#every time i saw her that was my only thought

[cressidagrey]

Brighten Up the Sky

This started as a prompt from the lovely @satiresunflower, (though it is pretty much unrecognisable from the prompt she actually gave. She did give me permission to go wild though, so this is what you get lol) 

This starts in Chapter 14 of ACOWAR, so some of the sentences are taken verbatim from the original text. I did change it into 3rd person, because me trying to write in 1st person never ends well. I also think there is a longer story in this particular idea, but quite frankly, I don’t have it in me to write it right now. 

Summary:

A Mating Bond between her younger sister and the Night Court’s shadowsinger was the last thing Feyre had expected to spring up…but then, maybe it did make sense. 

Warning:

Public Displays of affection, kinda Nesta bashing, but like...she has her reasons?, Cassian being annoying

(Lovely dividers thanks to @cafekitsune)

“Where are my sisters?” Feyre asked, the thought clanging through her head as jarring as a pealing bell. 

Her sisters

Rhys paused for just a moment, his hand slipping from her hair as his smile faded. “Elain and Nesta are at the House of Wind.” He straightened, swallowing. “I can—take you to them.” Every word seemed to be an effort.

But he would, Feyre realized. He’d shove down his need for her and take her to them, if that was what she wanted. Her choice. It had always been her choice with him.

Feyre shook my head. She wouldn’t see them—not yet. Not until she was steady enough to face them.

“They’re well, though?”

His hesitation told her enough. 

“They’re safe,” Rhys answered quietly. 

"That’s good," Feyre murmured as she took a deep breath in an attempt to calm the swirling, churning emotions inside her chest.

Her sisters...her sisters were safe. That was something. That was enough. For now. 

Only then she realised something else.

“You said Nesta and Elain are at the House of Wind,” Feyre pointed out, her hands clenching, her heart beating faster. “Where’s Alana?” she demanded, singling out her younger sister…singling out her half sister. 

The result of their father’s dalliance with a maid during her mother’s pregnancy with Feyre. Alana was just 6 months younger than her. Alana’s mother had died during childbirth…so their father had been saddled with another squealing infant that his wife was ill-pleased with. 

Nesta liked to say that that affair had eventually killed their mother. Feyre thought it to be ridiculous. It had been a fever and Alana had nothing to do with it, because she had been a literal child…and Alana had lost her voice to the very same fever. Feyre could still remember her singing like a pealing bell when she had been a child…and then…then she hadn’t been able to anymore. Even talking was near impossible for Alana, her throat unable to produce any sounds. 

Even as Alsna had been thrown into the cauldron…Her mouth had been open in a silent scream, but no sound had come out of her mouth. 

A shudder ran through her at that memory.

Alana. Her sweet, quiet younger sister. The sister that always smiled too sweetly and saw too much with those sharp eyes of hers. 

"Where is Alana?" She repeated. The silence in the room hung thick in the air as Rhys continued to hesitate.

A prickle of unease started to make its way up her spine. 

“Rhys, where is Alana?!” she demanded, her voice rising. 

“She’s safe, I swear,” Rhys hurried to promise her. “She’s not staying with Nesta and Elain but she’s safe. She should be here soon. I think…everything else…you should ask her about that.”

His words did little to soothe her worries, the unease that now clawed up her spine stronger.

“You’re not telling me something,” she pointed out, her brow furrowing. “Rhys, what are you not telling me?” 

She thought back to the last time she had seen her sister…thought back to her being poured out onto the wet stone floor from the cauldron…not a noise had come from her…nothing. She had…She had been poured out of the cauldron and had just kneeled on that stone floor as they had forced Nesta into the cauldron after her. 

She hadn’t…she had been…absent. Like the cauldron had taken too much from her. 

And then, in the moment as Mor had pushed Lucien away from Nesta and Elain, Feyre had seen Alana lunge. 

Not for the King of Hybern. Not even for Mor, who would have been closer to her…But for Cassian and Azriel for some reason. She wasn’t sure what had been Alana’s reasoning. Wasn’t sure what…Rhys had grasped all three of them and winnowed them away. 

Her heart was now hammering.

“What did you do with her?” Feyre demanded, her voice growing panicked. “What did you do with Alana? Why isn’t she staying with Nesta and Elain?” Feyre asked, her voice forcedly calm. “Rhys, what is going on?”

There was another moment of hesitation, another moment of silence, before Rhys finally replied. "She just…opted to stay elsewhere."

Those words did little to reassure her.

"Where?" Feyre pressed, her eyes narrowed. 

Rhys sighed. “How about you get into that bath that should be ready by now?” he suggested. “I’ll…tell you some of what happened. But I do think that some of the things should come from Alana and not from me,” he pointed out drily. 

The last thing she wanted to do right now was take a bath, the last thing she wanted to do was to be pacified with pretty words and nice things. That was the last thing she wanted.

But...he was right. She needed to be clean. 

Feyre growled at her mate, but stomped into the bathing chamber, stripping out of her clothing. Her fingers were near-black with dirt and caked blood. 

Rhys snapped his fingers, and her skin was nearly instantly pristine again. “Tell me what happened,” Feyre said flatly, as she sunk into the blood-hot water. “Why isn’t Alana staying at the House of Wind?”

Rhys was silent for a moment as he looked at her, his mouth in a grim line.

Then he let out a deep sigh, sitting down on the edge of the bathing tub. “A lot of things happened,” Rhys said drily. “But the biggest reason why Alana isn’t at the House of Wind is mostly that…I can’t guarantee Nesta’s safety, if she keeps spewing some of her venom in Alana’s direction.”

Feyre’s brow shot up at that, her heart skipping a beat. “What?” she demanded. “Rhys, what are you talking about?” That didn’t sound—didn’t sound like...

To say that Nesta and Alana didn’t get along was an understatement. Nesta gave Alana the fault for seemingly everything and Alana…well, she played deaf. And even more mute than she normally was. Even when Feyre‘s sister hadn’t been able to talk, she had been more than able to communicate if she wanted to, either with her expressive face, or her hands. And still, Alana had pretended like it wasn’t happening. Elain was no better to her…Elain liked to ignore Alana’s very existence.

But Alana wouldn’t have done anything…Alana wouldn’t have…

“Alana doesn’t lose her temper,” Feyre said carefully as she looked at Rhys. “She doesn’t.”

“She didn’t,” Rhys said drily. “My spymaster did.” 

A puzzled frown crossed over her face at that. “Azriel?” Feyre asked, her eyebrows furrowing. “What did he do?”

Azriel had lost his temper with Nesta? 

“If Cassian hadn’t been there, I think Azriel would have torn out Nesta’s throat with his bare hands,” Rhys said with a grimace. “It was…bad.”

Feyre’s jaw dropped.

Azriel, tearing out Nesta’s throat? With his hands? That…that didn’t sound like him. Not at all.

“I...” Feyre had no idea what to say. Why would Azriel have done that?  Feyre couldn’t…Of course, she knew that Azriel was capable of great violence, but he had never…she had never seen him lose his temper with a member of his family. Had never even through that that was a possibility. Whatever Nesta had said, must have been…

If he had gotten this angry on Alana’s behalf…What exactly had been said?

"What did Nesta do? What did she say?" Feyre asked, her voice hard. "What did she say to warrant that reaction from Azriel?" 

Rhys grimaced, shaking  his head. “You don’t want to know,” he said, his voice low. “Trust me, you do not want to know what she said. It's...complicated."

"Complicated, how?" Feyre demanded as she towelled herself off, walking back into the bedroom and pulled on comfortable clothing, her worry mounting. "What could possibly be so bad that you don't want to tell me?" 

If it was bad enough that Rhys didn't want to tell her what exactly happened...what exactly had been said.

"Well, that…” Rhys trailed off.

"Tell me," Feyre demanded again. "What exactly happened after…Hybern?"

Her mate gave in, holding out his hand and she joined him sitting on the edge of their bed.

Their bed.

She was home. Finally.

Rhys sighed.

“After Hybern…Mor dropped Nesta and Elain off at the House of Wind and then came back to the Townhouse. I had…I had Azriel and Cassian, and Alana too” Rhys said quietly and Feyre swallowed. Azriel and Cassian were healed. Rhys had told her that…but somehow she hadn’t been able to believe it…until she had seen it. 

“Amren tried to stop the blood flow from the literal hole in Azriel’s chest. I didn’t notice at first…Alana was kneeling at Azriel’s side…covered in his blood…holding his head on her lap…” Rhys’s violet eyes seemed to be far, far away, as he nearly shuddered, just thinking about it. “Azriel was…in and out of consciousness…but he was just…he was just holding onto her.”

Feyre’s heart was lodged in her throat. Azriel, nearly dead, was just…holding Alana. Her head was spinning as her mind worked hard to comprehend this. 

“The mating bond snapped for them,” Rhys finally said quietly. 

Feyre’s eyes widened. Her mouth went suddenly dry.

The…the mating bond? Alana and Azriel? Mates?

“The mating bond,” she echoed faintly. “The…the mating bond.” 

Feyre was quite sure that her jaw dropped. And that she stared at Rhys like he had just grown a second head.

“Azriel and Alana?” Feyre asked, unable to believe that. Azriel and Alana?! The brooding shadowsinger and spymaster of the Night Court and her youngest sister?

Azriel, who seemed to have a thing for Mor and had never looked at another female as far as Feyre was aware?

Rhys winced at her look.

"Yes, I know," he said quietly, wincing. "That was…my reaction too. I didn’t see it coming. I don’t think that anyone saw this coming...especially not Azriel." 

Feyre’s mind was racing.

Azriel and Alana. Mates.

She couldn’t…she never would have imagined it. Never seen it coming. Not in a thousand years. 

“Have they…” she wasn’t even sure what she was asking.

“Three days late,” Rhys said with a sigh. “They were not willing to wait.” 

“Three day?!” Feyre demanded. As far as she knew, Alana had never even entertained the thought of a suitor. Not that there had been any men that had looked over the fact that she was a bastard…and mute. They had never bothered to look further and Alana had never fussed about it either. 

"Three days," Rhys repeated. "The moment Azriel was well enough to be mobile again, they mated."  Rhys shuddered, his face scrunching up in distaste. “They are insufferable. The both of them.” 

"What do you mean, insufferable?" Feyre asked. A million thoughts were running through her head. Alana and Azriel…mates. They mated. 

"They could not stay away from each other," Rhys said, shuddering again. "They were...touchy. All the time. And so very...cutesy and sweet with each other. Gods, they are nauseating."

Feyre’s eyebrows rose at that. Alana and Azriel. Touchy? Cutesy and sweet? She could barely even imagine it. Alana...and Azriel. Being affectionate. 

"She’s sitting on his lap constantly," her mate groaned, rubbing his eyes hard. "And he is just…constantly touching her. I don’t even think that they have gone a whole five minutes without touching each other."

"And the looks," her mate continued drily. "Gods, they are exchanging these  looks. You would have thought that they are the soppiest, lovesick couple in existence. I did not ever need to see Azriel making heart-eyes at Alana. That was…traumatising."

Feyre pressed her hand to her mouth to muffle a snort. Azriel, making heart-eyes? That was a sight that she could not quite imagine. She…she hadn’t even thought that Azriel was even…capable of making heart-eyes. 

"Cassian and Mor kept poking fun at them. At every opportunity, which they definitely got often. Alana just…ignored them. But Azriel…" Rhys’ lips curled into a smirk. "He was not as amused as Alana by their teasing. He kept threatening violence every five minutes."

Feyre’s eyes widened at that, a laugh escaping her.

Azriel threatening violence for every five minutes that someone teased him about his new mate? She could not picture that either. 

"Cassian started making kissy faces at Alana just to see if Azriel would lose his temper," her mate said, a broad smile on his face. "And let me tell you, he nearly clawed out Cas’ eyeballs for it."

"So she's staying here?" Feyre asked carefully.

Rhys shook his head, his expression growing more serious. "She's at Azriel's house," he explained with a sigh. "It's...the cauldron left her with some...abilities. She’s a daemati…of sorts, at least,” Rhys said with a grimace. “We are still trying to figure out…how exactly it works. You and me…we need to concentrate if we want to read somebody’s thoughts. Alana…she said it was like she was standing in the middle of a market square and everybody is shouting at her,” Rhys said quietly. “We haven’t yet found anybody with shields solid enough to keep her out.”

Feyre swallowed at that. Alana, a daemati…of sorts. Having no control over whose thoughts she heard. No control over how loud everything was. 

“It’s like every mental wall, doesn’t even exist for her," Rhys said with a sigh. "Being around Amren gives her a headache too apparently. Azriel and Cassian are the most relaxing to be around according to her. There minds seem to be...even, analytical."

It sounded like a living hell. No control, no shields. Nothing.

“Is she…” Feyre’s voice was quiet. “Is she doing alright? Considering everything that happened.” 

“She’s fine,” Rhys promised her. “Alana is probably doing the best of them all,” Rhys said, something like amusement bleeding into his voice. “She can tell you all about it."

There was a knock at the door at that moment.

Feyre tensed as her eyes flew to the door.

“That’s her,” Rhys said quietly, placing a soothing hand on her leg. “Are you ready?” 

Feyre took a deep, steadying breath, pushing down her worry and her nerves.

“I’m ready,” she said. 

“Feyre!”

Her sister's voice. Her sister's voice.

Feyre’s heart skipped a beat as her body went rigid.

She couldn’t…she couldn’t believe it. After so long…after believing…believing for so long that she would never hear Alana’s voice…

Feyre remembered with a shudder the sight of small, slight Alana in her translucent nightgown…being poured out of the cauldron onto the stone...She looked nothing like she did now.

She looked well.

That was the first thing Feyre realised. Colour on her cheeks, dark, pin straight hair pinned away from her face and these devasting doe eyes…

Feyre’s eyes roamed over her sister, drinking in the sight of her. Alive. Well. Whole.

She could barely believe it, her mind struggling to catch up. 

"You can talk," Feyre whispered as Alana hugged her.  

She grimaced.

Kinda. This is easier though, she answered, her mental voice slipping into Feyre's mind without her even noticing. My throat hurts if I talk too much.

It was strange, having a voice in her mind that was not her own. Different from when her mate spoke to her down the bond. It was more…pronounced. Clearer, somehow. 

"Are…” Feyre’s voice broke again, her eyes roaming over Alana again. “Are you really alright, Al?” 

She drunk in her sister's face, the pale skin, the freckles that covered her face...she had been pretty as a human but as a fae...as a High fae she was gorgeous.

Alana’s eyes, her sister’s eyes, were still the same. Still that same dark, endless brown that had always seemed to hold so many secrets. She had never met anyone who could hold as many secrets as Alana had.

She looked so healthy, so well and Feyre felt a lump form in her throat. 

She had to fight the sudden urge to cry, as she pulled her sister into another hug. Her sister’s slender arms wrapped around her, pulling her in tight. Like she was never going to let her go again. 

I am alright, Alana promised fiercely. I am better than alright. I am...I am so happy, Fey.

The thought in her mind brought another wave of tears to Feyre’s eyes. She held on to her sister tighter, burying her face against her neck as a sob escaped her and she inhaled her sister’s familiar, comforting scent. Pomegranate and Vanilla, with an underlay of Azriel. 

He treats you well? she asked, cradling her sisters face in her hands. She didn't think that Azriel would...mistreat her but...

Alana’s eyes darkened as she thought of Azriel and her expression softened as a faint smile crossed her face. 

Feyre swallowed again. This was different. This was…her sister had never smiled like that. So open. So happy. So filled with…love. 

And then, very carefully, Feyre felt how Alana pulled at her mind in some sense and then dropped a memory.

For just a moment, it felt like she was in her little sister's body. And she stared at Azriel who looked at her, at Alana with utter and complete adoration, scarred hands cupping her cheeks so gently.

Feyre’s breath caught in her throat at that.

She could feel, could understand the feeling of Azriel’s warm, scarred hand against her skin. The way how the pads of his fingers ran over her jawline, the way how his thumb traced over her lower lip. The way how those hazel eyes of his were filled with nothing but love. 

A shudder ran down Feyre’s spine. That look, the way how Azriel had looked at her sister…it was like the expression in Rhys’ eyes when he looked at her. 

Her eyes flickered to Rhys, where he was patiently waiting in a corner.

He was looking at her with that same look in his eyes. The same look that Feyre knew was mirrored in her own eyes. It was the same, that look. Pure, utter devotion. 

It was the look of a man completely and utterly in love. 

Feyre swallowed as she turned back to Alana, her mind whirling. This was…Alana, her sister…her quiet, shy, closed-off little sister. And Azriel, the Shadowsinger and Spymaster of the Night Court. The one that no one saw as anything but sharp and deadly and a ruthless killer. 

He didn’t hurt you, did he? Feyre asked weakly. She didn’t think he would but…

Alana’s expression softened. Her hand gently came to rest on Feyre’s arm and she shook her head, a small smile on her face.

He was gentle as possible, Fey, Alana promised quietly. Gentler than I would have expected. He made sure to go slow, to be careful. He was…he was everything I could have wished for. He has never hurt me more than I wanted. 

Feyre let out a long, shaky breath she didn’t know that she was holding.

She…she had been worried. Worried for her sweet little sister, being together with a man like Azriel. Who was dangerous and deadly and…and lethal. 

What do you mean with no more than you wanted? she demanded suddenly. Alana just grinned at her, her laugh like a pealing bell.

A shudder ran down Feyre’s spine again. Alana’s…her sister’s voice, the sound of her laugh. It was the most wonderful sound that she had ever heard. She could’ve started bawling like a child, but the thought that Alana dropped into her mind just completely derailed her.

He knows what I like, and he’s happy to oblige. 

Feyre’s eyes widened and she choked on nothing.

She…oh Gods. Her face heat in a blush as Alana just continued smiling at her innocently. 

This was her sister. Her quiet, shy, closed-off sister. That was how she remembered her. And now…and now…she was standing in front of Feyre, smiling at her like a cat who had just devoured an entire bowl of cream, telling her that her stoic, broody, deadly Spymaster of a mate was apparently…into things… 

Her sister smirked at her. Alana! Her shy, little sister, who had never even so much as looked at a male with interest, stood in front of Feyre, a smirk on her face as she told Feyre that her mate knew what she liked. 

I was surprised too, you know, Alana’s voice echoed in Feyre’s mind. But well…I like it, and he’s happy to oblige. He’s very good at it… 

But the look on Alana’s face, the utter contentment in her eyes, and the feeling of…of lust from her sister, made it even more mortifying. 

Alana was happy. Her sister was happy and well, and she just radiated happiness. Feyre’s heart soared, seeing her sister like that after so long.  And even the horrifying bits, Feyre could push past.

Seeing her sister happy like this…that was worth a bit of mortification and discomfort. 

So she swallowed her mortification, and just pulled a face at her smirking sister.

Enough with the gory details, for the love of the Mother. she chided her in her head. Alana just let out another pearly bell kind of laugh.

You should come downstairs. Nuala and Cerridwen have given Lucien some clothing and showed him to a bathing chamber. Lunch should be served soon, if you are hungry, Alana said into her mind.

I am famished, Feyre confessed in her mind. “Lead the way,” she said aloud and Alana just rolled her eyes, taking her by the arm and pulling her downstairs. 

And then something else came to her mind. What did Nesta say to you?

Alana sighed. Nothing that matters, her sister said easily as they reached the dining room. Azriel and Cassian were waiting for them.

And then Feyre saw how her sister turned from happy to radiant as soon as she saw Azriel. 

Feyre watched with ill disguised horror, as the spymaster’s shadows came over to Alana, seemingly swarming around her. Whatever bits of naked skin they could find…in this case her hands and face, because she wore a long sleeves high necked gown, they caressed. Nearly sweetly. 

Alana absentmindedly drew her fingers through one tendril as she floated over to Azriel, sitting down onto his lap like that was an utterly normal thing to do. Feyre could just stare as Azriel pressed a kiss against her sister‘s cheek, one scarred hand possessively spanning her waist.

