#but like deep down i think it’s this dark fear that if my golden brother the nicest guy you’ll ever meet who practically raised me

[robertsbarbie]

my brother: probably is going through the worst thing he’s ever been through in his entire life

me: how can i make this about myself and my sadness

[azrielandhisshadows]

winter's kiss (3)

pairing: azriel x reader

word count: 1.9k

summary: Azriel comes to your room and finds you in the midst of your doubt regarding the mating bond. Azriel opens up to you in hopes that you start to trust him

a/n: right now, I think this series will be 5 parts. I hope you enjoy!

part 1 part 2 part 4

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Your heart pounded as you looked at your mate standing outside your door. His hair was disheveled, evidence that he’d been running his fingers through. You sensed the weight of concern in his eyes, and the depth of worry that etched itself into every line in his face. The golden thread tying you together made your heart pound as you studied every detail of him. Despite the horrors Kallias told you clouding your emotions, there was an innate part of you that longed to reach out to him – to hold him.

“Y/N,” Azriel said, his voice a small whisper. “Can I come in?”

His words broke you from your trance as you nodded and stepped aside, allowing him to follow you into your room. You sat at the edge of your bed and watched as he sat in a chair across from you. Azriel settled into the seat, his posture tense, but the demeanor gentle as he looked around the room. His eyes landed on the ice that remained near your bed, a remnant of your earlier turmoil. 

“I wanted to speak to you after the meeting, but Kallias made you leave so quickly.” You slowly nodded to Azriel’s words, taking slow deep breaths to control the storm beginning to rage within you. Azriel’s eyes met yours as he took a similar controlled breath, “I know this is overwhelming, Y/N. I’m overwhelmed too, but I would be lying if I denied how excited I am. I’ve been waiting for my mate for a long time.”

A wave of warmth flooded your bond at Azriel’s confession, a warmth that started to melt the ice between you. “Growing up, I read stories of great loves that lasted centuries. Mates that chased after each other despite the odds that came against them. They fought for each other, damning the consequences of their actions. I see that type of love in Kallias and Viviane and I couldn’t help but be envious of them. I never imagined finding that type of love from the confines of the Winter Court.”

Azriel’s eyes softened at your confession, his own emotions stirred by your words. You inhaled deeply before continuing, “Azriel, the innate part of me longs for you, which is crazy because I just met you; however, Kallias and Viviane told me things about you. Kallias shared rumors of a darkness that follows you. Death and destruction that follows you,” Azriel’s posture tightened, showing his fear of your next words. “Viviane, on the other hand, told me stories of a man who loves deeply and will protect those of importance to him. Quite frankly, I don’t know what to believe. Help me understand, Azriel – help me understand you.” 

You focused your attention on him, watching as a tear fell onto his scarred hands. His leg bounced up and down, nervousness flowing from the calm and stoic man you met hours ago. Azriel’s gaze remained locked on his hands as more tears fell, and he took a moment to compose himself. The vulnerability in his eyes was stark against the hardened exterior he often displayed. When he finally looked up, his eyes met yours with a mixture of sorrow and determination.

“Darkness has seemed to always follow me, ever since I was young. My father was an Illyrian lord. I lived with him, my stepmother, and two half-brothers. My stepmother and half-brothers didn’t like my presence and kept me locked away in a cell with no windows and light. They kept me as a prisoner, only giving me one hour outside everyday. They didn’t let me fly and I grew up fighting against every instinct in my body that begged me to get away. One day, my brothers decided to see how quickly Illyrian healing could take place,” his voice broke as he paused, searching for the strength to continue. “They poured oil on my hands and set them on fire. Some of my father’s warriors heard my screams and cries for help, but by the time they reached me, the damage had been done. That is why my hands are this way,” he said, lifting his hands for you to see.

Your heart ached as Azriel shared his painful past, each word carried the weight of his suffering. “Then, my powers came in. My shadows only grew in the darkness of my cell. Eventually, my father decided to send me to an Illyrian camp, so I could start training and honing my powers. That’s where I met Rhys and Cassian. We didn’t always get along,” Azriel chuckled as he remembered the beginning of his deepest friendships. “But we grew together and we became each other’s family. I would do anything for them and the rest of our court.”

You listened intently, absorbing the depth of Azriel’s past, the pain he had endured, and the fierce loyalty he felt toward his friends and his court. The revelation of his past brought a swell of compassion and a desire to comfort him.

“I can’t even begin to imagine the pain you went through,” you said softly, reaching out to gently touch his hand, the warmth of your skin contrasting with the coolness of his scars. “It’s hard to reconcile the darkness you’ve faced with the person sitting here before me.”

Azriel’s eyes met yours with a mix of gratitude and vulnerability. “The darkness is a part of me, Y/N. It’s shaped who I am, but it doesn’t define me. I’ve learned to use it as a strength rather than letting it consume me. I’ve fought hard to protect those I love and to ensure that no one else has to endure what I did.”

He took a deep breath, his voice steadying. “As for the rumors—there’s truth to the darkness. I’ve been involved in situations that required me to make difficult choices, choices that sometimes led to pain and destruction. But that’s not all there is to me. I strive to balance that with the love and loyalty I feel for my friends, my court, and now, you.”

You nodded, absorbing his words. “I want to believe in the male Viviane described—the one who loves deeply and protects fiercely, but I’ve been trapped for so long. I know I’m naive and I often believe in fantasies that my mind makes up. There have been males in the past that have taken advantage of that and I’ve been left hurting. Kallias was always there to pick up my broken pieces. Kallias has always been my protector and I can’t go by and disregard his concern for a male I’ve just met.”

Azriel’s gaze remained steady, despite the sadness that grew in them. “Y/N, I understand your hesitations. I would be weary if I were in your place. I want to build a relationship with you based on trust and understanding. I don’t share my past with everyone, but I want you to know me beyond my dark reputation. Please, if you give me a chance, I will show you that I’m worthy of your trust.”

You felt a deep sigh of relief at his words. “I want to believe that, Azriel. I want to see the person beyond the rumors and the pain. Let’s take the time we have here to get to know each other, to understand each other better. We have until we leave the Dawn Court.”

Azriel’s expression softened, a faint smile breaking through. “I’d like that. I want us to build something real, something lasting. I know it won’t be easy, but I’m willing to try.”

You reached out and took his hand, your heart swelling with a cautious hope. “Let’s start with that. Let’s see where this path takes us.”

Azriel squeezed your hand gently, a promise of his commitment and sincerity. “Thank you, Y/N. I won’t let you down.” Azriel brought your hand to his lips and placed a soft kiss on your palm. He rose from his chair and watched as you laid on your once frozen bed. The warmth from his gaze moved to your lips and you felt a blush take over your cheeks. 

You looked at the handsome male standing at your bedside and your gaze shifted to his lips as he licked them. 

“Can I kiss you?” 

The room was bathed in a soft glow from the moonlight that creeped in. His gaze didn’t leave you, both of you filled with sudden anticipation and need. As he held your hand, the warmth of his touch seemed to melt away any lingering doubt and fear you harbored. His delicate plea hung in the air and tugged at your heart. His eyes filled with sincerity and a raw honesty that made it difficult to look away. A breath caught in your throat as you nodded, giving him the silent permission he sought. 

Azriel’s expression softened further, his eyes filled with a mixture of hope and longing. Slowly, he leaned in, his movements deliberate and tender. The space between you shrank until you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. He paused for a heartbeat, giving you the chance you back away.

You didn’t move. Instead, you tilted your head slightly, meeting him halfway. When his lips finally brushed against yours, it was a gentle, exploratory touch—a whisper of a kiss that spoke of all the emotions neither of you had yet fully expressed. His lips were warm and surprisingly soft, contrasting with the cold of his scars, and the sensation sent a shiver down your spine.

The kiss deepened as you both surrendered to the moment. Azriel’s hand moved to your cheek, his touch gentle as he cradled your face. His lips molded to yours with a tenderness that made you feel cherished and safe. It was as if the kiss was a promise, a vow to navigate the uncertainty together and build something meaningful out of the chaos.

You responded with equal tenderness, your hand still resting in his, your other hand rising to touch his face. The kiss was a dance of exploration, a slow, deliberate melding of two souls finding their way to each other. Time seemed to stretch, and in that moment, the world outside ceased to exist.

Azriel pulled away, his smile portraying the same hope that your kiss shared. The room transitioned into a serene quiet, disturbed only by the soft breeze whistling through the windows. He looked at you and you could tell he was weighing his next words carefully. 

“I’ll let you rest now,” Azriel’s voice, a soft murmur in the serenity. “I’d like to have breakfast with you in the morning, if that’s alright with you.”

Your face broke into a soft, yet tired, smile, “I’d like that.” 

Azriel stood, his tall presence acting as a comforting shadow over you. He reached for your hand once more, giving it a gentle squeeze before letting go. He turned to leave, his smile full of hope and gratitude for the moment you shared. As he reached the door, he looked back at you and paused.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he said softly.

His eyes lingered on your tired form as you looked to him, “Goodnight, Azriel.”

Azriel permitted himself one more soft look filled with admiration at you before he stepped out of the room. The soft click of the door closing behind him acted as a gentle reminder of the moment you two had shared.

As you settled back onto your bed, the warmth of the kiss still lingering on your lips, you felt a sense of peace that had eluded you for so long. You gazed out the window at the stars over the Dawn Court, the night embracing you as you dreamed of the days ahead.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

taglist: @marvelsmylife @darlingoftheshadowss @scatteredstardustt

[flowerandblood]

The Man with the Cold Lips

[ Amor • Aemond x Psyche • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, oral sex, fingering, smut, angst, domination, violence, trauma, mourning ]

[ description: After she is attacked in a fair by a strange man and narrowly avoids death, her father the king decides that from now on she will be watched over by one of his ‘ghosts’, a assassin acting on his orders, wearing a black mask. The man follows her like a shadow, accompanied by their past, which keeps her awake at night. Gothic horror love story, angst, sexual tension, very dark Aemond. ]

This story is several requests combined into one: sworn protector x female; Amor x Psyche; Phantom of the Opera! Aemond x female. I took the liberty of creating a completely new story from this, having only elements of each of these requests.

Series & Characters Moodboard Lady Walford Moodboard Gothic & Horror Sensual Moodboard

Part 1 - The Man with the Black Mask | Part 2 - The Man with the Empty Heart | Part 3 - The Man with the Lost Soul | Part 5 - The Man with the Deep Scar | Part 6 - The Man with the One Eye | Part 7 - The Man with the Golden Gift | Part 8 - The Man in the Black Crown | Part 9 - The Man with the Bloody Sword | Part 10 - The Man in the Black Gloves | Part 11 - The Man in the Death Cloak | Part 12 - The Man with the Pearly Hair | Part 13 - The Man with the Fiery Gaze

Yesterday's trailer and the panel with ewan did something to me, so I think that dark aemond is the most appropriate thing I can give you today and that's it. It begins!

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

Although she knew it was dangerous, after what had happened she forbade telling the King about what she had discovered. Some part of her hoped that Prince Aemond was alive − she was willing to help him regain the throne if only he would agree to spare her brother's life.

She spent the rest of the day alone in her chamber, covered in thick furs, thinking hard about what had happened.

About Vhagar.

He told her she knew his name, so he must have been someone she had seen on a daily basis before. Her discovery frightened him enough that he was willing to kill her − however, did he really want to do it out of fear of her father's wrath and the fact that he would lose his position, or was it something else?

She bit her lower lip at the thought that a part of her suspected she might be working with the Prince, to be his liaison, a devoted servant who by some miracle had managed to get into her father-king's closest guard.

He gave up the idea of murder because he knew that even if he had faked her suicide − the King would have blamed him for not watching over her and he would have lost everything, so he came up with another excuse, hiding himself behind sheer terror, hoping that she would believe him.

However, what purpose did what happened between them afterwards?

She pressed her lips together, feeling the heat in her body at the memory of that overwhelming feeling of fulfilment, that wonderful tickling and tension rising in her lower abdomen with each of his thrusts.

She placed her hand on her womb, swallowing hard at the thought that he had come inside her, that she could expect a child because of his seed.

She squeezed her eyelids shut, trying to breathe calmly, thinking only of how much better it would have been if he had let her die that night.

Her father had demanded, despite her objections, that she join the funeral feast in her mother's honour, so she walked reluctantly down to the great hall, her ghost following her at a greater distance than usual.

She thought that he himself was horrified by what had happened between them and the consequences that might follow.

She sat down at the table next to her brother, her father smiled at her and she reciprocated the gesture, thinking with amusement about how easy it was for her to pretend.

"There she is, my daughter. My treasure, my greatest support." He said with a pride from which her throat squeezed.

Only a few years ago she would have believed his words.

She felt him grasp her hand and she reciprocated the embrace, stroking his skin with her thumb.

"She's no longer a child and I've decided it's time to find her a suitable candidate for a husband." He said lightly, she felt her heart stop, the smile disappeared from her lips, on her face only pain mixed with disbelief.

They were at a feast dedicated to the funeral of her mother, his queen, and he was discussing her marriage.

"I ask that willing lords report to me on this matter." He said contentedly, letting go of her hand, and she closed her eyes, trying to calm herself.

She felt him standing behind her, felt his menacing, dark aura, and wondered what he was thinking.

If he imagined her lying in bed with another man, letting him sink deep between her thighs.

She left the feast quickly that evening, explaining to her father that she was tired, which he accepted with understanding. When she stepped into her chamber her servants helped her to pull off her mourning gown, once again offering her condolences, blowing out all the candles one by one.

She lay comfortably under the thick layers of furs, looking out the window at the cloudless sky full of stars, thinking about what had happened, unable to believe that by some miracle she was still alive.

As she began to slowly fall asleep she shuddered suddenly; she heard the door to her chamber open − Vhagar stepped inside without a word and closed it quietly behind him.

She watched with a rapidly pounding heart as, with an unhurried, lazy step, he approached her windows, untied the curtains and covered the only source of light with them, repeating this act until complete darkness fell around them.

She could see nothing but blackness.

She heard the sound of steel hinges opening, then the sound of a belt being unbuckled and the rustling of robes falling to the floor.

She lay still, her lips parted in horror and disbelief, felt once again this familiar, throbbing sensation between her thighs and embarrassing, sticky wetness.

She listened to his footsteps, the old wood creaking under his feet as he finally climbed onto her bed, she heard it bend under his weight.

She felt the touch of his big hand on her cheek and trembled, taking a deep breath, realising he wasn't wearing gloves, his warm breath wrapped around her face.

She tightened her hands on his bare, muscular shoulders as his fingers slipped into the ties of her nightgown and just ripped them open − she squealed when she heard the sound of the fabric being torn and a cool breeze surrounded her flesh.

"− I won't stop −" He said in a trembling, deep voice, so startlingly clear that shivers ran through her, her mouth parted wide in a helpless moan when she realised he wasn't wearing a mask.

She squealed loudly, her body arching all over, her hands clenched in his hair when she felt it, his cold, wet mouth clamped down on her warm breast, playing with her nipple, sucking and licking it, the spot between her thighs throbbing with pleasure and desire.

"− oh − oh, gods −" She mumbled out, never having felt anything like it in her life, his hands ripped her chemise off her and only then did she feel his whole naked body pressed against her skin − it was such an overpowering, shocking sensation that she was out of breath.

She wanted to enjoy every second of what was happening, his lips teasing her nipple with a loud click, clearly taking great pleasure from it, his hands tightened on her hips, forcing her to spread her thighs wider in front of him, her fingers stroking his hair − she thought with a trembling heart that they were unexpectedly soft and long.

"− we can't −" She choked out with an effort, wanting to retain the remnants of her sober thinking and decency.

He, however, only chuckled under his breath, amused, his hand from her hip slid down between her thighs − she whimpered loudly as his fingertips ran over her heat, collecting the moisture that had already managed to flow out of her, oversensitive and delicate.

"− should I leave you like this? − I'm not that cruel −" He hummed under his breath with a kind of excitement from which she quivered all over. She heard him raise himself higher on his elbow, his nose ran over her cheek − she gasped as she felt his fingers begin to apply more pressure, in sure, circular motions teasing the bud hidden between her folds.

All she could think about was that he wasn't wearing a mask, her hand rised involuntarily to touch his cheek.

"Tsk-tsk." He hissed as he caught her wrist − his tongue ran over her upper lip as his middle finger made its way inside her, searching with it for the spot he had rubbed earlier with his length. "Don't."

She mewled with delight and her body shook with a shiver of pleasure when he finally found it, her hips responded to his touch with desperate rocking, her mouth parted invitingly, letting his tongue deep into her throat, their lips joined in a sticky, loud, hot kiss.

She panted loudly along with him, stroking his hair as she felt him slide his finger out of her, impatient, his lips sucking and brushing her fleshy skin again and again as the tip of his manhood pushed against her swollen slit, thrusting forcefully inside her.

She clasped her hands on his bare back feeling the scars beneath them and cried quietly into his mouth, trying with difficulty to fit him inside her − he throbbed all over in arousal, her breasts pressed against his chest in the tight embrace of their bodies.

They both started to moan between loud, wet kisses as he began to root into her hot core − this time she was so wet that a few pushes of his hips were enough for him to begin slipping into her with ease.

"− mmm − that's it − so fucking good −" He panted into her mouth, gripping her hips tightly with his hands, stretching her tight walls with his length with every movement of his hips.

She moaned helplessly beneath him, stroking his hair, neck, shoulders and back, all sweaty from exertion, their lips finding each other in messy kisses over and over again.

"− fuck − do you really think I'm going to share what's mine? − that I would allow some mere, petty lord take you? − hm? −" He hissed out and she felt her walls clench tightly on him at his words in pleasure, heat surged through her lower abdomen from which her head completely spun, her helpless whimpering answered him.

"− p-please − I − ughmm −" She babbled, unable to focus on anything other than how he slammed his manhood into her, how wonderfully it teased the spot hidden in her walls.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, wanting to feel him closer, tightening her fingers on his back − she heard him groan low feeling it, speeding up, thrusting into her like crazy.

"− you want it, don't you? − my seed − deep, deep inside you − fuck, say it −" He breathed out between quick, deep, brutal thrusts − she felt him looking at her, felt his hot breath on her face, his forehead pressed against hers.

"− y-yes − please − fill me, fill me, fill me −" She mewled, both of them moaning loudly as a powerful orgasm shook her body, her core began to clench against him, forcing him to let go, his length twitching all over as his semen spilled deep inside her.

"− good gods, yes, take it −" He exhaled in delight, his thrusts sloppy and desperate, pushing his seed as deep into her as possible.

"− you're mine − I'm going to fill you every night − gods, you're going to bear me so many children −" He gasped in bliss, slowly coming down from his peak, the whimpers of pleasure coming out of her lips at his words − she wasn't sure she'd ever experienced anything like this in her life.

"− please −" She mumbled quietly like a helpless child, running her hands over his naked skin, wanting to remember that wonderful feeling − they were both hot and sweaty with pleasure, their bodies sticking to each other, her breasts pressed against his bare chest.

