#Invisible ruby earrings

[stargirlrchive]

INVISIBLE STRING — CASSIAN!

pairing: cassian x morrigan (half) sister reader

notes: :3 hi hi this is so scary. i haven’t posted a full thought out fic in probably a year (crazy) and i would like to say i have not finished the series so if timeline is inaccurate and just plots don’t make sense w canon it’s bc im still on acowar :p but cassian has taken over my brain and i can’t get him out of it !!!! c: part two is already being worked on bc im so proud of her. i hope u all enjoy it <3 ++ i know mor is described as being blonde and fairly pale in complexion which is why i made reader her half sibling, and there are no descriptions of reader’s physical attributes bc i wanted to kept it as neutral as possible :3

cw: angst, hurt no comfort (yet?), azriel’s shadows being the biggest cassreader shippers ever, unrequited love but really it’s just idiots in love. also mentions (brief) of abuse from keir (gross!)

Your fingers nervously fumbled with the straps of your leathers. Heart pounding in your ears as you forced yourself to drop the nervous jitters, fingers balling into tight fist to stop their trembling.

It had been a long time since you had last seen your family. A long time since your gaze met violet eyes, or your nose scented cedar wood and night chilled mist. The lingering scent of sea salted water and citrus, and fresh paint and vanilla, and sweet wine and roses had nearly erased from your memory. But what you missed the most was the red gleam of siphons that glowed ruby red under certain light.

Truly, in an immortals life time half a decade was just a blip in time, minuscule, but you had never been gone this long from them. Especially not from Rhys, Az, Mor, and Cassian, with the exception of Rhysand’s imprisonment under the mountain.

You blinked away the burning in your eyes as you pushed open the doors of the town house. Soft chatter growing cold at the unexpected intrusion. You had barely enough time to register everyone seated at the table when shadows were zooming past their master to greet you excitedly.

Nuzzling into your hair and neck and arms. Azriel’s shadows had always been so fond of you. Whispering and singing in your ear in a language you could not understand.

They tugged you forward, until you were stumbling clumsily as they dragged you towards Cassian. An ache settled deep in your chest as you fought against them gently, moving between Azriel and Rhys. You missed the flash of hurt in hazel eyes as you avoided him.

Five years later and he still didn’t know the truth of your departure. Before your thoughts could send you spiraling, Rhys’ voice called your name. An undeniable smile in his voice before his arms were enveloping you, “Cousin, you’re back.”

“I am.” Your throat felt thick, tongue heavy as you fought back tears. His scent had always comforted you, Rhys had given you and Mor a chance. A lifeline in the sea that you were drowning in, in Hewn City.

Two sisters, both forced into a world that was cruel and unkind. Morrigan as rightful Heir of Keir had experienced the brunt of it all. From being stuffed into tight dress, to being pranced around in front of grimy men, and nearly forced into a life with a male whose family’s cruelty knew no bounds.

Your torment had been in forms of neglect and isolation. Your father had never much cared for you, being a product of affairs, his bastard, he left you alone. Barely acknowledged your presence when at the mere age of nine you were thrown into his arms from your mother’s father, stating you were no longer his responsibility since your mother’s death. Your father’s neglect, you now realized, had been a blessing.

You were Mor’s shadow. Clinging to her as any younger sister would. Always causing trouble until you learned to obey. Mor never let you experience the abuse from your father fully. Always taking the blame, always hiding you. You owed her and Rhys, your family, everything.

There was a soft clearing of a throat that pulled you and your High Lord apart. Shadows greedily pulling you to face everyone else. Azriel’s hazel eyes assessing you, looking for any injuries before his fingers were squeezing your elbow gently. A soft hello.

Your eyes flickered around the room, and you realized just how much had changed. Your High Lady, and dear friend seated at the head of the table, Rhys by her side. Besides him sat Azriel and then Elain.

Your throat tightened as you allowed your eyes to flicker to the other side, Nesta beside Feyra, and Cassian beside her. Amren had most likely skipped out dinner to enjoy the privacy of her apartment, and Mor was no longer around. Preferring to spend her time on the continent.

The golden thread that tied you to the Lord of Bloodshed sung loudly and happily in your chest. Five years since you had last laid eyes on him and the feeling alone nearly brought you to your knees.

Your eyes flickered away from Cassian, ignoring the way your heart and soul begged you not to. “Is my room still available?”

Feyra sent you a soft smile, sad really, as she realized how desperately you wished to find some peace and quiet. She knew of your affections for the General, and how you had never told him only to watch him fall in love with her sister.

“Of course it is, but you should join us.”

You swallowed roughly at Rhys’ words, unable to stop the gnawing pain in your heart and the cruel words circling in your mind. Cassian was not yours, he had never been and it was unfair of you to expect him to love you the way you had always yearned for him too. But it didn’t mean it didn’t hurt, it always fucking hurt.

“I’m quite tired, maybe tomorrow.” Rhys didn’t push, just affectionately tucked your hair behind your pointed ear and let you go.

Your steps were quick, hurried and Cassian’s voice sounded like smooth velvet as he called your name. You didn’t stop, your knees nearly buckling under your weight as you forced yourself to keep walking.

Mumbling a quiet, “Goodnight,” before disappearing into the hallways in search of your bedroom.

During your five years away at Day the turmoil in your heart had eased, if only slightly. Cassian would unintentionally send his emotions down the bond, and it seemed it always happened when your heart had finally let you rest.

When you finally saw light at the end of a never ending tunnel of despair, the mating bond would reel you in, viciously and unforgiving. You were sure you were being punished.

How dare you ever try to question what the Mother wanted for you?

Being back in Velaris, being back home, felt so much worse. With the distance, even when his emotions poured into your very bones, it felt weakened. Less tethered to you.

But now? Now you felt his sorrow so deeply tears fell freely down your cheeks.

You had only been trying to sleep for a few hours, your rest had been fitful at best, anxiety prickling at your fingertips as you threw the warm blanket off of you. You needed air. You needed clarity.

Your feet moved on their own. From what you last knew there were no longer many residents here. You were careless in thinking so as your feet moved hurriedly through the house and out into the garden.

Filling your lungs with air as tears prickled at your eyes, the cold nipping at your skin as you sunk into one of the benches placed around the area.

You had only been in his presence for a mere five minutes and your heart was already waging a war against you.

Maybe you could convince Rhys to send you off once again. Your years away at Day had been filled with research and insight, maybe you could do the same at Dawn. Or any other Court that wasn’t here. Gods, you’d even take the forsaken libraries in the Hewn City if it meant not being here. You’d beg if you had too because this, this was too much.

You let out a shaky breath as your mind ruthfully plagued you with memories of the past. Of your utter devastation of hearing that Mor had slept with Cassian.

Of the guilt you felt after, when you avoided her in anger and utter jealousy and then told of the way she was savagely left to die.

You would never forgive yourself.

Remembering when you realized you were utterly and hopelessly devoted to your life long friend, and learning to live with just having a small part of him for you.

Hoping and praying to the Mother that he’d love you back. Hoping to see a spark of honeyed warmth, or a lick of jealousy when you found solace in the warmth of another. Anything, you prayed and prayed, but she never answered.

Not until you had pinned him down on the training matt, wings sprawled out beneath him as you stared at him smugly. A soft, primal, smirk on his face as he gripped your thighs. “You’re getting better.”

Your laughter filtered through the open area, “Only ‘better’? I just kicked your ass.”

He grunted, tugging you gently and in a quick succession of movements had flipped you over, pinning you to the ground. His thighs caged over yours, pinning your hands above your head as he sent you a toothy smile.

The wind that had been knocked out of you was not due to the fact your back had hit against the matt, but because something snapped inside of you. An invisible golden thread, darting from your chest to his, so visceral you could almost taste it, singing happily at finally being acknowledged.

But he gave no indication that he had felt the mating bond snap into place, “Yes, ‘better’. Because you should know not to let your guard down.”

Your speechlessness could’ve been a product of being bested in sparring, your mind racing with things to say but nothing came out.

The fog that had formed in your brain cleared at the bark of laughter that left Azriel, “If you two are done flirting, get back to sparring or leave the ring.”

You don’t remember what excuse you used to suddenly needing to leave but you did. Hope sparkling in your chest at what you thought was an answered prayer by the Mother. He was yours, just as much as you were his.

Only for the ember to burn to ash quickly, as two nights after Cassian had come to you looking for guidance on how to court Nesta.

You tried so hard, pushing down the mating bond that roared and screamed in utter agony as he spilled to you his affections for the eldest Archeron.

Your heart stuttering and begging for release of this pain as your mind caught up to you. He’d never see you. He hadn’t before, so what would be so different now? What would suddenly make you worthy in his eyes? The mating bond?

You realized quickly that you didn’t want that. Didn’t want him to love you just because fate decided to pair you together. You wanted him to love you, to yearn for you the way you had for him without something telling him to.

So with a forced smile you consoled him. Running your fingers through his hair and giving him advice on how to win her heart.

Some days you cursed yourself for that night. You wished you had been selfish and told him he was yours. But then the guilt would settle and you knew you’d never have the heart to force that onto your dearest friend.

In the end all you wanted was his happiness, if that was with someone else then you’d have to learn to live with it.

It had all led up to the night where you accidentally walked in on Nesta and Cassian in the kitchen at the House of Wind, lips and tongues tangled.

The mating bond felt like it was burning you alive from the inside out, angry and volatile as it blamed you for pushing him into her arms.

You’re not sure how you ended up in Rhys office, your face pressed into him as your fingers tried to claw at the hurt in your chest, “Make it stop, Rhys. Gods please, just make it stop.”

He had never seen you like this, never seen you in such despair as he tried to calm you down. He didn’t know what to do, didn’t know how to help you.

Only held you in his arms and sang a lullaby his mother had always sang to the three of you as children. Your desperation and pain eased and numbness eventually coated your insides.

“Send me away.”

He hesitated, wiping your tears as Feyra’s soothing touch caressed your back. His violet eyes shining with hurt and concern for you, “What are you running from?”

Your thoughts were interrupted by the deep timber of a voice you were so familiar with,“Is it just me, or are you avoiding me?”

Heat quickly ran from your skull down to your spine at the velvety voice that belonged to Cassian. Your back tensing uncomfortably as you turned to look at him.

You refrained from letting your eyes glaze down his form. Bare chested and wings lazily held up as his brows furrowed when he took you in.

“Cassian-what are you doing here?”

You stood up from your seated position as he moved closer. His eyes never leaving yours, “Here as in the gardens or here as in my home?”

Your brows furrowed, were he and Nesta now permanently in the town house? It would’ve made sense, seeing as they were all here, having dinner earlier.

“In-in the gardens.”

His lips twisted up into a small quirk of a smile, his eyes lingering on your face as if trying to reacquaint himself with your features.

Your heart lurched to your throat as his gaze lingered on your lips before he looked back into your eyes. “I heard you walking around. Wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“How did you know it was me?”

His lips tugged into a proper smile this time, “Who else could it be?”

He couldn’t bring himself to tell you that he’d long ago familiarized himself with the sound of your steps.

Your brows pinched together, full lips tugging into a small frown, “Where is everyone else?”

“Elain is most likely off in Lucien’s apartment, Azriel is at the House of Wind.”

And despite yourself, you asked, “And Nesta?”

Your throat bobbed softly, heart already preparing itself to hear that she was tangled in his sheets in his room. A soft shrug came from him, muscles flexing deliciously at the movement, “Probably with her mate.”

Your heart stuttered in your chest at his words. Her mate? You were sure the confusion was evident on your face as Cassian laughed. “It’s a bit unfair isn’t it? She was made a measly six years ago, and she’s found who her soul is tethered to, while we’ve been around for centuries and have no luck.”

“Lucky her.”

He hummed, eyes glazing over your face and the look in his eyes was unrecognizable. Warm and honeyed. It made your stomach twist and turn into uncomfortable knots.

“I should go to bed, Cassian. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You made to walk away from him, but his rough fingers wrapped around your forearm in a touch that could only be described as gentle. When you finally looked up at him his brows were pinched together in confusion, and hurt.

“What’s with the full name?”

“It’s yours, isn’t it?”

His eyes narrowed slightly at your words, “You’ve used it on me twice in the span of a few minutes. I’m never ‘Cassian’ to you.”

A stretch of silence passed between the two of you, you didn’t know what to say. You didn’t know how to act around him anymore.

Gods, you had come around to the idea of seeing him tangled with Nesta. But you were back and he was single. Or at least not with her and you don’t know what you feared most.

That your heart would take this as hope and yearn for him, and watch him fall for another, or to finally tell him how you felt. If it would even mean anything to him, if he’d even want you.

You couldn’t do it, you wouldn’t. You refused to let hope spark in your heart when he had already tangled himself into your very being like overgrown ivy. You don’t know if you’d survive any more rejection.

His voice was softer this time, thick fingers cupping your cheeks and jaw, forcing you to look at him, “You were gone five years and I can barely get five sentences out of you before you’re running away from me.”

Tears stung behind your eyes as your throat tightened at the hurt twinging his voice. It took everything in you to not soothe the crease between his brows, your body tensing softly as his thumb caressed your bottom lip gently, “If I have offended you, or hurt you some how tell me how to fix it. I have been waiting for five years for your return and I cannot stand to think that this whole time you were away you were angry with me.”

You wished you could speak, but your tongue felt heavy. The hurt in his eyes turned to something akin to despair at your silence, his hands dropped from caressing your face to hang loosely by his side, his wings slumped against the floor.

You let out a shuddering breath, forcing yourself to look away from him, “I should go to bed.”

And this time he didn’t stop you.

Weeks had trickled by so slowly since your return to Velaris as you tried to find your place back in your home court.

You had never been particularly good at fighting, your strength came from your knowledge. Books and literature had been something you had clung to as a child and it never left you.

You digested text in a way the inner circle did not, memorized details and names and faces others struggled with. But that did not mean Azriel was any easier on you when it came to training.

The muscles in your abdomen ached painfully, your arms felt heavy and filled with sand as he squared up once more. “I need a break.”

“You need to focus.”

A whine ripped from your throat in protest, Az’s shadows peppering cooling kisses and caresses on your skin to try and comfort you. “Just a few minutes. Please?”

“You think if someone were to try and attack you, they’d spare you if you whined like a petulant child?”

At your silence and glare he continued, “Didn’t think so.”

Your fingers balled into fist as you readied yourself, your muscles heavy with exhaustion as you threw punch after punch his way. “Remain focused, let yourself do what feels instinctual.”

You were sure you would’ve passed whatever Azriel’s standards were had his shadows not wrapped around your legs. Tugging insistently and trying to drag you away.

You heard Azriel’s noise of protest as he tried to rein his shadows back but they refused. Your head turned towards the direction in which they were tugging you in only to be met with Cassian’s warm hazel eyes already on you.

With an accidental misstep you were tumbling forward, falling far too quickly to catch yourself. Your head ringing harshly as the side of your face smacked against the mat.

Someone called out your name in a panic, and you missed the way Cassian had roughly pushed Azriel away from you as he turned you around.

His eyes frayed with worry as your eyes remained unfocused, “Can you look at me, dove?”

You blinked a few times before a groan of discomfort left your mouth, “What the fuck happened?”

Azriel’s shadows sheepishly began to caress your skull, pressing kisses of apologies on your skin. You didn’t hear anything besides tiny wisps of whispers coming from them but you’re were sure they hissed at Cassian as he shooed them away.

It took you a few minutes but you were eventually able to sit. Your ears ringing and still a little dizzy but you were feeling better despite the throb on your temple.

Azriel’s shadows peered at you from behind him sheepishly, and it was only when you extended your hand to them that they swarmed you in a flurry. Rubbing against your neck and hair affectionately, being careful with the side of your face but caressing you softly.

“They say they’re sorry.”

Your lips quirked up at Azriel’s words, “They’re forgiven.”

They buzzed in excitement, before stilling softly as Cassian extended a hand out for the shadows. They treaded carefully, lightly caressing his arm as in apology as if they had also offended him.

A few swirled around your hand and fingers, tugging it much more gently into Cassian’s extended hand. Your cheeks warmed up in embarrassment but before you could pull away, he tangled his fingers with yours.

The shadows swirled around your intertwined hands as if proud of themselves before finally returning to their master. Azriel sent you a soft smirk, and with a shake of his head diseapeared into a mass of dark misty shadows.

“Are you alright?”

You nodded slowly, retorting in exasperation, “Just feels like I hit my head.”

Cassian’s lips tugged into a soft smile, helping you up and not dropping your tangled fingers, “Let’s get you to Madja.”

He pulled you along closely, walking you both towards the edge of the training area. Before you could overthink about being so tangled in his arms he wrapped himself around you. One hand cradling the back of your head to his chest, while the other gripped the back of your thighs.

Your heart pummeled to your stomach as he took off flying, it had been so long since you felt the breeze against your face like this. Your legs wrapping around him as a startled laugh left your mouth.

You felt his laugh more than you heard it, his chest rumbling against yours and for the first time in years, your heart felt at ease around Cassian.

No turmoil or anguish, just overflowing affection and happiness as he flew you carefully around Velaris. Your face tucked away from being so pressed to his chest to look up at him and your breath hitched.

He was truly so beautiful, rough and sharp features that looked like he was made out of stone carving. His lips the perfect shade of dusty rose and plump, his nose fit him beautifully too, slightly crooked at the slope from being broken over the years. White-raised scars on his beautiful tan skin. You were so close you could see the faintest of freckles that doted his skin.

“You didn’t pass out on me, did you?”

Heat bloomed on your cheeks at getting so lost admiring him before you tucked your face back into his chest, “No, I’m fine.”

His fingers squeezed around your thighs as he pulled you closer before he descended down to the Town House.

You were grateful for the hand he kept placed on your back as he walked you into the house. Your dizziness hitting you once again as you landed on solid ground. The warmth running down your spine at his heated touch had you suppressing a shiver.

Your bones ached in protest when he pulled away and sat you down in front of an amused Rhys and exasperated Madja. The elder lady frowning at the bruise on your temple.

“Cassian, I’ve told you not to be so rough when training,” Madja’s soothing voice chastised the General. Your lips tugging into an amused smiled at the noise of protest that left his mouth.

“It was Azriel’s shadows that caused this.”

Madja’s eyes narrowed softly at his words but said nothing more. A hiss leaving your lips as she pushed against the bump forming near your eye.

Cassian’s fingers twitched nervously at the sound of your discomfort. His eyes glued to you as you were looked over by the healer.

Something warm and comfortable hummed in his chest seeing you. The weeks you had been back were nothing short of torture for him.

In the five years you had been gone Cassian came to the devastating realization that he was utterly and unabashedly enamored with you. Cursing himself for the time wasted on pointless lovers, on Nesta, when you had been by his side for the better half of four centuries.

His heart cracking open and knocking him over one restless night as his mind tormented him with everything he had been lacking since you had departed to Day.

He figured that he had always loved you, had always cared for you. But the twisting of his gut in your absences alerted him that it was in a way that was different from Mor and Amren, and then Feyra. His obsession with needing you near, needing you safe stemmed from some thing else entirely.

It took four months of being away from you to realize that. Cursing himself at all the time wasted.

And it wasn’t as if he didn’t try to get ahold of you while you were studying and researching to your hearts content at Day. He had sent letter after letter, received few responses but he had figured you were busy.

His skin had only started to crawl with dread and anxiety when there had been reasons for the Inner Circle to attend a meeting, or some grand ball thrown by Helion, and you were never there.

Either whisked away to some other Court for extended research or taking time away to visit your sister.

The very last time he had stepped foot in Day while you had been there was about three months before your return. Rhys had granted him permission to seek you out.

And when he stepped foot into Day Court’s palace in search of you his hope dwindled as Helion informed him that you had just left a few days prior for a fourteen day tour at Autumn Court. But he swore he scented the soft jasmine and lavender cream that he recognized as your scent roaming the halls.

Resigned, he returned home.

Then you returned, so careful and tense in his presence he wished to turn back back to when things were easier between the two of you. When his face would nuzzle into your soft belly as you ran your fingers through his hair and consoled him after a nightmare.

Or how he’d find his favorite pastries wrapped up on the counter that he knew you’d gone out of your way to get him.

