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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 11 months

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When The World Is Crashing Down [Chapter 7: Keep Quiet, Nothing Comes As Easy As You]

A/N: Hello everyone! Thank you so much for reading and loving this fic. 🥰 We are now officially halfway done with WTWICD, can you believe it?! I hope you enjoy Chapter 7. 💜

Series summary: Your family is House Celtigar, one of Rhaenyra’s wealthiest allies. In the aftermath of Rook’s Rest, Aemond unknowingly conscripts you to save his brother’s life. Now you are in the liar of the enemy, but your loyalties are quickly shifting…

Chapter warnings: Language, warfare, violence, the smallfolk having a bad time everywhere you look, Aemond being a menace, serious injury, alcoholism/addiction, references to sexual content (18+), discussions of pregnancy/babies, dragons, murder, some new perspectives! 🥰

Series title is a lyric from: “7 Minutes In Heaven” by Fall Out Boy.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “Nobody Puts Baby In The Corner” by Fall Out Boy.

Word count: 6k.

Link to chapter list: HERE.

Taglist (more in comments): @tinykryptonitewerewolf @lauraneedstochill @not-a-glad-gladiator @daenysx @babyblue711 @arcielee @at-a-rax-ia @bhanclegane @jvpit3rs @padfooteyes @marvelescvpe @travelingmypassion @darkenchantress @yeahright0h @poohxlove @trifoliumviridi @bloodyflowerrr @fan-goddess @devynsficrecs @flowerpotmage @thelittleswanao3 @seabasscevans @hiraethrhapsody @libroparaiso @echos-muses @st-eve-barnes @chattylurker @lm-txles @vagharnaur @moonlightfoxx @storiumemporium @insabecs @heliosscribbles @beautifulsweetschaos @namelesslosers @partnerincrime0 @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @yawneneytiri @marbles-posts @imsolence @maidmerrymint @backyardfolklore @nimaharchive @anxiousdaemon @under-the-aspen-tree @amiraisgoingthruit @dd122004dd @randomdragonfires @jetblack4real @joliettes

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged! 🥰💜

In the Eyrie, Rhaena is praying for one of the three dragon eggs in her keeping to hatch. In the shadowy ruins of Harrenhal, Daemon and Nettles are bathing in rooms thick with steam, while outside by the lakeshore Baela brings plump goats to Moondancer. In King’s Landing, Rhaenyra’s Master of Coin Bartimos Celtigar is levying heavy taxes on the smallfolk: taxes on wine, taxes on ale, taxes on inn beds and shop goods, even taxes on the bittersweet parody of love purchased in brothels, taxes on every possible distraction from the ceaseless bloodletting that has infected the world like plague. In the North, Cregan Stark is following the Kingsroad towards Moat Cailin and imagining what you will say to him when you are rescued from the clutches of the Usurper: Oh my love, my champion, my savior, my lord. But south in the Reach, Daeron is flying.

Tessarion’s scales are a blue sheen like light on the ocean; the flapping of her wings is a deafening, roaring wind. She is nimble in the air, lethally quick, banking seamlessly when Daeron asks her to turn towards the Hogs Head, an inn from which torrents of men and women run shrieking. They do not run fast enough. Tessarion’s flames are an electrifying cobalt blue like lightning. Flesh melts away, bones are charred black, screams evaporate as lungs are singed, consumed, destroyed. Daeron’s own lungs work perfectly fine; he is cackling, almost loud enough to hear over the wings and inferno of his dragon. After the inn, Tessarion burns the sept, the marketplace, the castle that is the seat of the disloyal House Caswell. There is a stone bridge, after which the town is named, traversing the Mander River. People are fleeing across it. There are children on the bridge, but this does not stop Daeron. Maelor was a child when these traitors ripped him apart with their bare hands. Jaehaerys was a child, and so is Jaehaera, who may be alive in Storm’s End or may be dead but in any case has suffered the decimation of her family, her brothers and her mother and her grandsire. Daeron is burning Bitterbridge for the Greens, yes. But he is also doing it for himself. And in the wake of Tessarion’s fire, Lord Ormund Hightower’s forces pour into the rubble of the town to seize whatever treasures it has left.

In the Riverlands, Aemond and Vhagar are setting fields of wheat ablaze and incinerating cattle, pigs, sheep, forests that can no longer be used by the Blacks and their supporters for timber. In the Citadel, white ravens are being sent out to the great houses of Westeros to proclaim the end of summer. And on Dragonstone, the Beggar King heals.

He spars with guards that Larys found, is tended by maesters that Larys recruited from the turncoat houses of the Crownlands, rules over a microcosm kingdom that Larys built for him. Aegon tires quickly, sleeps often, aches and collapses and bleeds, gets sunburned when he is outside too long on those rare clear days. But he always rises again. “Perpetual Resurrection,” he says, grinning through the pain when you caution him to be patient, to be careful. “I’m not dying. I’m becoming brand new.”

You hunt for softshell crabs together on the rocky shoreline, fill a basket with them, bring them to the cooks to serve the skeleton crew of the castle for supper. You walk through the gardens, a pine-smelling woodland of towering coniferous trees, thorny rose bushes, blood-red cranberries, indelicate creatures that can thrive in the thin, inhospitable earth here. You study the books of the castle library—an impossibly vast, ancient collection, safeguarding texts from Old Valyria—while Aegon swims in the ocean with Sunfyre, laughing and diving as the dragon glides around him in large, lazy circles. Sunfyre can fly, but only a very short distance at a time; he is ungainly when he walks on land with his improperly-healed right wing. But in the water, he and Aegon are both unbroken again. Soon they will be ready for battle. Soon they will have to leave this island, this mist-and-smoke haven, to rejoin the war effort; soon they will have to leave you.

You crave Aegon like some people need wine, rum, gin, gold, power, violence, milk of the poppy. He is ecstasy, he is consolation, he is a spell. He is your home; and any place you’ve ever mistaken for home was only an echo of the truth that you would one day find him. Even on that very first night, as the storm raged outside, you whispered to Aegon when you both woke long before sunrise: “I want you again.”

“You’ll be sore,” he warned, a warm murmur against your forehead. “We can wait. I can wait.” But already his hands were moving, and your thighs were opening, and he followed your body and your words when they told him yes, now, and tomorrow, and the day after that, and the next day too.

You smile when Aegon calls you insatiable, but you know that’s not quite it.

You are acutely aware that nothing lasts forever, not even him, not even you.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Are the days getting shorter?” you ask, your bare feet ankle-deep in wet sand. Sunfyre is out in the waves eating dolphins; a slippery-looking grey tail hangs from his snaggletoothed jaw.

“I think you just want the nights to be longer.” Aegon winks up at you. His head is in your lap, his arms linked around your waist. You are weaving his little braid for him. His hair is just above shoulder-length and as choppy as ever. He periodically takes his dagger to it and hacks away haphazardly, determined to never look like Aemond, Daeron, Daemon, his father. He burrows into the softness of your belly and shuts his eyes. “Perhaps winter is coming.”

In more ways than one, you think bleakly, picturing Cregan Stark on the Kingsroad with snow in his long dark hair and dirt on his hands. “We should ask Lord Larys if he’s heard anything.” As the Citadel—and most of the rest of Westeros—believes Dragonstone to be unoccupied, they would not have sent a white raven here. But several times each week Larys receives visitors from Eagle Harbor, and they bring him rumors in exchange for gold coins and promises that when Aegon once again sits the Iron Throne, their faithfulness will be generously rewarded.

Aegon hums agreeably; he is dozing. After a moment he says: “I keep dreaming of her.”

“Who?”

“Helaena,” Aegon says, his voice lethargic and eyes still closed. “She brings me things. Butterflies, crabs, snakes. Things that are reborn. She puts them in my hands or in my bed and won’t take them away when I ask her to. She keeps telling me: Don’t fall, don’t fall.”

You finish Aegon’s braid and comb his unruly hair back with your fingers, soothing him, listening to him. You try not to think of the way Helaena died, crushed and hemorrhaging on golden sandstone. Instead, you picture her living: strange yet gentle, tragic but kind. You see her children as well, white-haired and beautiful and doted on not by their parents but by Alicent and Otto and you…and Aemond. You remember Aemond’s quiet resentment, his simmering and dangerous envy. You recall Aegon’s half-flippant accusation: You’re always developing attachments to things that are mine. Targaryens have wed brothers to sisters since long before the Conquest, but that doesn’t mean they always got the combination quite right. “Aegon, was Aemond…was he in love with Helaena? Did he desire her?”

“No. Not like that. He cared for her, but I don’t believe he had any lust for Helaena. He just thought he would have been a better husband to her than I was. That he would have caused her less misery. That he was more worthy of carrying on the bloodline, of being the children’s father. And he was right, of course.”

“What happened to Helaena is not your fault,” you say. “And neither is what happened to Jaehaerys or Maelor.”

“I’m glad Daeron burned them all,” Aegon says quietly, meaning the people of Bitterbridge, a tale ferried to Larys from one of his numerous, nameless informants.

“I know you are, Aegon.” You can’t bring yourself to agree with him. Does one dead child bring back another? Does each swatch of flesh burned away from a supporter of Rhaenyra replace one that was sheared off the bones of a Green? No, of course not, but the wheel goes around and around and around.

In the sky, another sort of wheel: a sun that burns cool and muted behind a thicket of iron-colored clouds. High above where you and Aegon are entwined on the beach, something crosses in front of the shrouded sun, casting an impossibly large shadow. You gasp; at the sound, Aegon bolts upright onto his palms and knees and follows your gaze. There is a profound, archaic rumbling, something old and intractable like thunder, earthquakes, floodwaters rising.

A dragon, you know immediately. You try frantically to determine whether you recognize its voice. Too large to be Tessarion or Syrax, too deep a roar to be Caraxes. Sheepstealer?? Vermithor?? But no, you have heard this beast before after all, it’s—

“Vhagar!” Aegon shouts, and scrambles to his feet. As the massive swamp-green dragon disappears behind the castle, soaring rather sluggishly, Aegon sprints as fast as he can up the stone steps towards the entranceway. You follow Aegon into Dragonstone and there the visitor meets you both, sailing down a staircase with eerie lightness, his boots hardly making a sound, his long silver hair secured in a single thick braid. Larys arrives as well and stands in the dreary, torchlit chamber, appearing as he always does: face servile and tactfully intrigued, hands laced together overtop the handle of his cane, back stooped as if to make himself smaller, less threatening, more invisible.

“I got to thinking you might be here,” Aemond tells Aegon. He sounds pleasantly surprised. “You look better.” Then he notices you. “Oh. Perhaps that accounts for some of it.”

“Where’s Criston?” Aegon asks. Meanderingly, so it is sufficiently subtle, he takes several steps until he has placed himself between you and Aemond.

“Somewhere near Saltpans.”

“You left him?” Aegon is incredulous, furious.

“Temporarily,” Aemond says. “It is not the first time. Between battles Vhagar and I raze the farms and villages of the Riverlands. Criston and his men are more than capable of fending for themselves. I’ll be back in a day.”

“You’re supposed to stay with Criston,” Aegon insists, speaking slowly and deliberately as if to a child who might have difficulty understanding. “You promised that you would. The war is on the battlefield, not on goddamn farms.”

“And what feeds Rhaenyra’s forces? Is it not grain and cattle? And so if I destroy their food supply—while our own soldiers are still receiving regular shipments from the Westerlands and the Reach—am I not inflicting catastrophic damage to the Blacks?”

“You’re burning…civilian property?” you say to Aemond. “You’re killing women and children and old people? You’re laying waste their homesteads?”

“It’s total war.” Aemond stares at you defiantly; there is no suggestion of self-doubt in his face. “It is a well-documented strategy employed across continents and centuries. We kill soldiers on the battlefield. We endanger their families back home. Many men will desert to return to their imperiled wives and children. Others will starve. All are broken. All are rendered ineffectual to our enemy’s cause. And thus we will triumph.”

You and Aegon gape at him, not knowing what to say, not knowing what is right or wrong in a world where children are slaughtered and grown men murder with impunity. When will this war be over? How can we end it? Will any of our souls survive the choices we’ve made with our backs to the wall?

“My prince, you chose an excellent time to pay us a visit,” Larys offers diplomatically. “I have just received news that may be of interest to you. And you can bring it back to Sir Criston and his men when you return to the Riverlands tomorrow.”

“What news?” Aegon asks.

“Wait,” Aemond says; and he smiles, dark and hungry like a wolf, like a dragon. “I want to see the place where my ancestors made their war plans. I want to sit in Rhaenyra’s chair.”

On the top floor of the Stone Drum, the main keep of Dragonstone that booms and growls during storms, servants light the candles beneath the Painted Table and bring wine, ale, bread, cheese, honeycomb, jam, candied walnuts, red cherries and violet grapes. The map of Westeros, older than the Conquest, is striped with snakes of fiery luminance like lava. Aegon twists the gold dragon ring on his finger, its jade eyes sparkling. You gave it back to him the day after you arrived on Dragonstone; he says that when he wins the war, he will have a matching piece made for you, but with a crab in place of a dragon.

Larys cautions before he begins: “I cannot tell you the perfect truth. I can only tell you what I’ve heard from the whispers that make their way to me.”

“And what have you heard?” Aemond says. Aegon glances petulantly at him, as if debating whether to remind his brother that a prince regent is not quite a king.

“The Dragonseeds known as Hugh Hammer and Ulf the White—and with them, Vermithor and Silverwing—have officially declared for the Greens.”

“Yes!” Aegon beams and raises his wine cup. He refuses milk of the poppy, even on his worst days; he does not want to be senseless, he does not want to leave you unprotected. But he drinks red wine often and grows ill if he is without it for long. Aemond is laughing victoriously. The brothers are momentarily united.

“There was a battle at Tumbleton in the Reach,” Larys continues. “Lord Ormund Hightower was slain by Roddy the Ruin who, allegedly, managed the feat after one of his arms was severed clean from his body. These Northmen are formidable beasts, to be sure.”

Aegon looks at you, a fleeting, fearful look.

“The people of Tumbleton believed the battle to be over, but then Vermithor and Silverwing joined Tessarion in torching the city. All the Blacks’ commanders were killed, along with most of their soldiers. And the city was sacked. There are reports of looting and…well, all manner of indecencies being committed against the civilians of Tumbleton, mostly women and children. Even septas and silent sisters.”

Now an awkward silence settles over the Painted Table. Ruin, heartbreak, agony, death; but somebody else’s. It could have been yours instead. Perhaps tomorrow it will be. Perhaps there is no end to suffering, only a reallocation of it to people who you do not know, do not love. Perhaps the debt can never be satisfied but only passed to another.

Larys goes on: “The people of King’s Landing are petrified that the Greens and their dragons will descend upon them and subject the capital to the same atrocities that Tumbleton experienced. Rhaenyra had to order the gold cloaks to seal the city gates to keep her supposedly loyal subjects inside.”

“The smallfolk’s support for her continues to weaken?” Aemond says.

“It does more than weaken. Many people there detest her. Bartimos Celtigar has imposed heavy taxes upon the city. The smallfolk fear that Daemon has abandoned Rhaenyra, and therefore that they cannot expect protection from Caraxes and Sheepstealer. And…” Larys peers around the Painted Table apologetically.

“…And?” Aegon presses.

“Rhaenyra’s youngest son…Viserys…” Larys sighs, an anemic, perfunctory breed of sympathy. “He is dead. Of illness, it seems. The luckless lad.”

“He was always sickly,” you say, remembering his unwaveringly watery eyes and dripping nose. And you almost say Poor Rhaenyra, but then you remember how the Blacks celebrated Maelor’s death with cheers and rare, bloody boar meat.

“Yes,” Larys concurs. “That is what the people believe, that he perished due to natural causes.”

Aemond is watching the Master of Whisperers closely. “What does Rhaenyra think caused it?”

“She suspects poison,” Larys tells him. “She is convinced of poison, I should say. She raved and she threatened and she spewed accusations. She executed a dozen people, none of whom could be connected to the death of the boy with any certainty. The smallfolk feel she has gone mad. And there is one more crime the people have branded her with.” Larys turns to you.

Your heard pounds wildly, hot blood thuds in your ears. “Has something happened to Everett—?”

“Not him. The Celtigars themselves are safe from her wrath. Bartimos is too near to the throne, and Rhaenyra trusts him. But the servant girl—Autumn, you called her—she went into labor a month early and was delivered of a boy.” Now Larys’ eyes flick to Aegon, whose face goes pale and panicked. “A boy with blue eyes and silver hair.”

Aemond rocks back in his chair and shakes his head.

“Oh,” Aegon moans. “Oh.” He clutches his chest with one hand and looks to you. He says weakly: “I’m so sorry, Angel. It didn’t mean anything. The child…it…it will never really be mine—”

“It won’t be anyone’s,” Larys says. “Rhaenyra had him run through with a sword.”

“What?!” Aemond exclaims. “A baby? An infant? In her own castle, in the Red Keep?”

You are horrified. “Did Autumn witness this?”

“I’m not certain, my lady,” Larys replies. “What I have heard is that Rhaenyra proclaimed it vengeance for agents of the Greens murdering her youngest son. She declared all bastards of the Usurper to be enemies of the realm and thus sentenced to death. She has offered rewards for anyone who brings a white-haired child to her for execution. And the smallfolk are absolutely, viciously appalled by her. The Street of Silk in particular is rife with people plotting the so-called queen’s downfall. She is surrounded by enemies. And she has only two male heirs left.”

“Two more than Aegon,” Aemond mutters.

“Is Autumn alright?” you ask Larys. “Did Rhaenyra harm her?”

“Your brother Everett attempted to advocate for Autumn and the child. He was ignored; your father and eldest brother were vehemently in support of the murder. Shortly after the baby was killed, Autumn disappeared from King’s Landing. I’m sure Everett facilitated this escape. No one knows her present whereabouts.”

“She’s just gone? No signs whatsoever?”

“Nobody ever knows anything.” Aemond waves at Aegon. “They think he’s in Dorne.”

“Seven hells,” Aegon whispers, rubbing his face with his hands.

“Rhaenyra is destroying herself,” you say. “She is doing the work for us. If you try to take King’s Landing with dragonfire raining down on Green supporters who are effectively held captive, there will be ill-will against you in the capital that will last for generations. But if they overthrow Rhaenyra on their own, you can reclaim the city bloodlessly.”

Larys taps his fingers meditatively against the Painted Table. “I do wonder if Daemon would intervene to support her. His present motivations are…somewhat nebulous. To Blacks and Greens alike. But he controls their most powerful assets.”

“You haven’t crossed paths with Caraxes and Sheepstealer in Riverlands, I assume?” Aegon asks Aemond.

“No. We are locked in a dance of sorts. I’m not certain that Vhagar can win against two dragons of that size; they must know that it is almost certain that at least one of them would be killed in the struggle even if they defeated me. This Nettles girl’s dragon riding skills are unclear. Perhaps Daemon is training her, perhaps he is now sufficiently attached that he does not want her in combat. So we avoid each other. But when the girl is gone—when Daemon tires of her, or when Rhaenyra sends assassins to murder her, or when she is removed from the board by some other means—I will meet Daemon in battle and end him.”

“Your priority is protecting Criston,” Aegon orders; but there is trepidation in his large, ocean-blue eyes, there is defenseless worry there. “Wherever Criston goes, you go with him. I’ll be ready to fight again soon. I’ll be able to help you.”

“Daemon is mine. I want to face him alone.”

“I am the king!” Aegon thunders, and you can see the strength leaving him like birds taking flight from cold, bare winter trees. “You will not behave recklessly. You will not abandon Criston. We are winning in the Reach, and we are winning in King’s Landing without even being there, and we will win in the Riverlands too if you don’t sabotage us with your relentless fucking pride.”

You and Larys study Aemond. He examines the flame-colored light of the Painted Table, tracing the etchings of rivers and mountains with his fingertips. “Fine,” he concedes, very quietly.

“And one more thing,” Aegon tells his brother.

With great reluctance, Aemond meets his gaze. “Yes?”

