#City The Great Sway In The Morning

[certifiedhitzmusicgroup]

Watch as Kool Rock Ski talks about the legendary group "The Fat Boys" with Sway, on Sway in the Morning. Sway also breaks City The Great's single "Realigned" featuring Kool Rock Ski off the album "The Wordsmith".

[junnieverse]

BOYFRIEND HABITS ➳ ENHYPEN

➙ little things enha would do as your boyfriend

pairing: enhypen x gn!reader

genre: fluff

warnings: lowercase intended, not proofread so there may be minor typos, mentions of food in jay's drabble

a/n: I want them all to be my boyfriends now, they are so cute!

a/n (2): I also have a txt and zb1 version if you're interested to see that too

🖇️ — 양정원 ; JUNGWON !

↳ linking your pinky with his

this had been a small little habit jungwon developed whenever he felt too shy to hold your hand in public and you found it adorable

he always thought your little pinky was adorable and linking his with yours felt like he was also making some sort of pinky promise to you

you had both been walking around the amusement park looking for a new ride to try but as the day went by it was becoming more conjested with people

linking your pinkies together to avoid losing you in the crowd of people, jungwon then continued walking as you tried to look for something else to try

"Baby there's the ferris wheel! Let's go there!" your boyfriend excitedly says as he pulls you along

still with your pinky in his, he swayed your arms back and forth as you waited in line for the ride

you found this pinky thing endearing and cute as along the way his shyness would disappear and he would hold your whole hand in his without realising

pulling you closer to him, jungwon leaned his head on yours as you both enjoyed the view of the city from the ferris wheel

🖇️ — 이희승 ; HEESEUNG !

↳ kissing your forehead/nose

heeseung would cup your face, carefully bending down before giving your cheeks, nose, forehead and lastly your lips all a peck

despite loving to show you affection with little kisses here and there, he mostly enjoyed giving you forehead and nose kisses because of how flustered you would become afterwards

"Good morning my angel, how did you sleep?" he asks making his way to you giving your nose a little kiss as you brushed your hair

"Wonderful since I was with you." you say to him giving his nose a kiss too before kissing his lips

because of your boyfriend, you had also grown accustomed to kissing his nose and sometimes his forehead too (if you are a taller s/o)

he loved smothering you in his affection but because he couldn't always kiss you directly whenever you were in public

heeseung settled on just kissing your forehead and nose

he had been doing it everyday since you both started going out that on days that he didn't, you would even think something was wrong

"I think you're forgetting something sir." you playfully tease as he laughs in understanding

he would soon cup your face making sure to leave a kiss on both cheeks, your lips and ofcourse your favourite, your nose and forehead

🖇️ — 박종성 ; JAY !

↳ cooking together

"How does the sauce taste, I think it could be missing something." you ask your boyfriend as he tasted the sauce and momentarily thought before nodding

"Mhm, this is pretty good darling. Good job." jay praises giving you a kiss on the cheek going back to cooking his part of the meal

cooking with jay was a great bonding experience for the both of you

you both loved cooking and being able to do it together only made it better and far more memorable and enjoyable

if you weren't cooking together then jay was most definitely cooking for you because he knew you loved his cooking

cooking became a love language in your relationship where cooking for or with you was just jay's way of expressing his love and appreciation

"I was thinking we could try something Italian for dinner next week?" he suggests with his head in your lap as you both relaxed watching a show together

"That sounds perfect to me."

🖇️ — 심재윤 ; JAKE !

↳ laying his head on your shoulder

jake had always been a pda and physically affectionate person

he absolutely loved being around you, he would glue himself to you if he could

but because glueing isn't an option, he simply opts for wrapping his arms around your waist and laying his head on your shoulder

he especially enjoys doing this to look over your shoulder whenever you're busy with something

"Hi baby, what're you up to?" your boyfriend asks curiously as you continue cutting up the fruit on the cutting board

"Just making a little snack, here you go," you tell him, feeding him a piece of strawberry

he sweetly thanks you before leaving a chaste kiss on the crook of your neck as he swayed the both of you

simply staying in that position, you continued making your food with your boyfriend wrapped around you

"Jake, you can let go now sweetie." you tell him to which he declined making you laugh softly

🖇️ — 박성훈 ; SUNGHOON !

↳ fixing your clothes

sunghoon was a rather diligent and observant person, perfectionist too

helping to adjust certain accessories or pieces of clothing you wore had always been a habit he had which soon grew with you

he found it cute how you would sometimes have the small things out of place and he would be able to 'touch it up' for you

you would both be taking a stroll and your boyfriend would halt in his steps to kneel down and tie your loose shoelaces

it made your heart skip a beat seeing how sunghoon would notice these small things you sometimes didn't either

here you both were at the ice rink skating around and sunghoon quickly paused his movements to adjust your scarf around your neck before he kissed your forehead

"I don't want my sweetheart getting cold." he says warmly as he held your hand to continue skating

without fail, sunghoon knew how to make you fall utterly more in love with him

🖇️ — 김선우 ; SUNOO !

↳ doing skincare together

"Okay, which sheet mask should we go with, the sanrio character ones or plain?" sunoo asks lifting up both packets

"Definitely sanrio." you answer as he nods sitting across from you to help put the mask on your face as you did his

this was a tradition between the both of you where every weekend, or ones which were free, were for skincare and movie nights

it became a habit after sunoo had suggested it and you thought it was really cute

your boyfriend would always help you with your skincare such as applying the products and sometimes even giving you massages

if anything he probably needed them the most with how stressful his work was but sunoo was just happy to see you relaxed

you both would always share tips and tricks from tiktok you would see and were always trying new brands

the couple who's face card never declines, you both have flawless and glowing skin (I'm jealous)

"There you go, let's take a few selfies now." he suggests after getting the masks on

he quickly gives your little nose a kiss and grabs his phone ready to capture the memories

🖇️ — 西村 力 ; NI-KI !

↳ falling asleep over a call

it was 2 am and after falling asleep whilst face timing your boyfriend, you notice the call was still on and he too was peacefully asleep from the screen

having to deal with a busy schedule, the most riki got to talk to you was at the end of his work days right before bed

this is where he soon started falling asleep over your calls during his especially busier days

you obviously didn't mind this seeing as you found it cute how peaceful he looked whenever he was sleeping

and that he was comfortable enough to fall asleep on a call with you

you would both just be talking about the most random things for hours and after a few yawns left his mouth

you convinced him to go sleep but he said he wouldn't end the call

riki instead fell asleep and soon you followed whilst your facetime was ongoing

whispering a soft good night, you ended your call with riki and went back to sleep

[redheadspark]

Never Ever

Summary - Azriel consols his son after a nightmare.

A/N - This is part of the Ocean Eyes Series

Azriel has gown accustom to the quiet in Velaris.

The little home out in the countryside was especially quiet, with the moon hanging high in the sky amongst the clouds and the grass softly swaying in the wind, Azriel loved this kind of quiet.  He was accustomed to frogs bellowing from the river not too far away, or the faint hum of fireflies that were dancing along the tops of the herbs in the garden behind the cottage.  He was used to it now, and he would prefer this over the sterile silence of the Illyrian camps or even in the city of Velaris. 

This was one of the very few nights he was home.  Most of the time he would work late or until around dinner time, Rhysand needing his Spymaster duties more frequently than ever before.  With the improved relationship with Autumn Court getting better by the day, Eris was still a targeting threat to Night Court.  He knew that threats he had two times against Azriel and his family, so The Autumn Prince has been quiet for the last few months or so.  Azriel still kept his shadows busy with intel from Eris.

He had no trust in Eris, and he wouldn’t anytime soon.

You were helping Nesta and Cassian at the House of Wind, Nesta being so close to her due date that she was restricted to her bed until it was time to give birth.  Madja had to be stern with her, knowing Nesta was a stubborn fae.  She was convinced though, Cassian staying by her side to give her plenty of rest and preparation for their new title bundle of joy.  You were more than willing to help, making plenty of herbs for her and prepping plenty of great meals for herself and Cassian to enjoy.  It meant that you were the one staying out a bit later in the night, and Azriel would be on cottage duty.

Of course, Alec missed his mother being around.  When he wasn’t attending school in the mornings in Velaris, he would be at home or on a playdate with Nyx.  Azriel could tell he was missing you from time to time when you’d be helping his Aunt Nesta.  He was good at hiding his feelings, even with the faint signs of his shadows humming against his small backside, Alec never wanted to show that he wanted his mother.  It pained Azriel to see his son trying to hide his feelings, but then again he had to do the same when he was young.

Azriel made it a point to change that with Alec.

He had finished the last of the dishes to let them air dry when he first felt it along his shadows.  Movement, very close by, making him pause from his actions.  It wasn’t a negative sense so to speak, but something familiar.  Something warm, not a threat, and nothing dangerous.  He knew that feeling, and the next thing he heard was one of the floorboards creaking from very little weight.  

Lastly, he heard a sniffle.  Instantly he turned, knowing who it was within an instant.

Alec, in his pajamas, and massive tears on his cheeks.

“D-d-daddy,” He hiccuped.

Azriel was gliding over within an instant and scooping him up within his arms.  Alec clung to him, his face digging into his father’s neck so his father could feel the tears hitting his shirt.  It broke his heart to see Alec in tears, a sweet young boy who would never hurt fly and would light up his tiresome day.  Azriel also knew his heart was tender, so tender and consumed with love, so there would be times when it would break or shatter.  

All Azriel could do was pick up those pieces and mend his heart.

“What’s wrong, Alec?  You wanna tell me?” Azriel asked him in a soothing tone, rubbing his back with his knuckles as he walked them over to the couch to sit.  Alec was hiccuping in his lap, his fingers clinging to Azriel’s shirt too tight as Azriel kept cooing at him, “I got you, okay?  You’re safe with me,”

“I-I had a b-b-bad dream,” Alec mumbled into his shirt, sniffling a bit.

“I’m sorry, buddy.  Nightmares are simply scary dreams.  But that’s all they are: dreams.  Nothing real, okay?” Azriel reminded his son, who nodded his head rapidly as he moved his head to look up at his other.  His bright eyes were almost illuminated, and the tears on his cheeks were evident.

“I didn’t l-l-like the dream though, Daddy,” he explained, Azriel hummed and pushed his tears away gently with his thumbs.

“I know you didn’t, buddy.  You wanna tell me about it?” He asked his son, he bit his lower lip for a brief moment as his father waited patiently.  It was one of the traits Ariel loved about his son: always in deep thought.

“You and momma weren’t there,” Alec explained, Azriel watching his son’s piercing blue eyes start to mist again as he was looking at his fingers that were fiddling in his lap, “I was lost and I tried to find you, and momma.  But I couldn’t find you, and I..I g-g-ot—“

Azriel tucked him into a hug again as Alec sniffled and blinked out a few more tears.  Azriel knew his son loved being around his parents, he had a sense of safety with you and Azriel.  It was one of the main goals Azriel had: to make his son feel loved and safe.  It wasn’t that Alec was insanely introverted, he had friends at his school and a wonderful relationship with his cousin Nyx.  Alec would rather be around his big loving family than anywhere else. The last thing Azriel would ever want is for his son to not feel safe at any time.  

“My sweet boy,” Azriel hummed into his son’s hair while he rubbed Alec’s back soothingly with the tips of his fingers, “You should never be afraid of being alone.  You will never be alone, okay?  Your momma and I will never ever leave you alone,”

Azriel heard his son sniffle a bit, then pausing before speaking in a mere murmur, “Never?”

He had to smile against his son’s black locks, hearing the small inkling of hope in his son’s tone, “Never ever.  You’re our son, Alec Rhysand, and we love and adore you too much to leave you alone,”

It seemed to do the trick since Azriel could no longer hear Alec crying or sniffling too much.  But he was still holding onto his father, not as tightly but possessively.  He finally sat back up, Azriel seeing how he was a bit calmer and sleep was evident on his face and under his eyes.  He grinned, “How about I tuck you back into bed, okay?”

“Mmkay, and daddy?” Alec asked tentatively.

“Yeah, Alec?”

“I miss momma,”  

Azriel heard the pain in his voice from those three words, which broke his heart a bit.  He knew Alec loved his mother and wanted to be around her constantly.  You were an exceptional mother to Alec, you knew just how to shower him with love and still be firm at the same time when it was needed.  But the best thing that you did, in Azriel’s opinion at least, was make Alec feel like the most important Illryian throughout the land.  

It was as if you were born to be a mother.  Azriel firmly believed that.

“I know, buddy. I miss her too,” Azriel agreed, standing up with Alec in his arms as Alec’s head was snuggled on his shoulder with his eyes blinking slowly and a yawn on his lips, “However, if I know your momma, she should be back very soon.  But right now she’s helping Aunt Nesta, remember?”

“Helping her before she has the baby?” Alec asked as Azriel walked down the hallway back to Alec’s little bedroom.

“That’s right. Your momma wants to help her before the baby comes, and that means she has to be away for a bit.  But not forever,” Azriel reassured his son as he made it to the door that was left ajar that led into Alec’s room.  

“I hope not forever,” Alec mumbled, yawning again as Azriel chuckled and poked his head into the small room.  Alec’s bed was tucked against the wall and by a window that looked out into the open meadow, Velaris not too far away along with the massive mountains.  His dresser was in the closet that had his clothes and small trinkets sitting on the top.  The walls were painted in tints of purple and blue to reflect the night sky, all thanks to Aunt Feyre, and plenty of toys that were tucked into a beautiful wooden toy chest with his name engraved on the top, a generous gift from his Uncle Rhysand.  

Azriel walked his son across the room, dodging the wooden sword that Alec got as a Winter Solstice gift from Cassian last year and then placing his son back in bed.  Alec snuggled into the bed as Azriel tucked the blanket up and around his arms.  Azriel could see that he was beyond sleepy, rubbing his eyes with his fingers and trying to stay awake as his head was sinking into the plush pillow, “Tomorrow we can go to the harbor. You, me, and momma. How does that sound?”

Alec lit up a bit from the suggestion, his smile infectious as he nodded his head, “Mmkay, Daddy.  I wanna get a present for Nesta’s baby too,” 

“You want to get a gift?” Azriel asked, almost in a bit of shock as Alec nodded his head again.

“Mmhmm.  Maybe a stuffy like my owl, so that if the baby gets sad, the stuffy will help,” He suggested, his voice showing signs of slumber and his eyes starting to drift close with ease.  Azriel was immensely proud of his son, seeing how big his heart was even when he was missing his mother and experiencing a nightmare.  

“That sounds like a great idea, Alec.  Now, let’s get some sleep, okay?  I’ll make sure momma comes in to give you a kiss when she gets home, okay?”  Azriel asked him as Alec held his stuffed owl in his tiny arms.

“Okay, Daddy.  Night night,” Alec replied, letting out one more big yawn before his eyes drifted closed.

“Goodnight, buddy.  I love you,” Azriel hummed against his head, pressing one more kiss against his dark locks.  He then got up from the bed, about to walk out of the bedroom and close the door behind him when he heard a soft sound from the bed.

“Love you too, daddy,”

Azriel turned back and looked, seeing Alec drifting back to sleep with a soft smile.  Once again, Azriel had to pause and drink in his life: to anyone else, it would be seen as mundane or ordinary.  Not to him, not to the Spymaster who went through torment and pain as a youngster and always had to have people arm's length away.  He saw death head-on and fought back, he’s seen fae and other beings die around him as he went on, and he always assumed he wouldn’t have a simple life or that the simple life would fulfill him.

He was wrong.  This life was the only life he would ever want and need. 

As he turned off the light and closed the door, with the moonlight dancing along his son’s sleeping face, Azriel considered himself a lucky Illryian for this life.  He no longer had to rely on fear or brutality as other Illryians did, nor did he have to be uncertain if he would ever be happy.  He was beyond happy, happy with a mate who loved him with all his flaws, happy that he had a found family who brought him out of darkness and doubt, and most importantly, happy with his son who saw Azriel as his world and more.  

The next morning Azriel noticed that your side of the bed was still untouched, which made him slightly panic.  But your jacket was hung on the back of a chair, as well as your messenger bag you would take.  That made him confused as he got up from bed and ruffled his hair.  Anytime either one of you would come in late, you would notify each other.  Azriel couldn’t recall hearing you whisper to him last night or getting a kiss on the cheek, yet your things were in the room.  

He poked his head into Alec’s room, seeing an adorable and loving sight as you cradled your son in your arms and the pair of you sleeping in Alec’s bed.  Your wings drooped over the side of the small bed, Alec snoring away as his head was on your chest fast asleep while you too were in deep sleep with your arms tucked around him.  With the early morning sun rays dancing in the room to brighten the space, it felt peaceful and almost tranquil in a way.  

Azriel had to grin: the two most important beings in his life were sleeping together.  

The End.

tagged - @valeridarkness @impossibelle @acourtofbatboydreams @prettylittlewrites @fxckmiup

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Where Will All The Martyrs Go [Chapter 4: Read Between The Lines]

Series summary: In the midst of the zombie apocalypse, both you and Aemond (and your respective travel companions) find yourselves headed for the West Coast. It’s the 2024 version of the Oregon Trail, but with less dysentery and more undead antagonists. Watch out for snakes! 😉🐍

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, med school Aemond, character deaths, nature, drinking, smoking, drugs, Adventures With Aegon, pregnancy and childbirth, the U.S. Navy, road trip vibes, Jace is here unfortunately.

Series title is a lyric from: “Letterbomb” by Green Day.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “Boulevard Of Broken Dreams” by Green Day.

Word count: 5.6k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🥰

It is your first week of basic training at Great Lakes on the north side of Chicago, and as you lie in the top bunk of your assigned bed you wonder what the hell you’ve done. You enlisted right out of high school, eighteen, no driver’s license, no work history, never been more than fifty miles outside of Soft Shell, Kentucky. The drill sergeants are always yelling and you’re bad at push-ups; you can’t understand the recruits from big cities like Los Angeles, Miami, Las Vegas, Detroit, Houston, and they don’t seem to get you either, and aren’t interested enough to try. Sometimes you wish you hadn’t signed that five-year contract, but where would you be if you weren’t here? Home is not words but textures, colors, fumes that still burn in your sinuses: cigarette ash on rose pink carpets, red embers glowing in the wood stove, Hamburger Helper and Mountain Dew, coffee creamer in Hungry Jack potatoes, laughter and heavy footsteps and slamming doors, scratch-off games, dogs barking, collecting coins from couch cushions for gas money, scrubbing clothes in the bathtub when the washer quits, Mama taking gulps from her favorite cup—plastic, Virginia Beach, filled with equal parts Hawaiian Punch and vodka—when she thinks no one is looking, blue shows flickering on the television, Family Feud, Maury, Good Morning America, WWE SmackDown. For as long as you can remember you’ve known you couldn’t stay. Now you’re getting out, but nothing in life is free.

You are at Class A Technical School in Gulfport, Mississippi, and even though it’s hotter than some noxious, volcanic hellscape—Mercury, Venus, Io—you are beginning to like it. You taste the salt of sweat when you lick your lips, sugar in the sweet tea they serve in the chow hall. There’s a magic in building something where there was only empty space before, in patching roofs and painting walls. Here being quiet and watchful is exactly what they want from you: head down, hammer striking nails, measurements and angles and long hours under the sun with no complaints. You’re not just running away anymore. You are creating something new.

You are sitting beneath swaying palm trees and a full moon on Diego Garcia, draining cans of Guinness with Rio, and he’s telling you things he shouldn’t, too personal, too honest: Sophie wants to try for a baby next time he’s home on leave, and part of him wants that too but he’s terrified. As thunder rumbles in the distance and raindrops begin to patter on the waves of the Indian Ocean, you tell Rio you think he’d be a good father. He wonders how you figure that, and you say because he’s not like any of the men from home. He gives you one of his crooked smiles—a flash of teeth, knowing dark eyes—and doesn’t ask what you mean.

But of course, when you swim up from the inky currents of sleep you are in none of these places. You are curled up on the floor of a bowling alley in Shenandoah, Ohio, cheap worn black carpet peppered with stars and swirls in neon green, pink, blue. You stretch out with a yawn. Someone has left a Lemon Tea Snapple within reach; you twist it open and guzzle it, hoping to extinguish the pounding in your skull, a rhythmic thudding of warm maroon, half Captain Morgan and half misery. The music isn’t helping. From the green Toshiba CD player, a man is singing in Spanish. Aegon and Rio are sitting at the nearest table and playing Uno.

Aegon says as he ponders his cards: “You know Enrique Iglesias, right Rio?”

“You are so racist.” Rio puts down a wild. “And the new color is red. Racist.”

“So what’s he saying?”

“Aegon, buddy, I told you, I was born here. My grandparents came over in the 60s. I don’t speak Spanish.”

“You can’t understand any of it?” Aegon is skeptical. He plays a skip, a reverse, and a seven. “My dad never taught me a word of Greek but I can recognize plenty of phrases. Vlákas means idiot. Spatáli chórou is a waste of space.”

Rio sighs, relenting. He puts down a two. “The song is called Súbeme La Radio, Turn Up The Radio For Me. Bring me the alcohol that numbs the pain… I don’t care about anything anymore…You’ve left me in the shadows…”

“Damn, now I’m sad. Draw four, bitch.”

“When the night comes and you don’t answer, I swear to you I’ll stay waiting at your door…” Rio studies his cards. “What’s the new color?”

“Green.”

“Yes!” Rio slams down a skip. “Fleeing from the past in every dawn, I can’t find any way to erase our history…”

Everyone else is awake already. As muted late-morning daylight streams in through the small tinted windows, Aemond is weaving between tables, pointedly checking on each person. He glances at you, says nothing, turns around and walks the other way.

“That’s tough,” Rio says sympathetically, popping open the tab on a can of Chef Boyardee and shoveling ravioli into his mouth with a plastic fork.

Aegon gives you a smirk. “You want to fake date now?”

“I’ll think about it.” No you won’t.

Helaena appears, a prairie girl vision in a modest blue sundress and with her hair tied back with a matching scarf. She reaches into her burlap messenger bag and offers you a choice between a ranch-flavored tuna pouch or a silvery pack of Pop-Tarts. “Strawberry,” she tells you.

“I’ll take the Pop-Tarts.”

Helaena gives them to you and then shakes a bottle of Advil. You’re so groggy it takes you a few seconds to figure out what she wants, then you obediently hold out a hand. Helaena lays two tablets in the center of your palm and moves on, soundlessly like a rabbit or a spider.

You wash the pills down with Snapple. As you nibble half-heartedly on a Pop-Tart—trying not to look at Aemond, multicolored sprinkles falling down onto the carpet—your eyes drift to the tattoo on the underside of Aegon’s forearm. It’s not over ‘til you’re underground. You’ve spotted it before. Only now do you remember where you recognize the lyric from. “Is that Green Day?”

“Yeah,” Aegon says, enthused that you noticed. “Letterbomb.”

“I love that whole album.”

“Me too. I could sing it front to back if you asked me to.”

“I’m not asking.”

Aegon cackles and resumes his Uno game with Rio. Baela is wearing denim shorts and a crop top, slathering her belly with Palmer’s cocoa butter from Walmart as she chats with Rhaena and eats Teddy Grahams. Daeron is waxing the string of his compound bow. Jace is gnawing on a Twizzler as he scrutinizes Aegon’s map, annotated with Xs and circles and arrows in sparkling gel pen green.

“I’m going to be a thousand years old by the time we get there,” Jace mutters.

Aegon hits the table with his fist. The discard pile collapses and cascades, an avalanche of Uno cards. Rio, undisturbed, continues contemplating his next move. “You know what, Jace? The cities are full of zombies, the interstates are blocked by fifty-car pileups, if we bump into anyone else who’s still alive they’re just as likely to rob and murder us as want to be friends, and on top of all that I’m trying to do you the favor of preventing you from getting so irradiated you turn into Spider-Man. If you have a better route in mind, I’d love to hear it.”

“Spider-Man…? You’re such a dumbass, what are you talking about?!”

Luke says from where he stands by a window: “Aemond, someone’s outside.”

“What?” Aemond stares at him. “Zombies?”

“No. People.”

Aemond bolts to the doors, the rest of you close behind him. Rhaena turns off the CD player. You, Rio, and Aegon squeeze together to peer out of one of the windows. There are men—three of them, no, four, all appearing to be in their forties—passing by on the main road through town. They are armed with what are either AR-15s or M16s, you can’t tell which.

Rio whistles. “If you get shot by one of those, the exit wound will be the size of an orange.” Everyone looks at him. This was not an encouraging thing to say.

You elaborate: “Thirty-round magazines. Semiautomatic, assuming they’re AR-15s for civilian use. I guess they could have gotten ahold of M16s somehow. Those have a fully automatic setting.”

“So regardless, we’re out-gunned,” Jace says.

“If they know how to use them. Some men think guns are wall decorations, like deer heads or fish.”

Aegon recoils. “Fish?! What the fuck. I’m glad the colonies left.”

“Maybe they’ll keep walking,” Daeron says hopefully. One of the men stops and points at the bowling alley, saying something to his companions. They laugh and begin crossing the small parking lot. They are less than two minutes from the door. “Oh, great…”

“There’s an emergency exit in the back,” Baela says.

Aegon snorts. “Yeah, that we stacked about twenty boxes of bowling pins in front of to zombie-proof.”

“We won’t be able to get out before they hear us,” Aemond says. Then he abruptly orders: “Grab your guns, let’s go. Helaena, Baela, Rhaena, you’re staying here.” Aemond’s remaining eye—briefly, reluctantly—skates over you as Rio, Aegon, Jace, Luke, and Daeron scatter to obey him. “You too.”

“But I’m the best shot.”

“I don’t want them to know we have women with us.”

“I’m of more use to you outside.”

Aemond rips his Glock out of its holster, pointing it at the floor. His frustration is palpable, an electric shock, heat that refracts light rays until they become mirages on the horizon. “You’re going to stay here, and if a stranger comes through those doors you’re going to kill them. Okay?”

His urgency stuns you; his eye is blue-white summer storm lightning. “Okay.”

“Now get back.”

You soar to the nearest table, duck under it, reach for your Beretta M9 and double-check the clip, fully loaded. You click off the safety.

