#needle and thread. no thoughts in its head...

[mysticdreams10]

Keen and alert—Toji was fast asleep on the worn couch when abruptly awakened by a resounding thud. The vintage porcelain vase you bought from that antique shop collapses; now, it is nothing but shards. Porcelain pieces sprawled across the hardwood floors. Your pained groans fill the room, and it was then that he blinks his eyes, adjusting them to the flickering lights of the hallway, rubs the exhaustion out of his eyes, and finally, he sees you.

You barely manage to venture further into the dimly lit apartment, battered, bloodied, sticky with sweat, and tears flowing down your face from the excruciating pain. You are tripping over your own feet, trying to shut the damned door. The door slams, and the chain attached loudly rattles. A cry flees from your mouth, and his eyebrows furrow in confusion as he watches you sink to the floor. Sitting at the leg of the dining table.

“ Aye, what’s goin’ on? You alright? “

His hoarse voice breaks through the quietude. It sobered you up. Toji—the best assassin you have had the fortune of knowing, of working with, cannot see you like this, all weak and vulnerable and beaten. Your bronze skin was broken, your hair matted, clothes torn. He could not see you like this. The sole thought brought tears to your eyes, your eyes fixated on where he was lying.

“ Oi. “

You flinch at the bass in his voice and the way he hastily sits up, rapidly nodding your head. The older male frowns at the audacity that you would wake him up like this, yet deep inside, his heart erratically pounds at the sight before him. You look horrible.

“ Didn’t know you were gonna be out- sorry. “

You stammered out.

Flailing your arm around in hopes of finding something to help haul yourself off the floor, but your legs are screaming in agony, and blood continuously trickles out of your open wounds. You want to rest, to get in bed and hide underneath the covers with a heart heavy with humiliation and frustration. Why weren’t you getting better? Why couldn’t you just be…good? Your checks were insufficient, barely enough to keep you afloat, funds calculated solely based on your skills. You despised the body you were born in, made to fight, yet failing to sustain yourself in a battle. You hated this all.

A tiny puddle of crimson forms beneath you, your body grows limp per second, and he finally thinks quickly. All the survival tips he had received throughout his life flashed through him. He dashes to his feet, hurriedly rummaging through the kitchen for the first aid that was nearby for instances like this. Fetching a bowl of warmed water and a clean cloth, listening closely to your sniffles and whimpers, watching as you absentmindedly eye the puddle.

He nears you with stealthy steps and caution. The water whooshes delicately as he dips the cloth into the bowl before ringing the excess water. Kneeling down before you, he raises it to your face. You flinch when the dampened fabric comes into contact with your face, slowly leaning into its warmth—or was it his?

You let him tear the rest of the shredded fabric off your aching body, leaving behind a tank top and nothing else but your underwear. Toji focuses on closing up your gashes, the graphic wounds decorating your thighs, your arms, your waist. Softly shoving your clothes to the side, bringing you closer to him with a grunt, and threading the stitch through the needle. Deep-set, tired eyes meet emerald-green orbs, and even through the abyss, he sees emotion and tears in your eyes—fretful, sweet, but melancholic. A glint that almost looked like you were on the brink of halting, of giving up. He bites his lip, gazing down at the shaky needle he lifts up so you can clearly see it.

“ ‘M gonna have to close you up myself. “

You nod, mentally preparing yourself for this newfound pain.

He slowly begins, wincing when quiet sobs rack your body at the raw, piercing feeling—it sheathes into your taut skin, pulling and easing, assuring and cooing you as you paw at his corded arms and plead for him to stop.

Your body slacks, pliant when he is over, crimson staining the whites of his hand. He makes it quick to clean up all the blood, the tears on your face, the sweat beads pricking at your skin, with softened eyes. Shallow breaths overcrowd the room. And just so suddenly, he is overwhelmed by your state. Reminding him of everything wrong with their lives, their jobs, and this situation.

He knows the company cares nothing for people like you—the weak, the people whose every mission is merely an attempt at proving themselves. The ones who can barely dodge a simple challenge, a blazing bullet, to save their lives. They only want people like him; they need people like him. Born with an innate talent to grab and cease. The ability to control and fight. To kill and destroy, winning the prize of millions of dollars.

Yet, he watches the glimmer in your eyes dull every time you barrel through the door. And he is not supposed to care like this. You were a shot at having a warm place when it was nighttime, a couch to crash on when he was too tired to get a hotel, that was all. You had a working faucet, that fancy heater cooped up in the storage room, that he hogs occasionally, food and company when he is tired of Shiu. A nice person who did not mind this arrangement. He is not supposed to care this much or even at all. It is insignificant, fickle, and triggering, even.

He’s talented, what does he do with you? That small voice at the back of his head tells him to do the one thing his job does not require him to do—to protect you.

You cough, covering your mouth before rubbing at the nasty bruises on your face. His eyes follow your every movement—when you lean backwards a bit, uncomfortably shifting, fresh tears cascade down your face.

“ Who did this to you? “ He mutters, and you say nothing. You just shake your head with a soft, disapproving hum.

“ Tell me… please. “

The plea catches your attention immediately, and you open your mouth to respond, but you can only get a whimper out.

“ It was just a mission gone...really bad. " You whispered, eyes fluttering shut. " Thas'all. "

Two pairs of hands cradle your cheeks, unusually delicate yet firm in guiding your attention to him. The skin on his hands is calloused, rough and clammy against your flushed, bruised face. Your teary eyes blink, fleeting all over his face. Taking in the details from the specks of light in his eyes, his imperfections and his perfections, the flare in his nostrils. Blood trickles out of your nose, mingling with the tears and snot, yet he does not mind it, as he gingerly wipes the fluids away.

“ Who did this to you? Don’t let me repeat myself. ” He slowly utters. “ You know me, I will find this person, yet I want to make this a tad easier. “

Toji stares and he stares deeply into your eyes, and you have no other choice but to speak. And you do. He attentively listens as you speak about your failed mission, sobbing when you tell him about not wanting to do this anymore. Of being so exhausted, so ashamed. He listens as you tell him about what you wanted out of your life, needing, yearning for more of its essence and happiness than whatever you were experiencing right now. No more nights of being yelled at for not being talented enough, for being such a failure. He carries you in his arms, trudging over to your room with your head laid against his shoulder, slowly falling in and out of consciousness. When he lays you in your plush bed, you immediately fall asleep, hands forming fists in the fabric of his t-shirt. He stays nearby, listening to your soft and chopped snores, watching the flutter of your curled eyelashes.

He promises himself to make a couple of calls and arrangements in the morning, maybe talk to Shiu about blowing the brains of the people who did this but right now, he wants to make sure you are fine.

divider credit: @cafekitsune

[slippinmickeys]

Familiar (6/?)

Dawn came with a hush.

A low, blue light had already settled into the trees when Dana opened her eyes. She was stiff and her extremities cold – autumn was coming and the nights, with their seeping chill, would only get colder. 

She glanced left. Curled beside her like a sentry, was Fox. Not the man. The creature.

He lay with his nose tucked into his tail, still as stone except for the flick of one ear.

Dana sat up slowly, wincing at the stiffness in her back, and touched her empty stomach.

It growled.

“I’m up,” she mumbled, half to herself. Her stomach had no business letting the world know she was hungry–she was well aware of it herself. 

Fox stirred beside her, rearing up with his hind in the air to stretch and then sitting down to watch her. 

She reached for her pack and dumped its contents onto the ground. The apples tumbled out, eight of them still intact, bruised and sticky where they’d pressed against each other overnight.

She picked the firmest and bit in.

The juice was sweet, the flesh crisp—but it didn’t hit the way it had yesterday. Apples were less joyful the third meal in a row.

She looked to Fox. “I don’t suppose you want one?” she asked, holding one out toward him. He leaned forward to sniff it, but then looked away with disinterest. 

“Suit yourself,” Dana shrugged, ate two herself, and then tossed the cores into the underbrush,  pulling her cloak tighter against the morning chill.

Her gaze fell to the rest of what she had: a skin of water, not quite full. The river stone with the strange carving. Bite, her sword-like dagger. A needle and thread tucked into a scrap of linen. Two twists of wool. A cracked flint. A comb. A pouch of salt. 

And aside from the coins sewn into the lining of her cloak, that was all. All she had to her name. 

Dana gestured to the pathetic display. “A sad inventory of what is rapidly becoming a sad life,” she said to him. 

Fox’s ears twitched.

She looked at him and shook her head at herself. She was talking to an animal like he was her confidant. If someone nearby were watching her, they would think her mad.  

“We will need to do something about our stores,” she went on. Mad or no, humans were social creatures, and if the fox was the only ‘person’ she had to talk to, well… she was going to do it. 

The animal tilted his head, blinking.

She sighed and gathered the items back into her pack, the quiet of the woods broken only by the low rumble of her stomach.

“I’m still hungry,” she said, half-heartedly, this time to no one in particular.

Fox stood abruptly. His nose lifted to the wind, and then—without so much as a glance—he darted off into the trees.

Dana stared at the spot where he’d vanished. Somehow she knew he hadn’t done it because he sensed a threat–he would give her a pointed look before darting off, if that were the case. 

She stood, brushing the dirt from her skirt, and began repacking slowly. Maybe he had finally tired of her company. Maybe she was alone again.

Overhead, a raven landed on a thin branch with a creaking flutter. It watched her, its eyes like polished beads. She gave it a quick glance, watching as it blinked once and flew away. 

She relieved herself behind a tree, checked the clearing for signs of her stay, then began to sweep away some of the broken twigs she’d gathered for the fire that never got lit.

She was just slinging her pack over her shoulder when she turned—and froze.

Fox was back, standing before her with a fat rabbit in his mouth, which he dropped at her feet. 

Dana blinked. “Is… is that for me?”

Fox stepped back and sat, his tail curled around himself.

She crouched and picked up the rabbit by its ears, inspecting the kill. It was clean. The neck broken, not torn. A few tooth marks near the spine, but the body was intact.

She looked at him. “Well,” she said, rather stunned. 

He looked pleased with himself, in the way only a fox can. Perhaps it was worth having a familiar, she thought, if this is what they could do for you. 

She cleared her throat. “Thank you. I—well, I can’t eat it raw.”

Fox didn’t move.

Dana hesitated. “Last night you said it wasn’t safe to make a fire. Do you suppose it’s safe now?”

The animal sniffed the wind. Looked around. Met her eyes.

“Right,” she muttered. “We need to find a better way of communicating, you and I.”

Dana studied the woods around them herself. It seemed safe enough. They hadn’t encountered a soul and were still miles from any village or city. She looked back at Fox. He didn’t seem uneasy. And if he wasn’t worried…

She began collecting dry twigs and leaves. Every so often she glanced at him. He hadn’t moved. If he bolted, so would she.

The fire took quickly this time. She skinned the rabbit with the efficiency of someone who had grown up in the shadow of hunger, quartered it, and fashioned a crude spit from branches.

While it cooked, she sat across from Fox and studied him.

He was smaller than a dog, but longer in the body, his tail thick and impossibly lush. His coloring was rich—burnished red with black legs and white at the throat, the fur so fine it shimmered when the light hit just right. His eyes were amber. Intelligent. Watchful.

She’d only seen a fox up close once, years ago, when a farmer passed Mildred’s cottage with one slung over the back of his wagon. Dana had been eight. At the time, she hadn’t thought anything of it. Foxes were known to be the bane of farmers, and they’d lost a few chickens themselves. But now, thinking back, something about the memory made her shiver. 

When the rabbit was done, she burned her fingers pulling it from the spit. But it was delicious. Greasy and smoky and better than anything she’d eaten in days.

Fox didn’t ask for a share, just watched her eating with a kind of canine satisfaction.

After, she kicked dirt over the fire and scattered the ashes. She hid the bones under a pile of stones and scrubbed her hands in the dew.

She felt stronger. Warmer. Sharper.

As they began to walk again, the thought rose in her like a splinter working to the surface:

She had no plan.

She was walking without aim, with no destination and no real knowledge of what she even wanted to find. Safety? Shelter? A sign?

“We can’t just keep wandering,” she said to Fox as he trotted ahead. “We need a destination. A purpose. A goal.”

She was about to say more when she heard it.

Faint. Distant. Musical.

Bells.

Her whole body stilled.

She turned her head, straining. There it was again—far off, too far to make out clearly, but unmistakable.

She looked at Fox.

“I think,” she said carefully, “we may finally have an aim.”

Fox twitched his ears and trotted ahead without hesitation.

***

High above the thinning treetops, a raven shifted its claws along the rough bark of a pine branch. Its dark feathers ruffled in the rising wind, a shimmer of iridescent blue catching the first strong rays of morning light.

Far below, the young woman moved through the underbrush, her cloak brushing the leaves, the fox trailing at her heels. She spoke to him as though he understood her—soft, human words tumbling out into the wild.

The raven cocked its head, one gleaming eye trained on the pair. It listened. It watched.

It did not follow. Not yet.

It would not do to be seen by the fox.

Only when the girl and her companion had disappeared beyond the line of trees, her voice lost to the hush of the forest, did the raven spread its wings. With a soundless beat, it rose into the air, its shadow skimming across the leaves like a falling cloak.

It climbed higher, disappearing into the morning sky.

Her master would want a full report.

And not a word of it could be late.

[patchworkcuddlebug]

We have a silly little mantra for when we're feeling dolly and we wanted to share with that one bc we thought it might find it fun :)

It's "needle and thread, no thoughts in its head" and we don't know whether we heard it from somewhere else or it just popped in our head but it's fun to think or say when this one is up front and feels like a dolly

Oh, gosh, wow, that sounds like a lot of fun...

It has a good little rhythm to it, y'know? This one can just imagine itself smiling in stillness, its mind lolling back and forth like a little metronome.

Needle and thread, no thoughts in its head.

Maybe if it had a real metronome, it wouldn't even have to worry about thoughts as simple as keeping a rhythm. It could just lie in stillness, thinking about the stitches in its mind...

This one, um, finds this very fun! Thank you for sharing!

[bcksbarnes]

between a dream - chapter two

pairing: tws!bucky barnes x reader

summary: bucky barnes has just found out his entire life has been a lie. that his life as the winter solider has been nothing but mind control. instead of running off after his fight with steve, he returns to the avengers tower where he trusts no one. everyone takes turn on watch, and this time it's yours.

word count: 5.1K cw: self-harm tendencies/talk

read the: previous chapter | next chapter

a/n: thank you for all the love and support on part one of this fic, it means the absolute world to me! due to popular demand, i've decided to make this a three-part series so there will be one final chapter after this!

the hellscape that was bucky’s mind felt like absolute torture every second of every day since he was brought back to the tower and away from hydra’s control. it felt like someone had injected venom into his veins and now, as he tried to grasp onto reality, his body and mind writhed in pain with the thoughts of what the winter soldier had done, what he had done. how was supposed to live with himself?

he had hurt people, killed them even, and he was supposed to find a way to adjust back to a normal life? it was an impossible task brought on by a man he barely knew. 

he tried to remember, on the days that were really tough, what you had told him about steve. that he was just a man living in a time he wasn’t supposed to be in, with a friend he had thought he lost all those years ago. sometimes it helped, sometimes it made him even more angry, because bucky, too, was a man who was not supposed to be here, he was not supposed to have been made into a monster. yet, he was.

steve had caught bucky one night banging his head against the concrete wall of his new room. blood trickled down his face as his hands trembled at his sides. he just wanted it to stop. the voices. the screaming. the cries. the flashbacks. everything. all of it.

“jeez, buck.” steve said as he grabbed the man’s shoulders trying his best to hold him back, it took everything inside of bucky to stop the innate reaction of punching steve’s lights out and running far away, very far away. “stop, stop.” steve’s voice was shaky and he didn’t know what to do, the man who was normally put together was suddenly very frazzled. 

bucky just wanted it to end.

that’s how he ended up in the infirmary getting stitches in his head, his metal hand gripping the exam table firmly as the doctor threaded the needle, ready to close the now open gash in his forehead. the left side of his face was covered in blood, which had now made its way down to soak into his t-shirt.

the room was stark white, sterile, and easily reminded him of the many different locations that hydra used to torture him in. bucky was trying his best to keep himself calm under this situation but no one seemed to understand what he was going through. no one seemed to understand that there is no life after being created with the sole intention to destroy.

“i got here as soon as i could.” you say to steve, your footsteps echoing in the empty hallway as you approach him from behind. he’s standing outside the exam room, looking into the window. his brow is furrowed and his arms crossed over his chest. he’s worried. 

“what happened?” you ask.

steve had called you the second they brought him in, something about how you seemed to be the only person bucky had been asking for hours before the event took place.

“i don’t … i’m not entirely sure.” steve says softly, shaking his head. “one minute, he was going to bed and the next i heard screaming and this banging sound. by the time i walked in, he had already busted his head open. he looked … so … so …” he can’t find the right word so he trails off instead.

you wince at the thought, your eyes traveling over to the room where bucky sat, watching as the doctor’s worked on him, the top of his forehead bruised and stained with blood. silence washes over the two of you as you wait.

you hadn’t seen bucky since that night it was your turn to watch over him a few weeks prior, nat ended up pulling you into a mission that was way more important and time sensitive than anyone could have planned for. sam and steve kept their eyes on bucky instead, well, mostly steve who barely left his side. if you had been around, you would have reminded him to give bucky some space to breathe, but now after seeing bucky getting stitched up on the table, you weren’t too sure that was a good idea anymore, no one knew what he was capable of doing to himself or others. 

guilt passed through your body at the thought of what had happened. the night the two of you shared felt like there was a chance for some progress to be made, but it seemed like whatever hydra put bucky through was worse than anyone had originally thought, which meant that proceeding with caution was probably the best way to handle this situation.

“has he talked to anyone?” you mutter, finally breaking through the silence. your stance matches steve’s as the two of you stand shoulder to shoulder, your arms crossed over your chest. “this can’t happen again, steve. he’s shutting down.”

“i know!” steve snaps, his hand running through his hair. you flinched slightly at his outburst, this obviously had been eating at him for a while. “i know,” he says again softer this time, a sigh leaving his lips a few moments later before he continues. “i don’t know what to do. i don’t know how to help him.”

you turn your head to the side and take in steve’s features. his jaw was set, the muscles in his neck taut as you could tell he was trying to think about what to do - how to fix this. you knew that whatever you were going to suggest was going to be shut down immediately, but that didn’t mean you weren’t going to try.

“let me handle him for the next few days.” you say. 

his head snaps to look over at you, his eyes narrow as he takes in your request. 

“i’m not saying you’re not capable of taking care of him, steve, but you have an emotional connection to someone you don’t know anymore. between that and what’s going on in his head i think it’s overwhelming him.” 

you try to be delicate with your delivery, noticing the way his emotions change with each of your words. he knows you’re right and his face shows it, but suddenly he can’t bring himself to let anyone watch over bucky. his best friend. what if something happened to him? what if something happened to you? steve wasn’t sure it was worth the risk.

“just a few days.” you remind him of your proposition. “we’ll move him to one of the trainee rooms so i can stay with him.” you knew steve would want bucky to have constant surveillance, hopefully this would be the best solution, and the one he would say yes to.

“no.” steve shakes his head as he responds, the wheels in his brain turning. “he could kill you in a second if you’re not careful. you’re not a super soldier, you’re great at what you do; but he’s not in his right frame of mind. it’s not happening.”

“please.” you say, reaching your hand out to rest on steve’s arm. he sighs again, your name slipping out as he does.

“this is worse than we thought. his brain is going through things that no one can understand right now. he could snap in a second, i’m not putting my best team member in there. that’s that.”

you expected rejection, but that didn’t mean you were going to accept it so easily.

“listen to me.” you take a step towards steve, your hand still on his arm. “you need someone who can objectively think about bucky. you’re too close to him, you’re going to freak him out even more. nat is off on another mission and sam deserves a break, he wants to go see his family.”

steve groans, rolling his head back as he takes a moment to consider your words. he doesn’t like them, though he knows that what you’re saying is obvious and true, there’s just a nagging voice in the back of his head telling him not to let you go through with this.

“i’ll train with him, see if he can get some of the aggression out. i’ll try and get him to work with the doctors, try to talk about some of this. come on, steve,” you basically plead with him, your hand falling back to your side. “give me a chance. give bucky a chance.”

hook, line and sinker.

steve can’t argue with you there, you said the magic words and it was all he needed to hear. he brings his hand up and pinches the bridge of his nose, annoyed that you somehow managed to convince him.

“fine. i’m giving you a week. if nothing improves within a week then we’re going to figure something else out.” he drops his hand and takes a step closer to you, he towers over your figure. “and if he does anything, and i mean anything, out of line we’re pulling you out of there. do i make myself clear?”

you nod your head at him as you straighten your posture a bit, steve rogers was still, after all, your commanding officer.

“yes, sir.” 

“good.” 

the sound of the door opening causes both of your gazes to shift, bucky stepping out of the doorway. his eyes find yours immediately for the first time in weeks, it’s automatic, as if he had been searching for them all this time. he’s stitched up now, they cleaned out his wound and only a nasty bruise remained under the stitches, you knew they’d be healed up in no time due to the serum, but for now he had seen better days.

“hey,” steve says. you can see that he’s itching to take a step forward to check if his friend is okay but that he restrains himself. bucky’s eyes flicker over at steve for a moment, nodding in his direction, before he turns his attention back to you. steve analyzes bucky’s features while the other looks away as if to assess that he really is okay now, a moment later he turns back to look at you as well.

“can you give us a second?” steve asks.

you don’t need to know any more details so you just listen to his command, turning on your heels and make your way out of the infirmary wing, your boots echoing once again down the hallway as you exit. as you enter the elevator to head to the floor where your current dorm room is, you can’t get the image of bucky’s gaze on you out of your head. he seemed tired and stressed, no doubt from the events earlier in the night, but he also looked … surprised … relieved … a bit of both? you weren’t sure you knew.

there was no time to think about it. you had to pack a bag with your essentials for the week.

the trainee dorms were on the 72nd floor of the tower, they were small rooms equipped with two twin beds and just enough space for two people to barely live within the confines of the walls. you remember your early days there and though you didn’t miss them you knew this was exactly the place that bucky needed to be in order to start over. he needed a mentor, someone to watch over him, someone to teach him how to start from scratch and that someone could not be steve.

it didn’t take you long to get your items together, making your way out of your room and down the hall once again. the elevator dings, the doors sliding open to let you inside, you promptly push the button and feel the cart start to move down to the floor that you need.

it hadn’t dawned on you how close of quarters this would be for you and bucky, the rooms were usually small, trying to prepare recruits for their times on not so lavish missions. he hadn’t transitioned into regular life yet, so you wondered how he was going to feel rooming with you in such tight quarters.

the elevator dings once more, signalling your arrival to the correct floor as you make your way off and down the corridor. you couldn’t help this gut feeling that maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all, that nagging voice in the back of your mind sure had a way of making you regret this before it started. steve was right after all, if bucky snapped, he could kill you in an instant. but, that night you watched him all those weeks ago popped into your mind, and something tells you that bucky barnes was looking to hurt himself more than anyone else.

at the end of the hallway sat a room that was tucked away and barely used, tony stark made sure there were more rooms available than actual trainees when converting the place - you never knew when a hero might need to crash for the night.

the rooms were standard for all trainees and looked exactly the same as they did all those years ago and for a moment you were transformed back in time as you stood in the doorway. the twin beds are pushed up against adjacent walls, two dark wooden dressers each with three drawers were all you had to put your stuff in (they made trainees remember that most of the time you only needed the essentials) and besides a mirror on the wall … well that was it. bare bones.

you remember your very first days, being excited and nervous, eager to prove yourself but also worried that there would always be someone better. that was the drive that pushed you. you got the last laugh in the end, working so closely with steve rogers made you the best in your class by default. those times felt so close, but in reality that was your past and it was so far away. 

the sound of a throat clearing startles you, you turn to see bucky standing in the doorway, his bag in his hand. you’re pretty sure there’s nothing really in it, bucky didn’t have many possessions, they were probably clothes someone in hq got for him and some essentials for the day to day, but you were sure that he owned nothing. 

your eyes scan over him, there’s a frown on his face, though you’re pretty sure that was permanently there.

“sorry,” you mumble as you take a step into the room, placing your bag on one of the beds to claim it. you hear bucky shuffle in behind you, the door closing so it’s now the two of you, alone, for the first time in weeks.

you don’t know why you felt so guilty that you had to leave for that mission, it’s not like you made him a promise to come back. the image of the way he looked at you while he watched you eat his food to promise him it wasn’t poisoned flashes in your mind again. you realize it’s probably the first time in a long time that he actually could trust someone. now you remembered why you felt guilty.

“did steve explain why you’re here?” you decide to ask. you’re unpacking your bag, opening the drawers and folding your clothes into them. 

when you don’t hear a response you turn around and see that bucky is laying down in his bed, his back towards you as he faces the wall. he’s not laying under the covers and his arms are crossed over his chest. he’s shutting down once again, but you’d rather him be like this than banging his head against the walls.

you can’t see his face, but his eyes are open as he stares ahead of him. for some odd reason, maybe it was the events earlier in the night, or it was being in the presence of someone his brain deemed at one point as trustworthy, his thoughts seemed to have slowed down, not halted but slowed. he can hear you shuffling around the room unpacking your things. knowing he has to be stuck with you for a week brings up conflicting feelings, he had trusted you for a quick moment all those weeks ago, but you didn’t come back and to bucky’s brain right now that was as good as a traitor.

the emotions of the last weeks have fallen right on his shoulders, he’s already gone from one prison and now he feels like he’s back in another. he can’t see that ahead of him is a life of freedom. he doesn’t know that it’s an option for someone like him.

the bed next to him squeaks and he can tell you’re getting ready to sleep. it’s late, probably around midnight now, and steve had told him all about the plans you had for him in the morning, how the two of you would work on training, on channeling the negative thoughts and aggression. yeah, like that was possible.

you take one last look around the room before you shut the light off, climbing into your bed and laying on your side facing away from him. you could hear steve’s voice in your head telling you that was a stupid move, that if he wanted to attack you that you were opening the door for him. but something deep inside of you knew that if they wanted bucky to feel like a human again, everyone would need to stop treating him like a threat, like a weapon. 

though, you’re not entirely stupid, you weren’t going to fall asleep just yet, you still needed to keep your guard up.

“you left.”

the words shocked you to your core, you shifted in your bed so that you were laying on your back now, your face turning on the pillow in his direction. he was still turned away from you, even in the dark you could see his broad shoulders, the way his back muscles moved as he breathed. if you reached your arm out you were sure you’d be able to touch him. had the beds always been this close together when you were a trainee? or did the room suddenly feel a lot smaller with bucky there?

“i had a mission.”

there was a beat of silence as if he was assessing if that was true trying to gauge if you would lie to him at all.

“i came back.” your words slice right through the silence. 

“because i asked for you.”

yeah. he’s got you there.

“why?”

bucky shifts in his bed, the silence now filled with the sound of the comforter moving under the weight of his body. he lays on his back, his eyes staring at the ceiling and he’s acutely aware of your gaze on him.

“because he was getting on my nerves.” you assumed ‘he’ meant steve. “i told him i don’t remember anything. i still don’t.”

“i know,” you whisper back. “he’s trying.”

bucky clenches his jaw for a moment, taking a deep breath through his nostrils to try and center himself.

“i don’t care about some stupid friendship i had with this guy 70 years ago. he expects me to remember baseball games and childhood memories. all my brain is filled with is the screams of the people i -.”

his sentence abruptly ends, he can’t say the words, he can’t speak of the unthinkable acts that he had done, his throat is dry and his body is on fire again. the feeling of wanting to hurt himself is still there, but with you in the room he won’t act on it. his metal hand clenches the comforter under him, his hands trembling as he does so.

“it’s okay.” you try reassuring him, his body is rigid, like he’s biting back all the emotions in his brain.

neither one of you speaks after that and as the night goes on the silence returns, only the sounds of both of your steady breaths fill the room. your eyes try their best to adjust to the darkness, wanting to see his face to know when he fell asleep, but at some point you have to just trust that he is.

hours tick by and the two beds are occupied by both of your sleeping frames, both experiencing different dreams. you’re dreaming of all the work that needs to be done within the next few weeks. vivid images of training with bucky, hopefulness that he’s able to conquer these demons and move forward.

while bucky’s dreaming of all the people he’s killed. relentless. suffocating. run. wipe out. pull the trigger. destroy.

his eyes snap open before the dream version of himself can do harm, sitting up as he pants deeply, his flesh hand resting over his chest as he feels the way his heart beats wildly. for a moment he doesn’t know where he is and it rattles him. is he safe? is someone going to hurt him? is he going to kill? it takes a second for his eyes to adjust to the now dimly lit room.

he didn’t hear you get up as his ears are ringing and his vision is blurry, but once he finally comes to he sees you standing at the edge of his bed, a knife in your hand, worry etched over your features.

a pang of frustration runs through bucky’s core, he was still being treated like a threat. the rational part of his brain was trying to tell him that it was fair to assume he still could very much be one, but he knew deep down that more harm was the last thing he wanted to cause.

“you can put the knife down.” bucky says dryly, his hand snaking up to run through his long hair.

you didn’t mean for him to see it, you had woken up when he started screaming and wanted to be prepared for the worst, though maybe you should have had more faith in him; call it a momentary lapse of judgement.

there’s a small noise when you close the switchblade, throwing it on your bed before taking a closer step towards him to get a better look at his features. small beads of sweat are forming on his brow bone, his chest is still rapidly moving up and down as he scans your face.

“are you okay?” 

bucky’s breathing stops for a moment almost as if it hitches in his throat; you are the first and only person to ask him that question since he’s arrived at the tower. 

“yeah.” it’s a lie, but for a moment it feels like he is, even if the moment passes quickly.

“you’re shaking, bucky.” 

the morning sun was just starting to rise, the room now basking in an orange glow as you took another step forward. he brings his shaking hand up to his face, wiping his eye to try and draw attention away from the fact that the nightmare did in fact have more of an effect on him than he’d like to admit. maybe if he acted calm and collected you’d believe it.

you don’t realize you’ve reached out to him until your hand is already on his shoulder, you can feel him tense under your touch for a brief moment before he relaxes. a wildfire runs through your fingertips and through his body, the warmth of your touch radiating off the two of you. time seems to slow as you catch his gaze in the dimly lit room, something shifts between the both of you.

his hands are shaking still, but you’re unaware that it’s for a totally different reason. how was bucky supposed to know that kindness like this existed in the world? that scared him more than he cared to admit.

he clears his throat and you’re quick to retract your hand, bucky holds back a sigh as the warmth of you is quickly replaced with something much colder. you want to mumble an apology but the words don’t seem to leave your lips, instead you glance down at your hand unable to suddenly meet his eyes.

“we should get ready.”

it was a long night filled with the worst rest either you or bucky had gotten in a while, but you figured it’d be better to utilize the training room while no one was around. you excuse yourself from the dorm with a change of clothes, your eyes locked on the floor as you make your way to the bathroom down the hall.

back in the room, bucky is staring at the door that you had just left out of. he can’t understand why his body relaxes around you, why his mind is suddenly at ease or why it feels like he’s always searching for your gaze.

you had done something to him that night all those weeks ago, something he wasn’t sure you could ever undo. he was free from a life of torture and in came someone so willing to help him, willing to show him that there was no one here to hurt him - you just failed to miss that he would want to hurt himself.

a sigh escapes his lips as he pushes himself off the bed, making his way over to the only mirror in the room and assessing his injury from the night before. it had healed a bit in the hours since, lucky that the serum he had taken had made these things not last as long as they should, but it was still pretty brutal. he didn’t even remember snapping, one minute he was asleep, the next he was banging his head … it was like his subconscious wanted it, or wanted to get revenge for the things he’d done.

but, then he thinks of what had happened just a few minutes ago, about the nightmare and how he woke up - dazed - but not a threat to anyone or himself. there’s a connection to your proximity and he knows it, he just is refusing to admit it.

you walk through the door to the dorm a few minutes later catching a glimpse of bucky pulling his shirt down, able to see his back muscles, and more importantly, the edge of the scar of where his metal arm met his flesh. 

“hey.” you say, shaking your head as you want to get the image out of your brain. “are you ready?”

bucky doesn’t say anything as he moves to face you, the look in his eye was all you needed to see before you nodded towards the door. you walk in front of bucky as you guide him through the halls of the tower, he isn't far behind you and the sound of your footsteps falling at the same time echoed throughout the hallways. you could feel his eyes watching your every step and you struggled to not think about it.

it’s once you’re in the training room and the lights are turned on that things start to feel real. you would at the very least need to spar with bucky, and at most need to try and control his emotions. steve’s stark reminder that you’re not a super soldier rings through your ears, you push down in favor of hoping that he’s not right.

“alright,” you clap your hands together as you walk out into the middle of the mat, facing him. “we’re going to do some light sparring first, see how your brain reacts to thinking it’s in danger even if it’s not.” 

bucky’s arms were crossed over his chest, the silver metal shining brightly from the fluorescent lights above; it makes him look even more intimidating than you knew he already was. 

“i could kill you.” he says bluntly.