Like this was normal. Like this was something they had done dozens of times…like it was the most normal thing in the world. Like this was their usual routine…and Alana smiled at him, broadly, pressing a kiss against his cheek in greeting. 

It was...it was surreal, watching Alana like this. So much more open, less reserved than Feyre had ever seen her. And the way how Azriel looked at her...Feyre had never seen him express such open and utter adoration before. 

Cassian made a retching sound, catching Feyre’s attention. Azriel’s eyes darkened as he threw an icy look in Cassian’s direction. Alana just snuggled deeper into Azriel’s chest. 

Azriel let out the smallest of chuckles at Alana’s behaviour in his lap, one of his hands coming up to gently play with a strand of her dark hair as he pressed another kiss to her forehead. 

The quiet, brooding Spymaster of the Night Court, who could be downright terrifying when he wanted, completely and utterly smitten by her little sister. 

Feyre could just stare. 

She had not for one moment thought that they would…would be a good match. But here they were. 

Alana...Feyre had never seen her sister like this before. So open, so happy. So...unreserved. She was like a cat, settled in the lap of her male, letting him pet her like she was...like he owned her. And it seemed like Azriel would gladly claim ownership too. The possessive, proprietary look on his face told Feyre all she needed to know. 

“Get a room, for the love of the Mother,” Cassian drawled with a disgusted look on his face as Azriel buried his nose in her sister’s hair and Feyre shot him another dirty look. Alana just stuck her tongue out at him. 

Azriel just bared his teeth at Cassian, a silent warning to watch his tongue in the direction of the woman in his lap, who was busy playing with the buttons on his fighting leathers. 

“What did Nesta say?“ Feyre repeated as she sat down herself. 

The reactions were immediate. 

Azriel growled.

Feyre couldn’t help but flinch slightly. That growl...she hadn’t heard him make that sound before. It sounded utterly terrifying. Alana didn’t even flinch. She just touched Azriel’s chest in a soothing gesture and Azriel immediately quieted down, holding her even tighter. 

It doesn’t matter what Nesta had to say, Alana’s voice echoed in her mind.

“It absolutely does,” Feyre muttered, feeling some anger rising in her. Her sister deserved better than what Nesta had to say. 

I don’t care what she says, Alana replied in her mind. She can believe whatever she likes. She is entitled to her opinion. 

“She can be quiet about her opinion,” Azriel hissed. Only then Feyre realised that her sister must have been projecting her mental voice so that everybody could hear it.

"Azriel." Alana's voice was soft. "It's alright. We both know the truth. It doesn’t matter what she believes"

Azriel looked down at her and a slight frown appeared on his face. He gently cupped her sister's chin, his hazel eyes staring into her dark ones. Feyre could practically hear the silent conversation between them. 

Cassian sighed. "Nesta found out about the mating bond between Azriel and Alana and she didn't take it well," he told Feyre drily.

Of course, she didn’t. Of course, she didn’t. Feyre ground her teeth together. 

"So what exactly was said?" she asked sharply.

Cassian and Rhys shared a look as Azriel let out another warning growl. Feyre ignored him. 

I want to know, Feyre snapped towards Alana. Her sister stiffened. 

Feyre, Alana’s voice echoed in her mind, a hint of warning in her tone. Feyre pushed down a wave of irritation. 

Tell me, Feyre demanded. She was done with secrets. Done with not knowing things. 

It’s nothing, Alana tried to brush her off and Feyre’s irritation flared up in her stomach. 

It is not ‘nothing’. Feyre snapped at her. Her sister’s face was a stoic mask as Azriel let his hand span across her stomach. 

Nesta made a comment about how she was surprised that Azriel hadn't ripped me apart during our...mating. But maybe she shouldn't be surprised because I was a whore anyway, Alana finally answered. How a brute like him was all I amounted to, given that I was a bastard...and then there was some more stuff in that rant about how unfair it was that I had landed on my feet but Elain is...well...Elain isn't doing so good, Alana answered flatly.

Feyre felt her blood boil in her veins. Of course, Nesta would say something like that, the bitter, twisted...- Feyre bit down on the string of curses burning on her tongue. 

Nesta isn't doing well, Feyre. You can't take what she is saying right now to heart, Alana warned her softly. You haven't been in her mind...it's...it's bad.

Feyre felt some of her anger cool down ever so slightly. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t pissed off at Nesta for what she had said. Even if...even if Nesta wasn’t doing well. 

That doesn’t change anything about what she said, Feyre said through gritted teeth. 

I am not defending her, Alana said firmly. I love Nesta. Doesn’t mean that I like hearing her talk about Azriel like that. But Feyre... her voice grew softer. I have seen her mind. Her thoughts. She isn’t in a good place right now.

Feyre grimaced, feeling her anger slowly disappear. She didn’t like it. She didn’t want to. But...maybe Alana was right. Nesta was her sister, and Feyre loved her. Even after everything that had happened between them. 

Still...what she said... Feyre said weakly and Alana’s lips quirked. 

I know, she said gently. I was angry too. I nearly tore her head off. But Azriel...he was furious. I’ve never seen him like that before. 

Feyre didn’t need to be told how furious Azriel had been. The look in his eyes, the clenched jaw and the growl that Feyre had heard...she didn’t need anyone to tell her how the usually stoic male had been absolutely furious about what Nesta had said. 

"I'll talk to her," Feyre said aloud.

She ignored the dubious look that Cassian and Rhys were giving her. Her sister just smiled at her softly and nodded. 

Talk to her gently, she urged in Feyre’s mind. Please. And don’t...don’t try to defend me. It will only start a fight. 

Feyre winced. Even though, she didn’t like the thought of it and not defending her sister went completely against her nature, she knew that Alana was right. And her sister could read her thoughts with ease anyways. 

I’ll bite my tongue, Feyre promised her. Alana smiled at her again, that smile that lit up her entire face. Feyre felt her heart clench at the beautiful sight. 

“Thank you,” Alana said happily, her voice like the most wonderful sound. Feyre had a feeling that that was the thanks not only for agreeing not to defend her but for just...not making a scene. Feyre felt a small, answering smile tug at the corners of her own lips.

Instead, she watched her sister pick up a piece of bread from the plate in front of Azriel and hold it up for him to eat without another word. A silent gesture of acceptance.

Azriel’s lips twitched as he looked at his mate, sitting on his lap like she belonged there. But he obediently opened his mouth, a subtle sign of complete surrender to Alana. 

Cassian made another retching sound. Alana ignored him.

Azriel was the one who kissed Alana.

Feyre could have gone quite a long time without that sight. Especially because it wasn't a simple peck on the cheek or a quick kiss to her lips. 

Feyre could have gone forever without seeing her sister like this, settled in the lap of her mate, their bodies pressed together tightly as Azriel kissed her, devoured her, his hands possessively splayed out on her slender waist. 

"Now you are just fucking with me," Cassian said with a sigh.

Alana just broke out in a fit of giggles as Azriel threw a glare in Cassian’s direction. 

“Maybe I am,” Azriel mused, as Alana settled back into his lap. Azriel’s one scarred hand was back to playing with a strand of Alana’s hair. “Jealous?” he asked lightly and  Cassian actually growled at him.  Azriel snorted, his hand possessively covering Alana’s stomach, who was smiling like the happiest person in the world. 

“Shut up,” Cassian huffed. “I am not jealous. I just don’t want to know what you two get up to at night.” 

"Only at night?" Azriel asked drily. "Brother, you have much to learn."

Feyre groaned internally at the hint in Azriel’s voice as Cassian looked a little ashen, while Rhys burst out laughing and Alana let out another one of her pearly-bell like laughs. 

“Stop tormenting him,” Rhys said with a chuckle as Cassian tried to recover. “He’ll have nightmares for weeks if you continue like this.” 

“That sounds like a you problem,” Azriel replied, completely unrepentant, “not ours.” Alana was still giggling, a sound like tinkling bells in Feyre’s ears. 

“Of course you say that, you bastard,” Cassian said with a sigh as Azriel’s hand on Alana’s stomach started to slowly wander upwards. 

Feyre could see how Alana’s cheeks flushed slightly in response to the possessive touch. How her breathing quickened ever so slightly. Azriel’s lips twitched as he noticed it too. 

"We'll let you deal with Lucien," Alana said suddenly, gaining her feet quickly. "We'll see you at dinner. Az?"

“Coming, sweetheart,” Azriel said and Cassian made another retching sound as Feyre could feel the waves of possessiveness coming off Azriel in waves. Her sister was his. 

In a matter of heartbeats, they were gone. Feyre was left with Cassian and Rhys who were both looking at her intently. 

"Yes, they are always like that, if you wondered,” Cassian said with a roll of his eyes. "I think they are still in the Mating Frenzy."

“Most likely,” Rhys agreed with a chuckle. “But they also don’t seem to care who sees it. Mor is still horrified from walking in on them a few weeks ago.” 

“So would I be in her shoes,” Feyre said honestly and Cassian snickered. 

“They are insufferable, aren’t they?” He said with a grin. Rhys just chuckled. “So utterly happy.”

“Yes,” Feyre agreed, the image of the two of them, completely oblivious to the world around them still in her mind. “Unbelievably so.” 

“They’re also completely and utterly devoted to each other,” Rhys mused. “It is…kind of sweet.” Feyre nodded thoughtfully. 

It was sweet. The way Azriel looked at her sister, how he was so utterly possessive about her. And Alana…there wasn’t a hint of hesitation about her when it came to Azriel. 

"As long as she's happy," Feyre said quietly. As long as Alana was happy.

[justmymindandstuff]

Can you do Aemond x f!reader? And the reader being a lot like Helaena (I'm projecting lol, I want an autistic reader basically). Just fluff between them, maybe newlywed?

Learn to Love you - Aemond Targaryen x WifeReader

summary: Aemond tries to understand his new wife, but you are too much like his sister. He can't get through to you. One evening he tries it with direct confrontation and is rewarded with a glimpse of you and hope for the future. After this evening his wife is not a complete stranger anymore.

words: 2.818

warnings: softAemond, a bit angst

a/n: based on the request above. Unfortunately it didn't turn out quite as fluffy as it should. I hope you like it anyway :) I'm not autistic myself and don't want to hurt any feelings with the portrayl of the Reader. I based her on Helaena in the show.

Gif not mine// English is not my first language// no use of Y/N // AO3 // not proofread// requests are open

Aemond moves quietly through the halls of his home. The Red Keep slowly goes calm. The sun has already set, and most have retreated to their private chambers. Aemond is tired and longs for his own chambers and his bed. He had spent the evening a little longer than usual talking with Ser Criston. The sworn shield of his mother and he had trained together in the courtyard in the morning. Criston had discussed a few improvements with him. If his sore muscles would allow it, Aemond would try out the improvements tomorrow. But before he can retreat for the evening, he still has a task to complete. He still has his evening visit with his wife to attend to.

His marriage is not really how he imagine it would be. It's been almost a week since you two got married. You've known each other for 10 days. When you arrived at the Red Keep and he saw you for the first time, he had been relieved. A pretty face and a friendly smile had greeted him. Aemond tried to get to know you and realized that you are more than just a pretty face. You are nice, polite, smart, well-read, but strange. Often you drift off into your own world. Captured by your thoughts. You will be in a place where Aemond cannot follow you. And he quickly realized that you can't stand it when he touches you.

During your wedding ceremony, you didn't touch him more than necessary. The touch of your lips almost triggered a panic attack for you. You tore your hand away from his. Aemond would have liked to hold your hand a little longer. On this night, he did not dare to lay with you. This didn´t change over the last week, so you are still a maiden. Not that Aemond has told anyone, and as far as he knows, you haven't said a word either.

Maybe it's because he is a stranger to you? Aemond doesn't really know what to do. He doesn't like the situation. But he also doesn't know how he should change it. His usual solution, Vhagar, will definitely not work here.

He tried to seek advice from his brother. I don't know. With Helaena, it was different. I knew her well before we got married. For your wife, you are just a stranger. Aegon is right but Aemond didn't know how to change that.

So he went to his mother. Give her time to get to know you.

Both pieces of advice only led him to visit you every evening and try to get to know you. However, you mostly sit there in awkward silence and do not look at each other. You still feel uncomfortable in his presence he knows this.

Arriving at your chambers, he takes a deep breath once more and steps inside. The room is still lit by a few candles. He closes the door and watches as you pace restlessly in front of the fireplace.

"You are later than usual." you say, stopping in your movement. Now that Aemond is here, the unrest fades a little. Still, it bothers you that he doesn't come to visit you during his usual time frame. It's actually almost time for you to call your maids so they can help you change and you can go to sleep.

“I apologize for being late.” Aemond says even though he doesn't understand why it bothers you. Have you already gotten your hopes up that he won't come today? You look at him for a moment and then nod.

Without saying a word, you sit down in the armchair by the fireplace where you sit every evening. Aemond takes off his sword belt and places his weapon next to the door. He had considered that it might make you nervous that he carries a sword with him. So he puts down his weapon every evening before he sits down with you. Fortunately, you know nothing about the dagger in his boot.

Aemond even had a dagger made for you as a wedding gift. A beautiful weapon, with a gracefully curved handle and on the blade, just before the hilt begins, is a small dragon embossed that is inspired by Vhagar. Aemond hasn't had the chance to give you this gift yet. He knows that you need to get to know him better in order to understand the thought behind it. You should always be able to protect yourself, in case he might not be able to someday.

He shakes off the thought and sits down in the other armchair next to the fireplace. You don't look at him, but into the flames. Just like every evening. When you start to speak in a quiet voice he almost flinches.

"Why are you later than usual?" your hands are playing with the fabric of your skirt. You haven't changed for the night yet. You´re never when Aemond comes into your chambers. Even your hair is still braided into tight braids. Aemond feels like a visitor in his wife's chambers.

"I discussed my training with Ser Criston. There were a few problems this morning," he replies honestly.

Your face shows no reaction as you respond. “Are you hurt?”

Are you worried about him? No. Why should you? He is a stranger to you. But he still worries about you even though you are a stranger to him. After all, you are married. He wished he could read your thoughts.

"No, I am not hurt. Even though I don't really want it, Ser Criston is always a bit cautious during training with me." he is trying to ease your worries. If you are worried. Again, he tries to read your expression, but your face remains still. Your only reaction is that you turn your head to look at him. The fire in the fireplace casts warm light on your profile and your skin shimmers almost like gold. Once again, Aemond notices how beautiful you are. You look at him, and your gaze prompts Aemond to continue speaking. "I don't want him to hold back because, in a serious situation, my opponent won't hold back either."

"Which serious situation?" you still ask in a quiet voice.

"I don't know. If my family is in danger." and then he adds quietly. "If you are in danger."

The corner of your mouth twitch slightly and you almost smile. Then you turn your gaze away again and look into the fireplace. Aemond suppresses the urge to reach for your hand in your lap. Silence spreads again between you. The uncomfortable silence causes a hot burning sensation in Aemond's gut. Still, he can't take his eyes off you. You seem a bit sad. He decides that it can't go on like this. Aemond has to swallow and gathers all his courage to speak again.

"You are not happy."

This time you turn not just your head towards him but your whole body. He is surprised when your gaze meets him and you look directly into his eyes. Rarely can you hold his gaze. Your eyebrows furrow slightly as you think. It takes a moment before you respond.

"No. No, it's just that it's hard for me. My father brought me here, and this is a strange place for me. All the people around me are strangers. I miss my family and my home. Everything I knew was taken away from me. I was used to everything at home. I had my routines and everything. It's hard for me to adjust to all these new things around me. But it doesn't have anything to do with you."

Aemond is surprised by your words and needs a moment to truly understand what you have said. Guilt overwhelms him. It is his fault that you were kidnapped from your home. Because you had to marry him.

"I'm sorry," he says. Now it is him who cannot withstand your gaze and he looks at his hands.

"I don't blame you." once again, you surprise him your voice is now a bit firmer. "It wasn't your decision to marry me. Just as it was not my decision to marry you. That was agreed upon by our parents." you sigh. "You are not happy either. And that is my fault. I know that I'm weird."

"No! I don't find you weird."

You laugh softly and at the sound Aemond's heart skips a beat. He is looking at you again, he wants to hear you laugh once more.

"You don't have to lie."

"I am not lying. I don't find you weird. You remind me of my sister."

Your eyes start to shine. "Hel. I like her a lot."

He feels a slight tug at his heart. Aemond knows that you usually spend your days in the company of his sister Helaena. He has seen both of you walking in the garden a few times or engrossed in conversation while eating. He would be lying if he said he wasn't jealous of Helaena.

"Yes, I know. Do you spend a lot of time with her?“

You nod. "Yes. I enjoy being with her." "What are you doing all day?"“ Aemond is clinging to every strand. Everything is better than this uncomfortable silence between you.

"Oh, very different things. Sometimes we read together, or she explains something to me about insects. Sometimes I read one of my poems to her. Or I’ll give her one to read."

Aemond is captivated by the sparkle in your eyes.

"You write poetry?" he asks, annoyed with himself for not knowing this about you, but Hel did. Your cheeks are slightly turning red, and for the first time, Aemond feels like he can read your emotions from your face.

"Yes, among with other things. I also enjoy reading poetry. My favorite poet is Marcus Hill. He writes incredibly well. My poems are not even close to being that good. But I don't just write poems, I also write short stories. This helps me organize my thoughts better. But I like most writing poems.“ you speak a little faster than usual, which reveals your excitement to Aemond. He can't help but smile at the sight. Now that you are passionately talking about your interests, you are even more beautiful.

Suddenly you jump up from your chair. Aemond's hand instinctively goes to where his sword's hilt usually is. In the next second, it becomes clear to him that there is no danger, and he relaxes again. You didn't notice anything because you turned away immediately and took a few uncertain steps through your chamber before turning back to him. Uncertain, your hands begin to play with the fabric of your skirt. You take a deep breath and then search for his gaze for a second before looking away again. Aemond leans forward a bit, tense with anticipation. Finally you start to speak. "Would you like to… I mean just if you want? You don't have to." You stop yourself, take a deep breath and gathering your thoughts. "Would you like to read one of my poems?" you ask softly.

Aemonds heart skips a beat and a pleasant warmth spreads within him. "Yes. Very gladly."

You nod, turn back around, and walk to your nightstand. You pick up a book with a leather cover and open it. Aemond notices from his seat that it is stuffed with written pages, and almost every book page is filled with your neat handwriting. You rummage through the loose papers and then pull out a page before you close the book again and carefully place it back in its spot. You are coming back to him.

"I wrote this on the day of our wedding," you say, handing him the sheet of paper. In that moment, your fingertips brush against his. The touch is so fleeting that Aemond is not sure if he might have just imagined it.

He turns his gaze away from you and directs it to the folded paper between his fingers. He wants to open it to read your poem, but before he has really moved his fingers, your hand shoots forward and holds his hand firmly. Aemond skin tingles and he lightly closes his hands around yours.

"No. Please don't read it here. That would be too embarrassing for me. Please read it later and tell me tomorrow what you thought," you say quickly. Aemond looks up again and directly into your eyes. He saw you that close for the last time on your wedding day in the sept. A shiver runs through his body and he can only nod. You also nod and allow him to briefly squeeze your hand before you pull back and sit down again in your chair opposite to him. He already misses the feeling of your soft skin under his fingers.

Aemond folds the paper with your face completely again and then puts it in the pocket of his shirt. Suddenly, this piece of paper is his most precious possession.

"Now you know something about me." you notice. Aemond can't gauge whether the fact bothers you or not. He hopes it  doesn´t. Before he can ask, you are already speaking again. "You like sword training. I could watch your training?” you suggest.

Aemond thinks about the training courtyard. About the loud clashing of the swords striking against each other, the sreams of the knights, the swearing and the rough manner of speaking among men. And then he thinks of you, his gentle, fragile wife. Sometimes the gentle background music that plays during dinner is too loud for you. You would hate it.

"No, this is not a suitable environment for you, my Lady. The men do not know how to behave in the presence of a princess." he explains.