“If you have the opportunity to burn Cregan Stark, take it.”

~~~~~~~~~~

When Aegon collapses into the bed you share, you curl up against his scarred chest, listen to his heartbeat, breathe in heat and rose oil and the salt of the ocean. He does not ask you what is wrong. He does not speak of Autumn or her child, his child, no matter how indifferent or remorseful he might have been. He holds you knowing that there is nothing he can say to make the world whole again. He can only rest until he is well enough to fly into battle, where he might be further maimed or taken captive or murdered. And what then? What was this all for?

“Somewhere there are people just living,” you marvel. “They’re reading books, they’re having supper, they’re getting married, they’re tending to their crops and their animals. And none of them are thinking about war or massacres or dragonfire.”

“Yes,” Aegon says simply, pulling you in closer, one palm pressed to the small of your back and the other brushing your hair away from your face so he can kiss you, soft and slow. “But they’re not us.”

When Aegon is on the edge of sleep, you tell him that you love him, as you do each day. He has not heard it enough in his life; you are trying to remedy that now. And as always, Aegon does not say it back. Instead, he murmurs something in High Valyrian that you cannot understand. Now you commit it to memory, repeating it silently to yourself again and again until Aegon is sleeping deeply and you can rise from the bed without disturbing him. You go to your writing desk and scribble it down on a small piece of parchment: the way this word sounds in the letters of the Common Tongue. You have no way to translate it. There are books written in High Valyrian in the castle library, but you do not know the alphabet of the language, and you have yet to find a text that can teach it to you. When you ask Aegon for lessons, he demurs and says that he doesn’t know High Valyrian well enough to teach you. You think he just wants a way to say things you won’t be able to comprehend. You squirrel the parchment away in the pocket of your gown and slip out of the bedchamber you share with Aegon.

It is far too early for your mind to stop racing, only sunset. You wander down halls of shifting shadows and iron dragons, fantastically high ceilings and narrow slits of windows. Questions fill your skull like rushing blood in the chambers of a heart: Where is Autumn? Is she alright? Is she safe? Is Everett, is Jaehaera, is Alicent? Are Criston and Daeron? Are any of us?

When you cross through the doorway and onto a balcony that overlooks the ocean, Aemond is to your left. He is nursing a cup of wine and leaning over the stone wall that separates you from a long, treacherous fall onto black rocks that jut out of the sea like the hilts of daggers from a corpse’s back. You whirl away from him and towards the craggy staircase that leads down to the beach.

“Now you’re going to pretend you didn’t see me?” Aemond calls out.

You halt mid-step, consider it, then return to him. “You’re just so undistinguished in appearance. So easy to miss.”

He gives you one of his enigmatic, teasing smirks. His hair blows in the breeze that tastes like salt and sulfur and mist. He wears a dark, lush green. Then he peers avoidantly down into his wine. “I…I don’t think I ever adequately apologized for what transpired regarding the brothel. The Pink Pearl.”

“You didn’t.”

“It is a place…” Aemond pauses. He chooses his words cautiously, like handling something that could easily break, a glass goblet, an egg, a butterfly in an open palm. “It is a place that I associate with great unpleasantness. I made assumptions about where your loyalties lied. I felt that you had hurt me, that you had caused me to suffer. And I wanted you to suffer in return.”

“It was a horrific thing to do,” you say pitilessly. “It was cruel. It was evil.”

“Yes, I’m aware of that now. That’s why I’m apologizing.”

“Then do it properly.”

“I’m sorry,” Aemond says. It takes some effort. “I was wrong.”

“You were.”

“And I’m glad Aegon was able to haul himself out of bed to rescue you. It’s not often that he gets to be the noble brother, the gallant one.”

“It happens more often than you’d think.”

Aemond raises his eyebrow. Beneath his eyepatch, you know, is a winter-cold sapphire in a bed of mangled flesh, a treasure steeped in corruption. “How long have you been here?”

“Two months.” No, more than that. “Two and a half, or thereabouts.”

“And I assume there has been no shortage of…horizontal activities with my brother.”

“Not exclusively horizontal,” you snap, to make him regret being so forward, to make him uncomfortable. “We are more inventive than that.”

It works; Aemond flushes a gory mottled pink. Still he manages: “And you have not yet conceived?”

You glare at him, ice and fire at once. “No.”

“Why do you think that is?”

You shrug, exasperated, dismissive. “Aegon has been through so much physical trauma, perhaps he is no longer capable of having children. Perhaps I never was. Perhaps it will happen in a month or six months or a year. Perhaps it is not meant for us. Only the gods know.”

“You aren’t at all concerned?”

In truth, no; you are so consumed by whether Aegon will survive the war with any vestige of humanity intact that anything beyond this seems hopelessly distant, a constellation, a shadow on the moon, the silvery gleam of a comet. “It’s not something I spend much time thinking about.”

“It should be,” Aemond insists. “If the Greens expect men to go to war for us, for women to give up their husbands and sons to us, we should have a stable succession to offer them in return. Jaehaerys and Maelor are gone. Jaehaera is a girl and cannot inherit even if she is alive and well in Storm’s End. Aegon needs an heir.”

“Aren’t you next in line for the throne, Aemond?” you say cuttingly. “And isn’t that the role you believe yourself best suited for? Being king? Proving how worthy you were all along?”

He is uneasy, perhaps ashamed, evading your eyes. “Regrettably, I cannot begin trying for my own sons until the war is over and I marry Borros Baratheon’s daughter, as I pledged to in return for his support for our side. Daeron will not be able to marry for several years. In the meantime, there is this…disquieting lack of certainty. To complicate matters, Aegon has bastards in King’s Landing, I’m sure. The red-haired girl was far from the first whore to lie with him. If he does not have a trueborn son, claimants will appear to challenge mine or Daeron’s for the throne.”

You search yourself—unspoken longing and ancient cobwebbed fears—for any desire for a child of your own. You cannot find it. You are fond of children, you find fulfillment in caring for them, but the need to carry and deliver one yourself? It is not something you can remember ever yearning for. It always felt like yet another way in which your body would be used to further some man’s legacy, to give him pleasure at your expense. “Can you tell me what this means?” you ask, handing Aemond the folded piece of parchment that you’d tucked into the pocket of your gown. He takes it with one long, lithe hand. “I’ve probably spelled it wrong. I’ve never seen it written, only heard it spoken aloud.”

Aemond opens the parchment. His river-blue eye narrows; thoughtful creases appear in his brow. “Aegon has said this? To you?”

“More than once.”

“What prompted it?”

“Does your translation depend upon the context?”

“Hm.” Aemond skates his thumbprint over the dried black ink. Then he looks at you. “It means: To your misfortune.”

The alarm must show on your face.

“Not like a threat,” Aemond clarifies. “It is a common expression. It suggests that someone has entrusted something of value to the undeserving. It implies naivety. Unwise benevolence. But it is certainly not malicious. It is usually said fondly, like a backhanded compliment.” He returns the parchment to you. You rip it over and over again until it is only scraps that vanish in the wind, Aegon’s voice speaking to you: I ruin causes. I ruin people.

“Why did you kill Luke?” you ask Aemond, not accusingly but with hushed, weary wonder. “There was very little strategic advantage in it. There was great peril as a result. Rhaenyra will never surrender, never negotiate. You will forever be known as a kinslayer. You could have taken him captive. You could have humiliated him, you could have shown the world how weak he was. Why did you have to kill him?”

Aemond says nothing for a long time. He stares out over the ocean where the sun is setting, dolphin fins cut in swift arcs through the surf, Sunfyre dozes on wet sand, the sky glows dream-lavender and blood orange. He sips his wine and contemplates things that are mysteries to you. Aemond keeps his thoughts like untrustworthy animals: in cages, in darkness, turning fierce and feral, snapping jaws and rattling chains. At last he says: “They’re all dead anyway. They were from the moment Aegon was born and my father refused to name him the heir. It’s all of them or all of us. You think there is any scenario in which Aegon reigns as king while Rhaenyra’s children survive? No, no. Someone will always be willing to fight and die for them. Just like Green loyalists would have been willing to fight for Jaehaerys and Maelor.” Something shifts in his face like the breaking of a wave, and for a second you can glimpse the deep well of dark, helpless misery inside him, filling up drop by drop since he was a boy. Then Aemond is steely again. “Luke had to die. So did Jace and Rhaenys and that eternally sniffling toddler Viserys. And all the other Blacks will follow. Unless you care to see Aegon’s blood spilled. And mine, and Daeron’s.”

“No,” you say softly, an agonized little whisper that understands, that surrenders. “No, that cannot happen.”

Aemond takes another swallow of his wine and drums his fingertips restlessly against the cup. “Any heir our side puts forth must have undisputed parentage and Valyrian features. Aegon’s wife is dead. He can marry you. You are a Celtigar, you share our blood, you carry the memories of silver hair and rare magic in the marrow of your bones. These attributes are dormant in you, yet could be passed on to a child. A son of yours could secure the succession and one day inherit the Iron Throne. But the father has to be a Targaryen.”

You turn to Aemond, perplexed and wary. His wording is strange. “Well, it has to be Aegon.”

Aemond is impatient, irritated. You have not been keeping up. He says, his eye on the darkening horizon: “There are other Targaryens.”

You stare at him. You don’t understand, you don’t understand, and then suddenly you do. “What?”

This is not the reaction Aemond had hoped for. He gulps down the last of his wine, leaves the cup on the stone wall, storms down the staircase to reunite with Vhagar and resume burning the noncombatants of the Riverlands to ash.

~~~~~~~~~~

He finds her at the shore of the Gods Eye, rippling blue like a vast mirror. The Isle of Faces—forbidden, undiscoverable—is a faint mirage in the distance. Moondancer is circling overhead. Baela is perched on a large rock by the water’s edge and fishing; she is intrigued by tales of the strange creatures that dwell here, the hungry currents, the way this corner of the world has only a translucent, threadbare veil between our world and the realm of spirits, ghosts, demons. She has always been curious and bold by nature. She has always been his most beloved child.

“You found your way out of Nettles’ bed,” Baela pitches, a jest but not a judgment. She is already developing an appetite of her own that renders monogamy woefully lacking. She mourns Jace, but not the woman she would have had to pretend to be for him. “I’m shocked.”

Daemon smirks, tilting his head to the side like a wolf does as it’s listening. “You know how sheets have a way of getting tangled. Around ankles, around wrists…sometimes it is difficult to free oneself.”

“You were fighting hard, I’m sure.”

“Yes, all morning.”

Baela chuckles, reels in her fishing line, recasts it. She cares deeply for Rhaenyra and is loyal to her still, but Baela shares her father’s pathological aversion to weakness. She feels that Rhaenyra has driven Daemon away with her moodiness, her melancholy, her unmooring from the fearless, ardent woman she once was. Daemon says that being with Nettles is like being with a young Rhaenyra again. It would not be just to condemn him for seeking out what Rhaenyra took from him and has no intention of returning.

Daemon says: “I want you to go to Dragonstone.”

Baela is aghast, betrayed. “You are getting rid of me?”

“I am entrusting you with a vital enterprise.”

Now she is intrigued. Now she is considering it.

“Moondancer is too small to fight Vhagar, Tessarion, Vermithor, or Silverwing,” Daemon says. “If Caraxes and Sheepstealer meet Vhagar in battle, you cannot go with us. Nor should we leave you here unprotected. And I know you have been impatient for an opportunity to play a more…consequential role in the war.”

“I long to be useful,” Baela agrees. “More than anything.”

“Go to Dragonstone,” Daemon says. “It is vacant, it is safe. But it must remain under the Blacks’ control. Patrol it and ensure the Greens do not try to take the island and find riders for Grey Ghost or the Cannibal. Rhaenyra will return to Dragonstone if she is ever forced out of King’s Landing. I have tasked you with making it ready for her.”

“And I have permission to execute any traitors who might appear there?”

“Yes. You may swing the sword yourself. Or feed them to Moondancer, whichever you prefer.”

Baela smiles, a slow, toothy grin that spreads across her face like plague, like fire. “When can I leave?”

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #aegon ii #aegon targaryen ii #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #aegon ii x y/n #aegon ii x you #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon ii x reader

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sugarnspice630 · 9 months

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Secret Santa - Mingi

“Looks like you’re on the naughty list anyway Y/N. Time for your punishment.”

•pairing: nonidol!Mingi x gn!reader

•word count: 1.7k

•tags: nonidol, stalker Mingi, Mingi's dressed as Santa for a few moments, Mingi is shy when meeting reader in real life for the first time, Mingi breaks into reader's house, unaddressed Christmas cards, fear play, ...did I miss anything?

Summary: Receiving Christmas cards from an unaddressed secret admirer for 11 days straight, then on the 12th day, they somehow end up in your house

A/N: Happy Holidays everyone! Somehow I managed to squeeze this story out of my ass but I think it actually turned out pretty good! Please be sure to drop a like, reblog if you enjoyed it, and comment your favorite part! Happy reading and hope everyone has an absolutely amazing holiday.

Christmas was your favorite time of year. The lights, the atmosphere, and the colder weather which results in bundling up at home and staying nice and cozy; it was so magical. All of this magic was ruined slightly when you checked your apartment mailbox and found a letter from an unaddressed person. Hesitant to open it, but curiosity was getting to you since you thought ‘Maybe they just forgot to put a sticker on it?’ so you opened the letter to find an ordinary Christmas card. However, when you opened it, your legs got weak. It was a polaroid picture of you shopping for Christmas presents. Taken completely without you knowing. You felt sick to your stomach. How could someone do this? Who would do this? You moved the picture to see the card signed sloppily with red ink. Your heart beating incredibly fast, you rip the card and the picture and throw them in the trash. Taking a breath to try to relax, you go back to your normal daily routine and try to ignore the creepy letter.

The very next day, you checked your mailbox again, and there was another letter. Your hands trembled as you opened it, having a strong feeling it was from the same person as yesterday. The front of the card was different than the one before, but the inside of it still freaked you out just as much as the first time. The same red ink smeared inside, but the picture this time was a picture of you from your apartment bedroom window. Not doing anything explicit, just like you were walking in there to grab something. Again, you ripped the card and the picture up and threw them away. However, the thought of having this secret admirer this close to Christmas did excite you a little.

The cards continued to come for the next 9 days. Each day, the writing inside the card got even more illegible than the first time, and the pictures became more and more…alarming. A picture of your apartment door, a picture of you showering; thankfully your figure was blocked by the steam, a picture of your panties laying on your bed, which you definitely did not place there. You thought about going to the police, but what were they going to do about it? They had no way of tracking the person down because the handwriting was such a mess, no return address on the letters, and you certainly had no description of the person sending them. You were fucked. You just had to pray that this secret person would eventually stop or move on to someone else and leave you alone.

The time was now Christmas day and you were on your way to visit your parents. Frantically making your way to the bus, trying not to be late, you accidentally bumped into someone’s arm and it knocked your presents onto the ground.

“Oh shit, I am so sorry!” You quickly apologized to the stranger and bent down to start picking up your gifts.

“Ah, no need to apologize! H-here let me help. You seem to be in a hurry.” The stranger responded with a chuckle. He also bent down and started to help you pick up your presents.

“Thank you, I appreciate it.” You glanced up and noticed the person you accidentally ran into was ironically dressed in a Santa costume. “Dressed for the holidays, huh?” You said as you picked up the last gift and carefully stood up.

“Oh! Y-yeah, I uh..dress up as Santa every year and go to the local hospital and surprise the kids’ in there with gifts.” He nervously scratches the back of his head and looks down at the ground. You thought to yourself that he must be a shy or reserved individual and you felt guilty for running into him. However, his statement filled your heart with joy.

“That’s actually really sweet. I’m sure the kids appreciate it a lot.”

“It’s so nice seeing their faces light up.” He smiles softly, still not making direct eye contact with you. You smiled back at him and paused for a moment, admiring his facial features and the way his eyes sparkled in the daylight. He truly was an attractive individual. Realizing quickly that there was no time to stand around and drool over a stranger, you pulled out your phone and checked the time.

“Shit! Uh, I-I’m sorry I have to go! Thank you for helping me again; hopefully me running into Mr. Claus doesn’t put me on the naughty list.” You chuckle at the stupid joke. The stranger chuckles back at your joke, and you wave at him, thanking him once again as you start making your way back to the bus station.

“I’ll see you later~!” You heard the stranger call from behind you, but his tone of voice was different than when you were talking to him in front of you. Also, what does he mean by ‘see you later’? You don’t even know the man or where he was from. You shook it off as just another awkward thing that humans say accidentally to others. Like when the waiter brings you your food and says ‘enjoy’ and you respond with ‘thanks, you too’. Happens to everyone.

–

The Christmas party with your parents was great. Seeing family you haven’t seen in a long time and getting to catch up was something you needed to forget all about the crazy events you had the days prior. On your way home, you found yourself thinking about the Santa guy from earlier. You never exchanged names, but then again, it was probably for the better since he said, ‘See you later’. Perhaps he was the creep that had been sending you letters those 11 days? Chills went down your spine and you snapped yourself out of thinking. Looking out the window, you realize you’re almost back in town for your apartment. The bus finally stops at the station you got on at, and you carefully grab your bag of presents from the night and head out the door, thanking the driver as well and telling them to have a good night.

Walking to your apartment, you can’t help but have an uneasy feeling. All of the strange events that have been happening recently just put a huge damper on the holidays. You feel like you can’t fully enjoy them. Finally making your way back to your complex, you let out a sigh of relief as there was no letter in your mailbox. Finally, whoever that was decided to move on. You make your way up the stairs to your floor, starting to feel slightly tired from the day you have had. As you’re walking down the hallway for your floor, you see one, lonely, brown, package sitting in front of a door. Surely that can’t be at your door. You already got all your gifts tonight. Making your way closer to your apartment door, you can confirm the package is sitting in front of your door. That unsettling feeling comes back to you as you reach the door and see that there is no label whatsoever on the package. Someone just set this box here. You used your key and unlocked your door. You thought about leaving the package there and not bothering with it. Wondering if there was some kind of curse following you because you kept interacting with the strange mail pieces, but there was still that little light in you that was curious about what was in that package. You picked up the package and carried it inside, shutting the door with your butt and carrying the package to the kitchen counter to open it. You carefully grabbed a pair of scissors and cut the box open. To your surprise, there was nothing inside other than an envelope. Just like the ones you had been receiving in the mail. You opened it up and were greeted with another normal Christmas card; however, when you opened the card, your knees got weak.

See you later

Feeling the same feeling you got when you opened the first anonymous card. Your head was reeling. Who the fuck was doing this to you? What was the purpose of their actions, and why are they being so cryptic about it? ‘See you later.’ You repeated that to yourself again and again. You had heard this before. Those words came from the stranger earlier. They left the same sour taste in your mouth. Disgusted and utterly mortified, you hardly noticed the jingle bell sound coming from inside your apartment. Quickly directing your attention to your main door, you noticed it was slightly ajar.

You forgot to lock it.

Panic sets in and you run over to the door, slam it shut, and lock it. Your hands shaking as you do. Perhaps it pushed itself open? The seal around the door wasn’t the greatest, and maybe the pressure you applied from pushing it with your butt wasn’t enough to latch it shut completely. You press your head against the door and close your eyes, taking a deep breath to try and calm yourself. The jingle bell sound rings through your ears again. You turn around at an alarming rate, but there is nothing out of place. You carefully walk around your apartment to discover what the strange noise was. Rounding each corner slowly and trying to catch the intruder when they’d least expect it. You hear the jingle bells one more time, but it’s coming from behind you, and it’s extremely close. The ring sounds more like taunting someone rather than the joyous sounds of Christmas time. You turn around slowly and are met with an extremely tall individual. Your head looking up and your eyes taking in every feature of the intruder, just in case you make it out of this situation alive. You feel yourself trembling with fear as your eyes get closer to seeing the man’s face. A few seconds later, you are met with another pair of eyes. The exact same eyes as the stranger from earlier. He has the most menacing smirk on his face. You gasp dramatically and take a tiny step back so you’re not as close to him.

“Looks like you’re on the naughty list anyway Y/N. Time for your punishment.”

#ateez #ateez x reader #kpop #ateez imagine #ateez smut #ateez imagines #ateez hard hours #ateez hard thoughts #song mingi #mingi #song mingi x reader #mingi smut #mingi imagines #mingi x reader #sugarnspice630 #ateez mingi #ateez song mingi

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diazsdimples · 5 months

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Fuck It Saturday

I'm not sure if it's friday anywhere anymore so we're fucking it on a Saturday!! I've been super lax on writing this week because I've got a beefy 3k word report on care for transgender/gender diverse parents during pregnancy due on Monday and I am not even halfway done dfkjds. BUT I did get a small trickle of Frostpunk AU beans so I thought I'd share! Snippet below the line bc it's kinda long

Tagged for Friday & Saturday by @smilingbuckley @thekristen999 @dangerpronebuddie @spotsandsocks @bidisasterevankinard

@cal-daisies-and-briars @daffi-990 @theotherbuckley and @kitteneddiediaz, I will be getting to your snippets tonight!!

Buck’s reading to Christopher when it happens.

Ever since Christopher woke up, Buck has been keeping a near-constant vigil at his bedside, keeping the boy entertained and comfortable where he can. He’d even snuck into the Children’s Shelter to borrow some toys for Christopher - a set of cards, a rainbow puzzle, a small, plastic dinosaur toy, and a fluffy rabbit that Christopher had kept tucked under his arm ever since.

So, it’s not entirely surprising that Buck is there when Edmundo wakes up.

The first indication is the bleeping on Edmundo’s heart monitor begins to increase in speed. Buck stops midsentence and turns in his chair. The first thing he notices is that Edmundo’s eyes are open, wide and fearful as he looks around the room.

In a flash, Buck is on his feet, book clattering to the floor, and he rushes over to Edmundo’s bedside.

“Hen!” he yells, praying his friend is close enough to hear. “Chimney! Someone, come quick!!”

Edmundo’s chest begins to heave as a heavy panic sets in and he raises his arms to claw at the breathing tube down his throat. Buck grabs his wrists and pins them to his size, and is surprised at the strength of the man. It takes no small amount of effort to keep him from ripping the tube out, or scrabbing at the IV lines in his arms.

“Hey, hey it’s okay, Hen and Chimney are coming, just breathe for me,” Buck says hurriedly as he watches Edmundo gag around the tube. He knows the man will be getting oxygen, but that won’t be stopping the feeling of suffocation, the feeling of obstruction in his throat.

Edmundo’s eyes bug out as he looks at Buck, gaze boring into him in a silent plea. Help me. Make it stop.

There’s a clattering of feet on linoleum as Hen, Chimney, and another medic Buck doesn’t know the name of all sprint into the cramped med bay.

“What’s going on, what happened?” Hen asks as she comes screeching to a halt, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what’s going on. Before Buck can even open his mouth, Chimney is grabbing the extubation equipment and barking orders at Hen and the medic, all three swarming Edmundo’s bedside.

Buck’s in the way, he knows it but he cannot make himself move. Instead, he takes both of Edmundo’s hands and laces their fingers together, squeezing lightly to give Edmundo something to focus on.