“Aemond, wait, let me go first,” Aegon is saying by the door. “I’m better at de-escalation, I’m less…uh…intimidating.”

“Less socially incompetent, you mean,” Jace quips.

“I’ll lead,” Aemond insists. “Aegon can talk. Rio, you’re up front with me.”

Rio pumps his Remington 12 gauge. “I’d be delighted.”

Jace is amused. “I’ve been demoted, huh?”

“He’s bigger,” Aemond replies simply, then opens the door and vanishes through a blinding curtain of daylight. The others follow closely; Daeron, the last one out—his compound bow in hand, the strap of his Marlin .22 slung over his shoulder—shuts the door behind him.

Very faintly, you can hear Aegon: “Hey, guys! What’s happening? How’s the apocalypse treating you…?”

Baela, Rhaena, and Helaena are under the table with you. They deserve to have options. You tell them: “If you want to go hide behind the lanes or try to get out the back door, now’s your chance.”

Helaena shakes her head, clutching your t-shirt: black, Star Wars, pawed off a shelf at the Walmart. “I want to stay with you.”

“Same,” Baela says determinedly, gripping her Ruger. She barely knows how to use it, but she’ll try. Rhaena is shaking, her eyes filling up her face, small fragile bones like a bird’s.

You can’t hear voices from outside anymore, but there are no gunshots either. You keep your M9 aimed at the doors, your breathing slow and deep, your heart rate low. Your hands are steady. Your eyes hunt for the slightest movement, for the momentary shadow of someone passing by a window. Against your will, your thoughts wander to Aemond. I hope Aegon is on his left side. Aemond can’t see there.

“Rhaena, get your gun out,” Baela says sharply. “Come on. Turn the safety off. What if you were alone right now? What if we weren’t here to protect you?”

Rhaena nods, fumbling to free her revolver from its holster. “I’m sorry…I’m trying…”

Now there is a stranger’s voice, gruff and deep. He must be just beyond the door, the farthest one to the right. There is a creak of hinges, a sliver of sunlight. “That’s just too damn bad, fellas. You got a nice little hideout here, and you’re gonna have to share it—”

The door opens. Two unfamiliar faces, too shellshocked to raise their rifles in time. You close an eye, line up your sights, fire twice, and that’s all it takes: one headshot, one in the throat, blood like a fountain, spurting scarlet ruin, thuds against the carpet strewn with neon stars, gurgling and spasms as their brains send out those final electrical impulses: danger, catastrophe, apocalypse. Rhaena is screaming. Helaena is covering her ears with both hands.

You run to the doorway; there are more booms of gunfire out in the parking lot. You cross into the late-morning light to see the other two men on the pavement: one with an arrow through the eye, the other with a gaping, hemorrhaging hole where his heart once was. Rio is admiring his work, holding his shotgun aloft. He scoops a handful of Cheddar Whales out of his shorts pocket and shovels them into his mouth.

“Goddamn, I love Remington Arms Company.”

“Oh, that was awesome,” Aegon says, wan and panting, hands on his waist. “Yeah, that was…that was…” He bends over and vomits Snapple and Cool Ranch Doritos onto the asphalt.

“Everyone okay in there?” Rio asks you.

“Yeah.” Behind you, Baela, Rhaena, and Helaena are stepping through the doorway. Your thoughts are whirling sickly: I killed someone. I killed someone. “They wouldn’t leave?”

“We told them the bowling alley was ours,” Aemond says, not looking at you. “We asked them very politely to keep moving. They chose to try to intimidate us into letting them stay. They weren’t good people, and these are the consequences.”

You click on the safety and re-holster your M9. You’re wearing Rio’s on your other hip. They seem to weigh so much more than they did ten minutes ago. I’m not supposed to be a killer. I’m a builder.

“Aegon, are you okay?” Daeron asks, a palm on his brother’s back.

Aegon retches again. “Shut up. You can’t even buy fireworks.”

“Zombies.” Luke is peering through his binoculars. “Not many, just two. Way up the road.”

“There will be more.” Baela’s cradling her belly; you don’t even think she’s aware of it. “They heard the gunshots, the sound carries for miles.”

“We’re leaving,” Aemond says. “Right now. Everyone get your things.”

As backpacks are hastily zipped and Daeron and Aegon stand guard in the parking lot, you kneel down beside the men you murdered and check their rifles. They are M16s, either stolen or illegally purchased: there’s a little switch by the trigger to choose between semi-automatic or the so-called machine gun mode.

“They barely had any bullets left,” you tell Rio. Just like us when we were trapped on that transmission tower.

“Yeah, same story for the other two guys. Four bullets in one magazine, a half dozen in the other. But it only takes once. We don’t have any ammo that will work with M16s, do we?”

“No, we definitely don’t.”

“Fantastic. Well, we’ll throw them in a Walmart cart and take them with us just in case.”

You’re staring down at the man you shot through the head. His eternal resting place is a puddle of blood and brains in a bowling alley in rural Ohio; surely no one deserves that. “He was a real person,” you say, dazed. “Not a zombie. Just a person.”

“Hey.” Rio grabs your shoulders and spins you towards him. From where he is helping Luke gather up the remaining food, Aemond’s head snaps up to watch. “You hurt him before he could hurt us. You did the right thing.”

“Sure.”

“I killed a dude too. I blew his heart right out of his chest. You think I’m going to hell for that?”

“No,” you admit, smiling. “And if you’d be there with me, I guess I wouldn’t mind so much.”

Rio grins, wide and toothy. “Well alright then. Let’s finish packing.”

The ten of you depart from Shenandoah, Ohio heading northwest on Route 603 just like Aegon marked on his map, Jace chauffeuring Baela in one shopping cart, Rio pushing another loaded high with food and M16s.

“It looks like rain,” Helaena says.