"Oh."

Aemond sees how you stiffen a little again and turn your gaze back towards the fireplace. The fire is almost out. Aemond is afraid that the closeness he has found today will slip away from him again, and as a result, he starts to speak a bit too quickly.

"But if you want, I can join you on your walk tomorrow?" he is momentarily afraid that this will disrupt your routine, but you look at him again.

"Yes, that would be nice. I always take a stroll through Queen Alyssa's garden after afternoon tea."

Aemond must suppress a smile. He is, of course, well informed about your daily routine. Even though he hasn't really been able to talk to you until today, he has always kept a close eye on what you're doing. "I am happy to be allow to accompany you." his gaze falls on your hands folded in your lap, and once again, longing pulls at him to reach for your hand. "When we go for a walk. Would you allow me to hold your hand then? I know you don't like my touches. But...

"No. It's not your touches that I don't like.I don't like touches from anyone, regardless of who." you clarify things quickly. "But yes. I will allow it. I know about it know, so I can prepare myself for it. If I´m prepared I can hold your hand.”

This time Aemond cannot suppress his smile. A pleasant anticipation for tomorrow fills him and he feels as if he has made a significant step forward in his marriage today.

The ringing of the bell in the great sept makes you both flinch. Startled you look out the window, then you get up and walk through your rooms. "I have to call my maids and go to bed.It's already past my usual time."

Aemond quickly gets up as well and nods. Bad conscience about the fact that he disrupted your routine today weighs on him. He turns to the door and goes to his sword belt to put it back on. As he just fastens the buckle and turns to leave, you turn to him once more.

"Thank you, Aemond. Our conversation was good for me. I enjoyed it very much. I´m looking forward to our walk tomorrow and I'm curious to hear what you think of my poem."  and then you smile directly at him for the first time.

His heart starts to race immediately, and Aemond is sure that he has just fallen in love. Unconsciously, he places his hand on the pocket where he has put your poem. Then he returns your smile.

"Yes, I also enjoyed it very much. Good night, my Lady Wife. I will see you tomorrow."

"Good night, my Lord Husband.” you respond still with a smile on your face.  

Aemond nods briefly and then leaves your chambers. His steps are light, and he intends to speak with the steward first thing tomorrow morning so that he can arrange for the poet Marcus Hill to be invited to the Red Keep as soon as possible.

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Danny the Guy Who Won't Die

He lives in Gotham, and he is just A Guy. Nothing weird about him, he's just there to study/work/help Lady Gotham to lift her curse/on vacation with Sam. Point is, he is not there to cause trouble and there's no GIW on his tail. Just a dude living his (after)life.

And Gotham, being Gotham, still finds a way to be annoying. There are mugging attempts, robbery, Rogues running around. Only Danny really doesn't want to deal with any of it.

Now there's a dilemma. If he uses his powers to fight, it will sooner or later come to Bats' attention. And if he fights as a human, it will also alert some of the Bats since he doesn't really do a great job at keeping his power levels low. Not to mention the fact he is really not enthusiastic about accidentally punching someone hard enough he sends them to a hospital.

What does he do instead? He pulls the 'I guess I'll die' act.

So every time he is attacked, he just plays dead. The mugger shot him in the chest? He falls down and stops breathing. Caught up in the middle of a Poison Ivy attack? Skewers himself on the vine and goes lax. Scarecrow's Fear Gas? Very dramatically chokes himself and plays a corpse. He makes sure to disappear before any ambulances arrive later, and it all goes well for a few months - he is just a casualty, who cares, really - until one day, he runs into that same mugger who shot him in the chest a while ago.

The man does a double take. Danny doesn't notice - he's been mugged so many times, who has the brain capacity to remember all of those fuckers. But the rumor goes out anyway.

A guy-who-won't-die. It's more of a city legend, really, and the Bats don't give it much thought since, well, it sounds stupid and not very important. A rumor of some man who was shot dead and then showed up like nothing happened? Yeah, it's probably because the mugger didn't check if he was actually dead. That happens. Maybe it wasn't even the same man, Gotham is a big city. If anything, hey, at least that was one less casualty? That's a good thing.

That is, until one day, they show up to Joker's hostage situation and witness the clown screaming at one of the hostages. He is so enraged he is shaking, spit flying out of his mouth, and, contrary to the usual Joker's evil sneers and maniacal laughter, he seems just... furious. But, like, the normal-human-level furious. The 'I just lost the last ounce of patience with you' furious.

"Don't you look away from me, you think I don't remember you?! Na-ah, I do. You were the one I drowned in the shark tank last week! And you were the one run through the chainsaw trap two weeks before that! And you were in the guillotine!!! I saw your fucking head get deattached from your body, how the fuck are you here again?!"

And the guy he is screaming at just looks at him, confused and incomprehensive.

"Um, I'm pretty sure I'd remember getting my head cut off, you know? So, err, wrong guy."

"Wrong guy my fucking ass-"

Joker is so distracted by his screaming match that it makes it almost too easy for the Bats to fight him down and drag to Arkham. Yet, a few of them get just a bit suspicious.

Now, imagine all the shenanigans when they try keeping a watch on Danny the Won't Die Guy.

[f0point5]

I think I have sent this same request some time ago but I still would like you to write something about Emilia and Max hanging out with Victoria’s children and maybe thinking about their own future kids. But really anything with Max and Emilia would be great!

I don’t think I’ve ever seen this one, but tumblr eats asks sometimes 🤷‍♀️ but it’s too cute so here you go! I am keeping these short but I hope you still enjoy it!

✨Set during summer break 2024✨

I’m having his baby (…) no, I’m not

You take a sip of your rosé as Victoria comes to stand beside you. You’re lurking in the doorway of the lounge, watching Max sitting on the couch with his baby niece in his arms. He’s bobbing her in a gentle motion, his hands looking huge around her tiny, swaddled body.

“God, I remember when we used to say our kids would get married,” Vic says beside you, and you laugh.

You did say that. As little kids you would wish to be sisters, and somehow the only way you could think to make that happen would be for your children to marry each other. Like in that Flintstones movie you used to love. You’d draw pictures of the two of you sitting on the porch of a large house, watching your children get married.

Now you wonder if your mums thought the same, during those summers in Italy, as they watched you all play. They swear now that they did, that the mother’s intuition told them you and Max were tied together by some invisible chord that chafed on both your wrists. “A mother always knows,” Sophie said to you when she saw you last, “you will know, too”.

“And now that would be illegal and dangerous for our grandkids,” you say, shaking your head. “Crazy,”

“I like it better this way,” Victoria says, putting her arm around your shoulder and squeezing you into a hug.

“Me, too,” you agree, your eyes fixed on Max and Hailey. He’s whispering to her in Dutch, her eyes fluttering closed every few seconds as she yawns in his face, which only makes him smile. He’s utterly mesmerised by her. And you’re mesmerised by him.

I swear I can actually feel my ovaries right now.

“He’s so good with kids,” Vic says. “Even with Jaye I remember he was so gentle,”

“Yeah,” you agree, only half hearing her as you take another sip.

“Gives you baby fever, huh?”

You choke on your wine. Was that Victoria or your subconscious talking?

Vic, are you in here? No, of course she’s not in here. She’s just being nosey. Act natural.

“Are you okay?” Max asks from the couch. You look over at him as you wipe your mouth, coughing once as you nod. Even as he looks at you in concern, he never stops the gentle bouncing motion of the baby in his arms.

You go to answer, but Vic beats you to it, blunt as ever. “I was just saying, you will be having one of your own soon, yeah?” She smiles, nodding at Hailey.

If Max is panicking as much as you, he doesn’t show it, just shrugging. “I mean, ye-“ You can feel your eyes widen, and he stops when he sees your face. He tries again. “May-“ he frowns at you, silently begging for help. “No?” You nod gently, and Max turns to Victoria. “No.”

She looks at you in mild disbelief. “No?”

“No,” you emphasise to both Verstappens.

You love them dearly but genetics are a crazy thing - they both share a chronic disregard for timing. They want it all, and they want it now, in any order, all order be damned.

“You’re not getting any younger,” Victoria says, nudging you.

“That is just rude,” you tell her, and she just smiles unapologetically.

“Oh, come on,” she implores, reaching up to wind her finger around a lock of your hair, “a little baby with Max’s eyes and your hair?”

“And both of our tempers,” you say with a chuckle. “Can you imagine that? Besides, we can barely make cereal, and you want us to raise a baby?”

You look at Max for support, but he’s no longer paying attention. He’s looking down at his niece like he’s holding water.

Maybe a baby can live on cereal, if her dad looks at her like that.

“I’m going to go put Hailey down for her nap,” Vic says, jerking you from your thoughts.

She goes over to take a sleepy Hailey from Max’s arms, and he looks loathe to let her go. She looks so much bigger when held by her mother, and her so much more fragile.

“When I get back, we can start on dinner. I’m going to make cereal,” Vic teases in a whisper, winking at you as she passes.

Max snorts with laughter, and you shoot Vic a glare as she starts to hum, shuffling her way out of the lounge towards the bedroom.

You join Max on the couch, falling onto it beside him with a heavy sigh.

“So glad I’m an only child,” you say, rolling your eyes. When Max doesn’t respond, you glance over at him to find him staring at his hands. You nudge him gently. “What?”

“You do,” he starts, leaning back as he turns to you. “Want kids, someday, don’t you?With me. I mean…you don’t think I’ll be, like…”

“No,” you answer quickly, when you understand what he’s getting at.

You silently curse yourself for that joke about tempers. For ever making him think that’s something you worry about. You know there’s a heaviness in Max, in both of you. You know that he is so much more than his father’s son. But you also know that the weight on his shoulders will keep him crooked until he can see that for himself. You hope knowing you see it will be enough for now.

“I want your baby, Max. Someday. There’s no one else I would ever do this with besides you and not just because I love you, but because I know you’ll be an amazing dad,” you tell him honestly, and even that small platitude seems to relax his shoulders. “But can we at least get to one year of baby making activities before we start painting a nursery?”

Max nods, letting out a husk of a laugh. “I’m shit at painting anyway,” he says, looking at you from under those eyelashes that you secretly envy.

Maybe she’ll inherit those, too.

“Free practice?” You offer with a smirk, holding your hand for his.

Max looks at your outstretched palm for a moment before taking your hand in his. “Free practice,” he agrees, using his grip on your hand to pull you forward so that your chest is pressed against his. “I’m looking forward to FP2 later,”

[classypauli]

Hello! Can you make a one shot of Jenna x Fem!reader inspired by the song "Why did you invite me to your wedding?" By Kevin Atwater

jenna ortega x fem!reader

an: heyy long time no see haha *rubbing neck* I wanted to spoil you with something for not writing in such a long time. I have some requests in my Inbox so Imma do them! Also if you are interested in something or got a idea for some one shot-text me. I missed you all.

Dear Anonymous, hope you like it and sorry for making it after such a long time! Thank you for request. Enjoy.

Sorry for mistakes…

I got your message last night around 1:00

You're getting married and you want me to come

You and Jenna have known each other for a long time. You remember how her child-like smile was the first thing you saw on a set. That was far in the past when the both of you were filming for Disney Channel.

Your paths crossed a couple of times at the casting of the movies or some events. Besides that, you didn´t forget to text each other prayers and congrats on the achievements in your lives.

Good friends. That´s what you would call it. But you knew there was something more, just a little bit different than friends. Or maybe you just really wanted it to be like that.

It was hard for you to find the right path in your life and let people in your life. But Jenna no, she was like a family, like a person that should be with you like she needed to be with you.

And you got a feeling she knew that. But only got the feeling.

You miss me a lot and the wedding's next month

I think you were drunk, you spelled "wedding" wrong

You stared at the text like someone just spilled dead water over you. Jenna didn´t like sharing her private life, she enjoyed keeping it to herself and her family. It was no one's business what was happening in her life and she felt more safe that way. The actress told you that a couple of times already, also telling you that you are one of them with stars in her eyes.

I used to break wishbones and pray that you liked me

And went to away games to pretend I liked fighting

You remember how her face was the only thing you could see when you closed your eyes or how she was instantly in your head when you blew out candles on your birthday cakes. How your cheeks have hurt from all of the smiling when she was by your side.

You'd scan the crowd for my face with your eyes

Maybe I was in love or you were just nice

And how could you not when all the things that she did were giving you hope? Like when you were invited to her family dinner and how she was covering her face every time one of her family members said something embarrassing. Or like when every time she saw you she gave you her biggest hug.

How every time you were with your friends and you all laughed both of your eyes met. How she was sending you new songs that were reminding her of you. Or like when you dropped her off at her house and she squeezed your hand two times with a small smile on her face.

Mmm a rush kinda like the old times

After all of these years, I still cross your mind

With the upcoming work and movies, Jenna slowly drowns herself. You were worried about her mental and physical health. You knew she was a strong person but you also knew what does this job with people.

And slowly the both of you got away from each other. Suddenly you knew nothing about her. You didn´t know how she was how she felt or how is her family and if is everything okay at work. If she gets along with her co-stars or if she eats how she should be. What she´s doing through the day or if she found someone she loves.

Or maybe you thought you'd reach out to be nice

But why'd you invitе me in the middle of the night?

You don't know how much time passed since you last saw her and you didn´t know if you wanted to know it. It would only hurt you more than it should. You closed your heart and gave your soul to work. You were fully focused on your professional life and making a good name for yourself. That´s what you were telling yourself but somewhere deep down you knew where the truth lies.

Do you remember when you thought your dad was dying?

I ran to your house in the middle of the night.

You closed your eyes at the memory of when Jenna called you about her being scared something serious happened. You ran to her hotel room still in your pajamas only a hoodie over you and with phone in your hand.

The rush you felt caused you to forget the card in your room inside. You were holding her tight in your arms trying to calm her nerves down.

The second she got a text from her mom her face changed. All of her muscles got soft and her head fell on your shoulder. You looked down at her and found her gently looking up at you.

Was that the right time? You didn´t know but at that time it felt like it.

So you kissed her.

When you found out he wasn't, caught in the moment

I kissed you and then you got quiet

You never talked about that. You acted like it never happened. You were glad that didn´t change but on the other side, you suffered from not knowing how she felt about it and what was in her mind.

You could've hurt me, it would've been easy

We were at that age where boys started being mean to be mean

Kind. That´s the word you would describe her as. And maybe that´s why you loved her. Jenna was the sweetest and the most humble person you know and you felt proud that you were close to her.

You knew you could rely on her and that she would be by your side in whatever situation you would be put into.

But you took my hand and asked me to dance

To nothing and never brought it up again

Jenna gave you her full attention every time you were in the same room. The second you stepped into the room you felt her eyes, you weren´t paranoid. You knew how hot her gaze was when your eyes met like your whole body was on fire.

But then again, why did she choose the road that would separate you?

Mmm if I saw you what would I say?

Would we act like we can't see that nothing's the same?

You remember that one time when you talked about the far future. Laughing about how many kids you would be able to raise or where you would live. Jenna told you that her wedding would be private. Just for her family and close friends. She wouldn´t want the whole world to know about it.

Jenna didn´t need everyone´s attention, she just wanted to live in her ľlittle world. And you wanted to be in it so bad.

We used to make fun of kids marrying young

But it's not as funny when it's someone you loved

Your hand kept holding your phone tight as if you were trying to make sure it wasn´t just your imagination.

How bad you wanted it to be a nightmare right now. How bad do you want her to text you right after that she´s joking and she misses you like you do. It never came.

Your mind became numb and the phone fell from your hand. You fell back onto your bed and just stared into the darkness. Until you close your eyes and your first tear slides down your cheek.

Mmm I wanna call you with a hand in my pants

And let you say drunk little things you'll regret

The thoughts about who she found and how she met them were running through your head. Were they better than you? Will they love her more than you?

You didn´t know if you wanted the answer to that.

You wanted to text her back so much that it didn´t matter what was the point of that text. If that was the thing that would bring her to you, just for a second, you would sacrifice. You would pretend that you feel happy for her just to talk to her a bit more.

But I'd just be the reason that somebody cries

But then why'd you invite me in the middle of the night?

What would it feel like? Sitting there waiting for bride to come with a wide smile and a hard beating heart. With nice clothes on tears in your eyes, with happiness running inside your chest. Waiting for her with nerves all around the place, excited about how she will look.

Only for her to come from behind the corner with the biggest smile and happy eyes just not to stand next to you.

I'll never know why

Cause I'll never reply

So you can just stay nice

In the back of my mind.

You never texted her back.

[jujutsukaisenwriting]

Slow-Burn Confession

Summary: a fic that I wrote for the request (see my previous post). In short, both Nanami and reader are IN LOVE but have no idea how to confess and/or act around each other. "A toothrotting fluff" (c) ehehehehehehhehehehe

Characters: Nanami Kento x reader

Word count: 3.3K

Nanami was absolutely fazed.

Throughout the years of working in Jujutsu Tech, the idea of falling in love with someone from the college has never crossed his mind. It’s not that he proclaimed celibacy and followed it: in fact, he had his fair share of hookups. But unlike Gojo or Geto, he never walked around bragging about them, so people naturally thought that romance was completely irrelevant for Nanami Kento.

He thought so too — until you appeared in his life.

He remembered that day all too well: how you stepped in front of everyone, sunlight caught in your hair, and announced that you are a transfer from Kyoto and will be working with Tokyo colleagues from now on. Of course, Gojo was the first to greet you. The white-haired idiot straight up approached you and hooked his arm around your shoulders casually. That’s when Nanami saw it: a small smirk of disapproval and a hint of irritation in your beautiful eyes. Without realizing it, Nanami sighed in relief: Gojo’s charms did not seem to work on you.

Wait, why did he even care?

Since that day, everything has changed for Nanami Kento. He has never been in love, but he became literally obsessed with you — and he was determined to figure his way out through the intricacies of love and to win your heart over.

The thing is… 

He had absolutely zero idea how to do it.

~~~

As you climbed the stairs of college, you were wrapping yourself in a huge knit scarf. The autumn was unusually cold so you required an extra layer of clothes when going to work. Busy untangling the scarf, you didn’t watch your step and bumped into a familiar tall figure.

Nanami’s perfume, an infatuating mix of wood, bergamot and vanilla, hugged you like a blanket. You took a deep breath, closing your eyes for a second and savoring just how perfect this man smelled. And then you lifted your eyes and met the steady gaze of his brown eyes.

His expression was unreadable and even scary. His sharp features and piercing eyes always made you feel smaller and more vulnerable — though you were a Grade 1, thank you very much. Also, you were helplessly in love with this man, and that made the whole situation so much worse.

“Nanami? I doubt he even knows what’s love”, Shoko let out a hearty cigarette puff when you asked her once about Nanami.

“Whaaaaat? This guy only knows work and drinking. Sometimes, cooking. Romance is not for him, babes”, Gojo rolled his eyes and made a face.

“Nanami is a very reliable man but I doubt he is interested in finding a romantic partner”, Geto said sympathetically. 

That was it. Everyone confirmed that Nanami Kento was the worst possible choice to fall in love with. But you just couldn’t help it (and frankly, didn’t want to fix the situation). Every time you managed to steal a glance at him, something hot, unfamiliar, and fuzzy started tossing in your chest. You craved his touch or at least attention — but he was way too scary and unapproachable to even try. And the way he acted around you: it was more than obvious that he saw you just as another colleague. Nothing more than that.

As you met his gaze, you just stood on the stairs, your lips parted slightly and your eyes opened wide in surprise. His expression remained unreadable, but then he jerked his hand suddenly — and you both stared at a rather huge coffee stain on your beige coat.

“Oh”. That’s all you managed to say.

Nanami’s face grew bright red and his expression became somewhat scary. You involuntarily took a tiny step back, as he reached out his hand and tried to grab your coat.

“I… let me fix this”, he mumbled, looking everywhere but in your eyes.

“Do I annoy him so much that he can’t even look at me?”, that was your thought as you just stood there in one place, with his hand clinging onto your sleeve.

“Yo, Nanami! Undressing a girl right in the street? Way to go!”, Gojo’s voice from somewhere behind carried a healthy dose of mockery, and Nanami’s face grew even hotter.

“Shit, shit, shit!”, he thought frantically, still unable to let go your coat. He just wanted to help untangle your stupid huge scarf, but it seemed like his body started acting on its own in your presence. Now he was standing there like an idiot, got your coat dirty and worst of all, made a fool of himself in front of you (and apparently, Gojo).

“Let’s just get inside”, you proposed quietly, trying not to look at his fingers and trying not to imagine how his hand would look on your neck. Or on your waist. Or in your hair. Dammit.

He nodded way too quickly and finally let go of your coat. “I’ll pay for the dry cleaning”, he said in a weird voice and started walking without looking at you.

You just sighed and followed him. Seemed like you’d spend another day dreaming about this man finally looking you in the eyes and making the move.