“i can handle it.”

his eyebrow quirks a bit at your response, it’s the most emotion you’ve seen from him since he’s been here, you’ll take it. you wave him forward as you get into position, your hips are wide set as your arms and fists stay close to your chest, bucky copying your stance as the two of you circle around the mat for a moment. a game of cat and mouse. 

it takes only a moment for the two of you to lock up, but it’s incredibly obvious how strong he is already. neither of you notice the electricity that’s running through your veins when your skin touches, mostly concerned with trying to knock the other one off their feet. bucky pushes you back causing you to stumble for a moment, you quickly regain your balance and bring your foot up to kick him; you know that it should connect with his face, it always does, but he catches your foot with ease spinning you around as he grabs your arm and twists it behind your back all in one swift motion. you hit the floor before you know it, an ‘oof’ leaves your lips as you feel the impact of your body being knocked down. bucky’s knee is on your back as he presses into your spine, the force so strong it constricts your airflow.

you sputter as you try to wrangle your way out of his hold, your head turning to the side so your cheek was pressed down against the vibrant blue mat. the grip on your arm is sending pain coursing through you, a screech leaving your lips as you try and turn back to look at him.

the second your gaze connects with bucky's, there's a brief moment when you see it, when you see him: the winter soldier. feral, unrelenting, looking to kill, his brain was telling him to strike while you were down. it’s almost as if it’s gone in a blink of an eye because the very next moment the look in his eyes it’s one of concern, understanding and horror of what he is doing to you.

it was as if the second the two of you locked up in each other's arms that his mind played these flashbacks, he felt the pain of when they would wipe his memory, he felt the fear running through his bones that everyone was out to get him; and in that moment you were no exception. bucky watches you for a moment, his metal hand on your arm shaking as he lets out a growl of frustration at what he had just done, he didn’t think about it, it was innate because he was a cold blooded assassin ready to strike at any moment whatsoever. 

you feel his grip on you loosen, his knee moves off your back, the pressure relieving you of the sharp pain you were in. suddenly you’re gasping to breathe, your fist punching your chest as you try to get air into your lungs. 

“i told you,” he says, wearing a frown on his face. “i could kill you.”

shit. this was going to be harder than you thought.

[mimiii-3]

Batsib finally getting attention because daimg goes off on everyone ??

Imagine this.. batsib and darling are rlly close and batfam hates it. Darling eventually getting annoyed of the neglect that batsib is getting so they go off on the family, and the family realizes and now give the yandere treatment to batsib instead 😭‼️

Great idea!

…

Saboteur: Obsession

Yandere Platonic Batfam x GN Neglected Reader

Notes: typical yandere themes

…

What if Batsib became the family’s new obsession…

🦇- it has only been about a month since darling’s outburst but it feels like a whole year

🦇- you lay in bed, numbly staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars scattered across the ceiling

🦇- the freshly planted camera in your room adjusts its lens to focus on your motionless form

🦇- you should have never said anything. You should have been grateful

🦇- sure your family could care less about you…but at least you were free

🦇- you let your thoughts drift to the day that this all started

🦇- the day that darling accidentally ruined your life

1 month ago

🦇- you lay on the fuzzy rug, attempting to pinch the worn material of the old jean jacket

🦇- you bite your lip in concentration as you thread the needle

🦇- darling chuckles at your focused state while attempting to sew a small tear in your jacket

🦇- “Didn’t Alfred teach you how to sew,” they ask before snatching the needle and jacket out of your hands.

🦇- you purse your lips in irritation and embarrassment. “Of course he didn’t teach me,” you think.

🦇- Darling expertly sews the torn jacket and throws it back to you.

🦇- you catch the jacket and eye their handiwork. It’s good. Alfred must have taught them well.

🦇- you look up to find darling staring at you expectantly. They’re waiting for an answer

🦇- “No, he never taught me. He doesn’t like me much.”

🦇- they pause and think for a minute. “That doesn’t sound like Alfred. Are you sure he doesn’t like you? Maybe you should try and ask again,” Darling rambles.

🦇- your rub at your forehead in irritation. They just don’t understand

🦇- “Alfred doesn’t like me. None of them do.”

🦇- Darling quiets down at your statement. They crawl over to your side on the bright pink rug, “well even if Alfred doesn’t like you, I’m sure dad does.”

🦇- you shake your head. “Dick?” You shake your head again. “Tim?” You sake your head for the third time in row. “Damian?” At the mention of Damian you let out a deep laugh

🦇- “Those three have told me how much they hate me more times than I can count. I appreciate that you care but they will never love me the same way they love you,” you sigh melodramatically.

🦇- at the thought of just how much your family hates you, your laughter kicks back up again

🦇- it’s funny really. They love their kidnapping victim more than their actual family. Why wouldn’t they?

🦇- while getting over your bout of laughter, you miss the stormy look in darling’s eyes

…

🦇- you were working on your book nook when out of nowhere you hear screaming and the sound of glass shattering

🦇- you quickly drop what you’re doing and race down the mahogany stairway

🦇- in the hallway, darling stands in front of a mess of shattered vases and picture frames that were impossibly expensive

🦇- your father and brothers surround them. Nervously assessing the damage and what could have possibly set them off

🦇- Damian looks up and spots you on the stairs, “what have you down now you hellion?!”

🦇- “no,” Darling interrupts, “I won’t let you talk to them like that!”

🦇- Damian’s eyes widen at darling’s tone. He drops his tough guy act and looks down in shame

🦇- “you all have to start being nicer to them! They’re my big sibling and if you can’t respect them, then I don’t have to respect you,” Darling huffs

🦇- Bruce puts his hands up in a show of peace and tentatively approaches darling. He takes their hands in his and offers a small smile, “sure thing, kiddo. Anything you want.”

🦇- darling looks back at you with a wide grin. They shoot you a quick thumbs up before taking your father’s hand again and dragging him to the cinema room

🦇- you can feel the air shift and your stomach drops instantly. Dick, Tim, and Damian all stare at you with unreadable expressions.

🦇- Dick clears his throat, “well come on then. We’re watching a movie.”

🦇- Dick holds his hand out to you. It’s different than the way your father reached his hand out to darling. It feels like an obligation. What would happen if you didn’t take his hand? What would happen if you ran back up the stairs?

🦇- Dick seemingly reads your mind and closes the distance to grab your hand. He pulls you down the remaining steps so quickly you almost fall.

🦇- His grip on your hand is tight as he marches down the unending hallway. Tim and Damian walk on either side of you and Dick. You can feel their stares burning the back of your head.

🦇- Your heart feels like it’s about to beat right out your chest. This doesn’t feel right. Darling says one thing and they all just obey. That’s it?

🦇- Your thoughts are interrupted by the feeling of a new pair of eyes watching you. You tilt your head back a bit and look up. Dick is staring at you. His piercing blue eyes look like they’re gazing into your soul.

🦇- You try to read him but fail. You look back at your feet as you all round the corner into the cinema room. You can hear the opening score. It’s The Shining.

🦇- “How fitting,” you think bitterly.

Present Day

🦇- hot tears cascade down your face and dampen the pillow beneath you

🦇- you’re so stupid

🦇- you should have never said anything to darling. They meant well, they truly did. But this is not what you wanted

🦇- your quiet tears transform into hiccuping sobs

🦇- the loudness of your cries shocks some sense into you. you quickly slap your hand over your mouth

🦇- with bated breath, you watch the door

🦇- please don’t come in, please don’t come in, please don’t come in

🦇- the handle turns slowly

🦇- Dick and Tim enter the room. Tim scans your teary face, “why are you crying? Is something wrong?”

🦇- Dick rubs sleepily at his eyes and sits down at the end of your bed. There’s that look again. A mix of adoration and a predator-like gaze. What does it even mean?

🦇- Tim waves his hand in front of your face. “I asked you a question,” he hisses.

🦇- you sit up in bed, “sorry, I was just thinking about that new show I started. The one with the president and the underground dome. It made me a little emotional just thinking about it.”

🦇- you chuckle nervously before wiping at the almost dry tears on your face

🦇- Tim takes a step back and you try not to let the relief show. “That’s fine,” he sighs, “try and get some sleep.”

🦇- Tim turns around and head back to the door. You peer over at Dick and find him still staring at you.

🦇- “is that the show with the apocalypse and the fake sun?” His sudden question shocks you. Did he know about the show himself? Or had he been spying on you while you watched it a few days ago?

🦇- “yup! That’s the one. Y’know I think you’d like it. Maybe you should check it out sometime,” you say with a faux cheeriness.

🦇- “Hm. Maybe I’ll join you for the next episode.”

🦇- you smile at Dick and try to mask your disappointment at his answer. He rises from his spot on your bed and approaches you

🦇- Dick raises his hand and pets your head. “Tim’s right. Get some sleep.”

🦇- you nod and shoot him a small smile. He doesn’t return it and instead turns and walks to the door

🦇- Tim is still standing in the doorway with his arms folded. You wave bye at him and he leaves without another glance.

🦇- “Night,” Dick mutters and shuts the door behind him.

🦇- you lay back down and let out a breath you had been holding

🦇- the sound of the camera lens adjusting returns a minute or two later

🦇- it means that Tim has made it back to his room and is watching you again

🦇- no more crying

🦇- you’d rather suffer in silence than have that awkward interaction happen again

🦇- you turn in bed and pull the thick covers over your head. You grab your red panda plushie and pull it closer to you

🦇- you can’t take much more of this. Their overbearing nature is starting to wear at you psyche

🦇- they’re insane. You should’ve called Commissioner Gordon the second they kidnapped darling

🦇- maybe this is what you deserve. A life of imprisonment in exchange for your complicitness in the kidnapping of darling

🦇- yes, you were complicit but you didn’t know any better. You thought going along with their plan would make them love you

🦇- turns out you were right. It just didn’t go at all like you thought it would

🦇- sure, you’ve made some mistakes in your quest for love and family. But you don’t deserve this

🦇- you don’t plan on being kept here like a pet for the rest of your life

🦇- there’s only one solution: escape

…

Extra notes: this one was kinda long

Tag list:

@jjsmeowthie @shawty-a-lil-baddie @butratherbutrather @shirp-collector-of-fixations @stove-top96 @yaoizee @bellethesleepypotato @salfishers @eli-mayhaveatencats @wisefuncherryblossom @c4xcocoa @twismare @icanmeltanigloo @tatsuri-zomushiki

[potatoplace]

I Don't Feel Alive

The Afterthought: Chapter 4 | series masterlist

ACOTAR x Archeron!Reader

part 3 | part 5 | ACOTAR x reader masterlist

Story Summary: Starfall means dress shopping, and dress shopping means spending time with Nesta and Elain... the celebration is its own set of challenges that you struggle with.

Warnings: Body shaming, toxic family, slight disordered eating, suicidal ideation, self-deprecating thoughts (let me know if I missed anything)

Words: ~9.2k

Author's Note: it's heeeere I didn't get quite as far into the story as I wanted, but this was a good cut off point too. I really hope you guys like this one! I don't think I made it quite angsty enough, but there's still some. Plus a lil fluff to start. Enjoy! p.s. let me know who you think Y/N will end up with! Or anything else you have to say 🫶

18+ only pls

🤍🤍❣️🤍🤍

Your dreams were soft and fuzzy, filled with hazy scenes of you laying in bed and cuddling with your sisters, just like you had every night so long ago.

Waking felt similar, your body cocooned by soft blankets and warm arms, your own wrapped around someone's torso. You took a deep breath before opening your eyes, blinking them a few times to adjust to the sunlight filtering in through the curtains.

Mor's face was laying on the pillow in front of you, still relaxed with sleep. She looked even prettier like this, without stress and her busy schedule hanging over her.

You slowly unwrapped your arms from around her, taking care to not wake her. She deserved the extra sleep, with how much time she was going to be spending in the Hewn City through the end of the year.

You rolled onto your back, Mor's arms tightening around you as you did. It felt nice, being held again. In the past two years, you had forgotten how lovely it was to wake up feeling safe, snuggled up with your sisters.

The sound of Mor's soft, even breaths nearly lulled you asleep, before your eyes flew open.

Shoot! You had forgotten Nuala and Cerridwen's Solstice presents...

Mor's arms were gently pried from your body, which was harder to do than you had anticipated, but you managed without waking her.

You pulled on a dressing gown and quietly grabbed the two bags containing their presents. Your bedroom door snicked shut behind you, and you padded down the hallway, down the stairs, and to their bedroom. One knock had the door swinging open, this time greeted by Cerridwen.

"Y/N? Did you need something?" The wraith asked, her eyes widening slightly when she saw the presents in your hand. "Oh, you didn't have to do that, Y/N," she said, letting you into their room.

"But I wanted to, both of you have been so wonderful to me. And I already got them for you, so you have to open them," you insisted, placing each bag in their new owner's hands.

Nuala shook her head but opened her present anyways, a wide smile overtaking her face. "This is wonderful Y/N! Oh and you even got me metal threads, how did you know?!" The wraith embraced you tightly in her arms.

"And you remembered me complaining about my needles, oh mother, Y/N, you are the most thoughtful person!" Cerrdiwen exclaimed, stealing you from her sister's arms. "You will be the first person I make something for," she said after she loosened her hold on you.

"You don't need to do that..."

Cerridwen looked at you sharply. "Yes I do, and I will. Would you prefer a hat or scarf first? Oh, I'll just make you both," she finished, not giving you time to answer.

"Thank you in advance, I suppose," you said, blush dusting your cheeks. "I'm glad both of you liked your gifts."

"Of course we do! You pay so much attention to what you buy for people, it's so sweet," Nuala said kindly.

A heavier blush rose to your cheeks at their sweet words. "I just like to make people happy. Speaking of which, I should get back to Mor-"

"Back to me? But I'm right here!" Mor said brightly from behind you, causing you to jump in shock. "Sorry, Y/N, did I scare you?" Mor's arms wrapped around you from behind. "You left me, so I came down to find you. Want to do breakfast before everyone returns?"

You nodded in agreement, but turned your eyes to the twins. "Do you want to join us?"

"I'd love to," Nuala said, and Cerridwen nodded her head before replying the same.

"Girls' breakfast! Let's go!" Mor exclaimed, pulling you out of the twins' room, down the hall, and into the kitchen.

The twins trailed behind at a less excited pace, and met the two of you in the kitchen as Mor was pulling food out of the cold box. Bacon, sausages, eggs, broccoli, and cheese were taken out, and the four of you began making breakfast- most likely too much food for the four of you, but Mor insisted that once Cassian had returned he would eat any food that was left over.

You provided the tea, rushing upstairs to pick out an orange and ginger tea.

Breakfast with the three of them was lovely, only kind words and soft smiles being exchanged between you. It was much more peaceful than most of the meals you had taken at the dining table, and for that you were grateful.

Your sisters, their mates, and Azriel returned while the four of you were still gathered round the table, talking over the last of the second pot of tea you'd made.

"Good morning, ladies," Rhys said as he slipped into one of the chairs, pulling a glowing Feyre into his lap a moment later. "Did you have a good breakfast?"

You nodded in response, but it was Mor who spoke. "Yes, in a team effort we made far too much food. What about you lot?"

"It was good, but there wasn't enough," Cassian complained as he sat down, plucking a piece of bacon off of a plate. You smiled at his antics, you'd always found it funny how the male never seemed to be truly full.

"There's never enough for you, Cass," Nesta said as she took the seat next to him- directly across from you- and glared hard enough at you that the small smile on your face fell off in an instant.

"That's true, even though he devoured all of the sweets you gave him, Y/N, he was asking for more the moment they were gone," Lucien laughed as he did the same as Rhys, pulling Elain into his lap in the chair next to yours.

Fear clutched at your heart, though you knew it shouldn't. But the thought of Cassian enjoying the sweets you had made so much that he asked for more... You were scared of how Nesta might retaliate this time.

You tried to keep your breathing even as the conversation passed from one ear to the other, no words registering as they spoke.

"Y/N?" Feyre's soft voice broke through, pulling you out of your worried heart and back into the moment. "You're still up to go dress shopping with us tomorrow, right?"

Your eyes flicked up to her, then to her mate behind her who had a stern look on his face. You forced your eyes back to her slightly worried ones, focusing on the gentle blue that you'd known your whole life. "Uhm... Yes, I am," you managed to respond once you had played the question over in your head.

"Good! We were all thinking that noon would be a fine time to leave, that way the three of us can sleep in a bit after the revel tonight. Does that sound good to you?"

You could feel Nesta's burning gaze and Elain's judgemental eyes on you, stoking the fire of your fear.

"That sounds fine to me, Feyre," you replied, fingers working nervously over the painted irises on your teacup, focusing on the tiny ridges that the paint had created, your gaze now trained on them.

Better than seeing the hatred in Nesta's eyes.

"Perfect! Now that that's settled, I think we should all get to perfecting the revel for tonight," Feyre said, causing movement from all around the table.

Except you.

You sat, staring at your teacup until everyone was gone, disappeared off to their rooms or offices, or wherever they needed to be.

That left you to clear the plates, quickly washing the dishes and leaving them to dry in the rack. Your teapot was dried by hand, and filled with tea leaves and hot water once more. Thankfully you were able to retreat to your room without question, letting you escape back into your fantasy world you had created in your mind. Away from Nesta and Elain's combined ire, combined disdain for your very existence.

The lovely jasmine tea Azriel had gifted you helped you forget where you were, nearly convincing yourself you were back in the human lands, sipping tea in the living room with your father as you watched snow fall and bury that tiny little shack, falling asleep to the thought of it in your arm chair.

🤍🤍💔🤍🤍

The next morning, you forced yourself from the arm chair, stretching out your neck as you did.

Somehow, it was less comfortable than sleeping in the bathtub.

Your soreness abated as you slid into steaming water, bubbling with rose scented soap- something that you were absolutely delighted by, loving that no matter what, your body was completely covered by bubbles. You hardly caught sight of your skin at all, though you knew with the day's plans, you would be forced to confront how your body had changed.

You could feel it, every now and then. The way your bones protruded just a bit more than they had a month ago. How your joints got sore from sitting or laying faster than before. How pale you had become compared to this time last year, when you had a slight glow to your skin.

This year, you were pasty. As though you had been locked away from the sun the entire time.

A sigh left your lips as you finished your skincare, the one act of kindness to yourself that you always made time for.

Your body didn't matter. It's not as though you would find someone in Prythian. After all, fae and humans shouldn't mix...

Feyre had said something similar to you, so long ago about your past crush on Cassian.

Thankfully in that time, only one person had caught your eye... And you were certain that Irina would never stoop so low as to date you of all people.

Another long breath, lungs deflating.

No, you were here to be alone. Mor and Feyre had begun trying to engage with you, for that you were grateful. They were keeping you from losing all hope once more, and it was all you could do to keep that flame alive.

Especially knowing that your own issues with your body would be added to by whatever Nesta and Elain deigned to say to you. Feyre may have told them to behave, but that wouldn't stop them from throwing barbs at you, thinly veiled by concern or 'opinion.'

Your cycle had finished the night before, leaving you tired but free of its scent, which you were overly thankful for. Mor's present was very nice, but you did not want to try the underwear out while dress shopping with your sisters.

You forced yourself to get dressed and headed out of your room, noting the time on the clock in the hallway. Half past eleven.

That should be enough time for a pot of tea, maybe taken in the kitchen? Or should you retreat to your room...?

You turned around and headed back to your room for a packet of tea leaves, this one a plain green tea. After grabbing it, you made your way downstairs, ears listening for any sign of life.

Perhaps they were all asleep still, exhausted from the revel the night before.

The kitchen was empty when you entered it, and you quickly set to making your tea. A few minutes later you were sat at the island in the kitchen, a cushioned stool beneath you. The tea was lovely and calming, it's clean, slightly sea scented aroma perfect for clearing your head.

That was until Nesta and Elain sauntered in, already talking about what dress styles and colors they were hoping to find today. Their conversation didn't stop once as they walked straight past you and into the living room, the only evidence of them noticing you was the feeling of their eyes on your back.

Suddenly, your heart wasn't so calm.

Feyre walked in a minute later, rushing over to you once she saw you seated at the island. "How are you?"

"I'm... I'm okay. How are you, Fey? How's the baby?"

"Oh I'm just fine, baby was being a little fussy earlier but they're all settled now. Are you ready to leave?"

You finished the rest of your tea in a few quick gulps, enjoying the feeling of warmth it brought, and stood from your stool. "I just need to wash this, and then I'm ready," you said, already making your way to the kitchen sink. That was done in a flash, and soon Feyre was ushering the three of you out the door, Nesta and Elain immediately locking arms and taking the lead. You and Feyre trailed after them, your own arms locked together after Feyre forced her elbow around yours, smiling at you when you looked at her.

All too soon, you arrived at the dress store in the middle of the Palace of Thread and Jewels, greeted by the owner, Tarin.

"Ah, the High Lady and her sisters! This is a lucky day for me, that's for sure," Tarin exclaimed as she approached Feyre, clasping their hands together. "What can I help the four of you with?"

"We're looking for dresses for Starfall, I know we're cutting it a bit close-"

"Oh, nonsense! For the High Lady, even the day of Starfall is not too close. Please, look around and pick out what interests you, we can have them altered if need be," Tarin said, waving her arms at the racks upon racks of dresses filling the shop. "I can also have them made up in different colors, and with any variations of fabrics you may like. Any way I can please you, my dears, and I am happy to do it."

Nesta and Elain set into the sea of fabric together, keeping close to each other as they picked through the racks. You stayed near Feyre, feeling wildly out of your depth.

Shopping for Solstice was one thing, it was shopping for those you cared for. But this...

This was shopping for yourself, and you struggled more with that. Buying the hairpin that you currently had twisted in your hair was a rare action, and one of the first non-practical purchase you had made for yourself since coming to Velaris.

"How about this one?" Feyre asked you, drawing you from your thoughts as she waved a dark purple dress in front of you, it's long sleeves waving as she did so.

"It's pretty," you said absentmindedly, staring at the way the fabric shimmered in the light.

"Do you want to try it on?"

Your eyes snapped up to Feyre's. "Me?"

Feyre laughed softly. "Yes, you. The cut is similar to dresses you've worn before, and you like purple, right?"

You looked back down at the dress, taking in the modest bodice and neckline, and the long length of the dress. "I like the design, but I think I'd prefer a lighter color, Fey," you said politely, but grabbed the dress anyway. "I'll try it on, though."

"That sounds fine, we could always get it made in a lilac color if you'd like," Feyre suggested, her hands already moving over more dresses. "You can go put that at the dressing rooms, then come back and look for more, okay?"

You nodded and did as she suggested, returning to her side and half-heartedly looking over the dresses hung in front of you.

Many of them were far too revealing for your comfort, with low necklines and slits up the thigh. You did find a few you thought Feyre may like, gowns that reminded you of the shimmering night sky, and showed them to her when you happened across them.

"Oh, I love this one," Feyre gushed when she saw one you had handed her, this one a dark blue silk with a smattering of silver stars embroidered across the chest and stomach, with a sweetheart neckline. The length of the dress would like reach her mid thigh, and hang just slightly on the tiny bump that was forming on Feyre's stomach. "What do you think?" She asked, holding the dress up to her body. "High Lady of Night enough?"

Even held against her body, the dress looked perfect for her. "Definitely. You should try it on, Fey," you suggested.

"Hmm... I think I will, Y/N. Are you ready to try yours on? I think we've both got a decent number," Feyre said, slowly walking with you to the back of the shop, where the dressing rooms were located.

"I am, I think," you replied, though you were unsure of being anywhere within a ten foot radius of Nesta. Especially if she couldn't find a dress she liked...

Thankfully at the moment, Nesta and Elain were both in their own dressing rooms, trying on whichever ones they had picked out.

You and Feyre entered your own curtained room, the dresses that you had picked out hung on the hooks inside.

A quiet sigh, and you set to undressing yourself. There was no mirror in here, likely to force people out to get recommendations from their friends. The purple dress that Feyre had found was the first you tried on, the soft fabric flowing down your body like water.

It clung too much.

That was your first impression of the dress, even with the modest neckline and hem length. The soft fabric seemed to be molded to your body, and even a cursory feel of your hands over your hips had you wishing you had rejected Feyre's offer to go shopping. You did not want to hear what Nesta would say about the slight show of your bones in the dress.

"Y/N, are you almost done? We're waiting for you," Feyre said softly from the other side of the curtain, and you forced yourself out of the dressing room. "Oh, you look lovely! I think the color looks nice on you," Feyre said kindly, even as her eyes lingered over the sharp edges of your shoulders, the noticeable bump of your hip bones.

"Do you eat?" Nesta asked sharply from across the room, her nose wrinkled as she took you in. "You look like you're still living in poverty, Y/N."

Blood rushed to your cheeks at her words. They were true, though. "I eat. I've just been..." you paused, trying to find a word that wouldn't irritate your sister. "Stressed."

Nesta scoffed, but shut her mouth at a stern look from Feyre.

"The color is nice, Y/N," Elain said weakly. You forced a smile in her direction.

"Thank you, Elain. Your dress is lovely, green is a wonderful color on you," you said, taking in the flowing layers of fabric that made up the skirt of the dress, all in varying shades of dark green.

"Thank you," Elain replied, but moved her gaze to Nesta. "Nes, your dress is gorgeous. I think you should stick with that one, no need to look for others. You look perfect," Elain said excitedly, so different from her reaction to you.

You tried not to let it sting, turning instead to Feyre. She was clad in a floor length dress in black, tiny diamonds sewn on in patterns that you thought were constellations. There was a slit up to her mid thigh on both sides, allowing her to move freely. "This one is beautiful Fey, you look stunning!"

"You think? I still want to try on that last one you picked out, but I really like this one," Feyre said. "Oh, and I may have put an extra dress in your dressing room, please just try it on, I think you'll really like it. It's the pink one on the left hand side. Just, try it," Feyre begged you softly before returning to her dressing room, Nesta and Elain already back in their own.

Your mouth set into a line, you entered the curtained room again. As she said, there was a glittering pink gown hung on the left hand side when you walked in. Your mouth fell into a frown at the neckline.

Entirely too scandalous for you.

But still, you forced yourself to shed the purple dress and shimmy into the pink one as Feyre had asked. The long, flowing sleeves were off the shoulder, connected to the bodice by a small amount of fabric. The neckline of the dress was far lower than you were normally comfortable with, showing more cleavage than you ever had. The dress was loose fitting past your chest, the flowing skirts moving beautifully as you examined them. The pale rose pink of the fabric was one of your favorites, and didn't wash out your complexion. A difficult task, with how pale you are at the moment.

You walked out of the dressing room and stood in front of the mirror, assessing the dress. Your shoulders were far too bony, but even so... You felt beautiful in the dress, like a princess. The skirts reached your feet, billowing out around you. The neckline was lower than you wanted... But it looked lovely, and really, wearing one low-necked dress in your lifetime would be fine. A turn in the mirror showed you your prominent scapulae, half hidden by the fabric of the dress. That could be fixed by styling your hair in large ringlets, enough to cover most of your back. But the gown... The gown was lovely.

"Oh, I knew you would look perfect in that one!" Feyre cheered when she exited her dressing room in the dress you had picked for her. "You look amazing! Please tell me this is the one you want?" Feyre asked, standing by you as both of you stared in the mirror.

"You don't think it's too...?" You gestured to the neckline. "Revealing?"

Feyre shook her head. "No, mother no. I've worn much worse, you have nothing to worry about. It's just a little bit different than usual, is all. And it's perfect on you."

You tried to believe Feyre, and you did like the dress...

But then Nesta walked out. Her eyes narrowed and nose wrinkled as she gave you a once over, obviously displeased with how you looked.

She was so good at that. Tearing you apart with just one look.

"Your shoulders stick out," Nesta remarked as she took her place in front of the mirror, looking herself over. Her dress was made of shiny silver fabric, a corset in the same fabric serving as the bodice with thick straps wrapping over the tops of her shoulders.

You ignored her comment as best you could. "You look amazing in that dress, Nesta. The corset fits you perfectly."

A cold look over her shoulders, followed by a clipped, "Thank you."

Elain came out of her dressing room last, this time clad in a cream colored dress, looking every bit like the bride she was always destined to be.

"Oh, Elain! You look wonderful!" You said brightly as you took a step toward her, stopping when her gaze hit you- cold as ice. "This one looks very nice on you, but the last one looked amazing too," you said, more nervous now.

"Thanks," she answered coolly, setting her eyes on Feyre. "Feyre, that dress is stunning on you, and very fitting for Starfall."

You nodded in agreement, the dress was perfect for her. And just like you thought, it just barely highlighted the tiny baby bump Feyre had. The sight of it made you smile.

You were overjoyed that your sister had found a loving partner in Rhys, and was looking forward to motherhood.

"Thank you, 'Lain, I really like that it shows my bump just a bit, I think Rhys and I are ready to let our court know that we're expecting at Starfall," Feyre said excitedly, a hand stroking her belly.

"That's amazing, Feyre," Nesta said softly, sounding the kindest she had since they had been taken by Hybern.

"You'll be the talk of Starfall," Elain said, holding Feyre's hands in her own. "I'm so excited for you and Rhys!"

"I don't want to make the biggest deal out of it, after all, it's still early, but... Rhys is so excited about finally being a father, I had to talk him down from telling the Hewn City residents about it last night," Feyre sighed. "I am glad that I'm going to have all of my sisters with me, supporting me along the way, though. Thank you all for coming shopping today," Feyre said tearily.

"Of course, Feyre," you said, taking her in your arms. "We're always going to be by your side."

Elain's arms followed next, barely touching you but clutching Feyre close. "Yeah, Fey, we'll always be with you. Right, Nes?"

"Of course. I will always be here for you, Feyre," Nesta said, and reluctantly wrapped her arms around Feyre and Elain, one hand just barely touching you.

When you all pulled away, Feyre was crying softly, tears streaming down her face. You grabbed tissues from a nearby table, dabbing away the tracks of starlight on her face. "It's okay, Feyre. We're all here."

"I-I know," Feyre sniffled. "I just... I love you all so much. I can't imagine life without any of you." She let you wipe her eyes, dabbing away the last of her tears after she collected herself. "Now, let's try on the rest of the dresses, we shouldn't waste too much of Miss Tarin's time."

The four of you continued to try on dresses, with much of the same behavior. You attempted to compliment your sisters, only to be met with cold responses. If they did talk to you, it was to point out how the dress didn't suit you.

You still chose the pink dress that Feyre had chosen for you, Feyre choosing the blue one that you had picked for her. Nesta picked the silver gown. Elain had taken the longest to decide, eventually choosing the green dress she had tried on first.

Feyre had argued over the payment with Tarin, demanding that she pay full price for the rushed orders, eventually winning the argument. Nesta and Elain had left by that point, taking off to some vague location that contained books.

That left you and Feyre, walking slowly across the bridge that would lead you to the Rainbow. She wanted to look at paints, and maybe get something special for the canvases that you had gotten her.

And that's how you found yourself entering Irina's shop once more, your heartbeat kicking up when you realized it. Feyre led you to the wall of paint, her fingers hovering over the tubes as she searched for the colors she wanted.

Soft footsteps approached from the back of the shop, and you were met with Irina, her face just as beautiful as you remembered, her smile just as warm.

You could have sworn your heart skipped a beat.

"Ah, Feyre and Y/N, it's lovely to see both of you," Irina's smooth voice said. "You came in just in time, I was about to close up early."

"Lucky us!" Feyre said, eyes still glued to the paint tubes. "Any special occasion?" She asked Irina teasingly as she pulled a few out of the selection.

"Oh, hush you," Irina scolded, swatting Feyre gently on the arm. "You know that I have a date with Rivin tonight."

Oh.

Your heart sank.

"Well, I wanted to make sure the plans were still on! You know I was rooting for the two of you to get together," Feyre said. You grabbed the paint tubes she had picked up from her, pushing her slender hand away when she attempted to take them back. Your fingers rolled over the cap, giving you a sensation to focus on besides your crushed... crush. "The way the two of you danced around each other since I first met you was adorable- I'm so glad you're going out now!"

"Well, I'll only be able to go out with her if you choose what you want soon, or she'll think I stood her up!" Irina laughed, her skin shifting colors under the light.

"Oh, fine, fine," Feyre said, pulling out three more tubes of paint, all shimmering metallic shades. You followed her as she followed Irina to the back counter, placing the tubes on it. Soon enough, the paints were rung up and bagged, and clutched tightly in your arms. "Thank you, Irina. I hope your date goes well."

"Oh, I do as well!" Irina said as she walked the two of you out of the store, locking the door behind her. "I hope the two of you have a lovely rest of your day as well."

"You as well, Irina," you said quietly, nodding your head to her before she turned to leave. She flashed you a dazzling smile, her eyes a bright pink today.

So pretty.

"I'll see the two of you around!" She yelled, waving goodbye over her shoulder.

You and Feyre began the walk home, arms linked together one more, your other balancing the bag of paint.

"How do you know Irina?" Feyre asked once you were crossing the Sidra, taking careful penguin steps so neither of you would fall on the slippery bricks.

Color rushed to your cheeks, though they were already pink from the cold. "Oh, I went into her shop to get one of your birthday presents. The canvases and all," you explained.

"Ahh, that makes sense. She's nice, and she has a great selection!" Feyre said excitedly as the two of you passed through the door of the River House. "I cannot wait to start the first three panels! I'm not quite through my third month yet, but I know some of what I want to do for it."

"I'm glad you like it Fey! I can't wait to see what you make for each one." You kicked off your boots after unlacing them, and let Feyre pull your jacket off your arms, you doing the same for her after. "I think I'm going to head up to my room," you said quietly after you hung up your coats and put your boots on the rack.

"Oh, alright. I... I hope you didn't feel too uncomfortable while shopping," Feyre said. You knew what she meant: with Nesta and Elain.

"I was... fine," you lied half-heartedly.

Feyre stared at you, and you would have thought she was reading your mind, but you didn't feel anything similar. "If you say so. You know you can talk to me, right?" You nodded. "Okay... Well, I'll let you get to your room. Did you want me to start water for tea? I was going to make a cup for myself anyway," Feyre offered, a soft smile on her face.

You nodded again. "That would be nice, thank you, Fey."

Feyre's smile broadened. "I'll see you in the kitchen, sissy."

You went to your room to grab another packet of tea from the sampler Azriel had gotten you- so far, you were a fan of every blend he had chosen. You were hoping today's choice of a rose petal tea would be just as lovely.

The trip back to the kitchen was quick, with no sign of your other two sisters. Good. You weren't in the mood to see their sneering faces again so soon.

Tea was made quickly, thanks to Feyre boiling water for you. You gave her a hug before returning upstairs, tray balanced in your arms.

