel your stomach twisting as you watch its defeated expression. There was much you wanted to ask, things you longed to know. For now, you were content with not getting torn in half as you tended to the crack on its wing. It was enough, you tell yourself.

Once you're done, you take a step back to inspect your work. It looked… messy. The gauze was wrapped in uneven layers, with moss peeking through here and there. An amateur's job, that much was evident. But the dragon doesn’t seem to mind, for it spares no more than a quick glance toward the now dressed wound. Instead, its cold and harsh gaze lingers on your fidgety frame as you debate your next move.

Your eyes dart around the dark cave, lingering on its sharp and rough edges. You wondered how uncomfortable it must be to live like that. The lack of sunlight, the lack of warmth.. Not that this dragon seemed to need it. — But there was really nothing here. And as you fetch your lantern once more, throwing the now empty bag over your shoulder, you turn to meet the dragon’s icy gaze.

“I’ll be back”, you say, and though it did not reply, you caught the faint shimmer of its once tired eyes.

𓍼ོ

You return to that same dark and cold cave for many days to come. As time passed, you found yourself growing all the more comfortable in the dragon’s ever looming presence. You would bring fresh moss, making sure to check on the wound as best as you could. — And though your bag weighs half a ton, you still managed to bring some nutrients all the way up the mountain.

“Here”, you had said as you threw the bag on the stone floor. The dragon had given you a small glance, its expression appearing almost judgemental before its gaze had flickered to the fish you’d brought along. — “Why come on, you must be hungry.” You motioned toward the fresh meat, feeling rather proud of the accomplishment. The dragon had let out a huff, blowing a cold puff of air your way before begrudgingly indulging in the food.

Conversation was difficult to make. You often talked to yourself, thinking out loud as you rambled on about whatever topic came to mind. Sometimes you didn’t speak at all, instead choosing to let a comfortable silence envelop the two of you. You did not know if the dragon enjoyed your company, perhaps it only put up with you because it had too little strength to snap you in half.

Yet the creature continued to occupy your thoughts. Its almost translucent wings, the pale scales covering its body, the sharp pair of icy eyes. One day you’d brought a small notebook along. Using a piece of charcoal, you sat perched against the opposite wall as you drew the dragon to the best of your abilities. You found it to be a great excuse to watch it for long periods of time rather than stealing subtle glances.

Truth was that no matter how many times your eyes fell on the dragon, you still found it hard to believe just what you were seeing. Suddenly your grandfather’s stories all made sense. The suspense and thrill of the dragons. The dangers and the courage it took. You understood why he enjoyed talking about them so much, you could feel his passion as you sat in silence with something so sacred.

But for each day that passed, the large gash on its side lessened in both size and severity. You wondered how much time you had left before it eventually spread its wings and took off. The thought plagued you more than you’d like to admit…

The morning is crisp, the moist and warm summer air had yet to fall over the small cottage you resided in. Just like any other morning you’re up and about, quietly shuffling throughout the tiny space as you pack today’s essentials. You were thinking of bringing along a book, perhaps you would read out loud to the dragon, any form of entertainment would surely brighten its mood.

Your eyes roam the crowded bookshelves, stuffed with literature of all kinds. From herbal tea recipes to novels and history books. The pad of your finger stops atop one of the shorter pieces, something you’d easily be able to finish within the day or the next. But before you can as much as pull it from its spot, squeezed between two thick history books, the sound of a floorboard creaking startles you.

“It’s a little early to be up reading.” Your aunt Fiona sounds like she’s just caught a thief in the midst of its burglary. And when you turn to face her, you find a satisfied smirk stretched across her thin lips. — “I…” Your words fall short, your throat suddenly thick with a fear you couldn’t quite place. “Well I was just-”

“You know I’ve noticed you sneaking around lately.” Fiona takes a step forward, and you start to wonder if she’d perhaps gotten up early solely with the intention of catching you. Her eyes gleam with satisfaction when they land on the book you had been reaching for just moments ago. — “Gone all day without as much as a word, you worry you old grandpa.”