He missed when his feelings hadn’t tangled themselves so deeply into you and he could just be. Gods, did he miss you. He yearned and ached and burned for you while you seemed content at keeping him an arms length away.

The mother could be so cruel.

He barely registered Rhys pressing an affectionate kiss to your bruised temple and mumbling that he was taking Madja back before something so earth shattering was unraveling in his chest.

His eyes wide and chest heaving the second the two of you were alone and your eyes met. A deeply rich golden invisible thread darting from his chest to yours.

He had unconsciously poured all his emotions of recognizing the bond down your connection. A primal need to be closer to you bursting from his chest as he tugged on the bond.

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t seem surprised he noted. Your side of the bond closed off tightly he could feel nothing from your end. He hated that.

Your eyes were wide in apprehension as you stared at him, tears lining your eyes as his emotions of love and devotion were so strong they brought him to his knees before you. Pleading and desperate as he called out your name.

“Don’t do this, Cassian.”

His brows pinched together as he reached for you, the bond screaming in agony as you avoided his touch and stood up to create some space between the two of you.

“Dove, listen to me. Please.” He was not above begging, still kneeled in the center of the room as his wings slumped to the ground. His eyes following your every move as you nervously ran your fingers through your hair.

“I feel it, I feel you.” His fingers and hands were steady as he pointed to his chest despite the feeling of anxiety creeping into him.

“You’re mine, my mate, dove.”

There was a beat of silence, Cassian staring at you as if you had delicately placed every beautiful star in the sky. But you had never seen him look at you like that before.

Never had he inclined he wanted you besides the bond. Gods, did it hurt. Your stomach churned sadly as your fingers balled into fist as you shook your head in denial.

“No. No, you don’t get to just suddenly want me because of the bond. I don’t want it this way.”

His frown deepened at your words, your emotions so heavily felt they started to crack the walls you kept up and pouring into the bond.

You had known for years. Five years, you had known and said nothing. “Gods, Cassian! I have loved you for so long. Prayed and begged to the Mother, to the Cauldron, to the Moon and Stars to have you return my affection and you didn’t.”

Cassian wanted to speak, to protest your words but the frustrated tears pouring down your beautiful face and the agony building in his chest, that was no longer just his, kept him quiet. “I’ve watched you pine and love others, and you have never looked at me that way. You had never thought me worthy of you in that way, and now that you know. It shouldn’t change a thing.”

“But it does,” His fingers itched to devote themselves to you. To memorize every curve and dip on your body. “It changes everything-”

You cut him off before he could continue, before he could tell you that he now felt worthy of loving you. That he now knew he could love you in a way you deserved if the Mother had blessed him with you as his wonderful mate. “Well it shouldn’t.”

You sniffled softly as you stared at him directly in his eyes, “I don’t want it to.”

[teatreeoilll]

Retribution (Ryomen Sukuna X Reader)

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w/c - 0.5k content warnings - MDNI!, 18+, fem!reader, dom!reader, attempted murder (lol), language, poisoning, Heian-era sorta sub!Sukuna, sorta smutty drabble, Reader is a pissed-off concubine trying to kill the King of Curses. I dunno what came over me

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"Has the king heard the tale of the obedient emperor?" You muse, your tone an eerie tune that lingers in the dim chamber. 

"What's in the drink, human?" Sukuna demands, his gaze locked onto his own fidgeting palms.

When Sukuna's fingers first wrapped around the cup, you scolded yourself for ever letting the other miserable concubines coerce you into believing that a mere poison in his drink would end his life. But as his body began to tremble, still trying to remain seated on the bed, and his pupils burst into black holes within his ruby irises, a glimmer of hope coursed through you like hellfire. 

"Nothing, my king. It's nothing but wine." You hold your breath as his body falters, "Unwell, my king?" There is a hint of self-satisfaction in your words as his arm extends towards you. But then, like pulled by an invisible string, it retreats, falling back onto his side. 

"They say a thousand years ago, far up north, lived the strongest emperor the world has ever known," You resume, watching the cup slip from Sukuna's grip, staining the wooden floor with remnants of the crimson drink, "It is said he had an army hundreds of thousands strong, servants to abide his every whim .." 

Sukuna's eyes pierce through you. He attempts to speak, but his words emerge as nothing but deep grunts and growls. His mouth fills with taste of lead as the cursed energy flowing through his body already works on his recovery.

"Ah-ah, don't interrupt," your malicious grin sends waves of fury down his spine, "Or you might not get to hear the ending." 

In the pleasure districts of your town which the king of curses burned to ashes, the brothel owner taught you thoroughly; all men who possess great power, crave to relinquish it as well.

Sukuna’s body wobbles, the thud of his torso hitting the mattress is like music to your ears. 

"Where was I? Oh - the servants. Men and women who cowered in fear when he spoke, who built him a palace so vast that even the gods looked down upon it with envy. And so, the gods decided to curse him." 

You approach the bed, watching his monstrous limbs sprawled across the mattress, enjoying the subtle twitches of resentment in his expression.

"They cursed him so that even with all his power," You put a knee on either side of his body, straddling him with all your weight, "He could not feel any pleasure until he would submit to another." You grind against his hips, a moan escaping your lips as you feel the bulge grow under you. 

"You like this, don’t you? Like being powerless?" 

"-Fucking Bitch." He groaned, interrupting your gleeful smirk; your eyes widen as you tip your chin down to watch his arms regain their vigor, shooting out to slam you on the mattress. 

You gasp for air, freezing when his body towers over you. The thuds of your pounding heart deafen your ears as he stretches out his arm. Your breath halts as you brace for impact, and for a fleeting moment, you see the imminent end.

Instead, he slams his hand down on the mattress beside your head, his expression a flushed, panting mess as he thrusts his clothed hips between your legs. "Fuck you." 

"Be nice," you chastise. As your initial plan crumbled, a greater wave of pleasure engulfed your senses at the sound of his breathless moans.

Maybe you’ll make him beg, just for fun.

[kamesama]

— scapegoat: ryōmen sukuna.

— notes + warnings: this is a heavy one ( i mean it ); n/sfw, minors do not interact; virgin! fem! reader given away as a sacrifice; true-form! sukuna; non-con; violence; gore; blood; nudity; foul language; humiliation; degradation; implied character / reader death. — word count: 2166

you have never looked lovelier.

lips red with thick layer of paint; hair held up flawlessly by an ornate pin; body burdened by fine silks. chagrin and shame danced upon your cheeks, leaving blush trails in their wake. their waltz served to ridicule you, its snicker reminding that there was not a single silver lining you could find for yourself to cling to.

and how could you? 

you were a morsel sold for a mock-promise of peace. a sacrifice made for a fleeting moment of stillness. your torment would provide a single eve’s worth of undisturbed slumber, at best.

how many restful nights did you indulge in as a result of someone else’s defiled maidenhood?

the legends echoed off the rugged walls of your skulls; bed-time stories of carnage and cruelty and corpses. of a beast’s menacing frame, caked in red. of his four-eyed, garnet gaze that rolled and glided without a shred of subtlety. of his tongues; starved and shameless. of his hands; mammoth and malevolent.

will someone frighten their children with laments for you? when your bare body is devoured by ivy and when spiders nest in your empty sockets and when field flowers erupt from within your rotten ribcage out of sole pity for your snaffled chastity, will you be mourned and honoured? no one else ever was. 

had you raised your chin, you would have found him seated, one of his hands supporting his jaw in a manner that was nearly overwhelmed with boredom. but you didn’t look up — your chin nearly settled into the subtle hollow between your clavicles, as if refusal to bear witness to his horrific majesty would, somehow, render you invisible. 

if only humility could save you.

“come closer, woman,” he called out, his voice firm and profound. it made you shudder; the elaborate imagery on your gown grew blurry. 

drip.

drip.

drip.

hot droplets left dark stains upon your lap. they expanded gingerly before coming to a halt. your muscles begged you not to let them contract. the tension grew denser than honey.

“come closer,” the echo of his command was guttural, “or i’ll rip your legs off.” 

a pitiable sob escaped you, leaving you uncertain whether your grieving was due to you betraying your own thews, or to the sheer expanse of your misfortune. with trembling limbs, you stood up, cautious as not to stumble over the hems of your extravagant wrapping. every tiny step forward made your heartbeat slam louder at the bottom of your ear canal; misplaced. 

it was the mocking curvature of his belly-mouth that you first laid your gaze on. the inhuman sight pulled your eyelids wide open, exposing the glossy white of your sclera rapidly turning bloodshot.

perhaps you would have turned on your heel and succumbed to the overwhelming amounts of epinephrine coursing through your veins. perhaps you would have fled, even if it cost you anything between your heel and your hip. perhaps you would have, if his calloused fingers hadn’t gripped your jaw, coal nails disturbing the integrity of your smooth cheeks. 

the abuse was barely bloodier than a pinprick.

the force of his touch stretched your neck muscles enough to make it strenuous to swallow. he angled your head so that his eyes — four restless rubies glistening underneath the flickering candlelight — could skim across your entire face. they appeared to lick over every convexity, concavity and crevice. your vision deadened momentarily underneath a thickening layer of moisture that soon after dripped over the rims of your lids. 

“you’re pretty for a whore,” he hummed, his lips arching upwards into a vicious grin, but his amusement withered just as swiftly, “or is it that pesky paint?” he tutted, “they always tuck you in those bothersome shrouds. what for?” his thumb rubbed across your bottom lip, smearing the bold red hue onto the surrounding skin. he cocked his head to the side, his eyes sparkling with a heterogenous mixture of exasperation and entertainment.

“have you got no tongue?” his grip parted your lips as he slid two digits into your wet, warm mouth to caress your teeth, gums and tongue with a callous touch, “there it is,” you could feel your flesh gripped in-between his fingers, “do you need it?”

a perturbed hum sounded from the midst of your throat. the smallest nod — as tremendous as your confinement would allow — served to add weight to the desperation of your agreement. 

“then use it. does your kind take their women all wrapped up?” 

“no…” your voice was timid. pathetic.

“so why should i?” 

you wouldn’t know how to respond, had he given you a chance to. he pushed you away suddenly, planting a profound, dull ache into your mandible. a fog-like haze forbade you from knowing how you maintained a sloppy balance upon your two feet.

“strip, woman. let me see my gift the way it should have been presented.” there was leisure caressing his voice, absorbing into his marked skin. yet, he appeared menacing nonetheless. you clutched the front of your gown with trembling fingers, out of fear that his starved gaze alone would rid you of your decency. your spine bent slightly in an attempt to guard whatever curve wasn’t already veiled by your silken clothes. 

but that annoyed him; his patience seemed to simmer and it evaporated quickly enough to thicken the tension all the more. once again, you found it hard to swallow.

“i said, strip,” the frigid tone of his voice seemed to momentarily freeze the blood in your veins and drag your skin up into goosebumps. your breath paused in your throat, your fingernails clawing at the vivid shrouds enough to overwhelm your knuckles.

you sniffled, “please don’t.”

the voice you pleaded with was a meek thing; pitiful and demure. it would have stirred some sympathy in anyone who possessed at least a single chamber of a heart; sukuna barely had an excuse for the whole thing. 

“please don’t?” he parroted, his voice heavy with cruel amusement. you could hear the wickedness in his words; as carnivorous and as famished as his eyes. the wood cried out from underneath the soles of his bare feet as he stood up, an enormous shadow devouring your frame. his fingers dove into the strands of your hair, disarraying the style it was carefully arranged into; the stunning hairpin fell without a complaint. he yanked your locks, pulling your head back to the point your slender neck curved into a strained arch. his misplaced mouth grinned viciously at the scene, wet tongue coating the thick lips with shameless lust. 

your eyes glistened in the flames’ glow, burdened by the bite of your tears. your lips quivered along with your fingers; it made your efforts hilariously puny as you attempted to tug on his wrist lest he easened the grip or withdrew completely, “s-stop-” you cried out, “stop!” 

the sound echoed, bouncing off the walls before dripping onto the timber floor. he tore the intricate design on your robe with a merciless jerk and ripped the girdle. the gown opened up akin to curtains to reveal every virginal secret you so obediently maintained all these years. it would have pooled in a smoothly wrinkled pile around your feet if it wasn’t for your arms stretched upwards, holding onto sukuna’s wrist in vain attempts to weaken his unyielding grip.

your skin was bared to bathe in the warm light. yet, the air was cold; icy enough to send shivers down your spine and cause your nipples to stiffen. sukuna’s carnal gaze ingurgitated you from the subtle line of the collarbone, down the valley between the breasts and all the way to the smooth curvature at the low of the belly.

his hand let not a single second go to waste; he grabbed your round flesh with all but a tender caress and pulled you closer with another tug to your hair. the accursed tongue finally indulged in the taste of your flushed skin, trailing a dripping wet line up from your navel and to the tip of your sternum. 

“i won’t stop,” he spoke, “not unless you beg better than that. beg for mercy, woman,” nothing across his features promised compassion — not his eyes, not his lips, not the ink lines ever-so-faithfully parallel to the angle of his jaw, “i may just humour you.”

how could you possibly let a thread-thin chance slip through your fingers?

“please,” you cried out in a hoarse voice. your poor hands had no idea what to do; with one you pulled at the wrist of the hand that cupped the mound on your chest, and with the other you continued your fruitless endeavour of attempting to lighten the force with which he held your locks, “please stop, i beg you, please,” you sobbed, tears pouring down your reddened cheeks whilst you sniffled so as not to let your nostrils leak.

the tension dispersed and his hold grew limp.

it was enough for you to slip out of it — just slip out of it.

sukuna caught your wrist, pulling you into his lap swiftly as he sat down onto the mat. you were caged in a way that ensured stillness, and a hush made your limbs halt, “move another muscle and i’ll taint the floor with your bowels,” his palm laid against your forehead, horrifically larger than your skull. he grinned, eating up the sight of your troubled face; reddened cheeks, wet eyelashes, whimpering mouth. your bare chest heaved as you tried your best to make your starved gasps as quiet as possible, your heart slamming against your ribs so strongly that you felt it might give out.

you wished to hug your body; to cover yourself up. shame devoured you as much as his gaze.

“good girl,” he cooed, “that’s how a bitch like you should act,” his hand pushed your head back to expose the smooth expanse of your neck. he leaned down, trailing his lips across your pulse, “obedient.” 

he pulled onto the remains of your torn gown to bare you further as his mouth abused the sweet spot where your neck merged with your shoulder — licking, nibbling, sucking. you writhed against him, your heart pounding; the fervent pulse was palpable against his scorching tongue as he lapped up the cold beads of your sweat.

“that’s more like it…” he whispered, “you should be grateful. the last one was,” his hot breath brushed against your windpipe, provoking a tickling sensation, “be honoured that i’ll take you, fill you with my seed, you insolent whore.”

his crooked smile widened as his teeth sunk into your flesh; bone-deep.

a sharp intake of breath.

silence.

a scream.

chains with which his threats held you down corroded, allowing you to writhe and kick as he chuckled through his blood-stained lips. he gripped your flesh, your thighs a canvas that he painted cherry crimson and plum purple with his fingers, ensuring that your very marrow wore his mark. he didn’t hush you again, instead letting you whine and wail. even as one of your hands broke free to slam his shoulder and slap his skull, he continued to lap up the essence with his tongue and to gnaw the flesh with his teeth.

“what did i say?” his voice slithered into your torn veins, his palm pressing across the small curvature of your stomach, right where your womb laid. it crept just a little higher, fingernails leaving thin red trails that begged to bleed. your guts twisted at the reminder; you imagined your intestines unravelled across the wood.

but it didn’t matter. 

you wanted to leave. 

you had to leave.

so he let you.

you stumbled off his thighs and onto your bare knees, attempting to crawl away. the futile endeavour bestowed upon him the lovely sight of your bruised skin and round buttocks; the appetising arch of your spine and just a glimpse of what remained untouched between your legs.

you were howling for air. crying. wailing. sobbing. 

he watched, and he listened.

closer. 

closer.

closer.

your cheekbone pressed against the hard floor, succumbing to the tremendous force. he handled your breast in his palm, fingers enclosing around the firm nipple, pulling and massaging enough to make you mewl at the bittersweetness of his lecherous touch. another hand gripped your thigh to enlarge the gap between your lush flesh. the last searched for that chaste orifice with its fingers.

against the floor, a strand of your disheveled hair soaked in a shallow mixture of your sweat, tears and saliva. your tendons pulled at your bones, fire in you yet to be extinguished. 

his touch made you shudder. your core clenched.

“don’t worry,” he comforted, “i’ll have you screaming,” he pressed against you, “clawing, rutting,” he caged your arms against the timber, “be honoured,” he reminded, his words dripping right into the shell of your ear as he besmirched you, “someone gets to sleep soundly because of you.”

ivy.

spiders.

field flowers.

you will never look lovelier.

thank you for reading!

— kamesama.

[silverdragonfly]

Beyond the Gods' Eyes

Chapter 4 - Save Him, Save Him Not (Masterlist)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Seer Reader

Summary: Aemond's past floods you with visions, leaving you to wonder what is right and what is wrong.

Warnings: !MDNI! Mature content, including themes of death and sex. English isn't my first language.

Word Count: 6.3 K

A/N: can’t believe we’re halfway through the series already! if you haven’t buckled up yet, now’s the time! because the upcoming chapters are gonna be a wild roller coaster :) Enjoy the ride!

divider credit @cafekitsune

The curving point of the dagger would have already pierced her violet eye if not for her strong grip. Her gaze was fixed upon the symbols, thoughtfully hidden on the blade. They were illuminated by the flickering torchlight, yet invisible to most in the room. There could be no mistake—she was burdened with knowing the meaning behind the inscription.

“What have I done but what was expected of me?” a crying voice rang out, sending a shudder down you. The room wept with her pain, making you tighten your fists.

Passing through the circle of white-cloaked guards, whose armour flickered with red and yellow, you were encircled along with the two women. Their gowns swept the floor as if in a dance. One reminded you of a grown-up Aemond, the lines of her chin just as sharp, her silver braids intertwined at the back of her head like snakes. Another woman, with her fiery curls, felt dearer to you. Her hand pushed the dagger further, to no avail. A powerful urge to place your hand over hers and help guide the blade’s sharp edge forward surged within you, though you were nothing more than a breeze, unnoticed in their presence. Their lips moved quickly, but the words were muted by the burning symbols' whispers. The blade sparkled like a firefly, hypnotising, drawing you closer.

“I don’t understand,” you muttered, knitting your eyebrows.

The voices grew louder, their unknown meanings clinging to you, moulding into your skin. The ruby stone, embedded in the hilt, reminded you of the dead rose. You froze as if your body was no longer yours. Not only your limbs but parts of your soul felt numb, bringing a lethal calm to your mind. Snowflakes swirled in the air, reminding you of ashes.

“Do you see them?” Everyone, including the Queen and the Princess, was oblivious to your question.

Just before the ancient symbols consumed your mind, the sharp hiss of metal slicing through flesh cut through the air, silencing their whispers. The dagger fell with a sharp ring. The blood droplets dripped onto the floor, echoing in your ears. With that, everything around you dissolved.

Everyone was gone except for a silver-haired boy. He sat in the royal, wing-backed chair, his back turned to you. You took a few steps toward him, keeping a safe distance. His right profile was familiar, with neatly brushed hair, the first strands gathered behind. The logs in the hearth had almost died out, leaving only glowing embers. You wished to call to him, meet his gaze, reassure him. You were unnerved by the feeling of emptiness, thick and suffocating, even though it wasn't yours.

The floor creaked beneath someone’s step, causing him to lift his gaze in your direction. You pressed your hands to your mouth, though the sound you made was barely more than a slight sway in the air. Before you knew it, you tripped and fell toward the floor.

Aemond’s violet eye had a dull twin of pale pink flesh, sinking deeper into the hollow socket—an abyss of loneliness, fatality, and sorrow for all the hopes and dreams that would never come true. 

A woman passed you, her green dress almost brushing against your hand. Her red hair swayed in unison with each step. She knelt before the boy, her hand resting on his cheek. An apology. For not protecting him. For not achieving justice. Her eyes brimmed with tears. Was she mourning his eye? Or the void on a deeper level that would never be filled? 

As if reading her mind, his remaining eye turned a deeper shade of violet, becoming teary. 

“I don’t wish for it to remain empty,” he said quietly to her. 

