#and when she realized that the one she brought back is not her Nightingale but someone entirely different yet similar she broke down

[sovamurka]

The way the current “Nightingale/Соловей” is basically a child of the original Nightingale and Angelina since he was created out of the former’s ink/blood and latter’s unconditional love for the original...

[slaymitchabernathy]

To Have & To Hold

"Do you, Coriolanus Snow, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife? To have and to hold? To love and cherish in sickness and in health as long as you both shall live? To be a beacon of safety and stability, to care for her and the children you shall gift her?"

Coriolanus feels a smirk tugging on his lips before he answers.

"I do."

It's amusing how easy it is to slip the wedding ring onto his fiance's finger, binding her to him forever. Her hands shake slightly when she slips his ring onto his own finger. She's nervous.

He can't blame her. It's been a whirlwind of a year. For both of them that is. Coriolanus Snow became President of Panem at the age of twenty-six and he needed a wife. Sure he could've married someone he knew, someone he grew up with. But that was such a risk. He needed a girl who knew nothing about him other than what she had been told.

That's how he found Soarynn Nightingale.

He'd been giving a speech at the Academy, the school he graduated from, encouraging the youth of Panem to see themselves as the future of Panem. He'd droned on and on, reading from the cards that had been written for him when his eyes drifted to a blonde head of hair sitting in the front row.

He got a better look at her once his speech was over and he was allowed to mingle with the Professors and students. He shook some hands and took some photos and just as luck would have it Professor Clay was introducing him to one of his star students.

Soarynn had been so quiet. A shy, timid little thing. But she was beautiful, and clearly well educated if she was attending the Academy. Both things that were important to Coriolanus.

He'd gone home and read every little thing he could find about the Nightingales. Her father was Glen Nightingale, a widowed man with one daughter. She would turn eighteen in exactly one year. So his plan began.

It wasn't hard to schedule a meeting with Glen Nightingale and it was even easier to convince him to marry off his daughter to him. After all, Coriolanus was the President of Panem, he'd be doing Glen a humongous favor by marrying his shy little daughter. He kept his distance from Soarynn, didn't visit her, didn't send her gifts, nothing. Her job was to focus on her studies and to stay out of trouble. Stay pure, for him.

He had several tests run on her, bloodwork, the whole nine yards. The results came back and she was perfectly healthy and so very fertile. It was perfect.

Yesterday she turned eighteen and today, she was getting married. He realized how bad it must look in the eyes of the public. She was practically a child bride. But he didn't care, didn't need their opinions of him. He was President of Panem and nothing was in his way.

"You may now kiss the bride."

Soarynn looked entirely too nervous as Coriolanus cupped her face and leaned down but he didn't care as he captured her lips in a kiss, cheers going up in the room. When he pulled away he couldn't help but whisper something in her ear.

"Welcome home Mrs. Snow."

꧁ ꧂

"President Snow your last meeting of the day was canceled."

Coriolanus looks up at his assistant Eudora Trinket who has her trusty binder in her hand, "Alright. Thank you Eudora, I'll see you tomorrow." Eudora gives him a nod before leaving for the night. Coriolanus does most of his work at home, in the President's Mansion and this meeting being canceled gives him time to have dinner with his wife.

His little wife.

He finds her in the gardens, playing with the kitten he got her in order to make this adjustment a little bit easier for her. He hadn't noticed anything off about the girl until Eudora brought it up. How lonely she must be.

Coriolanus didn't see it that way of course. She was the richest woman in all of Panem. She could buy whatever, eat whatever, and yet she spent most of her time in the Mansion's large library, pouring over the books that sat on the dusty shelves.

So he got her a cat. Petunia, she named it. A white little furball who had quite the attitude but Soarynn adored her so Coriolanus was already the hero in this situation.

He waits for her to notice him but her back is turned to him and she's enamoured by the cat. Coriolanus clears his throat and it's adorable how she scrambles to her feet, her blue-gray eyes wide as she turns and looks up at him. She's barefoot which for some reason irks him. She's the First Lady of Panem, not some common District girl. Her closet is full of shoes and yet she refuses to wear them it seems unless she absolutely has to.

"I see you've foregone your shoes," he notes, "imagine my surprise."

Soarynn looks down at her feet before looking back up at him, "I...I didn't know if..."

"Tell me Soarynn, do your shoes not fit you?"

"No sir."

"So then you'll begin wearing your shoes am I correct?"

"Yes sir."

He nods, glad that's settled. They'd been married for a month and yet their conversations have been lacking. Thankfully she knows how to pose for the cameras, smile at everyone, be the perfect Capitol wife. But behind closed doors, she's so skittish.

"It's time for dinner," he says, looking down at his watch, "the cat can't come."

Petunia is currently rubbing herself against Soarynn's leg, purring up a storm. Soarynn is wearing a pink dress, it falls about midthigh and is rather plain. She must've brought this one from home. it's not that he doesn't like her clothes, how youthful they all are. That's why he married her, for her youthfulness. But he hates how childish she can be sometimes, how all rules fly out the window wherever she's concerned.

She needs a set of rules.

꧁ ꧂

Dinner was quiet as ever. Coriolanus doesn't always have dinner with her, sometimes he's busy with work or has a dinner to attend with some associates. Soarynn hasn't had any complaints about it from what he's heard.

When they get into their bedroom she heads for the bathroom but he stops her, "Come here," he says, stopping in front of the bed. For a while before their marriage, he'd considered giving her a bedroom of her own but that was too generous. She was his wife, not his roommate.

Soarynn slowly walks towards him hands clasped behind her back. Coriolanus smirks when she stops, taking it as an opportunity to circle around her like a predator to prey. Soarynn keeps her eyes trained on the floor, not daring to look him in the eye.

Coriolanus doesn't like that. He slips his finger under her chin, lifting her head up, "How have you been finding this marriage Soarynn?" He asks, watching as she tries to formulate an adequate answer. She swallows, "I've been finding it quite well sir," she whispers.

Another thing he doesn't like, she always whispers.

How many times has he wanted to yell at her to speak up? To look him in the eye?

He never does, can't have rumors going around that President Snow yells at his perfect little wife.

He hums, his other hand grabbing the fabric of her dress, pinching it between his fingers. "I think we need a set of rules." Soarynn's face slightly scrunches in confusion, "Rules?" He nods, letting her go and walking towards the fireplace, "Yes. I think setting out some rules for you would make this marriage much easier on the both of us."

He folds his hands behind his back, thinking about all the things she's done in the past month that have pissed him off in one way or another. It's not entirely her fault, she's learning, he knows that. But there's a certain expectation that falls on your shoulders if you want to be Mrs. Snow.

"First, no getting out of bed before me," he starts, "no man should ever wake up to his wife missing from their bed."

Soarynn has the decency to look slightly guilty. Since the day they got married, she's slipped out of bed before he's woken up and that's saying something considering how early he has to wake up. He nods, what a perfect first rule.

"Secondly, I expect a kiss every morning before I go to work and every evening when I come back from work. It's not easy running a country and it's even harder when your wife refuses to show you the smallest bits of physical affection."

If it hadn't been for all the cameras they've faced he's sure they wouldn't have kissed since they stood at the altar.

A frown graces Soarynn's lips but he's on a roll now.

"And your wardrobe needs some attention," his eyes land on her current attire, "desperately."

Soarynn looks hurt by his words and her bottom lip trembles, "What's wrong with my outfit?" She asks softly, tears threatening to spill from her eyes. Well, now Coriolanus feels slightly bad, critiquing every little thing about her. Not everything about her needs fixing, her physical beauty for example is perfect. He's only caught a few glances of her semi-naked form in the mirror and it's been enough to make him wonder about her sweet little virgin cunt.

Because Soarynn is a virgin.

Her father was quick to reassure Coriolanus but he wasn't taking any chances, men lie all the time and he wouldn't put it past Glen Nightingale to put his precious little daughter on some holy and untouched pedestal just so he could pass her off to Coriolanus. So he had her visit his personal doctor who further inspected her and confirmed that her hymen was still intact. A virgin.

They hadn't had sex on their wedding night. Mainly because Soarynn had been trembling and he wasn't able to enjoy himself with her in that fragile state. He heard her crying when she thought he was asleep. In her eyes, the world was ending, all her freedom was gone in the blink of an eye. He wanted to take more of it as he looked her up and down, wanted more tears.

"Well it needs to be on the floor darling," he says matter of factly, not missing the way her eyes widen in surprise. Coriolanus has always been a rather straightforward man so he finds no need to hold back his desires for his wife. He snaps his fingers when she doesn't immediately begin undressing, "On the floor Soarynn, now."

Soarynn swallows and her hands tremble as she slips off her pink dress, letting it pool around her ankles before stepping out of it. She's wearing a light pink bra with panties to match. He had after all bought her an entirely new wardrobe of lingerie. Because he's so thoughtful.

She looks so small standing in front of him, so young and naive, so pure. "Crawl to me." He might as well get her used to what he expects in the bedroom. He should come up with some rules for that too, make sure she knows that his word is law.

Soarynn looks mortified but she doesn't argue as she sinks to her knees, getting on her hands and crawling towards him. Coriolanus takes a seat in the leather armchair behind him. He often sits in it while nursing a glass of whiskey after a long day of work, watching Soarynn play with her cat. And now she's crawling towards him like one.

Once she reaches his feet she pops up on her knees, looking quite unsure of herself and what to do next. "Never touched by a man before," he sighs, cupping her small face with his large hand, smirking when she slightly leans into it. He's sure she's as touch-starved as he is, somewhat lonely. "It's time you learn how to be a good wife," he tells her, going to unzip his pants, his cock already hard. Soarynn's eyes narrow in on his impressive bulge and she gulps, "I've never..." Her voice dies off and he chuckles, "Never what? Never sucked cock before angel?" Soarynn presses her lips into a thin line when he mentions what she's about to do, "Never seen one before," she whispers.

Coriolanus raises his eyebrows, this girl truly is a virgin. Perfect for him to corrupt. He pulls his cock out from his boxers and Soarynn visibly pales at the size, looking up at him, at it. He grabs a fistful of her hair, pulling her further up on her knees, "Don't worry," he says, "you'll learn to worship it by the time I'm through with you."

Soarynn whimpers and he instructs her to open her mouth, pleased when she does so without hesitation. "Now lick the tip angel," he tells her, watching her small tongue lick up and down his tip, doing do good already. Coriolanus groans, "Good girl, now up and down the length, lick all the way up from the bottom." Soarynn furrows her eyebrows but he's quick to yank her head to the bottom of his shaft and she licks his length up and down, up and down until he's ready to truly fuck her throat.

"Now open wide," he says with a sigh, "and watch your teeth or I'll pull every single one out." He doesn't mean that but what she doesn't know won't hurt her. Soarynn slowly takes his cock in her small mouth, squeezing her eyes shut when he begins to slide in, filling her to the brim. Coriolanus lets out a low moan, "Just like that," he mumbles, "now move your head up and down, just like I showed you babydoll."

Soarynn's a fast learner to her credit because she does just as he instructed, stimulating him perfectly albeit she struggles to handle his size. Coriolanus is proudly large in both length and girth, making a blowjob quite difficult if you're the one giving it. But he loves seeing her take it and doesn't hesitate to buck his hips up every once in a while, punching the back of her throat, listening to her gag.

"Right there," he moans, tilting his head back, getting closer and closer to his peak. He throws out all regards for Soarynn's comfort as he begins to fuck her throat, holding her hair so tight that all she can do is take it. "Look at me," he orders, looking down at his pretty little wife who's mouth is full of his cock. Her eyes find him and they're filled with tears. "Perfect," he mutters, "made just for me."

He thinks about finishing just in her mouth but he needs to add an element of humiliation into this, letting her know exactly who she belongs to. "Keep your mouth open," he grits out, pulling his cock from her warm mouth. He cums right then and there, ropes landing both in her mouth and on that pretty little face of hers. Soarynn closes her eyes but stays put, letting him do whatever he pleases with her. Once he finishes he drops her hair and Soarynn sinks down further on her knees, blinking away the tears and sniffling.

"You look so pretty when you take my cock Soarynn," he murmurs, running his fingers through her soft blonde hair. Soarynn shakily nods, "Thank you, sir." Her voice is scratchy, something Coriolanus proudly notes before sitting up straighter, "Now it's time for you to prove yourself worthy of being my wife."

His cock is still hard and ready for her cunt to be wrapped around it. Soarynn glances over her shoulder towards their bed and he tuts, "No babydoll, you'll take me right here."

The look of sheer panic and fear is enough to make him cum again but he holds back, "Get up here and don't make me repeat myself."

Soarynn pushes herself from the floor, her knees shaking as she climbs onto the chair, her knees on either side of his thighs, her cunt hovering over his cock. "I...I'm scared it'll hurt," she admits softly. Coriolanus tilts his head, looking her up and down in her current state, cum on her face along with her tears. "Every time you take me it'll hurt," he says, his fingers slipping under her lace panties, ignoring the way she flinches, "but you'll take it like you should, am I understood?" Soarynn gasps when he rips her panties clean off and discards them onto the floor, "Yes sir."

Soarynn whimpers when he grabs her hips, pulling her down towards his cock, "Shouldn't, shouldn't you prepare me?" She asks, her voice breathless. Coriolanus shakes his head, so fucking ready to feel her tight cunt, "You've been preparing for this your whole life."

He pulls her down and Soarynn cries out, her entire body tensing and her hands flying to grab his shoulders. Coriolanus pays her no mind and keeps pulling her down, feeling how warm and tight her cunt is. "So fucking wet for me," he whispers. And she is wet, even if she isn't attracted to him, her body certainly is. Soarynn whines as he grips her hips tighter, "I can't," she gasps, more tears falling from her eyes.

Coriolanus shakes his head, finally pulling her down, completely bottoming out. "You will. You'll take my cock every fucking time Soarynn. It'll be the only thing you think of once I'm done with you." Soarynn's still crying but Coriolanus begins to move his hips up, his tip pressing against her sweet spot. Soarynn lets out a soft moan, "Oh," she gasps, "oh."

There it is.

He knew it would take only a few thrusts into that sweet cunt of hers to get her addicted. She'll learn to take it like she should, however he wants, whenever he wants. "There you go," he praises, thrusting into her at a rapid, punishing pace now, "finally turning into my little fuckdoll huh?" Soarynn can't even verbally respond anymore, all she can do is make pitiful little noises while she takes it like the cocksleeve she is.

He slaps his hand on her ass, hard enough to leave a bruise, "You'll take every drop of my cum too," he pants, "even when you're swollen with my child you'll still take it like you should." He can picture it now, Soarynn's stomach so much bigger, his heir inside of her, her lying on her back while she takes him over and over again.

Soarynn throws her head back, "Please sir, please it's too much." Coriolanus grabs her throat, squeezing it hard to cut off her airflow, "It can't be too much for a fuckdoll like you," he drawls, pulling her in for a heated kiss. Her lips are so soft against his, so delicate. he bites into her lower lip, drawing blood and tasting it. "You can deny it all you want but you love it," he says against her lips, making sure to drill into her sweet spot, make her dumb with it, "you love being full of my cock Soarynn, love being my good girl."

Coriolanus can feel her cunt beginning to squeeze him like a vice, she's getting closer to her peak and he can't wait to watch her fall apart, his dumb little fuckdoll. Her eyes are rolling to the back of her head, her legs shaking as she takes whatever he gives her. He can't wait to fuck her from behind, from above, in the shower, in his study. He'd fuck her on national television if he could. But she's his and no one will ever get to see her like this.

"Give it to me," he commands, his hand slipping down from her throat to play with her clit. Soarynn lets out a strangled scream the second he touches it, clearly overstimulated already. He'll have to play with her, find what makes her tick, fall apart, cry. "Be my good girl and cum."

It takes one swift pinch to her clit to get her to cum all over him, her walls fluttering around his cock as he continues to thrust into her. He's right behind her, his cock pumping her full of his cum. "Take it," he grunts, fucking it deep into her cunt, "take it like you should." Soarynn collapses against him while he slowly thrusts into her, making sure nothing is wasted. She's panting hard, her entire body trembling and he wonders if he should give her some words of encouragement, maybe wrap his arms around her.

He wants to see her dripping with his cum though.

The aftercare can wait. He grabs her waist and slowly begins to pull her off of his cock, groaning at how tight she grips him. Soarynn moans and her hands grip his shoulders. It's a heavenly sight to see her cunt dripping with his cum, running down her thighs. It's slightly red and there's a bit of blood covering his cock signifying the loss of her virginity. "Well, well, well," he croons, "looks like you fully belong to me now doll."