Your aunt would often use your grandfather as a pressure point, knowing that the mention of him would get you to crack. She takes another two steps forward, stopping a mere feet away. “Perhaps you’re trying to get out of your chores”, she nods toward the garden outside, even though it had been left unattended for a mere week.

You shake your head, immediately trying to deny the accusations she was pinning on you. “It’s not-” — “Then what?” Fiona cuts you short, her voice snappy as her face twists into a small grimace. “What could be keeping you from your frail and old grandpa?” She had a point, and the fact that she did was a bitter thought indeed. You should be spending more time with your grandfather, you should be helping your aunt around the house, there are a lot of things you should be doing.

The sound of your swallow is painstakingly loud, shattering through the brief silence. “I know…” You bow your head, shame trapping your will to go see the dragon up in the mountain. “I’m sorry.”

Fiona seems satisfied with your answer. She purses her lips, humming to herself as she eyes the bag flung over your shoulder. “Leave it here”, she points to the sofa on your right, “You won’t be needing it for now.” — Reluctantly you do as she says, letting it drop to the soft cushion before turning to your aunt with disappointment surely written across your face. If she catches it, she doesn’t bother to acknowledge it. Part of you is relieved that she seems to have little interest in prying further.

“The garden needs tending to”, she states before turning on her heel and heading for the stairs, likely with the intention of waking your cousins. But as she reaches the first step, she throws a glance over her shoulder, her sharp gaze landing on your still unmoving frame. Her eyes narrow, “And don’t even think about leaving the house until you’re finished.”

You could understand your aunt’s reasoning. Raising three children and taking care of her sick dad would surely take its toll on anyone. Fiona was strong, a lot stronger than most people seemed to think. Usually you did not mind helping her, for it made you feel useful. — But today your heart yearns to be elsewhere. You find yourself glancing toward the mountain, your thoughts occupied by the pale dragon, the image of its icy gaze burned into your mind.

Because of that you find yourself hurrying through your tasks. Your fingers pull carrots from the moist soil, they pick basil from the fresh plants and pluck ripe apples from the old apple tree that leans to the right. Sweat dribbles down your forehead, and you mindlessly wipe it with the back of your hand as you carry on forward.

The work felt tedious today, and you stole peeks at the kitchen window, trying to catch a glimpse of your aunt as she moved about the house. When finally, after what felt like decades, your basket is filled to the brim with fresh nutrients, and the plants had all been watered and tended to, you return inside.

Setting the heavy bag down on the kitchen table, you look for Fiona, but she’s nowhere to be found. Your eyes drift toward the living room, lingering on the book you’d reached for that morning. You had done your chores for the day, so there was technically no harm in sneaking away, if only for a few hours.

𓍼ོ

Your way up the steep mountain feels lighter that afternoon. Your steps have a slight skip to them as you bounce forward. Nothing seemed to weigh you down, not even the full on scolding that you might receive from your aunt upon your arrival back home.

By now you find the lily with ease, its familiar and bright pink hue standing out perfectly among the clear and white snow. You’re excited, giddy even. The thought of spending time with the grumpy dragon brought you a kind of joy that should definitely concern you, and had you been any wiser, you probably wouldn’t have entered the cave that afternoon.

It was even colder than last time, yet the air was still, not a single gush of air hurling your way. You creep forward, without getting lost, because you’d acquainted yourself with the layout of the maze-like mountain. Now every twist and turn felt like a familiar face, one you’d seen so many times before and would always remember with a nostalgic smile.

You enter the opening that leads into what you had begun to call ‘the dragon’s nest’. The name was quite silly, but you didn’t mind since you were the only one to use it. But a frown quickly finds its way to your face as you regard the empty space. — The dragon was nowhere to be seen. Confused, you take another couple of steps forward, instinctively calling out for it, “Hello?”

There was, of course, no answer. You didn’t know what you had expected to come out of the simple greeting anyway. Rocking back and forth on the sole of your shoes, your mind rakes with different possibilities of what could have happened. Had it taken off? Maybe someone had found it, even worse, killed it.