The pressure against the bridge of your nose and forehead grew stronger, causing the room to blur into black and white. The picture crashed into pieces, like raindrops shattering against the ground.

Your eyes remained closed when the breeze caressed your face. Its touch was perhaps as gentle as hers had been against his cheek.

You were back in the garden, slowly regaining your senses. Inhaling the air greedily, you smelled the sweet scent of flowers. Your fists remained clenched tight, just like her grip around the dagger. A strange sensation ran through you as you realized your right hand wasn’t empty. Something soft yet solid rested in your palm—slippery, round, and notoriously cool, as if, for a long time, it had been removed from the warmth of flesh. Thick wetness oozed between your fingers despite your tight grip.

Your breath hitched. It couldn’t be another vision. This felt far too tangible. Therefore, there was more reason to fear what you might discover.

You forced yourself to release your grip, and a liquid lump fell, barely audible, onto the grass. Your fingers were slick with its remains, and your palm prickled, almost burning.

The world around you seemed far too bright for your eyes, as if they had been blind to sunlight for decades. Raising your trembling hand, you saw trails of transparent slickness clinging between your fingers, with tiny white specks stuck to your palm and small dents etched into the skin by your nails.

“There’s a debt to be paid,” echoed from far away.

A nauseous wave crept up your throat as you swallowed your nervousness. Your gaze slowly dropped to the ground. There, lying among the grass, was a crushed egg, its fragile shell shattered around it. But no relief came. Another crushed egg lay beside it. And another. And another. Each one was shattered in a futile attempt to restore justice that had never been served.

There was no shade in the sky hinting at the approaching storm, as if it were trying to convince you that none was coming. Yet the chill was palpable in the way the wind rattled the petals and leaves. Drops of water shimmered on the marigolds and chrysanthemums, their colours deepening in gratitude as you cared for them. A few apples landed with a thud against the ground.

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught a slim figure hesitating near the wicket gate. It was just the right time. He was thinner than in your vision, his dark hair contrasting sharply with his pale skin. Perhaps his wife’s disease had affected him as much as if they were one living organism.

“Enter,” your ringing voice made him shudder. He must not have seen you in the garden from afar.

Pushing the gate open, he closed it behind him carefully, as if trying not to make extra noise. His stride was slow, his shoulders slouching, like a man walking to his doom. Rising to your feet, you moved the water tank farther from the path and walked toward him.

His gaze was lowered to the ground as he remembered his carefully planned speech. “I’m Elliot, Mr. Waterwing is my fa—”

“I know who you are,” you interrupted him softly. His hazel eyes, a mixture of hope and despair, met yours. You resisted the urge to bite your inner cheek.

“Did you bring them?”

With shaking hands, he retrieved from his satchel an ivory napkin, folded so neatly it might have carried rubies. Inside were three small acorns; one still had its cap.

“They were under her pillow all night, just as you said,” he murmured, his dry, cracked lips moving quickly, reminding you of parched soil before you'd watered it.

“Good. I’ll need a little time to hold the ritual. Can you wait?”

“As long as needed.” There was no hesitation in his voice.

The tea had already been brewed; the pot and two cups were set on the wooden table beneath the apple tree. You led the way, and he followed obediently. You cast a glance at the windows of the main room; the curtains were drawn tightly, just as you’d expected.

The mugs sat on opposite sides of the table, no steam rising from the tea. Yet you knew it couldn’t cool off completely under the merciless sun.

“Put them here.” You pointed to the small grey mortar.

The acorns fell quietly into the mortar's depths. He tucked the napkin back into his satchel, his distress palpable as he lingered near the table. You could almost feel it pressing against your skin.

“You can enjoy the tea in the meantime. It’s with peppermint.” To calm his nerves. He’d suffered enough.

Sitting down, he hesitantly took the mug, his hands wrapped tightly around it as if trying to steady himself. He took a few sips, wetting his lips. His hazel eyes remained fixed on the wooden table. One could say he was uneasy in your presence, but you recognized the deeper fear hidden in his gaze—the horror that nothing could be done to save his wife, that his worst nightmare was about to become his reality.

Taking the pestle, you began grinding the acorns. You winced at the ache in your dominant hand, the pain still fresh. The echoes of the vision hovered around you; it must have been one of the strongest holds ever placed upon your mind. Yet you understood why. It was often the most painful moments that clung desperately to seers—the mind’s dire attempt to free itself of suffering by passing it on.

Once the acorns were ground into tiny pieces, you added them to your tea. Elliot’s eyes widened as you lifted the mug to your mouth. Blowing lightly onto the liquid, you took a sip. Then another.

As the taste bloomed on your tongue, you grimaced at the tingling sensation, bitter like wormwood.

“She shall live,” you said, setting the mug down with a thud.

"Merciful Gods," he sighed, a heavy breath escaping him as he lifted his gaze to the sky. 

“But without the right aid,” you continued, wiping your lips with the back of your hand, “she will never regain her full strength. She must drink blackberry nightshade for three nights, and her limbs must be wrapped in woollen cloth.”

He nodded eagerly, his dark curls moving in unison. “And that is all?”

“That is all.” With a curt nod, you promptly poured the rest of the drink into the grass. You would wash the mug carefully later. 

“What of the disease?” He rose quickly to his feet. “I mean, what is it?”

“An infection,” you shrugged. “Most likely consumed with some fruit. Her body suffers from intoxication. But she shall recover.”

“I… I don’t know how to thank you…” His long limbs hung awkwardly by his sides as he spoke, and you wondered what his wife had found special about him.

“Your father already did,” you assured. Eritaiol candles had banished the evil spirits, along with the vile maggots and stench, from the house. Yet Aemond and you instinctively continued to scrutinise each mouthful before eating.

Elliot let out a ringing chuckle, colour slowly returning to his face. “What are three candles compared to her life?” There was something utterly true and sincere in the way he asked the question, causing your chest to tighten. That’s what.

“The exchange was satisfactory for me,” you said humbly, bowing your head slightly.

Elliot gave you a tight-lipped smile before leaving. As he walked toward the wicket gate, his posture straightened and he somehow became taller. But, in your view, it was the hope sparkling in his eyes that made him appear much fairer.

“He left.”

“I know.”

Standing on the threshold under the roof overhang, Aemond’s gaze was fixed on the garden with such intensity that it wouldn’t surprise you if he could see through it.

“Not yet,” you murmured, taking another porcelain cup out of the water and placing it on the cloth. The remaining drops evaporated quickly before your eyes.

Leaning against the doorjamb, he remarked, “The sun has risen seven times.”

“And set six.”

“Why don’t I feel hopeful about it?” His voice wasn’t simmering with anger, but it seemed only a matter of time. You had no idea what you’d tell him if the bluebell didn’t bloom soon. The stem hadn’t even appeared through the ground yet. It had taken five suns for your mother’s peony to bloom, which left you utterly at a loss about the plan. You knew exactly what to do once the flower bloomed, but if it didn’t...

Drying your hands with a cloth, you decided to voice the question that occupied most of your thoughts. “Have you decided on your course?”

His eye shifted to you in silent question, causing you to press your lips tightly together. You knew he was perfectly aware of your inquiry. Holding his gaze steady, you had no intention of letting the conversation shift in his favour.

His jaw clenched as he asked, “Do you truly wish to know?”

“Yes,” your voice came out surprisingly steady.

He looked at you with a chilling, calculating gaze, as though weighing your worthiness for the truth.

“I will kill my uncle.” His tone was so casual that you might have thought you misheard him.

You swallowed hard. “I thought you sought reconciliation.”

“I need to ensure their safety first.”

“By killing your uncle?”

“He’s Rhaenyra’s chief pawn.”

You wondered if his disdain were lessened if her son had paid the debt with his eye. The image of his uncle was vivid in your vision; his demeanour was just as chilling as Aemond’s could be. Perhaps, under different circumstances, they could’ve found common ground. Although the possibility scared you. 

“Do you plan to kill someone else?” Your voice lowered, suddenly tinged with tiredness.

“Only those who pose a threat to my family.”

Countless souls could be on this list. Your mind, trapped between visions of him, wavered, yet the reality remained unchanged. Aemond Targaryen was seeking fire and blood. He was a natural disaster, a real storm that you should fear. Your knees buckled. Sensing the change in your demeanour, he moved closer, as if closing the physical distance might bridge the gap between you.

“You may ask me this question again and again, but the answer won't change.”

You puffed out a short breath, not knowing if his honesty was a good sign. You still felt bitterness on your tongue, unsure if the acorns were to blame.

“It will be easier if you set aside your moral compass,” he reasoned calmly, almost pleading.

“I might do so now, but when I see you burning people,” your breath hitched in your throat, “it will certainly be difficult.”

“You will not see that,” he took another step toward you. “Your home, the hills, the garden, and your village... I guarantee not a single flame will touch them.” There was neither a hint of causticity nor mockery in his voice. But your mother’s words echoed loudly against his: “He’ll be ruthless in his despair.” You could trust his word today, yet once he learned of his death, the picture could be different.

“You know what I fear?” you asked, averting your gaze toward the hills as if they could somehow make you braver. “That it will be too late when you understand that cruelty and gore won’t bring their loyalty and love back.”

“Don’t—”

“If that’s what you truly want—”

“It is sufficient,” he hissed. When you looked at him, his violet eye brimmed with cold rage. But the faint tremor in his clenched fist revealed that deep down he knew the truth—that his cruelty and murders had irrevocably driven him away from what he truly yearned for, from what could save him.

Without another word, you walked past him, unable to continue this conversation. Perhaps there was only blinding darkness in his soul. Perhaps the boy you’d seen in the vision was gone. Perhaps he’d died together with Lucerys Velaryon. As you approached the wicket gate, you turned your head slightly toward him.

“How many more must fall before you see it won’t fill the void?”

Your quiet question dissolved into the melody of the wind, vanishing as if it had never been spoken.

As you hummed a song, your hands skillfully intertwined daisies and forget-me-nots, as if braiding maiden’s hair. The delicate floral crown was nearly finished, meant for someone innocent and pure. Among the wildflowers, the turmoil in your soul subsided to a barely audible whisper, yet they couldn’t answer the burdensome questions tormenting you.

In her youth, your mother would pluck a daisy and pull off each petal one by one, posing a question with each. Each petal determined a "yes" or "no," and the final petal held the answer. Sometimes, she’d ask whether you should have porridge for dinner, if the next morning would be cold, or if she should take you into town the following day. You loved porridge more than potatoes and always wanted to visit the town with her, so you kept a close watch on the number of petals remaining. When the outcome favoured you, you were overjoyed, rarely surprised by how often things turned out just as you wished.

Once, she asked if she would ever see him—your father—again. You never learned what the flower had foretold, but from that moment on, she never resorted to that method again. And you never heard about him again.

Placing the wildflower wreath on the grass, you plucked a delicate daisy. You brushed over its petals with your fingers as if they could count petals for you, to learn the answer in advance. The question trembled on your lips. No matter what the outcome, the decision was for you to make. Yet you felt at risk of learning where you truly stood.

The petal came off without resistance, and you whispered, “Save him.” Another one yielded even easier. “Save him not.”

Perhaps the right answer had been in your mind all along. Your mother had passed it to you hours before her death. All those times in childhood when you’d dared to disobey her ended in pain and sorrow. You were quick to learn she had known better.

“Save him. Save him not.” Two petals landed on the grass. 

His past tugged at your heartstrings. You’d hoped to learn his weakness to manipulate him, to know where to strike at, but after all you’d seen… you could understand why. You could grasp Aemond’s actions, even though you condemned them. After seeing the first vision, you knew you’d be seeking justice for those who might fall victim to him. Yet... had anyone ever done him justice?

“Save him. Save him not.” 

Perhaps the storm had already begun. It was born in your soul amidst wildflowers, uncertainty and pain. His pain had intertwined with your own. You wished it could evaporate from your soul like dew under the sun, but it seemed the visions had become an indelible imprint on your very being. 

“Save him. Save him not.” 

Did saving his life mean saving him? Would allowing him to escape death save his soul from further torment? Deeper nightmares? Greater loneliness? 

“Save him. Save him not." 

Perhaps to save Aemond was to release him from his blind, misguided beliefs and vain hopes. Perhaps to save Aemond was to grant him freedom in death.

“Save him. Save him—”

“I did not wish for us to fight.” His voice came out like a melody.

Your fingers froze tightly around the petal, its delicate life hanging in the balance.

“Neither did I,” you admitted, slowly gazing at him. His black leather coat was gone, leaving him in a white tunic that fell to his hips. He seemed so young. If his eyepatch were gone too…

Lowering himself onto the grass beside you, he nodded toward the light blue flower, intertwined with daisies. “What is this flower?”

“Forget-me-nots.”

He hummed softly, his hand hovering over the wildflower wreath for a moment before he withdrew it. “I was thinking about picking it.”

Immortal love we have for those who go before us.

Just as you were about to comment on its meaning, he added, “It reminded me of Helaena... my sister.”

Shifting your gaze from the flower to him, your lips parted. His face and shoulders were relaxed, his violet eye staring into the distance. When he spoke cold truths or threats, he never blinked, like a snake. But when his words carried something more vulnerable, his gaze seemed to thaw and, for some reason, always strayed from yours.

A breeze blew, lifting the white petals into a dance with the air, resembling ash or snow. You hadn’t noticed that your grip had loosened, and the daisy now lay helpless on your cherry-coloured dress.

“Peonies,” you whispered, “remind me of my mother.” A confession for a confession.

“Then you must understand.”

“Understand what?”

“Why I have no choice but to protect them.” His gaze met yours. “Just as you had to protect your mother.”

Inhaling sharply, your voice betrayed the feeling. “That’s not the same.”

“We all must make sacrifices.”

“I didn’t cause anyone pain.”

“Can you be certain?” His eye searched your face with intensity.

“You and I,” you said, scowling and shaking your head, “are not alike.”

At least, you had to believe it.

Silence fell between you. Twirling the daisy in your hands, you tried to subdue the rising distress within. Again, you found yourself caught in the battle, where neither side would yield.

“Can’t there be another way?” you blurted out, furrowing your brow.

“Tis the only way I know.”

A distant thud echoed, punctuating his words. Dark, white-tipped clouds were rolling in. There was no denying the storm was coming after all. Gazing at the flower, with half its petals gone, it felt like you were looking at your own helplessness. A drop landed on it. Then another one on you dress. Yet your eyes were dry.

“We should go inside,” you mumbled, clearing your throat as you rose to your feet. “Before the storm begins.”

Looking up at you, his expression unreadable, he asked, “Was there another way for your mother?”

Raindrops began hitting the grass, creating a rhythm that grew louder with each passing second like a musician striking the drum harder and harder. Your chest tightened as you replied, “No.”

With that, the daisy slipped from your hand for good.

She was younger, yet seemed far older than him. You couldn’t tell if she was beautiful, but the way her eyes sparkled as she gazed at the young prince revealed her assertiveness and knowledge. She moved gracefully toward him, her maroon silk robe swaying mesmerisingly around her curves. The back of her hand brushed his cheek with a feather-light touch. He flinched slightly away—or perhaps it was you who wished him to do so. As she circled him, her hand traced his shoulders and back deliberately slowly, but his expression remained unreadable. Pausing before him, she skillfully unclasped his tunic, button by button. Her gaze never left his face, as if watching for any sign of protest, but there was none. He held his head high, his violet eye piercing the distance. In this fragment of his memory, he was more a witness than a participant.

You felt no resistance, though you prayed for it. Despite his sculpted abdominal muscles, his shoulders indicated his body was still developing and had yet to fully strengthen. His height matched hers, but he was far thinner. You wished it were your hand guiding him away from her, from this place. But it was hers leading him toward the bed. As she sat down, the silk fabric slid off with incredible ease, revealing her full breasts. He swallowed hard as she pressed his hand to her left breast, making him squeeze the soft flesh under her command. A slight crease appeared between his eyebrows, but he didn’t move. Offering him an encouraging smile, she moved his hand to the other breast, but he continued to look through her. His chest rose and fell more quickly, while yours tightened with despair. 

Shifting her gaze downward, a knowing smile appeared on her lips as she noticed the bulge visible through his pants.

“May I?” she asked, her hands settling on his belt.

He gave a short nod, causing your legs to tremble, almost giving way.

You turned away. Pressing your eyelids shut, you heard his belt being unbuckled, the rustling of clothes, and the bed squeaking as another body settled onto it. The torture was brutal. Her cloying murmurs were shameful and disgusting. Instantly, you pressed your palms against your ears, wishing you could mute the panting, whimpering, and wet sounds filling the space. Your own breathing was just as loud, filled with anger and shame.  The bed groaned in unison with their movements, the sound growing in your ears—or perhaps it was your heartbeat? Your hands gripped your skull with all the strength you could muster. If it shattered, the vision might end, and you'd be grateful. 

Suddenly, the room fell silent. The bed squeaked a few more times, but you didn’t dare turn back. Your hands remained pressed against your ears, but more loosely.

“Did my prince like everything?” Her question was followed by the sound of liquid being poured and the clink of porcelain. It was then you realised the smell of warm milk wafted through the air.

Biting your lip, you could hear his breathing, still unsteady. His voice came out hoarse as he said, “Yes.”

The sheer curtains parted wide before you, forcing your eyes open and your hands to fall at your sides. You recognised his older brother. His violet eyes looked dull and his long silver hair hung thin and greasy. The smug smile stretching across his lips made your hands itch to slap him—perhaps more than once. His gaze was fixed on a single point, and you knew exactly who had his attention. You could practically feel Aemond shrinking under his brother’s scrutiny, yet you could tell he would maintain his composure.

“Brother!” Aegon grinned, “You’ve finally made me proud!”

His words were like a biting wind against your skin, making you shiver. Before you knew it, the candles flickered out, plunging the room into impenetrable darkness. You peered into the blackness, searching for any trace of objects or people, but there was nothing. As if the world had disappeared in the thin trails of smoke, and now with each inhale of yours, everything was buried deeper into your lungs. In this utter silence, there was not a single voice, not a sound, and what was worse, not a single rustle of nature, as if you had been plunged into a vacuum. All alone. Perhaps this was the afterlife. Soothing, endless, complete nothingness. Perhaps you had managed to squash your head like a mosquito. Your mind and soul felt at peace at once, until a small, distant cry broke the void, making you flinch.

“Aemond,” you called, pacing in place, trying to look around. Another cry ensued. 

“Where are you?” Your voice stretched into a prolonged echo.

Bracing yourself, you took small steps forward, hands outstretched. Step. Step. Step. The voice within was silent, not guiding you with a single help. Perhaps, it was gone too. You and the void – and nothing else was there. Pausing, you exhaled sharply. Then, you heard another cry, just a few steps away from you. You heard their breath trembling—whether in fear or...

“Aemond?” you whispered, your hand stretching out further into the void, as if in an attempt to catch someone you weren’t sure existed here. 

A sudden flash of lightning illuminated the room, making you pull your hand away, pressing it against your chest, as Aegon’s face loomed before you, his crooked grin made you flinch.  Darkness swallowed him in the instant. Your heart was beating loudly in your ears, fear paralysed your movement. Another flash and you caught glimpses of him again, his shoulders shaking with quiet laughter, slow and unnatural as if he were no human at all. The flashes of lightning continued flickering at an abnormal pace, hypnotising you further with his movements. No matter how many steps back you took, he still appeared just at a hand’s length away from you. You wished to make him disappear, you wished you could scream, but your voice died in your throat. Then, in a sharp burst of light, he straightened, standing a head taller than you. His laughter stopped, yet something twisted was present in the way he smiled. Darkness fell once more. And when the lightning flashed again, he exhaled into your face, his breath a foul mix of alcohol and vomit.

“Time to get it wet.”

Stumbling back in horror, you tripped and fell. Down. Down. And down—into what seemed like an endless abyss. Your hands grasped desperately at nothing, searching for something to hold onto. In the weightlessness, your body felt like a massive mountain rock about to shatter into countless tiny pieces upon hitting the bottom. Turning into nothing, too. The fall might have lasted forever if not for another cry. Anguished and desperate, like an animal’s groan, it yanked you out of the unknown darkness and into the familiar one.