“Look at me, Edmundo,” he says as Hen peels off the tape keeping the tube in place. Edmundo’s eyes flick back towards Buck, his eyebrows scrunched together, and Buck’s stomach twists uncomfortably as he sees a tear slide down Edmundo’s cheek.

“That’s it, just keep your eyes on me.”

“Okay, extubating patient now. Hen, have suction at the ready. Jess, get the O2 mask,” Chimney orders, and there’s a fluffy of movement as everyone gets in position.

Buck looks away. He doesn’t want to watch the tube come out. He’s never been the best with medical things at the best of times and this.. well he’s not exactly sure why the thought of Edmundo in particular being in pain makes him so unhappy but it does. So he doesn’t watch, instead keeping his eyes trained firmly on his and Edmundo’s hands. It doesn’t escape his notice the way Edmundo’s knuckles go white as he clings to Buck for dear life.

There’s horrible wet noise followed by the sound of suction and a volley of wet coughs, before Buck hears a deep breath in. He chances a glance upwards and sees Edmundo, eyes open and sans tube for the first time he got to Sector 118. There’s an oxygen mask fitted over his face, fogging up with every breath Edmundo takes.

Instantly, relief flows through Buck like warm honey, filtering through his veins until he’s lighter and warmer than he’s been in days. Edmundo’s awake. Edmundo is breathing on his own. Edmundo’s alive.

Buck grins, unable to contain his joy. “Welcome back to the world of the living, Edmundo.”

“Eddie,” the guy croaks, and Buck blinks.

“Huh?”

“Name’s E-Eddie. Not Edmundo,” he rasps, before breaking out into a coughing fit. Buck rushes to help him upright, takes off the oxygen mask, and holds out a container as Edmundo – Eddie spits into it, his chest heaving from the force of his coughs. Buck rubs his back, murmuring reassuring words until Eddie takes a shaky breath and allows himself to rest back against his pillows.

No pressure tagging (for Friday or Saturday) @hippolotamus @watchyourbuck @neverevan @babybibuck @aroeddiediaz

@bibuckbuckgoose @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @nmcggg @jesuisici33 @wikiangela

@loveyouanyway @exhuastedpigeon @epicbuddieficrecs @hermscat @worriedbisexual

@slightlyobsessedwitheverything @actuallyitsellie @idealuk @dangerpronebuddie @simpingforhotfictionalcharacters

@houseofevanbuckley @loserdiaz @elvensorceress @underwaterninja13 @rainbow-nerdss

@steadfastsaturnsrings @thewolvesof1998 @jehdogg @ohlookitsthearkhamknight @revenge-of-the-assbutt (lmk if you want to be added/removed)

#james writes #buddie wip #frostpunk au #buddie #911 abc #eddie diaz #evan buckley #911 buddie #911 #911verse #911 fanfic #eddie x buck #HE'S ALIIIIIVE #GOD i'm so glad I can finally write alive eddie #also the fact that I'm at 16k and not even a quarter of the way through...#help

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velidewrites · 7 months

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This Ends In Fire

Everything goes wrong when Nesta Archeron crosses the Wall to find her sister. Kidnapped and trapped Under the Mountain, she must now become the very thing she swore to destroy. But there is a light in the darkness—a flicker of a flame, ready to show her a way out. If she’d only let it.

Pairing: Nesta Archeron x Eris Vanserra

Tags: Rated Explicit; Marriage of Convenience; UTM AU

Notes: My humble submission for @sjmromanceweek!

Chapter 1 || Go to Prologue || Read on AO3

ONE WEEK AGO

Eris Vanserra wiped the last of his blood off his back and straightened his shoulders despite the soreness. Now that he was alone in the quiet darkness of his rooms, he could hear the rapid pulsing of his veins as it echoed off the stone walls. Eris gritted his jaw, letting his body tense and muscles harden. He would let no one, not even the servants, hear.

Dipping the wet cloth into the basin, he twisted the fabric and watched as the water slowly turned a pale shade of pink. It felt lukewarm on his skin, doing nothing to ease the pain, to bring any sort of relief. Not that Eris had expected it in the first place.

Fifty years ago, back when his magic had still been his own and not yielded to the hands of another, he could have opened a rip in time and space and let the cloth disappear in there, all evidence of tonight erased in the blink of an eye. The best he could do today was a quick snap of his fingers to strain the cloth of all liquid, and a flicker of a flame to burn its remains. The ash, he knew from experience, would soon melt into the cracks between the stones anyway.

With that taken care of, he slid both arms into the sleeves of his jacket, fighting off the wince his body demanded to submit to. Everyone had eyes Under the Mountain—especially the darkness.

He did allow himself a quiet breath, though, as he realised the usually stiff back of the jacket had mysteriously been padded, the fabric no longer roughly grazing his skin as he walked. It did little to calm him—no, his breath only seemed to encourage the fire stirring in the pit of his stomach, the flames rising higher and higher until they licked at the column of his throat. It had been foolish for her to risk it for something so small, so insignificant in the grander scheme of things. For him. But his mother had never seemed to listen, anyway.

Whatever she’d sewn into the spine of his jacket, it helped, and Eris hated it with every step he took as we walked out of his chambers. The Vanserra family tailor answered to his father, like everyone in the family’s employ, which meant Beron would find out about what his wife had done one way or another. She had been shackled to his side long enough to understand that, which made everything all the worse. She knew—she knew what the consequences were, and yet…

She thought Eris was worth it anyway. It was the Mother’s most cruel of punishments, perhaps, to allow Lady Vanserra to keep her heart despite the family she’d been given. It was why Eris never prayed to her, or the Cauldron, or any of the Gods that had once used to roam these lands. They had all abandoned them long ago. The monsters stayed.

One of them awaited Eris at the end of the narrow hallway, carved so deeply into the Mountain he doubted even its native dwellers were aware of its existence. The shadows had led him here once before, the last time he’d needed to bargain. They had sensed his urgency—desperation was not a word Eris preferred to resort to—in his sleep, and revealed the location somewhere in the depths of his dream. It was the first and only night Eris had not been plagued by nightmares.

He had not been blessed with such comfort the second time. All he’d had to do was think the right words at the right time, and watch as a shadow of disdain passed through Rhysand’s face. To Eris, it was confirmation enough.

“Tell me why I should not kill you right where you stand,” the darkness purred, and Eris rolled his eyes.

“I come with a proposition.”

“If there is anything you require, I suggest you take it up in a formal audience with our Queen,” Rhysand said simply. “All this secrecy is…” His gaze narrowed on Eris’s. “Troubling.”

“I would hate to inconvenience our Queen in such a momentous time,” Eris drawled smoothly. “The time is almost up, after all.”

Though Rhysand remained silent, Eris could have sworn the darkness tensed around him—watching. Waiting.

He continued, “A celebration is in order, I hear. The Attor is on the hunt—if my information is correct.”

Rhysand angled his head an inch. “And where do you obtain such sensitive information, Eris?” he asked.

Eris let a smile creep onto his mouth. “Oh, you have no reason to worry, Rhysand,” he crooned. “I can assure you you’re still the only one warming our Queen’s bed.”

Rhysand’s gaze darkened.

Still, Eris pushed, “I do wonder what Amarantha will make of you, though, once her precious Tamlin arrives.”

“You dare speak our Queen’s name?” Rhysand asked him quietly. “I could leave right now and tell her of your disobedience—and I think we both know which one of us she would believe.” A smile of his own tugged at the corner of his lips. “How, I wonder, will your mother take the death of yet another beloved son?”

There it was—the monster he had come to bargain with.

“While I’m sure you’re eager to return to her side,” Eris taunted, “there is something I need from you.”

“And why, exactly, should I feel inclined to help you?”

Eris smiled. “Because if you don’t, I will tell your Queen of your little visit to the Spring Court on Calanmai.”

For a heartbeat, the air around them seemed to still.

Then, “That visit was sanctioned,” Rhysand said. “I was acting on Amarantha’s will.”

“Ah, yes. The three drunken wraiths conspiring to dethrone her rule,” Eris mocked. “One shudders to think what might have happened had you not stepped in, High Lord.”

The darkness seemed to narrow on him. “Is there a point to your empty threats, or have you requested my presence simply to annoy me?”

“A little bit of both” did not seem like an adequate answer at this time, so Eris simply said, “As I’ve told you before, there is something I require from you.”

“And I told you, I am not feeling particularly generous tonight.”

“No, I imagine you save all your generosity for the Queen,” Eris answered. “I can also imagine her pretty face when I tell her the wraiths were not the only traitors you spoke to that night.”

Rhysand went wholly, entirely still.

“A human girl,” Eris hummed, delight rising through his chest as he watched that darkness stir with unease. “With pale blue eyes and hair like ancient, molten gold. A mere Child of the Blessed, one would think,” he mused. “But I am told that minutes after you left, she was approached by a very concerned Lucien Vanserra…and hurried right back into Tamlin’s manor.”

“Your brother has always had an affinity for the ones beneath him,” was Rhysand’s only reply. But Eris could tell—could feel the shift in the power around them, like lightning bracing to strike at midnight.

It was why he waved a dismissive hand. “Lucien Vanserra is an embarrassment to my family, and an exile,” he said, the words souring on his tongue even as he spoke them. “I will not claim him as my brother unless he miraculously regains his senses,” he added, letting a grimace twist his face. “Though I very much doubt that will ever occur.”

“Well, from what you’re telling me, a reunion seems to be imminent,” Rhysand commented. “Your mother will be delighted to see her youngest after such a long separation, I’m sure.”

It was the second time he mentioned Eris’s mother tonight. The threat was more than clear—and that fire inside him stirred at the message it carried.

Rhysand crossed his arms over his chest, something too hidden in the dark for Eris to discern rustling with the movement as Rhysand asked, “How did you get your spies from Under the Mountain?”

“I don’t feel particularly inclined to share my secrets with common whores.”

“Careful, Eris,” Rhysand warned, something cold slithering into his tone—perhaps to combat the fire cracking at Eris’s fingertips. “Your words may be your greatest weapon, but in our current situation, they remain your only one.”

Rhysand straightened then, and even the darkness seemed to take a step back as he announced, “I grow bored of your company. Tell me what it is you want, and don’t try screaming into my mind again.” He grimaced. “Your voice is exceptionally unpleasant, you see.”

For what had to have been the hundredth time tonight, Eris rolled his eyes. But as much as he wished to show Rhysand how, exactly, he’d been trained in handling the monsters’ threats…

“I need you to manipulate someone’s mind.”

Rhysand arched an eyebrow—and Eris thought that, perhaps even if his plan failed, the surprise on the High Lord of Night’s face would be compensation enough.

“So rebellious,” Rhysand drawled, his gaze studying him closely. “What would your dear father have to say, I wonder, if he found out his heir has grown a little too ambitious in the dark?”

“Say we have a deal, Rhysand,” Eris simply told him. “And I will never mention the girl ever again.”

Rhysand must have let the mask slip a little, then—a new kind of darkness finding its way behind his stare as he met Eris’s at last. “Not a single fucking word about her, Eris,” he warned, and when Eris nodded, his shoulders seemed to relax a little. “Alright, then.” He outstretched his hand.

Eris shook it firmly, his own skin tingling strangely as the darkness infused with the quiet scent of jasmine scented night.

“It’s a bargain,” Rhysand said.

***

PRESENT DAY

Nesta’s cell was shrouded in darkness, occasionally broken by a flash of a strange, blue flame. It had taken less than an hour for her to learn that the screams would soon follow, filling the space with an echo of pain and agony.

Somewhere in the distance, the fire burned again, casting shadows on the wall ahead—dancing in what she couldn’t help but feel was a mockery of her misery.

She sat up straighter, waiting for the wailing to come. From what she had discerned earlier, the voice belonged to some male creature bearing wings. She could still hear them flapping in desperation, as if their tortured owner still believed he had a chance of escape.

The only other sound accompanying the prisoner’s screams was the Attor’s raspy laugh, and Nesta tried not to shudder every time it came. She could still feel the monster’s voice on her skin, like grains of sand brushing over her roughly. Though she had not seen the Attor since the moment it had knocked her out mid-flight, the mere sound of its cruel laughs had been enough to make her stomach twist and her heart drop heavily in her chest.

The worst, and perhaps the best thing about all this at the same time, was that Nesta was not alone. She had been tossed into the cell unconscious, but had woken up to the quiet murmurs of both concern and excitement—the mixture odd enough that she figured out quite quickly whose company she’d been shoved into.

Nesta had no interest in finding comfort in the arms of the Children of the Blessed, but she found herself listening in on their conversation anyway.

“You have nothing to be afraid of,” the eldest of the group cooed, her slim hand patting another girl’s head gently, easing her quiet sobbing. “This is all a misunderstanding. Once the Fae understand we have come to serve them, we will be released to perform our duty.

Nesta rolled her eyes.

It did not go unnoticed—and another woman shot her a look, her navy gaze piercing. “You’d do well to show some sympathy,” she hissed. “Where we come from, the Fae do not shove us into their dungeons without prior questioning.”

Nesta was not sure what to take offence more—that someone so empty-headed felt within their rights to snap at her, or that they assumed Nesta, of all people, was one of them.

“Where are you from, anyway?” another Child asked her, red hair spilling over her shoulder as her head angled in curiosity. She had not arrived with the other three, Nesta remembered, with one of the guards only bringing her in hours after. “Do your clans not bear the symbols of our masters?” she asked, finger tapping on the wood-carved token around her neck. Nesta could hardly see the details of it in the shadows, though she made out a pair of hands holding up something rotund in shape—yet another meaningless thing of the world she had no desire to be a part of.

“She must think herself above such things,” the blue-eyed one scoffed, then returned her attention to the trembling girl in her friend’s arms.

Nesta turned back to the red-headed one. “I lost it on my way here,” she lied. “It fell from my neck mid-flight.”

The girl’s brows knitted into a scorn. “You ought to pay better care to such things in the future.”

“I doubt there’s any future for us left,” Nesta replied, ignoring the loud shush of the others as the youngest cried even harder.

The girl glanced over her shoulder quickly. “I saw the creature that brought you here,” she whispered. “It must’ve been terrifying.”

“I thought the Children are servants of all faeries.”

The girl scrunched her nose. “I doubt that thing can be called a faerie at all.”

Despite herself, Nesta snorted—and the girl smiled weakly. “My name is Carisa. You didn’t tell me where you came from.”

Nesta cleared her throat. The girl might have been tolerable, but it hardly meant Nesta was going to reveal to her everything about her life.

Especially not when she felt like, despite being entirely devoted to the torture next door, the Attor was still watching her, somehow.

“I was sent as an emissary to the South,” Nesta explained. “But I come from Scythia.”

Carisa’s face seemed to light up even in the darkness. “So am I!”

Shit.

Carisa continued, “Did you attend Queen Vassa’s coronation?”

Nesta had no idea the human lands on the Continent had appointed a new queen. “I was already gone by then.”

Carisa hummed. “You must have been here long, then,” she said. “You missed quite the celebration. I have a feeling Vassa is going to be a fair and just ruler.”

“I don’t particularly believe in the monarchy.”

Carisa blinked.

“For once, we agree on something,” the blue-eyed one cut in, apparently now part of the conversation as she looked at Carisa reproachfully. “The only authority we recognise are the Fae.”

“How glad we are to hear it,” a hoarse chuckle sounded above them—and they all jumped up with a shriek. Nesta included.

The Attor’s smile revealed all his silver teeth. “Come, Children. Mother has been expecting you.”

***

Eris watched as the blood trickled down the table in thin streams of crimson, the sight so dreadfully familiar he had to fight the urge to check over his back. It pooled at his feet, filling the small chamber with the scent of iron and wet earth, betraying the nature of its owner. These Lessers were native to the southern regions of Autumn, with the power to rip the roots of the strongest oaks from the earth with a mere nod of their fur-clad heads.

It was a shame this one had to die. He had proven himself to be one of Eris’s most capable spies, and, for the past forty-something years, had proven loyal enough that Eris had stopped questioning his reports only two decades in.

But, no matter how useful, he was still only a pawn.

And Eris was playing a larger game.

“Clean it up,” was Beron Vanserra’s only command as he wiped his hands on the pristine white cloth he’d summoned from thin air. No matter how much of his power Amarantha had claimed for herself, he was still High Lord—which meant he had access to magic Eris could only dream of.

It was one of many reasons he had framed his own spy. Why he’d turned to Rhysand, of all people, to get one step closer to winning the game.

“I should feel honoured,” Eris commented, using the spy’s discarded tunic to wipe his own hands. “You usually let Aran and Conall have all the fun.”

Beron scoffed. “Those fools would have bragged about it to the first whore that landed in their beds,” he said, as though it was not his own sons, his flesh and blood he was talking about. He cut Eris a look. “I should not tell you this is a matter of utmost secrecy.”

Eris nodded. “What is your plan, then?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Beron simply told him, his attention already elsewhere as he slid on his dark-bronze jacket, the material thick enough to cover the blood speckled over his formal shirt.

Eris did not let himself get surprised easily, and he liked to think he knew his father well enough to anticipate his reactions accurately. But this—this strange, eerie calmness about him as he buttoned up the hems was enough to make him say, “I do not understand.”

Beron met his gaze.

Eris continued, “We just found out one of our own spies reported for Amarantha. How certain can we be that the others have not been compromised?”

His father waved a hand in dismissal. “She will learn of this one’s death quickly enough,” he told Eris, something souring in his expression as he added, “I do not know what the Hybern bitch is playing at, but with this death, the game has officially begun.”

For Beron—perhaps. But Eris…Eris had been playing for a long, long time.

If the knowledge of Amarantha sending Beron’s own sentries after him was not enough to steer his father’s focus far away from Eris’s own dealings, it only meant Eris had to push a little harder. “You wish to wait for her next move.”

Beron cuffed his sleeves. “I want her gone, as we all do.” Another look at Eris carried a flash of a warning. “I have not taught you such impatience,” he mused quietly—too quietly. “Your mother, perhaps. It would not surprise me to see yet another failure of hers in my one and only heir.”

Eris stiffened.

“Mother has nothing to do with this,” he said slowly, as if to calm the rising urgency in his own chest. Clever—he was so clever bringing Mother into this, dangling her life right before Eris’s nose until he stumbled grasping for it.

Beron hummed. “Perhaps you require another lesson instead,” he said, and something like a smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he gestured to the body and ordered, “Clear the table.”

Eris was going to abide—the way he always had.

His feet carried him to the centre of the room as though they possessed a mind of their own, completely isolated from the thoughts pounding through Eris’s head. His back had fully healed—courtesy of the newfound comfort of his clothing—and, in a few moments, Beron would know exactly who to blame.

But then a knock sounded on the heavy, wooden door—and Eris stopped.

“My lord,” a voice called, quiet and hesitant. “My lord, you and your family’s presence is requested in the throne room.” A pause. “I’m afraid time is of the essence.”

Eris did not dare to move.

Beron sighed deeply. “Clean up later,” he instructed, then made his way for the door. “Kill him on your way back in.”

Eris’s face eased back into its usual stillness. “Naturally.”

“Good,” Beron nodded, the word the highest of praises in his mouth. “Now let’s see what this is all about.”

Praying Amarantha had somehow heard as the High Lord of Autumn referred to her as “the Hybern bitch,” Eris followed his father. It was ridiculous of him to hope, it the thought brought him some entertainment, at least, as they made their way up the labyrinth of corridors carved into the Mountain, passed only by the occasional guards or maids scurrying toward their designated rooms.

They reached the throne room quickly, Beron disappearing immediately to take his place by the other High Lords—in the alcove right above the western side of the hall and overlooking Amarantha’s iron throne.

A little higher up, in the lounges reserved for nobility, Eris slid into his usual chair, his gaze not leaving the throne for one second as he, ever-so-slightly, leaned toward his left. “You should not have done that, Mother,” Eris murmured. “He—”

“Straighten up, Eris,” came the reply, soft and quiet. “Smile.

So Eris did.

“Who are they?” a female voice to his right asked, and Eris bit back a hiss as he realised Aran had brought in a female into his family’s section. Again.

“Fresh meat for the Attor,” his younger brother snorted. The female visibly winced.

Only then did Eris finally regain his senses enough to scan the area below. A small group of people gathered before the throne, where Amarantha lounged—with a smiling Rhysand beside her.

Eris gritted his teeth.

“Kneel,” the Attor announced, wings sprawling high up from where he stood behind the group—as if to block them all from turning. “Before your Queen.”

One of them—the shortest one—slid the hood off her head, the others quickly following suit before dropping to their knees. Eris realised then—there would be no torturing Beron Vanserra today, even despite his best wishes.

No. They’d been invited for a feast.

Amarantha’s red-stained mouth curled into a smile as she leaned back in her throne, her right arm wrapped around Rhysand’s. To his left, Eris heard Conall scoff. “What have you brought me today, my dear?” she asked, clearly addressing the Attor to the horror of Aran’s companion. “Ah. Children of the Blessed. How delighted I am to see your lovely faces,” she added, and one of the women—the closest one whose features Eris could make out—seemed to beam at the acknowledgement.

“These three were found near the Winter border, Your Majesty,” the Attor explained, the rasp of his voice carrying throughout the hall. “This one arrived at Autumn’s eastern docks earlier today,” he pointed to a red-haired woman. “And this one,” he said, wings flaring in unabashed pride, “Came from Spring.”

It only lasted a second—even less, perhaps—but Eris did not miss the flash of fear in Rhysand’s violet gaze. There and gone, like the flicker of a star as it descended down on the last woman.

She looked up, then, her black hood falling farther down her back—and met Amarantha’s gaze directly.

Eris held his breath.