Just before you opened your door, the door to Rhys's study swung open, Azriel emerging from it.

Oh!

He came down the hallway, and once he was near the stairs you finally got your brain to move past your anxiety of starting a conversation.

"Hi, Azriel, would you uhm... Would you wait here for just a moment?" You asked. "I have that Solstice present I got for you."

"Alright," Azriel replied quietly, moving closer to your doorway. You went inside quickly, fishing the already wrapped box out from under your bed, and a moment later you were back in front of him, offering the gift to him.

"Open it," you said, pushing the box into his hands.

Soon enough, the dagger was in his hands, his fingers running over the inlaid crescent moon made of sapphires, then over the blade itself. "This is wonderful, Y/N, thank you," Azriel said, sincerity in his tone. "I happen to have gotten a gift for you as well." A moment later, shadows materialized, depositing a festive, glittery evergreen tree colored bag in his hand.

"Oh, Azriel, you didn't have to-"

"Open it," Azriel said simply, transferring the handles over to your hand in a quick movement.

You narrowed your eyes playfully at him, but opened the bag. Inside was a beautiful, hooded cloak that would reach at least your mid back, made of a soft, white yarn. Beneath it was a matching scarf, little tassels on the ends, and a pair of mittens. They even had a small button on the top, allowing for the and of the mitten to be lifted and become a sleeveless glove if needed.

"Its made of rabbit fur," Azriel said quietly as you ran your fingers over the fabric. You looked up at with him with wide eyes. "Oh- they just brush or shave the rabbits, don't worry, no fluffy creatures were killed in the making of your gift," Azriel reassured you.

You let out a breath of relief. "Good. Good. It's a beautiful present, Azriel, thank you. Could I- could I give you a hug?" You asked nervously, regretting the question the moment you asked it. "I mean, you don't have to-"

"That would be fine." You blinked up at him. That would be- You allowed yourself to wrap your arms around him, noticing how stiff he was for the first few seconds before relaxing, his own arms coming up around you.

He smelled nice. Like cedar wood and... And night? Whatever it was, it was nice. Calming.

You both retracted your arms at the same time, pulling apart. A soft smile at him and one last thank you, and then you were in your room once more.

You were happy that he liked your present, but the slight wash of warmth it had given you was quickly chased away by the rest of your day.

Nesta and Elain... You were sure that they would never look at you like a sister again.

And Irina... It was such a silly crush that you had, based almost entirely on how pretty she was. You had been taken with her instantly, yes, breath catching in your throat. But that... That meant nothing.

Especially with you still being... Human. Frail. Less than a century from dying.

No fae, no matter how they looked, would ever take you as their wife, that you were sure of. You only had a couple of decades left of looking youthful, and perhaps only a few more past that before illness would inevitably take you.

A heavy sigh left your lips as you sat at your desk, a cup of tea poured out in the next moment.

At least tea could never not choose you...

🤍🤍❣️🤍🤍

The next week and a half passed dreadfully slowly, spent mostly in the solitude of your room.

Feyre came by when she could make time, the two of you sharing a pot of tea and the occasional snacks that she would bring.

Mor was stuck in the Hewn City, all the way until the morning of Starfall, when she would have a slight reprieve. She had already promised to come and spend the morning with you to get ready and catch up.

But until then, or until Feyre could make time... You stuck to your room.

Apparently your giving a joint present to Nesta and Cassian, and Elain and Lucien cause some extra anger in the two of them towards you. Nesta's glare had seemed extra fiery, and Elain had appeared perched on Lucien's lap more often than not when you did happen to wander into the living room.

You tried not to let it get to you, you did... But between the extra tension at home and the sadness in your heart from your silly little crush... It was weighing you down.

The days ticked past, counting down to an event that you weren't particularly excited for...

The morning of Starfall arrived, bringing with it the bright ball of energy that was Mor.

"Y/N!" Mor shouted, startling you awake. "Wake up! Wake up wake up! I'm here, I'm here. Please. Wake up. I've missed you!"

"Oh my gods, Mor, I'm awake," you groaned, rubbing your hands over your eyes. "Do you know a gentle way to wake people up?" You asked as you sat up, pushing your hair away from your face.

"Mm, not really. But, my way is super effective," Mor said cheekily, grinning when you stood up in the tub to glare at her with no fire in your eyes. "Come over here, sweets," she demanded, patting the bed next to her. You went over to her, collapsing onto the bed next to her, and swatted at her with a pillow in revenge for her waking you so abruptly. "So, how have the past two weeks been for you?"

"Oh... You know... Boring..." You said quietly. "How's it been for you? Is everyone behaving?"

Mor narrowed her eyes at you for a brief moment, before accepting your change of subject. "Oh, most everyone has been fine... I've been trying very hard to change the city's voting system plus helping plan their Starfall event, so my hands have been full every waking moment. And Keir has been an absolute pain..." Mor sighed. "He doesn't like that he's losing most of his control by the city moving to a full population vote rather than just the nobles, but it's going to happen whether he likes it or not. But for me, that just means him being more of an ass."

"I'm sorry Mor. I wish that someone else was able to help you..."

"Feyre offered, but, well, with her being pregnant that's not the best idea. And I'm sure Amren would enjoy going solely to terrify the citizens, but that's not exactly... What we're aiming for. And I can do it, and I will, I just wish my stupid father wasn't a factor." Mor sighed dramatically and flopped back on your bed, arms flung out to the sides.

One smacked into your thigh and you laughed, pushing it off of you and back over to Mor's side. "I know something that will cheer you up," you offered.

"Oh?" Mor asked, peeking over at you. "And what would that be?"

"Doing our skincare!" You answered brightly, using the same tactic that she always did with you.

"Oh, I should have guessed!" Mor giggled. "That sounds like a wonderful idea, sweets. Let's get to it!"

"Wait- let me take a quick bath first, and then I'll be all ready for it."

Mor nodded. "That sounds fine, I'll go make some tea and grab some breakfast for us."

The morning moved quickly from there- too quickly, in your opinion, your alone time with Mor slipping away so fast. After you had bathed, the two of you did your skincare, doing an extra mask and moisturizer to give yourselves an extra glow.

Into the second pot of tea Mor started doing your makeup once she had seen your dress. She spent nearly an hour on you alone, taking her time to perfect your eyeshadow and lipstick, getting just the right about of blush coloring your cheeks. You felt beautiful, seeing yourself like that in the mirror.

Mor's own makeup didn't take near as long, but she was even more beautiful than usual, with the extra time she had put in.

The two of you spent a bit more time together before she had to leave and return to the Hewn City for a bit longer, to make sure their celebration started smoothly.

"I'll see you at the House of Wind later, yes?" Mor asked before she left your room, a stern eye on you.

You sighed. "Yes, Mor, I will see you at the House of Wind. I won't skip out on the celebration, I promise."

Mor nodded in approval. "Good. I'll see you in a few hours, Y/N."

She breezed out of your room, leaving you alone once again.

You sighed, and sat down on your bed. Then collapsed back onto it.

Just a few more hours, and your anxious anticipation could subside.

Starfall would be fine this year. You will stay away from Nesta, Elain, and their mates, and instead stick around Feyre, Mor, and possibly Azriel, if he didn't seem too annoyed by your presence.

🤍🤍💔🤍🤍

Four hours later, you were dressed and ready to leave for the House of Wind. Your hair was half pinned up by the hairpin you had bought yourself, half left down in loose curls that conveniently covered most of the bones in your back.

There was little you could do to cover your shoulders, what with the style of the dress, but you felt pretty nonetheless. The gown had been taken in slightly, just enough to fit more snugly and leave you feeling more comfortable with such an exposed neckline, more secure. And the way the skirts flowed around your feet made you feel more graceful than you were.

Overall, you felt decent about yourself tonight. Your hair had cooperated, not making you late for the start of the event by taking too long to style. And the makeup that Mor had done was perfect, just enough to enhance your natural features.

You had even opted for heels tonight, little sparkly silver boots that Feyre had gotten for you, in case you wanted something more than flats to wear.

When you finally left your room, you made your way downstairs where Feyre, Rhys, and Azriel were waiting in the entryway, seemingly for you.

"Oh, Y/N, you look beautiful!" Feyre exclaimed when she caught sight of you, rushing over to pull you into her arms. "I just love this dress on you!"

"Yes, both of you look lovely, but Feyre...?" Rhys started.

"Oh, shoot! We need to get going, Y/N, but Azriel will take you up to the House when you're ready!" Feyre said brightly, leaving the house a moment later and letting her mate take her in his arms, shooting of into the sky together.

Your heart dropped. Flying? You had only flown a few times, usually to get to the House of Wind as you would be tonight. It still terrified you as badly as it did on the first time, leaving you shaking every time.

"Are you ready to leave?" Azriel asked, pulling you from your thoughts. You nodded, and followed him outside, even as you felt like your heart was in your throat at the prospect of flying.

He gently pulled you into his arms, one hooked beneath your knees and the other supporting your back. Your arms instinctively flew around his neck, ready to hold on for dear life.

Not that you didn't trust Azriel to keep you alive, just... You weren't made for flying, you don't think.

The push off from the ground had you closing your eyes, squeezing them shut tight. You could feel your heart racing, trying to leave your chest as you were overtaken by fear.

"You look beautiful tonight," Azriel said, his deep voice in your ear causing your eyes to snap open.

"You don't have to lie..."

Azriel let out a soft breath. "I'm not lying, you look beautiful tonight. Pink is your color, I believe," He said, his voice right in your ear again. Color rushed to your cheeks at his compliment, and you smiled- small, but there.

A moment later, he had landed solidly on the ground, carefully placing you on your feet.

You'd nearly forgotten you had been flying.

Soon after distancing yourself from him, Rhys rushed over to pull him away for some reason or another. Which left you standing alone in the House of Wind, for the first time since Bounty Day.

Anxiety grew in your gut again, making you feel queasy.

Especially when you saw the feast, laid out over that same massive dining table.

You turned away from the banquet, navigating instead to Feyre's side. Already she was surrounded by a few citizens, but you were able to make your way in for a hug from your sister. Soon though, far more crowded in, and following the arrival of Rhys you broke away from your sister, no longer feeling welcome next to them.

You wandered off, searching for Mor in the ever growing sea of people, with no luck yet.

Azriel, the other person you knew that could be safe to talk to, was occupied talking to a very pretty redhead, and also next to Nesta and Cassian.

Definitely a no.

After a while, you filled a small plate with food, picking at the smoked meats, cheeses, and some pieces of fruit until you couldn't stand it anymore, taking the plate back into the kitchens.

Back here, it was quieter. A few stragglers were wandering in and out between the balconies nearby, but you paid them no mind as you got a glass of cool water from the sink.

You let yourself take a few deep breaths to calm yourself, to bring yourself out of your anxiety. It helped, but not much.

It was enough to allow you to wander back out into the party, passing more than enough males who eyed you up and down, leaving you nervous. You were almost tempted to grab a glass of wine, but you knew all that was provided was faerie wine, something that you never wanted to try after hearing some of Feyre's tales involving it.

You knew this dress was a mistake. A beautiful one, yes, but it left you feel exposed unlike every before.

Every few minutes, you circled back to where Feyre was, seeing if there was an opportunity for you to ask her to take you back to the River House, or have someone take you back. But every time you passed, there was somehow more people crowded around Feyre and her mate.

Mor was nowhere to be seen two hours into the party, leaving you adrift in the sea of fae that had overtaken the House of Wind. You were overwhelmed and feeling so alone, the noise of the party drowning out any coherent thoughts you could have.

Just make it to the Starfall, and you can go.

That's what you told yourself for an hour as you continued your slow circles of the main rooms, attempting to find Mor or see if Feyre was available. No luck for you, though.

Cheers erupted as the first streaks of glowing green overtook the sky, giving you your cue to leave.

You didn't care that it was cold and snowy out, you just needed away from the noise, the lights, the everything that always surrounded you.

The stairs were hell in your heeled boots, but you dealt with them, forcing yourself to go one step at a time. By some miracle, you didn't fall, merely ending the massive flight of stairs by sitting down at the bottom to catch your breath.

Tears had begun falling down your cheeks at some point, driven by the cold and how lonely you feel, how forgotten you felt yet again.

You finally pushed yourself off of the cold stone, the bottom of your dress now wet with snow.

The forest would give you the peace you wanted, though you wouldn't venture near as far as you had last time. No, tonight you just wanted a bit of peace, a bit of time with only natural light shining upon you, even if it was enhanced by the cosmic phenomenon going on above you.

Your feet carried you to the edge of Velaris, the forest in your sights. A sigh of relief left you as you saw the trees, so reminiscent of the ones you had grown up near.

And then you crashed into a wall.

"What the-?" You rubbed at your nose, attempting to soothe the pain of crashing into- whatever you had crashed into. You held your hands out, shocked to find that they rested perfectly on an invisible force in front of you. Nothing that you tried let your hands pass that point, and a kick at the area led to the same results- a foot that you knew would hurt badly in the morning.

You couldn't believe it.

They had locked. You. In. They had taken any amount of freedom you could have, no matter how fleeting it would inevitably be.

Ice cold rage and swells of disappointment left you a sobbing mess as you stumbled away from the wall of your cage, following the Sidra with no true destination in mind.

You would not be going back to that house. You couldn't. Not when- when... Not when Feyre had okayed you being locked inside of the city like nothing more than a pet, like you weren't a person with feelings and needs and desires.

You were sick of being alone, sick of feeling alone even in a sea of people. You had no one who was just yours. And that would never change in Velaris, would never change unless you were around humans once more.

"Y/N!" A warm voice said, drawing your eyes from the snow covered ground to the person it came from. "How did the recipe I gave you turn out? Good?" Sevenda asked, her smile turning to a frown when she saw your tear covered, blotchy face. "Is everything okay, dear?"

Another sob left your lips, despite your attempts to quiet it. "I- I- No," you managed to get out.

"Oh, come in here for a minute, Y/N, you're freezing!" Sevenda said, pulling you into the back of her restaurant. She pushed a cup of tea in front of you, which you gladly accepted, your fingers warming instantly from the mug. "Did you want to talk about it?" She asked after a couple of minutes.

You shook your head, but sighed and answered anyways. "I just... I don't belong in that house, I don't belong in Velaris... I can't... I can't keep pretending like I do, acting like I'm happy to be there... I need..." You sighed again. "I need out of there." And then an idea struck you. "I- I know this would be a lot to ask, and that you likely don't need help from a human but... Do you happen to need help here? I could do anything you need, I just..." You trailed off.

"You need out?" Sevenda asked, sympathy on her face and in her voice. "Well, I did lose one of my prep cooks to the Continent recently, he went to study new styles of cooking. If you are serious about this, I will have you show up at nine tomorrow morning. Okay, dear?"

You nodded your head vigorously. "I would be so grateful, Sevenda, truly, thank you so much." You let the older fae pull you into her arms, the gentle hug enough to stop your tears for the moment.

"Are you going to be alright, dear?" She asked once she pulled away, looking you in the eyes. You nodded your head, not trusting your voice at the moment. "Okay. Let me get you a cup of tea to go, and you should go straight home, hmm?"

You let her do just that, accepting the hot jasmine tea in a lidded cup that she made you promise to bring back in the morning. After saying goodbye, you set off in the opposite direction of the River House.

No matter how cold you were, you didn't feel like going back there yet.

Some time later, you found yourself on a cliffside, overlooking the bay of Velaris. Your tea was long gone by now, any warmth it had given you gone with it.

The rocks down below looked so inviting, as though they would welcome you in an instant. You let out a long, heavy breaths, tears beginning to flow again.

You wish you had the strength to jump.

Instead, you sat on the edge of the cliff, booted feet dangling over the side. The snow underneath you was frigid, leaving you colder than before. But still, you sat and watched the waves, and listened to the crash on the rocks below.

"Y/N?" A deep voice asked from behind you, but you paid it no mind. Maybe they would leave you alone. "Y/N?" The voice asked again. After another length of silence from you, the person took another approach, and sat next to you instead, their own long legs dangling over the edge. A warmth behind you, and less wind hitting you after the male readjusted. "Do you want to talk about it?"

You still didn't answer.

Instead, you were surprised by gentle hands winding a scarf around your neck in two loops, then a cloak being fastened over your head and buttoned in the front, and finally a pair of mittens slid over your hand.

Azriel didn't make you talk, didn't make you do anything. He simply let you take the time you needed to recover, to stop your tears.

A while later, the waves started to lull you to sleep, your head tilting to the side until Azriel pulled it to his arm, letting you rest against him. Your eyes fluttered shut, your cheek soaking in the warmth of him, even through the hood of your cloak.

It was only when you nearly pitched forward off the cliff that Azriel insisted on taking you back to the River House, or at least to a café where you could warm up.

"I suppose..." your voice cracked. "That going back to the River House would be... fine... for now," you whispered, glad that he didn't force you to speak any more. A moment later and you were pulled through shadows, similarly to how Nuala and Cerridwen travelled but... different in a way. Almost warmer, you would say.

The two of you appeared in front of your bedroom door, the warm air shocking your skin and making you feel clammy.

"I'll have my shadows bring you a pot of tea, feel free to take a bath or change so you can warm up, Y/N. I hope you have a better night that it has been so far," Azriel said quietly before turning to leave.

"Thank you, Azriel," you croaked just before he turned to go down the stairs. He gave you a small smile and nodded before continuing on his way.

You entered your bedroom, tears falling almost instantly once you were alone again. You forced yourself to strip, hanging up the pink gown to dry and setting your sparkly boots near the door. The bath felt soothing, at least, warming you to the core by the time you got out.

And there, awaiting you on your desk, was a fresh pot of the lavender and chamomile tea that you preferred for sleep.

A few extra tears fell at that small act of kindness, and you helped yourself to a still steaming cup of it, settling into the armchair that you had perpetually pulled near your window, a throw blanket across your body.

Sleep claimed you before you had even finished your second cup of tea.

🤍🤍💔🤍🤍

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[novaursa]

The Second Daughter (the princess and the lion)

- Summary: You were born as a second daughter under the watchful eye of a full moon. And just like the moon you were beautiful—and cursed to exist only in the dark.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Jason Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: introduction

- Next part: the rogue

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @l3thal-l0lita @ninihrtss

The air in your chambers is quiet, save for the soft scratch of needle against fabric. You sit by the open window, the summer breeze carrying with it the faint hum of festivities from the Great Hall below. Your hands move deftly, each stitch guided by memory and touch. The image of Silverwing, wings spread in flight, begins to take shape beneath your fingertips. You feel the curve of the threads, the texture of the fine silk as you pull the needle through, and you can almost hear the rustling of her wings in your mind.

"Your Grace," a voice interrupts gently. You turn your head, unseeing lilac eyes tilted toward the source of the sound. It is Marna, one of the older serving women, her voice always warm and kind. "The King has requested your presence in the Great Hall."

You pause, your fingers hovering over the embroidery. “The King?” you ask softly. It is not often your father summons you to public gatherings, preferring to shield you from the watchful eyes of the court.

“Yes, Princess,” Marna replies. “He wishes for you to join the festivities.”

You lower your hands, the needle resting against the fabric. "Very well," you say after a moment, though a pang of unease stirs in your chest. These celebrations are not your realm. You are content here, in the quiet of your chambers, with the world as you imagine it rather than as it is.

As if anticipating your thoughts, Marna steps closer. “His Grace will be pleased to see you. The court will be honored by your presence.”

Before you can respond, the door opens again, and two more servants enter, bustling with quiet purpose. You recognize them by the shuffle of their steps and the rustle of fabric they carry. “We’ve brought your gown, Princess,” one of them says—a younger girl named Alys.

The gown they bring is a masterpiece, as all your garments are. The fabric is a deep black, soft as shadow, embroidered with threads of silver that shimmer like moonlight. Tiny scales glint along the bodice, evoking the image of a dragon’s hide. The servants help you rise, their hands gentle as they guide you away from your seat and toward the center of the room.

Alys speaks as she works, her tone light. “It’s a fine thing, this gown. Fit for a dragon princess, if I may say so.”

You smile faintly, letting them guide you as they slip the gown over your shoulders. The fabric is cool against your skin, the weight of it settling around you like a second layer of armor. "Is it truly so grand?" you ask, your voice tinged with humor.

Marna chuckles softly. "It will leave the court speechless, Your Grace. They won’t see a thing but you.”

Alys hums in agreement as she adjusts the folds of the gown. "Even Princess Rhaenyra will find it hard to outshine you tonight."

The mention of your sister brings a small pang of guilt. “Rhaenyra is the Realm’s Delight,” you say quietly. “She belongs in the light. I am content in the shadows.”

Marna stops pinning the gown for a moment, her hand resting lightly on your arm. “You are both daughters of the dragon, Princess. The light would be lesser without its shadows.”

You nod, though the words do little to ease the flutter of nerves building in your chest.

Once the gown is secured, the servants turn their attention to your hair. Though already braided, they begin to pin the strands closer to your head, twisting them into an intricate crown that leaves no stray locks to chance. The weight of the pins presses lightly against your scalp, and you can feel their careful hands working as they speak.

“You’ll look like a queen, Your Grace,” Alys says softly.

“A queen I will never be,” you reply, not with bitterness but with quiet acceptance. “But I thank you for your care.”

When they finish, Marna steps back, her voice filled with approval. "You are ready, Princess. Shall I summon Ser Lorent?"

“Yes,” you say, smoothing your hands over the fabric of your gown. You can feel the texture of the embroidery beneath your palms, the shape of the dragons etched into the cloth. "And Marna," you add, your voice soft but firm, "thank you. All of you."

The servants murmur their thanks and curtsy as Marna exits to fetch Ser Lorent. The sound of her footsteps fades, leaving you alone in the quiet chamber once more. You sit for a moment, your hands resting in your lap, breathing deeply to calm your nerves.

It isn’t long before the sound of armor announces Ser Lorent’s arrival. The Kingsguard enters, his boots light on the stone floor. “Princess,” he says, his voice steady and reassuring. “I am here to escort you.”

You rise, placing a hand lightly on his offered arm. “Thank you, Ser Lorent,” you say, your voice calm despite the anxiety you feel.

As the two of you leave your chambers and begin the journey to the Great Hall, you can hear the distant hum of the festivities growing louder with each step. The scent of roasted meats and spiced wine drifts through the air, mingling with the faint notes of music and laughter.

Though you cannot see the grandeur that awaits you, you hold your head high, each step measured and poised. You know the court will be watching, their eyes on you as much as on your sister or your father. For now, however, the hall is still beyond reach, its doors waiting to be opened.

Ser Lorent pauses outside the towering doors of the Great Hall, the noise within a muffled roar of celebration. “Are you ready, Princess?” Ser Lorent asks, his voice low.

You draw in a steady breath, your fingers tightening slightly on his arm. “As ready as I’ll ever be,” you reply, the faintest smile playing at your lips. Then, with the faintest nod, you step forward into the unknown.

The towering doors to the Great Hall creaked open with slow grandeur, the sound of revelry spilling out into the corridor like a wave. Laughter and music mingled with the scent of roasted meats, spiced wine, and the faint tang of woodsmoke from the hearths. Your grip on Ser Lorent’s arm tightened slightly, but his steady presence was a comfort. The Kingsguard knight guided you with quiet confidence, each step forward measured and sure.

Before the herald could announce your presence, the rhythmic sound of hurried boots echoed against the stone floor��a stride too quick, too heavy, to belong to anyone at ease. Ser Lorent stopped abruptly, his body tensing, and you tilted your head slightly, listening to the approaching figure. The boots grew louder, their pace betraying haste or retreat, and then—just as you sensed the figure nearing—a clash was narrowly avoided.

"Hold," Ser Lorent’s voice was firm, his free hand raising to stop the oncoming lord. The boots skidded to a halt mere feet away, followed by the faint scrape of leather on stone as the figure steadied himself. A warm, rich scent of leather and sandalwood enveloped you, the fragrance unfamiliar yet striking.

“Forgive me,” came the hurried apology, the voice deep and resonant but rattled, as though its owner was caught off guard. “I did not see—” The man paused mid-sentence, and you could almost feel the shift in his demeanor, the sudden awareness of who stood before him. “Princess,” he finished, his tone now layered with formality and astonishment.

You inclined your head slightly, your soft voice breaking the tension. “There is nothing to forgive, my lord. No harm was done.”

The man, still somewhat flustered, cleared his throat. “Jason Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock,” he introduced himself, his confidence beginning to return. “I pray you’ll forgive my haste. It seems I’ve had a day of missteps.”

“Lord Jason,” you acknowledged gently, your lips curving into a faint, polite smile. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

For a moment, Jason Lannister did not respond. Though you could not see his expression, you sensed the weight of his gaze upon you. His silence stretched, filled with something unspoken, until he finally spoke again, his tone lighter but no less sincere. “The pleasure is mine, Princess Y/N. Your presence graces this hall far more than I ever could.”

There was a charm to his words, one likely polished by years of courtly practice, yet something about his tone carried an edge of genuine awe.

“Are you enjoying the festivities?” he asked, clearly striving to maintain the conversation and regain his footing.

“They are as lively as I imagined they would be,” you replied, your voice calm and measured, each word deliberate. “Though I confess, I find the quiet of my chambers more familiar.”

Jason chuckled, a sound rich and warm, though you caught the slight unease beneath it. “A sentiment I share more than most might believe, though it seems neither of us has much choice in the matter tonight.”

The remark brought a faint smile to your lips. “Indeed. Duty often calls us to places we do not choose, but such is the way of the world.”

Jason hesitated, as if weighing his next words, but before he could speak again, you felt a subtle shift in Ser Lorent’s stance. Though his silence remained, the stiffness in his posture was unmistakable, a wordless warning meant solely for the lord before him.

Jason stopped abruptly, his earlier confidence faltering once more. You could almost hear the unspoken exchange between him and Ser Lorent—the quiet assertion of the knight’s duty, the unyielding reminder of your protection.

“I’ve taken enough of your time, Princess,” Jason said finally, his voice tinged with reluctance. “Your family awaits you, and I would not delay you further.”

You inclined your head graciously. “You have been kind, Lord Jason. I wish you a pleasant evening.”

“And to you, Princess,” he replied, his tone softer now, almost reverent.

As Ser Lorent guided you forward, you heard the sound of Jason’s boots retreating a few steps, then pausing. Though you did not turn, you felt his gaze linger, the weight of it following you as you were led toward the dais where your family sat. His earlier thoughts of leaving the hall, you suspected, were far from his mind now.

For you, the encounter was little more than an unexpected moment in a long evening. For Jason Lannister, it was the beginning of something far more profound—though even he could not yet say what.

Your grip on Ser Lorent’s arm was steady, your steps slow and deliberate, as the herald stepped forward to announce your presence.

"Her Grace, Princess Y/N Targaryen, Daughter of King Viserys I Targaryen and the late Queen Aemma Arryn, of House Targaryen."

The herald’s voice boomed across the hall, and in an instant, the revelry died. Silence swept over the crowd, leaving only the faint crackle of torches and the low hum of the hearth. Though you could not see the eyes upon you, you felt their weight, hundreds of gazes fixed on your form as you entered the hall.

Whispers stirred at the edges of the silence, hushed murmurs of curiosity and admiration.

“She’s even more beautiful than they say,” someone breathed.

“Blind, yet she moves with such grace,” another remarked.

You kept your head high, your lilac eyes unseeing but calm, your expression serene as Ser Lorent guided you further into the hall. Your gown, a masterpiece of black and silver, shone under the torchlight, the embroidery of dragons glinting like scales. Your hair, intricately braided and pinned, crowned you in a way that whispered of royalty even without the weight of a diadem.

At the high table, you could hear your family stirring. The clink of goblets being set down, the faint rustle of Alicent’s silks as she adjusted herself, and the soft cooing of one-year-old Daeron in the arms of his nursemaid.

"Ah, my daughter," your father’s voice rang out, breaking the silence with jovial warmth. King Viserys’s tone was light but full of emotion. "Come, come, Y/N. Do not linger at the edge of the hall! Let them see you properly."

His laughter rolled across the hall, easing the silance. The murmurs grew louder, but the crowd relaxed, the King’s mood infectious. You were led closer to the dais, where the high table overlooked the grand hall.

“Here,” Viserys continued, gesturing eagerly, “sit beside Rhaenyra. You two have spent too much time apart of late.”

You could hear the scrape of a chair being moved and felt the shift of the air as Rhaenyra rose to guide you the last few steps. Her touch on your arm was firm and familiar, her tone bright and full of affection. “Come, sister. Father would not forgive me if I let you sit anywhere else.”

As you reached the table, you felt the gentle tug of her hand as she guided you to the chair beside hers. The high table was filled with those you knew so well: your stepmother, Queen Alicent, her hands folded neatly in her lap; Aegon, the prince whose nameday you celebrated, fidgeting with the hem of his tunic; Helaena, quiet as ever, her soft murmurings almost drowned by the noise; and young Aemond, his chair pulled slightly away as if he wished to disappear entirely.

Before you sat, you turned your head slightly toward your father’s voice, offering a small smile. “You honor me with your kindness, Father.”

Viserys laughed again, pleased by your words. “It is no kindness, my dear. You belong here, with your family.”

As you settled into your seat, Rhaenyra leaned in closer, her tone low enough for only you to hear. “They are all staring, you know.”

“They always stare,” you replied gently, your hands smoothing the fabric of your gown as you settled. “I do not mind.”

Rhaenyra huffed softly, but there was a note of protectiveness in her voice. “You should. Half the lords here don’t deserve to lay eyes on you.”

Across the table, Alicent cleared her throat delicately. “We are grateful for your presence, Y/N,” she said, her voice measured and composed. “It is rare that the hall is so quiet—it seems your arrival has had quite the effect.”

You inclined your head toward her voice, offering a polite smile. “I am pleased to bring some order to the chaos, Your Grace.”

Alicent’s lips curved faintly, though there was a flicker of something unreadable in her tone as she replied, “Indeed.”

Aegon, ever restless, shifted in his seat. “Does this mean we can eat now?” he asked, his tone bordering on impatience. Helaena giggled softly, her voice like the tinkling of a bell.

“Hush, Aegon,” Alicent chided gently. “This is your day, but do not forget your manners.”

The nursemaid cooed to Daeron as he fussed, her voice soft and soothing. Aemond remained silent, his presence more a shadow than a boy of his age. The atmosphere at the high table was a strange mix of celebration and tension, as was often the case in these gatherings.

You turned your head slightly, as though surveying the room through senses other than sight. The hum of voices, the clatter of dishes, and the faint strains of music filled the air once more. Somewhere in the crowd, you felt a subtle ripple of attention still fixed on you—perhaps the lingering gaze of a certain Lord of Casterly Rock.

For now, you let the world move around you, content to sit beside your sister, your father’s warmth anchoring you amidst the sea of courtly intrigue. The celebration continued, though its true tone—one of alliances and ambitions—lay just beneath the surface.

Jason Lannister’s stride, once filled with determination to leave the hall and the sting of rejection behind, slowed as he found himself retracing his steps. The echo of her voice still lingered in his mind—soft-spoken, gentle, so unlike the cutting sharpness of Rhaenyra’s words or the King’s dismissive tone. It was unintentional, of course, but the blind princess had unraveled something within him, leaving him both unsettled and curious.

As he approached the table where his family was seated, he became acutely aware of the stares that followed him. His siblings and cousins had witnessed his earlier debacle, and judging by the smirks spreading across their faces, they were eager to make the most of it.

“Well,” Tyland began as Jason took his seat, his younger twin’s voice laced with barely contained amusement. “That was… eventful.”

Jason glared at him. “Don’t start, Tyland.”

“Start? I think I’ve already missed the best part,” Tyland quipped, leaning back in his chair. “Though I must admit, I’ve never seen you move with such haste. I thought you were fleeing the hall entirely.”

Jason ignored the laughter that rippled through his family and reached for his goblet. “I had no intention of fleeing,” he said stiffly, taking a long drink of wine.

“Oh, of course,” Tyland replied, his tone mockingly agreeable. “You were simply… what? Taking a scenic stroll? Stopping to admire the craftsmanship of the Red Keep? Or perhaps nearly colliding with a princess was all part of your grand plan.”

At this, the table erupted into chuckles. Jason set his goblet down with more force than necessary, the sound cutting through their mirth. “It was a momentary lapse,” he said, his jaw tight. “Ser Lorent intervened before anything happened.”

“Ah, yes,” Tyland said, a glint of mischief in his eye. “And what did happen, brother? You looked as though you’d seen a dragon rise from the floor when you realized who you nearly bowled over.”

Jason hesitated, his mind returning to the brief but memorable encounter. The scent of her—delicate and floral, like something ephemeral. The serene way she had spoken, her words measured and without any hint of malice. Her presence had been disarming in a way he could not explain.

“She was…” Jason faltered, searching for the right words. “Unexpected.”

“Unexpected,” Tyland echoed, feigning deep contemplation. “Yes, that certainly explains why you looked ready to fall to your knees in apology.”

“She is blind, Tyland,” Jason said sharply, his voice low. “Do you think I would risk injuring her? I merely acted with appropriate care.”

“Appropriate care?” Tyland leaned in, his smirk widening. “Brother, you practically stumbled over your own boots apologizing. She left you speechless.”

Their mother, Lady Leonella, who had been watching the exchange with mild interest, finally interjected. “Enough, Tyland. Let your brother be. The princess is a rare beauty, even if she cannot see the chaos she inspires. Jason, tell me, what did she say to you?”

Jason hesitated again, his mind returning to the moment her soft voice had reached him. “She was… kind,” he said finally. “She did not chide me for my haste or question my manners. She simply… accepted my apology.”

Lady Leonella smiled faintly. “A rarity in this hall, then. Perhaps you should learn something from her grace.”

Jason frowned but didn’t argue. Across the table, Tyland was watching him with an expression that was far too knowing for Jason’s comfort.

“And what now?” Tyland asked, his voice laced with mock seriousness. “Will you abandon your plans to leave the hall in favor of lingering, hoping for another encounter?”