A flash of lightning illuminated your corner. Sitting on your bed, you were frantically counting your fingers with one hand, then the other. Ten. Real. It was real. Your body shook, either from the lingering terror of the vision or from the cold sweat soaking your nightgown. As you licked your lips, you tasted the dried blood. A dull thud of thunder sliced through the silence, followed by a moan of pain.

Aemond.

Your vision sharpened in an instant.

The wooden floor felt cold under your feet. Not bothering with a robe, you rushed to wake him from what must have been a nightmare. But you froze in place when you saw him sitting on the bed, his feet on the floor, his hair dishevelled, cascading over his bare chest and back. The sapphire gleamed with every flash of the storm, yet Aemond’s hand was pressed firmly against his remaining eye.

“Aemond,” you called softly, but he didn’t move.

Each step forward was paired with your words, “Aemond, are you well?” Your heart pounded wildly in your chest. He was oblivious to your voice, and suddenly, you felt like an intruder in one of his visions.

Then he muttered something.

“What is it?”

“Gone,” his voice came out hoarse.

“I don’t understand.” You shook your head, stopping a few steps away from him. Instinct urged you to stay back, but the voice inside you—the seer’s power—remained silent. “Who is gone?”

“My eye. Another eye.”

“No,” you breathed, sinking to your knees before him. “It’s not.”

“It was taken, too.” 

Despite the tremble in his hand, it remained pressed against his eye. He must be plagued by the deathly visions seeping through it, just as your mother had been. You’d feared leaving her alone, knowing death’s grasp could inflict horrendous suffering before taking someone. A chilling thought crept into your mind. Could he have taken his own eye?

You swallowed hard. “Aemond, look at me.”

He shook his head. “I shall never see you again.”

Shifting closer, you gently wrapped your hand around his wrist, your touch light as though handling fragile porcelain. His skin was ice-cold.

“Do you trust me?” you asked, peering into the sapphire as if it were a real eye capable of seeing. Unblinking, it stared back at you, reminding you of Aemond’s distant, ruthless side. Beautiful, yet deadly. But you needed the other side of him now—the side that brimmed with feeling, rare though it was.

“Aemond, do you trust me?” you asked again, louder this time.

He remained still, his breaths coming in short gasps. Then he gave a curt nod, and that was all you needed. Gently, you tugged on his hand, pulling it away from his face. In the next flash of lightning, you saw his right eye tightly shut.

“Look at me,” you urged. Hesitantly, your free hand reached up to his cheek, caressing it, trying to soothe him. Just as you had done for your mother. Just as his mother had done for him. He leaned into your touch, whether seeking comfort from you or lost in the memory of her, you couldn’t tell.

“Look at me,” you repeated, your voice pleading now. Please.

When he finally did, his eye was a deep, saturated violet like a flower blooming after rain—beautiful and unique in its essence. He blinked a few times, adjusting to the darkness until his gaze settled on you. A sigh of relief escaped your lips. He was well. His ragged breathing slowed, and with it, the rapid rise and fall of his chest slowed too.

“They disappeared,” he said quietly. “Voices.”

You exhaled sharply, a small smile forming despite the lump in your throat.

“I’m glad,” you whispered. “I’m so glad to hear it. Perhaps it was the storm that summoned them.” He flinched when you slowly withdrew your hand from his face, but your other hand remained on his. Giving him some reassurance, giving him some of your warmth.  

His lips parted as if he wanted to speak, then pressed together again. You saw the struggle in the way his forehead furrowed, his eye intense at you.  

When he finally asked his question, you froze in confusion.

“Do you know what happened to Luke?”

Not a bastard. Not a nephew. Not Lucerys Velaryon. Luke.

You gave a small nod. There was no point in pretending. For now, you realised fully that Aemond had constructed such high walls around his soul that to truly know him, to see the humanity in him, one had to be a seer.

“The storm,” he said quietly, “was just like this that night.”

And with that sentence alone, he said more than thousands of words could ever do.

He exhaled deeply as if some of the burden had been lifted from his shoulders. His eye fluttered closed.

A tendril of his horror tugged at your heart as if you were connected to his memory by an invisible string. You saw the torn red cloak and the glint of silver dragon scales dissolving into the mist under the gloomy clouds—a stark contrast to the clear sky above where Aemond had soared on Vhagar. A sign that his crime had not escaped the gods' eyes. Since that day, they had turned away from him. And when the bluebell bloomed... you knew you would do the same.

“Will I bear it after everything I’ve witnessed? After your soul has grown so much on mine?” The question was clear in your mind, but no words came. You bit the inside of your cheek so hard, that the metallic taste of blood spread upon your tongue.

His violet eye opened again, and his brow furrowed. “Why?” he asked softly. “Why do you cry?”

You blinked, only then realising that tears were streaming down your cheeks.

“Because I’m sorry,” you whispered, squeezing his hand like a child seeking comfort. A silent tear landed on your forearm. “I’m sorry it happened to you.” Another tear followed.

He shook his head, and you noticed the faintest flicker of a smile on his lips.

“It was my fault,” he said. “I sought justice for so long that what I found was revenge. And that…” He held your gaze as if needing you to truly hear him. “I never wished for.”

“I know,” you breathed. You felt his hand shift beneath yours, his fingers interlacing with your fingers. You were holding him, and he was holding you. And that was the greatest comfort to your aching souls amidst the storm.

The sky was as blue as if the storm had washed it clean of all its grime. Branches littered the yard, and some stems of flowers lay broken. The harsh weather seemed always to find the weakest, breaking them forever. Apples were scattered all around—ripe and raw. It would take time and effort to restore everything to order. Normally, you would get straight to work, but not today. Today, your feet felt anchored to the ground, your body frozen in numbness. Feeling everything and nothing at once, you stared at the delicate blue flower that had impossibly bloomed amidst the ominous storm.

The bluebell.

Time to tell the truth or to lie. To fulfil a promise given to Aemond or your mother. Save his life or the lives of unknown people. What did it really mean to save him? To let him escape death? Or to grant him freedom from burdens and desires never meant to come true?

A black raven flew past, perching on a low fence. Its croak echoed like an evil laugh. Perhaps death itself was mocking you. There was little you could do unless… Your eyes widened as if struck by a revelation.

There’s always a way out, whispered the voice within. Pick the flower. Discard it. He won’t know. You can devise something later.  Change his mind. Win some time. He trusts you. You won’t let his mother down. And you’ll save him.

With careful steps, you moved toward the bluebell, each one deliberate, like a spider approaching its prey, fearing it might find the strength to escape its web. Your heart pounded wildly as you dropped to your knees, which slowly sank into the mud. Despite its delicate size, the colour of the flower was so bright and vivid against the dark soil. Your hand reached out for the fragile bloom. Now, everything would be resolved. Everything would be fine. You wouldn't have to choose.

“It’s bloomed.”

His voice made you freeze, your hand hovering inches away from the petals, as your heart sank.

No. It can't be true.

Turning back, you saw Aemond standing meters away, ignorant of your intentions. His gaze was solemnly fixed on the bluebell, oblivious to the hints of bitterness and betrayal shadowing your eyes. An oddly detached thought struck you—how strange it was to see his eyepatch back in place.

“Yes," you managed to reply, pulling your hand back and pressing it into a fist against your chest, like a thief concealing an empty hand in a pocket.

He stepped forward, and you flinched at the sound of a crack. Was it a dried branch under his feet, or your heart?

[tteokdoroki]

☆༉ — KATSUKI BAKUGOU. all my life i’ve dreamed of you.

about. you think that he was made for you. im in the mood for some fluffy husband!bakugou !!

warnings. none. sfw, fluff & gn!reader.

“i don’t mean to be corny,” you say late one night, nosing up the side of katsuki’s neck. “but i think i dreamt you up.”

it’s routine for the two of you to be up together for at least an hour before your husband drifts off — bakugou is old fashioned, he doesn’t believe in blue light and phone screens before bed so you’ll often catch him reading a book recommended by momo in the time leading up to his beauty sleep.

you’ll never understand how he manages to fall asleep upright, but for tonight you convince him to lay back with you in the sheets so you can nuzzle your face into his plush chest.

you feel his ruby gaze on you before you meet it — pulled away from the words in his book. “whaddya mean by that, gorgeous?” bakugou chuffs in amusement, a faint smile tugging on the corner of his lips while he shoves his thumb into the spine of his book to bookmark the page.

“when i was little, i dreamt of someone who loved me,” you start by choosing your words carefully — bakugou has always been a man spooked by love he doesn’t think he deserves and even after all this time together, he still has his doubts as to whether or not he believes you should waste an ounce of time on him. he’s come a long way since when you first started dating. but sometimes even the strongest of people need convincing of why they should get to be loved.

bakugou doesn’t run or flinch away, instead he stills his lungs locked away in his chest and waits with baited breath for the blow you might deal him. the doubts start to cloud his mind. “someone who cared for me the way that they do on tv, someone who adored me the way my grandpa loved my grandma…you get it.” you continue, drawing a heart on his stomach with invisible ink.

“yeah, i get it.” the blonde rasps apprehensively.

you push yourself up, bracing yourself on the tussled fabric on bakugou’s side of the bed to cage him in — glassy, tired eyes searching through the soul that swirls in his own. “what i’m trying to say, is that i’ve dreamt of moments like this all my life and now i’ve finally found the person to share it with. no one has ever loved me the way i wanted to be,” from this position you can see the faded constellation of barely there freckles that decorate bakugou’s skin. you see the war he lived and died through etched into worry lines and creases in his skin. you see it all and you love it all. perfectly imperfect just how you imagined it to be.

“not until i met you, kats. you’re the only person who’s loved me enough for me.”

the exhale your husband lets out expels the fear from his chest and replaces it with a glowing feeling — a happiness in the shade of warm toned yellows and oranges. it illuminates katsuki’s face, eases his stress lines and fills him with reassurance.

“i’ll love you enough f’the both of us. always.” he respond, folding a doggy-ear into the corner of the last-read page in his book. bakugou shoves it to the side and let’s his calloused hand cup the back of your neck — it’s weight reminding you of his presence, letting you know that he’s not going anywhere. katsuki is your dream and yours alone.

swooping down, you paint his lips with a feather light kiss and hum at the taste of minty fresh toothpaste intertwined with his promise of forever on them.

“you’ll have to let me give some of that love back,” you say, contentedly. “i need you to know how much of me still loves and dreams of you.”

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2023. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[jasmines-library]

Hey Jude

Summary: When a demon hunt doesn't go to plan, the Winchesters have to rush to save their little sister. Though to make matters worse, once back home in the safety of the bunker her wound gets infected. With their angel friend MIA, Sam and Dean must battle time to find a way to help their sister.

Warnings: (Kinda Graphic) description of injury, Near death experience, infection and illness, one? swear word, angst, fluff,

Word count: 2.8K

Note: this is my first spn fic so I hope you enjoy :)

Masterlist

It came from almost nowhere.

You hadn’t sensed it coming, too tied up with the demon before you. She was tall and wore her dark hair slicked back in a ponytail. With much effort, you had managed to pin her up against the wall, away from her three friends who your brothers were occupied with. Dean managed to gank the blonde one with Ruby’s knife. She lit up like a candle before slumping lifelessly to the ground. He glanced in your direction to see that you were managing fine, before slinking off to help Sam who was juggling two demon skanks of his own. 

“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritu-” 

The Latin had barely slipped from your lips when shit hit the fan. The woman got a hit on you, sending you reeling away from the graffitied wall, enough for her to slip out of your binding grip. You narrowed your eyes at the woman, reeling your arm back for another punch. She just smirked, her black eyes glistening under the moonlight. And that was when you felt it. A blinding white pain that blossomed across your abdomen and tore its way around body like someone had lit a bomb and your veins were the fuse. You collided harshly with the damp concrete, the sound ricocheting across the narrow street. You could feel the crushing weight of the hellhound above you and feel its hot breath fanning across your neck as you struggled, desperate from some sort of release though you could hardly move, trapped within the agonies of the invisible claws buried inches deep within your skin. Your cry of anguish had your brothers’ heads snapping towards your writhing frame. Their screams lost within your own. You gaped blindly at the dog above you. If it wasn’t for the hellhound’s snarling, or the blood seeping from the lacerations on your stomach, you would have had no clue what hit you. It felt like an eternity before the crushing weight was lifted from you and Dean came into view. The knife in hand was dripping with blood. He quickly discarded it on the floor and was by your side in an instant, pressing down harshly on your abdomen to slow the bleeding. He recoiled slightly when you let out a cry of pain. 

“I know, I know it hurts. I'm sorry sweetheart.” Dean tried to soothe you, but he could already see the blood oozing between his fingers.

You watched him through blurry, pain tinted lenses, eyes moving frantically, struggling to focus on one area too long. Dean’s panicked complexion never left your body. His green eyes trailed your damaged body, swimming with worry.

“De…” what came out of your mouth in between your ragged gasps for air was hardly audible. Dean would have missed it if his senses weren’t so honed in on you.

“Shh,” He tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear. “Don’t talk kiddo. Sammy’s coming. Sammy’s gonna get here and then we’re gonna take you back to the bunker and we’re gonna fix you up okay?”

You nodded feebly.

There was a squeal of rubber and the blinding light of the Impala’s headlights filling the dingy alley before Sam’s mop of hair came into view.

The ghost of a smile found its way onto your lips as your breathing began to slow. “Sammy...” you mumbled, watching your older brother move to your side.

“I’m here, kid. ” He reassured as he slid one of his arms under your knees and the other under your back. The brothers shared a silent look before they stood up, shifting you from the cold concrete. You screamed and cried out in pain as you were jostled around in Sam’s arms. Dean’s bloody hands were replaced with one of his flannel shirts which Sam was plastering to your wound as the two of them raced the short distance to the car. It hurt Sam to watch the way that your face contorted in pain with each giant step he took. Each whimper that escaped your lips had Dean shuddering. Once you were secured against Sam’s chest in the car, Dean had never moved quicker than he did to the front seat to press his foot on the gas and send the car hurtling down the road to the bunker. 

Your head lolled against Sam’s chest as he held you close and whispered reassurances into your ear. He wasn’t sure if he was trying to reassure you or himself. A deep pit had settled at the bottom of his stomach. “You’re gonna be fine. We’ve got you.” he repeated like a mantra when you whimpered. When you didn’t respond, he glanced down to see that your eyes had begun to droop closed, the effort of keeping them open had just become too much as you slowly lost sensation across your body. Your fingers and toes had began to go numb, all feeling lost within them

“No, no.” Sam cupped the side of your face with his hand and tilted it gently towards his. Your skin was pale and clammy and your cheeks were lined with tracks of tears that had beaded down your face. “Look at me Y/N, don’t close your eyes.” Sam’s voice seemed to raise an octave as he choked out his worry. 

You tried to keep them open. You really did, but your eyelids had begun to feel like lead and keeping them was like trying to find a needle in a haystack. You struggled, but as the black spots began to consume your vision, you gave in and let unconsciousness claim you.

Sam cursed and tapped the side of your face desperately. Dean glanced back at his younger siblings. He saw the way that your frame was curled up against Sam’s, looking even smaller than you were supposed to in his arms. He pressed his foot even harder on the pedal when he saw the way that Sam’s face ignited with fear as he listened to the soft thrum of your heart; all out of beat and losing time. 

~~~

When you peeled your eyes open, and they had adjusted to the harsh light in the room, the first thing you were aware of was the throbbing in your abdomen. Gingerly, you had tried to push yourself up, much to the protests of the muscles in your shaky arms. You had barely managed to get halfway up before you were being eased back down again by a pair of calloused hands. 

“Take it easy, kid.” Dean said. He had been slumped in a old green chair half asleep when you had begun to rouse. There were dark bags under his eyes and he looked as if he hadn’t slept since he got back. That was something you knew Dean did when he was worried.

You blinked groggily. You looked like you had had a run in with death. I suppose you weren’t too far off. Your head was pounding and your skin was still devout of its colour, besides the dark bags that dropped beneath your sunken eyes. The throbbing around your stitches had quickly begun to feel much worse as the itchiness set in. “How long was I out?”

“ ‘Bout a day.” he told you, tracing circles on the back of your hand with his thumb. His skin was rough from years of hands on work, but his tough was gentle and far from what you’d expect for a man in his line of work. “Sammy sewed you up.”

You hummed gratefully, gathering your brewing for a moment. Once you had had a moment to think, it all seemed to come flooding back to you.

“I’m sorry.” You muttered. 

“What?” Dean had to do a second take. “Sweetheart, what are you sorry for?”

“If I had ganked the bitch faster then-”

“No. No. This isn’t your fault.” Your brother said sternly. “If I had gone to you instead of Sam then-”

A tall figure appeared in the doorway to the infirmary, he had to hunch slightly to fit the whole of his tall frame in. He bore two cups of coffee in his hands and too looked as if he hadn’t slept a wink in a few days. Stubble had begun to make itself prominent on his cheeks.

“Dean, for the last time, this isn’t your -” Sam stopped when he saw you staring at him. He was at your side in seconds after placing the coffee on the table by Dean, then pulling you into a hug. You groaned at the pull of your stitches. “How you feeling?”

“Like I've been hit by a bus.”

Sam chuckled, though he furrowed his brows. “That bad, huh?” 

You shrugged. 

Gesturing towards your stomach, Sam asked “Mind if I take a look?”

“Go ahead.”

Peeling back the white sheets and lifting up the hem of your shirt, Sam revealed the white bandage fitted snugly to your body. He then untucked the bandage and gingerly unravelled it to reveal the angry redness and the pus that had gathered around the neat rows of stitches. 

“Shit.” Dean uttered. He was trying not to panic, but the way forehead etched with concern gave it away. 

“What’s going on?” You craned your neck to try and see the damage, but you were hit with a wave of vertigo that made you slump back against the bed. 

“It’s infected.” 

“What…?”

Sam’s gaze followed the length of your stitched skin. 16 stitches in total, all in three rows across your abdomen and down towards you right hip. They would leave a nasty scar, but nothing that a Hunter wasn’t used to. He followed the red lightning-like pattern that the infection had left on your skin. 

“How the heck did it get infected, Sam? Didn’t you clean it?” Dean demanded. 

“Of course I cleaned it.” Sam shuddered at them memory of pouring the alcohol into your wound. He remembered the way you unconsciously flinched as the needle sank into your skin. He remembered the way that your heart and your breathing slowed as Dean raced towards the bunker. 

“Well clearly-”

“Stop.” You whispered. “Please.”

Both men stopped their bickering and turned to you. You looked so small and fragile lying there in that bed; your complexion nearly as pale as the room around you. Sam looked guilty. His eyes found the ground and he fiddled with his hands nervously in his lap. Dean’s furious features softened. He knew it wasn’t Sam’s fault really, he had just let his worry morph into anger. The alley had been filthy and in the rush to stop the bleeding, he wasn’t surprised that some of the dirt had managed to conceal itself. The wound was deep and time was running thin. 

“Come on. Let's get you sorted out.”

~~~

The infection had taken hold of you quickly. Despite the brothers cleaning your wound and dosing you up on antibiotics, only after a day or so; you were now fighting a fever. 

Sam placed a hand on your forehead. Your skin was too hot and clammy, but shivers racked your body like you had just been dunked in an ice bath. Sam moved some of the hair that had stuck to the beads of sweat on your forehead away from your eyes and frowned deeply, his eyebrows knitting together in the middle of his forehead. You were curled up on your bed, trying your hardest to pull the sheets even closer to your body. Your brothers had moved you out of the infirmary and into your room a few days ago after they had discovered that your wound was infected. Dean had insisted that it would provide you with a better sense of comfort than the eerily pristine walls and uncomfy beds of the infirmary. Your room was also a lot closer to theirs, which meant that they could keep an eye on you easier. That had put a small smile on your lips, what took it away however was when Dean refused to let you have your thick blankets. Your protests nearly made him cave and give them back, but he knew that if he did you would overheat and they couldn’t risk that with how high your fever was running.

A dry coughing fit tore its way through you, leaving you wheezing once it had subsided. Since the fever took you in its clutches a few days ago, the boys had watched you deteriorate. It broke them to see you like this; a ghost of the person you usually were. Sam knelt down to face you on the bed. Your eyes were barely open as you struggled against the exhaustion, but the fever wasn’t letting you sleep. “Y/N?” Sam asked gently. 

You pushed your eyes open weakly. 

