#falling from perilous heights

[the-lektric-tinker]

I would most recommend The League of Seven to fans of Percy Jackson and The Heroes of Olympus books.

In both, seven superpowered kids come together because of destiny (or something) to fight mythological monsters that are secretly actually real and save the world from destruction by evil forces, while having tragic backstories and traumatic experiences. And saying funny quips!!!

TLOS book one is sort of like if Annabeth, Leo, and a very young and optimistic Nico went on a quest together.

And fought evil Thomas Edison.

[writinginatree]

You're My Home

Relationship(s): Bodhi Durran/female!healer!reader

Summary: Bodhi's home becomes your home.

Warnings: Iron Flame spoilers, reader is estranged from her family.

Written for @empyreanevents's Tyrrendor Week Day 2: Home.

AO3

Cuir's landing in the valley above Aretia is graceful, but even so, the impact might have been enough to send you tumbling from his back if it weren't for Bodhi's arms around you.

The dragon has barely tucked in his wings when your boyfriend is already on his feet, moving as surefootedly as if he were on solid ground. You gratefully accept the hand he offers to help you rise, your body stiff from the cold wind and having sat in the same position for so long.

Bodhi leads you the few steps to Cuir's shoulder, keeping a tight hold on you to prevent you from slipping on the unfamiliar terrain of the dragon's scales, made even more perilous by the fading light. There, he gathers you into his arms and hops to the ground with the ease of years-long practice. Setting you gently on your feet, he helps you adjust your heavy rucksack, which you'd worn in front of you during the flight. Once it sits properly on your back, Bodhi smoothes down your windblown hair, and gives a satisfied nod.

"There," he mumbles.

You kiss his cheek. "Thank you."

You're very glad he didn't let you try to dismount yourself — landing on your feet from that height isn't something your training in the Healer Quadrant included, though with your pack full of medical supplies, you at least would have been well-equipped to deal with any resulting injuries.

Bodhi smiles and gives you an actual kiss in return.

After bowing your head to Cuir in silent thanks for making the exception of carrying you, you take in the valley you landed in. The space is rapidly filling with dragons of every color as the rest of the riot descends around you, a nearby tree falling victim to some dragon's slashing tail. Golden eyes gleam everywhere in the falling dusk, sharp teeth and claws catching the last rays of sunlight.

You take a step closer to Bodhi, all too aware of how your light-blue uniform must stand out to all those predators, even with Bodhi's flight jacket over your tunic. You may all be on the same side, but that's no guarantee none of the beasts won't make a meal of you if it decides you're standing too close or looked at it wrong. The only one of them you fully trust not to kill you is Cuir, since he tolerated your presence on his back all the way here from Basgiath without showing any signs of antipathy toward you.

If someone had told you two days ago that you would ever stand amidst so many dragons, let alone ride on one, you would have examined them for a concussion or referred them to a superior specializing in mental illnesses. Even now, it feels like a dream, though the pounding of your heart and the numbness the cold wind has caused in your hands and face prove the opposite.

Though the riot had stayed in the cover of the clouds as much as possible, the glimpses you got of the land far beneath were mind-blowing. Not just because of how far you were from the ground, but also because of how much of the ground there was — more than you could have ever imagined. Of course you'd known how big Navarre is in theory, had seen maps of the Continent, but to actually see all those forests, mountains, and grassy plains passing underneath you gave you a whole new level of understanding of it.

Having spent your whole life in Chantara, you'd never seen more of the world than what lay within half a day's walk of the small village. Never before did you have reason or opportunity to venture farther — your family has lived in Chantara for generations, running one of the small stores supplying the war college. Far from adventurous, your parents never saw a reason to travel anywhere with you. Neither of them has ever left the village, and if it were up to them, you would have stayed there for the rest of your life, too, just like they had, and your grandparents before them. As their only child, you had been supposed to someday take over the store — an expectation you'd been aware of since you were a child, but that was never actually voiced, as if it were a given and didn't need to be talked about.

Naturally, your parents disapproved when you decided to instead join Basgiath to become a healer. Not just that it threw all their precious plans for the future into upheaval; despite the fact that almost all their customers came from the war college, your family wanted nothing to do with the actual war. They loved their safe little village, and wanted to know nothing of the big, dangerous world beyond it. Joining the military, even as a healer, was far too dangerous, they said. After graduation, you would still be stationed on the front, just like the soldiers; would be killed like them, too, if any of those nasty gryphon riders ever breached the border. Little did your family know that much worse things lurked out there.

You had listened to their fear mongering, pretended to rethink your decision, but when Conscription Day had come around, you were out of the door at sunrise.

Living at Basgiath was strange at first, despite the close proximity to your home — maybe because of it, because you weren't far from your family, and yet didn't get to see them during that first year. But you'd quickly made friends — a certain marked rider among them — and gotten used to military life. When your second year came around and with it visits to Chantara, you were no longer the girl who had left the village a year before.

Your parents felt it, too, and though they welcomed you whenever you dropped by, awkward tension hung in the air every time. When they learned you were dating a marked one, they grew even more distant, despite having never even met Bodhi, and soon, you stopped visiting altogether.

You haven't seen your parents since the past winter, haven't even written to them; why bother, when they never reached out to you, either?

You wonder what they would think if they could see you now, all the way in Tyrrendor, outside the Vale's protective wards. Wonder if anyone told them you deserted, what kind of cover-up story leadership has invented and whether your family will believe it. Are they calling you a traitor right now, cursing you for falling in with Bodhi and his people? Or do they know you well enough to know you wouldn't join a rebellion without good reason? Do they wish you ill, or pray only that you are safe somewhere?

With a sigh, you shake those thoughts. It's useless to dwell on things you cannot control. You're right where you want to be — by Bodhi's side. Anything else is secondary.

You look on as he talks to his executive officer, the two of them making sure the cadets in their section all landed safely.

The flight was long — all of yesterday night, plus the whole day today — with only one brief stop to water the dragons, and as exhilarating as it was, you're glad to be back on solid ground now. Your whole body aches from sitting on Cuir's back for so long, trying your best to hold on so Bodhi wouldn't have to put as much effort into holding you.

Looking around at the riders nearby, quite a few of them seem a little stiff, too. First-years, mainly, who are not yet used to such long flights, but even some of the older cadets are wincing as they stretch.

Gods, your butt hurts. You'll never again complain about having to be on your feet all day as a healer — sitting for so long, especially on a moving creature, is definitely worse.

When Bodhi's section is complete, you all make for the open side of the valley that overlooks the settlement below. A steep path leads downward, and you're very glad Bodhi took the time to find you a pair of rider boots before your departure. In the comfortable flats you usually wear, you would have been slipping and sliding all the way down.

Bodhi smiles at you, gesturing at the city which lies beyond the trail. "Welcome to Aretia."

The sun has as good as disappeared behind the horizon, but there's still just enough light to make out the town and it's fortress. That's Riorson House, you realize — Bodhi's childhood home, and the destination of this journey.

"It's beautiful."

"The town used to be much bigger," he says with a sad smile. "A real city. But it's still amazing how much has been rebuilt since they burnt it all down."

"To me it still seems big" you say, hoping it doesn't sound dismissive. While you can't relate to the losses Bodhi went through during the rebellion, the razing of a whole city horrifies and enrages you too. It's just that compared to your own small village — the only place you ever knew — the town seems big enough that you never ever want to walk its streets without a map or the company of someone who knows their way around.

Bodhi's grin widens, that shadow of sorrow leaving his eyes. "Yeah, I guess it would when you've never seen a real city," he teases.

"I'm not sure I ever want to see a real city," you admit as the two of you start down the path. "I'll probably get hopelessly lost even here."

"I'll make sure not to let you go anywhere alone, then. Though I think you would manage to find your way back to Riorson House if you did get lost."

"Probably."

Carved into the mountainside and taller than the other buildings you can see, the fortress is indeed hard to miss.

The rest of the walk passes mostly in silence, all of you weary and wary — you saw no signs of the forces remaining loyal to Navarre on the flight here, but that doesn't mean they won't find you.

At the fortress, it's pure chaos, despite the efforts of the marked ones to retain some semblance of order. Clearly, Aretia was not prepared for so many people. You can't really blame them for being a little bewildered, considering they didn't get so much as a warning before a hundred riders plus three scribes and a healer showed up on their doorstep.

Bodhi takes you to his room before anyone can even think about confining you somewhere like they did with the scribes the second they saw them. Telling you to make yourself at home, he points out the bathing chamber attached to his room and pecks your lips, before returning downstairs to fullfil his section leader duty and see that the other cadets are taken care of.

Though you try to wait up, you're fast asleep mere moments after settling into Bodhi's bed, hair still damp from your bath.

A few days later, the excitement has died down, and a routine has been established.

Aretia's healers are glad to have an extra pair of helping hands, seeing as the secrecy of the town's existence means they're severely understaffed. You may only be a cadet, but as a third-year, you have learned all the essentials already, only lacking hands-on experience and more specialized knowledge, which your new superiors are happy to pass on to you.

Not that they're entrusting you with any particularly difficult tasks just yet — you get to treat smaller injuries on your own, and when one of the older healers has a free minute they question you on theoretical knowledge, filling in any gaps they find, but for the most part, you clean surgery tools, collect herbs, or mix salves and tinctures. A lot of it is first-year work, but since you're the only healer cadet here, you suppose it makes sense it's you being handed those tasks. You don't mind. In fact, you quite enjoy being sent out to collect any medicinal plants you can find before the fast-approaching winter destroys them; you've always liked being outdoors.

The best part of living in Aretia, however, is waking up next to Bodhi every morning, and how much more time you can spend with him compared to Basgiath.

No more sneaking him into the Healer Quadrant for a few stolen kisses, no more longing to see him but being unable to because not even healers are allowed to enter the Riders Quadrant. Now you get to see him whenever you want, get to sit with him at mealtimes and have him drop by to say hi between classes, can even creep into the gym to watch his sparring sessions if you want.

You've never been so far from the place you've always lived in, and yet you've never felt so at home. Like this is where you belong, the place you've been longing for your whole life without even knowing it.

Domestic bliss, that's what this is.

While Bodhi is in the shower, you sit by the window, a blanket wrapped around your shoulders against the autumn chill the glass gives off, a textbook on Tyrrendor's native plants and their medicinal uses open on your lap. You stopped reading minutes ago, distracted by the view you have over the surrounding area from here.

You have yet to venture into the town itself, though you've already become well-acquainted with the surrounding countryside, thanks to the hours spent gathering herbs with one of the oldest healers here — a gray-haired woman with hands so gnarled she can no longer hold a blade to perform surgeries, but whose eyes and mind remain sharp, a seemingly endless well of knowledge. In less than a week, she has already taught you more than some of your professors at Basgiath did in all your time there.

You're so deep in thought you don't hear Bodhi exiting the bathing chamber, only noticing him when he comes to stand beside you, softly asking if you're homesick.

You suppose you must have looked a little lost, gazing out into the landscape like that. It's a beautiful view, one you'll never get enough off, the only sight you enjoy even more that of the man behind you. Your old home is the farthest thing from your mind when you look at it.

"No," you say, shaking your head with a soft smile as you turn to face Bodhi. "I was just thinking how much I love this place. I'd be perfectly happy to stay here forever and never see Chantara or Basgiath ever again. Besides — you're my home, Bodhi. We could go anywhere in the world and I would not feel out of place as long as you're by my side."

He smiles at that, leaning in to capture your lips.

"You're my home too," he mumbles into the kiss. "But I'm glad you like Aretia, because it looks like we'll be here for some time."

[ofswordsandpens]

Am I the only one who thinks about how The Lightning Thief would have gone if instead of Grover, Percy picked Luke to go with him and Annabeth on the quest? Luke, who was sick of the idea of doing quests that had already been done was just picked to go on a unique quest by this demigod who he was planning to manipulate, and the quest was unique because he helped to make it so. And while he'll likely be plotting to hide the fact that he's a lightning thief, reworking things to take heat off himself, one of his quest mates would be Annabeth, the half blood he personally saved and brought to camp, whom he would have to work like hell to hide his deeds from.

listen I'm loving the comedic potential of this because in my heart of hearts, I feel like Luke's too enamored with the idea of razing Olympus for him to doubt what he's doing, but balancing that razors edge where he's actively trying to sabotage the quest and kill Percy while not tipping off Annabeth, and also trying to plant seeds of doubt and discord both between Percy and Annabeth and also about the gods while trying not to be too obvious about it because maybe, just maybe he can convince Annabeth to side with him.

except as usual Luke's nefarious plans are constantly being foiled by 2 tweens and its embarrassing cause they're not even trying. Percy's not wearing the shoes and keeps making up polite reasons on why he can't without seeming like he's rejecting Luke's gift (cause that would be rude) and Annabeth's like "well I'm gonna wear them then" and Luke's panics like "NO" but he also can't wear them so then they just stay in the bag untouched. then Luke keeps directing them into the paths of monsters in the hopes Percy's gonna get taken out but holy hell this kid just won't die. Like literally just escapes mortal peril by the skin of his teeth and doesn't even realize it. It's like an old silent film where the entire front of the house falls off and the guy survives because he just happened to be standing right where the open window is.

Then Luke's also trying to stir up some anger at the gods, testing the waters with Annabeth, but she's so in the height in the idealization of her mom it's getting no where. Luke's trying to be subtle like "hey... don't you think it's kinda of fucked up that the gods are..... uh... blaming? percy for this? and that he has to do this quest to set things right" but annabeth's like "what do you mean by that? 🤨 this is what heroes do this is how we prove ourselves" and unfortunately Percy is the only one vibing with the "hey don't you hate your dad" comments that's Luke's throwing down and that makes him fond of Percy against his better judgement but he's still gotta kill him so you know, bummer

anyway, in this quest AU Percy perceives Luke as the Responsible Adult cause he's 19 (lmao) and thus feels a little less pressure to be responsible for things himself and so when they get to the Underworld, Luke's like smirking, grinning, cause a. he's in in the Underworld and how many heroes have achieved that? b. the shoes in Percy's bag are about to drag that kid to the depths of hell or c. the lightning bolts about to appear in the bag and Luke will throw Percy under the bus to Hades (he's been practicing his betrayal speech) except wait "Percy... where's your backpack??" and Percy's like "oh I forgot it at the hotel 👉👈" and Luke loses it and picks him up to throw him into tartarus himself (he is unsuccessful)

[raiffeldrakon123]

DP X DC | Prompt 1

Everyone knows the Fenton family —As a whole— are anything but normal. Aside from the fact that nearly every member of the Fenton bloodline seemed far more durable than the average human, all of them —whether by blood or marriage— shared a peculiar “obsession” with the supernatural.

For Jack Fenton and his wife, Maddie, this manifested as a passion for hunting and studying ghosts. But for Jack’s parents, it had taken a different form —their obsession was with studying the Fae.

If people thought Jack and Maddie keeping a ghost-hunting lab in their basement —and storing ectoplasm samples in the same fridge as their food— was the height of bad parenting, that’s only because they never met Jack’s parents.

Jack’s parents had been obsessed with the Fae for as long as he could remember—so obsessed, in fact, that they spent most of their lives trying (and failing) to summon one and strike a deal. Until, one day… they succeeded.

They managed to summon Mórrigan —The Great Phantom Queen of the Tuatha Dé Danann; The Celtic Goddess of War, Winter, Fertility, Fate, and Death; and the Patron of Witches, Warriors, and Sorcerers— who, in truth, only answered their call because she was bored and had little else to do in the modern age.

Both of them struck a deal with her —a perilous choice, given she was both a Fae Queen and a Greater Goddess, more than capable of smiting them where they stood. But she was bored, and boredom often softened her wrath, so she allowed them to speak.

They made their request. And in return, they offered her something precious: Their grandchildren —biologically born and rightfully recognized as the children of their firstborn son. The deal was struck, and the Fae goddess vanished soon after —leaving behind the gifts the Fenton grandparents had bargained for.

Neither of them truly believed she would return. Yes, they had a firstborn son —Jack— and while they loved him dearly, they never imagined he would ever find someone to marry, let alone have children with. Besides, they had worded the bargain very carefully, limiting the Mórrigan’s claim only to grandchildren who were biologically his, born within wedlock, and with his full knowledge. It had seemed like a safe bet at the time.

So you can imagine their surprise when Jack did, in fact, fall in love —marrying a woman just as obsessed with ghosts as he was. And together, they had two children. Two children who, as fate would have it, were very interesting to a certain Fae Goddess.

[walkswithmyfather]

Romans 8:32-39 (NASB1995). [32] “He who did not spare His own Son, but delivered Him over for us all, how will He not also with Him freely give us all things? [33] Who will bring a charge against God’s elect? God is the one who justifies; [34] who is the one who condemns? Christ Jesus is He who died, yes, rather who was raised, who is at the right hand of God, who also intercedes for us. [35] Who will separate us from the love of Christ? Will tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword? [36] Just as it is written, “For Your sake we are being put to death all day long; We were considered as sheep to be slaughtered.” [37] But in all these things we overwhelmingly conquer through Him who loved us. [38] For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, [39] nor height, nor depth, nor any other created thing, will be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

“Nothing Can Separate Us” by In Touch Ministries:

“Nothing, not even our own mistakes, can separate us from the love of God.”

In Romans 8, Paul delivers a persuasive argument for believing in eternal security, and it’s framed with these questions:

Who will bring a charge against God’s elect? The answer is simple: No one can bring an accusation against believers and make it stick. Satan tries, but God has justified us through Jesus—He’s declared that we are not guilty. If you fall into a stage of unbelief or sinful living, you may lose your reward, but you can’t lose your eternity in heaven with God (1 Corinthians 3:12-15).

Who will separate us from the love of Christ? Undoubtedly, there are many experiences that test our faith, but we are ultimately saved by God’s grace. Jesus understands our trials and doubts, and He is not interested in casting us away at our first misstep. God always knew we would make thousands of mistakes after receiving Christ, but He saved us anyway.

Some followers of Jesus worry that embracing the idea of eternal security will motivate people to go out and live a life of sin because they have nothing to lose. If we think about the wonder and majesty of our Father, doesn’t it make more sense that people would be motivated to praise Him for saving them from their disobedience? The more we know of Jesus and His love for us, the more we will love Him and want to please Him.”

[Photo thanks to Loume Visser at Unsplash]

[moonselune]

Hey, new person here, I just thought your giant tav was adorable and I was wondering if youd do the same but in the inverse with a tiny tav or do the guys with a giant tav

Oooo yes, I did it with a tiny tav with the ladies for symmetry

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Karlach:

The sun was setting, casting a warm, golden glow over the landscape as you and Karlach traveled along the winding path. The journey had been long and filled with peril, but now, with the day's dangers behind you, the world felt calm and serene. Karlach, your fierce and towering lover, walked beside you, her fiery presence a comforting constant.

As the path grew uneven and difficult to navigate, Karlach paused and turned to you with a mischievous smile. "Need a better view of the road ahead, love?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with playful intent.

Before you could respond, she effortlessly scooped you up and hoisted you onto her broad shoulders. From this vantage point, the world looked different—more expansive and grand. But the real reason you loved this position was because it brought you closer to Karlach, her warmth and strength surrounding you like a protective barrier.

As you settled in, Karlach's hands gently held your legs, her fingers brushing your thighs. "Comfortable up there?" she teased, glancing up at you with a grin.

You laughed, the sound light and carefree. "Yes, but I know you just like having me close."

Karlach chuckled, her deep voice rumbling through her chest. "Guilty as charged," she admitted. "And maybe I like the view too." Her tone grew more playful as she lightly nibbled on your inner thigh, her teeth grazing your sensitive skin.

A shiver ran down your spine, and you felt your face heat up with a blush. "Karlach!" you protested, though there was no real force behind it. The sensation was both ticklish and electrifying, making you squirm slightly on her shoulders.

She laughed, a rich and hearty sound. "What? Just making sure you're paying attention," she said innocently, though her eyes twinkled with mischief.

As the journey continued, you marveled at how effortlessly Karlach carried you, her strength seemingly boundless. You felt safe and cherished, high above the ground but always anchored by her presence. The rhythmic sway of her gait, the steady rise and fall of her breaths, all combined to create a sense of intimacy and connection that you treasured.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Minthara:

Minthara's presence was commanding, her height and demeanor often making you feel small in comparison. But rather than intimidating you, it was a dynamic you found oddly comforting, even when it led to the occasional power struggle. One evening, after a particularly heated argument, you tried to storm off in frustration.

"I can't deal with this right now, Minthara," you huffed, turning to leave. Before you could take more than a few steps, you felt her strong arms around your waist, lifting you off the ground effortlessly.

"Oh no, you don't," she said, her voice firm but tinged with amusement. "We're not done yet."

You struggled briefly, but it was more out of principle than any real desire to escape. She carried you back to where you had been standing, setting you down with a smirk. "You're not going anywhere until we've settled this."

"Minthara, you can't just—" you started, but she cut you off with a gentle but insistent grip on your shoulders.

"I can and I will," she replied, her eyes locked onto yours. "Because I care about you too much to let you walk away angry."

You sighed, the fight draining out of you as you looked up at her. There was a softness in her eyes that belied her stern exterior, a tenderness that made your heart ache. "Fine," you muttered, leaning into her touch. "But only because I know you won't let me leave anyway."

She chuckled, pulling you into a tight embrace. "Exactly," she murmured against your hair. "Now, let's talk this out."

As you stood there, held securely in her arms, you realized that this was what made your relationship with Minthara so special. She was unyielding and fierce, but her love for you was just as strong. And in moments like these, you couldn't help but feel grateful for her strength and determination.

"I love you," you whispered, nuzzling against her chest.

"And I love you," she replied, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "Even when you're being difficult."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Lae'zel:

Lae'zel often reveled in the differences between you, her lover, and herself. Your smaller stature was something she both respected and adored, often finding ways to test your strength and resilience in ways that left her both impressed and enchanted.

One afternoon, you found yourself in the middle of a Githyanki training exercise. Lae'zel had a wicked glint in her eyes as she handed you a massive, intricately designed zweihander that was almost as tall as you were.

"Let's see how you handle this," she challenged, crossing her arms and watching intently.

You took the weapon, feeling its weight settle into your grip. The metal was cool and the balance perfect, and despite its size, you swung it with practiced ease, the blade slicing through the air with a satisfying whoosh.

Lae'zel's eyes widened slightly as you performed a series of maneuvers, the heavy weapon seeming like an extension of your body. Each swing, each step, was precise and powerful. She had expected you to struggle, to be weighed down by the sheer mass of the sword, but instead, you wielded it as if it were a feather.

"Impressive," she muttered under her breath, her admiration clear.

You turned to her, a playful smirk on your face. "Is that all you've got? I was hoping for more of a challenge."

Lae'zel's awe turned into a fierce grin. "You never cease to amaze me," she said, stepping closer. "Perhaps one day, you will best even me in combat."

You laughed, sheathing the zweihander. "Maybe, but for now, I'm happy just impressing you."

She grabbed your hand, pulling you into a passionate kiss. "You do more than impress, my love. You inspire."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Shadowheart:

Shadowheart had a different approach when it came to your smaller size. She found your petite frame endearing, often using it to her advantage in ways that left you both exasperated and enamored.