No, that couldn’t be right.

Then you spot it, light. That was new, for the cave had been nothing but a room of complete darkness, ever since you first stepped foot here. Eager, you approach the source, forgetting all about your lantern as you discard it on the floor. Due to your previous visits being spent in such dim light, you had never noticed that the cave curled in on itself, leading even deeper than you’d originally thought.

The squeeze to get through however, was tight. There was no way a dragon would be able to fit through here. Rough and cold stone scrapes against your chest and back as you push yourself between the rocks, determined to find your way to the other side, to the light. — With a heavy sigh you finally stumble free, bracing your hands on your knees as you allow yourself to catch your breath.

When you glance up you realize that what you had stepped into was an even bigger part of the cave. But this one was basked in the warm rays of the sun. You’re almost blinded by the bright light, and you shield your eyes with your arm. Half the cave opened up and out into the sky. From here, the snowy mountains looked absolutely breathtaking.

And as you regard the snow coated treetops, the way the sun reflected off the white surfaces, it suddenly hit that you had never actually stopped to admire your surroundings. Each day had been a battle to the top, never once had you taken a break to glance around, to appreciate nature in its truest and rawest form.

But your moment of serenity is quickly broken by the sound of what you assumed to be a rock rolling across the cavern floors, the noise ripping you from your trance. You spin around, eyes wide as you try to locate its source, all to no avail. This part of the cave seemed just as empty as the last and the frown on your face only grew.

The dragon was really gone.

Then, just as you’re about to turn back, all air was knocked out of your lungs. The first thing you feel is pain, sharp and flaring through your body when your back is slammed against the cave wall. Your scream never makes it past your lips. And suddenly, the light that had previously enveloped you whole, was gone, shielded by something – by someone.

Your jaw hangs slack, the same terror you had felt on your first encounter with the dragon returning. It takes a moment for your flimmering eyes to adjust, but when they do you finally see the man before you. His face is dark, clouded by rage. The almost pitch black hair on his head falls in front of his eyes but you can hardly focus on his complexion, much too aware of the large hand he had wrapped around your throat.

Your breath hitches, a faint and helpless gasp escaping your open mouth. Who was he? Why was he here… How did he know about this place? — But then your gaze falls on his naked chest, there, covered in gauze and moss, the very same gauze and moss you had so carefully wrapped around its once large wing.

Finally, you catch a glimpse of his eyes. They’re dark and gloomy, but they’re familiar. As they narrow on you, there’s an undeniable hint of blue, shining within their irises depths – an icy and cold blue.

You realize then that the man before you was the dragon himself.

When he finally releases his hold on your neck you fall forward, clutching at your throat whilst gasping for air. He watches you soundlessly, his expression twisted into a scowl. “W-What..?” You finally manage to croak out, feeling as though your wobbly knees were about to give out any second now.

The man scoffs, his fist connects with the cave wall next to you and the stones crack under his knuckles. “You should not have come here”, he barks, fury radiating off of him. “You do not belong here, human.”

He says the term with such distaste, making it sound derogatory. Perhaps it was. Yet you couldn’t seem to wrap your head around it. This was the very same dragon you’d been tending to for almost a whole week now. The creature in which you’d poured your love and affection onto, carefully building what you thought to be a relationship based on trust.

But as he stands before you in his human form, you hardly recognize him.

The man takes a step back, leaving you to exhale in relief. He turns away from you, as if trying to disregard your presence completely. You watch as he approaches the edge of the cave, where the bright sky meets the dark mountain. — Even with his back turned, you could tell that he was beautiful, breathtaking.

“I don’t understand…” Your quiet whisper seems to echo, a sound that you should be used to by now. Still, you can’t help but cower at the intensity of your words. The drag- man, does not turn to look behind him, does not spare you as much as a single glance. “It is not for you to understand”, he firmly states, his tone holding a bitter and resentful edge.