Jason bristled but didn’t answer immediately. The truth was, the thought of leaving the hall no longer appealed to him. He had come to the festivities with grand ambitions, only to have them dashed by Rhaenyra’s biting rejection and the King’s dismissal. Yet somehow, in the space of a few words and a fleeting exchange, the younger princess had left him intrigued.

“I am staying,” he said finally, lifting his goblet once more. “If only to see how the rest of the evening unfolds.”

Tyland raised his own goblet in a mock toast. “To the unpredictable, then.”

Jason said nothing, his gaze shifting subtly toward the high table where the Targaryen family sat. Though his pride still smarted from the events of the evening, the thought of the blind princess—her gentle voice, her unassuming presence—lingered in his mind like a whisper.

For the first time that night, his thoughts of leaving the hall were far behind him. Instead, he found himself wondering if fate might grant him another chance to cross her path.

The hum of conversation and the clatter of goblets filled the Great Hall, but at the high table, the atmosphere was quieter. Seated beside your sister, you felt the warmth of her presence, a comforting contrast to the chaos of the court below. Your father’s voice carried occasionally over the din, booming with joviality as he toasted his guests, while Alicent, ever composed, managed the children with quiet grace.

Your fingers rested lightly on the silver chalice before you, tracing the delicate filigree as you turned your head toward Rhaenyra. “You seem unsettled, sister,” you said softly, your eyes focused on her presence more than her face.

Rhaenyra let out a short huff, her tone sharp but not unkind. “It’s Jason Lannister,” she said, her voice low enough that only you could hear. “He proposed.”

Your lips curved faintly, though you knew her well enough to sense her annoyance. “Proposed what, exactly? Marriage, I assume?”

“What else would it be?” Rhaenyra muttered, her tone edged with exasperation. She leaned closer, her voice quieter now. “He came to me earlier with a golden spear, of all things. As if I would be swayed by such a trinket.”

“A golden spear?” you echoed, the faintest trace of amusement in your voice. “Perhaps he thought it symbolic of strength and conquest.”

Rhaenyra scoffed. “If he believes a princess of the blood can be won with such a gesture, he is sorely mistaken.”

You tilted your head, the ghost of a smile playing on your lips. “You rejected him, then.”

“Of course I did,” Rhaenyra said, leaning back slightly in her chair. “And not just the spear. I made it abundantly clear that I have no interest in him, nor his lion-infested castle.”

Her tone was sharp, but you detected the faintest flicker of guilt in her words. “Was it so cruelly done?” you asked gently.

Rhaenyra hesitated before sighing. “Perhaps I was… blunt. But Father had already dismissed him before he came to me. He should have known better than to pursue me directly.”

You nodded slowly, your fingers still tracing the patterns on your chalice. “Perhaps he hoped to charm you. Not all men take rejection gracefully.”

Rhaenyra’s gaze softened as she looked at you. “And you, sister? If such a lord came bearing golden gifts and lofty words, how would you respond?”

You considered her question for a moment, your expression thoughtful. “I would thank him for his effort and let him leave with his pride intact. Kindness costs nothing, even when rejecting someone.”

Rhaenyra laughed softly, though it was tinged with a hint of bitterness. “You’ve always been better at diplomacy than I. Father says the same. But what kindness do men like Jason Lannister deserve? He sees only the crown and the power it brings.”

You reached out, your hand finding hers on the table. “He may see power, but perhaps he also sees you. We cannot always know the hearts of others, sister.”

Rhaenyra squeezed your hand lightly, a gesture of gratitude and affection. “And what of you, Y/N? You are far more deserving of attention than I. Have you not had suitors of your own?”

The question caught you off guard, though you smiled faintly. “I have had no suitors, Rhaenyra, nor do I expect them. Men are often drawn to what they can see, and I… I do not inspire the same admiration that you do.”

Rhaenyra’s grip tightened slightly. “That is nonsense. You are as much a Targaryen as I, with all the beauty and grace our blood bestows. Any man who cannot see that is unworthy of you.”

You tilted your head, a soft laugh escaping your lips. “You are kind, sister, but we both know I am content in the quiet. Courtly games and suitors vying for my hand do not interest me.”

Rhaenyra leaned closer, her voice warm but teasing. “Perhaps you would not mind if the right man came along.”

“Perhaps,” you allowed, though the thought was far from your mind. “But it is a distant concern, if it is one at all.”

For a moment, the two of you sat in silence, the noise of the hall fading into the background as you shared a quiet moment of understanding. Whatever grievances Rhaenyra had with the lords of the realm, her affection for you was unwavering.

Finally, she let out a sigh, her tone lightening. “You always know how to calm me, Y/N. If only I could borrow some of your serenity when dealing with men like Jason Lannister.”

You smiled, your fingers returning to the patterns on your chalice. “Perhaps one day, sister, the men of this realm will learn to approach us with the respect we deserve. Until then, let us simply endure.”

Rhaenyra laughed again, the sound bright and genuine this time. “You truly are the better of us, Y/N. It’s no wonder Father treasures you so.”

As the evening wore on, the bond between the two of you remained unshaken, a quiet strength amidst the chaos of the hall. Though Rhaenyra’s frustrations lingered, your words had eased them, if only for a time.

The music swelled as the minstrels struck a lively tune, and the Great Hall came alive with the shuffle of boots and the rustle of silk as lords and ladies made their way to the center of the room. The floor was cleared in moments, and laughter rippled through the crowd as couples began to take their places for the dance. From his seat, Jason Lannister observed it all with a practiced ease, his sharp eyes scanning the movement on the floor below.

His gaze landed on Princess Rhaenyra as she stepped down from the high table. Her confidence was unmistakable, the Realm’s Delight commanding attention without effort. But it wasn’t Rhaenyra who held Jason’s focus—it was you, her blind sister, when Rhaenyra reached for your hand.

You hesitated at first, your lilac eyes turned slightly toward Rhaenyra as she murmured something to you. Her voice was too low for Jason to hear, but whatever she said brought a faint smile to your lips. You rose gracefully, your hand lightly resting in hers as she led you toward the center of the hall.

Jason straightened in his seat, intrigued. The sight of you entering the dance, your movements measured and deliberate, was unexpected. The soft glow of the torchlight caught the silver embroidery of your gown, the shimmering threads giving the illusion of movement even when you were still.

“You’re staring,” Tyland drawled from beside him, his tone laced with amusement.

Jason ignored him, watching as Rhaenyra guided you into the steps. To his astonishment, you moved with practiced ease, your body attuned to the music and the shifting rhythms of the dance. Partners changed with each turn, and you adapted seamlessly, your movements fluid and confident.

“It seems the blind princess dances better than half the court,” Tyland added, swirling the wine in his goblet. “And yet here you sit, sulking.”

Jason finally tore his gaze away to glare at his younger twin. “I’m not sulking.”

“Oh? Then what do you call this brooding silence?” Tyland smirked, leaning back in his chair. “Though I must admit, it’s entertaining to see you so captivated. Shall I fetch a goblet of courage for you?”

Jason ignored the barb, pushing his chair back and rising to his feet.

Tyland raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. “And where are you going, brother?”

Jason adjusted his tunic, glancing toward the dance floor. “I’m going to dance with the younger princess.”

Tyland let out a soft laugh. “Bold. Do try not to trip over her.”

Jason said nothing, his stride purposeful as he descended toward the floor. The music shifted to a lighter melody, the dancers spinning gracefully in their pairs. Jason observed for a moment, waiting for the perfect moment to insert himself into the rotation.

As the partners shifted once more, he stepped forward, placing himself before you as the next turn brought you toward him. To his surprise, you paused slightly before he could even speak, your head tilting slightly in his direction.

“Lord Jason Lannister,” you said softly, your lips curving into a faint smile. “Your presence is hard to mistake.”

Jason blinked, momentarily thrown off guard. “You… recognized me?” he asked, his voice low but edged with surprise.

Your hand reached out slightly, and he took it instinctively, guiding you into the next steps of the dance. “You carry a certain stride,” you said, your tone calm and assured. “And a presence that is difficult to overlook.”

Jason chuckled, his initial surprise giving way to a touch of admiration. “You flatter me, Princess. I did not think I’d left such an impression.”

“You nearly ran me down earlier,” you said lightly, the faintest hint of humor in your voice. “It would be difficult to forget.”

The corners of Jason’s mouth twitched into a smile. “A mistake I am glad to rectify now.”

You moved with practiced grace, following the rhythm of the music with an ease that belied your blindness. Jason guided you through the steps, his grip firm but careful, as though he feared misstepping and disrupting the flow of the dance.

“You dance well,” he remarked after a moment.

“Thank you,” you replied. “I was taught by the best instructors, though my lack of sight did pose a challenge at first.”

“I wouldn’t have guessed,” Jason said sincerely. “You move as if you can see the entire room.”

You smiled faintly, your tone thoughtful. “One does not need eyes to feel the music, my lord. Nor to trust a partner to guide them.”

Jason hesitated, his grip on your hand tightening slightly. “Then I hope I am proving worthy of your trust.”

“You have yet to falter,” you said, tilting your head toward him. “Though I suspect you are unaccustomed to leading without trying to command.”

Jason laughed, the sound low and warm. “You’ve discerned much about me in so short a time.”

“Perhaps,” you said, your voice soft. “Or perhaps I simply have a way of seeing what others do not.”

For a moment, Jason said nothing, the weight of your words settling over him. He guided you through another turn, his focus entirely on you as the other dancers blurred into the background. The music swelled, and the steps quickened, but you kept pace with him effortlessly.

At last, as the melody slowed, Jason’s voice dropped to a near murmur. “You are unlike anyone I have ever met, Princess.”

Your head tilted slightly, your expression unreadable. “And you, Lord Jason, are proving to be more than I expected.”

Before he could respond, the music shifted again, signaling another turn of partners. Jason reluctantly released your hand, stepping aside as the next partner approached to take his place. He lingered for a moment, watching as you continued to dance, your presence captivating him in a way he could not quite explain.

Jason Lannister sat back at his family’s table, his goblet resting in his hand, but his thoughts were elsewhere. The dance had ended, and the music shifted to a softer tune as the couples dispersed back to their seats or lingered to converse in the hall. His golden-haired brother, Tyland, leaned toward him, his smirk as sharp as the edge of a blade once more.

“Well?” Tyland drawled, swirling the wine in his goblet. “Did the lion roar, or was he tamed?”

Jason ignored him, his eyes following Ser Lorent Marbrand, who was escorting you back to the high table. You moved with a serene grace that made it easy to forget you couldn’t see the room around you. The knight’s protective presence seemed unnecessary; you navigated the space as if it were second nature.

Jason took a sip of his wine, his gaze narrowing slightly as Rhaenyra remained on the dance floor, basking in the attention of the gathered lords. Her laughter echoed through the hall, drawing eyes to her like moths to a flame. It was a stark contrast to your quiet return to your seat beside the King.

“Hmm,” Jason’s mother, Lady Leonella, murmured, leaning slightly toward him. “The King seems in high spirits tonight.”

Jason glanced toward the high table. King Viserys’s booming laughter filled the air, his jovial mood evident as he watched you sit beside him. His hand rested on your arm as he said something, his expression warm and fatherly. You smiled in response, your eyes tilted slightly toward him as you spoke softly. Whatever you said earned another hearty laugh from the King.

“He always looks like that when she’s near,” Tyland remarked, leaning back in his chair. “The younger princess has a knack for easing tensions. A rare gift, I’d say.”

Lady Leonella arched an eyebrow. “She does seem to command a unique sort of attention, doesn’t she? Quiet, yet... compelling.”

Jason didn’t respond, his jaw tightening as he watched the scene unfold. You were soft-spoken, poised, and effortlessly graceful—traits that seemed to draw others toward you without effort. It was a stark contrast to the brash energy of Rhaenyra, who now had several lords vying for her attention on the dance floor.

As Jason brooded, a movement at the high table caught his eye. One of the younger lords, bold and overeager, had stepped forward. Dressed in fine silk and adorned with a gaudy chain of gold, he approached the high table with the air of someone who believed himself invincible. Jason recognized him—Lord Harys of House Chester, an upjumped minor lord from the Crownlands whose father had earned the King’s favor decades prior.

“What’s this now?” Tyland asked, straightening in his seat as he followed Jason’s gaze.

Lord Harys stopped just shy of the high table and bowed deeply. His voice carried across the hall, drawing attention from nearby tables. “Your Grace, Princess Y/N,” he began, his tone overly smooth. “A dance with such grace as yours could inspire the bards for centuries. It is no wonder the King’s joy brightens the hall tonight.”

Jason scoffed audibly, the sound earning a glance from his mother. “What gall,” he muttered, setting his goblet down with a clink. “The fool thinks flattery will win him favor.”

“Or a place closer to the King’s purse,” Tyland added dryly, his smirk returning. “Though I can’t fault him for his boldness. He’s either courageous or too stupid to know better.”

Jason didn’t respond, his jaw tightening as he watched Lord Harys continue his display. The young lord straightened and turned his attention solely to you, his smile practiced but lacking sincerity.

“Princess,” Harys continued, inclining his head toward you. “It would honor me greatly to have a moment of your time. Your beauty and grace are unparalleled, and I would count myself blessed to know such virtues more closely.”

Jason’s hands clenched into fists beneath the table. Tyland noticed and chuckled softly. “You’re practically seething, brother. Should I go fetch him a chair, or will you swoop in yourself?”

Lady Leonella shushed Tyland with a wave of her hand, her eyes sharp as she turned her attention to Jason. ��If you wish to act, Jason, do so with care. The King will not tolerate disruptions at his high table, no matter how galling the intruder may be.”

Jason exhaled sharply, forcing himself to lean back in his chair. “I won’t make a scene,” he said, though his gaze remained fixed on Lord Harys.

You, meanwhile, had tilted your head slightly in Lord Harys’s direction, your serene demeanor unchanged. “You are very kind, Lord Harys,” you said, your voice gentle yet measured. “But I fear I must decline. My father would surely miss my presence were I to leave his side so soon.”

The rejection was polite but firm, and Jason noted the faint tightening of Lord Harys’s smile. The young lord bowed again, though his retreat was less graceful than his approach.

“Wise of her,” Tyland murmured, lifting his goblet in mock salute. “Subtle, yet cutting.”

Jason said nothing, his eyes following you as you turned your attention back to the King. Viserys’s laughter boomed again, clearly pleased by the exchange, while Alicent remained composed but silent beside him.

“Will you let that fool’s attempt stand unchallenged?” Tyland teased, nudging Jason lightly with his elbow.

Jason shot his brother a glare. “He’s already embarrassed himself. There’s no need for me to make it worse.”

“And yet,” Tyland mused, his smirk widening, “I suspect you’re plotting your next move already.”

Jason didn’t respond, but his silence spoke volumes. As the hall returned to its revelry, he leaned forward slightly, his gaze never straying far from the high table. Whatever the night held, he wasn’t ready to concede just yet.

The warmth of the Great Hall seemed to dim slightly as the evening wore on, the air heavy with the mingling scents of roasted meats, spilled wine, and melting wax. You sat quietly at the high table, your hands resting lightly on your lap, listening to the hum of conversations and laughter swirling around you.

Beside you, your father, King Viserys, was beaming, his goblet in hand as he basked in the lively atmosphere of the celebration. His attention, however, soon turned back to you.

“My daughter,” he said warmly, his tone carrying the familiar blend of affection and authority. “You’ve been sitting here long enough. Go, mingle with the lords and ladies. Let them see what grace our family holds.”

You tilted your head slightly in his direction, the faintest smile on your lips. “I have mingled enough for one evening, Father. Surely, the court has seen all the grace they can endure.”

Viserys chuckled, but before he could press further, Queen Alicent turned from where she was tending to young Daeron and looked at you both with her characteristic calm. “Perhaps it would be best to let Y/N decide for herself, Your Grace,” she said, her voice measured but firm. “She knows her own limits better than anyone.”

Viserys waved a dismissive hand, his jovial tone still intact. “Nonsense, Alicent. The court always brightens with her presence. Have you not seen how they look at her? They practically hang on her every word.”

You turned your unseeing eyes toward your father, your expression serene but unreadable. “Most of them are liars,” you said softly, your tone devoid of malice but carrying a quiet weight.

The King’s laughter faltered, his joviality dimming as he looked at you. His smile waned, and a shadow of regret flickered across his face. “Y/N,” he began, his voice quieter now, “I only want to see you happy. You’ve always been so content in your own world, and for that, I blame myself.”

You blinked, surprised by the sudden shift in his tone. “Father, you are not to blame,” you said gently.

Viserys shook his head, setting his goblet down with a faint clink. “No, I am. I see how you sit here, so comfortable in your solitude, while others your age laugh and dance without a care. I’ve allowed you to retreat too much into yourself, thinking it was for your own good.” He paused, his eyes softening. “But I worry, my child. I worry that you are lonely.”

His words settled over you like a heavy cloak, and for a moment, the noise of the hall seemed to fade into the background.

“I am not lonely, Father,” you said softly. “I have my family, and that is enough.”

Viserys leaned closer, his expression earnest. “But is it truly enough? You deserve more, Y/N. You deserve friends, companions… perhaps even someone who could care for you as deeply as I do.”

Alicent, still seated nearby, watched the exchange with an unreadable expression, though she did not interject.

You reached out, your hand finding your father’s and resting lightly over it. “You have given me a life of peace, Father. I do not feel deprived of anything. But I appreciate your concern more than I can say.”

Viserys’s hand tightened over yours, his eyes brimming with a mix of pride and sadness. “You have always been too gracious for this world,” he said quietly. “But remember, Y/N, the world is not meant to be faced alone.”

You nodded slightly, though his words lingered in your mind. “I will try, Father,” you said softly. “For you, I will try.”

Viserys smiled faintly, though the flicker of regret in his eyes remained. “That is all I can ask, my dear,” he said, his voice regaining some of its warmth. “Now, let us not dwell on such somber matters. Tonight is a celebration, after all.”

You offered him a faint smile, your heart heavy but warmed by his sincerity. As the noise of the hall returned to its full volume, you couldn’t help but wonder if your father’s concerns held more truth than you were willing to admit.

The warmth of your father’s hand still lingered as you withdrew yours gently. His earlier words weighed heavily on your mind, though his smile had returned as he turned his attention back to the celebration. After a moment of quiet reflection, you straightened in your seat and called softly, “Ser Lorent.”

Your sworn shield appeared at once, his boots light on the stone floor as he approached. “Princess,” he said, his tone low and respectful.

“Escort me down to the hall,” you said, rising gracefully to your feet. “I believe I should mingle, if only to ease my father’s worries. At least for tonight.”

Ser Lorent hesitated for the briefest moment, his gaze flicking to the King, who gave him a nod of approval. “As you wish, Your Grace,” the knight replied, offering his arm.

With his steady guidance, you descended the steps from the high table, the faint rustle of your gown and the sound of your boots against the stone carrying through the hall. The hum of conversation softened slightly as those nearest to the high table turned to watch your approach. You could feel their eyes on you, a mix of admiration and curiosity palpable in the air.

The first to greet you was Lady Redwyne, a matronly figure with a presence as commanding as her stature. She approached with a cluster of noble ladies trailing behind her, their whispers quieting as they drew near.

“Princess Y/N,” Lady Redwyne said warmly, inclining her head. “What a joy it is to see you gracing the hall this evening. Truly, your presence elevates the occasion.”

You inclined your head in return, a polite smile gracing your lips. “You are kind, Lady Redwyne. The honor is mine to be among such esteemed company.”

Lady Redwyne’s smile deepened, and she gestured to the ladies behind her. “May I introduce you to some of the finest flowers of the Reach?” She listed their names, and though they spoke with nervous politeness, their awe was evident.

The conversation turned to light matters—fashion, the music, the festivities—your voice calm and measured as you responded with grace. The ladies seemed eager to engage with you, their initial hesitance melting away as the conversation flowed.

Midway through the exchange, however, Lady Redwyne’s attention faltered. You could feel the subtle shift in her tone as she spoke, her words carrying an edge of distraction.

“Forgive me, Princess,” she said with a polite smile, “but it seems the attention of certain lords remains as undivided as ever.”

Though you could not see, you tilted your head slightly, sensing her meaning. “Is that so?” you asked, your tone light with curiosity.

Lady Redwyne laughed softly, though it did little to mask her disapproval. “Indeed. Some men find it difficult to understand the concept of boundaries.”

She said no more, and you did not press her, though you sensed there was more to her words.

Unbeknownst to you, Lady Redwyne had caught the lingering gaze of Jason Lannister, seated across the hall at his family’s table. The Lord of Casterly Rock, for all his earlier rejection, seemed unable to keep his attention from straying toward you. His golden-haired head tilted slightly as he watched your every movement, his expression contemplative but unmistakably admiring.

Lady Redwyne’s sharp eyes narrowed, and she turned to her husband, Lord Redwyne, who stood nearby nursing a goblet of wine. Leaning toward him, she murmured in a tone low enough to escape notice, “Look at that lion, eyeing the princess like she’s a prize to be won. He was spurned by her sister and the King only hours ago, and yet here he sits, shameless as ever.”

Lord Redwyne followed her gaze and frowned. “Ambition rarely yields to rejection,” he replied dryly. “Perhaps he thinks himself clever, pursuing the younger sister after failing with the elder.”

“Clever, indeed,” Lady Redwyne scoffed, her expression sour. “The court will eat him alive if he tries. Mark my words.”

Jason, oblivious to their whispered conversation, leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping idly on the stem of his goblet. His twin, Tyland, noticed his preoccupation and smirked.

“Still staring, brother?” Tyland asked, his tone laced with amusement. “It’s becoming quite obvious.”

Jason’s eyes flicked toward his brother, his expression unbothered. “She carries herself differently,” he said simply, his gaze drifting back to you.

“Differently than what? Rhaenyra?” Tyland pressed, his grin widening. “Or every other woman in this hall?”

Jason ignored him, his attention returning to you as you continued to converse with the noble ladies. Though you remained unaware of his gaze, your poise and quiet confidence held him spellbound.

Lady Redwyne, meanwhile, shifted her attention back to you, her disapproval of Jason carefully hidden behind a pleasant smile. “Princess, have you had much chance to enjoy the music this evening?”

“Not as much as I’d like,” you replied with a small smile. “Though I find the melodies no less beautiful from afar.”

The conversation moved on, and though the lords and ladies who approached you vied for your attention, Jason’s presence lingered at the edge of your awareness, an unseen but unshakable shadow. You continued to carry yourself with the same calm grace, unaware of the undercurrent of tension that rippled through the hall with each stolen glance from the lion of Casterly Rock.

Jason Lannister leaned forward in his chair, his goblet resting forgotten on the table. His gaze remained fixed on you as you moved through the hall with practiced elegance, your hand lightly resting on Ser Lorent’s arm. He watched as you exchanged pleasantries with the gathered lords and ladies, your soft voice carrying just enough to be heard by those closest to you. There was something in your demeanor—serene, composed—that set you apart from the flurry of vibrant personalities in the room.

“She’s not Rhaenyra, you know,” Tyland said from beside him, his voice teasing but not unkind. “Your new fascination doesn’t carry the same fire. She’s quieter, softer.”

Jason glanced at his younger twin, his expression sharp. “I know that.”

“And yet,” Tyland continued, taking a deliberate sip of his wine, “you’re still staring. Again. Are you planning to approach her, or shall I have the herald announce your intentions so everyone else is clear?”

Jason scowled, his hand tightening around the stem of his goblet. “She’s not like the others.”

“No,” Tyland agreed, tilting his head as he studied you. “She’s not. Which is precisely why the court will tear you apart if you try to get near her. Don’t think the Redwynes didn’t notice your little show of admiration.”

Jason shifted uncomfortably in his chair, his eyes narrowing as Lady Redwyne cast him another sharp glance from across the hall. “Let them whisper,” he muttered. “Their opinions don’t concern me.”

Tyland smirked. “No, but her father’s might. Or have you forgotten how Viserys dismissed you outright this very evening?”

Jason’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. The memory of Viserys’s polite but firm rejection still stung, as did Rhaenyra’s cutting words. Yet neither had left him so preoccupied as you did now. There was something about you that drew him in—a quiet magnetism that left him restless and unfocused.

“She’s untouchable, brother,” Tyland said, leaning closer. “The King dotes on her like a treasure, and the court treats her like a mystery. If you think you can simply saunter over and charm her, you’re more of a fool than I thought.”

Jason set his goblet down with a clink, his frustration bubbling just below the surface. “I don’t intend to ‘charm’ her, Tyland.”

“Oh?” Tyland raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Then what, pray tell, is your plan? Stand here brooding all night while she graces every lord and lady with her attention except you?”

Jason exhaled sharply, his hand running through his hair. His mind raced with conflicting thoughts. Tyland’s words stung because they carried truth; approaching you would draw unwanted scrutiny, not only from the court but from your family. And yet the thought of leaving the hall without speaking to you again felt unbearable.

“She noticed me,” Jason said finally, his voice quiet.

Tyland blinked, surprised by the admission. “She did?”

Jason nodded, his gaze drifting back to you. “During the dance. Before I could even speak, she recognized me. Said I had a certain presence and stride that was hard to mistake.”

For once, Tyland was silent, his smirk fading as he regarded his older brother with a rare seriousness. “She said that?”

Jason nodded again, his expression distant. “She sees more than anyone gives her credit for. And she listens.”

Tyland leaned back in his chair, his expression contemplative. “Well, that’s something, I suppose. But even so, you’ll have to tread carefully, Jason. A misstep here could cost you more than your pride.”

Jason clenched his fists beneath the table, his frustration mounting. Across the hall, you were speaking with Lady Redwyne and a cluster of noble ladies, your gentle laughter carrying faintly over the din. The sight of you—so poised, so seemingly untouched by the scheming and ambitions of those around you—only deepened his resolve.

“I’ll wait,” Jason said finally, his voice low but firm. “The timing has to be right.”

Tyland tilted his head, his smirk returning. “Patient for once, are we? Miracles truly do happen.”

Jason ignored the barb, his focus entirely on you. His twin was right; you were untouchable, a treasure too closely guarded to be reached by a single bold move. But Jason Lannister was nothing if not persistent, and the thought of you—your voice, your presence—was enough to keep him in the hall long after the festivities had begun to wane.

For now, he remained seated, his gaze never straying far from you as he waited for an opportunity that would not invite the court’s scrutiny—or your father’s ire. Yet deep down, he knew that patience was not his strong suit, and the thought of standing on the sidelines for too long was nearly as unbearable as leaving the hall without speaking to you again.

...

The Great Hall had begun to empty, the energy of the evening ebbing like the tide. Conversations grew quieter, and the clinking of goblets and plates was sporadic now, replaced by the sounds of servants clearing the remnants of the feast. You sat at the high table, your posture still poised, though the weight of the evening had begun to settle into your shoulders. The scent of spilled wine and fading candles lingered in the air, mingling with the faint chill that crept in as the night deepened.

Reaching out, your fingers found the neck of a wine jug resting beside your goblet. Carefully, you tilted it, the soft glug of the liquid filling the cup satisfying in its simplicity. Your hand hovered for a moment, gauging the weight of the vessel, before setting it back down. You brought the cup to your lips, the tart sweetness of Arbor Red warming your senses.

“Your Grace,” Ser Lorent’s steady voice broke the stillness beside you. “Shall I escort you back to your chambers? The celebrations are winding down, and most of the guests have already retired.”

You lowered the cup, considering his words. “Most of them?” you asked softly, your unseeing eyes turning toward him. “And what of my sister? Where is Rhaenyra?”

Ser Lorent hesitated, and though he stood just behind your chair, you could sense the shift in his demeanor. “She is not here,” he said carefully. “The last I saw, she was in the company of Ser Harwin Strong.”

You tilted your head slightly, digesting his words. The name carried weight, a name you’d heard whispered in hallways and murmured over goblets of wine. “Ser Harwin Strong,” you repeated, your tone even. “Of course she is.”

Ser Lorent remained silent, his duty-bound discretion apparent. He would not comment on the implications of your sister’s choices, but you felt no need for him to. Your thoughts had already turned elsewhere.

“She is betrothed to the wrong man,” you said softly, your voice carrying a note of quiet conviction.

Ser Lorent didn’t respond, though his stillness spoke volumes. His silence was not one of agreement, but one of loyalty—to you, to your sister, and to the crown.

You took another sip of your wine, the warmth of the drink doing little to ease the unease that settled in your chest. “Laenor Velaryon is a good man,” you continued after a moment, speaking more to yourself than to him. “But the wrong man for her.”

Ser Lorent shifted slightly behind you, his boots scuffing lightly against the stone floor. “It is not for me to say, Princess.”

“No,” you agreed, setting the cup down gently on the table. “It isn’t. But we all see it, don’t we? Everyone whispers of it.”

Ser Lorent remained silent, his expression unreadable.

You sighed, the weight of the evening finally pressing against you. The sounds of the hall faded further as the last of the guests trickled out, and even the servants moved with quiet efficiency, eager to finish their tasks.

“I would like to retire now,” you said softly, turning your head slightly toward him. “The night has been long enough.”

Ser Lorent stepped forward, his arm offered to guide you. “Of course, Your Grace.”

You rose from your seat with practiced grace, your hand resting lightly on his as he led you away from the high table. The cool air of the corridor was a welcome relief from the warmth of the hall, and the soft echo of your steps against the stone floor provided a comforting rhythm.

As the two of you walked, you allowed yourself a moment of quiet reflection. The evening had been full of whispers and glances, of strained smiles and unspoken truths. Your father’s words still lingered in your mind, his wish for you to find joy and companionship weighing heavily on your heart. Yet as the night ended, you couldn’t help but feel that you were still adrift in a sea of courtly games and ambitions that were not your own.

But for now, you pushed those thoughts aside. The sanctuary of your chambers awaited, and with it, the promise of solitude. And in the quiet of that space, perhaps you would find the peace that the court so often denied you.

...

Jason Lannister leaned back in his chair, his green eyes following your every movement as you rose from the high table. Guided by Ser Lorent, you moved with a grace that seemed almost ethereal, your hand lightly resting on the knight’s arm. The faint rustle of your gown and the deliberate click of your boots on the stone floor carried through the now-quiet hall. Jason’s goblet still sat untouched on the table before him, his focus entirely consumed by the sight of you retreating toward the doors.

Lady Leonella Lannister, seated to Jason’s right, noticed the sharpness of her son’s gaze and arched an elegant brow. “Jason,” she said, her tone carrying a hint of admonishment, “you’re staring again.”

Jason tore his eyes away, though he didn’t bother to mask his interest. “Am I?” he replied lightly, though his voice lacked its usual carefree tone.

His mother’s sharp eyes softened with something close to understanding. “You’ve been staring all night,” she said quietly, leaning closer to ensure her words were for him alone. “But staring won’t win you anything in this court.”

Jason didn’t reply immediately, his gaze drifting toward the now-closed doors through which you had disappeared. “I think I’ll stay at the Red Keep a while longer,” he said finally, his tone casual but firm.

Lady Leonella blinked, surprised. “Longer? Why? The festivities have ended.”

At the far end of the table, Tyland, who had been quietly nursing his wine, perked up at his brother’s words. He set his goblet down with a soft clink and leaned forward. “You’re staying?” he asked, his voice laced with curiosity and no small amount of suspicion. “Why, may I ask? You’ve never been one to linger when there’s no game left to hunt.”

Jason shot his twin a pointed look. “The Red Keep has its charms,” he said, his tone measured. “And its opportunities.”

Tyland smirked, though his golden eyes narrowed with understanding. “Ah. So it’s not the keep itself that interests you. It’s its inhabitants.”

Lady Leonella sighed, setting her goblet down more forcefully than necessary. “Jason, if this is about the younger princess…”

“And if it is?” Jason interrupted, his voice steady but resolute.

Leonella frowned, her expression a mix of concern and exasperation. “Then you’re walking a dangerous path. You saw how the King dismissed you earlier tonight, not to mention Rhaenyra’s outright rejection. Do you think Viserys will tolerate your attention shifting to his youngest daughter?”

Jason’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t look away. “I don’t intend to act recklessly, Mother.”

“Recklessly or not,” Tyland interjected with a laugh, “you’re wading into treacherous waters. The court is already buzzing about you—first rejected by one sister, now lingering for another. It won’t go unnoticed.”

Jason turned to his twin, his gaze sharp. “Let them talk. It changes nothing.”

“Does it?” Tyland countered, leaning forward. “The court is a beast that feeds on whispers, Jason. You can’t charm your way out of this one if you’re not careful.”

Lady Leonella sighed, her hand brushing against the stem of her goblet. “You’ve always been stubborn,” she said softly, her tone less cutting now. “But stubbornness will only get you so far when dealing with dragons.”

Jason’s expression softened, though his resolve didn’t waver. “I’ll tread carefully,” he promised. “But I’ve made my decision. I’m staying.”

Tyland chuckled, shaking his head. “Very well, brother. But don’t say I didn’t warn you when the King or the court decides to turn its attention on you.”

Jason ignored his twin’s teasing, his mind already turning over the possibilities. He knew the risks, and he knew the scrutiny that would come with his decision. But as he watched you leave the hall, your presence lingering in his mind like an unspoken promise, he felt something stir within him—a resolve that even his family’s warnings couldn’t shake.

For now, he would wait. The Red Keep was a place of patience as much as it was ambition, and Jason Lannister was a man who knew how to play the long game.

[ew-selfish-art]

Dp x DC AU: Danny didn't want to rely on his rogues, but Tucker's computer skills only got them so far and if the media black out continues... Danny knows it's not going to be pretty for them. Nightmares begin to plague the Justice League.

---

Danny gets back from a shitty conversation with Clockwork and in his frustration, accidentally sets off one of the new GIW sensors that his parents allowed to be installed in the lab. Their collaboration seemed to be going no where but when Danny had new holes blasted through him... it must be going somewhere. Damn it.