Soarynn gives him a look of indifference but he knows she's affected by it. She'll be terribly sore tomorrow but he'll take care of her, bathe her, clothe her, help her remember all the rules and then some.

Because she's his. To have and to hold.

| tumblr oneshot/drabble |

[williamkisser]

HELLO ^^ !!!! MAY I REQUEST GN READER TRYING TO FLIRT WITH KEVIN USING HIS LASSO (LIKE.. RANDOMLY STEALING IT THEN TRYING TO LASSO HIM AND FLIRT) BUT FAILING MISERABLY HEHE

♡— Flirting with the Cowboy

♡— thank you for requesting anon! I’m sorry it took some time but when i was in the middle of writing this fic i decided i don’t like it and started from scratch ☠️ anyways

♡— Warnings: g/n reader, unrealistic usage of the lasso, word count 1300

♡— Kevin Ayuso felt just like a fish in water during the manor’s games! The trill of rescuing others, dealing with the bad guys… surely, it was far from the real thing back in America, and to be sincere, it did feel faux, but a man’s got to appreciate what he has. And not like it matters either way - sooner or later he will be destined to forget his past anyway. This is the real world these days.

♡— The cowboy’s skill and experience from his past endeavors in the wild brought him much respect in the Manor. His moves were smooth enough to keep the hunters distracted through the entire match. Oh, how much the praise has boosted his ego up.

♡— Kevin was someone very trustable judging by his cleverness, but he wasn’t calling himself the cowboy for nothing. Never you’d see him without his signature lasso, pretty sure he even sleeps with it under hidden under the pillow. And during the games? A menace to hunters, a blessing to survivors.

♡— Additionally, when nothing serious or important was going on, he would to show off near everyone, specifically the prettiest manor residents. Can you blame him though? He’s such a flirt, and Oletus is filled with beautiful men and women… it’s just natural.

♡— Kevin also loves doing lasso tricks. The thing is, sometimes he can be too proud, embarrassing himself by some stupid, silly mistake. Quite shocking to see him still walking on both legs and owning a full set of teeth after he once shattered a few of Vera’s perfume bottles while trying to lasso her for jokes. But that’s nothing. Once he got so drunk he attempted to lasso Naib. No need to say what happened later.

♡— You once ended up on the team together with him for one of the matches. This fact solely made you feel slightly safer, but you quickly realized the hunter was feeling friendly today, seeing Antonio’s demonic juggling the balls Mike kept throwing at him. Kevin, seeing this, wanted to instantly join. He specifically told you to watch the old cowboy in action. He was lassoing the circus balls effortlessly, or at least it seemed so.

♡— In the middle of doing his silly trick, he turned his head back to you, giving you a wink and a smile that would make many people fall to their knees. Bad move. He lost the control over his lasso and accidentally threw one of the balls straight towards your forehead. It hurt like hell. If you were fully conscious, you would probably be angry at him and slap his cheek, later soothing it with a kiss to tease him back, but right now you were far too overwhelmed to bring yourself to any rational thought. Either way, he would get a scolding from Emily for giving her yet another unnecessary responsibility even after a friendly match. That Kevin…

♡— Needles to say, while his romantic efforts are appreciated (by some), you forgave him, but it should be best if he left the entertainment activities to the Hullaballoo performers. Kevin’s lasso fail however quickly led you to a great idea. What if you treat him with the taste of his own medicine? Lassoing him seemed like a big challenge, but it was worth it. You just couldn’t stop imagining him being tied up, feeling confused and shocked. The real issue though would be obtaining his lasso. He always has it near him.

♡— Well, the best idea is to probably await yet another friendly match. While Miss Nightingale never looked too pleased when finding out that the game didn’t proceed properly, but those matches definitely lifted up everyone, so she proceeds to not bat an eye too often.

♡— Another key issue is that you must be paired with Kevin if you actually want it to actually happen, which would it harder for you to focus during serious matches, knowing you’re in a team with the handsome cowboy you’ve been having the hots for lately. And Kevin quickly picked up on what’s going on after a while. You two certainly kept matching together more often than you usually should.

♡— That was the end of you, as he started to tease you more often. He’d run to you from the opposite corner of the map to decode the cipher machine together with you (which you’ve already decoded up to 80% by yourself, by the way). The shit eating grin he’d have while carrying you to safety from the hunter. Oh Lord.

♡— So when you two finally find yourself in a friendly match, you’re already overly ecstatic. Well, friendly… sort of. At least it began like this. The Joker must have felt very moody or mischievous today, as after playing with other survivors, he began terror shocking them, taking advantage of them letting their guards down. Thankfully, you were that one person doing the job and decoding all of the ciphers, meaning you were safe for now. Out of all chaired ones, ironically, Kevin was the closest one to you. You knew that if you decided to save someone else, you wouldn’t save them on time anyway. Well, here goes nothing…

♡— While you sneakily ran towards the cowboy’s chair location, you instantly spotted his lasso, laying abandoned in the tall grass, which gave you an amazing idea. Meanwhile, Kevin had no idea that you were near, assuming you ran after the dungeon. That’s when he felt something tightly wrapping around him. His own lasso. You lassoed Kevin near you and delivered the cheesiest pick-up line known to mankind after rescuing him. He’s never going to let it go now.

♡— When you two went through the exit gate, Kevin stopped you by holding your hand and smirked widely, saying that if you’re so eager to learn his ways, he may give you private lasso using classes. It’s hard to tell if it was you or him who felt more embarrassed that day.

♡— The next day, you’d hear a knock on your door. After opening them, you saw no one, however after looking down, you noticed nothing else but Kevin’s lasso. Looks like he has some spare ones after all. This would lead to a small teasing war between you, much to everyone else’s horror. He would lasso you in the most unexpected time, making you yelp, and you’d lasso the thing he is holding out of his hands.

♡— This would go on for a little over a week, until one day you felt too confident over the control of your new lasso. It was already dark - only the moon and the wax candles were bringing light into the big dining room. Kevin was talking with Jose, with whom he got along well with. When the officer left, you decided it’s the right time to take the cowboy by surprise. You prepared the lasso, aiming at him precisely, but suddenly at the same time while you striked, something loud could be heard from the corridor. Later on, it turned out someone just accidentally shattered their plate on the floor, but currently, you got so shocked you accidentally lassoed yourself.

♡— Funny thing is, Kevin knew you were there, he just acted like he didn’t, therefore he wasn’t startled at all. So when you finally revealed yourself unwillingly, he showed you that smile you hated and loved so much at the same time and kneeled next to you, almost paralyzed from the embarrassment you felt.

♡— „Well, does it mean the good ol’ cowboy won our little lasso war, honey?”

♡— That’s how you shortly after found yourself in his arms, except he decided to take revenge for your attack on him, jokingly wrapping the lasso around your waist along your hands, meaning you could only ineffectively kick your legs at his stomach. After that, he didn’t utter a single word, carrying you all tied up to his room.

[pacificwaternymph]

A minute and a half.

It’d been a minute and a half, nearing two, and they hadn’t come up for air. 

Joanna bit her thumb, debating whether or not she should go after them. It wasn’t as though she were trying to hide her being a mermaid, but some of her Nightingale friends had advised her not to go around advertising it either. Pirates were a greedy people, after all, and someone as rare as her could easily become a target. Finn, especially, seemed paranoid about it.

But she couldn’t wait any longer. That person had fallen into the water nearly two minutes ago, and Joanna wasn’t going to sit around and let someone drown for the sake of keeping a secret that wasn’t really a secret anyway. 

She dove off the docks, into the water with a near soundless splash, feeling her gills flood open and start pumping air into her lungs. Transforming between forms was a seamless experience, a tingling sensation and a bright light wrapping around her legs until a tail was left in its place. She welcomed the feeling. It had been a few days since she’d last been able to swim. 

She swam towards the place where the pirate had tripped and fallen. The water in the harbor was murky and polluted from the hustle and bustle of a busy port. She scanned her surroundings, searching for a potentially unconscious body, but try as she might, they were nowhere to be found. 

She swam a little further down, hoping maybe being closer to the sand would reveal something, when a dark shape darted past her, too fast to see. Joanna whirled around, on guard, all too aware of how bold the sharks had grown in these waters, and found herself staring at another face. 

She had long, brown hair, a few shades lighter than Joanna’s own, pinned up by an eclectic collection of pins, feathers, blades, and other trinkets, though some of it had been knocked loose by the impact into the water. The pupils of her eyes were narrow slits, like a cat’s, and from her waist down, a slender, powerful tail, like that of a black tipped reef shark’s, curled through the water. 

A siren. 

They stared at one another for a few moments. Joanna had met sirens before, though she never stuck around them for long. They traveled in pods, families that protected each other with such close bonds she couldn’t help but feel envious of them. They had all kinds of reactions to someone like her, from fear to awe to downright worship. But it was unusual to see a lone siren by themself, like this one was.

“Who are you?” The siren asked, breaking the silence first. Joanna blinked, clearing her throat to try and shake her surprise.

“My name is Joanna,” she introduced herself, as was only polite. She looked the siren over again. She'd only seen it from a distance, so she couldn't say for certain, but she was fairly sure... yes, they looked quite like the person Jo had dove in after in the first place. But what was a siren doing here? “Who are you?”

“Lazuli.” the siren flashed a sharp grin. She swam closer, tilting her head to the side as she studied her. Jo backed up a little, but that didn't deter the siren, who began circling her.

"Um... can I help you?" Joanna asked a bit nervously. Sirens were carnivorous creatures known for devouring humans, but they weren't known to eat their own kind. Of course, she wasn't a siren, but surely being a mermaid had to count for... something. None of the other sirens had tried to eat her, at least.

"You're strange," Lazuli declared, coming to a stop in front of Joanna significantly closer than they had been just a few moments ago. "What kind of siren are you?"

"Well, I'm... not a siren," Joanna corrected. Lazuli's eyes narrowed, and they brought their face even closer to hers.

"Really?" she asked. Her brow furrowed, as though trying to work something out. "Hm. Then what are y-" Her eyes blew wide, and she swam back suddenly, her mouth agape. "Mermaid," she breathed with realization.

"That's right." Joanna nodded and smiled. Lazuli gasped as though they hadn't figured it out for themself, and they shot forward once more, grasping both of her hands.

"Incredible!" she exclaimed, grinning wide enough to reveal a set of razor sharp teeth. "I've never met a mermaid before!"

"Neither have I," Joanna giggled. "We're quite rare, I hear."

Lazuli laughed, a strong, hearty sound, and let go of her to swim another few circles around her, before flipping onto their back. "That's a good one," they told her. "It's true, then? Mermaids really don't have parents?"

"Not to my knowledge," Joanna replied. "Though it's not like I've ever had someone to compare notes with."

"Well, hell!" Lazuli threw her arms into the air. "What are you doing here? Didn't know the ocean's chosen liked to hang around human settlements."

"I could ask you the same." Joanna spun lazily to keep up with the path Lazuli cut through the water. "I thought sirens preferred lone ships as their prey."

Lazuli scowled. "I'm not here to eat anyone," they said indignantly. "I just got bored. Thought I'd come see what surface life had to offer." They tipped their head back. "What about you?"

"I was curious." And lonely, she didn't say. "I followed a ship to see where it went, and ended up here. I've been here... a little under half a year, now."

"Wicked," Lazuli cheered, folding her arms behind her head. "It's only been a couple weeks for me. Everything's so... weird, up there."

"It is," Joanna agreed. "There's so much we don't have down here. It's fascinating."

"Yeah, and it's weird," Lazuli emphasized. "Do you understand that... 'cooking' thing?" Their nose scrunched. "Seems kinda pointless to me."

"Not to them." Joanna shrugged. "Apparently raw fish can make them sick."

"Then why even eat fish!?" they cried incredulously.

"I don't know!" Joanna cried back, and she was laughing now. Lazuli was laughing too, her arms wrapped around her torso.

"They're so... squishy!"

"Oh, you would be surprised," Joanna defended.

"You're fun," Lazuli declared, coming back around to face Jo. "We should do this some more."

"I wouldn't mind that," Joanna said softly. Truthfully, moving onto land hadn't cured her of her loneliness. At least, not in its entirety. She had Inigo and Finn, of course, and she loved them dearly. Her fellow Nightingales were the most warm and welcoming people she'd ever met.

For the first time in her life, she had permanent companions. People she could travel with and talk to. People she could spend the day with, doing little, mundane tasks, with no destination or true purpose in their minds. People she could part ways with for the night, and trust that she would see them again the next morning.

But none of them could follow her into the water, not truly. And so when she returned to her natural home, she was still alone. But a siren among humans, another creature born of the ocean, like her, here on the isles...

"I'm staying with the Herons," Lazuli said, jolting her out of her musings. "What about you?"

"I'm a Nightingale," Joanna responded.

"Cool." Lazuli swam past her, back towards the wooden posts holding up the docks. She looked over her shoulder with another sharp grin. "Well, Joanna the Nightingale. I will see you sometime later."

"I look forward to it." Joanna felt a real smile spread across her face. Lazuli winked, then dug her claws into the post, and climbed her way out of the water and back onto the wooden planks. Joanna took a deep breath, feeling something light in her chest, and swam for Nightingale waters.

-

First meetings, 2/3

Lazuli belongs to @amostfoolishgold

[watcher-with-burned-wings]

Hey Brother

(Some info before reading; This is au and has blood mentioned)

Scott fended off another blow with his trusted saber, teeth bared in a threat as he battled against Beks. He countered with his own attack towards her. She dodged as Scott swung down toward her chest, a loud clang rang out as his blade hit the netherite flooring of the bounty guild. Adrenaline and rage rushed through Scott’s veins once he heard that this Kite was hunting his little brother. He may have not been able to protect him when he was gone but he will be damned if he lets his little brother get murdered by a Kite when he could prevent it.

Both panted as they stared each other down, cold arctic blue eyes glare into burning cherry red.

“I refuse to let you hurt him!” Scott snarled at her, brandishing his weapon at her again. “You won’t be completing that bounty.”

Beks laughs and gives him a manic grin that most Kite’s seem to share. “Yeah right Heron! If anything, I’ll have to deal with you then I’ll finish with him.” She flips her sword in her hand then lunges at Scott viciously.

Scott met her attack, swords locked together in a battle of strength. Scott immediately had the upper as he pressed his weight into his blade. Beks gritted her teeth as he sword started sliding off Scott’s saber. Thinking quick, Bek jumped back and swung around. Scott, not expecting the sudden change, stumbled forward, crying out as Bek’s sword sliced his middle. Bek grins victoriously as she landed the hit and kicked his shoulder, knocking him down onto the ground.

Scott coughs and pressed his free hand to his stomach as he got to his knees, but was quick kicked back down to the ground, irritating his wound. He laid there for a moment shakily trying in vein to lift his sword. He yelps as Beks stomped on his hand hanging onto his saber still, making him let it go. She kicked the weapon away from him, laughing at him.

“Pitiful really. Can’t even defend yourself. How did you think you were gonna protect him?” She sneered. “Your luck I’m letting you off light, otherwise you would be six feet under. Later Heron, I have a Nightingale to kill.”

She leaves the guild, leaving him bleeding on the ground.

Tears stung Scott’s eyes as he laid there, a slow puddle of blood forming around him. Even with his hand pressed on his slash, it was quite deep. Forcing himself to sit up, Scott managed to scoot back far enough to rest against the wall.

Saffrie, who had just been watching the whole interaction, rolled her eyes and dragged Scott out of the guild. She brought him to the exit and unceremoniously dropped him, tossing his saber out with him, not wanting to clean up blood and a body. She left afterwards, not caring what happened to him as long he wasn’t her problem. Scott groaned at the rough treatment, pressing his stomach harder as blood dripped through his fingers.

He forced himself to roll onto his side and grab his sword. Wincing, he stabbed his sword into the ground and used it to pull himself up into a standing position. Fire burned through his middle, a grimace present on his face. His shoulder and ribs screamed for him to lay back down. Both only one thought ran through Scott’s mind.

He would not lose Acho again.

Gritting his teeth, Scott ripped off his scarf and tied it around his wound. Straightening as much as he could, he made his way out of the cave and towards the docks. Each step he got more confident, even though the burn in his middle worsened, adrenaline and determination fueled him onward. Saber clutched tightly in Scott’s hand, he took off in a sprint.

A commotion was already underway when Scott ran up to the dock and hoisted himself up. Acho and Beck were both locked in battle. Acho glowing with the effects of a golden apple as he easily fends off Beks attacks. Even parry and thrust was met with a counter strike or swing. Scott watched in awe as Acho skillfully pushed Beks back.