“You were hurt-”

“I would have been fine”, he snaps. You feel frozen under his stare, unable to move as you shrink against the cave wall. He glances toward the bandage around his chest, the traces of what you had thought to be a gesture of kindness and empathy was something he regarded with hatred. It hurt. His jaw clenches, his hands curling into fists by his side.

“You should leave.”

Your blood ran cold at that and your lips part, an objection ready on your tongue. But he’s quick to realize that you won’t budge. With a small grunt he turns his back on you a second time, as he does, you catch a glimpse of the many scars slashed across his skin. They were a bright white, appearing healed though it seemed not even time could make them fade completely.

Before you can get another word out, before you can reach for him – he leaps off the edge. A terrified scream leaves your lips, and you slap a hand across your open mouth in shock. For a second you thought that he might have actually taken his own life, right before your very eyes. Everything is silent at that moment, and you do not dare move.

The sound of wings, slapping against the cold air is what gives you new hope. You see him, the pale blues easily giving him away as he pierces through the clouds, riding out the hurling winds. Your heart aches at the sight, for reasons unbeknownst to you, reasons you don’t think you wanted to get to the bottom of.

Suppose you would miss him, the lonely dragon.

𓍼ོ

Days passed. Days that would soon turn into weeks. The reality of your otherwise mundane life slowly sunk in, like fog easing its way from the ground after a rainy day. Only there was no sun to greet you after such gloomy weather. Your life seemed bleak these days. You did not know if that had to do with the absence of the dragon, whose name you never got, or your grandfather, whose health was declining each day.

Your days had shifted, and you no longer spent as much time in the garden. Hours upon hours were passed in the presence of your grandpa. His hand in yours as your thumbs caress his old and wrinkled skin. — He would cough a lot, and you could tell that it his condition was starting to wear him out. Regardless of that, he continued to drag on his long stories about the dragons, only with slightly less action.

Because even his stoires had found new attention.

“You know, they were actually quite crafty too.” Your grandpa’s voice is hoarse, and sometimes you need to strain your ears in order to hear him. Nevertheless, you sit by his rockingchair as he inistied on not spending his entire days bedridden. A blanket is placed over his lap, for he easily got cold these days, despite it being late summer still.

“The dragons?” You ask, to which your grandfather nods. “Ineed, in their human form of course. - And they were quite talkative too”, he recalls with a smile on his lips. You wanted to disagree on the matter, for the ice dragon you met had been anything but friendly. You thought you could still remember the glare he’d sent you, one that had stung through flesh and bone.

Your grandpa is attacked by another fit of coughs, and you help as best as you can by gently patting his back. “They sound lovely”, you murmur when readjusting the blanket over his legs. He gives your hand a thankful squeeze, humming in agreement. — “They are. Oh how I wish you should have known the gentle ways of a dragon, I think you would like it.”

He remains silent for a brief moment, his tired eyes lingering on the open window. The soft and warm summer breeze occasionally brushed past, sending a refreshing wave of air your way. Outside your younger cousins play, their screams of both joy and youth bounce off the trees. “Even my daughter might come to terms with it, had she just given them a chance.”

Something in the warm summer air shifted then, a darker cloud pulling over the otherwise clear sky. For long you had avoided the subject, danced around it because you were afraid, not of asking, but for receiving an answer. Still, your curiosity could not be contained, and as you witness your grandfather in his final moments, you realize that there might not be another oppurtitny for you to ask.

You clear your throat, shifting on your own chair as your hands remained clasped around your grandpa’s. “Say… What happened with my great grandfather?” You present the questions calmly, yet you avoid his eyes, your attention fixed on your intertwined fingers. — With a wheeze-like inhale, your grandpa sighs.

“You have not asked about him before”, he states and you can feel the slight tremble to his hands as they rest in your own. “No”, you say, “I haven’t.” You knew that avoiding this could not go on for forever, he knew it too. Your grandfather nods, taking another deep breath that seemed to cost a lot of effort.