The commotion is loud enough that Jazz hears it from her room above the lab (he knows she listens to more than just the lab... it's cause she cares, even if it is a bit invasive.) and rushes in to play the distraction while Danny gets away. This time it works- the Drs. Fenton might have the worst aim in the city but they demand all shots cease if a civilian is nearby- Next time his mom might be aiming her gun at him and not the ground. Danny decides he'll buy Jazz a coffee on his way home.

But first, new holes. Yikes. That like, needs medical attention- He heads to Tucker's place and he's pretty sure Sam is already there.

"Danny! What the fuck, did Clockwork-" She starts, her meticulous cat eyeliner making her glare all the deeper.

"Nah, it's the stupid GIW sensor, the stupid one I told you guys about that has a spring lose in the back?"

"I thought we decided those weren't a concern?" Tucker looks him over, face covered in undisguised and very blatant concern.

"Yeah well, Clocky pissed me off so I forgot about them when I came back in through the lab portal-"

"you were supposed to be practicing making your own." Sam interrupts.

"-And when I did, the thing got knocked and I was swatted like immediately. Jazz launched herself into the lab so Mom made them stop shooting and it gave me enough time to get out." Danny continued to explain, ignoring his friend's 'i told you so' faces.

"Dude. We're pushing it close this week. Sam already had a confrontation with the lab guys and I already got blacklisted on my new persona accounts. We're like seriously threading the needle for getting caught." Tucker, pulls his glasses down to pinch the bridge of his nose and Danny and Sam both get what he's really saying. They need to lie low.

"What did CW say to piss you off?" Sam asks after a silent moment.

"He said nothing really, just like he always does, but insinuated I should try getting a rogue to help." Danny sighs.

"What, Like getting Ember to announce the GIW invasion on her tour? We already agreed that-" Sam is getting angry as she speaks so Tuck cuts her off- "It's a bad Idea. She is- They are all just as likely to get captured and hurt as you are if you go out of town." He comes to the same conclusion they've agreed on for weeks. No rogue involvement.

"Maybe we just need to sleep on it... Hey... wait." Danny sighs, but then his gears start to turn.

"Nocturn. We need Nocturn to help us. He can get the message out through dreams." Danny comes to the new conclusion and his friends look hesitant but at least like they're considering it.

"Isn't he an ancient? He's not going to help us for free." Tucker, ever the Egyptian god in these moments.

"Most people don't take their dreams literally." Sam, ever the skeptic in these moments.

"Yeah but, if they dream it enough times, and they're the right people to do something... they can look it up and then at least see that there is a problem?" Danny sounds hopeful and its the first time he's sounded that way in months.

"What, you're gunna give Batman nightmares?" Tucker snickers but Sam looks inspired.

"That's exactly what he's going to do. We need to haunt the Justice League. They'll see past the fake facade the GIW put up online and they'll be able to get the right legislation passed." Sam is practically buzzing.

"Okay, so lets get scheming- What do you get the primordial beast of the unconscious? Should I google 'what to get someone who has everything'? " Danny laughs.

_____

Bruce and his children rarely do feelings when they have breakfast in the morning after a night of separate patrols, but it seems as though the room is plagued with unease. Tim looks about as tired as ever, so his unease is probably attributable to WE board meetings, but its unlike the rest of his children to be so... disturbed. For some reason, after Alfred has excused them all from eating more than a few nibbles, they make it to the cave. Bruce is glad for the noise his children bring.

The nightmare's he's been having are following a dark plot. A town, a boy who looks like he was kin, and so, so much death. Bruce has had vivid dreams before in life, but this nightmare is... unreal. He tries to remind himself that it's just a nightmare.

When his JL emergency communicator goes off at the computer desk, he's not expecting it to be Dinah Lance. She and her Birds are typically wary of him in Gotham, even if they work well together in the League. He answers it like he would any Batman call, with silence.

"Bats, we have a problem. Any chance you've been having weird dreams about a kid getting experimented on or a town being burned down? Ghosts? Lazarus portals?" Dinah sounds exhausted, but Bruce snaps to her voice with rapt attention. As do all of his children.

"I-" Bruce takes a look around the room, everyone's heads except for Tim's nodding up and down with distress," We all have."

"Something tells me that they whole JL is. Everyone I've talked to this week has had a variation of the same dream. We either have a telepath trying to tell us something, or something even worse than that."

"I'll call emergency meeting, we need to collect details and try to determine the complete message."

"I'll send you what I've noted down so far, sans personal details of course, it's definitely in a town called Amity Park though. My client this morning saw the sign."

Batman grunts and the call ends. It's time to get to work.

----

When the Justice League finally arrives, the town is glowing, and everything feels like... sleep. smothering. snoring. smoking. smoldering.

And then, despite the exhaustion that echos within them, the trudge onwards. The noise of laser guns certainly wakes them up a bit.

[verbenaa]

air so deep and sweet

𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦: “You’re just utterly shameless, aren’t you?’ He tsks, “Seducing me away from my work like this.”

Astarion’s eyes rove your form laying beneath him in reverence, the silken strands of your hair spread like a halo around your face and your dress a mess around your waist.

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𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: Astarion/Reader 𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: smut, fluff, slice of life! 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 7.1k 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: body worship, vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, hand jobs, vampire bites, mentions/discussions of anal, vaginal sex, vampire sex, soft dom astarion

MDNI, 18+ CONTENT

𝑎/𝑛: This is my first ever fanfiction despite a literal 20 years of reading them LOL i truly have lost the plot. Find me on ao3 too, my username is leadii 💕

ao3 here

masterlist

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Dim candlelight plays along the walls of Astarion’s studio, illuminating the discarded bolts of fabric leaning against the wall with haphazard grace, the threads of linens, silks, and cottons a riot of color against the muted walls. Spools of silken thread and tangles of ribbon lay sprawling across the work table, interspersed with pincushions and stray needles waiting to be threaded.

The studio itself is small, humble in its nature. Set aside on a small street within the city walls it wasn’t a far walk from your shared home, making it an easy decision to join him on the nights he decided to work.

Lush velvet draperies hang heavily across several leaded windows, while multicolored rugs layered themselves over the floor. Fat pillars of candle wax sit haphazardly upon several surfaces, filling the room with moving pockets of light, their dance helped along by the light summer breeze blowing through the open windows. It was undeniably one of your favorite places to be.

Despite Astarion’s initial claims to the contrary (if you could even call his half-hearted condescension to the concept such a thing), he was decidedly well suited for a life of domesticity. Much like a spoiled cat, he very much enjoyed his luxuries. Vials of scented oils, a soft bed covered with blankets and quilts, piles of books in the corners of rooms waiting to be read at his decision. You were very quick to learn that Astarion was nothing if not a creature of comfort. And he made it so very easy to spoil him, accepting your love and affection with open arms.

You nestle deeper into the nest of pillows that made up the corner you had decided to call your own, novel discarded beside you and your goblet of wine long emptied of its contents resting against the floorboards. With a small huff your attention turns from your surroundings to said owner of the studio, watching him weave the needle in and out of the fabric in his hands, focus intent on his art.

He had such beautiful hands, you couldn’t help but think. Hands as well-versed in sowing chaos as easily as they could thread a needle to create the tiniest of embellishments upon a single piece of silk. Hands as intimately versed in the art of death as they were in the art of drawing pleasure. Sometimes, you think, he is secretly desperate to prove that his hands no longer have to steal, cheat, or seduce for others and instead were capable to creating something soft and vulnerable for himself instead.

With a small stretch you sit yourself upright, adjusting the lovingly embroidered straps of the light linen dress you wore to compensate for the overbearing warmth of summer. You were always content to accept any creation Astarion made for you and your dress was no exception, tailored to perfection to sit on your curves perfectly with small decorations of lace and embroidery as he saw fit.

As though drawn by your thoughts, his carmine gaze glances up to meet your own. Astarion’s eyes linger upon your form as you slowly stand and stretch your arms high above your head, back arching slightly with the motion before you step to the nearest open window. A light breeze ruffles your hair as you rest your elbows on the sill, careful of the several plants currently residing there as your eyes move to watch the people below weave through the streets in the darkness.

“Dearest, do you mind lending me those ever-so-lovely eyes of yours for a moment?” His voice is a casual drawl. “I wish to seek your opinion on this particular color scheme.” 

You turn to face him from your spot at the window as he gestures to the work in his hand with a small movement of his wrist, and quickly step across the floor to stop at his side. You glance down to see the wooden embroidery hoop he holds with measured regard in one hand, the other carefully grasping a small, sharp needle. You lean in slightly to see better, your breasts adding the barest of pressure against his arm.

You focus your vision upon the delicate pattern of his needlework, the threads weaving together to create an intricate pattern of scrolling vines and abundant spring blossoms in a warm milky white adorning the collar of a cream colored linen shirt, the colors almost ethereal together in their similarity. 

“I hate to break this to you, but…I do believe it is simply cream upon cream,” you say with a small smile gracing your lips. “What ever is there for me to even give my opinion on?” 

“It’s called monochrome, my dear.” Astarion gives you a look of affectionate exasperation before continuing, “Despite what everyone seems to think, I am capable of subtlety when the occasion permits.” You briefly turn to look at him, an elegant eyebrow arching in amusement. 

He rolls his eyes and scoffs slightly before murmuring, “Certainly those pretty eyes of yours can see the differences despite the similarity of color?”

Sure enough, upon further inspection you could pick out the slightest hint of metallic gold threaded throughout the creamy colored delicate flowers and surrounding vines, the only detail differentiating the colors from one another. The subtle shine of the golden threads were mesmerizing to follow with your eyes, the candlelight bouncing off of them creating fiery highlights on the raised embroidery. Like everything Astarion touched, it was undeniably beautiful.

“I suppose it looks decent.” You tease, pressing your chest further into his arm while your attention shifts to the elegant planes of his face. He was simply so easy to admire, the way his hair always seemed to fall so perfectly into place, his mouth held soft in concentration looked so inviting.

A noise of protest leaves his lips at the mere thought his creation was only ‘decent’, and you can’t help but laugh at the reaction while leaning in to press a soft kiss to his pale cheek.

“It must be so hard to have such artistic merit, Astarion. I’m afraid such a talentless individual as myself can’t fully appreciate such craft and workmanship.” You playfully lean your body back and throw a hand up your forehead in mock distress, earning a short laugh from him. 

“Despite such questionable opinions, you are far my talentless, my dear.” Astarion sets aside the hoop and needle to the far edge of the worktable and turns in his chair, settling his full attention on you.

“In fact, I would be more than willing to remind you of the several of the talents you possess.”

Slowly, he draws his eyes from your features to glance down at the twin pinprick scars decorating your neck before slowly continuing lower to finally rest on a spot above your breasts. He brings his fingertips to brush lightly against the skin, pressing against the delicate lace trim of the neckline, sweeping slowly and softly back and forth against the swells. He watches the sudden intake of your breath with interest before his eyes glide up to meet your own again. 

A slow, feline smile graces his lips. “Such a distraction, dearest. Especially when you press these lovely breasts of yours into me.” 

You match his smile with a sly one of your own.

“Can you blame me?” You give a half-hearted shrug, hardly caring that you had been caught in your so-called crime. “It’s quite hard to not want to be close to such a beautiful individual like yourself.”

“Ah yes, there it is. Talent number one: flattery.” 

He moves the hand tracing patterns against your skin upward, glancing touches against your neck, before curling his fingers underneath your chin to bring your face closer to his own. 

You knew he could easily see the effects of his relatively innocent ministrations, could view the inevitable pink beginning to decorate your cheeks. 

Could smell it in the blood beginning to race through your veins. 

Astarion had always known exactly what to say made you breathless and had never held back on using that knowledge to his advantage to make you weak to his whims. 

“Now be a good girl and take a seat.” His voice is low, hungry; he leans forward and both his hands find your waist and pull. 

You feel your body relax easily into his touch, letting him smooth your skirts out of the way as he brings you towards his waiting lap. Your hips instantly connect together, fabric the only barrier between you. You feel a telltale twitch beneath you, signaling his pleasure at the slight friction created by the connection and your hips grind against his own instinctually, the friction and pressure adding to the growing warmth deep in your belly. 

Astarion leans forward, connecting his mouth with your own in a scalding kiss, moaning into your mouth as his hips roll against your own, his growing erection pressing closer to your covered center. 

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pull yourself even closer to him as your hands card through the silver curls sitting at the back of his neck. Opening your mouth, you lick against his lips hoping he will open them for you. Astarion obliges, meeting your tongue halfway. 

Your tongue brushes against a sensitive fang, drawing another moan out of him and he slowly pulls away from the kiss, lightly nipping at your bottom lip as he leaves before moving to press small, sweet kisses across your jaw. 

“Would you indulge me a snack, dearest?” He presses a quick kiss followed by a small lick to the skin behind your ear, sending a shiver of pleasure down your skin.

“I suppose I could be convinced…” Breathy sighs fall from your lips as he peppers kisses down the elegant column of your neck. “Quite easily perhaps, too.”

“Will you give me a small taste, my dear?” he mouths the words against your skin, lips hot.

Your eyes fall closed at his kisses. “You know you don’t even have to ask to have my blood. I give it to you, freely, and I always will.” With a tilt of your head you grant him more access to continue his search.

“I don’t deserve you.” “Absolutely false. You deserve everything.” The words roll off your tongue with quick ease, certain you’ve never spoken truer words.

As Astarion moves the straps of your dress aside to hang off your shoulders and free the expanse of your neck and collar he finds the spot he had been looking for, laving the area with his tongue briefly before he bites down.

A split second of burning heat as his fangs dig into the flesh of your neck with as much delicacy as he can manage before he finally begins to suck, the pull of the blood leaving your body as he drinks brings a decidedly indecent moan to your lips, the heat of your core growing wetter with every draw of his mouth.

As Astarion drinks in your lifeblood in slow gulps, you feel his hands moving to the neckline of your dress and he grabs at it, pulling the fabric down across your chest, exposing more and more of you with every pull of the fabric. You had forgone a corset today in an attempt at comfort in an unending battle against humidity, trusting the bodice of your dress to instead keep your (somewhat questionable) modesty in tact. 

The rush of cold air combined with the sudden brush of his chilled hands against your breasts as he lets the dress fall to hang freely around your waist draws a surprised gasp from your lips. You move your arms out of the straps before burying them again in his silver locks.

He quickly brings a free hand up to grasp a breast, brushing his thumb over a newly hardened nipple. Extricating his fangs from your neck, his tongue moves to lick up the blood tracing down from the wound, not letting a single drop go to waste.  

“Such a delightful little treat,” he murmurs against your skin, lips brushing with every movement as your hips grind downward against his growing erection in slow rolls. 

His lips move further down your chest, no longer following the trail of fresh blood but that of the blood in your veins leading to your heart. 

Astarion presses a chaste kiss over the place where your heart beats, your back arching with the movement of his lips as he moves lower to capture a hardened peak. A soft cry at the touch of his mouth falls from your lips, the motion of his tongue drawing circles around the bud sending a flash of heat straight to your core. 

He laves at the bud, alternating licks and soft bites in a bid to stoke the fire inside you even higher, his free hand coming up to massage its twin with delicate motions.

Astarion cants his hips up into yours as he sucks hard at your breast, his prominent erection pressing into your growing wetness before his mouth moves to your other breast, continuing his ministrations.

“Astarion, please, I need more.” You whine, attempting to press harder against his erection in hopes the touch will grant a reprieve from the building heat between your thighs.

“As you wish, my love.” He grants your request with a whisper, his hands falling on your thighs to support you as he moves to stand, bringing you with him. Chair pushing back with the movement, he places you on the desk in front of him as his hips spread your thighs. 

Desperate to keep the connection between the two of your bodies, Astarion stands between your legs, pressing close. His hands skate up your body to land on your cheeks, tilting your face to look up at his own as a thumb brushes absentmindedly against your bottom lip. He leans down to press his lips to your forehead, your eyes, cheeks, nose, and finally your lips. 

“Lay back, love,” His words are a whisper as one hand makes it way from your cheek to rest on the back of your head. “It’s alright, I’ve got you.”

His eyes never leave your own as your body relaxes, trusting him, and he leans you back onto the tabletop with care until your body meets the wood. 

Barely breathing, you watch as his hands made their way teasingly downwards, skating over your bared breasts to find the skirt of your dress, moving to push the thin fabric tantalizingly up your thighs to settle around your waist and out of the way. Astarion’s eyes settle upon a tiny, lacy pair of panties, the fabric the only thing keeping you from being completely bared to him. 

“You’re just utterly shameless, aren’t you?’ He tsks, “Seducing me away from my work like this.” Astarion’s eyes rove your form laying beneath him in reverence, the silken strands of your hair spread like a halo around your face and your dress a mess around your waist.

He was so beautiful it made your heart feel like it was going to beat out of your chest. 

With bated breath, you raise a hand to draw your fingers softly over his cheek, capturing his attention. 

“Promise me that you will tell me if this gets to be too much for you,” Your eyes meet his as you watch his expression fill with sudden affection at your request. 

“What a sweet thing you are,” Astarion brings a hand to cover the one you had placed over his cheek. “Thank you for always taking care of me so.” With a small movement, he turns his head to bring his lips to press against your palm. 

“I promise you that anything and everything I do with you is my choice.” Astarion moves the hand that covers yours to flit down your body, teasing touches over your peaked nipples, down your belly, before brushing against the line of your underwear. A sudden intake of breath escapes your lungs as he watches your stomach jump with the touch. 

A smirk graces his face as he moves those same fingers lower, brushing lightly against the gusset of your underwear before pressing harder against the growing damp of the lace. His touch creates a sweet friction, your wetness mixed with the texture of the lace and the pressure of his fingers drawing a soft moan from you.

You whine as his fingers pull your underwear to the side, Astarion moving to slide his fingertips up and down your exposed slit, spreading your wetness. He makes teasing passes around the small pearl that rests above; close but never quite touching where you need him, your arousal aiding the smooth glide of his motions.

“I’ve barely touched you and you’re already this wet for me, darling?”

“You know I always aim to please.”  The words are hard won but you manage to  give him a haughty smile nonetheless, trying to maintain the last shred of willpower you have left to pretend to be unaffected.

He moves to pump a finger shallowly inside you, not nearly deep enough to provide any relief. You gasp at feeling, attempting to roll your hips in hopes to bring his finger deeper. But just as quickly as he enters he leaves, eliciting a noise of frustration from you.

“Patience, patience.” He tuts, hands moving to your hips to tug at the lace resting over them. He yanks at the fabric, and you raise you bottom to aid him in finally removing them. Astarion pockets the pair with a smug look as his hands move to spread your thighs further apart.

With every push of your thighs Astarion bares you to him, your arousal glistening against your center in the low light.

“You know, dearest, I think I would maybe like to have a taste of something else as well.” You feel your cunt clench at the prospect, adding to the building heat deep inside you. 

“Consider me at your mercy, then.” A smirk from him at your blessing as he slowly lowers himself to his knees before your spread legs.

Astarion is supplicant before you as he rests his head on your upper thigh, unfairly close to where you want him most. Your hips jump in anticipation as he begins pressing tantalizingly soft kisses into the crease where your hip meets your thigh.

You feel his fingers touch you finally, delicately spreading your folds as he watches your most intimate place open for him. His thumb comes to rest against your clit, rubbing lightly at the small bud and you release a contented hum at the warmth of the pleasure inside your body growing with the movement of his fingers.

Your eyes fall shut at the sheer relief of his attention, his expertise in knowing exactly how and where to touch to drive you wild drawing a moan from you. Your hand falls from its place in his hair to land beside your head, jostling errant sewing supplies from their resting place next to you.

“Careful, darling. Watch those lovely hands of yours to not catch on a needle. I would so hate for you to bleed so needlessly.” A roguish smile alights his lips as he lowers his mouth to lick a slow stripe up your center, intent to collect as much of your wetness on his tongue as he can.

Your hand immediately finds its way back to his hair, gripping his silver curls mindlessly as he begins to work his tongue up and down your center, tracing patterns against your sex as he goes.

His tongue moves to finally circle your clit with small movements, intent to drive your pleasure higher and higher with every pass. His mouth moves lower, licking across your folds as he finds your entrance, tracing around it with agonizingly slow motions.

Astarion is quick to move a hand to rest over your belly as your hips jut up, applying soft pressure as he grows bold in his motions and his tongue moves to push inside of you. Your grip on his curls grows harder with every thrust of his tongue inside your body, head thrown back and moans growing louder as he brings you closer and closer to completion.

The hand resting on your stomach moves to press lightly at your clit, once again resuming the small circles round and around as his tongue continues its exploration deep in your core, eating you out with fervor. 

Astarion continues to lave inside you, his soft tongue whorling against your walls as his fingers expertly work your clit in tandem with your cries as your hips ride his face, thighs shaking as your orgasm barrels towards you. 

And it’s just like that when you cry out and finally come, his tongue moving deep inside as his finger strums your clit with practiced motions and the feeling is white-hot as you plunge into your ecstasy. He licks up your come greedily, tongue never stopping its endeavor as you ride the wave of your orgasm, breathy cries leaving your lips and hips rolling until your body finally relaxes. 

Shaking in the aftermath of your orgasm, your hand falls from Astarion’s hair to rest over your eyes as your breathing begins to even out and you finally come down from the high, Astarion cleaning up your cum until you can take it no longer, hips jerking in overstimulation away from his mouth.

Astarion places a light kiss over your clit before raising up from his knees back to his full height, your slick glistening on his chin and lips in the light of the candles as his still clothed cock brushes against your empty center.

Astarion leans forward, arms caging your head as he leans down to nuzzle your cheek whispering ardent words, “Out of all the beautiful things in this room, you are by far the most gorgeous.”

His admission momentarily stuns you. Astarion had never been shy in his admirations of your beauty and while you had grown more used to them during your time together he still managed to catch you off guard with such compliments from time to time.

“Can I please touch you? Taste you?” You pant, desperation coloring your words in the wake of his earlier admission as you begin to push yourself up onto your elbows. Astarion’s hand comes down and gently presses on your chest instead, and you lower yourself back down at the gentle command in the gleaming red of his eyes. 

“You can put that clever mouth of yours to use later, my dear. I have other plans for you, I think.” His eye rove your features before pressing his mouth upon yours in a fevered kiss, his tongue licking against your lips asking for entry. You can taste the essence of yourself on his lips and groan at the taste, opening yours to tangle his tongue with your own.

Astarion deepens the kiss as his hands find your own and grasping them gently, he brings them down his body to rest upon his still-clothed cock. 

“You said you wanted to touch. Indulge me, lover.” His lips never leave your own as he speaks the words, tongue sneaking out to lick at your bottom lip.

Your hands spring to action immediately to palm his cock through his leather pants before you find the laces holding him and undo them with deft fingers familiar with the task.

Astarion’s thick cock springs free of the confines of the pants and your fingers find the beads of precum decorating the tip and spread the wetness down his length. your fingers glide from top to bottom in smooth motions over the veined velvet of him, his essence aiding your ministrations as his mouth falls open from the sheer indulgence of your touch. His head falls heavily onto your shoulder and his lips move over the spot he fed from earlier, kissing and licking the area as your hands work him closer to closer to the edge. 

Lifting a hand from him you bring your fingers to your own wetness, drawing your fingertips through your slick before pumping two of them inside yourself in an imitation of his own motions earlier as you moan at the feeling.

Astarion glances down to see your fingers buried in your own cunt, the sight making him go impossibly harder as he watches you briefly pleasure the both of you. With a whine, your fingers leave your body to return to Astarion, a mixture of your arousal and come coating your fingers as your spread it onto his waiting cock, increasing your rhythm to rub him faster.

“Gods Above, you really are something else.” His pupils are blown out in lust as he groans at both the sight and feel of your hands working his shaft, one hand massaging the crown of his cock while the other works him closer to the base in quick motions.

A wicked thought strikes your mind, and you almost feel badly for even entertaining the idea. Almost.

You can feel his breath fanning your neck with every pass of your hands, his moans growing more unrestrained as your ministrations draw him to edge of completion. Without warning you withdraw your hands from his weeping cock, cruelly denying him the climax he was so close to.

Astarion’s head flies up from where it rests on your shoulder as a noise of disbelief leaves his lips and he shoots you a look of pure shock. The knowledge you caught him so unaware has you riding another kind of high, one you rarely had the privilege of reveling in.

“You little minx! Who knew you were capable of such cruelty. You’re going to pay for that, you know.”

Mischief settles on your features. “Maybe that was the goal.”

“Ask and you shall receive, little love. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” His lips curve with a devilish grin, eyes glinting in the candlelight as his hands move to grip your waist, fingertips pressing hard into the soft skin.

“How should I make you pay for it, then?” He muses. “Should I shove my cock into that tight, sweet cunt of yours and fuck you so hard you won’t be able to stand? Or maybe I should make good use of that wicked little mouth of yours and fill it instead?”

His darkening eyes bore into your own, your cheeks heating at his suggestions as you shift under his contemplation.

“You do look quite beautiful like that, you know. Mouth stretched around me as I fuck your throat. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” You give an enthusiastic nod at the prospect, excited for whatever punishment he deems appropriate to hand out.

Without warning, you feel the hands upon your waist move to lift you up and flip you over, your stomach making contact with the table as your bare breasts press tight against the wood grain. His hand comes to rest in the center of your back, pushing you further into the surface. You move your head to rest your cheek upon the table, the coolness of the wood a welcome sensation to the quickly rebuilding heat inside you as your eyes glance up to meet his own in curiosity. 

“Too bad. I have another idea instead.” His voice is deep with promise.

Such trouble you had gotten yourself into, it seems. 

Cool hands move from your back to the forgotten skirt of your dress to flip it upward to rest around your waist once more, exposing your ass and glistening center to the warm air. 

Astarion brings his hand down hard against one of your cheeks, the sharpness of the spank making you cry out as surprise and pleasure mingle into one. He rubs the growing red mark left on your skin before bending down to press a his lips to it, soothing the area with barely-there kisses. 

He brings both hands to your ass now, rubbing soothing circles over the area before moving to pull your rear cheeks apart, allowing Astarion to see absolutely everything.

A wave of embarrassment hits you to be put on such display for his vision despite his knowledge of your body, and you fidget slightly under his intent gaze of your most intimate areas. 

“Astarion…” you let out a moan and he is quick to shush you as he moves a hand off your asscheek to brush his thumb in light circles over your asshole. 

“Maybe I should take you here instead, I know how much you love when I play with your pretty ass.” His voice is deep, eyes impossibly dark. 

“Oh fuck,” His words draw a ragged moan from your lips at the mere thought, setting your neglected pussy on fire with need.

“Prove to me you can be a good girl.” His thumb applies soft pressure before it leaves you to be replaced by his lips. He presses a soft kiss to the tight hole before kissing downwards and licking deep into your cunt without warning, lapping at your waiting wetness.

“Gods, Astarion…” your hips press backwards towards his waiting mouth. “Whatever you want, wherever you want, my love. I’ll do anything. I just want you inside of me.” Your voice is hoarse with need, no longer caring to win this little game you had started.

You feel Astarion’s mouth leave your pussy and whine at the loss, but he is quick replace your empty cunt with two of his elegant fingers instead, sliding them in and out at slow, measured pace. 

“Do you think I should let you come one more time before I fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk properly?” You are helpless to do anything other than nod your head in insistence, hoping he won’t rob you of your orgasm the way you had done to him. “I don’t know if you deserve it yet.”

Astarion slowly pulls his fingers out of your body only to add a third finger on the plunge back in, drawing a cry from your lips at the sudden fullness. 

His fingers push deep and curl inside of you pressing against that special spot over and over again, driving you to new heights as the lightest veil of tears begins to dust your lashes at the sheer bliss of the feeling.

Noticing the tears, you feel Astarion immediately stop his ministrations and lean over your back to look into your eyes with concern, a noise of protest at the lack of motion falls from your mouth as his fingers slowly leave your body to rest on your hip, brushing calming circles on your skin.

“Is this too much, love?” Any trace of his teasing dominance is gone from his voice as he speaks the words to you clearly, looking intently for any indication you needed him to step back from the scene the two of you had created. “We can stop, darling, if you need to. I don’t want you to push yourself too far to please me.”

You smile at genuine concern evident on his face, blinking away the sheen of tears. 

Pushing your hips back into him with as much motion as you can manage in your prone position against the table, you lean your body up in hopes to press a kiss to his lips. Astarion leans in, mouth quick to meet you halfway in a kiss as his spare hand moves to cup your cheek.

“The only thing you are pushing is my patience, love. Please don’t stop.” You beg, hoping he will acquiesce to your desire to continue as you lower your body back down onto the table. “The only thing I want in this moment is to come so hard I can’t think straight and then to have that beautiful cock of yours inside of me in whatever way you wish to give it to me.”

“Insatiable. Who taught you such language?” His body follows yours down, back pressing against your own as his lips brush against yours as he speaks the words, the concern leaving his eyes replaced with mounting desire.

“Believe me, there is nothing I want more than to be buried deep inside you,” The hand on your hip makes its way back towards your center. “Make me the same promise I made you earlier.”

The words come to your mouth effortlessly.

“I promise you that anything and everything I do with you is my choice.” You recite the words softly, with ease. 

Quieter now, you whisper. “I trust you, Astarion.”

You know how much your words and trust mean to him, can see it in his unguarded expression. Astarion didn’t put much trust in the Gods, but he would never stop thanking whichever one it was that brought your paths together. His fingers gently graze your pussy, ringing around your entrance with soft, teasing touches.

“I love you.” Astarion says before pressing his lips firmly to your own, those same three fingers finally slipping back inside.

Astarion renews the pace of his fingers right away, pressing and curling with precise motions meant to bring you to the brink.

You give into the sensation of every movement of his fingers, mouth open and eyes falling shut at the feeling and it’s not long before he has you once again close to your orgasm. 

“Please, don’t stop,” you whimper as your thighs begin to shake.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Astarion brings his other hand down your body to brush lightly against your clit. He sounds as lost in desire as you feel. “Want to feel you come on my hand. Can you do that for me, sweet thing?”

His words have you clenching hard on his fingers, the pressure of them against your insides combined with the fingers of his other hand brushing light, concentric circles over your clit have you coming within moments of his request.

“Such a good girl to give me what I want so easily.” You barely hear the words that fall from his lips through the haze of your ongoing orgasm, the feeling of his breath on the skin of your ear serving to only enhancing the moment.

Your body spasms around his fingers and cries of ecstasy fall from your lips as he continues, working you through your orgasm while his lips press soothing kisses anywhere his lips can reach—your face, your neck, the tip of your ear. 

“That’s it. You always look so beautiful when you come for me.”

Slowly, finally you feel your body begin to relax through the haze of your orgasm. Your mind comes back to you and you release a small laugh as your breath starts to even out, feeling him leave your body. Without breaking eye contact, he brings the fingers that had filled you so deeply to his mouth and licks them clean. The sight of it sends a wave of heat right back to your cunt, a shudder of anticipation running through you.

“I think you already succeeded in your wish to make me unable to stand.” You pant.

“And to think I haven’t even fucked you yet.” His cock is hard as his eyes scan your form from the flesh of your core to the flush of your cheeks, your eyes glassy with a haze of lust.

“I think I want to fuck you just like this.” He whispers into your ear as his hands run soothingly over your back. “I like you this, on display as you wait for me.” You desperately attempt to push your hips back to brush against his uncovered cock, looking for any bit of friction.

You watch him from your place on the table, the lithe way his body moves as he takes off his luxurious silk shirt to expose his chest.

His beauty was almost otherworldly as the dancing candlelight illuminates the carved marble of his skin, light and shadow creating a moving chiaroscuro upon the planes of his body.

He looked like a god.

“You are so beautiful.” Your words are a mere whisper as he moves his thick cock to finally brush against your center, slicking himself in your spend as the tip catches against your clit, drawing twin moans from you both.

Grabbing your hips, Astarion positions himself at your entrance and begins to slowly push inside, so familiar with your body he barely needs to guide his cock.

His head drops to press a kiss to your shoulder before righting himself again, hissing in pleasure at the feeling of your walls closing around him as he slides in, your wetness aiding him as he bottoms out and his hips press hard against your own. 

Low moans escape you at the sheer feeling of his cock stretching and sliding home and your hands move grasp for purchase on the desk as he slowly begins to rock back and forth. 

“If only you could see yourself now,” His voice is deep as he watches himself pull his cock out of your body almost completely, only the head left resting shallowly inside you before pushing forward with a hard thrust, hitting a place so deep you let out a ragged cry at the feeling.

“Gods, Astarion, just like that.” He fucks you hard, the force of his thrusts pushing you back and forth with small motions, breasts pressing hard against the wood of the table as one of your hands finds his own still holding your hips. You grab at his wrist in hopes he will take it, needing to touch more of him. Sensing your need Astarion takes your hand, bringing it to his lips to press a soft kiss on the back of it before resting your joined hands on your lower back. 

“No one takes my cock like you,” He pants through his thrusting. “You were made for me, weren’t you?” 

Supplications fall from his lips as he moves in and out of your body, showering you with worship as if you were his own private deity. His words further kindle the rising flame inside your belly, every touch of his cock against your walls serving to push you closer and closer to your third orgasm. 

“Only you,” you pant, hips canting back into his own to match the rhythm of his thrusts. “No one else.”

You feel so incredibly full with your body positioned like this, every movement of his cock has him pressing hard against your sweet spot, the feeling like heaven as cries fall from your lips.

“I love how wet you get for me, darling,” Astarion can feel you tighten around him as you grow nearer to your orgasm, your body trembling and cunt pulsing with pleasure as your hips drive back into his own. The feeling of you so close to your orgasm has hips losing their rhythm, his eagerness at the two of you reaching your end together driving him to move harder with every press inside you.