One late evening, you were sitting by the campfire, stubbornly refusing to go to bed despite your evident exhaustion.

"I'm not tired," you insisted, stifling a yawn.

Shadowheart sighed, shaking her head. "You need rest, my love. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow."

You shook your head, determined to stay up a little longer. But before you could protest further, Shadowheart moved with surprising speed and scooped you up into her arms.

"Hey!" you exclaimed, flailing slightly. "Put me down!"

She chuckled softly, holding you securely as she carried you towards your tent. "You're too stubborn for your own good," she said, her voice gentle but firm. "And too small to stop me."

Despite your half-hearted protests, you couldn't help but feel a warm sense of comfort as she cradled you against her. Shadowheart's strength was undeniable, and there was something incredibly soothing about being held by her, knowing she would always take care of you.

She laid you down on the bedroll, pulling the covers over you. "There," she said, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "Now, stay put and get some sleep."

You pouted up at her, but the corners of your mouth turned up in a smile. "Fine, but only because you carried me."

Shadowheart leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "Goodnight, my love. Sleep well."

As you drifted off to sleep, you couldn't help but feel a deep sense of love and gratitude for her. Shadowheart might use your size to her advantage, but it was always out of love and care. And you wouldn't have it any other way.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Jaheira:

Jaheira often found herself marveling at the contrast between you and her. Your smaller stature compared to her tall, commanding presence was a constant source of amusement and endearment for her. She enjoyed using it to her advantage, finding subtle ways to show her affection and care while also having a bit of fun with you.

One evening, after a long day of travel and battling the creatures of the wilderness, you both settled down by a crackling campfire. The flames danced, casting flickering shadows across the campsite as you began to prepare dinner. You struggled slightly with the heavy pot, trying to position it over the fire. Jaheira watched with a bemused smile, her green eyes glinting with mischief.

"Here, let me help you with that," she said, stepping forward and effortlessly lifting the pot from your hands. You rolled your eyes playfully but couldn't help but feel a warmth spread through your chest at her gesture.

"I'm not completely helpless, you know," you said, crossing your arms and looking up at her.

Jaheira chuckled, setting the pot down securely. "I know, my love. But it doesn't hurt to lend a hand, does it?"

As you sat down to eat, Jaheira took the opportunity to tease you further. She handed you a large bowl of stew, almost too big for you to handle comfortably. "Are you sure you can manage that?" she asked with a teasing grin.

You shot her a mock glare. "Very funny, Jaheira. I can handle a bowl of stew."

Despite the banter, you couldn't deny the warmth that spread through you whenever Jaheira displayed her subtle dominance. It was never demeaning or belittling, always wrapped in a blanket of care and affection.

Later that night, as you were both getting ready to sleep, you found yourself shivering slightly from the cool night air. Jaheira noticed immediately, her keen eyes always attuned to your needs. Without a word, she scooped you up into her arms, carrying you over to the bedrolls with ease.

"Jaheira!" you exclaimed, half-laughing, half-protesting. "I can walk, you know."

She smirked, laying you down gently and wrapping you in a thick blanket. "I know, but I like taking care of you," she said softly, her voice filled with warmth and love.

You snuggled into the blanket, feeling the comforting weight of it around you. "You know, for someone who loves nature so much, you sure do pamper me," you teased.

Jaheira leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. "That's because you are my nature, my heart," she whispered. "And I will always take care of you, no matter how small or strong you are."

Her words wrapped around you like a second blanket, filling you with a sense of safety and belonging. As you drifted off to sleep, you felt Jaheira settle beside you, her larger form a protective barrier against the world. Her arm draped over you, holding you close, and you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would always have her by your side, using her strength to support and love you in every way she could.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Hope you guys enjoyed this ! - Seluney xox

[thewulf]

Frosted Steel || Cassian

Summary: Request -Can i request a Cassian x Reader?? Here's what I'm thinking-Reader is from winter court. She's gifted with unique ice-binding magic from her home and arrives in Velaris to help Rhysand finalize a critical peace treaty?... Read Rest Here

A/N: Well... this one got away from me hahaha but I had a blast writing it. Def in the zone writing these ACOTAR fics so please keep sending them my way!

Pairing: Cassian x Female Reader (Winter Court Reader)

Word Count: 9.8k + (WHOOPS)

TW: swords, reader gets cut, blood, general ACOTAR warnings

In the silent, shimmering halls of the Winter Court you stood before Kallias, your father and the formidable High Lord. His piercing blue eyes reflect both concern and determination as he addresses you. The throne room was usually a place of austere beauty but felt colder today. The frost patterns on the walls mirroring the tension in the air.

"Velaris is not just another city, and this is not merely a diplomatic visit my daughter," Kallias begins. His voice resonant and commanding. "Rhysand needs our support to finalize a peace treaty that could stabilize relations of the Winter Court for generations. I need someone who can represent our interests with both power and delicacy. Someone like you."

You shift slightly with your boots whispering against the icy floor. "But father, my magic is suited for creation not conflict. Surely there are others better suited to navigate the intricacies of a peace treaty?" You tried your best to convince him, but it was sure to fall of deaf ears. When he had a plan there was no talking him out of it.

Kallias rises. His height and presence filling the room with an almost tangible force. "No one else possesses your unique abilities or your perspective," he insists. "You understand the fragile nature of peace. This treaty needs more than just political acumen… it needs the trust and bond that only your magic can foster." You knew exactly what he was doing. He was trying to flatter you. You lowered your gaze knowing there was no talking him out of this. You felt the weight of his expectations pressing into you. It is an honor yes, but a daunting one, nonetheless. The responsibility feels as heavy as the ice that clings to the peaks of your homeland.

Seeing your hesitation Kallias softens before stepping down from the dais to place a reassuring hand on your shoulder. "I would not ask this of you if I did not believe in your ability to carry our hopes," he says. His tone infused with a rare warmth. "You have always risen to the challenges presented to you, greater though they may seem."

Drawing a deep breath you nod, accepting the mantle he's offering. "I will go to Velaris. I will help broker this peace." You spoke even though you truly did not want to go.

Kallias smiles with pride evident in his eyes. "Rhysand has arranged for an escort to meet you at the city gates. They will ensure your safety and aid in your acclimation to the Night Court's ways. Spend some time there. Get to know them. It will only aid in our recovery efforts after the war.” As you turn to leave your heart steadies itself. The path ahead is uncertain and is filled with potential alliances and hidden perils. But as the frost air fills your lungs you feel your resolve harden. You will meet this challenge as you have met all others with the cool grace and quiet strength of winter itself.

He didn’t give you long to get ready to leave. Within a day you were already finding yourself at the outskirts of Velaris, the once hidden city of the Night Court. As you step through the threshold into the city your senses are immediately overwhelmed by the vivid contrasts. Unlike the icy, silent elegance of your homeland, Velaris pulses with life. Its streets bustling with faeries of every conceivable form and hue. The air here carries the warmth of starlight even into the night. It was a stark contrast to the crisp, cold air of the Winter Court. Your unique ice-binding magic was a rare gift in your cold dominion, and it stirred within you responding to the latent energies of this foreign land.

Your arrival isn't just a mere visit as your father had informed you. It's a mission charged with the weight of potential peace or conflict. Directed by your father you are here to assist Rhysand, the famed High Lord of the Night Court and one you were incredibly intimidated by, in finalizing the critical peace treaty. The responsibility weighs heavily on your shoulders as the outcome could define the future relationships between your frigid realm and the temperate lands of the Night Court.

As you glide through the throngs of fae your eyes marvel at the architectural wonders of Velaris. The buildings around you display intricate designs that emit an ethereal glow, seeming both ancient and vibrantly alive. Despite the surrounding beauty you remain vigilant, your magic at the ready. Your heart beats a complex rhythm of excitement and caution as you near the meeting point. In Velaris, amidst allies and strangers, you must navigate the intricacies of court politics. Utilizing your magical talents for diplomacy and perhaps learn to defend yourself in more ways than one.

However, a different sensation stirs within you—a blend of nervousness and unease—as you anticipate your first encounter with Rhysand and Feyre. Both are Daemati, a kind of power that deeply unsettles you. This fear stems from a harrowing past encounter with a Daemati under Amarantha's command who had mercilessly killed twelve children of the Winter Court. One of these children was your Ivy. She was a young fae you were mentoring. Ivy, like yourself, possessed potent abilities but her promise was brutally cut short. She was a loss that still haunts you to this day.

Now as you approach the House of Wind with your escort a mix of fear and determination tingles through your nerves. You replay the pain of your past and the loss that continuously gnaws at your spirit. Yet, you steady yourself with the knowledge that your father has prepared you well to shield your thoughts. He had trained you relentlessly once he returned from under the mountain. At the time it frustrated you but now, in this moment, you are profoundly grateful for his persistence.

Rhysand and Feyre greet you at the grand entrance. Their presence was both awe-inspiring and intimidating. Rhysand's dark hair and piercing gaze are balanced by a surprisingly warm smile. While Feyre's poise and grace exude a calm strength. Though their reputations are fair and just leaders precede them you can't shake the lingering trepidation of their unique abilities.

"Welcome to Velaris," Rhysand says. His voice both smooth and inviting. "We are honored to assist the Winter Court in these crucial talks."

You manage a polite nod making sure to keep your mental shields tightly woven, an invisible armor against any potential intrusion. Rhysand’s eyes seem to glimmer with a hint of understanding, but he makes no move to address the unspoken tension.

Feyre then steps forward with a gentle smile. Her empathy palpable even without words. "We hope you find comfort here during your stay. If there's anything you need at all, please let us know."

As they lead you through the corridors of their home filled with the light of glowing crystals and the scent of night-blooming flowers you remind yourself of the mission at hand. You are here to negotiate peace. To secure a future for your court. Despite the warmth of their welcome, you remain vigilant, prepared to protect your thoughts and heart from the painful memories of the past and the daunting power of the present.

After showing you to your room, a beautiful space with a view of Velaris that twinkles like a starlit sky, Feyre gently suggests that you join them for dinner. As you follow her down to the dining area your nervousness manifests subtly. Your leg shakes rhythmically, a silent tick showing the unease churning inside you. The room is beautifully set with candles flickering softly. They cast a warm light over the array of dishes that smell of spices and something sweetly floral.

You take your seat making sure to deliberately avoid the gazes of Rhysand and Feyre who try to make the atmosphere as welcoming as possible. Your leg continues to shake under the table and despite their friendly demeanor you find yourself unable to meet their eyes. You choose instead to focus on the intricate patterns of the tablecloth. You felt terribly out of your element. Why had your father sent you here? You couldn’t even look them in the eyes, how were you going to negotiate peace with them?

Noticing your discomfort Rhysand addresses the elephant in the room with a gentle directness. "It must be quite unsettling being far from home and surrounded by strangers. Especially strangers who possess abilities that might seem... invasive. We both understand the significance of mental privacy and consent," he begins. His tone imbued with empathy. His acknowledgment of his and Feyre's Daemati powers catches your attention prompting you to glance up briefly.

"We're committed to using our powers to protect and heal, never to harm or coerce," Rhysand continues hoping to ease your worry. "It's a rule we hold sacred in Velaris. A promise to each other and to those we welcome into our home."

As Rhysand speaks there is a sincerity radiating with each word. You find the courage to lift your eyes and meet his gaze for the first time this evening. Something in his expression, a deep-seated earnestness, cuts through the fog of your apprehension. You nod slowly acknowledging his pledge and the safety it promises.

"Thank you," you speak quietly. "I've heard much about both of you and your abilities. Forgive me for being so… cold." The smirk that follows is light and tinged with the irony of your homeland's icy reputation.

Your gaze shifts between Rhysand and Feyre. Their attentive postures encouraging you to continue. "The reason for my caution," you explain, "stems from a… an awful experience. One of the children taken by Amarantha's enforcer was under my protection. Her name was Ivy. I was supposed to shield her. Protect her. To nurture her abilities. But I could only watch helpless as her mind was torn apart. Piece by piece. It was... traumatizing to say the least. The fear of that power. The fear of it being used again so mercilessly has stayed with me." You let out the breath you were holding feeling a weight being slowly lifted off your shoulders in your admission.

Taking a deep breath, you fight through the tide of emotion threatening to overwhelm you. "Ivy was more than just a pupil to me. She was like a daughter," you begin. Your voice trembling as the words spill out. “Young and brilliant. Her very presence could brighten the darkest winter nights. She had a rare gift for ice magic. The kind that comes once in a generation. Ivy could weave frost into intricate sculptures of breathtaking beauty. She could coax snowflakes into patterns that told stories. Her magic wasn’t just powerful, it was art. Art in the purest and most captivating form."

Your voice cracks as the memory surges forward, raw, and as sharp as the day it happened. "When the enforcer came, I tried to shield her. I stood between them. I begged him to take me instead. But he just laughed..." Your hands clench into fists at the memory with you nails digging into your palms as if to anchor you against the pain. "And then he turned his attention to her. Ivy was just a girl. A beautiful little girl brimming with potential, and I had to watch from a distance… utterly powerless, as he ripped it all away. Her screams... the look of sheer terror in her eyes... it's etched into my memory. A nightmare that never fades."

Pausing, you swallow hard, feeling the sting of tears as they threaten to breach your composure. "I couldn't save her. The guilt of that moment, the utter helplessness. It’s haunted me ever since." You wipe away a tear that manages to escape, your voice a whisper now. "That’s why I’m so wary around Daemati. That’s why your powers… even though I know you use them for good, initially stirred such deep fear in me. The memory of what was done with similar abilities. It terrifies me still."

As you finish the room is enveloped in a heavy silence. Rhysand and Feyre absorbing the depth of your pain. Each of their faces etched with compassion and sorrow for your loss. Feyre's reaction is immediate and visceral. Her eyes fill with tears, and they silently overflow as she listens to the end of your harrowing experience. Moved deeply by your pain and the horrific loss of Ivy, she can barely contain her distress, reflecting her profound empathy.

"I'm so sorry," Feyre whispers. Her voice quivering as she reaches across the table, seeking to provide comfort even as she struggles with her own reaction. "That you had to go through that, to witness such horror... it's just unthinkable. I can't express how deeply sorry I am for your loss and your pain."

Rhysand's expression is one of solemn resolve as he observes both you and Feyre. He places a reassuring hand on her shoulder offering her a silent strength before turning his attention to you with a serious yet compassionate gaze. "What happened to Ivy, the terror she endured—such things are what we fight against every day," he says firmly. "Under my watch we hold ourselves to a promise: that we use our power to protect, to heal, not to harm. What you experienced will not happen here. You have my word." He nods his head in reverence.

The sincerity in Rhysand's voice and his protective assurance coupled with Feyre's empathetic tears create a poignant moment of understanding and solidarity. It offers a small yet significant reassurance that in Velaris you might find not only safety but also allies who genuinely care about your well-being.

As dinner progresses the conversation gradually shifts towards lighter topics. Focusing on the details of the peace treaty. The atmosphere has eased significantly with Rhysand and Feyre both engaging in thoughtful dialogue about the future plans and the roles each court might play in fostering peace. You find yourself becoming more invested in the conversation feeling a bit more at ease with each passing moment.

Just as you're beginning to relax fully the door bursts open and two figures storm in, deep in a heated debate. Their voices are raised, each trying to overpower the other with their arguments.

“You think charging in without a plan is the answer, Cassian? That’s reckless, even for you,” the darker-haired one asserts, his expression intense and clearly frustrated.

“And you think waiting around is going to solve our problems, Az? We can’t just leave it unresolved!” the larger man retorts with his broad frame gesturing emphatically.

Rhysand sighs, setting down his utensils before looking between his two friends. “Alright, what’s this about?” he asks, ready to mediate with a practiced ease.

As Cassian and Azriel's loud entrance interrupted the dinner your eyes immediately locked with Cassian's. Despite the intensity of their ongoing argument something about his direct gaze halted all other thoughts. It was as if a gust of wind had swept through the room, leaving you momentarily breathless. Amidst the unexpected disruption the corner of your mouth quirked up in amusement. Such candid, boisterous dynamics were a rare sight back in the Winter Court and the sheer openness of it all struck you as refreshingly odd. Even as the argument continued your focus remained riveted on Cassian. You found it impossible to break away from his gaze, his eyes holding a mixture of passion and warmth that was intensely captivating.

Catching your amused smile, Cassian halts mid-sentence. A playful glint appearing in his eyes. “And who do we have here?” he asks. His tone shifting to one of curiosity mixed with a hint of charm. “A spy from the Winter Court come to watch us squabble like market hagglers?”

Azriel rolls his eyes at Cassian’s dramatics. “Ignore him. Cassian thinks every new face is part of a grand intrigue.”

Rhysand chuckles and intervenes before Cassian can respond. “No spies here, just Kallias’s daughter from the Winter Court. She’s here to assist with the peace treaty negotiations. Remember?” Rhysand explains gesturing toward you with a warm smile. “And apparently to witness the Night Court's General and Spymaster in their, let’s say, natural habitat.”

Cassian’s face lights up with a broad grin as he extends a hand in greeting. His earlier fervor now redirected into welcoming you. “Well then, welcome to Velaris! I’m Cassian, the General. And the brooding shadow over there is Azriel, our Spymaster. Seems you’ve got a front-row seat to our tactical disputes.”

Azriel gives you a nod, his earlier annoyance fading into a reserved smile. "It’s good to meet you. Please don’t mind us. We argue, but it’s all in the spirit of making the best decisions for our people."

Your initial amusement grows into a genuine smile, touched by the warmth and candidness of their welcome, even amidst their lively disputes. This evening has certainly turned out to be full of surprises. Painting a vivid picture of the Night Court as a place of vibrant personalities and fierce loyalty.

As the energy from their spirited discussions simmers down and the laughter echoes into a comfortable lull you take the opportunity to express your amusement at their robust debate. Greeting Cassian and Azriel warmly you share how refreshing you find the candid nature of the Night Court. It's a stark contrast to the more reserved and formal interactions typical of the Winter Court, sparking your curiosity about the dynamics of this lively group.

"Well, it's certainly different here," you comment with a light laugh. "I'm looking forward to seeing more of this... enthusiasm during my stay. I'll be here for a month or so. I hope to learn as much as I can."

Rhysand, seizing on your mention of an extended stay, exchanges a quick glance with Cassian. He gave him a sly smile as he senses his brothers attention shifting toward you almost immediately. "A month or so gives us plenty of time," he says thoughtfully. "If you're interested in learning more than just politics perhaps you'd like to join some of our training sessions? Cassian here leads our warriors and I'm sure he could arrange something that accommodates your skills and interests."

Cassian’s eyes light up at the suggestion. He was always eager to bring someone new into the fold of his training regimens. Especially someone as unique as you seemed to be. "Absolutely," he agrees with an enthusiastic nod. "It’s not all sword swinging and strength training. We focus on strategy, agility, and even some elemental control that might align nicely with your ice magic. It could be a good way to blend some of the Winter Court techniques with ours."

As Rhysand suggests joining the training sessions you hesitate, a flicker of doubt crossing your face. "I appreciate the offer but I'm not really a fighter," you admit slightly apologetic in your nature. "My strengths lie more in diplomacy and magic, particularly ice magic. I'm not sure how well I'd fit into a warrior's training regimen."

Rhysand, observing the interplay at the table, seems particularly keen on your participation. His insight as a leader might allow him to sense the undercurrent of interest from Cassian toward you. Something potentially deeper than it appears. He pushes gently but with a knowing smile, "It’s not just about fighting. It’s about understanding different perspectives and disciplines. It could be a valuable experience."

Cassian although typically straightforward and jovially aggressive, adopts a slightly softer demeanor. His usual bravado tempered by earnestness. "Training can also be about balance and harmony. About integrating the physical with the magical. Your skills could bring a fresh perspective, not just to our tactics but to our understanding of magic and combat."

Then Azriel, who normally stays quiet in such discussions adds his own encouragement. His subdued voice carrying weight. "It’s worth exploring. Sometimes stepping into unfamiliar territory reveals more about our strengths. It could be enlightening for all of us."

Cassian's expression briefly reveals his surprise at Azriel’s interjection. It was a small, almost imperceptible lift of his eyebrows signaling to you that Azriel's encouragement is out of the ordinary. This small gesture subtly hints at the importance of the moment.

Feyre as if sensing the nuanced shifts in the conversation supports their suggestions with a warm and inclusive gesture. "It’s also a way to connect with everyone here. Our training sessions are as much about building relationships as they are about building skills. It would be wonderful to have you join, even just a few times to see how it feels."

Encouraged by their collective support and Cassian's surprised yet approving glance following Azriel's seemingly rare endorsement you find yourself reconsidering their proposal more seriously. "Alright. I'll give it a try," you agree, a tentative excitement building within you. "This will be very… interesting."

"Excellent," Cassian says. His eyes brightening with enthusiasm. "We’ll start at a pace that feels right for you. It’s about growth and learning, not just exertion."

As the dinner concludes and plans for your training begin to take shape you can't help but feel an intriguing pull towards what lies ahead. The possibility of new friendships and perhaps deeper bonds begins to form, hinting at the start of an enriching journey within the Night Court.

On your first day at the training grounds, the crisp morning air of Velaris is invigorating, filled with the sounds of clashing weapons and distant calls from sparring partners. Cassian leads you to a quieter section reserved for one-on-one sessions away from the more vigorous activities of his usual warriors. The atmosphere is slightly tense. The space between you filled with cautious curiosity. Each of you is clearly gauging the other trying to find a comfortable rhythm in this new training partnership.

"Let’s see what you’ve got," Cassian suggests. His tone friendly but carrying a hint of challenge. He watches intently as you demonstrate some basic maneuvers with your ice magic. You created delicate yet sharp frost patterns that float gracefully in the air. His nods of approval are sparing, and you can tell he’s mentally noting each display of skill though he keeps his feedback measured and professional.

As the days progress the initial stiffness that marked your interactions begins to melt away. Cassian’s coaching style is intense. His commands are sharp, his expectations high. However, as you meet his challenges with increasing confidence you begin to understand the method behind his rigor. You also start to catch glimpses of humor in his sharp eyes. A sign that there’s more to this formidable warrior than just discipline and strength.

"Try not to freeze my soldiers. We’re running out of good men as it is," he jokes one morning after you skillfully direct a swirl of ice around a training dummy skillfully stopping just short of a group of soldiers watching nearby.

With a small laugh you shoot back, "I thought the Night Court could handle a little cold."

His laughter in response is hearty. A sound that seems to echo around the quiet corner of the training grounds. It's a turning point, signaling a shift from mutual respect to something warmer, more friendly.

By the end of the week your training sessions are characterized by easy banter and playful challenges. One afternoon Cassian dodges your icy projectiles with nimble grace only to slip slightly on a patch of ice you cunningly left in his path. "Not bad for a scrawny little thing," he grins while steadying himself with the agility of a cat.

In response you flash a mischievous smile and with a subtle flick of your wrist, you freeze his boots to the ground. "And not bad for a brawny brute," you retort. Laughter bursts from a few nearby trainees who have started to look forward to these exchanges between the two of you.

Cassian manages to break free before brushing ice from his boots with mock indignation. "You’re going to pay for that one," he warns though his eyes sparkle with amusement.