She was, without a doubt, the most beautiful female he’d ever seen.

Woman, he corrected himself immediately after the treacherous thought, if the rounded tips of her ears weren’t enough of an indication. Had Eris not been his father’s only suitable heir, Beron would have killed him for harbouring such a sentiment without hesitation. It would not have been Beron’s first time.

Even so, Eris could not help but let his gaze linger. There was a devastation to her beauty, as though all the gods he’d forsaken had decided to prove him wrong in crafting this woman. When she looked at Amarantha, there was no admiration, no blind loyalty that shone from her companion’s misty stares. No, this one looked at Amarantha with…challenge, shining brightly from those blue-grey eyes.

Eris stilled at that, the realisation ripping the world underneath him open as he understood why he glimpsed fear in Rhysand’s eyes.

A human girl. Those were his own words, spoken no more than a week ago. With pale blue eyes and hair like ancient, molten gold. A mere Child of the Blessed, one would think, but I am told that minutes after you left, she was approached by a very concerned Lucien Vanserra…and hurried right back into Tamlin’s manor.

This woman had come from Spring—and she was no Child of the Blessed.

The lie burned like fire in those eyes of hers as she held the High Queen of Prythian’s gaze. “We are here to serve you, Your Majesty,” she said, her voice smooth and clear.

“Such devotion,” Amarantha purred. “I would be delighted to have you as my guests tonight. A ball—in your honour.”

The other four erupted in whispers, their excitement so palpable it turned Eris’s insights sick as Amarantha added, “And a very special offering from my court later.”

In the past five decades, Eris had attended enough of those celebrations to know exactly how Amarantha liked to play with her prey. To know what would happen to those women the minute the final note of the violins marked the ball’s bloodied end.

But, if he was right, one of those women, the fraud…

If he was right, she was the one they’d all been looking for. The one Rhysand had met that night, knowing she was the key to everything.

A newfound fire sparked in Eris’s chest as a new pawn appeared on his centuries-old board.

He was going to save her.

And in turn, she was going to save them all.

#sjmromanceweek2024 #neris #neris fic #in which eris has fire in his blood and he fucks like it too #nesta x eris #nesta archeron x erisi vanserra #nesta archeron #nesta acotar #eris vanserra #eris acotar #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #my writing

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satuguro · 2 years

Text

✧*ೃ࿐ TONGUES & TEETH

[ ACT V: AN ANGEL'S FRAGILITY ]

xavier thorpe x valkyrie! reader

#SYNOPSIS— you and xavier go for a walk, you and enid think that tyler's an uber driver, and xavier needs to figure out his feelings.

#CONTAINS— enemies to fwb to lovers, slowburn, academic rivals, intimidating and flawed reader, familial issues (will be mentioned in this part), gore, blood, death, aged up characters (everyone is 18 except for eugene), sexual content (in this part & some other parts)

#AUTHORSNOTE— this took me longer to write for some reason but it's okay. thank you for all the support lately ily all xx

ACT I, ACT II, ACT III, ACT IV, ACT V, ACT VI

xavier didn’t like hospitals.

he didn't particularly spend a lot of his time in them, but when he did, he always hated it. the florescent lights, the strong smell of sickness and cleaner intermingled in the air, and the patients he passed by on the way to your room. all of them, either awake or asleep, had someone in the room with them; holding their hand, praying, talking with them. helping them.

he had to admit, it was awkward coming to visit you with weems. but weems offered to drive him so long as he kept a low profile about your condition, so he agreed to tag along. you were finally announced as stable after five days in the hospital; he guessed that having godly blood helped.

but while everyone had people in their rooms, all of them caring for their loved one so deeply, so tenderly, your room had only a black dahlia, a bouquet of baby's breath and lavender, and one of your mugs on a table.

the dahlia was from wednesday. the bouquet was from enid. xavier had brought you one of your own mugs the day prior.

but as he and weems entered the room, there was a woman standing at your right side. her hair was long and blonde, tied into a long dutch braid that reached all the way down to her hips. she wore a white turtleneck under a black trenchcoat and was the same height as weems. in her hands was your leather jacket from the night of your attack, now neatly sewn as though it hadn't been ripped to shreds.

none of your siblings looked like each other. you all had different mothers, but you all had odin's blood.

xavier placed his own gift next to their's; a random collection of your mugs from art class, and a pot you had made in pottery with a single white orchid in it. weems placed an envelope and a 'get well soon' balloon in the corner that xavier knew you'd poke fun at.

"you're one of y/n's sisters— eir, was it?" weems asked, approaching the valkyrie.

"yes. we met on y/n's first day." eir glanced at xavier, who only stood far behind weems. he looked perturbed, his jaw clenched as he sent daggers towards eir, but eir only sent him a kind smile before focusing on you again.

"i'm truly sorry for what has happened to your sister," weems continued, clasping her hands in front of her as she observed your sleeping face. "i'm sure that y/n has told you about her adventures—"

"it's all she ever truly talks about," eir laughed softly to herself, "she has always been drawn to trouble. even as a child— i'm sure you've seen it in her old forms."

"i have." an uncomfortable silence hovered in the air. the only thing that filled the quiet was the beeping of your monitor.

usually, when xavier came to visit you, he went alone or with enid. wednesday hadn't spoken a word to him since the attack.

xavier held you for what felt like hours. he rocked you back and forth as your sobs died down into sniffles. he pressed a quivering kiss to the top of your head as he breathed heavily in the cold. your hands were still wrapped around him, gripping his shirt.

until they fell at his sides, limp and lifeless.

"y/n? fuck, y/n?" xavier pulled you away from his chest to look at you. he desperately moved your hair from your face, his hands shaking violently as he held you in his arms. your eyes were shut, your face peaceful but lacking any sign of life. panic settled into his body as he shook you gently, careful not to move your wings. "y/n, answer me, c'mon," he pleaded, feeling the burn of tears behind his eyes.

your blood was everywhere; all over his hands, all over his pants and on his shirt. but the worst thing about feeling your blood wasn't that it was warm; it was that it was turning cold.

the sound of running footsteps on fallen leaves made him look up, a small sense of relief overcoming him when he saw wednesday with thornhill close in tow.

"get away from her," wednesday seethed, and with that, every ounce of relief disappeared from his body. she ran up to the other side of your body, her eyes widening at the sight of your snapped wings. "what did you do?!"

"you can't be serious, wednesday, she's dying!" xavier yelled, his eyes pleading for help as he fixed you in his arms. "we," he sniffed harshly, "we have to get her and eugene out of here. now."

"her wings will only bring her more pain," thornhill murmured, making xavier look at her in horror. eyes were set on something glinting in the distance, and she made her way towards it quickly. she returned with your sword in her hands, the weight heavy but manageable.

"no, you can't do that to her," xavier shook his head at he held you closer to him. it was a pathetic attempt to get you away as thornhill neared. "you can't cut off her wings ms. thornhill—"

"we need to do this, xavier. it will make it easier for us to get her to the hospital quicker." thornhill huffed as she raised the sword up, the weight far too heavy in her hands. it glinted in the moonlight menacingly, shining down on its owner. "i'm sure she'll understand."

"ms. thornhill, don't—" wednesday protested, but it was already too late.

thornhill let the sword fall on the elbow of your wings with a sickening thump. the sound of your bones and skin being cut seemed to echo in the woods like a haunting whisper. when one came off, the other followed.

"i'm going to visit eugene," weems said as she passed xavier, who could only nod as she left. yet again, there was that uncomfortable silence in the air as he stood in the room with eir. quietly, he moved to your other side as he peered at you.

you were so peaceful when you slept. your hair was a mess on the hospital white pillow, but it surrounded your head like a halo. your eyes were shut gently, and it looked as though you were only sleeping.

sometimes, xavier forgot you were quite literally an angel on earth.

your wings, now cut down to what xavier assumed was its elbow, was behind your back, completely bandaged. the hospital did everything they could to stop your wings from bleeding, but you lost so much blood; not only in the forest, but under their care. rumors circulated around school that you almost died.

"the nurses told me you and some girls visited her every day." eir spoke with a soft nordic accent, but she was easy to understand. she glanced at xavier with the same irises you had; calculating, strategic, and observant.

always on guard.

"the girls were enid and wednesday, her roommates." eir's eyebrows raised at his bitter tone, but said nothing as xavier continued. "i'm xavier. her.. friend."

eir placed the jacket in her hands on a nearby chair, smoothing it out as she left it. "it's our father's jacket," eir explained, her tone gentle, "he gave it to her years ago, when he saw her last." she turned to xavier, her eyes cold but her smile warm. "thank you for visiting her, xavier. i'm sure she'd be happy to know that you have come here every day—"

"where have you been?"

"excuse me?" eir blinked as she looked at xavier, who looked at her with a dirty look.

"you're her sister. one of nine, from what i heard from enid, and yet this is the first time i've seen anyone from her family visit," xavier scoffed, shaking his head to himself, "and only one of you showed up." his voice was pained; not for himself, but for you.

xavier knew what it was like to be lonely, to exist without the presence with others. he knew better than most how it felt to roam an empty home like a ghost, how it felt to be treated as though he wasn't even there. he knew how it felt to be in a room full of people and still be seen as nothing more than someone's shadow.

and to see you, someone who quite literally lost their wings over someone else, it pained him to see that it took your family nearly a week to appear.

"where's her dad— odin?"

"elsewhere."

"he couldn't even appear for her? not even for this— a near death experience?" xavier asked with a mirthless laugh, "does he even care for her?"

a smile appeared on eir's face, like a shadow from the sun. it brought nothing but anger to xavier to see her smile at his accusations, but she knew fully well that xavier was right. odin didn't want to appear, even when his daughter was within death's grasp. her sisters were off doing their jobs in other countries, all too deep in their jobs to manage time for their little sister. eir continued to say, "are you aware that y/n is the weakest of my sisters?"

"that isn't what we're talking about—"

"she is the youngest. the first born in the modern age; the rest of us were born millennia ago," eir looked at you fondly, one of her hands reaching out to touch your face. she stroked your skin under her calloused fingertips, a small sign of love. "valkyries age slowly— we aren't goddesses, you know. but many of us become stronger the more we age," eir shook her head, laughing softly to herself, "but not y/n."

"her body is weaker than ours. her back cripples when her strength runs thin and her skin bruises when you punch it— not like the others." eir shook her head, her hair flowing like water with her movements. "my sisters and i have seen vikings fall at our feet. men and women alike have begged us for mercy," eir swallowed as her face suddenly turned cold. it was as though she was reminiscing the memory of soldiers clawing at the ground as she pulled them away from their world, their pleads still fresh in her ears. "but y/n.. she fell at the feet of others."

"why are you telling me this?" xavier couldn't help but ask, his curiosity getting the better of him as he looked between you and eir.

"because all y/n knows is survival," eir stated with a sigh, "my sisters only know war. we grew up under the safety of our father, but y/n has never been as lucky," a bitter smile tugged at her lips, "it was as though trouble was constantly in her wake. war is temporary, but for it to happen every day in nearly every home you had," she spat her words out like poison, her words gritted and forced, "is cruel. it's cruel and merciless."

"where were you?" xavier asked, his voice no louder than a whisper. her entire explanation of your history did nothing to coerce his anger; if anything, it only made him angrier. eir's eyes looked into his, shining brightly with tears as she answered.

"valhalla. odin didn't deem y/n worthy enough to be with us," eir sniffed harshly, a hand coming up to wipe her nose. the valkyrie cleared her throat, fixing her trench coat over her body. "her wings will grow back when she truly needs them. it will be a painful process, but i am sure that you will be with her, xavier thorpe."

before xavier could protest, eir already left, leaving nothing that even showed that she had arrived in the first place.

you woke up without that familiar weight on your back.

your hands shook as you reached behind you, a whimper leaving your lips when you were met with your clipped wings.

and with that, you screamed again. nurses and doctors alike rushed into your room. you fought them all off, your recuperating strength almost no match for all of them at once. like a wild animal, you shoved them all off, your cries of horror being carried out into the pale hallways of the hospital.

"who did this to me?" you demanded, "who did this to me?!" your eyes burned red with tears as you fought against their restraints. tears streamed down your face as you wailed for the wings that had been so cruelly taken from you. the one thing that provided you peace and tranquil was mercilessly torn away from your hold, like a child whose mother was ripped away from them.

you knew you were lucky enough to still have the roots of your wings intact. that meant it could grow, but you had seen how painful wing regrowth was. how the sickening crunch of a wing being forcefully regrown brought on unimaginable pain.

but wing regrowth only happened when it needed to happen.

your punches and kicks were rendered into nothing as a doctor put a syringe into your neck, and the world went black again.

you were dispatched the next day, as your wings had miraculously healed their cuts. they were small and useless now, nothing more than an ornament you held on your back. they couldn't fold into your back anymore, only folding close to your body as you walked down the hallway of the hospital.

deep eye bags hung under your eyes as you roamed the hospital like a ghost. nurses, doctors, visitors, and patients alike watched you in awe, for in their eyes, all they saw was an angel with clipped wings. but you paid them no mind, too numb and too exhausted to care as you arrived in the doorway of a patient. your hand held a singular sunflower.

eugene's room was bare, but had a small mason jar of honey that someone from nevermore had brought. it brought a smile to your face to see it, but your smile didn't last when you landed on eugene's form.

the glow was soft around him, almost barely visible in the sunlight that shone over his body through the window. but you saw the golden particles that surrounded him; the gods were still deciding whether he would stay or he would go.

"you're y/n."

you turned around, eyes widening when you saw his moms. "i.. i just wanted to visit him—" you swallowed thickly, looking back at eugene's body. the machine on his nose and mouth that helped him breathe and the scars that littered his face made those familiar tears start up again.

you did this to him. you didn't protect him.

"i'm sue, this is janet," sue said softly, placing a small beehive sculpture onto a nearby table. she looked at you with a soft smile, taking in your weakened form. "honey, are you okay?"

"i'm so," you swallowed, avoiding their gaze as you felt the tears start up again, "i'm so sorry."

wordlessly, one of his moms stepped forward and engulfed you in her arms. your arms were dead at your sides, the guilt rippling through your body like crashing waves as janet wrapped her arms around you too.

they held you so tight. so tight.

"he talks about you and wednesday all the time," sue laughed as she and janet finally pulled away from you, "he always talked about how cool he thought you were."

you smiled, shaking your head to yourself. "he reminds me a lot of the friends i made in my foster homes," you said softly, looking at eugene fondly.

he was like a little brother you never had.

"thank you."

you furrowed your brows in confusion at that, turning your head towards janet. "what for?"

"for protecting him." janet looked at your wings, nothing but empathy in her eyes.

you clenched your jaw, the words doing nothing to calm the turmoil of guilt in your mind. but after a second you forced a tight lipped smile. "i have to go— weems is waiting for me outside." you moved past them awkwardly, avoiding their gaze. "i'll visit him as often as i can."

you retrieved your things from the hospital on your way out. your leather jacket was all fixed, to your surprise, and you pulled it over yourself before you walked out to the hospital parking lot. with your items in a box— you silently wondered who had brought a variety of your mugs and the orchid, as the other gifts were obviously from your roommates— you walked out of the hospital. weems stood next to her car, her outfit, hair, and makeup as perfect as ever. but even in her usually unreadable eyes, you saw sympathy.

you didn't like sympathy.

"it's nice to see that you are strong once again, y/n," weems commented, and you only forced a tight lipped smile.

"yeah. i guess the gods didn't think it was my time yet," you said dryly, already making your way into the passenger seat of the car.

the ride to nevermore was silent, as you weren't really in the mood to socialize with anyone. you simply watched the forest pass you by from the window.

"when we return to nevermore, it will be the beginning of parent's weekend," weems interrupted your contented silence, "i suggest you keep eugene's condition under wraps as to not cause panic."

"to not cause panic?" you echoed in disbelief, turning to the principal with a skeptic look, "principal weems, he's in the icu—"

"keep it under wraps, y/n." even with such a bright smile on her face, weems was able to sound borderline threatening.

the car came to a stop outside of nevermore. the second it was parked, you were already making your way out of the car and into the quad.

the entire quad was full of students' parents and family. you swore that you had never seen the quad so full of people from all over the world. parents, grandparents, siblings, even uncles and aunts all surrounded their kids as they all talked and caught each other up.

your wings ruffled gently under the confines of your leather jacket, still fairly weak. you didn't make your entrance grand, instead opting to stay near the the side of the quad and away from others as you observed them all.

a pang of envy hit your body when you watched everyone with their families. as much as you wanted to play off that you thought parent's weekend was cheesy, you wished that some of your family would make time to show up.

a part of you wished that your father would appear, but that was just the inner child in you talking. you had only ever seen him twice in your life; once when he pulled you out of your orphanage, and the second when he left an entire empty apartment to you. he paid the expenses, but he never visited.

"y/n?" enid's voice made you jump in surprise before you were practically tackled into a hug, her werewolf strength making you hit the wall gently.

"hey, hey; i'm strong but not as strong as i usually am," you managed a laugh, gently pulling enid's arms away from where your wings were hidden.

you didn't know why you were suddenly so embarrassed to show your wings now. maybe it was because it was a huge sign that you lost a fight. maybe it showed just how weak you really were; you didn't know. but feeling enid's hand brush against your wings from over the jacket made you want to hide your wings even more.

you used to be proud of them.

"why didn't you tell us that you were back?" enid asked, almost tearful as she held your shoulders. she looked so worried your original idea of keeping to yourself was hindered for just a second.

"i didn't want to make a scene." you managed a smile as wednesday appeared behind enid. her facade fell ever so slightly, her cold eyes softening as she looked at you.

"i did not doubt that you would fully recuperate in time for this horrible weekend. you have shown yourself to be quite a sadist," wednesday stated, glancing briefly at the other parents in the quad. she swallowed thickly before nodding her head once. "thank you for being there for eugene."

your eyebrows raised at her sudden sincerity. this was the first time you had ever seen her like this, and you nudged her gently as you stood between her and enid. "don't go soft on me, addams. we still have a monster to find."

the sound of weems clearing her throat in the mic made the three of you look up at her. her warm was as bright as ever as she addressed all the family in the quad. you didn't care enough to listen to her words as enid began to talk to you.

"the monster hadn't attacked anyone for the past week," enid said, "maybe you finally scared it off, y/n."

"maybe," you mumbled, "or maybe it's just regaining its strength to finish off the job."

"i realize most of you have heard about the unfortunate incident involving two of our students," weems said into the microphone, making you look up in shock.

she better not.

"but i'm happy to report that eugene is on the mend and is expected to make a full recovery, while y/n has already arrived back from the hospital," her arm stretched out towards where you stood with enid and wednesday.

oh, how you wished you could fly away from everyone's stares. you shifted uncomfortably at the smiles you received from strangers and classmates alike, the sudden spotlight fresh from you arrival from the hospital making you nothing short of embarrassed and annoyed.

"so let's try to focus on the positive and make this weekend the best parent's weekend yet!" weems' smile grew, and claps rippled through the crowd in agreement.

"on the mend? try in a coma," wednesday grumbled under her breath, making you nod and shove your hands into your pockets.

"i'm the reason he's in the hospital," you murmured, primarily to yourself. guilt stained your tone bitterly as you forced yourself to stop pondering about your lack of action.

"that is not your fault, okay?" enid said softly, her usually bright eyes darkening with concern. she turned to wednesday, "you stop beating yourself up over it, too."

"maybe the reason why the monster hasn't been seen is because of this weekend," wednesday said dryly, her expression only darkening at the entrance of her family.

you wouldn't lie, they all fit each other's aesthetic very well.

"i knew i should have worn my plague mask," wednesday practically seethed, already dreading the upcoming socializing she would have to do.

enid tsked, nodding over to her own family. her nose scrunched in slight embarrassment. "would you look at my family?" her mom and dad stood a few feet away from their rowdy boys, who were jumping around the picnic table wildly. "talk about toxic pack mentality," enid sighed, "i give my mom 30 seconds before her judge-y claws come out."

you and wednesday looked at enid with concern, who only let out a slow exhale before forcing a smile. "let's get this over with." she looked at you with a small tilt of her head. "are your sisters coming to parents weekend, y/n?"

"no," you responded curtly, backing away from your roommates. "i'll leave you both to it, though. good luck."

you watched on from the walls of the quad, your arms crossed over each other as you watched on from your brooding corner. everyone seemed happy enough to have their family around.

your eyes drifted up to the second level of the quad, and your eyes met familiar green ones again.

his face was unreadable as he looked at you. you sent him an awkward wave that quickly fell when you noticed bianca standing next to him. but she seemed equally as down as you were, so you awkwardly waved to her as well.

you watched them both talk, bianca obviously bothered by what xavier was saying, until she turned around to a woman wearing gold reptile clothing. she looked shocked, to see her, to say the least, almost like a deer in headlights. your eyes followed xavier as he left bianca with her mom, a sigh leaving your lips as you focused your attention to the families in front of you again.

the amount of family togetherness made you want to cry and throw up all at the same time.

you began to walk away from the quad, wordlessly moving past people like a ghost. you didn't want to stop and chat no more than you already had. you didn't have the energy to force yourself to be civil when you felt nothing but self blame, guilt, and anger for what had happened over the last week.

but most of all, as you walked out to the archery range and felt the wind blow gently against you, you felt grief. because you wanted nothing more than to feel that wind under your wings.

your hands were clenching and unclenching, your chest heaving as you desperately tried to calm yourself. you found yourself too deep in your thoughts to think straight, too guilty to talk to others who obviously cared about you, too angry for feeling so weak that you wanted to do nothing but destroy. you wanted to destroy that monster for leaving a 13 year old kid in the hospital, fighting for his life. you wanted to destroy the monster the same way he destroyed your wings.

you walked towards the rack of bows, hands working on their own as you grabbed them and one of the quivers, carelessly hoisting it over your back as you stood in front of an array of targets.

you loaded a bow in and pulled it back, aiming for a mere second before you let it fly. it hit the middle of the target with a thump, but you were already loading another into the bow. you let each arrow fly carelessly, so desperate for some kind of escape from your mind. from the memories of the mauling not even a full week ago, of you being carelessly thrown around while eugene screamed for help.

how pathetic was it, that you wanted to help eugene but couldn't even help yourself?

you never wanted that to happen to anyone else again. you were so close to experiencing the pain your sisters had told you about— the pain of being too attached only to lose them moments after.

you had to stay away.