“Hey.” He smiled at you and reached blindly for the glass of water that was on the bedside table. Easing you up, he held the cup to your chapped lips and helped you take small sips of the water and then another antibiotic. He placed the glass back on the side and moved to pull the covers away from you. You tried to turn away, but whimpered when pain flared through your wound.

“I know, I know. But we have to change them.”

Reluctantly, you allowed your brother to pull the covers away from your body. You felt like the air was stabbing you with icicles when it hit your body. You shuddered and Sam looked at you with pity. Watching your brother work as he removed the bandages was what you opted to do take your mind off of the way you were feeling. Sam’s face scrunched as he concentrated, his hair falling across his eyes. He pinched hs bottom lip between his teeth as he unraveled your wound. Your brothers had tried desperately to stop the infection from spreading, but now the wound had swelled to twice the size and it had become an even darker shade of angry. Sucking in a breath, Sam began to redress it with fresh bandages. 

Sam and Dean had been taking great care of you. You were barely left alone and they always seemed to have everything you needed on hand. The pair would take it in turns to sit by you for hours and make sure your fever didn’t get too high, while the other searched for any way to help you. Dean had tried a million times to get Cas down here, but he was always left with no reply, only a silence that seemed too loud. He had even tried threatening him, but still, the angel never showed. He then moved on to help Sam with the stack of books that he was skimming through. It seemed as though the pile would never end as the two of them searched. Logically, one of the first things they had considered was driving you to the nearest hospital, but they had opted out of it, figuring that it was too dangerous to move you that far in your state and that it would be too hard to explain how you received wounds like that. Of course, then they were hoping that Cas wouldn’t ignore his angel radio, or that they would have found a spell within one of these books much faster.

Sam sat with you for a while, tapping his foot repeatedly and playing with his hands as he made conversation with you, trying to bring smiles to your sunken features. Sam loved it when you smiled; they were pure, golden. you could light up a whole room with one. When the three of you were younger, when you still wore your hair in pigtails and were too young and to go on hunts with your brothers and your dad, Sam remembered how he used to yearn for that smile whilst he was away, how they made him feel whole again when he returned and he’d wrap you up in his arms and you’d greet him with a big smile on your face.

Sam told you stories of his hunts, of embarrassing stories that he swore he wouldn’t tell anyone and of his favourite memories of the three of you until he thought you had finally let sleep take you under. You had stopped interrupting his stories with your own quips, or giggling at his jokes, though when he stood, the old chair creaking as he rose, and began to move as quietly as his boots would let him towards the door, your meek voice spoke up.

“Sammy?”

He hummed at the nickname. 

“Thank you.” You said.