As the week draws to a close the training ground has transformed from a place of cautious appraisal to one of growth and friendship. Your sessions with Cassian are no longer just about learning to integrate your ice magic with physical combat. They’re also about the laughter shared over slipped footing, the shared grins after successful maneuvers, and the light-hearted jests that now flow freely between you. This evolving camaraderie promises not just improved skills but a deepening bond, hinting at the development of a relationship built on respect, challenge, and mutual delight in each other's company.

The atmosphere at the training grounds is usually charged with the sounds of diligent practice but today there’s an added layer of excitement due to some young onlookers from the Night Court. Cassian plans a session that balances demonstrations of your unique ice magic with some basic combat techniques hoping to impress not just you but the eager young fae watching from a distance.

Wearing your elegant Winter Court attire, which was more suited for display than combat, you find yourself not in your usual training leathers. Today was supposed to be about finesse and control not full-contact sparring. As Cassian readies the next exercise you catch the eyes of the children peeking out from behind the trees. Their expressions were filled with awe and curiosity. Smiling back at them your attention momentarily drifts from the task at hand.

Cassian notices your distraction and the intricate fabric of your attire raising an eyebrow in mild concern. "Are you sure you wouldn't prefer to change into something more... practical?" he asks you once more. His voice laced with skepticism.

You shake your head while stepping forward confidently. "I believe today's session can benefit from a different approach," you explain. Your voice steady, confident. "My attire from the Winter Court is designed not only for aesthetics but for mobility in a certain style of combat. It’s more strategic and less about direct confrontation. It might offer a new perspective for your warriors."

Cassian looks dubious but intrigued by your assurance and the potential learning opportunity for his trainees. After a moment of consideration, he nods slowly. "Alright," he concedes. His tone cautious yet curious. "We'll adjust today's training to focus on technique and precision. We'll go light on the physical combat to accommodate your attire."

Grateful for his flexibility you prepare to demonstrate that finesse and strategy can be as effective as brute strength hoping to prove the value of your unique approach and the versatility of your court's combat style.

As dusk deepened over the training grounds, the session with Cassian was intensifying. He was fully focused on you, guiding, and challenging you with each swing of his blunted training blade. He did not notice Azriel's silent approach until his brother was almost beside them, landing softly. The sudden appearance of Azriel, so smooth and silent, caught your eye at the crucial moment.

Cassian, thinking you were prepared and about to dodge, continued with his planned attack and swung the blunted blade in a broad, sweeping motion towards you. Normally you would have sidestepped smoothly but distracted by Azriel's unexpected arrival you froze. The blade, though blunt for training, struck directly against your side with surprising force due to your lack of movement. The impact was hard enough to slice through the delicate fabric of your Winter Court dress and nick your skin, drawing a line of blood.

Immediately realizing the mishap Cassian dropped his sword and rushed to your side, his expression flooded with concern. "Are you alright? I thought you saw me coming," he asked quickly as his voice was laced with worry.

Trying to mask the sharp sting and the sudden warmth of blood seeping through your dress, you attempted to reassure him, "I’m okay, Cassian, really, it was just a shock more than anything—"

But as you spoke a wave of dizziness overwhelmed you, your knees buckling under the dual assault of pain and sudden faintness. As you started to fall Cassian instinctively reached out, catching you just in time. His hands which were initially meant to steady you felt the wetness of blood through the fabric of your dress. His eyes widened in horror as he saw the bright red on his hands realizing the cut was more serious than a mere scrape.

Without a moment's hesitation Cassian scooped you up into his arms. His movements were swift and filled with urgent care. He looked up at Azriel who had stepped forward, concern etching his features. "Keep the training going, Az. I’m taking her to Madja, now," Cassian instructed firmly. His voice carrying the weight of his resolve.

Azriel nodded understanding the gravity of the situation and stepped back to allow Cassian to pass. Cassian, holding you securely, moved with purposeful speed towards the infirmary. His mind was racing with worry. The flight was quick. His powerful wings beating against the cool air of the evening, each stroke propelling you further away from the training grounds and closer to the healing hands of Madja.

As he flew you clung to him feeling the cool air against your face, which helped alleviate some of the dizziness. "I'm really okay, Cassian," you tried to assure him again, your voice soft, noticing the tension in his body, the way his jaw was set with worry. "It’s just a little cut, I think. I’m sure it’s already healed up."

Cassian only tightened his hold, a gesture of protective care. "We're not taking any chances," he said firmly. His tone brooking no argument. "You’re getting checked out, no arguments."

Suspended in the air, held securely in Cassian's embrace, you noticed the tension in his expression. His jaw set firmly as he navigated through the skies. Wanting to alleviate his concern and lighten the mood you looked up at him, your voice competing with the rush of the wind. "Okay, no arguing," you conceded with a soft, reassuring smile. "But how about an even less swordy day at training tomorrow?"

"You know, maybe we should consider taking a rest day tomorrow," Cassian suggested hesitantly. His voice carrying a protective tone. "Just to be sure you're fully recovered. It might not be wise to jump right back into training."

You looked up at him feeling the warmth of his care but also a spark of your own determination not to be sidelined by a small injury. "I appreciate your concern, Cassian, but really, I feel fine," you countered quickly. A hint of stubbornness in your tone. "A light day as planned with some tactical drills. Nothing too strenuous. I think it would be good for me. For you"

Cassian raised an eyebrow with a small smile breaking through as he sensed your resolve. "Oh, how quickly you've changed your tune, princess," he remarked with a playful smirk. The affectionate tease in his voice floated on the wind as he continued to fly, his grip around you reassuring and strong.

The brief exchange brought a light-heartedness to the moment and Cassian's smile broadened slightly appreciating your spirit and resilience. "Alright, tactical drills it is then. But at the first sign of any discomfort, we're taking a break," he conceded. His tone still carrying a hint of caution but softened by his growing trust in your judgment.

As you both neared the infirmary the flight through the crisp evening air felt less like a rush to aid and more like a shared journey back to stability. Cassian's initial hesitation faded, replaced by a quiet confidence in your resilience and a deepening sense of connection between you. The city of Velaris spread out beneath you, a silent witness to the bond that was strengthening with every beat of Cassian's wings and every word exchanged above the rooftops.

Landing smoothly at the infirmary Cassian carried you inside where Madja was already preparing her tools. Cassian gently laid you down on a cot as his hands lingered for a moment longer than necessary. His eyes were searching yours for any sign of further distress.

Madja quickly assessed the situation. She cleaned the wound and confirmed it was shallow. Though the blood loss and the shock had caused your faintness. "You'll be fine. Just a little rest and you’ll be up in no time," she reassured both you and Cassian, more so Cassian, who finally allowed himself to breathe a sigh of relief.

You turn to Cass with a smirk playing on your lips. "See, told you so, General," you tease in an attempt to ease the palpable tension that had followed you from the training grounds.

Cassian's relief is immediate and visible. He lets out a deep breath, the tightness in his shoulders relaxing as he returns your smirk with a wry smile. "Fine, you were right. But let’s avoid making this a habit, shall we?"

Before you can respond the infirmary door swings open abruptly. Rhysand strides in, his expression a mixture of concern and command clearly having been summoned by Cassian’s urgent mental call. His eyes are wide as he quickly scans the room landing on you sitting relatively unscathed on the infirmary bed.

"Are you alright?" Rhysand asks. His voice tight with concern. He moves closer. His gaze flicking from you to Cassian, seeking an explanation.

You nod reassuring him with a calm smile. "I’m just fine, Rhys. Really, it was much less dramatic than it seems. Cassian has been worried enough for everyone," you say, glancing at Cassian with a playful raise of your eyebrows, signaling that all is truly well.

Rhysand's gaze softens though the lines of worry don’t completely disappear. "Cassian briefed me but seeing you well makes a world of difference. These training accidents... Well, they shouldn’t happen. We’ll review the protocols to ensure this is an isolated incident."

Turning to Cassian, Rhysand claps him on the shoulder. A gesture of support mixed with a mild reprimand. "Take care of her. Make sure she follows all of Madja’s instructions," Rhysand instructs, his leader’s tone resurfacing.

Cassian nods solemnly, "Understood. I’ll make sure this doesn’t happen again."

With a final nod and a comforting smile directed at you Rhys exits the infirmary, his presence leaving as quickly as it arrived. The room feels lighter now, the earlier tension dissipating with the confirmations of your well-being.

Cassian stays by your side. His relief evident but his watchfulness remaining. "Now, about that 'less swordy' day tomorrow..." he begins, ready to shift back into the lighter, teasing dynamic that has marked your growing friendship. Grateful that the day’s scare has ended on a reassuring note.

As Cassian suggests a less physically demanding day focused more on magic you can’t help but giggle. A slight relief moving away from any activities involving bladed weapons. “That sounds perfect,” you agree with enthusiasm brightening your voice as you discuss potential exercises that would let you showcase and refine your control over ice magic without the physical strain.

As the conversation continues Cassian helps you up ensuring you’re stable on your feet and offers his arm for support as you begin the walk back to your quarters. The corridors of the Night Court feel quieter than usual. The soft echo of your steps mingling with the fading adrenaline of the day’s events. There’s a palpable shift between you and Cassian. A new layer of closeness brought on not just by the day’s scare but also by the accumulated time spent together over the past few weeks.

Cassian’s voice breaks the comfortable silence. His voice softer, more reflective than before. “I’ve really enjoyed these last few weeks with you,” he admits. His gaze fixed ahead. “You’ve taught me more than you’ll ever know.” His words hang in the air laden with a sincerity that draws your attention fully to his expression. It’s open, honest, and there’s a hint of vulnerability there that you hadn’t noticed before.

You look at him, touched by his confession, noticing the slight hesitance as if he wants to say more but is holding back. Maybe it’s the fear of crossing an unseen boundary or the uncertainty of your reaction that keeps him from continuing.

Encouraged by his openness you respond warmly, “And I’ve learned a lot from you, too, Cassian. Not just about fighting or training but about what it means to really care about your warriors, your friends.” You pause searching his face for a reaction. “It means a lot to me, all of this time we’ve spent together.”

Cassian’s eyes meet yours and there’s a moment of silent communication. A mutual understanding and appreciation that seems to deepen the bond between you. “I’m glad,” he finally says with his voice low. “I hope we can keep this going, no matter what the training schedule says.”

As you reach your quarters there’s a reluctance to part between the both of you. A desire to prolong the connection that has clearly grown beyond the confines of instructor and trainee. Cassian lingers at your door, his usual confidence tempered with a newfound tenderness.

“Get some rest princess,” he says softly before stepping back with a reluctant smile. “We’ll start fresh tomorrow. Less swordy, more... magical.”

You nod, smiling back at him, feeling a warmth that extends beyond the fading pain from your injury. “I look forward to it, Cassian. Thank you for everything today.”

He nods, then turns to leave, but not before throwing a look over his shoulder. It was a promise of more shared moments, more lessons, and perhaps, deeper revelations yet to come. The door closes softly behind you leaving you with a sense of anticipation for what the next day might bring, both in training and in your evolving relationship with Cassian.

After the incident at the training grounds and a night of rest you dive back into the treaty negotiations with renewed focus. As the talks commence you are at the forefront, your diplomatic skills shining as you navigate the complexities of the discussions. Your adept use of magic not only impresses but also serves as a poignant reminder of the Winter Court's strengths and capabilities. The treaty talks progress smoothly and a successful agreement begins to take shape much to the relief and satisfaction of all parties involved.

However, despite the importance of the negotiations and your central role in them your thoughts intermittently drift to Cassian. The memory of his concerned eyes, his protective stance, and the warmth of your conversation lingers with you, distracting you more than you'd like to admit. As you mentally rehearse your next points in the discussion, you find your mind replaying moments from the training sessions, his laughter, his teasing remarks, and his unexpectedly gentle care.

Unbeknownst to you, your mental shields—usually so meticulously maintained—begin to slip slightly amid your daydreams. Rhysand, who was not actively probing but is always somewhat attuned to the emotional and mental state of those around him, picks up on your wandering thoughts. He catches snippets of your internal musings about Cassian, not enough to grasp the full context but enough to piece together the gist of your distraction.

Throughout the meeting a knowing grin slowly forms on Rhysand's face, amused by the realization of your burgeoning feelings for his brother. He doesn't comment on it during the talks. Making sure to maintain his professionalism and focusing on the successful closure of the treaty. However, the little smile that occasionally plays at the corners of his mouth doesn't go unnoticed by those who know him well.

Later, as the meeting concludes with handshakes and a collective sigh of relief over the treaty's ratification. Rhysand pulls Cassian aside just before your evening training session. In a quiet corner away from prying ears Rhysand's grin broadens.

"I think someone has managed to catch more than just your training expertise," Rhysand teases as his eyes twinkled with mirth. "Our Winter Court princess seems to be a bit distracted by a certain general." As Rhysand delivers his playful revelation, Cassian's initial surprise quickly shifts to a broad, almost uncontrollable grin that spreads across his face. The sudden display of joy is uncharacteristic of the usually composed general, revealing just how deeply the news has affected him.

"Oh? And what makes you say that?" Cassian tries to maintain a semblance of composure, but his voice betrayed a hint of excitement beneath the casual façade.

Rhysand notices the change in Cassian's demeanor. The light in his eyes that hadn't been there moments before. "Well, let's just say that her thoughts were a little less guarded than usual," Rhysand replied. His voice laced with amusement. "She might be more interested in the person teaching her than just the lessons themselves."

Cassian's smile widens and he shakes his head slightly almost in disbelief but clearly delighted by the prospect. "Is that so?" he murmurs more to himself than to Rhysand, his mind already spinning with the implications.

Rhysand watches Cassian's bright grin, a knowing look crossing his face as he teases, "Seems like those training sessions are about more than just tactics and spells."

Cassian’s expression remains upbeat but a hint of seriousness creeps in. "They’re enlightening," he admits while giving a nod. "There’s something unique about her… beyond just her skills."

Sensing the depth in Cassian’s tone, Rhysand's demeanor shifts slightly, becoming more contemplative. "Just be careful, Cass. It’s easy to let your guard down when strong feelings are involved."

Cassian pauses as he felt a weight in Rhysand's caution. He looks at his brother, a silent plea for understanding without words. Rhysand, ever perceptive, senses the depth of Cassian’s feelings, realizing this might be more than just a fleeting fascination. "Cassian, do you think she could be…" Rhysand trails off leaving the implication hanging in the air, heavy with the weight of possibilities. His question is subtle, probing—asking if Cassian feels the deep, fated connection of a mate.

Cassian meets Rhysand's gaze with his own eyes reflecting a mix of hope and uncertainty. "I don’t know," he confesses softly. "But there’s something there. Something that feels… right. More than I've felt before."

Rhysand nods slowly as he processed this new revelation. His initial caution softens into a more supportive stance. "Then take it seriously but carefully. If this is what I think it might be, it’s not just significant for you but could be for the Night Court as well."

He places a hand on Cassian’s shoulder with a firm, reassuring grip. "Follow your heart but keep your head with you. She’s not just any visitor. She could and is likely to be much more."

As Rhysand walks away leaving Cassian to ponder the future the conversation not only cements Cassian's resolve but also clarifies the stakes. It’s a turning point. Marking a shift from casual interest to considering the profound potential of a deep, lifelong bond. Cassian feels empowered and cautious now acutely aware of the significant path that might be unfolding before him. This is no longer about training or simple affection. It could be the beginning of the rest of his life, your life.

As dusk settles over Velaris with the fading sunlight casting long shadows across the training grounds, Cassian awaits your arrival. His mind a jumbled swirl of thoughts from the earlier conversation with Rhysand. His anticipation is palpable, heightened by the significant discussions about feelings and futures that may be closer than he's admitted to himself.

During that first meeting in the dining hall his mind was a whirlwind of emotions. As he and Azriel entered mid-argument his initial focus was entirely on their spirited debate not the important dinner he was walking into. The sudden sight of you was an unexpected and striking presence. You brought a sharp halt to his thoughts.

Cassian was immediately struck by your poise and the quiet confidence with which you held yourself among such esteemed company. His first impression was of your elegance and the serene way you observed the dynamic entrance he and Azriel made. There was something about the way you carried yourself as a blend of strength and grace that captivated him instantly.

Embarrassment quickly flooded him with a blush creeping up his neck as he realized the discordant note their arrival struck in the otherwise serene setting. There you were, seated elegantly among the dignitaries of the Night Court with an aura of quiet confidence radiating from you. Despite the potentially disruptive entrance your expression remained unflustered. The slight, knowing smirk playing at the corners of your lips, and the amusement twinkling in your eyes spoke volumes. It was clear you were not only unfazed by the raucous disruption but also mildly entertained by it.

What struck Cassian more deeply was the way your attention seemed focused solely on him, as if the room and its other occupants had faded into the background. This singular focus, paired with the amused arch of your brow, left him feeling both exposed and intrigued. It was as if you could see right through to his typically hidden insecurities prompting a mix of vulnerability and a compelling desire to engage further.

Cassian felt a twinge of chagrin for not having presented a more composed entrance. Especially in front of someone who commanded such a presence as you did. The initial embarrassment, however, slowly morphed into a quiet determination. He was keenly aware that he had an opportunity to make a more meaningful second impression. One that could perhaps intrigue and draw you in just as you had captivated him from that first shared glance.

As he moved to regain his composure, smoothing back his hair, and adjusting his jacket, Cassian was already plotting how to transform this awkward beginning into an opening for deeper connection. The evening had just begun, and he was determined to show you a side of him that resonated with the depth and discernment he now saw reflected in your gaze.

When Rhysand later suggested that Cassian take the lead on your physical training, he seized the opportunity without hesitation. Training was his domain where he felt most in command and most himself. He anticipated that in the structure and discipline of physical training, among the straightforwardness of drills and exercises, there might be space for more informal interactions. For laughter and light conversations that could bridge the gap between formal dining hall introductions and a genuine connection.

Cassian saw each upcoming session as a canvas. As an opportunity to impress and engage you, not just with his skills but with his insights and his approach to teaching and leadership. Privately he knew he’d have to thank Rhysand for the suggestion—whether it was a calculated move or just a fortuitous throwaway idea, it had given him a golden opportunity to explore the potential that he sensed bubbling beneath your initial poised exterior.

He was intrigued, more so than he had been for a long time. The initial physical attraction was strong. Yet it was your demeanor, the intriguing mix of diplomacy and candor, that truly piqued his interest. Cassian left the dining hall that evening with his mind full of questions and curiosities about you. He was eager for the next opportunity to interact and perhaps to understand the compelling figure you were beyond just the surface.

From the memories of that first dinner to the present moment on the training grounds, Cassian's journey of understanding and admiration for you had woven through weeks of anticipation and subtle discoveries. Each interaction had added layers to his initial perception, enriching the image he held of you in his mind.

Then as if to punctuate his thoughts you appeared for the training session, garbed unmistakably in Illyrian warrior attire. Much different than the training leathers and Winter Court apparel he had grown used to see you in. The traditional leathers of his people clung to you, accentuating both strength and grace in your every move. The sight of you in such commanding attire sent a jolt through Cassian. His reaction visceral and immediate. His eyes widened with a mixture of surprise and admiration flashing across his face as he took in every detail—the way the leather fit you, how it moved with your body, and the undeniable air of confidence it brought to your demeanor.

The transformation was not just in your appearance but in the energy you exuded. Standing there you embodied the strength and resilience of an Illyrian warrior, qualities that resonated deeply with Cassian’s own identity. It struck him then how seamlessly you seemed to integrate into his world. How naturally you adopted its symbols and its strength. This was no longer just about training or sharing skills. It was a visual affirmation of your integration into his life and culture.

As he approached you his initial shock gave way to a profound respect. The way you carried the weight of the armor, the casual yet respectful nod you gave him as he walked up. These small actions spoke volumes. Cassian felt a renewed sense of connection. A deeper bond forming not just from shared interests and conversations but from seeing you embrace a part of his heritage with such ease and honor.

In that moment as he closed the distance between you, Cassian realized how deeply he was drawn to you, far beyond the physical allure. It was your spirit. Your willingness to step into his world, to don the armor of his people and stand ready to engage on equal footing. This realization brought a warmth to his chest and a smile to his lips. One that was both proud and welcoming.

As you stood before Cassian in the Illyrian warrior attire your presence was a striking blend of determination and slight apprehension. The soft evening light cast long shadows across the training grounds accentuating the quiet resolve in your posture. You were about to propose a change to the day’s lighter, planned routine. While confident in your suggestion there was a hint of nervousness tinged your voice, reflecting the care you took in challenging the agenda.

"Um, Cassian," you started, your voice carrying a cautious undertone, "I know we planned for a less sword-intensive session today..." You paused trying to gather your thoughts. But before you could continue your eyes met Cassian’s, their intensity like a direct challenge, causing a sudden vulnerability to flutter in your stomach. His gaze was penetrating, studying you with a warmth and focus that unnerved you. For a moment the confidence you felt started to waver under his scrutiny. The depth of his attention making you want to melt into a puddle right there on the training grounds.

However, drawing a deep breath, you summoned your resolve. Despite the shake in your confidence, you pressed on bolstered by the knowledge that this was an important step in your training. "I feel fine. But I've been thinking. I'm already quite familiar with my magic, and not as much with swordsmanship." Your voice grew slightly firmer as you continued, "Maybe, if it’s alright, we could incorporate more of that?" As you reached the end of your proposal a slight stammer betrayed your nervousness. "If you're okay with that, that is," you added with a nervous smile. Eager yet uncertain of his response.

Cassian, still somewhat in awe of your striking appearance and the commanding aura you exuded in the traditional leathers was momentarily taken aback. His response was on the tip of his tongue, an agreement forming, when Azriel quietly joined the duo. Observing the scene, Azriel noted your determined stance and Cassian’s admiring gaze. A knowing smirk crept onto Azriel’s face. "Looks like she’s going to give you a run for your money, brother," he teased unable to hide the amusement in his voice.

Cassian was caught between his brother's teasing and your challenging proposal but managed to regain his composure. He cleared his throat and stepped forward, his confidence rekindled by the familiar banter and the prospect of a spirited training session. "Alright then," he agreed with a nod. A smile breaking through as he embraced the challenge, "swords it is. Let’s see what you’ve got."

As the session progressed Azriel lingered on the sidelines, his eyes shifting between the clashing swords and Cassian’s animated instructions. Every now and then he couldn’t resist throwing in a light-hearted jab especially when it seemed like Cassian was particularly impressed by your quick learning curve or deft movements. "Careful, Cass, I think she might just outdo you in your own game," Azriel called out after a particularly skillful maneuver from you. His tone teasing but proud of you.

Cassian shot a mock-glare at Azriel, but his eyes sparkled with humor and something softer, an undeniable delight in your prowess and enthusiasm. Despite himself Cassian found that he enjoyed this, the mix of training intensity and the undercurrent of playful rivalry. Not just between him and you but with Azriel's involvement as well. It felt oddly, natural. You’d found a way to integrate yourself into the court within only a month of being in Velaris.

Throughout the training Cassian’s admiration for you only grew. Every block, every parry you performed with increasing confidence seemed to not only impress him but also deepen the sense of connection that he felt. This wasn’t just about teaching you how to handle a sword. It was about sharing a piece of his world, his passion, and seeing you embrace it with such fervor was both exhilarating and endearing.