"y/n."

another arrow in the middle, cutting through the last.

"y/n, stop."

you reached for another arrow, mindlessly loading it into the bow.

"are you even listening to me?" a hand grabbed your shoulder, and you immediately walked back and turned towards the person, the arrow pointed right at their heart.

xavier raised both of his hands in surrender, worry ghosting over his face as he looked at you in concern. "it's me," he breathed, eyes trailing down to the unwavering arrow. ever so gently, he took a step towards you and pushed the arrow aside so that it pointed away from him. "it's me," he repeated, green eyes boring into yours as you swallowed thickly.

you let the bow fall at your side, the arrow easily dropping to the ground.

"don't do that," you muttered, turning your eyes away from him first, to his surprise.

" 'm sorry," xavier couldn't help but say, the apology slipping past his lips before he could exchange it with a snarky comment. he exhaled slowly, taking a step towards you as you looked at the damage you had done to the archery target. "you shouldn't be training."

"why not?" you huffed, walking away from him to place the quiver and bow back.

"you know fully well why not," xavier said in exasperation, walking quickly after you. he knew you wouldn't stupid; you were just avoiding the idea that you simply weren't strong enough. "you need to be resting."

"you need to let me be."

"i'm not going to."

"and why is that?" you snapped, that familiar glare meeting his eyes. "you think that after that night suddenly our entire relationship has changed—"

"i held you while you were bleeding," xavier seethed, and you stepped towards him, stabbing an accusatory finger at him.

"you stopped me from getting to eugene."

xavier chuckled in disbelief, your words making him shake his head. he was sure that it was just the attack speaking; you were obviously still on edge over the whole thing, but he had to admit, to hear you be so mean hurt him. "do you know how much blood you lost?"

you opened your mouth to fire back, but xavier stopped you.

"it was everywhere, y/n. and your wings.." his eyes drifted to the leather jacket that covered you, your wings hidden under them. "your wings looked horrible."

your pained gaze left his eyes as you looked up at the sky, feeling that familiar pressure behind your eyes.

"thornhill had to cut them to bring you to the hospital," xavier continued, making your sadness slip away for a moment for it to be replaced with anger. but xavier saw it. "don't blame her for it, y/n."

"i feel like blaming everything right now," you said with a joyless laugh, "i feel like.. burning everything."

xavier looked at you, observing the way your turmoil was finally shining through the cracks of the walls you had built. "do you wanna go on a walk with me? you don't need to say anything— i know that you're definitely not in the mood for a conversation but.. i don't want you committing arson."

you couldn't help the small smile that tugged on your lips at that, xavier's eyes softening when he saw the genuine smile. his heart tugged in his chest when he looked at you; not out of sympathy, but out of something else unexplainable.

the both of you began to walk around the school grounds, the ambiance of nature being the only noise between the both of you. every time you approached the woods, xavier found himself moving to the side of where the woods were, walking along the border so that you didn't have to.

"i met your sister two days ago."

"you what?" you couldn't help but say, eyebrows raising. "they actually visited?"

there it was again, that tug in xavier's chest. "why are you so surprised?" he couldn't help but ask, but he continued anyway, "it was only one of them— eir," he listened to you sigh and murmur a small, 'of course it was,' before he proceeded, "and it was the first time she visited in that entire week."

"how are you so sure?"

"because wednesday, enid, and i visited you every day." xavier could feel your eyes on him. his cheeks burned red at the small confession, but he played it off, saying, "i got mad at her."

you swatted his arm in response, making xavier wince as he rubbed your mark. "stop interfering with my family matters," you scolded coldly, and he groaned at your words.

"fine, it'll be the first and last time, but that was the first time she ever visited. your father didn't even come."

"eir has always been the one that visited. she's never visited a lot but," you sighed, "she was always there. odin would never go." your tone was bitter as you kicked at a bunch of dry leaves on the ground.

"i understand." you looked at xavier curiously, and he took it as a sign to continue. "my dad told me in a text that he wouldn't make it to this year's parent's weekend," a forced, tight lipped smile appeared on his face, "he hasn't gone to all the others, so.. i don't really know what i expected."

you stayed quiet at that. you knew how that felt, to want a parent's presence and always be turned down. it was as though you were nothing but a burden to them. but silently, you weighed your options of opening up to xavier. you didn't want to get attached.

you wouldn't get attached.

"did eir talk to you?" you asked, changing the subject quickly. you didn't want to get into the nitty-gritty about your father when you barely knew him. he existed, you knew that much, but it was as though he was a figment of your imagination. like an imaginary friend that appeared only when they wanted to.

"she did," xavier nodded, looking ahead of him. it was a particularly cloudy day today, and the sun barely shone through all the thick clouds that hung in the air.

"about?"

"you." he listened to your groan, a fond smile gracing his face at the sound. "i think i learned more about you from her than i have from you."

"eir and her big mouth," you muttered under your breath. "well? what'd she say?"

"that you were the youngest of the ten," xavier began, "that you were always attracted to trouble—" he watched as you opened your mouth to protest, only for him to interrupt you, "don't even try and argue when you know it's right."

you shut your mouth and let him continue.

"and," the words ran around in his head as he chose them carefully, knowing that it would be a sensitive subject to bring up. but he pushed himself over the edge to say it. "that every home was war for you."

your jaw clenched, the immediate subject of your various home lives making you immediately close in on yourself. it was as though you could feel all of your walls strengthen at the comment, all to fight against xavier.

"you don't need to tell me more if you don't want to," xavier stated, and with that, the walls fell again.

"good."

you both continued your walk in silence. whether it was uncomfortable or comfortable, you didn't know, but you were silently thankful for it. you didn't feel particularly conversational.

but you found yourself being more curious about xavier. if anything, he was as guarded as you were— what a hypocrite. but maybe you were a hypocrite too.

"do you still think i'm the monster?"

you couldn't look him in the eye. but you know those green eyes of his were staring at you in hope that someone believed he was innocent. you didn't look him in the eye as you responded with a, "i don't know who it is."

xavier sighed, his shoulders falling at that. he didn't know how to convince you or wednesday that he was innocent— you were both far too stubborn to even hear him out. oftentimes, he heard wednesday's accusatory voice yell at him much like she did the night of you and eugene's attack.

"i'm sure you aren't fairing too well after the attack, either," you commented, changing the subject yet again. "how do you feel?"

"honestly?" xavier sighed heavily, "i can't get the feeling of your blood on my hands."

a spark of guilt ran through your body. "i'm sorry," you mumbled, the apology barely audible. but the wind carried it to xavier's ears, to which he could only shake his head in response.

"it isn't your fault," xavier said firmly, turning his head to look at you. but your head was focused on your shoes as though it was the most interesting thing in the world. he nudged your shoulder gently. "i mean it, y/n. besides— i've been using art to cope with all of it."

your eyebrows raised in curiosity. you guessed that his primary muse was the monster; you were right, but xavier knew that he had pages full of you and only you.

if anything, you had been his muse almost as much as the monster.

"can i see some of it?" xavier's skeptical look made your eyes widen, "not for evidence! gods, i just want to see."

you looked around xavier's dorm in interest as he shut the door behind you. he had kept rowan's side of the dorm just as he had left it; it seemed as though he was stopping himself from adding items to rowan's side.

there were two easels set up near his desk; one of them was covered by a sheet, while the other was the unfinished painting of the monster. your throat dried as you peered into its crimson eyes and its long claws; the same claws that hooked under your skin as though you were nothing but a piece of meat. your fists clenched and unclenched involuntarily— a small sign of your nervousness as you continued to stare at the painting.

but your trance was broken when xavier turned the canvas so that its back side was towards you. "this is how i cope, remember that," he told you, and you found yourself nodding. "that wasn't what i wanted you to see," xavier said, his cheeks burning red as he turned to the other easel. swiftly, he pulled the blanket off of the painting. "this was."

it was you.

the sketch he had done of you prior was now alive on the easel— literally. your wings were flapping behind you as you flied high in the sky. the armor you wore shone as the nearby moon hit it, and your helmet seemed to glint under the stars. your wingspan was huge, reaching from one side of the canvas to the other side. he paid so much attention to detail that you could see the familiar pattern of brown on your feathers you looked so powerful. so mighty.

but to see it in front of you after knowing what you've lost, you couldn't help but turn around immediately. "i have to go," you managed through the lump in your throat. you moved past xavier, his face falling as he reached out to hold your shoulder before you could leave, his hand brushing against the top of your wings over your jacket.

"wait—"

you immediately pulled your shoulder away as though he had burned you. you looked almost scared as you stared at him, your eyes misting over in tears.

gods, you really needed to get yourself together.

"i.. i appreciate the painting. i really do— but when i look at it," you exhaled sharply, unable to finish your sentence. you glanced at it, taking in how powerful you looked. how your wings were a symbol for many that everything would be okay. how you looked so strong. "it reminds me that..i don't look like that anymore."

xavier's brows were furrowed as he looked at you. your words hung heavy in the air, and you were almost too ashamed to look at him.

" 'm sorry," you laughed, looking up at the ceiling as you blinked your tears away. xavier walked closer to you as you did. "you're a creep, actually, for making paintings like that. i honestly expected it to be of wednes.." your words died in your throat when you felt his hands hold your face gently, pulling your head down to look at him.

xavier didn't say anything as he used his thumbs to wipe away your tears. he touched you, someone who was so accustomed to war, as though you were delicate. his green eyes studied you as you looked at him, your eyes drifting down to his barely parted lips.

and as he held your face between his hands, he kissed you. not in the way he had before. he kissed you as though he was telling you something that only you would understand. as though every slide of his lips against yours was another promise.

but you ignored those promises, because to you, promises would only be broken. because you didn't want to promise yourself to another if it meant that you could lose them in the end.

xavier pulled away from you, his forehead pressed against yours as he looked at your features. he was looking at you like you were his favorite painting. it was as though you had been sculpted by such a tender hand that part of him couldn't believe that you were truly here in front of him.

"i want you to make me feel better." the request fell out of your lips before you could catch it. it was barely audible, like a whisper in the wind, but xavier heard all of it.

xavier only nodded, and you both met in the middle again. the kiss, once so composed and gentle, became more passionate as you felt him under your touch. his hands held your face as he kissed you over and over, as though your taste alone was addicting. and to xavier, it was.

your hands ran through under his shirt as you found yourself on his bed yet again. you pulled it over his head before the back of his knees hit the edge of the bed, making him fall back. xavier quickly used his elbows to raise the upper half of his body to look at you. a frown tugged at his lips as he fully sat up, bringing you closer to him.

you sat on your knees on the space in front of him. your eyes were on his as his hands gently want to the zipper of your leather jacket. you gripped his wrist before he could pull it down, nervousness evident in your eyes. you took in a breath before you used your hand to guide his hand down to fully unzip your jacket.

his hands paused before he could fully pull it off of you. "may i?" xavier asked softly, waiting patiently for your response. when you nodded, he shook his head, murmuring, "i need you to say it. i want you to be sure."

"take off my jacket, xavier," you said, never pulling your eyes from his. your stare only fell when you felt your wings flutter out of the confines of the jacket; they were weak enough to not be as responsive as they usually were. xavier let out a slow exhale when his eyes trailed from your clipped wings to the three neatly-stitched scratches on your back, the memory still fresh in his mind.

"you're so beautiful," xavier breathed, his fingers feather light as he traced your tattoo.

if your fear for love didn't burn so strongly, then maybe you would've found yourself seeing him in a different light.

but you found yourself yearning for something else entirely.

xavier's lips met yours again as you pushed him so that his upper body was propped up against the headboard. you straddled him, his eyes looking up at you innocently. you throw your shirt over your head before leaning down to kiss him again. you rocked your hips against his, reveling in the low moan that he let out into your mouth. you felt him through his jeans, distracting him from kissing you properly as another groan left his mouth.

you lips left his, leaving a single line of saliva between you. your mouth met his neck, leaving open mouthed kisses along his skin that made him whine for more. your hand found its home at the base of his neck, squeezing ever so lightly.

"i thought i was supposed to be taking care of you," xavier said with a breathless laugh that quickly turned into a groan when he felt you press down against him again.

"you are," you mumbled, pulling at his pants.

xavier helped you take his pants off along with yours, both of you in your underwear as you kissed him again. he could feel how wet you were with every rock of your hips against his cock.

"i want you," you whispered against his mouth. you felt his hands trail down your body, mapping every inch of you under his fingertips. his fingers hooked under your underwear, stretching the elastic before letting it slap against your skin. he pulled it to the side, allowing his fingers to rub your wetness around, your small moan being swallowed by his mouth.

xavier hummed against your lips, pulling away for a second to whisper, "you have me."

another empty promise.

your eyes darkened at that. you pulled his cock out of his underwear, teasing his tip along your pussy to gather up its wetness. xavier's eyes were half lidded as he looked up at you, cheeks flushed as he bucked his hips up desperately. "patient," you scolded, before you sank fully onto his cock. the both of you gasped at the feeling, your hands on his chest as you allowed yourself to get used to his size. you shifted slowly, a low moan leaving his lips as his head fell back.

steadily, you moved up and down his dick, reveling in the feeling of being so fucking full. but you couldn't look away from him as you worked up and down; how his hands held your waist to guide you, how your body moved so fluidly against his, how his long hair framed his face so perfectly. his rosy lips were parted, letting out a whine when you slid down slowly, the pace almost unbearable but so so good.

"pretty boy," you said, your hips moving back and forth. you watched a sinful smile appear on his face at that. the glow from the sex only made him so much more beautiful under your gaze, as though he was the angel and not you. and how lewd was he to smile so sinfully as you fucked him. "so fucking pretty."

"y/n, move faster," xavier said, eyes pleading as he looked up at you. he was taking in every part of you; your heaving chest, the sweat that was misted along your skin, the way you looked at him. he was so addicted to you that it almost felt as though he felt something.

your hips followed his request, his eyes rolling back again when you began to ride him faster. your moans only spurred him to buck his hips up in time with you, the added pressure nothing short of delicious as you felt him hit that spot in you that made you see stars. "xavier," you moaned, and he fucked you harder.

"say my name again," xavier murmured, leaning forward to kiss your neck feverishly. you moaned his name again, feeling him leave marks in his wake. like water color, he painted you purple as you moved like water under his fingertips. so fluidly, your hips moved together, the friction borderline delicious as you chased your high.

the knot in your stomach was almost too much to bear, your moans raising in volume as you felt xavier bite down on your shoulder, hiding a particularly loud groan that threatened to leave him. "so beautiful," you heard him mumble, too high off of sex to make a comprehensible sentence. "gon' cum jus' for you," he continued, hands rubbing your hips and holding you close.

your head flew back as you finally came, your eyes rolling back as the pleasure surged through you. your hips continued to move as xavier's hands moved you back and forth, letting you ride him through your orgasm. xavier's lewd noises were muffled in your neck as he came right after you, spilling his cum into you and feeling it leak down.

ever so slowly, he raised you off of him, and moved you to lay down next to him. he peppered light kisses over the hickeys what decorated your skin, his fingers moving some of your hair out of the way as he allowed you to bury your head into his pillow. you looked at him, eyes unreadable as you left a lingering kiss at the corner of his lips.

and with that, you turned away from him to sleep.

by the time you woke, you felt his skin against yours. your hand had found itself holding onto his wrist gently as his arm stayed draped over your body. like a drum, his pulse thumped against the pads of your fingertips, strong and steady. you felt his soft breathing brush against the nape of your neck as he slept soundly.

you gently pushed his arm off of you, letting it fall behind you as you sat up at the edge of his bed. you looked up at the moon that shone through his window, your heart aching at the sight of it.

how you wished to fly close to the moon again.

your eyes floated over to the little details in xavier's room. the photos of him, rowan, and ajax, all smiling at the camera. an photo of a younger and enid, with enid on his back. doodles that ranges from cartoonish to realistic, all pinned up messily above his desk.

a page from his sketchbook of wednesday, playing her cello. now of all the pieces of art he had on the wall, he seemed to have paid attention to her's the most.

"why aren't you resting?" his soft voice brought you away form your thoughts, grounding you to the earth. he shifted behind you, the bed moving in his wake as he propped his head up on his arm. you were looking away from him, oblivious to the pained way he was looking at your clipped wings. the cut had already fully healed thanks to your godly blood, but the scars from the monster remained on your back.

"i have to go," you managed to say, turning back at him. xavier looked so drowsy, his eyes slowly blinking as he struggled to stay awake, but his green irises were alert as ever. your eyes followed each mark you had left on his skin like a constellation that only you knew of, the blooming purple nothing short of sinful.

"this means nothing, right?" his question was asked before he could stop it. it had been on his mind even before he had closed his eyes. he had gotten an intense feeling of deja vu as he asked you the question, knowing fully well that you had said something similar when you first slept together.

"right," you murmured in response. it was as though you were both signing a strict agreement that day. no strings. no feelings. only empty promises.

"i don't understand why i'm being invited."

"because it's a girl's night, silly!" enid smiled brightly, fixiing the snood she made for you over your head. it was an off white color; one that matched your color palette (enid's words, not yours). "and no one's seen you out of the dorm for a week unless it's for class. everyone's been worried."

for most of the week, you had kept to yourself. you didn't have the full energy to converse with others, and you hadn't been speaking to anyone for no longer than a few minutes; even xavier. but you needed time to recuperate before devoting your time to killing some monster and solving a murder.

your wings were strong enough to fully disappear into your back now. but it had been far too long since anyone had seen any sight of them. you guessed that you were forcing yourself to get used to the feeling of them being in your back forever; if you didn't have all your wings, then you might as well not have them at all.

wednesday had caught you up on what had happened during your week of rest and relaxation, telling you all about garrett gates and crackstone. in the same way she caught you up, you caught her up on what happened the night of the attack.

"i didn't get to see much before the explosion. i covered eugene with my wings because i was scared debris would fly at us."

wednesday looked down at the taxidermy kit her parents had given her. her surprise party was the night prior, and you had to say that you did a pretty good job at acting unsuspicious (though, you and enid kept sending each other excited looks all night).

enid, because she believed every birthday should be celebrated. you, because you couldn't wait to see how miserable wednesday would look when given a party.

but it was interrupted by a vision; one that wednesday had told you about moments prior.

"but someone definitely knew that we had gone in there with eugene earlier. whoever it was, they knew about the monster and was either covering for them or was covering their own tracks because they were the monster," you twirled a knife in your hands absentmindedly. fidgeting helped you think. "i think that we shouldn't rule out the possibility of there being an accomplice, but i'm gonna be honest— with weems covering for rowan's murder," your words turned bitter as you spoke about weems. the anger you had towards her for covering up a murder and not allowing rowan's friends to properly grieve still ran heavily through you. "i wouldn't be surprised if she knew something about the monster."

"besides, aren't you excited that it was wednesday's idea? i mean, she rarely does this— i guess it's because it's her birthday today." the werewolf was practically jumping on the ceiling from excitement, her hands moving passionately with her words as she walked away from you to talk to wednesday.

"wednesday's idea?" you echoed, your brows furrowing at the thought of wednesday addams planning a girl's night. you walked to your closet and grabbed your holster for your dagger.

just in case.

you knew you were smart enough to bring it, because you found yourself stopping as you opened the car to what you believed was your uber driver, only to see tyler staring at you in disbelief. "since when were you an uber driver?" you asked with furrowed brows, climbing into the car and shutting the door behind you.

"since never?" tyler responded, equally as confused as you as his eyes darted between you and enid in the backseat and wednesday sitting coldly in the passenger's seat.

"wait— you're our uber driver?" enid asked confusedly, turning to wednesday for answers.

"why do you keep asking that— i thought we were going on a date." tyler too looked at wednesday for answers.

"we thought it was a girls' night out!" enid explained, her look of disbelief slowly turning into one of realization. there was no girls' night out.

"there's been a change of plans," wednesday said curtly, not even looking at them.

"what's with the weird matching hoodie scarf things?" tyler asked, making you send him a warning glare.

"don't ask," you stated, your tone enough to make him shut up.

the gates tyler drove up to were overgrown and much too rusty; it practically screamed tetanus. fog obstructed your view of what was beyond the gate, as did the overgrown plants. you found yourself standing right at the front of the gate, looking up at the top of it.

if you had your wings, you could've just flown over.

"this isn't what i signed up for," tyler protested as wednesday began to pick the lock, his eyes nothing short of concerned as he only watched her pick the lock easily.

"ditto!" enid cried out, obviously terrified, "and i bet y/n didn't sign up for this either she's literally healing from getting attacked!"

"i'm healed," you corrected, your lips tugging into a frown as you turned to wednesday. "you should've just asked us to come along instead of getting their hopes up," you muttered to her, your tone only mildly annoyed.