Everyone else peers up into a clear, cerulean sky, wondering what she means.

~~~~~~~~~~

You’re a few miles north of Shiloh when the storm rolls in, cold rain and furious wind, daylight that vanishes behind dark churning thunderheads, jagged scars of lightning in an opaque sky. The road is only two lanes, surrounded by fields of wildflowers and ravaged crops and untilled earth; it would look like the patchwork of a quilt if you were gazing down from an airplane, but of course the FAA grounded all flights over a month ago when the world went mad: Revelations, Ragnarök, the fabric of the universe unweaving as death burned through families, cities, nations like a fever, like plague.

“Maybe we should cut across one of these fields,” Jace says, pointing. He is soaked with rain; it drips from his curls, runs into his eyes. Baela is in her cart again; each time she tries to get out and walk, she’s gasping and can’t keep up within half an hour. You’ve all taken turns pushing her, much to Baela’s dismay. She’d be humiliated if she wasn’t too exhausted to keep her eyes open.

“Here, let me do it,” you offer, and Jace gratefully relinquishes the cart. Baela gives you a frail wave of appreciation.

“We stay on the road,” Aemond insists, flinching as rain pelts his scarred face. “Farmhouses have driveways and mailboxes, we’ll pass one eventually. If we lose the road, we might not be able to find it again. We’ll end up wandering around in circles in the woods.”

“Just like the Blair Witch Project,” Aegon says glumly, his Sperry Bahama sneakers audibly soggy.

“There!” Luke announces, spotting something with his binoculars. “Up ahead on the left. Past the bridge.”

You can’t see what Luke does until there is an especially brilliant flash of lightning: a farmhouse, old but seemingly not derelict, and with a number of accompanying buildings, guest houses and stables and barns and towering silos.

“Home sweet home!” Rio says. “And I don’t care if I have to kill a hundred of those undead bastards to get in, it’s mine.”

“Well, hopefully not a hundred,” you reply, in better spirits now that a sanctuary has been found. Aemond keeps glancing back at you as you push Baela’s cart. If he wants to say something, he’s doing a good job of resisting the temptation. “We don’t have that much ammo.”

There is a concrete bridge over a river, probably unremarkable and only five or ten feet deep normally but now torrential with rain. Water rushes by beneath, a muddy incline on each side as the earth rises back up to meet the road. A reflective green sign proclaims that you are only two miles from Plymouth, which Aegon plans to skirt along the edges of. It’s a decent-sized town; he thinks you might be able to find a car to steal there, something with gas in the tank and keys on a hook just inside the house.

“I call the master bedroom,” Jace says craftily, rubbing his palms together. You’re near the center of the bridge now, another ten yards to go. “Nice big bed, warm cozy blankets, and I was up for half of last night keeping watch so tonight I am off duty, I am a free man, it’s going to just be me and my girl and eight glorious uninterrupted hours of sleep—”

Rhaena shrieks, and then you hear it over the noise of the storm, pounding rain and rumbling thunder: moans, growls, hisses like snakes. Not one zombie. A lot more than one. They’re crawling up from under the bridge, from the filthy quagmire at both ends. There was a hoard of them waiting, aimless, dormant, almost hibernating. But now they are awake. They are grasping for you with bony, dirt-covered claws. They are snapping with jaws that leak blood and pus and bile as their organs curdle to a putrid soup.

“Get off the bridge!” Aemond is shouting. He has his Glock in his right hand, a baseball bat in his left. He’ll shoot until he’s out of bullets, and then, and then…

Rio helps you get Baela out of the cart, then opens fire. His Remington doesn’t just pierce skulls, it vaporizes them. When he’s out of shells—there are more in his backpack, but no time to reload—he yanks the M16s out of the other Walmart cart and empties each of them, mowing down zombies as the rest of you scramble across the bridge. All around you are explosions of gunshots, thunder, lightning, zombie skulls crushed by bullets and blunt force trauma. Baela is firing her Ruger as you half-drag her, one arm hooked beneath hers and around her back. When the last M16 is empty, Rio starts clubbing zombies with the butt of it. You’ve all reached the north side of the bridge, except…

“Fuck off, you freaks!” Jace is screaming. They’ve backed him up against the guardrail, a swarm of ten or more. His Remington shotgun is out of ammo; he’s swinging it wildly, but he doesn’t even have enough room to maneuver. There are still more zombies emerging from under the bridge. You can hear them snarling and groaning. You swipe an M9 off your belt and put a bullet in the brain of a zombie as its fingers close around your ankle, then you start picking off the ones mobbing Jace. You aren’t fast enough. As they lean in to bite him, teeth gnashing at the delicious throbbing heat of his jugular, Jace throws himself over the barrier and into the surging water below.

“No!” Baela cries. She careens off the road and into the field, running parallel to the river as swiftly as she can. You are helping her, steadying her, firing at any zombies you have a clear line of sight on. The others are here too: slipping in the muck of the flooding earth, shouting for Jace. He surfaces through the frothing current, flails pitifully, disappears beneath the water again. You glimpse a white hand, a shadow of his dark hair, a kicking shoe. There are more zombies on the opposite side of the river, trailing after Jace, lurching and slobbering viscous, gory saliva. They cannot swim, but they can follow him until he washes ashore.

Jace bursts up through the waves, gasping. “Help! Aemond…Aemond, for the love of God, help me…” He blubbers and then is dragged under. Aemond and Luke are continuing frantically after him. Baela is hysterical, sobbing, trembling with adrenaline. Aegon is yowling as he swings at zombies with his bloodied golf club. Helaena is darting around almost invisibly, always cowering behind Daeron or Aegon or Rio.

You glance north towards the farmhouse, growing not closer but farther away. We can’t leave shelter. We can’t leave the road. You lock eyes with Rio. He’s thinking the same thing.

“Aemond, we have to go,” Rio says, but in the midst of the rain and the turmoil it barely registers.

“Jace, we’re coming to get you!” Aemond swears. The ground is increasingly sodden, deep, difficult to trudge through. Jace resurfaces, coughing and sputtering.

“Jace!” Aegon wails. He caves in the skull of a zombie who was once a registered nurse as Helaena crouches behind him. “Jace, I’m sorry! I’m gonna miss you, man!”

Jace splashes in the rising river, his arms flailing helplessly. He is being swept away far faster than any of you can move on foot. “Aegon, you dumb bitch!” Jace manages, then slips beneath the water and doesn’t reappear.

“Where is he?!” Baela is saying. “Aemond, where…?”

You are trying to soothe her, to bring her back to reality. She was always so pragmatic before; you have to wake her up. “Baela, listen, we can’t stay here, he would want you and the baby to be safe—”

“Aemond! Aemond, we have to go!” Rio catches him, wrenches him around, roars into his face as driving rain pummels them both: “We have to go, or we’re going to die here too!”

It hits Aemond all at once; he understands, horror and agony in his sole blue eye. “We have to go,” he agrees. And then louder, to everyone: “Get to the farmhouse!”

Baela collapses into the mud, howling, tears flooding down her face. “No, he’s still alive, he’s still alive, we can’t leave him!”

You and Rhaena are trying to haul Baela to her feet. Now Aemond is here, pulling you away from her—his fingers tight and urgent around your wrist—as he and Luke take your place. “Go,” he commands. “You run. Don’t wait for us. Rio?”

“I got her,” Rio replies, grabbing your free hand with an iron grip. Gales of wind rip at you; every millimeter of your skin is soaked with rain. As you flee across the fields towards the farmhouse, dozens of zombies pursue you. More are still staggering along the banks of the river, swept up in the hoards chasing Jace and the promise of his waterlogged corpse when it reaches its final destination. Daeron has run out of arrows and is shooting with his .22, which is very much not his preference. Aegon trips, getting covered in mud as he rolls, and Rio stops to help him. While he is distracted, you look back at Aemond. He, Luke, and Baela are moving quickly, but not quickly enough. A drove of zombies is closing in on them. You have a spare few seconds at last. You yank your backpack off, grab a box of ammo inside, and reload your M9.

“Chips?!” Rio calls over his shoulder.

“I’m fine.”

He knows you well enough to listen. The world goes quiet as your finger settles on the trigger. There’s a rhythm one slips into, an impassionate lethal efficiency. It’s easier to keep going than to stop and have to find it again. You fire over and over, dropping eight zombies. You sheath your M9 and whip Rio’s out of your other holster, the sights finding grotesque decaying faces illuminated by lightning. You pull the trigger: blood, bones, brains, corpses jerking and convulsing as they fall harmlessly to the mud. Aemond is here; when did he get here?

“I told you to run!” he’s shouting through the storm, furious. He’s shoving you towards the farmhouse. You resist him.

“Let me kill as many as I can—”

“Go! Now!” Aemond orders over the clashing thunder, and then sprints with you all the way to the front porch to make sure you listen. Everyone else is already there. Helaena has fetched a spare key from under the doormat and is turning it in the lock.

Daeron observes her anxiously. “We don’t know if it’s safe in there, Helaena.”

“Not in,” she says, insistent. “Through.” Through this building, and maybe through the next one too. The average zombie is not terribly clever. If they lose sight of you, without the benefit of the momentum of a hoard they are lost. Helaena opens the door. The living rush inside, and she locks it behind you. As you are bursting out the back door, you can hear zombies pounding their rotting palms against the front one. You soar through a stable full of dead horses and donkeys, leaving the doors open; this should keep the zombies distracted if they make it this far. Then you race to the farthest guest house. Luke, swiveling with his binoculars, spies no zombies approaching as you steal inside. There is no spare key this time; Rio punches out a first-floor window for you to climb through. Once everyone is inside, he and Aegon move a bookshelf to cover the opening.

You all stand in the living room, gasping and shivering, dripping rain down onto the rug and the hardwood floor. The air is dusty but clean of any trace of vile, swampy decay. Outside, thunder booms and lightning flashes bright enough to illuminate the lightless house. The sky is so dark it might as well be nightfall. Baela sinks to her knees, clamping both hands over her mouth so she won’t sob loudly enough for a zombie to hear. Rhaena and Luke are beside her, both weeping quiet rivulets of tears, trying to comfort her in whispers. Helaena is rummaging around searching for candles; she has already taken a lighter out of her soaked burlap messenger bag.

“Daeron, bro, come over here,” Aegon chokes out. He embraces Daeron, clutches him tightly and desperately, doesn’t let go. Rio is reloading his Remington 12 gauge.

Jace is dead. Jace is dead.

Aemond says to you, his voice low but seething: “What the fuck was that?”

You blink the raindrops out of your eyes as you stare at him, bewildered. “You needed help.”

“I told you to run.”

“I’m an asset, I have skills that can keep you alive, why am I here if I’m not going to be useful—?”

“You’re not in the fucking Navy anymore!” he hisses. “When I tell you to run, you run, you don’t stop, you don’t look back, because I can’t worry about you and take care of everyone else.”

“Nobody asked you to worry about me.”

“But I do.”

“Aemond,” Aegon pleads, waving him over. Aegon’s plump sunburned cheeks are glistening with rain and tears. “Man, it doesn’t matter. Nothing else matters now. Please come here.”

“I’m going to clear the house,” Aemond says instead.

Rio raises an eyebrow at you—this is one fucked up guy, Chips—and then pumps his shotgun. “Me too.” He sweeps with Aemond through the main floor and then vanishes up the staircase.

Helaena is lightning candles she found in the kitchen and arranging them around the living room. Daeron starts gathering food from the pantry. Rhaena and Baela are murmuring to each other softly, mournfully. It doesn’t feel like something you should intrude on. Luke is peeking out of a window with his binoculars, vigilant for threats. Aegon sniffles, wanders over to you with large, sad, shimmering eyes, pats your shoulder awkwardly.

“Hey, Chocolate Chip. You doing okay?”

“No,” you answer honestly.

“Yeah. Me either.” Then he flops down on the hideous burnt orange couch and lies there motionless until Daeron brings him a can of Dr. Pepper. Aegon pops the tab, slurps up foam, and then begins singing to himself very quietly, a song so old you can remember your grandfather saying it was one of his favorites as a boy: A Tombstone Every Mile.

When Rio comes back downstairs—heavy footsteps, he can’t help that—you meet him at the bottom of the steps. “The house is good,” Rio says. “And Aemond’s in the big bedroom on the right if you’d like to go up there and talk to him.”

“I don’t think he wants to see me right now.”

“I could not disagree more,” Rio says with a miserable, exhausted smile. Then he goes to the couch to check on Aegon.

You pick up one of the flickering candles, white and scentless, and ascend the staircase. You find Aemond in the master bedroom, the same accommodations that Jace laid claim to when he was still alive. He is sitting at the edge of the bed and staring at the wall, at nothing. Tentatively, you sit down beside him, placing the candle on the nightstand.

“Aemond…what happened to Jace…it wasn’t your fault.”

“Criston said I was in charge, that’s the very last thing he told me. They might be the last words I ever hear from him, and I just…” His voice breaks; he wipes the rain and tears from his face with open palms. “I really wanted to get everyone home.”

“I’m so sorry about what I said at the bowling alley,” you confess, like it’s a dire secret. “I don’t want to fight with you, Aemond, I…I want to help you. I can see what you’ve done for everyone here, me and Rio included, and I believe in you. I want to be a part of this.”

He nods, an acceptance of peace, but he still doesn’t look at you.

“Can we start over? I’ll never bring it up again, okay? I wasn’t trying to guilt you or upset you or anything. I should have just dropped it. I overreacted. And I understand why being with someone like me maybe wouldn’t be…super appealing.”

“It’s not about that.”

“Then what’s it about?”

Aemond wrings his hands, shakes his head, at last turns to you, golden candlelight reflected in his eye, his scar cloaked in shadows. His words are hushed, clandestine, soft powerless surrender. “I’m already so afraid of losing you.”

He cares, he hopes, he wants me too? “I’m here right now, Aemond. I don’t know what else I can say. I’d promise you more if I could.”

He reaches out to touch you, to ghost his thumb across your cheekbone, wet with rain. Then he kisses you, so gently you cannot help but imagine the wispy borders of calm white summer clouds, the rustle of leaves as wind blows down the Appalachian Mountains. You don’t have to ask him what he’s thinking, what it feels like. You can read it in the startled, firelit wonder on his face.

You taste like the beginning of something, here at the end of the world.

[zoropookie]

SWEET MELODY

☆ prologue — "at least persistence is a great substitute for actual talent."

"Another fight?" The slightly distorted voice in your memory rang.

You were in high school at that time, and the last thing you wanted to think about was the imminent demise of your older brother. You thought it would be impossible for him to be a fleeting memory, you were a kid. Why would you want to think about it?

But you did; you though about it more than you expected to. Your memory of his presence back when you were confident he would be by your side forever was solid and as reliable as the old oak tree that sat tall and proud in your yard. The branches jutted out wide and long with enough of the bark of the wood to chip off once it was worn. Even though the both of you were hassled by the city to chop the tree down, as it was a "hazard" in case of a thunderstorm, the both of you took a laborious effort to make sure it was the opposite. To make sure it didn't violate any safety code the both of you could think of.

You learned your strenuous amounts of kindness from your brother, who seemed sick the day that he went missing. You tried to keep your voice steady that day, choked in tears with a bag filled with baking materials in your hand. "He was just having problems with his mom again."

He sat there in silence, staring at you with concerned eyes and a reassuring smile. "Sit with me."

You sat beside your brother on the porch steps, the tree in view of the both of you. The familiar creaking of the old wood comforted you oddly enough, as the air remained cool and crisp. The golden light of the setting sun warming your heart.

"You know," Kazuha began, his voice was soft, "You can't assume that it's your fault just because he's not doing too good. Life can be fluid, it's how we respond during the rain that matters."

You looked at him, blinking the tears that were already in your eyes down to your cheeks in response. And...well, that was all your brain could let you remember. And waking up was harder that morning, because you couldn't even decipher what he sounded like in that dream anymore.

masterlist ☆ next

THERE ARE not many things that can sway your interest ever since the "accident", but in spite of that, you pushed forward. you are now the owner of the biggest bakery chain in your city, consistently seeing couples and catering to them as such. you've been a big host at weddings, events for celebrities, and even a big support for your friends and family. you've even earned yourself a niche following as well by how sweet you are to everybody around you. but, even with your kindness, you don't have a particular spark that keeps you going anymore these days. that is until one of your employees starts suggesting you write love letters to customers who request your services. at first you thought it was a horrible idea that could easily turn into trouble, but that was until you were tasked with writing one to your own (very very famous) ex-boyfriend.

taglist ☆ — @seternic @chemiru @coquettemaiden @1kio0o @emiixuu

@agaygothicmushroom @yomishen @jingyuan-wife-real @toruscorpse @whoooismkeee

@sketcheeee @st4r4ngel @mi2ukis @scaradooche @lightyagamifan

@pwushizz @alatusorrow @eutopiastar @magica-ren @slu7

@vamxpi @theyluvkatt @kyon-cherri @suzydarling @mimi3lover

@auroratumbles @vxcmx @yourfavoritefreakyhan @kunimylovee

[sodaabaa]

reunited a court of thorns and roses

rhysand x reader after reader is taken by tamlin, she yearns for the day she can be reunited with her mate.

tw: none

Five months. That’s how long I’d been trapped with Tamlin and his court of thorns. Once upon a time I was happy here, happy with him. Now, it took everything I had to control myself from scratching his eyes out every time he looked at me. Every word he said, every condescending explanation he gave me as to why he thought, why he believed that Rhys had manipulated my mind, drove me insane. Leaving this godforsaken place with Rhys all those months ago was the best decision I’d ever made. Now I was stuck here all over again. Caged in a rose covered prison, suffocated by piles of tulle and chiffon and silk.  

I hadn’t shown Tamlin, or anyone, any of the powers I had. I didn’t tell him what I was. Rhys and Amren had figured out that I was an angel. Centuries before the fae emerged, angels ruled the heavens and the Earth. Once the fae were created after years of evolution, the angels died out. But while the physical form of these beings may cease to exist, their souls don’t. Their souls are still here, roaming through the heavens. I guess the angels knew war was imminent in my lifetime so they breathed an angel’s soul into me when I was born and I’d gone all those years unknowing of what I was, what I was capable of. Until I had found out what Amarantha had done to Rhys. 

As if one cue, a piece of paper appeared on my nightstand with a coal black pen. 

“You’re thinking about me aren’t you” I could hear his arrogant smirk in those words.

I smiled, that bastard always knew, even if we were thousands of miles apart. I picked up the pen to write back but as I was doing so, the door opened and I quickly hid it under my pillow. My smile fell.

“I brought you some paints.” Tamlin paused, unsure of what to say next.

I merely looked out the window and said, “I have no inspiration.”

He frowned, “you’re in the Court of Spring, what more inspiration do you need?” 

The swirling night sky. The shimmering golden lights of the City of Starlight. His black, satin wings that carried the midnight sky with him. 

Oh, how sweet, your description of my city and my wings flatters me darling. 

I had to dig my nails into my palms to keep from smiling like a fool. 

Tamlin must have taken great offense to my comment, he left without giving me a chance to respond. Good. 

I anxiously pulled out the pen and paper. 

“He could have seen the note, be careful next time you prick.” 

I set the items on the desk and within seconds it vanished, and reappeared just as fast.

“I miss bickering with you. I miss you.” Such simple words yet my heart ached with longing.

I wrote back, “I miss you too. Just a few more days, I need to convince him to side with us.”

The paper vanished and never returned. 

I shifted in the bed I’d been in for hours, refusing to socialize with anyone at the manor. Everyone was blindly loyal to Tamlin and I knew if I left the manor grounds, they’d instantly report to him so I had no reason to even bother faking a smile towards those vipers. I looked out to the night sky, it wasn’t nearly as beautiful as the velvety blue skies of the Night Court but it was still a reminder of who ruled those skies and it comforted me regardless. With that thought, I fell into a deep sleep.

The voices of Tamlin and Lucien could be heard from a mile away. They were arguing over my freedom. I paused on the stairs, my blush pink dress swaying with the movement.

“How long are you going to keep her locked up hm? You can’t keep her here forever.” Lucien spat.

“Until Rhysand isn’t a problem anymore. Until I know he won’t come to take her again.” 

I rolled my eyes. Imagine being deluded enough to think you could beat Rhys, the most powerful High Lord in history. I scoffed. Their heads turned in my direction. I covered it by clearing my throat and smiling, resuming my path down the stairs.

“Good morning my love.” I held back a gag. 

Tamlin smiled, the fool really thought I was in love with him. “Good morning, we were just finishing up our conversation.” He shot a pointed look at Lucien. 

I smiled, lips in a thin line. He wanted to keep me locked up like a prisoner, still. 

I took a seat between Tamlin and Lucien. “Can we speak in private please Tamlin.” 

He gave me an exhausted look, he knew what I was going to ask. Despite that, he sent Lucien away with a wave of his hand. 

“I know what you want to say and you already know my answer.” He said.

I stood up and slammed my hands on the table, rattling the silverware.

“It’s been three months since I saw something outside these walls. Send an escort of guards with me if you want but let me go somewhere, anywhere.” I shouted.

He looked at me through his brows. “You know better than me, I could send an army of guards with you and Rhysand would slice through the brigade like butter to take you away. I won’t risk it.”

He was standing now, trying to intimidate me into compliance. 

“And I won’t be kept here like a prisoner! In what world is this love?”

“I’m protecting you!” He growled

“You’re suffocating me!” I yelled.

“Enough. There will be no further conversation about this matter.” 

I stilled. And then I felt it. I could sense him before he’d even arrived. I looked past Tamlin and to the doorway. 

Rhys. 

He was standing tall, his hands in his pockets, ever the nonchalant High Lord. His violet eyes looked over me head to toe, scanning for any signs of injuries. 

Tamlin must have noticed I was looking past him and turned. He moved to shield me, beginning to shift into a beast. I didn’t pay any attention to it. Every bone, every nerve, every cell in my body was shouting for me to run to him. So I did.

Tamlin shouted after me and guards ran in but they froze as soon as they ran into the room. It felt as if I’d been running for miles before I crashed into his chest, he stumbled back but his arms wrapped around me and lifted me up. My entire being relaxed into the embrace as I held him tight. 

“Miss me?” He breathed into my ear. 

Tears welled in my eyes as I nodded into his neck. He let me down just as Tamlin was approaching, rage burning in his eyes.

I stood in front of Rhys as Tamlin began charging. I crossed my arms and Tamlin met with a wall of light. He bounced back but got up instantly. Like twin flames, Rhys and I let out our wings, his midnight black wings contrasting with my soft white.

Tamlin froze, he hadn’t known about my abilities.

“What are you doing? He’s manipulating you, turning you against me.”

I scoffed. “You turned me against you.” 

“I love you.” He said in a not so loving tone. 

“Rhys loves me. And I him.” 

Unexpectedly, he shoved me away and lunged for Rhys who easily dodged his advances.

“You’ve gone soft Tamlin.” Rhys taunted. 

Tamlin lunged again, this time he managed to grab Rhys, who was unimpressed. 

“I’m going to skin you alive.” He said through his teeth.

Rhys merely rolled his eyes and looked at me as if to say, ‘look at this guy.’ 

Rhys grabbed Tamlins arms and twisted them, kneeing him in the gut and throwing him onto the floor all in one swift motion.

“You’re gonna have to try a lot harder to even land a punch, dear Tamlin.”

This time, Tamlin didn’t get back up. Rhys was holding him down with his mind. 

“We’ll spare your life on one condition.” I spoke to him. 

His nose flared, he’d rather die than submit to Rhys.

“You ally yourself and your army with us for the war. Hybern will slaughter your people and take your court as soon as the war is over and you know it. Don’t lead hundreds of innocent lives towards their death because of a grudge you hold towards Rhys.” I continued.

“I’d sooner die than work with him. And you. After all I did for you, traitor.” He spat.

I could feel the anger roll off Rhys. He stepped in front of me but I grabbed his arm.

“After all you did? After Amarantha, I was wasting away. I couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t breathe. And all you did was lock me up like a caged animal. You couldn’t even look at me longer than a second.” My voice rose.

“Do you know what the first thing Rhys did to me when he took me away on our wedding day?” I didn’t give him the time to respond.

“He looked at me, listened to me, he made me feel alive again. It’s ironic isn’t it? Living in the Spring Court where all bloom to life. Except me. I withered away like a dead rose. But I blossomed with Rhys at the Night Court, the realm of death so many call it, but it breathed life into me again.” 

Tamlin stared, blank. “Go to hell.” 

With that, I left the Manor and let Rhys have his fun. 

We landed in Velaris, my beloved City of Starlight. I was ecstatic and Rhys felt it as we walked up the steps to the town house. Home. The word kept repeating in my head, I still couldn’t believe it. 

When we walked in, we were greeted by Cassian, Mor, Azriel, and Amren. They kneeled as we stood in the doorway. 

My hand slipped from Rhys’ and I ran towards them, dropping to my knees. 

“Please don’t kneel. I just want a hug from each of you.” Tears fell from my eyes. I missed these four with my whole heart. Last I’d seen them, Cassian’s wings had been shattered, Azriel and Mor were bloody and bruised. I was worried sick. 

They all hugged me at once, I was squished in between the four of them. I let out a laugh as we withdrew from the group hug and Rhys chuckled behind me. 

“You bastards never react that way when I come home.” He walked towards us. 

Amren sent daggers at him with her eyes.

“Maybe we don’t like you as much Rhys.” Cassian said. 

“Then maybe you can find a place at the Court of Nightmares instead of Velaris, Cas. They’d be happy to take in an invalid such as yourself.” He threw. 

Cassian shook his head laughing. “You’d miss me too much.” 

The five of them began to bicker, their voices booming throughout the house. My eyes fleeted between them, trying to keep track of who was saying what. 

I smiled, It felt like I never left. 

[thewhumpcaretaker]

⚜ 𝕋𝕙𝕠𝕤𝕖 𝕎𝕙𝕠 ℍ𝕒𝕧𝕖 𝕊𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕠 𝕃𝕚𝕧𝕖 𝔽𝕠𝕣 - ℂ𝕙. 𝕏: ℍ𝕠𝕨 𝕍𝕚𝕟𝕔𝕖𝕟𝕥 𝕃𝕚𝕧𝕖𝕕 𝕚𝕟 ℝ𝕠𝕞𝕖 ⚜

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ ✧.*★ Thank you to @evren-sadwrn for the beta read!

Summary: Vincent goes back to his old life in Rome as if nothing happened. But there's Chidi, at his side, the one thing Vincent doesn't want to forget from the last few months. And it's causing complications...especially with Santino.

TW: grief, nightmares, PTSD, drug use, hypersexuality, stalking, jealousy, withdrawing consent during sex (and the response to the “no” is scary, although there’s no assault), attempted kidnapping, knife wound, concussion, Dead Dove Do Not Eat

Author's Note: The title is a callback to that line in one of the first chapters, in which Chidi wonders how Vincent lived in Rome - bonus points if you remembered!

Fine. Good and done with. Vincent was strong again.

It was better to forget all of it. That bloodied thing that he could not recognize reflected in the mirrors outside the ballroom. The words coming through the intercom. The time in the hospital. Even the coronation. That was worst of all, perhaps. The disappointment in himself, in the way that perfect day had felt so hollow… No, no, no, just forget any of it had happened. And to Vincent’s great relief, his mind blanked it all mercifully away. There was a gaping hole at the center of him where he dared not tread, but that was better than dealing with it. He could even talk about it, very easily, just as he had done at the ball with everybody. As long as he didn’t feel it, he could talk about it. This was the way one recovered from grief, he decided. One day, one simply decided to stop being a baby.

Yes, he was just going back to Italy after a few days away, and everything would be normal. “Il palazzo,” as he called it, was the quaintest, pleasantest place anyone could imagine living, and he would thoroughly enjoy it. It was humble by the Marquis' standards, but still very comfortable, and fully staffed with maids and a cook. He’d made it every bit as lavish as might suit him, while being a little less stuffy than Versailles. There was an abundance of French furniture with a Roman twist, in sunset gradients from pink to burgundy, with gilding glittering at the edges of everything. There was statuary in honor of Bacchus and Apollo. There was a full bar in the parlor where Vincent was sure to entertain guests as often as he could. There was some obscure art piece or trinket in almost every room, gifted from suitors. He would walk by the river in the mornings, with one of those suitors on his arm, and have luncheons with Gianna to talk business. And sneak off with Santino, not to come back until morning. What happened in between was…generally something of a blur.

In Rome, he didn’t feel quite as unsafe as he did in the estate. He had learned to navigate this city on his own – always guarded, yes, but giving the guards the slip long enough to do a line unseen. The Myrmidons didn’t have the slightest idea about his activities…well, maybe the slightest idea, but they couldn’t prove anything. In the past, Vincent had made sure of that because they reported to his – no. No. Nothing happened. Don’t think in that direction.

There was one problem with this perfect plan, and its name was Chidi. He had absolutely no desire nor ability to forget Chidi. And it was Chidi who carried his broken body out of that bloodbath, it was Chidi who held him together in the weeks afterwards. It was Chidi who stood up for him at the coronation, and then swayed with him in an empty side room, leading him with unexpectedly graceful steps and an exhilarating hand pressed to his waist. Chidi was inextricably tied to everything that had happened to him, everything he had suffered, lacing every poisoned memory with something too sweet to spit out. Chidi had seen all of it, dealt with all of it, and now he haunted Vincent, reminding him of every moment. Vincent found that it was becoming difficult even to look at his bodyguard. A mixture of shame and hope and…something hung over Chidi, making him unbearably beautiful.

So, when they arrived at the precious Il Palazzo, Vincent assigned him a room on the lower floor, not adjacent to his own. It was much finer than the servant quarters. It was the finest of any room in the house except Vincent’s, in fact. But they absolutely had to sleep separately. He was not a child, nor was he a lover. What was acceptable in grief was no longer acceptable once one was done grieving. And Vincent was done grieving, thank you very much. He could sleep very well on his own, and he would need his privacy. Chidi made no protest.

Thus it began. Forcing his eyes to close in an unfriendly darkness. Waking up in cold sweats at three AM until he learned to fear sleep more than exhaustion. Sobbing with his face buried in a pillow so that no one would hear him and force him to admit that yes, things were different now. That he could no longer take being alone. Each morning dawned in pure, golden relief, spent gasping until the remnants of tears had cleared out of his breathing, and then meeting Chidi with a stately nod at his bedroom door. Chidi must know, by the way he waited there earlier and earlier each time, but he said nothing.

There was, of course, an alternative to this torture. He could go to bed with someone. Not Chidi, no, that would reopen too much, but…someone.

It was just three days after their arrival in Rome when Vincent dismissed Chidi for the first time. “Je sors avec les autres gardes ce soir. Prenez du temps libre. [I’m going out with the other guards this evening. Take some time off.]“ He said it casually, the way that one might casually toss a grenade into the center of a crowded room. They were seated at either side of a little round tea table for an afternoon snack. Chidi stood up and stared at him, breathing hard. Vincent raised an eyebrow. “Avons-nous un problème? [Do we have a problem?]”