~~~

After the morning incident, Nanami just could. not. focus. He had no idea how to approach you now. He also could not stop thinking about how he almost touched the skin of your wrist when grabbing your coat. The thought sent shivers down his spine and caused pleasant and exciting tingling in his chest.

You just got him in a chokehold.

He spent a few hours deep in thought but did not come up with any plan. As he finally worked up the courage to come to you, he found out that you were already sent on a field trip with the students. And obviously, you took your stained coat with you.

Nanami groaned quietly, returning to his desk. 

Just how on Earth do people confess to each other?!

~~~

When you got to work the next day, you saw a box on your table. The box looked quite presentable: in delicate pastel colors and with simple yet pleasing patterns. There was also something atop of the box: some money and a note that said “for the cleaning”. No signature or something else: just dry information. How Nanami-like.

You were more intrigued by the box though. After quickly shoving the money in the pocket, you opened the cover and an overwhelming and warm smell of cookies filled the room.

There was a whole assortment: chocolate, lemon, and even coffee cookies. Each one of them looked perfect, surely straight out of an expensive bakery.

“Woah, cookies? Who’d get you these?”, Gojo appeared out of nowhere, trying to reach for the box. You immediately closed the cover shut, preventing the heist attempt.

“I don’t know”, you lied, knowing damn well Kento got these for you. “But I need to find out what bakery they are from. I haven’t seen any sweet looking so ridiculously good”.

Nanami who just happened to pass your desk, perked his ears at your words immediately. You caught his gaze and smiled warmly, “Um, thanks for… everything. Where did you get these cookies from? I might become a regular customer”.

He opened his mouth and shut it immediately. “Then you’ll have to move in with me”, were the words he wanted to say but never in his life he’d admit that he spent the whole night backing these cookies for you. He’d also never admit that he imagined feeding you with a cookie, collecting crumbs from your lips with his own lips and covering your mouth in a sweet deep kiss while leaning you onto his kitchen counter…

“Shit!”

Kento shook his head in irritation and glared at you, involuntarily allowing you to catch this slight hint of his annoyance. He didn’t think you’d take it personally: he was mad at himself for being so sappy around you. But you couldn’t have known it, obviously. So instead of admitting his feelings, he just mumbled something and paced away, his usual composure and confidence radiating while his head was a wild mess of emotions and thoughts. 

And while you watched him go, your heart aching in an unusual manner, Gojo managed to steal a cookie and laughed diabolically, shoving the whole stuff in his mouth.

“Dat stuff’s good”, he mumbled. “Tastes like homemade ones”.

“Homemade? Nah, can’t be true. Kento would never…”, you thought, wishing desperately for these cookies to really be homemade ones. 

With a sigh, you took one and tasted it. As expected, it was out of this world.

Just like damned Nanami Kento.

~~~

Since then, you haven’t seen him around for almost a week. While your eyes were desperately searching for him in the crowd, Kento was nowhere to be found. Finally, you went straight up to Shoko who never made fun of you and was as supportive as possible for a person who spent a couple of years with Gojo and Geto.

“Oh, Kento is home, recovering from an injury after the mission. No biggie”, Shoko just casually dropped, 

An injury, huh?

“It’s now or never”, you said to yourself while taking a taxi after work and carrying a box of sweets in your lap. “After all, I can visit a colleague and check up on him. Right?”