"you knew that if i was planning something for my birthday, i wouldn't celebrate it with a dinner or a surprise party," wednesday said pointedly, not even fazed by tyler and enid's complaints, " if you didn't, then you wouldn't have packed your dagger. i want to do this."

"y/n's right—" tyler said with a nod, "you should've just asked us, not tricked us."

"if you want to go, you can." wednesday gave them a look before pullling out a flashlight. "i'm going to check out the garage."

the entire mansion was overgrown with ivy and vines, doing little to calm the hard beating of your heart. it looked as though there hadn't been anyone in and out of the area in years; which made sense, since supposedly all the gates family members either left or died.

"it's, uh, nice to see you're all better."

you turned to tyler, who was walking behind you. his flashlight was in his hands, illuminating the small smile on his face. but that smile quickly faltered when he saw the skepticism on your features. "wednesday told me about the wings," he added in explanation, watching as your skeptic look turned to a stone cold one. it was as though the mention of your wings left you numb once again. but tyler's eyes were still on you, observing you quietly.

"right. thanks."

the door rattled as wednesday struggled against it. she frustratedly tried to pull one last time, only to huff angrily when it refused to budge.

"let me try," enid said, walking closer and putting her flashlight in her pocket. with one strong pull, the door flew open, making enid's lips tilt upwards into a smile. but the look of shock wednesday gave her made her chuckle embarrassedly. "werewolf thing."

you reached for a nearby light switch as you entered. eerily, the light began to flicker as it illuminated the garage, focusing on a car that was parked right under it. it was covered by a sheet.

the the most confusing thing that you could see about it was that it looked spotless. even the cover looked as though it was recently used— not like the rest of the house.

wednesday pulled the cover swiftly, revealing a blue cadillac. "this is the car that ran the cadillac over," she breathed, and enid whimpered out of fear.

"this just took a horribly dark turn," the blonde said worriedly, her hand pointing towards tyler as she continued, "we need to call tyler's dad right freaking now."

"why?' wednesday asked, turning to enid, "so he an take me back to nevermore and get me expelled? it's not gonna happen." the pig tailed girl walked to the door that led into the house without another look.

"stay close," you told enid as you walked after wednesday, enid nodding as she followed behind you.

"how can she be so stubborn? i mean, all we wanted was a girls' night out!" enid's voice raised an octave due to her fear, her arm coming up to hook under your's.

the door creaked open as you entered it with enid close in tow. her flashlight moved around the abandoned hallway, the dust creating a layer of gray everywhere you looked. it was as though the house was left to rot and decay on its own. there were still photos of the gates hung up on the walls, all smiling at the camera. you let your hand run along the walls that peeled like a snake.

you found yourself in an office of sorts, decorated with an old t.v, a desk, a sofa, and a chair. the chandelier that one illuminated the room had fallen onto the desk. but what truly caught your eye was the painting of the gates. they were all positioned professionally and painted with a delicate hand; so delicate, that it seemed as though their eyes were following your every step. your eyes narrowed as enid and wednesday's flashlight focused on garret gates, who stood proudly next to his mother in front of a background of flowers.

"the tacky painting is fitting for a bunch of outcast haters," you murmured to enid, but primarily to yourself as you observed them all.

you followed wednesday as she walked into the library. cobwebs upon cobwebs covered the table like a sheet, creating multiple layers with the dust. antique items of all sorts were toppled over and rendered lifeless in what you would have considered a beautiful room. you looked at the titles of all the books, your eyes trailing up to follow wednesday's flashlight. it was shining directly on an area that had no dust and no cobwebs; the top of a mahogany wall design right between the books.

wednesday reached up and pressed on it, and the mechanisms from within the door began to click and move. one of the library shelves pressed in and moved to the side, revealing a shrine for no one other than joseph crackstone. at the sides, someone had written 'blood will rain when i rise,' in red marker; you knew that it wasn't real blood. you looked closer, frowning at the sight of multiple candles that littered the small shelf below the pilgrim's painting.

"you'd think that of all the things they'd worship, they'd worship someone that isn't a colonizer," you said with a judgmental look. but to say that you were surprised that a family who hated anyone remotely different would idolize a colonizer would be a lie.

"who doesn't have a spooky built-in alter in their family library?" enid managed out with a hesitant smile.

"our is in the living room. more seating for year-long dia de los muertos," wednesday mumbled, watching as you reached forward to press a candle wick between your fingers. you pressed another wick between your fingers. your face dropped at the heat you felt from both.

"they're still warm," you told the others, hearing enid's uncomfortable whimper.

"tyler, you search the ground floor. enid, y/n, and i will search upstairs," wednesday ordered, glaring at tyler when he looked at her skeptically. "what?"

"why can't y/n stay on the ground floor?"

"scared?" you couldn't help but ask, rolling your eyes as you crossed your arms over your chest.

"she is the second person who knows the most about what is going on," wednesday said curtly, looking at tyler with narrowed eyes, "or do you need her protection?"

tyler raised his hands in surrender. "fine! jus' seems unfair, that's all."

wednesday only huffed before turning around, already making her way to the stairs.

"sad, isn't it?" you said sarcastically, moving to follow wednesday and enid as they began to walk back down the hall. you were careful not too make too much noise as you walked up the stairs, as you could hear some of the steps groan under your feet.

you walked behind wednesday and enid, looking up the walls and further up ahead to assure your temporary safety. wednesdsay came to a stop at the top of the steps, turning to the both of you. "you go left, enid and i go right."

"do you seriously want to split up? here?" enid asked frantically, her voice falling to a harsh whisper as she said, "that is literally how every best friend dies in a horror movie."

"i'll be fine. don't worry about me." you briskly turned around to search the left side of the upper floor, your hand floating over the holster of your dagger as you peeked into every room. but it seemed as though every room was rotten and decaying; bed frames were slanted off of the walls, rooms were left to the rats and spiders, and the strong smell of asbestos wafted all throughout the house.

but the longer you walkers, the more you felt as though something was wrong. something was horribly off in the house, and it wasn't the evident racism against outcasts or the fact that they had a shrine.

you peeked into the last room down the hall, your face falling at the sudden neatness of it all. it was as if every room was hit by a tornado except for this one, leaving it spotless. the pink sheets of the bed seemed washed, as did the rug that sat on the ground. not a speck of dust remained on any of the furniture, showing off how well it had been taken care of. on the side table of the bed sat a vase full of pastel pink roses.

"guys!" you called behind your shoulder, reaching out a hand to touch the roses gently. they were still fresh; not a single sign of death.

wednesday and enid ran in, their faces equally as shocked as yours as they began to poke around. enid went up next to you, gazing at the roses in thought. "these are really new," she commented, making you nod as you turned to everything else in the room.

"most of the things in here have been taken care of. even the sheets and the rug have been washed." you ran your hand down the sheets of the bed, the fabric soft under your touch.

"this is laurel gates' room," wednesday said, her eyes set on a music box. you and enid approached her, peering over her shoulders as she shone her flashlight on the embossed 'l.g.' on the outside of the box. a ballerina stood proudly inside of the open music box for all to see.

"looked like somebody moved back into their old room," enid said, her face now in what seemed like a permanent frown.

"not possible— she died 25 years ago. drowned overseas."

you placed your hand on the table where the music box sat, silently catching the attention of your roommates. you raised a finger to your lips, your hairs standing up straight as the sound of objects clattering reached all of your ears. "we have to go," you said firmly, unsheathing your dagger as you walked quickly to the doorway, peeking in both sides before motioning for them to follow.

wednesday nodded, grabbing the ballerina box as she took enid's hand and dragged her along to follow you. enid's complaint of, "this is officially the worst girls' night ever!" didn't distract you from finding a way out of the house.

"guys! get out! it's here!" tyler's panicked yell was muffled by the floors of the house. the three of you made a beeline for the stairs, fully ready to go down, until the familiar sound of claws slashing skin made you stop the other two.

the sight of the monster's shadow made your blood run cold. its claws were as sharp as you remembered it, and you found yourself gripping your dagger as hard as ever as you felt the feeling of being pierced through your back like a meat in a freezer. those long nails, sharped than daggers, were in your back only a week and a half prior.

they were the same claws that brought eugene into a coma.

and you almost found yourself giving into the impulse of revenge. the impulse that wanted you to dig your dagger into the monster just as it did to you, to give it a slow death that would allow you to watch the life die in its eyes. you wanted to tear it apart limb from limb just like it had torn apart its victims. you wanted it to experience the same pain they all felt.

but you didn't.

you pushed the dagger back into its holster. "go!" you told the others, pushing them back up the steps as you allowed yourself to turn your back to the monster, feeling the steps rattle with its every step.

"the dumbwaiter!" wednesday said, already running towards it and pushing enid inside.

it was right behind you. you could feel it walking closer and closer as you pushed wednesday into the tight space before following quickly behind her. you looked at the monster dead in its red eyes before you shut the dumbwaiter door, pushing the others back as you allowed yourself to shield them.

"oh my god, oh my god," enid whispered frantically, her hands shaky as she turned her flashlight off. you raised a finger to your lips again, your eyes wide as you looked at enid and wednesday.

they weren'y hurt. that was good.

wednesday swallowed thickly, her eyes set on the door before the dumbwaiter rattled. outside, the monster roared in anger as it tried to get to the three of you, its arms seemingly shaking the entire dumbwaiter as it only became more furious by the second. wednesday reached forward, her snood in hand as she began wrapping her snood around the two handles of the dumbwaiter to keep it shut.

"no, not your snood!" enid said desperately, her eyes pleading as she tried to stop wednesday from using the scarf she had worked so hard on.

"stop," wednesday said, her eyes stirring with something unreadable as she continued to use it to keep the handles shut. you looked at enid, who seemed close to tears, and murmured a small, 'don't worry,' that honestly didn't do as much as you hoped it would.

the sound of screeching metal reached your ears, and you turned around, your throat running dry when your eyes met bulging red ones. the monster had scratched the dumbwaiter with its three claws, allowing it to look right at the three of you. like a predator stalking its prey, it readied itself to reach inside to grab you until—

the rope snapped, sending the three of you plummeting down. enid's screams and the sound of rushing wind were all you heard before the dumbwaiter reached the basement with a loud crash, sending the three of you flying out of it.

you groaned as you landed on your back, the stinging pain pain from the healing scratches still making you wince. you prayed to the gods that the wounds didn't open up again.

you stood up, turning to enid and helping her up easily. the sound of wednesday pulling the light open made you look towards it, your heart falling at what you saw on the shelves. jars of human remains, from a foot to half a face, were neatly preserved and on display for you to see. you could feel the pain radiating off of them as you took a step closer, your face only showing your disbelief. "these body parts were taken from the monster's victims."

how could their family and friends grieve if they didn't have every part of their family member to bury as they wished?

dust fell on you with every step the monster took, the old wood practically bending under its weight as it walked slowly to where the basement door was. you rushed the two girls towards a nearby window, helping push enid up and through before pushing wednesday up.

"y/n, come on!" wednesday yelled, the monster right behind you as you forced yourself to jump up to the window, their hands grabbing you and pulling you through.

you let out a groan when you felt those familiar claws only swipe at your leg right before you were fully out of the basement. you laid on your back on the ground, your eyes set on the starless sky as you felt the pain radiate from your calf and your back. but quickly you forced yourself up, hiding your new wound with your pant leg.

"you okay?" you heard wednesday ask enid, only for her to scoff and walk away, saying 'since when do you care?' over her back.

you and enid ran down the woods, her run slowing to a jog when she saw that wednesday wasn't following her. "what the hell are you doing?!" she yelled; you had never seen her more stressed. but she had every right to be.

"we have to go back for tyler!" wednesday yelled behind her back, running quickly to the side of the house.

"we have to go with her," you told enid, who only stubbornly shook her head as she pointed in wednesday's direction.

"no! she put all of us in trouble, y/n—"

"you and i both know that you care too much about her to leave her with someone who's wounded," you hissed, making the werewolf shut her mouth immediately. "there's no place for grudges during a time like this." your words hung in the air for a few seconds, your eyes studying the discontented look on enid's face before she reluctantly nodded in agreement.

"fine."

"great." you led her back to where wednesday ran, your hand holding your dagger warily as you followed wednesday's general direction. you found wednesday knelt down next to tyler, who had three deep scratched on his chest.

she turned to enid, handing her her flashlight. "enid, hold this," she said, her voice panicked as she knelt back down to tyler. enid reluctantly held it up for her, her foot tapping impatiently on the ground.

"that thing is still inside!" enid cried, head whipping between tyler's wounded form and the area around them.

you stood by as a guard, your focus entirely on the woods and the possible areas the monster could attack. your hand held your dagger so tight that your knuckles paled, the handle's groove leaving indents on your skin. you could feel blood seep down your calf from your wound, but you refused to acknowledge it, too focused on protecting the others to even care about your own health. their panicked voices faded out into the background when you heard the crunch of nearby leaves.

your head turned quickly to the side, your dagger ready to be thrown before your muscles relaxed at the sight of xavier.

"xavier?" you asked in confusion, his face falling when he saw you.

he turned his head to the side, seeing tyler bleeding profusely from the scratched. xavier ignored wednesday's look of shock and suspicion as he tugged his scarf off of his neck, handing it to tyler. "here. take this."

tyler grunted as wednesday applied pressure to his wound, her face showing subtle signs of worry and panic as she cared for him. but she looked back at xavier in shock, her head already putting the pieces together and coming up with a conclusion for his sudden appearance.

you sat at the table next to enid and xavier, your eyes set on your fidgeting fingers as wednesday patched tyler up.

you hadn't said a word since the attack at the house, your body far too tired and your mind too spent to actually come up with meaningful words to say. you felt nothing but pain as you massaged your hands over and over; pain from the body parts you had found in the house, pain from your back hitting the ground after a week of being out of the hospital, and pain from the wound you were hiding from everyone. you were sure that your socks were now stained crimson with how the blood had seeped down, but no one had noticed that you were wounded, as your pants were black.

"thanks doc," tyler said with a weak yet lighthearted smile as wednesday placed another bandage between his scratches.

you peeked up to look at xavier after the comment. you were met with the face of jealousy and envy. clenched jaw, a subtle eye roll, a frown tugging at his lips.

he cared about her so much. it brought a small pained spark in your heart.

you nudged him from under the table with your wounded leg, ignoring the pain that shot up your calf at the action. xavier looked at you with furrowed brows, and you only mouthed, "stop being jealous."

xavier huffed at that, only turning back to look at wednesday. to say that he wasn't sure what you meant would be an understatement; he knew fully well what you meant. he liked wednesday. he wanted to tell her how he felt, but she cared so much for tyler.

of course, to you, xavier's answer seemed simple; just tell her about his feelings. but xavier was never good at words, and he was even worse at figuring out his emotions. maybe that was why he found himself sleeping with you again and again; he didn't have to deal with them if it was with you.

feeling a romantic connection with you was different from worry, in his eyes. because he found himself looking at you, fidgeting so strongly with your fingers, heavy eye bags under your eyes, the usual healthy glow of your skin now gone and replaced with something duller, and he felt nothing but worry.

now, it was his turn to nudge you. "you're quieter than usual."

"am i usually loud?"

"loud and annoying, yeah," xavier said, making you roll your eyes. you leaned back in your chair, placing your clasped hands on your chest.

"what is it?" you asked him, your voice dry as you looked at him expectedly. even your eyes didn't have the same spark in them.

"are you okay?" xavier asked, the question no bigger thna a whisper. he was looking at you with furrowed brows, his eyes tracing over your form as though he was checking for any sign of a wound.

"'m fine," you only managed out, letting out a heavy exhale through your nose. you turned your head away from him, moving your legs slightly.

but as xavier looked you over for injuries, his landed on the sock under your loose black pants. they rode up slightly as you moved— that was why you were able to get away with hiding the scratch, as the bottom of your pants had ridden up slightly while you were getting away —but your socks were white. from where xavier sat, he could see that the white cloth had been stained crimson with your blood.

he stood up abruptly. "tyler," he forced out through gritted teeth, his eyes lingering on how wednesday's hands pressed the bandages down for a second before focusing on the guy, "where's your bathroom?"

"that hallway, to the left," tyler responded, offering a small yet kind smile that xavier didn't return.

"c'mon, y/n." xavier stood next to you, offering a hand to your seated form. you looked at it with a skeptical look before looking up at xavier.

"excuse you?"

"we need to talk, y/n." xavier lied, his lie believable enough to make you groan and take his hand to stand up. he saw you wince ever so slightly when you put your weight on your wounded leg, but you played it off.

you pulled your hand away from him as you followed him into the bathroom. "what is it?" you asked confusedly as he pulled you in, shutting the door and locking it behind you.

xavier didn't respond as he set the toilet seat down to close it. "sit there," he told you, moving past you to rummage through the galpin's bathroom drawers.

you scoffed at his order, crossing your arms over your chest. "not until you tell me what was so important that you had to drag us away from them."

xavier didn't respond, pulling out a gauze pad, petroleum jelly, and a wrap around bandage. he bent down to look under their sink for clean cloths.

"gods, hello? are you even listening to me?" you asked irritatedly, your tone making xavier stand up straight and look at you.

"why didn't you tell them that you were hurt?" your look of irritation fell, confirming xavier's hunch as he sighed, shaking his head to himself. he didn't say anything as he organized the items on the floor of the bathroom, his throat moving as he swallowed. "i saw your sock when you moved. you're bleeding."

you didn't speak as you reluctantly sat on the toilet seat, relief spreading through your body at the lack of weight on your leg. you watched as he knelt down to sit on the floor in front of you, a clean cloth in his hand. he applied pressure to your wound, hearing you hiss at the feeling. "well?" he asked, looking up at you. "why didn't you?"

you clenched your jaw, wanting so deeply to avoid his gaze, but his green eyes were searching your face for some kind of answer. "it wasn't important. just a scratch."

"tyler got a scratch too."

"why are you bringing him up? you literally hate the guy."

"and how do you know that?" xavier challenged, making you scoff.

"i see the way you look at wednesday. how you want her to look at you with the same look she gives tyler," you said, sighing as you continued, "how you want her to care for you the same way she was caring for tyler. it's nice— slightly sad —but nice because all of your problems could be fixed if you just told her how you feel."

xavier looked up at you at that. his eyes were clouded with something you couldn't read, his small murmur of, "i don't think that'll work," making you groan in frustration.

"seriously, xavier. just tell her—"

"stop changing the subject, y/n." xavier's voice wasn't firm at all. he didn't even seem irritated with you as he continued to apply pressure to your calf. his voice was soft as he addressed you, only full of worry as he continued to treat you. "why didn't you tell anyone?"

you swallowed thickly. "i didn't want anyone to help me."

xavier didn't say anything. he stood up, exchanging the bloodied cloth with a clean one. he ran it under the water of the sink before sitting back down in front of you and your leg. he gently cleaned it with the wet cloth, choosing his words carefully before he asked, "why?"

your hands clenched and unclenched, showing your obvious nervousness before you replied. "because it makes me feel weak. weaker than i already am."

you expected him to laugh. to tease you for being so sensitive about meaningless acts of service. to poke at you for complaining about being weak when there were other pressing matters to worry about.

but xavier only hummed in response. he grabbed the petroleum jelly as he set the wet cloth down. he waited for a minute for your leg to air dry, taking the moment of silence to speak.

"i'll patch you up quietly, then. whenever you want me to."

he wasn't sure if there was something hidden behind that small promise of his. xavier's eyes pulled away from you as he put petroleum jelly on your wound, his touch so gentle as he spread the ointment. he feared that too much pressure you make you wince again; he didn't want you to worry about that.

but as he said that comment, that small reassuring quote that would have meant nothing if xavier wasn't an overthinker, he wasn't sure what he was promising. the thing is, xavier did overthink. he folded his thoughts over and over a lot in his head, to the point where art was his way of dealing with it all.

that was why a part of him knew that there was a hidden meaning behind that statement that even he couldn't figure out. as he sat on the floor of the bathroom, patching up your leg so tenderly, the words simply felt like more than what it was. more than those two sentences.

and while you never wanted to hold onto a promise, you could only nod in response.