As the sun dipped below the horizon Azriel’s teasing remarks faded into the background, replaced by a quiet acknowledgment of the shift he saw in Cassian. It was clear to him that his brother was, indeed, in trouble. But in the best possible way. Cassian's usually unshakeable demeanor was softer when he looked at you, filled with a mix of pride, respect, and a burgeoning affection that went beyond the confines of the training ring.

When the session finally wound down and the cool evening air settled around, both you and Cassian were catching your breath, reveling in the afterglow of intense physical exertion. It was then that Azriel, unable to resist the opportunity for a little brotherly teasing, stepped forward. Clapping Cassian on the back with a broad grin he couldn’t help but comment, "Well, that was quite a performance. And here I thought today was supposed to be less about swords."

Cassian, still a bit winded from the session, shot Azriel a quick, warning glance. But even he couldn’t hide the amused smile that tugged at his lips, indicative of his own acknowledgment of the shift in plans. Your puzzled look darted between the two brothers catching the tail end of their dynamic, your smile mirroring Cassian's albeit with a touch of confusion.

"Less swords, more magic, but I guess plans change when you're dressed for battle," you chimed in attempting to play off Azriel's comment, still somewhat oblivious to the deeper layers of teasing.

Azriel’s smirk widened as he observed the interplay, his eyes glinting with mischief. "Absolutely, plans do change. Especially when a certain someone decides to show up looking ready to join the ranks of Illyrian warriors," he teased you, turning his gaze back to Cassian with a sly expression. "Makes a general reconsider his strategies."

Caught in the moment, you shared the origin of your attire, a light chuckle escaping you. "Feyre absolutely insisted on me wearing the traditional leathers," you explained, your smile fond as you recalled Feyre's insistence. "I thought it was just for protection, given the training. She seemed really adamant about it."

Cassian’s expression softened at this with a brief smile acknowledging the hidden hand of Rhysand in this setup. Though he connected the dots, realizing his brother's likely involvement in Feyre's insistence, he chose to keep this revelation to himself. Instead, he simply nodded, appreciating your earnestness and perhaps, deep down, thankful for the unintended push it gave him to see you in a new light—strong, capable, and utterly captivating in Illyrian leathers.

As the training session drew to a close and the night deepened around them, the playful banter and shared laughter began to ebb. Azriel's remarks, though lighthearted, had hinted at the shift he observed in the dynamics between you and Cassian. A development that seemed to promise much more than just companionship in the future.

Recognizing the cooling air and the perfect, serene evening that enveloped Velaris, Cassian suggested a leisurely walk back through the city. "How about I walk you home tonight? It's a nice evening to cool down and stretch out after training," he proposed. His voice casual but with a hopeful undertone.

Azriel caught the subtle inflection in Cassian’s tone and simply couldn’t resist one more jab, his knowing smile broadening into a full-blown, mischievous grin. "Sure, take your time," he teased, his voice rich with implication. With a final chuckle and a wink at Cassian, Azriel spread his wings and took to the skies leaving you both to the quiet of the evening streets.

Cassian walked beside you there was a thoughtful distance in his initial steps. As if he was contemplating the right words or simply savoring the shared silence. Gradually, he drew closer, his presence a comforting constant at your side. The soft lighting from the streetlamps cast gentle shadows and the faint rustle of the leaves created a backdrop that enriched the moment with a quaint, almost magical quality.

Every now and then his hand would lightly touch your arm or guide you around an uneven patch on the cobblestones. Each contact sending a quiet thrill through you. Despite the casual nature of the walk there was an undercurrent of something deeper. A thread of anticipation weaving through the air between you.

"Same time tomorrow?" Cassian finally broke the silence. His voice a blend of softness and something undefinable yet unmistakably tender.

"Definitely," you replied with your smile genuine and wide. The connection you felt with Cassian was undeniable and while you might not fully grasp the depth of his feelings, the pull towards him was strong and only growing stronger with each passing day.

When you reached your quarters Cassian lingered for a moment, his demeanor protective and gentle. He seemed reluctant to part ways, but he was satisfied to know you were safe for the night. "Make sure you rest well tonight," he said with his hand resting briefly on your back, his smile warm and lingering as he wished you a good night.

Retreating to your room, the echoes of the evening replayed in your mind. The laughter, Azriel's teasing, the soft, serious timbre of Cassian's voice asking to see you again. There was an excitement brewing within you. An eagerness for what these sessions and these new feelings might lead to. It was an intriguing mix of anticipation and a bit of nervousness, stepping into this newfound connection with Cassian, but every instinct told you it was a path worth exploring. As you settled down with thoughts of the next day’s training, and more importantly, of seeing Cassian again, it filled you with a warm sense of expectation and a quiet joy.

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[livesworthlivingau]

Lives Worth Living Chapter 34

ISAT/Two Hats spoilers below as always! CW: Heights, Peril, Falling

(You slowly awaken with a yawn and light stretch, feeling those familiar strong arms around you and cuddling up into them.) "Hmmmmmm... Morning~."

"Morning sleepy head. Do you know how crabbing cute you are when you sleep?" (Isa pulls you closer to himself, kissing your head as he holds you in that secure, comforting grip.)

"Hehe, noooooo, you're just biased!"

"Nope, it's a scientific fact! I did the math and everything!"

"Noooooooo! You can't bring math into this! That's cheatiiiiing!"

"Too late, I calculated everything and it all checks out! You've been mathematically proven to be super duper adorable, I don't make the rules!"

"I'll never be seen as a cool, mysterious rogue ever again..."

"Hah! Nope, sorry, you're just a cutie patootie, my sweet Siffarooni~." (You can't help but laugh at how ridiculous this was getting. You shift in his arms to face him, giving a love drunk smile up at him before closing your eye. You lean in for a kiss, being met with the warm bliss of his face meeting yours... before you're interrupted by sunlight pouring in as the tent flap is opened up.)

"Uuuuugh! Why is everyone being so gross lately?! First Nille gets all cuddly with Vale and now you two are being all kissy again!!" (Bonnie shouts in protest. You both can't help but laugh in response. You gently push off of him to sit up.)

"So sorry snack leader! We'll keep the grossness to a minimum!"

"Good! Now come on, breakfast is ready, we gotta head out soon if we're gonna get a ride back home!" (They command before rushing back out.)

(You remember them saying something about a horse drawn carriage that takes people through the mountain range in about a day, while going around takes 3. You perk up as you feel Isa's hand against your face, pulling you closer as he kisses your cheek.)

"It's a good thing we didn't tell them what the minimum was." (You can't help but blush a bit at that, turning your head to give them a light peck on the cheeks.)

"Maybe your math skills aren't so bad after all~."

"I SAID BREAKFAST TIIIIIME!!" (Bonnie shouts from the middle of the campsite, causing you both to jump.)

"R-Right!!"

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"I know I'm usually the one that complains about having to walk everywhere... but this can't be the superior option." (Odile complains, seeing the rickety old carriage we'd be taking through the mountains. Nille laughs her worry off.)

"C'mon, they take this path like every day, it'll be fine, Dile!"

"The more times it completes its journey successfully, the more likely it is to fail the next one..." (Isa lets out a hearty laugh.)

"Hah! Don't worry madame, I'll block the window for you! I'm sure the journey will go nice and smooth!"

"Fantastic... Forgive me if I request Vale to knock me unconscious again during the trip." (Odile complains further before Mira chimes in with a giggle.)

"I'll be sure not to heal you too much if that's the case m'dame!"

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(You're all crammed into the just large enough carriage as it's on its way. You and Vale sat opposite each other next to one set of doors, Odile and Nille sat in the middle with Bonnie in Nille's lap, then Mira and Isa sat beside the doors on the other side, helping block the window like he said he would. You even gave Odile your hat to help block her vision as she tried to focus on her book as a distraction.)

"WE'RE ALMOST HOOOOOME!!!" (Bonnie cheers, excitedly bouncing on Nille's lap while she held them securely.)

"Boniface if you don't stop bouncing I'm going to crabbing lose it." (The sudden and desperate outburst from Odile made everyone freeze, even Bonnie was staring in shock.)

"Holy crab, she said crab..." (Nille laughs, noting everyone's reactions to this.)

"I'm guessing that means you should really stop doing that, bug."

"Sorry Dile!" (They quickly respond, trying to sit politely and motionless... very clearly trying super hard to keep their leg from bouncing even. Isa chimes in to try and ease the tension.)

"So why don't you two tell us more about Bambouche? Without the bouncy enthusiasm." (Bonnie sticks their tongue out playfully at Isa before Nille begins to explain.)

"Oh it's amazing! Wonderful port town with plenty to do. The beach is just gorgeous, especially at night! Everyone there is so sweet, even by Vaugarde standards. They all even saw me off to try and find y'all, threw a little good luck party for me, gave me some extra coin and supplies." (Her smile shifts a bit as she goes on, less cheery and almost bittersweet?) "They've helped me out a lot when I needed it... I couldn't be more thankful to live there."

(Isa takes note of her tone change before speaking again.) "Sounds like a terrific place! Can't wait to meet everyone there! And hey, that reminds me Bonnie, who taught you how to cook anyhow? Nille mentioned she was uhh... lacking in that department."

"You don't gotta sugar coat it, I could find a way to ruin the simplest dish you could imagine, it's like a curse on me or something!" (She chuckles before Bonnie responds.)

"One of our neighbors had a really nice old cook book style familytale! Everyone in her family wrote down their favorite recipes and even made up one or two themselves. They didn't always turn out great, but it showed me how fun it can be to make up stuff and try putting different foods together!" (Mira makes her bright sparkly face you love to see as she joins in.)

"Oh! That sounds wonderful! I remember how much fun my cooking class was!! Though sadly I think I was closer to the Nille side of the spectrum!"

(You all enjoy a nice laugh together, even Odile having been distracted enough to relax again and enjoy a chuckle. You glance back over at Vale. They've been silently staring out of the window the whole time, but the soft smile on their face shows they were listening, enjoying the company from the sidelines like you often do. They notice you looking at them and you give them a brighter smile. They force one back before going back to staring out at the mountains.)

(Nille takes note, placing a hand on their back to gently rub at it.) "How yah doing, Vay?"

"Oh, I'm fine~! Why do you ask?"

"You just seem mighty entranced by that window."

"Just enjoying the view is all~. You all continue your conversation, I'm fine, truly."

"Okay, if you say-" (The sound of splintering wood fills the air as the carriage suddenly shifts and slams to the ground, launching all of you to the side as you and Vale bash into the doors. They burst open at your impact before you're suddenly careening off the edge of the cliff with them.)

"SIF!!!"

"VALE!!!"

(You hear voices call out for you both as you rapidly approach the ground before-

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[justsomerandomfanfic]

Uncharted Paths, Unspoken Feelings - Nathan Drake X Female Reader

Title: Uncharted Paths, Unspoken Feelings

Nathan Drake X Female Reader

Additional Characters: Sam Drake, Sully, Captain Rella (Mentioned) (OC), Captain Henry Avery (Mentioned), Reader's father (Mentioned), Shoreline (Mentioned), Rafe (Mentioned), and Nadine (Mentioned)

Requested By: Anon!

WC: 8,088

Warnings: Uncharted 4 canon violence/dangerous situations, italics (some indicating flashback), brief mention of death/murder, teasing, banter, flirting, brie mentions of family issues, canon storyline, nicknames, mentions of guns/gun violence, brief mention of blood, injuries, friends to lovers, kind of oblivious Reader, confessions, falling from great heights, cursing, mentions of Reader's death (nothing extreme), very brief mentions of spiders, mentions of smoking (Sam and Sully), angst, and fluff

Your flashlight flickered as you explored the cavern, casting eerie shadows on the damp, jagged walls, making you feel as if the darkness was alive, waiting to snuff out your light. You were searching for an artifact in Brazil. You had been tracking the famous pirate Captain Rella ‘Trickster’ Mendenhall, who was notorious for always being one step ahead, leaving a trail of riddles and misdirections that even the most seasoned treasure hunters struggled to follow. 

The artifact she had hid in the early eighteen hundreds - an ancient amulet rumored to hold the power of the Amazon gods - had drawn treasure hunters from around the world. But, none were as determined as you were. You knew that if anyone could outwit the Trickster, it would be you. As you maneuvered through the narrow passageways of the cavern, you couldn’t shake the feeling that Captain Rella was leading you into a trap, testing just how far you were willing to go. The flickering of your flashlight only heightened your senses, each step echoing off the stone walls.

You had to find the amulet. You just had to. This was something that you had been working towards for almost three years; following clue after clue, traveling country after country. This was going to be your biggest find in probably your entire career, the kind of discovery that would cement your name in the history books alongside the greatest explorers. The thought of holding that ancient, powerful relic in your hands sent a thrill down your spine. This was the moment, this was what you were waiting for. What you worked so hard for.

As the cavern grew narrower, you steeled yourself, knowing that the closer you got, the more perilous it would become. Failure wasn’t an option - not now, not when you were so close. Raising your flashlight, you smiled as you saw a stone door a ways in front of you. Getting closer, you saw that the stone door had a large, intricately carved dial at its center, featuring a series of multiple different symbols, all on their own seemingly moveable tiers. There were three tiers, and as you fiddled with it, turning the largest dial, you noticed that each symbol seemed to line up with a different symbol at the bottom. You’d have to turn each dial to line up with the right symbol, before you could solve the puzzle.

Captain Rella, known for her love of riddles, had hidden the key to the correct sequence within a cryptic poem, you remembered. 

Taking out your notebook, you flipped through the pages. Finding the right page, you reread the poem that you had found on an old scroll you found in the Bahamas. The scroll had been hidden in a dusty, forgotten corner of a crumbling library, its edges weathered and delicate, so instead of taking the scroll with you and possibly damaging it, you decided it was best to just write down the poem. 

Placing your hand on the first circular dial, the largest one, you turned it, lining the center up with the crescent moon symbol, which perfectly lined up with the serpent symbol. You then repeated the same actions with the last two dials; lining up the ‘X’ with the compass, and the skull with the anchor.

Hopefully, it was in the proper order, as after you finished lining all the symbols together, you noticed that each dial also shared the same symbols as the others. Giving it a try, you pushed down on Captain Rella’s sigil - a fox - on the center of the dial, it clicked beautifully underneath your finger. First try.

The stone door groaned as it slid open, revealing the final chamber bathed in the soft, flickering glow of hundreds of candles; that were somehow still lit. Their light danced across the walls, casting long, wavering shadows. The air inside was cooler, tinged with the faint scent of wax and old parchment.

The chamber was expansive, with broken, wooden shelves that lined most of the walls; sadly most of the items that you believed lived on the shelves were broken on the floor. Turning, your gaze landed on the grand painting of Captain Rella, her gaze fierce and commanding, as if she were guarding the chamber with her very ghostly-pirate presence. The artist had captured her in exquisite detail and her eyes seemed to follow your every move. 

At the center of the chamber stood a single pedestal, its surface polished, and had surprisingly no dust in sight. Upon this pedestal rested a golden box, ornately decorated with swirling patterns and precious gemstones. 

You stepped forward, as the light from the candles reflected off the golden box. The amulet inside was just within reach, its pull undeniable as you approached the pedestal. The final piece of the puzzle was now in sight, surrounded by the timeless gaze of Captain Rella and the serene illumination of the candles, marking the end of your long quest.

Your hands shook as you reached for the box, it was just within your grasp-

“I had a feeling you’d be the one to crack this place open.”

You sighed deeply in defeat, recognizing the voice. Turning around, you pursed your lips, trying to hide your frustration. “How’d you find me?”

Nathan strolled into the chamber, a small smirk tugging at his lips as he glanced around before meeting your gaze. “You left a trail.”

You scoffed, “I don’t leave trails, Nathan,” You then crossed your arms, “I thought you’d be busy with your own treasure hunt.”

“Had to make sure my favorite rival wasn’t having all the fun without me,” He teased, his eyes sparkling with mischief despite the dim lighting of the chamber.

Unable to stop it, a smile tugged at the corners of your lips. “Oh, really? And here I thought you were just here to steal my spotlight.”

For a moment, you both stared at each other, the tension melting away until the both of you erupted into laughter. 

As the laughter faded, Nathan reached out and drew you into an embrace. “It’s good to see you again,” He said, and you hugged him right back.

“It’s good to see you too, Nate. Even if you do have a knack for showing up at the most inconvenient of times.”

He chuckled, “Guess I just like making an entrance,” He said, before pulling back. “How’s the old man?”

You and Nathan went way back - five years back, to be exact. You first met him in Ireland when you and your father, a fellow treasure hunter, crossed paths with him during a search for an ancient Celtic artifact. Deciding to pool information and knowledge together, your father and Nathan agreed to split the money for whatever they got from the artifact.

The trip had started out well enough, and you found yourself increasingly drawn to Nathan the more you spent time with him. His wit, charm, intelligence, and relentless determination made it hard not to admire him. Plus, he was handsome, with great hair, pretty eyes, and a nice build. On top of that, his flirty and teasing one-liners always had your cheeks flushing. It was difficult to know whether Nathan was actually being serious or just playing around. You figured it was just part of his charm.

But things took a turn when you finally uncovered the artifact. Your father, ever the opportunist, saw a chance to secure the treasure for himself. Without warning, he took the artifact and left, dragging you along with him. You’d barely had a chance to say goodbye, let alone explain. The guilt of abandoning Nathan without the treasure ate at you for a long time. You knew how much it had meant to him, and leaving him empty-handed felt like a betrayal.

Since then, you’ve run into Nathan many times in different parts of the world; more times than you could count. Each encounter was a mix of old tensions and new adventures. You became best friends of sorts - best long distance friends. Best long term distance friends who flirted and teased each other.

You rolled your eyes, a hint of frustration in your tone. “I stopped working with him about a year ago. Things... Didn’t end well.”

Nathan’s expression shifted slightly, a mix of curiosity and sympathy in his eyes. “Yeah, I figured as much. He was never exactly the most… Cooperative partner. Or, person, for that matter.” He muttered that last sentence.

You sighed, nodding, and agreeing. “You can say that again.”

“Well,” He placed a supportive hand on your shoulder, “It’s good to see you out here on your own. You’ve always had a natural talent for this.”

A faint smile touched your lips. “Thanks, Nate. I appreciate that.”

He nodded, glancing away briefly before speaking, “I missed you.”

You tilted your head slightly, a teasing glint in your eye. “We ran into each other seven months ago, remember?”

Nathan chuckled, nodding, “True. But I still missed you.”

You looked at him, a soft smile forming as you replied, “I missed you too, Nate.”

Nathan returned your smile, before clapping his hands together, the sound of his clap reverberating off the stone walls, “Well, shall we open that golden box and see if all this trouble was worth it?”

~~~

Three men, dressed in perfectly pressed suits, huddled around a small table on the balcony overlooking the bustling auction floor. The room below was alive with the murmur of well-dressed criminals and the clinking of champagne glasses. Chandeliers cast a warm, golden glow over the polished marble floors, adding an air of luxury to the evening.

Nathan spread out a detailed map on the table, his fingers tracing the layout of the Rossi Estate. He pointed out key features, “There’s ventilation… Electrical… That’s it up here.” His eyes flicked up to Sam and Sully, searching for their reactions. “So, we just have to climb up there and kill the lights…”

“Grab the cross in the dark.” Sam finished, with a grin.

Sully puffed thoughtfully on his cigar, his eyes narrowing as he considered the details. “There will be an emergency generator.” He added, noting the potential complication.

Nathan nodded in agreement, the plan taking shape. “That’ll give us a few seconds of darkness to work with.”

Sam mimicked Nathan, nodding himself, “Meaning… We’ll have to be right next to the cross when the lights go out.”

“Hatching a plan without me, Nathan?” 

The question came from behind them, cutting through their discussion. The trio turned to find you standing there, dressed to the nines in an elegant evening gown that looked absolutely breathtaking on you. You seemed to fit right in, effortlessly blending into the sophisticated ambiance of the event.

Nathan’s eyes widened, his usual confidence wavered. Not only because you looked absolutely stunning, but also because he was not expecting to see you. He hadn’t seen you in almost a year. 

Taking a step towards you, his hand instinctively reached out to grasp your upper arm. “Y/N… W-what are you doing here?” He asked with a smile, his voice trembling slightly, in awe of you, and confused majorly.

“Awe, I missed you too.” You grinned, the corners of your lips curving up. “I just thought I’d drop by and see how you were doing,” You spoke, your voice carrying a playful edge. “Seems like I’m not the only one who has a knack for making unexpected appearances.” You let your gaze linger on Nathan - referencing all of the times he surprised you with a self invite to your treasure hunts. Oh, how you loved to turn the tables and surprise him for once. You enjoyed the way his usual composure slipped, his eyes darted between you and his companions. Turning your gaze, your eyes landed on Sully, and you couldn’t help but smile. He was the father you wished you had. “Hello, Sully, it's good to see you.”

Sully grinned, raising his cigar in greeting. “Evenin’, darlin’. A pleasure as always.”

Finally, your eyes settled on Sam, who was already looking at you with a curious, amused smirk. “And you must be Sam. Alive and well, I see. Unexpected appearances must run in the family.”

Sam's smirk widened as he reached for your hand, bringing it to his lips with a roguish glint in his eye. "Well, I’d say this night just got a whole lot more interesting," He said, pressing a light kiss to your knuckles. "It’s a pleasure to finally meet the woman who’s been keeping my little brother on his toes."

Before you could respond, Nathan quickly intervened, "Okay, okay," He cut in, his tone a mix of impatience and protectiveness as Sam let go of your hand. "We’ve got a job to do, remember?"

You hummed, taking your place beside Nathan again, your hands coming up to wrap themselves around his bicep. It had been so long since you had seen him in the flesh. Sure, you and Nathan texted and called each other occasionally, but nothing could beat the comfort of being so close to him, in the flesh. “So,” You trailed off, raising an eyebrow, “Want to fill me in on this plan of yours?”

Nathan stuttered briefly - feeling the warmth of your hands seeping past his fancy attire, sinking into his skin, and into his bones. His thoughts were tangled as he hesitated to share the details. “It’s, uh…” He glanced at Sam and Sully, then back at you, clearly torn on whether he should tell you what the plan actually was. Finally, he seemed to decide on a different approach, sidestepping your question with a nervous chuckle. “Why don’t you tell me what you’re doing here first? Crashing an auction like this, you must have a pretty good reason.”

You jokingly narrowed your eyes as you looked up at him, “Nice try, Nate,” You said, “But I’m not the one dodging questions here. Spill it. What’s the plan, or should I just take a guess? I betchu I could.” With the way you spoke, Nathan bet you knew more than you were letting on. Or maybe you were just playing him.

Nathan gave you a sheepish smile, “Alright,” He said, rubbing the back of his neck. “We’re, uh, just here to, well, acquire something of interest from the auction. It’s, you know, a, uh, delicate operation.”

You nodded slowly, clearly unconvinced. “I see how it is,” You said in faux offense, letting out a sigh as you uncurled your hands from his arm. “I know when I’m not wanted.” You turned to Sully and Sam, giving them each a nod. “Good to see you both. Do enjoy the rest of your evening.” As you turned back to Nathan, you stepped closer, raising your hands to adjust his somewhat crooked bowtie, before smoothing out the crisp, white lapels. With his heart pounding in his chest, Nathan watched as you then reached up to fix his hair.

“You look beautiful…” He muttered without a second thought, watching as that cute expression of concentration on your face slipped away. 

Looking up at him, you gave him a look, feeling your cheeks flush, “And you’re as handsome as ever.” You muttered right back, running your fingers through his hair a couple of times, tucking a stray lock into place before fully pulling away; meanwhile, Sam raised an eyebrow towards Sully, who only smirked. “Oh, and just a tip,” You said with a sly smile, your voice low as you took a few steps back. “You might want to consider dressing up as a waiter. It’s amazing how invisible you can be when you’re carrying a tray. Just a thought.” With a final wink, you gave the three men a final wave, “Ciao.”

Nathan watched you go until you were out of sight, his chest and heart warm, and heavy. With a small smile on his face, a deep, almost dreamy sigh left him. He never got to know why you were there. Or how you even got access inside. But, he had a sneaking suspicion that you knew exactly what he was planning; what he, Sam, and Sully were going after. 

“Well, well, well,” Sam spoke with a teasing grin, nudging Nathan’s arm. He could tell from Sam’s tone of voice, and the look upon his face, that some brotherly teasing was going to ensue. “Looks like your girlfriend’s advice is pretty spot-on. A waiter disguise might just do the trick.”

Nathan’s face flushed slightly, and he shot Sam a pointed look. “Sam, enough with the jokes,” He said, trying to regain his composure. “We need to focus. Let’s get back on track.” He gestured to the map and the details of their plan, determined to steer the conversation back to their mission.

They did take your advice, though.

Gunfire. There was so much gunfire, guards upon guards at every corner, and on every tower. They had almost escaped - with the cross - but they were everywhere, and Nathan was running out of ammo. Sam and Nathan were in one of the many courtyards, getting shot at. Of course, when were they not? Before hiding behind one of the stone pillars, peeking out to shoot whenever needed. 

Hearing a car screech nearby, Nathan watched as the white car that they arrived in swerved and pulled up a bit in front of them  Finding the opportunity, both Sam and Nathan booked it, bullets flying by them; they fell into the backseat of the car, and Sully drove off at lightning speed.

Both Nathan and Sam let out a breath of relief as Sully sped down the twisty road, leaving the Rossi Estate behind. Nathan rubbed a hand down his face, glancing out the window. After all the chaos, he wasn’t sure he could handle any more surprises.

“Hello, boys.” Nathan’s eyes widened as he and Sam turned their heads to find you comfortably seated in the front passenger seat, a confident grin on your face as if it was the most natural thing to be tagging along. You peered around the seat, “Thought I’d join the after-party,” You quipped, turning back to tap the center console playfully. “You really should consider a career in stunt driving, Sully.”

Nathan was at a loss for words but managed to get something out, “What are you doing here?”

You turned again to face them with a smirk. “Had to make sure my favorite rival wasn’t having all the fun without me.” You said, and Nathan’s expression shifted into a knowing smile.