Suddenly Scott realized that Acho didn’t need his older brother to protect him.

He wasn’t the same Acho he was a year ago, nor he the same Scott. They both grew in different ways. Acho had learned from the rogues while he learn how to be a proper Heron.

Scott turned away from the fight as Acho chased off Bek after slicing her a few time. He began to limp back toward the Heron base to get patch up before he stumbled. Lightheadedness filled his senses, looking down as his blood soaked scarf, realizing that he probably was suffering blood loss. Another wave of dizziness hit him, making him fall fully.

Acho, having noticed him, quickly catch him before he could get more hurt.

“Scott! What happened to you!?” Acho exclaimed.

Scott slurrs, “I was…trying to…protect…you…” Acho scooped up Scott bridal style and started running with him towards the Nightingale’s base.

Acho frowned. “Scott, I know you meant well, but I can take care of myself.” A small frown settles on Scott’s face.

“I know…” Scott looked up at him with half lidded eyes. “I I just didn’t want you hurt, I just got you back. I couldn’t lose you again. I love you..” He mumbles as he passes out.

Acho sighs as he lays Scott on Dipper’s bed and tends to his wounds, a few minor scratches covered him besides his slash wound. “I love you too, Scott.” Acho says softly to his brothers sleeping form.

[mochiwrites]

My friend and I were discussing your Last Life Au after I had recommended it to her and she brought up that the song Second Best by Laufey matches well with your fic I was in shock because it honestly does and I never realized that anyway hi id like to rant about that

“I’ll never forget how stupid in love I felt. I’ll always regret how I couldn’t ever tell, that you walked a little faster, Left me behind, kissed me with somebody else in mind.” Reminds me of Grian and Last Life Scar’s relationship really well because although Scar and Last Life are technically the same person, Scar doesn’t exactly remember anything! So it’s kinda, not the same?? Same people different memories.

“Lying awake I’d watch as you’d dream at night, Nightingale singing half-hearted lullabies.” Reminds me of Grian watching out for Scar while he slept while Grian didn’t and kept a lookout!!

“Well, you swung me around in that mid-summer dance, held me in close as you thought of your past.” Makes me think of that one chapter where Grian and Scar danced in the little kitchen thing and Grian got war flashbacks/j

“Why am I still wondering if I stand a chance, or if you’d have me back?” Makes me think of Scar doubting whether Grian is actually trying to befriend him or is he just gaining trust to betray him throughout the fic!!

“Everyone warned me you were a bad idea, I never listened. Maybe I will next year when I’ve walked a little further into my life.” Reminds me of Martyn and the rest of the Southlanders warning Grian not to talk with Scar and questioning him/doubting him cause y’know everybody thinks Scar’z a delulu man on the top of a hill (he is but not in the way they think)

“Oh, you were my everything, I was your second best.” Also mkes me think of Grian and Scar’s relationship throughout the whole fic because this Scars isn’t really the same as the Scars he knows while Scars technically only knows the Grian from Last Life. So basically Last Life Scar is the closest thing he’ll get to the Scar he knows, and Grian is basically the one and only!!! The silly man!! His soon to be husba-

Anyways yeah sorry if that doesn’t make sense I’m eepy :)

;w; 10/10, no notes <33

[aerysamultifandom]

𝐇𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐭.

Plot: Something bad happened to you, and the one who dared to hurt you will pay (sequel to "Who to choose")

Type: angst/fluff

Warning: mention of rape/ cursed words

Characters:The Targaryen Family, Ser Criston, Ser Harwin and some secondary characters.

Numbers of words: 3.4K

The first few weeks after this great event, everything went well, no one suspected your relationship with the three men, that’s what you thought, but Otto Hightower’s spies are discreet and it is impossible for you to notice them. This is what brought us to this fateful event, it will forever be engraved in your mind, like a shadow that will follow you all your life. Otto Hightower felt it was up to him to punish you, and he will, in the worst way. When the king’s hand asked to see you, at the beginning of this afternoon, you accepted the light heart, you had always understood well enough with the older man, only, you soon regretted it, hardly had you set foot in the man’s office that you took a slap. " You whore! If your father knew what you were doing, he’d send you back right now!" Otto Hightower’s angry voice sounded in your ears. what was going on? you didn’t understand. Otto gave you a cold look as he got closer to you, you backed away until you were locked against the door.

┊

The man got closer to you and you could smell his foul smell, which caused you to wrinkle your nose." You’re just a whore" he spoke in a freezing voice, "and do you know what we do with people like you? We fuck them." You trembled with fear when you understood what he was saying. The rest must not be told, everything was in pain for you don’t know how long, but finally, you went out of his clutches when he unleashed you, your spirit was off, the bottom of your dress was a blood-red color as you staggered in the corridors. Several times, you had to stop against the walls, to catch your breath but you didn’t realize what had just happened to you, everything was only pain before you collapsed on the ground, the pain was too strong, but for once, this darkness was reassuring. She protected you from the outside world, you didn’t move, waiting for something to happen. Why you? Was it a crime to love? You didn’t know about it, but the events that had just happened revolved around your head, everything around you was just blurry. You don’t know how long you stayed there, but it was footsteps that brought you back.

┊

"By the Seven! Princess y/n what happened to you?" The panicked voice of a handmaiden sounded near your ears, you quickly felt the handmaiden’s arms around you as she supported you so that you could stand, you walked for a few meters before you winced in pain. "I- I- stop." You leaned against the wall, before raising your eyes to your servant "Go get my father, go get my uncle" you said in a supplicant voice but your servant seemed uncomfortable "I can’t leave you alone while you are hurt, my lady." You shook your head and looked at her with a dark look "that’s an order. Go ahead" The poor Servant could not refuse to obey when she was leaving as quickly as she could, running through the corridors, calling your father "King Viserys! King Viserys!" Even if she was away from you, you could still hear her voice and you rested your head against the wall, a little smile on your lips, help was coming.

┊

The servant entered the council room, calling your father in a broken voice "My king! You must come!" King Viserys frowned, why would a servant interrupt such an important meeting to ask him to come? " Why do I have to come? What is it?" Although he did not like being interrupted, he knew that the servant would not have interrupted the meeting without a good reason to do so. It is your daughter, the princess y/n, something happens to her, she suffers too much to come here" the face of the king became white, something had happened to her nightingale, her daughter. He suddenly rose "This council is over! We will resume the meeting later," he spoke quickly as he followed the servant, practically running behind her as she led him to you. When your father saw you, his heart broke, you were pale, you had too much blood on your dress, you were in no way 'the light of the seven kingdoms' as the royal court affectionately called you. When you heard them coming, you opened your eyes "Father…" you called him in a soft voice as he leaned towards you to hug you. " Go get a maester, and be quick," he spoke as he laid his head on yours, rocking you against him.

┊

It wasn’t long before the servant returned with a maester, your father helped you get up to guide you to your room. Once there, you took a bath while your father was chatting with the maester outside your room. Despite all the soap you applied to your skin, rubbed on your skin, you felt dirty. You come out of your bath to dry out and change your dress before allowing the maester to come inside your room, in the company of your servant so that he can examine you. He quickly decreed that you were not ill, and that he knew why you were so pale and why your dress was in such a state. "I’m sorry princess." The master spoke by taking your hands in his. You could see he had pity for you "Do you want me to tell your father?" you shook your head, you had now understood what had happened to you and that made you want to cry, but you will not cry, not in front of him. I would tell him." He nodded his head as he came out of the room. You then turned to your servant "May I ask you a favor?" you spoke in a weak voice. " Of course my lady, whatever you desire, I would do anything to get it." She spoke to you in a soft voice, gently shaking your hand in hers. Get Ser Criston, Ser Harwin and my uncle here as quickly as possible and don’t tell my father anything" she nodded "Well, my lady"She quickly came out of your room, pretending that you said you wanted to rest.

┊

So three servants were sent to warn the three men that you were asking for them by your side, without telling them why. Daemon was flying over his dragon when the servant arrived, and, as soon as he had a foot on the ground, the servant rushed to him, warning him that you were demanding his presence as soon as possible. It did not take more for your uncle to understand the urgency of the situation and he hurried to ride to join you. Ser Harwin was training with the others, and he was told the same news and panic that Daemon had felt took hold of him and he stopped his training to join you as quickly as possible, what happened to you? Finally, Ser Criston was in the company of your sister, coming back from a horse ride he had made with your sister, and the look of panic of the servant worried not only the knight but also your sister. In months of time not to say it, the three were at your door, worried that they had all three been asking. It almost never happened, and when you did, it was never a good sign.

┊

When they decided to enter your room, they found you shaking down your bed, eyes filled with tears. They knew right away that something was wrong while slowly Ser Harwin approached you and knelt at your level. he came to put his hand on your shoulder, which caused you to raise your head towards him, you hardly realized that you came to hug him forcefully, which surprised Ser Harwin, he hugged you in return throwing a panicked look at the other two men who had sat down to each side of him, In the hope of helping him comfort you. They had never seen you in such a panic since you told them how you felt about them. Ser Criston came to rub your back gently "Princess, it’s passing, why are you so freaked out?" He spoke to you softly, paying attention to his words. You whispered something against Ser Harwin’s chest that the other two men did not understand. Daemon finally spoke in a soft voice "We didn’t understand, little light" he explained gently as he approached you.

┊

"Am I a whore?" you spoke louder even if your voice remained calm. The three men frowned, but the jaw of Daemon tightened as Ser Criston looked at you with sad eyes. Why do you ask that?" you gently asked Ser Harwin by raising your head with his hand, your eyes were again filled with tears as you spoke with a trembling voice "He told me that I was one, that people like me only deserved to be fucked" Finally, the tears started to flow again as you snuggled up against Ser Harwin. Daemon, Ser Harwin and Ser Criston hated seeing you like that, seeing you cry like that, you were so sweet that you didn’t deserve the words that had been spoken against you. And who told you that?" Daemon spoke once again, his voice dangerously low, you did not answer while you were huddling more against Ser Harwin, it was clear that they would not get more answers that evening. In view of your state of distress, it was obvious that the three remained by your side for the night and that’s what they did. Ser Criston took you in his arms to lie down in your bed where the three men came to lie down against you, except Ser Criston who had to continue to watch over your sister because it was his duty.

┊

The six months that followed were dark for you, because of the events that had happened to you, you had locked yourself in silence, to the greatest distress of your family and your lovers. You also had many nightmares during these long months and often your lovers had to comfort you, but one day, which was similar to others, you decided that you had had enough, you were tired of living with this constant fear. So you came to your father one evening, as night was falling, you finally had the courage to tell him everything, to tell him what had happened, six months earlier. When you knocked on the door of your father’s chambers, he came to open you quickly and offered you a sweet smile as he invited you in. To what do I owe the pleasure of this nocturnal visit," my dear daughter, he spoke nicely to you as you sat on his bed. I need to talk to you, I think you remember the afternoon you found me hurt? " He shook his head, he understood immediately why you had come to see him.

┊

you sighed, nervously playing with your hands. " I think it’s time you knew what happened to me this afternoon" you explained while your father was silent, so you continued "Otto Hightower, he called me in his chambers, pretending he wanted to see me. That’s what I did, I went to his chambers with a light heart, but, once I entered the room, he slapped me. he insulted me, telling me I was a whore. Then…he…he raped me." You had trouble saying the end of your sentence, and you looked up at your father who seemed shocked, sad and horrified. He seemed to have understood the actions of his close friend, his advisor, the person who was supporting him. Your father’s jaw was tightening as he thought of everything he could put this monster through. He tried however to calm down so as not to frighten you more "You are very brave to have told me, my daughter. I promise you this bat will pay." He said gently, taking your hands in his. "Did you tell your uncle?" He asked you gently, even if you didn’t tell him about your romantic relationship, he had noticed that you and your uncle were very close, but he didn’t mind, he knew that his brother was able to protect you.

┊

"Daemon knows nothing of all this" you admitted in a calm voice. "Tell him, tell him what Otto Hightower did to you, also warn him that he will be able to handle it as he wants" you shake your head, for once for six months, your heart was at peace and it did you good." Go now my daughter. Daemon must wait for you", he said with a smile, you got up before leaving your father’s room. You practically ran through the corridors to your room, you knew Daemon would be waiting for you and he gave you a big smile when he saw you. When you got to him, you took him by the hand before you let him into your room, the door was just closing when you made him sit on your bed. I have to tell you something Daemon" you said to him in a soft voice, then you repeated to him everything you said to your father and the look of Daemon caught on fire, Otto had chosen to hurt one of the little ones of the dragon and he was going to get hurt, that’s for sure. But not until he reassure you, not until he show you that you’re all but a whore

┊

"This man is wrong, you’re not a whore, you’re an angel." He whispered to you as he approached you and came to kiss you gently, pressing his lips against yours, his wools coming to hold your hips to get closer to him. Her lips left your mouth to come and kiss your neck "You are an angel, y/n, a beauty that fell from the sky" you let slip a sigh as the man continued to lay kisses on your neck. You suddenly felt a gentle warmth that you hadn’t felt for some time, but it was welcome. I don’t think I need to go any further than that and let the night have its secrets. The only thing you need to know is that he gave you back your confidence, and drove out of your mind the words that Otto had told you.

┊

The next day, while you were still sleeping, Daemon came out of your room and was surprised to see Ser Criston and Ser Harwin in the hallway. "you wanted to see us?" asked Ser Criston in a calm voice, it was rare for Daemon to want to speak for himself to the other two men that he considered to be inferior. However, he never showed it to you and tried to be friendly with the other two men, even if Ser Criston and Ser Harwin were not fooled although they did not complain. "Yes, however, I think it’s best that we go somewhere else so I can tell you what happened y/n" Daemon explained in a calm voice as the two men frowned, nodding their heads before following the prince as he led them into an empty room. Daemon closed the door behind him, before turning to the two men, inviting them to sit on the ground and he did the same. "What happened to y/n, told us" Ser Harwin spoke in an impatient voice, even though the three men were very protective of you, he must have been the one who was most worried about you.

┊

"I think you know who Otto Hightower is, but you don’t know what he did to y/n, he raped her." As soon as Daemon had said these words, the two men were standing, rushing to the door, certainly to go and see Otto Hightower and to pay him a visit that would be the last of his life. Tsss, you two are acting like idiots!" Whistling Daemon in a desperate voice as he went to join the other two men and stood between them and the door. "You can’t just show up at his room and cut off his head!" he said in an angry voice." Moreover our head will end on a spike if the king learns that we wanted to attack his advisor" added Ser Criston in a desperate voice. "You’ve got it all wrong, the king has agreed to this, well, that’s what he told his daughter, our y/n" explained Daemon. "So what are we waiting for?" said Ser Harwin with a angry voice, "he must pay!" Ser Criston added quickly. "I promise you that tonight he will not survive," Daemon said in a firm voice.

┊

As night fell, Otto Hightower returned to his room after leaving the king for the night. But the man had no idea what he was going to find in his room that night, nor did he know that it would be the last time he would see the moon rise in the starry sky. As he lit the candles in his room, he realized that he was no longer alone, three men were present and he palmed. He knew his men, they were lovers of the woman to whom he had harmed, his eyes rounded with fear but he tried to keep an indifferent voice. "Do you have the king’s permission to enter my chambers this way?" he said calmly as he continued to light the different candles. The king allowed us to do what we wanted with you, after you hurt y/n" Daemon spoke in a freezing voice. From that moment on, Otto knew that he would not survive, but he did not fear death, at least that is what he showed men before him before he breathed his last breath. It was Daemon who carried the final blow, it was he who put an end to the terrors you had known.

┊

Despite the fact thatthey taked the life of a man, Daemon, Ser Criston and Ser Harwin hurried to join you, they returned to your room slowly. You were already asleep for a few hours when the three men climbed into your new bed, a gift from your father so that you could sleep all four together. Quite often, you found yourself trapped between the three bodies of your lovers but it amused you, you felt protected. So when you felt hands on your hips, you opened your eyes, it was so late, what were they doing? You growled and tried to turn to the other side, but you found yourself facing Ser Criston’s chest. You end up sitting half-awake "it’s too late for hugs, sorry, can I sleep now?" You whined, you wanted your pillow and no one else for now. Ser Criston let out a little laugh "I promise you you can go back to sleep but we have to tell you something before" you nodded quickly "tell me". This time, this was Harwin who came behind you, raising your head with his hand "He’s dead" he whispered you gently before coming to kiss you.