The taxi driver caught your gaze in the rear mirror and grinned, as if reading your thoughts. Your cheeks grew hot and you looked in the window, trying to focus on anything but the thoughts in your head.

~~~

The sound of the doorbell was unexpected, to say at least. Nanami heard it while lying in bed, reading a book and trying to distract himself from the annoying pain in his shoulder. The wound hurt like hell for the first couple days but it got much better. Still, Shoko insisted he’d stay at home and even Yaga chimed in, basically forcing Nanami to take a few more days off.

When hearing the doorbell, he raised a brow in surprise and reluctantly got out of bed. At first, he thought of putting on something more presentable than a pair of grey sweatpants and a blue shirt, but honestly, the illness got the best of him and he decided he didn’t really care. It was probably a delivery he forgot about, so his home clothing was more than enough to deal with another overly enthusiastic teenager with a pizza box.

The door swung open and he froze in place.

“You?!”

As he opened the door and you met his direct gaze, you felt pinned to the ground. The sight of Nanami in his sweatpants and loose shirt stirred something primal and uncontrollable in you. You gulped loudly and felt your face growing insanely hot.

“I erm… I wanted to check up on you..”

As you spoke, you took an awkward step forward and obviously stumbled. He instinctively caught you, his strong arms wrapping around you and instantly flaring up a wildfire in his chest. He was about to say something…. but then he looked down.

“Oh”.

A box of sweets that you’ve been holding was smashed between you two, cream and jam all over his shirt and your much-suffering coat. Your face grew bright red and you tried to pull away but his hands were holding you in one place firmly, not letting you move even an inch. Only after a few moments, he lifted one hand slowly, delicately putting his fingers on your cheek and wiping cream off it. Holding your gaze, he put his fingers to his lips and licked the cream carefully, a tiny smile tugging the corners of his mouth.

“Vanilla, huh, Good choice”, he said expertly, still holding you.

“How are you feeling?”, you asked in a tiny voice, kind of traumatized by your close proximity. His body was so insanely hot in all senses and the way his was holding you… 

You shifted a bit and suddenly felt it. Your eyes darted a glance below and he immediately released you, taking a step back.

“Much better now, thanks”, he couched, quickly turning around and gesturing for you to come in. “Did you come for anything specific or?...”

You instantly scolded yourself for the visit. Of course he wouldnt’ have expected you: he probably didn’t even think of you.

“I just wanted to check on you”, you mumbled in a weak voice, pulling away slowly. “Shoko told me you were injured”.

“It’s nothing”, he echoed, his eyes basically glued to you. “Wanna come in?”

Even if the Earth stopped spinning in space you’d be less surprised. “Come in like… in your house?”

In his head, Nanami groaned. Why did he even think you’d like to come in? You probably just stopped by with this stupid box. It was probably Shoko’s idea after all. Like he had any chance for your attention…

“If you don’t want to, it’s…”

“No, I want”, you stepped in confidently, leaving the remains of sweets on the ground in front of the porch (“will throw it away on my way back”).

Nanami’s brows raised in a mix of surprise and relief. You wanted to come in, that was good. Meaning his presence may even be pleasant for you. That’a s good start, right?

As you stepped in, you looked around, studying his place. As expected, it was neat yet surprisingly cozy. All his belongings basically radiated Nanami’s aura of peace and comfort. You spotted hell lots of books, a few candles here and there, and several intricate works of art on the walls. Overall, it felt oddly like… home.

Behind your back, Nanami coughed. “Would you like tea or coffee?”

“Coffee, please”, you turned around, and he couldn’t help but flicker in awe. You looked so natural in his apartment. As if you lived here with him for a few years to say at least. He desperately wanted to come close to you and kiss you but instead, turned and headed for the kitchen, cursing himself for looking so unpresentable.

As you watched him go, you felt your face going red again. Kento’s loose shirt and sweatpants showed off his perfect physique of a damn Greek God. And if before that evening you were mostly interested in him as a person, now you simply felt like a feral monster who hadn’t seen a man in forever. You whimpered quietly and followed him to the kitchen, having absolutely no idea what to do or how to act.

From his part, Nanami also had absolutely fucking no idea what to do next. The very thought of you being in his house this late at night — that was something Kento had never expected. Yet, here you were, following him to his kitchen and looking too damn cute with your hair fuzzy from the wind outside and with this hint of pink on your cheeks. More than everything he’d love to pull you close and never let go but went to the coffee machine instead. After all, he promised you some.

“I like your place”, you finally said, breaking the silence. “It’s very… cozy”. 

He hummed in agreement, busy with the coffee and the cups. “Thanks. It took me quite some time to arrange everything to my liking, sugar”.

You blinked in surprise. “Huh?”

Kento looked back at you, his face going red. He picked up a sugar bowl from the counter and repeated, “Would you like some sugar?”

“Oh my god, I’m so dumb”, you muttered. “Two, please”.

He pretended not to hear what you just said but noticed the way you reacted to his words.

“Could it be?...”

All events and the tension of the past few months since you met just exploded in his brain, pushing him to the limit of self-control. At that very point, Nanami Kento gave in to the reckless abandon and decided to test the waters. 

“Fuck it”.

He handed you the coffee cup, his fingers obviously brushing against yours. As you savored this faint touch, you looked up and met his direct and piercing gaze. It wasn’t the gaze that you were used to see. It was something brand new. Something both alluring and frightening. Something that made your knees weak.

Kento took a small step towards you, his mind going blank. The world around suddenly stopped existing and he didn’t give a shit about anything right now. His eyes were locked on your face, and he took another small step forward. And another.

As he approached, you just stood frozen in one place, completely dumbfounded. Nanami Kento, the infamous stoic sorcerer with no love life (according to the colleagues), was coming up to you in his damned grey sweatpants, looking like he was about to devour you whole. You wanted to say something, ask him what’s going on or simply object against such straightforwardness — and then you felt the tight grip of his hand in your hair as he pulled you close till your lips crashed in his.

With one hand locked on your hair, his other hand gripped your waist, moulding your body into his. He kissed you so hungrily as if he had been hiding that starvation for too long and now, finally, he had you in his arms. Your hands shot up, one arm around his neck and the other tangled securely in his blonde locks. As his tongue was exploring your mouth deeply and hungrily, you let out a soft gasp, his name rolling off your tongue like a prayer.

“Kento…”

He pulled back a bit, lips swollen and eyes glowing with a dangerous gleam.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words. You gulped nervously and finally asked the question that’s been haunting you for all this time.

“So can I… assume you like me too?’’

You expected anything, honestly. That he’d frown and say something like “it’s too early to discuss things like that”. Or that he’d say he was interested in sex only. 

Instead, Nanami laughed.

He laughed openly, his eyes now full of weird happiness. You were completely taken aback by his reaction, but he didn’t give you an opportunity to pull away. Keeping you in one place with his arms, he nuzzled his face in the crook of your neck, grinning against your skin.

“I don’t like you. I love you, sweetheart”, he muttered in rasped voice. “I love you so fucking much, you have no idea”.

And that was it. His words broke through the dam and you giggled too, following his laughter. It was the laugh of relief, of finally letting go of all the tension and uncertainty between you two. Still laughing softly, he scooped you up and headed for his bedroom in long confident stride, shaking his head in amusement.

“Kento”, you called him quietly, still not quite believing it was happening and resting your head against his chest as he walked.

“Hmmm?”, he looked down on you, a smile curving his lips.

“Can you… put a tie on?”

He let out a bark of laughter and nodded, his eyes gleaming mischievously.

“Your wish is my command, love. But be prepared that this tie is gonna move from my neck to your pretty wrists in no time”.

Nanami looked you in the eyes, his gaze full of adoration and love. And that was the moment you knew.

“I’m stuck with you, huh?”, you asked softly with a smile.

“Forever, sweetheart”, he confifmed, kissing your hair and laying you on the bed gently. “Now gimme a second to put on the damn tie and I’m all yours”.

You giggled happily at his words, watching him rummaging the closet. 

Everything was just perfect.

And in about one minute after the tie was found, perfect became even better. Side note: you never knew you could be that loud.

[chxrryhxrt]

Draw stars around my scars, part 2 - Remus Lupin x Female Reader

Read part 1 here!

Synopsis: Many weeks had passed since the most recent full moon, yet James and Sirius still will not let you see Remus. What could they be hiding?

Warnings: angst, fluff at the end, swearing, mentions of injuries

After you made your visit to Remus that night, things briskly returned to the way they had been: him locked away in the infirmary, still recovering, and you left to your own devices, with only homework and classes to keep you occupied.

The feelings of betrayal and confusion did not come and go with the days as you might expect – rather they flooded you, engulfing every facet of your life and though you knew it was pitiful, you could not find it within yourself to just ‘get over it’. This was the advice Sirius had insightfully bestowed upon you when he found you in the common room the morning after, clearly having heard about the altercation from Remus himself.

It was common knowledge that Sirius was not the most well-versed in emotions – you could ask anyone on campus, and they would be able to tell you that, but that was not what upset you about his ‘pep talk’.

What did it for you was that Remus had spoken to Sirius about you. You were aware it sounded silly, but who were you if not the person that Remus shared everything with? You had been there for him in fourth year when he got a low score on his potions exam, consoling him and vowing to keep it a secret between the two of you. Ever since you learnt of his lycanthropy, you had spent the days after full moons making sure that he was comfortable and safe.

In essence, you knew everything there was about Remus Lupin, and in turn, he knew everything about you. So, to find out that he had just shared your private business with Sirius, it hurt. You did not care if they were best friends: it hurt – plain and simple.

Despite all of this, you pushed through, burying it in the confines of your heart and focussing on school.

Now a week on, your feet carried you to class, sending echoes down the corridor with each strike of your shoes against the worn stone ground. Almost late, you rounded the corner to your lesson, hurried pace unfaltering – until you heard a familiar voice up ahead.

Getting closer now, he came into your view, standing outside the room with Professor McGonagall.

“I am assured you understand the work you must catch up on?” She inquired, shuffling a small stack of paperwork together, before passing them over to the boy opposite her.

“Yes, Professor,” he smiled, accepting the sheets into his hands, “I’ll try to have it all finished by the end of the week.”

“Wonderful, I do hope that you’re feeling better.” She turned on her heel, passing through into her classroom, leaving Remus alone and you standing at the other end of the corridor.

His gaze flickered over, noticing the fidgeting of your silhouette in his periphery. As his eyes met your own and his hand shakily rose to obscure his lower face, the air in your throat hitched and your brows knitted together. 


You remained like this for a short, bittersweet moment – relieved to see that he was doing okay, although confused as to why he was shielding his face, but still indescribably agonised as you recalled what had happened the last time you saw him.

Rashly deciding that you could not bear to stay put any longer, lest you say something to him, you resumed your dash down the hall and ducked past Remus, into the classroom and collapsed in your seat, books firmly thudding onto the ink-stained table.

Only seconds after your loud entrance, he slipped in too, sitting wedged between Sirius and James on the other side of the room.

As you spent the next sixty minutes jotting down notes on transfiguration, the sound of quills on parchment and Professor McGonagall’s lecture filled the class. Though you tried to concentrate, thoughts of Remus incessantly flooded the forefront of your mind.

Upset as you were, you could not help but yearn to see his face entirely again. He had become a familiar pillar in your life over the years at Hogwarts, with there almost never being a day where he was not by your side. Having not seen him properly since before the full moon was slowly killing you.

Awkwardly, your neck twisted around, cracking slightly as you leant back to peer behind the Hufflepuff seated next to you. There he was: hunched over his desk, scrawling away, ever the academic. Continuing to stare, you took in his slightly dishevelled appearance. His sleeves were pulled as far down as they could go, yet bandages still managed to peek out of the bottoms. His hair was flecked with gold, falling messily over his forehead like always, except a new pink ribbon of a scratch descended from his hairline, travelling diagonally down across his face. The wound finished just above the corner of his mouth, which twitched as he paused to think.

Placing your palms onto your table, you braced yourself to quietly turn back around. Success almost befell you, but alas, James caught sight of you at the last moment, reaching behind Remus to prod Sirius, gesturing silently towards you.

Scoffing, you snatched up your pen and prepared to carry on with your note taking.

Having gotten a good look at him, you found it easy to hazard a guess at the cause of his hostility that night in the infirmary. Never in your six years of knowing Remus Lupin did you get the impression that he was self-assured, confident, or felt anything other than insecure. So, you could safely assume that this new scar was the source of several new insecurities itself.

Either way, just because he was feeling glum did not give him an excuse to be rude to you. Not when you had blatantly expressed your unconditional love for him and worked so tirelessly to bring communication into your relationship.

You told Lily this currently, the two of you curled up on a twin pair of armchairs in the Gryffindor common room.

“I completely agree,” she sympathised, tucking her feet underneath her, “if James spoke to me like that, we would be having some serious words.”

“I’m really glad you understand,” you smiled tightly, running your fingers through your hair, “I just feel like, insanely petty? I do want to talk to Remus, but I want it to be him that initiates the conversation, not me.”

“I hate for my advice to be so useless, but I think he just needs time. He really does care for you, he’ll come around eventually.” She leant forward in her seat to place a hand on your forearm, soothing the skin there in a show of comfort.

Aware that she was right; you nodded and hummed your agreement.

“If it’s any consolation, James said that Remus has been a miserable old bag since he had that go at you,” Lily offered, retracting her arm back into her lap. You supposed it did help a little, to know that he was feeling awful too.

“Actually, that’s a relief to hear-“ you went to respond, but found yourself interrupted as James bolted into the common room, calling your name.

Unsure of what to do with yourself, you shot the girl opposite you a panicked look – debating between either running away or hiding somewhere nearby. Anyone who was anyone knew that when James Potter came knocking, it did not end well.

Too caught up in planning an escape route, you were soon hunted down by the boy, as you looked up to see a second year pointing in your direction. Scowling, you accepted your fate and sat up rigid in your chair, preparing yourself for what was to come.

He patted the younger student on the back as thanks and picked his pace back up, lightly jogging towards you both.

‘Hi Lily.” He simpered; eyes full of adoration as he glanced at her. “Sorry to interrupt you two lovely ladies, but I need you to come with me really quick.” He huffed, out of breath, as his gaze shifted over to your figure.

Although he lacked his usual mischievous smirk, you remained apprehensive to place any trust in him. Whilst he had not done anything wrong himself, he was friends with Remus, who decidedly had done something very wrong. So, you were almost obligated not to follow him, simply by proxy.

It seemed that he could tell what you were thinking, as his hands clasped together in front of him, and he began to do what could only be described as begging.

“Please,” he started, shaking his arms at you, “it’ll be like, ten minutes maximum. I just need you to come help me with some,” he looked away, “homework.”

Still unconvinced, you looked back over to Lily, who only contributed a small shrug to the conversation. You both knew James well, and you both knew he would not leave unless forced. In this moment, you realised your only real choice was to do what he asked, because Merlin knows you were not in the mood to physically remove your best friend’s boyfriend from the room.

You reluctantly peeled yourself off the armchair, trailing behind as he led the way.

 In the back of your mind, you knew that he did not need help with his homework. Even though he and Sirius spent most of their free time pranking other pupils, they rarely struggled with the workload given to them by teachers. It was a miracle really, that either of them should even be passing classes, let alone excelling in them.

As the pair of you passed through the dimly lit hallways, evening moonlight poured through the windows, offering slightly more illumination than the sconces could on their own. There was a soft pattering of people hurrying by, headed to the Great Hall for dinner.

You wove between the bustling crowd, being taken deeper into the East Wing. You neared the less frequently used classrooms and began to wonder what James truly needed from you. It clearly was not help with academics, since you could have assisted him with that back in the common room.

He came to a halt outside a room you had never noticed before, its door tucked tightly between the cobbled pillars that sat on each side. His palm reached out, face up and his fingers wiggled unbecomingly.

“Before we go inside, I need you to give me your wand,” he urged, hand writhing even more as he posed his request.

You began to pull your wand out of your pocket, but a wave of sanity washed heavily over you, clutching it firmly in your fist.

“Why do you need it?” you pried, suspicions rising rapidly.

“Doesn’t matter,” he tried, hand making a grabby gesture, “I just need it.”

“Well, that’s not a good enough reason, is it?”

“Just,“ he lunged at you, successfully swiping the wand from your grip, “give it here!”

Left bewildered and frustrated by the childish grin that adorned his face, you huffed. You did not remain like this for long however, as James grabbed your hand and pulled you into the room with him, hinges screeching as the door opened and shut behind you.

The new surroundings were underwhelming. Desks lined the sides of the room, pushed up against the walls, dust sheets draped over them. There were few windows, leaving the area significantly darker than the corridor you had just found yourself in. Apart from this, the room was virtually empty – except for Remus and Sirius, who stood front and centre, Remus with a dejected look on his face, and Sirius with an irritatingly smug one.

Obviously proud with himself, he stepped forward, standing assertively between you and Remus, clearing his throat obnoxiously.

“You’re probably wondering why I gathered you all here today,” he announced to the chamber, “and I can tell you, it’s because I am absolutely exhausted with Moons here being a pain in my arse.”

Even in the poor lighting, you saw a frown flicker across his features at that, but he did not try to protest it.

“Just ‘cause you two are having a lover’s tiff-“ he pointed accusatorily at the both of you, “-does not mean that poor old James and I need to suffer as well.”

He started to move towards the exit, pulling his wand out of his pocket.

“I’m going to lock this door, and we’re going to leave the two of you to make up,” he explained slowly, “we’ll come back in an hour – if you guys haven’t sorted it out by then, we’ll leave you here until the morning, which means no dinner for either of you.”

It was normally hilarious when he got like this, all attitude and condescension, but the idea of being locked away with Remus overshadowed the funniness of the moment, and you contemplated begging to be let out.

Your mind raced with confliction. As much as you wanted a chance to speak with Remus, you had wanted it to be of his own volition. Locking him away and forcing him to speak with you felt a little unfair. Then again, you were not the one who planned this elaborate scheme.

Neither of you had the chance to say anything, as Sirius and James swiftly left the room, the door clicking shut behind the pair of them.

Not seeing the use in delaying it any longer, you turned to face Remus properly for the first time in over a week and a half. He offered a small smile, clearly finding this just as awkward as you did.  

“Um,” he mumbled, looking away from you.

You felt daft, as if you lacked a backbone, because that was all it took for you to begin to empathise with him again. Even though the derelict class had little to no light in it, he still could not bring himself to risk showing you his new scar, worried you would hate it - hate him.

Though you loved him dearly and would not change a thing about him for the world, you only wished he could be more confident in himself. He was nothing but gorgeous and you intended on telling him that right now.

“I saw your new scar,” you jumped straight in, noticing how his body stiffened, “I think it suits you – gives you a rugged look, it’s nice, kind of handsome, too.”

Only semi convinced, he turned to meet your gaze, responding with a shy, “You think so?”

“I know so,” you beamed, overjoyed to be talking to him again.

“That’s really kind of you to say, considering I was so rude to you,” he admitted.

You chose to let him continue, anxious to see what else he had to say.

“I just- I just wasn’t ready for you to see me, especially not like that, all bandaged up and helpless,” he swallowed thickly, “but I know that doesn’t mean I can just run around being a dickhead the people I love, I’m really truly sorry.”

You stepped closer, reaching your hands out for his.

“I should’ve respected your privacy, Rem, I’m sorry too.”

His arms tugged you in closer, enveloping you in a tight embrace with his palms running lengths along your back.

"It’s okay, next time I’ll tell Sirius and James to be honest about it with you, instead of letting them make up silly excuses,” he chuckled slightly.

“Actually, that did upset me a bit.”

“What did? The excuses?”  

“No,” you paused for thought, “when you told Sirius about our little spat, I don’t know, I just felt a bit betrayed, usually I’m the one you tell everything to and I wasn’t used to Sirius knowing all this stuff about us,” you answered honestly, voice soft and gentle as not to break the tranquil moment.

“Oh, you’re so sweet, aren’t you?” he replied, no malice in his tone, just humour as his palms moved to hold your face, “you’re my number one – always have been, always will be.”

His eyes searched yours, and in that instant, you knew everything would be okay.

Tags:

@moonpascaltoo @wonderlandwalker @simp-for-fiction @allllium @too-lameforyou @kenqki @queenanababy @ill-be-okay-soon-enough @tomsspidermangf @777heavengirl @oyeahwatchme @maccapacks

Tagging some people who I think might be interested in part 2! Thank you so much for reading 🫶🫶

[almondmilktargaryen]

Duty & Sacrifice (Part Three)

Summary: Aemond is married with two kids to Floris Baratheon, as it was his duty. But it's when he ventures into Flea Bottom in the night that he faces his sacrifices.

Couple: Aemond Targaryen/Fem!Reader

Category: Flangst

Content warnings: Mourning child loss (written by someone who's not a parent), lying

Word count: 4.6k

Also on my Ao3

Part one | Part two | Part three | Part four ✍️

Just as when he left Flea Bottom, the guards do not look twice at Aemond as he walks through the Keep. They do not see his face, nor the two cloaks he wore (Criston gave him his to hide the blood). No, all they see is his boots as they bow upon passing. The only words they utter are, “My prince.” Aemond faces forward. His eye does not stray. And his head stays up.

He turns sharply after climbing the stairs, finding his chamber doors in the east wing. The guard outside mimics the expected behavior before Aemond pushes himself through.

Out of all things unexpected in one night, Floris being absent was jarring. She sticks to a routine, just like him. With the candles already snuffed out, the smell of smoke had been replaced by the open air from their balcony. She should’ve retired hours ago.

Perhaps the gods wanted to leave him alone after… all of it, reminding him how alone he truly was. Still, Aemond looks around, peering past corners and squinting into dark areas at the far ends of their chambers, straining his vision with the distance as he feels the chains in his chest. They weighed down his heart and lungs as he staggered and lifted the bedcovers. Caution camouflages with his grief and takes hold just as strongly. Floris could be anywhere.

The weight, the chains stacked on themselves. Aemond discards the cloaks and mixes them in their shared dirty clothes. The view of King’s Landing taunts him; the capital he once saw from a safe distance nearly two years ago. Even in daylight, the people were nothing more than specks of dust. None of them could hurt him. He never thought it would be the reason, once again, why he felt this way. It was only more proof that he has not changed, still stupid. Three and ten, self-loathing, and stupid.

Luc used to represent his self-loathing. Now he sees Alyssa.

She was warm whenever he held her to his chest, like the sun washing over the cityscape. She was a blaze as fiery as her hair. Now she’s snuffed out like the candles in his chambers, but this time far away from home.

Aemond grips the barrier of the balcony as he falls. The stone scratches his skin as he clings to it like a cliff’s edge, yet he sinks down and down. A heave escapes him, squeezed out of him as the imagery of it all floods back, every angle pouring in as he convinces himself there was something he could have done. Before the alleyway, before Chataya’s. Surely, there was a step he missed. He had to have, so he retraced it all while shivering, like winter was here.

The door creaked open, making Aemond’s head spring up like a deer hearing a twig’s snap. He plugged his grief, picking himself up in the shroud of darkness and rubbing his face.

“Aemond!” Floris’ silhouette is barely in view, but he still recognizes it as she pushes her bangs from her forehead. Her rapid breaths grow louder with each step toward him before she’s fully in the moonlight. She’s in her nightgown. The black one from her mother that matches her hair, both now in crumpled waves. “Where have you been? Daeron has been in a state demanding to see you.”

“What’s wrong with him?”