ACT VI

#AUTHORSNOTE— i feel like this is the longest part i've ever done but oh well! i hope you all enjoyed it and thank you sm for all the support lately it makes me wanna write even more xx

#TAGLIST (usernames that aren't underlined are unable to be tagged) — @gamorxa @rayliz793 @cali-888 @targaryensswp @hopefulfuturenovelauthor @just-amess @maystecc @cmac-writes @ahnneyong @importantpuppyshark @mannstarkey @alienm0vie @carinacassiopeiae @simonsbluee @g3org1al33 @killmewithafanfic @nattheartless13 @astrynyx @idontknowwhattodo35 @addisonnie @wxnderingthoughts @r1dd1kulus @smol-book-nerd @555stargirl555 @wonderlandco @siriuslysmoking @skye231 @boomitsallie1 @southernraven @buckleylips @yunoguns @theprettytragic @levylovegood @slut4fictionalcharacters28 @archernotfound @trixiemills @sucker4angstt @charliedaltonsteponme @wittle-bunnyboo @rowanlaslowsgf @importantpuppyshark @blehhhhdhdhbs @parkersmyth @holachicos @nanamin-pointo @chicken-taco-burrito @manofworm @sincerest-one @lp223344 @alexayoonlee @queer-coded @whore-for-eddie

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anincompletelist · 9 months

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year in review: favorite lines! :D

hi friends! so this is entirely self-indulgent (both the part where I share my own work and the part where I tag you all to do the same) but I feel like we all have those special pieces of art/fics that just mean a little more to us but don't really get a chance in the spotlight. plus, any time is a good time for a bit of shameless self-promo and supporting friends! rules and my own contribution below! <3

RULES: there are no rules! I am quite literally making this up as I go so please don't take this too seriously ksjhdkh. feel free to share your top three/top five/however many favorite snippet(s)/line/quotes/paragraphs from your published fics (or wips, I don't care!) and don't forget to share the link of course! see below for an example.

here are mine!

from Sure As the Stars in the Sky:

They’re both honest people, sometimes to a fault, but Henry’s truths are private, quiet, and Alex’s are loud. From the day Henry met him he’s been brash and earnest, unafraid to speak his mind even when he’s scared, without making sacrifices or harboring fear of punishment for doing so. It’s both intoxicating and infuriating. Alex screams to a crowd of thousands of supporters, holding up bright posters with encouraging messages, and Henry screams into his pillow. When Alex speaks everyone listens, when Henry does he’s stifled, told to quiet down, to get back in line. Alex tries and succeeds. Henry tries. And tries and tries and tries and tries and still it isn’t enough to make any real difference. His whole life he’s felt linked to Alex in a number of ways. He’d taken comfort in their similarities despite their disagreements on more than a few occasions, because it’d been so nice just to have the knowledge that someone out there in the world had some idea what he was going through. That maybe he wasn’t as alone as he often felt. He and Alex’s paths converge at many points, but this is not one of them. Henry rolls over and presses his face into the pillow again, stays there until all of his senses have redirected toward something else, until all he feels is the constricting of his airway and the rush behind his eyes, until his instincts force him to lift his head again, to take a breath, to survive.

from take my hand if you can take me as I am:

And it’s probably just a power play. It’s probably just something that Henry enjoys in the bedroom that’s unrelated to anything else. Lots of people like choking, Alex reckons. But here, now, it feels like— it feels like Henry, Prince Henry, who holds a tremendous amount of power over the whole of his entire country, Henry Fox who tries so hard to balance it all on his shoulders without ever complaining or asking for help even when it’s ripping him apart, Alex’s Henry who shows up in shifts at the oddest of times with his sweet words and his soft, kind heart and his quiet hope — it feels like all of those versions of Henry, each with an equal amount of power, handing a bit of that over for a moment. Like he’s letting Alex have another little piece of him, offering it up like the most precious secret, asking nothing in return. Like he trusts Alex to hold it, to hold him, because he knows he’ll push him only as much as it takes to shake off the dust so he can shine again, never enough to shatter him beyond repair.

from praying our bridges don't make waves:

Alex’s chest burns. Here he is, standing in a bedroom Henry never asked to be in, with someone that’d never been a part of his plans, putting his gentle hands and tender lips on Alex’s roughness even when he’s dirty, even when he’s broken. Even when he doesn’t have anything to offer him but that. Even, even, even. Even when Alex is drifting somewhere miles away, Henry draws him back.

from but I can count on you to tell me the truth when (I've) been drinking and you're wearing a mask:

The ceiling of Alex’s dorm room is cracking in one corner. He knows because he stares at it a lot these days, in between going to classes and lacrosse games. It hadn’t been there when he moved in but it’d steadily grown since that first year. Alex wonders if somehow it’s his fault.

tags: YA'LL THERE'S NO PRESSURE AT ALL BUT ALSO PLS DO THIS SO I CAN APPRECIATE YOU AND YELL AT YOU IN THE TAGS! @affectionatelyrs @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @firenati0n @kiwiana-writes @daisymae-12 @read-and-write- @inexplicablymine @happiness-of-the-pursuit @heybuddy-drabbles @firstsprinces @sparklepocalypse @littlemisskittentoes @getmehighonmagic @wordsofhoneydew @nocoastposts @zwiazdziarka @luainthewild @england-would-fall @iboatedhere @magicandarchery @gayrootvegetable @raysletters @tintagel-or-cockleshells @eusuntgratie @ninzied AND ALSO ANYONE ELSE WHO WOULD LIKE TO SHARE PLS TAG ME ! also might try to come up with some writer asks for end of year stuff too, but we'll see.

I'll see you all for wip wednesday! I hope you're all well! :D

#my fics #tag games #rwrb #red white and royal blue #rwrb fic #firstprince #red white and royal blue fanfic

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have-you-seen-my-sanity · 6 months

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Pray I won't catch you

Requested by @steven-grants-world

Dark!Moonknight!Marc Spector x Thief!reader

Author Note: Hello!👋 I decided to make the Moonknight version of Marc. I hope that's alright. :) But a yandere version is in the works!!

Category: Twisted Letter - I recommend you read the informations for twisted letters first ->here<- if you haven't already.

Dead dove do not eat - you'll get exactly what's in the tags!

Tags: Mention of murder, mention of violence, threats and blood.

Hi there, do you remember me?

I really hope you do. You're probably wondering who I am, right? You're a tough cookie to hunt down, sweetheart. You've made me beat your criminal friends right and left, but you're extremely lucky they stood loyal and didn't tell me your exact whereabouts.

I am genuinely surprised how big your organization was. If I wouldn't have had the suit they would have probably killed me.

You know, at first I thought you were like every other thief, thinking they wouldn't be caught only for them to be caught. I was surprised to see how you managed to slip away every goddamn time!

Remember that one time where I actually catched you? Your desperate attempts to fight me off while I had you pinned against that brickwall. Well when I ripped your mask off... I have to say you had a pretty face for a thief.

You almost faced justice by my hands, but you played your cards right... you kicked me in the fucking balls - catching me off guard and dropping you while three of your companions sneaked up behind me only to whack me across the face with a wrench, and beating the living shit out of me with a baseball bat.

I bet you tried contacting them, right? I gotta say, you did the right thing to run away so your pretty eyes would be spared from the bloodshed that was done there.

Well and now? Let's just say your three 'friends' won't be recognizable by the Police.

Do you know how much of a pain in the ass you are? You're like an annoying fly, flying around, too fast to be catched - but in the end, I guarantee you that catching you will be satisfying.

And speaking of catching... did I made you paranoid? Did you shit your pants? Because the last time you were robbing a store, the thief wasn't you, instead it was an old woman, who had been forced to run away, making everyone at the scene believe it was you.

Although my blood was boiling when you had escaped again, I felt myself kind of... enjoying the hunt...

Call me mentally insane but you're like a challenge - a price to be catched. And I like challenges - so... challenge accepted I guess..

But I have to ask you, how long do you think you can play this game? I am beating your criminal companions up like they're some sort of crash test dummys meant to be dropped unconscious or beaten brain dead.

Sooner or later you will be all alone, no more companions will be by your side - already in prison or... buried...

Your best chances would be to just give up and surrender. But I know exactly you won't be doing that, you're goddamn stubborn.

And I'm sure you know what stubborn people like you need, right? You need to be punished. You have to face the consequenses of your actions. And I - Moonknight, am just the perfect person to do just that - catch and punish you.

You better brace yourself, because I am getting closer and closer to catching you, and then, you won't be able to escape.

But don't be afraid, I am not the typical hero you see in those Marvel or DC movies. You can call me an anti-hero if you will. And I think you know what that means - if you do the right choices, I may show mercy and won't deliver you to the police. But that doesn't mean you're off the hook though...

Believe me when I say it will only be a matter of time before I will finally catch you, you won't be able to run and hide forever. And when I have you in my grasp again? Well...

Now with all that out of the way, I'm sure your kind companion I gave the letter to has finally arrived and handed it to you? That's good, because I think you need some much needed time to think about your next move - but remember your time is running out.

And when the time has ran out? I really hope you pray I won't catch you...

-- M. S. aka Moonknight.

#dark!marc spector #yandere moonknight #Moonknight #marc spector

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aquadestinyswriting · 2 months

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Writing Exercise 3

Ok, so I was looking through this post again to see if I wanted to do any of the other writing exercises on it and I came across the "Shuffle a playlist on your music player of choice. For whichever song plays, describe what you “see” with your imagination." exercise. Needless to say, since I have at least 4 different playlists just for my many WIP series, I needed to give this one a shot.

I'm just gonna go with shuffling my 'Emotional Songs' playlist since that's the most extensive one I have and I use it to plot with. Placing the song and my thoughts about it under a cut to save everyone's dashes.

Tagging: @davycoquette (as requested), @druidx, @lexiklecksi and @sparrow-orion-writes because you guys might get a kick out of this.

And shuffle chose the following song:

youtube

Oh man. Ok, so let's get into this.

I feel like I'm losing hope In my body and my soul And the sky, it looks so ominous And as time comes to a halt Silence starts to overflow My cries are inconspicuous

OK, so for this part of the first verse, I typically see Elowyn staring up at the ceiling of the cavern she, Meredith and Enezeage are shivering in after almost drowning trying to swim through some flooded mineshafts to get to some Bad Guys(tm). I think it's pretty accurate to say that at least the girls are feeling a bit hopeless since the other two members of their party have just drowned and Merri and Elowyn had just about followed suit not that long before.

Tell me, God, are you punishing me? Is this the price I'm paying for my past mistakes? This is my redemption song I need you more than ever right now Can you hear me now?

The scene in my head for this part skips ahead a little bit to when Elowyn dies for the first (or was it second?) time thanks to being ripped to shreds by a Dire Dire weasel (the thing stood about 4 feet at the shoulder, which is a bit taller than Elowyn). Elowyn's sitting in the waiting room when she suddenly gets pulled through a portal by a clawed, reptilian hand and is then told that she's now Kurtulmak's Vassal before she wakes up back in the real world pretty much naked and covered in ick. Bear in mind this takes place waaay before Elowyn finally gets ordained as a paladin, so she's a rogue at this point in the story of the campaign.

'Cause we're gonna shout it loud Even if our words seem meaningless It's like I'm carrying the weight of the world I wish that someway, somehow That I could save every one of us But the truth is that I'm only one girl Maybe if I keep believing, my dreams will come to life Come to life

There are a couple of scenes that flash into my head for this first chorus honestly. All of them involving Elowyn standing up for herself, her beliefs or others that are less fortunate than herself. The first one is when she's standing up to King Storri and Captain Bloodvein about the kobolds that the party ended up taking on as companions after that whole resurrection by Kurtulmak thing. The next one that comes to mind is quite a lot later when she's up on a box trying to calm a riotous mob that's trying to get into the Temple of Moradin in Toreguarde.

After all the laughter fades Signs of life all washed away I can still, still feel a gentle breeze No matter how hard I pray Signs of warning still remain And life has become my enemy

Now, I tend to switch POV over to Meredith for the second verse, only because this song is a definitive fit for both girls, for slightly different reasons. For this first part of the second verse, the scene that comes to mind is always one where Meredith is sitting in her room in Acacia Avenue after the celebrations for Darkhide's defeat are over and the party have been chucked out to go home and sleep. The scene is not a happy one, since she's trying to pray to Moradin and not getting an answer and is slowly realising that her people are still in grave danger, despite the defeat of one of the most powerful necromancers Allansia has seen in about a decade.

Tell me, God, are you punishing me? Is this the price I'm paying for my past mistakes? This is my redemption song I need you more than ever right now Can you hear me now?

For this second half-verse, I tend to visualise Meredith sitting in her cell waiting for her trial and likely execution date after she's discovered and arrested in Fangthane upon her return there. To be fair, she doesn't believe her gods are punishing her so much as kicking herself for getting caught because she has no evidence with which to exonerate herself, so she's spending herself praying for some sort of miracle.

Like with Elowyn above, I tend to see various scenes for this chorus. Most of them involve Meredith standing up to the various enemies that her party met during their adventure. I also sometimes visualise a few scenes where Meredith is trying to keep her party or her people safe from some sort of danger, even if it's not immediately visible.

'Cause we're gonna shout it loud Even if our words seem meaningless Like I'm carrying the weight of the world I wish that someway, somehow That I could save every one of us But the truth is that I'm only one girl

For this chorus I visualise short flashes of both Elowyn and Meredith trying to talk some sense into their people as matters in both Toreguarde and Fangthane start to fall apart. Mostly it scenes of Elowyn trying to stem the corruption in the Council and the Brotherhood of Cleaving's reign of terror in Toreguarde and Meredith trying to talk some sense into the leadership of her Church as a full-on Schism starts erupting.

Still, we're gonna shout it loud Even if our words seem meaningless It's like I'm carrying the weight of the world I hope that someway, somehow That I could save every one of us But the truth is that I'm only one girl Maybe if I keep believing, my dreams will come to life Come to life

For this last chorus, I tend to visualise the lead-up to the final battle of the campaign. The first scene I visualise tends to be Elowyn getting ganked on top of a sea stack and Merri having to ress her mid-battle. However, the main scene I tend to see is Elowyn trying to talk Ionah (the Big Bad) down in attempt to, potentially, save what's left of the woman's soul. There was a whole heartfelt speech about understanding why Ionah followed the path she did and the fact that there was second chance still available. The body language I can see for both women in my head at this point is just heart-breaking, because Elowyn tried so hard, only for Ionah to turn around and basically murder her son (and Meredith's husband), who is off-screen and on another plane of existence at this point.

#writing exercise #titan fighting fantasy #elowyn o'toreguarde #meredith gruksdottir

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ask-robokasa-and-rui · 5 months

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CHAPTER 3 INTRO//

I was...weird...to say the least. When I was 3, I would rip out my hair just to get what I wanted...and I even resorted in hurting my mom at the age of 6. Ever since then...my parents treated me like I was a monster...and everyone else did...except for someone. Tsukasa. My older brother. He always knew how to calm me down. He was the favorite, but I never cared about that. When he started university, he let me move in his house. Ever since then, I've been the happiest person imaginable.

Which ramen cup should I buy...?

Trust me, the seafood is delicious!

Ena, I'm sorry...but I even though I like seafood, I hate seafood flavored things.

Fair point. Then I can't help you here...I'm going to the cereal section! Be right back!

Okay! You know...Ena is super fun to be with! At first I thought she would be mean, but she's the total opposite! S-Somewhat...

Ring ring

Hello?

Hey, Saki...?

Oh, Kanade! Hello!

Are you and Ena at the convenience store still...?

Yep! Why, do you want something?

O-On your way back, can you get me some painkillers...? It's my time of the month...

Oh of course! I'll get you sour worms aswell!

Thank you, talk to you later...

See ya!

When Ena and Saki finish shopping at the convenience store, they go to the pharmacist for pain killers. Then they head back to Tsukasa's house.

We're baaaaaack!!

Euugh....

Hang on there Kanade! Hm? Saki! Do you have the painkillers?

Yes yes, here!

Saki gives the painkillers to Kanade

I hope the affect comes quicker this time...

Hopefully! Hehe...

Now it was dinner time. Even though everyone had jobs, except for Saki, affording food was a bit challenging. The least they could afford are cup noodles. They pray before digging in.

Mmmm~ Cup noodles are the best!

Of course they are! But the vegetable one is disgusting.

HUH?!

Let's not start this again...

Yeah, please?

Hmp! Fine. You win. Anyways, Kanade? You know how to program...right? Do you know anything about robotics?

Well I know their codes...codes for speaking, moving...but I don't know how to build them.

Aw shucks...

You're going to make a robot?

Not at the moment, but they look so...interesting! I want to try and make a profit off of it so we can afford food! B-besides cup noodles...

I believe in you Saki!

Huh?

I'm sure you'll do great! Just never give up!

Saki warmly smiles.

Of course! Never!

Tags: @a-120 @mai-mai-mai @bobcross1010 @blankblyke @kusanagi-nene-official-mod @scodscod

#project sekai #Tsukasa talks #saki talks #kanade talks #ena talks #Tsukasa is available for asks!#Saki is available for asks!#Ena is available for asks!#Kanade is available for asks!

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jessybarnes · 2 years

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Obedience

Title: Obedience

Pairing: Chris Evans x Actor!Female!Reader x Sebastian Stan

Rating: 18+ Only!! Minors DNI!!

Word Count: 2,862

Tags: Smut, angst, fluff, bondage/restraints, knife play, implied metal arm kink, pet names, use of the term sir, kissing, crying, face sitting, light dom/sub, oral sex (female receiving), implied oral sex (male receiving), implied vaginal sex, hair pulling, biting, marking, voyeurism, exhibitionism, spanking, explicit sexual content, explicit language, and I think that’s it.

Written For: @kinktober2022 and @anyfandomaubingo

Square(s) Filled: Voyeurism for Kinktober 2022 // Free Space for AFG AU Bingo

Beta(s): None

Being a guest star in a movie is stressful.

You’ve only been acting for around two and a half years, so it still amazes you that you landed a spot in a Marvel movie. The MCU has a huge fanbase, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t know who the Avengers were. Actually watching the movies was another story. You’ve been meaning to sit down and crank out all twenty-something movies. You really have, but your schedule’s been too booked.

If you had known how drop-dead gorgeous the cast members were you probably would have canceled some plans and watched them sooner. They all look like they were carved by Michelangelo himself.

You follow one of the PAs, Stephanie, into one of the main filming sets to get ready for your coverage. Even though you weren’t playing a recurring character, you still loved getting to tour the whole set and meeting everyone who works behind the scenes.

Just as you’re about to get the rundown of what to expect on your first day of filming, Chris Evans walks through one of the side doors wearing grey sweatpants and a white t-shirt that looks like it’s two sizes too small. You can’t help but stare as he talks to one of the producers. Your eyes take in how his pants hang low on his narrow waist, the way his arms look like they’re going to rip through his shirt at any given moment, and his ass? God, he really lives up to the whole ‘America’s Ass’ statement.

Stephanie realizes you’re not listening to her anymore and follows your gaze, chuckling when she sees who you’re looking at.

“So, you like Chris, hm?”

You blush furiously and pray that neither Chris nor the producer heard her comment.

“Yeah … I mean he’s umm … really tall.”

Steph giggles and takes your arm, pulling you toward the two men.

“C’mon, let me introduce you. Chris always likes to meet the guest stars. Well, all the boys do, but Chris especially does.”

Your heart thuds hard against your chest as you get closer to them. It looks like they're reading over part of the script, but you can’t be sure since they’re whispering. Chris turns and smiles warmly at the two of you and extends his hand.

“Hi, there! You must be the new guest star. Y/N is it?”

You take his big hand in yours and admire how his fingers almost completely cover your smaller ones. His skin is warm and his fingertips are calloused, and you can’t stop the image of him pushing three of his those fingers deep into your pussy. You sink your teeth into your bottom lip to stop a moan and watch as Chris hones in on your mouth.

“Yes, I’m Y/N. It’s umm…It’s very nice to meet you, Chris.”

You take your hand back and nervously play with the hem of your shirt as he stares at you. Even though you don’t think he’s meaning to, he’s really emanating dominance. Chris looks you up and down quickly before turning his attention to another crew member whom you hadn’t noticed until now.

“Hey, Chris they need you in hair and makeup. We start shooting in forty-five minutes.”

Stephanie watches as he gives you a small smirk and a wave before heading down a hallway. She then leads you to the costume trailer so you can get fitted for your proper villain attire. You’ll be playing one of Hydra’s minions who has information on a secret base’s whereabouts. Your character will get captured by Steve, Bucky and Natasha and get interrogated for said info. If you’re being honest, it’s the interrogation you’re most excited about. You've heard stories from your friends who are avid Marvel fans about how sexy the two super soldiers are when they get authoritative.

Soon you’re sporting a tight body suit complete with a weapon’s belt and a thigh holster and are being led to the threshold of an old warehouse. Neither of them are there yet, but they can’t be far behind you. The anticipation of acting out this scene with them is making your heart race.

A few moments later another crew member, who you can only assume works somewhere in the props department, strides over to you carrying a thick coil of rope. She lays it on the lone desk and motions for you to sit. Once you do, a couple of other people come in to remove everything but you and the metal chair.

“Hello Y/N, my name is Tori, have you ever been tied to a chair before?”

If you weren’t so nervous you would laugh because damn what an introduction that is. Instead, you shake your head and hold your arms out in front of you.

“It’s nice to meet you, Tori. No, I haven’t been, but I’m assuming you want me like this?”

Tori giggles and walks behind you while uncoiling the rope.

“Actually sweetie, I need you to put both wrists thru the openings in the back of the chair. I’m gonna tie your wrists back here instead. The rope will be kinda snug, but I don’t want you to be nervous. All you gotta do is say something and we will cut you free alright? Oh, and another thing, the boys can kinda be … what’s the word I’m looking for? … Intimidating, yes intimidating when it comes to scenes like this. If you need a break, don’t be afraid to let them know okay? They are hypersensitive to guest stars’ needs, and no one will blame you if you need to take a breather.”

You’re glad everyone is so kind and approachable. This is probably one of the best sets you’ve ever worked on. Just as Tori is securing the final knot on your restraints, Sebastian, Chris, and Scarlett all walk in wearing their usual character attire. They’re all laughing about something, but stop when they notice you sitting in the center of the room.

You feel so exposed as they all stare at you. Sebastian and Scarlett walk toward you while Chris stays rooted to the spot. The other two get close to you and squat down to your level, their smiles calming your overactive nerves.

“Hi, there sweetheart! It’s very nice to meet you. I’m Scarlett, and this is Sebastian. You’re Y/N, right? Chris told us he already got the pleasure of meeting you.”

You fix your gaze on Chris who is blushing slightly. You blink as you take that in because why on earth would someone of his caliber be interested in someone like you? You then turn your eyes back to the other two in front of you and give each of them a kind smile.

“It’s very nice to meet you both. I’d uhh … I’d shake your hands, but I’m kinda tied up.”

Sebastian chuckles and pats you lightly on the thigh.

“With that sense of humor, you’ll fit right in!”

Just as you’re about to come up with a witty reply, the director walks into the room with a clipboard.