They both sighed when he finally fell on top of her, embracing her, their fingers sinking into each other's bodies, wanting to feel each other as much as possible, though she wasn't sure if two people could connect in any physical way more than they did now.

She could feel his loud, raspy breath against her cheek, the tip of his nose running over her hot skin, as if he wanted to check that it wasn't all just the result of his imagination.

"− stay − stay inside me −" She whispered, and he sighed quietly, as if relieved, with a gentle movement of his hips sliding his already half-soft manhood fully into her, hiding himself deep inside her.

Even though she knew it was wrong and irresponsible, that she couldn't trust him, that he was a traitor, she had never felt safer with anyone before, her eyelids closing involuntarily, having not experienced a peaceful sleep for so long.

"− don't open your eyes until I leave −" He whispered in her ear and she nodded, stroking his soft hair, her lungs filled with his scent, male sweat, steel, dust and fire.

His arms held her in a tight embrace through this night and many nights to come, making the days blend into one for her.

Each time he came to her he would cover the windows with curtains so that she could see nothing, and then sink his lips and tongue into the warmth between her thighs, groaning in delight as he felt how much of her moisture flowed out of her, only to end up rooting deep into her, as he promised, filling her with his seed.

He always rose before dawn − she could see through her closed eyelids that the first rays of light were sneaking into her chamber despite the curtains, that if she opened them she could see his face.

She feared, however, what she would see.

All she could think about all day was the night, what he brought to her along with the brutal, deep thrusts of his hips.

When he took her, he would say that he was her husband, that only he had the right to touch her, that she would only bear his children.

She was his.

He used to show this to her by standing closer than usual when she was eating or reading, by no longer leaving when she was taking a bath or changing, staring at her shamelessly, promising her servants in her presence that if they said anything to the King, he would end their lives.

"Vhagar doesn't mean it and he would never hurt you against my will. Am I right?" She asked coldly, frowning at him as the terrified girl tried to attach the long sleeves to her gown with trembling hands.

"Mmm."

When they were alone he would dare to approach her from behind as she sit, his leather-gloved hand running over her throat only to grasp her cheeks tightly and lift her face up, forcing her to look at him.

She stared into his eyes obscured by the dark material, at his mask, indifferent, cold, mocking, his thumb gently massaging her skin.

He didn't need to say anything − she could feel the tension between them quivering in the air, making her feel a throbbing inside her.

"Tonight I'm going to make use of those lips." He hummed softly, parting her lips with his finger − she closed her eyes, feeling that she couldn't last, her hand lifted swiftly the thick layers of her gown and slid deep between her thighs, sinking into her moist warmth.

He sighed quietly, looking down at it, clearly taking satisfaction from the fact that his mere presence made her unable to bear it, that she needed to relieve herself.

"− do you want it so badly? − me fucking those moist, sweet lips? − hm? −" He cooed, and she only whimpered, tilting her head back, resting it against his stomach, with a loud, embarrassing click rising and falling on her fingers, teasing her pearl at the same time, feeling her nipples grow hard with arousal.

"− please −" She mumbled, although she didn't know what she was asking for, they couldn't do it now − they had to wait until night fell, like every day.

"− you look wonderful like this −" He murmured, stroking her cheek with his thumb, his voice trembling slightly − she knew that he was already completely hard, that he was dying at the thought of being deep inside her at night. "− so devoted −"

She mewled at his words and felt him clamp his hand over her mouth, stifling her moans that escaped her throat as she reached her peak − she felt her walls clench hungrily on her fingers, wonderful waves of heat surged through her body again and again. She heard him gasp with satisfaction as he saw her body spilling in front of him on the chair.

"− mine −"

That night as they lay in complete darkness, both of them falling asleep, his nose snuggled into the hollow of her neck, his soft manhood deep inside her, she dared to ask him the question that had long been pressing against her tongue.

"Are you Prince Aemond's envoy?"

Her question hung in the air as if in the void; she felt his body freeze − for a moment he did not breathe, his fingers tightened on her soft skin.

Silence.

Long, cruel, cold.

"Yes."

She swallowed loudly, a shudder went through her at his words. He felt it and leaned in, placing a soft, warm kiss on her shoulder, his fingers squeezing her breast with affection.

"I want to help him. Can you convey this to him?" She asked in a whisper and felt him flinch all over, letting the air out of his lungs in disbelief − she felt him lift a little, his hot breath on her cheek.

"What do you mean?" He asked in a trembling, low, deep voice, as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing. She pressed her lips together feeling her heart pounding like mad.

"I will support him if he spares my little brother. If he agrees, I'll do whatever he wants." She said in pain, feeling a squeeze in her throat − his lips pressed quickly against her skin, greedily, violently, kissing and sucking her, his length throbbing hard inside her.

He began to move again, slowly rooting into her with a sigh of delight and relief, saying no more until they reached their peak together, panting loudly, their bodies heated and quivering with exertion.

"− be patient −" He whispered in her ear with such tenderness that she felt her heart squeeze, heat spilling over her lower abdomen. "− soon − I promise you, we'll be married soon −"

After what he said, she fell asleep filled with hope, with the fact that she wanted to believe his words, that he would really protect her, that perhaps a great bloodshed could be avoided this time.

That they would really get married.

She thought that now, that everything had come together in her mind, she could finally look at him − her future husband, the man who had taken her for himself, who brutally and indivisibly stormed into her heart.

That was why, even though she had sworn to him that she would not do so, hearing him get dressed in a hurry she lifted her eyelids.

She felt her heart freeze, her throat squeezed so tightly that she couldn't catch her breath.

He sensed something was wrong, subconsciously realised she had broken her promise and lifted his gaze to her, his hands clenched on the belt of his coat.

A large scar ran across his right cheek, in his eye socket not a blue iris, as it seemed to her when she looked at him through the thin black material, but a sapphire, glinting dangerously in the first rays of the sun, his lips clenched into a thin line, in his healthy eye pain, disappointment and anger.

"You shouldn't have done that."

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes

[boxofbonesfic]

Title: Tonality [6]

Pairing: Prince!Geralt x Princess!Reader

previous chapter

Summary: “The white wolf wants you. He’ll have no other.” As you grieve the loss of your father, your mother marries the king. Whilst you struggle to acclimate to your new life, you begin to suspect the interest your new brother has in you is less than familial.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Dark Fantasy, Darkfic, Step-cest, Medieval/GoT inspired AU, Genre Typical Violence, Mild Descriptions of Violence, Slow Burn, (Future)Smut, Dubcon/Noncon, Manipulation, Gaslighting, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, MINORS DNI!!

A/N: thank you so much to everyone who continues to read and support my work. i really hope you all enjoy this next installment, please don’t hesitate to drop me a comment or inbox me. reblogs are always golden ❤️

You are not, and then, all at once you are again. Awareness spreads like  contagion down each limb, and you know them again as it does. With it, though, comes the pain in your belly, sharp and biting like—

Like a blade. 

It fades as you force your eyes open, your clumsy hands searching yourself for the dagger’s handle. You do not find it, but the relief that floods you at its absence is short-lived. The darkness that greets your wide, panicked stare is so deep and unyielding that for a moment you wonder if you have gone blind—but as you raise your trembling hands before your eyes, you can see them clearly. But beyond, there is only darkness.  

No, not darkness—nothing. 

“H-hello?” Your voice is muted, muddy even to your own ears, the syllables thick and sticky like they passed through honey on the way. “Please-!” The hungry nothing swallows nearly everything but a sluggish, dull thump that echoes in your ears—it is the only sound in the resolute silence. You stumble forward with your hands out before you, fingers outstretched as you wait to encounter something, anything. You do not, though. There is nothing. No cool stone beneath your feet nor the caress of wind your skin. Even the sound of your footsteps is absent, stolen. All there is is the drum. 

It must be a drum, you think, because the sound is so deep it reverberates in your bones. Sluggish. Steady. Panic rises in your chest and you force it down with gritted teeth, your nostrils flaring. 

If this is death, I was right to fear it. 

Your dry tongue tastes like ash and earth in your mouth as you gulp down thick, gasping breaths. But there is no relief in the action, nor in the thick void that flows in through your lips, filling your throat with ink. There is only that sound, deep and heavy—thump, thump, thump.

A hand flies to your breast, pressing against the cool skin above your collar—but you feel nothing. There is no answering pulse from your own veins, your chest cold and quiet. A terrified gasp rips from your throat and you stumble, hands tangling in the torn fabric of your dress. Your blood should be racing, your ears thundering with the roar of it in your veins—but there is nothing. Nothing but the silence and the sound—

Thump.

Thump.

Steady like a heartbeat.

Your heartbeat, drumming in the dark, empty nothing. The echo of it is dull in your ears as if through cotton, but it is the only sound, the only thing in the vast absence aside from you. It rumbles in your bones as you stagger blindly forward, your hands outstretched. The void that presses back against your hands is like spiders silk, strands of ephemeral nothing. You fist your hands in it, and for the first time you feel… something. Like ripping apart fragile cloth—only something inside of you tears too. 

The sensation of it makes you gasp, choking on the dark as it rushes past your lips and into your mouth like dry water. You pull at the ragged strips of nothing and they stick to you like wet paper. You push through the ragged hole into the white light beyond—and fall to your knees on hard stone coughing and choking. You draw the back of your hand across your trembling mouth and it comes away stained inky black, the texture like wet sand. 

For a moment, you heave there on the floor, sticky, pulpy blackness forcing its way up out of your throat. The air you gulp down tastes of something so distinctly alive that it nearly brings you to grateful tears. After a few desperate breaths, you force yourself up to your knees, bracing your hands against the wall as you stagger up to your feet. You feel weak, as though the earths pull might drag you back down to your belly at any moment. 

These… these are my chambers. 

You had not thought of this place as home before, but you are relieved to see it now. The siting area is a mess of gauze wrappings, half-mixed poultices and dried herbs scattered across every surface. It looks as though Healer Janna has been hard at work here, you note with a small, grim smile. The sound of rasping, labored breath draws your attention toward the bed. Though the dark, heavy fabric is almost entirely drawn, the soft firelight shining in through the gaps illuminates the shape of a figure beneath the covers. 

You cross the room with slow steps, trembling as you approach. The drumbeat roars in your ears again as your eye adjusts to the gloom. Your own features swim out of the darkness at you, pained and ashen, your lips pressed into a grim line. The shock of it draws a horrified gasp from your throat, and you stumble back, nearly falling over. The feeling it evokes in you is new, a mixture of terror and disgust as you tear your eyes away from the empty vessel laying before you. That’s it, you think to yourself as you slap a hand to your mouth to hide the violent gag. My body is empty. You retch, your hands fisting in the stiff, dirty cloth of  your dress as you fight to remain standing. 

“To see oneself without a soul is quite a sight indeed.” The sight of Geralt is nearly enough to send you to your knees as you stagger against the bedpost. “I think perhaps that is why they drew the curtain.” He stands by the fireplace, his hand resting upon the mantle. His molten eyes seem lit with the fire’s eerie glow. 

“I am glad to see you, Little Doe.” 

“What’s happening to me?”  Your voice is just as dull and muddy as it had been in the other place, the dark place. You shudder to think of it again, gripping the bedpost tightly. Even the sensation of that seems far away, as though your grasping hands merely clutch at the idea of it. Your step-brother’s expression turns concerned. 

“You’ve left your body, Dreamwalker.” The thought of looking back at the shell on the bed turns your stomach. “A living thing cannot be without a soul, my little witch. The body needs a soul.” The fear that twists in your belly at his words is sharper than the Duke’s dagger. Your eyes widen, your mouth trembling as you cling helplessly to the bedframe as Geralt moves toward you. 

“I—I am—I am not—” Your rebuttals fall from your lips unfinished, scurrying over each other in their haste to leave your mouth. You hold out a hand to halt his approach, and he passes through it like smoke. “I am not a witch!” His amused smile is as off-putting as the sensation of his body diffusing yours. 

“Not yet,” he agrees. “But you could be.” You think of the witch, her fingers tipped in purple-black ichor like they had been stained with pitch. “There is power in your blood. The same as mine.” The smile that flits across his lips is grim, and does not reach his golden eyes. “We are more alike than you know.” He moves as if to touch you and then stops, seeming to remember that he cannot. 

The fear coiling in your chest beats wildly against your ribs. He knows. You wonder if this means word has reached your mother—or worse, the King. There are no elves in the city save the Witch—and you. 

“My mother—”

“Knows nothing.” You’ve little idea what has inspired your step-brother to keep your secret, and a pit of iron forms in your belly as you wonder what steep price he will extract from you for the privilege. 

“Why? Why would you not…” The words stick in your throat. “You’ve no reason to lie for me.” Geralt scoffs. 

“It is an unwise King who would lead his people willingly to civil war.” Geralt looks tired, then, far older than the summers he has weathered. “We are not all so ruled by petty superstition as Duke Emhyr.” There is no lie beneath the words that you can tell, but they ring hollow anyway, like you’re missing parts of them. “It would be quite a waste to see you hung in the square.”  You swallow, your lip curling. 

“So I am to be your pawn?” The sneer curls your lips and bares your teeth. “Your grateful servant?” He laughs then—a deep, loud peal of laughter that strikes like lightning. You jerk backward, forcing space between you. 

“If my aim was your servitude there are more apt ways to ensure it.” He seems content to say no more than that, his golden eyes glittering like coins. 

“But there is a price.” You say, and the corners of his lips curl. 

“You think too poorly of your brother,” he purrs. In an instant, he is again the Geralt you are coming to know and despise. “I would ask nothing of you that you could not give.” His lips curl into a deceptively charming smile. “Indeed, nothing you would not want to.” Geralt’s eyes seem to focus on something behind your head, and the smile slips. 

“We might discuss this later. For now, little Doe, you must return to your body.” You cannot hide the repulsed shudder that passes through you at the thought of looking at yourself on the bed again. “You spent too long in the ether.” 

“Ether?” He rolls his eyes, and beneath the mask of his cool charisma, you see true irritation. Strangely, it pleases you. 

“The dark place, the between place.” He sighs. “Lay on the bed.” He pulls aside the curtain, and you swallow the violent retch that builds in your throat. You close your eyes and crawl onto the bed. You feel nothing against your palms but perhaps the slightest pressure. There is abnormal warmth emanating from the body beside you, however haggard your appearance. It is welcoming, even, like a soft embrace. You want to lean into it, so you do—though you doubt you could help it even if you did not. 

The room shifts, warping and twisting like smoke. You do not want to return to the cold, dark nothing, and you fight against it with all you have. Your will, however, seems as incorporeal as your spirit. As you spin back down into your own subconscious, Geralt’s voice seems to come from every crevice of the chamber—

“And do keep your promise this time, little witch.” 

—

When you wake, there is pain. 

Perhaps it is more apt to say that you wake beacuse there is pain, deep and biting as you force your eyes to open. Your lids feels heavy, like you’ve not abided the task of lifting them in quite some time. Each breath feels strange, rattling in your chest. Sunlight streams in through the parted canopy curtains, and you wince, blinking away the spots trailing across your vision. 

I live.

You feel… weak. Disconnected from your body. It nearly takes more strength than you have to sit up, and you gasp, falling back against the pillows as pain lances through your belly and up your spine. With clumsy fingers, you pull back the covers. You are dressed in one of your loose cotton shifts, and as you tenderly trace the shape of your own body through the fabric, you can feel the thick layers of bandages wrapped tightly around your middle. 

Gingerly, you roll up the hem of your nightdress, your jaw set tight. You follow the edge of the wrappings with your finger. It’s fit snug around your waist, padded thickly with gauze to the left of your navel. It still seems somehow like fantasy, that the duke had stabbed you, that you had felt the cold bite of his steel deep in your belly—

That you had lived. 

“Witch.”

Trembling, you press your hands to your face. Duke Emhyr’s accusations still sting as they echo from your memories, his hatred burning hot like coals behind his eyes. Is he only the first of many? You wonder, wincing sharply as you reach for the goblet of water on the stand by the bed. It’s almost too heavy for you, but you grip it, and bring the edge to your lips. 

The sound of voices begin to echo down the hall, heralding the approach of other people. As quickly as you can, you adjust your dress and draw the covers back up again, waiting for the door to open. 

“—asleep, Your Majesties, when I left to fetch a clean pail of water—”

“And left her alone?” Your mother’s incredulous voice grows louder as the doorknob rattles, and then clicks open. She glides in first, her ornate gown trailing behind her, whispering against the stone. Her eyes narrow as she peers around your chamber in distaste. 

“Have the servants clean up this mess,” she says, the words cool, authoritative. Your mother has always been one for orders, only now there is a smugness to the command, an expectation that the bearer dare not fall short of. Kassandra hurries in behind her, water sloshing in the wooden pail she holds by the handle. She sees you first, nearly dropping the bucket in surprise as her eyes widen. 

“Y-Your Majesty!” She gasps, practically throwing the bucket to the ground as she rushes to your bedside. “Oh thank the Gods!” Your mother gasps at the sight of you, her delicate brows rising. 

“Thank the Gods indeed.” Your mother approaches you, perching herself on the edge of your bed before embracing you. “My daughter… I thought I might never see your eyes open again,” she cups your face affectionately, and though you had not felt the urge to weep before, suddenly your eyes fill with exhausted tears. She is, after all, your mother, staring down at you with concern and relief lining her face. You press your face into the crook of her neck, breathing in the honeysuckle scent of her skin as you sob.  

It’s so much—the Witch, the duke—your mind feels both full to bursting and disjointed with the knowledge of every moment of it all. Elf-kin. Witch. Princess. My lady. Your Grace. Doe. Who are you? What is your name? You know not when last you heard it. You do not know when you became such a meek little thing, so easy to trap in a box to bring a hammer down upon—

But you hate it. 

“You may leave us. I shall call when we need you.”

Your mother hums softly, stroking your hair with gentle passes. She works through the tangled mess as you cry, parting each snare with a motherly diligence that reminds you of summers spent catching fireflies and frogspawn. You cling to her, like a child with a scraped knee. When she has worked her way through every section of your hair, she sighs, massaging your scalp with the tips of her fingers. Finally, when your sobs turn to hiccoughing breaths, your mother sighs, her hand dropping from your head to your bandaged middle. 

“That man is paying for what he’s done to you.” You do not know how her voice manages to be so soft, and yet so hard at the same time. “I will not allow this sin to go unpunished.”

You shiver. “What…what do you mean? Where is Emhyr?” You are glad you cannot see her face, because the smile that drips from her words sounds crueler than anything. 

“The place he’s going to die.” Your mother sounds almost joyful. After a moment more, she releases you, dabbing at your tear-stained cheeks with the soft, flowing fabric of her sleeve before stroking the pad of her thumb over the curve of it. 

“Why did you leave the castle?” Your mother’s face looms before you, her brows knitted together with concern. There’s something else, though, something beneath that. You don’t know how you see it—by rights, she’s given nothing away, and yet you see it still. 

Suspicion. 

Why would your own mother be suspicious of you? You hang your head. 