A hand remains in her hair, the other on her hip. “He won’t stop crying. A nightmare, maybe? I put him to bed hours ago, and the handmaidens said he woke up screaming.”

“I’ll go to him.”

“Wait.” A palm meets his chest, square in the center. “What’s wrong?”

Aemond stares into the dark of their chambers just above her head before falling to her blue eyes. It was wiser not to speak.

The tips of her fingers are cold as they brush under his eye. Her short nails barely scrape his unmarred cheek. The wetness shines under the moon as she turns her palm to him.

He pulled out his usual excuse, putting a hand over his patch. “Eye pain.”

“Eye pain?”

“Yes.”

“Your upsets usually force you to rest, not tears.” She observes the residue before wiping it on her gown. “I haven’t seen it this bad since Baelon’s last name day.”

“Well, it happened. It comes in waves. Or sometimes a moment’s fit.” Another way to cover himself in the future. He’s discovered grief rises in him at inconvenient times. Gods love to torture. “I can’t control when they occur, Floris.”

“I never said you could. I just—”

“I need to see Daeron.”

The children sleep in the west wing of the Keep now. After what happened to Jaehaerys, Aemond insisted their rooms be away from the royal quarters. He made sure there was a guard at their doors day and night. Jaehaera included. Tonight, however, there were two guards outside Daeron’s door, appearing dazed and confused. Yet they still had the sense to bow to their prince.

Aemond opened the door to find five handmaidens completely helpless. But like the guards outside, Aemond was also confused when finding his son not screaming. His body only bounces in place like he had the hiccups. His head was down and he gripped his little golden blanket.

“He’s tired out his throat, my prince,” one handmaiden says. Her voice shakes.

Daeron looks up when hearing the title. His little eyes are puffy from crying so hard, and Aemond’s heart, merely hanging by chords, can still twist in on itself as he watches his boy’s lip quiver.

“Leave us, please,” Aemond says.

“Forgive us, my prince. We tried our best.”

Daeron rubs an eye with the heel of his hand. “Papa, my… throat hurts.” His voice sounds like he swallowed gravel from the training yard.

“I’m sure, sweetling. Hold on,” Aemond turns his head to the group. “My son is thirsty. Please, one of you fetch him some water. Add some essence of nightshade to help him sleep.”

Their curtsies blend with their departure. The door shuts behind him.

The candle on Daeron’s bedside table revealed the redness across his face, hot and sticky with tears. Aemond walks to the foot of the bed. He’s careful not to let his weight go too suddenly, recalling the height difference this time between this bed and Baelon’s. He’s not hesitant though with stretching out his arms. “Come here,” he says.

Daeron springs from his covers, leaving behind the small golden blanket as he crawls into Aemond’s lap. He hugs him at the neck while Aemond holds him at the waist. It’s a long hug, something they both need. He smells like outside, earthy yet sweet. He lets himself feel the boy’s fragile ribs steadying themselves. His father was here now. There was no need to worry. So they took in air as they needed it—with ease. When he pulls back, Aemond grabs the spare handkerchiefs left behind. Daeron still sniffled, but refused to blow his nose. Aemond pinches it instead.

“What’s upsetting you so much?”

“Am I to be Lord of Storm’s End?”

“What?”

Snot dribbles on the handkerchief. “I had a dream.”

Aemond cocks his head. “Tell me about it.”

“I had a dream that… that we went to Storm’s End to see Uncle Royce. But I was alone. And-and—”

“It’s alright.” Aemond rubs his son’s back. “It’s alright.”

“You wouldn’t let me fly Morning. I couldn’t get back home.”

Aemond gave pause as he listened to Daeron. The boy’s lip quivers again as Aemond’s thoughts swirl, shushing his son as he remembers Helaena. Aemond clears his throat. He smiled down at his son. “I know what this is,” he says with an exhale. “Come with me.” He holds him close as he stands up, walking across the rooms to settle at his window, the other side of King’s Landing before them. Aemond used Daeron’s fleshy arm to point. “What’s that building there?”

“S-Sept?”

“That’s right. The Grand Sept. Your Aunt Helaena is there. You never got the chance to meet her.” He petted Daeron’s head, white fluffy hairs that swept to the front and covered his forehead. He looks back up at Visenya’s Hill. The sept’s cylindrical corners and golden domes draw eyes to the center of the city. One of them held three bejeweled urns with their ashes inside, and Aemond dares not sniffle. “She would have dreams like yours, except she would often be awake. They would overwhelm her all the same. We didn’t understand them.”

“What happened?” He doesn’t look up at Aemond when he asks, only straight ahead at the sept. Meanwhile, Aemond blocks the memories; gore and blood still trailed the back of his mind if he ventured far enough. His leg bounces as he exhales slowly through his mouth, sounding like a haunting wind. Daeron didn’t notice. Aemond couldn’t gather an answer. What could he say? His sister went insane. She killed herself. He found her on Maegor’s spikes. She blamed herself for something that was his fault, and he never got to apologize.

“She lost her sons in the last war. Your cousin Jaehaera’s brothers.”

“Were they soldiers?”

“No, no.” He’s perfectly between Jaehaerys and Maelor in age. The ages they remain for the rest of time. He skips that. “But she loved them so much, losing them was too much to bear for her.” He rests his chin on Daeron’s head, just catching the tear streaking down his cheek before it dripped onto his son’s scalp. Observing the sept again, he longed to be ignorant of such despair. He shook Alyssa from his mind (as best as he could) to come back. “That’s how I feel about you.”

Daeron relaxed a little, his back touching Aemond’s chest. “But what about—” he coughs. “Uncle Royce.”

Aemond ignored the name. “These dreams can be very vivid. About things we already know. Your uncle named you heir, so you will be Lord of Storm’s End one day, yes. But you will go when you are ready.” He kissed Daeron’s head, inhaling his scent as he tried sniffling subtly. “We will ensure your brother receives proper training in royal proceedings as king. Your mother and I will ensure you’re prepared as a lord.”

Daeron doesn’t speak. He picks at the leather of Aemond’s jerkin.

Aemond, in return, hugs him tight with both arms. He gets close to his ear. “You’re not leaving me for a long, long time. Is that what you needed?”

He finally nods. His little white sideburns tickle his nose.

“Good. Because it’s the truth.” He picks him up again. “Now, time for bed.” His sniffling boy buried his head into his neck as he cuddled close, his fingers wrapped around the back. It was painful to do so, he could admit, but he still pried him off. His fingers slipped off him like broken stitches as he made him settle back in bed. He was reluctant, but gave him the golden one, avoiding the black stag sewn in the corner. He kissed the boy one more time before walking to the door.

“Papa?”

“Hm?”

“Uncle Royce. Where is he?”

“I assume at home.”

“But in my dream, I didn’t see him there. I said I was alone.”

Aemond blinks rapidly. “Perhaps… you didn’t venture far enough to find him.”

He rubs the satin edge of the Baratheon blanket.

“He loves you very much, Daeron. He wouldn’t leave you alone.”

“I know. I just don’t feel like he’s there.”

Aemond said nothing, only watched his son. His purple eyes, swollen and exhausted, darted up at Aemond briefly. They eventually went back down as he pulled his bigger blankets over his lap. Aemond could feel there was something else there, more his son wanted to say. And Aemond, for all the love he bears for his children, didn’t want to hear it tonight. So, he slowly turns on his heels.

“Papa?”

He suppressed his curse. “Yes?”

“Was… Aunt Helaena… were all her dreams true?”

Aemond swallowed thickly as he saw his wife do hours before he left for Flea Bottom. The truth is painful to keep down as he hears Helaena’s voice speaking of rats, then Jaehaerys’ head rolling on the floor just hours later. Still, Aemond looks his son in his beautiful purple eyes as he sternly says, “No. Now go to bed.”

Daeron doesn’t move for a moment, but eventually lays down. Neither of them say goodnight.

Finally, Aemond exits and heads back to his room. Keeping his head up, he pushes down his anguish with each step. He’s not out yet.

Floris barely waited for the door to close before she pounced. “Where have you been?” She is now the starkest thing in the room, all the candles alight again and casting a deep orange across their chambers and she is as dark as tonight’s sky. Only her cream skin contrasted with her hair and attire.

“I told you,” Aemond said. “At a meeting with the City Watch.”

“Her arms crossed over her small belly. “For two hours?”

“Yes.”

“When have you had a City Watch meeting last two hours?”

“Just now.”

“Aemond.”

“Floris, please.” He walks past her, cornering himself on the damn balcony. He lacks the courage to even glance at the city, choosing the brush below instead.

“What did this meeting consist of?” Her voice gets closer.

“My business with the City Watch.”

“Our baby boy wailed for his father.” Aemond can hear the way she bares her teeth. “And wherever this City Watch meeting occurred in the Keep, you were nowhere to be found.”

“It was a meeting in the city.” He spat out the first retort in his mind. “A dire meeting.”

“What could be so dire that you could not tend to your own son?”

“Someone killed a baby.”

The brewing storm halted with a catch in her breath. Her suspicion, though, is still strong around her. Aemond could smell it like rain in the air. He didn’t speak further. Rather, he found the nearest chair and fell into it. The barrier’s small columns blocked the city, similar to a cell as he thought of the woman he loved near the Old Gate. He cannot tell which one is the prisoner, as he pressed his temple with two fingers.

Floris crouched in her gown. Her gaze was heavy as Aemond did everything to keep from letting unnecessary information slip from him. “We took care of the killer. That’s what matters.”

Floris’ pale hand meets the crook of his arm. A thumb doesn’t brush back and forth like it did when his mother succumbed to her fever. The other arm does not wrap him in closer like it did when his nightmares of war jolted him and woke them both. Her thick brows didn’t slant in sympathy. They were straight and stern. “Whose baby was it?”

“What?”

“Whose baby was it?”

Aemond rips his arm away, the leather of his sleeve squeaking sharply from her grip. “What relevance is that?”

“Because you’re a kinslayer.” It rolls off her tongue so naturally.

“I’ve told you not to—”

“It’s what you’re known for, Aemond. I don’t understand how one baby would concern you.”

Aemond slams a fist on the arm of the iron chair as he stands, turning his back to his wife before facing her again. “You know I lost my nephews in the Dance.”

“After killing another.”

“Don’t!” His fingers curl into a fist. It’s when his father crosses his mind that he throws the force against his hip and lets out a shaky exhale. “Floris.”

“With your brother’s bastards rotting in the alleyways, I just don’t understand the difference.” She picks herself  up, pushing with her knees  and holding her belly. Aemond doesn’t help her.

“Because she wasn’t a bastard.” He spits out the words. Another lie, but he doesn’t care.

“Then whose baby was it?”

The chamber doors groan slowly. Aemond doesn’t move from his wife, but refuses to answer. Even as he sees her anger boil her skin and streak her cheeks, he keeps his mouth shut and watches the doors.

“Forgive me, my prince. Princess. I do not mean to disturb.”

“Cole.”

Even in a tunic and linen breeches, he stands like he wears his Kingsguard armor: feet apart, hands collected at his front. No blood in sight, and his hair is disheveled as if someone tore him from bed.

“Leave us,” Floris snaps over her shoulder.

“Cole, what news?” 

He delays in reply, clearing his throat. “Once again, we require your presence, my prince.”

“With what?” Aemond slips around Floris before she can stop him.

“With, uh, burial arrangements.”

Aemond stood still, frozen.

“If the baby has a family, they can decide for themselves,” Floris says. “I don’t understand why such matters require my husband.”

“The family is quite… distraught, princess. As a mother, I’m sure you can understand the idea of such pain.”

Floris’ eyes falter slightly to the floor before glaring back at Criston

“The maesters have wrapped the body and prepared her for her final journey.”

“I’ll go,” Aemond says.

Floris snatches Aemond at the arm. “No!” Her heels skid on the stone floor.

“Do you wish to see the child’s body yourself?” Aemond snaps back at her. “For proof she’s real and your husband has a heart?”

He expected Floris to let him go, in every sense of the phrase. But her small fists only coiled tighter around his forearm. Everything hard about her expression fractured before him. The blue in her eyes glisten brilliantly as she shakes. “Please, Aemond.”

“It won’t take long, princess. I assure you. Your husband will be back soon.”

“Don’t leave.”

Aemond sighs. But he looks his wife in the face as he pulls his arm from her hold a second time. He walks to Criston.

“Please.”

It falls on deaf ears.

Neither speak a word as they make their way through the Keep, nor create any sense of urgency with their footsteps. The only ones who look them in the face are a number of Gold Cloaks, either nodding or appearing extra sullen.

They don’t exit through the front doors. No disguises with them now. Instead, the pair navigate through Maegor’s tunnels to find their escape, opening one (of many) secret doors. The scale of Aegon’s High Hill meets them, the white waves of the Blackwater and a bobbing rowboat just below.

“How did you do it? Is Alyssa—”

“Not now.”

Criston jumps down first, landing on a small area of flat rock. He scales down the small mountain with ease, and Aemond follows with enough distance to not disturb each other’s footing. They hug the jagged walls and Aemond keeps his eye focused down on his own feet, his impaired sight working against him more than ever, with only moonlight just barely revealing shadows here and there. Criston even turned around to help him with some of the hill’s slimmer edges, but he refused, wanting to retain his focus. Over time (and with an absurd amount of patience), they meet at the bottom. They let the steep decline guide them to the small beach, meeting the rowboat.

“We have paid some Gold Cloaks to act as alibis in case your wife wants to inquire. They have already spread the word to others.”

The pools of Floris’ Baratheon blue eyes stick with him. She barely faltered upon word of her father’s fall in battle, nor a tear shed at his funeral. She maintained a grace fit for an unmoving force like her. Yet it was Aemond who pushed her tonight. He pushed her to tears. “And the maesters?” He inquires while clearing his throat. “What you said back there, that was true?”

Criston stretches his arms out to steady the boat. “Watch your step,” he tells him. But before Aemond can even take a step, he’s holding out his hand. Aemond looks down at it.

“I can get in fine on my own, Cole.”

“Just…” He gestures again and keeps it out until Aemond reluctantly takes it, one palm meeting the other. Criston guides him in and continues holding tight as the wood creaks under his boots. He doesn’t let go until Aemond sits down, the boat wobbling. Then Criston steps in on the other side, the Blackwater just missing his ankles, rocking the boat all the same. He grips the edges as he steadies it before reaching down.

Even the late night couldn’t hide the bundle of white waxy cloth, the small bloodless being that he held himself just hours ago. He can still feel the phantom wriggling in his arms from her twin’s screams. Now she is here, still. Still and cold as Criston handed her over. But even as the wind blows, Aemond hovers over her to shield her from the chill. He whispers to her as he does.

“I asked Maester Orwyle to wrap her, so we have another alibi should we need it. With her… injury…”

Aemond traces over her eye. Where her eye would be.

“There was no reason to suspect she was anything but a peasant child.”

“And Royce?”

“The less you know, the better.” Criston then pulls their weight with the boat’s oars as Aemond’s fingers brush the outline of his daughter’s face. The noise of moving water surrounds them as he pictures her. He pulled her into the world first, and he never thought bringing his third child into the world would affect him as deeply as his first two. He never imagined she would leave the world the way she came: wet and screaming.

It wasn’t until Criston docked the boat on the other side of the bay that he thought about asking where he—they—were being taken. He still stood unsteadily when stepping out, eyeing the breathing mountain amongst the young trees: his Vhagar. White birds that were perched on her spine flew when she picked up her head. She doesn’t yawn as she normally does when she wakes up, leaving Aemond to wonder, again, just what they’re doing here.

She peers from her high vantage point, neck fully stretched out as her acid green eyes peer at them both, watching them trudge through the brush of her dwelling. She sniffed the air harshly, sounding like a long hiss if Aemond wasn’t looking. Criston continues pushing the vegetation aside (as he had clearly done before, given the faint imprints of feet in the lush grass). It’s not until they make a circle around her that he sees the pyre; a shadow of dry black timber. Thick logs made the foundation as smaller sticks crossed each other to make the bed.

“She was a Targaryen,” Criston says. “She deserves a proper sendoff.”

Aemond clings to the cloth, securing her against his chest as if he is concealing her under his cloak all over again. He stares at the stick bed, and Vhagar lying behind it. Her chest rumbles, something like a hum that causes the earth to tremor under them. Her neck cranes down for a closer look, and Aemond can see the slashes in her pupils as he feels the creaking of her ancient joints when she tries standing.

“Lykirī, Vhagar.” Aemond tries adding some force behind his High Valyrian.

She doesn’t listen. One foot forward, and the ground quakes. Roots and leaves shiver. The length of yellow teeth come into view as she takes another sharp breath.

“Lykirī!”

Still nothing. Her snout is inches from his forehead as her sniffs are smaller and more rapid. Her pupils drop to his chest, then back to him as she nudges him. Aemond has to step back to replant himself, but doesn’t order her to be still. His hold on Alyssa remains firm, closer to his chest than her mouth. She closes her lips, and the vibrancy of her eyes disappears when they do the same. Aemond’s forehead meets her snout, and Vhagar is silent as Aemond keeps his sobs down. He clenches his teeth hard and his jaw already aches from the tension.

Eventually, Vhagar steps back, leaving Aemond to walk to the pyre. He was not sure how long it took him to get there. Neither Criston nor Vhagar spoke. The strain from his temples to his eye, and now his jaw, made every step feel glacial. But eventually he did. He couldn’t imagine the sticks being more comfortable than that cot, but he didn’t pick her back up. He swallowed the snot and bile, meeting in the middle of his throat as he stepped back. Criston stood next to him. Vhagar looked at him.

“Dracarys.” He orders it as pathetically as he did before.

Again, she doesn’t follow him. She opens her mouth with no dragonfire. Her massive head twitches to one side, looking at him as she did the first time he ordered her to fly at Driftmark. But just as Aemond can feel the ache in her bones, she can feel the chains in his chest.

Neither of them wants to do this.

Aemond takes a breath, swallowing something like courage. “Dohaerās, Vhagar! Dracarys!”

Her head drew back with another hiss and her pupils thin out before her eyes close. Her neck curls back and she stretches her jaw. It’s always slow. Even the green color that lights up her mouth. He would be convinced that the pyre lit at the same speed, but Aemond fell into the grass; his knees giving in like the wood did under the intense heat.

Criston is still there as Aemond sobs freely, the sounds of it drowned out by the cracks of sticks and logs. He holds Aemond tightly as he buries his face into Criston’s shoulder. “It’s beautiful,” he tells him. “She’s ascending to the heavens where she belongs. No one can hurt her anymore.”

Aemond blocks his nose in the cloth of Criston’s shirt, sucking in air through his mouth so he doesn’t smell any of it. He remembers how Helaena wailed when she held Jaehaerys, his body limp and the blood soaking into her dress. The woman he loves screamed the same way. The cry of emptiness, a gaping wound inside. Aemond doesn’t have the lungs to scream like that. He just thinks of Helaena on the spikes. “I have to go to her,” he finally says. He pulls away, and Criston’s silhouette is nothing but a bleary shadow. “I have to before—”

“You know she doesn’t want to see you.”

“It doesn’t mean she won’t need me. We still have a child to take care of.”

“She has a child to take care of. You have three. Two of them are here. Another will be in the coming months, and your wife does not need the extra stress of questioning your whereabouts.”

Criston now sandwiches Aemond’s face between his hands. He doesn’t scream at him, but the force of the bones in his hands is hard against his skull.

“Don’t make me build a pyre for your fifth child, Aemond.”

His voice catches in his throat. Neither mother of his children wishes to see him now. Helaena once felt the same, but Aemond’s mistakes called him and Aegon to war, leaving her to grieve on her own. He turns to the pyre, a green haze that occasionally spits at the sky. The smoke burns his nose, making his eye clench shut against the sting. In that darkness, he remembers his mother and the knife to Rhaenyra’s eye. She understood sacrifice. And it was now his turn.

Criston stands up. His outline is still blurry and black, but Aemond can just see his hand outstretched for him. “Your family needs you.”

Aemond remembered his role. And he took Criston’s hand.

Taglist: @paprikaquinn @immyowndefender @teal-anchor @dixie-elocin

[eir-trixa]

WOTTG SPOILERS AFTER THE CUT

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.

.

Can you believe Rick is validating me in my Percy-is-the-most-empathic-character take? I have legal basis but boi does it feel nice to have canon confirmation.

Second that book was short af I got the gist of it all while reading for like an hour.

Third, we addressed everyone else’s trauma. Percy’s still the group therapist LMAO 😭😭😭

Fourth, my son is such a good kid yall, this is why I lose five years of my life when someone insults or when he insults himself jfc my child.

Im honestly still processing and I have to reread the ending. Did it address Percy’s issues? Im going to go with “a bit” and call it a night. I mean, I guess it did? Percy got to unload and help Gale and Hecuba. We got an insight to how he’s managing to stay up and fighting and good despite all the shit he’s put into. Honestly the fact that he saw the humanity in Gale and Hecuba, that he saw their pain and grief and thats what made them trust him, that is so good. And the way he related to them. Goodness. And it highlights again how good a person he is, how much he feels and cares. I mean, he cried cause he had to send Mrs O Leary away, I cant with this kid-

I supposed what Im left unsatisfied with is how he still perceives himself as dumb? Baby, you survived San Fran for two months as a homeless kid without memories and pursued by different monsters who cant die. Youre the furthest thing from dumb.

He cant see this of course and while it was slightly addressed(?) by Annabeth telling him to his face that she doesnt give him enough credit, that he’s pretty smart, I dont think thats enough for addressing this particular issue. There was a time in the middle that he almost snapped because he thought Annabeth probably thinks him too dumb to know what to do next. Which I understand is frustrating to him. But to be fair this book made him look at Annabeth for a solution a lot. Theres also little comments about how when he cant think of anything - which is every 60 seconds apparently according to him- he looks at Annabeth. This doesnt help the co dependent allegations LMAO. Idk, I will die on the Hill that Percy is one of the smartest people in the series, not just emotionally but also in strategy. And theres, of course, nothing wrong with looking at the genius strategist for answers. Ive mixed feelings because definitely this is more of a Percy-insecurity issue than an Annabeth-being-bossy issue. But okay. One more book, heres to hoping we get more heart to heart on that front because Im 999998% sure she doesnt mean to make him feel stupid, Percy’s just got a lot of demons to fight but this in particular they need to figure out together. Still, its obvious how much they care for each other still. If only Dave and Hana did not piss me off at the start Id probably be a little more lenient about this.

Annabeth’s fatal flaw also makes a comeback, we love to see it.

And Sally Estelle Jackson. Now we have to find out wth is Percy’s middle name cause if Sally has one odds are she gave her son too. Trust me. Im Filipino. Iykyk.

Lastly, while I will forever and ever and ever support the trio from pjotv (theyre perfect and have done nothing wrong ever) I can see Rick’s injecting their personalities into the books. Im not sure if he does this on purpose or just subconsciously LMAO. Some of Grover’s dialogue is definitely inspired by Aryan. Percy being Lanky? Walker through and through, especially with his growth spurt lmao, and Annabeth’s confidence? All Leah. I can see what Rick’s trying to do. Ive no opinion on this, just pointing it out. I do love love love the live action. Just. I can see you Rick. You aint slick.

So there. I probably would need to reread the book properly at some point.

[hannahluvsbillie]

causal.

pairing: billie x reader

a/n: this is my first time writing a blurb like this! sorry if it’s lowkey messy and confusing, let me know if it is 😓. i came up with this idea half awake at 1 am and i thought i’d post it here!! ok bye im talking too much

warnings: none (maybe angst if you squint)

“this’ll be casual right?”

billie says, looking into your eyes. the moon shining through the windshield of her car, giving the car a type of lighting that can’t be recreated, especially as it’s shining on her.

you nod. you’ll regret nodding in the later months. when everything doesn’t feel casual. especially these car rides you two have. where she picks you up, then somehow you two end up in the backseat, her between your legs, praising you like your the only woman that really matters to her.

“yeah. causal.” you say under your breath.

billie just nods, smile still lingering on her face as she backs up out of the parking spot and starts to drive back to your apartment.

i tried to be the cool girl that holds her tounge and gives you space.

you and billie were driving, again. it’s become a weekly routine of yours. she picks you up, then she drives to nowhere in specific. then you end up in a parking lot, in the back seat. every. time.

suddenly, her phone lights up. out of pure instinct you look down at it, seeing a DM from instagram. you immediately recognize the username, that’s the girl you saw in her following. it was almost like the username lit up with red light to you.

billie glances over and sees you looking down at her phone, she casually puts her hand over the phone and flips it over to where you couldn’t see it. of course she’s hiding it from you.

whatever, it wasn’t like you two where exclusive. no matter how much you wished you two were, it would never happen.

a few weeks later, you two where in the same spot. the same thing happened. her phone lit up with the same username.

it may of been the lack of sleep you got last night, but you just couldn’t take it anymore.

“who’s that?” you say softly, glancing up at billie.

“hm?” she hums, her hand resting on your thigh. she looks down at her phone and if you weren’t staring at her, you wouldn’t of seen it. but the slightest bit of anxiety crosses her face.