“Anytime kid.” He smiled sadly, placing a kiss on your forehead. “You’re gonna be okay Y/N. I promise.”

~~~

Not too long after Sam had left your room, Dean floated in. He wasn’t sure whether to be surprised or not at the fact you were still awake, gazing vacantly into empty space. Dean knew that sleep had never come easy to you, even as a small child. You used to crawl into his bed at night, seeking comfort. Another cough shook your frame as your eldest brother came further into the room. After ensuring you were okay, he replaced his brother in the seat beside you and took your hand. 

“Can’t sleep, huh?”

You shook your head. That was when Dean climbed in to the bed behind you, tucking you to his chest like he used to when you were just small. He ran his fingers through your hair as he listened to your raspy and short breaths. He felt you shift to look up at him.

“De?”

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“Sing to me? Like when we were little?”

Dean smiled as you pulled yourself closer to his chest. You breathed in the scent of his old band shirt and his cologne as he began to sing.

“Hey Jude, don't make it bad, Take a sad song and make it better. Remember to let her into your heart, Then you can start to make it better.

Hey Jude, don't be afraid You were made to go out and get her. The minute you let her under your skin, Then you begin to make it better.

And anytime you feel the pain, hey Jude, refrain, Don't carry the world upon your shoulders. For well you know that it's a fool who plays it cool By making his world a little colder.”

Dean was still singing when Sam came back to your room with a bowl in hand. His face lit up at the sight of you curled up in Dean’s arms. When Dean finally lifted his head away from yours and looked up to see his little brother hovering in the doorway, Sam was singing with him under his breath. It only took him a few steps to cross the distanced between the door and your bed and when he reached you, he pulled the book out from the arm it was tucked beneath and placed the bowl on your desk. The book was leather bound, and was at least an inch or so thick. It was once red, though with time and use it seemed to have lost its colouring to the grey fraying around the edges. The pages of the book were dirty too, thinned by age. The bowl, carved from wood and decorated with an ornate gold, seemed to be filled with herbs and other mojo that Dean didn’t even want to know about.

“I found a spell.” Sam told him, a grin sneaking across his face. “She’s gonna be okay.”

[fodenswhore]

🪴Spin the bottle

{In which a game of spin the bottle causes feelings to stir.}

help i wrote this when i first started watching awae in 2021. found it in my drafts on wattpad and decided to post it on here.

masterlist

Billy Andrews was insufferable. He was rude, irritating and extremely cocky. You hated him, and every little thing he did annoyed you - whether it was him tugging on your hair as you hung your hat and coat in the cloak room at school, or whether it was him simply breathing to loud. You hated him, he hated you, and that was that.

And so, when it was your turn to spin the bottle in Josie's childish game, you were utterly furious when the glass bottle landed on Billy. “No. No way. Absolutely not. I’m not doing this." You protested, shaking your head.

"Awww come on now Y/N, rules are rules." Billy smirked at you and stood up in the middle of the circle your classmates had created.

"Such stupid rules." You mumbled to no-one in particular, glancing over at Diana and Anne - both of whom gave you sympathetic looks. You stood up hesitantly and glared at the bottle on the floor.

You whipped your head to face Josie and gave her a pleading look, however she only raised her eyebrows expectingly at you. Clenching your jaw, you turned to Billy and shuffled towards him.

Once you were close enough, Billy leant in and whispered in your ear, "Come on Y/N, what are you so afraid of? It's just a kiss."

You narrowed your eyes at him and whispered back angrily, "I'm not afraid of kissing. However I am afraid of kissing you. You probably have some kind of incurable disease. I wouldn't want to catch it. It may give me your huge ego, or worse, your attitude."

Billy scowled and was about to retaliate when Josie cleared her throat and said, "Can the two of you hurry up and get on with it?”

Charlie, one of Billy’s friends, gestured to the rest of your classmates, “Yeah, we’re all waiting for you guys.”

Rolling your eyes you leant in close to Billy who cupped your cheek with his hand. You sucked in a sharp breath and glanced up to find Billy staring at you curiously, as if he was expecting you to back off and punch him in the gut. When you didn't back away, he allowed your mouths to brush ever so softly before capturing your lips with his.

As he kissed you, warmth filled you from head to toe, and butterflies erupted in your stomach. You allowed your eyes to flutter shut, and your hand instinctively travelled to the back of his neck - thus pulling him closer to you.

The kiss was soft and sweet. And because it was your first kiss, it was everything you had dreamt it would be like. You felt torn and confused, you hated Billy! However you couldn't ignore the feeling of bliss that fell upon you when your lips met his.

And then, as quickly as the kiss had started, it was over. You pressed your palms against Billy's chest and softly pushed him away. His face was flushed and his lips were swollen ever so slightly - you could only assume you looked the same.

Diana coughed quietly and you shook your head lightly as if to shake yourself from your daze. You quickly sat back down in the circle next to Ruby and began brushing invisible dust off the skirt of your dress, whilst ignoring the snickers from your friends. Billy swallowed thickly and wiped his hands on his trousers before sitting back down. He snook a glance at you quickly before moving his gaze back to the bottle.

“Okay," Josie said, clasping her hands together and allowing her eyes to travel over the faces in the room almost like a lion scouring for prey. A small smirk graced her lips as her eyes locked on the next victim of the game. “Anne's next."

[pilot-boi]

god now i’m just imagining Blake suddenly realizing and saying “you knew you had to drink the poison”

And Jaune just isn’t able to meet anyone’s eyes

The five sit around a campfire scrounged together from dead brush in an alcove protected from the desert wind. Their conversation is slow, comforting, filled with hushed reassurances and rueful laughter.

With the benefit of distance, of being free, talk eventually turns to Jaune’s missing years. Simple curiousity, simple questions.

He doesn’t answer everything, but every word he says seems to draw some invisible hurt from a wound left festering for too long.

It’s Blake that brings it up.

Of course she is. She was the one to realize they were in a fairytale, the one who reminded them all how to play along with the fantasy while keeping their sanity. Their resident bookworm.

Of course she’s the one who realizes that their friend knew going in that he was probably going to die before the end of “the story.”

“Jaune?” Blake’s voice is quiet, but calm as a pool of water. “You knew, didn’t you?” Weiss can see how her amber eyes narrow, the agitated flick of her ears, but none of her distress is betrayed in her voice.

Which is just as well, because Jaune doesn’t meet any of their eyes, he just watches the fire. The white locks in his hair are stark against the rest, and not for the first time Weiss wonders if they’re a result of age or stress or something worse.

“Not right away,” he replies. And is that better or worse? That it took a little while for him to realize that he’d die before the story’s end, and he still kept to the script? “Before we reached the Red King.”

“Were you… Did you…” Weiss isn’t sure what she wants to ask, or if she even wants an answer. Were you scared? Did you know when it would happen? Were you ready? Did you want it to happen?

“I had to follow the story,” he says eventually, his voice breaking with emotion. Aged beyond his years, and yet still as young as any of them. “I had… It was my role. I couldn’t- I had to-”

“The Rusted Knight drank the poison in her stead,” Ruby says hollowly. “Would you have done it for me?” Jaune’s head shoots up, fast as a bullet, his face a mask as hard as the metal of his helmet.

Blue eyes aged beyond the years of the face they rest in meet silver eyes haunted by death and rebirth. The tension in the air is taut as a bow string, as the two leaders seem to communicate something only they understand.

A chunk of ice the size of her fallen home drops into Weiss’s stomach. The poison. The tea.

If Jaune had been there in time, would he have even hesitated to drink the tea for Ruby? Finally fulfilling his fairytale role? Finally doing something “right?”

Weiss is quite sure that would’ve only ended with BOTH leaders on the verge of ascension, instead of one. Because if Ruby had lost another friend, Weiss is certain that it would’ve pushed her over an edge she would never have returned from.

The desert wind fills the silence.

Jaune’s gaze falls back to the fire. “After the Herbalist, I was desperate to get the story back on track. I would’ve done anything to fix what I broke.”

“Even die?” Yang’s voice is steady as stone, but her hand is shaking in Blake’s grasp.

There are tears dripping down his face. He never processed this, Weiss realizes. He never processed anything, stuck as he was as the only thing changing in a world where everything stayed the same.

“I just wanted to do something right.” His voice sounds like he dropped it on the floor, it shattered, and he kept using it anyway. Cracky in that way it used to in Beacon. Too old and too young.

“I was the Rusted Knight, a paragon of virtue and glory, but I was messing it all up.” As he speaks, his voice gets more frantic, more hitched with tears. “We were at the end, there was no more story left. There was only one thing I could do to make sure they got their happy ending. And- And I-”

“I’m glad you didn’t have to,” Ruby interrupts, her voice choking with tears. I hate that it happened, that she poisoned you, but I’m glad you didn’t have to.” And again, it’s his fellow leader’s voice that draws Jaune out of himself.

But this time he looks like Jaune, all wide eyes and soft edges, not the metal of the Rusted Knight he was protecting himself with before. And Ruby looks like Ruby, older and wiser but with a spark of hope in her teary eyes that Weiss didn’t realize has been missing until they all almost lost it forever.

Ruby stands and walks around the fire, her boots making furrows in the sand, and pulls him into a hug. Jaune blinks, half afraid, half confused.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

Weiss barely hears Ruby murmur this over the crackle of the flames, and whether she’s talking about Penny or Alyx or Pyrrha or Atlas or any number of things that both leaders have blamed themselves for over the years, Weiss doesn’t know.

But what she does know is that when Jaune chokes out a sob and buries his face in Ruby’s hair, and Ruby drops to her knees clings to her best friend like he’s the only thing anchoring her to Remnant, something slots back into place in the universe. Something that fractured almost beyond repair on the shore of a razed village of paper stars.

Jaune’s hair is streaked with white, Ruby’s whole body is shaking with sobs, and Jaune is whispering apologies that Ruby is meeting with her own. But they’re both still here. It feels like healing, or the very start of it.

And maybe Jaune would have drunk the poison for Alyx, but he didn’t get to. And maybe Jaune would have drink the tea for Ruby, but he didn’t get to. The world was full of what-ifs, gods the Ever After probably used as them as damn building blocks.

But what matters is that he didn’t, and that he would never have to.

[thatanimewriter]

BEAR HUG.

➳ request: Hello! Can I request Ruby, Blake, Yang, Weiss, and Neo with either a male or gn!reader (whichever is more comfortable for you) s/o who is tall (Not that tall, I’m talking like 6’0) and normally very stoic but absolutely melts when shown any affection at all from the girls and turns into a massive cuddle bear. Please and thank you! Have a wonderful day!

➳ character/s: ruby rose, weiss schnee, blake belladonna, yang xiao long, neopolitan

➳ warnings: you're a criminal (neo)

➳ notes: 6'0 feels tall for my little 5'2 ass LMAO thanketh for request :)), also sorry these are kinda short-

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬 / 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭  / 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐬 / 𝐰𝐢𝐩 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

── 𝐑𝐔𝐁𝐘 𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐄.

no one knew why y'all were together initially, it was weird

why is this energetic child with this sophisticated partner????

but everyone knows you have a soft spot for ruby, because even if she's annoying you, you'll be less harsh with her

and if she ever clings to you, a nearly invisible smile rests on your lips

she could use her semblance to sit on your shoulders or cling to your bicep, yet you never pushed her away

if anything, the people saw how you kind of craved it

people wouldn't believe their eyes when they see you with your head atop hers and your arms wrapped around her waist

especially with the big, innocent looking eyes rather than your usual half-lidded gaze

they would think someone is a photoshop wizard if they showed them a photo of you cuddling in your sleep

who knew someone could have such different sides to them??

── 𝐖𝐄𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐍𝐄𝐄.

what a strict couple istg

you're both so serious most of the time, if weiss wasn't so dramatic at times, people would think you were the same person

not a big affection person, but only because she's touch-starved

when she starts initiating, she's very nervous to because she doesn't know if you want her to

but then she sees the way your face relaxes and your body slumps a bit

and now shes gonna be initiating a lot more, but mostly in private or in times of high stress

if anything, you want hugs all the time and she's the one telling you to chill out (pun intended)

she'll never reject you though, but she will look annoyed

often forgets you're perceived as stoic, because she's more accustomed to cuddly you now

wishes you weren't so tall so that you could cuddle easier though-

── 𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐀.

another stoic girlie

she probably purrs if you give her cuddles and scratch her head and behind her ears

rubs her head against you when she wants attention (only in private)

found out how much of a cuddle monster you are because of it

probably complains a little when you don't let go of her in the mornings and hug her tighter

gets whiplash from soft you and serious you all the time

the moment you're alone with her you're being all pouty and making grabby hands for hugs

secretly loves it, but she also has a reputation to uphold

has a lot of photos of you being cuddly on her scroll

you're 100% mor affectionate than she is, but it's fine

── 𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐗𝐈𝐀𝐎 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆.

you'll never be perceived as a stoic person ever with her around

she's constantly coming to give you affection, so you'll have to give up the serious thing

she always teases you about being soft around her

you'll never escape her snide comments about how you're not as stoic as you want to be

you're the one being hugged, not doing the hugging

and she'll secretly film you every time-

hidden scroll on the bookshelf waiting for you to come in the room and get hugged >:((

when she feels sad she always reviews those videos to feel better about things

and she never tells you she's filming :))

── 𝐍𝐄𝐎𝐏𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐍.

is small enough to dangle from your arm as well

constantly clinging to you

she's very mischievous, but i think when she sees you melt a bit at any semblance of physical contact, a genuine smile would cross her face

you being softer also encourages her to be more vulnerable and less performative

she lives for the height difference though-

she won't be too affectionate in public when y'all are criminals

will let you keep the stoic facade when wreaking havoc for sure, won't jeopardise that reputation

but in private, only soft times, never serious times in the scary sense

serious times in a loving, deep talk way ;v;

she also has lots of photos of your sleeping face while you cuddle her

[just-french-me-up]

IN THE DARK

Fandom: The Sandman Ship: Dreamling Rating: E | 2k | Read on AO3 Tags: Smut & Angst; Post 1889 Meeting; Porn with a Hint of Plot Mixed In; Smut in the Dark; Dream Can't Use His Words for Shit; Angsty Ending

The whole evening was a blur. A succession of steps, one in front of the other, fueled by anger at first, exasperation even, that quickly soured into gut-wrenching sorrow. Most of the fuel after that had been liquor. Hob could not even remember where he'd ended up. Not the White Horse, surely. That would have been too painful. Too fresh. At least he'd managed to secure a bed with fresh enough linens and privacy, which was not-half bad, considering his state. The room lacked windows, but it was all the same to him. Wrestling with your thoughts hardly required lighting.

The whole evening was a blur. No. Not all of it.

Not the part that kept haunting him. The cold stare glaring at him with indignation. The smile that turned to a hard line once he'd dared suggest the possibility of friendship. The striding steps, eager to distance him from that very notion. It all whirled inside Hob's mind, as vivid as when he'd seen them. Fucking idiot. He should have played his cards better. Their 1789 meeting had left him too comfortable, too bold. Wanting, also. He could have sworn...

Hob tossed around in bed, unable to fall asleep, replayed the scene again and again, what he could have done differently, said differently. Would his Stranger have stayed, then? Would they have parted as friends, in anything but name, the nature of their relationship hanging in the air, an ever-growing question mark never to be answered?

The candles had long burnt out, leaving him in the dark, his musings for only company. Hob imagined himself still at the inn, in centennial company. That was two meetings cut short. Perhaps next time... Would there be a next time? He'd had to run his mouth, daring his Stranger into admitting their friendship. What if he did not show, a hundred years from now? What if he sat at their table in 1989 and no one came? The loneliness of it made him ache. No... Surely, he would not...

The floorboards of the room creaked, making Hob start, his eyes flying open. No one had opened the door, of that he was certain. There was nothing to see, yet he stared into the darkness, not so much afraid than expectant. He had lived long enough to know he was the only ghost roaming this earth.

Something pressed into the mattress, digging a slight dent into it. A hand. A knee, perhaps. Hob swallowed. He could have sworn there was a dim glint shining in the darkness, like an eye blinking as something shifted on the mattress. Deep and ruby-red.

It occurred to him he ought to scream, call for help, anything, yet Hob could not bring himself to. The tension in his muscles lacked the crisp grip of fear. It was something different. Something more all-encompassing still. Something eager, deep inside of him.

Legs, for they were irrefutably legs, straddled his, trapping him under the covers. The raspy whistle of his own breathing filled his ears, making him deaf to anything else. Something wet seeped through the linen covering him, dampening the sheets. As the invisible form leant forward, Hob felt drops falling on his chest. On his neck. Rain. Or rather the aftermath of it. One does tend to get soaked, making a dramatic exit under the usual London drizzle.

Hob's clothes had long been peeled off, discarded, abandoned in a careless heap on the floor. Now the sheets stuck to his skin like a sheen, sole barrier between him and the darkness. He could feel his heartbeat reverberate through the fabric as a warm breath tickled his lips. He swallowed thickly, trying to think of something to say, something clever, something funny, but words eluded him. Words had brought him nothing but trouble that night, truth be told. Better not fuck things up further. Whatever quip he would have come up with hardly mattered, in the end. Hob couldn't have delivered it anyway. Not with the lips suddenly pressed against his own.

It was the furthest thing from tender. It was rushed, demanding, tasting of latent anger and frustration, almost pining him to the mattress. The initial shock barely lasted a second before Hob answered in kind, his body coming alive under the sheets. He reached in the darkness, his hands landing on wet clothes, wet hair, gliding, slipping, holding onto anything available with a primal urge. It would not have looked pretty under any light. A good thing that was not a concern.

Eventually, his fingers hooked around a delicate chain, his fingertips following it to the familiar emerald shape weighing at the end of it. It would have shone from a deep red by the candlelight, Hob knew it. He could picture it in his head, the same way he could picture his Stranger over him, his brow infinitely serious as his teeth grazed his lower lip. Hob's thumb brushed the side of the ruby, and he felt the body over his shiver, almost as an echo.

His Stranger pulled back sharply.

You dare, Hob could read in the silence, although neither spoke a word. All he could hear was the Stranger catching his breath, bursts of air coming in and out in a captivating rhythm. He'd gone too far again. Pushed past what he was allowed. The Stranger would storm out any second now, disappear into the very fabric of the night, the same way he'd gotten in.

The air was knocked out of his lungs as a hand closed around his wrist, pining it to the mattress. The pressure against his thighs and his groin increased at his Stranger leant forward once more, as though to face him. Hob imagined him stern, his lips thinned with disapproval, eyebrows drawn into a frown. He could not say he disliked it. Some attention was better than none.

The Stranger shifted once more, his body brushing against the outline of Hob's cock through the sheets. An accident, no doubt. An unfortunate consequence of the position he'd chosen. Hob doubted his Stranger had even noticed. Except it happened again. And again. And again, maddeningly slow, hindered by superfluous layers, leaving Hob achingly hard and frustrated. Wanting. Yet he could not bring himself to move. What if his Stranger left again? What if he stopped? He wasn't sure he could bear him stopping, no matter how frustrating his current ministrations were. The grip around his wrist tightened, sending a twitch through his cock. God's wounds, surely his Stranger could feel how hard he was. Hob bit back a strangled sigh, a plea for more at the back of this throat. No. He would not ask. He would not risk breaking the delicate spell that bound them to this moment with another ill-chosen word.

Something cold rolled against his lips. Another drop of rain, Hob through, but it bore more weight, felt more solid. He could feel the ruby's elegant edges against his mouth, hanging close, taunting him. There was another roll of his Stranger's hips, and Hob instinctively closed his lips around one of the curved angles. A low groan answered instantly, sending alarms through him. Hob waited a second. Then two. His Stranger did not pull back. If anything, he leant closer, offering more of the ruby as his hips kept rubbing against Hob's cock. No words needed. Hob ran his tongue across one of the facets, delighting in the lewd sound that earned him. He'd always suspected his Stranger was not made of stone, in spite of the latter best efforts to prove him otherwise. How much more could he get out of him before he'd be rejected as too familiar? Too bold? A flick of his tongue seemed acceptable enough, judging by the Stranger's loud approval.

Soon, toying with the gem got insufficient. Hob could feel it in the hand holding his wrist, in the slight wheeze in his Stranger's laboured breathing. The sheets were yanked off him, somehow. Where he could have sworn his Stranger wore clothes, his touch only met skin. Cold, still-lightly-damp-from-the-rain skin. His was scorchingly hot, clashing at the junction in a tantalising way. He could now feel the weight of his Stranger's cock against his own, heat flaring through him at the realisation. He would have given everything he owned to see them now, flesh against flesh, seeking pleasure in friction, his Stranger's body aflame.

The exhilarating grip around his wrist did not loosen, but Hob suddenly remembered he had another hand he could use freely. Instinctively, he wrapped it as best he could around both of their cocks, stroking down. Over him, his Stranger gave an approving moan, his hips rolling in tandem with his touch. Hob's tongue twirled around the ruby again, hot breath blowing against the gem, sending both him and the Stranger into a frenzy. He was hardly more than his hand, his cock, his lips, his burning skin in that moment. The rest of him was secondary. He was barely aware of the Stranger's hand bracing against his chest, nails almost digging into his flesh in a delicious bite. What he felt, however, were the fascinating spasms jolting through his companion, tension mounting, mounting, until his body gave, warmth spilling across Hob's stomach. Overwhelmed, Hob followed with a hoarse shout, stroking them until the last spark of pleasure had left him.

The rest was a blur. Yet another. A blur caught between wakefulness and the drowsy glow of pleasure. Hob remembered the content feeling as he lay against the mattress, still warm from exertion. He closed his eyes for a second, expecting his Stranger to join him, to take place against him in a bed that fit only one. He must have fallen asleep, for when he awoke, daylight flooded the room.

--

He was alone, that morning, the sheets neatly drawn over his body. As he looked around, Hob saw no evidence of a visitor, either in the room itself, or on his own body. The taste of the ruby still lingered in his mouth, but there was little proof he had actually touched it, or anyone, for that matter.

A dream, he thought mournfully. Wishful thinking.

He'd have a hundred years to mull it over. It wouldn't be the first time he'd thought of his Stranger that way. This was only the most vivid imagining from a centuries long string of them.

As he dressed in damp clothes, Hob didn't notice the half-moon shapes dug into his chest. They were barely a hint, a dent, his immortal body resorbing them the same way it would resorb any wound, from the lethal to the benign. They would not leave a single mark in an hour's time. A clean slate.

The mind hardly healed the same. It clung to the memory of it, flashes, sensations echoing through him as he looked around the room once more before closing the door behind him. An itch to scratch for the century to come.

Next time I see him, Hob thought to himself, I'll know. In 1989, I'll know.

--

His whisky had warmed in its glass a long time ago.

It was past midnight. Most of the patrons had found their way out of the White Horse, perhaps heading to the latest trendy club to spend the remainder of the night. Not Hob. Stubborn, he refused to leave, leaning against the bar, his gaze set on the entrance door. He'd started jittering about an hour ago, the realisation slowly sinking in.

Perhaps it had all been a dream, after all. The sensations still haunted him, a hundred years to the day. Come on... Show yourself...

"You waiting for someone?"

"I think I've been stood up."

[captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship]

FM2M Ch8

Nothing Is Going To Wake Me Now

Summary: Feyre is delving further into herself as she becomes more and more isolated in the Spring Court. Her powers are erratic, Tamlin's temper is on the rise, and she has some things to consider before she needs to make a decision about her future.

Read here on AO3

My nightmares began to blend together until they were reduced to pools of blood on marble floors, the cracking sound of bones splintering underfoot, and Amarantha’s last testament as I lay dying. Those words still echoed in my ears, haunting me even when my view of blood and bones were replaced by that of my reality.

“Admit you don’t really love him, and I’ll spare you. Admit what a cowardly, lying, inconstant bit of human garbage you are.”

“You think you’re worthy of him? A High Lord? You think you deserve anything at all, human?”

I hated to agree with that monster, but… I was not worthy. Not worthy of the screams that echoed my name, threatening to banish her ruby stain away. Not worthy of this new life I had been given when the two innocents I had murdered met the Mother’s embrace in my stead. Not worthy of those who have vowed to protect and love me.

Not worthy.

Not worthy.

Not worthy.

They say that sometimes you have to fake it until you make it, and I wondered just how long it would take for me to truly believe that I was not damned for Hel. That all of the pain and loss and death was worth it.

I am nobody.

I am no one.

I am not worthy.

I felt my power stir beneath my skin, but instead of coaxing it from its hiding spot and letting it comfort my aching soul, I pushed it down, down, down until it was firmly locked away. For once, I was too tired to care. All caring did was cause more pain. I just crawled back into bed where I slept, and slept, and slept.

Days bled into weeks, and soon I forgot how long it had been since my new existence began. As a fae, it didn’t seem to matter now anyways. The need I once had to acclimate to my new life was stifled by the sheer unchanging nature of this court. I made my home within the walls of my room and the library, only leaving the haven of the manor to stroll amongst the rose gardens. I hadn’t dared enter the wing of the home where my painting room lay dormant, awaiting a soul to wake it from its slumber.