“My father was a fearless man..” He begins telling it like he would any other story, but there’s a definite melancholic edge to his tone. “He was the closest our family ever got to the dragons”, he pauses, eyes flickering to met yours for a brief second, “Some even speculate that he fell in love with one of them.”

Your jaw slacks at that, the surprise evident on your face. “In love?” You echo, to which your grandfather chuckles. “She was a most beautiful woman, a man would be stupid not to recognize such, and my father was far from stupid.” He leans back in his rocking hair, it makes a creaking noise beneath his weight as it shifts backward every so slightly.

“They did spend a great deal of time together, much so that it worried the others.” — “Days could pass without my father returning from the mountains once. It’s quite confusing for a young boy such as myself to be left with his absence. - But I knew then, that my father’s love for the dragons was something I should aspire for myself.”

He made it sound beautiful, a lot more than it should have been. This was no fairytale for its ending was most gruesome. You knew that without having to ask. And with a heavy sigh, one that made his chest puff out before it shrunk again, your grandpa seems to come to terms with how the story had ended.

He doesn’t continue, even though you thought that he might. No, for once, your grandpa seems content with a shorter story, one that spoke for itself. Strangely enough it made you think of the dragon up in the mountain, he was not the same yet he was everything a dragon represented. He confused you, you told yourself that it was the reason he lingered in your mind, even when he shouldn’t.

𓍼ོ

Ingredients for your grandfather’s medicine were of best produce if you harvested them yourself. Your aunt Fiona had therefore urged you out the house that morning, making you embark on a rather long walk as you searched for the plant she desired. It was of magical properties supposedly, and therefore it grew only under magical conditions.

Lunarspore, or something along those lines was what it was called. A small, purple mushroom that thrived best in the murky waters of warm lagoons. Such a place did indeed exist on the island of Aethera, and as all humans, you knew its dangers. — Mushrooms weren’t the only thing that fed off of the almost glowing water. Beneath the surface lurked creatures far beyond any will of good.

Your feet come to a halt by the edge of the lake, your eyes narrowed as they peered across the thicker layer of fog that coated the misty surface. An uneasy feeling bubbles within your stomach, but you don’t turn back around despite your gut instinct screaming for you to do just that. Instead, you crouch down by the water, gaze searching for the round and plump mushroom.

It takes a while, but soon enough you stumble across one. With a relieved exhale you reach for the small knife stashed in your belt, flicking it in your open palm before reaching out to snag tha plant. You’re disappointed by its size, you would have expected them to be bigger. “This thing would barely last us a week..” You mutter as you begin searching for another one straight away.

To your surprise you find a second mushroom almost immediately. But to your dismay it was further out in the lagoon. You hesitate, gaze flickering between the safety of land and the need for the mushroom ahead. These waters scared you, and you did not want to wade out further than absolutely necessary. — In the end your desire to help your sick grandfather wins you over. With one tug, you pull your dress above your knees as you begin your descent into the lagoon.

For each step you take forward the water seems to get warmer. A strange and almost calm feeling washes over you, it puts you at ease, even as your mind yells for you to turn back. You ignore the strange sensations and keep your eyes set on the target ahead. Finally, as you reach the mushroom, you reach for it, but before the blade of your knife can slice it from its roots, a quiet whisper pulls your attention to the left.

Nothing but still and purple water fills your vision, yet you can’t shake the feeling that you weren’t alone. Something, someone, was there with you, lurking and stalking where your weak human eyes couldn’t see. The whisper is soft, it sounds almost like a melody, a sweet and enticing tune. You know you shouldn’t listen, you should scream for its silence and beg for your life.

But you can’t help but fall under its trance.

The water moves, gentle waves brushing against your naked legs. Your dress falls from the now loose grasp of your fingers, the cotton immediately being soaked up by the lagoon. The mushroom is long forgotten and the knife threatens to slip from your hands.

Its wet and long fingers lock around your wrist, slowly tugging you toward the murky water. Its song rings clear in your ears now, but you cannot make out as much as a single word. You allow yourself to be pulled, the water is warm and inviting, enveloping you whole. For a moment you forget about everything, nothing exists and time is not real.