“oh, just some girl.” she says, as if it’s the most obvious thing.

she does the same thing she did last time, and the time before last. she flips her phone over.

“are yall two… like a thing?” you say softly, your voice dripping with anxiety.

“don’t worry about it mama.” she says, looking over at you for a split second.

you wanted to chuck her phone out the window at that moment, irritated by her causal response.

you take a deep breath, this could either lead to another argument or to just a brush off response from her. deep down you hoped for the latter.

“how many girls do you talk to bills?” you say, your tone comes off annoyed. your true emotions showing.

her hand grips your thigh just a bit harder, and her eyebrows raised at your tone.

“whys it matter?”

“we aren’t exclusive.” she says the last sentence under her breath.

that last sentence felt like she just stabbed you in the chest. even though you knew deep down that was the truth, you had found yourself believing a false reality, that maybe she did want more with you. that you could be her one and only.

“oh- i was just wondering.” you say, sounding small. she always had a way to make you feel like you were in the wrong.

but no, it was all just a game to her. your just another one of the girls she talks to. you always will be to her.

[furioussouls]

There’s a part of me that recognises you.

[yandere! oc x chubby reader]

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Song: Chihiro by Billie Eilish

Warning: yandere behaviour( I dont condone yandere behaviour in real life, this is just fiction), chubby reader (uses she/her pronouns), cursing, lucid dreaming, spirituality

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Standing knee-deep in the ice cold water while the salty breeze of the sea hit your face, you stroked over the goosebumps that rose over your plump arms. The radiant full moon illuminated your face and your eyes took in the view of the beautiful beach in front of you. The beach that you’ve been seeing every single night in every dream you had. The beach where you met him for the first time.

You don’t remember when the dreams first started, nor whether the guy you met in your dreams was just a person you once saw passing through a crowd, or just a result of your brain coming up with the image of the most beautiful guy alive.

You are completely aware of the fact that you’re dreaming. Whenever you saw him, you knew that you were dreaming. Your very own personal man of your dreams. Whenever you woke up, a heavy sense of sadness and dread filled you. Not only because the most perfect man disappeared from your grasp yet again, but also because you weren’t sure what was happening. Was it just a weird reoccurring lucid dream? Was it a memory? Or something entirely different?

Completely lost in thoughts, you stared at the gentle waves when familiar arms wrapped around your plush torso from behind. The comforting scent of oranges, sandalwood and jasmine infiltrated your nose and your worries eased a little. You smiled while keeping your gaze on the reflection of the moon on the water surface.

“I missed you during the day”, you whispered and he chuckled and squeezed you firmly.

“Darling, I can’t even begin to describe how much I missed you. I wish I could just sleep forever so we can see each other all the time.“, he sighed and buried his nose in your hair. He inhaled deeply and let out a small groan.

You turned around and looked at him. He leaned forward and gently kissed your nose. You wrapped your arms around him and buried yourself in his chest. His smell engulfed you and his hands gently squeezed whatever they could reach.

He‘s not real, he’s not real.

After a long minute you spoke up, “Can we sit down?“, you asked him and pointed to your usual sitting spot.

He nodded with a gentle smile and both of you sat next to each other in the sand, and he started to pick up pretty shells for you.

“How was your day?“, he asked you and you sighed and leaned back. His eyes immediately found yours and he furrowed his brows in concern.

He‘s not real.

“It was the same as always“, you replied numbly and looked up at the stars.

He put his large hand in the middle of your stomach and tenderly rubbed your lower belly fat.

“I hate that you’re so stressed about your life. Every night you look more exhausted and unhappy and seeing you like that feels like I’m getting stabbed in my chest. I wish I could take you away from everything, Darling. ", he told you and for the first time tonight he wasn’t smiling.

Your heart fluttered but immediately afterwards a wave of embarrassment and sadness washed over you. You’re taking like this with an imaginary man. A man from your dreams. He wasn’t real. None of this was. You can’t keep going like this.

You stood up walked back into the water and looked straight ahead, his arms gently squeezing around you again.

“What are you thinking about? “, he asked you, his chin now gently resting on your shoulder. His slender, veiny hands engulfed your beautifully plumped one.

You turned around to face him again and admired his features; from his shoulder-long blonde hair that shone golden in the light, to his beautiful honey coloured eyes, which brought out the slight freckles speckled across his nose and eyelids and plump lips. His long and lanky body adorned in a white button up and black pants.

His tender eyes scanned you from top to bottom too, his eyes halting on your round hips and pudgy stomach, which were particularly emphasised in this white night gown you were wearing. His gaze softened even more and his hand tenderly stroked up your arm til his hand reached your cheek and he cupped your face in his warm, big hands.

”My precious darling. What’s going through your pretty head, hm?“ he hummed and gently rubbed his aquiline nose against your hairline. “You can talk with me about anything. You know that.“ His hands wandered up and down your back and he pressed his forehead against yours.

“You’re not real.”, you replied quietly and looked down.

Focusing on his button- up shirt was easier than looking into his piercing, loving eyes, but before you had the opportunity to avoid his eyes for too long , you noticed his necklace; it was a crystal. A purple one at that. Was it an amethyst? Before you could spend too much time thinking about his necklace, his hands cupped your round cheeks and made you look up at him again. This time his eyebrows were furrowed and his plump lips pressed to a line.

“What did you just say?”, he asked you solemnly.

A pit formed in your stomach. You gulped and responded, “We‘re dreaming. No, I’m dreaming. You’re not real. You‘re just a man in my dreams that I made up. Our relationship isn’t real and I think we need to stop meeting here.“

You felt pretty stupid for “breaking up“ with someone from your dreams but it was the right thing to do.

The idyllic landscape suddenly turned into a nightmare; heavy lightning bolts struck the ocean and thunder rumbled all around you. Your eyes widened and you felt your pulse pick up.

Your eyes found his again and your jaw dropped open when you saw the tears running down his freckled cheek. You wanted to apologise to him, to comfort him, but before you could even get one word out, he fell on his knees in front of you.

“I don’t know what happened. Just yesterday we were talking about everything until you woke up and now you’re saying that what we have is not real? That our feelings aren’t real? What the fuck happened to make you change your mind?“, he asked loudly with tears streaming down his face. He took your hand and and kissed the palm of your hand and each individual finger softly while tears were dripping on your own hand.

Why would you dream this? Why would it feel so real? He looked at you from below his lashes, expecting an answer and kept your hand close to his mouth.

You felt the world crumble and blur around you. The light of the moon dimmed slowly while the ocean was drying up. This happens every night. This process was as familiar to you as was seeing him and this beach. It could only mean one thing; you were waking up.

He frantically looked around and held you by your shoulders. It was a firm but gentle grip nevertheless. “Please, baby. Please don’t leave me like this, okay? Come back tomorrow, hm? We‘ll talk it all over”, he begged.

Before you could answer, you woke up in your room. Blinking sleepily, your eyes scanned the room and you sighed and brushed your hair back. What the fuck was that about? Shit, you felt even more exhausted than before you went to bed. You were about to get up when you noticed something. The hand that he had kissed desperately, was slightly wet. It looked like the cause for it were small and irregular droplets of water; like his tears.

Goosebumps rose all over your body and your cheeks began to heat up while a cold shower ran down the nape of your neck. The heavy sense of dread expanded in your belly. No, you were probably just going crazy. Nothing extraordinary happening here. Nothing at all. Your eyes slowly drifted back to your hand and you picked your hand up and gently held it under your nose. His familiar scent invaded your nose again and you jumped up from your bed.

Suddenly you remembered his necklaces; the amethyst. Scrambling to your phone you looked up which crystals can help with lucid dreaming and… Amethyst was amongst the top five crystals.

Easy explanation, you were going crazy. You have nothing else going for you in your life so you convinced yourself that the man from your dreams is real. Easy situation.

You needed fresh air; walking outside in the autumnal weather while the dried leaves were crunching beneath you always helped clearing your mind. The refreshing breeze whirled around you and your tense body calmed a bit, when you accidentally walked against somebody. The person dropped their belongings and you apologised and picked up their things. Before you looked them in their face your eyes halted at their necklace; it was the same amethyst from your dream. You took a few steps back and your eyes immediately jumped up to the persons face and it was him. The man from your dreams.

“Hello, baby. We finally see each other during the day too. My name is Ellis“, he said gently with a lazy, soft smile and extremely deep bags beneath his eyes.

[etherealhannie]

( oneshot ) ،، eternal admirer ،، ⌇ 원우

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،، even on the days i ain't right by your side , i'm keeping my promise that i will be wherever you are ،، .ᐟ 🦋

pairing .ᐟ shy!wonwoo × fem!reader genre .ᐟ office romance au , lifetime crush word count .ᐟ 3.1k song rec. .ᐟ wherever u r ─ umi , v

note .ᐟ my playlist got the best of me─it's one of my favourite masterpiece , hope u guys love it as much as i do !

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Wonwoo first noticed Y/N in primary school, when they were just children sitting in the same classroom. It was something small at first—maybe the way she focused during lessons or how her laughter was bright and genuine. He didn’t know why, but even back then, something about her presence stayed with him.

Through middle school, Wonwoo kept his distance, content with admiring her from afar. He wasn’t the kind of boy to chase someone’s attention. In fact, he often found himself tucked in corners of the classroom, quietly reading while the others played during recess. Y/N was popular—not in the loud or flashy way—but in the way everyone naturally gravitated toward her. She was kind, easygoing, and always surrounded by friends. Wonwoo’s heart quietly thrived in that space of unspoken affection, never daring to break the surface.

High school came and went. Y/N was the star student—good grades, captain of the debate team, and still as radiant as ever. Meanwhile, Wonwoo was in the background, still the quiet boy who excelled in his own way but never sought the limelight. He had accepted by then that his love for her was something that would likely never be returned. It was easier that way. They barely shared more than polite smiles, a handful of group projects, and casual greetings.

His heart, however, had a way of betraying his thoughts. No matter how much he tried to push it down, his feelings for Y/N only grew. The longing became a constant companion—a soft ache he carried silently, never acting on it. He told himself he was okay with just admiring her from the sidelines.

They ended up attending the same university. It was a coincidence that almost felt like fate, though Wonwoo never allowed himself to believe in something as whimsical as that. University was different—they shared classes again, the same building, and occasionally ran into each other at the campus café. Those run-ins were his favorite part of the week. Sometimes they exchanged a few words, just small talk, but it was enough to keep his quiet hope alive.

During their final year, there was a group assignment, and for the first time, Wonwoo found himself working closely with Y/N. It was the most interaction they’d ever had, and for once, he allowed himself to believe they were becoming friends. His heart soared every time she asked for his help or when she smiled and thanked him for something small.

Graduation came quickly after that. Wonwoo had prepared himself for a life where their paths would finally diverge. He’d never confessed his feelings, and he told himself it was for the best. She was going to move on to bigger, brighter things, and he’d be left to move on as well, as he always had.

But life had other plans.

Three months after graduation, Wonwoo found himself at a sleek new office, ready to start his first job as a data analyst. The office was large and modern, a corporate hub buzzing with young professionals. He’d only been there a week when he saw her—Y/N, walking through the glass doors as if it were completely normal that they’d end up in the same place once again. His heart skipped a beat, then two, as she caught sight of him, smiling warmly.

“Wonwoo! I didn’t know you’d be working here too,” she said, her eyes crinkling at the corners in that familiar way.

He froze for a moment, fumbling for words, before managing a soft, “Yeah, I started last week.”

From that day on, they crossed paths daily—at meetings, during lunch breaks, in the shared spaces of the office. And every time they did, Wonwoo’s heart fluttered with the same nervous energy as it had back in school. Yet, despite all the opportunities, he still couldn’t find the courage to tell her how he felt.

Then, one afternoon, a project landed on their desks. It required collaboration between departments, and to his utter shock, Wonwoo found himself paired with Y/N. They would be working closely for the next two weeks. His mind spun at the thought of spending so much time with her, but he played it cool, nodding in agreement as if his heart wasn’t racing a mile a minute.

The first meeting was nerve-wracking. Y/N sat beside him, their elbows almost touching, and all Wonwoo could focus on was the warmth radiating from her. She asked him questions about the project, listened intently to his suggestions, and for the first time, he felt like she truly saw him—not just as a classmate or colleague, but as someone important.

By the end of the project, they had spent more time together than ever before, and Wonwoo’s heart was in overdrive. Every moment felt surreal, like a dream he didn’t want to wake from. The day they submitted their final report, Y/N turned to him with a smile that nearly made his knees buckle.

“We make a pretty good team,” she said, lightly nudging his arm.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, feeling his face heat up. “We do.”

That evening, back at his shared apartment, Wonwoo couldn’t contain his excitement. His roommates were lounging in the living room when he burst in, practically glowing.

“You won’t believe what happened,” he blurted out, pacing back and forth.

Mingyu, sitting on the couch with a game controller in hand, raised an eyebrow. “What’s got you all worked up?”

Wonwoo could hardly stand still as he recounted every small detail—how they’d worked together, how close they’d sat, and how Y/N had smiled at him like that. His friends listened with amused grins, teasing him about his schoolboy crush.

“You’re so whipped,” Seungcheol teased, laughing.

Wonwoo didn’t care. He was giddy, like a teenager all over again. For the first time in years, he felt like maybe, just maybe, something could happen between them. The hope he’d kept buried for so long was starting to bloom, and though he didn’t know where things would lead, he was finally ready to see where this journey would take him.

For now, that smile was enough to keep his heart racing.

The next few days at work were a blur of nervous energy for Wonwoo. Every time he saw Y/N in the office, his heart would leap, and his mind would start racing with all the possibilities. He couldn’t shake the memory of their project, the casual touches, and the way she looked at him. Every moment replayed in his head, keeping him awake at night, wondering if she saw him the same way he saw her.

Despite the rush of excitement he felt inside, outwardly, he was still the same Wonwoo—quiet, reserved, and shy. He wanted to keep things normal, professional even, but his friends had other ideas.

“You’re really going to let this chance slip away?” Mingyu asked one night after work, tossing a pillow at him. “Dude, you’ve liked her since forever! Now you’re practically working together every day, and you’re just gonna stay quiet?”

Wonwoo sighed, sinking deeper into the couch. “It’s not that easy, Gyu. What if she doesn’t see me that way? I don’t want to ruin everything.”

Seungcheol, who had been scrolling through his phone, chimed in. “You don’t have to confess your love out of nowhere, man. Just… get closer to her. Be her friend. See where things go.”

“I don’t even know how to do that,” Wonwoo admitted, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “I’ve been in love with her from a distance for so long. Actually being around her now feels like… I don’t know, like I’m going to mess it up.”

Mingyu rolled his eyes, but a grin tugged at the corner of his lips. “You’re overthinking this, as usual. Just talk to her. You work in the same office, it’s the perfect excuse.”

As much as Wonwoo hated to admit it, his friends were right. He couldn’t keep waiting for things to happen by chance. He needed to take a step forward. But how?

The opportunity presented itself the next morning.

Wonwoo was sitting at his desk, reviewing some reports, when Y/N approached him with a hesitant smile. “Hey, Wonwoo. Do you have a moment? I could really use your help with something.”

His heart skipped a beat, but he kept his expression calm. “Sure, what do you need?”

Y/N explained that she was working on a new proposal but had hit a roadblock with the data analysis. “I know you’re great with numbers, and I’m kind of struggling,” she admitted with a small laugh. “Do you think you could take a look?”

For a moment, Wonwoo couldn’t believe she was asking for his help again. His mind raced, but he nodded, trying to play it cool. “Yeah, I can take a look. Let’s go over it together.”

They ended up spending the next hour in one of the meeting rooms, poring over spreadsheets and brainstorming ideas. Wonwoo found himself relaxing as they worked, focusing more on the task at hand and less on the nervous energy buzzing inside him. Y/N was thoughtful and sharp, always open to his suggestions, and the way she engaged with him made his chest swell with a quiet pride.

As they wrapped up, Y/N turned to him with a grateful smile. “You’re seriously a lifesaver. I don’t know how I’d get through this without your help.”

Wonwoo’s face heated up, and he looked down at the table, a small smile tugging at his lips. “It’s nothing. You could’ve figured it out.”

She laughed softly. “I don’t know about that. But seriously, thank you. You’ve been great to work with.”

Before he could respond, their phones buzzed simultaneously—lunchtime. Y/N glanced at her watch and then back at him, hesitating for a second. “Hey, do you want to grab lunch together? It’s been a while since we’ve really talked outside of work.”

Wonwoo’s mind went blank. Lunch? With her? It wasn’t the first time they’d shared a meal, but it felt different now. This was just the two of them, and he didn’t want to overthink it. He swallowed hard and nodded. “Yeah, that sounds great.”

They ended up at a cozy little café near the office, sitting across from each other with steaming cups of coffee and sandwiches. It was the most casual setting they’d been in together in years, and for the first time, Wonwoo allowed himself to relax.

“So,” Y/N started, stirring her coffee absentmindedly, “how’s it been for you, working here? It’s kind of funny that we ended up in the same place after all these years.”

Wonwoo smiled softly. “Yeah, I didn’t expect it either. It’s been good. Different from school, but… in a good way.”

Y/N nodded. “Same here. I was nervous at first, but seeing familiar faces like yours makes it a lot easier.”

His heart flipped at the mention of him making things easier for her, but he tried to keep his cool. They talked more about work, shared memories from university, and slowly, Wonwoo realized how natural it felt being around her. She wasn’t just the girl he’d admired from afar anymore; she was someone he could talk to, laugh with, and maybe even get closer to.

That evening, back at the apartment, he couldn’t contain his excitement once again. His roommates were already waiting for the update as soon as he walked through the door.

“So? How’d it go?” Mingyu asked, leaning forward with a grin.

Wonwoo tried to keep his expression neutral, but the smile that broke through was unstoppable. “We had lunch together.”

Seungcheol sat up straighter. “Lunch? Just the two of you?”

Wonwoo nodded, the warmth spreading through him as he remembered their conversation. “Yeah. It was… it was nice. Really nice.”

Mingyu chuckled, shaking his head. “Look at you, getting all giddy over lunch. You’ve got it bad, man.”

“I know,” Wonwoo admitted, laughing softly. “But… I think I’m finally starting to see things move forward.”

And for the first time in years, that hope he’d held onto so tightly felt within reach.

As the days passed, the lunch with Y/N became a new routine. They started meeting up more often, sometimes in the office cafeteria, other times at the same cozy café nearby. It wasn’t anything special on the surface—just two colleagues grabbing a bite together—but to Wonwoo, it was everything. Every conversation, every shared laugh, every accidental brush of their hands felt like another step closer to something he had never let himself imagine before.

His roommates, of course, continued to tease him about it at every chance they got.

“So, any big developments?” Seungcheol asked one night, casually flipping through the channels on TV. “Did you hold hands yet?”

Wonwoo groaned, throwing a pillow at him from across the room. “No, we’re just… talking. It’s not like that.”

Mingyu, sprawled out on the couch, shot him a knowing look. “Not yet, maybe. But come on, man. You’re basically going on mini-dates every day. When are you going to make a move?”

“I’m not,” Wonwoo said quickly, though the idea of making a move had crossed his mind more times than he cared to admit. “We’re just friends. She probably doesn’t even see me that way.”

Seungcheol snorted. “You’re dense, dude. She’s spending all this time with you for a reason. No one’s that nice unless they want to be around you.”

Wonwoo frowned, unsure of what to believe. The thought that Y/N might feel something for him seemed too good to be true. He didn’t want to get his hopes up, only to have them crushed. But then again, the way she smiled at him, the way her eyes lingered just a little longer than necessary—it made him wonder. Maybe… just maybe…

The next week, everything changed.

They were working late one evening, finishing up a project that was due the next day. The office was quiet, most of the employees already gone, and it was just the two of them in the meeting room, typing away on their laptops. Wonwoo was focused on the task at hand, trying to wrap things up as quickly as possible, when Y/N suddenly broke the silence.

“Wonwoo, can I ask you something?”

His fingers paused on the keyboard, and he looked up to find her staring at him with an expression he couldn’t quite read. “Sure. What’s up?”

She hesitated for a moment, biting her lip like she was gathering her thoughts. “Do you… ever think about what things could’ve been like if we’d been closer back in school? Like, if we’d been better friends or… something more?”

Wonwoo’s heart slammed in his chest. Her words were casual, almost uncertain, but there was a vulnerability in them that made his pulse race. He didn’t know how to respond—didn’t know what she was really asking—but he couldn’t lie to her. Not now.

“I’ve thought about it a lot,” he admitted softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Probably more than I should.”

Y/N’s eyes softened, and she leaned back in her chair, exhaling a small laugh. “I always wondered about you, you know. You were so quiet, so reserved. But you were always… there. I noticed.”

Wonwoo blinked in surprise. “You did?”

“Of course I did,” she said, smiling. “I mean, you were always one of the smartest in the class, but you never tried to stand out. I thought that was interesting. You seemed… different.”

He swallowed hard, trying to process her words. All this time, he thought he’d been invisible to her, just a background character in her life. But now, sitting here with her, he realized that she’d been paying attention too.

“I always wanted to get to know you better,” Y/N continued, her voice quiet but sincere. “But I didn’t know how. You were so hard to approach.”

Wonwoo felt a lump form in his throat. He’d been so afraid of getting close to her, so afraid of rejection, that he never gave her a chance to know him. And now, here they were, years later, finally sitting across from each other, finally talking about the things that had been left unsaid for so long.

“I was… scared,” Wonwoo admitted, his voice trembling slightly. “I didn’t think you’d ever be interested in someone like me.”

Y/N tilted her head, her gaze softening even more. “Why would you think that?”

He laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “You were always so… perfect. Smart, popular, surrounded by people. I didn’t think I had a chance.”

Y/N shook her head, smiling gently. “You’ve always had a chance, Wonwoo.”

The words hit him like a tidal wave, and he felt his heart swell with emotion. He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to respond to something he’d dreamed of hearing for so long. But before he could find the words, Y/N reached across the table, her fingers brushing lightly against his.

“I know we’ve never been close,” she said softly, her eyes searching his. “But I’d like to change that. If you’re open to it.”

Wonwoo stared at her, his mind spinning. Was this really happening? Was she really giving him the chance he’d always wanted?

“I’d like that too,” he finally whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

Y/N’s smile widened, and for the first time, Wonwoo felt like maybe—just maybe—everything he’d hoped for was within reach. They sat there for a few moments in silence, the warmth of her hand lingering on his, and for the first time in years, Wonwoo allowed himself to believe in the possibility of something more.

That night, when he returned to the apartment, his friends didn’t even need to ask.

“You’re smiling like an idiot,” Mingyu teased, grinning from ear to ear. “What happened?”

Wonwoo dropped onto the couch, unable to stop the smile from spreading across his face. “We talked. Really talked.”

Seungcheol raised an eyebrow. “And?”

“And…” Wonwoo paused, still trying to wrap his head around it all. “She said I’ve always had a chance.”

The room went silent for a moment, and then Mingyu let out a loud whoop, throwing a pillow at him. “Finally! Took you long enough!”

Seungcheol laughed, clapping him on the back. “Looks like things are finally falling into place.”

Wonwoo couldn’t help but laugh along with them, his heart feeling lighter than it had in years. For the first time, he felt like the walls he’d built around his heart were starting to come down, and with Y/N on the other side, maybe—just maybe—his story was only just beginning.

[liahaslosthermind]