He promptly sat down again. “Non.”

“Bien. [Good.]”

That night, Chidi had already gone to his own bedroom when Vincent returned with a man on his arm. But the door was cracked open, and Vincent could feel eyes on him as he passed, prickling his skin with visceral guilt. Well, to hell with that. He would not be guilted for doing what he had to do to get a moment of peace. No matter whether he pictured Chidi alone in that downstairs bedroom, unhappy. Probably very unhappy…

The night passed without troubled dreams – in fact, it passed almost entirely sleepless. And in the morning, Chidi was waiting for him at the door, the same as ever. His co-conspirator must have passed Chidi on the way out in the early hours. They didn’t speak a word about it.

And they didn’t speak a word about it the next time, or the time after that. It became Vincent’s habit to ensure that he did not sleep alone two nights in a row – which was to say, it became Vincent’s habit not to sleep more than two nights in a row. It was a perfect system, really. A liaison kept the nightmares away for a night. Drugs kept him upright and free of shame over the course of the day following a liaison. And by the time he passed out from exhaustion the next night, he was too tired to dream. As long as he didn’t look at Chidi, he didn’t have to feel bad about any of it, which was perfect, because he was trying not to look at Chidi anyway. What could go wrong?

Best of all, the whole cycle numbed him just enough to maintain things with Santino. The relationship had become…draining. A series of encounters that he had to get through by being drunk or high or teasing Santino to vent his own resentment. But the connection made sense politically. Vincent wracked his brain for a real reason to break up, and he couldn’t justify it. He definitely couldn’t deal with the fallout that would ensue if Santino decided to throw a fit about the breakup, not right now. It could ruin things with Gianna, and that was going so well.

Santi, for his part, was only too glad to have Vincent back in the city, and to restock his drug supplies whenever he wanted. He made excuses to stay in Rome until winter. The D’Antonio family was already making plans for how they would spend Christmas together. Again, the only hitch was Chidi.

“Pourquoi ne vous débarrassez-vous pas de votre garde du corps stupide? [Why don’t you get rid of that brainless bodyguard of yours?]” Santino would say, while eyeing him across the room and grimacing. Normally, Vincent tried to see him when Chidi wasn’t on shift, but Santino had an infuriating habit of showing up unexpectedly. And every time the two were in the same room, some variation of this conversation played out. “Il ressemble à un gros bœuf stupide. Je peux t'en trouver un meilleur. Quelqu'un de pointu. Vous savez à quel point Ares est efficace... [He looks like a big, stupid ox. I can find you a better one. Someone sharp. You know how effective Ares - ]”

“Je suis très bien fourni en gardes du corps, merci. [I’m very well supplied with bodyguards, thank you.]” But he never seemed to drop the subject for good. It was like Chidi was getting into everything, changing every aspect of his life, haunting his thoughts throughout every one-night-stand. No matter how he tried to act like he didn’t care, no matter how he tried to compartmentalize him, there was Chidi again.

What bothered him most of all was that Chidi seemed to have no trouble getting a life of his own. He was settling into his role as head of the Myrmidons admirably. In the evenings, when Vincent allowed himself the agonizing ecstasy of an hour in undivided company with Chidi, he learned that Chidi was exploring Rome by himself and finding it very much to his liking. He had even discovered a favorite restaurant in a historic building downtown. Would Vincent like to go there together sometime? He seemed to be testing the waters. Vincent couldn’t resist saying yes. Despite his best efforts to exclude Chidi, he couldn’t bear the thought of Chidi having a favorite place that didn’t include him. It was very confusing.

Apparently, the other Myrmidons sometimes accompanied him on his walks through the city. One of the maids, too. Chidi was friends with them now. Everybody liked him, because of course they did. He was so gentle in his brutishness, so playful and yet so steadying, so infectious when he laughed. And on top of that, just look at him. Vincent did, and felt physically burned by the way his shoulders strained with muscle under his blazer, the way that beard cut knife-sharp along his jaw. As usual, he had to look away.

The next day, Vincent watched him with this maid. He felt burned then too. The way her shining, brunette curls bounced when she nodded at something Chidi said, glowing with smiles. Did Chidi feel burned when he looked at her? When he looked at Vincent? Had Chidi ever felt this way, about anyone? Had anyone in the world ever felt this way about anyone else, or was Vincent being tortured in some cruel and usual manner peculiar to god’s least favorites? He was in flames. He was dying. He must be.

That night, he got very high indeed.

He went to Santino, because damn it, if Chidi was going to go to the maid when he was lonely, then Vincent was going to go to Santino.

A line. Santino’s finger running over a wine glass as he stared out at the river at dinner, interrupting sparkling candlelight. A line. That sparkling transformed into flashing on a club floor. A line. Their bodies pressed together in the back of a limo. A line. Santino’s words spilling into his mouth between kisses. “Sapevo che mi volevi, mio ​​caro. Sapevo che saresti venuto da me da solo uno di questi giorni. Hai finalmente finito di farmi implorare? [I knew you wanted me, mio caro. I knew you’d come to me on your own one of these days. Are you finally done making me beg?]”

Disgust twisting in the pit of his body. “No. Prega più forte. [No. Beg harder.]” Say that you desire me. That I’m worth something…that no one could resist me… Santino whined and started humping into the leather seat with Vincent still buried in his ass.

“Per favore, mio ​​amore. Per favore. Fammi sentire bene. Non so come fai... aaaa... devi essere una specie di diavolo. La mia tentazione. Non sei nemmeno umano. [Please, mon amour. Please. Make me feel good. I don’t know how you do it…aaaa…you must be some kind of devil. My temptation. You’re not even human.]”

“Ovviamente non lo sai. Non mi conosci affatto. [Of course you don’t know. You don’t know me at all.]” It just slipped out. Santino didn’t seem to notice.

But he noticed when Vincent went soft and retreated into the seat away from him.

“Dove-cosa...? Dove sei andato? [Where-what…? Where’d you go?]”

“Ferma la macchina. [Stop the car.]”

“Che – [What the – ]“

“Sei sordo e del tutto inosservante? Ho detto di fermare la macchina. Ho avuto tutto ciò che volevo. [Are you deaf as well as completely unobservant? I said stop the car. I’ve had all I wanted.]”

Santino’s face went from confused to livid. “No! Verrai a casa con me stasera. Hai accettato. [No! You’re coming home with me tonight. You agreed.]”

“Davvero Santino? Sei quel tipo di uomo? [Really, Santino? Are you that kind of man?]” He rolled his eyes disdainfully, but his heart had started doing something utterly sickening. Was Santino that kind of man? His hand closed on the handle of the knife in his back pocket.

“Non ti toccherò. [I won’t touch you],” Santino said very graciously, despite caressing the air just above his cheek in a gesture so close to touching that it might as well have been. “Ma avevi promesso di venire. Ti terrò finché non ti renderai conto di quanto ti piaccio. [But you promised to come. I’m going to keep you until you realize how much you like me.]” His face hovered inches from Vincent’s. How did this escalate so fast? Only minutes ago, it seemed, he was sober, having dinner and planning to go home soon…

Don’t panic. He wished Chidi were here. How could he get back to Chidi? What could he do? His bodyguards were following behind them in another car. They’d know if he went missing. And they’d notice if he jumped from the vehicle. His eyes flickered from Santino’s too-close lips to the door handle. Santino caught the look and covered the lock with his hand, grinning. “Non mi sfuggirai, Vincent. Finalmente, dopo mesi, sei venuto da me volentieri. Non a un pranzo con me e mia sorella, non a una cena per cui ho dovuto implorare. Sei venuto da me, da solo, perché stai iniziando a vederlo anche tu. E non ti permetterò di buttarlo via solo perché a volte ti confondi. Apparteniamo insieme. Quella guardia del corpo ti sta dando fastidio, ma io... [You’re not getting away from me, Vincent. Finally, after months, you’ve come to me willingly. Not at some lunch with both me and my sister, not at some dinner I had to plead for. You came to me, all on your own, because you’re starting to see it too. And I won’t let you throw that away just because you get confused sometimes. We belong together. That bodyguard is messing with your head but I’ll - ]”

The blade plunged into the center of Santino’s hand. It was so satisfying that Vincent had to take a moment to enjoy the look on his face. “Oh, sei sorpreso di essere stato pugnalato dopo un discorso del genere? Hahahaha, malato di merda! Non appartengo a te! [Oh, you’re surprised you got stabbed after a speech like that? Hahahaha, you sick fuck! I do not BELONG with you!]” It was already too late – he might as well unleash everything. “Sai perché sono venuto qui stasera? Perché sei il fondo del barile, la persona che vedo quando ho voglia di sguazzare. Ti ho sedotto solo nel caso in cui tu uccidessi tua sorella più tardi, e sai una cosa? Spero che tu ci provi, e spero che lei ti uccida prima. Ti odio a morte, questa è la verità. Ovviamente devi ricorrere al rapimento solo per la più piccola speranza di ricevere il più piccolo briciolo di attenzione, patetico e disperato succhiacazzi. Risparmiati la fatica e non cercarmi più [You know why I came here tonight? Because you’re the bottom of the barrel, the person I see when I feel like wallowing. I only ever seduced you in case you kill your sister later, and you know what? I hope you try, and I hope she kills you first. I hate your guts, that’s the truth. Of course you have to resort to kidnapping just for the smallest hope of the smallest scrap of attention, you pathetic, desperate cock sucker. Save yourself the trouble and don’t look for me again.]” And with a spray of crimson trialing behind, he wrenched himself and the knife out into the battering midnight wind.

It hurt…a lot more than he was expecting. His shoulder made impact first. The purple-black of the city sky rolled over and over itself as he tumbled across cobblestones. There was tearing fabric, rocks driving into his flesh, a sharp impact against the back of his skull. In the distance, he could hear screeching tires. Was it one or both cars that turned back for him? But he blacked out before he could learn the answer.

He woke up in motion. A familiar scent. Someone’s arms underneath him. “Move. Don’t stand there, get a doctor.”

“Chidi…?” He curled closer against his chest. They were going up a flight of stairs, it seemed.

“C'est moi. Vous allez bien, monsieur. Vous êtes à la maison. [It’s me. You’re okay, sir. You’re home.]”

Splitting pain down the center of his head. “Je ne… je ne ressens pas… [I don’t…I don’t feel…]”

“Vous avez une commotion cérébrale. Mais tout ira bien. Tu étais si courageux. Ils m'ont dit – [You have a concussion. But everything will be alright. You were so brave. They told me – ]“ Chidi cut himself off, seemingly overcome. “De toute façon. Je vais te déposer maintenant, au lit. Est-ce que ça va? [Anyway. I’m going to set you down now, in bed. Is that okay?]”

Vincent realized he was shaking. “N'allez nulle part. [Don’t go anywhere.]”

“Je ne le ferai pas. [I won’t.]” He was laid very gently onto soft sheets. His shoes and tie were pulled away, the blanket tucked up to his chin. Everything was so warm, so bright…his head was still cradled in Chidi’s arms. Finally, Chidi was in his bedroom again, and everything seemed fixed. The change from the past few days was so enormous that Vincent couldn’t understand why he hadn’t done this sooner.

“Chidi?”

“Oui?”

“Je déteste Santino. [I hate Santino.]”

That gorgeous jaw set tight. “Il t'a fait du mal? [Did he hurt you?]”

“Non, heureusement non. Il a juste essayé de me kidnapper. [No, fortunately not. He just tried to kidnap me.]” Vincent scoffed. “C’est de ma faute, j’ai renvoyé mes gardes du corps, donc j’ai dû sauter – [It’s my fault, I sent my bodyguards away, so I had to jump – ]”

“Ce n'est PAS votre faute. [It is NOT your fault.]” Chidi pressed a kiss against his pounding head. “Cet homme est une petite fouine dégoûtante. Je ne le laisserai plus jamais toucher à toi. [That man is a disgusting little weasel. I will never let him lay a finger on you again.]”

Vincent smiled, savoring the way the warmth spread from the spot his lover’s lips had touched. “Merci.” He studied Chidi’s face. Worry lines at the corner of his mouth and eyes stood out prominently. There was the burning thing, flaring up in his chest at the sight of Chidi’s face. The guilt, the shame. The terrifying magnetism. “…Que vous ont dit les gardes? […How much did the guards tell you?]”

“Que veux-tu dire? [What do you mean?]”

They didn’t tell him anything, then. This was going to be incredibly difficult. Vincent tried one more time. “Vous ont-ils dit ce que je faisais avant de quitter le club ? Vous ont-ils dit… dans quel état je me trouve? [Did they tell you what I was doing before we left the club? Did they tell you…the state that I am in?]”

“Ils feraient mieux de ne rien me cacher. [They had better not have kept anything from me.]”

“Je leur ai fait jurer de ne rien te dire. [I made them swear not to tell you.]” He stared at the far corner of the blanket for a minute, trying to muster the courage. Instead, he found himself deciding maybe not. Maybe it was better Chidi didn’t know. If he quit, then who would ever have to tell Chidi? Nobody, right?

But Chidi saved him the trouble. “Que prenez-vous, monsieur? [What are you taking, sir?]”

Infinite silence, still staring into the corner. “Cocaïne.” He waited for disappointment, for crushing sympathy, already preemptively irritated by both.

“Comment ça a commencé? [How did it start?]”

“…Santino. Quand je suis arrivé ici seul pour la première fois. […Santino. When I first came out here alone.]”

“Je vois. [I see.]” Vincent could almost feel that information being filed for later. “Voulez-vous arrêter? [Do you want to stop?]”

“Non. Oui. Je ne sais pas. [No. Yes. I don’t know.]”

“Eh bien… c'est mon travail de protéger votre santé, monsieur. Je ne ferais pas mon travail si je te laissais continuer. [Well…it’s my job to protect your health, sir. I wouldn’t be doing my job if I let you continue.]”

“Et si c’était la seule chose qui me garde sain d’esprit, hmm ? J'ai besoin… [What if it’s the only thing that’s keeping me sane, hmm? I need…]” Fuck, he was going to cry if they kept on with this discussion. “Et si ça me maintenait en vie ? N'est-ce pas important pour ma santé ? Je serai trop fatigué sans ça, et puis je dormirai, et puis je… je ne peux pas… je ne peux pas… [What if it’s keeping me alive? Isn’t that important for my health? I’ll be too tired without it, and then I’ll sleep, and then I’ll…I can’t…I can’t…]” At some point he had started hyperventilating and couldn’t stop.

Chidi took his hand and kissed it, looking deeply pained on his behalf. “Monsieur. Je veux t'aider avec les cauchemars. Avec le chagrin. Tout cela. Chaque jour, je te vois souffrir alors que tout le monde s’attend à ce que tu ailles bien. C’est impossible, vu la pression que vous subissez, d’essayer de revenir instantanément à la normale. Sachez que vous n’êtes pas obligé de le faire seul. [Sir. I want to help you with the nightmares. With the grief. All of it. Every day, I see you hurting when everyone else expects you to be fine. It’s impossible, the amount of pressure you’re under, trying to go back to normal instantly. Please know that you don’t have to do this alone.]”

“N'êtes-vous pas trop occupé avec la femme de chambre? [Aren’t you too busy with the maid?]” Vincent wished he could take back the words but they were already out, and now he would have to hear the answer, hear Chidi lie or get angry or pity him or -

“Comme si quelqu’un pouvait être plus important pour moi que toi. Vous êtes ma vie, Maître Vincent. J'ai donné ma vie pour la tienne volontairement, tu te souviens ? J'étais prêt à être exécuté. Et je reste prêt. Je vous attends. Je n’ai touché personne d’autre, et je ne le ferai pas, peu importe le nombre de personnes que vous coucherez. Faites ce que vous devez faire, monsieur. Je veux juste être là pour toi. Même quand les choses vont mieux. Quand tu n’as plus mal… et je ferai en sorte que ce jour vienne… quand tu n’as plus mal, je veux toujours être à côté de toi. Pas besoin d’être malade pour dormir à mes côtés, Vincent. Si tu me veux, c'est tout ce qu'il faut. Je viendrai à toi. Peut-être que tu ne ressens pas la même chose, mais je t’aime et je le ferai toujours. [As if anyone could be more important to me than you. You are my life, Master Vincent. I gave my life for yours willingly, remember? I was ready to be executed. And I remain ready. I wait for you. I haven’t touched anyone else, and I won’t, no matter how many people you take to bed. You do what you need to do, sir. I just want to be there for you. Even when things are better. When you’re not in pain anymore…and I’ll make sure that day comes…when you’re not in pain anymore, I still want to be next to you. You don’t need to be unwell to sleep beside me, Vincent. If you want me, that’s all it takes. I will come to you. Maybe you don’t feel the same way, but I love you, and I always will.]”

Maybe it was the dawn finally starting to rise, but the world shone gold at all the edges. Like it was cracking, and sunlight was seeping in. It bled around the curtains, onto the bed, onto their joined hands. But Vincent’s eyes were too well adjusted to the darkness. He didn’t know what to do. Barely even knew how to talk around the lump in his throat. Say it back. I love you too. I love you too. I love you too. “Je ne savais pas… Je ne savais pas que tu pouvais parler de cette façon, Chidi. [I didn’t know…I didn’t know that you could talk this way, Chidi.]”

“Ce n’est pas une conversation, monsieur. Je t'aime. [It’s not talk, sir. I love you.]”

I love you too. “Allonge-toi à côté de moi. [Lay next to me.]” I love you too. “Jusqu'à ce que le médecin arrive. [Until the doctor gets here.]” I love you too. “Je ne veux pas que tu ailles n'importe où. [I don’t want you to go anywhere.]”

And Chidi slipped into the bed beside him, embracing Vincent skin to skin, arms securely around his waist, sighing contentedly against his neck… not asking him to say a thing. “Je sais. [I know.]”

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[threepandas]

Bad End: Heroic Collection

New Haven wasn't a major metropolis. Some big city like Delhi or Tokyo, Jakarta and the like. It was big for the area. A major hub for commerce and crime on a local scale. But Nationally? INTERNATIONALLY? Not even close. No matter WHAT the great ambitions that haunted the Mayor, late at night, may tell you.

So, really, there was NO fucking reason for any A Listers to be here.

NONE.

Our biggest exports were fancy fucking jams and that one fashion line I couldn't pronounce. We had honest to God Jam festivals in the fall. It was a circuit, Mayor gave out awards. There were pies. Firestrike always ate himself sick. Agent always laughed at him. I... Fuck, my head was ringing. I'd hit that last building HARD. Was pretty sure I tasted blood. Not... not sure if that was because I busted something in my mouth or...

Over my comms, I could hear my teammates fighting. Trying to hail the Alliance. If we could... could just hold on...

Long enough for the major players to GET here?

Then what? I had to wonder. Staring at a burning bus in front of me. It was half way lodged through Mrs. Brahimi's shop. Please, God, let her and the workers have got out all right. I'd been there just this morning. She made me those stuffed flatbread things. Said I was still too skinny. Should rest more.

I use the twist remains of a book return to lever myself to my feet. Book..? Oh. I'm by the library. Which..? Fuck. Main one. That's city hall.

Smoke rises around the city I've lived in all my life. Fires everywhere. I'm supposed... supposed to be a hero. But I can barely stand. Feel sick as the world sways. My body is one big bruise. Gotta... gotta keep fighting. Helping. Save people.

In the distance, I can hear screams.

I'm coming. I promise. I'm coming!

I make my screaming body move. Stumble. Catch myself. Then keep going. The hiss and spit in my ear tells me that my communicator is probably half broken. I don't try it, in case that breaks it the rest of the way. Wrench doors from half crushed cars to free trapped civilians. Lever wreckage, hold it with trembling limbs, so people can crawl to safety. Run. Please, god, RUN!

We aren't strong enough.

He's here, The Collective.

A hivemind super threat. Alien supposedly. So far above my team's pay grade we know basically nothing. The kind of thing we were expected to never realistically see. We're nobody's. Fuck it, we're HAPPY being nobody's. It meant we got to go home each night. Didn't face The Horrors. Like him.

He CONSUMES.

Hungry. Trying to fill some void that's never going to fill. Supposedly a planet eater. Gutting worlds for resources, materials, to continue his own expansion. Now fixated on Earth for it's continued refusal to die. For its defiance. Some A+ sort of monster, to our high C rank. At best.

Fuck... we dealt with HUMANS. Fought gimmicks and tech. Little fish in our little pond. Now this tsunami was bringing the ocean to US and it was all we could do, to swim and survive.

I leaned against a half smashed car. Braced myself against it, more then anything, then started pulling pot shots. I... I was gonna black out soon. With a concussion like this? Probably wasn't gonna be waking up. Especially if those THINGS found me before a friendly did.

All across the city I called home, The Collective had Drones tearing the place apart.

They'd almost be pretty. Tall, elegant, androgynous lookin, supermodel twinks in battle armor. Drones apparently covered their lower face. I'd know the "commander" by their uncovered face and "use of adornments". Useful! Except they could fucking SWITCH on command, so you have to take out ALL of them.

Because they weren't a collection of different soldiers.

THEY weren't a THEY. That? Was a fucking HE. Singular.

You don't consider each of your individual cell as people. Each follicle of hair. Why would HE? God damn it. It was like fighting a giant. Against Gods. They just kept coming. And my ammo? Was not endless.

Worse. The drones had stopped looking. I don't know WHAT they had been searching for. But now? They started to converge on me. On city hall. Fuck. I... I couldn't even really stand anymore. My vision was blurring. I knew for a FACT my shots were shit. But dense as they were crowding? It seemed enough. Kept them back.

Three cartridges left.

Two.

Only one more...

The Alliance was coming. Half my team had gone silent. I could hear tears in the voice of Tech, back in the office. They had our life signs. Built into our armor. I could only imagine what mine looked like. Prayed, like I hadn't since I was a kid, that the others were just unconscious. Safe somewhere.

Someplace this nightmare couldn't reach them.

I doubted I was that lucky.

Tech was begging me to hold on. Giving me ETAs. And... And I was out of bullets. The block half full of Drones. I had escrima sticks. A fucking tazer. It would have to do. Sticks came out, as I swayed to my feet. No longer letting the car behind me hold my weight. What's a little... let's say, hundred or so, on one? Eh?

Bring your friends. Let's make it a fair fight.

I'll go easy on you.

Bravado until the end. Remember, never know who's watching. You are a symbol. Before you are a man, you are their HERO. Don't you DARE let them down. Even if you die. Especially when you die. B.. Bravado until the end. Plaste on a smirk and say a one-liner, we got hope to shoulder.

I took down about three Drones... I think... before the rest swarm me.

Feel hands pinning my arms. My torso. Everything. A weak point between the panels is ripped open. High grade military fabrics doing jack shit against their impossible strength. The distinct pinch tug of a needle in my skin. Cold spreading. The sudden exhaustion of a powerful sedative. I... am gone.

Time... is blurry.

Now and Then running together in my senses. My brain. The concussion doesn't help. Or... or didn't? It feels... gone? Gone-ing? Oh... look, sky. Clouds. Pretty. Wasn't I standing? I am standing. No... no being dragged. Chair? Not chair. Stairs? Carried. Pretty window..... where am I? Fuzzy. Bluzzy fuzzy purple beans~ he he he~ oh! Those are the... watch'ma call it! Gucci chairs! That rich lady had! Neat. Plurble.

Ouch! Why'd you pi...?

My mouth is dry as sand. But suddenly? I am hyper aware. The floating drift of my mind VIOLENTLY gone, replaced by alerted and focus. Drones surround me in a vaguely familiar hallway. Shit. I think it's that rich designer's place. My helmet is off, but my mask is still in place, thank god. The Drones stand far to close for my liking. Their many eyes, amused.

So glad to entertain, you Fuck.

I am frog marched down the hall. Damn near dragged. They were too smart to restrain me with my own cuffs, unfortunately. So my hands are bound behind my back with something tight I can't get a good feel off. Bastard secured it to my belt, too. Great.

The Collective's "Face" is surrounded by what must be every jewel in the city. Piled high in some vague sorting pattern I refuse to even try and comprehend. He's trying on rings. One on every finger, to see what matches his skin tone. Looks good. Already, he has a pearl stud and some earrings he's decided he likes. He looks up as I'm dragged in, and I realize immediately what one of "a few other differences" between him and the Drones are...

It's the EYES,

They GLOWED.

Metallic almost. Nearly neon. They reflected the light in a way the Drones simply did not. It made their face... horrificly predatory. Made for WATCHING, somehow. Unnerving and haughty. Beautiful still, but uncomfortable to be near.

Sitting up on a table that basicly swallows the room, dead center like a show piece on display, with one long leg tossed over the other and no fucking shirt on? The Face looks almost carefully, artfully, staged. To maximize some "haughty yet coy, alien prince who maybe wants to fuck you" shtick.

Does... Does he not realize I'm NOT one of the usual opponents? I mean. Flattered at the "join me! The Darkside has sex and cookies!" set up. Always fun. Classic, really. But, like? I would be... at BEST... a solidly MID goon.

Also "NO".

Gonna preemptively throw that out there. Maybe some expletives for flavor. Suggest someplace sunless to shove it. SOLID "No". Good try, though.

Around me, the Drones are shaking with silent laughter. Staring down at me, their pale eyes dancing with amusement. It's creepy as hell. Unnerving to be the center of attention like this. For this many eyes, utterly in synch, to surround and watch my every twitch. Act fascinated and amused, like I'm some little animal performing tricks.

The Face hasn't dropped his Seduction to the Darkside routine. If anything, he seems delighted by the defiance. Which... yeah, that tracks. It's why he's harrasing out planet to begin with. That one's definitely on me. So, better question? Not that I'm not glad and all? Why the FUCK am I not dead.

"And lose my HERO? Perish the thought~" drawles The Collective, the posture light and lazy, even as something dangerous threaded itself through their tone. It sounded... possessive. But that couldn't be right. "I would NEVER do such a thing! In fact, we are going to have to be far more careful with that little processor of yours. Far too fragile. Just the one, too. Horrifying, really."

Thanks. Just what every guy loves to really make 'im feels special. Insults.

Fucker.

More laughter from all around me. I grit my teeth. Come oooon, Alliance. Where the hell ARE you guys!? Could REALLY use a rescue! The hands holding me still are drifting. Fucking handsy. Damn near stroking even as they hold me immobile. They're looking for the clasps and buckles on my armor. Have already found the obvious ones. Fingers oh so casually drifting over, to grip, flex, and tear them apart.

I do NOT like how loose my armor is starting to feel. Barely able to hold on. Protect me. Limited as that protection may be. I think I'm developing a horrifying empathy for clams. Crustaceans in general. Anything that gets slowly pried from the safety of it's shell, too certain doom.

The Face casually tosses the rings he was playing with aside. Tens of thousands of dollars bouncing off to God only knows where. He slides from the table to stand. Shit. He's huge.

The androgynous twink supermodel thing he has going on? Fucking LIES. Twists your perception of how, EXACTLY, strong the Face body IS. He clears seven feet easily, is muscled in that distinctly "never see me coming until it's too late" sort of way all the ninja types are.

The tattoos. It's the FUCKING tattoos! They give the illusion that he's slimmer then he actually is.

It HIDES MUSCLE MASS.

I can't tell if that's vanity or strategy and I hate it. Glare as he sashays towards me. Hips rolling in that elegant catwalk strut. I'm forced to my knees. Because of course I am. How ELSE will the bastard loom and gloat? Though really, weak as I currently feel, it's more that the Drones holding me up? Stop doing that. My knees more or less just give up on their own.

"Like what you see? You're staring so intently~" He mocks. If he were being genuine, I'd call it teasing. Flirtatious. But I know better. "It IS a pretty body, isn't it? I worked hard on it, you know. All sort of fun little details~ Might honestly be one of my favorites. If you're good for me, I'll let you explore it~"

THERE it is.

Darkside. Sex and cookies. Sign up today. Fuck you and not in the fun way. Keep your hands to yourself, Collective. You're not convincing me. You could tell me the sky was blue, and I'd make three presentations with a PowerPoint, on why you were a liar. No, still No, and a hefty fuck off No for spice.

Three steps away. Two steps. One.

A man that tall and dangerous? Frankly did NOT need heels. Figures he'd wear them anyway. Sharp enough to kill a man. Right infront of my folded knees. I refuse to look up. No more fucking games. Did have to wonder, though, if those pants... if they even WERE pants? Were painted on or not. Very tight. Looked vaguely metal yet leather.

Shit.

Fingers, splayed wide as they run themselves through my sweaty and probably bloodstained hair. Couldn't have been nice to touch. Wrong angle and just a touch too big to be a Drone. Light as a lover, sweet almost, soothing. Before it inevitably tightens, gripping the strands. Honestly not as hard as I expected, didn't even hurt.

Still, my head is forced back.

Back and back and back, forced to arch my spine, hang awkwardly at some forty-five degree angle. My thighs and abs already screaming. A Drone grabs the back of my armor and, with an almost casual yank, my chest plate is violently snapped free. Both tossed to the floor away from us.

"There we are~" the Face hums down at me, eyes nearly hypnotic in how the light moved from within, grin full of sharp and deadly teeth. "No more of that ugly thing in the way. I much prefer this~"

"Tell me, Little Hero, do you remember? Becoming mine."

No, I certainly do fucking not. What the HELL is he-!? From behind the Face a Drone steps. Dressed differently to the others. Casual clothes. Like... actual street clothes. If they weren't GREEN I never would been able too-...

In horror, I watch as the pigment of the Drones skin melts away to a middling average. So utterly nondescript a blend of ethnicities that it's genuinely hard to place, but won't stand out no matter where he goes in the city.

I... I had seen that face.

SAVED that man.

Thought he was CUTE! T..Thought WE were having some sort of MEET CUTE! Oh God. That was at the festival. I was out of costume. Saved him from getting crushed. Then my teammates handled everything before I could slip away. So I just... stayed. Showed the cute tourist the festivities.

We ate FANCY JAMS, YOU FUCK!

I pined our that cute tourist for WEEKS. Was UNBEARABLE. Tech threatened to shove me off a roof! Oh my god.

Laughter.

Dozens of mouths, laughing in perfect sync. The noise layered and bouncing strangely around the room. Deeper then it should be, higher as it swings. Like a radio or voice modulator that someone is messing with. A momentary loss of control. My anger fizzles out to fear. Oh... oh yeah...

I forgot I was fucked.

At.. at least I know why?

A step forward. Past too close and now basically in my lap. A foot on either side of my knees. I try not to think exactly where my face would be pressed if I wasn't dragged back, to hang near painfully arched, so he could lean down and I could be forced to make eye contact. That way lay madness.

He moved his other hand to my face, cupping it. Dragging his thumb possessively across my mouth. He hummed, pleased.

He pressed closer, sliding down my front to his knees, straddling my lap. REALLY hoped that WAS, in fact, a weapon in your pocket there, buddy. Because I am not liking the handsy direction this is going, nor have I come to terms with my meet cute being a monstrous planet killing warlord. Not feeling sexy, my guy.

....okay, a LITTLE sexy, but that is hormones and we ignore those.

Fuuuuuck, wandering haaaaands! Now would be a GOOD TIME for door kicking rescues! I do NOT want to learn anything new about myself today! I want to go HOME. Sleep forever, maybe! Have a burrito the size of my head! Oh god. Think unsexy thoughts. Math. Sad puppies! Sad puppies doing MATH!

The Collective had dragged me upright. Pressed my face right up against their Face's bare skin. All I could smell was expensive cologne and man. Warm skin. Oh god, I am so gay. This is hell and I am very, VERY gay. If evil, why sexy hot hot hot? Hormones are making very convincing arguments. Horny brain says let's make terrible life choices.

No! Nooooo. Stop it, Me! We are fucking better then this! God damn it, you trainwreck, you are a ROLE MODEL! Act like one! (But horny...) (NO!!!)

God I was never going to mock the fuckers who hesitates at the "sex n cookies" speech again. Persuasive mother FUCKER!