┊

After the death of Otto Hightower, only his daughter mourned him. All the other inhabitants of the Red Keep had learned what he had done and were happy to know he was dead. A few months later, you married Daemon, Ser Harwin and Ser Criston, and all of you moved to Dragonstone where you were the most devoted wife the three men could have had. In the first years after the marriage, you gave life to a little boy, who was called Viserys, and the following year Jacarys was born. You gave them two more children, Aegon and Joeffrey before you fell seriously ill, and despite the care of the maesters, you died on a beautiful summer night, surrounded by your husbands and your children, all promised to help your sister if she claimed the trone. When you died suddenly, many came to greet their princess one last time. The light of the kingdom did not shine and would never shine again, however, you continued to watch over your children and you were very sad when your nephew, your sister’s son joined you after being dead because of Vhagar. After what seemed like centuries, your husbands finally joined you and your reunion was the happiest.

┊

Thanks you so much ! I hope that you enjoyed reading this ! have a good day and if you want to be added to the taglist,tell me. The first Marvel work will be publish on Wendesday. Also, it was the last work about House of the Dragon of the year 2022.

Taglist: @joygirlmelii @tetgod @omgsuperstarg

[curiouselleth]

Veil of Starlight (ao3)

Chapter 1; Beginnings

Nightingales had always been a part of their heritage. Their great-grandmother created them after all.

It had been so bitterly cold, they all should’ve migrated south months ago. But they were there, and they guided them out of the cold, chilling them to their bones down south where the sun still shone strong, and melted the frost on their clothes and dark hair. But not their hearts. 

Everyone they knew was gone. Slain in the halls their father had brought life back to. Dead in the snow. Their mother slain trying to find their little sister and get them out. Friends all gone. Their father slain before his throne as he tried to defend his home and people. They didn’t know what happened to their little sister, but she likely lay in the halls or snow like all the others. 

Everyone was gone and their home was gone and they were gone to the south away, away away away and they wanted to leave it behind. 

The nightingales stayed with them for a time. Teaching them where to find food in this new place. Showing them a small cave to shelter in. But it was still hungry, still cold. They clutched each other every night, small bodies shivering. They didn’t know how many cold nights they spent in that cave before some avari found them. But by then they were thin, wild and fey. One of the avari still bears the scars from their teeth, from these strange little children. Not wholly elf, nor man, nor maiar. An unheard of ancestry, only a few of a kind. But the avari did not know, barely whispers of their grandmother Luthien and her victory against the enemy had reached that part of the world. 

But nonetheless, the green elves took in these wild fey children whose moods stirred the wind to fury and whose laughter brought flowers into bloom in the dead of winter. In their small village in the trees they grew, faster than the eldar, even faster than the edain. So strange, it was. Such a light burned within them, and only ever increased as they grew. 

In those years, time moved faster around them, and somehow, they had nearly reached full stature and maturity and had learned nearly all they could from the green elves. The only thing they had not learned was to control their strange powers. And how to fit in. 

So the twins left. 

They packed, said goodbyes, and moved on. 

Journeying in Ossiriand, avoiding any and all other elves and edain. They had a lot of excuses for avoiding others. They didn’t want to be dragged back into the violence in the north. Didn’t want a crown or responsibilities to be forced upon them. Didn’t want to remember. 

It was so subconscious at first, they didn’t even realize. But they had slowly woven enchantment over themselves, over each other to hide who they were. To hide the features they shared with Luthien. To hide the edain features. The otherworldliness in their eyes that they inherited from Melian. The proud bearing that called Beren and Thingol to mind. To make others see what they wanted to see, or expected when others looked upon them. 

They would always come back to the forest of Taur-im-Duinath. To a little shared talan perhaps a days travel from the avari village where they grew up. Or at least a day's travel across the ground. Closer to a few hours when the twins raced through the branches in leaves with the skill of elves many millennia old. Not long after, as they seemingly could never have quiet for long; a young Noldorin woman arrived. 

Tired and beaten, drifting on a distributary from the Gates Sirion on a half sinking raft. The younger twin found her and pulled her from the river, and brought her to the twin’s small talan. 

She had woken up screaming that night. The twins understood.

As the week passed, the peace of the forest brought her comfort. She wasn’t ready to speak of what happened yet. The twins understood this too, more than they could put into words. 

From this understanding something wholly new began to grow between her and Elurin. When she was despairing, he made her laugh. And she balanced his overly carefree, inattentive personality with maturity… and an unforgiving streak of sarcasm and knowledge of pranks.

Eventually, she told them a little. How she had lived in the hidden city Gondolin. That it was attacked and destroyed, and she escaped. Drifted downriver because it would be faster than running. And how she had overheard some of the men attacking her city saying how they couldn’t let any of the people of Gondolin escape to the Havens of Sirion like the Doriath survivors had.

The twins froze and paled at this last statement. They excused themselves, and the moment they were out of her sight they fled into the branches, and they ran and ran and ran and ran and ran until they reached a large clearing and ran out of branches to leap through. 

They returned the next morning, salt streaks down their cheeks and staining their clothes. 

“Elured, you don’t have to do this, not alone!”

He reaches out and rubs Elurin’s shoulders, “yes, I do. I’m older, and you have Gwingloth here.”

Elurin blushes and tries to interrupt, but Elured continues “oh you know you cannot lie to me brother. I have seen how you two look at each other when you think I don’t see, the love, how you practically melt in her gaze. We all have been through so much. You two deserve happiness, with each other, if that is what you two wish for. Stay with her, I will go to the Havens, even Balar if I must. I will learn what has become of the last of our people. I will be like the wind, in and out and returning to you with the winter rains. At the latest in the spring. I will find our people.”

Elurin blinks away tears, “I shall hold you to that. And if you return a day after spring ends you shall never hear the end of it,” he pauses, “take one of the swords. We are safe here, you will need one more than us.” 

“Are you certain? I can take one of the avari swords or bows instead…”

“No, take one.” Elurin turns and kneels down, pulls out a dagger and pries up one of the floorboards. He sets it aside and stares at the cavity for a moment, before pulling out the silver twin swords. “They are the last of our heritage and family that we have, take it with you and remember me. I knew ever since the avari found them, they were not destined to stay together forever. Just hide the inscriptions…” he runs his fingers over the cirth runes; For my beloved great-grandchildren, may you wield these swords in a better world than the one you were born into. And the maker's mark, a tall thin “T” with a small crown above it. 

Elured slowly takes one, and he too runs his fingers along the runes. But as he does, they shimmer, and fade away, making the sword appear blank and uninscribed. “I’ll be back before you know it. I promise.” He looks up to Elurin and smiles mischievously, “and perhaps by the time I return you can tell me about the proposal.”

“Huh? Whatever are you talking abou- NO Elured, it is far too early, no, and in case your ears were clogged the first time, no no no you daft creature!” 

“Who is a daft creature?” A female voice icily asks from behind him.

“Oh just my foolish broth-” his voice explodes into an undignified shriek as Elured grabs him from behind and starts mercilessly tickling him. 

“Do not worry Gwin, I shall only be gone for a few months at most, just to see if any survived Doriath, and I shall leave as soon as I teach this child a lesson!” he laughs and continues poking and tickling Elurin. 

“You know I do not like it when you call me that, ‘red” she laughs.

“Fair point, I shall endeavor to use your full name when I return, so long as you do not call me that.”

“Gwin! Rescue me please!” Elurin begs between laughs.

“Ah you are the more foolish brother, not Elured. Did you not hear my wish not to be called such? Alas, I am afraid I must leave you to this torture unless you apologize!”

Elurin was laughing too hard to even try. 

Before dawn, they saw Elured off. He wasn’t bringing any bags, just whatever could fit on his belt and in his pockets without impeding his movement. He didn’t want to be weighed down by too much.

“There and right back, brother. Please, find out if any of our people survived but come home.”

“I will, I promise I will return to this very spot.” He pulls Elurin into an embrace and whispers “I promise.” Eventually they pull apart. “Gwingloth, make sure he doesn’t get into too much trouble, just the right amount!”

“Of course.”

Elurin lightly pushes Elured toward the edge of the talan, “Go! For the sooner you leave the sooner you’ll be back! May the sun shine on your path, and may the nightingales help you find it!”

“Farewell!” Elured calls as he leaps into the branches and quickly disappears before the coming dawn.

Sirion was flooded, and raging like he had never seen. The ford was washed away. Swimming across would likely be a death sentence. Elured thinks about the map he and Elurin made last summer. If this ford was washed away, they all likely were. So there were only two options; trying to find a path through the mouths of Sirion would be the most direct, but likely a fool’s errand. Sailing obviously was not an option, he had sailed rivers on the small craft the avari made but the ocean was too risky. Which left the North. He could pass over the Gates of Sirion to the North, and hope that the Nargod wasn’t affected by the same weather that flooded Sirion. It would be a much longer journey, but the least difficult. 

He tucked a stray braid behind his ear, then sighed, irritated, as the wind immediately tossed it back out of place. 

“Well, I suppose there’s no good thinking on an empty stomach.” He mumbled.

A few handfuls of berries and a bit of bread later, he sighed, this time content. 

Gwingloth would likely scold me for such a meal he thought as he looked out over the river over his perch in a lone tree. Even at its narrowest it was still a massive river, and in some places leagues wide. There would be no crossing, of that he was now sure of. North would be the only option. 

He resolved to set out in the morning, laid down on one of the larger branches of the tree, and fell into dreams with Elurin.

“How fares your journey, brother?”

“Sirion has swelled with floods, there is no crossing. I travel North at dawn, to pass over the Gates of Sirion,” he replied.

He could feel Elurin’s concern twist around him restlessly, “are you sure? That is a long way, you do not have to do this, not alone. If you stay there for a few days perhaps I can catch up and we can go together?”

“I can do it. Please, stay in the forest with Gwingloth. She is not fully recovered no matter how much she may deny it, and you have more skill in healing than myself or any of the avari. She needs you. And I’m your older brother, I can do this.” He wanted to, had to. Had to see if their sister lived yet. 

“Just because you are mere minutes older, does not mean you have to bear this alone,” Elurin’s concern remained, but was now vibrantly colored by love as his fëa swirled around.

“I know, brother, I know. I just feel as though… this is something I have to do, I am fated for. I do not know what awaits me at the Havens, but something does, and I have to find it.”

“That may be,” Elurin deflated a little, “but after you find it, come back. You promised.” Elurin’s fëa gently brushes him, and fades back into the waking world, out of their small world of dreams. 

Elured lingered a little longer yet. They had never been so far apart, and he feared that if they were much farther they would not be able to walk in their dreams and visions together. To be disconnected from each other in such a way, Elured feared that he would become lost as a boat tossed in a raging storm. 

But slowly the sun began to peer over the blue mountains, and it was time. He drifted back to waking.

He ran with the wind in his hair and the sun on his face, his feet quickly and silently impacting the grass as he raced northward - he had been traveling for a few days and the Gates of Sirion were in sight. 

He could see where the river gushed forth from the twisting caves under the hill, and traced over the hills above with his eyes. He wanted to cross over as close as possible, the river being flooded had already brought him many leagues in the wrong direction. As the hours passed the hills grew larger, then slowly, slowly smaller as he turned back south. 

Eventually he grew near the forest of Nan-tathren, and just in time as his food began to run low. He hated foraging in the hills. Not nearly enough berries for his taste. 

Something was wrong. He had frozen before the thought fully reached his mind. There were people in the forest. He slowly resumed approaching the forest, using every trick he knew to stay silent. It was harder to remain unseen in the grass. He had to get into the trees. 

He moved barely breathing, tense as a bowstring, he slipped under the trees. He was back in his element, whoever was here would never see him, he thought as he leapt into the branches. Perhaps he could figure out who was here… to better avoid them , he rationalized. After all, he needed to forage and could find areas they had not been in if he knew their numbers. 

He flew through the branches, much faster than he had traveled across the ground, though leaping down here and there to gather berries, roots, and a particularly good bunch of mushrooms. 

But once more he slowed, the trees whispering growing louder. He was getting close to them. They were getting close. Perhaps a half dozen of them, a hunting party perhaps… or a band of warriors and scouts. He sunk further into the shadows of the tree and listened as voices approached.

He grew more tense as he recognized their accent. Faint as it was, it was the very same that Gwinloth had. Noldor. He loosened his sword in its sheath, fearful that they were the same who destroyed his home. Who killed his family. Who left him and his brother to die. 

He remained still as they got closer and closer. As he listened, it seemed like more of a hunting party. Likely tracking game. 

He resolved to wait until they passed. They obviously had little experience in the forest. Either they had not been here long, or there weren’t many where they were from. Either way, they were not native here, and spoke of building up stores for the remainder of their journey South. 

South. It rang through his head, to the Havens of Sirion. They are likely refugees from Gondolin then. He briefly smiled, Gwinloth will be overjoyed to hear some of her people survived.  

He continued waiting for them to pass, they nearly were agonizingly slow as they discussed what kind of game the prints seemed to belong to, or how many, and seemingly to him at least, could not tell a rabbit track from a deer. Eventually, what Elurin would call his “older brother exasperation” kicked in, and he slowly moved from the tree and onto the game trail behind them.

“About a fifth of a league further down the path, there is a small herb of deer. A little farther and you will likely find some rabbits if you are capable of being quiet. And for Orome’s sake be careful! There are two fauns in the herd of deer who are not ready to leave their mothers.”

The hunters spun around, drawing their bows, and he remained just long enough to smirk, but before they could even blink, he had disappeared into the trees again. 

His mirth at this little trick stirred a wind in the trees as he raced away, further South. He had enough food, it was time to continue to the Havens.

[catofadifferentcolor]

Terrible Fic Idea #67: Game of Thrones, but double the irony

My absolute favorite thing in media is when you're presented with a truth at the beginning of the work and, somewhere near the end, the creeping irony of the situation catches up and grabs hold of you until you can no longer breathe. The Boy-Who-Lived must die sort of thing. So naturally I had the thought: how can I add another layer of dramatic irony to Game of Thrones?

Or: What if Rhaegar's bastard daughter and Robert Baratheon's bastard son fell in love?

Aka: The Queen of Nightingales Fic

Just imagine it:

Lyanna Stark dies giving birth to a daughter who takes after her in nearly every respect but the eyes, which are so dark a purple as to be almost black. She bleeds out before she can even name the child, and so her brother names the babe Jenny Snow.

Jenny's childhood follows closely to canon. She is, perhaps a little more tolerated by Lady Catelyn for being less of a direct threat to Robb's inheritance, but otherwise her bastardy allows her to get away with things a lady never could. She learns swordplay along with the needle, but her greatest talent is her voice, which is said to be so lovely even nightingales would pause to listen to her song.

When King Robert comes to visit, Jenny doesn't need to be told to hide away. Unfortunately, her voice carries and she's soon brought before the royal couple to entertain them.

Robert, being Robert, cares less about her singing than the fact she looks like his lost love reborn, but has just enough morals not to force himself on his best friend's daughter. Instead he orders Ned to bring her south and spends the remainder of his life failing to seduce her.

This naturally earns Jenny few friends at court, save for those who value music above all things - who call her Lady Nightingale.

Canon continues apace, with Ned losing his head with both Arya and Jenny in the audience. They're separated in the chaos, with Jenny being taken north by the Night's Watch in the guise a boy and Arya stowing away aboard a ship bound for Braavos.

On the long, circuitous journey, Jenny becomes fast friends with another Night's Watch recruit, Gendry Waters, who eventually learns her secret.

Realizing that continuing to try to head north is only going to get them killed, they run away together. Gendry finds work as blacksmith near Saltpans. Jenny gets work at the local inn. Though they say nothing to the effect, many of the townsfolk believe they eloped together after their parents refused them permission to wed. They don't intend to pose as a married couple either, but fall together on the journey in a soft, destined sort of way that has maidens cooing for the greater part of the next millennium.

The war, however, goes badly. Stannis doesn't resort to using magic to kill his brother, so there are five armies tearing apart Westeros and borders shift daily. Two years into their stay at Saltpans - just a handful of months after Jenny has given birth to her first son, - Renly gains control of the area. Jenny is once again dragged off to entertain a king, but insists that her family be brought along.

A few months later Renly dies of dysentery, putting the Tyrells in a bad spot. Things have gone on too long for them to easily go back on their position that 1) Joffrey is a bastard born of incest, 2) Stannis is a madman and heretic, and 3) Robb and Balon are treasonous upstarts. They can make the claim Margery is still a virgin, but after 2+ years most are going to think they're trying to cover up infertility if they play that card, and she's the only card they have left to play.