You love seeing him, feeling him like this. His hips finally moving with wild abandon, chasing pure instinct as he moves fast and deep inside your body. A hand comes up to settle in your unbound hair, softly gripping the silk-like strands in his fingers and in his passion he pulls softly, the motion lifting your head. His lips lower to your ear as his back presses fully against your own, the feeling of his cock moving even deeper inside you unmatched. Between his chest against your back and his cock moving so deep he was practically rutting inside, you were almost certain your cunt had never felt so full. Breathless whimpers escape your mouth at the feeling, eyes closing in complete ecstasy as the sound of his own moans against your ear leaves your cunt clenching hard as he hits your g-spot over and over again with each deep thrust.

“Beg for it. Beg for me to let you cum.”

And beg you do.

“Please, Astarion!” A chorus of pleas rise from your throat voicing your desperation as his tongue licks the shell of your ear, the hand in your hair tightening slightly with every word and moan that falls from your lips. 

You can barely think as you feel your orgasm careen towards you, unintelligible in your words as you lose yourself in the feeling of your bodies. Astarion’s cock hits that deep inside spot at your front wall once more, and you finally let go, orgasm taking over your body, stars behind your eyes in all-consuming pleasure. You recognize Astarion nearing his own end, his hips rutting into yours as you ride out your orgasm on his cock, cunt squeezing him in a vice. He comes with a drawn-out moan as he paints your insides with his cum, hips shuttering until his thrusts slow down.

Astarion stays inside you, cock softening as he rubs his hands up and down your sides as you both come down from your high, his cold cheek pressed against your shoulder. With deep breaths you take air so heavy and sweet with your shared lust into your lungs, the weight of Astarion on your back an anchor to the world.

With one final pump Astarion pulls himself from your body, watching as your empty cunt weeps with a mixture of his and your own cum. Before he can stop himself, he reaches two fingers up to catch the cum on his fingertips, gently pushing it back inside you before it can fall out onto the table resting below your hips. 

“Wouldn’t want you to waste a single drop, my love.”

You whine and buck your hips, overstimulated after coming so many times in a row. With one last press of his fingers, he leaves your cunt, leaning forward to place a kiss on the small of your back.

Astarion grabs a discarded piece of silk off the table beside your head and he gently wipes at the mess that threatens to leave your body before cleaning his own spent cock. As your breathing returns to its normal pace, you push yourself up slightly. 

“Silk. Really, Astarion?”

“Only the best for you, my love.” Astarion is quick to help you off the table, steadying you as you sway slightly after being in the same position for so long. He presses a kiss to your lips as he helps pull your dress back up over your breasts and into place. 

“I would ask if I was too rough, but I know you better than that.” His remark makes you laugh as you lean into him, throwing your arms around his neck with a wide smile.

“You know, I think I’m missing a tiny piece of my clothing,” Your eyebrows raise as you gesture to his pocket where a tiny piece of darkened lace sticks out from. "You wouldn’t happen to know where it is, would you?”

“Why bother?” Astarion gives a casual shrug as he waves off your query. “I’m just going to take them off of you again when we get home.” 

He stuffs the underwear in question deeper into his pocket, patting it securely before flashing you a crafty smile.

“After all, I haven’t even had my dinner yet.” He leans in, setting your heart aflame with a passionate kiss before grabbing your hand to lead you out the door and into the waiting night.

[tlouadditc]

take care of you.

warnings: smut [MEN AND MINORS DNI!], kinda gross desc of injury, ellies a pervert LMAOOO, small argument. ??, lowkey rushed but idc, slight choking mention, filthy mouth ellie ™️, scissoring, no official dynamic?? idk

its the last couple of hours in your small infirmary. its dark and muggy, but finally quiet. your shirt, slightly unbuttoned, and sleeves rolled to the top of your forearms as you work through the thick air. the patrols had been getting attacked all day, and god, you never thought the day would end.. but here you were, putting the last couple of boxes of gauze.

suddenly, you hear footsteps, and a faint male voice. "c'mon, we're almost there," the voice says. the voice is accompanied by a slight pained groan. the door busts open, a limping auburn woman gripping onto a tall, young man. you immediately recognize the two: jesse and ellie, your best friends.

"hey," jesses breathes, setting ellie onto the tile floor. there's scuffs all over him, a small cut sitting next to his eye. "ellie was- huff- she got stabbed in her calf," he explains. ellie wriggles in pain, face scrunched up as she sinks into the floor. "she'll fuckin' bleed out if she doesn't get something. i really have to go but please, please take care of her. i know you're supposed to be leaving right now but everyone else is gone."

you sigh heavily before reluctantly nodding. "thank you, y/n." he looks back at ellie, "hey, take care. i'll see you later."

jesse leaves, door frantically slamming behind him. you set the bed again, a protective sheet laying against the firm mattress. you walk over to where ellie resides, a sympathetic expression written on your face. "c'mon, tough girl," you say, kneeling down and throwing your arm across your shoulders. "let's get you onto the bed."

she hisses in pain as she rises and lays her weight onto you. it's only a few steps before she's plopped onto the bed, crawling to the top to lay her head on the pillow. as she lays back, you see the blood seeping through her jeans. theres a dark, soaked hole where the knife went through on her right calf. you speak as you don your gloves; "this is gonna hurt but i just need to see how bad it is, m'kay?"

she nods, breath getting jagged as you push her jeans up to her knee. the sight is horrendous; it's almost as if her calf got ripped open. the blood is still seeping out of the medium sized gash. if the knife would've went any deeper, she would've died of blood loss. "my god," you whisper, still assessing the damage.

"is it that bad?" she asks, arms above her head.

"i-" you sigh and gather your thoughts. "it's bad, yeah, but with a few stitches, you'll be back in no time."

she sighs with relief. you start gathering materials and your gear. "gonna need you to either pull your pants above your calf or take them off completely," you say, focusing on getting the materials. while getting the needle ready, you hear ellie's shirt hit the floor. when you turn around, she's left in her black sports bra. her chest moves up and down as she heavily breathes.

"hot as hell in here," she explains, a slight chuckle following the statement. she attempts to take her pants off, stopping right above the gash. you help her completely remove them and leave her in only her sports bra and boxers. the sight alone has a pool left in your bottoms.

you breathlessly giggle, "i agree. they need to get that AC running."

you lay all the materials next to her, "just a warning, this is gonna hurt, okay?" she nods, grabbing the pillow from behind her head and placing it between the grip of her two toned arms. she bites the pillow, in case she needs to muffle her sounds.

as you slowly thread the needle through her skin, a groan fills the room. "s-sorry," she apologizes. you go through the other side of the gash, running the thread through her skin. a string of curses leave her mouth as you continue, sometimes even a moan escaping her lips. you try to keep a composed demeanor as you finish off, attempting to ignore the second heartbeat in your pants.

as you wrap the protective layers of gauze around the stitched skin, she whispers, "sorry for all this," she chuckles, sitting up. "it's okay," you respond. you're starting to put your materials back in the low cabinets of your room, bending over as you push a box to the back. you look back to grab another box, but instead, you catch ellie eyeing your ass. she tries to look away, but you're too fast. confused, you act like you didn't see anything.

after you're done cleaning, you let her know she'll need to stay off her right leg until she's completely healed and use crutches. "i think they already packed them up, so you can get them tomorrow."

an annoyed groan leaves her throat, "seriously?"

"sorry! you came in when literally everyone but me left."

she turns over, grabbing her shirt off the floor. "are you sure i can't just go home right now?"

"ellie."

she huffs again, now staring up at the ceiling. "can you at least take me home with you? i cannot stay here."

her frustration is apparent, her face heating up with anger with every second passing. somehow, even in the worse circumstance, she looks so.. flawless. her heavy breathing from the thick air and the sweat slowly dripping down her freckled skin only draw you in more and more.

"uh.. y/n?"

you realize you've been checking her out. not only that, but you haven't listened to a THING she's said. you attempt to recall what she's said, or at least find an excuse to why you were checking her out.

you clear your throat, "sorry, i, uh.. yeah, you can stay with me tonight."

"we're not passing the fact you were just eyeing me."

your face heats up, a wave of sheer embarrassment washing over you. as you turn away from her, you mumble, "like you weren't doing the same," only loud enough for you to hear. or so you thought.

"i'm sorry, what was that? speak up."

you don't know if it's the longevity of the day or the heat, but you're fed up. you spit back, "i saw you staring at my ass, ellie. i'm not fuckin' stupid."

her confident demeanor fades. it's almost as if she's shrunken down, small below you. "not so tough now, hm?" you tease.

she attempts to get up, but before she can place another foot down, you slightly push her back onto the bed. "uh-uh," you warn, "you can't walk on that. and you're not leaving this conversation."

"what the fuck is your deal?" she hisses, moving your hand off her shoulder. "i can limp home at this point. you're pissing me the fuck off."

"oh, you were just asking to stay with me, though? and you have some goddamn nerve to be mad at me when i just took my time and care to help you!" you and ellie are barely inches apart now, her hot breath fanning across your heated face.

ellie's eyes soften, searching yours. you do the same, and before you know it, your lips are on hers. soft and supple, the kiss says everything you both want to. she whimpers, like she's been yearning for this since forever. both of you explore each others bodies with your hands, ellie's cold hands caressing your tits under your shirt. she breaks the kiss, panting, smiling at your breathlessness.

"so much for being mad at me," she taunts. you smile, "shut up." looking at her boxers, a slight glistening shines underneath the overhead light. she follows your gaze, slightly blushing at how turned on she is. you say nothing, only running your middle finger across her slit as she gasps. her legs spread a bit, the damp crotch now exposed. "fuck," she whispers, now slightly humping your palm. so desperate, you think.

------------------------------------------------------------

before you know it, both of you sit in your room, naked and sweating. you straddle between ellie's open legs, cunt to cunt. wet, squelches and moans fill the room, bouncing off the walls. ellie guides your hips as you hold onto the edge of the bed.

"fuuuck," she moans, fingernails digging into your hips. her eyes are locked in on the rocking of your hips against hers, your folds meeting with hers before moving forward again. her hips buck up, matching your rhythm. small whimpers and sobs leave your mouth. "keep goin', pretty girl, keep making those sounds for me," she coos, heavily breathing.

everything she's whispering to you is downright filthy; she knows how to push your buttons, getting you even wetter with every movement. "yea, grind that little pussy on me, c'mon," she's gripping your ass now, taking complete control over you. your legs shake, hips aching from the repetitive motion. "need you to cum, yes, please," she's begging now, huffing as she moves one hand from your hip to your neck, making your choke a little. "look at me while you bust on me, baby," she's so so so desperate, her eyebrows furrowing over her emerald eyes. your orgasm hits you like a bus, eyes tearing up, your choked moans getting louder and more drawn out. the wetness coats your inner thighs as well as ellie's crotch.

after a while of heavy panting filling the room, you attempt to get up, legs wobbly from your overbearing orgasm. she giggles, "now im not the only one not being able to walk."

"shut up," you laugh.

------------------------------------------------------------

an; heyhey sorry for my fatass hiatus yall i am back i think! anyway hope yall enjoy + sorry anon for no tag i keep forgetting to respond to the asks..

[hazbinfallinginaspiral]

Threadbare

Charlie’s voice is gentle but firm. “Alastor, I need you for a few hours. You promised you’d help.”

I feel Alastor’s hand at the small of my back, his thumb absently rubbing along my stitches there. “Oh, did I now?” He chuckles. “I suppose I did, didn’t I?”

Charlie sighs, exasperated. “Yes, you did. Come on, this is important.”

Alastor turns to me, his smile still in place, but I can feel the shift in his attention, the way it moves away from me and toward whatever Charlie wants from him. My fingers clutch at the fabric of his coat before I can stop myself.

“I’ll be back, my dear,” he soothes, prying my hands off with an ease that makes my stomach sink. “Just a few hours, hm? I trust my sweet poppet can behave without me.”

I nod, but it doesn’t feel real. He leans down, presses a quick kiss to my forehead, and then he’s gone, his voice fading as he and Charlie disappear down the hall.

And then I’m alone.

I try to distract myself. I wander into the hotel’s main lounge, but Husk is too busy counting cards, Vaggie barely acknowledges me, and Angel is in the middle of a phone call. I hover awkwardly, waiting for someone to speak to me, to tell me what to do, to fill the silence—but no one does.

I don’t know what to do with myself.

My limbs feel wrong without his direction, my thoughts too loud and tangled. I clutch at my arms, at the seams along my wrists, trying to steady myself.

I can fix this.

I go to his room. It still smells like him, a mixture of old wood, static, and something darkly sweet. I settle into his chair, pulling one of his coats around my shoulders, inhaling deeply. It helps—a little. But not enough.

The radio is on the nightstand, an old thing with polished dials and a worn speaker. My hands move before I even think, turning the knob until all that comes through is static.

I listen.

The sound is endless, droning, empty. My gaze flickers to the grand clock in the corner, its pendulum swinging back and forth, back and forth.

It reminds me of him.

I breathe in, out. The sound of the radio fuzzes in my ears. The pendulum sways, a metronome for my thoughts, for my body, for my everything.

I let go.

I let the static smooth over my mind, let the pendulum pull me deeper. There’s no need to think, no need to move, no need to do anything. The longer I sit, the lighter I feel, like I’m unspooling at the edges, drifting like a doll left on a high shelf, waiting to be played with again.

I don’t know how long I stay like that.

When the door finally swings open, the sound barely registers. There’s a click as the radio is turned off, a voice breaking through the fog.

“Oh, my darling poppet…”

Alastor.

I blink slowly. I don’t even know when I started crying, but my vision is blurry, my limbs heavy and loose.

He kneels before me, tilting his head as he takes me in. His hands are already at my arms, fingers grazing over my stitches. Some of them have frayed, undone from my earlier distress. Fluffy white stuffing pokes out from my shoulder, from my wrist, from my side where I clutched at myself too hard.

His smile softens, something warm curling behind his eyes. “You really can’t function without me, can you?”

I shake my head. My throat is too tight to speak.

“Oh, my sweet thing.” His voice is syrupy and full of delight. He gathers me up with ease, carrying me across the room to lay me gently on his bed. His fingers are quick and practiced as he takes out his needle and red thread, looping it through the gaps in my fabric, tightening, fixing, mending me.

“You tried so hard, didn’t you?” he murmurs, stitching my shoulder. “All on your own.”

I nod weakly, barely feeling the needle move in and out. His voice is the only thing anchoring me now.

He chuckles, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “Silly little thing. You don’t need to do anything on your own. That’s why I’m here, poppet.”

He finishes the last stitch and smooths down my sleeve. I barely register the moment he wraps the spool of red thread around my wrist, tugging just so—reminding me of who I belong to.

“Much better,” he hums, pulling me into his arms. His chest is warm, solid, safe. “There we go. Just relax, my dear. I’m here now. I won’t leave you again.”

I press my face into his shirt, and for the first time since he left, I breathe.

I melt into him, sinking against the warmth of his chest. His arms tighten around me, and for the first time since he left, the gnawing emptiness inside me stops. My body isn’t too light, my mind isn’t too loud—everything feels just right, just as it should be, because he’s here.

I exhale shakily, nuzzling against him, my fingers curling into the fabric of his vest. “Alastor… can you hum that lullaby for me?”

His hand stills in my hair for just a second before his fingers resume their slow, methodical strokes. Then, a quiet chuckle. “Oh? My dear poppet, you’ve never asked before.”

I hesitate, not sure how to explain. “It’s… I want it. I like when you do it.”

A slow, pleased grin spreads across his face. “Well, well,” he muses, tapping a finger under my chin. “How delightful! My poppet asks to be puppeted! Oh, how far you’ve come.”

His voice is all warmth, all honeyed amusement. Then, without further comment, he begins to hum.

The melody trickles into my mind, a song as familiar as his touch. It slips through the cracks of my thoughts, soothing them into silence. My limbs go lax, my breath evens out. I barely register the way he shifts me, the way his hands smooth over me, brushing my hair into place.

He dolls me up.

I feel the tug of a ribbon being tied, the cool weight of earrings being fastened, the light brush of a powder puff against my cheeks. Then, the familiar pull of red thread, wrapping around my wrists, my ankles, lifting me to my feet.

I sway as he moves me, each step guided, each motion perfectly synchronized to the lullaby as he hums. My body spins, my arms lift like a ballerina on strings. I dance for him, weightless and effortless, carried by his song and his hands and the way he holds me so carefully.

He laughs, delighted, and as he twirls me one final time before pulling me close, I know—this is exactly where I belong.

⸻

A few weeks later, I’m curled in his chair by the fireplace, his coat wrapped around me. It smells like him, and I hug it tighter, content and warm. The crackling of the fire lulls me into a quiet daze, my eyes half-lidded, distant.

Then, a shadow falls over me, and my gaze lifts to meet his.

Alastor grins, hands behind his back. “A gift for you, my dear.”

I sit up, blinking as he pulls a small, elegant box from behind him. The wood is dark and polished, carved with delicate patterns of swirling thread. He places it in my lap, watching me expectantly.

I lift the lid.

Inside, a ballerina twirls to life, spinning gracefully in place. My breath catches—it’s me. The tiny figurine is a perfect sculpted version of myself, posed just as I had been when he made me dance weeks ago.

Then, my eyes flicker to the mirror inside the lid.

I see myself reflected there… but I’m not alone.

Alastor is behind me, his ever-present grin softened, his hands resting on my shoulders. But when I glance back up, he’s still just in front of me, looking pleased.

I shiver, not from fear, but from something else entirely. Comfort. Possession. The knowledge that no matter where I go, he will always be with me.

Nestled inside the box is a spool of red thread, the same kind he uses to fix me, to hold me, to guide me. Beside it, a collection of jewelry—his favorites. Rings, earrings, necklaces, bows—all meant for me, all meant to dress me up.

My fingers hover over them, over the thread, the jewelry, the symbolism of it all. Then, my gaze drifts back up as he presents a small key on a delicate chain.

“This,” he murmurs, fastening it around my neck, “is the key to wind the music box. Our song. It belongs to you.”

I look up at him, speechless.

His grin sharpens. “Only you and I should know the song that puts my little poppet in a trance. And only we should have the power to start it.”

His fingers curl under my chin, tilting my face up to his. “So what do you think, my dear? Do you love it?”

I clutch the key tightly, my heart swelling with warmth, with devotion, with his presence wrapping around me like the red thread in the box.

I smile and hug him tight. “I love it, Alastor.”

[monbons]

WIP Wednesday

Thanks for the tags @artsyunderstudy, @bookishbroadwayandblind, and @bachusekart. It was lovely to get your updates today.

Honestly, I probably shouldn't be posting because I have so little to show for my efforts recently, but I thought perhaps putting out "please cheer me on" vibes into the universe would help motivate me.

STITCHES After what I think is almost three weeks now, I have finally (mostly) finished tooth-fairy Baz, and he is lovely. I just need to add some earrings when they arrive in the mail and then stitch his head on.

I've also cut out all the pieces I need for this Baz's Simon, but I haven't started sewing because my hands have been giving me trouble. So, he's just on hold until it doesn't feel like I'm being stabbed in the wrist whenever I pick up a needle and thread.

SENTENCES In fic news, I have two WIPS currently. The first is a very messy friends to lovers AU with cheerleader Simon and soccer player Baz. My Simons tend to be lovely and sweet and my Bazs are always angsty vampires. Neither is true in this fic, and it's been harder to make progress than I expected as a result. But, here are some sentences anyway, Baz POV talking to Dev.

“Seriously, what did you see?” I strain to peer around him, but nothing seems out of the ordinary. Agatha and Penny are standing next to a couple of milk crates filled with purple and white cheer poms. Trixie is wrestling with the portable speaker—a chunky black cube the squad rolls with them everywhere. Keris has a clipboard and she seems to be taking attendance amidst all the girls I don’t recognize. Then, my eyes finally spot the one anomaly. The one person wildly out of place. Amidst the sea of skirts is a singular boy. A boy with bronze curls and blue eyes and billions of freckles. More freckles than he had the last time I saw him. An impossible number of freckles.

My second WIP, a Dark Rise AU-ish thing, is in the colorful post-its planning stage still. I have a very rough outline of the main plot, but there is an incredible amount of backstory to reveal and I am currently trying to figure out where and how to do so. I think I may need dual timelines and several POVs I've never written before, including the CO adults. Find some Malcolm below.

MALCOLM I wish you could see him, Natasha. Your son. He is bold and brilliant. Top of his class. A fine magician.  The best of you. The best of me.  I tried to protect him. To hide him in plain sight.  I taught him to be cautious. Stoic. Discreet.  I insisted he never reveal the inner workings of his heart. I provided a template for him—a guide he could follow—with my own.  One cannot be vulnerable when one remains indecipherable, Basil. Be unreadable.  Unknowable. Or be undone. He is a magnificent student, Natasha. The very best. He didn’t just learn; he excelled. He kept everyone at arm’s length. (Including me.)  I tried, Nat. I tried.  To keep him healthy. To keep him safe. I failed all the same.

(If you have read C.S. Pacat's Dark Rise series and the unicorn horn scene has been branded into your brain the way it was in mine, then please know that this fic is me attempting an AU just for that scene. The brain rot is SO real.)

Anyway, head pats are appreciated. Hellos and high-fives.

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[ruruumin]

take a bite.

synopsis; in a cold, unforgiving world, there is a semblance of warmth between a meister and weapon.

genres/warnings; soul eater au inspired by @kaiser1ns, fem! reader, implied relationships, blood/violence (multiple fight scenes), angst & comfort, 9.5k words.

⤷ part two.

covered in a thick layer of snow, rin lies on the ground, unmoving as his eyes follow the curvature of the overheard moon. its crooked grin looks down on him, cheeks wide and puffy as if it had just laughed. raising his arm, he drapes it over his face. tonight was colder than usual. fragments of ice litter the surface of his skin, melting alongside the small shimmer of tears that float down the side of his temple. 

for the longest time, he thought he knew his brother. the kind-hearted, blue-colored soul that would buy him popsicles on hot, sunny days came back with a bruised heart. like two sides of the same coin, they were connected. weapon and meister. oldest and youngest. drawn together by blood and the ego to become the best. they were meant to be inseparable.

sae had always been his shield against the cold, unyielding world. someone he could always rely on when he needed it. to rin, he was the only person worthy enough to wield him. and for a weapon, that was all he ever needed. he didn’t want anyone else by his side. no one could hold him like sae did. no one else could understand him like his big brother. everyone and everything was obsolete. 

after sae’s disappearance, it left a large hole in the center of his heart. the pain that came from his absence was indescribable. it was a mixture of something hot and cold, a whirlwind of confusion that left a dull ache to settle at the bottom of his chest. like a migraine, it pounds and knocks upon his skull, beating him down until he was nothing but a crumpled ball. 

his older brother left to complete a special task given to him by death. the reason he had was shallow and dumb, he should have figured it out sooner that he was going to be replaced. sae said it was because the mission was dangerous, and death himself would be giving him a weapon appropriate for the situation. this was just another way of him telling rin: i don’t need you anymore. and while he didn’t understand it at the time, he still held up his head, thinking that his older brother didn’t have a choice, it was death’s decision after all.

when sae came back, he was a hollow shell of what he was before. alongside his sunken cheeks and thinner frame, his tolerance for rin had diminished, with this recent match being his breaking point. sae had realized the world of witches, weapons, and meisters was much bigger than him, and chose to pursue a different path than the one he originally promised. there was something new to be discovered further ahead, and to sae, rin’s stagnant personality was the chain holding them back.

the dream the two brothers shared shattered in an instant. 

left to rot on a coffin made of snow, he exhaled slowly, watching his breath drift across the open sky. his body ached, as if he was getting pricked by thousands of sharp needles. after trying to connect with sae’s wavelength, it left him in a paralyzed state, unable to stand properly. it was as if sae’s soul had ripped him apart, shredded the threads that bonded them, and burned it all to the ground. 

the tips of his fingers were freezing even with his thick, black gloves. additionally, there was a bright throb at the back of his head, the spot below him growing damp as the ice slowly melted. the longer he stayed in this position, the longer he’d stay hypnotized by the moon’s charlatan grin and die helplessly of frostbite. 

“did you get abandoned by your old meister?” a voice called out to him. 

the crunch of freshly fallen snow echoes in his ear. a mysterious figure makes their way closer to them, time ticking down with every step taken. the ground flattens underneath their heels as the world grows quiet. like a conductor and its orchestra, they plunge the stage in absolute silence. and as the audience, rin is left wondering if he should applaud. 

a young woman, not much older than him, stood over his body. dressed in a simple black uniform, she wears a plain skull pendant on the collar of her neck, reminiscent of the man working in the great order. the bottom of her coat was split into two snake-like tails which drag along the ground, creating a smooth trail behind her. despite the frigid winds, she stood comfortably by his side, carving her presence in this storm. 

like death, she is swift and calming. 

she hums, tilting her head carefully. craning to look down on him like a crow, she picks away at his facial expressions, seeing the way his brows furrow in a blend of confusion and awe. only now does he note the subtle scent of almonds whiffing in the air.

“your soul has a beautiful voice,” she said, tucking her left hand into the deep pocket of her overcoat. she crouches to meet his level, “and it’s telling me something.” 

reaching out with her other hand, she holds it against his bangs, slowly brushing it aside as she smiles. the shape creeps between the line of wicked and honest. the kind that will tempt you with a sickening sweet apple, coated in a thick layer of poison. it entices him to take a bite of what shes saying. 

“do you want revenge?”

the question sticks to him like a wadded up gum. 

revenge. that was the right word to describe his fiendish anger: revenge, revenge, revenge. unlike other words, this one was on the tip of his tongue. an idea brought to him not in shining neon lights, but hidden beneath the darkness that lurks in his soul. it scratches against his check. thumping twice before knocking against his ribcage. like an animal, it struggles in the confines of what he could only describe as a weak, pathetic body. 

i have to kill his dreams, it says.

“if you become my weapon, i will grant you any wish in the world.” 

an electric jolt of life pierces through his nerves. 

a truly generous offer. so much so that he found himself nearly drooling at the opportunity to see what her world looks like. would he be there? standing above thousands of bodies, shouting his name as he announces his identity as a death weapon, would he be the one to beat sae? 

he shivers, hardening his gaze as the silver winds blow past his cheek, “what do you want from me?” 

his voice has a slight raspiness to it. his lips felt dry as he continued to watch her slow, deliberate movements. her hand dragged itself down his collarbone to the center of his chest, right where his heart lies. the thump remains, beating hard against his eardrums. it pulsates once, twice, three times, before it presses itself against his skin, threatening to break through the surface like a hand waiting to be held.

in his brother’s four year absence, he wasted his time looking for a replacement meister. in this dog-eat-dog world, he refuses to stay trapped underneath this snow-covered grave. he wants to rise amongst an army of men. he wants to raise his fist up and claim the sun’s life. he wants nothing more than to taste the sweetness of a soul, dipped and coated in a thick layer of revenge and satisfaction.

a beat passes before she answers him.

“i just like souls like you.” 

with that answer in mind, he closes his eyes, letting a turquoise light engulf him.

✦

an aspiring meister stands in front of two large double doors. written above the border was a set of numbers for classrooms. because of his luck, his room was the first one in the hallway. sucking in a deep breath, he tilts his head slightly. behind these barriers lie a new, uncertain future from him. 

at just the thought alone, his palms were starting to grow sweaty and clammy. he slowly looks up, basking in what could be his final moments of childhood. nestled between his fingers was a thin sheet of paper.

in cursive, it reads: welcome to the dwma, isagi yoichi.

isagi puffs up his chest, ready to announce his name to the rest of the world as he pushes the door open. this revealed a large classroom of eight other students, a small group whos heads quickly turned in his direction like chicken. they loiter around the near empty room, shifting their eyes and heads to scan their surroundings. from what he can remember in his acceptance letter, he and a few other talented students were scouted to join a very small class of weapon and meisters for reasons unknown to him.

everyone was dressed differently today. from a man with long, peach-colored hair to a pair wearing checkerboard uniforms, aside from one tall individual with ivy-black hair, isagi stood out like a sore thumb. he awkwardly makes his way to the center, standing stiffly while the doors swing open again. 

a blue-ish green, zombie professor enters. he picks up a chalk stick and begins to carefully write his name on the board, rotating his head like an owl. he introduces himself as ego, a former meister at the dwma academy. although relatively unknown and forgotten by the public, he has deep-rooted ties within the school. as isagi fidgets with the letter between his fingers, he could feel ego’s heavy stare linger on him.

“welcome to the dwma, you lumps of talent.” he says, “this is a place where meisters and weapons become full-fledged hunters and death weapons.” 

continuing, “in this world, there are two sets of people: meisters and weapons. those born as weapons have a unique fighting ability which you’ll channel using a meister.” 

drawing a crude guitar and amp, ego hovers his finger in the air as his dead-fish eye stare scans the classroom, “meisters have very faint soul wavelengths. combined with a weapon, you’ll be able to draw out incredible power from each other. only with the right partner and technique can soul resonance can be achieved.”

“the first course of action is to choose a partner for the year. a few of you might already be partners, but for those newly enrolled, this is your only time to pick.” he taps on the board with the chalk in his hands. from there, he only stands in front of the class, unmoving like a statute as he awaits for the clammer.

immediately, isagi looks around the room once again. the people in his class were starting to chat with each other, determining quickly between weapon and meister. because of the structure and the new year, there wasn’t much to go off of when choosing a partner. the only pair he knew for sure were the two checkerboard students who lazied around in the back. 

he scratches the back of his neck, trying to scout someone he could possibly team up with. 

and while everyone else in the class spoke loudly, two people stood out in the front. it was the tall ivy-haired man from before. he blinks owlishly, completely aloof to the instructor’s directions. lifting his hand, he presses it against the nape of his neck, shifting slightly to produce a soft popping noise from his joint. from isagi’s view, he could make out a silver bracelet on his wrist. 

before he could make his way towards him, isagi found himself stopping in his tracks. beside him was a girl dressed head to toe in black, almost blending into the room. like a crow, her expressions were cold and muted, almost calculative with the way it flickers across the classroom. she floats just slightly off the floor by rolling back and forth on the balls of her feet. her smile soft like cotton, the edges curving perfectly upwards in a gentle arc. 

he already had a partner, isagi thought, i didn’t see her at all. it felt almost unnerving the way he couldn’t feel or sense her soul wavelength in the room. 

when she meets his gaze, he quickly averts it, pretending he never saw her. while shaking his head, he instead starts talking to another man with black and yellow hair. he quickly learns his name: bachira meguru, a twin-scythe weapon with a unique style of fighting and a passion for hunting souls. he was amongst a tiny percentage of new attendees that was accepted into the dwma without a partner, making him the perfect candidate for isagi. 

they started to get along quickly, with the latter wrapping his arms around isagi’s neck as he pulls him in his direction. the way bachira treats isagi reminds him of a friend who’s known him for years, despite only meeting now. his happiness is almost infectious, with the sun seemingly shining brighter when he’s in view. 

during their chipper conversation, another student approaches the pair in the front of the classroom. he reaches over, draping his arms around the woman’s shoulder, patting it with the palm of his hand. he has a devilish grin that perfectly matches the moon. he is hunched over slightly, blond hair with pink dyed tips making him too distinguishable from the less explosive crowd. 

“who would have thought i’d see you again, (name),” he says with a voice borderline seductive and sultry. it sends a shiver down her partner’s spine. the base of his skeleton growing a bit heated as he stares him down. 

with a melodic hum, she replies with the same aloof expression, “good morning, shidou. you’re here as well?” 

“got here all on my own, baby,” he looks over her shoulder, raising his eyebrow at her partner. 

the man finally stands up straight, meeting his gaze. because the two stood at relatively equal heights, it made it easier for him to project a more confident, easy-going suave that kept people on their toes at the academy. this would only irk (name)’s partner as he narrows his eyes. time ticks down like a bomb waiting to explode as they continue glaring at each other.

“is this your new weapon?” shidou pouts, “(name), you sly dog, you move on so quickly.” 

“i have no idea what you’re talking about,” she gives him a closed-eye smile, masking the twitching of her eyelid, “do you like him? his name is rin.” (name) artfully intertwined their fingers together, “he’s been quite the help.” 

“he looks to be mad dogging me right now, do something about it,” shidou tugs her back and forth, shaking her as she stares off into space, subtly dismissing the nuisance. “i haven’t even said anything to him either. your partner needs to be put on a leash if he keeps up with this attitude. are you teaching him any manners?” 

“hmph, piss off, roach.” rin shoves him away from his meister, crinkling his nose at shidou with an icy cold stare.

“sure thing, bottom-lid freak.” 

“antenna-head.”

“spoiled brat.” 

locked in a stalemate, rin seethes. while one takes pleasure in the thick, heavy tension, the other despises it. shidou began scratching the back of his neck, rolling his eyes. it looks like he is holding back an excited chill with the way he presses his lips together.

before rin can say anything else to end the conversation, shidou shuffles to the other side, getting closer to his ear. the hot air on his skin sends an electrifying shiver down rin’s nerves, quickly fueling an unprofound rage within him.

“she was my meister before she was ever yours.” 

✦

running through the tight corridors, isagi narrowly avoids a deadly spread shot to the nape of his neck. he clammers out of the dark halls, the grip on his weapon growing more slippery by the second. as tensions grow thicker, he almost hits his head against one of the brick corners from turning too early. his partner, bachira, warns him about the incoming attack to his left. to which he dodges at the last moment. 

“this job might be a lot harder than we thought,” bachira comments, scanning the surrounding area while isagi continues his sprint, “we bit off more than we can chew, isagi. how are we going to get close to those guys if she has a gun?” 