~ 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑫𝒆𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒐𝒇 𝑳𝒐𝒔𝒔 ~

(Past) Rhysand x OC, (Eventual) Azriel x OC Part 2 of Betrayal

Summary: He was out of his mind with grief. Azriel had been through his fair share of trauma. He had seen and done horrific things, but that was always with Adelaide by his side. Now, he didn't know what to do, and he was losing it. Warnings: Suicidal thoughts and ideology, Death of a loved one, grief, Hurt/No Comfort

His limbs ached as he stood up from his chair. He had been sitting there so long that walking felt much harder than it usually did.

He rubbed the haze from his eyes while walking to the door, the incessant knocking making his headache worse.

"Fuck, Az. You look- how do you- do you want me to..." Cassian stood in front of his brother, a man he'd known for 500 years, and didn't recognize the person he saw.

It had been the first time in almost 2 months that Cassian's knocks were answered. He had come to her room, everyday, multiple times a day, to plead with his brother to talk to him, to eat something, to just let Cassian look at him so he could see he was alive.

Azriel said nothing as he turned around and went back to the chair he had been occupying. Cassian closed the door behind him as he took in the room.

It was the same as it had been the day she left. Even though this had been the place Azriel spent most of his days, the Shadowsinger had kept it all the same, only touching her bed that he would sleep in the nights he could stomach it, or the chair he was currently in now.

A mess of papers on the desk brought tears to Cassian's eyes. Adelaide, sweet and caring Adelaide, had been making a list of Solstice gifts for her family when she was called to join some of the Inner Circle on a meeting all those months ago. A meeting that had been a trap for them. A meeting that ended up taking her life.

Azriel cleared his throat when Cassian went to pick up a piece of paper. He had tried to hard to keep her room clean while also not disturbing things from the spot she had put them in.

"Nesta told me that her and Elaine have been leaving you food but it remains untouched."

"Is there a question, brother?" Azriel asked. His voice had always been rough, and he had always been more on the quiet side, but Cassian could tell that because of lack of use, it hurt him to speak.

"Why aren't you eating? How can we get you to? I would do anything, Az." he pleaded.

The spymaster didn't answer.

"Whats the end goal? Believe me, if you want 1,000 years to mourn her, I will be with you every step of the way. I've tried to give you space, but you are killing yourself! You sit in here all day, only coming out when everyone is asleep or gone. What do you need to care about your life again?"

He was met with a distracted look from Azriel.

His brother was never distracted. He was never careless. He hadn't missed a day of training for no reason in hundreds of years. Cassian knew he still trained every once in a while, but Azriel always found times to do it when no one else was around.

Azriel didn't have an answer for Cassian, at least not one he would like.

How could I care for my life when her's is over? he thought. By the desperate look on Cassian's face, he could tell his brother knew the answer.

"I lost her too. I know it was different with the two of you, you were each others'... person, but she was as much my sister as you are my brother. I didn't... I didn't even get to say goodbye." Cassian finally broke at the confession. He hadn't let himself think about it, he had to keep himself together for Azriel. "The last time I talked to her, we where fighting over food. She stole the slice of cake I had saved for myself, I called her an inconvenience and a burden, she called me a spoiled bat who needs to learn to share." He let out a bittersweet laugh at the memory. They were usually at each others' throats, and when they weren't, they were teamed up to annoy someone else in their family. But they loved each other, always were there for one another, except in the end, when it mattered most.

"24 hours later, I was picking out the sarcophagus my sister was going to be laid in. I would have let her have all of my leftovers, all of my desert, if it meant I just got one last conversation with her." Choking up, Cassian sank to the floor, a wave of familiar grief washing over him.

Azriel joined him, crying as he hugged his brother.

The two illyrians, sat like that for a while. Long after their tears had dried, long after the sun had gone down, Cassian finally spoke up.

"Why don't you go see her? Visiting helps me, talking to her even though I know she can't hear is something I do often."

In truth, Azriel hadn't gone to his best friend's mausoleum since the funeral. He couldn't see her like that, couldn't come to terms with it.

These past 6 months had been dark. Everyone was mourning her, many of the people of Velaris included, but none more than Azriel. Part of him had died, laid in the cold marble box that held her body. For the first few months, he had completely disconnected from reality. He went on with his daily routine, he trained, ate, went on missions, did paperwork, slept. But it was as it he was on autopilot, as if the real Azriel had been asleep that whole time.

Two months ago, he woke up. It was sudden, he had gone to his room for the first time in a while to grab some books that had been long overdo at the library, and the priestesses had kindly told him if they didn't get them back he would be banned for life.

Thats when he saw the blanket on the chair by his desk. She had given it to him over a century ago. It was a birthday present, a wool blanket that was enchanted to smell like her always. She had played it off as a self centered gift, so he doesn't forget about his favorite person while away on missions, in front of their friends, but Azriel knew it wasn't that. Adelaide had always been a master gift giver, and she also knew Azriel had trouble sleeping most nights, but he never had any problems falling asleep on the couch next to her after a long night of conversations, wrapped comfortably in her own wool blanket.

He hadn't slept without it till the night she died.

Then, he picked it up, trying to see if the enchantment still worked. And that was all it took for him to wake up. It was awful, every bad feeling he had been too far disassociated to feel hit him at once. He curled up on the floor with the blanket wrapped around his hands and stayed there for days, silent tears never ceasing to fall.

After getting yelled at by Madja, who Nesta had called to knock some sense into him, he got up and went to her room, where he remained most of his days.

He sat in the chair in the corner of the room, only eating to quiet his stomach, and tried as hard as he could to detach himself from the never ending agony that was his life now.

He told Cas he would see her, the general's face lighting up at the news.

He felt guilty, making Cassian so happy for something he knew would later destroy him.

Hours after Cassian had left the room, as the sun came up, Azriel went to his room to grab the blanket he hadn't touched in 2 months. Then he grabbed Truth Teller, wrote his final request, and went to see Adelaide.

The building was large, and beautifully constructed. He would have been happy that she had a resting place deserving of her, but he knew Rhysand only spent that much money and made it this beautiful to try and lighten the guilt he felt.

The Shadowsinger stopped by the entrance, the sarcophagus without a lid placed up on the platform.

Before the funeral, Helion had come to place a enchantment on her body that would keep it preserved.

It had been a show of good will, Adelaide had been head of the Night Court's scholarly texts, education, and research. The two had met to have academic conversations at least once every few months for decades.

But as Azriel looked down at her, it felt like a cruel punishment from Helion.

6 months later, she was still as beautiful as she was the last time he saw her, and she was still just as dead.

This was where he would remain, his final request was to be laid to rest in the same building. He would be adding unnecessary pain onto his loved ones who had suffered so much already, but for the first time in his life, Azriel had decided to put himself in front of his family.

Looking her over one last time, he realized he was now completely numb.

Azriel held the gifted blanket and went to take off the one she currently had. Based off the fact it seemed to have been picked out with meticulous care to match Adelaide's coloring, and her outfit, there was no doubt it had been placed their by Mor.

On her lap, previously being covered by the blanket, laid a large and very old book.

Had one of the scholars she worked with placed it? One of the educators?

Strange marks littered the cover, but no title. Not till he opened the first page did he see what it was.

The Walking Dead

A cruel pick. Who would ever leave such a book with a corpse?

The second page was blank, so was the third, so was the fourth. Thumbing through the book, Azriel just about gave up looking at the blank pages when he finally found one with writing.

It seemed to be a poem, but it was formatted too strangely.

The title at the top read Eternally Intertwined.

A spell.

He almost dropped the book at the realization.

No one had left this book, it had been fate that had given it to him, kept it here waiting for him to stumble upon it.

He knew what he needed to do.

[violettwrites]

in the arms of the broken — daryl dixon

a/n: to the dear nonnie that requested this 🫶🏻 thank u sm i absolutely adored writing this (i rly should be sleeping but i can’t so here i am) i hope you enjoy !!

if you enjoyed reading this, please support me by giving me a like, reblog, and/or comment ! don’t forget to follow me either if you want to read more of my stuff !

request: anon said — “i also like the dialogue prompt ‘i don’t know… i’ve never seen her like this’ that tugs at the heart strings”

summary: reader cannot cope with the way the world has become, during a particularly hard night for themselves, daryl dixon is the one to comfort them.

warnings: angst/sadness ,,, thats it rly

word count: 1,241

recourses: divider by @adornedwithlight

➵ tp!daryl masterlist

➵ regular masterlist

here is my ask box !

the night was quiet except for the crackle of the fire, but it felt wrong—like the world had gone still, holding its breath. you sat by the flames, knees drawn to your chest, staring blankly into the flickering light. the heat touched your skin, but it didn’t reach you, didn’t chase away the cold that had settled deep inside.

daryl watched you from a distance, leaning against a tree with his arms crossed over his chest. he’d been keeping an eye on you for days, noticing the way you’d been pulling away from everyone, isolating yourself. you’d always been strong, always held it together for the sake of the group, but something was different now. something had changed, and it scared him. you were like a shadow of yourself, your spirit drained, your eyes distant.

rick approached him, eyes flicking over to you before meeting daryl’s. “how’s she holdin’ up?”

daryl didn’t answer right away, his jaw tightening as he watched the way you sat so still, your body hunched like the weight of everything had finally become too much to carry. he shook his head, his voice quiet and rough. “i don’t know… i’ve never seen her like this.”

rick nodded, his expression grim. “she’s been through a lot. more than most of us. maybe she just needs some time.”

rick can recall the first time they found you, smack bang in the middle of atlanta, all alone. you were covered in blood and guts, and if he hadn’t actually heard how you begged for help when he saw you, your voice barely audible, he honestly would have thought you were just another walker.

“time ain’t gonna fix what’s broken,” daryl muttered under his breath, the frustration simmering beneath his skin. time wasn’t enough when you were drowning, when you couldn’t see a way out of the darkness. and he hated that he didn’t know how to pull you out.

rick gave him a look, one that said everything he didn’t need to say out loud. “you’re the one she’ll listen to, daryl. talk to her.”

daryl stood there a moment longer, watching the way you curled into yourself, like you were trying to disappear. every instinct in him told him to go to you, but he hesitated, unsure if his words would even matter. still, he couldn’t just leave you like this.

he finally pushed off the tree and walked over, his boots crunching softly against the dirt. he lowered himself to the ground beside you, sitting close enough that you could feel his presence, but not so close that he’d crowd you.

for a while, neither of you said anything. the fire crackled between you, the only sound breaking the silence of the night. daryl wasn’t sure how to start, wasn’t good with words even on the best of days. but he knew you, and he knew the way you got when things started to spiral out of control in your head.

“you don’t gotta shut us out, y’know,” he finally said, his voice gruff but soft. “we’re all here for ya.”

you didn’t respond at first, your eyes still fixed on the flames like they held some kind of answer you were searching for. after a long moment, you sighed, your voice barely a whisper. “i’m tired, daryl.”

those words hit him like a punch to the gut. he’d seen people break before, seen the way this world could wear someone down until there was nothing left. but hearing you say it, seeing you like this—it scared him more than he wanted to admit.

“i know,” he said quietly. “we all are. but we’re still fightin’. you’re still fightin’.”

you shook your head, your voice trembling as you spoke. “i don’t know if i can anymore. every day feels like it’s getting harder. like… like i’m losing pieces of myself.”

daryl’s chest tightened. he’d always admired your strength, the way you kept going no matter how hard things got. but now, hearing you say you were falling apart—it made him realize just how much he hadn’t noticed.

“you ain’t losin’ yourself,” he said, his voice firm but gentle. “you’re still here. we’re still here.”

you swallowed hard, tears brimming in your eyes. “i feel like i’m drowning. like no matter what i do, it’s never enough. i can’t save everyone, daryl.”

that was it, wasn’t it? the burden you carried, the weight of trying to protect everyone, to hold the group together when everything was falling apart. it was breaking you.

daryl shifted closer, his hand reaching out to rest on your arm, hesitant at first, but firm once it was there. “you don’t gotta save everyone. that ain’t on you.”

your voice cracked as you spoke, the tears spilling over now. “but if i don’t… who will?”

daryl’s heart clenched at the raw pain in your voice. he wished he had the right words, wished he could take that weight off your shoulders. but he knew he couldn’t fix everything. what he could do, though, was remind you that you weren’t alone.

“you don’t have to,” he said, his thumb gently brushing your arm in a way that was more comforting than he realized. “we’re all in this together. you ain’t gotta carry the world by yourself.”

you turned to look at him, and the vulnerability in your eyes nearly broke him. he wasn’t used to seeing you like this, so lost and fragile. he hated it. he hated that you felt like you had to carry the world alone, that you felt like you were drowning.

“i don’t know how to stop feeling like this,” you whispered, your voice shaking. “everything feels so heavy.”

daryl swallowed hard, his own heart aching at how much pain you were in. he didn’t know how to take that pain away, but he could be there for you. he could be the one thing you could hold on to when everything else felt like it was slipping away.

“you ain’t alone,” he said, his voice low but steady. “you got me. no matter what, you got me.”

you looked at him then, really looked at him, and for the first time in days, you felt like you could breathe just a little easier. his words were simple, but they grounded you. daryl had always been your anchor, and in this moment, you needed him more than ever.

without thinking, you leaned into him, your forehead resting against his shoulder as the tears came harder, your body shaking with the force of them. daryl didn’t hesitate. he wrapped his arm around you, pulling you closer, his hand rubbing slow circles on your back.

“let it out,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “it’s okay. i got ya.”

and for the first time in a long time, you let yourself fall apart. you let the tears come, let the pain you’d been holding in for so long spill out. daryl didn’t say anything more, didn’t need to. he just held you, his presence steady and unwavering, letting you know without words that you didn’t have to carry this burden alone.

the fire crackled softly beside you, but the world felt a little less cold with daryl holding you. you weren’t okay. you weren’t sure when—or if—you’d ever be okay again. but for now, in his arms, you felt like you didn’t have to be.

and maybe that was enough.

[ironworked]

Hen Begins timeline

"Ah, since the meltdown in '08, everybody's been cutting back.", says one of Hen's co-workers (2.09)

"Gina dragged me to that vampire movie." (2.09): New Moon was released on November 20, 2009 and remained in theaters until at least the end of March. Eclipse came out on June 30, 2010 and lasted on theaters until at least mid October.

"Senate votes 63 to 31 to repeal 'Don't Ask, Don't Tell.'" (6.06): Hen and Karen celebrate the repeal (December 2010) when they're already living together.

"I'm a Black lesbian that joined the fire department at 30" (4.03); "Last time I saw Clive was 1978 [...] I couldn't walk out on the father of my child." (5.09) -> Hen was born in 1978 or 1979, so it's likely she'd be 30 in 2009.

"After 13 years in the same firehouse, why would I know - what supplies we need?" (5.03)

“When I first entered this department, Captain Gerrard didn't even see me as a firefighter. And now, 12 years later," (6.01) -> this is a quote that doesn't quite fit, because it would put Hen starting out in '11, but it's not far off.

Circumstantial 'evidence': It's raining on every call and every time we can see the outside from the firehouse (and they make a point to note how 'rare' it is "it's nice in the sunroom when it's raining. Which is, like, once a decade now."). They don't imply or mention a 'significant' passage of time; we only see Hen meet up with Athena and her friends once ("Three of us we get together once a month, swap war stories."), no montages or timestamps or mention of holidays, and on the contrary, many scenes are connected in time:

Hen arrives during the day, there's a 'raining outside' transition shot, then they all arrive at the station after a call:

Next they're eating, a fade to black, and another transition (still raining, as we can see thanks to the window and the transition shot) this time to night and into the next 9-1-1 callers:

We follow the mudslide call, fade to black, another 'raining in LA' transition shot, and come back to Hen and Chim doing the dishes:

Next up, another transition shot showing a lightening sky with, you guessed it, more rain. From there we get Gerrard berating Hen (gif edited for length; also notice it's still raining!) followed by the 118 leaving on another call, without her. Jump to her dinner with Athena and friends:

The end of that dinner segues into Hen's speech, and then straight to the next call (limo accident). The end of that call fades to black. Lastly we get Hen arriving at the station the next day ('Yo, Wilson. Nice work yesterday') to find Gerrard gone:

After her talk with the Commander and then with Chim, they get called to another accident (and, poetically, it has stopped raining).

--

So we have a period of time from end of November 2009 to December 2010. In that time, Hen worked under Gerrard, and later made friends with Chim, and 'met-dated-moved in' with Karen. Which part of that lasted longer?

Next we have this:

"They're trying to recruit women now, you know?" + "8 women were recruited, and 3 of them make it through the academy" + "the mayor wants to say that female recruitment is up" "Since you've started working here, we've received numerous complaints. [...] It's not just complaints we're receiving. Your colleagues all have some pretty complimentary things to say about you. You've made quite an impression. [...] Why would we do that [fire Hen]? You're the future of the LAFD."

What makes sense to me, is that since the LAFD was making efforts to increase diversity they probably acted fast to oust Gerrard when the 118 started making noise, to avoid the possible bad publicity.

See what happened with Buck's lawsuit:

Bobby: You're gonna get a call tomorrow from the Chief; You're being reinstated to active duty. The brass didn't want the headache, they're afraid of the bad press. [3.05]

So, I would say Hen worked under Gerrard for a few shifts.

Thoughts? corrections?

I know that 911's timeline is hmm dot-on-Jeremy-Bearimy-coded, but this one actually made sense to me.

-

9-1-1 Episode Transcripts

[idontliekmondays]

excerpts from lindsay's old classmate

1.28.13 I have really tried to like Lilith but after two weeks with her I can't. My thinking on it is she hasn't given a reason to like her. It's more like she tries to complain, storm off, be rude, and ignore the rest of us as much as she can. Her special skill is that she can walk anywhere in high heels.

2.05.13 Lilith did not get any roti because she decided to stay in her room the whole day.

Dance lessons. And a full shot of me in uniform. Thai dancing does not require a lot of movement so it can be done in a pencil skirt. Left side, front to back: Deanna, Me, Donna, Lilith. Right side: Dance teacher, Karen.

2.07.13 (I have mentioned before that Lilith gets motion sick. So today instead of getting in the front seat like she's supposed to she climbed in the back of the songthaew with everyone else. The whole time I'm praying in my head "Don't throw up everywhere, don't throw up everywhere" because she started looking sick about half-way through the trip back. I really do not understand her logic).

Drexler is forcing Lilith to go to yoga or meditation (it's so nice she's paying all this money to go to another country to sit in her room on the computer all day.)

2.08.13 More creepy messages from Lilith's talking horse doodle today. She told us that she gets all these from a tumblr account called Crazy Horse(?). I also don't think she gets what all of them mean, because the horse's first message today was "Pumpkin Jokes.PDF". Really confused on that one. She erased that and had the horse say "Becoming a bounty hunter is not easy but I am here." I can see these two coming from a tumblr account, though they make zero sense to me. She then drew a dog and gave it this dialogue "Timid little girls she never put fairies on the summer gathering place for the Nazi elite." I'm really getting freaked out by some of her messages and was very thankful when Ajan Pranut (our afternoon teacher today) erased them.

2.11.13 Watched Lilith fight with a bee for her cake. She hates insects so she literally flew from her chair to get away from it. Then thought swearing would shoo it away. The bee cared more about the cake.

2.13.13 Originally I was going to say writer but Lilith wants to be a writer (today's creepy horse message was "Bring me all the people and I will make sure they are burning." Don't think I want to see anymore of her work)

When everyone returned we had a review session (except Niko and Lilith because her boyfriend broke up with her today. Most of us had to take a moment to go "You had a boyfriend??").

2.14.13 Last post I said Lilith's boyfriend broke up with her. Today she was excused from half of our midterm because she told Drexler she was up all night. Later, Donna informed me that she had downed a whole bottle of wine to help deal with her feelings. That's definitely healthy (sarcasm).

2.15.13 Drexler informed me he was forcing Lilith and myself to go to Tai Chi today with his wife Barbara.

Lilith stood there most of the time refusing to follow the movements and afterwards said "It wasn't her thing". For those who know Lilith at Coe, I saw her wearing ballet flats today, not heels!!

We complained about Lilith and Donna told us the funny story of how at Multicultural fusion orientation, where every African American freshman was, Lilith announced that she hated black people during her introduction. If you ever wanted a stupid idea, here's one of the dumbest ones ever. She has not been invited back since.

2.18.13 Lilith grossed everyone at her table out by hogging the delicious fried chicken, eating it with her fingers, and dipping her spoon (the only utensil that goes in your mouth besides chopsticks) into the soup. I feel Barbara has caught on to her.

Some of the people I'm here with. From left to right: Lilith, Niko, our guide/the Dean, Alessa. This temple was at the second ruins. I think it was a temple.

2.20.13 Forgot about going to Tai Chi today so got going a little later than planned. Lilith did not join us this time (my prayers have been answered!!) so she will be forced to go to yoga or something else. Barbara is the type of teacher who believes that if we talk to her we will realize she's just shy, not a bad person. This makes me remember she has a Hitler poster in her single at Coe. I don't think we'll be painting each others toe nails and gossiping about boys any time this lifetime. Or the next.

2.22.13 On the way back from buying detergent I walked past Lilith who made a point of ignoring me. I get the feeling she doesn't want to be friends.

2.28.13 Lilith's creepy horse message of the day was "Is the dance floor calling? No."

Lilith, who's half Laotian and this was her first time visiting Laos, spent her time in her room on her computer. Again I wonder why she came on this trip.

3.03.13 The other skit was... awkward. Lilith was randomly sitting on the ground talking about absinthe and Deanna happily stormed out at the end.

3.11.13 I had to sit by Lilith who dressed herself as a hooker. If my grandma saw the way she was dressed, that would be the first word out of her mouth. She bought some platform high heels that don't have a heel. I will take a creeper picture when I get the chance because they are so outrageous. They look like Lady Gaga shoes as a better description.

3.15.13 One thing I did edit out was how completely disgusting and rude Lilith was today. She actually belched at one of the Vietnamese students. Her behavior ranged from obnoxious to 'I was raised in a cave by monkeys'. The students were very concerned that she wasn't having fun.

3.18.13 Watched Drexler try to talk to Lilith about some issues that she has been causing but we watched their body language get more and more closed so it was probably not successful.

3.26.13 When you get out of an elevator it is a common prank to push all the other buttons. Instead, I pushed all the buttons on the way up to our floor. Deanna and Donna took it as a joke but you could feel the loathing rolling off Lilith in waves so much it scared the others. I am not sad to say it made me happy to make her angry. I am a terrible person, but she is worse. One story the host students keep talking about often is how when Lilith showed up at her host's house she asked for potato chips. When none were given she asked to be taken to the bar.

3.30.13 Had to sit by Lilith. Again. I'm starting to believe that I am put in charge of her, that Drexler thinks I can handle this responsibility.

We are the first Asia Term to come here. It's all thanks to Lilith who's half Laotian and her dad wanting her to meet his side of the family. That's happening tomorrow. Perhaps getting sick suddenly would be the ideal way to deal with meeting a family of Nazis. This is her first time meeting her dad's family so we are expecting her to hate them immensely and the day to be awkward or they will make her their new leader.

3.31.13 She decided to wear her hooker shirt today to meet her dad's family for the first time. Hope she doesn't regret that later on.

4.04.13 In previous years Asia Term has been there for a week but because Lindsay wanted to meet her relatives our time in Cambodia has been cut down.

4.25.13 Lilith has gotten on everyones last nerve. Including Drexler's. It's a good thing we're coming home in a little bit.

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