Except: All anyone has to do is take one look at Gendry and see a young Robert Baratheon. And all anyone has to do is take one look at his wife and see a Stark - and if they paint a pretty enough picture they can claim her voice came from Rhaegar, making her the rightful Targaryen heir. They're young, untrained bastards. They'll make perfect puppets and allow the Tyrells to rule in all but name.

It's an audacious plan - but it works, if not precisely as the Tyrells plan. Yes, Gendry would rather be in the forge, but Jenny was raised a duty-loving Stark. And while their heir ends up marrying a Tyrell, the Tyrells never gain quite the power the Lannisters once had.

The War of Five Kings ends with the remnants of Renly's forces joining Robb's army and deserters and Joffrey's. They take King's Landing, install their new rulers, and have just long enough to bring in one good harvest before The Others descend. The war takes many good men Westeros can't afford to lose, but ends after Jenny makes peace with Stannis long enough to bolster their forces for one final battle - which, for Stannis, is Redemption Equals Death.

Jenny never quite buys that she's Rhaegar's daughter, thinking all the evidence that crops up through the years has been manufactured by the Tyrells, but there is little doubt Gendry is Robert's son. Jenny does most of the ruling under the name Jaehaera II while Gendry - Gaemon I - is as content to let her do the heavy lifting. It's far from perfect, but is wildly acknowledged to be the best rule the country as seen since Aegon the Unlikely.

Bonuses include: 1) The softest, gentlest, friends to lovers that can be imagined for Jenny and Gendry, with the soft, tentative friendship formed heading north as Night's Watch recruits turning into best friends turning into first crushes into first kisses into first loves. They should get each other in a way that makes it clear that even without romance they would be platonic soulmates, and are just short of disgustingly in love; 2) Tolkien levels of musical inclusion, to the point of being genuinely obnoxious; and 3) All of their children having the Baratheon look, save for the last - twins Daena and Rhaena, the first of which was born with pale lilac eyes and the latter with a bright golden streak down the middle of her black hair.

And that's all I have for this plot bunny. As always, feel free to adopt, just link back if you do anything with it.

Other Jon Snow Headcanons: Aelor the Accursed | Aegon the Adopted | Aegon the Undying | Aegon the Unyielding | Aemon the Adventurous | Baelor the Brave | Bastard of Winterfell | Daemon the Destroyer | Daena the Dreamer | Daeron the Desired | Dyanna the Defiant | Elia the Magnificent | Jon the Fair | Jon Whitefyre | King of the Ashes | Lady Arryn | Lady Baratheon | Lady Lannister | Lady Stark | Lord of the Dance | Prince Consort | Prince of Summerhall | Queen Mother | Queen of Nightingales | Rhaegar the Righteous | River Queen | Shiera Snowbird | Visneya the Victorious

More Terrible Fic Ideas

[visibleclosedeyes]

Comfort (F! Chief x Hecate )

Genre: Fluff

AO3

It is rare for the chief to get some downtime for herself these days, and back then she thought not getting some sleep after one day was hell–she did not prepare herself for an almost two-day mission without any chance of her catching some shut eyes in between. Nevertheless, the mission was a success, and even though Nightingale suggested the chief start on her report immediately, she decided of her own volition that it could wait. After all, sleep deprivation does nothing good for her brain. So she called it a day early. 

There is a small bed in a room inside her office, which served its purpose of being an alternative bedroom when the chief couldn't make it to her apartment—which is every day now. It was commissioned by Adjutant Nightingale and approved by MBCC—and while humble, it is functional enough for the chief to not complain. One flaw though, it has no clock in it yet; so she can’t tell time. Like now that the chief suddenly brought back to the land of the wakings by unknown reason, how long she had slept and what time it is now she couldn’t tell, but the light that shine in and bathed the white wall at the foot of her bed was silver and cold—so she guess it is still nighttime.

Maybe she is dehydrated, maybe it’s nature calling.

She sighs and is about to get up from her bed, but then…her leg bumps into something—there is…there is something under her blanket. And then she also realizes just how unusual the ‘shape’ of her blanket is—her legs are flat down, they definitely can’t cause this. The chief pinches the blanket; her heart is racing faster than any Syndicate gang car—well, dying fucking sucks but dying in her bed by assassination sounds rather pathetic. But just before she could decide to do anything, the thing under the blanket speaks

“Chief…” 

The black-haired chief is completely baffled when she hears the voice of a girl she would recognize under any circumstances.

“Hecate??!” Chief’s half yelling and half whispering even though no one, at this god-forsaken hour would hear. 

The older woman is now frozen as the situation in front of her is simply just absurd. Hecate is, technically, on top of her–under her cover in the dead of the night. In a way, Chief is glad that it’s the gloomy pale blue-haired girl and not someone else as she trusts that the girl wouldn’t wish for her death. Still, this is wild.  The girl under the sheet shifts her position a little, the sound of friction between Hecate’s dress and the fabric of the cover is absurdly loud in a small dark room inhabited only by two people. The black-haired chief’s skip beats and breathing becomes hard labor despite not being in any immediate danger. 

Neither of them says anything as Hecate slowly rises from her awkward position—she climbs up from sitting at Chief’s legs to now planting herself on the dark-haired woman’s stomach. Right now, the room is too dark as a thick patch of cloud covering the soft, guiding moonlight—turning both parties temporarily blind in the dark. Still, Chief can see a dark outline that is now looking at her.

“ Are you alright, Hecate? How…did you slip past the guard?”

“ I can always find my way, it’s not like you can guard the vent in your room, don’t you?” Her voice seems shaky but doesn’t sound like she is nervous—maybe she is cold. But then it struck her. Chief just remembered that she…

“Hecate…”

“Yes, Chief?” The shadowy girl crooks her head a little with that question. The moon is still very much blocked by thick clouds—she can’t see the exact expression of Hecate.

“ I…” Chief swallows her saliva out of a defense mechanism again shame before continuing with her sentence.

“ I didn’t have any clothes on…” Dark-haired struggles with her words

“ I know that. Does…that make you uncomfortable? If so, please order me to leave you alone. I surely will oblige your order,” Hecate responds with the similar tone of voice she used everywhere, but…to Chief’s trained ears; she catches the small shake in Hecate’s voice. However, the chief is never that interested in the tone of her voice but only in the things she said. She will leave if I command her to—does that imply that if the Chief doesn't, she will stay? This… has to be against some sort of rules but…

As the thoughts run all over the dark-haired woman’s head, the moon that was previously held hostage by thick clouds has become free and shining its cold but benevolent light, painting the room with glowing light and banishing the dark. Hecate’s face has become clearer although still basking in the shadow made by her as she looks down at Chief while sitting on top of her. Nothing seems to be out of place except a hint of exhaustion that seems to be prevalent in her silver eyes. 

“Hecate…? What’s wrong?” Hesitate but still curious; the dark-haired woman asks the girl on top of her who hasn't yet explained a thing to her.

“Chief…I can’t sleep…”

“ Bad dream?”

“Maybe, maybe not. But now I can’t close my eyes” She keeps her voice low. Hecate lowers her head down, now the gap between the two is only a few inches away. What…should she do in this situation? But before she could respond, the pale blue-haired girl interjects

“When we were outside on our mission, I always had difficulty sleeping. That being said, it all went away when I slept next to you,” Hecate explains, she stops to find words for her thoughts while looking into the eyes of the black-haired woman in front of her. She is looking for a reaction, approval, or vice versa to decide if she should be pressing on. The chief remains silent while her light blue eyes look right into Hecate’s. With icy eyes like that, she should have felt cold running along her spine, yet the gaze of the black-haired woman felt like a gentle sun and summer breeze. 

Hecate averts her eyes for a moment, and her body shifts to the side of the Chief—her mannerisms are unassuming but without a hint of shyness. The bed’s surface next to Chief is slightly deflated as the young woman plants herself right next. The chief’s eyes follow but she doesn’t say anything. Despite the overwhelming silence that envelops the room, both of them don’t feel suffocated under the weight of silence. Hecate situated herself right next to the Chief with her face facing against each other—silver eyes reflecting the moonlight like a mirror leading to the realm of endless dreams. 

“You can stay, but you have to be gone by the morning, understood Hecate?”

“ Is it wrong, Chief?” Hecate’s icy doe eye looks right into the older woman’s soul, seeking answers beyond words and physical matters. Why did she have to ask it that way? 

“ No, it's just…a rule, sinners have to reside in their cells at night.” The Chief answers, but she isn’t sure if she answered what Hecate asked. Suddenly, a hand takes hold of hers—the fingers intertwined with each other, the Chief doesn’t say anything when Hecate takes her hand but her eyes follow them. She is surprised to know that the ashen blue-haired girl’s palm is rough and decorated with old scars. The Chief loses her focus again, feeling the roughness of the young girl’s hand until she squeezes the Chief’s hand with it. Blue and silver eyes lock into each other once again, and at that moment–the moon is at its peak and the light shining upon the sinner’s face amplifies the silver luminescence eyes even further. Glowing eyes seem to be a trait shared by many sinners. There’s something in Hecate’s eyes that makes the Chief’s psyche shift into an unknown state; a weird, confusing turmoil. While the Chief is all over in her own head, Hecate moves herself a little closer to the black-haired woman—bit by bit, until their noses are a few inches apart, and that seems to snap the Chief back to reality. Hecate stops for a moment, looking for any kind of resistance. When she found none, she continues until they share the same breathing air. Their lips are an inch away and–

“Chief,”

“May I?” The soft and monotone voice of Hecate usually stays calm in the most stressful situation is now visibly trembling–whether it’s from anxiety or desire, the chief really has no idea. She doesn't know if this is an appropriate thing for an MBCC chief to indulge in but the warmth that radiates from Hecate makes her heart shudder. Hecate is almost always colder than the environment she exists in—but not this time, or maybe she was always warm, the chief just realizes now. 

“You may," The chief answers, giving in to the need to indulge herself in the mutual comfort of the sinner. Hecate takes immediate initiative in closing the gap between them one last time. The chief feels the lips of the girl in front of her pressing onto hers. She breathes in a scent that weirdly reminds her of a rainy day, a mountain, and flowers; it’s a cold and sweet scent she remembered from the vision of those white flowers she saw the first time she met Hecate… if remembers a scent from a dream of memories is a thing that is. The warmth of Hecate’s lips makes the Chief slightly shudder as it contrasts with the cold temperature in the room. It isn’t a deep kiss, nor is it a shallow one but it’s certainly filled with doubt and anxiety. A moment later, Hecate withdraws her presence a little further away from the black-haired woman but the sweet and cold scent is still there. Hecate looks conflicted, she is in pain and she seems pleased. She looks at peace but is also scared of something. 

“Can I… sleep with you until I get better, Chief?” 

That’s… that’s not really appropriate for someone who is the Chief to do but... 

If it would make Hecate feels better then… 

“Fine, but next time inform me ahead of time if you’re gonna be here, don’t crawl through the air-con pipe again…” the Chief says with a defeated voice. Hecate’s lips slightly form a faded smile. Completely at peace with herself now. 

The Chief owes Hecate, for what she has forced her to go through in BR0004.

This is the least she can do, for the pain, she caused the sinner.

[nightingale-ghost-writer]

By the Grace Of [Sorcerer Rogier x Fem!Tarnished] - Chapter Eight

Summary: Knowledge shared is knowledge gained, or so they say. Delia and Rogier both have some knowledge to share, and some little truths to get off their chests.

Author’s Notes: 1.2K words! Enter the true plot of the fix-it. Just a bit of out-of place/alternate dialogue here for flow purposes. Now, if you’re reading this and thinking “Nightingale, the thing you’re saying DOES exist, there’s your fix!”, you are correct! However, as I writer, I must say “Too easy. Everyone must suffer.” Things are gonna get worse before they get better. Also, technically speaking the items in question are late(ish) game so this is my justification for using them.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or events from Elden Ring

Warnings: abstract horror? I think? unedited (basically), unfinished story- read at your own risk!

“This… is a black knifeprint!” Rogier’s hands trembled slightly as he reached for it. Delia laid it carefully on his outstretched palms, smiling to herself.

“I can scarcely believe you managed to get your hands on this! You recall our conversation about the Night of the Black Knives, yes?” He looked up at her, too briefly to see her nod before he went on excitedly. “They say the assassins who carried out the deed were scions of the Eternal City. A group entirely of women, arrayed in armor of silver under cloaks which fooled the eye.”

He stopped then, eyes fixed on her armor. “I see.” He reached out to run his fingers over the material of the cloak where it parted at her chest. So enthralled was he that he didn’t notice Delia’s sharp intake of breath. “Fascinating,” he breathed.

“So I was wrong,” she joked, a little breathless. He hummed, looking up distractedly. “You’re more interested in the armor.”

Rogier chuckled, jerking his hand back with an awkwardness that indicated he had only just realized where it had been. He cleared his throat.

“Yes, well, it is quite curious. The knives they wielded though, were imparted with the power of the Rune of Death through sinister rite.”

He rested the knifeprint on the bench beside him and took her hands. Delia felt her cheeks heat. She liked this habit of his. “Please, I beg of you, lend me the knifeprint for a time. I'd love nothing more than to tease out its secrets. Though only a fragment, a very specific ritual had to be performed to impart the power of the Rune of Death. Traces of the one who performed the rite are sure to remain in the imprint…”

He offered a wry, self-deprecating smile. “Half my body has been suffused with Death. I'm certain it will help me see.”

Delia’s stomach plummeted with that morbid thought. “Can’t anything be done?”

He hesitated. She’d been expecting an immediate rebuffal.

“No,” he began, but she cut him off. She tugged on his hands, upsetting his balance.

“You know something, don’t you?” He looked away. “Rogier, tell me!” she urged. She squeezed his hands when he didn’t respond.

He briefly met her gaze before lowering his eyes again. “There’s no guarantee that-”

“I don’t care,” hissed Delia. She reached up to his cheeks, lifting his head and forcing him to hold her gaze. “It’s a chance. Tell me.”

Rogier swallowed, hard. “In the tomes you’ve brought me, there are various cookbooks. I’ve found recipes for boluses, medicinal concoctions used in these lands. They’re meant to cleanse the conditions one finds oneself in here.”

“And they work?” Delia asked breathlessly.

Rogier hesitated. “I don’t know. I’ve never used them. And… I’ve found no recipe for anything that cures Death Blight.”

Delia dropped her head, squeezing her eyes shut. Of course not. That would be too easy.

“And I’m no healer. But,” Rogier went on haltingly. “I did find a recipe for boluses meant to cleanse the Scarlet Rot.” Delia looked at him blankly. “It’s… a bit closer in its properties to Death Blight than to poison, or blood loss, or sleep magic.” Delia nodded, waiting for him to continue. He didn’t.

“I don’t know what that means,” she admitted softly. Her hands had loosened on his cheeks, no longer keeping his gaze fixed on her. He closed his eyes, but she felt the light pressure as he leaned into her touch.

“I don’t want to get our hopes up,” he murmured. “But… if the Scarlet Rot can be cured…”

“Then maybe this can, too.”

He nodded, smooth cheeks rubbing against her calloused fingertips. “Maybe,” he whispered.

“Well, you can consider my hopes well and truly up,” Delia teased. The look Rogier flashed her was in turns astonished, shyly pleased, and chagrined.

“I have no way of getting ingredients to test,” he began.

“I’ll get them for you.”

“As I said, I’m no healer-”

“But you’re brilliant.” She shook his head lightly between her hands. His cheeks were burning beneath her palms

Rogier reached up to lay his hands over hers. “It could be dangerous.”

“I don’t care.”

She leaned forward, wrapping her arms around his neck and letting her body sag against his. When he didn’t flinch, when his arms came up around her, she let herself relax.

“I’ll bring you everything you need.”

“I care. And I don’t know what I need,” he grumbled.

“Then I’ll bring you cookbooks and apothecary’s notes until you know.”

“And where do you intend to find these cookbooks and apothecary’s notes?” He’d leaned back against the wall, pulling her with him. She lay awkwardly against his legs, but he didn’t seem to mind and she couldn’t bring herself to care.

“I’ve made friends with some of the merchants,” she mused. “I’m sure someone can point me in the right direction.”

“Hmm. And how good are these friends?”

She looked up. “Does it matter?”

Rogier didn’t answer right away, but his heart sped against her chest. “It matters,” he said softly. There was a long silence before he reached up to stroke her cheek, gently skirting the cut along it. “I want you safe.”

“Well, I want you whole and hale.” Delia pulled herself sideways to sit beside him. She snorted softly. “Besides, I’m not sure anywhere is safe, anymore.”

“All the same.” He seemed to be struggling to put his thoughts into words. Delia remained silent, watching him out of the corner of her eye.