“i have no idea, but we’re going to find out soon.” 

out of all the jobs they could have taken, they impulsively chose one of the more difficult ones on the board. the kind that was plastered high above the rest of the menial academic tasks. despite being newly admitted dwma students and first time partners, they were too eager to rise up the ranks. 

the original job was for two. bachira ignorantly thought it meant one weapon and meister. however, once they dispatched and saw the size of their opponents, they quickly realized the job meant two pairs: two weapons and two meisters. 

bonnie and clyde, two kishin souls they were sent to capture were slicker than eels. they constantly separated themselves to cover more ground, making it difficult for isagi and bachira to pin one of them down. with bonnie hunting them down with a thick, semi-auto shotgun, clyde used a metal pipe to corner them. 

together, they were swift and keen, careful as to not get caught by amateur meisters. the last thirty minutes have been a cat and mouse game, with isagi being the latter. it was not looking well for his ego but he has no choice but to continue forth with the mission. hoping to any sort of god, they would get through it all. 

the pair were hot on isagi’s trails, blazing through every obstacle with ease. the debris from the shotgun blast causes the surrounding area to become a landslide. isagi’s temple is dripping with sweat as he struggles to catch his breath, trying to come up with a cohesive plan to eliminate the kishins. puzzle pieces are falling in his mind and he can only find the corners.

“we need to kill bonnie first and foremost,” he suggests, jumping back to avoid clyde’s downwards swing. the concrete shatters from the impact. while the kishin looks up, he is surprised to see isagi no where in sight. away from his field of vision, the meister quickly moves off to the side, looking left and right for any signs of the duo before he finally catches a break.

bachira whispers, “good thinking, partner! with her out of the way, we can focus on close-ranged combat.”

from the corner of isagi’s eye, he can see bonnie reeling up from behind. her hand was raised, one finger tight on the trigger. right before she was about to shoot, isagi reels the chain from his weapon, using his and bachira’s combined wavelength to manipulate the silver link to wrap around her gun. they rip the shotgun away, successfully disarming her. using the same tactic, they surround her body in chains, immobilizing her. 

taking in a lowered stance, he rushes forward, squeezing the handle of his twin scythe before taking a quick, confident slash against her neck. isagi smiles sweetly, eyes glistening with momentary victory before realizing a fatal mistake: instead of hearing the melodic hum of a soul, they heard the crashing of metal. at the very last moment, clyde had caught up to him, holding out his bat to take the brunt of isagi’s attack. 

he twists the pipe in his hands, slamming it into isagi’s stomach with a harsh gruff.  in an instant, he is thrown through the window of a store, ramming into several shelves. from the impact he chokes on a thick clot of saliva. having the wind knocked out of him, a loud bom blankets the quiet city. alongside the burning humiliation on his cheeks, there was a hammering pain in the back of his head that was screaming out to him.

blood drips down the side of his temple. a bitter, metallic taste fills his mouth. bachira calls out his name in worry, face reflecting off the scythe, eyes wide with fear. meanwhile, isagi is struggling to keep his head up. his heart was beating right out of his ears. fear and exhaustion rise up on him like a furnace about to burst into flames. underneath his fingers, he felt the cold shiver of bachira, his partner left vulnerable and exposed underneath the gaze of a kishin.

squeezing his eyes shut, he tucks bachira behind him, away from danger. footsteps come tauntingly slow, savoring the seconds to come. this is where our journey ends, he thought to himself, all because of his naivety and ego. he world grows deafeningly quiet when he shivers.

taking in what might be his last breath, he keeps his eyes closed.

however, instead of a sharp, piercing pain, a shot rings out and the voices scatter. 

a minute passes before isagi heard the melodic chime of a soul. opening his eyes, he sees a black, circular smoke ring floating slowly into the air, hovering above a shadowy figure like a halo. alongside the echo of a bullet, a pair of footsteps emerge from beyond the corridor.

“sorry for being late,” a familiar face steps out from the darkness. appearing beneath the luminous moonlight, she slowly smiles. a bright turquoise light erupts from behind, a man materializing beside her. 

blinking slowly, isagi notices its the same person he saw in class earlier that week. when she sways side to side, curiously peering down at his wounds, he would have never expected her to be the meister in the relationship. it wasn’t very common, at least in the area he grew up in. but he’s unable to focus on this thought as she reaches out to his cheek, examining the goosebumps on the surface of his skin.

“you look shaken up.” 

(name) and rin manifested in front of him with the same convenience as an answered prayer. with the pulsating pain in his side, he vaguely remembers them from the shinigami list. out of his small class, they were the closest to achieving death weapon status, having collected the most kishin souls in a year. 

“it must have been scary, being alone like that.”

the ivy-haired weapon cracks his finger before approaching the glittering soul. his smooth, pale hand wraps around the crimson-colored orb, mouth opening wide as swallows the spirit whole. an audible gulp comes from when rin finishes his short meal. his meister, with the same alluding smile, turns to face him.

“that makes this soul number fifty-three.”

rin huffs in response, “we only need forty-seven more to beat sae.”

“you’re getting greedy rin rin, there’s still another soul to collect here.”

his eyebrow twitches at the nickname. disregarding his reaction, (name) raises her finger, tapping the bottom of her chin. she averts her attention back to isagi, “we saw your name on the board the other day. this job is meant for two pairs, you knew that didn’t you?”

with a sigh, isagi wipes the bottom of his lip with his thumb, licking away at the dried blood. his cheeks were still red. whether or not it was out of embarrassment or exhaustion was up for debate. 

“we didn’t realize it until we came here,” he confesses, “but we’re glad to see you here.” 

swallowing, he admits with a sharpened voice, “thank you, (name).” 

she blinks, taken aback by his words. nevertheless, the smile on her face grows a little wider, “you did good, isagi.” 

snapping her fingers, rin dematerializes. his figure envelopes itself in the same radiant blue light as before, twisting twice before returning to her outstretched hand. anticipation starts to rise in isagi’s throat, watching intensely as she raises her arm.

she swiftly rolls a large rifle along her fingers, spinning it a few times before resting him on the edge of her shoulder. he doesn’t know what he was expecting, but isagi found it strangely mesmerizing the way his weapon form took the appearance of a long barrel rifle. equipped with a bayonet, the blade is daunting as it looms over him, similar to a large fang. the base of the gun was a deep, ebony color with white spine-like spikes wrapping around itself, acting as a sort of thorny shield. 

when he spins around (name)’s open hand, its smooth and calculated, as if its been practiced a thousand times. the weapon is fitting, he thought to himself. for someone bold, blunt, and jagged, its all too fitting for rin. 

“let’s catch clyde before he runs away again.” 

as she is leaning forward with a hand, intent on helping isagi up, a flicker of silver appears behind her. sparing him the surprise, (name) brings up her rifle to deflect a heavy swing towards her skull. an ear-piercing ring shatters the air. blocking the masked kishin from hitting her, the ground crumbles beneath the weight of his attack, awkwardly offsetting her hand from isagi’s. 

“ah,” she remarks, “sorry.” pushing her gun upwards to shove clyde away. this reaction causes him to lose his balance. 

circling around, she slices the front of his torso with the tip of her bayonet. her eyes glisten with excitement as the kishin reels himself back like a fishing line. he is grumbling under his breath, heaving and sighing as his body groans with pain. using a spared second, isagi takes (name)’s hand, pulling himself from the crumbling debris.

clyde, winded and bloodied, swings his bat at isagi, targeting the weakest link. without bonnie, clyde acted out like a rabid animal, dangling his loose arm around as he attempts to catch anyone within reach. he’s forced to retreat when a black bullet whizzes past his ear, slicing the tip off. 

(name) glances around the city, eyes trailing a shadowy figure in the dark. the trigger of her gun twitches and she wastes no time to fire upwards, using her instinct to predict clyde above her, she blows off his left arm. this causes him to redirect his body midair. his detached limb falls helplessly beside her foot, and the sight is enough to make isagi swallow the bile in his throat.

squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, he focuses on steadying his wavelength with bachira’s, syncing up with him for their next attack. when clyde lands on the ground, isagi uses his chain to wrap around his leg, pulling on it with all his might. 

meanwhile, (name) approaches him from the other side, shooting the back of his knee to tear through the ligament. this has clyde slumping forward, paralyzed and unable to move his leg.

with the same thought, isagi and (name) rushes forward. nearly colliding blades, she successfully beheads clyde while isagi slices his stomach. the kishin, now in three separate pieces, floats slowly in the air. exhaling once, he turns into a gust of smoke that engulfs both the meisters. 

bachira is the first one to transform back, quickly wrapping his arm around his neck as he ruffles his partner’s hair, “we survived! way to go partner!” 

isagi smiles, breathing a sigh of relief, “for now at least, we still got a long way to go.” 

at this remark, bachira’s eyes glimmer, face brightening up with the same gleeful smirk. he pats his stomach, ready to enjoy his meal. excitedly reaching out to the soul, hes stopped by rin. he takes the soul into his hands, biting into it greedily while his meister watches from the sidelines. 

“hey! you already had one earlier,” bachira calls out, hand left floating in the air as he looks at rin with a look of surprise. “this job was meant for two pairs!” 

“so what?” rin rolls his eyes, dismissing him, “if i recall, we were the ones who killed him first. the two of you were just fodder for us to get close.” 

“you!” 

isagi chokes out a response, waving his hands up and down to mediate the situation, “we hit him at the same time, surely that counts for something.” 

the rifle-weapon sends him a nasty glare in response, disgust laced within his teal eyes, “is that what trash like say to make yourself feel better?” he shakes his head, “it was clear from the beginning you never had a chance. if it wasn’t for us, you would have been dead in an instant. be grateful we even came.” 

“you’re both lukewarm NPCs. next time, don’t choose a job you can’t do.” 

this reaction sparks anger within isagi. his fist is shaking from how hard hes pressing his fingers into the palm of his hand. all while this is happening, (name) smiles, seemingly oblivious to the conflict in front of her. 

“don’t worry about it, isagi. you will get a lot more souls later. this is just one of many jobs here at the academy.” 

“(name)...”

isagi smiles in relief, glad that someone other than bachira agrees with him. this was only one mission. there will be more in the future, and by that time, he was going to rise up the ranks. the thought comforts him a little. but just as he was beginning to feel the warm sensation of hope, rin came crashing down on him like shards of glass.

“you’re happy by just a few words?” he grumbles, “your ego must be rotted.” 

unable to say anything else but scrambled gibberish, isagi watches as rin leaves with (name) tucked into his side. the woman skips along the brick road as rin walks in front of her. right before they could disappear into the dark alleyway, (name) spins around to deliver a short, playful wave, mouthing what isagi can only imagine is an apology for her sharp-tongued partner.

once they were out of earshot, bachira finally lets out a groan he’s been holding back. rubbing his face together, he eases the tension in his muscles. with a hand on his hip, he pouts, “what is his problem?” 

isagi only shakes his head. while he looked up to rin earlier for saving his life, his attitude was oozing with arrogance. worst of all, he had ego. the kind of mentality that his professor had previously lectured him about. it frustrates him to think that rin is the kind of guy who thought he was better than everyone else, and the unfortunate part was that it was all true. 

after this mission, he and (name) have successfully captured fifty-four souls. it was a lot better than him who only had around five to his name. he hates to think that rin will become a death weapon before bachira does. isagi couldn’t chalk it up to dumb luck either. he won the lottery with (name) as his partner.

everything about (name)’s fight was seamless. like he was controlled by a puppeteer, he fell into her formula of success. he could sense her wavelength fluctuating to accommodate for rin’s movements, making their options on the battlefield near limitless. 

she was the perfect channel to his flow. the kind of meister most weapons could only dream of having. biting the bottom of his lip, isagi stares off into the hall (name) left in, letting bachira guide him back to the school dorms as he is lost in thought.

from the perfect timing of her arrival to the smooth transition in her movements, it was clear you and rin have been fighting for a long time. possibly a lot longer before he joined the dwma academy. he has to push down the green monster manifesting at the pits of his throat. squeezing his hand into a tight fist, he narrows his gaze. 

he can only hope to achieve what you have today in a few weeks.

on the other side of the city, rin continues his walk with (name), with him glancing back and forth at her figure. he is fidgeting with the bracelet on his wrist, feeling the metal grow heavy on his skin. they don’t talk to each other for a while. instead, opting for a quiet walk through the city.

it wasn’t until rin sees a crow flutter in the distance that he finally says something.

“you didn’t need to be nice to him,” he comments, footsteps echoing alongside his words, “he was just looking for some kind of praise from you. giving it to him is only going to make him hopeful and naive.” 

“theres no harm to it,” (name) replies, reaching out to hold his hand, a subtle act he doesn’t object to despite how poisonous her touch feels to him, “do you think me being nice to him will affect us in any way?”

his answer is curt and simple: “no.” 

“are you jealous, rin rin?”

“what is there to be jealous of?” 

he doesn’t see isagi as a threat. someone as small as him would never make it into the real world. he would have been the first person to be devoured by a witch. cruel or not, the thought holds true in rin’s mind.

“then nothing will change. i will still be your meister and you’re my weapon,” a laugh escapes her throat, “so don’t worry about anyone else.” 

peeling away from his grip, he almost has half a heart to chase after her. walking ahead, (name) stops just a few feet in front of him. rin pauses instantly. eyes peering down at her with a flicker of a spark, she gives him a familiar smile he knows all too well. 

she opens her arms out to him, like a bird ready to soar. 

“because i will be the only one to turn you into a death weapon.” 

her sentimental words settle in his chest. like a blanket, it drapes over his beating organ. blood soaking the cloth, it helplessly merges together. for a moment, he wonders if this is what he’s been searching for all along, or if it was just another trap used to lure him into her arms.

he presses his lips together. walking three steps forward, rin carefully wraps his arms around her tightly. he wants to ignore the beating of his heart in his ears. he wants to forget that when he presses himself close to her, everything feels safe. 

he inhales with his entire chest, sinking into her warmth as if she’d disappear any second.

✦

the first thing rin hears in the morning is humming. the alarm clock next to him says its eight o’clock in the morning and that its time to get up. rubbing the sleep off his eyes, he creeps downstairs to the smell of pancakes. his meister stands in the center of controlled chaos. pancake batter mixed in one bowl, a blender full of fruits and what he assumes to be his protein powder. the kitchen looks like a battleground with a lone soldier in the center, chiming a tune while pouring batter into a pan.

“good morning, rin rin.” you announce, looking over your shoulder, “can you set the table?” 

he wordlessly obeys, too early in the morning to give a proper response. he reaches over to the tall cabinet and takes a few plates from the top. placing two on the counter next to you before leaving to gather forks and knives. 

he briefly turns in your direction, watching as you’re stacking pancakes on his plate. the scene is awfully domestic as it is comfortable. and the more he thinks about this homely arrangement, the more uneasy the feeling in his stomach gets. the first thing that comes to mind is whether or not you’ve had similar experiences with your previous partners. 

he knows he is not your first and he might not even be your last. while he isn’t the kind of person to mull over someone else’s words, specially if that person is shidou, what he said still rings clear in his head. there was some kind of history between you and the antenna-head that he wanted to know. perhaps out of curiosity. maybe out of a sickly emotion he is forced to call worry. 

setting down two plates and a cup in front of him, you both sit down in silence. while you drowned your pancakes in syrup, rin likes his with a small cube of butter and a light drizzling of honey. not too sweet but not plain either. 

he comes up with a list of things you do that are totally opposite to him. from the smile on your face to the permanent scowl on his, or the way you start your mornings with a sugary breakfast, it all reminds him of how different you are to him. and although he may be cold and honest, you were a mixture of three things: warm, inviting, and worst of all, incredibly enigmatic. 

he wishes he could go into your mind and understand the world through your eyes.

“you’re thinking hard about something,” alongside your sticky, syrupy pancakes, you cut through his thoughts, “care to tell your partner?”

using his knife, he flicks the butter around his plate. it slides across the warm, pillowy pancake, leaving behind a golden layer. he presses his lips together, unsure of what to say. he would rather die than say anything related to his feeble emotions. but he just can’t help it. not when you’re looking at him with eyes that could melt him like ice cream on a hot summer day.

“what is your relationship to shidou?”

he hears the same hum once more, the sound trailing upwards as if you caught a funny joke, “there wasn’t anything between us. he was my partner before i met you.”

“so i’ve heard.”

he stabs through his stack of pancakes, carefully picking apart any small movements in your face. unlike his relationship with sae, you treated your partnership so casually, as if saying you’ll be together for life was just fishing bait. he thinks you were just nothing but a partner to shidou. someone he could use to channel his explosive attitude. but the more he considers it, the more it feels like it was the other way around. 

he only knows a few things about you. 

one, you are a special case amongst other meisters at the dwma academy. on your first trial mission with him, supervised by ego and a nurse named anri, he noted the way your wavelength constantly fluctuated to accommodate for his movements. while some people might describe their wavelength relationship to be like walking on three legs, being with you made it feel closer to two, and that he was the one in control. fighting with you was completely different from sae. although you were both calm and collected meisters with an unprecedented amount of talent, being with you made him feel lighter than air.

it was easy for you to wield any weapon in the school with this kind of skill. and while powerful in itself, it still needed a weapon to be channeled. this led to you having a multitude of partners throughout the years, with shidou being one of many, and rin being your most recent addition. 

two, you like food sweet enough to rot your teeth. this was picked up after living with you. from afternoon teas to late night drinks underneath the moon, you preferred your life to be sweeter than candy. after every mission, you made it a habit to take a piece of candy from your pocket, handing it off to him like a child who didn’t cry at the dentist. 

he typically found cabinets full of store bought candy you used your hard earnings on. he thought it was a waste of money until one fateful night. after a hard day of fighting kishin after kishin, you gave him the same strawberry candy you carried in your pocket. although it should have been nothing out of the ordinary, laying on the ground, heaving because of exhaustion. with your hand grazing his, the sweet taste of strawberries was the greatest distraction from his hammering heart. 

three, you have a strange fascination with him. this fact was more puzzling than the last two mentioned. your love for him was unexplainable. oddly palpable, even. it overflowed into everything you touched. from the ways you held his hand, to the charms you forced, but never fought against, on his wrist. you were loving in ways he couldn’t understand. it was nothing like the love he felt from sae. 

where his older brother was obligated in one way or another to take care of him, you did so without a second thought. when he is in your arms, you’re kind and gentle. you don’t whip him around, expecting him to follow up your perfect movements. you don’t chide him for not being fast enough. you don’t scorn him for not being good enough. and most importantly of all, you love him despite all the flaws that litter him.

it keeps rin from sinking into the black pool that plagues the depths of his mind. the same one that has him questioning when everything will come crashing down. just counting the seconds before it all gets taken away from him. 

“what happened between you and him?” 

you turn to him, “things didn’t work out.” your answer was simple, like he expected. he doesn’t know whether or not to be annoyed with himself for being right, or you for being too easy to read. “decided on a whim i wanted a new partner.”

“thats it?”

raising your eyebrow, you chuckle, “is there something you want to know, rin?” 

your voice trickles down on him like honey. it coats his throat, silencing any words he prepared on a silver platter for you. he feels he’s drowning in your saccharine sweetness. the smell of almonds tethering the line between candy goodness and poisonous danger. it doesn’t help that your laugh is just as sugary as the rest of you.

he bites down on his fork, keeping his eyes averted.

“not really.”

“you’re a bad liar, you know that?”

“there’s nothing to lie about.”

you lean back into your chair, “you want to know more about me and shidou,” balancing a fork on your plate you let it dance around. similarly to a ballerina, the silver utensil slowly spins in place. the individual tongs act as legs as it falls into a hypnotic rhythm. 

“you want to know what it was like, how long we’ve been working together, what jobs we went on,” the clock’s ticking sound seems to have grown louder because its counting down as if it were a bomb in his ears, “and if we lived together, like you and i do.”

wordlessly, he drops his fork, picking up his cup to drink the smoothie you made for him. he wishes you didn’t buy him matching cups from the market because every time he sees it, every thought becomes harder to keep. he wipes away at the corner of his lips, sighing. he hates that you know the exact way he likes his protein shakes. 

from the other side of the table, you revel in what you can only describe as complicated feelings. although nothing has been said, the look of dismissal and embarrassment on his face gave you more than enough information to understand the turmoil in his head. he thinks you’re too good at this. too good at picking apart his expressions, fighting for answers beneath his skin. 

“and?”

“nothing,” your hand waves itself around, “i just thought it was cute of you to ask.”

with your slumped figure, you drag your foot across the wooden floor, coming dangerously close to his own leg. he can feel some of the thin hairs on his skin stand up from your sly actions.

“do you want to know?”

“about?”

“me and shidou.”

“are you going to tell me?”

there is a foxy look in your eyes that he can only chalk up to mere amusement.

“i guess there really isn’t much to it. we just became a pair because there wasn’t anyone that liked him enough to be his partner. he marched to the beat of his own drum.” you hum, chewing on your food slow and tentatively, “we did a lot of private jobs given to us by the headmaster. something similar to the ones your brother went on.”

like a moth to a flame, he’s hooked onto the last part of your sentence. with just the slightest mention, only for a second, his entire body flamed up like a fever waiting to burst. 

“what were they?”

“can’t say. it’s been a while.” your plain response causes him to kick your shin from underneath the table. your left eye winces but you continue eating, nonetheless, “it was odd kishin jobs that were harder than the ones you see in the academy. nothing too remarkable or memorable.”

you pause for a second, mulling over your words, “it’s a blurry mess. i don’t remember that much from it, other than the fact that i saw sae once or twice.” blinking once, your eyes trail upwards in rin’s direction, “did your brother change because of these jobs?” 

“how do you know about that?”

“...sometimes you mumble in your sleep.” 

suddenly the frustrated expression on his face fades to humiliation. rin quickly turns his head away, finishing his food quickly and swallowing the last of his drink, all the while you carried a cheeky grin. whatever comes out of your mouth afterwards has his anger fizzing away entirely.

“you drool too.”

“stop talking already.” he has the urge to slap a hand over your mouth, praying that you’d stop talking about useless topics.

“you don’t think its cute?”

“you expect me to think drooling is cute? its gross.” 

“don’t be like that rin rin.” getting up from your seat, you skip your way towards him.

wrapping your arms around his neck, you squeeze him tightly to your chest. his heart immediately flat lines at your touch. your hug is warm and all encapsulating. infectious and sickly, just like those pancakes. he hates being in your arms because everything from the dull pain in his wrist to the soreness in his lower back eases away. washed away like sand on his feet. 

“i think its cute when you do it.”

having weaseled your way into his life, you’re like a constant stream of water. while difficult to read at times, he wants to say he knows you better than anyone else. correction, he wants to know more about you. he wants to know why you’re here, digging your claws into him underneath this shared roof. from the way you carry yourself to what exactly brought you to dwma in the first place. he wants to unravel the strings that weave you into the person you are today.

even though he wants to push you away from the thorns that adorn his heart, he wants to pull you even closer, and say that you’ll be his forever. not only as his meister but a partner he could use to become better. 

because thats the kind of relationship he always yearned for but could never say out loud. 

in his weapon form, you’re the only thing pulling him back from the black blood of madness that tempts him every night. he pushes and you pull. swaying one way as you follow. a perfect balance between partners of similar wavelengths.

he is scared something will tip the scales. its a quiet fear that bubbles in the pits of his stomach. tucked away underneath hundreds of layers of bandages around his heart. he wants to say he hates you just so you don’t hurt yourself on the way out. he wants to tell you to stop making his protein shakes in the morning because he doesn’t want you to stay any longer than you should. he wants to push you away when you hold him at night because it makes him want to puke his guts out to you.

yet all of those words don’t mean anything in the end. not in the universe that you’ve nested him in. 

so despite these minutes feeling too intimate and almost gum-like in the way it sticks to him, he can’t find the right muscles to run away. he doesn’t know if he wants to. he’s drawn to your presence just like everyone else in your life, stuck within your orbit within arms reach. this relationship he shares with you is so incredibly complicated that its far from lukewarm.

he swallows before asking, lacing uncertainty through his words, “what color is my soul?” 

tightening the hold around him, you lean in closer, drawing your hand down his chest. he sees the silver pendant on your wrist as it dangles and clammers with a light ‘clink’ noise. he believes his heart and soul might be opposite colors, the latter being an ugly shade of red.

“it’s blue.” 

resting his head against yours, he breathes in your scent as your heart rate steadies alongside his. if things get too comfortable, he might end up transforming back into his weapon form to keep you from seeing the redness in his ears.

“really?”

“mhm,” his ears perk up at your mumbling voice, “you have a very pure-hearted soul.” 

“even after everything?” 

“despite everything.” 

reaching out with your hand, you turn his head towards you. he instinctively leans into your touch. his teal eyes finally make contact with yours after what seemed to be a long, drawn out breakfast. the expression on your face makes him feel like he’s going to melt into the lovesick slobs he’s seen on numerous television shows. it makes the syrup on his plate all the more sticky and gross.

“its the prettiest i’ve ever seen.” 

you drop your arm, gliding it across his body. it drags from his shoulders to his biceps, to the lower part of his elbow, and ending at the silver jewelry adorning both your wrists. a skull pendant, gifted to him the first day you became partners. a rather simple accessory that weighs heavy on him.

turning his palm over, he lets you intertwine your fingers with his. a soft mutter of your name dancing on the tip of his tongue. 

“we’ll be partners, forever.”

✦

after breakfast, rin doesn’t think too much about your relationship with shidou. perhaps to some extent, he drowned it in the back of his mind, focusing on finishing his daily yoga and meditation before the day officially starts. 

while he was fixed at the center of the living room, having pushed the coffee table off to the side, you sat on the couch with a book in your hands. it was normal for the two of you to stay indoors during your day off. unless there needed to be some kind of shopping done to refill the fridge, you’d laze around in the bedroom or living room. you’d oftentimes kick your feet up when you’re laying on your stomach, something he had found terribly bad for his heart, finally getting to the books you’ve been putting off reading.

before the coffee gets cold, he remembers buying you the rest of the series from your local bookstore after you expressed interest in it. the concept of the story was relatively simple: you can go back in time as long as the coffee stays warm. you’ve asked him before what he would do if he could go back in time, but the only thing that comes to mind is wanting to fight sae.

he exhales slowly. work is tiring and never ending. the shinigami’s list was always growing and there will always be time to do them later, is what you always say.

out of the corner of his eye, the mirror in your living room space warps as your professor connects with you on the other line, tapping on the reflective surface. ego peers into the room, eyes dry like fish. alongside rin, the two of you sit up straight. rin is leaning his back against the seat of the couch with your right knee lightly touching his right shoulder.

“good morning,” he claps his hands together, “do you have time to talk about your recent progress?”

rin rolls his eyes, “you’ve already called us on our day off. what is it that you need?”

ego narrows his eyes but continues talking, “congratulations on reaching the halfway point. you only need forty-three more souls until you’re getting closer to becoming a death weapon, itoshi rin.” this sparks another huff from the man, “i assume based on the look on your face, you think you’re ready to become death’s weapon. is that correct?”

“of course i am, did you come here to lecture me about something i already know? or will you tell me something useful,” rin says with upmost confidence, “whatever comes our way, i’ll kill it.”

“i assumed you’d say that. and you’d be right. out of everyone in your class, the two of you might be the first ones to get a witch’s soul. i’m not here to tell you what to do,” ego leans forward in his chair. 

“only that with this new milestone comes challenges that will have you considering taking risks and sacrifices.” 

“what are you getting at?”

“you both already know about the influx of kishin souls roaming the city.these are much harder than  than the ones you’ve been running into recently. if you lose to any one of them, it means certain death for you both. but that is not the only thing you need to worry about,” using a projection, he opens his hand to show you a small diagram of a woman. she floats right above his open palm, broomstick and all. “witches are beginning to notice you, making you a prime target for pickings.”

“and although you might not be ready to face one yet, the possibility of encountering one is high.” 

before rin can say anything, possibly to rebut ego’s assumptions, you squeeze his shoulder with one hand. he looks up at you, eyes widening a millimeter when he sees an unfamiliar, dark shadow over your eyes. 

witches were another kind of monster. there were a lot of them, possibly a lot more than the dwma can ever consider. and while some of them may be weak, it still leaves out a large group of highly capable magic users out of the picture. they’re immensely powerful, so much so that consuming only one witch soul is enough to fully transform a weapon into a tool of mass destruction.

ego looks over to you, “have you made any progress on your soul resonance?”

when you shake your head, his frown deepens. “i see,” scratching the back of his neck he drones, “so you’ve yet to unlock each others full potential despite being partners for two years. that is an awfully long time,” he narrows his eyes, flickering from you and rin, “i hope to see something.”

“before i sign off, i need to tell you one more thing.”

“what else is there?” rin barks.

“madness,” ego says, “there will be madness coming your way.”

rin blinks. madness. he’s heard it in passing. every living thing, meisters and weapons alike, have a special force living inside of them. not only does it control your emotions, but it could influence personal strength as well, making it an important playing card to any fight. 

a small percentage of people have the power to control their madness using wavelength. this in turn, could also awaken someone else’s madness within them.

“if you were to possibly tap into this, understand that there will be sacrifices made. whether it be your life or someone elses,” he grimaces, “it is a double-edged sword. so consider the life of your meister, itoshi rin.” 

“whatever you say.”

ego doesn’t look surprised, knowing to some intent this was the kind of personality he was setting up from the beginning. regardless, your professor sends you one last look, one that has you tensing up in your seat, fingers grasping onto the cushion of the couch.

he mouths a few words: a witch is coming for you.

a shiver runs down your spine. like a spike it drives itself deep into your heart and out from the other side of your chest, letting you to bleed out helplessly like a doe. 

ego officially signs off for the day. your living room mirror goes back to its usual dull appearance. unlike you, rin wasn’t bothered at all by ego’s words. if anything, he felt more determined than ever to continue fighting. if this newfound power could be weaponized, perhaps it will give him the edge he needed to surpass sae. when he glances back at you, the veins in his fingers tensed.

that night, you sleep with your back turned, leaving his arms bare and cold. its relatively quiet if not for the crow pecking at the window, looking into the bedroom as you held your head, a tremble raking down your bones.

[semischarmed]

Thread

Don’t blame me for this one, you guys voted for something diabolical.

= = = = =

The references were esoteric. In fact, I had to hide my true research from the university, under the guise of reclassifying “ritualistic” items. The irony did not escape me. I was actually looking to access a “ritualistic” item that was classified as mundane. 

Legends spoke of a god of flesh. One that manipulates the body as one would manipulate clay. Its name has long since been lost to time, but there are echoes of his work in the myths of old. We often hear of a creator god shaping man from the earth, of half-human hybrids and giants and other such peculiarities. Glimpses of this god of flesh. I had only read into such a figure from a blog by happenstance. A miracle of probability. 

I eyed the needle, now in my hand. It was unassuming but carried a supernatural weight to it, like the weight of time immemorial. I grinned, practically moaned as I pricked my finger with the needle. 

I expected some sort of magical fanfare, maybe a gust of wind but found none. I stared at my hands and then I noticed it. My hands. My flesh. I could feel all of it. I stared intently as I pinched the skin above my finger, I willed the pleat to hold its shape and smiled. I was ready.

- - - - 

I thought through the myths, now partial realities in my head. Though I felt myself brim with power, I knew the drawbacks- there had to be a reason the myths had not made it to present day. The answer appeared in my head. There is only so much one man can do, and being giftedoften made one a target. A word echoed in my head. “Protection”. That did seem to match my records. Humans of old would change their flesh to be stronger, more resilient, adapting to every circumstance thrown at them. But the weakness persisted. One prick to channel the same power as the god of flesh, and another prick locks you from that power again. I smiled to myself. I just needed to get… creative. 

Joey Cooper was well-known around the college. A fifth year senior majoring in Sport Science. Not the sharpest tool in the shed, but he always meant well. He had an air of confidence to him that often aided his statuesque form. Despite this, something else drew my interest even further. His unattainability. The man was often called by his nickname “old faithful,” having been in a relationship with his girlfriend Britney for as long as any can remember. Guys and girls from all walks of life have tried to tempt “Juicy Joe” (A nickname he wasn’t aware of). None of have succeeded. 

And then there was Charlie Cooper, his younger brother, a freshman with the face of an angel. He had unattainability in a different sense. Kind eyes and gentle curly locks framed a face that often wore a worried expression. Unlike his brother, he was timid, and a bit reserved. He had a lack of confidence that seemed to be a hindrance to his social life. Charlie would often shied away from conversation, despite others regularly visiting his dorm. Charlie roomed with Joey in the school dorms, a rarity for this campus. I overheard a conversation with Charlie once on this oddity. Beneath his unintelligible mumbling he mentioned something about being “faithful to Brit” and getting Charlie “out of his shell”.

I bit my lip thinking about the prospects.

— - - - - -

“Oh hey Joey!” I waved casually as I approached a Joey returning to his dorm room, face flush and covered in a sheen. He must have just come from the gym. He was consistent with his workouts, so it was no surprise he would still be in campus after finals to get one last pump in.

“Hey dude! Uh, sorry I don’t remember names to well”. He replied back in a friendly manner. I shook my head at that.

“No need to apologize. I don’t think we’ve ever formally met.” He looked back at me expectantly, hand outstretched to greet. I shook it as I continued. “My name’s gonna be Joey too”. He nodded and smiled politely but the man’s face couldn’t hide his visible confusion.

I clung onto the lack of rejection on Joey’s part as an invitation for myself. As he continued into his room, I followed, allowing the door to close behind us. The silence from the near empty dorm was deafening. He turned around, again making a polite smile. “Uh hey again… Joey… can I help you?”

I dropped all pretense, rushing to his bed and taking a whiff. “Fuck dude, you smell so hot”. Everything in the room carried a small sample of his scent. Like a gentle sweaty musk overlaid with his detergent. I looked to the sweaty Joey, inching closer and taking a whiff of his fresh personal scent. Divine. I felt my jaw unlock in a small moan. His post workout scent was like a concentrate of the pleasant musk I smelled before. Like raw testosterone and shallow breaths, and a hint of earthiness that exuded power. Juicy Joe. I was drunk on the scent, mind transfixed, until I caught him staring. He was starting to get upset.

“Hey bro, you should probably lea-“ He froze as he saw me extend a nerve out of my hand, like a red root outstretched into the air. “The fuck?”