~~~

The sounds of heavy footsteps echoed through the narrow passage as you and Nathan darted into the small cave, breaths heavy and hearts pounding. You had lost sight of Sam somewhere in the chaotic ruins of Scotland's ancient cathedral, and now Shoreline mercenaries were far too close for comfort. The cave wasn’t ideal - it was pretty shallow - but it was the only cover you could find on such short notice.

Your chest heaved, breaths coming fast as you hastily reloaded your gun, discarding the empty magazine on the stone floor. Nathan did the same, his eyes flickering over to check on you. But when he saw the growing patch of red staining your jacket sleeve, his expression changed instantly.

"You’re bleeding.” He spoke up, his voice tight. It was lower than normal, strained, as if the words caught in his throat before they escaped.

You glanced down, the rush of adrenaline finally giving way to the sharp sting of pain. You winced, watching the stain spread; you were surprised how quickly the blood had seeped through your shirt and jacket. “I bet it’s just a scratch,” You tried to downplay it, but Nathan shook his head, determined.

“Jacket off,” He demanded, but before you could even try and go against his words, he pulled his dark shirt from his pants and tore a strip of fabric from it. Snapping his head back up, you let out a deep sigh before complying. You were very tempted to make some joke, but with how Nathan was acting, and the look on his face, you decided against it. Slipping off your jacket, his hands moved quickly, lifting up your sleeve to get a closer look.

His eyes narrowed and his eyebrows furrowed as he saw the bullet graze; luckily, you wouldn’t need stitches it seemed. The cold air brushed against your skin as he wrapped the makeshift bandage around your arm, his fingers brushing your skin, sending a shiver down your spine despite the pain.

“Nathan, we don’t have time for this,” You hissed, trying to focus on the danger lurking nearby. Your hiding spot wasn’t going to last forever. 

But Nathan was having none of it, his hands moving with practiced care, "Just hold still," He muttered, laced with frustration and worry. 

You watched his face - his jaw clenched, his lips pressed into a thin line, eyes dark, focused entirely on you, as if the rest of the world had ceased to exist; as if there wasn’t danger just outside the small cave you were both hiding in. You ran your tongue over your bottom lip, trying to moisten it, nerves suddenly catching up to you.

“Nathan, I’m fine,” You said, trying to ease his mind with a soft chuckle. But his hands remained steady, tightening the bandage as if he didn’t believe a word you said. His fingers lingered a second too long on your arm before he finally looked up, his face close enough for you to see the worry etched in his eyes.

“Damn it, you shouldn’t have gotten hurt,” He murmured, guilt heavy in his voice. He let out a sigh, raising a hand to run it through his hair as he glanced away, his eyes flickering from the cave walls to the ground, and back up at you, “I should’ve been more careful.”

“It’s not your fault, Nate,” You replied, a frown on your face, “I’m okay, just a graze, I’ll live.”

Nathan’s hand moved to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin. His eyes searched your face before glancing down your body, and back up for any more injuries, but he thankfully found none. "Just… Just stay close to me.”

You offered a small, reassuring smile. “Always.”

As you prepared to move out of the cave - guns in hand - the weight of Nathan’s concern lingered. During some past adventures together, you and Nathan always checked in on each other, a routine part of your treasure hunts. But this time, the depth of his concern, the way he touched you, and looked at you… It felt different.

~~~

You paced in front of the motel room’s phone, going back and forth. You had been pacing so much that you wouldn’t have been surprised if you made tracks in the crappy carpet underneath your feet. Nathan, Sam, and Sully were checking out the two towers out of the twelve, and the last call you got from Nathan was after he solved a puzzle featuring the sigils of a few notorious pirates in the secret underground chamber under his and Sully’s tower. 

Were you jealous about missing out on all of that? Hell, yeah. You wanted to come along - you knew a lot about most of the pirates that Henry Avery spent time with - you felt that you could’ve been pretty helpful. But Nathan thought it would’ve been best for you to stay at the motel, to make sure everyone’s things were safe and no one from Shoreline showed up. 

Well, nobody had shown up, and you doubted that anyone would show up. You knew Nathan long enough, and you knew how good he was at hiding himself and others. And you also knew that you ‘protecting everyone’s stuff from Shoreline’ was a load of bull. Yet, you could’ve gone against his words and joined him anyway - like you’d done before on previous hunts - but when Nathan gave you those puppy dog eyes, you found yourself unable to resist. 

When convincing you, Nathan's stormy blue eyes widened slightly, the corners of his mouth turning up into a sweet, almost innocent smile that contrasted with his usually rugged demeanor. As he slowly made his way over to you, his movements deliberate and gentle, he reached out with a hesitant yet hopeful gaze. Taking your hands into his with a tender grip, he looked up at you with an earnest expression, his voice soft and almost pleading as he said just one word, "Please?" 

You sighed deeply, your gaze softened as you looked at him. With a reluctant nod, you agreed to stay at the motel. You were frustrated with yourself for being so easily swayed by that very adorable look. 

At the sound of the motel door unlocking, you stopped pacing. Had you really jinxed yourself and Shoreline did find you somehow, or did Nathan, Sam, and Sully finally return?

As the door opened, Nathan entered, joking around, excited. “You’ll never believe what we found-” He began, but his enthusiasm faded slightly when he noticed the look on your face. His smile wavered as he approached you. “Hey, sweetheart, you hold down the fort okay?”

You huffed, crossing your arms, your frustration evident. “What happened?” Your frustration wasn’t only because you fell so easily for his puppy dog charm, but because Nathan had gotten a few new scratches and minor cuts. 

Nathan began to explain, the puzzle at the tower, the pirate paintings, Rafe hacking the phones - you were glad you didn’t carry phones on hunts - more run-ins with Shoreline… And then Sam interjected with the fact that he and Nathan fought over who was going to jump on what vehicle - how stubborn Nathan was - before telling you how Nathan crashed the jeep that he was riding in. He continued to add more, but at the word ‘crashed,’ you stopped listening to the rest.

Your heart skipped a painful beat, and your frustration quickly turned to concern. “You crashed?” You echoed, turning to Nathan, “Are you serious!? I know you had to go after Sam, but please, you have to be more careful, Nathan.”

Nathan held up his hands, trying to soothe you. “Hey, I’m okay. No harm done, nothing's broken.” He said, attempting to lighten the mood, but the look in your eyes told him that his words weren’t enough.

Dropping your crossed arms, you exhaled from your nose as you quickly stepped forward, wrapping your arms around Nathan in a firm, almost desperate hug; careful not to hurt his already battered and bruised body. He let out a deep sigh, his own arms coming up to pull you even closer into his chest. His hands pressed against your back, before he buried his face in your hair, and took in your scent; his eyes fluttered shut. His grip tightened, one hand gently sliding up to cradle the back of your head, keeping you close.

Sam and Sully, observing the scene, exchanged a knowing glance. Without a word, they both slipped out of the motel room, leaving you and Nathan alone. 

“I’m glad you’re okay,” You muttered, your voice muffled against his chest, not even caring about the sweat and dirt clinging to his shirt; you were used to it. “But, puppy dog eyes won’t work on me anymore. Where you go, I go.”

“Guess I’ll have to up my game then, won’t I?” Nathan's voice was a mixture of a murmur and a chuckle as he pressed a kiss to your forehead. He knew that he’d have to make it up to you, he’d just have to figure out how.

‘He’s never done that before…’ You found yourself thinking as you nuzzled your cheek into his chest, hearing his heartbeat. 

As the words settled between you and without thinking, he gently pressed his forehead against yours. You mirrored the gesture, both of you closing your eyes as you savored the quiet, intimate moment. And for that brief moment, there were no more mercenaries, no more violence, no more treasure hunts; just calm - just you and Nathan.

Reluctantly, you pulled away, your fingers slipping from his shoulders, and sliding down his arms. Stooping at his wrists, your fingertips brushing along his racing pulseline. All the while, your touch sent shivers down his spine, raising the hair on the back of his neck in a pleasant way. Looking up at Nathan, you couldn’t help but get lost in those stormy eyes of his. There was an intense - yet soft - look in them again. That look that made your stomach do somersaults, and a few backflips.

‘Maybe…’ You thought, but mentally shook your head. ‘No…’

The room’s atmosphere shifted slightly as you cleared your throat - nervous - feeling your cheeks flush as you dropped your gaze from his, and pulled away from him fully; you already missed his skin against yours. 

Moving around the motel room, you quickly gathered your things. “Alright, everyone needs to pack if we’re going to get to the coast of Madagascar before Shoreline and Rafe do. We don’t have much time.”

As you darted around the motel room, Nathan watched you with a soft expression on his face. There was a warmth there as he observed the way you moved with purpose, your focus on the task at hand as you quickly packed your suitcase. It was clear that his feelings for you were deepening with each passing moment.

He really thought you'd realize by now. But thinking back a few years ago, when you had accidentally seen the pages in his journal dedicated to you - filled with article clippings of your prior adventures and discoveries, and a few sketches here and there - the depth of his admiration, captured in those carefully curated pages, was something you hadn't fully grasped at the time. Even now, you didn't seem to fully understand the extent of his feelings. You were a bit oblivious…

Nathan opened his mouth as if to say something, but the words caught in his throat, the tips of his ears and neck burning a faint pink. Instead of speaking, he simply sighed. He knew there would be a better time - soon, he hoped - when he could finally tell you how much you meant to him. But for now, there were more pressing matters.

“Where did Sully and Sam go?” You asked, your voice pulling him from his thoughts.

“Probably outside, ruining their lungs,” Nathan replied, grinning somewhat nervously as you shut your suitcase, and turned to face him. Gesturing to the front motel door with a nod, he gave you his signature grin. “Let’s go catch up with them. We’ve got a treasure to find.”

You smiled back at Nathan, a playful glint in your eye. "Race you to the door.”

Nathan chuckled, “You’re on, sweetheart.” In a flash, he was right behind you, his boots thudding against the floor as he chased you outside. Your laughter rang out, light and carefree, mingling with the warm Madagascar air as you both sprinted into the night.

~~~

At the old ruins of Libertalia, you pressed your back against a crumbling wall, your breath coming in quick, sharp gasps. You reloaded your gun, the empty magazine clattering to the ground. Nathan was right beside you, his chest brushing against your shoulder as he tried to steady his breathing. Just ahead, Sam crouched behind a smaller piece of wall, eyes scanning for any openings. Shoreline had taken you all by surprise, their bullets raining down relentlessly.

Adjusting his grip on the gun, Nathan leaned around you, his chest momentarily pressing against yours as he fired off a few quick shots, taking down two of the men. He let out a breath before retreating back into position, chest to shoulder, with you once again.

“How many of them are left?” You breathed out, trying to peek out, but regretting it as a bullet flew above your head. “Please, don’t tell me more than five. I’m getting tired of the sounds of violence.”

“I think three,” Nathan answered, giving you a nervous - trying to be reassuring - grin, “Don’t worry, we’ll get them.”

Nathan glanced out then, finding an opening, he fired, and you joined him and Sam, finishing off the last four guys before you advanced further.

Climbing up onto a ledge of one of the crumbling buildings, you pushed yourself up and held onto the opening of the broken wall as you watched Sam use his grappling hook to latch onto a overlooking beam, and swing over to another crumbling building. You glanced down - unable to see the ground with all the thick fog in the way, just barely seeing the tops of the tropical trees. There was a very large gap between you and the building you were supposed to swing to. Normally you weren’t nervous, but this was the biggest possible drop you’ve ever encountered in your ten years of hunting; and it unnerved you that you couldn’t see the bottom.

Nathan’s hand pressed onto your back, between your shoulder blades, his thumb drawing circles into your shirt, “Hey, you got his.”

“You’re so optimistic,” You muttered, tearing your eyes off of the plummet to look up at him, “I don’t know if I can do this… You both can go ahead and I can find another way around.” 

“It sometimes helps to be optimistic.” Nathan gave you a grin, and you returned it with a deadpan look. “You’ll be fine. I know that you can do this.”

“I don’t trust that beam.” You added, and Nathan gestured over to Sam who was standing on the building.

“Sam made it. The beam may be three hundred years old, but it is sturdy.” At your still unbelieving expression, he continued, “If it helps, I can go before you.”

Without waiting for a reply, Nathan grabbed his grapple, swung out into the open air, latched it, jumped, and landed safely on the opposite side. He turned back to you, cupping his hands around his mouth to yell with a grin, “See!? It’s stable! You can do this!”

His words carried across the gap, giving you just the push you needed. Readying yourself, you unhooked your grappling hook from your waist, swung it with practiced precision, and latched it onto the beam. Steadying yourself on the edge of the building, you took a deep breath, feeling the old wood creak ominously beneath your feet. With a final glance at Nathan, you pushed off, heart racing as you swung out into the open air.

But as the beam above you began to groan and crack, panic set in. The sound of splintering wood filled your ears. “Nate, it’s breaking!”

“Just jump, I’ll catch you!” Nathan yelled back, his arms outstretched, his voice filled with urgency. Sam echoed his words, shouting something encouraging, but you couldn’t focus on what he was saying. All you could think about was the cracking sound growing louder and the sheer drop below.

Your heart pounded in your chest, every muscle in your body tense with absolute terror. The beam above you gave a final, ominous crack, and you knew you had to act. Holding your breath, you swung back - gaining momentum - before you jumped, letting go of the rope, aiming for the other side. Your hands grasped at the wooden frame of the crumbling building they had both used to pull themselves up onto the platform, but the old wood was unstable. Your fingers slipped, and for a terrifying moment, you were falling. You heard both Nathan and Sam scream out your name, Nathan’s hand shooting out, but unable to catch yours in time.

Reaching out for anything, you were able to catch yourself on a piece of stone that you assumed was part of a window ledge; your body hitting the somewhat unstable building harshly. 

Looking up, twelve or so feet above you, you saw Nathan, your eyes wide with horror, seeing the same mirrored in his. Your grip on the small, stone ledge was tight, but you could feel it slipping, the strain evident in your trembling arms. Your feet dangled helplessly in the air, the void below you a terrifying reminder of what would happen if you had let go.

“Nate,” Your voice trembled, glancing from the drop to him. His body was halfway off the edge, his stomach pressing painfully into the wooden floor. 

Nathan’s breathing was shallow and quick, his mind racing with what to do, how to save you. He could see you struggling to hold on, and the panic in his chest threatened to consume him.

“You’re gonna be alright!” He exclaimed, trying to reassure both you and himself, but his voice wavered. “Just hold on a little longer, sweetheart, please. Sam! Sam, is there anything that we can use!?”

You tried to hang on, your knuckles white, but as you stared up at Nathan, you could feel your strength waning. The fear in your chest mingled with a sad acceptance. You knew you couldn’t hold on much longer.

“Nate,” You began again, your voice laced with fear but also resignation. He turned his attention back down at you, his eyes widened as he realized what you were about to say, and he shook his head frantically.

“No, no, no, no. Don’t you dare say anything,” His heart pounded in his ears, drowning out everything except the sight of you dangling helplessly. His mind raced with the fear of losing you and the need to save you, no matter the cost; he was growing desperate. Sticking down his arm, he grunted lightly, trying to see if there was any way to reach you, but you were too far away; and frantically looking at the side of the building, there was no way for him to climb down and get you.

You repeated his name, the sound of it cutting through the noise in his head. “Nathan,” Your voice strained. “You need to go ahead. You have to find the treasure - for yourself, for Sam. There isn’t enough time. Shoreline, Rafe, and Nadine are too close. You have to stop them.”

His chest tightened at your words, a mix of anger and heartbreak. How could you think the treasure mattered more than you and your life? He gritted his teeth, he could see your fingers slipping, and it terrified him.

“Yeah, and we’ll stop them together.” He insisted, his voice rough with emotion. Nathan’s throat tightened, his mind screaming that there had to be another way, but he could see the determination in your eyes. He wasn’t ready to lose you, not now, not ever. “I’m not letting you go. I’m not doing this without you.”

“Nate, there isn’t anything we can use!” Sam yelled behind him, and it was true; the worn platform they were on was bare. “And there's no way for either of us to climb down and get her! There's nothing secure enough!”

Nathan pushed himself closer to the edge, his face contorting as he tried to further his reach, his hand stretching out to you, but it was no use.

“Nate…” He could see the acceptance in your eyes, but he refused to acknowledge it.

Tears burned in his eyes, “No, please. I can’t do this without you. I won’t. Shit! Sam, hold my feet and lower me down!”

But before Sam could even respond, with a final, agonizing slip, your hands fell from the ledge.

~~~

As Nathan lay unconscious, his mind was a storm of turmoil and regret, a dark, endless void where his thoughts spiraled. The pain from the fall throbbed in his temple, but it was nothing compared to the ache in his heart. The truth about how Sam really escaped from the prison gnawed at him like a relentless tide eroding the foundation of everything he believed in. His own brother, the one he’d risked everything to save, had lied to him. It was a bitter pill to swallow, one that lodged itself in his throat, choking him.

And on top of that, you were gone. He could still see it, the horrifying moment when you slipped, your desperate grasp failing, and you plummeted into the abyss. The image played on an endless loop in his mind, a waking nightmare in which he couldn’t escape from. He blamed himself. If only he helped you find another way around…

Nathan’s chest tightened with suffocating anguish. He’d never told you how much you meant to him, how much he loved you. He’d held back, convincing himself there would be time later - better time, better place. But time ran out. That chance was stolen from him, just as you had been. Why hadn’t he said something? Why had he let fear and doubt keep him silent?  

A groan escaped Nathan’s lips as the harsh sunlight pierced through his lids, sending a sharp pain throughout his head. Blinking, he opened his eyes, the world around him a blur of light and shadows. Everything felt disoriented, his body warm and fuzzy. As his vision began to clear, he felt something - someone - gently brushing through his hair, the touch soothing and familiar.

He blinked, his eyes adjusting to the brightness, and slowly, the figure above him came into focus. There you were, bathed in a warm, ethereal glow. Your expression was soft, a mix of concern and relief as you looked down at him. His head rested in your lap, and for a moment, he couldn’t comprehend what he was seeing.

“Is this… Is this heaven?” His voice was hoarse and uncertain. He could hardly believe it - after everything that had happened, after the unbearable pain of watching you fall to your death - there you were. Alive.

It was too surreal, too perfect. This had to be a dream, or maybe he was dead, and this was heaven, where he could finally be at peace with you by his side.

Your hand stilled in his hair, a small, relieved smile tugged at your lips, and you couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh, shaking your head slightly. “No, Nate, you’re not in heaven.”

Nathan’s eyes widened slightly, disbelief flickering across his features. He lifted a hand, slowly reaching out to touch your face, as if needing the confirmation that you were truly there, that this wasn’t some cruel illusion after hitting his head. His fingers brushed against your cheek, and the warmth of your skin reassured him that you were real. 

“You’re alive…” He muttered, “I thought I lost you.” He, with a groan, began to sit up, “How did you survive? That drop- Are you okay?” He shifted, groaning lightly as he pushing himself into the sitting position,

“Well…” You told him everything. The fall, feeling your hair whip around, the wind howling in your ears before you plummeted into water. It turned out that there was a very large body of water under all of that mist and fog, and the water broke your fall. Somehow, you survived, bruised, aching, but alive.

“It's my fault.” He began after you finished, “I should've listened to you and help you find another-”

“Nate,” You interrupted gently, your hand coming up to cup his cheek. “It wasn’t your fault. With the job we have, these things happen. We take risks, and sometimes things don’t go as planned. It’s part of the territory.”

Searching your eyes, Nate seemed to find the reassurance he needed. His shoulders relaxed slightly, and the guilt in his expression began to fade. “How did you find me?”

You hummed, a grin slowly slipping onto your lips as you tilted your head, your hand falling from his cheek, “You left a trail.”

Memories flashing in his mind, nostalgic, he found himself chuckling, “I don’t leave trails.”

You bit your bottom lip, laughter escaping you, before you explained that after leaving the deep lake and running into some Shoreliners, you traveled on the forest floor. You followed in the general direction that you, Nathan, and Sam were on, and then you spotted Nathan laying in the shallow water. It was just pure luck - and probably fate - that you found him.

Nathan stared at you, though he was hardly listening to the words you were saying. His attention had drifted, drawn instead to the way your hair shone in the sunlight, the way your eyes sparkled despite everything you had been through. The way your smile lit up your face and the way your lips moved. Despite all the chaos, you still managed to smile, and that alone left him utterly captivated.

“-But I am taking a break from grappling from huge heights for a while.” You noticed his gaze lingering on you, and a flush crept up your cheeks, “Nathan, is everything okay? Do I have something on my face?” You asked, brushing a hand down your cheek. “I ran into a spider web before I found you, and I didn’t know if it was still on me. It feels like it’s still on me-”

“You’re incredible.” Nathan cut you off, his voice soft but filled with nothing but admiration. 

His words stopped you in your tracks, leaving you momentarily speechless. You stared at him - confused yet flattered - your heart skipping a beat, “For running into a spider’s web?” You asked jokingly, feeling the warmth of his adoring gaze.

Nathan’s hand slowly slid across the grass, his fingers grazing the forest floor as he reached towards where your hand rested. You noticed the gentle touch of his pinkie brushing against yours.

With the way he was looking at you, those deep, stormy eyes softened by a gentle smile, everything suddenly became clear. 