But then, just as your head was about to submerge under the surface, something hard and sharp hits you across the stomach. You’re lunged backward, snatched from the siren’s gentle but firm grip and hurled into the sky. At first, you’re too dazed to even realize what had just happened, but when your vision finally clears, and you behold the ground so far beneath you, is when you scream.

Everything was moving at an alarming speed, the wind whistling in your ears, the sound followed by that of winds slapping against the air. You glance up only to be met by the very same dragon you thought you had seen for the last time. He’s looking straight ahead, clearly unbothered by your terror as you squirm in the gras of his long claws.

If he let go now, you would fall to your immediate death, reduced to nothing more but a pile of shattered limbs as you melt against the ground. The thought scared the living daylights out of you and you stop fighting and instead cling onto him with all your might.

You’re… confused. Why was he here? After your last encounter you’d been certain that you were to never cross paths again. Yet here he was, not only that… He’d saved you. You dare another glance down, beneath you your surroundings are changing quickly. From up here they all seemed small and insignificant, even the lagoon which you had almost fallen victim to.

Your eyes shift toward the dragon, watching as his now healed wings tore through the sky, carrying you to a destination still unknown. You swallow, feeling at loss for words. His hold on you was firm, but it didn’t hurt but you felt pathetically weak squeezed between his claws. — The questions of why and how continue to run through your jumble of thoughts, even when the snowy mountain comes into vision.

Up here, the mountain seems a lot smaller, lesser. Fog covers the bottom half of it, making it impossible to even get a peek of the ground itself. He aims for an opening, one so familiar that your stomach dropped all the way to your toes. You knew exactly where he was taking you now.

He slows down, large wings twisting in the air as he comes to an almost abrupt halt. You shriek when the claws around you loose, making you slip from their hold. But the wet and cold cave floor isn’t far, and you land on wobbly feet with a small thud. The dragon quickly joins you, but the sound of him landing is not the loud and powerful noise you’re expecting, and when you turn around, you find him in human form again.

He runs his fingers through his dark hair with a small shake off his head, it looked almost as though he was dusting himself off. Your eyes trail across his muscular frame, something you had barely allowed yourself to look at last time. Briefly you wonder why he always seemed to appear without a shirt or any garment to cover his chest, but when your gaze flickers over his toned stomach, you find that you did not mind.

Dark yet cold and almost icy eyes flit over to you, and they narrow as he catches you staring. You blink, pulling your invading gaze from him as it jumps across the cave, one you had been in before, both of you. It’s then that reality slowly washes over you, you were here, with him, and he’d just saved you from a fate worse than death. There was only one thing to say.

“Thank you.”

You smile, hoping that the sincerity and your gratitude would show. But the man only frowns, his stoic features twisting into confusion as he watches you from the other side of the cave, a far and safe distance from you. “What for?” He grunts, the disbelief in his voice clear as day.

With parted lips you find yourself mimicking his perplexed expression. “You saved me…” Because he did, right? But he only shakes his head, emitting a small scoff as his jaw clenches. “The siren, the lagoon, I was… I would be..” — “You would be dead”, he calmly states, the simplicity to his tone made you want to shiver.

“I paid my end of the bargain”, he then says and for a moment you could not wrap your head around what he meant by that. Then it all came together. He was making amends for his broken wing, the one you had so carefully tended to, even without his compliance or permission.. Still he was willing to do the same for you, even if only to pay back the debt that seemed to weigh him down.

“Now we no longer have any reason to see each other”, he states as a matter of factly. You can’t tell if he looks relieved or merely tired, or perhaps maybe just at peace. He turns from you, and you panic, worried that he was about to take off once more. You don’t think you could stand seeing him leave, not again. Truth was, you had grown quite attached to the dragon… Yet you knew so little about him.