“I—I just wanted to see the city.” You make the words sound like an admission. “Without a guard.” 

“And look what your stupidity has wrought!” She hisses, gesturing at your belly. “You’re lucky Geralt noticed your absence when he did—did that little, the—” Your mother purses her perfect lips in frustration as she attempts to recall your only lady-in-waiting’s name. “Katherine? Did she help you with this idiocy?” As far as you can tell, she has swallowed your lie whole. You hope it does not work its way up out of her throat to bite you later.

“No, no, I… I just snuck out while the guards were changing, Kassandra knew nothing of it.” You are more glad than ever that you had ordered her to stay behind, the thought of what might’ve happened to her had she come along makes you shiver. The duke did not seem to be much in the mood to deal with stray ladies. The mention of Geralt makes you press your teeth against the inside of your cheek.  Your mother sighs, shaking her head as she pinches the bridge of her nose.

“You are too important to lose.” She regards you with serious, dark eyes. “Do you understand me? You are my only daughter—I can have no more children, you know this. Nor could I replace you if I tried, my love.”

“Yes, mother.” You place your hand over hers. “I understand.” You can find no sign in the relieved cast of your mother’s features that betrays any heritage other than the one you know, and your father is too long in the ground to ask yourself. “I’m sorry I scared you.” You had never been particularly good at lying, the words sticking together and jumbling on your tongue as you tried to string them into something coherent. Now, however, you deliver one after another, your hands steady as stone. 

I’ve more to lose now than I did stealing biscuits from the kitchens.

“I won’t do anything like that again.” She smiles at you, and it is like sunlight, warmth washing over your skin. You do not know how she does that, make her approval something to crave and bask in, even when you cannot trust her. She makes you want to. 

“Thank the Gods.” She presses a kiss to your forehead. “Then all is forgiven.” 

—

You have slept for nearly a full week, you find, as Kassandra helps you bathe and dress. Your mother excuses herself to attend to other matters, and you breathe a sigh of relief at her absence. After all, your head still reels with the truths that you’ve had little time to untangle yourself. You revel in the quiet as Kassandra helps you peel off your old nightgown and step into the copper tub. The water smells vaguely of cloves, and you know this is by order of the closest thing to a witch Rivian faith will abide within the castle walls. 

Healer Janna’s meager magics have kept your body on this side of the abyss, even as your soul has wandered. What little she is allowed she has done, and you are grateful for it, though you suspect the Witch in the lower city might’ve done a better job. 

As Kassandra assists you in unwinding the soiled bandage around your waist, you grimace at the sight of your wound in the mirror. On your side, practically parallel with your belly button if you traced a straight line around. It is not particularly long, but you know by the ache inside that the damage is far deeper than the external cut you see. 

“Tis a miracle he missed anything important,” she says, applying ointment to the wound with gentle fingers. “Damnable man.” She winds fresh, clean bandages around you, and you grit your teeth against the pain. You are growing used to it, though. Your mother has laid out another Rivian dress for you, but you do not even consider it, grimacing as you return it, unworn, to the wardrobe. Winter is coming, and you know the light, flowing dresses of your home are ill-suited for the biting chill that already permeates the castle halls, but you reach for one of them anyway. 

You reason that the tight corsetry your more local garments might irritate your healing wound, and Kassandra makes no mention of it as she helps drape you in the comfortable and familiar dress you choose. A small part of you, though, knows this act for what it truly is and revels in it—defiance. 

“I was so worried,” Kassandra says, sweeping aside your curls to pin a swath of gold colored fabric across your shoulders to create the illusion of sleeves. She has gotten quite good at it, and you wonder if she has been practicing. “When you didn’t come back, and then the prince—” She shakes her head. “I never should have let you go!”

“I shall not have you claim responsibility for my actions,” you reply. “Nor those of the duke.” 

“Did you… Did you meed the Witch?” She asks, her eyes wide. For a moment you consider your answer, and then you nod.

“She… She was not what I expected.” Kassandra has proven herself more than trustworthy, she has been loyal—and not just to the crown, but to you. And even so, you hesitate to tell her what it is you know now, the thing that changes everything and nothing all at the same time. Less elf blood in you than I could hold in my hand, but aye, kin we are, still. You have had so little control since you arrived on these shores, so little choice. One stands before you now, a forking path toward ends you cannot see.

“She told me things about myself I had no way of knowing, but that I feel in my marrow to be true.” You swallow. The last person who heard your name and the word elf in conversation drove a dagger into your belly, and the instinct to hide, to coil yourself up like a snake and be unseen, but you forge ahead anyway.

“What? What did she tell you, my Lady?” 

“She… she told me I was elf-kind.” You watch Kassandra’s face, waiting for her to run for the guard—but she remains seated, earnest concern still gracing her features. She seems to take it in, her brows scrunching before she nods. 

“You are still my Lady, Princess of Rivia. This does not change that.”

You practically sob with relief. Your mother’s coronation had done more than tie you to this strange, new city—it has made you enemies. Scores of them, actually. You suppose you should not feel something akin to joy at the knowledge that Kassandra is not among them, but it blooms in your chest as a grateful smile spreads across your face. 

“I know not from whom this lineage comes,” you say. “But the duke…” You grimace. “He knew, though how I can only guess. He said he could see it in my features—he could tell their favor simply by looking at me. Can you?” To your surprise, Kassandra scoffs. 

“As winter feeds spring, so does suspicion feed doubt. His theories needed little proof, I’m sure. If I might be blunt, Majesty, I have observed you many times, and never once have I wondered if you might be anything other than human.” She finishes pinning your dress, stepping away to admire her handiwork. It’s almost as good as when Madge did it, but there was a distinct Rivian quality to the neckline she has created with the flowing, loose fabric.

“May I be blunt myself, Lady Kassandra?” You ask, turning to face her. She nods. “I am grateful for your loyalty, do not think I question it’s truth. You have been a true friend to me, even when the very Queen has demanded otherwise of you. Why?”

She thinks for a good few moments, her brows furrowed. She seems to choose her words carefully, ordering them all together before she answers. 

“The Queen does not even know my name, Majesty, despite my father sitting upon her very own husband’s council.” She replies. “Your mother knows her allies, and she knows her enemies; and I suppose that leaves little space for those who belong in neither camp. Loyalty is not given, Lady, it is earned. Any that is acquired easier than that should not be trusted.”

The jewelry you are required to decorate yourself with feels especially heavy and overly ornate today, the crown weighing heavily on your brow. You know it would be near scandal to be seen without it, though, and so you remain good and still as Kassandra pins it in place. Now, at last, you may finally leave your chambers, aided in part by Kassandra’s steady arm. Walking is an arduous task, and you find yourself tired and panting by the time you reach the end of the hall. You have no destination in mind, but staying in your chambers feels claustrophobic. 

“And here I thought I would find you resting.” Geralt’s voice spreads out over the silence like honey. “I suppose I should have known you would not stay abed longer than it took to open your eyes.” He stands at the curve in the stair, his hand resting on the bannister. His silver-white hair is pulled back away from his face, and the silver wolf pendant at his throat peeks through the unbuttoned neckline of his shirt. 

“I am pleased to see you on your feet again.” The insinuation behind his words makes your cheeks warm. You have not forgotten the closeness of him, the safety of being pressed against his chest. 

“After a week, I fear I have slept long enough.” You reply with a wry smile. “Thank you.” 

“Were you going down?” He ascends the last few steps and offers you his arm, and after a moment of brief consideration you accept. After all, Geralt is much sturdier than Kassandra. Quickly—so quickly you almost do not notice it yourself—he softly sweeps his thumb over your knuckles as he settles you on his arm. It’s an overtly affectionate gesture, one that makes your stomach churn and flutter. 

“Thank you.” 

Geralt holds you steady, patiently waiting for you to situate yourself on one stair before lowering yourself to the next. Patient was not a quality you associated with the prince, but he demonstrates it now, taking the staircase step by halting step. His hand is warm on the small of your back, and it does not wander. After a moment, you feel the rumble of his voice begin in his chest just before he speaks again, turning back toward Kassandra, just behind you on the stair. 

“Ah, I did almost forget, my Lady, your mother did bid you join her at your earliest convenience. I do believe she mentioned a Lord Arasmus?” Kassandra’s pale cheeks instantly go cherry red as she stares down at her clasped hands. The corners of her lips, though, curl upward into a small, but telling smile. You feel a mirroring one growing on your own features as you chuckle. 

“Why Lady Kassandra, you did not inform me of your impending engagement.” You tease, and she huffs, her entire face turning scarlet as she glares at you. 

“Tis nothing of the sort, Highness. His Lordship is quite a skilled botanist, a-and p-provided my expertise in the gardens—” She stammers out a parchment thin explanation that you fight not to poke holes through as you nod seriously. “I m-might assist with the selection. A-and the planting, maybe.” Her eyes flick up to yours. “Might I be excused, my Lady?”

“Of course.” Kassandra skirts around the two of you, glancing back.

“Thank you, Majesty.” She bows her head politely before she disappears around the curve in the staircase and is gone. Her footsteps fade too, and as the silence settles, you realize you are well and truly alone with the prince. He helps you down another few stairs before breaking the pregnant silence. 

“You choose interesting allies, Princess.” He’s so close you can smell his skin pine and sun and earth. “But that one I think you have chosen especially well.”

“Have you only come to complement me?” You ask, hoping fleetingly that you look as unaffected as you sound. He sees too much, you decide stoutly, stomping down the butterflies filling your belly. Even when you don’t think he sees anything at all.

“And if I had?” Your own reply turns to cotton in your dry mouth. For a moment, Geralt’s golden eyes go hot and hungry like they had that night in the corridor. Your skin pebbles with the awareness of him, his size, his proximity. His breath ghosts over the curve of your cheek.

“Then I suppose it is lucky for you that I come with more than one purpose.”

“And that purpose would be?”

“Clarity, Princess,” he helps you down the last few steps to the landing. “Clarity.” The hall is dotted with servants, and stray lords and ladies whose names and exact stations all escape you, but you accept each gracious bow and earnestly delivered platitude with as genuine a smile as you can manage.

“Oh Your Majesty! How good to see you up again, I do trust your mother gave you my condolences.” 

“You poor thing! Princess please, you must rest!”

“Highness you look wonderful, I do love Redanian fashion so.”

“That vile, treasonous man! How awful, I trust you have kept well?”

You are grateful when you’ve finished wading through them, their cloying perfumes and grasping hands are almost overwhelming to bear. As you clear the crush of lower nobility crowding the outer hall, Geralt steers you toward the throne room. 

“What do you know of the Hunt, Princess?”

The Hunt. You know what everyone knows, you suppose. “The Witcher-Kings of old led them first, to cleanse the land of monstrosities.” You had learned this fact as surely as you had learned your letters. “I know the last one was before I was born.” Geralt scowls at this, his brows furrowing. 

“My father has not led a hunt in over sixty years.” You cannot stop your shocked gasp. From what you’d thought, they were led every fifteen years like clockwork. There were always monsters, things born of chaos and flesh, and there always would be, so long as chaos remained tangled in the realms of man—that was what you had been taught, at least. But to hear one had not been lead in over sixty years… You shook your head with disbelief. 

“In the days of old, there were many Witchers, Princess.” There is no emotion in his voice nor on his face, but somehow, you can taste the sorrow beneath his words, heavy and cloying. 

“And now?” 

“There is only one.” Geralt brings his free hand to the wolf pendant. He does not lead you into the throne room proper, instead steering you past the massive carved doors. “My father called a hunt two nights ago, while you still slept.” Your brows furrow. Why now? Why after all this time?

“Why?” 

“I aim to find out.” 

Geralt casts a swift look down the empty corridor, and pulls aside a heavy woven tapestry, one of many lining the hall. Instead of stone behind it there is a narrow door, one with no knob or handle—only a keyhole. Geralt produces a slim silver key from his pocket, pressing it silently into the lock. You have to step sideways to make it through the doorway, but once you do, you find yourself in a cramped, dark hallway. You start at the feel of Geralt’s hand on your shoulder. 

“Forward, Princess.” With one hand dragging along the wall, you take a few cautious steps into the dark. 

“Where are you taking me?”

“To learn the answers to both of our questions.” The ground slopes upward beneath your feet, and behind you, Geralt urges you forward. You are reminded uncomfortably of your time in the dark place—the prince had called it the ether—the crushing weight of the silence and the vast emptiness of it all…You shiver. Finally, there is light ahead, and you feel your shoulders sag with relief to see it.

The tiny circular room is perhaps no wider than an arm’s length, light filtering in from the gold mesh that runs around it in a tight band. You realize you are in one of the pillars of the throne room, and you stand on the tips of your toes to peer down through the thin braided metal to observe the scene below. You do not recognize every person in attendance, circled around the stone table behind King Vesemir’s throne, but you can place enough of their faces to understand—the council is gathered here, and they are gathered because of you.

“—is Treason. It cannot be argued.” Lord Jakoby is perhaps the youngest member of the council, aside from Kassandra’s own father. “And it cannot stand.”

“No one argues that Duke Emhyr has committed a grave offense—”

Your mother’s cool voice silences every other in the room. “Conspiring to murder the Princess is more than a grave offense.”  You watch her tilt her head, threading her fingers together beneath her chin. “Would you have us send him back to Nilfgaard to gather his armies with a spanking, then?” There is an uncomfortable murmur that passes around the table. 

“No, my Queen, I would not.” He holds his hands up placatingly. “I simply suggest there might be other ways to punish him that do not result in civil war.” Lord Thay combs his fingers through his thinning hair. “The Nilfgaardian army is not a light threat, your Highness. They protect our westernmost provinces, which, need I remind you, produce most of the kingdom’s wheat and grain! Duke Emhyr is no backwater lord with a horse a cart and an unwed daughter to his name, he is Regent of Nilfgaard! We cannot simply behead him in the square!”

Vesemir holds up a hand, and you watch your as your mother presses her lips into a displeased line. 

“I have heard from Lords Thay and Jakoby, Duke Rhone and mine own Queen. Lord Lightfoot, I would hear your thoughts as well.” Kassandra’s father was not a man of many words—he had barely said hello and goodbye at your own mother’s coronation—and he had thus far proved your impressions correct as he sat at the end of the table, utterly silent. And for another few moments, he remains so. 

“Duke Emhyr’s treason cannot be tolerated—but the North must be treated with care.”

“What do you suggest?”

“Her Majesty is right. Duke Emhyr’s treason cannot stand, regardless of his position. There will be strife, Majesty, it cannot be avoided.” He bows his head. “But perhaps it might be mitigated. You must use this hunt as an opportunity to remind the people of your strength. Of the futility of standing against you, my King.” Vesemir is silent, as if weighing the value of each word. 

“And should it come to war?”

Lord Lightwood grimaces. “The beetle is a fearsome foe to the ant, Highness. But it may still be crushed beneath a boot.” 

to be continued…

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Happy Pride!!!! Living Blood or Lady Mo please!

a continuation of 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43

Xuanyu disrobes unashamedly, hesitating only at the last second with the sleeve covering her left arm.

Jiang Yanli laughs. “Bit late to be modest, I think.”

“Modesty is overrated,” she returns, which is something that Zixuan would say and A-Yao would think. She slips the rest of the robes off and steps into the steaming bath, letting out a deep sigh of satisfaction.

The changes her body has undergone are even more obvious without the thick layers of the robes obscuring her form. The extra weight seems to have settled in ideal places, not only thickening her waist and limbs but settling heavily along her hips and breasts, which hadn’t exactly been small to begin with.

She sits behind Xuanyu, filling a bowl with water and then pouring it over her hair to rinse it of blood and dirt that had been hidden by her dark hair. Acting as a bathing assistant is far below her station, but Xuanyu had sent all the servants away and she doesn’t mind, really. Xuanyu is her sister, likely the only one she’ll ever have considering A-Cheng’s track record with matchmakers, and she’s been worried about her. This gives them time to speak alone. “How has your marriage with Lan Wangji been? Has he been kind?”

Xuanyu pulls a face, which isn’t encouraging. “I guess. He mostly left me alone, and then we had a couple fights and he was a jerk, and now I think he’s trying to make up for being a jerk, but it’s a little – well, it’s nice that he’s making an effort. I suppose.”

Not as good as she’d hoped, but not as bad as she’d feared. “Sect Leader Lan seems fond of you.”

“Oh, Lan Xichen is great,” she says easily. Better than reaction to Lan Wangji, but still not what Jiang Yanli had been hoping for. Then her eyes light up. “Sizhui is wonderful! I’ll give Wangji one thing, he’s raised a good kid. He’s so sweet, and a great cultivator, and he’s always trying to help out everyone around him. I’m glad Jingyi’s always hanging around – without him, I think everyone would just take advantage of Sizhui’s good nature.”

Well, that’s something. Surely Lan Wangji can’t resist Xuanyu’s charms for long, not when she dotes on his son and gets along with his brother.

“What trouble did you get into on the road?” she asks, running her hand over the wound on Xuanyu’s shoulder. It looks nearly fully healed already and there’s another mostly healed wound on her hip, a thin slice on her left arm, and the shadow of various bruises that were likely much worse a couple hours ago. It’s of course a good thing that Xuanyu has a strong golden core, but Jiang Yanli can’t help a moment of wistfulness.

Her own core never lived up to her mother’s expectations, or her own. If she’d had a stronger core, she could have given A-Ling siblings. A child should have siblings. She would have had a calmer childhood without two little brothers underfoot, but a lonelier one too.

Xuanyu shrugs, lazily scrubbing herself down. “Looks like Xiao Xingchen picked up the girl, A-Qing, while he and Song Lan were separated and was trapped in this place that was basically a ghost town.” How could he be trapped by a place that had no people? “And I’d heard some rumors so when we ran into Song Lan I helped him find Xiao Xingchen, but there was a bit of a fight with someone who didn’t want him to leave. I just happened to get caught in the crossfire, so to speak.”

She’s stretching the truth to outright lying. Before Jiang Yanli can call her on it, her stomach growls.

“Didn’t get a chance to eat on the road?” she teases.

Xuanyu flushes, ducking briefly beneath the water to hide her flaming cheeks before resurfacing. “Things were a little hectic. It may have slipped my mind.”

How has she managed to put on weight while also forgetting to eat? Perhaps Lan Wangji deserves more credit.

“I think I have some candies in my room, if you want something before the banquet,” she offers. “I know the speeches take forever.”

Her eyes light up before dimming and she slumps in the bath. “Thanks, Yanli-jie, but I better not. Sizhui gave me some on the road and I usually love them but just putting it in my mouth almost made me sick. It was awful. And weird! They’re my favorite.”

Jiang Yanli blinks then gives Xuanyu’s significantly larger chest a considering look. It could be nothing. It’s probably nothing. She hasn’t even been married a year and it doesn’t sound as if she and Lan Wangji have been seeing eye to eye.

Then again, the same could have been said about her and Zixuan.

“Can I ask you something personal, Meimei?”

Xuanyu nods. “You can ask me anything, Yanli-jie.”

“Are you and Lan Wangji having sex?”