“Why… have you gone to such troubles to help me?”

She blinked. “What do you mean?”

He shifted uncomfortably. “I mean I don’t see what you stand to gain by helping me. When we first met, at Stormveil, if you’d asked me to come along back then, I would’ve understood.” He smiled wistfully. “I think we would have made a formidable pair, gallivanting about slaying kings and gods.”

His face crumpled, fingers digging into the fabric at his lap.

“But now I’m in this sorry state. One little mishap, and now I can’t move.” His face twisted in a flash of- what, self-loathing?- that he tried to mask. “As you might guess, it’s far from ideal… and I fail to see what use I am to you like this.”

Delia felt a hot flare of anger that he might think she was only using him. She watched Rogier’s expression waver, shifting between suspicion and despair and bitterness and… hope. She breathed out, tamping down her irritation with some effort.

“Maybe you’re not of any particular use to me,” she said, more sharply than she’d intended. He flinched. “Maybe I just like you,” she rushed on. She stood to pace toward the railing, leaning against it and dropping her head.

“I just enjoy your company,” she admitted softly. She cleared her throat and went on, stronger than before. “And even if I didn’t, I hate to see needless suffering.”

She felt a light touch at the back of her knee and turned to see Rogier leaning forward. He offered her a weak smile.

“Forgive me. And… forgive me for what I said last time you were here.” He looked pale, nervous. “I didn’t mean to insinuate… anything.” Delia almost laughed at his pained expression. Instead, she let a slow smile spread across her face.

“I know how you can make it up to me.”

[revserrayyu]

2.2 Penacony thoughts [part 3]

**Spoiler warning** in place as usual. I did finish the entire 2.2 story as of last night but this post will cover up until after the first boss fight since there is much to discuss with the upcoming scenes. As always, don’t read on if you wanna experience the story on your own terms.

Starting off with something not so serious and it’s this one option they give us to choose. You wouldn’t believe how often I would say something like “if evil, why hot?” whenever Sunday appears to be acting suspicious, so this reply got a chuckle out of me.

Hearing Firefly speak about her three deaths was surprising. I know she and the other Stellaron Hunters are all following the script and shouldn’t rely defy it, but it’s gotta be at least a but concerning how you’ll have to perish not once, not twice but thrice during one mission, even if they’re not actual deaths. The mention about the third death being the final death does not evoke reassuring feelings in my heart even if these deaths are suppose to help us.

The whole scene when we watch her transform into Sam was pretty cool though. Just a shame we didn’t see or hear from her at all after this. She leaves a wish hoping we’ll meet again in reality, but I’m not so certain it’ll happen.. I would like to hope so though.

The flashback with her and Blade gets brought up again and I love how envious he is that death is part of Firefly’s script and not his. He’d gladly trade places with her if he could.

Then we have yet another scene between Acheron and that old man companion of hers. Her lack of taste is brought into question as she eats a supposedly spicy fruit and feels nothing at all. It reminds me of that brief encounter Black Swan mentioned, where she saw Acheron drinking several glasses of ‘Wake the Heck Up’ and didn’t comment on the bitter flavor of it.

Acheron goes on saying that losing oneself is a drawback to being a self-annihilator, but at least she hasn’t lost all her sense and memories yet, though I fear if that day will ever come because that’s actually so sad and I don’t want that for her! She’d almost be like an empty shell with nothing. At least the scene tries to make me feel a little bit better as Acheron mentions a friend she was once very close to.

Unfortunately those nice feelings don’t last long because of course her companion perished! I want Acheron to find some sort of happiness in this game please! Sure she said goodbye with a smile because that was her friend’s wish but hearing how scared she is about losing her friend’s memory hurts my little heart. Naturally I’m curious about who this friend of Acheron is if they were once a Nameless too.

I’m sure there’s a connection between all this chatter about the color red, the fact that color is so prominent whenever Acheron unsheathes her blade and occasionally speaks in red text, but I don't have the brainpower to think too deep into it all right now. All that aside, this was such a pretty frame of her to look at.

Aww, Dan Heng cares about us so much! You’re also a treasure to us!

It took me until now to realize that the symbol on these nightingales look like an eye, which makes perfect sense as there is a giant eye in Ena the Order’s splash art.

Sunday also has a similar design on the front of his shirt and his rings showed the same design where his hand was clearly visible. Coincidently, I believe this is the same hand he usually holds behind his back.

Yeah yeah, you win good brother points for volunteering yourself to do this task rather than force Robin to do it despite her own personal views and feelings.

Flashbacks of being wanted by the Silvermane Guards coming back full force. To be fair, we are on a planet that used to be a full scare prison, so jail was gonna happen one way or another. Just our kind of luck. And I’ll be honest, I kinda blanked out during most of Sunday’s history lesson about Penacony. I was focused more on trying team comps for Harmony trailblazer.

I don’t remember the full conversation when we finally run into Sunday again in the theater but all Himeko’s comments were great. Mom is done messing around.

Norman from The Promised Neverland? Is that you? Seriously though, he and Sunday sound so similar here, as Norman wanted to eradicate all the demons so all the humans could live freely. Not to mention that his Lamdba companions and all those kids he rescued in the Paradise Hideout look up to him as a savior. (sorry if that spoils anything from TPN, but take this as my offer to read the manga. it’s wonderful. season two was adapted horribly.)

All those times I joked about him being holy and he decided to take it literally.

Just as I assumed, our handsome man is indeed the final boss, which unfortunately leads me to believe that he won’t become a playable character. Hey if I have to be sad about missing out on having Cocolia, then y’all need to be upset about Sunday. Don’t get me wrong, I was hoping he would be playable too and become another Imaginary unit, but since he’s now confirmed to be siding with the Order, the Harmony path wouldn’t exactly fit him, nor would any other playable path.

So um.. the battle begins and it didn’t take long for me to realize that something was wrong. The livestream spoke about how this boss had three different phases, but as the fight went on, none of them happened? It didn’t prompt us to choose our team before the encounter began or force us to use the new Harmony Trailblazer. The fight just sorta happened and ended without much hype and it felt very underwhelming, especially with how great Aventurine’s boss fight was last patch.

During the midst of my confusion, reliable Danny boy arrives with Jing Yuan to assist us in an awesome cutscene which makes me feel a little better at least.

And then we.. wake up. And it seems everything is fine..?

Only it wasn’t all fine! But for now I’ll stop here because this will probably have to be divided up into five parts again.

[mononijikayu]

a dust of memories

‘i just knew’

title: a dust of memories

series: adust

chapter number: one

pairing: daemon targaryen x targaryen! oc

rating: m

‘i wish to ask you, muña’ mellara felt her eyes soften at the sight of the young woman. she could not help but feel like wrapping her arms around baela, to protect her from the world. ‘you….you and my father were together far before he married my mother.’

mellara allowed her hand to hold the young woman in a loose embrace. ‘yes… we were younger then.’

‘how did he truly know?’ baela whispered to her quizzically, their lilac eyes meeting. baela pursed her lips. ‘no… how did you know?’

‘know what, my ovoño?’ she whispers back, gazing at the beautiful jasmine flower in front of her with tenderness.

‘love.’ the jasmine flower retorted questioningly. the older woman straightened her position.

the young girl was afraid she realized, no. no. she was puzzled, the young flower she was. baela lowered her head as both hands fumbled over each other’s palms. mellara remembered the girl she once was too. she could not blame baela. she had always had a fondness for jace. their eyes were too easy to read. mellara fought hard not to snicker, recalling how obvious it was to everyone else then, that she was so deeply fond of her cousin daemon.

'how did you know you loved my father? how did you know you loved him?’

for a moment, mellara returned to that moment all those years ago. when she had been young and unknowing of the world. the lady nightingale they used to call her, a young woman who lived in a land of isolation. secluded by her protective mother and father, the one who sang in the tower in solitary. but then father passed and she was trying to find the pieces of the puzzle. the puzzling world left behind by her father, in his city. the city he detested, she returned for him. to yearn him, to mourn him. to meet him beyond the mask he wore, as her father.

mellara had lost herself, the nightingale who did not have an identity. a personhood, no words could express the statelessness that existed in a girl who knew nothing of the world. and found herself meeting him. his deep purple eyes filled with mischief, of excitement. adventures beyond her imagining. life in him burning like wildfire, life waiting to burn her too. he wanted to show her the world, from his lenses. tinted with the colors people shun, she recalled too well.

she had always heard much about cousin daemon. how he was a brutish young man who had killed tarnished men so brutally and had been honored with a knighthood for it. about how he curses under his breath at a wife he does not love and has abandoned. about how his claiming of caraxes had been a battle hard won by his strength. but when she had met him once before, all that stuck to her was the way his dark purple shone against her lilac. full of mischief, of unknown flames of intrigue. 

when she encountered daemon once again, he still had those mischievous eyes. the swagger of the short silver hair shone like a halo upon his handsome face, curious purple eyes that had been so bemused at her innocence, during their first meeting. observing her every move against the world that had been new to the young woman she once had been. mellara had often wondered if he had meant to corrupt her. to do the same as the world had done to him. but he did not. instead, he captivated her. struck her with those eyes of his.

daemon targaryen mesmerized her then and he does so now. he surprised her then and he surprised her till now. In their youth, he held her in his arms with those wild eyes filled with a puzzling emotion, the blood and guts of a dead creature filled her. yet he held her, he just held her as she wept. the only one who understood what it was like was him, him who had lost his father as she had. there was no need for words or pretenses. she just needed him. 

his warmth and his rare calm. in the harsh bristle of summer rain, he placed his cloak wordlessly upon her as she continued to weep and brought her back to that place she wanted to escape from. she felt afraid to return, to come back to the world that did not want to understand her. but he held her. and in that moment, she thought that his comfort was enough. 

in that rare quiet, she saw him, the truth of him. and she loved him the most at that moment. loved him too deeply. too deeply to turn around and act as though such blossoming did not exist in her heart. it would not be easy, she had always known that. but she still chose him. this enigma of a man, the cruelty and the sweetness. mellara knew then that she yearned for him. yet she did not know it then but he had yearned for her too.

mellara tightened her embrace of the young flower and saw her raise her chin.

she could not help but smile, her aged fingers exploring youth in her cheeks.

‘there was nothing elaborate.’ she whispers to the young girl, smiling wider. ‘i looked at him. and knew, as he did. we just knew that we were meant to burn together, the dragons we are. i just knew.’

the elder places a kiss upon baela’s cheeks, tenderly caressing her once more.

‘you’ll know.’ mellara promises to her. ‘soon enough, my ovoño’

She yearned to be free from this prison. Anyone would be, considering how baffling the disenchantment of the wheelhouse to the princess is. Mellara purses her lips, gazing at her mother and her ladies silently waiting. The ladies had not stopped humming for hours now. A repetitive hymn was sung through with needle and threat dancing together. The minstrels were doing a good job, Mellara notes. Yet it had been the music they played, full of only sorrowful tunes. A will of a widowed woman, she knows. Her mother still mourns her father. Still, she had wished her mother had allowed her to go on a horse, perhaps even on her dragon's back. She had claimed her father's mount moons ago, after all. The trip would be faster, too; there would be no need to be subjected to this cage.

That had been Mellara's deepest wish since she returned from Blackhall. To ride her dragon Blacknight, her father's once proud mount. Mellara often heard him sing to her as though calling out to her in melodies she only knew. They sang together at times. Elaena Velaryon could not but be horrified at her daughter taking to the capital alone. Even more so, tricking her guards away from her side. And most of all disrespects her cousin Viserys through her behavior. But her mother had forbidden it, a price for her conduct in the capital. And still, it was only reasonable now. For her safety, they all reassured her, and Mellara believed them. 

Blacknight and her were still getting used to one another's companionship. He did not know her as much as he did her beloved father, so it was unwise now. The dragon keepers said the year of being riderless had left him a wild one. His isolation and grief had made him volatile, eager to breathe fire at anyone who disturbed him. It was wise for now to slowly build toward their bond. Her father may have taken her upon Blacknight as a guest, but guests are not their bonded. Mellara knew she would have to work hard to gain Blacknight's trust. To have a strong bond as the beast had once cherished with her father. But as the dragon keepers have said, it would have to wait. They would have to wait. Especially now that her mother had forbidden it just as much.

Elaena Velaryon agreed just as much, fearing for her daughter. She had forbidden her from riding, having guards posted at the edge of her door. Ever since her father had passed, her mother had latched onto her even more, fearing to lose her too. The way her father had passed had been sudden, as sudden as falling asleep. As overbearing as this seems, Mellara understood. She was her mother's only child, her beloved daughter. All that will remain of her beloved Aelor. She would do anything to keep her safe. Yet that exasperated Mellara to bits. She understood; indeed, she does. But Mellara was a lady flowered; she was of age. A princess of her own land in her own right. She felt trapped here, coddled and controlled. 

As much as she loved her mother, she knew this was not living. Such a life like this was a ghost's life. Her father had taken her with him everywhere he could. This was not how her father would have wished for her to live. No, her father would be the first to insist on saddling a horse and riding as fast as she could into the unfamiliar woods. He would be laughing too. For a moment, that hurt came with a vengeance once again, as though the most unwelcome visitor to have. He was too young, much yearned for by this world that craved him. 

Her lilac eyes glistened against the stained glass colors, fading as she traced her fingers against the cold stein fogged by cold summer winds. The soft bristle of movement her eyes made as it followed her touch, eager to understand what she was doing. For a moment, she drifted back to her father's jovial gaze. His tender smile as he traced his own mark upon the same surface, the sun echoing the light like the halo of morning light upon his sitting figure. 

The princess of Blackhall could remember how he would point to each figure on the glass, to point out the flowers against the shining sun. Mellara could not help but wish to have been a child again, to seek out her father again. A year had passed, yet she still yearned to be his daughter. Not to be fatherless, abandoned to the fate of the world unknown.

"Do you see their carriages, tala?" Her father would lean close, whispering to her ear like a mischievous cat. " How dull their figures are? How lifeless they are! Ours is entertainment in great pigment! Bright and beautiful, just like the flowers that form you, tala."

For a moment, she could hear her father's laughter blend with hers in her head, brightening the heavy glaze of the glass imagery as though sunlight in a clear sky. The way his lilac eyes shone when the smile reached his lips, the beauty of life echoing within him both broke her heart. Yearning for something that you can no longer have always hurt. None had told her the truth the way her father had; she just knew. When she had visited her grandfather's court, they whispered to her. Their condolences, their memories of her father. The princess tenderly bit her lip, recalling how their eyes gave away their lies. Her mother cannot tell her the truth without adding honey to the crumbs. A draw of soundless breath left her lungs again, feeling her eyes suddenly well up with a round blob of tears. 

"Just a little more, Mellara." She promised herself, ignoring that wilful whisper at the back of her head. "We will be home after this, and we will be singing together again. Blacknight and me."

"It is a stunning sight to see you silent, daughter." Elaena Velaryon eyed her daughter as her finger jumped across the stained glass window. Elaena sighed. "Do be careful. You could break the glass. Again. I will not have it so."

"We make the glass, mother." Mellara dulled nonchalantly in her native tongue, continuing to play on the bright window shine. "I doubt I'd charge myself for such services."

"Mind your sharp tongue, daughter. It is unbecoming of a woman in your rank."

Mellara scoffed at her mother. "I am not a lady, mother. I am a princess of dragon blood."

"And you princess is still my daughter. You will halt the activity, or I will hurl you out to walk the rest of the way." Elaena retorted, continuing her needlework. Mellara purses her lips and rolls her eyes.

"Such a willful girl you are these days, daughter."

"Mother, I feel so helplessly bored here. Like a damsel in distress." Mellara groans as she frowns, straining a dent in her delicate features. Her mother does not look toward her. "I can ride a horse better than any Royce. I wield a bow and sword as well as some knight. I would be able to protect myself out there. Father taught me how. You have seen me beat down Jeyne Arryn's heir."

"Royces can fall off horses, knights can be pierced by sharp things. The Arryn heir is a green boy, as you are a green girl." Her mother reiterates, piercing the needle hard upon the fabric. Mellara frowns deeper. "And a dragon can be killed. Foolishness and pride can do so."

Her brows raised, taken aback. "Are you calling father a fool for dying over things he cannot control, such as a cold?"

"Do not bring your father into this." Her mother harshly placed her needlework down, the atmosphere of the wheelhouse down. Her eyes gleamed at her darkly. The minstrels stopped playing, and the ladies in waiting flocked to their needlework even more. 

"You promised me that you would accept your duty. You swore to be on your best behavior."