~~~

You, Nathan, Sam, and Sully had finally arrived in Madagascar. While the boys went out to grab dinner for everyone, you stayed behind, not feeling up to that after the long trip.

Sully had decided to keep you company, settling into the worn motel chair across from you, a cigar resting between his fingers. His expression was thoughtful, brows slightly furrowed as he took a puff. “You and Nate seem pretty close.”

You fiddled with the TV remote in your hands, not meeting his gaze. “We’ve been friends a long time, Sully. You know this.” You had been worried that Sully would have this conversation with you at some point.

He let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “I don’t know, darlin’. Doesn’t look like ‘just friends’ to me.”

You glanced up, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Sully shrugged, leaning back in the chair. “Just somethin’ I’ve noticed over the years. You two... You’ve got a certain way with each other. It’s different.”

Your lips twisted into a slight frown as you shook your head. “We’re comfortable with each other. That’s all. I don’t think Nate would see me like that.” You tried to laugh it off, brushing a hand through your hair. “I mean, he’s had plenty of chances to say something if he did, right?”

Sully took another puff of his cigar, his gaze distant as if weighing his words. “People don’t always come out and say what they’re feelin’. Doesn’t mean it ain’t there.”

You scoffed lightly, not taking his comment too seriously. “Come on, Sully, I think you're reading too much into this.”

Sully’s smirk widened just a bit, but he didn’t push the matter any further. “Maybe. Just don’t sell yourself short, kid.”

You tilted your head, eyeing him with a raised brow, but he simply waved it off, leaning back in the chair.

~~~

The way Nathan was looking at you, with such warmth and sincerity in his gaze, it hit you with a jolt. You realized that Nathan had been feeling the same way you had all along, and you couldn’t help but wish you had noticed it sooner.

You looked from his hand to his face, your mouth agape in surprise, as Nathan broke the silence, “No…” He muttered, “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah…” You let out a breathy chuckle, your heart light as you turned your head to gaze at the surrounding forest before you. “I do…” You replied softly, a silent understanding passing between you. You were both finally on the same page.

You moved your pinkie to brush against his, and then inched closer, carefully resting your head on his shoulder. Nathan exhaled deeply, his cheek pressing against your head as he took your hand fully into his. 

Eventually, you both set off to track down Sam, Rafe, and Nadine, hand in hand. 

~~~

Main Masterlist | Uncharted 4 Masterlist

[christian-zelda]

Found this tag game, but the reblog chain was kind of long

Answer 20 questions, then tag 10 bloggers you want to get to know better.

Name: (redacted).

Pronouns: her/she(y) chocolate.

Nicknames: I don't think I really have any.

Zodiac: Scorpio (I don't really pay any attention to it though).

Height: 5'5".

Language: English.

Nationality: American.

Favorite Season: Fall.

Favorite Flower(s): I really like the way Hyacinths look.

Favorite Color(s): Pretty much any shade of blue, some shades of pink, dark purples, and dark greens.

Favorite Animals: Dogs, Cats, Crows, and Wolves.

Favorite Characters from fandoms: *inhales* LoZ(only doing games I've played): Midna(TP), Tri(EoW), Tetra(WW), Mipha(BotW), Revali(BotW), Kass(BotW), Tulin(BotW/TotK). HK: Hornet, Quirrel. Ninjago: Akita, Morro, Vania. HTTYD: Hiccup(books), Fishlegs(books), Camicazi(books), Toothless(movies), Viggo(RTTE). GoG: Coryn.

Coffee, Tea, Hot Chocolate: Not a huge fan of any of them, but I guess hot chocolate.

Average Hours of Sleep: Uhhh, maybe 6? I'm trying to do better.

Dogs or Cats: Yes.

Number of Blankets I Sleep With: I just use one.

Dream Trip: Maybe visiting Niagara Falls again.

Blog Established: Uhhh, I think I'm coming up on a year now.

Followers: 86 (huh, more than I thought).

Random Facts: I have 8 siblings, and I've never had a crush before.

Tagging: @ahanarhorse, @sunset-peril, @aikoiya, @chinesebun, @thetanzanitequill, @nevermatchandscpsradadventures, @artistworms, @sweeet-carolineand, @individualperson8756, @callmecreative, @sprite-and-the-bunnydragons, @c4ts4ndstuff, @screwtornadowarningsimsouthern, and anyone else who sees this.

[wanderinginksplot-writes]

Gar Cyare Chapter Twenty-Five

Alpha-17 x fem!reader fic

Word Count: 4,900

Warnings: Peril (mostly the adventurous kind), minor injuries, dicey science.

Previous | Next | Masterlist

---

Daab (Down)

The sound of Alpha shouting your name was a backdrop to the sound of stagnant air rushing past your ears. Your limbs flailed frantically as you fell, clawing for a grip on anything that might allow you to save yourself. You hadn’t had time to consider what might be at the bottom of this pit, but you were certain that it wouldn’t be pleasant.

When your palm hit something, it was pure instinct that forced you to cling to it. The same instinct saved you again when your clutching hand refused to let go, even as your shoulder erupted in a rush of screaming pain.

The cry you let out echoed oddly through the darkness, but not as much as Alpha’s voice when he shouted your name again. 

“I’m okay!” you claimed, panting slightly with the effort of talking when you wanted to focus on the fire in your left shoulder. “I’m on a… a ladder, I think.” 

The rung you were clinging to was nothing more than a curved piece of durasteel sticking out from the durasteel wall. When you looked up, the next rung up was a concerning distance away. Like everything else in the non-training parts of Tipoca City, this area had been built for Kaminoans. 

Your shoulder gave a more insistent twinge, and you started feeling around with your toes. It was only a matter of time before your arm gave out entirely, and you didn’t want to fall again. The distance you had already fallen was considerable, but you weren’t willing to bet that the ground was close enough for you to land uninjured. 

“Keep talking to me, neverd’ika,” Alpha instructed, his voice tight with worry. 

“I’m trying- to find- ah.” You sighed as your toes settled on the next rung down. You were still putting more weight than was wise on your shoulder and arm, but even the slight reduction in pressure felt heavenly. “I’m good, I found the next rung down.” 

Alpha’s voice was getting closer. “Stay there. I’ll come to you. Keep talking so I don’t step on you.” 

That made you give a weak chuckle. “We wouldn’t want that. I hope you’re keeping track of how far you’re climbing. And how to get out of here. I don’t think that panel is going to stay open forever, and I didn’t have time to look for another latch-” 

As you spoke, the light filtering through the trapdoor began to dim. In a matter of seconds, you wen from standing in deep shadows to standing in almost complete darkness. “Alpha-?” 

“I’m here,” he promised. “I didn’t look for a latch, either. Don’t worry about it - I’ll get us out of here when it’s time. Hang on and I’ll get us some light.” 

The sounds of him climbing down to you paused and two thin beams of light pierced the darkness. When you squinted up at him, you could tell that Alpha had lit the headlamps mounted on either side of his helmet. You could also tell that he was far closer than he had been earlier, and you scooted over slightly on the rung. 

Alpha took up all the space you had left open, his armor brushing against your closer arm and leg. It was impossible to see his expression past the ambient glow of the headlamps, but his voice sounded distinctly sour when he said, “What happened to being fine?” 

You shrugged, careful to only use your right shoulder. “I caught myself with my left hand. I think taking all of that weight on one arm made me pull something in my shoulder.” 

Alpha shook his head slightly, the motion amplified by the lights, and looked down. When you followed the motion, you found that the floor was a lot further away than you wanted to think about. 

“Can you make it the rest of the way down?” Alpha asked. 

You paused for a moment, thinking about that, but Alpha scooped you up and tossed you over his shoulder before you could answer. You shrieked and scrabbled for a handhold on his pauldron. Heights weren’t your absolute least favorite thing, but you weren’t a fan of being thrown toward the void. 

“Relax, little one,” Alpha soothed with a pat to your calf. “I can’t have you tiring yourself out climbing this ladder the rest of the way down.” 

“I’m fine,” you insisted. “I just needed a minute to think about the best way to go about it.” 

“I shouldn’t have asked,” Alpha countered. “You could have hurt yourself worse than you know. It’s best if you don’t put any additional strain on the arm until we’re on flat ground and I can get a better look at it.” 

“What if I slip off your shoulder?” you asked, eyeing the ground nervously. 

“You won’t.” Alpha’s tone was utterly self-assured even as he began to climb down the ladder one-handed. The other hand was planted on the back of your thigh, keeping you pinned solidly against him. 

True to his word, you didn’t move an inch from Alpha’s shoulder until he had reached the ground and let you down slowly. When you were standing on your own legs, Alpha’s fingers moved gently over your shoulder, examining it as delicately as he could. 

“You’re lucky,” he announced. “It’s not dislocated, but you probably sprained it.” 

The idea of having to have your shoulder popped back into place made you feel distinctly light-headed, a feeling which only intensified as Alpha began stripping off his armor. 

“Alph- what are you doing?” 

“You need a sling,” he explained, not well enough for your taste. “I can make one out of the body glove.” 

“You need that to keep your armor attached,” you reminded him. 

Alpha paused long enough to shoot you a dry look before he ripped the sleeve of the body glove off entirely. It didn’t tear easily - the micro-magnetic threads and connections woven into the fabric sparked slightly as they were detached from the torso of the body glove, but he didn’t pause for a moment.

When you had gingerly slid your arm through the sleeve, Alpha took the spare material past your hand, wrapped it up and around the back of your neck, and tied it to the top of the shoulder. You let him work, impressed at the speed and efficiency of his movements. The sling took the weight of your arm off your injured shoulder, and you immediately felt a little better. At the very least, you felt like you could keep searching for the notes. 

“I think we should go back,” Alpha announced. 

Your head whipped toward him so fast that you almost choked yourself with the makeshift sling. “Are you serious? We just found the way down here. We have to be close to the notes by now.” 

“Look around.” When you did, you admittedly didn’t see much in the gloom. “We’re at a dead end with no light and you’re injured. This seems like a good place to stop and regroup. We can come back down when your arm is better.” 

It wasn’t the worst idea, but something in your gut rebelled at the suggestion. “We can’t go back up, Alpha. Who knows when the Kaminoans will kick me off-planet? Sentient Rights is working to get me based here, but there are no guarantees. And I won’t be able to stand the idea of you searching for the notes without anyone to look out for you.” 

“You’re looking out for me?” Alpha asked. He was still wearing his helmet, but you could tell that he was arching an eyebrow. 

You gave him a triumphant look in return. “I’m sorry, who found the trapdoor?” 

“Dunno if falling through it counts as finding it.” 

You rolled your eyes at his muttering, but couldn’t help your smile. If he wasn’t actively arguing about letting you continue to search with him, it was as good as an agreement. 

With a measuring sort of look, you asked, “Do the headlamps detach from your helmet?” 

The helmet in question tilted slightly as Alpha considered it, then reached up and pulled one free. As soon as he handed it to you, you began searching over the area around you. 

“Over there,” you pointed out, using the beam of the headlamp to illuminate the spot you were talking about. “I think that looks like another door.” 

“It does,” Alpha agreed begrudgingly. When he started toward it, you followed eagerly. He paused long enough to give you a look. “Try not to fall through any more floors.” 

“No promises.”

The sigh he gave crackled through the speakers, rendering them temporarily ineffective as you smirked behind his back. 

After some careful study, Alpha announced, “It’s a turbolift.” 

“A turbolift?” you repeated, stunned. “We’re already below every level of Tipoca City that I know of. Where would a turbolift lead?” 

Alpha shrugged. “We’re just above the average waterline on the stilt support now. Going further down would take us under the surface.”

That finally gave you pause. “Do you think this goes underwater?” 

He fell silent for a while, but eventually shook his head. “I doubt it. The Kaminoans are can survive underwater for long periods of time, but they don’t prefer it. Especially since Ko Sai experimented with humanoid genes. There wouldn’t be much point in doing all of that work somewhere that it would be corrupted by seawater.” 

“Maybe the lab isn’t underwater,” you countered. “But the path to get there could be. What if the turbolift opens underwater and Ko Sai just swam to the lab itself?” 

“It’s possible.” 

Your good shoulder slumped in defeat. “Then I guess you were right. We should head back. I was hoping the ship would be here.” 

Alpha turned around to face you. “The ship?” 

“Yeah, the last clue Ordo gave us,” you reminded him. “‘Move the transport’. I thought we would find a ship.” 

He stood so still that you thought something was wrong, then pulled off his helmet in a rush. His eyes were sparkling. “The transport. The transport isn’t a ship, it was the di’kutla aiwha. The kaminii used to ride them under the water during storms. If that was the transport in the clue, we’re one behind.” 

Since you couldn’t exactly type out a question one-handed, you peered eagerly over Alpha’s shoulder as he wrote the message. 

Next clue

Prudii answered back almost immediately. 

Down

You and Alpha exchanged looks. 

May be out of contact with that. What’s the one after that? 

Down

Alpha made an exasperated noise. 

Yeah, I got that. What is the one after that? 

Two ‘down’s. We thought it could be some kind of poetry. Down - Down - On the flesh.

You read that aloud. “Down, down, on the flesh. It does sound like it might mean something else. Could we be looking at multiple layers of code?” 

Alpha frowned at the comlink. “Probably. Everything up to this point has been more than one code. The only question is what we might find at the bottom of this turbolift.” 

“There’s one more question,” you disagreed. Alpha generously held out his comlink while you pecked out a careful message to Prudii. 

What comes after that?

That answer took slightly longer. 

Flesh is the last clue. There is nothing else.

You shook your head slightly, pressing a little harder as you keyed in your next message. 

How is that possible? There was more text than that to decode.

The rest is instructions on how the research should be used in the future. From what we can tell, she goes into detail about how Fett wasn’t an ideal donor. 

You growled under your breath as you paced in a tight circle. Alpha skimmed over Prudii’s last message while he waited. “I don’t think that Ko Sai would have suddenly felt the need to write poems. She’s a scientist through and through. Prides herself on it. I say we follow the clues directly. We go down the turbolift, find another way to go down, then look for anything that could fit the last clue.” 

“Okay, but how do we make sure we aren’t going to drown at the bottom of the turbolift?”

Alpha hummed thoughtfully, then his hands went to his belt. Your eyebrows shot halfway up your forehead as you tried to guess what he was doing, but he simply removed his kama. 

“Quitting your job as an ARC trainer?” you asked, striving for lightheartedness. 

He huffed out a laugh through his nose, walking to the door to the turbolift. “We should be able to experiment on what kind of conditions we’re expecting down there. I’ll send the turbolift to the lowest level possible, then bring it back up.” 

“What if you lose your kama?” you asked, watching anxiously as he pressed the button to summon the turbolift. 

The doors opened immediately - whatever had happened here on Ko Sai’s last visit, she must have left the lab using the same path you and Alpha had discovered. It made you feel a little better. 

“Better my kama than either of our lives,” Alpha said, ducking slightly inside the lift. He craned his head around the corner, peering at the buttons that would navigate the lift to different levels. “Only one stop on here. Let’s see what happens.” 

You heard the sound of a button being pressed and Alpha pulled back from the doors. Before they closed, you saw the stiff fabric of Alpha’s kama lying on the floor. It looked comically small in the Kaminoan-sized turbolift.

When the doors closed, Alpha pressed his fingertips to their durasteel surface. You furrowed your brow at that. “Is… everything okay?” 

“Feeling the vibrations,” Alpha explained shortly. “Trying to figure out when the lift stops so I don’t call it back too early.” 

You fell silent at that, occupying yourself by shining your borrowed headlamp around the area. It had felt cavernous when you had been falling, then again when you were draped over Alpha’s shoulder, but the ladder was surrounded by a tube. It was - again - the correct size to be snug for a Kaminoan, which meant it felt immense for a humanoid. 

The space at the bottom of the ladder wasn’t large, either. It was roughly the side of your office and your quarters combined. The only reason that neither of you had spotted the turbolift sooner was because the durasteel doors had been camouflaged among the durasteel panels that made up the area. 

Alpha pulled his hand away from the doors and pressed the button. You watched intently as the doors opened once more, but nothing seemed to be different. Alpha wedged the toe of his boot against the door, holding it open as he ducked inside to retrieve his kama. 

“Dry,” he reported, running his fingers over the material. He reached further in to check the turbolift floor around the corners and seams, but shook his head as he straightened back up. “I don’t think we have to worry about water down there. Ready?” 

You nodded, joining him in the turbolift. Before you pressed the single button, you paused, glancing up at him. Alpha had never put his helmet back on, and your eyes met as you hesitated. 

“There’s no, uhh… No way the air could be pulled out of the lift at the bottom, right?” you asked, trying to laugh off your suspicions. 

“They could have it open into a room with no atmosphere,” Alpha reasoned. That didn’t make you feel better. “But that would have moved the kama, so I don’t think we have to worry about it. Besides, we could just pass my helmet back and forth. That would keep both of us breathing until we got back up to a level with a decent oxygen ratio.”

You nodded, pressing the button. 

The turbolift descended in silence for half a second before Alpha chuckled. The sound nearly made you twitch, taut as your nerves were. “Finally starting to take the threat of this search seriously, neverd’ika?”

You shook your head, forcing a small smile. “I think your paranoia finally rubbed off on me.” 

“Deep breath, little one,” Alpha encouraged as the turbolift came to a halt. When your breath stuttered, one of his comfortingly heavy hands rested on your good shoulder. “You’ve done well so far. Just a little further now.” 

When the doors opened, a short laugh punched its way out of your lungs. “Sure about that?” 

Alpha wordlessly moved you to one side as he stepped out of the lift. His headlamp illuminated what the less direct glow of the turbolift’s lighting system had already shown, but he swept it and his attention across it anyway. 

The room was deceptively simple. It was a small space, with a port-style door on the walls to your left and right. A clear tube - perhaps transparisteel or plastoid, but possibly something entirely different -  stretched between the two doors, large enough to contain a small vehicle. 

You couldn’t remember another time that something that looked so straightforward brought about so many questions. 

“A pneumatic tube system of some kind?” you hypothesized aloud, following Alpha out of the lift so you could study it with the light of your own headlamp. The seal on the door leading to the vehicle was what had captured your interest the most. “This seal is air-tight.” 

“Could be a tube system,” Alpha agreed, eyes still searching the space. “But leading to where? We’re at the edge of a stilt. We have to be, based on everything we’ve seen so far.”

“Are you sure?” you asked, utterly turned around by all of the hidden hallways, and ladders, and falling. Alpha gave you a look and you immediately regretted doubting him. “I just meant, how can you be so sure?” 

“Based on where we were when we went down the ladder, then down the turbolift, the other side of that,” Alpha explained, pointing at the wall opposite the lift doors, “is ocean. Nothing is supposed to be down this far other than the linear wave generators. All of the other space in the supports is dedicated to… supports. Having any kind of open space down here would create an instability in the greater structure.” 

“This isn’t much of an open space,” you reasoned. “Not compared to the mass of the bases of the stilts.” 

“How do you know the mass of a stilt?” Alpha asked. Despite the inherent confrontation in the question, his tone was one of pure curiosity. 

You shrugged uncomfortably. “After the attack, I kept dreaming that Tipoca City was falling into the ocean. I accessed some of the schematics of the stilt-cities to reassure myself.” 

Alpha’s eyes took on a look of understanding. It was silly to feel too exposed to someone you were seriously dating and had professed to love, but you had to turn away from the knowledge in his expression. It made you feel raw, somehow, especially after all of the questions and details brought up in Brid’s trial.

You cleared your throat, gesturing to the vehicle. “I think this might be all of the open air in here. If you’re right and the ocean is just outside that wall, that would mean that we’re in the thinnest sliver of space at the edge of this stilt. Which would mean that this tube goes out of the stilt itself and into the ocean.” 

Alpha was quiet at that. You were, too. If you were right and the open ocean was outside, the day was about to get even more intense.

“I think you’re right,” Alpha agreed heavily. “I doubt there’s any space for the tube to be inside of the stilt itself. And if it goes out into the ocean, there’s no way of knowing whether the tube system is still sealed unless we use the car to go through it.” 

“Can’t we send the car out and back?” you asked, a little desperately. “Like we did with the turbolift?” 

Alpha shook his head. “There’s no way of knowing how many cars are in the tube system, or whether they’ll come back automatically. This one looks like a manually-controlled vehicle, so even if we could program it to go to another station, it wouldn’t come back without a pilot to input that command.” 

You sighed, absently running the fingers of your good hand along the edge of the makeshift sling. “Can we open one of the seals at the edge of the tubes? Just a little? If there was a leak in a pneumatic system, the pressure would be equalized by now.”

“That…” Alpha was looking at you strangely, a combination of surprise and pride mingling in his expression. “That’s an incredibly good point, neverd’ika. When did you get so smart?” 

You scoffed at his transparent attempt to needle your pride. The sly insult would hold more weight if he didn’t keep reminding you that your logical nature was a big reason he had fallen for you in the first place. 

“And,” you continued, ignoring him completely, “if the system has lost all pressurization, the seals would begin to leak as soon as they were breached. Depending on how badly they’ve degraded over the years since Ko Sai was actively using this system, they may not completely seal again, but it should be enough for us to get back up the turbolift with plenty of time to spare.” 

“If the system depressurized, we’d still be able to follow the tubes to wherever Ko Sai’s lab is located,” he concluded. “It would take a little longer and we would need to get access to some of the SCUBA class training vehicles, but it wouldn’t be a total stop.” 

“As long as there isn’t another clue at the end of the tube system,” you agreed, feeling a pang of dread. If there had been another clue hidden somewhere this far below sea level, odds were that it had been eaten away by the salt and waves long ago. 

Alpha nodded gravely. “Let’s hope not. Either way, we will have done more than those di’kutla Nulls deserved from us.” 

You shook your head fondly. “Okay, let’s try to get one of the seals open.” 

“Not we,” he refused immediately. 

“Alpha…” you started.

“I mean it, little one.” Alpha hooked a thumb over his shoulder at the tube behind him. “That car is blocking the entrance to the tube. I’ll need you to get in and navigate it forward a few yards before I can get into the tube to mess with the seals. Then I’ll pry a seal open just enough to see if the system is still pressurized. Yes or no, I’ll get out of the tube and you can bring the car back to the entrance.” 

“Oh, that-” Your breath caught in your throat. “I don’t like that idea, Alpha. What if the system pressurizes while you’re in the tube itself?” 