She turns bright red and ducks beneath the water for so long that Jiang Yanli is starting to get concerned before she resurfaces, still red faced. “Um. We did once. Well – I guess, technically, it was three times, but it was only one night.”

Well. Apparently Lan Wangji has stamina on and off the battlefield.

“One moment,” she says, briefly squeezing Xuanyu’s shoulder. “I’ll be right back.”

It takes one whispered conversation with the servant outside the hall and approximately ninety seconds before her personal healer is standing in front of her. Jiang Yanli ducks back inside to see Xuanyu out of the bath, in a thin bathing robe that’s clinging to her as she wrings her hair out. “I’d like my healer to take a look at you, Meimei.”

Xuanyu freezes, slowly standing straight with a wary look on her face. “That’s really not necessary. The wounds were just superficial and they’re basically healed already.”

“It’ll be quick,” she says, because if she’s right then she can’t let Xuanyu go down to the banquet without letting her know. “She’s very discreet – she’s been my personal healer since I was a child.”

“Jiang Xingyi?” Xuanyu asks, some of her tension draining away.

Jiang Yanli nods, trying to think of some reason that Xuanyu would know her healer’s name, or her reputation, but all the servants are terrible gossips and her health is a frequent topic of derision. “Just your wrist, okay? Your golden core has changed a lot. I just want her to take a look.”

She feels bad about lying, but Xuanyu had lied to her first.

Xuanyu relaxes even further. “Okay, Yanli-jie. If it’ll make you feel better.”

“Thank you,” she smiles, then opens the door to usher Jiang Xingyi in.

The old woman doesn’t smile, but Xuanyu grins back undeterred, and says, “Hi, Granny,” before paling and adding, “uh, um. Sorry.”

Jiang Yanli feels a familiar pang of grief go through her. A-Xian had referred to Jiang Xingyi as Granny, the only disciple both bold and beloved enough to get away with it.

Jiang Xingyi ignores her, instead reaching for her wrist and pressing her fingers against it. Xuanyu fidgets, shifting from one foot to the other, but says nothing as the moments stack on top of one another.

Finally, Jiang Xingyi drops her wrist and steps back. Her stern visage breaks, a smile stretching her mouth across her face. “Congratulations, Madame Lan.”

She knew it!

“Thanks,” Xuanyu answers before wrinkling her nose. “Um. For what?”

“You are expecting,” she answers. “At least a couple months along, I believe, although I’d have to do a more thorough examination to be sure.”

Jiang Yanli moves to embrace her, but Xuanyu’s face drops and she turns dangerously pale. “What? No. That’s not possible. I can’t be.”

“Three times,” Jiang Yanli reminds her, trying to goad Xuanyu into laughter.

But instead she just shakes her head. “No, no I can’t, I – this can’t be happening,” she whispers to herself, grabbing her own arms in a white knuckled grip. “It’s not. It’s impossible. I can’t be.”

She’s young, and this wasn’t a marriage of her own choosing, and it’s so new. Of course she’s surprised and nervous. Jiang Yanli touches her elbow, intending to say something soothing, but Xuanyu collapses into her arms, gripping her waist and hiding her tears in her shoulder.

“Xuanyu!” she says, hugging her back just as fiercely, her heart breaking for the younger girl’s anguish. “Meimei, it’s okay, I know this is scary, but it’s going to be fine.”

“It’s not,” she says, voice thick with tears, “A-jie, this is awful, this is – it can’t happen! It can’t, Wangji is going to be so mad, he’s going to hate me, and everything is ruined and awful, I can’t be – I can’t! I’m going to die!”

Jiang Yanli’s whole body goes cold and she grips Xuanyu even tighter against her. “You’re going to be fine,” she says, pushing her conviction into every syllable.

No matter what Jiang Yanli has to do, Xuanyu is going to be fine.

[jeonjungkookenthusiast1997]

The Price of Love and Loyalty - Lee Minho x Reader

Summary: Y/N is sent deep into enemy territory, by her older brother, to try and mend an age old feud between two Mafia organisations. Can she gain the trust of the Stray Kids? Can a hatred that long standing be fixed by a simple truce? All Y/N knows for sure is it's going to take a lot of patience to make this messy situation work out for the best.

Do not repost or translate my work! My blog is 18+ so minors do not interact!

TW: gangs, mafia families, weapons and mentions of violence, some major hostility between everyone involved, mean Minho, mentions of BTS as a rival gang.

Word Count: 3K

"This is a bad idea Namjoon. A really fucking bad idea"

Y/N's words echo through her thoughts as she walks the streets of Seoul. 

Slender fingers pull at the sleeves of rather thin coat attempting to pull it closer to her shivering body as she roams the abandoned streets looking for a very particular building, it's been a long time since she'd been allowed to this part of town so she endeavours to soak it all in before she's no doubt banished back to her own territory… or worse. 

Her older brother Namjoon was the imposing, usually smart, leader of the Mafia she belonged to but she truly feared her beloved brother may have finally lost his mind if he thought sending his little sister into enemy territory is a good idea. 

Bangtan had lost a lot of good and loyal members recently in fights with their rivals Stray kids, so determined not to lose anyone else Namjoon decided a truce was the best course of action. 

That is why Y/N is currently trudging towards Stray Kids headquarters, her nervous eyes flitting between buildings that tower above her.

"Almost there" she whispers to herself in a bid to settle her nerves. 

She rounds the last corner to her destination with a weary smile and is about to walk the last stretch of pavement when a blow to the back of her head sends her body hurtling to the rocky floor, dark bleeds into her vision as she moans in pain before losing consciousness.

When Y/N finally wakes up her eyes are watering, barely adjusting to the harsh light when a dark chuckle sounds in her throbbing ears. She looks down as her head swirls with confusion and notices that she's tied to a chair with thick black ropes.

Groaning, she tries to lift her head to look at her assailant. A disparaging ‘tsk’ is sent her way as her eyes finally focus on the man in front of her.

“I would advise you not to move too much YN, you'll only make things worse for yourself” she recognises the voice as a pair of cruel brown eyes reveal themselves.

"Lee Minho" she grits her teeth as the words drip from her throat like venom.

A sinister smile stretches over his lips and reaches his cheeks as he glares at the woman left helpless before him looking her up and down before whispering in a dark tone ”you're in my territory now little one”

Y/N glares at Minho as she watches his movements carefully "you've got a shitty way of greeting people, you didn't need to knock me out. I would have come peacefully"

Minho scoffs as he moves closer to her "yeah yeah and I'm the king of England, why are you in my territory anyway?”

He's so close to her now that she can feel his warm breath fan over her face as he speaks. She hums to herself as she acknowledges his words.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" A smirk graces her features as she tugs on the ropes binding her hands behind her back "maybe I'm just here to get a glimpse at the great and powerful Lee Minho, is that a crime?"

The man's distaste for Y/N is palpable as his nose scrunches in disgust “Oh, not at all YN…” he coos sweetly at her, his words dripping with sarcasm “but your appearance here is still a little suspicious don't you think…”. Minho tilts his head to the side as he looks at her.

Y/N notes that, with his face so close, his eyes are a warmer shade of brown than she remembered with almost golden flecks scattered around the orbs making them shine beautifully and yet at the same time they appear so cold and cruel. She doesn't dwell on those distracting thoughts for long though as she tugs on the ropes again to no avail.

With an overly dramatic sigh her head tips backwards in an attempt to get away from his fiercely perceptive gaze.

"Fine, fine I'm here on behalf of my brother. He wants to talk to Chan. Figured he'd be shot on sight if he came here himself so here I am…yay" her eyes roll as she feigns enthusiasm.

Minho’s eyes glow darkly but surprisingly he does chuckle at her “ah, so you’re just Namjoon's little messenger? But why does he want to talk to Chan?”

Y/N’s eyes shift to look away from the man to a dark corner of the bleak room "I guess you could say that. Is that really any of your concern? I'm here to talk to Bang Chan, not you"

A low, almost animalistic, growl leaves his throat almost shocking her “anything involving Chan's safety is of concern to me, little girl”

Minho’s gruff voice echoes loudly in the small room “so, I advise you not to hide anything from me, otherwise you won’t be getting what you came for. Haven't you learnt not to mess with me Y/N?”

Minho moves his head away from her face as his fingers trace over a small wound, coated in dry blood.

Wanting to be as far away from Minho as she possibly can given her circumstances she tries to shift her body but can only pull so far away with her hands bound making her huff in annoyance.

"My brother wants to call a truce between our organisations" the room is silent for a moment before Minho finally speaks up.

“A truce?” he's clearly not very happy about the offer judging by the frown on his face “and why do you want a truce?” he smiles crookedly as he adds “our families work very differently. You, above anyone should know that for a fact”

Her ability to remain calm is slipping as she grits her teeth to stop the insults that threaten to leave her lips.

"Oh come on Minho we both know a truce would be beneficial to us all. We've both lost good people in the last few months, Jungkook has a hole in his leg currently because of a gun fight with your men!"

The brooding man smiles fondly at this fact "ah yes…poor pathetic Jungkook"

Something inside of her snaps at that "well I happen to know that your precious little Hannie is bundled up in bandages right now after a run in with Jimin" she smirks at the probing words knowing it's bound to get a reaction.

A fire blazes in Minho's eyes as he reaches out to grip her hair harshly between his fingers "the fuck did you just say?"

Y/N simply smiles at him as she remains silent, wide doe eyes blinking at him in fake innocence.

"Why would we want a truce after everything Namjoon has allowed his men to do?" Minho drops her hair from his hold as he turns his back on her, ready to leave her to rot in that disgusting room.

"I understand you don't trust us and I don't blame you. Hell if you came knocking on my door I'd have Yoongi knocking you on your ass in seconds"

She lets out a laugh as Minho's retreating form stiffens "that's another reason why I'm the one that's here"

At that Minho turns to face her with a look of actual interest in what she had to say "I need to see Bang Chan before I continue speaking, I don't want the message to be misinterpreted"

His eyes roll but he gives her his full attention again “you're right, I don’t trust you”

Minho’s body seems to tense but he isn't outright rejecting her words “but since you are here in the flesh clearly as a sign of goodwill, I will let you talk to Chan”

Minho steps away but she feels a chill run down her spine as he turns towards her “but I’ll be staying right here with you”

It's an understandable response really and she had been waiting for it, Minho is part of Bang Chan's inner circle and the head of his security detail so she doesn't fight him on this front.

"I expected that so please untie me so we can get this over and done with" she wiggles her arms to get his attention on her bound limbs.

Minho seems to think for a moment, weighing up his options before he mutters a gruff “No. You stay bound”

Minho uses one of his hands to grip her arm, lifting her body up into a standing position making her whine out in frustration.

He keeps his hold on her arm firm as he stands beside her “for our safety and yours…let’s go" without any more warning he begins pulling her out of the room and down a long corridor.

They pass a few locked doors and armed guards before stopping at a large and intricately decorated door.

"Are you ready?" Minho smirks as his hands come to knock on the door.

He gives the door a few sharp taps before opening the door to reveal the Bang Chan himself staring at them intently.

There's a few men huddled around him as they point to some papers that are scattered across the leaders desk, the hurried whispers stopping abruptly as Minho steps into the room stopping as the pair reach Chan.

“Hyung I have a surprise for you” Chan's eyes almost bulge out of his head as he clearly recognises Y/N.

Chan's eyes stay trained on Y/N for a few moments before they slide to her side to look at Minho "what the fuck is she doing here? Should I be expecting Namjoon to burst through my window any second now?"

He's clearly very annoyed and at that moment Y/N is glad it isn't being directed at her.

"Apparently she was sent here by Namjoon actually" Minho shrugs his shoulders dismissively.

"Oh really? What happened to her head then? And why is she tied up?"

At this Minho finally looks somewhat sheepish "okay that was me but she was intruding on our turf!"

"I didn't know she was here to deliver a message and I sure as shit didn't wait around to ask! I haven't untied her in case tries something" Minho turns his head pointedly to look in her direction as he finishes speaking.

Chan sighs deeply as he rubs his eyes "a message? What message?" Chan's eyes are planted firmly on Y/N again, much to her displeasure, as Minho nudges her.

"I have already told Minho this…" she glares at him as he smiles amused by her side

"but I'll say it again for the benefit of everyone in the room, I'm here because my brother wants a truce between Bangtan and Stray kids" she waits patiently as her words float through the air.

Chan’s gaze is laser focused on the nervous girl, he is silent for a moment before he finally speaks.

“A truce, huh...?"

"Why does Namjoon want a truce and why send his precious little sister into the lion's den? Any of us could have killed you on the spot, you’re lucky you escaped Minho with a simple cut”

Clearing her throat before speaking again she looks to the floor "Namjoon's sick of seeing his brothers hurt and murdered"

"That's why he wants a truce and as for your other questions, he sent me because he knows that above all else you respect women. He figured you'd at least let me explain myself"

She takes a breath as all the eyes in the room are focused on her

"that and well, there's too much bad blood between you and our members. At least I haven't killed any of your men" she finishes as her eyes scan the men standing beside Chan.

She recognises a few faces.

She notes that Felix and Changbin are at his side with Seungmin off in the corner watching her intently with dark cold eyes as he spins a butterfly knife between his fingers sending chills down her spine.

"He also sent me because I'm part of the deal he's offering"

"As a sign of good faith Namjoon is proposing that I stay here until you can be sure he won't attack your 'home' anymore" she closes her eyes for a moment as she tries to calm her rapidly beating heart.

The room is so silent after her speech that it's almost suffocating as she waits with bated breath for some sort of response.

Chan's face hardens, surprising her "he's offering to keep you here? Like you're some sort of prize for us to hang on the wall? What if we don't trust you enough to keep you here?"

Y/N goes to speak but is stopped as Chan stands up from his seat. He walks around the desk and towards her as sweat starts to build on her forehead.

"Are you even willing to stay here? Willing to follow my rules?" Y/N nods to Chan's questions.

"Namjoon has asked me to do this and I will do it to the best of my ability. I've also seen such horrible things, watched our members get hurt, had to watch Taehyung hold Jungkook down as he screams in pain so that I can make the blood running from his leg finally stop…".

Her vision becomes cloudy as she bites her lip as the tears drip down her cheeks "I want it to stop" she whispers as she looks down to the floor, not wanting the enemy to see her hurting even if she was trying to negotiate an alliance with them.

Bang Chan is silent as he looks at her for a moment, she can feel that Minho is looking at her too and the thought makes her wriggle against the rope wrapped around her hands.

“very well…I can see the loyalty you have for your family. I only hope we can trust you to show the same loyalty to us”

Chan turns his back on them as he walks back to his desk ignoring the surprised looks from the younger members "you can untie her now Min"

Minho nods as he pulls out a knife and cuts the rope. Her eyes drift to his own and she notices that his face is a little softer than it had initially as Chan sits down he watches Y/N wipe the tears from her face with a look of sadness.

"I take it your brother will be in touch to finalise the details?" She simply nods, not quite trusting her words.

"In that case, Minho, I'll be entrusting dear Y/N to you to watch over" Minho groans at the command but nods dutifully.

"Take her and get her step up in the room beside yours" Chan gives Y/N one last look before returning his attention to the papers on his desk, Minho takes a hold of her arm more carefully than before and tugs her out of the room.

It's oddly silent as they walk down the winding corridors which lead to his room, Minho finally speaks up after noticing the awkwardness of the situation.

"I suppose I should officially welcome you to the family..." Minho says while attempting to diffuse the tension.

He leads Y/N up a flight of stairs before finally reaching two doors "My room is the first on the left here if you need anything and this is your room" Minho opens the door and ushers Y/N into the room as he strolls in after her.

Y/N looks around the room while Minho fiddles with something off to the side; the room is relatively simple, she notes, it has a large floor to ceiling wardrobe, a comfy double bed. A full sized mirror and a lamp stowed beside a small bedside table.

Minho gives her a few moments to find her bearings before speaking "well it's late and I'm ready for this day to be fucking over"

His sigh makes her turn to look at his face, his eyes are bloodshot and has bags under them which makes her wince as he gives her a piece of paper which seems to hold his phone number on it.

"in case you need it… try not to though ‘kay?" she nods while watching him walk to the door, leaving the young woman to her new personal space.

"Chan will probably arrange for me or Bin to go get your shit from Bangtan so don't worry about all that"

Y/N eyes start to water a little at the mention of her old home making Minho panic as he moves towards the door "since I'll be watching over you for now, if you need anything just text me or knock on the wall… I guess”

He's about to leave when Y/N grabs his wrist making him turn back “thank you for you know… not killing me straight off the bat”

Minho snorts at her words as he nods “hmm you're lucky you’ve got a pretty face. Wouldn't want to mess it up too much” again he laughs at her when he notices her wide eyes.

“Night” he smiles ever so slightly as he turns and slips away into his own room leaving Y/N alone to take everything in.

Changing into some old shorts and a baggy top she found laid on top of her bedside table she flung herself onto the bed, it was comfy sure but it wasn't home.

As her thoughts turn to her brother and his own inner circle, each of the members in it becoming like family themselves, tears flow freely from her heavy eyes and her chest rises with her increasing sobs.

She doesn't even care anymore if the Stray Kids members can hear her, she's distraught about leaving them behind but she understood why Namjoon had done it and that made the pain in her heart burn a little less brightly.

She'd done this for them, to stop the bloodshed and pain that invaded their lives daily and if her living here was the only way to do that she would have to suck it up and deal with it. As she's about to go to sleep her phone, which she had almost forgotten about, buzzes to life with messages coming through fast.

Jeon Cena 💪🏼:

Y/N?

Are you okay?

Do I need to beat some bitches up?

Cause I swear I'll come down there and

fuck

them

up

😡

God of Destruction 💀:

Please tell me you got there safely? 💜

Kook calm down, I'm sure everything's fine

Jiminie Cricket 🦗:

Speak to us Y/NNN

If you don't answer I'll be forced to cut a bitch 🔪

J-Nope 🔆:

Has anyone heard from her yet?

Guessing not?

Motionless Min 😴:

No

Starting to worry now…

Jinnie Choos 💁🏼‍♂️:

Lil Tae Tae 🎤:

If she doesn't answer in the next 5 minutes I say we burn their building to the fucking ground

Jinnie Choos 💁🏼‍♂️:

Motionless Min 😴:

Wouldn't we risk killing Y/N doing that?

Seems counter intuitive? 🤷🏼‍♂️

God of Destruction 💀:

No one is doing anything until she gets in touch and that's final

Everybody got that?

Jeon Cena 💪🏼:

What if she doesn't get in touch?

We sit around and do nothing?

Strawberry Shortcake 🍰:

Guys!

I'm fine!

Please don't burn the building down 🙈

Just been given a room so it could be worse

Seems like I'm stuck with Lee Minho for the time being 😫

She can't help but laugh as fresh tears roll down her cheeks "fuck I'm going to miss these idiots"

Y/N wipes the tears from her eyes before quickly explaining to the guys exactly what had happened from Minho tying her up, which was met with many furious responses, to Chan agreeing to the truce.