"And I am."

Her mother whispered, pain in her eyes reminiscing a ghost. "You now must sit here until we arrive, daughter. And we will arrive soon enough. Please, daughter. Just…”

Mellara Targaryen pursed her lips into a tight pocket, her lilac eyes gleaming against her mother's darker shade. She could see the bags of her mother's eyes water brightly in shine, glistening as though crystallized. Her mother had not been stable of heart and mind either. How could she be, the daughter thought, when her husband of many years had died on her so suddenly? And now to stare at her daughter, his daughter, who shared his eyes. The same sign of lilac shine. They will always be haunted by the ghost of Aelor Targaryen. 

But she pursued her lips heavily into a flat line. Her mother is cursed twice by the gods of Valyria. Mellara thinks she was cruel enough for it to be the ghost of her mother's beloved husband – still alive and in the flesh. Mellara turned away from her mother swiftly, not wanting to see the tears pour down her face. Shame pierced through her at that moment. Mellara had not meant to be wilful, to push her mother into this state. 

Mellara had taken it too far, especially at the mention of her father. The young princess prayed that her father would forgive her at that moment for disturbing his peace for her childishness. For her grief. For her longing for the freedom that she tasted, the freedom that she yearned for. Causing more pain to the mother that desires only the best for her. Mellara slightly tilts her head to gaze at her mother, but she stops herself. She tries to open her mouth, to speak through her parted lips. But she does not do so. Not that she could, not at this moment. 

The rest of the trip remained silent.

Tears poured over her mother's eyes.

And soon enough, it poured through the skies.

Mellara Targaryen wondered if her father wept.

Daybreak was coming through them. The rain had just stopped pouring. The day remained placid with gray and mud, but that did not stop the princely court from moving onwards to the royal hunting grounds in the Kingswood. When they had last arrived, Mellara had been startled awake by the sound of the harsh, thick mud bumping against the carriage's wheels. When she sat up slightly, she groaned at the sudden chill and wrapped her body further in the fox fur. Princess Mellara had found herself groggy as she gazed at her mother, and her ladies were fussing about their appearances. 

They had not stopped for any rest in the last leg of the trip; her mother had insisted on it as she feared her travel calculations were not pleasing. Hence, the dowager princess commanded the horses to be exchanged at their last stop with Dornish-bred horses and no more stopping. The princess wanted to argue with her mother, but her mother's eyes warned her against it. Mellara wishes she had fought harder with her mother, now feeling the fatigue of long moons of travel across the kingdoms. The thought was not lost upon her that she possessed her own sails to travel, but the recent storms prevented such an option. Her mother had said it was better to endure the body's stress than the loss of life. Mellara could not agree with such sentiment, thinking she would have taken the option anyway. Mellara believes that it is because she had more sense of youth and recklessness.

Rubbing her eyes awake, she could not hold back this second yawn and tried to shake her head off the sleepiness. She was not fully awake to comprehend it all but moved when her mother's lady sat beside her to fix the loose strands of her elaborate braids. Soon enough, she could hear the bustling of pots and pans. She could hear loud shouts across the passing field, the churning of wood and butter. The sound of servants rushing back and forth from brightly raised tents with metal platters upon their hands. Falcons were flying amongst hawks, the master of the rookery batting orders at the royal hawkers at the side in their leathers.

The sound of armor being thrown against swords, maces, and spears caused a momentary ringing in her ears. After a moment, though, Mellara sprung awake at the sound of loud horses beckoning her call, many of them alive with the fervor of the morning gaze. Her smile softly gathered upon her lips as she looked at the window with fascination, the banners of different houses swirling against the winds. Passing the hot roasting spit where the pigs and chickens were piled in a metal rod against the charcoal, Mellara could feel its warmth welcome her. Her mother's lady pulled at her hair, which caused her to softly shriek as the older woman tied it against the ribbon. Mellara hissed, turning her lilac eyes at the older woman as though a dragon was being disturbed. The lady did not falter, finishing the braiding upon her hair with the last knot. She sent the woman another glare, ordering her away in a whisper. 

And then the carriage halted.

Mellara was startled, thrown softly against the glass.

Her mother sighed, knocking upon her own glass.

Elaena Velaryon had gotten out of the carriage first and was followed by her ladies. The thought made sense; her mother was still someone of higher rank than her as a dowager princess. She fixed her fur cloak against her body when she got out. Soon enough, she felt the gust of wind against her body and turned her head to the furs. Yet she did not allow the cold to defeat her, facing it head-on and facing the crowd that now surrounded her. The young princess was aware of what they whispered about. She knew that it was all about her, the nightingale of Blackhall. The mysterious daughter, the fictitious child. The beautiful princess hid away in the towers of her father's keep. She knew she would hear much more of this throughout; she knew that all too well. These people have none better to do but gossip and grow intrigued. 

But she paid no mind as she walked towards her mother's side, quietly thanking the people for their late condolences. She allowed herself to smile as she saw the lean figure of a man with clean-cut silver curls hidden away in a golden crown. When she had stopped at her mother's back, she knew he had seen her with the way his purple eyes shone like they were seeing wonder for the first time. Her red velvets shone against the silver and black; the old man laughed joyfully as her mother parted from the king's vision, and Mellara grinned at her grandfather, moving into his open arms. The old king Jaehaerys giggled as he pressed a kiss upon the halo of her head, which caused his granddaughter the same.

Elaena's eyes softened at sight, feeling her own grief replaced by relief. There were many rules upon which those of royal blood and those of noble heritage may approach one another. But to the old king, something other than this was suitable for him. This was his family. This is what remains of it. The old king is tired, making mistakes, and living in isolation. This is what he should be doing. He should be embracing what remains of his Alysanne, of his children. The rules were to be thrown away at the sight of his young granddaughter, his Aelor's child. When they parted, the old king inspected the growth he had not seen for the past six moons. He smiled in delight, but Mellara saw a tingling sorrow in the corner of his eyes. She knew he could not help it, seeing his own ghosts of his third son and his beloved wife in his granddaughter. 

Mellara bowed to her grandsire. "It's my delight to see you again, your grace."

"Oh dear child, there is no need for such a thing here." The king smiled as he aided her up. "At this moment, I am just your grandsire."

Mellara offered the old king a smile. "If that pleases you, grandsire, then I shall do as you bid."

The old king boomed in laughter. "A beautiful and obedient child you are, dear girl! Your father would be most proud."

"Such praises you lavish upon me, grandsire."

"'Tis not lies, to tell the truth, my dear girl." The king says to her, taking her hand and leading the way toward the royal tents. "I should hope that the trip was not too wearisome."

"Oh, not at all." Mellara sweetly lies, offering a small smile at her grandsire. "Though, it would have been a delight to fly here on Blacknight. However, the poor thing is still adjusting to me."

"I have heard you, and he has made progress upon bonding, yes?"

"I suppose so, grandsire. Blacknight heeds my desire for spinning rolls." Mellara giggles. "However, he is still stubborn as a rock! He would not fly lest I bribe him with meat!"

The old king laughed. "Your father had the same complaints as a child; he did. He even had a hard time with the beast."

"Oh, my father would agree with you if he had been here, grandsire!"

Their laughter lingered for a moment before it halted. If the princess and her mother have had difficulty speaking of her father, she is sure her grandsire has had even more complicated grief to bury. In a brief short period, his queenly wife had died, and so followed was a brood of his own children to burn and bury. Aelor was perhaps the most brutal blow to her grandsire. Her father had rows with his father, but he never stuck around enough for them to talk it over. He had no desire to do so, living as a nomad who shunned the city that was once his own and a family that longed for him. The king mourned for his son and what could have been. Mellara knew her grandsire was not out of the pits of sorrow. However, she knew that her presence brought him comfort. Something to look forward to. The thought of it warmed her heart. 

'Mayhaps returning home will have to wait for some time.' Mellara thinks as she feels her grandfather squeeze her hand. 'My grandsire needs me at this moment. As I do.'

"You have arrived just in time." King Jaehaerys exclaimed, smiling down at her. "We were just about to break our fast."

"That is good to hear, grandsire." Mellara declared, laughing as she held her stomach. "I am quite famished!"

The king laughed. "Then do eat as much as you can! As you see, we have plenty!"

"Grandsire." 

"Oh, dear Viserys!" The king greeted jovially, his seasoned eyes gazing at the silver-haired men before him." He turned to the other young man, who stared at Mellara intently. "And our young Daemon returned from the Vale."

The heat fell through Mellara's cheeks as the memories flooded her, her lilac eyes blinking away with uneasiness as Daemon Targaryen's lips turned into a small smile at the sight of her. The princeling was handsome in his black and red garb, embroidered gold across the three-headed dragon's shield. He stood tall with his hair firmly cut, shining light upon his sharp, strong jaw. His purple eyes gazed at her mischievously, eyes which she could not read at all. But Mellara knew that he was triumphant at the sight of her squirming into herself with embarrassment. 

When she realized who they had been those moons ago, Mellara thought she would instead jump off the Traitor's Walk than face them again. She had run away until she could no longer see the Blackwater and attempted to return home to Blackhall. Merllara found that she would have an earful from her governess when she returned. And even more so, the king's welcoming entourage had arrived to claim her and bring her to him. She could not refuse. But Mellara had managed to keep them away from her presence. 

Throughout that visit, she refused to see her cousins and feigned illnesses. Refused to stay too long in court functions or even find them in her immediate presence. Instead, she spent much of her time with the court ladies in the palace. She had enjoyed strolling the gardens with her niece Rhaenyra whom she played across the archery pond with. At times she would take to talking and playing cards with her aunt Jocelyn and even exploring the vast library independently. Dear cousin Aemma had been just as complicit with that, hiding her in her birthing chambers, and there Mellara played music for her cousin. 

She was relieved that before she left, her cousins would depart. Viserys to Dragonstone to seek his duties and Daemon to forcefully return to his wife's side in the Vale. Mellara enjoyed the rest of her visit with them gone, not having to worry about this encounter. The old king Jaehaerys was happy to see much of the court light up as it had done all those years before. Princess Mellara had gone dancing till dawn and singing along to the bards who wrote her songs that regale in her wondrous beauty, affection, and grace. But now she can no longer avoid it. Her hand eagerly turned into a fist, her fingers digging through her silk skin.

At that moment, Mellara had wished her father's blood had not been more potent than her mother's – for all the complexion of snow shattered any motion to hide the redness of her body. She had not thought of this moment, of what she was to say when she met them again. After all, she had caused a commotion at meeting her cousins for the first time. She had fished Viserys from the sea and had fought Daemon like a child who had not gotten what she had wanted. They were of the same age, Mellara recalls. But she felt so small at the sight of her cousin at that moment. He was already a worldly young man, just like his brother. Mellara could not help thinking so painfully at her first impression of her cousins with scorn. She was just a child to them, a child in a woman's body – who knew nothing of the world.  

"You may not remember them, granddaughter." The old king exclaimed, a solemn beam at her. 

"I know of them, grandsire," Mellara whispered to him, earning a snort from cousin Daemon. Mellara tried hard not to snarl back at him. "Father has told me of them."

"I see, my dear. Then you will know your dear cousins better now that we are together." The king shifted the two of them closer to the princes. He pointed at them. "This is your cousin Viserys, the prince of Dragonstone."

Mellara bows respectfully at him. "Crown prince."

"It is an honor to see you, cousin." Viserys smiles at her kindly. "The princess consort, my wife Aemma, has told me much about you."

"I am honored to be in your good graces, my prince."

The elder prince smiled. "I should hope to be in your good graces too, cousin."

Mellara pursed her lips, swallowing her pride as she bowed before Daemon. "My prince."

"You would think being family, we would be less formal with one another. Princess."

The princess gasped, and redness struck her face more profoundly. "There is still the rank, my prince–"

Daemon sighed as though a mummer on stage. Viserys shrugged him off. "Grandsire, it would seem my esteemed cousin does not value familiarity between us."

"Grandsire—"

"Your cousin is right, dear girl." The king nodded, agreeing with the smug prince. "Such formality between dragons should be naught. We are family, after all, child."

Daemon smiled at her, pleased. "Then, dearest cousin. You have heard the verdict."

A soft scowl passed her lips as she bowed once more, surrendering to the decree. "Cousin."

"Dearest cousin," The prince greeted jovially. "I hope you are well now. I heard about how ill you had been since you made your debut at court."

She had the might to strangle him.

Mellara Targaryen was not new to throttling boys.

"I am well now, cousin." She responded with a tint of calm, trying to retain her sanity. "The air of the royal gardens was a fine tonic to the ailment."

His mischievous eyes shone. "Hm, I heard well enough from Rhaenyra. You run well, cousin."

Mellara felt like she would choke. "I see."

"Ah, family at last." The king cheered happily as he gazed at his grandchildren. "Now that we have reveled in the company of one another let us all be merry in sustenance."

Old king Jaehaerys led his granddaughter, and the rest of the royal family followed.

Throughout the meal, Mellara Targaryen could feel his darker shade of purple on her.

'I am not here for his annoyance.' She whispered to herself. 'I am here for my grandsire.'

The young princess of Blackhall looked back and met his smile upon her presence.

She lowered her head and firmly held her cutlery, cutting through the venison swiftly.

The hunting season would be long for her, she thinks. And now, even more so with the rogue prince.

Mellara had found herself in trouble, the pelting rain drenching her silver locks. Hissing with anguish as she inspected the muddy ground, she knew she was indeed doomed. Animal marks are now traced by puddles and earth blending together in a mounting mud that blisters through the path. There was no trace of the animal's feces disappearing along the watery scenes. That would have told her to judge any danger to her at the very least. And even that, she could not do. 

The weather was fine in the first light of dawn; the basking sun was eager to let her and her hunting retinue through the fine pine forests in intense sunlight. The princess had been delighted at the sight of her men singing bonnie songs, her hawker playing a tune with the singer's lute. The spat had made her laugh numerous times, exchanging one profanity to another as she had led the charge forward. The experienced guide had been letting her know much about the vast forests that were owned by her grandsire. The princess had been interested, hearing much of her father's ties to the land as a young man who followed his elder brothers' lead in the marshes they all grew around. 

Though she smiled at each fascinating and ridiculous story, Mellara yearned for her father. In the burn of her chest, the princess also felt envy spread as she laughed at another good story. Her princely father had been the one to lead this company of men, eagerly indulging in the love they had for the land that feeds them. Most of these men know of her father, who had followed him from boyhood to the man he had become. In these forests, they shared many memories with him and enjoyed the reaps of the land endowed with fine animals and sights. Even if a year had passed, she could not help it. Mellara had spent all her time with the people trusted by her father and loved him. Yet she could not help but think that she had loved him the most, idolized him, and thought of him as the world's wonder. Because the prince had loved his only child just with all he had. 

Every thought of her father was enough to drive her into an embrace of somber madness. Mellara had never known life without her father. Despite the duties of his life as a nomad – he had never found himself removed from her life. The young princess had lived a life of happiness in the bubble her father had created. And now all that is left is a world where she has to stand alone, without her father's guidance. He left her without warmth or reassurance to guide the youth in her. Without anything, she knows as her own. For a moment, she lets the anguish enflame her like she enables the rain to enrapture every part of her. She is angry with this world, with its gods. With the lack of warmth in the condolences she receives from her father's friends, she does not know. With her father for his death. With her mother, who coddles her like the extension of her father's soul. Mellara Targaryen knew that she was alone. She knew it too well, and now she was truly alone, surviving in this vast forest without to guide her. 

As she raises her body from kneeling, Mellara silently curses at the blasted maester Mellos, wishing she could strangle him. The grand maester had been considered a master of reading the sums of the stars to predict the weather. And today, the old fool reported that the sun would be shining through the sky, as though the gods would hold the sun together, he said proudly. Clenching her gloved hand, she feels her body shaking in anger even further. These emotions confuse her, she concludes, and all at once, they terrify her. Mellara had never wanted to feel these things bottling within her, and she could not express them truly. Let them be as it is, as naturally as the river flows. 

The sudden downpour had not prepared them, and it did not help that the men had come across poachers who outnumbered them in both weapons and men. Her father's retinue had kept had been those who valued efficiency to that of wielding many weapons and supplies. The men had urged her to return to camp and seek the refuge of safety. One of them had tied her to her horse as swiftly as he could, and soon enough, even the horse died from arrows levied on its body with one of the poachers following her. One of her men had managed to kill the man, but he died soon after. Mellara had survived, yet crushed by the weight of the horse's corpse — she tried to crawl.