“I’ll wear my helmet,” he promised. “If it can protect a trooper from the vacuum of space for a few minutes, it should be able to handle a pneumatic pressurization for less than a minute.”

“I still don’t like it. There has to be a better way-” 

“There probably is,” Alpha agreed. “But we don’t have the time or the resources to do much more experimentation. C’mon, neverd’ika. Time to test your theory.”

When Alpha had decided on a course of action, there wasn’t much you could do to fight against it. With minimal additional convincing, you got into the vehicle parked at the opening in the tube. The moment your feet had touched the floor in front of it, the front of the tube had slid to one side and allowed you inside the car. 

The controls were strange, different than any vehicle you had ever piloted before, as was the design. When you started to adjust the controls, the vehicle sealed itself, transparisteel rising up at all sides to close in a bubble over your head. 

After a moment of work, you managed to urge the car forward enough to allow Alpha to get past the back end. He slipped through, armor scraping along the transparisteel of the vehicle’s shell, and positioned himself at the seal behind you. 

The transparent hull of the vehicle allowed you to watch what he was doing without sacrificing your place at the controls. Alpha wedged one foot along the edge of the sealed door, bracing himself before he pushed his gauntleted hands along the door’s closure. 

When he pulled the doors open, the effects were clear immediately. The space between the doors was scarcely half the width of your hand, but Alpha’s entire body launched forward with the pressure from it. The tube began to seal itself shut in preparation for you to take off through the tube system. 

You were watching, wide-eyed as Alpha allowed the door halves to reclose. The pressure normalized within the tube itself, especially since the gap in the tube hadn’t fully resealed yet, and Alpha staggered back with the sudden lack of pull. 

“Alpha!” you cried, rushing to his side of the vehicle. “Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine, little one,” he reassured, sounding a little breathless through the speakers of his helmet. “You’ve drifted back. I need you to move the car forward again, okay?” 

You didn’t remember inputting any instructions to move the vehicle, but sure enough, you were blocking the door just enough to keep him trapped in the tube. 

You programmed the car to slide forward in the tube, let Alpha step back into the main body of the room, then docked the vehicle back at the entrance. Immediately, the sides of the car fell once more, allowing you to step out. Or, more accurately, allowing Alpha to step in. 

“Well, I don’t think we need to worry about leaks,” he told you needlessly. “The pressure in the system is still good, so I think we should keep looking wherever the tubes lead.” 

With a deep breath and a nod, you reached for the controls once more. The vehicle closed over both of your heads, sealing you into the space. You tried to calm your nerves, reminding yourself that, even if the tubes had somehow leaked in a way that you and Alpha had missed, you had at least as much air as the vehicle held. Maybe more, assuming that it had a central oxygen reclaimer. 

To your infinite relief, the vehicle didn’t encounter any water in the tube as it left the station. The seal of one door opened and you launched out at a breathtaking speed. Everything around you was blue and your fingers tightened reflexively around the controls even as as Alpha reminded you to stay calm. 

When you followed his advice, you found that the tube was still perfectly sealed. All water was held safely outside the pressurized system, even if the walls of the vehicle were close enough to the walls of the tube that they seemed at times to be one. 

The second thing to attract your attention - after your fear of imminent death dissipated - was the sight of the Kaminoan skies far above you, distorted by the strange movement of waves viewed from the underside. It was a typically gray Kaminoan day, though thankfully not raining, but the ambient light filtered down through the water. Most of the illumination inside the car came from the lighting recessed into the control panel and the interior supports of the tube system itself, but the sight of the sky kept it from feeling too close. 

The third thing to grab your attention was arguably the most important one. It was the fact that the vehicle was following the tube system in a dive. 

The vehicle had adjusted as the tube curved into a sharp downward angle, keeping you and Alpha standing upright as the body of the vehicle rotated around you. At last, you allowed your fingers to peel away from the control panel as you stepped toward one side of the vehicle. When you could see past the bases of the transparisteel that made up the outer shell of the vehicle, you let out a soft curse. 

The tube continued running nearly straight down as far as you could see into the darkened depths of the water. 

“Alpha?” you started hesitantly. “How far down do you think this will take us?” 

“I’m keeping track, little one,” Alpha reassured you. 

“How?” you asked, staring at the unfathomable amount of water flowing past as the vehicle continued to dive. 

“Old formula the kaminii taught us,” he explained shortly, eyeing the chronometer on his wrist. “Before the SCUBA designation was created, all ARCs were expected to serve as land- or marine-based operatives.” 

You left him to counting as you watched the rippling gray skies and soft ambient light fade. It did so far too quickly for your tastes, leaving the vehicle lit only by the artificial glow of the control panel. 

When the vehicle and surrounding tube finally leveled out, Alpha let out a low whistle. Before you could demand to know what had happened, he explained, “According to the formula, we dropped roughly 8,000 meters.” 

“We-?” you repeated blankly. 

Alpha nodded, his solemn eyes meeting yours. “It means we’re on Kamino’s ocean floor.”

---

Author's Note - I was so proud of the pneumatic tube pressurization logic when I wrote it! Looking back now, it reads like a pile of buzzwords and shaky science-adjacent words. Ah, well. We're leaning heavy on the "fiction" half of science-fiction with this one, folks!

My apologies for being so late with this chapter. I was somewhere without steady wifi for the past month and I was too busy to sneak off to a coffee shop for an hour to get this ready for posting. Thank you for your patience!

PLEASE keep in mind that the next chapter will finish this arc and it is INTENSE. Try to remember to read the warning at the top of the chapter and skip it if you need to.

Thank you for reading! The next chapter will be posted as scheduled at the end of the month, barring any more craziness. Have a great day!

[phanfictioncatalogue]

Terrible Influence Tour (3) Masterlist

part one, part two

angel and demon (ao3) - possumdnp

Summary: Dan and Phil go out to a bar dressed in a couple's costume, and Dan is surprised at just how freeing it feels.

(A fic about Halloween 2024, pushing boundaries, and the perils of red hair dye.)

apple dragon (ao3) - ShiwiSins (IetjeSiobhan)

Summary: Phil grumbles something into his coffee, and Dan’s face lights up with an expression so fond it feels almost wrong to look at.

Or: Dan and Phil on tour, through the outside eyes of a staff member.

boops! i did it again (ao3) - jonsaremembers

Summary: Phil's newfound confidence calls for a new kind of Halloween costume, and Dan can't resist him.

Color Theory (ao3) - skygremlin

Summary: Dan and Phil spend Halloween night out in Milwaukee dressed as Aziraphale and Crowley from Good Omens, and Dan unfortunately learns the consequences of committing to red hair dye when he gets back to their hotel room to wash it out.

cowboy hat canoodling (ao3) - calvinahobbes

Summary: Usually they’re of a height, somewhat because Dan has that tendency to slouch. But today Dan is in boots and the cowboy hat, both making him taller than usual.

Do beach chairs qualify as an emergency? (ao3) - skygremlin

Summary: Dan and Phil have a few days off in San Diego, and Phil is determined to relax on the beach, preferably with some comfortable chairs. All he needs to do is call and ask if they have any chairs available, so why do hotel phones have to make things so complicated?

Based on a question from the Toronto pre-show.

Everyone's a feminist until there is a spider around (ao3) - skygremlin

Summary: Dan and Phil are wrapping up their North American leg of the Terrible Influence tour on the east coast, getting ready for a show in a basement dressing room backstage. Dan notices that Phil's acting really suspicious, trying to keep Dan distracted from whatever he's doing. As it turns out, there's pretty good reason why.

Based on the question from "Our Phanniversary Newlyweds Game": Who kills/removes the spiders?

Falling for you (ao3) - dnpangels

Summary: Dan and Phil are cuddling in Phil's tour bus bunk. When Dan slips and falls out of the bunk, he wakes up the entire tour crew. Fluff and teasing from the crew ensues.

falling off the moon (ao3) - jonsaremembers

Summary: "Dan fell off the moon!"

"I fell off the FUCKING moon!"

get to heaven in our own sweet time (ao3) - jonsaremembers

Summary: Dan and Phil choose their costume for Halloween 2024. Yeah, it breaks the internet, but they only have eyes for each other.

Heat (ao3) - blossomsphan

Summary: Phil has eyes for a cute waiter. But Dan only has eyes for Phil.

if you weren't mine (i'd be jealous of your love) (ao3) - phook

Summary: dan and phil reminisce.

everything’s still romantic after fifteen years.

Karma is a cat (ao3) - skygremlin

Summary: Dan and Phil visit the San Diego Zoo and Dan insists he could beat a leopard in a fight. When their tour bus gets a flat tire in the middle of the night as they're on their way out of California, he's forced to defend his words and himself.

Like You Used To (ao3) - easybubbyy

Summary: The boys go out for drinks with their crew. Dan is a horny and clumsy drunk, and Phil is a goofy and flirty drunk. Smut ensues. Enjoy!

misplaced (ao3) - possumdnp

Summary: Phil misplaces his favourite hat while on tour.

On Tour Bus Beds (ao3) - katiecal1013

Summary: “Best buddies can share a bed!” - Phil Lester, 2024

Open Doors And Coffee Stains (ao3) - SpiritsDJH

Summary: Things feel different. He noticed it maybe after the first few uploads, reading comments from some users he would recognize anywhere, and some from people he did not recall. Although familiar, the feeling of distrust or annoyance doesn’t pang in his chest anymore. If anything it is a breath of fresh air, a relief he didn’t know he needed.

our lips must always be sealed (ao3) - uhmyeah

Summary: dan and phil have silly tour sex

since before dan & phil. (ao3) - Anonymous

Summary: “are you serious?” asked dan, peering down at phil, who sat in their dressing room with his gaze locked onto his phone.

sleepy hog (ao3) - ShiwiSins (IetjeSiobhan)

Summary: It takes him a moment of disoriented, sleepy blinking to realise the noise he’s missing is Phil’s snoring.

Or: a semi-sleepless night on tour with Dan and Phil.

Stinky Baby (ao3) - easybubbyy

Summary: Phil can be a bit bossy sometimes... (especially in the mornings). Dan doesn't mind one bit.

take on the world (ao3) - blossomsphan

Summary: just some soft, post-show intimacy <3

too long (ao3) - Mildredo

Summary: they're horny on tour. that's it that's the fic.

When in Washington (ao3) - dnpangels

Summary: An outsider POV fic about a guy sitting behind Dan and Phil at the University of Washington football game.

[iamjacksragingboner]

Gross Childhood Best Friend Soap

Word Count: 1.6K

Alternate Endings Here

Warnings: The tiniest smidgen of angst but it ends nice so you better not complain, not super proofread

A/N: Yeah I dunno, came up with this last night and just crammed it out today in a sort of word diarrhea in which I blacked out and woke up naked and alone in the middle of the bush with this on my laptop screen. Make of that what you will

Contrary to his callsign, Soap is, and always has been, a gross little goober of a man

He’s been gross since you were kids, going digging for worms, collecting hermit crabs to take home from the beach in his pockets, rolling around in the dirt and coming home tracking mud on the carpet. Of course, it wasn’t all bad. He’d always offer to kiss your scrapes and bruises better, even if they were bloody or muddy. He’d always find pretty seashells to give you amidst his hunt for the largest hermit crab. He was gross within reason.

You had many a fond memory of going off to the creek at the back of your neighbouring houses with him. You'd climb up to what felt like perilous heights in your child minds, to sit on the highest point of the creek. From there, you would watch as Johnny dug for the perfect stones for you both to skim, watch him build dams and change the currents of the water. Watch as he would lunge at bugs, fish, tadpoles, lizards, and present them up to you from below, the squirming creatures clutched in his mud covered hands.

At the end of the day, just before your parents would call you back home for dinner, Johnny would climb up on the rock with you, just to sit and hold your hand. If he was feeling particularly bold, he would plant a kiss on your hand, and tell you he was going to marry you one day. You called him gross for that too, but latched onto the idea all the same.

Your early teen years, where puberty had begun for the both of you, was plagued with a myriad of varying smells and odours. Forget sweating like a pig, Johnny sweat like a boar; walking home from school with him after P.E. was a nightmare for your nasal cavities. You didn't mind though, he made good enough conversation that you ended up getting used to the stink.

For the amount of afternoons you spent in his room, you'd think you would eventually get used to the sight of his dirty clothes and mugs littering his floor and desk. You never did, always scolding him for not keeping his room clean knowing he had a lady coming over. He would always laugh, even as you threw his pillow at him, copping it square in the face.

So many nights were spent laying side by side in his bed, talking late into the night, curious hands too scared to do more than brush pinkies with the other laying inches away. You always felt as though you could feel him staring at you in the quieter moments of those nights, but you never caught him.

You spent your later teen years feeling bitterly towards him. You went from thinking you'd be best friends forever, to being an afterthought for Johnny. You did try, of course, to keep close to him.

In his late teen years, Johnny was gross in the sense that he’d go off to parties just to see how many people he could make out with. Would have sex with anyone who offered, just for the hell of it. Accompanying him to parties was a nightmare.

"You promise you won't abandon me this time?" You found yourself asking this more than once, each time slightly less optimistic than the last, but never losing your faith in him.

"Of course not, lass," he would always say. "Yer ma' girl! I'll stick right by yer side this time, lass. I promise."

What shallow promises they were. You were always demoted to the third wheel, the one who held the drinks while he went off to flirt with someone new he hadn't fucked yet. You found yourself leaving early and alone most nights, walking home and hugging your sides to keep yourself from falling apart, kicking stones imagining they were Johnny's face. Cursing yourself for thinking this time would be different, and that maybe he'd look at you for once. Going to bed cold and bitter, knowing just next door, Johnny would be waking up with someone else next to him in his bed. You just hoped he remembered to keep his room clean for them.

You both graduated, with Johnny leaving to join the military and you leaving to go to university. You kept in scarce contact over the years, occasionally calling to catch up, Johnny telling you where he was stationed, you telling him what you were working on at uni, apologising for missing birthdays, missing holidays, promises to call again soon, promising to catch up when he's home, all shallow. At least, that's what it felt like to you.

Until one night, when you were out at a bar with you friends, celebrating your recent graduation. You were all discussing with great vigour what you would all get up to with your newfound freedom from studies, when you felt the familiar feeling of eyes boring holes into the back of your skull. A little unsettled, you took a look around the bar, trying to see who could possibly be staring at you so intensely, but you couldn't quite catch their eye. You sipped at your drink, a frown furrowing your brows for a moment, before you brushed the feeling off altogether.

An hour passed and you'd forgotten the feeling in the haze of the alcohol. You were ordering yourself another drink, and as you reached into your wallet to grab out your card, another hand swooped in front of you to pay for your drink. You looked up, startled, before you met his gaze. Johnny. Staring down at you with a smile that could melt glaciers.

"Johnny, you didn't tell me you were in town," you murmured, eyes greedily taking in as much of him as you could in this moment of reunion. Scars on his chin covering the one he got from splitting his chin riding a bike for the first time. Stubble covering his jaw. The corniest mohawk that he had always talked about getting, sitting on top of his head. Your face flushed beet red when your eyes dragged over his built form; apparently that childhood crush you'd had on him all those years ago hadn't quite faded as much as you'd thought it had.

"You didn't tell me you'd graduated university, lass," he replied, the sound of his voice—finally in person again and not over the phone—sending shivers down your spine. "Had to find out myself from yer mum."

You hid your guilt behind the drink you tipped back into your mouth, averting your gaze as he watched you with dark eyes. "Thanks for the drink," you breathed, and he laughed.

"Don't even mention it, 's the least I can do. Why don't we go sit down somewhere 'n catch up, aye? Come on, lass."

You found yourself being guided over to a booth, Johnny's hand on the small of your back, sending ripples of warmth through you and into places the alcohol couldn't quite reach. You sat down first, with Johnny shuffling in close beside you, your shoulders brushing, electricity coursing through your veins.

As you sat and spoke, catching up on what you've missed in each other's lives, you found yourself noticing something. Johnny was using all the moves he used to use on people he fancied in high school, the ones he used to get them all flustered, to get in their pants.

You had to admit, you could see why so many people slept with him; he was charismatic as all hell, that boyish charm spawning those all too familiar butterflies in your gut, and he was quite literally always in contact with you. Whether it be the arm resting behind you on the seat of the booth, his knee gently nudging yours beneath the table, or a hand tucking a hair behind your ear, it seemed Johnny had turned the charm up to the max.

It was nice to be on the receiving end of it for once, but there was a certain bitterness that still lingered behind like a foul taste in the back of your throat. Was this just meaningless flirting to him, were you just another girl on his list to fuck and be done with? With all the alcohol in your system, you were well and truly past the point of caring, but you knew that if you woke up tomorrow morning in an empty bed you'd not only be cursing him, but yourself as well.

You let him lean in closer, tracing a finger down your cheek, and you let yourself be giddy, blushing like a schoolgirl when he winked at you. You let yourself swoon when he kissed you, cradling your face in his calloused palms. You let him take you back to his parent's place, nestled just next to your own home. You let him take you upstairs and into his room, holding your hand and shushing you when you both laughed a little too loud.

You let yourself feel like teens once more as you stumbled into that all too familiar room, hit with the smell of Johnny, the smell of home. You felt guilty, ashamed, as you let yourself savour the taste of him, the feeling of his naked body pressed against yours, his hands raking along your body as if you'd disappear if he let go. You let yourself fall asleep in his arms, smiling as he carded his fingers through your hair and pressed kisses to your scalp, whispering incoherent things into your skin.

You awoke the next morning, expecting to find Johnny's bed empty. But it wasn't. And neither was it the next morning, or the morning after that. In fact, the pair of you spent a lot of time waking up together.

This is where you find yourself now, lying in the early morning light in Johnny's bed, the man in question sprawled out next to you, snoring with his mouth wide open, drool leaking on his pillow.

"Gross," you murmur to yourself with a fond smile, tucking yourself into his side and closing your eyes once more.

[pxnsneverland]

Ruthless Grace | Austin Butler x OC (part 3)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14

plot summary: Amidst the grime and squalor of Victorian England's winding cobblestone alleys, a young woman's life hangs precariously in the balance. Violet, a poor peasant girl with long raven locks and piercing gray eyes, possesses a haunting beauty that belies the harsh realities of her existence. Tragedy struck two years prior when Violet's mother succumbed to illness, leaving her to fend for herself and her father – a cruel, selfish man consumed by vices of alcohol and gambling. On one fateful night, Violet's father drags her unwillingly to that very den of iniquity, and there she learns a horrifying truth from the club's greedy, perverted owner: to repay his mounting gambling debts, her father has sold her into sexual servitude. Violet's vehement protests fall on deaf ears, until an unlikely savior emerges from the shadows. Lord Austin Butler intervenes with a bargain of his own. This dangerous man offers to pay off Violet's father's debts in exchange for her accompaniment, and Violet is torn from the only life she has known. While Austin's demeanor remains shrouded in mystery and detachment at first, Violet gradually glimpses his softer, even playful side as time passes within the manor's walls and an unexpected connection blossoms between the unlikely pair.

pairings: austin butler x oc

word count: 2,714

warnings/notes: n/a

Chapter 3: From the Gamble to the Carriage

Lord Austin Butler rose, his height casting a long shadow over the dimly lit room, the light catching the icy determination in his eyes. "You owe me nothing," he said with measured calmness, though there was an undercurrent of danger in his voice that made even Rat’s hardened associates shift uncomfortably in their seats. "However, you owe Miss Everly here the courtesy of not treating her as chattel."

Violet's heart skipped a beat at his words. The notorious Lord Butler, known equally for his ruthless dealings and his unexpected bouts of benevolence, was intervening on her behalf? She dared not let hope flicker too brightly, for fear it would be snuffed out just as quickly.

Rat's gaze flickered between Violet and Lord Butler, assessing the situation with a serpent's calculating eyes. "And why would you care about this girl, my lord?" Rat asked, his tone dripping with disdain. "What is she to you?"

Austin’s lips curled into a slight smile that did not reach his cold blue eyes. "Let's just say I dislike debts being settled through such... unsavory means," he replied smoothly. "Release her from your clutches or find yourself with an enemy you do not want."

Rat hesitated, weighing his options. He knew better than to cross the Butler family, and the debt he was owed, as large as it was, paled in comparison to the weight of their ire. Reluctantly, he let go of Violet's wrist. "Fine," Rat spat out.

"But don't think this is the end of it, Butler. I'll remember this."

Violet felt her wrist freed from Rat's greasy grip, her skin burning where his fingers had clung. She rubbed at the red marks silently, not daring to meet anyone's eyes. The ominous echo of Rat’s threat hung heavy in the air, a dark cloud promising a storm yet to come.

Austin didn't respond to Rat's parting shot; instead, he turned his attention to Violet. Violet's throat tightened. What could Lord Butler possibly want with someone like her? Was this another form of debt, one more personal and potentially perilous? Yet, what choice did she have but to accept his offer? The alternative—remaining under Rat's watchful and undoubtedly vengeful eye—was far worse. As the ruckus of the club resumed, a cacophony of raucous laughter and clinking glasses attempting to mask the tension that had just unfolded, Lord Butler's hand extended towards Violet.

"Come," he said, his voice a low command that brooked no argument. "Let us leave this place."

Violet hesitated, her mind racing with the possible consequences of trusting this enigmatic man. Yet as she glanced back at her father, who was now engrossed in a heated dice game, oblivious to her plight, she knew she had little choice. Swallowing hard, she placed her trembling hand in his. Lord Butler led her through the throng of bodies, his presence parting the crowd like a ship cleaving through dark waters. They stepped out into the cool night air, and Violet drew a deep breath, feeling as if she could breathe for the first time in hours. As they walked down the dimly lit cobblestone street, the cold night wrapping around them like an unwelcome cloak, Violet's mind swirled with a mixture of relief and trepidation. Lord Butler's steps were sure and silent, a stark contrast to the chaotic drumming of her own heart.

"Why did you help me?" she finally mustered the courage to ask, her voice barely above a whisper. She could not rid herself of the notion that every kindness must have its price, especially from someone of Lord Butler’s known reputation.

Austin paused, turning to face her under the faint glow of a street lamp. His features softened somewhat in the dim light, yet his eyes remained inscrutable. "You looked like you needed a way out.”

His reply, simple as it was, carried a weight that hung between them in the cool night air. Violet's eyes searched his, looking for any hint of deceit or malice, but found none that she could discern. She was not naive enough to think this marked the end of her troubles, but for a fleeting moment under the flickering streetlamp, she allowed herself to feel a semblance of safety.

"Where are we going?" Violet asked after a moment, her voice steadier than she felt.

"To my estate," Austin stated, his tone suggesting that further questions might not be welcome. "It’s safer there—for now."

The word 'safe' echoed in her mind like a promise too precious to trust. But what choice did she have? Going back was not an option; moving forward with this enigmatic lord was the only path left open to her. As they continued to walk, Austin's silence enveloped them as effectively as the fog that began to roll in from the river. The fog seemed to cloak their movements, a spectral shroud that masked the uncertainty of their destination. Violet's thoughts churned as violently as the river beside which they walked, each step taking her further away from a life of misery yet potentially closer to a new kind of danger. Lord Butler's stride was purposeful, his posture erect with an authority that commanded respect—even fear—but his silence was a puzzle she could not solve.