"Aah~" he sighed contentedly, far too close to a moan for my sanity's liking. Hands having finally found the hidden zippers of my undersuit. Slowly dragging it open. "You are FAR too cute~♡"

"I can't wait to get you off this worthless little rock. Back to ME. I'll have so many WAYS to take care of you~ Backups and rudimentary supports we can set up, at least until I get you something proper."

Horrifying. Deeply Horrifying. REALLY never wanted to know what terrified and horny felt like, but here we are. Distantly, I hear thunder. There's no clouds. A flash of red through the skies. Green followed by metallic purple. Oh thank fuck. Keep his attention. Just... just keep his attention.

"We'll use me as a base. Keep you in stasis. Away from all these ugly, dangerous things~! Just you and me. Perfect. BETTER. Infinite and beautiful. I'll make all sort of bodies just for you to play with. Even let you keep this one! If you want. It'll be a precious memory for us, of where you began. How we met."

A mouth on mine. I can't breathe. Can't escape the arms wrapped around me. My protests do little more then waste oxygen. I feel light headed. Come one, team Alliance! He's here! HE'S HERE!!!

"You're going to be MINE, little Hero. I finally figured it out. What I was missing. It was YOU~♡! My beloved, delicate, little thing~. I'm going to take SUCH good care of you."

"Forever~"

[astarionancuntnin]

Die For You (Epilogue)

summary: a year after their confrontation with the corrupted lords, a fleeting thought crosses astarion's mind as he watches you admiring the crack of dawn.

rating: E

word count: 4.5k

pairing: astarion x you (fem!reader)

cw: 18+. time skip, fluff (in my angsty fanfic? its more likely than you think!), emotional smut. full list on ao3

a/n: gods, what a ride! this was my very first long fic, and im very happy with how it turned out, considering i had NO idea how this would end up when i first started it! this ending was one of three, based on the poll yall have taken on the second chapter. i hope it lives up to your expectations and im looking forward to all the feedback! this is not my only work, if you wanna be tagged on my other works, feel free to let me know and ill add you to the tag list. thank you all for sticking along! <3

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You're part of the dawn where the light comes from the dark

You're a part of the morning and everything matters

And we are, an atom and a star

You're a part of the movement and everything matters

-

It has been a year since your transformation. A year since you officially died and came back as Astarion’s dark consort; his bride, his eternal love. Since the incident with the corrupted nobles, you’ve only grown stronger, as much as a vampire – and he couldn’t be more proud of you – than as a couple.

Your return among his court was gradual. You were reluctant at first: the lingering fear from the dreadful soiree you experienced still affected you, so Astarion let you watch from the shadows; he would never force you to do something you didn't want to. It's only after two more months that you asked if you could attend, and only if you could stay by his side; your social anxiety wouldn't let you be alone in a room with so many strangers without feeling as if you were asphyxiated. He was beyond thrilled by your request, as he wanted nothing more than to introduce the whole world to his beloved.

It took some more time, but you found yourself joining in on discussions with lords about the state of the city and its economic state. Your teachings were buried deep in your memory, but you retained the most important parts of them, using those to show your knowledge and bring forward ideas to save the city from its downfall following the mindflayer attack. To your surprise, you found yourself right at your place within the high society; it was in your blood after all, and what was the point of running from it when you were clearly a natural? You found out that it was never your title that you dreaded, but rather the association to your parents and contributing to their schemes — something you were glad to not be a part of anymore.

The change was almost seamless: one day you were attached to Astarion's arm, never leaving his side, and the next, you were strolling through the crowd, knowing everyone's name, their occupation, and how influential they were. While Astarion was able to persuade more nobles to ally with him, you’ve been very successful at swaying people to your advantage, using your charms and wits to redirect power from the right people for the good of the city; together, you’re considered the strongest couple in Baldur’s Gate.

You proved yourself countless times, and he was always delighted to present you as his partner.

His equal.

After yet another successful night of dancing and socialising, one where you had convinced a neighbouring lord to fund an orphanage for the children who had lost their parents in the attack, you met up with your lover in your chambers to celebrate the news. In truth, everything you accomplished was a great reason to celebrate.

To see you act with the might of a Lady, smart and witty, and use every tool you had to your advantage made him swoon over you, and one of the best ways to express it was to worship you in bed, spending hours and hours devoting himself to you.

It’s something you thought you would struggle with — the intimacy after the violence you had endured — but you found yourself easily melting in his embrace once you were back at the palace. Just like that first night you spent together and he had let you guide that dance; upon your return, he let you take control until you were the one asking for him to take you however and wherever he wanted, how you grew to crave his touch, the look in his eyes when a sinful thought was shared across your connection, and the faint blush you could spy on cheeks and ears as he painted his vision of you via your bond. The endless teasing throughout the evening sure made the meetings more interesting, and less dreadful, if you had to admit it.

After a great season of events, Astarion cancelled all his meetings for the next tenday to devote his attention to you, and you only. No one was to disturb either of you unless they had a death wish.

And the night of that last meeting, any restraints had broken down, when you almost threw yourself at each other as soon as your last visitor had left the palace. It started out in the hallways, but you were quickly brought into his room to have the privacy you required. You spent the remainder of the night in bed, switching from making love to cuddling, until you were back to straddle him for more; unable to leave the other’s side or even spend a second without your bodies touching.

He kissed each and every part of your body, showing his devotion to you in such a delicate manner that turned you to putty in his hands, embracing away any pain your body had gone through. This past year, he had been the most attentive lover; always in the moment with you, making sure that your eyes met as his hips collided with yours, sharing the same breath that united you both, body and soul. As your bodies fused and you both came undone, you could sense the love, the utter adoration he had for you. Both of you grounded the other and reminded each other that you were not the result of your past; only you chose what to make of it.

There was no one else in the world who could understand you better than each other.

It’s only when you noticed dawn approaching as you nuzzled into his chest, that you realised how long you had been indulging in the other. You chuckled and commented on how you both could use some sleep, since if one of you was tired, the other would be too, and really, how impractical it would be to have you both incapacitated at once.

He took a look at you as he lazily caressed your hair and that’s when he was reminded of the one thing that had been on his mind these last few months. The one thing he dreaded, but couldn’t avoid anymore.

“There is a way, you know…” he said, his voice soft. “To sever the bond. Between creator and consort.” He pauses as you lift your head, frowning as you meet his gaze, and for a second he doubts if he should carry on, but quickly pushes the doubts aside; you deserved to know. To have a chance to decide for yourself, without any ultimatum.

“It is mostly painless,” he continued, “You would remain as you are, a full fledged vampire, but we wouldn’t share our connection anymore; no more mental discussion, no more shared sensations.” You looked at him with a thousand questions in your eyes, as this was the last thing you expected this morning. “I am willing to go through the procedure for you, should you desire it.”

You remained silent through your blinking, until you finally found the words that fought to get out. “You would… really do that?”

This proposition felt so unlike the Astarion who once had you chained up in his dungeons, something that he had agreed had been, and you quote, ‘impolite’, since you last spoke about it. He didn’t regret it — you wouldn’t be in his arms otherwise — but he supposed there could’ve been a better way to talk to you at the reunion.

“As much as I want to keep you all to myself, I can’t bring myself to keep you bound to me after what you’ve been through. It… wouldn’t be fair for me to make that decision for you. I want you to have the chance to make the choice yourself.”

You scanned his expression, and although you saw the sincerity, you also sensed grief. Breaking your bond would sever any type of connection between you both. A part of you would die along with it, and you would lose the possibility of lingering in each other's mind. Even though you understood his intentions, it didn’t make sense for him to propose this when he finally had you to himself. Against your best judgement, you peeked into his mind, searching for an explanation, and what you found completely shattered you.

By offering this to you, Astarion understood that there was a chance you might just… leave. With nothing holding you back, linking you to him, he thought you had no reason to stay. That the sole reason keeping you here was this bond, and even with how close you had become, how much you had grown together in your relationship, how utterly in love you were — in that moment, under all the false confidence, you saw right through him; he was convinced that once the bond was broken, you would leave. Run away from this mess that had been life at his side, and find someone who truly deserved you, saw you for your worth. That you could only degrade yourself if you stayed after what he had put you through. He didn’t believe for a second that you would continue to put up with this life if you had the choice, and yet, here he was proposing it to you, offering you this way out.

You gave him a soft smile, a reassuring one that you hoped carried the intention you had.

“I… would like that.” He nodded, understanding that this was a possibility, and he hoped you would take this opportunity, if only for your own sake, but it didn't hurt any less. “But I do have a condition.”

He smiled sadly, his features softening at hearing you bargaining, a bittersweet reminder of how all of this started. “Anything for you, my dear.”

It’s the warmth of the sun’s embrace that stirs Astarion awake this morning. Gods, he will never tire of it. If only for this reason, his ascension was well worth it, and no one will ever convince him otherwise.

You let your minds connect, telling him your request through your bond, and when you saw the light sparkle in his ruby eyes and his face light up, you knew there was nothing in the world he would like more.

-

That, and seeing his reflection again. He's lost count of the times he spent admiring himself; pausing at every mirror he had meticulously installed around the palace, stealing glances at his reflection, and lingering at the colour of his deep ruby eyes. Those same eyes that had sealed the fate of so many unfortunate souls; these deadly, beautiful weapons, that keep helping him charm the right people. How he went two hundred years without enjoying the sight of himself has him completely astounded. Needless to say, this was an issue no more, and long gone were the days of misery; Nearly two years later, he had everything he ever wanted, at long last.

Everything, and yet his most prized possession remained this little human fighter turned bride.

Really, the only person he ever truly wanted, that he ever loved, even. A feeling that had felt most foreign once upon a time. He never thought he could experience such a strong emotion, something that was forbidden to him just over three years ago — something he would’ve considered a weakness — turned into his greatest strength. A feeling that overwhelmed him to the point where he couldn’t restrain himself from physically expressing it; taking his dark consort in every room, every surface of the palace, until they were both panting, eyes half-lidded and lost in one another. That same feeling that would now have him chanting out her name all night long as he devoted himself to her; her body, her pleasure, her desire for him. How utterly blessed he was to have her just as enamoured for him as he was for her.

As he finally awakens from his reverie, he quickly picks up on the empty spot next to him. Curious, he thinks, she was never the early bird. When he lifts himself on his elbows, that's when he sees her on his balcony, and he takes the time to admire her; his consort, his love, still by his side through it all, blessed by the rising sun’s warmth. It took over a year more after their engagement, as Astarion couldn’t believe her decision to stay, but he finally got over the fear of losing her. After everything that had happened, and the opportunity she was given, she chose to stay and have a life with him. After everything, she still loved him just as deeply, and that day at the altar, she promised to spend the rest of her undead life showing him just how much she did love him.

Content with the sight of her, he finally gets up to join her on the balcony, without bothering to dress up. He sneaks up on her, snuggling her from behind, his hands wrapping around her waist, while he leaves playful kisses along her neck and shoulder to greet her.

“Mmmh, hello my treasure,” he murmurs in the crook of her neck. “Can’t sleep?”

“I was just admiring the sun,” she hums. “It’s funny, I never really bothered to appreciate it until I thought I could never be under its light,” she takes a deep breath as she closes her eyes, taking in the warmth she was basking in. “I never quite realised how beautiful this world is.”

She sighs in his embrace, but it's almost a moan, as she pushes back against him for more contact, “I didn’t think I would disturb you from your precious beauty sleep.”

He can hear her smile through her mumbling, and he smiles in return, “It’s your sleep I’m rather worried about dear.” His kisses linger on her neck, over the bite marks he birthed upon her skin an eternity ago. “And I think you should join me back in bed to remedy it.”

She laughs, “I’m not sure your idea of rest coincides with mine,” she turns around to face him and rests her hands on his bare chest. “Actually, I rather believe you will wear me out more than anything.”

He smirks as he presses her against the edge of the balcony, lifting her nightgown up before propping her up to rest atop it, guiding her legs to wrap around him. “Do you really think so little of me? That I would drag you to bed only to satisfy my carnal desires?”

“Well,” she rolls her eyes as she smiles, “you haven’t given me a reason that proves you would do otherwise.”

She wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him closer to her, and in the same movement, he wraps his arms around her waist and leans into the nape of her neck, resuming his sweet attention. When his smile widens, he feels the creases in his cheeks, depicting the countless moments of happiness she brought him since she has blessed him with her company.

“I assure you, my love, my intentions were most pure,” he purrs.

She tilts her head aside, offering him more liberties with her neck. “Were they now? Well, if you say so, then I’m sure I can trust you to carry me to bed where I shall resume my rest.”

“Ah, but I’m afraid the offer has expired. You see,” his finger hooks the string of her nightgown, pulling it down, “now, all I can offer,” he pulls down the other one, revealing your breasts to the morning breeze, “is a morning spent fulfilling our matrimonial duties.” “Matrimonial duties?” She exclaims ironically. “What unholy thoughts have you got in mind, I wonder.”

“I could show you, if you would indulge me,” his kisses over her skin become sloppy, his teeth softly grazing her skin while his tongue leaves a faint trail of saliva from her shoulder up to her ear, playfully nibbling it, while one hand reaches for her breast and the other finds its way in the heat between her legs.

“Ah– Astarion…” Her playful tone is replaced by soft moans as he takes a salacious pleasure in touching her in her most sensitive spots.

“What’s that, dear?” His fingers slide against her folds, not yet daring to dip further.

She groans, “You are incorrigible.”

“And yet, I don’t hear you asking me to stop,” he pinches her nipple between his fingers with the hand massaging her generous chest, while his other hand brushes over her clit, lingering near her entrance but intentionally avoiding it. As he hears her ragged breath, he pulls away, cutting any contact between the two of them, and languidly sucks on his fingers to taste her wetness, while his gaze focuses on her, before releasing his fingers with a pop. He tilts his head, with a playful look in his eyes, “Unless that’s what you want?”

She looks at him with lust clouding her vision, barely containing herself, “If you intend on teasing me, my lord, I hope you know what you’ve got coming for you.”

He leans back, assessing the vision of his consort completely lost in her need for him, with a salacious smile tugging at his lips, “My, my, is my little love threatening me?”

“Oh no,” her hands sneak into his hair to grab a handful of it before lightly pulling back and leaning into his ear, murmuring, “This is a promise.”

She lets go of his hair, leaving her hands wandering, and when their eyes meet again, they are darkened by their shared passion for each other. His voice comes out deeper, as he closes the distance between them, their lips now but a whisper apart.

“Then I believe I should make haste to tend to your needs, my lady.”

Their lips finally meet into a passionate kiss, the tenderness of it even surprising Astarion — considering the eager tone she had previously used — but he melts into it, pouring all of his longing into the kiss, just as she does when her hands pull back to hold his face closer. He picks her up from the edge of the balcony and carries her back into their room, where he lays her out on their bed and removes her nightgown, slowly unravelling her soft skin to the morning afterglow. The sight of her, bare before him — only for him; with her legs parted and inviting him in, her body bearing only the bite marks he had given her — is enough to break any restraints left in him. He couldn’t bear to tease her longer, he needed her as much as she needed him.

Licking his lips, he kneels at the end of the bed, crawling his way up to his wife. He lifts her leg over his shoulder, leaving a trail of kisses up to the apex of her thighs, until he reaches the centre of his desire. He breathes her in, the scent of her pleasure stirring something deep within him, before his tongue finds its way between her slick folds, where he finally licks her, from the bottom of her entrance right up to her clit.

She moans softly, already lost to the magic of his tongue, and that's when he lifts her thighs over his shoulders, locking her legs around him, and holding them in place to feast on his meal.

His tongue dives into her, reaching into the depth of her cunt and drinking in her nectar, the effects of it visibly affecting him, as his hardened cock throbs between his belly and the soft sheets of the bed. His hips move unconsciously, searching for a temporary relief as he moves his tongue out of her to lick his way back up, where he finds her swollen bud.

While his hand sneaks away from her thighs, into her dripping entrance, his eyes flick up to find her unravelling before him; her head thrown back, and her hands grabbing at the sheets, holding on for dear life.

“Gods, please…” she begs, her breathing failing her, and he smiles between her legs, as he pumps two fingers into her.

With a final flick of his tongue over her clit, he lifts his head up, still hitting that sweet spot inside of her, “Yes, little love?”

“I… I need you— gods, I need you.”

“You have me, my love,” he says, his voice soft like velvet. “All of me, however you wish.”

He knew what she meant, but he wanted to hear her say it. He would never tire of having her melt under his touch, coming apart under him.

“Inside me,” she whimpers as she clenches around his fingers working wonders inside of her. “Now.”

The urgency of her tone was clearly noticeable, but Astarion wants to push her further, “But I am inside you, my dear.”

She lifts herself up on her elbows, her hair completely dishevelled and her chest rising with each deep breath, staring down her husband with a mix of fury and lust. “If you don’t fuck me right this instant— Ahhh ffffuck!”

While she was talking, Astarion went back to teasing her sensitive bud and accelerating the pace of his fingers thrusting in. “Oh, I’ll fuck you alright. By the time I'm done with your delicious cunt, you’ll only see stars, my sweet.”

He could easily make her go over the edge only with his mouth and his fingers; he had done it countless times in the past already, he was well aware of his abilities, but nothing compared to the feeling of her tightening around his cock and milking him dry while he pumped every drop of his seed into her. It was his favourite way to come with her, and he took great pleasure in making her shatter in every way imaginable. They had all the time in the world to discover the many ways she would cum under his touch.

“Mmh ahh— Pleasepleaseplease Astarion, I want to feel you inside of me, I’m begging you—” Her words get lost in her throat, instead replaced by cries as she nears her climax, until—

“Ah,” Astarion pulls away completely, “but how could I deny my lovely wife when she begs so beautifully.”

Her groans turn into small cries as his teasing starts to overwhelm her, and that’s when he drops her legs down on their bed and crawls over her, aligning himself with her swollen pussy, before linking their hands together to pin her down. He leans down and stops right before kissing her, simply to push her to the limits of her patience, and when she hisses at him for being just out of reach, he shoves his cock inside of her, stilling her.

He remains unmoving, always taking his time with his first thrust to take in the feelings of her tight walls, pulsing around him. Astarion rests his forehead on hers, their eyes lost in the other, carrying the words they had learned to communicate aloud after they had broken their bond.

Carrying on with this ritual had pushed them to communicate better and work on their relationship, creating a new type of bond with the other. They had learned to understand the other’s body language so well that sometimes, a simple look was enough to communicate their exact thoughts from across the room.

His fingers dig into the mattress as he tightens his hold on her, and he resumes his languid strokes, “Focus darling. I want to see every little expression you make while I fuck you. Can you do that for me?”

She tries to nod, but his depraved speech only pushes her further and faster to her climax, as she fights to keep her eyes open and focused on him.

When he feels her cunt’s grip thighten around him, he can barely contain himself anymore, “Fuck, just like that, love,” his groans and the wet sound of their hips slapping against each other gets only louder as he accelerates the pace, nearing his own climax, “Gods, you’re so tight around me— I’m gonna fill you up to the brim, and you’re gonna take it all like the good girl you are.”

A few more thrusts is all it takes to send her over the edge, screaming out as her climax erupts through her like electricity flowing through her veins, followed quickly by Astarion who stills inside of her, shooting thick ropes of come that leak out from her, into their bedsheets. It was the least of his worries right now — he could always change them later, but they would be ruined in the following hour regardless.

They both remain panting, basking in the bliss of this aftermath, until he takes a look at their hands still intertwined. On her right hand, he spies the sparkling diamond ring adorning her finger, the public display of their unison matching his own, and he brings it to his lips for a brief kiss, before taking the time to admire it, thinking back to how it all started.

“I told you, Lady Ancunín suits you beautifully, my love.”

She smiles sweetly, eyes tired from their lovemaking, “I wouldn't have it any other way.”

And he knew she spoke the truth. Their marriage didn't only solidify their relationship, but it protected her from solicitors who might've been tempted to try giving her advances after the news of Virric's death had been propagated, and by taking Astarion's last name, she was free from any remaining links to her family, a name she detached herself from completely years ago already, now legally unbinded.

She didn't even need to explain the extent of her reasoning; the second she proposed, Astarion was on his way to commission matching rings for them. Truth be told, he had wanted to make the proposal himself, but after knowing of her past with Virric, he didn’t dare bring it up first. She did give him the chance to announce the news at their next soiree, and it's the only thing he had spoken about that evening.

They would be Aeterna Amantes. Lovers forever, until the world burns down.

Gods know that he would burn the world down himself if she merely asked — not that she would ever, he knew her better than that — and she was the only one he would ever get on his knees for.

She was the goddess who finally answered his prayers that had gone unanswered all these years ago; the sun that made him feel alive once more; the brightest star that guided him throughout the night; the very reason he decided to live on, and yet, if it came to it, he knew he would die for her.

-

Pars avant l'aube

Quand la lumière veut nous voir

Quelque part dans le monde

Un oiseau s'endort sans bruit

Toi et moi

Dans la nuit on trouvera

Quelque part où déposer

Les fleurs qu'on a cueillies

Thank you for reading! Comments, reblogs, and likes are very much appreciated <3

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Pages Turned (Nesta Week Day 2 - Metamorphosis)

Day 2 of @nestaarcheronweek

The sun was blinding on the Sidra as Nesta looked out from the balcony of the River House. Her dress swayed around her in the light breeze, swirling around her ankles as she looked out towards the distant mountains. As long as it had taken her to admit it, she truly considered this place her home. In fact, she could see her literal home from here, stretching across the great mountain face overlooking the city.

Maybe she could swindle the house into some lemon-peach tea and another slice of raspberry tart tonight.

She loved Velaris most this time of year, the flowers of early spring popping through the ground, signaling rebirth and things starting anew. She could see the vast gardens surrounding the eastern and back sides of the River House from this balcony. Elain had done a lovely job curating them all by hand years ago. As she grew more and more comfortable in her fae form, she had enchanted them to shift with the seasons, carefully selecting the colors to complement each other and parts of the garden to always be in bloom throughout the year. Nesta smiled to herself–her sister was a female of many talents.

Another warm light breeze pushed against her, causing her to sigh as the lovely scents of lemon and the sea pressed into her skin. She could smell a smattering of other scents below, the remnants of guests arriving for the ceremony taking place today. In amongst them she could just barely pluck out the scent of Cass, somewhere downstairs talking Az off a ledge, no doubt.

She’d only recently left the room where she’d been with all the other females all morning, pinning and zipping and tying and laughing. She’d left to grab some snacks and finish her own preparations for her role as the “Valkyrie of Honor”, as Cass had teasingly called it, neither mate willing to surrender her to the other side for the ceremony.

Her hair still needed styling, so she turned back to the guest room, stepping carefully across the threshold from the porch and sitting primly at the vanity. She’d brought some jeweled pins specifically for the occasion, silver and dotted with tiny blue gems. She laughed to herself at the little joke.

As she looked in the mirror and began to twist and pull her long strands of hair into place, she thought, not for the first time, how thankful she was to have managed all this–to even be here at all.

Nesta had never been one for reflection, choosing instead to plow steadfastly ahead no matter the circumstances, obstacles, or otherwise in her way. She found there had been little time in her life to ruminate on the “what ifs” for whatever reason, and ultimately, she’d mostly broken herself of the very human habit. Even when it hurt, even when she fought tooth and nail, even when it felt as though her still-beating heart had been torn from her chest, Nesta always ended up where she needed to be and not a moment too soon.

Sure, she would have liked to experience a bit less of the heartbreak life had doled out to her, but in her time as an immortal, she’d come to grips with much of that. There would never be a right time for hardships–of course not–but Nesta was at a point now where she genuinely liked who she was for the first time since she could remember. It wasn’t because others had given her approval, it wasn’t because she’d done “enough” to earn her peace–Nesta just genuinely liked herself.

She was, dare she even think it, happy.

The Firstborn.

Nesta might have been happy as a child, but the memories were too hazy to recall. She didn’t remember a time before Elain, barely remembered a time before Feyre, but she remembered her lessons. From the time she could walk, she was in classes: etiquette, ballroom, needlepoint, pianoforte, singing, modern languages, and painting.

Her grandmother would watch as she would plié, jeté, arabesque around the echoing room, thrumming her sharply with a switch any time her footwork was off and harshly adjusting her posture until her chin pointed to the heavens. She knew better than to fight back, knew better than to complain, knew the only way it would ever end was if she did as she was told.

She remembered being jealous of Elain having more freedom and Feyre being able to be loose and free. For Elain, being around others came so naturally. She was outgoing, friendly, and warm. Feyre was wild, always romping about the woods and the streams and the nearby village, covered in dirt and cursing. Nesta wondered all the time why she’d been born first. What had the universe decided that rendered their order so concrete that she’d be eternally doomed to watching her two little sisters live the lives she craved? She remembered seeing them from the windows of the dance studio, wondering why she couldn’t be outside, too.

Nesta, your power is within your station, and your station means absolutely nothing without skill. Your beauty is a weapon–your social skills a knife. If you don’t sharpen it, you’ll be as worthless as anyone else.

So they practiced, and practiced, and practiced until Nesta’s toes bled. Until the smile on her face was as shallow and cracked as a dry lake bed, but muscle memory would deliver it on a silver platter regardless.

At night, when there was no one left to hear, she would cry, her shoulders heaving in the quiet dark, and she would dream every night about flying away from this place, far over the distant mountains and streams. Far away from her mother and grandmother and expectations of a life that would never be lived for herself anyway.

When Nesta’s grandmother died, she wasn’t sad, but she mourned appropriately. When her mother was taken not even two years later, she hated the spark of hope that rang through her chest. Freedom. She could have that freedom.

It didn’t last long before she realized what it meant.

Her father lost their money, her sisters lost their joy, and she lost the last flare of hope as she realized the sacrifices that she would be making. Had she been happy before, then? In that brief moment in between? Hope and happiness weren’t the same, but that small glance of freedom had tasted so sweet. She started having those dreams again of flying–great wings, almost bright red in the light of the sun, gliding through the sky and carrying her to somewhere better, something greater than this.

In those dreams, at least, she could pretend to be happy.

The Sister.

When Feyre was taken, the dreams changed. She was no longer flying high, but being held down, a great beast that shifted between the form of a wolf and a bear and Tomas Mandray in a barn. She woke up in cold sweats in the manor that was haunted with ghosts no one but her could see. As Elain bloomed under this new money, her father became the person she remembered, Nesta withdrew, remembering her mother’s words and sharpening herself once again to be used as a weapon.

The world moved on, but she stayed–the only one who seemed to recognize this for all it was.

So she hardened herself further, and she walked into town with a bag of dirty fae money, threw it at the feet of a mercenary trading pelts, and demanded to be taken to the wall. Three days and nights they trekked through the terrifying woods, her hair standing on end the entirety of the trip. She swore she heard voices whispering quietly from behind the trees. She wondered if, by the time she arrived, Feyre would even still be living.

Each night, she fell asleep clutching a knife to her chest and staring at the stars until her eyes could no longer hold themselves open. She dreamed of a beautiful golden cage, a city by a river, and a low, red glow of light while a man cried nearby. The sadness overwhelmed her so vividly that she woke up feeling devastated all over again.

The trip to the wall meant nothing in the end. They couldn’t find a way through, and so they repeated the whole journey over again, the fear turning to icy resolve in her heart. Elain and her father might not remember, but she would.