Her most prized hunting horse had died on her, and her men rushed off to fight the poachers as she left helplessly into the wilderness and the unknown, all welcoming the unknown of death's claws without a second thought. These men had accepted death once more and received the thrust of a blade to join her in escaping. Once more, the view of the count of those who died as she watched mounted. Once more, she knew — more of her father's memory had gone with them to the death. And there will be more until nothing remains for her to have. Until nothing is there to contain her as the chain starts to break from her chest. 

"What do you want from me?" Mellara cried out in her native tongue, uncertain if the waters that poured through her were from her eyes or the gray clouds. "I cannot do this anymore! Do you hear me? You have won! End it here. End my misery. I beg you, please!"

She let herself fall onto the muddy puddle for a moment and wept loudly as though she was a babe who could not walk. Mellara Targaryen embraced herself, yearning for release as the cold seeped through her bones in the wind's response. Everything was all too much for her, for this girl she was. The princess shook her head, unable to embrace a yearning to fight any longer. As she cried, the young girl felt herself losing air. Losing herself to the grief that came through her. 

She did not notice the rustling sound across the bushes, attracted to the sound of her grief piercing through the vast open mud marshes. Mellara looked out, her teary eyes blinding her as the massive black boar rushed through her with sharp horns. The princess cried out loudly as she pulled all her strength together and pushed against the weight, her hand covering the edge of the sharp tusk aiming at her. Mellara screamed and screamed, cursing and grunting. Sweet red resonance poured through her hand like liquid venom, and each push of the heavy boar tore through the flesh. 

The young princess released her hold on the tusk and pushed the boar away. Quickly, she scrambled for her sword and unsheathed it from the leather scabbard. As the boar repositioned itself to attack again, Mellara ran to it and cried out as she met the beast. The boar once more jumped at her, but with all her strength, the princess grunted as she pushed the sword forward upon the boar's skull and mercilessly pushed it until she could no longer do so as the bone conflicted through. Mellara heard the beast squirm in pain as she tried to find her footing out of its heavy body. 

With a draw of heavy breath, the princess unsheathes the sword and watches the blood seep through the watery marsh. She did not know what she had done, what her body had been doing, and what it yearned to do next. Atop the squealing boar, Mellara raised the sword again and thrust the blade into the grunting boar with madness. The blood and the guts coated her skin, the silver train of her elaborate braid painted with death. She was unsure when the creature had died, but she merely kept going, and her tears flowed just as much, uncontrollably blending against the thick dew of animal blood. Mellara Targaryen had found the boar's body unrecognizable when the frenzy of her body had stopped, leaving only empty grief and exhaustion in its wake. 

"Mellara?" Her cousin's dark purple haze was a welcomed sight, a relief. Someone stood there. Someone was there. He was not leaving. "Mellara!"

Daemon Targaryen rushed to her side, eyes filled with concern as he took her into his arms, her body collapsing on his own. The rain was heavy on his body, and the scent of the wilderness claimed him just as much. He did not look terrified of her, what she had done, or the quell of her body in boar guts. Instead, he embraced her and swept his arm to shield her from the ground. Mellara felt her lips quiver as she tried to speak, her experiences slowly dwelling on her body. She tried to put her words into the air, but he shook his head, holding her wounded hands into his own as he took his kerchief from his pocket and tied it against her deep bleeding cut. Mellara let her free hand reach for his face, feeling the warmth of his features against her own cold, swept hand. Daemon's eyes widened at her touch.

Her tear-filled eyes watched him as he took his cloak off the cover of his own body and wrapped it as fast as he could with one hand. She was already cold, but she would freeze against the hit of pouring rain. When the tears poured in silence as he lifted her into his arms, she could not help but lean to him in the safety of his arms in a close embrace. Her cousin Daemon did not say a word to her; instead, he gave her a small warm smile warmly at her. A tint of sadness pressed as though his familiarity with this place left sorrow in his heart. They were almost the same; she could see it in his eyes. Of course, she thinks. This is the same imagery he sat upon when his dear father had found himself dying so young. Mellara thinks they lived in the same deep sadness, yearning for fathers who had not walked among them. 

The young prince pressed a small kiss upon the edge of her forehead to tell her this was real. Mellara finally felt that she was safe. That he was not leaving her. That she could put his trust in her wholeheartedly. Mellara sniffed through the cold as she felt Daemon aid her into his horse's saddle and quickly follow behind. Mellara Targaryen leaned back against his chest to feel her cousin's heat, embracing what he had gifted her. His arm embraced her, and the other focused upon the reins. When the darkness took her, she could not help but feel relief. For the first time in a long time, Mellara Targaryen felt like she knew what it was like to not be alone. She did not know it then, but she wished he felt the same. That at that moment, both of them were a little less alone.

[valkyrieassassin]

The shining songbird

Summary

A few months after Cassian and Azriel brought there ball of light into the world.

Notes:

For pearblossom_mina.

This is for pearblossom_mina, they have given the snow nightingale so much support on AO3 and on tumblr. I hope you like this sequel.

Title is a bit miss leading but oh well I like the bird theme.

The two of them had slid into the role as parents easily. Cassian was always the doting father. Azriel was always the one to keep her from harm. Astrin was a month old when Azriel had tried to train again. Astrin had seemingly sensed that her father was hurt because she wouldn’t calm down. When Az had come back down from the training room he was half bent over in pain but smiled when Astrin clung to him and wouldn’t let go.

Through the times we’re hard with two kids and a war on the horizon, the inner circle managed. It was one night when Astrin was asleep and Cassian was holding Az in his arms when he finally asked the question that had been pestering him for the past 2 and a half months. “why did you hide the pregnancy?” Az turned his head to look at him then at the window. The moon light streaming in casting Azriel’s face into the moon light. “I didn’t want you to worry. And I knew if I told any of you, I would have been pulled off work and then we couldn’t take that risk.” Cassian turned Azriel’s face to look at him. “But what about the risk of you working eight months pregnant. Azriel this needs to be addressed.” Cassian saw the tear make its way down Azriel’s face. Cassian pulled Azriel into his chest and placed a kiss on top of his head. The two of them fell asleep on that couch.

They were awakened by little Astrin’s quiet cry’s. Azriel went to get up but Cassian intercepted. “You got her last night, I will this morning. If you want to help you can put on the kettle.” And as Cassian walk out of the room, Azriel realized that Cassian, was his mate.

Azriel was sitting at the dining table with a cup of tea in hand one opposite him for Cass. Cassian walked in Astrin in his arms. She was still very small but so far she was alright. As she had gotten older she had Cass’s smile but everything else in her was Azriel. She was a quiet wonderful child compared to the loud and constantly getting into trouble Nyx. Cass passed Astrin to Azriel. He looked into his daughters eyes, to many they were his but to him she was all his mother. The eyes, nose, and the way her eye brows creased when she was upset. Right know she was content laying in her fathers arms. “My littlest snow angle.” Cass looked at him the pure look of love for his husband and child in his eyes. Azriel had to go see Madja because of him working and Astrin coming prematurely there had been some problems. He still wasn’t allowed to train but that didn’t stop him. Cassian had been worried for Az every time he tried. Azriel stood up and pressed a kiss to Cassian’s head as he passed over Astrin. “I will see you in an hour my love.” He whispered in Cassian’s ear.

Cassian was sitting on one of the many balcony’s of the house of wind when Rhys winnowed in. “You fit this life well.” Cassian nodded at Rhys’ words. Cassian had always been the one to take care of the others, weather it be Rhys coming home after a hard meeting and making sure he was fine to when Azriel had been starving himself as a kid because he felt like he shouldn’t be there and Cassian would make sure he ate. “Even in our banter when we were younger, I didn’t expect it to lead to this.” Azriel winnowed in. Cass turned to him, an eyebrow raised. “I am not clear to train yet she said we will see next week. But am I still going train yes.” Rhys only shook his head at Azriel’s words. The four of them lounged on the balcony until the sun had hidden it’s self and the moon had risen to take its place.

Notes:

I hope you enjoyed. I want to write a prequel but I don’t write smut to it would have to be in the eight months Az is pregnant.

[sturchling]

Could you please write a salt fic where word of Lila’s lies about knowing various people and helping with their work (like Jagged Stone and Clara Nightingale) reaches them and she gets sued to hell and back, which exposes her? Bonus points for Alta redemption.

Lila never thought about the long term. When she told her lies, she only cared about the here and now. She wanted attention that minute and she didn’t care how she got it, or what story she told to get it. But she should have been more careful. Maybe if she had, this wouldn’t have happened.

Alya had been a little suspicious of Lila for the last week. She didn’t want to accuse her of anything, but her stories were beginning to sound far fetched even to her. The lie that really made her start doubting Lila was from two weeks ago. Jagged Stone had just released a new single, featuring Clara Nightingale.

It was a major hit, everyone was talking about it all over the world. When the class came back from the weekend, they were all buzzing about the song. Lila should have thought before she spoke, but as usual she didn’t. All she knew is that the attention wasn’t on her right now, and she can’t stand that. “I know! The song is amazing! I actually helped write and coordinate the song”

While the class fawned over this new story, Alya hesitated. She was pretty sure she had read somewhere that Jagged had brought back his original song writer for this new song, since that writer had worked with both musicians before. Alya almost said something, but stopped herself and thought it through. If she accused Lila without proof, that wouldn’t go well at all and no one was likely to believe her. And besides, if she wasn’t remembering correctly and Lila wasn’t lying, it would be wrong to accuse her.

So Alya resolved to investigate like any good journalist would. First, she went looking for that article. She quickly found what she was looking for, and the article did specifically say that it was Jagged’s original writer who wrote this song, not Lila. Alya was sure this would be enough, but then she thought it over again. She realized she would need more proof. Lila could just say that this article was inaccurate, or some tabloid that got it wrong. Alya needed iron clad proof that couldn’t be refuted.

Deciding to go straight to the source, Alya went to the Grand Paris hotel where she knew Jagged was staying. If Jagged said so, there would be no doubt that Lila was lying. Alya arrived at the hotel and after some convincing, Penny let her into Jagged’s suite. Alya told the two everything that Lila had claimed about the new song. By the end, the two looked livid and Alya reconsidered if this was a good idea. Why if they thought she was lying? Or what if Lila was telling the truth and she had just insinuated that Lila was a liar to a close friend? But that wasn’t what happened. Instead, Penny simply told her “Thank you for bringing this to our attention, it will be handled.”

The next day, Alya was still wondering what Jagged was going to do. But she didn’t have to wait long. Just after the class came back from lunch, the door burst open and in walked Jagged and Clara. They wasted no time, walking straight to Lila and dropped a large stack of papers on her desk.

“Lila, we have heard from a little bird that you have been claiming to have written our latest song. That is simply untrue and you know it. So not rock’in. So considered yourself served and we will see you in court.” Lila was shocked and tried to stutter out a defense. She had never considered that her lies would get back to the celebrities she was lying about! She begged for them to reconsider, she apologized, and tried anything she could to get them to drop the case. But they wouldn’t and left her sitting at her desk, terrified and wondering what would happen when her mom found out.

The class, at this point obviously knew that Lila had been lying about this and probably a lot of other stories too. The class was glaring and yelling at Lila, furious that she had been tricking them this whole time. Meanwhile, Alya sat back, satisfied with her work. She thought things through, worked like the journalist she wanted to be, and had uncovered the truth. If only Lila had thought about the long term before she spoke, like Alya had. Maybe then, she wouldn’t be getting sued and still be happy. Maybe next time, she will think ahead.

[clare-with-no-i]

85 + 14 :)))

85: Innocent Physical Contact

14: Bodyguard AU

oh, @crazyrebelscarves you got me good with this one, you really did...

He was nowhere, and then suddenly, he was everywhere.

An arm around her waist; the cushion of a palm cradling the back of her skull. His chest pressed to hers, tucking her face into the collar of his button-down. The passive knowledge of him crowding her space—the only sensation left as the world crumbled. As a thunder-clap boom shook the earth, bringing chunks of ceiling down like crushing stalactites, sending dust flying like the air itself suddenly solidified into particles of debris.

Coughing, then, as the world crystallized. It took her a moment to realize it was her own; a muscular impulse from her spasming lungs, full of smoke and hacking saliva.

A few realizations came when her surroundings—the hotel lobby where Dad was set to give his speech in a few minutes—shuttered back into hazy focus.

First, that she was on the ground. Either that, or the entire world had tilted; but judging by the feeling of an expensive Oriental rug underneath her back and the fact that her legs were currently flat out in front of her and not supporting her weight, she'd wager the former.

Second, that she someone had set off some odd sort of alarm, one that carried in a single, unchanging note, so loud that it drowned out all other noise in the room. It sounded like how those heart-rate monitors always did on the telly after someone died—high-toned and ringing. Ceaseless.

Third, that she was in a good amount of pain.

That one came when she blinked and tried to extricate herself from the weight atop her, only to cry out noiselessly and drop back into the prone position she'd started in. Ow. Not a good idea.

But then, without warning, the weight shifted, freeing her arms a bit and giving her a bit of room to move; not that she wanted to, with the recently-set precedent of pain that action would bring.

Then the weight was James, his face only about ten centimeters from her own, tendrils of his ever-messy raven hair dangling down over his forehead. He was above her, she decided. She was on the ground and he was above her, and he was—for some reason—mouthing words at her. His lips were moving but no sound was coming out. Only the ringing alarm, the cutting sharpness of it. One single note. Wobbling and distorting as her head shifted. Was that how notes worked?

Awareness, in this moment, belated and swimming. Poorly formed.

There was no alarm. Her ears were ringing. She tried hard to focus on James's mouth; ignore the dirt streaked across his cheekbone. Was that blood on his forehead? His, hers?

Noise begun to filter in, as well; almost like it was waiting for her to recognize its absence. A fickle, petty thing. Clawing for attention when there was so much else going on. The air was still gray. The ceiling was...not really the ceiling anymore.

She scrunched her nose, as though that might drive the barrage of new noise away; it came too much, too fast. She nearly preferred the ringing, nearly missed it as it began to fade.

"—you hear me? Lily? Say something!"

He wasn't mouthing words, after all.

She tried to answer him—really, she did—but all her body could do was cough and spit. His eyes were wide, wild; he braced one arm next to her head—he'd just gotten that shirt pressed, she'd complimented it that morning, and now there was a hole by the elbow—and brought the other wrist to his mouth. There was a cut on his lip.

"Chaser One—this is Chaser One—Nightingale compromised. I need transport to the lobby and medical on-site ASAP. And I want this place locked down. Now."

"Ja—" another cough, but minute progress. She would take what she could get. "Jam—"

His attention, unwavering; back on her face. Eyes still wild. "Lily?" He repeated. He placed the other arm on the opposite side of her head. His entire body caged her in, blocking her from the rest of the room, and for some reason, she felt completely safe; even knowing (as she now did) that someone had just set off a bomb at her father's campaign speech. "Lily, can you tell me what hurts?"

"Dad, a-and Mum…"

"They're alright," he said quickly, almost brusquely. "You were coming out first. Remember? You were going to introduce your father to the crowd. But I need you to tell me what hurts."

A quick self-assessment. What did hurt? Everything hurt.

"Right leg," she whimpered, as the truth of it became unignorable. "And my left wrist. I-I think it's—it's broken…"

"Fuck," he swore, which he rarely ever did. Usually, she would tease him for it. "Alright—I'm going to carry you out of here."

Carry her? But what about—

"But what about you?"

He shook his head and scowled. "I'm fine," he said, though he didn't sound happy about it. Like he was angry to be alright when she wasn't.

"Are you sure—"

"Lily." He cut her off with a heated look. There was something behind his eyes, hard and determined, but with something else lying underneath. Her head was too cottony to decipher. "I'm getting you out of here and into an ambulance. End of story."

Lily swallowed (and winced, though she hoped he didn't notice). An ambulance sounded nice, actually. A gurney and morphine. Sounded better than Aruba or the Maldives at the moment.

"Okay," she whispered, and he nodded, leaning back on his heels to slip an arm under the small of her back (carefully, so carefully) and another under her knees.

It only took him a matter of seconds to get her off the ground and start toward the emergency exit. He spoke to her along the way, telling her how well she was doing, how soon they'd be in an ambulance.

"James?" She interrupted him mid-sentence, and he turned to look at her, eyes scanning. The door was only a few meters away, now.

"Yeah?"

"Those fuckers didn't even let me do my speech."

He laughed, which made her smile. Her goal achieved. Something about this day that wasn't completely terrifying.

If he squeezed the skin of her calf playfully as he pushed the double-door open with his shoulder, it was only to boost her spirits. To keep up morale. Innocent. Professional, even.