He began stepping back but as soon as my nerve landed on his arm, he struggled back into stillness. I smiled in euphoria as I felt every individual root of my vein burrow into his skin and connect with his. Checkmate. He watched as more and more of my nerve rooted into his flesh, screaming as he felt the violation to his sense of touch. 

“No one can hear you bro, it’s after finals, remember?” I twirled the needle in front of him before setting it on the table. “Can’t have you taking a shower and removing your natural cologne”. Joey was still frozen as he saw me begin to undress. Juicy Joe had a body brimming with power, and I knew it would burst at any moment. I took care as I undressed, rooting and unrooting my nerves, and making sure to always keep at least one red thread of control on him at all times. 

Joey glared as he saw me finish placing my clothes in a neat pile on the floor. “Your turn”.

“What the fuck dude!? What makes you think-“ He was cut off as the red strings bridging our flesh began to writhe. In turn, he felt his meaty arms begin to move, and pull down his compression shorts. The feeling was altogether unfamiliar, as he felt his own flesh betray him and move to my will. I willed him to hand me the soaked shorts. Even with the power of the god of flesh on my side, I could feel Joey struggling for control through sheer willpower alone. I laughed a little in my head. There are other ways to break a man. 

I brought his heavenly scented shorts up to my face, gorging myself on the potent raw musk of man. Like a pungent blast of earth and humidity and testosterone. A Joey-concentrate. I could practically feel the potency of it clawing at my nostrils. A sweat-laden Joey reeked in the best way. I must have been lost in pleasure, because my eyes refocused to his pleading face. “P-please man, just stop whatever this is. What do you want?”

I laughed. “Isn’t it obvious? It’s you. I want you. Every part of you.”

A few more nerves shot from my legs, and directly into his. With some new tethers in place, I pulled the threads connecting my arms to his, and quickly slipped under his sweaty workout shirt. I clung to his muscled chest for dear life. ‘Bless these stretchy workout shirts,’ I thought to myself. I felt along the ridges of his spine, across his shoulders which screamed power, and with my hands, I greedily caressed the flesh previously only touched by Britney. I gripped our embrace tighter. Joey was screaming and writhing, soaking the shirt further and my body in his struggle. I moaned as he screamed, as every turn and twist his body made also pushed my chest closer to his, confined by his own workout shirt. I sighed dreamily as his struggle compressed us closer together.

With the power of the needle, I made myself much more malleable and began to slip my arms to into the arm sleeves of his shirt. I spiraled them across his meaty biceps, possessively claiming every square inch of his flesh as my own. I did the same with my legs, wanting to bind us further.

The sight must have been bizarre- two men, naked from the waist down, both in the same sweaty workout shirt. And the smaller man, stretching and wrapping his arms and legs over the other.

“Now for some real fun” I stated, as I shot out as many of my nerves into him as I could. He screamed at the sensory assault as he fell unconscious. I merely continued rooting into him, relishing in being able to feel every inch of Mr. Unattainable. I slowly stumbled our bodies toward his mirror, making sure to have him grab his own phone.

= = = = =

When Joey came to, he saw my head hanging to the side in front of his, and his body enveloped by mine. He panicked when he saw more threads from my face rooted into his neck and mouth. “Fuck Joey, I can feel how strong your lungs are. Even your breaths feel like a top jock” I moaned. 

Like raindrops, I felt his tears stream down his cheek and onto my face. “L-Let me go man. Look I’m sorry for whatever I did to you. I swear I don’t remember doing anything.”

I laughed callously. “No need to apologize, bro. You haven’t done anything to me. I just want you all to my own.” I brought his phone up to his face so he could see the name on the call screen. Britney.

“Babe?” She answered. “What’s up?”

“H-HEL-“ He tried to holler. Instead, his neck swelled and throat strained as he my red thread began to writhe. 

“Joey? Is everything all right?” She asked in a worried tone.

“Fuck yeah it is,” Joey’s mouth laughed, while his eyes showed fear. I continued to use him as my mouth piece. “You’re so boring, Brit. Just called to tell you it’s over.” Tears began to well in his eyes. I could practically hear the tears in Brit’s eyes over the phone.

“Joey… I. Is something wrong? You never call me Brit. I told you how my dad used to…” She trailed, trying to rationalize the situation.

I continued the puppet show as Joey’s eyes continued pleading with me. “Nothing’s wrong, Babe. In fact, it’s finally all right over here.” He stated with a smile. Joey’s eyes winced at the venom spewing from his mouth.

Joey grunted as he tried to stop his free hand from fondling my ass. “Do you know how many girls and guys wanted in these pants, Brit? Do you know how hard is to always turn someone down. They all want a piece of Juicy Joe.”

“I mean, yeah, I guess you mentioned it once…” She sniffled. “But I thought we were fine” said a choked up Britney.

“Fuck no this isn’t fine. Look at me. I’m a fucking bull.” Joey was forced to say, while sticking his tongue out. I briefly stopped his hand from groping my cheek to force it into a biceps flex. He tried to squirm his head away but was ultimately forced to lick it and moan. I huffed and whispered in his ear. “I bet you taste fucking salty, Joey.” 

“Babe, what’s wrong? You never talk about your body that-“

“Brit, just shut the fuck up”. That seemed to shut her up. “Always fucking whining too…” I made Joey huff. The upper half of his head was sobbing now. I forced his free hand back over my ass, and used his other hand to set the call to speaker. “It’s over”.

Joey dropped the phone on the table- still mid call, as I willed his other hand to cup my other cheek. Squeeze. “Fffuuuuck” I moaned. “You’re fucking mine, Joe.” Like his musculature, I commanded my cock into a malleable state, snaking over his, encircling it like a fleshy sleeve. Then, all at once, my red threads of control stirred, as Joey fucked his thick jock dick into my makeshift cocksleeve. “I’m fucking yours”. I made him say. My eyes fluttered in drunken bliss.

“Joey- who is that?”

I felt his head struggle as he tried to stop his body from growing hard. At this, I made sure he had full control of his cock. His plump ass cheeks tightened as his body was forced to thrust into me. I saw him wince, but we both felt the change. Even without me controlling it, his cock stirred to life.

I willed my flesh puppet to answer. “Oh, him? I’ve been fucking him during this call, Brit. That’s how boring you are. Stupid too- we’ve been fucking for months and you never noticed” I make him say it to his reflection as well, topping it with a sleazy grin he never wore. I also made a point to moan, to force him to thrust his hardening dick into me in loud, boisterous grunts. “Fuck. Brit. You. Never. Felt. This. Good”. I make him gasp in between breaths. 

“So you’re fucking him, right now?” She asked, now turning to anger.

“Mmph… YES” I let him shout, as I tightened my fleshy trap around his engorged dick and milk his seed dry. To add to the injury, I released control of his mouth at the same time, so in that moment, he felt himself scream bloody pleasure and coat my flesh in his juices.

“YOU’RE FUCKING DEAD TO ME,” Britney shouts, before hanging up.

Perhaps it was due to the pleasure, or the bombardment of his senses, or the sheer perversion of the situation, but Joey’s eyes rolled back to its whites and his head slumped into my shoulder. 

I basked in the moment, coated in the sweat and baby batter of Mr. Unattainable. Breathing in sync with his unconscious form. With his head still slung forward, I willed his upright form to give my ass another squeeze. “Take me, bro. I’m your fucking meat puppet. Feel me. Use me. These muscles, this body. It’s all yours. I’m all yours.” I make Joey say. Mr. Unattainable wholly mine.

I kept him upright, facing the mirror without a care for how sore his post-workout body already was. I made sure he stirred awake, to still see himself playing and groping my fleshy form, bonded together supernaturally by the god of meat. He sobbed silently at our union.

With Joey whimpering and broken, I began to retreat into my original form, letting his arms and legs and chest free. All that connected our two naked bodies now was just a single thread of red. But just one thread was all I seemed to need. I no longer felt resistance from his body, as his sullen face just looked to me with defeat. 

I made him reiterate my will. “I’m all yours,” Joey mumbles. I puppetted him to close the distance, and pull my back towards his abs. Joey did not resist as body grinded into mine. He clumsily grabbed my head for a sloppy kiss. And once again, I tasted and experienced something only Brit previously had. His tears smeared into my cheek as I started making him kiss me. My eyes fluttered closed as I was in ecstasy. True pleasure. His lips slowly pried mine open, then the tip of his tongue touching mine. In our deranged intimacy, I savored the taste of Joey’s mouth and of his tongue now forced mine. I didn’t want this to end. Joey’s body pulled back from the kiss and began groping itself, repeating his new mantra. “I’m all yours.”

Still repeating his mantra, my eyes locked with his, before he grabbed the needle from the desk and pricked his hand with it. In that instant, I heard the door unlock. 

What were the chances? Another miracle of probability. There was a single late final on campus, for an upper div class that freshmen rarely took. And yet, it seemed there was one freshman that did happen to take such a class.

Just my luck. 

Charlie.

= = = = =

A two-parter. Could not for the life of me get usable photos of “Joey” in a compression shirt, so you’re gonna have to use a little imagination for that one haha.

[felassan]

Some more DA:TV and related snippets from Sylvia Feketekuty, Part 6. rest of post under a cut due to length and spoilers. [Post One, Post Two, Post Three, Post Four, Post Five]

User: "after [Emmrich and Rook's] argument they don’t really bring it up again, is it pretty much the case that Rook being lost in the fade made them both realise what was important so that conversation wasn’t really needed? or did they have it off-screen?" // Sylvia Feketekuty: ""is it pretty much the case that Rook being lost in the fade made them both realise what was important so that conversation wasn’t really needed? or did they have it off-screen?" I think either one is valid. There's some time skips, so I figured if you imagined your Rook and Emmrich talking about the argument, it could've happened while, say, they're traveling to the Necropolis. Flow-wise it seemed best to rely on that passage of time to smooth that part over, and get to the point where we enter the talk by the coffin. Or perhaps they're so in-sync that, like you said, Rook and Emmrich feel they can just move on. (If you bring Emmrich to Isle of the Gods he's apologetic there, and Rook picks up on it, so maybe that was enough short as it was.) (To my mind it's not a huge thing to declare one way or another, but I'd prefer this one to be player's choice)" [source, two, three, four]

User: "had a question about emmrich's last name. i know there is a banter with harding that confirms it is a commoner name, but i was interested in what his surname breaks down into meaning? I assumed volk=folk perhaps, but is there any other meaning/significance? thank you!" // Sylvia: "You pretty much have it right with "volk" = people. I liked the idea that Volkarin would sound fancy to someone speaking English (well Harding's not speaking English per se, but you know), but have its roots in something that plain. So yeah basically I got a kick out of the thought that in Nevarra, Emmrich's last name is the equivalent of Smith, or Jones, or Wilson. (The "arin" part is just because I thought together it paired well with "volk")" [source, two]

User: "With Hezenkoss, as a romanced rook, it feels like she's a bit jealous and was stuck in a one sided crush with her "friend" Was this intended? Or was she just competitive and annoyed at his popularity with everyone?" // Sylvia: "I always pictured Hezenkoss as annoyed that as they grew up, Emmrich become popular and effortlessly well-liked, while she, with her sheer brilliance, was clearly resented by jealous fools. Fools!!! (I pictured Johanna needling Emmrich over his romance mostly her going 'now there's some nice sore-spots I can press' because she has correctly anticipated his insecurities.) "become popular" Arg I meant to write BECAME. Cripes." [source, two, three] // Sylvia: "TBC I also don't want to invalidate any head-canons! My general rule is that if it's not stated outright in game, it's up for interpretation, regardless of my thoughts. La mort de l'auteur, etc." [source]

User: "I recently made an appreciation post on reddit how relatable he is for me and how it helped me with my anxiety. There were also other users agreeing and sharing their love for the character." // Sylvia: "I read your post and the others, and I'm glad meeting Emmrich touched people like that. His story was a team effort, and everyone making him knew we needed to hit this theme right. (His actor Nick Boraine deserves especial praise for nailing those lines.) I have indeed experienced what Emmrich does, and from the thread and other fan interactions, it's not an uncommon thing. If I can offer something I read a long time ago: you have the right to think about death without being in a state of absolute fear. I don't know why, but that thought helped me focus when things were rough. Maybe because it was correct: we DO have that right. Even if life and our own psyches conspire against us, it's ours." [source, two, three] // User: "I felt seen in a way I never have when Emmrich said he is terrified of dying. I've had panic attacks about it since I was old enough to understand what death is. Thank you for making so many feel seen and helping people realize its not just *them.*" // Sylvia: "I'm really glad it helped, because the conclusion I've come to is this is more common than we think, it's just not something people talk about." [source]

Sylvia: "(Full credit to the great feedback I got from the other writers and editors early on [re: Emmrich], he wouldn't be as good without them.)" [source] // Sylvia: "All credit to the team, especially the writers and editors who gave feedback that made him so much better during those early days and beyond." [source]

Sylvia: ""who came up with Davrin's "hand-to-bone combat" line?? 🤣" Haha that was Davrin's writer, John Dombrow! I'll let him know you (and other people) got a chuckle out of it!" [source]

User, on Manfred: ""I'm so curious -what about the almonds caught his fancy, and why so many?" Some things are a mystery even to me when it comes to Manfred. (Whatever his reason, I thought as a vegetarian Emmrich would probably have a lot of nuts handy which was the germ of the idea.)" // Sylvia: "Some things are a mystery even to me when it comes to Manfred. (Whatever his reason, I thought as a vegetarian Emmrich would probably have a lot of nuts handy which was the germ of the idea.)" [source]

User: "When Rook romances Emmrich, through banter we can see that Emmrich is surprised that the other companions know about the relationship, and also h says to Johanna that it's a private matter. Is it because he wants to keep things private only, is it because he is worried that Rook may not be the one true love, or is he worried about the age gap, or all these reasons and/or others?" // Sylvia: "In this particular case, I think Emmrich just wanted to be discrete because he didn't want to assume it was a serious thing, and for people to think HE thought it was serious. (Though his line to Hezenkoss is snappish specifically because he knows she's needling him, haha.)" [source]

Sylvia: Down Among the Dead Men and Luck in the Gardens "mean a lot to me, being my first published stories in a book.)" [source]

User: "Are there any other areas of Thedas that you think young Altus mages would tour? Poor Dorian looked like a fish out of water in Ferelden." // Sylvia: "Completely talking off the cuff here, but Orlais and Antiva, certainly, and some of the "better" Free Marcher states seem like good candidates. (Poor Ferelden! Always forgotten by the north.)" [source]

User: "I know you said previously that emmrich doesn't really vibe with cats or dogs But like if rook already has a dog or something (that someone is like pet sitting for them while they're kicked out of their faction and traveling with varric) would that be a deal breaker" // Sylvia: "Nah that'd be fine, they're not his favorites but he'll put up with them for Rook." [source]

Sylvia: "I have indeed seen Cushing's version of Hound of the Baskervilles, for some reason that part where he whirls around and throws the knife is embedded into my brain. What a great Holmes he made." [source]

User: "1. Where did Emmrich live in Nevarar when he was a child? 2. When do you think his birthday is? 👀 3. How did Johanna know him?" // Sylvia: "1. He lived inside the bounds of Nevarra City itself. He's always been a city boy. 2. For some reason, he feels like a January/February birthday to me. 3. They met as young students in the Mourn Watch." [source]

User: "if Emmrich didn't think it was serious when he'd always wanted one true love -apparently-, why did he embark on this relationship, especially with so much passion?" // Sylvia: "I think he thought it wouldn't be so serious at first, but then things progressed. And people want conflicting things, sometimes." [source]

User: "I really love Strife being a love interest for Emmrich! What lead to him as the choice if he isn't romanced?" // Sylvia: "The writing team discussed who felt right, and I liked that Strife was from one of the factions because it gives the feeling of your followers interacting with the wider world. And I felt Strife would provide a nice contrast with the romance with Rook. Unlike them, he's more established in his place in the world, like Emmrich is. Just felt like a different dynamic." [source, two] // User: "Strife balances Emmrich well since they are both interested in study but have gone about it differently." // Sylvia: "Agreed! (I wish I had thought to put it like that.)" [source]

User: "how are pets and animals honoured in the Necropolis and by the Mourn Watchers? The same as any other being?" // Sylvia: "Beloved animals are absolutely permitted to be buried with families. Mild Necropolis exploration spoiler: inside the passage you unlock after finding all the wisps in the belfry area, there's actually some caskets for faithful hounds interred in the crypt." [source]

User: "My question is do the mourn watcher/nevarra in general raise their pets after they die to keep them around? like a dog skeleton with a whisp in it?" // Sylvia: "To be honest I hadn't thought out this one, but it's a very good question. I'm not sure how common that would be, or even if it's permitted to have pets running around the family crypt. (I definitely thing people would WANT to do it.) You know, I think I'm going to have to leave this one in the vague quantum foam of the future. I think I'd want to not only double check existing lore, but answer that in-game (or in a book or etc.) if we ever need to. (Hope that's not too much of a cop out. Sometimes I like to leave questions I'm not sure about alone, because until it's in an official game or story, it doesn't quite count.)" [source, two, three]

User: "how long has Manfred been under Emmrich's care?" // Sylvia: "That's a good question, yet another thing I left a little vague in case I needed to define it concretely in the future. And since I've left, the answer is very much in my head only. But I feel it's likely to have at least been a decade. (Hezenkoss acts like she knows about Manfred, I figure she could've met him during an earlier clash. But I don't think Manfred was around when she and Emmrich were young students.)" [source, two]

User: "if Emmrich had tattoos, on what theme would they be?" // Sylvia: "Something anatomical/surgical, patterned on the MW's mystic theories of the body and death, feels appropriate to me." [source]

Sylvia: "BioWare put out an infographic about choices a few weeks ago, and "lich" was winning out. 1) When Emmrich says how he feels will change did he just mean his senses or is it on an emotional level?" He's definitely talking about his senses in that scene. On an emotional level: unknown. (I imagine it WOULD change someone because it's such a big shift, but exactly what does it do, mystically, if anything, is something I'd like to leave alone since I didn't really cover that in the game, and it feels like it'd been bigger consideration if that makes sense.) I kind of want how the lich-romance proceeds to live in players' imaginations, purely so people can tailor it to their own story. I'm afraid any writer-declaration would narrow the possibilities instead of expanding them, if that makes sense." [source, two, three, four]

Sylvia: ""I've been waiting for Nevarra for years and it was everything i could have dreamed of and MORE!" I'm very glad to hear it. The rest of the Necropolis team and I were very excited to finally get to portray even a small portion of the ancient and hallowed graves of Nevarra." [source]

User: "If I remember correctly, we only really see Emmrich use necromantic magic in-game. Are there other types of magic (elemental, healing/spirit, etc) that you think he would gravitate toward?" // Sylvia: "Hrm. He does have a bit of healing magic, mechanically in combat. It coudl work, but somehow I don't think Emmrich would ever be a high-level healer. He could maybe get the basics but it's not his great gift. Something about the gravic magic of the force mage specialty feels appropriate though." [source]

Sylvia: "I'm so glad you liked meeting and getting to know our necromancer. (Huge props to our cinematic and audio team on that garden scene, it was incredible seeing it come in finished for the first time.)" [source]

Allegra Clark: "I just wanted to say that I miss you so much and I’m so excited for whatever comes next in your career. Josephine means so much to me and I’ve fallen utterly in love with Emmrich (how dare you, he’s perfect). Thank you for trusting me with your child over a decade ago ❤️" [source] // Sylvia: "Allegra! Thank you so much! I'm so excited you've been digging our gentleman necromancer. I hope you've been seeing people ping me about their love of Josephine. I heard someone very good did her voice.. Thank YOU for embodying her so quickly and completely!" [source, two]

User: "how was Emmrich doing when Rook was trapped in the Fade?" // Sylvia: "Probably very poorly! Poor man would've been incredibly anxious and working all hours towards a solution." [source]

User: "So i asked you before what music emmrich does like but um is there any music he hates I feel like he'd die if someone took him to a death metal concert XD" // Sylvia: "I think that's a good one to pick, lol. "It's all just noise!"" [source]

User: "Did Emmrich teach (or at least attempt to teach) Manfred how to read?" // Sylvia: "I think that was beyond his skillset, beforehand; Manfred could be taught to recognize objects, but the abstraction of reading was one step too much at that point." [source]

User: "Do Mourn Watchers undergo a Harrowing?" // Sylvia: "They do! You may've missed it but there's a MWer in the Necropolis who mentions MW Harrowings if you go by them. (The MW has had to suspend theirs because chaos in the Fade.) But that's a temporary suspension, probably resolved by the time the credits roll. In general: I figure that if you're a mage who underwent a harrowing in some other circle, that stands, but that the MW would also perform harrowings for students they took in early. Also: not a silly question! It doesn't really come up with the MW except that one ambient line, and it's very easy to miss." [source, two, three]

User: "Doing a 3rd MW playthrough after not playing one for a couple of months feels like coming home again" // Sylvia: "That's some commitment to the dead! The Mourn Watch approve." [source]

User: "if two mourn watchers were to share a piece of grave dowry between them, that's grounds for a serious relationship?" // Sylvia: "You mean like each one having the half of a necklace, or having the same bit of gold made into matching rings? Or swapping jewelry? Either way, what a nice idea. It could be!" [source]

Sylvia: "Emmrichwas very much the work of the team, including some very good feedback early on from the other writers and editors." [source]

Sylvia: "The team and I were also super excited to get to explore the Necropolis. It was an honour to open up the tombs to everyone." [source]

User: "Emmerich's particular respect for trans characters was extremely enticing to me." // Sylvia: "Thanks, I'm glad he resonated. (Some trans colleagues kindly spent the time to give me some feedback on the wording of the lines, which I think made them way better.)" [source]

User: "Emmrich is so amazing" // Sylvia: "Thank you again, that is incredible to hear. (And I want to mention, only possible with the team; they helped improve the story every step.)" [source]

Sylvia: Tevinter Nights "was a fun collection to work on" [source]

User: "Does lich Emmrich feel anything when Rook kisses him or touches him?" // Sylvia: "yeah, I don't think he's "numb" so to speak, he can sense a touch (with his new powers from beyond the graaaaaave 🪦💀🌹)" [source]

User: "about Emmrich so i know he's into flowers and botany but is he into plant meanings and symbolism" // Sylvia: "I think he is - Emmrich mentions some flowers that are "famed in verse and song", I think he'd enjoy reading up on the cultural importance and symbolism layered on to them." [source]

User: "Obv the game mechanics require Rook to make the choice but would a romanced Emmrich choose to become a Lich if the choice was in his hands? Would he abandon his dream for love?" // Sylvia: "I must refuse to answer on the grounds that it's too melancholy to contemplate. ;_;" [source]

User: "On the dinner date in the Necropolis I loved how Emmrich felt philosophical, it was so relatable, especially when he talked about the connection to something finer than we are. It was magical!" // Sylvia: "I'm really pleased that last part of the dinner date, resonated with you, I was trying really hard to get a certain feeling across." [source]

User: "What month do you think Emmrich was born in? I really wanna know what my guy's zodiac sign is" // Sylvia: "I don't know anything about zodiac stuff but weirdly, I do have a range, for some reason I always thought it'd be January or February." [source]

User: "1. How does Emmrich feel about children, both in general and possibly having them? 2. Would Emmrich be into gift-giving?" // Sylvia: "1. In general, he likes kids okay, and tries to be kind, but his students are mostly older so he doesn't really chat with many. Regarding having them, if circumstances aligned so that was the case, I think he'd be excited if maybe a little overwhelmed by the thought. 2. I think so! Not overbearing about it, but he would like to show some tokens of affection at appropriate times. (There's no way he's not delighted to get gifts.)" [source, two]

User: A more recent one but thanks to Sylvia Feketekuty it was the whole arc with Emmrich and his fear of dying because it's something I often experience myself and I don't think it's ever been addressed in a video game before and it was done so well in DA:TV too." // Sylvia: "Thank you so much! It means a lot to me too, to hear that it resonated with you." [source]

Sylvia: [Emmrich] "was the work of many other devs we're toasting here too, everyone working on Emmrich and the Mourn Watch went fully in." [source]

User: "I've wanted to thank you for all your work on DA. Emmrich, Manfred, and the Necropolis kept me going through some rough months. I was delighted to learn that you wrote Josephine too. I hope to see more of your work in the future. You're an amazing writer." // Sylvia: "Thank you, Kobra! And I'm very glad that meeting Emmrich and exploring the necropolis brought you some comfort." [source]

User: "One more question, if I may-- Is there any lore you can share about how pet remains are treated in Nevarra? I think I remember skeletal horses pulling a carriage in TN. (This might have something to do with me picking up my dead rabbit's cleaned skull from a taxidermist today and having Feels)." // Sylvia: "Beloved pets and other animal companions are very often interred along with their families. (You can actually see the burial place of some hounds in the corridor that opens up once you find all the wisps in the belfry. It was such an nice touch added by the level artist and level designer.)" [source]

User: "What would you say is the most important holiday in Nevarra? Or The Necropolis and how do they celebrate it?" // Sylvia: "I have nothing canonical written down or the like. But if I had to pick one, it would be the autumn ancestral pageants. There's the obvious connection with real life celebrations around death in in the fall, and the Mourn Watch and other mortalitasi would certainly come out for that." [source]

Sylvia: "

User: A more recent one but thanks to Sylvia Feketekuty it was the whole arc with Emmrich and his fear of dying because it's something I often experience myself and I don't think it's ever been addressed in a video game before and it was done so well in DA:TV too." // Sylvia: "Thank you so much! It means a lot to me too, to hear that it resonated with you." [source]

Sylvia: [Emmrich] "was the work of many other devs we're toasting here too, everyone working on Emmrich and the Mourn Watch went fully in." [source]

User: "I've wanted to thank you for all your work on DA. Emmrich, Manfred, and the Necropolis kept me going through some rough months. I was delighted to learn that you wrote Josephine too. I hope to see more of your work in the future. You're an amazing writer." // Sylvia: "Thank you, Kobra! And I'm very glad that meeting Emmrich and exploring the necropolis brought you some comfort." [source]

User: "One more question, if I may-- Is there any lore you can share about how pet remains are treated in Nevarra? I think I remember skeletal horses pulling a carriage in TN. (This might have something to do with me picking up my dead rabbit's cleaned skull from a taxidermist today and having Feels)." // Sylvia: "Beloved pets and other animal companions are very often interred along with their families. (You can actually see the burial place of some hounds in the corridor that opens up once you find all the wisps in the belfry. It was such an nice touch added by the level artist and level designer.)" [source]

User: "What would you say is the most important holiday in Nevarra? Or The Necropolis and how do they celebrate it?" // Sylvia: "I have nothing canonical written down or the like. But if I had to pick one, it would be the autumn ancestral pageants. There's the obvious connection with real life celebrations around death in in the fall, and the Mourn Watch and other mortalitasi would certainly come out for that." [source]

Sylvia: "

User: A more recent one but thanks to Sylvia Feketekuty it was the whole arc with Emmrich and his fear of dying because it's something I often experience myself and I don't think it's ever been addressed in a video game before and it was done so well in DA:TV too." // Sylvia: "Thank you so much! It means a lot to me too, to hear that it resonated with you." [source]

Sylvia: [Emmrich] "was the work of many other devs we're toasting here too, everyone working on Emmrich and the Mourn Watch went fully in." [source]

User: "I've wanted to thank you for all your work on DA. Emmrich, Manfred, and the Necropolis kept me going through some rough months. I was delighted to learn that you wrote Josephine too. I hope to see more of your work in the future. You're an amazing writer." // Sylvia: "Thank you, Kobra! And I'm very glad that meeting Emmrich and exploring the necropolis brought you some comfort." [source]

User: "One more question, if I may-- Is there any lore you can share about how pet remains are treated in Nevarra? I think I remember skeletal horses pulling a carriage in TN. (This might have something to do with me picking up my dead rabbit's cleaned skull from a taxidermist today and having Feels)." // Sylvia: "Beloved pets and other animal companions are very often interred along with their families. (You can actually see the burial place of some hounds in the corridor that opens up once you find all the wisps in the belfry. It was such an nice touch added by the level artist and level designer.)" [source]

User: "What would you say is the most important holiday in Nevarra? Or The Necropolis and how do they celebrate it?" // Sylvia: "I have nothing canonical written down or the like. But if I had to pick one, it would be the autumn ancestral pageants. There's the obvious connection with real life celebrations around death in in the fall, and the Mourn Watch and other mortalitasi would certainly come out for that." [source]

Sylvia: "Saw another misconception I wanted to clear up - I saw someone attribute Calpernia and Samson's quests in DAI to me. Not so! Those fine quests and characters were written by Jo Berry" [source] // Jo Berry: "And you took great care of them when I went on to other things 💙" [source] // Sylvia: "It was a pleasure!" [source]

User: "Are you happy with the theme Hans Zimmer and Lorne Balfe gave for him and the Mourn Watch? For me I love hearing it, cause it truly suits him!" // Sylvia: "I loved the theme! I worked with our music director Ron Dazo to explain the character to them, and I think they all nailed it. A solid character theme needs to be able be remixed for different purposes, and this action version is also one of my favorite tracks: [link]" [source]

User: "Not so much needing a massive explanation more curiosity after a friend and I have been conspiratorial for fun: do you think that Nevarra had their own religion before the Chantry became the most common religion in the country? That they worshipped a different deity or deities?" // Sylvia: "Took me a moment to double check, but Nevarra canonically had a history of animism in the distant past with the Planasene tribes. So probably yes, though we've left the nature of the animism fuzzy." [source]

[question about a 'Veiljumper triangle language'] // Sylvia: "Oh dang, I'm sorry I don't know at all. (The reason some MW-language inscriptions have a real meaning, and some are just gibberish, is that I suggested it'd be fun to do translatable words. But by the time I brought that up, some objects with that script had already been outsourced and completed.) It could be those triangles have no real-world translation, but this is a case where my guess is as good as yours." [source, two]

User: "is 'hot undead' a thing?" // Sylvia: "haha! I must leave that to the interpretations of the viewer"

[jusmango-shake]

Erm, I see requests are open ehehe :)

2012 Raph x reader who is a generally pretty calm person, but one day is involved in a fight with them and just goes absolutely apeshit crazy? Like his reaction or whatever. I don’t care how you interpret it. I just wanna see. :)

🥭: yES HELLO!! Congrats on uh being my first requester ion kno what it's called h, feel free to pick an emoji so yknow. You could be those emoji anons cuz, I think that'd be pretty cool

I hope you enjoy it though!!1!1 (love the 2012 turtles)

12!Raph x calm!Reader

Fictype: Normal

Mood: fluff

WARNING: reader scolds Raph for being reckless, one instance of Raph being called a good boy, cussing, Injuries/Blood, stitching/needles

🥭:I'm sorry for it being so short!.

Raph always liked the fact you were so cool. no matter the situation, you always made it seem as if it was just like any other day. He admired that about you, it rivaled his own hot-headedness in a way only you could.

But now as he sat on the toilet, all bloody and bruised up. He wondered where that side of you went.

He understood where you were coming from but it's like his ego prevented him from accepting it, any time he tried speaking up was immediately shot down.

He faked an annoyed sigh as he looked in the opposite direction, trying to ignore the stinging pain on his right bicep.

He nearly shivered at the heavy sigh you let out, the hot air tickling his skin.

“Raphael.” you spoke sternly, the mere tone of your voice enough to have Raphs heart pounding inside his chest.

He coughed, trying his best to keep up the bravado.

"Yeah.?" He felt your eyes bore into the back of his head, wincing at the slight pain of the needle penetrating his skin.

“look at me.” you ordered.

He gulped before shakily turning to look at you. not because he was scared, hell no! It's obviously because of the large gash you were currently stitching up. Yeah, definitely.

“What the fuck were you thinking? Did you seriously think you wouldn't get hurt? God, Raph. Sometimes I swear your ego makes you fucking stupid.” You stared daggers into Raph's eyes before continuing to stitch the gash.

He flinched once more, "But i-"

You turned your head sharply, glaring at Raph with the usual twinkle and calmness from your eyes completely gone. His breath hitched, it wasn't like you to be so...

“no 'Buts' Raph, what you did was fucking idiotic. if it weren't for Leo, I'd have to fix up more of your wounds. All that just to impress me?” you turned back to focus on finishing the stitch, the thread was severed with a quiet 'snip'

Raph's eyes widened at the last sentence, you couldn't have possibly known right? He never told anyone, he even tried his best to hide it.

"What?" Was all he could manage, staring at you with wide eyes. He followed you even as you knelt down to get the bandages from the cabinet under the sink.

“dont play games with me Raph, I see the way you act around me. The shit you pull off was practically upped tenfold, even your brothers could see that.” a faint blush making its way onto your cheeks, to which you promptly hid by applying alcohol on the cotton balls.

Raph's heart sank. if you knew all along, why didn't you say anything? Did you not like him back?

As he stared at the floor in thought, he only slightly registered the fact you were once again kneeling Infront of him. He hissed at the stinging pain of alcohol on the other cuts, you reacted by simply glancing at him.

You sighed, putting the used cotton balls in the trash, standing up. You cupped both of his cheeks, gently having him look at you. Your gaze still tense and sturdy, but a hint of empathy comforting Raph just a little.

Raph stared up at you, shock and guilt written all over his face.

“you worried me half to death, Raph.”

He felt himself shrinking under your stern gaze. Looking off to the side in an attempt to hide his embarrassment.

You took the bandages and wrapped them tightly around his arm, just tight enough to keep the wound closed.

“Raph?”

"Yeah..?"

You kissed the top of his head.

“next time, don't be such a dumb fuck. Be a good boy and stay safe for me.”

Raph sat there with wide eyes and rosy cheeks, barely registering the fact you had already left the bathroom. His fingers grazed over the spot you kissed him at, his heartbeat getting more and more prominent in his chest. But this time, it was accompanied with butterflies in his stomach.

Maybe he did have a chance.