Brick by brick on the journey back, Nesta resurrected her walls. They had their money back, but in the end, her circumstances had not changed. She would still be expected to marry, still be forced into the life she was bred for. In the end, Nesta was always made to be a weapon of society meant to serve her family and then another, so she’d ready herself for a new kind of hardness in her demeanor; she would give herself new safe holds within her mind and heart.

When she’d finally seen her sister again, Feyre had been changed–different–and so had she. Feyre was determined and in love, a feeling Nesta had long since given up on. And Nesta was stone cold–her resolve liquifying in her veins like glacial ire. But Feyre was home, and when she painted with Nesta, the patience in her voice nearly tore Nesta to shreds.

She steeled her face, held her lips thin, but her heart, or what was left of it, shattered to bits, leaving her a fragmented mess of nothingness in its wake as she said goodbye yet again to the littlest sister she’d been expected to protect and constantly failed.

The Weapon.

In the end, Nesta was made into a weapon. Not for society, not for a husband, but a true, honest weapon. She’d had everything taken from her when she’d thought there had been nothing left to take, and as she sunk into the icy depths of a childhood fairytale turning into a living nightmare, it tried to take some more.

All her years of training, all the words about her sharpness, every single time someone had called her hard, difficult, cold, unfeeling–she channeled it all. She let her unending rage fuel her, scraping and struggling and demanding.

As the Cauldron took from her, she took back.

Disembodied voices of all ages and genders screamed around her in the dark, fathomless water, but she pulled and screamed and yanked and shrieked until the powers gave way and silence took over. She floated, thoughtless and ephemeral, until the waters began to ebb and flow and she crested to a light above her, the new power humming in her veins as her fingers found arched ears and her eyes found him.

He who had come into her home when she was cold and hard and angry at the world, preening and strutting like some insipid bird-brained idiot. He who called her Nes instead of Nesta. He who acted as though he was utterly indestructible, drawing sneers from her lips as he smiled smugly at her from across the room. He who had taken shot after shot of magic to protect her, shredding his beautiful wings in the process. He whose wings were illuminated by the ward-breaking magic behind him, lighting up and glowing red and stealing her breath as she recognized them from her dreams.

Truly, she didn’t mind being fae. She hadn’t wanted it, hated that the choice had been taken from her like all choices had, but for the first time in her life, Nesta felt powerful. She felt a power in her veins to match the power she’d felt in her stubborn will, her anger, her rage. She liked the arched ears, she liked that she wouldn’t age, she liked that people were afraid of what she could do.

All this scattered to ashes when she’d been ready to die with Cassian, when she took the head off the king.

Power meant nothing to her if it couldn’t save him.

Afterward, when everyone was okay, she thought she might ride the wave of that power forever–might embrace the image of her beheading the king and add it to her collection of things that made her feel strong. But instead, when she looked at her father’s burning body, all she heard was his neck cracking over and over and her steely resolve shattered like glass. All she saw was Cassian being blown from the sky, ceasing to exist as she called his name, and every defense she’d ever built scattered like dandelions in the wind.

Even with all the suffering–even with all the power–she could never protect those she cared about. The only thing she could do for herself was push them all away so it didn’t hurt so much. All she could do was try to feel nothing at all. She was a monster. The words echoed in her head.

I loved you from the first moment I held you in my arms. And I am… I am so sorry, Nesta - my Nesta. I am so sorry, for all of it.

Nesta–my Nesta.

Nesta–my Nesta.

Nesta–my Nesta.

My Nesta.

She’d done this. She’d pushed him away. He’d saved their lives, and it didn’t excuse the years before, but she’d never told him. She’d only tortured him. She’d never told him, and now she never would.

Now, Nesta only dreamed of fires and the cracking of bone.

The Wreck.

Nesta had gone to the beach once as a child. Her mother had allowed her and Elain to swim, though Feyre had been too little. Nesta remembered how the sand pulled in the water from beneath her feet, coming and going with each push and pull of the waves. She remembered being in awe of the power in front of her, the strength in those waves. She remembered being worried if she went under, she may never come back up.

That’s what it felt like in Velaris. Everything was blurry around her, the sounds and sights and smells muffled despite her senses being sharper than they’d ever been before. She felt like she was being pulled under those waves, and every time she tried to come back up for air, something pushed her back beneath.

Cassian tried to speak with her, but every time he did she couldn’t see anything but her body draped over his, throat raw and soul willing to die with him on that battlefield.

Feyre tried to talk to her, but every time she did, all she could see were her father’s features on the face of a fae, his neck snapping like a branch in a storm.

She tried to talk herself out of it, but every day was torture. She couldn’t bathe because it reminded her of the Cauldron. She couldn’t eat because she felt too ill. She couldn’t talk to anyone because her voice might crack, and if they asked her about it, the tight leash she held might snap and she would never get it back in hand.

So Nesta returned to her roots, building that wall up piece by piece until it was even stronger than before.

She spent her nights in her apartment, alone and filling the void with everything she could. Alcohol to numb her pain and quiet her thoughts, gambling to distract her, men–males–to ease the loneliness that ached down to her very bones. It wasn’t enough, it was never enough, but it was all she had.

She knew she could seek out her sister, knew she could even seek out Cassian, but then she’d have to face it all, and she couldn’t. She couldn’t even contemplate the possibility.

But sometimes, at night, as the males snored by her side in a bed that was too cold, she imagined it was Cassian she’d brought home, his hands warm and broad on her body, his chest pressed to her back, his lips roaming her neck. Sometimes, she pictured it was him as she cried, leaned against the door to the bathroom as she let the tears fall where no one else could possibly see.

“It’s okay, Nes. It’s all going to be okay.”

She wanted to believe it, but she didn’t. Nesta didn’t dream anymore.

The Valkyrie.

Nesta wasn’t expecting the recovery when it came. She wasn’t expecting to recover at all.

In fact, the first thing she felt outside of her own despair was rage. Rage and wrath and fury that everyone else was given their space to grieve as they saw fit. Everyone but her, and only because she was embarrassing Feyre.

Everyone had given Elain time to be a useless, depressed, ghost of a person. Everyone allowed her to kick Lucien away like a mongrel on the street. But no, not Nesta. Not the mate of a member of their elite friend group. Not the sister who refused to bend for them.

The world had taken enough from her, and she wasn’t going to let some well-dressed bat and his friends pressure her into feeling the things that she’d carefully shoved away.

But then they did anyway. Every time Nesta thought there was nothing left to take, something else was taken.

Buried in her rage and ignoring her grief, however, she had found something she hadn’t been looking for–kinship. Understanding.

Gwyn and Emerie had not been expected, but for the first time in her life, it felt like she’d been given something instead of forced into giving it away. They understood her in a way that her own sisters never had. They didn’t expect anything of her except for her to wake up and face the day with them as they did themselves. They were all healing in their own way until one day they realized they had been healing together.

Strangely, finding her chosen sisters did not push her farther away from her own. She found, instead, that she respected her sisters and their choices in a whole new light. In learning to give and accept love in the way she’d never done before, she saw how they’d been set up to fail from the start by their family, by their dynamic.

Breaking free from it all had allowed Nesta to heal and see things with new eyes. Knowing that it hadn’t only been her doing everything she could to survive, but her sisters too, let her give freely what she’d withheld so fervently from others, but most of all from herself: forgiveness.

Finding a purpose had fulfilled Nesta in ways she’d never experienced, and finding it with people she loved made the victory so much sweeter. For once, the things she built up brick by brick were not her walls, but her fortitude, her bravery, her trust, and her openness. She found she liked the feeling of pushing herself into something uncomfortable and new, and she stopped leaving claw marks on every part of her she’d had to leave behind.

When Nesta began to dream again, she was afraid that she would return to those nightmares: Cassian injured, her father dying, the fathomless depths of the Cauldron. She wondered if she’d now be greeted by Cassian with a knife, Briallyn with the crown, the swords coming down on her again and again on Ramiel as she fought to make sure her sisters survived.

Instead, when she dreamed, she saw white ribbons, her nephew, and a family that she chose for herself. She was dreaming of wings in the skies again, soft hands on her as the glow of the sun and the siphons bathed her in a warm red glow, and the low words rumbling in her ear and wrapping straight around her immortal heart.

“Hello, Nes.”

The Mate.

Nesta remembered the final step, allowing her guard down enough to let Cassian in to stay. She fought the urge to push him out, to keep that space in her heart silent and cold as it had always been. But his warmth and his joy and his laugh and his love found their way in, nestling within her ribs like a cat in a ray of sun.

She found, at the end of the day, it was impossible to not love Cass. And as much as she’d insisted they hadn’t been well matched, she found every single part of him complemented every single part of her.

Once she allowed herself to love and be loved in return, she was surprised to find that her default actually wasn’t cold and alone. In fact, Nesta found she loved to be held, loved to wake up with that heat at her back, loved to feel his strong hands on her, always–at meals, at training, in passing, and at night. She loved the steadiness of him, of her mate.

The Lord of Bloodshed and Lady Death were only soft for each other and those they loved, and that was how it would remain.

Nesta looked out again to the lovely mountains of Velaris, the Sidra glittering below in the mid-afternoon sun. She could hear the chatter on the other side of the house as everyone prepared for the mating ceremony. She’d been organizing and helping to set this up for months, and she was not about to be late to see her work come to fruition. She was sure Cass was already downstairs socializing.

As if she’d summoned him, his booming laugh bounded through the halls of the house, and she couldn’t help but grin as she pressed one last pin into her hair.

A quiet knock on the door before it opened had her turning in the chair.

“Nesta? We’re all just about set to go. You ready?” Feyre had poked her head through the door. “Oh, you look lovely!”

Nesta blushed. Even after all these years, it was hard to accept compliments so freely from her sister.

“Yes, all set! Just finishing up my hair. Is Az shitting his pants yet?”

“Not quite, but he is pacing a hole in the floor. Cassian has been trying to slow him down.” She responded with a giggle, holding out a hand for Nesta to take.

“Well, we’d best not keep them waiting.” She took Feyre’s hand in hers, the other supporting her swollen belly as she came to stand. She rubbed a hand over it, feeling a swift kick in return. It never failed to make her soul feel like it was about to take off over the peaks of Velaris.

She smiled, feeling the tiny winged babe wriggle around beneath her ribs. It wouldn’t be much longer now and they’d have this little one in their arms. The thought of Cass with their child snuggled into his bare chest while she listened to him tell them stories made her heart swell with warmth, and she suddenly couldn’t wait to get down the stairs to see him again.

The Mother.

Biggest thank you to @cauldronblssd, @witch-and-her-witcher, and @tunaababee for the beta reads! I love youuuu

[janaem]

Let Me Rule You

Jareth x f.reader

This is chapter 1 (Entranced) | Chapter 2 (Wish)

Synopsis: She never imagined that she would once again be drawn into the enchanting world of fictional characters, a place she had not ventured into for many years. However, on a warm summer Saturday night, everything changed as she found herself captivated by the enigmatic goblin king, Jareth, while watching the mesmerizing film "Labyrinth." Word count: 5.4k (20 pages)

Warnings for this chapter: swearing and arguments

Key:Y/n= your name | L/n= last name | M/n= mom name |d/n= dog name

For visual purposes, here is the house you are living in.

Author note: It's sure been a while since I wrote something as long as this. I hope you all enjoy this first chapter as much as I did! I don't intend for this to be a slow burn, but I'm sure not rushing to the climax either. Things will definitely start to progress in the chapters to come at a reasonable pace since I'm aiming for this to be only a few chapters. I will also be publishing this on ao3 and wattpad:)

The dusk was calm, and the only movements were the swaying of the trees in the warm midsummer breeze. The dark green leaves of the trees fell sporadically on the fresh pavement street of Evansville. It is a typical upper-middle-class suburb located on the outskirts of the great city, beyond its beautiful lake. During the summer, Evansville is usually bustling with life. Kids can be seen racing on their scooters while their parents watch from the front lawn of their craftsman and single-family-style homes. Teenagers speed down Sherhigh Avenue by the Lakefront with their windows rolled down, blasting music and singing the lyrics. The beaches are always full from morning till nearly midnight.

Nestled close to the tranquil lakefront was Nordstin Street, which exuded an air of a close community feel. From afternoon till night, the neighborhood was painted with playful children and their parents' laughter on their lawns, the jingle of ice cream trucks, and frequent splashes from small backyard pools.

But once dusk faded away, it was different. The winds picked up abruptly around four thirty and leaves started dancing in a choreographed frenzy while flower petals broke free from their delicate confines. The windows of these sturdy homes rattled, adding a discordant note to the chaos. The tides of the lake were more than violent, threatening to engulf anything in their path. The crashing waves against the cluster of boulders are reminiscent of clashing symbols. 

In the heart of Nordstin, a grand single-family home exudes warmth and elegance. The gray fiber cement exterior, adorned with white accents, perfectly complements the intricately decorated gray brick roof. The beautiful porch is a work of art, supported by sturdy white stone pillars, making it both practical and stunning.

In the vast living room downstairs, an eighteen-year-old, Y/n,  lounged on the cream sectional sofa, surrounded by plush beige pillows of varying textures. With one pillow snug against her torso, she tuned into the news forecast, her gaze fixed on the screen as she observed the latest updates.

The male news reporter's voice filled the room, his words a solemn warning. "The winds are blowing at 26 miles per hour," he announced, his tone carrying a sense of urgency. "It's best to stay home if you don't need to be outside, especially away from water." 

Suddenly, a harsh voice from the kitchen shatters the tranquility, disrupting Y/n's peace of mind.

Y/n’s mother, m/n, walked urgently from the kitchen and halted at the entrance of the living room, wearing an unpleasant expression. She holds a meticulously cleaned empty Tupperware container in her left hand. 

“Y/n,  did you eat the last of the lasagna?” She asked, shaking the container so it was brought to Y/n’s attention. 

Y/n looked over at her displeased mother and replied dryly, "Yeah."

Her mother gives her a repulsed look, “Why? What makes you think it’s okay to eat up everything in this house and not leave anything left for anyone?” 

Y/n gave her a look of offense, sitting up from her leisure posture, her voice remained level, “Those were the only leftovers I ate. And you told me that I could  help myself to whatever I wanted today.”  

“That doesn’t mean you eat a whole thing of lasagna, Y/n. You can’t always think about yourself!” 

“It wasn’t even half of a container mom, relax.” 

“Don’t tell me to relax. I know what was in there.”

“Can you please stop yelling?” 

“I’m not yelling! This is how I talk.”

Already feeling fatigued from the ongoing conversation, Y/n released a small, exhausted sigh, grabbed the remote, and switched from the news channel in search of something else to ease her mind.

However, the fuming woman continued, “You could’ve called me asking if you could save me some because that is a lot for one person.”

“It wasn’t.” Y/n had completely given up.

“Okay, Y/n,” m/n scoffed, walking back into the kitchen, “This is ridiculous, you think about nobody else but yourself.  Your dad and I are already paying for your college, and the least you can do is not act selfish all the time!”

Y/n turned up the volume of the television, finally finding a show that piqued her interest. Unfortunately, she could still hear the immature mutters of her mother’s complaints.

“It’s all about Y/n, Y/n, Y/n…never thinking about anyone else…that’s sad…this is ridiculous!...eat something healthy…never seen anything like it…eighteen years old…”

“So fucking extra,” Y/n huffed, turning down the volume of the television. She throws the pillow from where it landed with the other pile of pillows on the couch and walks up to her room, considering watching a movie there instead. Maybe she’ll Facetime her friend to vent about how unbearable her mom was acting again. 

It wasn't uncommon for Y/n and her mother to engage in disputes, which seemed to arise almost daily, creating an atmosphere of constant tension. By now, Y/n was used to it, maintaining a more composed demeanor. However, there are times when she'll mirror or even exceed her mother's outbursts. Their relationship wasn't entirely negative, but it was far from fulfilling. As for her father, Y/n's connection with him was characterized by neutrality with a more manageable dynamic. He was currently on a trip with her uncle and a few friends at Turks & Caicos and won’t be back for another five days.

Y/n walked into her room, paying no attention to the insistent buzzing of her phone on her eider white desk. She sank into her plush queen-sized bed, surrounded by a sea of pillows and stuffed animals, and disappeared under the soft covers, letting out a long sigh of satisfaction.

She didn't want to get too hot under the covers in her oversized hoodie, so she shifted to a more upright position, reached under a nearby pillow, retrieved the remote, and switched on the television. The clock on the top right-hand corner of the starting page displayed 9:45 pm. She then clicked on one of the streaming apps and started browsing through the movies, uncertain of her current mood.

Y/n, with a deep appreciation for classic films, gravitated towards the 80s-90s subcategory. The screen was filled with a vibrant array of movie covers competing for her attention. As she scrolled through the seemingly endless list of movies, Y/n's eyes eagerly scanned the colorful and nostalgic offerings.

She scrolled through rows and rows of movies of all kinds, eventually getting bored and heading over to the sidebar for a better selection. There, subcategories of the 80s and 90s movies appeared: Action, Romance, Documentary, thriller…

Fantasy.

It has been a while since Y/n watched any fantasy-related films, especially older ones with effects that she found to be somewhat uncoordinated and eerie. However, curiosity got the best of her, so she clicked on it, and a series of other subcategories dropped down: Animation, Fairy Tale, Steampunk, Vampires...

Cult films.

Y/n furrowed her eyebrows at the name, “Cult?” she whispered as if she was sounding it out for the first time.

As she clicked on the remote, a rush of warmth and excitement filled her chest. Her eyes eagerly scanned the screen, searching for a familiar movie. Despite having watched The Neverending Story countless times, she scrolled past it along with other movies like The Dark Crystal, Short Circuit, Big Trouble in Little China, and The Goonies. 

Yet, an inexplicable urge drove her to keep searching. After a few more minutes, she suddenly paused, as if an unseen force prevented her thumb from clicking the arrow button, and her gaze settled on a movie she had never come across before.

Jim Henson’s Labyrinth.

Y/n felt an overwhelming and unexplainable sensation coursing through her body as she gazed at the movie cover and its title. It seemed to evoke a powerful wave of nostalgia, captivating her as she fixed her eyes on the glowing screen.

She clicked on the movie, reading its summary.

“Sixteen-year-old Sarah is given thirteen hours to solve a labyrinth and rescue her baby brother Toby when her wish for him to be taken away is granted by the Goblin King Jareth.”

“Poor girl,” Y/n commented as she pressed play, where the credits roll while a white barn owl flies around. Her dog, D/n, shoved the door open with their nose and climbed into bed with her, lying at her legs.

Y/n was captivated by the film's cinematic elements and grainy aesthetic. In particular, she found the character Sarah Williams, to be incredibly gorgeous. Despite her beauty and gentle appearance, Y/n observed that Sarah's behavior didn't align, from her furious stomping into the house to her tendency to catastrophize minor inconveniences. 

Y/n grimaced at the first appearance of the goblins, all jumbled up as they awoke from their slumber. Their raspy and grating voices matched their grotesque appearances.  When they emerged in the bedroom after Sarah's brother went missing, they appeared in various parts of the room--- under the bedsheets, inside closets, behind the door. Sarah looked around frantically, unable to catch a break. Then, suddenly, the same white barn owl from the movie's beginning barges into the room through the balcony doors and lunges at Sarah. Startled, Sarah shields her eyes, and then a human shadow emerges at Sarah's feet.

The once barn owl had been mystically transformed into a human being. Y/n took in his lithe stature, which stood in a way that excluded flamboyance and regal confidence. His long, dark, and dramatic coat, adorned with intricate designs and embellishments, billowed in the wind as he made his captivating presence known on screen.

"You're him, aren't you? You're the Goblin King." 

The Goblin King tilts his head, offering Sarah a proud smirk. Y/n couldn't help but notice his untamed, tousled blond locks that framed his face, enhancing his unconventional and otherworldly allure.

"Sarah…go back to your room. Play with your toys and your costumes. Forget about the baby."

His voice flowed like honey, smooth and melodious. Y/n had heard that voice before, possessed by others, yet the Goblin King made it uniquely captivating with its rich, velvety timbre.

"I've brought you a gift."

"It's a crystal, nothing more."

The Goblin King outstretched his gloved hand, and a translucent ball appeared out of thin air. Y/n's eyebrows raised in awe as he effortlessly juggled it about his hands in a way she'd never seen before. It rolled from one hand to another, from his fingertips to the palm of his hand.

"But if you turn it this way and look into it, it'll show you your dreams."

As the film played, Y/n was entirely captivated by the intricate and fantastical journey unfolding before her. She couldn't help but admire Sarah's courageous interactions with the strange and repulsive creatures, except the adorable worm at the beginning. Fairies, goblins, and monsters filled the screen, leaving Y/n in awe of the film's grungy artistry.

She started taking a liking to Hoggle, although he is a coward, he truly cared for Sarah and her wellbeing, which is the type of friend that anyone could need in such desperate times.  However, above all the characters Y/n found remarkable, the enigmatic Goblin King, Jareth, captured her attention every time he appeared.

The ballroom scene, in particular, mesmerized Y/n, watching as Jareth's intense yet affectionate gaze lingered on Sarah in a way that set Y/n's nerves ablaze, leaving her breathless. Amidst the dancing figures and smooth song, Y/n couldn't help but imagine herself in Sarah's place, enveloped in the lingering sensation of Jareth's possessive regard.  

As she watched, a soft sigh escaped her parted lips, tinged with wistfulness. She pondered what it would be like to be looked upon with such desire in a crowded room, to be longed by someone you secretly desired, as you sought them out in the hopes of meeting their eyes again. She briefly fantasized about being in Sarah's place, feeling the electricity of Jareth's presence, drawing her closer every second.

Y/n's growing desires and anticipation danced amongst the sea of masked faces and whispered secrets. What would it feel like to be carefully handled the way Jareth did Sarah at that moment as she nearly lost herself in his eyes? She wondered this throughout the rest of the film, as the last scene with Jareth played on screen.

“Just fear me. Love me. Do as I say, and I will be your slave.”

A sickening sweet feeling aroused in the very heart of Y/n’s chest, causing her breath to abruptly become shallow as if it were her first time trying to breathe. Eyebrows furrowed and lips parted, she took in the lithe being presented on screen in front of her. Everything in her room surrounding her began to fall and fade away—all she could see was him. 

“Yes,” she subconsciously whispered, “say yes.”

“You have no power over me.” Sarah’s voice rang triumphantly, as the goblin king gave in, taking the form in his owl self once again.

As the film came to a close and the end credits started rolling, Y/n sank further into her pillows and covers. 

“I feel like there should’ve been more to the film,” she said to herself, “something’s missing. I’m not satisfied.”

D/n stirred in their sleep, not paying mind to a work y/n just said. The girl sighed, seizing the remote once more to watch something different.

That was until the door flew open and her moments of peace were shattered once again by the sharpness of m/n’s tone.

“Why didn’t you help me with dinner,”  she questioned, “let alone, make dinner?”

“It’s too late for dinner,” Y/n replied, “plus I’m not hungry.”

“So, you disregard everyone else in the house after you ate two servings of lasagna?”

“I guess so.” Y/n deadpanned, refusing to fuel the fire with the rebuttal about the lasagna being enough for one person. 

“Unbelievable,”  M/n huffed, putting her hands on her hips and looking around the room, “your room’s a mess.”

“Okay.” Y/n replied dismissively.

“No, I’m being serious, Y/n. You’re going to have a roommate in college and I sure hope you two get along through all this mess.” Her mother turned on the lights abruptly, waking up d/n and irritating Y/n. 

“Mom, what the heck,” Y/n fumed, getting out of her bed, and rushing to the wall to turn off the lights, the room went dark once again, “It’s eleven o’clock!”

“I expect you to get up tomorrow and clean this room,”  m/n declared, walking to the food frame, “I’m going to bed, and I want you to think about ways you can use your time more productively.”

Before y/n could fire back, M/n was already gone, shutting the lights of her room off. 

The eighteen-year-old girl couldn't catch a break even before bedtime. M/n, while not overly strict, had this unspoken rule that Y/n should just think like her. It led to endless clashes between them, leaving Y/n feeling weighed down.

Talking to friends helped a bit, but the constant disagreements with M/n still felt like a heavy burden on Y/n's chest. Trying to find common ground with someone who seemed to see the world differently was tough, and Y/n knew there was little to do about it.

"It'll all be over in a few months," Y/n told herself while she returned to her bed, submerging into the covers once more, turning off the television, and falling into a deep sleep, searching for peace of mind.

It was well into the morning when Y/n woke up to the sound of a mourning dove, the clock just nearing 10:45 am. She knew her mother was already awake, perhaps reading a book and having breakfast in her room. She planned to say good morning to her later.

D/n, who was once at the foot of her bed, was now propped up, wagging their tail in excitement to see Y/n, who smiled as she melted into the dog’s soft and loving gaze as she ruffled their fur. 

Y/n decided that this morning she would clean up her room and place all the unnecessary things in a giveaway bag. She immediately went downstairs, grabbed a garbage bag and a glass of water, and rushed back upstairs to get to work in her considerably well-kept room.

She wasn’t doing this because she wanted to; she was doing this so she wouldn’t be greeted by a nagging mother.

D/n remained on the bed, peering over at Y/n curiously as she continued. Y/n opened the cabinet of her desk and began rummaging through items she’d touched in recent months, setting aside everything except for one particular item. Tucked away at the back of the stacks of read novels and old workbooks rested a pristine bin.

She tossed the workbooks aside, intending to dispose of them, and placed the novels on top of her desk next to her computer, calendar, and another smaller stack of books. She then reached for the bin she hadn’t seen in over a few years. It was a simple clear plastic bin with a turquoise lid.

As she eagerly lifted the lid, a rush of nostalgia engulfed her senses. Beneath the lid lay a jumble of crumpled lined papers adorned with intricate drawings, stacked on top of older notebooks, comics, and mangas, which in turn rested upon other well-loved books from her middle school days. It was a veritable treasure trove of memories that Y/n found impossible to resist. Without hesitation, she reached for the first item on top - a character sheet.

Growing up, Y/n's love for storytelling and creativity knew no bounds. She had especially displayed a remarkable talent for crafting complex characters and their elaborate backstories. While progressing in her budding artistic skills, her true passion lay in building and immersing herself in fantastical worlds. She was engrossed in the worlds of anime, mangas, and fiction which surpassed the typical interests of children her age. Her mind was a treasure trove of knowledge, brimming with insights into various fandoms, literary works, and both contemporary and classic fantasy films.

“No way!” she chuckled, flipping through a notebook full of her drawings of characters she’d seen in anime along with anime characters she'd made up. Each page was adorned with meticulous side notes containing non-canon theories, potential romantic head-canons, and intricately woven backstories that she had crafted from her boundless imagination.

As Y/n spent the next twenty minutes soaring down memory lane, she felt a sinking in her chest, leaving her feeling empty and yearning for that same sense of creativity to ignite within her once again.

She continued sifting through the pile of memories until she reached the bottom, where she found a black velvet notebook with plain white pages. Upon picking it up, she discovered that it was empty. Feeling a bit disappointed, she placed all the objects back into the bin, carefully arranging them in the small compartment.

As she did so, she recalled the various stories she had created in the past - witches, vampires, fairies, and superheroes. She especially missed the sense of accomplishment she felt upon completing each small project, as well as the innocent crushes developed on fictional characters from specific scenes and fan fiction.

Y/n missed how she didn't have a care in the world between what was real and what was fake.

She got up and ascended the stairs once more with the garbage bin at hand and placed it at the bottom of the back door. She figured that once her father came back he’d drive it over to the Salvation Army warehouse. She walked into the kitchen welcomed by the blaring sound of the blender her mom was using to make a smoothie. 

M/n stopped the blender and poured some of the smoothie into a glass cup, handing it to Y/n with a “Good morning sweetie.”

“Good morning, Mom,” Y/n replied, taking a small sip of the berry enriched smoothie, “how did you sleep?”

“Oh, I slept fine,” M/n replied, unplugging the blender and setting it aside on the kitchen’s white valley granite countertop, “the bed feels empty without your dad in it.”

“I’m sure.” Y/n agreed leaning against the counter and taking another sip.

“Did you sleep alright?” M/n asked.

Y/n nodded.

“Good,” M/n noted, about to sip her smoothie once more; she then stopped, “Where’s D/n?”

“Upstairs,” Y/n replied.

“You should always take your dog out for a walk in the morning.” M/n inputted, setting her smoothie down.

“I know, but she was asleep and I was cleaning my room and disposing of things I didn’t need.”

“So, you were up this entire time and didn’t bother to walk your dog or make us any breakfast?”

Y/n studied her mother’s furrowed expression, not sure of what to say.

“Your room would have waited, Y/n. You need to start—”

“Mom, I don’t wanna hear it, it’s too early.” Y/n interrupted, feeling her boiling blood course through her veins.

M/n disregarded her daughter's advances, “It’s nearly noon, Y/n and we’ve barely eaten. I need you to start thinking and be able to multitask and take the initiative. What you’re doing right now won’t get you far in your career.”

Y/n had heard M/n repeat this thousands of times, using as many things to say back in previous times, Y/n was now worn out. 

“Whatever.” She uttered making her way to the kitchen’s exit.

“Excuse me?” M/n’s tone was sharper now.

“Nothing, Mom.”

“Y/n, I tell you these things so you can become more mature. The behavior has gotten too far. You’re eighteen years old and it’s ridiculous the way you act at such a grown age. I constantly have to repeat myself—”

“Then don’t,” Y/n argued.