“You have yet to tell me your name.” It was the first question that came to mind. You bite your tongue, but when his eyes only narrow you quickly add, “You know mine.” It was true, you had told him your own name on your third or fourth encounter, for it had felt rude not to introduce yourself when tending to his wounds.

He scoffs, averting his gaze as it roams the now pink sky, painted by the warm hues of the slowly setting sun. His cold skin looked raw under the orange rays, and you find yourself mesmerized by everything that is him. You had so many questions for him, so many answers you longed to hear. Was he really the last ice dragon? How did they all die, and why had he lived?

Everything is silent for a minute, much so that you swore you heard the song of birds in the far distance. Then he exhales, a long and low breath. Without looking at you he says, “Taehyun.”

“Taehyun is my name.”

You instantly smile, practically beaming toward him. “That’s a beautiful name”, you hum. Taehyun snorts, giving a small roll of his eyes as he turns away from you to peer out over the sky. “There’s hardly anything beautiful about a dragon.” He says it so quietly, almost a whisper. It was probably never intended for your ears, but you hear it.

Why did he loathe his own kind? How could he be ashamed of something so majestic as himself. It made no sense. — Your feet move on their own, slowly carrying you across the cave. You never stop to think, and Taehyun does not turn your way. Then, before you know it, you’re beside him.

Taehyun watches you, his eyes studying your face intently, as if considering his next move carefully. “You humans are strange”, he mutters, but there’s an almost teasing edge to his tone, much different from his usual gloomy demeanor. “A good strange or a bad strange?” You ask as you nervously pull your bottom lip between your teeth.

He shakes his head, turning to face your way and you suck in a sharp breath when you realize just how close you were standing. His expression is still hardened, as if stuck in a permanent frown. Within his dark irises swirl strings of cold blue, and they seemed to shimmer under the setting sun.

A single shiver runs down your spine when his hand snakes to the back of your neck. It was so very different from when he’d had his fingers wrapped around it, squeezing with all his might. He touched you like you were made of porcelain, one push too far would make you shatter in his palm, and he would be unable to piece you back together.

The kiss goes on for forever, time slows down until it ceases to exist. You want to watch him, drink in his almost serene expression. Yet your eyes flutter closed as you return the gesture. Never did you question why he did it, because that didn’t matter. He felt so perfect against you, as if he was made for you and you only. Perhaps in another universe he was, in a universe where you were just like him, and not a weak and frail human.

“Why are you thanking me?” You whisper, your wide eyes peering into his. Taehyun sighs, blinking slowly as he swallows. “I don’t know. Why are you thanking me?” — You smile, your shoulders slumping into a shrug. “I don’t know.”

You saved him, and he saved you. A favor for a favor. You were no longer bound to the other yet it somehow felt like your heart was going to break into a million pieces if you let go now. Taehyun inhales slowly, his nostrils flaring when he does. “Can I kiss you again?” He wonders, and the question makes you almost delirious.

“Yes.” You’re already pressing your lips against his, desperate to feel him on you once more. He smiles into the kiss, a gesture so warm and contrasting to the cold and freezing layer of ice covering him. — Your hands are on his naked chest, fingers splayed across the now healed scar. The soft groan he emits vibrates on your tongue, urging your bodies flush against one another.

“You’re so warm”, he murmurs against your skin as his kisses move to your cheek and down your jaw. Your head falls back, the sunset basking the two of you in color, the world outside silently watching. — “You’re cold..” You whisper, your fingers intertwining in his dark hair regardless.

Taehyun chuckles, a sound you’d never before heard him make, it made your heart flutter. “I am”, he hums, his own hands trailing down your sides, relishing in the way you shiver as you stubbornly cling to him. The cold could not deter you, it never had and it never would. For Taehyun’s heart held all the warmth you should ever need.

The kiss ends for a split second in order for you to catch your breaths. Soft sounds of heavy panting fill the large cave, echoing off its dark and wet walls. You swallow, taking the moment to find your bearings as you gaze into his shimmering eyes. You knew then that he was someone you could trust, with your life if need be. It made your next move all the more obvious.