Tamlin was away from the Manor more often than not. Part of me hated myself for feeling a little more at ease when he was gone. It was just one less person to lie to, to fake smiles with, to pretend that I was the same girl who had drank faerie wine and danced the night away during the Summer Solstice. I didn’t want to disappoint him, and I didn't want to tell him that there was no fixing a soul that was broken beyond repair. Fortunately, he hadn’t tried to kiss me again, save for a kiss on the hand or cheek here and there. It felt as if all of the time we had put into our relationship leading up to now had been swept away in the wind.

There was no lack of effort on Tamlin’s part to return to simpler times, to our life before we went Under the Mountain. When he was home we would sit at meals together, walk through the grounds, and make small talk. I could see how much he craved a sense of normalcy, and I tried my best to fall back into our old routines.For his sake, I could at least try. He tried to hide his stress from me when we were together, but every time I tried to get him to open up about what was bothering him he just shut me out.

In the days that Tamlin was around and in the mood for company, Ianthe rarely left his side. They would have lengthy conversations over meals, and I could hear them bickering over tea and pastries long after I would excuse myself from their presence. Sometimes I wondered if one of my new budding powers was invisibility because I was rarely acknowledged, if I was noticed at all. Just as well, I suppose, because there was something unsettling about Ianthe. Without Lucien, it was just the three of us and part of me was grateful to fade away into the background. It made it easier not to care- not to bother with court posturing that I felt completely out of my depth with. The conversation I overheard a fortnight ago became a distant memory, and no one seemed to suspect that I had been lurking in the shadows.

Ianthe spent her days doting around the manor, acting more as a Lady of the house than I did. I was greatful that she took those menial tasks away from me, I wanted nothing to do with picking what teas would be served at meals and seating arrangements for parties. Apparently, she was planning a gathering next month for the people of the land and deemed my input invaluable. I truly didn’t care for any of it, but there was no point in denying her.

My aloof relationship with Ianthe made me appreciate the time I had spent with Mor even more. I was slowly realizing that Mor was the closest thing I had to a true friendship with another female. I was always surrounding myself with the boys of the village- at first because they were happy to run out in the mud with me across our estate and later because they knew the tips and tricks to surviving in the woods even in the harshest winters.

Mor’s friendship was one of the few things keeping me sane. When I was sure that no one was paying attention, I would pull out my notebook and talk with her. No matter the time of day, she was always quick to respond. There were some days where she was the only other being I would speak with. We would talk to each other about our days, tell each other stories from our childhoods, and it was nice to know she would always be there. She never once passed judgment- never once shied away from the hard conversations. In some ways she was becoming more of a sister to me than my own were.

Thinking of my sisters always cleared the way for a pang of loss and grief to strike my chest. There were some days I wished that Elain were here. She would love the party planning, talks of the latest fashion, and spending hours on end in the extensive gardens. I even missed Nesta, and in her own way I think that she would fit in more with the fae than even I did. She was born to be a general, commanding anyone and everyone in her wake with an iron fist. I tried not to think of them that often, as it only ushered in memories of a life that I no longer was welcome in. I quickly buried thoughts of them away into that part of my human heart that had withered away.

My headaches seemed to come in waves. Some days I felt fine, the connection to my magic almost feeling normal. When I had access to it, my whole body hummed with a contentment that made me feel whole. Other days I was so sick that I didn’t have the strength to get out of bed. I had brought it up to Ianthe once during an afternoon tea in the rose garden. She had just told me that when a fae comes into their power it wanes and flows until it settles. That what I was experiencing was normal . That maybe I might not even have significant magic once its volatile nature settles. There was no point to have it during the time of great peace our lands are now seeing, she had said. I didn’t bother to remind her that nothing about me was normal. In reality, no one really knew what was wrong with me as I was the first and only of my kind. My existence only raised questions with no answers.

No one seemed to notice me these days, especially with Lucien gone. He was off on emissary missions to the neighboring courts, and his missing presence weighed on my heart. He was the only one who I could talk to here, who knew my secrets. The only one I trusted in this court to confide in. Most would use that knowledge against me, but not him. Never him.

The loneliness was made worse by the fact I was never really alone. There were always at least two guards stationed near me- outside my bedroom, below my balcony, outside the study. No matter where I roamed, there were sentries. I could tell they were trying to be discreet and keep a respectful distance away, but that didn’t stop the hairs on the back of my neck from constantly standing on edge. None of the fae around the manor bothered to speak with me, aside from Alis, but they did gawk. Gawk at their savior- cursebreaker- they called me. I know they tried not to stare, and I couldn’t really blame them for it. It didn’t make it any less comfortable, though.

Some were wary of my presence, like I was a lion prowling amongst gazelles. Others looked at me like I was holy. Those were the ones I hated the most. I was never treated like this when I was a human, when I was so fragile and weak compared to the immortal beings surrounding me. Now that I was one of them, they treated me more like a porcelain doll than ever before.

I hated the title almost as much as the staring. I didn’t dare leave the grounds and visit my glen again. There were too many eyes on me these days. No real chance to slip away. I would have to explain where I was going to the guards stationed around my room, and they would be obligated to tell Tamlin. Despite his consistent absence from the manor, the temporary reprieve wasn’t worth the ire and inconvenience it would cause him.

I floated through the estate like a ghost, stuck to relive my human life on repeat for eternity. I began rising later and later in the day, and some days I stayed in bed well past the time Alis would bring lunch to my rooms. I rarely ever ate what she brought me, and some deep rooted part of me screamed at how spoiled I had become. Long gone were the days when I would have dreamt of having a plate of hot food to fill my aching belly. My mind often drifted south, below the wall, to the life that felt so distant now that it felt like it belonged to someone else. It was only a year ago that we had been so desperate after an unusually slow summer that we went almost a week sustained on nothing but broth and some half-edible vegetables. Elain had recieved them as payment for helping a more affluent townsperson with their garden. These days, I seemed to eat less than I had then. The food in this court was too rich, too harsh. It felt like a waste to consume it, only to inevitably end my nights kneeled in front of my toilet heaving my stomach contents out of my system.

When I was up for a change of scenery from my bedroom, I would hole myself up in the study. I would spend hours sitting at a small desk in the back of the library underneath the tapestry of the creation of Prythian. I gave up on my search for finding books on those strange symbols and focused instead on learning as much as I could about the world I now lived in.

Most days I would rarely ever see or speak to anyone. My reading and writing had been accelerating at an incredible rate, and by the second week back I was consuming any tome I could get my hands on. The only marker for the passage of time became the increasing stack of books I had read in their entirety. I finished the Unabridged History of Prythian within a week, and began learning about the customs of the different courts. It was fascinating how each court developed right next to each other, but they could not be more different. There were similarities across all courts, of course, but each court was so unique in their clothing, histories, and customs.

I would read a page from a book and then copy a paragraph onto a piece of parchment. Soon, the feel of a pen was as natural to me as a paintbrush once had. My brain consumed all of the information around me like a sponge. I didn’t realize just how little I knew about our world, and how ill equipped I was to navigate it. I could not believe that just a few months ago I almost died from not knowing the skill that felt like second nature now. I hadn’t lied when I had told Rhys that I never wanted to feel weak again. I realize now that if I had eternity to live, I needed to know these skills.

Once the sun set, the library would grow dark and eerie. Despite the large windows to my back, the walls would always seem to close in, and all of the darkness lingering in my thoughts would begin to swarm. It kept pushing on my subconscious until the once expansive room felt as cramped as the Middengard Wyrm’s lair. I would be forced to seek shelter from the storm of emotions and memories that threatened to be released from their cage. More often than not, I would find myself staring up at the stars until I would fall asleep on my balcony, with only a candle and a book to keep me company. During the day, I would read more practical books, ones that taught me about the world. In the evenings, I tried to read something light if only to keep the darkness from my nightmares at bay. The nights were warm- balmy despite the crisp autumn chill that must have begun to settle into the Mortal Lands. Even the weather here was content with leisure and had long forgotten what change was like.

When I wasn’t reading or practicing my writing, I would work on building up my mental shields. Soon it became a striking adamant wall, glistening, thick and impenetrable. I would hold it in place until the feeling became as inherent as breathing. Despite all my hard work, it was impossible to tell how well they actually held up under pressure without another daemati to help me train. On the days where I could feel my magic, I would train it until I was spent and tired. I would only have enough energy left to drink some tea before going to sleep. Many times after my clandestine training sessions, I would wake up and my magic would lay dormant again.

I tried to not let my spiraling thoughts overtake my life, but I was haunted by the abyss my power left in its wake when they would disappear. It was just another hole in my chest that I had lost my desire to fill. But, my magic felt… empty. Almost as if it had been missing. Although I could still practice my mental shielding no matter my ability to access my magic, my capacity to feel the world around me had been dulled- censored. Every few nights, in between the nightmares and trips to the toilet, I would feel the rush of my powers, and it would overtake me once more. They still felt distant, somehow, and I couldn’t help but wonder what was going on? What was wrong with me? I was too tired to delve further, though.

Too tired to care.

I hadn’t heard a word from Rhys, not a single tap on my mental shields. We never shared our dreams with each other again, either. Honestly, I barely felt him on the other side of the bond most days- if at all. He was busy, and his court must have been in as much shambles as this one. He didn’t have the time to check in down the bond, despite the ache in my chest that would sometimes surface at the thought of it. At the idea that he didn’t think of me as often as he seemed to pop into my head. At random times during the day, I would think of him, what he was doing, if he was alive.

Stupid mating bond- I didn’t know if it was me who cared about such things, or the instincts involved with having a mate outside of my grasp. I had no idea how any of it worked. I pushed the thoughts of Rhys out of my head as fast as they had popped in. I am sure he is getting a lot more work done now that he doesn’t have to go back and forth between the moonstone palace and wherever he spent his days.

Despite it all, I didn’t care about most things anymore. With books being my only source of consistent company, there was no one, including myself, who cared enough to notice that I had delved further and further into myself. No one bothered to see the raging empty pit inside me that was growing by the day, threatening to devour me whole with every passing breath.

Continue on AO3

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Let me know if you would like to be added :)

[variouspolltournaments]

EDIT: SUBMISSIONS CLOSED

The first Poll Tournament I will be running on this blog is the Sun and Moon Duo Tournament!

I did decide to go ahead and submit the ones I could think of, so currently already in the running are:

Cerberos/Kero and Yue: Cardcaptor Sakura

Spinel Sun and Ruby Moon: Cardcaptor Sakura

Espeon and Umbreon: Pokemon

Solrock and Lunatone: Pokemon

Solgaleo and Lunala: Pokemon

Celestia and Luna: My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

Itsuki Myoudouin/Cure Sunshine and Yuri Tsukikage/Cure Moonlight

When this poll tournament will properly be starting remains yet to be seen.

In the meantime submit a Sun and Moon Duo, along with where they come from and (if you want) propaganda. You can do this through ask or submit a post.

Submissions in bold have propaganda, submissions not in bold do not have propaganda. Whether they do or do not have some already, you are still free to submit some.

@tournament-announcer

Submissions (besides the ones above):

Paige Mahoney and Arcturus Mesarthim/Warden: The Bone Season

Mr Shine and Mr Bright: Kirby

Sun Dragon Inti and Moon Dragon Quilla: Yi-Gi-Oh

Sundrop and Moondrop: Five Nights at Freddy’s

Apollo and Artemis: Greek Mythology

Helios and Selene: Greek Mythology

Amaterasu and Tsukuyomi: Japanese Mythology

Sol and Mani: Norse Mythology

Skoll and Hati: Norse Mythology

Sun and Moon: The Amazing Digital Circus

Sun Wukong and the Six-Eared Macaque: Lego Monkie Kid

Hinata Shoyou and Tsukishima Kei: Haikyuu

Apollo and Midnighter: DC Comics

Cleopatra Selene and Alexander Helios: Real Life Twins of Mark Antony and Cleopatra

Henry Strauss and Addie LaRue: The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue

Eirika and Ephraim: Fire Emblem

Alcryst and Diamant: Fire Emblem

Dianamon and Apollomon: Digimon

Maya Amano and Tatsuya Suou: Persona/Shin Megami Tensei

Sasuke Uchiha and Naruto Uzumaki: Naruto

Itempas and Nahadoth: Inheritance Trilogy

Sam and Sebastian: Stardew Valley

Mind and Heart: Chonny Jash

Spirit Bomb and Oozaru: Dragon Ball

Monkey D. Luffy and Hiyori Kozuki: One Piece

Cassandra and Rapunzel: Tangled the Series

Pokémon Sun and Pokémon Moon: Pokemon

Ichigo Kurosaki and Rukia Kuchiki: Bleach

Ichigo Kurosaki and Uryu Ishida: Bleach

Sol and Galicaea: Dimension 20: Fantasy High

Axel and Saix: Kingdom Hearts

Lottie and Laura Lee: Yellowjackets

Kala and Wolfgang: Sense8

Buffy Summers and Spike: Buffy the Vampire Slayer

Calliope Burns and Juliette Fairmont: First Kill

Will Solace and Nico di Angelo: Percy Jackson Series

Jamie and Dani: The Haunting of Bly Manor

Alec and Magnus: The Mortal Instruments/Shadowhunters

Mariposa and Catania: Barbie Mariposa and the Fairy Princess

Janai and Amaya: The Dragon Prince

Ruby and Sapphire: Steven Universe

Bow and Glimmer: She-ra and the Princesses of Power

Karolina Dean and Nico Minoru: Marvel's Runaways

Rapunzel and Eugene: Tangled

Sun Bak and Kwon-Ho Mun: Sense8

Elena Amamiya/Cure Soleil and Madoka Kaguya/Cure Selene: Pretty Cure

Yusuf “Joe” al-Kaysani and Nicolò “Nicky” di Genova: The Old Guard

Sonic the Hedgehog and Knuckles the Echidna: Sonic the Hedgehog

Apple White and Raven Queen: Ever After High

The Sun and the Moon: Real Life

Ballister Boldheart and Ambrosius Goldenloin: Nimona

Seo Hwi and Nam Seon-ho: My Country: The New Age

[taytjiefourie]

Writing Practice.

Molten gold. That’s what it looks like to him. Streaks of golden light shine as cars speed down the roads. There are other colors too. Emerald and topaz, some citrine too. The city below is like a box filled with the finest jewels. As high up as he is, the sounds from the city don’t reach his ears. Instead, it’s the wind that whispers to him in low whistles. It runs its invisible hands through his hair, and tugs at his clothes as if beckoning him closer to the edge. ‘Come here, you’ll see more,’ the wind says to him. He knows not to listen. He may be able to see more beauty if he walks further, but that will be the last thing he sees. The price is too high and he has no interest in paying it. There’s gold in the sky too, and red, a deep ruby color that is being chased by the faintest hint of diamond and the encompassing turquoise. Cold and warm. Opposites, yet both are balanced in the sky for the moment. The warmth will fade soon, gone as if it was never there. He laughs, the sound almost halting the wind in its tracks. It doesn’t matter if onyx cradles the sky. The cold can be beautiful too. He likes watching as it changes. As light gives way to darkness, warm to cold, beauty to beauty. Gold, turquoise, or onyx, they are all expensive and sought after. Some people prefer one mineral above another, but he just likes them all.

Image used as inspiration:

[linkemon]

Arabian Nights (Kalim Al-Asim x Reader)

Friendly reminder that English is not my first language. You can check my Masterlists both in English and Polish here. Consider supporting me on Ko-fi. You can also check out my commissions if you're interested.

Other oneshots can be found here.

ᴛʜᴇ ʏᴏᴜɴɢ ʜᴇᴀᴅ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀʟ-ᴀsɪᴍ ғᴀᴍɪʟʏ ᴍᴇᴇᴛs [ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ] - ᴀ ᴛʜɪᴇғ ᴏғ ʜɪs ғᴀᴍɪʟʏ ᴊᴇᴡᴇʟs. ʜᴏʟᴅ ᴏɴ ᴛɪɢʜᴛ ғᴏʀ ᴀ ᴍᴀɢɪᴄ ᴄᴀʀᴘᴇᴛ ʀɪᴅᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀ ʙᴇᴀᴜᴛɪғᴜʟ ɴɪɢʜᴛ ᴏᴠᴇʀ sᴄᴀʟᴅɪɴɢ sᴀɴᴅs. ᴏɴᴇsʜᴏᴛ ɪs ʜᴇᴀᴠɪʟʏ ɪɴsᴘɪʀᴇᴅ ʙʏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀʟʟᴀᴅɪɴ ғᴀɪʀʏ ᴛᴀʟᴇ.

ᴀᴅᴅɪᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ɪɴғᴏʀᴍᴀᴛɪᴏɴ: 1. ᴄᴀɴᴏɴɪᴄᴀʟʟʏ, ɴᴏᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ɪᴛ ɪs sᴛᴀᴛᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴋᴀʟɪᴍ ᴅɪᴅ ɴᴏᴛ sᴘᴇɴᴅ ʜɪs ᴄʜɪʟᴅʜᴏᴏᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴊᴀᴍɪʟ ᴀɴᴅ ʜɪs sɪʙʟɪɴɢs ʙᴜᴛ ᴀs ғᴀʀ ᴀs ɪ ᴋɴᴏᴡ, ɪᴛ ʜᴀs ᴀʟsᴏ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴅᴇɴɪᴇᴅ ᴀɴʏᴡʜᴇʀᴇ. 2. ɪᴛ ʜᴀs ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴏғғɪᴄɪᴀʟʟʏ ᴄᴏɴғɪʀᴍᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴏɴʟʏ ʙᴏʏs ɢᴏ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ɴʀᴀ ᴀɴᴅ ʀsᴀ (ᴀʟᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜ ғᴏʀ sᴏᴍᴇ ʀᴇᴀsᴏɴ ᴛʜɪs ᴡᴀs ʙᴇʟɪᴇᴠᴇᴅ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ɪ ᴡʀᴏᴛᴇ ᴛʜɪs ᴏɴᴇsʜᴏᴛ).

[Reader] looked around. The crescent moon provided enough light for her to see that her watch wasn't over yet. The guards patrolling the beautiful water garden passed by the pools and fountains, vigilantly scanning the area. They already knew her spell. She wasn't going to make the mistake she made when she first discovered she could do magic. When she swung something that looked like an expensive pen that fateful day, she had no idea what awaited her. Sparks of magic flew from the tip. She didn't know that what she stole was a magic pen. Over time, she slowly managed to master simple commands by watching others do it legally. She figured out everything by trial and error. But no one taught her how to become invisible. It was something that just came out on itself. She immediately tried it when trying to steal and it was a mistake. The salesman at the booth noticed her and she had to run away from the city guard. Since then she has realized a few things. This spell never lasted long. And once she used it in someone's presence, it never worked again. So now she was hiding on the roof of the Asim family residence, waiting to be able to leave it peacefully.

She opened the old and worn bag, examining the contents. Precious stones glittered in the dark night. Like the jeweled lamp. The girl smiled to herself. This will make her rich for several years. No more risking arrest. She stroked the largest of the rubies tenderly. Suddenly the stone fell from her hand. She reached out to catch it but it rolled across the roof and landed on the balcony just below her. She held her breath. The gem made a small sound as it fell onto the mosaic before sliding somewhere else. However, there was no indication that anyone was interested in it. She carefully poked her hea out, trying to look down. No voices came from the room. There were no lights on in it either. She bit her lip in thought. Maybe she should have left it where it was. On the other hand, it is better that no one knows that a theft has taken place for as long as possible. She took a deep breath and quickly climbed down to the balcony. She landed softly and moved towards the door. She cast a spell on herself. Caution never hurt anyone. She began nervously searching the woven rugs decorating the room. In the middle was a large golden bed with a huge red canopy. She looked under them. It was there that she found her lost item.

— Umm...Excuse me? — The voice scared her so much that she hit her head on the bed. She quickly crawled out from under it, wanting to escape where she came from. Unfortunately, a boy stood in her way.

By the looks of it, he could have been her age or slightly younger. His white hair fell slightly in front of his face, so he tied it with a headband. Red eyes stared at her expectantly. He was wearing ordinary clothes. The cream sweater fluttered slightly due to the night wind coming from the door to the balcony. The same one that, unfortunately for her, he had just closed. He must have been someone important. Gold bracelets and earrings, as well as small tattoos on her arms let her know about it.

What to say? Think of something! Her heart was beating like crazy. She couldn't run out into the corridor. She's already been through it once. The guard still hasn't changed. They will definitely notice her right away. She felt hot.

— Oh my! Sorry. I didn't want to scare you. — The boy walked up to her, grabbed her hand and touched her forehead where she had hit herself. — I guess you'll be fine.

Is he serious? [Reader] looked at him in disbelief.  

— I returned to the room faster because someone apparently broke into the vault. The guards told me to stay here. What a bore! — He threw himself on the bed.  

Oh no! That was the worst! She really should get out of here as soon as she could. Especially since she now knew who was in the room with her. There was only one person that age for whom everyone in the mansion would be on alert. After so many attacks, this was understandable. Many people were wanting to take his life. Kalim Al-Asim. The oldest heir to the vast fortune of a merchant family renowned throughout Scalding Sands. And although he had plenty of siblings, they were definitely younger than him. It had to be him.

— Will you play with me? — he asked, which completely threw her off her rhythm.  

— Play... with you? — the girl made sure, not fully understanding the meaning of the strange request.  

Apparently he hadn't realized yet that she was a thief. She couldn't risk rushing towards the balcony. Otherwise, he could have informed the adults immediately. She had to get her bearings.  

— I saw your bag and thought you were a cleaning lady. All my previous cleaners agreed to play with me in exchange for gems. — Kalim hugged the stuffed parrot. — So what will it be?  

She looked down and mentally cursed herself. In her rush, she forgot to zip up her bag. Maybe that saved her after all.

For some reason she felt a little sad. The boy in front of her had everything. Family, a roof over your head and warm food every day. And yet, despite this, he had no one to play with. So much so that he had to pay someone for it. Worse still, she was almost certain that the adult employees were taking advantage of his naivety to make money off of him.

She was about to reply that she didn't have time when suddenly something tickled her leg. She barely held back a scream as she spun around violently.  

— You can't! Sit down! — Kalim stood up and waved his finger threateningly.  

Meanwhile, [Reader] was shocked. She thought she would see a dog or another animal. But what she saw was an embroidered rug that flipped in the air and then rested politely at her feet. From time to time its fringes waved, trying to touch her again.  

— Is that a flying carpet?  

— Yes. — Kalim smiled.  

A sudden thought appeared in her head. So brilliant that she almost fell in love with it. This could solve all her problems.  

— How about we take a ride on it for fun? — She walked towards the balcony door.  

— But... I should stay inside today... because it's dangerous. — Kalim looked torn.  

She looked at him carefully. All his emotions were clearly visible. He certainly rarely questioned the rules. And if so, it's probably only unconsciously.  

— Just for a moment. Nobody will notice us. — [Reader] sat down on the carpet.  

The fringes waved eagerly.  

— I wouldn't want you to get hurt if it's not safe — the boy confessed, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly.  

[Reader] felt a blush rising to her cheeks. Was this supposed to be the great heir to the fortune? The rich and spoiled kid she just robbed? The idiot met her a few minutes ago and immediately trusted her. Moreover, he was worried about her instead of himself, even though she played the role of an ordinary employee. The bag weighed like a stone on her shoulder. She had no choice. She pushed away the uncomfortable thoughts. She had to get out of here. It was a priority.  

— If you're so worried about me, come with me.  

She knew immediately that she had nailed it. If he cared about others more than himself, he would follow her. She had met few such people in her entire life on the city streets but they did happen. They were usually the victims of theft.  

The boy took a deep breath and opened the door. He sat down right in front of her.  

— You should grab onto something — he said, grabbing the front fringes.  

— I'll give it a try... — [Reader] didn't have time to finish the sentence.  

The carpet moved so fast that it took her breath away. The air rush was amazing. Instinctively, she grabbed Kalim's waist. Otherwise she would definitely fall. She clung to his back, afraid to open her eyes. The soft sweater smelled of coconut. It was strange but quite pleasant.  

— Hey, there's nothing to be afraid of! — The boy shouted over the wind. — The carpet won't let you fall off.  

In response to his words, the fabric tickled her hand playfully. She swallowed and tentatively opened first one eye, then the other.  

The view was beautiful. A crescent moon reigned over them. They left behind the Asim family residence. The city below glittered with hundreds of lights. From above she could see the familiar, bright buildings. The market was bustling with nightlife. The dancers were organizing a festival. Dressed in traditional costumes, they entertained tourists. The music of flutes and drums filled the air. And beyond the walls stretched a sand wasteland. She saw an oasis and palm trees a few miles away. A few caravans were crossing the last stretches of the road with their camels. They probably came to celebrate or sell rare goods.

— Could you take me home?! she asked. — I'm done with my shift!  

It was an outright lie but she couldn't think of anything better.  

— Of course! — her companion shouted back.  

She showed him the direction. Home wasn't exactly the best description of where she lived. But she didn't know what else to tell him. A makeshift bedroom at the top of an abandoned building was the only thing she could afford. It almost never rained in this city. Luckily for her. Otherwise, she would often sleep among puddles because the roof was leaky. However, she had enough protection against the heat of hot days, which was more than nothing.

— Hold on tight!  

Before she knew what was happening, the top became a bottom. The magical vehicle did a somersault. Her stomach lurched into her throat. On one hand it was exciting but on the other it was terrifying.  

They landed on one of the neighboring roofs. [Reader] stepped off the carpet, feeling her legs go weak. Kalim quickly grabbed her around the waist, saving her from falling.  

— This happens after the first flight. — He grinned.  

— Listen, I… — the girl began, staring at her feet.  

How was she supposed to tell him this? Make excuses? Or maybe it's better not to? She should shut up and just go away. Except he was so honest... And now that she knew him, she was consumed with guilt. Kindness just poured out of him. He didn't deserve what she did to him.  

— I robbed you… — She held out her bag. — Sorry. We came here because I wanted to escape.  

— I know — Kalim replied calmly. It was like they were having a chat about the weather. — Unfortunately, I have to take the lamp because Dad likes it very much but you can keep the rest.  

The cheerful expression never left his face.  

— What? — [Reader] was absolutely stunned.  

— I figured you probably needed all this more than I did. — He smiled warmly and handed the valuables back to her. — Would you like to meet up for a carpet ride again?  

— After all this, you still want... — Yes, that's what he was like. This shouldn't surprise her. — Yes, of course. I'll be waiting at the same time tomorrow.  