It takes her a few hours but finally the exhaustion finally kicks in and her swollen eyes close as she begins to dream of her happy life back at Bangtan.

Once she felt she'd given a good enough update she bid them all good night and buried herself under the unfamiliar covers.

[psychedelic-ink]

𝑰 𝑵𝑬𝑬𝑫 𝒀𝑶𝑼 𝑻𝑶 𝑻𝑬𝑳𝑳 𝑴𝑬 𝑻𝑯𝑨𝑻 𝑰'𝑴 𝑮𝑶𝑶𝑫

pairing: tommy miller x fem!reader

genre: smut, soft enemies to lovers, minors dni

word count: 3.4k

summary: when you met him the first time him and his brother was your captor, months later he becomes yours, and quickly after that he become a resident of Jackson. You've already forgiven him for his past, but he's not happy with how eager you are to excuse what he's done.

warnings: tommy having a hero complex, tommy lashing out, piv sex, time skips, oral (giving & receiving)

a/n: the format I've written this in is inspired by @littlemisspascal 's getting lost is being found joel fic, which I highly recommend by the way it was amazing, one of my favorite things ever 💜

i.

The world went to shit, well joke on the world, your life was already shit long before outbreak day. 

It wasn’t for a lack of trying. Nothing just seemed to work out for you. But then all hell broke loose and suddenly it felt like you were off the hook, that you could be someone else, someone you always wanted to be. Someone that you knew you were. Before all this, you were just hurt, felt broken, but still smiled and went about your day. You tried to be good. Tried to be nice. For the most part, you like to think that you succeeded. 

You became a guide. Somewhat similar to Charon, if you spared yourself the thought but instead of guiding the dead to Hades, you guided the living away from it. Things went smooth for the most part, you helped people where they needed to go, killed infected, shot down those who shot first. It was the oddest type of freedom that you felt. 

But life had other plans, and life loved to point its middle finger right into your face. 

It’s a dad and his two kids this time, you were helping them get to the nearest QZ. You cut the fence, helped them through, you knew hunters were lurking nearby, people who survived on killing and stealing—vultures. 

You feel a tight grip on your neck and you’re being violently pulled back. The kids look back at you with horror lingering in their eyes, the dad eager to pull them away. With a deep breath, you manage to force out a smile. 

“Go!” you shout. “You’re almost there!” 

And they run, they run as fast as they can. 

“Fuck!” you hear one of them say, a deep souther drawl heavy in your ear. “Shit, they got away. They had good weapons on them too.” 

“At least we got the one,” the man that holds you answers. “Let’s go back, see what this one has.” 

“Let me the fuck go!” you struggle, attempting to elbow him in the stomach. “You fucking assholes. They were fucking kids.” 

Finally one comes into view, he’s broad—broad enough to stun you into silence. The fear of death lurks around your heart, sucking you into a black pit of realizing that this might be it. He has a glare that could kill, a hooked nose, and, most importantly, a gun. This man, you notice, this man would kill you in a heartbeat. He gives you one last once-over before tilting his head to the other holding you down. 

“Knock her out, Tommy.” 

ii. 

It’s late. Far too late for anyone to be awake. The embers of the crackling fire had died down, only specks of golden orange shimmering between the ash. You’ve learned the names of your captors; Tommy and Joel. Brothers, you assumed, they didn’t really have to spell it out for it to be obvious. 

You’re not sure why you’re still alive. You remember Joel muttering something about using you as bait, or to learn more about the routes that you seemed to know. Tommy had agreed. 

In another life, another time, you would’ve deemed the men attractive. Especially Tommy. He had a boyish charm to him, longer hair compared to his brother (those poor dark locks had definitely seen better days), and mussed unkempt facial hair indicating that they’d been at this for a long time. You understand, to a degree, why someone might choose this to survive. Some people just didn’t know what else to do. Some people simply enjoyed it; the power, the freedom, the giddiness of not having a system to say no. 

From what you understand, these two just had no idea what else to do. Too far off to reach a QZ, or they simply don’t trust FEDRA, whatever it is they seem to have made a life for themselves neither of them looked happy to be in. 

Your eyes fall to where Joel is sleeping, Tommy’s on watch, which makes you somewhat hopeful, you don’t have the strength to piss off Joel—Tommy you can take a chance with, he seemed softer. Softer like a rose, pricking you if you’re too lax and not careful enough. 

You’ve been captured before, and due to that, it doesn’t take long for you to free yourself from the hard ropes they tied you in. You hold your breath as you move away from the camp, careful not to step on any branches or rubble. You see Tommy ahead, he’s looking at you, the moonlight reflecting in his eyes. You expect him to shoot, to chase after you. 

He continues to stare as you disappear into the night. 

ii.

You see a lot of dead bodies by the riverbed. Some infected, some not. You think about turning around, walking back to where you came from but before you can make a decision you’re surrounded. Your hands rise instantly, not wanting to cause trouble. Multiple rifles are pointed directly at you, and you notice a cute black dog but you have an inkling you won’t be feeling the same in a couple of minutes. 

“I’m not here to cause trouble,” you say, the cold seeping through your jacket. “Just lost. I’m not infected.” 

“Naive for you to think we’ll believe you,” one of the horsemen answers. “You mind if we test that out?”

You didn’t mind, but even if you did, you doubt you have any say in the matter. The dog comes forward, ears pressed against his skull, and you instinctively reach out your hand. You can’t really feel the wetness of his nose, but you can imagine it as he presses into your gloved palm. A moment later he starts wagging his tail. 

A horse, along with its rider, steps up and everyone looks nervously at the equestrian. You straighten yourself and notice that even the dog pulls away, the energy she has demands respect, and oozes power. You swallow, looking up at her with both amusement and fear. 

"You can come with us," she says, and without hesitation, one of the men helps you up onto the horse they're riding. Your hands fumble nervously as you grab onto the horse's shoulders, trying to steady yourself.

You’re not dead yet so you must be doing something right. 

iv. 

You trudge through the biting snow, your skin prickles with cold and the relentless flakes melt as soon as they touch your skin. You shudder. The cold is almost unbearable, but everyone has to pull their weight, no exceptions. Narrowing your eyes,, you spot a lone figure struggling in the snow. The way he moves is sluggish and ungainly, like a snail inching its way along a path.

With a sharp whistle, you signal to your companions to follow. They circle around the body with hesitation; it’s a man, a man that is somewhat familiar to you. The stranger groans and turns to his back, chest heaving heavily, you notice the tremble of his lips, the redness of his nose. You even notice the build-up of snow in his hair.

You know him. You have no idea how he ended up all the way here, but you know him. Getting off the horse, you shake your head. You don't know him, not really. You only know his name and what he represents.

Ian approaches, his eyes questioning as he asks, "What should we do? Should we leave him?"

“I know him,” you say, a hint of amusement in your voice due to the irony. “Let’s take him in. I’ll talk to Maria.” 

His eyes flutter open, a brief expression of confusion appearing on his features. You can’t help but lean over a bit, hands placed on your hips. 

“You’re not dead yet. Don’t worry.” 

But as soon as the words leave your lips, Tommy loses consciousness.

v. 

He’s alone at the bar. He’s always alone. 

Initially, Maria was reluctant to let Tommy stay, but for some reason, you vouched for him. You deeply believe that everyone deserves a second chance. A slightly foolish, maybe even childish, thought on your part but you can’t help it. In his eyes you only see parts of a broken man, his belief in the world shattered and gone with the wind. 

Tommy struggles with socializing. He says hi and good morning but that’s pretty much all anyone can get out of him. You’re the only one who knows he has a brother, what he’s done. He’s especially annoyed when you’re around, which you think is a little bit unfair but you digress. He does what he’s told and handy with most things—which is lucky for you, you would hear a handful if he couldn’t do anything. 

You want to talk to him, you have ever since you first saw him again. Hoping that this time it’ll be different, you sit near him not next to him. There are two empty seats between you two. 

“Hi,” you greet him, he doesn’t look at you. In fact, he doesn’t acknowledge you at all. “How are you?” 

No answer. 

“You’re not having any issues right? You know, heating, water pressure, all that jazz.” 

You’re not surprised at the least when he gets up and leave, not a word uttered. He pushes past the crowd and disappears through the door, into the cold. Unlike other times, this is the first instance where anger simmers hot in your gut. You’ve been nothing but patient. But not tonight. He’s going to talk to you whether he likes it or not. 

With anger in your steps, you storm out. Luckily, he’s not far. You find him staring up at the undecorated Christmas tree. Normally, you would find it a somber sight, but you’re too frustrated to think about how good he looks with snow falling around him. 

“Tommy!” you yell out, and he flinches, head snapping to you with wide eyes. “What the hell is your deal?” 

“My deal?” he answers, voice eerily smooth and calm. “I should be fuckin’ asking you that.” 

You’re standing an inch from him, the cold biting into your skin. “My deal? I’ve been nothing but nice to you. Wouldn’t wanna play that card but may I remind you that you’re fucking alive because of me? You could at least not be an asshole.” 

“Sure you wanna go that route sweetheart? Because I could easily say the same thing for you.” 

That night—the night that you escaped, so he did see you. All this time you convinced yourself that it was your eyes playing tricks in the dark. You shake your head, wanting to dislodge the moment from your mind. 

“That still doesn’t answer my question,” you hiss. “Why are you avoiding me? I just want to talk.” 

“Just leave me the fuck alone. You shouldn’t want to talk to me— someone like you… It ain’t normal. I should’ve died that night. I didn’t ask you to fuckin’ save me.” 

You’re taken aback by the silent rage but refuse to show him the effect he has. The only indication that his words had any kind of result is when you take a step back, allowing him some semblance of space. 

“You’re right, you didn’t,” you say softly, slowly. His gaze bores into you. “But I did. And you’re here. I didn’t save you that night to just make a point of who’s the better person. As you said, you allowed me to go that night—thank you by the way—but what are you going to do, just not talk to me? Ignore me? I don’t think that’s fair for either of us.”

You stand frozen as Tommy takes a step closer, his breath hot against your skin. 

"What do you want from me?" he growls, his voice low and threatening.

You try to take a step back but he follows, closing the gap between you. You can feel the heat emanating from his body, a stark contrast to the frigid air around you. His lips curl into a slight sneer, and you can't help but feel a slight twinge of fear.

"You're always so nice, aren't you?" he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "But what do you really want? You want me to be your little pet? Fixing me up like some broken toy. Well, newsflash, sweetheart, I'm not broken. I'm just fine the way I am."

"That’s not—" you say, your voice barely above a whisper. "That wasn’t my intention at all. The world is shit, I just didn’t want to add to it."

Tommy scoffs, his eyes glinting with anger. "But you did by keeping me alive. I did horrible things, things you can’t even imagine. So don't pretend like you understand me, because you don't."

“I know the shit you did Tommy. I was almost one of your victims, remember?”

His eyes drop to the ground, the fire in his eyes finally fading. He takes a quick step back, shoulder slumped, he shakes his head. 

“I remember. There ain’t a day I don’t remember the shit I’ve done—we’ve done with my brother.” 

Tommy gives you one last look before walking away, “I don’t need your pity.” 

Half an hour later, you’re still standing there under the snow, completely alone. 

vi.

It’s a dance almost. You find different ways for Tommy to communicate with you. You unlock his anger, his disappointment, his need to be good—the hero, if you will. But to be fair, you can’t take all the credit. It was mostly due to him, you got too close, and he got too frustrated. It was a brief moment of lips touching, then it quickly turned into a desperate ask for submission. You were eager to give, he hated that. Hated that you could when he couldn’t. 

You know that there’s a high chance of other things lingering below the surface, things that he probably hadn’t dared to address himself. 

In the privacy of your bedroom, you’re on your knees for him. Sucking on the tip of his cock eagerly as he stands upright, his hands are firsts that are stuck to his sides. This isn’t the first time, it isn’t the last. By the way salty precum coats your tongue, you know he’s enjoying himself. He has to be, if he wasn’t this wouldn’t be happening. 

You figure that he enjoys fighting against it until he breaks. When he surrenders himself to it, to the pleasure, to the primal need to take, he pins you down and fucks you with everything he has. All his frustration seeps into you, each stroke deeper than the next. You enjoy that he’s rough, you enjoy feeling the lingering sting on your skin long after he leaves. 

Looking up, you swallow him further down. He’s not overly thick but long, the dark curls at the base trimmed but still looking untouched. Tommy thrusts forward, the head of his cock brushing the back of your throat. Your nostrils flare as your lungs convulse with the need to cough, he notices but doesn’t pull back. Instead, you feel two hands cradling the back of your neck, pulling you further down his length, making you take him whole. 

Your eyes go wide and squeeze shut right after. You feel him throbbing in your throat and you swallow, again and again, which prompts him to drag his cock out slightly only to bury himself back into your throat. Your jaw aches, spit dripping down the corners of your lips as you flatten your tongue over the underside of his cock. A faint growl echoes from the back of his throat, you swallow again, he fucks your mouth as he would your wet cunt. Tears flood your lashline, you can barely breathe. Your throat tightens around him. 

“Fuck, don’t close your eyes,” he grunts, the dark curls at the base tickling your nose. “Look at me. Look at me like you always do.” 

The Look, is something that you still don’t quite understand. He says it often, telling you to look at him the way that you do, but you emphasize nothing special when you do end up looking at him. It’s just your normal gaze. He only asks for it when he’s inside you. 

You slowly open your eyes, your lashes wet and stuck together. His thumb smooths over the patch of skin right under your eye, his chest stutters, muscles growing taut under your gaze. 

Ironically, he closes his eyes and lifts his head as if staring at the ceiling. He doesn’t utter another word after that, your lips raw from the way he thrust forward. You feel the twitch of his cock, thick ropes sliding down your throat. You never tire of the taste of him. Not sweet, not bitter. You enjoy the brief moment he forgets where he is, that soft noise escaping his lips, the juvenile way his thighs shake—those are the things that make you ache for the taste of him. You’re an addict. 

But so is he. 

vii.

Your palms press into the smooth surface of the bar counter. Tommy lurks behind you, cock pressing inside, fingers making dents into your warm skin. It’s late into the night, you’re not sure of the exact time but you know it’s late. His one hand slips between your legs, he feels how wet you are, how needy you get for him. He presses a finger to your clit, the pads of the digits moving in deft circles. 

A sharp moan parts your lips, back arching as he pounds into you, the sound of skin against skin loud, yet not enough to pierce the sound of the snowstorm outside. A dose of pleasure buzzes through your veins, electricity crackling across your skin as you feel his length press deep inside. His fingers grasp your throat, pulling you up until his lips tickle your ear. He heaves, his warm breath fanning your skin. 

“Tell me I’m a good person,” he chokes out. “Please.” 

“You’re good,” you answer slightly out of breath. You touch his neck, the position slightly straining but worth it when he holds you tighter. “Such a good man—and I mean that.” 

Your eyes widen with shock when he slides his tongue into your mouth. Tommy doesn’t kiss you often, if at all, but it lights a fire under your stomach. It burns you from the inside out, the smoke of it making your mind spin. Your eyes flutter close and you take a deep breath, he grinds his hips, your insides pulsing around him. 

“I don’t care even if you’re lyin’—” 

He releases you and you stumble forward, hands finding purchase on the bar counter once more. But you can’t hold your position for long, not with the way he’s hammering into you, reducing you into a babbling mess. Your hands slide, your upper body completely falling over. Tommy doesn’t pause, he doesn’t even slow down. He presses you further into the surface.

“Because I know that you are.” 

Tommy suddenly pulls out, a sharp gasp rips from your throat, your cunt clenching around nothing. Before you can protest, however, he turns you over and pushes you. He kneels between your legs, lips finding the tender folds of your pussy. 

Your head falls back when he licks into you eagerly, tasting himself and your arousal. His groans vibrate against you, your thighs threaten to close, the meat of them pressing into both sides of his face. 

His lips press against your clit, suckling and teasing it in a way that drives you wild. His tongue moves in circles as he pushes two fingers, curling them and applying pressure. Without a second thought, you fingers thread his hair, tugging him closer. Arousal pools between your legs.

Your breathing becomes labored and your body starts to shake. Your eyes roll back as your entire body shakes. Your hips buck against him as he continues to bring you over the edge, your cries of pleasure echoing off the walls of the bar. 

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, you collapse against the bar counter, your body still shaking from the intensity of the orgasm. You can feel your skin tingling, your heart pounding and your head spinning. Tommy stands, a hint of pride lingering in his dark eyes. You continue to breathe and watch as he fists himself, the tip of his cock a shade darker when he comes thick ropes over your stomach. You hiss at the heat, the feeling of having a part of him staining you. 

Tommy pulls up his pants, and you notice as you get dressed, he’s avoiding your gaze. You’re too satisfied to care. He licks his lips, which you found was a nervous habit he has and offers you his arm. You hadn’t expected it, but indulge in the gesture by taking it. 

“Let’s get out of here before someone sees us.” 

[thoughtsafterdark]

Stigmata

The world is quiet. So quiet. The silence deafens, bends backs, breaks minds. It holds its breath, waiting, biding its time. Still and poised yet tense, every pebble and grain of sand prepared to strike. Like a big cat stalking its prey, shoulders rolling so smoothly as it inches closer and closer. Like oil sliding off the skin of the water. Those moments when it crouches and becomes one with the Savanah. When the golden light of the setting sun sets the land aflame and blades of grass blend with raised heckles until they are one and the same.

It waits for you, for your conception and birth. Molecules aligning, cells dividing, flowers blooming. The water of your mother’s womb is surprisingly thin given the precious life it cushions. It is expelled from your lungs like a sacrament, like a fountain that once erupted from a desert rock millennia ago. Strong lungs as befit a firstborn son. Your first cries pierce the air and shatter the stillness into a million shimmering fragments. The diamonds spill across the inky blackness. A burst of colour from the Lord’s brush, arcing across the sky. Another promise, another new beginning. Yet Gods are foolish, lonely creatures. Their promises ring hollow and false to our suffering ears. The whips crack and our skin splits, oozes all the same. Where was God when my brothers withered and died, the cries ripped from their throats going unanswered?

And yet tell me why as I gaze upon you now, I am compelled to fall to my knees? As if every fibre of my being yearns to bow, to yield - as if your voice bursts from somewhere deep in my squirming gut and heart and not your lips?

Tell me why I itch to bury myself in the crook where your thigh meets groin and inhale the musk there as if your scent holds the Eye of the Needle, as if the grooves of your skin map Heaven’s Kingdom. Would you let me cry tears of rapture at your coming and wash your feet with them and my tongue?

I wonder if such a wonton display of devotion would anger you, frighten you. Would you toss me away in disgust, smash my face into the ground? Break my nose against rock and let me feel the warm flood of blood flow backwards down my throat, let me savour the salt and iron as I swallow devoutly. Tell me why I have never felt so alive as when your holy wrath rains down upon me like fire, like the destruction of Sodom.