The fog seemed to cloak their movements, a spectral shroud that masked the uncertainty of their destination. Violet's thoughts churned as violently as the river beside which they walked, each step taking her further away from a life of misery yet potentially closer to a new kind of danger. Lord Butler's stride was purposeful, his posture erect with an authority that commanded respect—even fear—but his silence was a puzzle she could not solve. Every so often, he glanced over his shoulder, as if to ensure she was still there or to check that they were not being followed. The tightness of his jaw and the occasional narrowing of his eyes spoke of concerns he did not voice, adding another layer to his already enigmatic persona.

Violet's mind raced with questions about this man who had appeared so unexpectedly in her life. What drove him to intervene on her behalf? Was it merely distaste for the unsavory dealings of men like Rat, or was there something deeper, more personal at stake for him? His world was one of power and privilege, so far removed from her own experiences that she found it hard to believe their paths were meant to cross in any meaningful way. Yet here she was, following him into the unknown, driven by a desperation that made her cling to the fragile hope he offered.

As they approached a carriage waiting at the end of the street, its doors opened as if by magic, revealing a plush interior lit by soft lanterns. Violet paused, her heart pounding anew—not from fear this time, but from the sheer otherworldliness of the scene before her. Austin, noticing her hesitation, offered his hand once again, his expression unreadable.

"Trust me," he murmured, the words barely audible above the distant rumble of the city nightlife. The invitation was simple, yet it carried the weight of an unspoken promise—a promise that Violet found herself inexplically wanting to believe, despite every reason she had to doubt. Tentatively, Violet placed her hand in his once more, stepping into the carriage while trying to suppress the fluttering in her chest. The soft cushions enveloped her as she settled into a seat opposite Austin. The door shut with a definitive thud, sealing them together in this moving sanctuary from the outside world.

As the carriage lurched forward, Austin leaned back against the upholstery, his gaze fixed out of the window, lost in thoughts he did not share. Violet watched him covertly, studying his profile—the sharp jawline, the furrow between his brows that spoke of concentration or concern. He seemed both part of this opulent world and yet isolated from it. Her curiosity deepened, entwining with the threads of apprehension that wove through her mind. What lay at the end of this unexpected journey? What awaited her at Lord Butler’s estate? These questions spun in her mind like a whirlwind, leaving her dizzy with uncertainty.

The carriage wheels rhythmically hit against the cobblestones, a steady and hypnotic sound that seemed to echo the pulsing of her own heart. As they traveled further away from the life she knew, the streetlights became scarcer, plunging the carriage into periods of shadow interspersed with bursts of light.

Breaking the silence, Austin finally turned to face her, his expression unreadable. "You must have many questions," he said, his voice calm and somehow reassuring despite the situation.

Violet nodded, her throat tight with nervousness. "Yes, sir. I assume you bought me for your own…personal uses.”

Austin raised a brow trying to keep a smirk off his lips. “Personal uses?”

Violet narrowed her eyes. She didn’t enjoy him acting sly. She was not stupid. “Personal pleasure, my lord. That is what my father sold me to Rat for.”

He could no longer hold back his chuckle which made Violet even more angry. “You are rather blunt, Miss Everly.” Austin moved his gaze directly to hers. There was a teasing nature in his eyes that made Violet lean away from him slowly. “My intentions are my own. But I can assure you, they are not what you think.”

The assurance did little to quell the tempest inside her. Violet's eyes flitted away from his, focusing on the darkened landscape rolling past the carriage windows. Each word he spoke seemed layered with meaning she couldn't quite decipher. She was painfully aware of the close quarters, the way his presence seemed to fill up every inch of the space.

"If not for your pleasure, then what?" Violet's voice was steady now, edged with a quiet defiance. She needed to understand the web she was being drawn into, regardless of how tangled it appeared.

Austin paused, regarding her with a look that mixed amusement with a hint of admiration. "You're full of fire, aren't you?" he remarked, his tone lighter than the heavy atmosphere that filled the carriage.

Austin's smile faded as he considered her words, and for a moment, the playful spark in his eyes gave way to something more somber. "Fair enough," he conceded. "I am not in the business of buying souls, Miss Everly. Nor am I interested in such mundane transactions as those suggested." He leaned forward slightly, his eyes holding hers with an intensity that made her breath catch. "I needed to remove you from a dangerous situation."

Violet remained silent, her mind racing as she processed his words. The carriage rolled onwards, the sound of the horses’ hooves a steady beat against the cobblestone, mirroring the tumultuous rhythm of her thoughts.

"Why me?" she found herself asking again. The question had been burning inside her since the moment he'd intervened between her and her father.

Austin's gaze softened. "Sometimes," he started, pausing as if choosing his words carefully, "we find ourselves in positions to make changes in others' lives. And sometimes, we are compelled to act upon it."

"But why? What is in it for you?" Violet couldn’t help but press further. Her life had taught her that nothing was done without some gain sought.

Austin looked out of the window for a long moment before turning back to face her. His expression was unreadable. "Let’s just say I am settling a debt of my own," he confessed softly. His cryptic admission hung in the air, dense as the fog that crept silently around the carriage wheels. Violet felt the weight of his words, each one laden with hidden meanings she could not yet decipher. She sat back against the plush seat, her mind awhirl with possibilities and fears.

"What kind of debt can be settled by involving a stranger?" Violet asked, her voice low, almost swallowed by the creaking of the carriage and the distant calls of night creatures.

Austin's face remained impassive for a long moment as he pondered her question. Finally, he turned to her, his blue eyes piercing in their intensity. "The kind that weighs heavily on a man's conscience," he replied, his voice barely more than a whisper. "Sometimes our pasts are riddled with decisions we wish we could undo. Helping you might be a step towards redemption for me."

Violet absorbed his words, turning them over in her mind like stones pulled from a riverbed, smooth and opaque. Redemption. The concept was foreign to her — a luxury far beyond her reach. In Violet's world, survival was the only moral code, and every day was a battle against despair. Yet looking into Austin's eyes, she saw a flicker of something relatable — a shared understanding of pain and regret. Perhaps, in his own tangled web of guilt and redemption, there was a thread she could hold onto, a thread that could lead them both towards something resembling salvation.

The carriage rolled on, enveloping them in the cocoon of its silent progress through the night. Violet found herself drawn into the rhythm of their journey, the steady beat of hooves syncing with her own tumultuous thoughts. Austin was an enigma—a man cloaked in privilege yet burdened by unseen chains. Could she trust him? Trust was a luxury scarcely afforded in her world, and yet, as the miles unfurled behind them like a ribbon in the wind, she sensed an inexplicable bond forming—an invisible thread pulled tight by circumstances.

"Lord Butler," Violet ventured cautiously, her voice a tentative whisper against the thrum of movement. "If redemption is what you seek, what role am I to play in it? Am I merely a pawn in your path to absolution?"

Austin turned his head slowly, fixing her with a look that melded wariness with an odd sense of respect. "Not a pawn," he said softly, correcting her with a firm tone. "Consider yourself more…an unexpected ally."

Violet processed this label, rolling it around her mind like a puzzle piece searching for its perfect fit. Ally—not captive nor servant, but a co-conspirator in a game the rules of which were still unclear to her. The shift in perspective was both empowering and daunting.

A small smile played at the corners of Austin's lips—an expression that transformed his usually stern features into something unexpectedly tender. "I promise all will be made clear in time," he assured her. "For now, rest and gather your strength.”

Violet nodded, though the concept of rest felt as elusive as the changing shadows outside the carriage window. She was too wound up with a mix of caution and curiosity. Every fiber of her being vibrated with the need to decipher Austin Butler, to understand his angles and anticipate his moves. As the carriage dipped into another shadow, Violet glanced back towards Austin. He was looking out the window, the profile of his face caught intermittently in the flickers of light that breached their isolation. There was a ruggedness to him that she hadn't noticed before—a weary battle scar here, a tightness around his eyes there—marks of a man acquainted with troubles she could only guess at. She found herself wondering about the demons that haunted him, about what grievous past actions could drive a man of his stature to seek redemption through the aid of someone as inconsequential as herself. It seemed implausible and yet, here they were, wrapped in layers of dark secrets and moonlit confessions.

The carriage creaked on, and Violet felt her eyelids grow heavy against her will. The rhythm of their travel lulled her into a reluctant drowsiness. Before she succumbed completely to sleep, she made herself a promise—not to let her guard down, not even in the comfort of this luxurious carriage or the intriguing company of Lord Butler. No matter how gentle his tone or how sincere his words might seem, Violet knew that survival meant never fully exposing her vulnerabilities.

As sleep claimed her, her mind spun with a collage of fears and fragmented dreams. She dreamt of dark corridors and whispered promises, of escaping shadows that morphed into comforting arms, and always, always, there was Austin—his piercing blue eyes offering both salvation and sorrow.

Stay tuned for part 4!! Click HERE to view!

Taglist: @buckysteveloki-me

[theink-stainedfolk]

New WIP!!!

The Etchery

---

In a world stitched together from broken stories, where reality bends under unseen laws and every choice rewrites the script, Jurin Mikha is an anomaly—a name missing from the Etched Record, a living manuscript that binds existence. A cunning survivor with a shadowed past, Jurin moves through the fractured realms of The Etchery like a ghost, his smoky grey coat hiding knives and secrets. He doesn’t seek heroism, only survival, but his presence unravels the rules others live by, making him both a savior and a threat.

Eser Pawel, a blade-sharp warrior bound by a bloodied code, hunts Jurin with a vengeance born of betrayal. His crimson-clad figure and ouroboros insignia mark him as a force of order in a chaotic world, but his hatred for Jurin masks a deeper wound—one that bleeds into every clash. When their paths collide in the ruins of a forgotten transit hub, a single moment of mercy sparks a dangerous connection neither can escape.

Joined by a makeshift family of rebels and outcasts—each haunted by their own fragmented fates—Jurin and Eser are drawn into a web of looping narratives, glitching skies, and echoes that whisper of sacrifice and survival. As they navigate realms that shift like pages in a burning book, they must confront a truth more perilous than death: in a world where everyone is written, what does it mean to be real?

---

Jurin Mikha

Age: 24

Birthday: November 8

Zodiac Sign: Scorpio

Ethnicity: Unknown, likely from the Folded Layer (a shard of collapsed realities); presents with mixed desert and coastal features

Height: 5'8" (174 cm)

Build: Lean and wiry, built for agility and endurance, with a deceptive fragility that hides his resilience

Eyes: Obsidian with glass-like flecks, sharp and unreadable, like staring into a night sky with hidden cracks

Hair: Black, slightly shaggy, falling into his eyes unless pushed back; often tied loosely or tucked under his coat’s hood

Skin Tone: Warm olive with a faint golden undertone, marked by faint scars

Dominant Hand: Left

Style: Tactical and elusive; smoky grey and deep blue-black palette with iridescent hints. Wears a long, high-collared, asymmetrical black coat with slits for mobility, its midnight-blue lining stitched with subtle, shifting constellations. Fitted, sleeveless turtleneck of unknown tech that ripples faintly. Slim dark trousers with silver-embroidered seams like veins. Soft-soled black boots with misbuckled straps to trip sensors. Accessories include a silver chain earring dangling into his collar and a data-drive ring on his thumb (not of this world).

Moodboard: A cracked desert under a glitching sky, scattered pages burning at the edges, a dagger half-buried in sand, a flickering train station sign, a shadow slipping through ruins, midnight-blue fabric catching starlight, a worn map folded too many times, blood on a white scarf.

Appearance:

Jurin moves like a question mark, always on the edge of vanishing. His delicate features—high cheekbones, thick lashes, and a small beauty mark beneath his right eye (almost tear-like), another below his left lip, and one peeking from his left collarbone—give him a haunting beauty, especially when he smiles with blood in his mouth. A faded burn scar under his ribs hints at a past he never explains. His coat’s loose silhouette hides knives, coded maps, and escape plans, earning the whisper: “The coat moved first.”

Past:

Jurin woke in The Etchery with no memory of how he arrived, only a dislocated shoulder and a page sewn into his coat reading, “Everything is reversible. But not you.” The world rejected him—cities ignored him, magic fizzled near him, clocks slowed in his presence. At 16, he joined The Dagger Chain, an underground network of spies and criminals, earning the title “ghost courier” for his ability to cross war-torn borders unseen. He survived a fall from a collapsing bridge and a poisoned scroll, smiling before blacking out both times, as if expecting death. His bond with Han Hian, forged when Hian bandaged his thigh after a river escape, became his only anchor. Jurin doesn’t fight for justice, only to keep moving toward a place he believes he’ll recognize when he finds it.

Personality & Traits:

✔ Cunning strategist, always five steps ahead but gambling on half-truths

✔ Self-sacrificing to a fault, carrying guilt like a second skin

✔ Emotionally reserved, deflecting with dry humor or silence

✔ Loyal in quiet, unspoken ways—leaves food out, fixes broken things

✔ Observant, noticing details others miss (e.g., Eser’s glove fidgets)

✔ Resilient, surviving what should kill him with a stubborn refusal to stop

✔ Haunted by a sense he doesn’t belong, yet fights to exist

Hobbies:

Sketching maps from memory, often burning them afterward

Collecting small, broken objects (gears, glass shards) to piece together

Listening to ambient sounds (rain, static, distant trains) to calm his mind

Writing coded notes in margins of scavenged books

Quirks:

Twirls his data-drive ring when nervous, never explaining its origin

Always ducks when his skin feels cold, a reflex that’s saved his life

Smiles faintly before danger, unsettling even his closest allies

Adjusts his coat cuffs like preparing for a ritual, even in chaos

Likes & Dislikes:

✅ Likes:

The sound of rain masking his footsteps

Old, worn maps with secrets in the creasesPeople who don’t ask about his scars

The weight of a trusted dagger in his handHan’s terrible jokes, though he’ll never admit it

The fleeting quiet of a realm before it shifts

❌ Dislikes:

Being thanked for saving someone—it feels like a debt

Loud voices in quiet spaces, breaking his focus

Ceremonies or formalities that feel performative

Waking up in unfamiliar places, disoriented

Betrayal disguised as kindness, cutting deeper than knives

The sound of ticking clocks, too much like a countdown

Favorite Food:

Flatbread with honey, simple and grounding

Spiced lentil stew, reminding him of border camps

Dried mango slices, a rare treat he savors slowly

A Line That Defines Him:

“I’m not here to save the world. I’m here to outrun it.”

---

Eser Pawel

Age: 21

Birthday: April 17

Zodiac Sign: Aries

Ethnicity: Born to the Stellar Houses (Western aristocracy), raised in war-torn borderlands

Height: 6'0" (182 cm)

Build: Broad-shouldered and athletic, with a soldier’s disciplined strength

Eyes: Ice-blue, piercing and older than his years, like a storm held back

Hair: Pale golden, cropped short

Skin Tone: Fair with a slight tan, marked by faint training scars

Dominant Hand: Right

Style: Militaristic and elegant; warm dark bronze, blood-red, and matte black palette with white accents. Wears an armor-jacket hybrid—long, fitted, high-shouldered, with fang-like clasps across the chest. Crimson shirt buttoned to the neck, often bloodstained without notice. Matte black combat trousers, weathered at the knees, with steel-fastened weapon holsters. Thick, near-armored boots with dark red soles that leave eerie prints. Optional bronze-to-scarlet cape, torn from battles. Black gloves always on, snapped tight when irritated. His ouroboros sword insignia on his left shoulder is a death sentence to those who recognize it.

Moodboard: A blood-red sky over a battlefield, a polished sword half-drawn, a torn cape caught in the wind, a glinting ouroboros etched in stone, a clenched fist in a black glove, a lone figure standing in a burning city, a cracked mirror reflecting nothing, a single candle flickering in a war room.

Appearance:

Eser carries himself like a weapon honed to perfection—tall, sharp-jawed, with high cheekbones and a gaze that cuts through lies. His ice-blue eyes seem to see too much, and his clean-shaven face contrasts the weight of his presence. The ouroboros insignia on his shoulder—a serpent eating its own blade—marks him as a killer, yet his crimson shirt and bronze cape suggest a man who’s seen too many endings. His gloves hide calloused hands that fidget when he’s anxious, a rare crack in his composed facade.

Past:

Born into the Stellar Houses, a faction obsessed with maintaining The Etchery’s order through purging chaos, Eser was raised in war. His mother, a healer, whispered that war made monsters, but his father taught him to kill at 12, when he ended an intruder’s life. At 18, he led a rebel band for borderless survival, only to be betrayed by a man in a white scarf, leaving everyone but Eser dead. He blames himself, carrying the guilt like a blade he can’t sheathe. When he saw Jurin wearing that same scarf, he attacked without question, driven by a personal vendetta, not orders. Eser rejects law, religion, and crowns, believing only in cause-and-effect: “You wrong me, I erase you.”

Personality & Traits:

✔ Disciplined but simmering with controlled rage

✔ Deeply principled, though his principles are fracturing

✔ Protective to a fault, especially of Jurin, despite his hatred

✔ Emotionally stunted, learning to love through conflict

✔ Observant of small details, like Jurin’s flinches or smiles

✔ Stubborn, refusing to let go once he commits

✔ Haunted by guilt, praying quietly each night despite his doubts

Hobbies:

Sharpening his weapons, a meditative ritual

Studying maps of realms, searching for patterns

Writing short, coded notes to himself about Jurin

Staring at the sky, as if it holds answers

Quirks:

Snaps his gloves tight when irritated or anxious

Never removes his gloves, even when alone

Stands by doors, always watching for threats

Mutters prayers under his breath, even in disbelief

Likes & Dislikes:

✅ Likes:

The weight of a sword in his hand, grounding him

Quiet moments before a fight, when everything’s clear

Jurin’s rare, unguarded smiles, though he denies it

The smell of rain, clean and fleeting

People who keep their word, no matter the cost

The sound of a fire crackling in silence

❌ Dislikes:

Betrayal, especially when it’s personal

Jurin’s self-sacrificing tendencies, which terrify him

Empty promises or flattery

Being forced to wait, feeling helpless

The sound of laughter when it feels mockingHis own hesitation, a crack in his resolve

Favorite Food:

Roasted root vegetables with herbs, simple and hearty

Cheese-stuffed pastries, a rare indulgence

Bitter black coffee, keeping him sharp

A Line That Defines Him:

“You can’t outrun me forever, but I’ll chase you until you try.”

---

My ♡s: @paeliae-occasionally @willtheweaver @drchenquill @wyked-ao3 @the-inkwell-variable @corinneglass @seastarblue @keeping-writing-frosty @oliolioxenfreewrites @vesanal @orphanheirs @dauntlessdraupadi @oros-ash3s @pheonix358 @ominous-faechild @loveyouloatheyou @write-with-will

[terminalblue]

Time for some theorycrafting about Draag.

Hello. Hi. It seems we're in the MCR cycle of cryptic messages leading up to Something Big, so this period of time wouldn't be complete without some outlandish and far-too-long theories from music-starved fans. We all know by now that they're going on tour in America, a complete surpise to many in how they're "digging up" The Black Parade 17 years after loudly proclaiming that it was Dead. What are they doing? Are they becoming a Greatest Hits band? Is creativity dead. No, not at all my friends. Rather the opposite. This is all just part of a grander plan. And when I mean all, I mean all. Everything going back even possibly to the occult/witch era where the reunion was first announced.

Let's first consider the most recent announcement, the tour, and the trailers coming out for it. The sheer level of lore that got dropped out of absolutely nowhere. A whole world being opened up in front of us with the nation of Draag. An industrial nation led by one 'Immortal Dictator' seventeen years after the Black Parade was 'sent to the MOAT', whatever that means, I still have no idea. But what is abundantly clear is that this specific backdrop to present the tour in is explicitly a sequel to the story of The Black Parade, not an AU, not a prequel, not an afterword, all that stuff. A sequel. A paper-white fascist kingdom reinstating a beloved old band to perform on behalf of the state.

How did this dictator rise to power? Usually such things happen during times of great peril and uncertainty for a country, searching for a strong and charismatic figure to lead them through the worst times. An event that led to The Swarm, perhaps? Flies are typically related to death and disease, and what happens in the world that causes such widespread death and disease if not war?

Now The Black Parade, the album, is on it's surface a story about the death of a cancer patient, but there are many, many overt references to war all throughout the album. Much of the aesthetic of the album reflects these time periods, The Civil War, WW1, and WW2. Now those last two can be valid perspectives going forwards, but I'm going to focus on the latter date of 1945, the end of the Second World War. 17 years after that is the year 1962, famously the year of the Cuban Missile Crisis, the absolute height of the Cold War where the world was on the brink of destruction. Now this alt-history is likely not 1:1 and the dates might not line up exactly to what I've put, but what I'm saying is that I believe this is some sort of parallel to real life, with the Cold War having 'boiled over' into a Hot War, nuclear armaggedon ensuing.

Is The Swarm supposed to be literally, or metaphorically, nuclear extinction? Hard to say personally. But if we go by the established representation before, then it would actually fit better as a follow-up to such a thing, after the dust has settled. Because of their relation to death and disease, flies are also harbingers of evil. Going by the Merriam-Webster dictionary definition of 'Swarm', it is "a great number of honeybees emigrating together from a hive in company with a queen to start a new colony elsewhere". Sounds an awful lot like the start of a nation, huh? One that begins in the wake of worldly annhiliation?

The Swarm, in this sense, is this nation of Draag, or at least the ideology of it, a great many people falling in line with evil because the world is broken and that's the easiest solution. Let somebody else lead you, even if they have the worst intentions. One that people continue to have to resist the call for, wondering if falling in line is easier than fighting for what you believe in, even if it doesn't feel like it matters.

This is exactly what "The Foundations of Decay" is all about, the sheer ease that is giving up and not doing anything, yet it's a song that is kind of arguing with itself about doing what is easier vs what is right. Ending on a note of the main voice yelling at itself to get up, coward.

How does that fit into this new lore? Well, this time period is named 'The Concrete Age', and what is built from concrete? Well, a lot of things, but one of those things happens to be foundations, a lot of the time. I believe The Foundations of Decay is set after The Concrete Age, after Draag has fallen. It's an ending.

Because evil eats itself eventually, fascism is self-defeating. You could say, in a sense, that Draag is a Paper Kingdom. Grand and beautiful, but incredibly fragile. One spark is all it could take for it to all burn down, and really it's only a matter of time. Leaving nothing but Foundations of Decay. But what would exist in the settled dust is hope, perserverence, a chance to fix your heart, to let it all wash away, instead of simply laying down in the foundations. Don't repeat the mistakes of the past. MCR5, which I'm fairly certain is real at this point, may follow the Black Parade in documenting this nation. A beloved band rather abruptly reinstated by a fascist nation, that likely exiled/killed them in the first place, to twist its nostalgia into its own messages and propaganda. People were confused as to why MCR were announcing TBP in full again rather than something new, but that's the point. Because fascism is inherently unimaginative and anti-art. They can only steal from what has already been created and claim it as their own. TBP will play their great album to huge fanfare, before moving onto their 'second' album centered around the nation of Draag under orders of the Immortal Dictator.

But The Black Parade are a band that exist within death, taking souls through to the other side after ferrying them back through their lives. They themselves could be considered harbingers of death. So to me, it would make sense that this would be an album that follows the height and subsequent burning of Draag, as its image falls apart and collapses due to its own ignorance.