“Then give me a reason not to,” M/n fired back, “I’ve never seen your age treat her mother the way you do and act selfishly and dismissively.”

Y/n sighed, “This is so unnecessary. All of this over breakfast.”

“You belittle everything, Y/n. Grow up.”

“You can relax now.”

“Grow up.”

“Telling me to grow up won’t do anything.” 

“What I’m saying, sweetie is that you–”

“Okay, mom. I get it. I’ll do better.” Y/n surrendered, not wanting to ignite the flame any further. She was already getting a sickening feeling in her stomach.

She exited the kitchen and rushed up the stairs and back into her room, shutting the door behind her. She set her smoothie down on her desk and paced her room feeling a lump forming in her throat. 

“It’s like she always has to start a problem no matter what I do!” She hiccuped feeling her eyes sting with tears. 

“Can’t she just let me live for once, God, for fucking once!” 

Tears streamed down her face, hanging at her chin, she looked outside at the clear blue sky with the sun well overhead.

“Y/n! Walk your dog!” Her mother yelled from downstairs.

“Okay!” Y/n’s seething voice cracked, “shut up.” she muttered sniffling.

“Now!”

“Give me a minute!”

More tears started spilling down Y/n’s face. She sobbed and hiccuped quietly, continuing to look out her window, which was only a few feet away. Her heart was aching, and her throat was twisted in a knot of sorrow; her chest heaved with exhaustion. She started to cry harder after she attempted to swallow her tears; she knew M/n was going to notice her tear-stricken face. 

Y/n grabbed her phone and trudged over to her bed and plopped down on her back, sighing in defeat. She figured that before she walked D/n she would at least distract herself from the pang of sorrow that knocked at her chest. 

She opened her web browser and typed in “labyrinth 1986,” and thousands of search results appeared, including links to websites, articles, videos, and even books and comics.

The girl's eyes widened in disbelief as she clicked on the first image that showed the same book with a striking red cover that Sarah had been carrying at the park.

“No way, there’s an official novelization of the labyrinth,” she gasped as she further searched. To her surprise, there were comics and mangas as well.

The pain Y/n was feeling suddenly subsided, replaced by a sense of wonder and excitement as she eagerly read through the summaries and reviews for each comic, book, and archived piece available.

“Finally back in print and for the first time in hardcover is the novelization of LABYRINTH written by A.C.H. Smith and personally overseen by Jim Henson. This is the first in a series of novels from the Jim Henson Archives.”

“Labyrinth: Coronation is a 12-issue comic book series written by Simon Spurrier and illustrated by Daniel Bayliss, published by Archaia from 2018 to 2019. It is a prequel to the 1986 film Labyrinth that takes place in 18th-century Venice and tells the story of how Jareth became the Goblin King.”

“You’re lying” Y/n muttered, enticed by the various series of books presented before her, she clicked on the official novelization first, seeing that it was available in her local bookstore for $30, seeing that there was only one in stock, she made a reservation to pick it up today on her walk with D/n.

“I have to have it.” She said putting in her online payment, which had been successfully authorized. 

Thank you for your purchase! The book you have requested will be available within 20 minutes. You have two days to pick it up.

“Oh, shit I gotta go.” Y/n gasped frantically getting out of her bed. She rushed to her closet and grabbed a pair of gray sweats and a simple scoop navy blue cami top, throwing on white socks. She grabbed her mini purse with her wallet inside and made her way down the stairs, D/n  followed.

“I’m going to the library, D/n is coming with me,” Y/n said as she passed the living room where M/n sat on her computer. 

“Okay. Take the car of course.” M/n replied in deep concentration on whatever was on screen. 

Y/n unlatched the garage door, the sound of its metal creaking filling the air as she stepped inside. She slipped on her comfortable slides and made her way to her car, with D/n following closely behind her. The afternoon sun poured into the garage as she settled into the driver's seat, and D/n took their place in the passenger seat. Y/n rolled down the windows, feeling the warm summer breeze on her skin as she carefully reversed out of the garage and onto the driveway.

She made her way down Nordstin Street, making a right onto Seems Street, she marveled at the vibrant activity around her, knowing that the lakefront was only a couple of streets away. It was nearly one o’clock, and the streets were alive with the energy of people going about their day.

It didn't take long before Y/n reached the library. Finding a snug parking spot near the entrance.

She turned to D/n, letting all the windows up, leaving the passenger’s side slightly cracked.

“I’ll be right back, the window will be cracked for you,” she said leaning in and giving her sweet dog a peck on the nose.

She quickly exited the car and walked up to the library and opened the dark wooden doors, where she paid no attention to her surroundings as she marched straight to the front desk, which was occupied by a lady cashier. They greeted each other warmly.

“My name is Y/n L/n and I purchased Jim Henson’s Labyrinth today.” She spoke clearly. 

As the lady behind the counter heard Y/n's request, she paused, her fingers dancing across the keyboard as she searched for the book. With a few swift clicks to confirm the order, she leaned down and carefully retrieved the treasure Y/n had sought. The rich, crimson book with the elegant golden title "Labyrinth" embossed on its cover was presented before the younger girl, its allure captivating her gaze.

“You’re all set Miss L/n, have a good day!” She chirped sweetly. 

“You too!” Y/n returned as she made her way to the front door, her heart hammering in her chest in anticipation as she made her way back to the car. Luckily, there was a park just across the street from the library.

Y/n opened the car door and let D/n out, the leash making a jingling sound as the dog shook its fur. Y/n shut the door and grabbed hold of the leash, holding the book in another hand and the two made their way to Gillson Park.

Gillson Park was one of the more popular parks in Evansville because it was known for its stunning natural landscapes that are cherished by both locals and visitors alike. Characterized by lush greenery, serene ponds reflecting the sky, and winding walking trails on steep hills. Tall trees provide a cool respite from the summer sun, while colorful blossoms add vibrancy to the surroundings. Many may describe it as a meadow away from the bustling suburban life. 

Y/n found a nice bench by an open field, letting D/n’s leash to wander about the grass and flowers. She propped herself so that she was lying across the bench comfortably, her elbow resting on the arms of the bench. She opened the first page and began to embark on her reading journey.

“Through dangers untold and hardships unnumbered, I have fought my way here to the castle beyond the Goblin City, to take back the child you have stolen.” She read aloud, attempting to capture the determination in Sarah’s voice, she chuckled to herself.   

“For my will is as strong as yours, and my kingdom as great…”

An Owl glided over the sky unnoticed as it emerged amongst Gillson Park. A creature of pure elegance in the backdrop of the midday scenery. His plumage, a pristine canvas of a bold white, seems to shimmer with an otherworldly luminescence, catching the last rays of the afternoon sun like a cascade of fire woven into feathers. He settled on a branch of the tree that was hovered over Y/n, as she continued to focus on the compelling words in the book. 

His large, dark eyes were fixed on her as she sat with rapt concentration. Her lips were slightly parted and her eyes moved swiftly across the crisp, white pages. Her hands were holding the book motionless on the crimson red cover as if she was hesitant to disturb the stillness of the moment.

The Owl’s trance was interrupted by the barking of D/n, his heart shaped head turned to the direction of the galloping dog making its way to Y/n, who looked up from her book, set it on her lap, and petted D/n softly.

“This is a good book so far, D/n,” she said with a smile, “I appreciate its detail.” she leaned down and ruffled the dog’s fur, smothering her pet with the love and affection they deserved. 

Unbeknownst to them, the owl had been silently observing Y/n's every move from the highest branch of the nearby tree. Y/n shut the book and got up from the bench to grab D/n's leash. As Y/n closed the book and rose from the bench, the owl maintained its vigilant watch, its piercing eyes following their every step. Y/n secured D/n's leash, and the two began their stroll back towards the library's parking lot, the owl gracefully gliding from tree to tree, never losing sight of them.

Once both were in the car, the owl perched on the concrete edge of the library's roof, its keen gaze fixed on the departing car as it merged into the occupied street. 

Only when the car disappeared from view did the owl spread its feathered wings and take to the sky again, disappearing into the horizon.

[ohmygawdyoufoundnemo]

She Plays Bass

Bangchan x reader

•Part 1•

(Brief mention of 'noona', which means older female sibling or older sister in Korean, only because I am a couple of years older than Chan. If you're not a noona, don't worry too much. I just hope you enjoy this read while you're chilling🙏🏻)

Y/N has hit the jackpot when passing her audition and joins Stray Kids on their world tour. But what happens when the leader meets the new girl?

✨

With the adrenaline still pumping through my veins from this whole morning, my leg starts to jiggle up and down waiting impatiently for my mum to pick up her phone. I could scream right now.

“Hello, darling. Are you on your way home?”

“Hi. Yeah I’m on the bus now.”

“Well, how did it go? Did they like you? Did you get it? Actually, tell me when you get back, ok? I’m just shopping at the moment.” I honestly feel like I could burst into tears, one: because I’ve just been running, which I never do, and two: the best news I could get after trying so hard to discover myself and where I want to be. I’m going on tour! Little old me is going to be playing to thousands of people worldwide!

“Ok. I’ll be home soon. Love you ma.”

“Love you too sweetheart.” We hang up and I could literally scream the roof of the bus apart. It seems too surreal to be true. After stressing so much this whole week about this audition, not being able to sleep and wondering what to play, it’s finally come fruition and a weight has just been lifted from my shoulders. The company came to London from South Korea for the auditions for new touring musicians for their groups, and now I’m going to be one of them! But the thing is, I have no idea what band I’ll be playing for or even when.

Later on that night over dinner, I tell mum of the events and some mishaps of everything that happened. She almost broke a rib or two pulling me into a hug when I told her that I would be officially touring with a band once I hear back from my agent.

“That is so exciting! My baby going into the world. I’m so happy for you!” She gives another big squeeze, swaying us from side to side just as my phone vibrates in my back pocket. “Oh! Who is it?” she asks before pulling away and cleaning up the dining table.

“I think it’s them. I’ll be right back. Hello?”

"Hello Y/N, it's Anna." My agent’s voice rang through the phone, easing the butterflies in my stomach for a moment.

“Hi Anna, how are you?”

“I’m very good! I also wanted to congratulate you on your audition today, they absolutely loved you! And we have a position lined up for you.”

“That’s great!” Already? That was quick!

“I just want to give you some more information about the success of your audition and going forward, within the company all travel and accommodation expenses are paid for so you don’t have to worry about anything. And, of course, if you have any insurance with your equipment we can help with that as well.“ This really is too good to be true! “With that being said, we would like to join us in Tokyo, Japan for the start of the tour.”

Wait. What? JAPAN?!

“When? Is there a date when I would have to be there for rehearsals? Sorry, I’m a bit jittery.”

“That is ok. Rehearsals will be on the eighteenth of this month but we would like you to spend some time with us and the rest of the band around the fifteenth.” My feet instantly carry me to my room where they stop in front of my calendar. That’s in six days! “You will have time to explore a little bit of Japan with one of our guides, you will also have your own hotel room set up, you will of course have the choice to explore the city on your own but in regards to security it would be...” I think I blanked out everything else Anna was saying. My ears were ringing, I was getting light headed looking around at all of my stuff in my bedroom. I’m going to Japan to start a world tour with a band I don’t even know. Six days. Six days until I leave my home to bed hop in hotel rooms around the world for god knows how long! “So, what do you say?”

Before I can even think about my answer, my mouth opens, “Absolutely!” Shit! How much stuff should I pack?!

“That’s great news! Before I go, do you have any questions you would like to ask?”

“Is it alright to ask, the band that I’ll be playing with or for...”

“Ah, yes! I thought you’d might ask. Usually we don’t disclose this information until closer to the time but since you signed a contract with the company and will be joining us very soon there are no issues. So you will be rehearsing and being a touring musician for Stray Kids.”

~

Six days came and went so quickly that I could barely focus on anything. I nearly forgot my carry-on luggage, headphones and even my iPad which has all the bass and synthesiser recordings on it. Luckily my mum helped me with the checklist, knowing very well that I will forget something, before leaving me at the airport with Anna. Speaking of whom, after a very long journey, we are on our way to the hotel in Tokyo, Japan. Each part of this experience is so fast-paced with no time to take in the huge shift this has made to my life that I almost cocoon myself in my hoodie in the backseat of the car, yet the Tokyo Dome won’t allow me to stay slumped for too long as Anna points out the venue from where we’ve stopped at the traffic lights.

“It’s huge!” I say to her in Korean, turning to Anna like an excited child seeing Christmas lights for the first time. She laughs at me. The thing about Anna is she’s also my agent as I was struggling to find any gigs in the past three years. The audition was like a big break for me to finally do something I love. She had also been the one to encourage me to learn Korean, when we first started talking while I attended college she had only learned the basics in English not too long before. So to save her more hardship and to learn something new, I took up a side quest to learn her language and she’s just embraced me and shares her culture with me.

“Wait until we get inside in a couple of days.” She says just as she goes to answer her phone. As we get closer, I pull on my Dr. Martens trying my best not to get dirt on the seat as well as getting concussed by the front passenger seat.

The butterflies are throwing up in my stomach.

~

I couldn’t close my mouth as I gawked out the window overlooking the whole of Tokyo. Every day since I’ve been here, I’ve done the same thing, wake up early to gawk at the sunrise, have breakfast, message my mum for a little while, stare out the window whilst getting dressed or brushing my teeth for my scheduled day with Anna, taking picture after picture of the tourist attractions. My legs hurt so much but it’s so worth it!

How am I here? Well, I know how but it’s like an out-of-body experience to be standing here in a hotel room, in Japan, on the same floor as Stray Kids. Rehearsals are tomorrow and my stomach is doing somersaults.

~

I’m still rubbing the sleep from my eyes, my body is too tired from the adventures I've had so far in the past three days to lug around my bass guitar on my back. I’m being lead through the maze of a hallway in the arena by a member of staff. Plus I hadn’t slept too well last night, I miss my mum, my cat, now I miss Anna but she’s a busy woman but I’m now left to my own sleepy devises at rehearsals. I had already met the rest of my band mates the other night over dinner. They’re so cool and so welcoming! I also met the stylists for tonight which woke me up a little bit more after seeing my outfits for the next week. Chef’s kiss!

The engineers help me with setting up my equipment and my ear pieces that there's no time to really take in the gargantuan size of the dome. I hear the drums, guitar and keyboard practising the moment I lock them in.

~

The members were getting ready to go to the stage, the stylists getting everything prepared for later on tonight, their manager rushing about making sure everything is all good to go for rehearsals, Bangchan was writing little messages to STAYS on Bubble with some comments making him smile and blush when out of nowhere, Han makes a noise in surprise which causes the others to look up at what he’s pointing to. Chan looks up to see Han gesturing to the TV that was switched on for background noise, it was filming live footage from the stage. Chan gulped down some saliva when he saw a new band member setting up.

Is it warm in here?

“Who’s that? Is that a new bass player NMixx?” I.N. asks while glancing between his phone and the TV. Chan knew the question was to no one in particular but he was taken back to respond. She was pretty, really pretty. The breeze flowing through her hair pushes some strands over her shoulder as the band plays a random tune, the boys stare in wonder only for a few seconds before the camera shot changes to a scope of the venue.

“She was pretty!” Han exclaims as he’s being set up with equipment for soundcheck and being handed a microphone.

“Stop staring!" Minho gently swats at Han, "You’re getting drool all over the carpet!” scuffing up Han’s bed hair, the member of staff helping Han adjust his monitor waiting patiently for them to stop slapping each other.

“Hyung,” Chan finally looks away from the TV too to see Felix holding his spare t-shirt. “Can I borrow this?”

“Sure, go ahead.” Who was she? He asks himself just as she comes up on the screen again. She looks over at the cameraman, shyly waving and smiling. Chan couldn’t help but notice the colour of her big round eyes. Uh oh.

“Wow! Never seen Chan-hyung with big heart eyes before.” Changbin says getting the boys attention, pumping his chest at his leader. Chan just glares at him, trying to keep him at arms length but ends up breaking into a red-faced laugh while chasing him around the room.

~

“If you need help with anything, give us a signal.” He says, making the gestures of signals but I get distracted when I feel eyes on me. I glance over the soundman’s shoulder to see the group of guy’s looking over at me. Through my ear piece just as one speaks into their microphone, I hear, “Hey! Hello.” One waves at me, followed by the others. He walks closer with a huge smile. “I’m Han and these guys are my friends." They each wave again. "What’s your name?” I introduce myself in Korean which surprises them and makes me laugh. “WOW! Oh, are you our new bass player?”

I nod, just as a song starts he jogs away.

"Let's get it!" We start with S-Class and go into Superbowl. The flow is so good! Me and the boys are really happy with it. I sort out my bass synthesiser for the next song just as another member comes into my peripheral.

“Hi.” I feel my cheeks grow warm as he smiles at me.

“Hello.”

“That was really good but I can’t hear the bass so well in my ...”

“Oh, yeah. They said they’ve been having minor issues with it but it should be better for tonight.”

“Cool! Err.... I’m Chris, by the way.”

“Y/N. It’s nice to meet you.” Is it really that warm out here?

“Hyung! Stop flirting with our new girl and get back here!” Minho yells away from the microphone causing Chan to shy away but ultimately wave at me with a ‘see you later’. Bangchan tackles Lee Know into a back hug with much retaliation.

This is going to be fun!

~

It’s been a couple of weeks since starting tour and it’s been amazing! Crazy busy with non-stop moving and airport travels and hotel bed hopping but other than that I can’t knock this experience. Especially since Stray Kids have taken me in. Almost every night we play, either Changbin, Han or mainly Felix come over and rock out with the band, hyping us up and wordlessly letting us know we were doing a great job.

Almost a month ago, I never would have thought I would be hanging with any of them, but usually Han comes over to play guitar with me playing songs before or after rehearsals. The chaos is real and it’s heart-warming to have so many people around who are so supportive and bring out the best chaos in you.

“Y/N noona?!” I glance up from my iPad taking out one of my airpods, I’m sat on the carpeted floor adjusting bass tones for the songs for the set to see Changbin sitting across from me, all dressed up for later on, which only reminds me that it’ll be my turn soon. Restless, full of bounding energy which he’s been told to save for tonight.

“Dwaeki?”

“Noona! I’m bored.”

“Where are the others?” I’ve only just noticed it’s just me, Changbin, I.N. and a couple of stylists in here. “How long have I been working?”

“Too long! Pay attention!” his whining makes me chuckle, I try to hide it to not upset him but he notices and starts getting irritable. “Stop laughing at me. I’m serious.” He starts smiling, not taking himself seriously.

“What do you want from me? What do you want to do?” he ponders for a moment.

“I don’t know. Help me!” while slumping his head on the table, he quickly retracts it with a small yet dramatic yelp in pain. I reach over to rub his forehead. He slaps the table as if offended which makes me laugh harder.

“Be careful Changbin! You want to be able to remember lyrics tonight.”

“Ah!” he pulls away with a sneaky look on his face. “NMixx.” He points to the live footage of NMixx on stage.

“What?” I ask as he quickly gets up and dances to the start of ‘Love Me Like This’. “I saw the video. You know it. Come on!”

“Absolutely not.” How did he know about that video?

“Noona! Noona! Noona!" I.N. starts chanting. Changbin pulls me up and before I know it, he’s filming us both dancing to the song, all while I.N. sits and watches. The others walk in just as me and Changbin finally finish. I must have gone red in the face when I saw Han and Bangchan just grinning.

“What’s going on?” Chan asks as I quickly go back to what I was doing before.

~

Changbin shows them the video of him and Y/N dancing along to NMixx. Bangchan sneaks a glance over at Y/N who’s too caught up in the new bass system that she’s been obsessed with for days now.

There’s a niggling feeling he just can’t shake off when he’s around her. He likes her a lot! She’s cool, amazing bass player and has a great flow with the band, she gets along really well the Kid's too. It’s like she takes care of them when he's too busy which gives him time to work or gives him a breather even just for a moment. She has a cool sense of style, right now she’s wearing her classic pink beanie, crop hoodie and black denim shorts and barefoot while sitting cross-legged at the table bobbing her head along to what she’s listening to whilst taking notes, there’s just something warm and natural about her. Even when she’s playing to thousands of STAYS, he’s always noticed that glow in her eyes while looking out at them, and her personality never changes. He recently saw a video shared around on TikTok of fans who had been watching our opening acts in quite an unbearable heat and while our set was being put together, she handed out extra water bottles for STAYS.

“Hyung?” Chan pulls his gaze away, not realising he’s probably been gawking at her for a bit, hoping that she didn't catch him doing it. He helps Felix adjust his necklace. “Hyung.” Chan hums in response to Felix as Y/N brings Seungmin his water bottle as he does his vocal warm-up just as Hyunjin tackles her in a side hug. “You’ve been quiet all day. Everything good?”

“Yeah. Really good.”

“You sure?” Felix asks peering over his shoulder with a little smirk, Chan couldn’t help but glance over at Y/N again to see her taking selfies with Hyunjin and Changbin. His heart flutters a little as she smiles at whatever Lee Know said about their poses which gets more of a response out of Changbin. “Why don’t you just tell her you like her?”

This brings Chan back to reality like a smack in the face.

“What are you talking about?” Felix gives him a knowing look. “I can’t just...do that. It’s complicated.”

“It doesn’t have to be complicated." Felix turns around to see Y/N giggling at Changbin and Lee Know bickering, nearly breaking out into a play fight. "She won’t break your heart, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Of course Felix would say that. The Kids practically adore her.

Lee Know keeps her at arms length but respects her and is fond of her, and her comebacks to his playful insults catch him off guard most of the time, they're not mean but just as good. Changbin see’s her like a sibling, and now a dance partner or someone he challenges when he tries to tease her because she’s our noona which sometimes makes her feel bad yet they have a special bond. Hyunjin has shown her more of his artwork, he even made her a picture for her birthday which she adores and she’s shown him how to create his own music. Han adores her because she works hard to help us sound better on stage and how caring she is to us. Felix, well he isn’t shy to the fact that they’ve become close friends and dotes on her. Seungmin, like Lee Know, shows a lot of respect for noona. And I.N., if any one of them follows her like a lost puppy, apart from Felix or Changbin when he’s in the mood to bother her or simply wants her attention, it’s him.

But where does that leave him? Chan breathes out a sigh. They get along really well but something feels stagnant. He isn’t worried about her breaking his heart though, he’s more worried he’ll explode with professions of adoration and scare her away.

~

“Where are you going?!” Chan calls out as Y/N hurriedly takes out her earpieces and takes off her equipment. The Kid’s keeping a distance from the firing line.

“Out for a walk! Is that ok with you?! God!” Y/N storms off stage, snatching her jacket from it's place on the bass holder on the way out. The others stare cautiously between the two, seven pairs of eyes following Y/N as she disappears around the side stage, then over to their leader who is almost red in the face. Rehearsals just finished but throughout the set, things just kept going wrong which ended up with the soundcheck taking longer than usual. If Chan were to name a few, the boys were more chaotic as usual but for some reason it just got to him today, then the sound system kept messing up which messed up their queues and they had to restart the song, Han and Seungmin’s microphones kept glitching, then Y/N said she had forgotten her iPad backstage which has all pre-adjusted bass tones on it, that was the final straw in the span of the two hours since the minor late start to rehearsals, that’s when Chan snapped. Not at everyone or anything, but at Y/N.

This confused the Kid’s so much after the new revelation they had witnessed over the past few months between their leader and their new bassist.

The air was thick with tension and it wasn’t great to be around. The members were silent, waiting for Chan to make the first move. He took a few breaths before turning around as he removed his ear piece from under his beanie.

“Sorry hyung.” Some of them mumble as he takes off as well.

✨

*So that was Part 1, I hope you enjoyed it! I know it's looooong but I haven't written anything like this in 3 years so I may have gotten a little excited or enthusiastic to get this out of my system*

[imyourbratzdoll]

Ooh ohh! DarkSiren reader x pirate ransom!!! Pleasee

hello honey! this was fun to write, and I hope you like it!

summary - you are the siren that wants the famous pirate ransom drysdale, and the moment you get close to getting what you want, the universe decides otherwise.

warning - slight angst, stalking, dark content, mentions of whores, seducing, mentions of kidnapping.

the gif I use isn't mine, divider by @newlips

You had known of the famous pirate that roamed the seas. You had followed him, watching from afar as he ordered his crew around. You watched as the many whorish human women tried and failed to gain his attention. Some only managed to get to his bed and were sent off the same night. You could see how dissatisfied the pirate was. As if he yearned for something more, something… Unique. You watched from the shadows. Your body is submerged deep in the cooling water. You knew that the humans had heard and created stories based on what you were, some even hunted you, and sometimes they succeeded in catching your kind. Your sisters had been taken, locked away to be experimented on. 

You wanted the pirate. He was a dream. You wanted to claim him as your own. So you followed him the next morning, not getting too close to the ship as you didn’t want the others to spot you. You had a plan, knowing he sometimes ventured off alone once they reached land, enjoying time to himself. What better way to finally get what you want. You swam to shore, perching yourself on a rock away from the pirates but close enough to get the one you want to hear you. You waited until you heard him approaching the area, his mind elsewhere. 

“Upon one summer's morning, I carelessly did stray,

Down by the Walls of Wapping, where I met a sailor gay,

Conversing with a bouncing lass, who seem'd to be in pain,

Saying, William, when you go, I fear you will ne'er return again.”

You watch as he turns to look in your direction. You can see him slowly fall under your spell as the words flow from your lips. You beckon him over, giving him an innocent smile as you don’t want to set off any alarms in his head. The pirate begins to make his way over dazedly, a lovestruck look in his eyes.

“His hair it does in ringlets hang, his eyes as black as sloes,

May happiness attend him wherever he goes,

From Tower Hill, down to Blackwall, I will wander, weep and moan,

All for my jolly sailor bold, until he does return.”

He stares, softly swaying as you continue to sing. Your siren voice makes the song sound smooth and seductive, calling to the pirate like water calls him. You sound like the waves crashing against the rocks and birds singing. You sound like perfection to Ransom. You were both a pirate’s dream and nightmare, all mixed in one. In the back of his mind, he knew he should try to fight this, that Ransom was in danger if he continued getting closer to you. He was captivated, his eyes taking in how beautiful you looked, your hair flowing freely in the breeze, your skin glistening against the sun, your breasts pushed together perfectly, and your tail was so close to perfection, the gold reflected wonderfully against it all. 

“My father is a merchant—the truth I now will tell,

And in great London City in opulence doth dwell,

His fortune doth exceed ₤300,000 in gold,

And he frowns upon his daughter, 'cause she loves a sailor bold.”

Your voice travels, swirling around his head and pulling him closer to you. You were so close to finally getting the man you have been wanting. You grin as you reach your hand out and stroke his cheek, sighing a soft sigh as you finally feel his flesh against yours. He had to be the cleanest pirate out there, his face clean-shaven and his hair slicked back. You lean closer, your lips nearly touching his as you continue seducing him with your siren song.

“A fig for his riches, his merchandize, and gold,

True love is grafted in my heart; give me my sailor bold:

Should he return in poverty, from o'er the ocean far,

To my tender bosom, I'll fondly press my jolly tar.”

Ransom’s pupils enlarge, causing his blue eyes to nearly turn black. His eyes are half-lidded, and his gaze flickers between your eyes and your plump lips, feeling the deep desire to seal your words with a kiss. His mind was filled with love, wanting to take you far away from the other pirates, wanting you all to himself. His fingertips itched with needing to grab you and take you far away, keep you chained to his bed as he worshipped you. 

“My sailor is as smiling as the pleasant month of May,

And oft we have wandered through Ratcliffe Highway,

Where many a pretty blooming girl we happy did behold,

Reclining on the bosom of her jolly sailor bold.”

A soft whine escapes Ransom’s mouth as you slowly slide off the rock and into the water, grinning as he begins to follow. He steps into the cooling ocean, and his shoes and pants become soaked. You swim back, continuing to sing to him. You were so close to achieving your dream, so very close.

“Come all you pretty fair maids, whoever you may be

Who love a jolly sailor bold that ploughs the raging sea,

While up aloft, in storm or gale, from me his absence mourn,

And firmly pray, arrive the day, he home will safe return.”

Ransom goes deeper into the water, coming closer until your bodies touch, and his hands move to cup your cheeks, stroking them with his thumbs. He sighs, falling deeper and deeper under your spell. No longer worried about the world around him or that he is in incredible danger, Ransom didn’t know that his crew had begun to look around for him, wondering where their Captain had gone for so long. 

“My name it is Maria, a merchant's daughter fair,

And I have left my parents and three thousand pounds a year,

My heart is pierced by Cupid, I disdain all glittering gold,

There is nothing can console me but my jolly sailor bold.”

You are so close, your lips inches away from each other. You sing the last words of your song, knowing you finally have him in the grasp of your hands. Yours and Ransom’s eyes flutter closed as you are about to kiss. But before your lips can touch, there are shouts, men running toward the area you are in. Your eyes fly open, and you snarl. Your cat-like eyes snap to the pirates, hissing as they shout at you, their weapons raised. You look sadly at Ransom, his eyes opened and watching you, and you quickly launch forward, placing a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth before flying back and deep into the depths of the ocean. You quickly swim away as the pirates begin to throw their weapons and help pull their Captain out of the water. 