— Cool. He hugged her goodbye, which gave her a strange, pleasant feeling. — I almost forgot. I haven't introduced myself but you probably already know who I am. — Kalim received an affirmative nod as he mounted the carpet. — I didn't ask for your name.  

— [Reader].  

— See you then, [Reader]. - With these words he disappeared into the darkness of the night.  

***

— Hurry up, Jamil. You have to show me the campus! — Kalim exclaimed excitedly.  

Happy as always. Even when there was nothing to be happy about.  

— You should unpack first. — His friend sighed loudly.  

The job will probably fall to him. As always. After all, that's what he was. Servant. Following Asim's family even when he desperately wanted to get away from them. Just when he finally thought he would have peace, his family's employers bribed the school so that their son could attend it. Not to mention the fact that he didn't fit here at all. And came two months after the semester started.  

— Where are you in such a hurry? — Viper asked, reluctantly following the boy.  

— I haven't seen [Reader] since she got into the Royal Sword Academy. She said she would wait for me in the courtyard!

Night Raven College rarely had visitors from a rival school. Usually only during sports games or music competitions. But that wasn't the strangest thing. Where could Kalim meet anyone new that Jamil didn't even know about? He knew everything about him.

— Why is this the first time I've heard of [Reader]? — he asked panicked, trying to catch up with Kalim.  

He had to find out who it was. No one could spoil his plans.

[simpingcorner]

Daughter of the Shadows

Word Count: ~1.3k Warnings: mild violence (stabbing, mentions of gunshots, physical fighting), blood, alcohol, gambling,mention of human tr*****, Pekka Rollins,not proofread, let me know if I forgot something. 

Author's Note: First chapter to my Grishaverse fanfic. A reminder this is insipred by my SoC DR so it’ll follow both the books and the show plotlines, there will be changes to the canon characters and their storylines, it’s also a Kaz Brekker x OC. | English isn’t my first language so please bear with me and tell me if there’s something wrong. I hope you like it.

all rights to leigh bardugo, i only owny liith and her backstory (other ocs will be introduced later)

Read part 2 here - Ch.3 - Ch. 4 - Ch. 5 - Ch. 6

CHAPTER 1

LILITH

The starless night sky, the waves breaking on the rocks, the muffled sounds coming from the city, the briny autumn air surrounded her, it happened before she could even think of enjoying the moment a voice broke the night silence, the girl jumped to her feet, knives drawn, eyes locked on the darkness in front of her as her legs moved independently, silent movements, invisible to the inexperienced eyes allowed her to move closer to the noise source, as she’d expected a crowd had formed on the pier of the fourth harbour. Their guns reflected the dim street lamps’ light, red rubies shone under the moonlight, “This wasn’t the deal.” said a merchant’s voice, “The deal was you’d bring me fresh meat and I’d set you free.” Pekka Rollins’ hoarse voice echoed in her ears, she watched and studied the scene in front of her, hidden by the shadows, disgusted at the ideas of even more lives ruined by Pekka Rollins.

The smell of blood came before she could even realize what was going on, the pier’s shadows hid her making her even more dangerous than in the daylight, her knives handles now an extension to her hands, her leather gloves blood stained, her legs silents and fast followed a now too familiar pattern, the men surrounded her, guns at her head ready to fire, the girl’s eyes studied the scene as in a book, reviewing every possible outcome, she was surrounded, the men much bigger than her, she gripped the handles of her knives, the material seemed to heat up under the pressure, the lights of the street lamps trembled ready to go out at any given moment, the salty air now corrupted by the smell of blood and gunpowder. “I don’t want to kill you Mrak.” Said the merchant stopping in front of the brunette, a grin forming on his face studying her. “I wish I could say the same.” The girl replied wiping blood from her cheek with the back of her hand, her eyes full of anger, hatred, revenge, but her face was impassive, the scar on her righ cheek illuminated by the lamp post, her lips and jaw tight, her feet and hands ready to attack or defend, the faded tattoo of Emerald Palace was still too visible on her left forearm. “I thought you’d be happy to hear another slaver dead.” The man continued staring at her, “Wasn’t it one of them who brought you here? Who ruined your life?” the brunette knew if she’d attacked the rest of the Dime Lions would open fire to save their leader, “My life was over before I even got to Ketterdam.” she said closing her fists and inhaling before attacking, their moves were draw in her brain like the project of a house on paper, predictable and obvious, during each fight the Dime Lions’d forgot they had guns in their hands, finding themselves fighting hand to hand with their rivals.

The girl’s eyes became watery, a sudden burning sensation invaded her right forearm, the gray sleeve darkened, soaked in blood, but before she could assimilate what happened, the dagger disappeared from her hand finding a new home in the skull of one of the men surrounding her, some had fled, others were on the ground gasping for air or passed out. Her eyes found Pekka Rollins’, her face covered in blood, her left hand gripping her right arm, “Next time I won’t let you free.” said the man turning on his heels and disappearing into the shadows of the pier, the girl inhaled trying not to think about the pain in her arm, the burning had given way to cold and numbness, the brunette put her knives back in their places before walking back towards the Barrel.

Ketterdam was the place to go if you wanted to disappear, a city run by criminals, thieves, crooks, murderers; a city where authorities were nearly as corrupted, if not more, than the citizens; tourists from all over the world came to live without rules, to enjoy the freedom of a city without laws, to distract themselves from the problems of their daily lives, with their money, clean clothes, hot food on the table, a roof over their heads, a warm comfortable bed to sleep in after a tiring day, hot water always at the ready for a relaxing bath; the more fortunate citizens, the merchants, the Council members, the owners of the most famous clubs in the city lived in safe, warm, private houses; all the others, on the contrary, lived from day to day, hoping and praying to the Saints that they’d have enough to be able to afford a common room, a hot meal, or to be able to repay their debts.

The smell of the Barrel invaded her nostrils as she went from roof to roof trying not to be seen, the window to his office was open, a sign that he was waiting for Inej, the girl knew she shoulnd’t have gone in but with her arm injured she wouldn’t be able to open her bedroom window, and entering the front door was out the question. She climbed over to the window and nimbly entered the room, the inexperienced ear would never notice the air shift caused by the girl, but Kaz Brekker wasn’t inexperienced, not when it came to his investments. “I will not do business with a criminal.” The unknown voice filled the room, forcing her to hide in the shadows, her steps were silent, her breath inaudible, “You will find no honest man in Ketterdam.” Kaz replied before dismissing the man and closing the door behind him, “You can come out.” he simply said going back to studying the papers on the desk, the girl headed to the door, her arm hidden behind her back, her face covered in blood, her steps trembling but still too silent and proud, she barely got to reach the doorknob that his cane stopped her, the girl’s eyes fixed on the door, her hand firm on the doorknob, “What do you have for me?” the boy said as he sat down at his desk, the cane resting on his knee in of him staring at her, the crow’s eyes on the handle seemed to study her. “Pekka Rollins has bought other kids.” The boy’s face was stern, unreadable, fixed on the brunette in front of him, “He killed the slaver at Fourth Harbour.” the girl explained. “Okay.” His voice was hollow, the voice of someone who had decided to turn off their emotions, the same voice used by the girl.

The cut on her forearm was less serious than she had imagined, the help of a healer would have fastened the recovery but she didn’t have the money nor the time to find one, she tightened the bandage on the wound and left her room heading towards the bar counter, “Lilith, came to bring me luck?” Jesper’s cheery voice woke her up from the trance she was in, the Zemeni boy motioned for her to sit next to him at the poker table.

The Crow Club was full of tourists and non, whoever was in the Barrel and wanted to tempt fate was there, the girl noticed Rotty and Specht busy gambling away the last few coins they had left, Big Bolliger greeted her from the door before kicking out yet another cheater, Anika stared at her from the counter, while Jesper looked at her with a smile, letting her slip in next to him. “SO how much did you lose?” The girl asked as she sat down and studied the table, “Your lack of confidence hurts me Lilith.” said Jesper betting the rest of his Kruge on the upcoming hand, “Just saying if you don’t pay your debts, Per Haskell won’t kick out only you, and I really like my room.” explained the girl pulling out her daggers and cleaning them, she could feel his gaze on her, he was studying her, the bandage on her harm, a bandage that wasn’t there just a few minutes before, but as soon as she looked up he was gone, the office door closed at the top of the stairs.

[thebettybook]

Ramshackle’s New Visitor

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Strawbetty’s notes:

I’m hosting my first writing event :D Happening from 11/2-11/30 :D

🍓 Leona Kingscholar x gn!reader. Other character is Malleus Draconia.

🍓 Warning: Leona ANGST because it’s Halloween, but also some Halloween fluff between Leona and gn!reader (this is way before they started dating, taking place a few months after the interdorm Magift tournament and Leona’s Overblot in Book 2).

🍓 Text borders from the website “Cute Kaomoji”

🍓 Song rec: “Until I Found You” by Stephen Sanchez ft. Em Beihold (sped up version)

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・・・・・・・・👻 ・・・・・・・・

Leona’s Ceremonial gold-and-purple shoes stomped on the fallen amber leaves with a crunch. His eyebrows pinched downward with a scowl to match as he stormed away from NRC’s Main Street—away from the hustle and bustle of the Halloween party.

A phone call with his five-year-old, sweet-as-candy nephew Cheka usually wouldn’t sour his mood too much, but the fact that it came from Leona’s older brother Farena’s phone left Leona’s stomach churning.

It just reminded him of Farena’s existence, one that Leona tried his best to ignore during his time at NRC. Even a speck of Farena’s existence would overshadow Leona’s ever since Leona was born.

Leona remembered one Halloween when he was eight. Bored of the Halloween banquet his family hosted, Leona grabbed his white blanket sheets and pretended to be a ghost, running through the palace halls in hopes that his family and the banquet’s attendants would find his makeshift costume cool or pretend to be scared by his “Boo!”’s. He was only met with these phrases: “Be careful, Your Highness,” or even worse, “Leona, stop embarrassing your brother in front of our guests.”

It was as if Leona and his efforts were invisible at home, unseen by his brother, his father, their family’s members of the royal court, servants, and attendants, as if he was a ghost. Speaking of ghosts…

Leona lifted his head, the hood of his Ceremonial Robes falling behind his head to reveal his brown lion ears as he realized that he wasn’t at the Hall of Mirrors. He intended to return to Savanaclaw and sleep away the rest of Halloween, but it seemed that his anger led him to Ramshackle dorm.

Tonight the dorm was surrounded by pink lotus blossoms and cloud decorations that floated across the dorm’s yard. Crimson paper lanterns strung across the barren trees, and a replica of a long (Chinese dragon) with ruby scales and sky-blue horns created an arch with its tail for visitors to walk through.

In front of the dorm’s ebony wrought-iron gates, jack-o-lanterns emitted a soft golden glow. The jack-o-lanterns' jagged yet jovial smiles contrasted Leona’s scowl, which only darkened at the sight of the decorations.

Tch, not only did I get a phone call from Farena, but now I have to see that lizard’s stamp tour set up?

Leona’s ears then perked at the crickets that sang as if they were celebrating their own Halloween festivities. Leona unclenched his fingers that bunched up and clawed at the thick cotton fabric of his robes’ sleeves. With a deep breath, Leona ran a hand through his wavy dark-brown mane. The comforting silence of Ramshackle made him feel at ease, more so than the brooding silence of his room at Savanaclaw would.

Without thinking twice, Leona walked through the iron gates and up the gray cobblestone steps to the Ramshackle dorm. He stopped at the porch and plopped down on the rickety wooden steps.

Leona tipped his chin up to gaze at the royal purple night sky. The stars weren't as prominent here as they were in Savanaclaw, but Leona could still map out the location of stars and constellations with his eyes alone.

After a few minutes of staring aimlessly up at the sky, Leona rose from the steps to return to Savanaclaw. Before he could leave, however, a certain Diasomnia dorm leader’s voice interrupted Leona’s comfortable silence.

“Did you enjoy the Halloween festivities this year, Child of Man?” Malleus Draconia inquired as the fae appeared in front of the iron gates, his back to the dorm.

“Child of Man”? The hell kind of name is that? Still, Leona crouched down on the steps and raised an ear to hear the recipient of Malleus’s questions.

“I did, thanks for asking!” Leona recognized your cheery voice with a tug at his heartstrings. He waved away the feeling, drooping his eyelids and slouching with his cheek pushed in his palm to appear bored even though he was well out of your and Malleus’s eyesight.

Leona couldn’t go back to the Hall of Mirrors without going through the front gates of Ramshackle, but that would mean he would be seen by you and Malleus…and that was the last thing he wanted.

With irritated flicks of his tail, Leona glared down at his gold-and-purple shoes as he waited for your conversation with Malleus to end, hoping that the two of you would walk back to the party at Main Street, or go Mr. S’s Mystery Shop, or wherever the Seven…Wait. Why do I care?

Before he could even try to answer that in his head, Leona’s eyes shot up to find themselves staring into yours. Leona was too lost in his thoughts to notice earlier that your conversation with Malleus ended and you had walked through the gates to your dorm.

“Leona? What are you doing here?” your eyes widening yet there was no hint of fear in them. Leona at Ramshackle was the last thing you expected on an unpredictable night such as Halloween, but it was a pleasant surprise nonetheless.

To keep his cool, Leona regarded you with his emerald orbs that glowed neon against the pitch-black backdrop of the dorm. Consistent electricity at Ramshackle was something you still needed to get on Crowley’s case about.

“Ramshackle’s nice and quiet, a good spot for gettin’ some fresh air,” Leona’s eyes landed on a plastic to-go bag in your hands. His nose picked up various scents of food from the party. “Droppin’ that off before you head off with the lizard?”

You cocked your head to the side before realizing that the “lizard” Leona was referring to was Malleus.

“Oh! No, I left the party early because I was feeling a bit tired,” you sat down next to Leona, who scooted to make space for you. “I ran into Malleus on my way here and then he left.”

Malleus appeared at Ramshackle earlier to personally thank you for allowing Diasomnia to use Ramshackle as their stamp tour spot. After that, he vanished in sparkles. You chuckled to yourself; your mysterious fae friend-of-sorts certainly enjoyed dramatic exits.

Leona’s eyebrows furrowed at your chuckles, which irked him more than he’d like to admit. “Didn’t know you were so close with the lizard,” Leona mused with all the nonchalance he could muster as his eyelashes fluttered shut. Thank the Seven that his hood hid his furrowed eyebrows.

“Not really,” you replied without hesitation, causing Leona to open one eye and peek at you from the side. “Malleus is kinda mysterious so I don’t know much about him but overall he’s a nice person—I mean, fae.”

Leona opened both eyes, staring at you to detect any hint of a flustered or lovesick expression on your face. Instead, you just seemed like your normal self as you swung your legs in the air and hummed an incoherent Halloween tune to yourself.

“Ah! Speaking of nice people, Kalim made me pack a lot of the party food to bring home,” you patted the plastic bag that rested on your lap. “There’s too much in here for just me and Grim, so if you want to take some, it’s all yours.”

“Sure, whatcha got?” Leona shook the hood off his head and ran a hand through his layered mane. Leona propped up his elbows behind him, his nose perking at the scent of meat.

“Fried chicken, truffle pasta, cupcakes, even tuna tartare,” you rummaged through the bag. The Halloween committee really went all out with the party food this year. “Grim would probably want the tuna tartare, so you can have anything else.”

Your cat demon was still at the party, no doubt stealing food from other classmates’ plates despite having a plate of his own piled high with any and every food provided at the party. It was thanks to the Ramshackle ghosts who stayed at the party with Grim to keep an eye on him that you could go back to the dorm.

“Fried chicken,” Leona answered as if he expected you to just give it to him. After earning a pointed look from you, he sighed. “Please.”

With a pleased smile, you handed him the plastic container of fried chicken. “How was Halloween for you today?” you gazed up at Leona, who sunk his canine teeth into the crispy skin of the fried chicken.

After swallowing the chicken and putting a hand to his mouth, Leona answered, “Loud. Those Magicam Monsters were gettin’ on my nerves and the furball kept calling me all day.”

“Aw, Cheka,” you cooed, remembering the adorable cub who refused to leave Leona’s side at the infirmary after the interdorm Magift tournament. “He’s so cute.”

“Hmph, if you saw how much candy he eats every Halloween, you wouldn’t think so,” Leona grumped. “Always runnin’ around the halls and jumpin’ on my bed back home to call me about candy or what his costume is…”

From Leona’s clipped tone, you noticed that there was probably something more than just Cheka calling Leona on Halloween that made the lion beastman seem more irritated than usual.

“Farena even sent me a picture of Cheka’s pirate costume ‘cuz apparently the furball wanted to match with me,” Leona huffed, his front bangs billowing as a result.

Ever since Leona’s Overblot, you realized that there were conversations Leona refused to dive into or even wanted to bring up.

People and experiences like his family’s lack of attention and care for him or how Leona gained the scar that ran through his left eye were the ghosts of Leona’s past that still haunted him.

“Leona,” you prompted, gently moving the subject back to Leona. “Did you dress up as a kid for Halloween like Cheka?”

“Course I did,” Leona counted off with his slender fingers, which were still adorned the gold rings he wore with his Savanaclaw pirate costume earlier that day. The orange, aquamarine, and cherry-red gems glistened like candies under the moonlight. “I’ve been a ghost, a cowboy, an astronaut, and a ton of other things.”

Even though Leona never cared much for fashion or fancy clothes, he always appreciated Halloween costumes. He could be anything he wanted, after all. Leona the Pirate, free to sail the seven seas without anything or anyone holding him back. Or Leona the Ghost, free to scare anyone at his whim.

“Hehe, you must’ve been really cute back then,” you giggled, imagining a younger Leona with his lion ears peeking through his white bed sheets that he used to make a ghost costume.

“Oi, if you call me cute one more time, I’ll haunt you for the rest of your life,” Leona threatened, except an amused grin formed on his lips.

To Leona’s surprise, you bumped shoulders with him. “I won’t be scared if you’re a ghost because I’ll know it’s you!” you grinned back at Leona.

You expected Leona to offer a biting and teasing comeback, but instead, he swiftly turned his head to face away from you, his two front braids swishing as he did so.

“You shouldn’t say such things, or real ghosts will try to haunt ya,” Leona mumbled, forgetting that you already did live with real ghosts who were friendly and harmless. “Anyways, what did you do as a kid for Halloween, herbivore?”

Before you could answer and share about your life in your world, the chilly wind picked up. You shivered, remembering that you were only wearing your school uniform with a black and purple witch hat the Ramshackle ghosts made for you. In the midst of all the Magicam Monster madness that morning, you had forgotten your school uniform blazer in your room.

“Here,” Leona turned back to you and shrugged off his Ceremonial Robes, leaving him in his black dress shirt with the gold wing collar appliqués.

“Won’t you be cold?” you shifted your eyes away from Leona’s as he leaned in to drape his robes over your shoulders.

“Yeah, but I simply can’t ignore a herbivore in need,” Leona’s deep voice oozed with teasing sarcasm. Still, his heartbeat quickened at seeing you wear his Ceremonial Robes.

With your witch hat and his robes, you looked like an official mage; one that managed to bewitch his mind and heart with your spell-binding smile and presence despite having no ounce of practical magic in your body.

“Gee, how generous of you,” you retorted with equal sarcasm, not missing a beat. You stood up and went over to the porch swing, taking a ivory-colored bundled blanket you left there for whenever you and Grim would sit on the swing or have little picnics on the porch as the weather grew colder.

“I offer you this humble blanket as my thanks,” you tossed the bundled blanket at Leona and rolled your eyes at the lion beastman who only chuckled at your boldness.

Leona caught the thick blanket with one hand, draping it over his head like a cape. The chilly weather and Leona were about as compatible as oil and water.

“Hehe, now you look like a ghost,” you giggled as Leona’s ears flattened against the blanket. Leona smirked, deciding that he’d indulge you. He ducked under the blanket, covering his entire self.

“Boo,” Leona raised his hands slightly with the blanket over him. “I’m the newest ghost at Ramshackle and I’m not leavin’. Watch out ‘cuz I’m the scariest monster you’ll ever know.”

“Why hello Mr. New and Scary Ghost Monster,” you leaned forward. “I suppose that makes us dorm mates. But wait…you sound awfully similar to this one Savanaclaw dorm leader I know…”

You lifted the edges of the blanket, ducking under the blanket with Leona. “You’re no monster,” you joked, beaming up at the familiar lion beastman. “You’re Leona!”

Leona’s eyes widened, his body jerking back and letting the blanket fall over you. Your words struck Leona’s heart like one of Rook Hunt’s piercing arrows to a bullseye.

While Leona was treated like a ghost most of his life back home, he was also feared his entire life up until now as this monster who could turn anything and anyone to sand.

Even if Leona could be anything and anyone he wanted on Halloween, he just wanted to be acknowledged and seen. Not a pirate, not a ghost, not the second-born and scorned prince of Afterglow Savannah, not some monster, but just Leona.

Such a simple statement from you wasn’t going to make the storms that brewed inside his mind and heart cease permanently, but it did release a sea of emotions within Leona that he always shoved and kept in a glass bottle. Even he had to realize that glass was fragile.

Translucent tears pricked at the corner of his emerald gems for eyes, threatening to ruin the charcoal eyeliner Ruggie spent a good twenty minutes putting on Leona hours ago for his Ceremonial Robes look.

Leona shot to his feet, facing away from you and pretending to stretch his arms. “Time to hit the sack,” Leona feigned a large yawn. “Wouldn’t want to stay here when the clock strikes twelve and all these jack-o-lanterns turn back into carriages.”

Damn it, go away! Leona yelled at his tears, blinking furiously, yet droplets of his tears grew in size that threatened to fall from his dark and lush eyelashes.

“I thought it was the other way around,” you emerged from the blanket, setting it aside and standing up to see Leona off. “If you’re leaving, I should probably give your robes back.”

Leona already made his way down the cobblestone walkway to the gates, past the Diasomnia Halloween decorations without even a sneer at them. His tail swished behind him as he stuck his hands in his black pants pockets.

To his surprise, you ran after him still wearing his robes, ready to give them back to him.

“Keep it, I’ll come back for it tomorrow,” Leona replied as he heard you just a few steps behind him. Your eyes bugged a bit at the fact that Leona said he’d come back for his robes himself rather than have Ruggie fetch them for him.

Leona’s eyes widened as well when those words fell from his lips like a natural waterfall, like the tears that now streamed freely down his cheeks as he approached the front gates.

Before he could turn the gates open with his hand, Leona stopped himself. It didn’t feel right to leave like this, not when he wanted to spend the last minutes of Halloween with you. But he wasn’t ready for you to see this vulnerable side of him. Maybe someday, but not yet.

“…Happy Halloween, herbivore,” Leona stared down at the wrought-iron gates, his tears spilling onto them. “Hope I didn’t bore ya too much.”

“I’m glad I got to spend a bit of Halloween with you,” you smiled at his broad back. There was something telling you that he wanted space, and whatever he needed space about, you would wait until he felt safe enough to share it with you someday. “And if you want to stay over a bit after picking up your robes tomorrow, well…I wouldn’t mind.”

It was an indirect invitation as if to say, “If you’re ever feeling down and need someone to talk to, I’m here.”

You held your breath as Leona stood with his back to you in silence, his hand still on the gate.

“I’ll take you up on that,” Leona replied in a soft voice. “Night, Y/N.”

And with that, Leona walked through the gates of Ramshackle to return to his dorm through the Hall of Mirrors. He kept his head down, his mane hiding his face from anyone who would be able to spot the tears forming a pool at the bottom of his chin.

・・・・・・・・・・・・

With the heels of his shoes tapping against the smooth stone tiles of the floor of the Hall of Mirrors, Leona strode towards the Savanaclaw mirror portal. He rubbed the tears off his eyes and cheeks with the back of his fist, no doubt smudging his black eyeliner in the process.

“Tch, I look like a raccoon,” Leona mumbled to himself as he walked through the mirror adorned with flaming torches on either side, elephant tusks, and the Savanaclaw logo.

With all the Savanaclaw students still spending the last minutes of Halloween at the Main Street party, the chirping of the cicadas in the Savanaclaw desert and the warm night air of Savanaclaw greeted Leona. Leona glanced back in the direction of the mirror portal as he rubbed the last drops of tears off his face, wondering if you were still wearing his robes.

・・・・・・・・・・・・

Back at Ramshackle, you stood behind the gates staring into the direction of the Hall of Mirrors, wondering if Leona was sleeping in his dorm room by now.

You hugged yourself in Leona’s robes as the jack-o-lanterns’ flames started to flicker, signaling the end of Halloween and the beginning of tomorrow’s new month, November.

“What’s got you standing there staring into space, Henchman?” Grim inquired, appearing before you in front of the gates with the Ramshackle ghosts. The cat demon groaned, clutching his furry stomach.

“Grim, what happened to you?” you enveloped Grim in your arms. Usually he would stubbornly protest at you treating him like a cat, but now Grim let himself rest in your arms like a newborn kitten.

“He ate too much food, that’s what,” one of the Ramshackle Ghosts, Ramsey, answered, shaking his transparent head.

“The Great Grim needed that meal after dealing with all of those Magicam Monsters!” Grim hissed before raising a dramatic paw to his forehead.

“What the ‘Great Grim’ needs is a shower,” you chided as you made your way up to the Ramshackle dorm with Grim in your arms and the ghosts floating behind you.

Grim sniffed the sleeves of Leona’s Ceremonial Robes, realizing that the robes had a scent distinct from yours. “Where’d ya get these robes, Henchman?”

You glanced down at Grim before opening the front door. “From Leona. He dropped by for a bit and he’s coming back tomorrow to pick it up.”

The cat demon decided not to press further as he caught a whiff of the tuna tartare you brought home from the party earlier and hopped down from your arms to scamper towards the kitchen.

As the ghosts flew after Grim to stop him, you stood back in the foyer and slipped out of Leona’s robes. The ebony floral brocade pattern on the robe’s fabric shone in the moonlight that peaked through the Ramshackle dorm’s thin glass windows, and the oak grandfather clock’s handles moved to one minute past midnight.

Even if Halloween was over, and the moments you shared with Leona just minutes ago were now memories of Halloween past, you looked forward to seeing him, Ramshackle’s new visitor, tomorrow.

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Writer and Leona recap:

Strawbetty: HAPPY HALLOWEEN, everyone! This year I’m dressed up as Ariel the mermaid princess, and Leona’s a pirate :D

Leona: …What are ya using to comb your hair with, herbivore?

Strawbetty: A thingamabob, duh.

Leona: …Anyways, Happy Halloween, herbivores.

Some Halloween 2022 photos (Leona image from @alchemivich):

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