I watch you now, standing proud against that same setting sun, gazing across the expanse of your new kingdom. Here as it dips low upon the dunes and the sand lashes at us. Its rays frame raven curls and fracture all around you, as if afraid to touch you and be seduced. A halo that revers yet fears you. It hardens your features as if you were hewn from granite Your jaw tightens against the onslaught, sharp enough to fell armies. Your eyes become the harsh ringing of blade against blade. Gone is the boy with the easy smile tugging at the corner of a mouth, crow’s feet wrinkling eyes. In his place is the cold pyre of divine righteousness. The commander of earth and sky, made to wield sound and air itself. I think of the icons of old, the waxy mournful faces of saints and note what a pale imitation they must be, if they had even a third of your weight.

You are a black hole - all-consuming, inescapable, inevitable - and we are all trapped in your orbit, edging ever closer to the Event Horizon that will surely destroy us. But tell me if our path is so doomed why my heart leaps at the prospect of pledging my death to you? What finer gift is there but that of my last breath, freely given?

In your face I see rivers of blood and the thrum of charging men. I hear the chants of our forefathers and the long line of prophets that came before, accumulating across the centuries into the tapestry that is your flesh.

Yet as you lie here beside me, the darkness kept at bay by the stubborn flame of a lone candle, your face serene with sleep and your sweat acrid and sharp in my nose - I see just a man plagued by a crown of thorns. I think of my hands, bathing in the blood of innocents in your name. Your name, a mantra, a hymn that ignites us all with awe and hunger. I wonder if knowing deep down you are just a man makes me more or less the fool.

Then your eyes open, lashes fluttering, and I see the light burning there and I know messiahs are not born but made in the hearth of a home, in the fierceness of a loyal heart and the beating lifeblood of a people starved of hope. I care not if you bleed red or ichor, I know only that I will follow you into hell itself, until we burn to ash and we become whispers, legends. Until we are nothing but dust floating across the dunes, the wind that stokes the flames of a thousand more rebellions.

[aries-rp-corner]

During the scuffle with Dimah, Lamont meanwhile was spending time in the Museum. Checking out the relics, but his most favorite were the ancient stones and fossils. Admiring their uniqueness and wondered what they hold during the ancient times when Pokémon truly ruled the lands.

Holding the letter close to see it was an apology letter… he knew who it was from, and didn’t bother to open it. The man was still angry from what transpired…. “I know what that lad was doing, I’ve learned his battle tactics… I somewhat agree that I should of… been better…” He spoke to himself, holding his arm as a form of comfort. Looking up to the skeleton towering before him. “I… shouldn’t have left the group… I didn’t want to hear that a child being used as a weapon in someone’s eyes… who she believed life holds no meaning…. Like the man I fought so hard to convince what he was doing was wrong…. Only to have it blow up in my face he made me do something that…ugh….”

He pinched his forehead, all of that clearly damaged him mentally… walking out of the museum to see night approaching. Carefully putting on a hat as he began to walk back to the hotel, looking side to side, front and back to see if he’s being followed… for now, he was safe….

Upon arriving back the entrance of his room, he felt a heavy dark energy waiting for him on the other side. He knew what this was, as that quickly made him leave the spot out of fear. “Leaving so soon?~”

A voice echoed, Lamont looked back to see a ghostly hound phasing through the door.. but what spooked Lamont the most was the voice… no, sure this can’t be… he was told Veda was dead and turned into a hound like beast… surely! I can’t be!… right? “No…. You died…. She made sure of it!…. You can’t be…”

“I am, dear brother.~” The Hell Hound Veda smiled horribly, as this caused Lamont to run for his life. Hearing claws tapping the floors and heavy steps followed as well, Veda is on the hunt. “YOU CAN’T RUN FOREVER!!~ I’ll make you regret EVERYTHING you have done!~”

Lamont didn’t want to know what Veda has in mind, he needed to get out. FAST. Flying down through the halls and stairs to reach outside for his Pokémon to defend him. He can feel his team shaking with fear and anger, truly ready to fight and defend. After finally reaching outside, Lamont turned as he sent out Fang who roared with rage as Veda emerged outside as well. “I don’t want to think about what you’ll be doing to me, but I know it’s NEVER going to happen!”

Fang instantly charged at the beast, causing Veda to move out of the way and charge at Lamont. “If I can make you kill a pest, I can certainly do it again!” He lunged at Lamont swiftly as the two met the ground. “Come any closer you pathetic fossil, and I’ll make sure your trainer meets his true end!”

Fang growled deeply, even a slight movement caused Veda to sink his claws into Lamont. Causing him to yelp in pain. Fang had to back away, yet Veda forced the T-Rex back into his Poké Ball. “There we go, now then…~” The hound turned over to meet his brother again. “Now�� let’s get this over with, and too bad no one will see you on the other end.~ Enjoy the view, Brother.~”

All Lamont could remember was that he felt he was being dragged out of his own body and thrown to the side. Awoke to see golden stars on him, but what scared him the most was he can see through himself. “V-Veda! What did you do?! What have you-” Lamont then gasped as he witnessed Veda entering his body… slowly rising up as he sees his body taking a deep breath. Finally his head turned over with a sick grin. “This… This can’t be happening! This has to be a nightmare! Veda! GET OUT OF MY BODY!!”

“Annoying that only I can see you, but what will you do? You can’t do shit.~ Thank you for the proper body, dear brother.~” He turned over in time to see people rushing out of worry for the old man, causing Lamont to scream and yell at them that this is not really himself… yet… nothing… until….

“The Witch… Aries!” Lamont thought as he began to run to find the Frigate. Causing Veda concern, yet at the same time… an idea…

[aotearoa20]

Foresight Fated.

//1//2//3//4//5//6//7//

Fëanáro gazed out at the inky black canvas of the Sea. A deep pool of darkness save where the Silmarils on his brow threw light on the seafoam-tipped waves. The steady drawing and sighing brought some order to his crowded mind even as the obnoxious chatter of the party filtered up to him. He’d dragged his entire family down here for Artanis’ nameday, at his brother’s request no less. It was absolute chaos down there but tonight he had no interest enjoying it.

A dread he could not shake since they twins were born trembled at the edge of his fingers. He almost wished they would show so he need not sit sick with anticipation anymore. This was the last time, he could not do this again. He shook his head and peered back at the waves as if they could grant him some reprieve. Though he was loath to admit it he did not wish to cause a scene while he was in Arafinwë’s house. His remedies had not worked and even so he’d felt indebted to him.

Ever since he’d told him of his dreams, he had been noticing his half brother more. It is a difficult thing to do if one is not trying. Even now, as he hovered in the stairway behind, Fëanáro did his best to curb his already frayed temper. His face is lit strangely as he turned.

“You needn’t fuss like some mother hen,” he murmured, lips twisting into a puppet grin, “Have I not been on my best behaviour?”

“Nerdanel told me so before I left,” he replied, “I was looking for Ñolofinwe.”

It might have hurt if that is what he had meant by it. But always it is half-words with this one, meaning and purpose washed away with soft tone. Fëanáro sighed, it’s exhausting sometimes and he was so very tired.

“Peace,” he tutted, “He’s very fond of you and so has been keeping distance from me.”

Arafinwë had come to his side, resting his arms on the window sill. The sea breeze tugs at his golden hair and even Feanaro can’t deny how it suits him. He looked him over, wondering as he often did when he was near, if they shared any blood at all. Then something in the distance caught his eye.

Where the beach ended at the treeline began, flashes of red. He leaned across and see what could be a pair of dark figures disappear under the leaves. That fear that simmered in the back of his mind surged forward with no warning. Not tonight, surely?

“Nerdanel was with you, you say?” he said, voice steady even as his heart skipped a beat.

“Yes?”

“Who’s watching the children?“

“Maitimo was putting them to bed – “

“Maitimo is hiding under the stairs with Findekáno!” Fëanáro hissed as he stormed passed him.

The twins were put to bed in the same nursery as Artanis, only half a year older. Every step towards it felt like a running a mile. He could hear Ara’s footsteps behind him, though he had not the presence of mind to send him off. Perhaps, if he was here, they would not come. He was always alone when they come. Perhaps, he thinks desperately, he will ward them off.

He burst into the room, drawing a startled squeal for his niece. For a moment he can breath again. The little girl looked up at him with big blue eyes. Her little arm reached out of the crib in the direction of where the other two ought to have been.

His head turned almost against his own will. It is as though the ground disappeared from beneath him but still he stood, unable look away. Two empty beds and a cool, salt stained breeze pulling at the curtains by the open window. Not in all the nightmares he’d been enduring had he thought…

Ara joined them. A selfish, viscous part of him wanted to slap him for the relief on his face at the sight of his own daughter. But almost immeadialty he grew grave.

“I will gather some people to search,” he said infuriatingly calm, “they can’t be far.”

“No,” he gasped, “no, I must be alone.”

He raced through the house, paying no heed to any around him. Down the footpath at the back of the gardens and plunged into the forest. The light of the stones kept him from stumbling but he fears it shows him up like a beacon.

“Ambarussa,” he called out over and over until his voice was raw. But he could not stop. They were his children. They took his children. Soon the words lose any sort of coherency. Fëanáro ran haphazard through the trees until he couldn’t get a word passed his own ragged breaths.

He snapped around at the sound of footsteps. Arafinwë emerges from the undergrowth and he very nearly snarled. What was he doing here, why was he always here?!?

“I said to Get Away!” He cried out, though the words flailed with no bite or direction.

“You need help.”

“You can’t help me!” He backed away from him only to ram into the rough bark of a tree. The forest seemed to close in around him and he find it so hard to even breathe. Suddenly he felt warm arms wrap around him.

“I have to- I must go…” he snapped and tried to push them away to no avail, “I must find them”

“You will not find them like this!” Arafinwë shouted over his racing thoughts.

That was strange. He hadn’t known he could do that. Suddenly he was so very aware of Arafinwe’s deep soft heartbeat. He focused on nothing else until he could match in in time. The sea hummed faintly in the back of his mind and he shuddered. There was movement in the boughs above them.

“Damn you,” came a voice from the dark, “And you’re damned jewels.”

“Ambarussa,” Feanaro untangled himself and stepped forward only to be cut off by an arrow landing less than half an inch from his foot.

“No further.”

“Or what? You would maim me.”

In the shadows he saw him pass the child to his brother. Then he slipped onto the ground without a sound. The boy shyed away from the light as though it burnt but even so he would not flee.

“I shall send you to your mother in the halls so that we may all be spared the grief.” he said in a hollow voice.

“Pityo,” the other whispered but was answered with a hiss. Fëanáro’s heart lurched as he heard one of the little ones mumbling in his arms.

“Come now, let us not - ”

“Now you have something to say, Finarfin?” Amras said with more than enough venom to silence him. It was a strange comfort though, to know he saw them too. No small part of him had wondered if he was simply going mad.

“Return the children to us, Pityafinwë,” he tried to put some sterness into his tone but knew he fell short. If he could only stop shaking. Drawing near again the night is cut by the ringing of a sword. Fëanáro would laugh, it is difficult to tell in the half-light but the sword may well be one of his own.

“No further.” The boy shook his head. Tears spill across his cheeks but his expression doesn’t change, “I won’t let you near him again.”

“Pityo,” comes the voice from the shadows again.

“You will not remain here,” Fëanáro spoke softly. This is his son. “None of you have. You will strand them in the wilds, they will die.”

A pained look flickered acros Amras’ face.

“A better fate,” he said finally, and then more softly, “I, at least, would deserve it.”

“And your brother?”

He strode forward at that. Fëanáro is surprised to see Arafinwë start at his side as the blade hovered by his own neck. Pityafinwë’s face is still turned away but his eyes burn with a terrible fury.

“Don’t you dare! You killed him.”

Fëanáro looked down the blade. The boy’s hand was shaking. A strange peace settled against his chest that, suddenly, made him feel quite out of place in this dark forest. He can hear the boys argue but it is as though they are somewhere else entirely, like a memory or a dream.

“Pityo, he didn’t know,” he heard Telufinwë say. He has joined them on the ground. There are terrible burn scars that spread up one of his arms, along his neck and the side of his face. One of his eyes is a dead milky white, “You said he didn’t know”

“It doesn’t matter, It wouldn’t have mattered if he did! He - “

“No.” He said was found that it was enough to cut him off, so he continued, “I would never do anything to hurt any of you.”

He knew it. He knew it like he knew Teleprion’s light would wan soon and Laurëlin would peer just enough over the ridges of the Pelori, and bathe the sea in gold. He knew it like he knew Nõlo was less than a day from saying something stupid. Like he knew Arafinwë would hover and he snap and Nerdanel would sigh and usher him away. He knew it like he knew Maitimo was under the stairs with Findekáno right now and would sulk the entire way home. Some things just were.

“I would never hurt any of you,” he said again and sagged in relief. Whatever happened, whatever was coming he understood now, it wouldn’t be this. It simply couldn’t be, “I love you more than anything.”

“Anything?”

He heard the edge in the single word. Telvo turned to him and he did not flinch. A feral, hungry shadow seemed cast on his face, that though it pained him Fëanáro was coming to recognise. And he realised, after a moment that he was not looking at him at all. His hand moved to the gems entangled in his hair. Telvo’s gaze moved back down to him, his offer clear.

There is a moment of fear and pride and something unnamed but ugly that wrapped around his fëa and made his hands clench around his greatest creations. There would be no others like it, it whispered, if you lose it now, you will lose it forever

But it is gone as soon as it comes. He made them for his children after all. The circlet on his head was always heavy but it felt as if it bore twice it weight as he lifted it off his head.

“Arafinwë.” He asked, never taking his eyes off the boys. Arafinwë’s presence is like a steady anchor, so dependable that it is difficult to notice most of the time. Fëanaro leaned into it now as the Silmarils glow in his hand.

Arafinwë stepped forward to take the children.

“Wait.” Pityafinwë looked between the twins and the Silmaril taut as a bow string until at last he screamed. He threw his sword to the ground and strode away but could not break past the circle of light. His brother offered him not comfort or admonition. He just waited.

“I won’t hurt them, Pityo.” Fëanáro said gently, “I won’t hurt him, I swear.”

The boy shuddered. Out of the corner eye he saw Telvo return the children to Arafinwë. He took a step forward. The boy’s copper curls shiver, he knew he was crying and had long gotten used to not understanding why. When he placed his free hand on his shoulder, he froze.

“Take them, it’s alright. They are yours.”

Pityafinwë turned sharply. His hand closed around gems. He winced but no sound escaped his lips. Suddenly and with agonising clarity Fëanáro’s mind flew back to his first child. His scarred hand. His heart leapt in his mouth

“Let it go!”

“I will not,” Pityafinwë stared down at his hand. Oh Valar, his could smell it. His expression shuddered for a moment, “I… I cannot.”

“You can,” Fëanáro insisted, grabbing ahold of his wrist, “you can put it down, they are yours, didn’t I say so.”

“You meant that.” His voice was thin and watery

“Pityo, my little one, didn’t I say so, whatever I can give you is yours,” he tried to pry his fingers away, “please ”

Pityo fell forward into his father’s arms and Fëanáro did not hesitate to pull him close.

“I want to go home.”

The coronet was dropped somewhere between them. He did not care, just nodded into his hair.

“Whatever you want.”

He did not move from where they sat, save to pull the other hanging a little away down also into his embrace. He wept and let them weep onto his shoulders. Soft apologies and comforts he whispered between the two of them, until Laurëlin light began to swell over the mountains.

And then they were gone.

Arafinwë came beside him and after a long moment he rose and took one of the children from his arms. Telvo, stirred a little, warm in a way that could have only been possible with enchantment and the last of he fear melts away. They walked in a silence Fëanáro would usually despise out of the trees and along the beach.

His brother stopped after a while and looked out at the waves. Fëanáro hung back beside him, but his impatience returned with the son. He is about to urge them on when Arafinwë speaks.

“In my dreams, my sons burn.” He said, eye fixed on the ever-dark horizon, “I don’t know how it happens, I just know I’m not there.”

Fëanáro takes a deep breath but whatever twisted thing that had made his home in his chest for Varda knows how long seems to have dislodged itself entirely. “It will not happen.”

“How can you be so sure - “

“Because you would not leave them alone, not knowing what you know now.”

“You can rest,” he tutted, “He’s very fond of you and so has been keeping distance from me.”

“Nerdanel was with you, you say?” he said, voice steady even as his heart skipped a beat.

“You don’t know that.”

“I know you. Well, better than I used to.” Fëanáro sighed and turned on his heel to start back toward the house, “Besides, should some time come where you cannot be there, I will watch over them.”

“Truly?”

“Yes, now stop fussing.”

They walk back up to the house in a silence that for once Fëanáro finds he doesnt mind.

[loriiisstuff]

𝐀 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐍 𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐋𝐄

luke catellan x jackson!reader

summary : what if? thalia tree couldn't be save by the fleece but something else golden

luke and I were sent on a quest for a golden apple to save our friend thalia and we’ve both have been stopped by a god

“ares” i whispered under my breath as i stood next to luke “hey cousin…nephew” the god eyes scanned both of us “what do you want ares” luke groaned rolling his eyes in annoyance

“a fight castellan…one simple fight” ares grinned cracking his knuckles then cracking his neck “oh really then…you’re gonna regret that request uncle” luke smirked while pushing me behind him “luke n-“ i was cut off by the god laughing “not you buddy…her” his leather glove pointed out towards me making my eyes widen in fear

i’ve never gone against a god especially OF WAR

“scared now castellan…blame her brother thinking he can get away with beating me THE god of war yeah i don’t think so, time for percy to pay the price…and that means his sister” ares explained waiting for one of us to say anything “touch her and you die” luke hissed his eyes lowering like darkness was taking over him “luke stop let me do this” i stepped up from behind him trying to negotiate

“hell no y/n i am not letting you get hurt” luke argued “ill be fine…trust me please” i grab his cheek pulling him down placing a kiss on his forehead before quickly grabbing the sword from his pocket stepping forward ready to fight

“come at me you son of a bitch/zeus” i yelled holding up my sword “you dumb girl” ares said before charging at me full force as i did the same

when we finally reached each other ares swung his sword at my neck barely missing my throat but enough to make me wince im pain at the mark the blade left “I’m gonna kill you-“ luke started to charge at ares when i got up stopping him “luke stay back” i groaned taking my hand of the wound letting blood smear on my neck “come on i know you can do better…cuz” i smirked as ares got angrier going in for another swipe to my neck when i dodged it sliding on my knees under him getting grass stains on my jeans

i stood up behind him slicing his leg deep making him yelp in pain as gold liquid spilled out the fresh cut i gave him “not so fun isn’t it” i asked spinning my sword in my hand stabbing him in the back

i quickly pulled out my blade before walking in front of him as he was still down “give us the apple…coward” i bent down to his ear level whispering making him groan in annoyance he then reached in his pocket pulling out a shiny gold fruit handing it to me. Sitting up he got up in his legs again making me step back a little “more mouthy then your brother” ares commented using his sword as a cane to hold himself up as he compared me to my brother “get it from my mom” i said grinning as luke stood next to me wrapping his arm around my waist pulling me closer “we have to get back to camp now uncle” luke said grabbing the apple from my hand tossing it as we stood grassy grown

𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐀𝐓 𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏 𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐅 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃

we finally made it back to camp with minor cuts a scraps “ready” luke turned to me holding my hand “ready as ill ever be..but we did this for thalia” i reminded him “i know now lets go” he said turning his head towards the entrance

we stepped through the portal making a woosh noise when abrupt claps came from the campers cheering us on when someone brought me in a tight squeeze making me let my hand let go if luke’s

“i’m so glad you guys aren’t dead” annabeth whispered squeezing me even tighter “ann your killing me” i said running out of air she quickly pulled away “sorry i’m just glad you guys are back” she smiled grover and percy coming up behind her “percy” i yelped relief of seeing my baby brother hugging him “hey sis i missed you” he said hugging me back before pulling apart “can’t wait for you to tell me all about the quest” he said giving me a small smile

All the campers stood around the tree Chiron and Mr D infront with me Luke Annabeth Percy and Grover “luke the apple” Chiron said nodding his head towards the tree queuing Luke to squeeze the apple

Luke pulled the apple apart squeezing the juice on the bark making it glowing yellow “what’s happening” percy asked “it’s working” I said luke holding me by my waist when we hear a groan

“where am i?” a voice spoke getting all if our attention

“thalia?”

a/n : hope you enjoyed this one <33

[sarahphantom1234]

Octavinelle x Reader

Warning: Yandere, OOC, Thalassophobia.