Ransom shakes his head, snapping out of the trance he was in and looking out into the water. His men are talking, pulling him from the ground, but all Ransom can focus on is you. You had now taken over his mind, and he didn’t know if it was because of your siren qualities or you. His face sets into a scowl, growling at his men to return to the ship and leave him alone. Ransom shrugs them off, brushing the sand off his clothes and glaring at the water. He watches as your head pops up a ways away. He can tell you are looking in his direction, and the challenge has started. He knows you want him, but now he wants you, and he will stop at nothing to get what he wants. It’s how he is the better pirate out there. No one can tell him no.

Stories would be told many generations later about the pirate and the siren. 

thank you for reading!

feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

[lathalea]

Waiting

Relationships: Boromir x OC (possibly Reader) Rating: G Summary: Boromir embarks on a mission for Rivendell, leaving the lady of his heart behind. And so she waits for his return... A/N: This is my gift for @heilith. HUGS! 💙💙💙

Waiting

She kept on waiting. 

First, she counted the days until their next meeting, after the handsome Captain of Gondor appeared at her cottage at the edge of the forest for the first time. 

Then, he started visiting her more often—as often as he could—galloping on his horse to her, leaving the White City and his worries behind. Sometimes, they would spend an evening at the nearby brook, looking at the stars, sometimes she would invite him in for a light meal, and sometimes they would walk the woods in search of the best blackberry bushes, or to that little glade she liked so much. And they would talk—about everything and anything. Boromir’s hand would brush against hers, as if by accident, and when she would look up, her skin tingling, his warm gaze would rest on her face and then slowly slide down to her lips… And then words would die on his lips, and he would look away.

On the brink of the summer, she waited for the great feast on the King’s Day, and when the day finally came, she rode to Minas Tirith in her best gown, to take part in the festivities. There was music and song in the air, the wine was sweet, and Boromir made her heart flutter, cutting a strapping figure in his tunic adorned with the emblem of the White Tree. They danced the night away, and then he led her to the highest level of the city where the view took her breath away. The view—and the kiss that came shortly after, tender and gentle. Boromir held her in his arms until the first rays of the morning sun painted the white walls of the city pink. Since that night, his murmured words of devotion, of his feelings for her, rang in her ears every evening when she put her head on her pillow.

There were shadows under Boromir’s eyes when they saw each other for the last time that summer. He was to embark on a dangerous mission to Rivendell and ask the elves for their words of wisdom. Gondor’s future was at stake. His people’s future. He did not know when he would return, but in that forest glade he made a pledge: he would return—to her. 

The ring he slipped on her finger was cool against her skin, but his hands that held hers were warm and strong. And when he asked the only question she hoped for, she gave him the only reply she dreamed of giving.

I will wait for you, Boromir, and I will marry you when you return.

And so she waited. Hours turned into days, days turned into months, but there was no word of the brave Captain of Gondor nor of his whereabouts. The summer was long gone, the autumn made way for the winter that held the land in its frosty grip. The new year celebrations came and passed, and still she waited.

February was coming to an end when she once again visited their forest glade and looked into the nearby pond. Its cold waters rippled as she touched its surface, but as they stilled, a series of images formed in front of her eyes. People in boats. Boromir among them. A forest at the edge of an unknown river. Dark shapes between the trees. A chase. Boromir drawing his sword; protecting someone. Fighting. A monstrous creature drawing a bow. A black arrow cutting through the air… and hitting its target. Boromir swaying… And then a boat going down the river, towards the falls ahead. Was it empty…? She could not see. She closed her eyes. Her greatest consolation was the ring on her finger and the words of love she heard from Boromir on the day they parted. He made a pledge. He would return to her.

And so she waited.

Reluctantly, spring came into its rights, and with it, words of a great danger casting a shadow over the whole realm of Gondor. Then, a great army was seen marching on the White City. When the local villagers took their belongings and hid deep in the safety of the forest, she went together with them. Perhaps it was for the best that Boromir would not see if the walls of his home would crumble under the power of darkness.

Several weeks passed until they saw the sun again as the village elders decided it was time to return to their homes. A messenger brought word that the enemy was defeated and that the true king of Gondor returned, just like the old prophecies said. But he did not know what had befallen Boromir.

One day before the coronation of King Aragorn Elessar, the sound of hooves against the forest ground reached her ears. She took a look through the window and could not believe her eyes. It could not be.

“Boromir!” she exclaimed, running out of her cottage towards the familiar figure of a rider.

In a blink of an eye, he dismounted and took her in his arms.

“It is me, my spring flower,” he murmured, holding her close.

“You came back to me!” She searched his face greedily, taking joy in the noble features she knew so well.

“I told you I would,” he smiled and ran his hand through her hair.

“But… I had a dream… a vision… I saw a battle… an orc… an arrow…” her voice trembled. “And then the boat…”

“Hush, my love, I am well. An orc pack attacked us, that is correct. I was merely wounded. We were on a mission of great importance. I managed to keep my wits about me and together with lord Aragorn, our future king, we sent the little ones ahead, together with the ring. We stood our ground together and defeated the enemy,” Boromir replied.

“Lord Aragorn…? The little ones? And the ring? What ring?” Her eyes widened.

“It was only a meaningless trinket, and now it is destroyed. The only ring that filled my thoughts every day since the day we parted was the one I put on your finger,” he took her hand in his and placed a soft kiss over her knuckles. “I counted days until we would meet again.”

“So did I, my beloved,” she admitted as his fingers brushed against her cheek.

Their lips met in haste, but there was tenderness in their kiss that made her weak in the knees as she drank in his closeness.

The Captain of Gondor took her hands in his and looked deeply into her eyes, “Will you come with me now to my city? Will you marry me there?”

“There is nothing else I would rather do, Boromir,” she admitted, her words a whisper.

“I dreamed of hearing these words from you,” he placed another kiss on her lips. “Let us ride. We both have waited long enough.”

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[multifandomfanfic]

could you do something where ronaldo is your ex and you broke up because he cheated but he saw you with another man at a party and he got really jealous??

Cold Air

Word Count: ~2.2k

A/N: I hope you enjoy! Sorry this took so long and sorry if any descriptions of Qatar are inaccurate. Just suspend reality for a bit :)) (also, I proof-read this, but it hasn’t had a second pair of eyes look at it)

The city lights passed by your car as you made your way to the club. The World Cup was in full swing and, today, Portugal had beaten Switzerland by five goals. You wrinkled your nose. Portugal. As good of a team they were, any mention of their team, and especially a certain player, left a foul taste on your tongue. 

It wasn't like you didn't love Ronaldo. You did.., well, you had loved him at one point. Months ago you had been positive your relationship was going to last forever; you were living together, you went with him to his events, and you were even certain you had spied an engagement ring in his bag once. All of that was squashed within seconds thanks to Ronaldo’s unlocked phone and a few Instagram DMs. 

Within days, you had moved out of your shared house and into an apartment far away from Manchester. Ronaldo agreed to pay the first year of your rent in return for you not going public about his infidelity, but you took the high road. You did not need his help and, after what he did to you, you decided that you did not want to have any connection to him any longer. Enough was enough.

But here you were, in Qatar, the day his team beat the Swiss.

Your phone vibrated and you dug it out of your purse. 

I'll have to leave a little early tonight, Emi texted you.

What? Why?

Coach wants us to get at least eight hours of sleep before some extra practice in the morning. He explained, I'm free to do whatever you want tomorrow night.

You groaned and slumped back into the car seat. Great. Just great. The only reason you were going to this club was to celebrate Emi’s friend’s birthday, whom you had never met. In fact, you hardly knew anybody on his team. You had spent so much time with Portugal and Manchester United that you hadn’t become acquainted with any of the other teams. Besides, you had only been seeing Emi for a couple of months. 

“Is this it?” your driver asked. 

“Yes, this is it,” you sighed. The cold night air raised goosebumps on your skin as soon as you pushed open the door. It was refreshing and briefly distracted your mind from the awkwardness awaiting you inside.

The bouncer opened the rope as you approached. The club’s exterior was lit by LED lights, beckoning people to venture inside. Quite a crowd had amounted outside, drawn by the possibility of seeing a world-class futball player in person. They watched you as you entered the building. Who were you? And why were you here?

The interior of the bar was as exuberant and bright as the exterior. The only difference was the number of people crammed within its walls. Bodies were pressed against each other, moving to the music blaring from the speakers. Two bartenders were hurriedly making drinks for the growing crowd. They had been instructed to prioritize the futball players and serve them first, but they were struggling to keep up with that demand.

You scanned the throngs of people. One or two of the men close to you looked familiar, but the lights were set just dim enough that you couldn’t distinguish people from a distance. Their forms blended into one, swaying mass.

Person after person bumped and shoved you (whether on accident or on purpose, you couldn’t tell) as you forged your way to the bar. Surely, there were too many people in the club to be safe, but nobody paid attention. They were all having fun. You were the walking embodiment of dread.

You tugged on the end of your dress. It wasn’t yours–one of the players’ girlfriends had lent it to you–and it wasn’t exactly your taste either. The color was off and it fell awkwardly on your thighs. Anyone who knew you would know the dress was not your first choice. 

“Excuse me?” you asked the bartender closest to you, “Can I get one of those?”

The mixture of alcohol he was making was taking all of his attention, and he made no effort to respond. You groaned, leaned against the bartop, and began people-watching. There was no sight of Ronaldo or Emi. You weren’t expecting Ronaldo to be there, but you could never be too sure. 

“Y/N!” a familiar voice called from behind you.

You turned around and smiled, “Emi!” 

He pushed his way through the crowd, nodding and grinning at his friends. You recognized none of them, despite going to many of Emi’s games. Maybe you were too stuck in the past.

Once he reached you, Emi grabbed your waist and pulled you towards him. 

“It’s so good to see you,” he said, leaning over slightly and began kissing your neck. Several people’s eyes landed on the two of you. 

“Babe, please,” you whispered, “Not in public.”

He stepped back, “Why not?”

“I just don’t feel comfortable with it, ok?” you replied. To be honest, you had no idea why it made you so uneasy. People looking at you was one thing, but something else was off.

Emi smirked and loosened his grip on your waist, “Fine. But I will be seeing you tomorrow night.”

“It’s a date,” you chuckled. He left you one more kiss on your lips as he started to back away. He smiled and nodded his head goodbye. Before you knew it, Emi had disappeared into the mass of people.

The bartender continued to pay attention to other patrons, leaving you drinkless and bored. There was a full-length mirror behind the back of the bar. You examined yourself in it, rubbing off the lipstick that had made its way off of your lips and adjusting your hair so it fell just right on your face. A figure began to form behind you. Someone was making their way to the spot to your left. The way the lights were positioned and flashing, you could not tell who it was.. that is, until they spoke.

He ordered two of your favorite drink and, like clockwork, the bartender had them finished within seconds.

“You look good,” he almost mumbled as he took the first sip from his drink. His eyes scanned your figure, soaking in every aspect of how the dress fell on your body. You could have slapped him, “Although, I wouldn’t peg you as the type of girl to wear something like that.”

“What do you want, Ronaldo?” you spat. His face changed for a moment at the use of his last name instead of Cristiano–what you used to call him–but, within seconds, it was back to his usual, sly look. On the other hand, you could feel your face turning red. Months of pent-up rage and regret flooded back into your head. Why had you come here? Why did he have to be here?

“You haven’t changed a bit,” he said as you picked up your drink. You slammed it back down on the counter. A little sloshed over the edge and the bartender immediately wiped it with his towel. He scowled at you but smiled at Ronaldo. You pushed the glass to the farthest point on the bar that you could reach. You refused to drink it. That would make it seem like you were diving in.

“I asked you what you wanted,” you seethed, arms crossed across your chest, “Can you answer my question?”

He rolled his eyes and looked around as if you were the only person in the room who did not know what he was going to say. He then leaned closer, “You could do much better than an Argentinian. That’s all I wanted to say.”

You froze. Your mouth hung agape, your mind was apparently empty of any good comebacks. After a moment you managed a “Are you kidding me?” and a small, all-too-exaggerated laugh. The audacity this man had. He cheated on you, not the other way around. 

“Do you think I’m joking? I’m just stating the obvious, darling,” Ronaldo smirked. He leaned against the bar, drink in hand. Triumph was written all over his face. 

You pulled out twenty dollars from your purse and slammed it onto the bar to cover your drink. You stood up straight, staring your adversary in the eyes. 

“I’m done with your bullshit, Ronaldo. Do I need to remind you whose fault it was that we broke up? It wasn’t me!,” you shouted just loud enough so the people closest to you could hear, “Have a good life.”

You stormed past him, purposely bumping into his shoulder on the way to the back. Your feet carried you past the mob of bodies. Instead of annoying you, they acted to your benefit, creating an almost impenetrable sea for Ronaldo to cross to get to you. You made it to the back exit swiftly and, without hesitating, escaped the room.

The chilly air greeted you like an old friend. Your dress was hardly enough to keep you warm, but it didn’t matter. Compared to the inside of the bar and its patrons, it felt more friendly and calm in the frigid night.

You pulled out your phone and started searching for an Uber to take you home. You began walking down the alleyway, enveloped in the screen in front of you rather than paying attention to your surroundings. That was why you nearly jumped out of your skin when you felt a cold hand grab a hold of your arm.

You whipped around and tried to strike the attacker with your bag but, after a moment, you saw that it was none other than Ronaldo. Despite recognizing him, you still managed to hit him with your purse. You ripped your arm from his grasp and backed up. You weren’t truly scared of him, not at all, but he repulsed you so much that you wanted to distance yourself from him as much as you possibly could.

“What the hell are you doing?!” you exclaimed.

“Y/N, listen to m–”

“No, tell me what you think you’re doing!”

“I don’t know what I–” he stuttered, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly and shifting his weight.

“You don’t know what you’re do–”

“Y/N, would you just listen to me, please?!” Ronaldo finally begged. He stood with his arms extended to you, silently pleading with you to let him speak, “Please?”

You checked your phone and then crossed your arms, “You have two minutes, Ronaldo, then I never want to see you again.”

“That’s fine, that’s perfect,” he took a step back. He looked at the sky as he took a deep breath. The stars were shining down on the two of you, illuminating the alleyway just enough that you could see Ronaldo’s breath and the sweat dripping down his face. What was bothering him so much?

He sighed, exasperated with his own thoughts, “Y/N, I.. you know I love you right?”

You did not reply, nod, or shake your head. You kept your eyes glued on him but, on the inside, your stomach was turning. This conversation could lead nowhere good. In the months since your break-up, you had thought about getting back together plenty of times. Yet, in reality, you could never let yourself do that. He cheated on you once. He had broken your trust. That could not happen again.

“I know you do. And I know, I hope, that deep down you still love me,” Ronaldo continued, trying to get any reaction out of you, but none came, “I will never love another woman as much as I love you. You were the light of my life, the thing that made me smile every single day without fail. You enchant me, Y/N,  and I went and screwed everything up. Will you forgive me?”

You scoffed, your arms only crossing tighter in front of your chest, “Don’t give me this ‘I love you most ardently’-esque crap. You cheated on me, Ronaldo. I have proof!”

“And I regret it every day! Y/N, you don’t understand how much I’ve beat myself up over this. I love you! You make me happy!”

“Ronaldo, if I really made you happy, frankly, we would not be in this situation right now,” you said, pursing your lips. You shrugged, “I am sorry, but I can’t forgive you.”

With that, a grey sedan drove to the end of the alleyway behind you. You checked the description on your phone–it was your ride.

“That’s me,” you said. The amount of water vapor in front of Ronaldo’s mouth only increased as he grew angrier and more confused. His mind was running, trying to find some solution to have you back, or to get you to at least forgive him, but he could not find one.

“Can you at least call me Cristiano?” he finally called out as you started to walk away.

You turned around. After a moment, you nodded, and made eye contact with him once more, “Alright, Cristiano. As I said earlier, I hope you have a good life.”

[ladystarksneedle]

Come as you are

Aegon's POV

Pairing: Aegon x Helaena

Word count : 2774

Summary: After a night of indulgence, Aegon contemplates his life and his relationship with Helaena, on his way back home.

He can feel something wet on his face, the sensation growing by the instant, if he chooses to focus. Normally he’d be happy to wake up in such a way but his eyes feel like lead and his head is pounding, like the drums signaling the start of a tourney. Rough starts to his day have become the norm. He considers this almost a natural progression in his life, similar to his transition from boy to man, with the days becoming increasingly unbearable and his nightly pursuits each unimaginable, to his younger self. There is little that surprises him now. Yet as he manages to wake when the wetness begins consuming his eyes, it’s still the last thing he expects to see. A kitten licks away at him, feasting at what, he doesn’t know. It’s almost hilarious to be woken up by such a creature out of all the possibilities his drunk head had conjured . Quite frankly he’d imagined a different ginger waking him up instead. The little beast gazes up at him with it's big eyes not shying away as he struggles to sit. He’s strangely reminded of Jaehaera, who stares at him in a similar fashion, her big eyes silently commanding him. She’d been pestering him for one of these for a moon now, which was perhaps too bold a word to use for what she actually had actually been upto, sneaking up on him and pulling his doublet vigorously only to say one word before scurrying off.

“Kepa, kitten”

This was almost every instance she happened to see him. Thankfully it wasn’t usually at this hour, when he was at his lowest. He still wanted to maintain the veneer of being presentable to his children. As much of a wastrel he considered himself to be, his children were the best of him and his seemingly good impression in their eyes was often a reprieve from his constant self loathing.

He ends up pocketing the kitten in his cloak as a gift for her, before staggering forwards to survey his surroundings. This is not the first time he’s woken up in a strange place, after a night of indulgence. Usually its in a brothel or at the back of the fighting pits or in a room in one of the preferred taverns he frequents to a certain redhead much like the kitten he’s now carrying. Sometimes he’s even woken up in the dragonpit of all places, curled up against Sunfyre, his warmth soothing him through many a cold winter night. Those mornings were much more satisfying than whatever pleasure he’d sought out the night before. Sunfyre always had a way of lightening his spirits.

Today he’s woken up in what looks like a small enclave at the back of a stable. Swaying from side to side he manages to gain a semblance of his composure as he makes his way out into the city.

King’s landing is a bustling capital, buzzing with people of all kinds. Vendors and hawkers go about their work, a contingent of gold cloaks patrol the markets and as he moves forwards he can even see a group of septas rushing towards the Great Sept on Visenya’s Hill. There are no thoughts running through his head as he makes his way, trying to go unnoticed through the crowds, however the feeling of increasing dread of having to return back to the Red keep soon creeps up on him. He knows someone might stumble upon him sooner or later and escort him back, as was their duty so he doesn’t really need to rush. It isn’t lost on him though, that it’s much later in the day than when he usually returns. Perhaps his mother, sick with worry, would send Aemond after him, he thinks with a chuckle imagining his uptight and dutiful brother wandering the Street of silk in search of him. He knows the twat would look there first.

His thoughts somehow return back to his mother though and he finds himself wishing otherwise. Whenever he’d return each morn, he’d be greeted by her frowning face, her disappointment clearly evident even through the haze in his eyes. Sometimes she’d let him off with just a look, if she was particularly busy that day but most days he’d end up getting a earful. It was one of the many times he’d regret being born. Her shouting only worsened the pounding in his head though the words they exchanged, as much as he would like to hide it, hurt him more. She’d leave him be with one of the manservants afterwards, tasked with cleaning him up and making him presentable for the rest of the day.  Sometimes he wondered why there was all this fuss around him. He’d given up following most pursuits of men his age. While his brother meticulously began his training every day at dawn, he’d long lost his fancy of swordsmanship, neither had he any interest in whiling his time away in the library, in pursuit of an additional maester’s chain. Most of his day was actually spent at court, fawned over by all the green lords who’d come to make their mark in the capital, most likely invited at the behest of his grandsire. Keeping up appearances was everything in king’s landing ,as was repeatedly drilled into all of their heads, by him and it was the one thing utterly he failed at. Although if he was being honest, he could care less for what the others thought of him. He was a prince, the king’s firstborn son, not that it mattered to his father and the rider of Sunfyre, the most majestic dragon in the world.  Why then should the opinions of petty lords amount to anything, when he ought to be lauded for just being himself. A Targaryen doesn’t seek the approval of sheep, something his grandsire would never be able to understand.

His sister was much more compliant and had a better relationship with him, though she too didn’t seek out court life as much as was required of her. She stuck to herself, the children and entertained a few ladies only when it was deemed necessary after yet another lecture by mother. His relationship with her was cordial most times though strained would be the best word to describe it. They had been too young when they were married off, with both of them not wanting it. He had nothing against her but they had nothing in common and marrying a woman for fulfilling yet another duty imposed on him, irked him to no end. After Aemond’s eye was taken though, both of them had very little choice in the matter and had to comply without objection. He considered their union to be like most political marriages born out of convenience, yet he knew at times he’d hurt her much more than he was ever inconvenienced in their relationship. His neglect of her and the children in turn, when he thought about it, turned into a perpetual sting at the back of his head, a constant reminder of all his failures. His feelings of uselessness exacerbated sequentially on becoming a husband and then a father. He never knew what to do with himself, how to pull himself out of his self inflicted misery and how to try and be there for the family he created. Every time he entertained the idea of trying, a small part of his brain nagged him about his worthlessness and how if he tried and failed this time, it would be the worst thing he ever did and nothing could make him regain how he valued himself ever again. So he sought to drowning out his troubles with whatever pleasure he could procure, finding novelty in the misery of flea bottom through the nights. Yet thoughts of his wife still lingered, despite the numbness which seeped through his bones. He would be reminded of her in flashes, of some random fact about a bug she’d spoken of at dinner or the way she wrung her hands when she was nervous or the tilting of her head when she got lost within herself. He even thought of her absent smiles when she thought no one was noticing. Helaena tormented him eternally, making him want to pull his hair out. All the wine in this shithole couldn’t seem to get her out of his system. He’d soon begun finding himself gazing unintentionally at her at dinner, trying to please her whenever he encountered her throughout the day or to just not make her hate him at times, just to quieten this abhorrent sense of longing in his head. He didn’t know how to express himself. None of them had ever been taught to, in their family. Love was a word unknown to all of them and had been rare growing up. It was strangely even rarer to him now that he was married.  He could hardly understand it’s meaning. He’d felt desire ever since he turned thirteen, looking at a young maiden in passing or yet another serving girl or whore vying for his affections. He’d felt longing for his mother’s love, her attention and pride. He'd felt responsible for Helaena and the children and affection at times towards her in their marriage, but love was ever a stranger to him. What he felt for Helaena wasn’t love he thought, or it couldn’t be. His mother had emphasized the importance of duty in their childhood, of looking after your own. After Aemond's eye had been cut out, it was the only duty he’d decided to stick by. He had vowed to protect his siblings and his family and he would abide by his duty for her. He’d thereafter resorted to showing her his intentions through other means, by gifting her small trinkets. A bug toy, a charm bracelet, a set of matching rings for their dragons were some of the things he'd gotten her over the years of their marriage, usually after he’d seen her cast a sad glance at him that day and when he felt he’d pushed it too far. Somehow the sadness in her eyes stung worse than it did in mother’s and that was terrifying to him.

He was too drunk to make to back in one piece this morn, giving him hardly enough time to find something for her. The kitten meowing in his pocket would have to do, for both mother and daughter.

Stumbling through the gates of the outer courtyard of the Keep, he was greeted by his sworn protector wearing a scowl on his face. Ser Erryk could be such an upstanding cunt when he had to, making him feel like clapping himself on the back for managing to dodge him yet again. He was hurled up to his quarters shortly, all the while trying to keep the kitten quiet to save himself the embarrassment of being further questioned.

Helaena was sitting on the settee placed in the middle of the room, as usual, busy with her embroidery as he was hauled in. She’d gotten so accustomed to his shenanigans she would hardly looked up whenever he was dragged in. Today was different. Her eyes crinkled with a myriad of emotions as she gazed upon him, fright, distaste and worry which she was quick to mask as she dismissed his guard with a kind word.

They were alone in their chambers for only a short while before she led him to the settee and called upon her maids to have his bath prepared. As she went about getting his things ready he glanced upon her threadwork, which looked like a pair of flies dancing about.

She was quick to come to him and help him though, along with one of his servants.

She smelt good he thought as they lowered him together into the tub. Was he really that drowsy now, that he required her help he thought sighing at the warmth encasing him. Her scent of lavender was heavy on his senses as she spoke something to the man before dismissing him. She smelled sweet and woodsy, stronger than her usual scent of fresh garden plucked lilies, not that he minded. His thoughts drifted back to the kitten suddenly and he wondered if it had somehow escaped his cloak. He was too tired to look for it now and frankly couldn’t be bothered as the exhaustion of the night began overwhelming him.

It occurred to him that this was the first time she was helping him bathe as he relaxed further and he gulped unconsciously dreading what she was about to say next as she began soaping him.

“Why do you do this to yourself Aegon?”

“It is in my nature” he responded turning his face away as she began running some of the bath oils through his hair.

“Mother has decided to finally give up on you” she said with a sigh. “She came again this morning, passed by on her way to the small council meeting, without a word asking about your whereabouts.”

“Tis about time,” he grunted. “ She should redirect her efforts towards her more dutiful son and I’m easy enough to forget”

“Not to me” she whispered kneading his scalp as she leaned over him.

“Has something happened?” he asked, turning to gaze into her eyes, trying to ignore the strange feeling bubbling in his stomach.

She shook her head, choosing to ignore him for the rest of his bath as she worked away at lathering him clean. As the water turned soapy, he almost felt as if he was dreaming, drowsy from the after effects of all the wine. He couldn’t fathom a scenario where his wife would let her feelings be known to him so openly and that to something akin to almost brazen confessions of her affection. It wasn’t in her nature and neither in his.

“You remind me of those stick insects you know, the wobbly ones. They’re called one night stick insects,” she said as she dried her hands and got up to hold a towel infront of him.

“Why?” he asked stepping out carefully.

“They’re nocturnal, quite like you, scurrying about during odd hours. They also never fertilize the same egg twice.”

He winced as she finished drying him clean.

“Perhaps you should give me the same treatment as the Black widow then. It seems as if I’ve served my purpose and it would be quite a fitting way to go”

She smiled at that, which made his heart ache. He still wished to blame it on the wine but he knew what he’d said had elicited a genuine response from her.

She moved towards him, green doublet in hand as she began helping him dress, still smiling to herself. As she finished clipping the gold chains around his neck she pulled him closer, “I think we’re a pair of Mayflies you and I. Not spiders or stick bugs. Do you want to know why?”

He had been leaning almost imperceptibly towards her as she'd worked, bending down to brush his nose against hers urging her to continue.

“They’re parents just like us, staying together for their larvae. They fight and ignore each other for years but still come together for them when it matters and do you know how they thank them? By eating them when it’s time to leave their nest.”

He grunted hiding his smile as she struggled to hide her own laughter in his collar.

“So instead of one of us, both shall face the same fate. How fitting.”

“To come together and leave together, as one” she whispered.

“A cruel fate”

“Cruel or not it is most likely ours. We are what we make of our circumstance.”

“Were you always this wise, my observant mayfly ”he asked tucking an errant lock of hair behind her ear.

“You’re too drunk to notice”

“My sincere apologies”

“I know you don’t mean it.”

“Probably not but you’re too beautiful to resist at the moment” he replied leaning in to capture her lips. She tasted sweet and of lemon cakes she’d probably had in the morning and though he wasn’t fond of the tarty sugary sweet he cherished her closeness and the comfort of her presence. He probably smelt of wine and tasted just as bitter but was satisfied when it didn’t stop her from reciprocating his advances. Perhaps she’d gotten used to him after all, his little mayfly he thought as they were painfully interrupted by the feeling of something wet on his leg.

“Is that a kitten” she squealed.

“For Jaehaera” ,he replied sheepishly running a hand through his hair. “This little runt woke me up today by licking all over my face”

“A fine surprise husband, perhaps I shall have to try that trick to rouse you too” she replied back cheekily.

He could only stare after her stunned, too shocked to formulate a reply at her sudden cheek, as she scooped up the little beast and sprinted through the doors to find their daughter. He brought a hand to his lips lingering on the warmth he felt inside as he stood alone in their chambers. Perhaps he should start taking an interest in these strange legged creatures after all.