As you brush a dark strand from his face, you exhale. “I… There’s someone I want you to meet.”

𓍼ོ

“Careful”, you murmur as you lead your grandfather through the high grass. He coughs and tries to swat your hands away but you insist on keeping a firm hold around his shoulders. “There, there, don’t wear yourself out.”

“Pfft-” Your grandpa scoffs, shaking his head as he trudges on forward. “I haven’t been out and about like this in weeks, I’ve saved plenty of energy for the occasion.” He assures you. But you could tell by his laboured breathing and trembling arms that he was tired. You would have felt bad bringing him out here, wasting his precious energy like that. — But today was different.

“Why are we even out here anyways? You can hardly expect me to help harvest any herbs..” He mutters as his tired eyes flicker across the open meadow. It was calm, the late summer air basking the two of you in a warm glow. “No grandpa”, you smile as you pat his shoulder, “That’s not why we’re here.”

Your old man hums, giving a small nod as you come to a stop in the middle of the opening. “I have seen grass before, dear.” He gives you a pointed look and you can’t help but giggle as you shake your head. “I know, you’ve seen what I’m about to show you before too… But I still think you’ll like it.”

Your grandfather raises a brow your way, his lips parting as if to say something, but before he gets the chance to, the trees ahead rustle. The sound snaps both of your attention that way, and you manage to catch a glimpse of your grandpa’s curious eyes just as Taehyun emerges from the forestline.

When you’d first asked him, the request felt pushy, perhaps a little too much, but to your greatest joy, he’d agreed. The white and blue scales on his skin shimmer in the sunlight, and his nearly translucent wings seem to sparkle when he moves closer. He looks magical, hauntingly beautiful. But you force your gaze away from him and over to your grandfather.

He was watching Taehyun with a slack jaw, his eyes wide as sausages and you’re glad that you’re holding on to him when his legs buckle. “That..” He begins, his mouth dried up and his voice hoarse. He turns to you, as if in disbelief before quickly glancing back toward the dragon before him. “Is he real?” He quietly whispers and you bite back a giggle.

“Of course”, you say as you take his hand in yours. “Do you want to get closer?” The question was hardly needed for your grandfather moves with both newfound strength and speed as he approaches Taehyun who’s standing a mere ten feet away. He stops only when the dragon’s cold breath caresses his old and wrinkly face, a smile unlike anything you’d seen before etching its way across his lips.

“He’s real”, your grandpa states, and you swore you could see the happiness blooming in his heart. His gaze wanders across Taehyun’s blue scales, a small frown tugging on his brows. “He’s…” — “An ice dragon”, you nod, “They’re not extinct.”

Taehyun makes a small sound that comes across as half a grunt, half a snort. Your grandfather doesn’t seem to mind, far too preoccupied with taking in the sight before him. “How?” He whispers as he reaches a trembling hand out to touch the very tip of Taehyun’s cold nose. The action is intimate, and it makes your heart swell.

You never give him an answer, you’re not sure what you could even say. All you knew was that you had made his final wish possible, nothing else could make you feel better. — He spends the entire day with Taehyun, and when he shifts into his human form the two converse for hours on end. You watch them, wordlessly admiring the two. From the way your grandpa’s face lit up whenever Taehyun spoke of his life, to the dragon himself when he listened to your grandfather’s stories.

As the sun set you practically had to drag your old man home, promising that Taehyun would visit as soon as he had the chance. — Even though such a time never came.

Your grandpa died that night, it was a peaceful death, one kind and gentle. You watched with tears in your eyes as he inhaled a last time, his chest rising as he did. And when he finally exhaled, everything stopped. Every story and every adventure of his were reduced to just that… tales. Something to remember and to cherish.

You cried until the sun rose on the naked sky, your tears drying just in time for fresh ones to spill. You cried until your chest hurt and your lips were bitten bloody. You grieved your grandfather with every fiber of your being, until there was nothing left but large and hollow holes in your body, filled with an eternal sadness.

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