_________________

From a young age, I did not like the sea.

Or sea creatures.

I'M afraid of it.

The feeling of being pressed deeply, hearing nothing, the liquid suffocating, invading the mind, thinking that it has become a corpse for the sea monsters to eat, it is not pleasant. little bit.

I admire divers, sailors... Or simply people who like to swim.

Because of that, when I came to the new world, to the new school called Night Raven College, I was disgusted with the sea creatures of the Octavinelle family, even though they were only a few, very few.

But because of that, the Leech twins often came to talk to me, and I did nothing but bow my head to avoid looking at their sharp teeth.

When I saw it, I thought that my own body had been bitten in half, the blood was wide and patched everywhere, and a little bit of consciousness felt the pain of dying over and over again, then being swallowed. gobble.

I fear them.

I tried to hide from those two as much as I could.

But maybe it only works a few times.

They could find me anywhere, and so I was dragged to Mostro Lounge.

I heard that the head of Octavinelle's house was an octopus, named Azul Ashengrotto, imagining those proboscis squeezing me, I shivered with fear.

But what's wrong with that senior Azul? Every time he saw me, he blushed, even if it was fleeting, and then faced me like a gentleman.

I don't really care, I'm uncomfortable or "afraid" around them, but I still respect them.

Respect like the seniors.

Just like that, ticking and ticking, as time passed, I thought they would get bored, but maybe I was wrong, they liked me even more than before.

Just dragging me around, going back and forth at Mostro Lounge, I'm so bored.

But miraculously, they asked me to go to the beach to play, I quickly refused, after that time, I also tried to hide from them more.

Maybe this time because I was determined to be very careful, so whenever I met their silhouette, I would run- hide or run very fast.

Just like that, I kept on hiding, the last time I hid was around recess, because of that I left my friends and ran away, I immediately hid in a bush, crouched down. To fit the shade of the tree, cover your mouth to keep from making a sound.

I feel the chill shivering, but isn't the weather warm right now? Sneaking a little glance, the first thing I saw were sharp eyes searching for me, I was very panicked, quickly turned my head, restrained myself to stop shaking, those eyes, the eyes of ocean killers.

I swear I don't want anything to do with them, I'm telling the truth.

The flashback is enough, now I guess I have to focus on my studies as well.

So fast! It's already evening, I have only a simple dark clothes, the dim moonlight makes one's mind hazy, there are glittering stars, fresh air, how strange it looks...

I walked slowly to the coast, the golden sand caressed like a kiss on the soles of my feet, I felt all my senses, my eyes saw the calm sea, my ears listened to melodious voices like the lyre of the poet Orpheus.

But why, I can't control? My feet keep going, follow that voice and forget the way back, fear screams, but why won't my body listen?

Or is it because the songs seem to be separate but harmonize?

Oh, please make me deaf now, even if I trade the best song, I won't be content to go down to that terrible ocean.

I say that, but I still go, close to the sea, the wind creates a wave that cools my feet, what do I see in my eyes now?

Twin brothers in mermaid form and Azul sunbae wiggle their tentacles.

They raised their hands for me to catch, then gently pulled me under the sea.

My head is sinking, so deep...

They stopped singing, I was able to move too, my body moved, but they held me tight, my strength was not enough.

Just as my oxygen was running low, I tried to look up at the faint light of the moon.

Do not!

I beg you!

I bow to you!

Please don't take away my last hope, please remove the tentacles wrapped around my eyes, please don't whisper those words in my ears!

I'd rather be a flower forgotten on the side of the road, let people push and pedal.

Or vow to become a bird with its wings broken, waiting for Death to take it away.

Please don't force me to take that medicine, even though my eyes are covered, but I feel that my legs are glued together like glue, the itchy skin is gradually becoming painful, something is sticking out of the skin. mine!

I screamed, I could breathe underwater. No! This is what I fear the most, becoming a mermaid!

The tentacles on my eyes are removed, what do they show me? The fishtail with its silvery glittering scales.

I don't want to! I don't want to be the animal I fear the most, I don't want to be like the fairy tales tell, live more than 300 years and the soul becomes a sponge, please give back my eternal soul!

They pulled me deeper, and deeper, so much so that I couldn't see the moonlight shining down on this blue sea...

I wish it was all just a dream.

[fanfiction101]

Jareth x fem!reader

Hey loves, another jareth x reader if you have any suggestions, be sure to let me know. love you <3

Warnings:

I sighed as I stared at the wall, only now am I ready to look away and face my new reality. The hard wood floor was cold against my hands.

I traded my life for my brother's life. An eye for an eye. I don't know what the Goblin King will do with me.

Throughout this journey, I have stayed strong for my brother, guilty of opening my mouth, not thinking of the consequences. I failed but begged him to take me instead.

He had told me to wait in a bedroom. It was a beautiful room. The bed was probably the biggest I have ever seen. The curtains were a shear, silver fabric, drawn back on the shiny, wooden frame. The covers were a plush, deep blue that seemed as if I could sink so far into the bed if I laid down. Beside the bed was a night stand with a silver tray a goblin servant left for me with food I haven't touched. The walls were dark blue with stars and moons spread throughout the room.

There was also a walk-in closet filled with beautiful dresses and shoes. It almost seemed endless

There was also a grand bathroom that was white and gold. There was a large, faded window, taking up one of the walls completely. The tub was as big as my bed. There were shelves of fancy soaps and bath products above a large sink.

The Goblin King had ordered me to clean up and be ready for a meeting about what to do with her.

I sighed again and got up, shaking my leg awake. I went into the bathroom, and began to run a bath. As I stripped my clothes, the room filled with hot steam from the tub. There were so many soaps that I decided to just grab one of the first I saw. I smelled it. Roses.

I lifted myself into the bath, sighing. Despite the fact that just an hour or so ago, my life was changed in a way that I am scared about what is going to happen to me, I felt a bit of comfort in the hot water.

I scrubbed the dirt on my face and hands. I dipped underwater to get my hair wet. As I worked to clean myself, I thought about what would happen to me.

Maybe I would be a servant? Based on the room he gave me, maybe he treats them well.

Maybe I was just here temporarily and I was going to be banished in a world I don't know of. Either way, I felt like a prisoner.

After the water began to become cold and my fingers winkled, I stood up, the water dripping off my body. I drain the water and dry myself. I wrapped a towel around myself and walked to the walk in closet.

I found some simple undergarments and I looked throughout the closet for a dress. They were extravagant. Some were big, tulle ball gowns and some had long trains and some made of fine fabric. How would he expect me to do work in these clothes?

I decided to pick the simplest one I could find. It was a pale blue dress with white laced sleeves. I decided that it was the best option out of the dresses. Less noticeable. I saw a pair of white ballerina flats and slipped them on.

Just as I finished dressing I heard a knock at the door. I rushed to answer it and it was the same goblin that gave me the food earlier.

"Is miss ready to meet the king?", the goblin squeaked out.

"Um," I said touching my still slightly wet hair, "one minute."

I rushed back to the closet and found a ribbon. I pulled my hair back in a low pony tail, hoping that it didn't look as messy as my hair down.

I rushed back to the goblin whose name I found out to be Lottie.

Lottie led me to a room high in the castle. The doors were golden and when Lottie pushed them open it led to a room that I can only describe as chaos.

Other goblins were jumping and screaming and singing vulgar songs. At the end of the room was the Goblin King, lazily sitting on his throne.

When he noticed me he at once silenced the goblins, who had a mixture of fear and surprise in their eyes. They all turned to look at me.

I looked at Lottie who gestured for me to go forward. As I walked towards the Goblin King, the goblins parted giving me a path straight to him.

By the time I was standing in front of him, he rose up and I noticed all of the other goblins bowing down to him. Something in me told me to bow as well but I couldn't. All fear had one from me. I wasn't scared or weak. I was furious.

How dare he take my brother in the first place. How dare he keep me here, keeping me away from the ones i loved. How dare he think of himself so high and mighty.

For a moment we just stood staring at each other. I studied his appearance more.

I'd be lying if I said that he wasn't attractive, but that made me even more infuriated.

I crossed my arms and said, "Well if you are waiting for me to bow, I'm afraid you'll be greatly disappointed."

The goblins gasped and murmured among themselves.

The Goblin King just smirked, "Feisty one, aren't we? I have to admit, I thought that you might have actually beaten my Labyrinth, but o course here you are."

I balled my fists in anger and frustration. "So," I said keeping my tone even, "What do you want from me?"

"I'm glad you asked." The Goblin King said, "You see, I am not the bad guy here. I could give you anything you dream of. But on the condition that you stay here and never leave the Goblin City. You will be unable to leave the border into the Labyrinth."

I was taken back, "That's it?" I asked out loud.

"Yes."

Although I was happy that I wasn't going to be tortured, I was suspicious of the Goblin King. I felt as if there was something that he wasn't telling me. With that, he sent me back to my room to get some rest.

But i still knew that I was a prisoner.

Over the next couple months, I learned all the rooms and gardens of the castle and the streets of the Goblin City.

I spent my days exploring, reading books from an enormous library, baking random recipes that reminded me of home, picking fresh fruit and flowers from the gardens, and talking with the Goblin King who has insisted that I call him Jareth.

After spending more and more time with him I realized how lonely he was. Always surrounded by immature goblins. I hated to admit that I started to enjoy his company over meals and would occasionally get me to dance and sing with him.

I think I'm falling for the Goblin King.

[sailorshadzter]

Taylor Swift Lyrics That Convince Me She's a Jonsa

feel free to send as writing prompts <3

The rest of the world was black and white, but we were in screaming color

We were built to fall apart, then fall back together

When the sun came up, you were lookin' at me

Long night, with your hands up in my hair, echoes of your footsteps on the stairs

And you should think about the consequence of you touching my hand in a darkened room

I feel like I might sink and drown and die

My love had been frozen, deep blue, but you painted me golden

You said there was nothing in the world that could stop it

I loved you in spite of deep fears that the world would divide us

He built a fire just to keep me warm

Trust him like a brother, yeah, you know I did one thing right

Starry eyes sparking up my darkest night

Slowly I said, "You don't need to save me, but would you run away with me?"

I'm always waiting for you to be waiting below

Said, "I'm fine," but it wasn't true, I don't wanna keep secrets just to keep you

And I snuck in through the garden gate, every night that summer just to seal my fate

Have I known you twenty seconds or twenty years?

Can I go where you go?

Can we always be this close forever and ever?

My heart's been borrowed and yours has been blue

All's well that ends well to end up with you

Help me hold on to you

I search for your dark side

I wake in the night, I pace like a ghost

It's you and me, there's nothing like this

And I hope I never lose you, hope it never ends

I see you everywhere

Tryna find a part of me that you didn't touch

Quiet my fears with the touch of your hand

I know heaven's a thing, I go there when you touch me, honey

I don't wanna look at anything else now that I saw you

I've been sleeping so long in a twenty-year dark night

I wounded the good and I trusted the wicked

Maybe you ran with the wolves and refused to settle down

I once believed love would be (black and white), but it's golden (golden)

You drew stars around my scars, but now I'm bleeding

Marked me like a bloodstain, I knew you

But I knew you'd linger like a tattoo kiss

I knew you'd haunt all of my what-ifs

And I knew you'd come back to me

I think I've seen this film before and I didn't like the ending

Like you'd get your knuckles bloody for me

Those eyes add insult to injury

There is no amount of cryin' I can do for you

All this time, we always walked a very thin line

And if I'm on fire, you'll be made of ashes, too

And I can go anywhere I want, anywhere I want, just not home

And I still talk to you when I'm screaming at the sky

I know they said the end is near

I'm still a believer but I don't know why

I'm still trying everything to keep you looking at me

Whispers of "Are you sure?" "Never have I ever before"

With you, I fall down

But you dream of some epiphany, just one single glimpse of relief to make some sense of what you've seen

But I'm a fire and I'll keep your brittle heart warm

I am ash from your fire

You knew it still hurts underneath my scars

Wherever you stray, I follow

Head on the pillow, I could feel you sneaking in

Show me the places where the others gave you scars

Your touch brought forth an incandescent glow

My pain fits in the palm of your freezing hand

Your opal eyes are all I wish to see

My house of stone, your ivy grows and now I'm covered in you

It's a goddamn blaze in the dark and you started it

It's the goddamn fight of my life and you started it

I see you every day now

I feel you, no matter what

And I wake with your memory over me

And time can't stop me quite like you did

My hand was the one you reached for

And maybe it's the past that's talking

[monsterfloofs]

Kia Ora! I was just wanted to ask if we are gonna get any more content on Deimos, the eldest demon brother. Art or fanfics of him?

Ah! Hello, hello! Greetings from. . . New Zealand is that correct? (｡´◉ ꒳ ◉`｡) Heya!

Ahhhhh Dei-Dei my jolly intimidating boy!

You know I have not done anything recent but! I do have a work in progress lying around here somewhere! Let me go find it for you! I can't remember if I forgot it existed or didn't like it for some reason =//7//= ;;;; )

Since he lives in the middle of the other Brothers territory and is the scary big man who typically appears when you know you're screwed and you gotta pick a god and pray-- I was trying to write a different kind of story for him since he is the hardest to interact with.

One that was centering around the only hooman that was allowed to live in his territory.

I can send you what I have for that-- but since I have been working on this whole story and realm for a while now, the ideas or motivations behind the story may not be canon anymore. ^^; )

It's true that I also need. . . to make him a ref sheet orz

I remember being hesitant / a little nervous about drawing a proper ref of him, but I shall see what I can do (ง ​｡꒦ິ∇꒦ິ｡)ง

As for the story -> It's unedited, unfinished and it's pretty old. It has a female reader pov, this was even before I changed my writing pov to be more inclusive I think. x///O

I will send you as much as I have solidly written and who knows! Maybe I will try to tackle this again or finish it ^//-//^ )/

Enjoy!

Demon (Deimos) x Female Reader

You were the only human who lived in the large cathedral that sat in the middle of the Kingdom. It's dark spires stretch upwards, protruding into the clouds, as if attempting to spear the very heavens. It was quiet as you walked along one of it's vast empty hallways, with only the sounds of your steps echoing around you. Panels of golden light streaming across the floor. It was golden hour, almost night. 

 Your feet come to a halt as you turn to look at the high arched crystalline windows. Gaze drifting out to the world beyond the glass, beyond these walls. You could see the faded outlines of different cities in the distance. From your limited knowledge you recognized the tall ornate buildings of the business district, and the small rounded structures that composed the Mystic one. During the many rounds you have taken walking the grounds you had been slowly able to tell each place apart by their architecture. You wondered about what it would look like if you were able to be up in one of the spires, looking down at the cities. If being up so high, you wondered if you would be able to see them all, like a patchwork quilt spread over the land.

You knew very little about these places, so you let your imagination wander from possibilty to possibily. From time to time you would catch glimpses of the large beings who ran each district. They were very different from one another, though all of them would appear to be tense or nervous when they came inside.

You stayed out of the way when they would come, skirting behind banisters or corners to hide, but not going far enough away that you couldn't watch them. You wished to know what they were like, but the biggest question you had was about the one who saved you.

You don't remember the details, but for that you feel blessed. Something traumatic had happened that left gapping holes in your memory. You don't remember the people who had scared you so much, but you remember someone vividly. Anger that radiated like roaring waves from a dark figure that rose high above you, towering over the small group of people. 

And after that it all went black, the next thing you know is that you were here. Clean, safe, with wounds carefully bandaged and treated.

Terrified at first at the unfamiliar place, and there was a sickening dread that sank deep into your bones. You didn't have anywhere else to go, and the fear that sooner or later something bad was going to happen haunted your every waking hour. Your mind had been rampant with fear, the thoughts would tear you apart at night, and you would fall asleep with tears spilling down your face.

But each day was as quiet as the first, no one came after you, and you were taken care of with hot food outside your door, placed on a silver tray. The empty halls still and silent, your things tended to as carefully as they had been when you had first arrived. You were given clothes and other necessities, though whoever was truly caring for you. . . you did not know. There were only a few other creatures that would come and go. With orders to check on you and make sure that you were well.

Unless they came to visit you, you mostly had the place to yourself, it was all yours to explore. And once you had become braver, you did so with starry eyed wonder. Learning the vine covered windows and the cobble stoned path in the garden, memorizing the nooks and crannies, the quiet places that sunlight painted over with warmth. The places you could hide in, whisking away books to read, or places to have picnics in. Though you were very much alone, the single silhouette of your shadow trailing after. 

You were given solitude and sanctuary, a place to heal in peace, but you had been left with loneliness in its wake.

Your hand falters to your neck, alighting upon a small silver necklace with a black stone embedded in the middle. It was something that was given to you when you had first arrived, you had been too scared to take it, but now you wore it with a feeling of thankfulness.

All you knew was a name, Deimos.

Deimos was the person who lived here with you, the person who kept you safe. 

But you had never seen them, there was a place with large dark doors that sat in the middle of the cathedral. The place you had watched the other leaders go in and out, you had never been close enough to take a look inside. And the time that you had been quick on your feet, and were brave enough to take a peek. . . well. . . the room was disappointingly empty.

Once in a while, you could hear something, something that would make the very timbers underneath your bed creak. It sounded like footsteps, but you couldn’t have been sure. Your mind trailing back to the shadow that loomed up, blocking out the moon in the sky.

“There you are,” A voice makes you jump and turn, looking up to a little figure hunched up in the corner, their wings tucked around them as they hang upside down above you.

You smile up at them, "Hello Ivan. . . do you have a message for me?"

“Yeh-- It’s too bright out here,” The creature complains, scrunching up before they drop onto your shoulder, adjusting their leathery wings and rubbing their eyes. You laugh lightly, “I’m sorry, it will be dark soon,” You can feel their spaded tail lighting flicking back and forth, across your back. 

One of the few creatures that would come here was a messenger who traveled around to the other districts named Ivan. He was some kind creature who had a lot of bat-like features, large ears that thinned into high tapered points, and a snubbed triangular nose. He had large wings on his back, and had taken to crouching on your shoulder with long crooked fingers that ended in delicate claws. His entirety reminds you of a rather furry gargoyle. He was normally about the size of a child, but in the sunlight he would shrink back to the size of a big house cat.

His wings stretched overhead, shading both of your heads from the sunlight. He keeps his snubbed nose turned towards his shoulder until you are past the large gothic windows. Ivan was who told you the most about the outside world. The person you exhausted with questions. You peek back at them, once you are back into the darker corridors of the Cathedral, Ivan sighing and lowering his wings in relief. 

"When may I see him?" You ask patiently, and he’s blink, "Uh, who?"

"Deimos," You reply, then blink in surprise as 

Ivan just about falls off your shoulder. "Deimos--?!" They splutter, "Why-- who-- what has gotten you on about this all of a sudden?? Whatcha wanna see him for???"

Your lips quirks into a smile, "So his name is Deimos?" Ivan's mouth snaps shut but they look guilty. "How come I'm not supposed to know about him? This is his home right? He was the person who rescued me. . . right?"

He looked begrudging, "Nu-huh, I told yeh too much already!" They cross their wings and snub their nose up into the air.

"Please? What's he like? Can you just tell me that?"

Ivan glances at you dubiously, "I don't think you'll like the answer to those questions. It's safer if yeh don't know."

"What do you mean by that?" You feel a twinge of annoyance, "How come?" but Ivan shakes his head, shifting from foot to foot. "Jus' don't want yeh hurt that's all! You really shouldn't nose around! He isn't the easiest to get along with--" His eyes bulge and he pulls at his jowls with his clawed hangs. "GUUUUUHHHHH-- Didn't I tell yeh not to pry?" He jumps up, flapping around your head agitated, and you close yours eyes, "You're gonna get me in trouble!!" He squeaks at you indignantly.

"I'm sorry--" You start but Ivan cuts you off in a rush, "Dinner's gonna be done soon so I'll see you in the dining room!! Andbegood!!" And with that, he swirls down the corridor and out of sight.

You fix your windswept hair pouting, anytime you ask about your rescuer, Ivan gets like this. All fidgety and nervous, you love Ivan but he can be so secretive. This whole place is one big secret, but you live here too! You huff faintly before your fingers fiddle with the necklace. At least you were able to learn a little bit more, fully knowing Ivan can be a bit of an accidental blabbermouth, you like to use this against him. You giggle faintly at your poor batty friend. You are sure he was told to keep an eye on you, and you make his job difficult. You do feel bad for that, but this is the only way you can learn about the world around you.

It’s a dark place that Ivan settles into, a dark place with high walls, far away from the dinner table, and the sunny skylight. He sighs, and scratches his ear in annoyance. “You know she’s asking more and more questions, yer not going to be able to keep her in the dark for much longer.” Ivan gulps and shuffles awkwardly as two purple eyes open, to stare steely daggers at him. “It’s for her own good too!” Ivan squeaks nervously, “I’m just s-saying, what if she thinks she’s held captive or something?”

“She could leave at any time she wanted,” Came a deep rumble, the voice dark and sultry. “I’m not keeping her here.”

Ivan shuffles from foot to foot, “Well I- uh- I don’t think she knows that--” The blazing purple eyes narrow, “What?” Ivan flutters his wings, gawking, his jaw working up and down as he frantically tries to form words, “W-w-well I-- m-maybeee. . . didn’t-- s-say anything a-about that yet?” Ivan grins wide as he shrugs helplessly, The gaze boring down at him narrows to slits before they open wide and roll in annoyance. “Then I shall do it myself.” A dark hulking figure raises from his seat, Ivan flutters eyes wide. “W-wait n-now?” Ivan squeaks, “B-but I th-thought you wanted to wait and--”

The deep voice sighs, “Not if she feels as if she is trapped here, I would never want that for her. . . after what she went through. . .”

You were in the dining room, picking up your dishes and carrying your tray back towards the kitchen, your head turning just as the huge dark doors start to slowly open. Your eyelids fluttering open wide, as your tray tumbles from your hands, falling in slow motion until it crashes onto the floor. Your dirty dishes burst into a million pieces.

Blazing purple eyes and dark grey skin, almost as tall as the ceiling itself. Deimos arches his eyebrows, as you stand frozen in time. Your lips parted as your head raises to look at him fully. “It’s you,” You manage to breathe.

Deimos gives a snort, the big man reaches you in only a few steps,

“You broke your dishes sweetheart,” His deep voice makes your ears reverberate, his eyes trailing to the mess on the floor, you gasp and quickly become animated, reaching down to grab the pieces of broken china. “I’m s-sorry! I’m so sorry!” Deimos eyebrow twitches, stopping you as a dark clawed hand traces over the shattered pieces. The pieces shivering before reforming back into the whole objects once more. “Don’t be.” He murmurs softly, “It’s an easy fix.” 

You look up at him with wonder, “H-have you eaten?” You ask, keeping yourself from letting all the other questions in your mind run rampant.

“I haven’t, but I will get something later. I want to know about you right now,” Deimos smirks as you fluster, you heft the tray into your arms. “How have you been feeling?” Deimos purrs softly, “Happy?” Your eyes brighten and you nod. “You don’t have to stay here if you don’t want to sweetheart, I can get you a new home, would you like that? I unfortunately can’t take you back to where I found you.” His expression darkens as his lip curls in dark satisfaction, “That place doesn’t exist anymore.” When you visibly shrink back his pupils dilate and round out, “It wasn’t a good place for you anyway.” He growls quietly. “But I can get you a new home, a little bat has told me you spend a lot of time looking at the different cities, was there anywhere in particular that you would like to go?”

You think about this, about his proposal to leave the grounds. “Would I be able to come back. . .?” You ask slowly, “Would I be able to see you again?”

Deimos blinks, “Me?” He smirks in amusement, “. . . No. I don’t think so.” Your expression falls, “That’s very cute of you, but it’s much too dangerous to let you wander in and out of here.”

“Then may I stay?” Deimos expression is quick to turn sour as he scowls down at you, “. . . . . . . . .And tell me, why would you want that little girl? Aren’t you lonely here?”

“I’m s-safe,” You stammer, “I l-like. . .” You bite your tongue and meekly bow your head. “I like it here, I may be lonely. . . but I am safe. It h-has been my sanctuary.”

Deimos’ eyes widen, staring at you intensely before his eyelids droop. “If. . . that is what you wish.”

[butterflyintochains]

Moments of Calm

In which our favourite Dornish prince comforts his trauma riddled Targaryen princess.

TW: ptsd, abuse, trauma, nightmares, some light smut.

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The Red Keep is eerily silent, almost cavernous, but is screaming at her all the same. She walks barefoot through a tight corridor, the red brick walls closing in on her. Her breath misting up in front of her mouth, a series of rumbles emanating from somewhere beneath her feet. The corridor opens to the great hall, lit only by faint moonlight. The throne forged by Balerion himself looms large, too large for Shaena. Too large, too oppressive, to much for the princess. This thing has haunted her for years, it stole her brother, her mother, her family. Everything she ever knew, stolen from her by a chair made of swords. To her right, a set of very familiar footsteps trigger in her ear. No, not him, not again - Shaena thinks to herself. He's dead, right? He can't hurt her anymore, right? No matter, she bolts for the great black doors, only for them to slam shut. A malicious chuckle echoes around her. ''Now, my dear daughter, would your kepa harm you?'' Aerys asks her, decked all in black, but for that awful golden crown.

Shaena risks talking back, wishing Rhaegar was here. ''I don't know, would you?''

Aerys' lilac eyes change, evil settling deep within them. ''Is that any way to address your king, girl? Bend the knee, and beg for my mercy.'' This time, Shaena doesn't, the first time in her life. ''No.''

Aerys furiously bellows. ''No? Oh, that will not do, girl, try again.'' Shaena takes a breath, drawing on the last of her resolve. ''No.'' Aerys cackles, the noise reverberating off the red brick walls. ''I knew it, that insubordinate brother of yours has rotted your brains.'' Shaena's blood boils, no one insults Rhaegar to her face, not even her father, but he's not done yet. ''To say nothing of that Dornish princeling you consort with, filling your heart with his degeneracy.'' Oberyn, her Red Viper. The one who he knows how to degrade best, the prince her lord father despises so much, her prince. ''If you speak of Oberyn like that again, I'll...''

Aerys cuts her off, shrouded in complete darkness now. ''You'll what, Shaena? There's nowhere you can run to, I still own you.'' He comes to grab her by the throat, his overlong nails digging into her skin. ''Zaldrizes buzdari iksos daor.'' She manages to croak out, fighting the grip on her throat. In a fit of rage, Aerys backs her up to the doors, forcing her through them. But, it isn't stone her back hits.

It's sand.

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Oberyn is terrified, this hasn't happened since little Duncan was in the womb. His wife is sobbing loudly, writhing in pain, clawing at her neck. Her silver hair clinging to her sweating face. He remembers what Rhaegar instructed him to do in moments like these. He gently holds her against his chest from behind, carefully removing her hands from her throat. ''Shaena, moonlight, it's me, your Oberyn. I need you to wake up for me, come back to me, beloved.'' He caresses her damp hair as she begins to slowly calm down in his arms. ''That's it, darling, just breathe with me.'' Slowly, her breathing evens itself out. ''He's gone, Shaena, he can't hurt you anymore.''

Shaena's usually calm voice is trembling with unholy fear. ''Oberyn, you're here...'' Oberyn's heart breaks for his wife, seven years of their calm life have not cured it all. He presses light kisses to her neck and shoulder. ''I'm here, beloved, and I always will be. Aerys is gone, and isn't coming back, he can't hurt you.''

Shaena weeps, feeling so stupid for still being scared of her father after all these years. She knows he's gone, she knows that she's safe from him. Yet, he still lingers in the air. ''I know, darling, I do. It's just... difficult to feel safe. I still feel him in the air sometimes, it's like he's haunting me.''

Oberyn continues to press kisses to her neck, finding that tender spot where her neck and shoulder connect, a coiled knot of tension. He works on it with his lips, ''We're safe, moonlight, Aerys is never coming back, I swear to you.'' He lovingly shifts her position so he can capture her perfect lips in a kiss. Shaena melts into her husband's embrace, she glides her fingers through the scruff on his jawline, and down to rest over his heart. Hers slowly comes to match his. ''I love you, Oberyn Martell.'' Shaena says, almost whispering despite them being alone in their bedchamber. Oberyn rubs their noses together, brushing his lips against hers in the way that leaves her wanting more. ''I love you, Shaena Targaryen-Martell.'' He takes some time to make sure she's calmed all the way down, then he asks her. ''Do you want to get back to sleep?''

Shaena nods, feeling her violet eyes grow heavy, and her body become softened by her husband's unending love. ''I think so. Just, one more thing before we do?'' Oberyn's rich dark eyes grow curious, he says. ''Anything, my love, just speak it, and it's yours.'' Shaena asks her husband. ''Kiss me again?''

Oberyn gives a low, warm chuckle. ''Well, I'll never refuse you that.'' He leans down to kiss her, unhurried, passionate, and sensual as always. It's the most simple thing to him, loving his wife, who has been through so much. He kisses her, holding her perfect lips with his, their tongues massaging each other. Shaena moans as they pull apart. He kisses her forehead, and lies them both down, humming to her as she falls back into sleep.

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As usual, it's their four children who wake them up in the late morning. Oberyn waking at the sound of their door opening, seven year old Daeron leads his siblings in. Their eldest son a perfect mix of them both, his dark skin and hair with her amethyst eyes. Five year old Elia isn't far behind, a little Dornish beauty. Four year old Alyssa - her mother's miniature - comes in holding her little brother's hand. Duncan, aged two, has Oberyn's skin tone and dark eyes, but his mother's silver hair. ''Shaena, beloved, looks as if we're no longer alone in here.''

Shaena stirs, blinking sleep from her eyes, and instantly perks up at the sight of their four children. ''Good morning, our loves, come on up.'' The couple sit up to make room for their children. All four climb up onto the bed. ''I heard mama shouting last night.'' Daeron says, looking concerned for his mother.

Shaena pulls her eldest close to her, and kisses his dark brown hair. ''I'm alright, little love, just a bad dream. But, your papa was there to help me, weren't you, love?''

Oberyn proudly nods, pulling Alyssa onto his lap. ''Of course I did, darling.''

Elia asks her mother. ''Why do you have bad dreams, muna?'' Shaena has decided to tell her children everything about herself later on, there are just some things they're not ready to hear yet. ''That, Elia, is a story for when you all are much older.''

Alyssa looks up to her father, and asks. ''Can we have breakfast now, papa? Outside?''

Oberyn nods, kissing his daughter's nose. ''That sounds wonderful to me, how about you, moonlight?''

Shaena looks up from fussing over little Duncan. ''You read my mind, sunshine.''

They send the children for morning baths and to get dressed, and take care of themselves. They ask for breakfast to be served outside by the red lily garden. Shaena watches her husband playing amongst the plants and ponds with their children, already feeling pulled to add another to their little paradise. She knows how vulnerable they still are. How delicate this peace is. Robert's agents will come sniffing around given half a chance. Just as they will if he catches wind of the plan Rhaegar put in his final letter to her. Being a Targaryen in Robert's Westeros is dangerous, she of all people knows that. She even worries about her younger brother and sister in Essos.

But, looking at the family she's building with the love of her life, all that love and happiness, all the triumph amidst terrible circumstances. She can't help but feel as if things are finally settling down. She would replicate Jaehaerys and Alysanne with Oberyn if she could. She prays for a restoration, though not for her own reign, but as long as they're in Dorne, they're safe.

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A couple of slow and peaceful months pass, it's early in the morning, and the couple are in the throes of lovemaking. The children still fast asleep, their curtains teased by a soft breeze, sunlight cascading in through the open windows. Inside, the bed quietly creaks with their motions, their sheets all but tossed on the floor in their haste. Oberyn lazily trails his mouth down Shaena's throat, gently playing with her slightly puffy breasts. ''Oberyn... gods, don't stop.'' She's insatiable, as she was in the early parts of all four of her last pregnancies. ''As you wish, my princess.''

After, they lie together, Oberyn peppering his wife's neck and shoulders with kisses, cupping her breasts in his hands. Shaena sighs contentedly, and says. ''Oberyn, do you want to know a secret, nuha peldio?''

Oberyn says, his voice sultry as always, one of her many favourite things about her husband. ''Of course.'' Shaena takes both of his hands from her breasts, and moves them down to rest on her lower abdomen. ''Wondered why you haven't been riding lately.'' Shaena chuckles, turning to face her husband. ''Mind having another little one running around here?''

Oberyn kisses her on the mouth. ''We've wanted a big family since we wed, sweetheart.'' He twists some of her silver hair around his fingers. ''Besides, you look so beautiful while pregnant, all full of our babies.'' Shaena's eyes darken, already hungry for him again. ''How long do you think we have?''

Oberyn thinks for a moment. ''About half an hour.'' Shaena nods, and kisses him, rolling her husband onto his back.

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A few weeks pass, Shaena is working on some texts from a friend of theirs at the Citadel. Figuring out whatever the Maesters have been up to has been a passion project of the couple's for some time now. The texts are in High Valyrian, so she's translating them into Common. She and Oberyn aren't alone in this endeavour either. The Daynes, Reeds, and Velaryons are equally interested. Oberyn gets in from sparring with his new squire. He kisses her, placing his ringed hand upon her small bump. ''Any progress, beloved?''

Shaena nods, putting her free hand on top of his. ''Yes, actually, I've gotten some intel on Layton Hightower and his daughter, and a possible clue on why they sent my uncle to the wall.''

Oberyn puts his spear down, and takes the chair next to hers at her desk. ''What do you think they want?''

Shaena sighs, frustrated at the lack of real evidence still. ''That's the thing, nuha peldio, the paper trail is so scattered, I don't think I can have an opinion yet.'' She examines some writing. ''The end of all magic is certain, but the odd relationship to my family and our history is just a hunch so far.''

Oberyn asks her, seeming confused all of a sudden. ''If the Maesters hate magic, why do they employ Marwyn at all?''

Allyria Dayne, Shaena's lady-in-wating, responds. ''Perhaps to keep up appearances? There's always been a Grand Maester for Magic, people would talk if they suddenly cut the post out.''

Shaena concedes, she hadn't thought of it like that before, not in the now three years they've been investigating this. ''That's a great explanation, Allyria.''

Oberyn asks his wife, who is pouring herself some more herbal tea. ''Have you had word from Aemon at all lately?''

Shaena shakes her head, nursing her tea in her hand. ''No, not since Duncan's second nameday. Last I heard; he was well, sight going, but healthy, and in good spirits.''

They're discussing their own theories about the Maesters, when a maid comes in with a letter stamped with a Targaryen seal. Shaena thanks the girl, and cracks the wax dragon. It's from Pentos... addressed from someone called Serra Mopatis.

Princess Shaena,

You'll be pleased to know your younger brother and sister are in safe hands once again. Myself and my husband have taken them in. Viserys has been so brave, and is shaping up to be a great king someday. Daenerys is the sweetest little girl, and whip smart too. Illyrio and I will house them for as long as they need us to, and we will write to you as often as we can.

Yours in trust,

Serra Mopatis.

Shaena is relieved, her only remaining siblings are seemingly in safe hands, and are doing well in the east. She takes another look at the seal, a black dragon instead of red, but all that matters to her for now is that they're safe. She adds it to her locked box of letters, right on top of Rhaegar's last letter to her, and Lyanna Stark's only letter to her. Pulling up a piece of parchment and her pen, she writes to Eddard Stark.

Lord Stark

Read this in private, and burn this letter once you have. I am asking for an update on how my nephew is faring with your family at Winterfell. My brother and sister are in Pentos, and I am carrying mine and Oberyn's fifth child. I just need to know for my own peace of mind how Jon is doing, if he's being treated well, and if he wants to see me at all.

Yours in good faith,

Princess Shaena Targaryen-Martell.

She lets the ink dry, seals it with her red dragon, and goes off to the rookery to send it with her usual raven. It's almost comical, really, Robert going to all that trouble to wipe out all Targaryens in sight, and he has now missed four, and is the king of five more. Dynasties may change, but the dragons still rise.

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A/N: The first Oberyn/Shaena ficlet!! Very proud of this one. I wanted this to serve as a kind of insight into how Shaena works. She's a wife and mother, recovering from an abusive father, and has stepped into the role as de facto head of House Targaryen. She knows exactly what's going on with her siblings out east, and the truth of Rhaegar/Lyanna/Jon. She also has a hunch that the Maesters are at least somewhat behind the fall of her family and of Valyrian culture as a whole.