“Okay, everyone, let’s get started shall we? We’ve only got Y/N for a few hours today, so let’s be on our best behavior boys.”

Chris and Sebastian both snicker while Scarlett rolls her eyes. They all take their places and allow themselves a moment to get into character. You close your eyes and take a deep breath before opening them again, testing the bonds to set the scene. They dig into your skin a little bit but it’s nothing you can’t handle.

Once action is called, you can definitely see a change in Chris and Sebastian’s demeanor. Scarlett too, but it’s both of the men that make you swallow thickly. It’s as if they’re completely different people. Which is a good thing since they’re such great actors. Sebastian strides up to you, his eyes dark with menace, and pulls out a knife from one of the holsters on his belt. He circles the chair, and the thudding of his boots hits the concrete like a slow metronome. Finally, he stops and kneels down so his face is mere inches from yours. The blunt edge of the blade rests against your sternum and even though it’s plastic it looks very much real.

“Now, listen here you bitch, my patience is running thin. Just tell me where the secret base is, and I won’t drag this out any longer than it needs to be.”

You smile maliciously and laugh, "You Avengers always think you can just get whatever you want. Well, I’ve got news for your little band of misfits. You might as well kill me now because none of you are getting any answers from me. Especially you, James.”

Sebastian takes the knife and slices open a particular spot in your outfit. It doesn’t look like much now, but once the necessary effects are added, there’ll be plenty of blood to make it look all the more realistic. You squirm and scream, letting your breaths become heavy before replying through gritted teeth.

“Is that all you’ve got? Guess I better go tell the other Hydra agents that Natasha, Steve, and his best pal, Bucky are going soft.”

Chris’s upper lip curls into a snarl, and you feel your panties dampen at the sight. You’re sure they’ll be ruined before this take is even over, but you don’t break character. Scarlett walks around to your backside, while Chris comes up to Sebastian’s flank. You’re focused on Bucky’s metal arm and the way Sebastian curls it into a fist, and even though you’re thinking about what it would feel like to have those cool fingers fucking your cunt, you make yourself look scared and try to break through the rope.

You feel someone grab your hair and yank your head back to expose the delicate skin of your neck to Seb’s blade. Chris leans down until his mouth is right next to your ear, and it takes all of your self-control to stay in character and hold back a moan.

“Are you gonna talk now, or are we going to have to force you? Because believe me, Bucky, Natasha, and I aren’t the least bit scared of a lowlife Hydra recruit like you.”

You bite your lip right as the director calls cut. Tori comes up and cuts you free while they commend you on how good the scene was. Apparently, that take is enough because you’re told you can go and get changed and shower.

Once you’re back in the guest trailer, you strip out of your clothes and fold them neatly on the dresser. You technically don’t need to shower since you just took one this morning, but you did need to cool off after shooting that scene. Chris’s power over you is almost too much. Plus, it’s been a while since you’ve been touched by another person sexually.

You grab the hair tie from your wrist and twist your hair into a bun before stepping under the cool stream of water. Although it somewhat soothes the throbbing ache between your legs, it doesn’t make it go away completely. Chris does more things to you with just a look than any other man has ever done, and Sebastian was also very, very easy on the eyes.

Once you’re cooled off, you wrap a white, fluffy towel around your body and step out into the bedroom. That’s when you start to notice things that look unfamiliar. Little things like a pair of men’s shoes, and a t-shirt that looks awfully like the one Chris was wearing this morning, and then it suddenly hits you.

You’re not in the guest trailer at all…

Fear courses through your veins like ice and then multiplies tenfold when the trailer door opens. You have nowhere to go, so you just stand there holding the towel closer to your naked body. You expect it but still aren’t prepared for the shock on Chris’s face when he rounds the corner to his bedroom. He stares at you momentarily before taking a step closer to your shaking form.

“Y/N? What … what are you doing?”

Your lower lip quivers and your eyes fill with tears of shame as he slowly gets closer to you. He stops in front of you and a tear slides down your cheek. He watches it, wanting desperately to wipe it away, but decides against it so he doesn’t spook you.

“I … I’m sorry I didn’t … I thought …”

You feel strong arms envelope you in a hug, his fingertips sliding over your exposed shoulder blades. You look up at him and sigh shakily when the pad of his thumbs catches your loose tears. Chris thinks you’re beautiful, especially at this moment. Your raw vulnerability strikes a chord in him, and he slowly leans down to your lips.

The moment he kisses you it feels like fireworks explode inside of you. You wrap your arms around Chris’s neck and allow him to carry you to his king-size bed. He breaks the kiss long enough to lay you down on the mattress. Tearing his shirt quickly over his head and fumbling with his belt shouldn’t be sexy, but you were practically panting at the sight of him. Finally, he’s standing naked in front of you, his cock jutting out in front of him making your mouth water.

Chris climbs on the bed and kneels above you, taking a moment to drag his eyes over your body.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous, Y/N. Fuck, I’ve wanted you since I met you this morning.”

He rips your towel open and pulls you up so your nipples press firmly against his chest, bringing them to hardened peaks. His kiss is rough and possessive as he pulls your hair like he did earlier in the scene, only this time instead of a knife against your pulse point it’s his mouth. You cry out when he bites and sucks marks all over your skin and grind your pussy on the thickness of his cock.

Chris growls seductively and flips over so you’re on top of him. He motions for you to turn around and you look at him confused.

“Wanna taste you, Y/N. Wanna feel you cum on my face baby.”

Fuck, you almost do from his words alone. No one has ever done this with you before. Hell, you’ve barely done anything with a man if you’re being honest. You’ve only had one partner and it wasn’t very enjoyable, so you never really tried to find anyone else. It hasn’t occurred to you that maybe the person you had been with before was doing it wrong.

You get into position, placing each of your knees on either side of his body. He greedily pulls you down and starts relentlessly licking and sucking on your dripping cunt. His strong arms hold you in place as you writhe above him, crying out his name.

“Chris! Fuck! Oh, my god!… Yes, oh, please don’t stop! Right there baby please!”

You’re so caught up in the moment that you don’t notice Sebastian standing in the doorway. For a moment, his jaw drops at the sight before him, but then he feels his cock harden in his jeans. He begins teasing himself through the denim and continues to watch you cum all over his best friend’s face.

“Fu-fuck! Chris! Oh, shi-ahhh!”

You open your eyes and shriek when you’re met with Sebastian’s lust-blown ones. Chris just smirks, clearly proud of himself for getting Seb all worked up. He doesn’t seem to be embarrassed at all, almost as if he likes the thrill of getting caught.

“Sebastian?! Wha-What are you doing here?!”

His blue eyes darken with want as he looks you up and down like you’re his prey.

“I could ask you the same thing, sweetheart, but right now I have something else in mind. Why don’t you be a good girl for Chris and me and kneel on the bed, hm?”

You feel the flame of arousal reignite as you do what he says, spreading your legs slightly apart. Sebastian discards his clothes and slowly pumps his cock a few times before standing behind you. A bead of pre-cum leaks from the tip as he rubs himself between your folds.

“Be a good girl for us, and you’ll get rewarded, sweetheart. Gotta do what we say though. Think you can do that?”

You nod and look up at Chris who’s positioned himself in front of you. His cock is so close to your parted lips. Immediately, you feel the sting of Sebastian’s hand on the swell of your ass and you yelp. The lingering burn makes your walls clench and you push back into him.

“I think Seb’s waiting on an appropriate response from you, baby. How about you acknowledge him properly?”

He swats the other side of your ass and you moan out what he hopefully wants, “y-yes sir!”

The brunette groans deeply and closes his eyes, “good girl. Now open that pretty mouth of yours for Chris while I fuck this sweet little cunt full of my cum."

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foxytoxx · 9 months

Text

Ravaged

Words: 962 Pairing: Astarion/f!Durge (DurgeResisted) Read on AO3 Summary: He wanted to finally do some good and change lives. So Astarion became the hero he himself would pray to be saved by oh so long ago. TW: Canon typical violence. Tags: Fluff, Setting the scene. A/N: This idea has been a little brain worm that has been wriggling in my head for a while now, based on one of Astarion's spawn endings. Thank you for checking this one out. This one was rather short, but longer chapter ahead.

Next Chapter

𝙿𝚛𝚘𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚞𝚎

It had been six months since the day they had stopped the Absolute and saved Baldur’s Gate from its tentacled grip. Since then Morella and Astarion had taken to the road, exploring all that Faerûn had to offer. They had used their travels to search for a safe way for Astarion to walk in the sun again, or even cure him altogether.

A cure had proved itself to be a difficult endeavour, but they had been incredibly lucky to come across a ring of Sun-Walker.

At first they had thought nothing of the ring, there wasn’t anything exceptional about it. It just looked like an old ring with a small set ruby, but Morella had felt the Weave radiating within. They discovered its magical property by accident. While travelling they had seeked shelter in some old church ruins for the day. As the sun had climbed the morning sky they had been ambushed by a group of bandits. This in itself hadn’t been too difficult of a fight, but in an adrenaline driven last attempt the final bandit had pushed Astarion out from the shadows making him tumble into the rays coming through a cracked wall. In terror Morella had sliced the man’s throat and quickly pulled him back into the shadows. They both looked shocked as he remained unharmed. In disbelief he rose to his feet and reached his hand into the light again. Then ripped his armour off in a hurry and stood once again, arms outstretched bathing in sunlight. Morella could have sworn a tear rolled off his cheek, and she couldn’t help bursting into tears herself. He had worn the ring as a pretty accessory, but since that day hadn’t removed it from his hand.

It had surprised them when Withers’ party invitation had shown up during their travels. Morella had been ecstatic, she had missed the team dearly.

At the party she had stumbled over a chest of letters, all from people they had encountered during their adventure. One stood out to her. It was a letter from the Gur tribe to Astarion. She pocketed the letter until later that night when the festivities had calmed down.

Astarion sat by the river watching the sun rise from its slumber, colouring the morning sky a peachy pink. It was serene. The only noises were either of their drunken friend snoring away the booze or those of the forest waking up. Soft, approaching footsteps broke him away from his daydreaming.

“You are up early, dear.”

Morella smiled and sat down next to her lover leaning her head on his shoulder.

“I found something for you. And I figured you might not want everyone around when reading it.” She pulled the letter out from the blanket she had thrown over her shoulders in a vain attempt to keep the morning chill at bay.

He took the letter with a puzzled look.

“Have you read it?”

Morella shook her head, her long silver braid swinging across her back.

Astarion steeled himself with a deep breath before reading. She couldn’t help but read over his shoulder, mentally preparing for all manner of outcomes. She studied his face as his eyes darted over each word. A shivering sigh escaped him. She took his hand in hers.

“Astarion…”

He glanced over to her, kissed her forehead. Wiggling his hand loose from hers he wrapped his arm around her, quietly gazed back at the sunrise.

“You know… During our tadpole escapade… I never thought of myself as a hero. I despised it even when others insinuated it.” A smile caressed his lips as he looked back at her.

“But I’m starting to think the title suits me.”

Morella let out a small giggle.

“That’s what I've been saying for some time now.” She nudged him playfully.

She let out a small yelp of surprise when he suddenly pushed her to the ground. He was on her in a blink, showering her in heartfelt kisses.

“I couldn’t have done it without you.” His voice was nothing more than a tender whisper.

“Yes you could. You only needed a little push in the right direction.” She cupped his face, stroking his cheek with her thumb.

“I will take credit where it’s due though, because you are one stubborn bastard.” He chortled at her remark.

“But you are one hell of a beautiful bastard. In every sense of the word.” She pulled him into another kiss, digging her fingers into his curls.

“Oh by the Hells! Honestly, you two are a menace!”

Morella jumped trying to stifle a shriek. Astarion laughed, and sat up, meeting Shadowheart’s green eyes with a small spark of danger. Morella’s face flushed bright red and tried to hide in her hands, cursing under her breath.

“Shit, didn’t expect you up, Shadowheart.”

“My, I didn’t take you for a voyeur, cleric. If you want a show, all you need to do is ask.” Astarion plastered a wolfish grin on his lips.

“Please, Astarion. I’ve heard and seen enough of the two of you for a lifetime. But I came to wash off the stench of booze.”

Morella sat up, beaming. Shadowheart’s frown melted into a smile unable to stay annoyed at her friend. The women stripped down and bathed in the river, splashing and laughing. Astarion watched them. Glancing back up at the sun, he couldn’t stop the warm smile forming across his lips. He felt happy, grateful, satisfied, and safe.

Slipping the letter into his pocket, he made a silent vow to himself. He would honour his now peaceful life by being better. Helping those in need, and Hells, if that meant he could kill all the corrupt evil-doers and monsters in his path… Well, who could be mad at him for that.

#astarion fic #astarion fanfic #baldur's gate 3 #astarion ancunin #bg3 #astarion #ravaged #astarion x durge

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psychopomp-recital · 5 months

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hi I just wanted to ask: what drew you to death magic specifically? and, if your comfortable, how do you deal with grief (both yours and others) by being a death witch? (plz don't feel obligated to answer if it's too invasive /gen)

Oh not too invasive at all! Thank you for being so polite, this response is very long I’m sorry you asked a rather deep question 🩵 CONTENT WARNING IN TAGS

What drew me onto this path?

TLDR; I have always been surrounded death and it has been an ever present part of my life. I hated the idea that when someone died they were gone forever that’s it. Because regardless if you believe in spirits, I hope we can all agree that we’re all collections of the ancestors who make up our bodies & the ancestors who make up our personalities, we are who we are because of those passed on. And I can all but hope that someday someone will remember me and my stories the same way I remember these folks.

I want to be a good ancestor someday.

THE LONG ANSWER

I was raised in the Southern United States. The culture of this area is that surrounded in death. Everywhere you go there is haunted places and cemeteries. There’s also a strong sense of family there, this feeling that everyone is woven and interconnected.

I was raised Mormon and by a folk magical family who taught me the importance of ancestor work. I understood that these folks are part of me, by blood or otherwise they have made me who I am.

I was raised holding hands with my ancestors chronic illness. I looked it in the face everyday. Haunted by the idea that someday my body would rot away the same way I saw theirs rot, reminded everyday that illness could rip my mother from me without warning.

I eventually realized I could continue to ignore death, pray I have time on this earth to do what I want to do and run from it. Or I could embrace its role in my life and welcome it like an old friend.

I found comfort in the idea that I could help those who have passed on. The families who never got to say goodbye now had an opportunity to at least send the message. I could do my part to calm the fear these folks feel when they slip further into deaths grasp. I found a purpose for the pain I was experiencing.

If I could learn all I can while I’m alive, perhaps when I die I’ll be able to leave behind my knowledge and someone can keep this practice going. In that way, they keep me alive too.

I heard you die twice, once when they bury you in the grave And the second time is the last time that somebody mentions your name.

How do I handle the grief of others and the personal grief I experience?

I think I actually made a post on this! I’ll link it below!

But honestly it just comes down to boundaries, and being kind to yourself. It’s okay to cry and be upset and miss those lost to us. It’s okay to mourn for the dead you work with. YOU ARE STILL HUMAN. Don’t loose sight of that.

Also if you check out #MyPsychopompJournal you’ll see some entries on grief and my raw experiences with it. The one below in particular is a pretty good example;

Let me know if you are interested in a more in depth post about how I handle grief personally because I don’t want to ramble more than I already have!

ASK MY ANYTHING ASKS ARE OPEN!

#cw: death #cw: chronic illness #cw: grief #death witch #death work #ask a death witch #witchblr #death witchcraft #folk practitioner #folk witchcraft #pagan #folk magic #folk practice #queer witch #witchcraft #death worship #ask a psychopomp

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savage-rhi · 2 years

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Immortal Shield Chapter 6: Healers Touch

**Let me know if you want to be tagged in updates.

Readers: @seradyn

Caelan could feel her lungs wanting to catch aflame. The air within Insomnia, once pristine was now ransacked with smoke and debris. With every step she took, more ash would fly around. She tried her best to keep her steps small while traversing through the city center and all its broken homes and mangled towers. Caelan’s eyes began to water as every so often she’d step over body parts. Feet, arms, an occasional head. Appendages that were once part of a living breathing person.

Julian had told her to stay put in the Pax District when the first of the bombs went off in the citadel during the treaty signing. Caelan didn’t protest while her father joined the rest of the crownsguard to defend their king. She stayed put while preparing herself to fight. The TV in the background of their residence blaring as reporters desperately tried to keep up with the chaos unfolding. It wasn’t long until the TV died, along with most of the power and then she could hear Niflheim troops begin to occupy the Pax District. Caelan knew her only shot at safety at this point was being near her father. So she disobeyed orders and left Pax. Fear and duty keept her alive as she tried to shut out the terrors unfolding around her home.

Caelan ran at first, going through the back alleys and passages that only young folk could truly traverse. Her mind cancelling out the screams and barked orders from Niflheim soldiers. Caelan’s adrenaline was high as she stopped to catch her breath, then heard the booming echo of a Niflheim Dropship fly overhead. Her neck and head turned to follow, seeing the large machine was flying towards the same destination as she was headed.

For what seemed like hours, Caelan braved through hordes of strangers and dodged bumping into magitek troops. Eventually she found herself in the present. Walking among the remains of Insomnia and the home of the king. Caelan coughed as she drew close to the epicenter, flames from the attack still carrying on their light without having much to hold onto. The groans then started to sneak into her ears. The pleads and broken cries of citizens and troops under rubble creating a haunting melody as she prayed to the Astrals her father wasn’t among the dead.

“Zamfir,” A familiar voice though croaked and broken radiated in Caelan’s ears. She followed the sound, then came across a member of Julian’s Einherjar. The thirty two year old was trapped under a huge piece of rubble that once belonged to a monument. His legs were beyond recognition. She couldn’t even make out if he had feet. Once the initial horror passed through Caelan’s vision, she was quick to meet his side.

“Hector!” Caelan didn’t care that she broke protocol and honors of her fellow crownsguard. He had been a huge part of her life. One of her father’s finest.

“Hector,” Caelan’s eyes rapidly glanced over him, trying to conjure up a plan to get him out. She then started ripping away chunks of debris here and there, but alas there was only so much the body of a 14 year old could handle. Regardless of her training. She panted heavily, removing another large piece as Hector shook his head against the ground.

“Zamfir, please stop.”

“I can’t give up! I’m gonna get you out!” Caelan pleaded. She rose once more, only to let out a gasp as Hector grabbed a hold of her arm and pulled Caelan to her knees.

“Zamfir, it’s okay.” His voice choked out as Caelan shook her head in protest. Her whole body quaked as emotions of sadness and rage took hold of her heart.

“The king is dead, Zamfir--” Hector paused, choking on his own bile as he used every last bit of his strength to relay what happened and what had become of everyone so they weren’t mere lost ghosts to Lucis. The truth of what happened would be known to someone, even if they were still a child.

“They’re gonna say some awful thing about us---that Lucis started it. The treaty, it was a trick. They took the crystal. They took everything. Insomnia is no longer ours. Find your father, and get out of here. Go as far as you can. They’re--they’re rounding up crownsguard and their children as we speak.”

Caelan’s eyes widened in horror at the news. The gravity of the situation within Insomnia had now become more apparent to her.

“Cae, did you hear me?” Hector raised his voice, snapping Caelan out of her thoughts as she nodded. With that, Hector smiled.

“Atta girl,” His right hand coated with his own blood reached up and caressed Caelan’s face. She instinctively grabbed a hold of it, squeezing the flesh tight as the remainder of Hectors life began to leave.

The piercing sound of a bullet meeting between Hector’s skull caused Caelan to suddenly turn around, her spear summoned as she screamed aloud at Hector’s killer ready to impale whoever it was. She hesitated seeing a familiar face, her fingers trembled against the shaft of her weapon as warmth in her father’s cold eyes showed themselves for the first time in years.

“Dad,” Caelan mouthed. She watched as he stepped past, ignoring her altogether as he knelt before Hector with his head bowed and eyes closed.

“Duty by blood and duty by faith. Be with the Gods and our late king, Custos Hector, Ad Astra.”

Julian made the gestures of the rites with his hands, his voice solemn as he closed Hector’s eyes. He was careful to put the handgun away on his belt, then turned to face Caelan. There was a long silence between the two as Julian registered that she was alive. That somehow throughout the calamity that transpired, his daughter hadn't met the hands of death.

“I thought I told you to remain in Pax.” Julian said firmly, curbing whatever emotions threatened to breach his stoic exterior. Disappointment lingered in his gaze as he watched Caelan stumble on her words.

“I--I--Pax was overtaken. I was scared you were dead, dad. I came to find you and--”

“Don’t disobey me again, Zamfir.” Julian commanded. His voice rose as he watched Caelan quickly bow to him.

“Sir, I am apologetic. I thought I could help!”

“Like you helped August and Aila?” Julian bitterly yelled as the gore around them triggered memories of the last time the Nifs took something precious away. He stopped himself short, seeing Caelan wince as she kept her head low. Her sobs now becoming prominent. Though Julian blamed her with every fiber of his being, he couldn’t fully disown the instincts he had as a father to show his child things would be alright. That she was safe for now.

“I thought I lost you.” Taking in a deep breath, for the first time in years, Julian pulled Caelan into a tight embrace. Ignoring the commotion around them to show that he still loved her despite being harsh.

The kind gesture only lasted for precious moments, and when Julian pulled away his commanding presence returned. Julian knew from this point forward he could no longer afford to be sentimental. If he was to become judge, jury and executioner, he had to give up what was left of his heart. It was the only way to beat Niflheim at their game.

“Zamfir, we need to evacuate as many Insomnian’s as possible. Then we’re going to round up whoever is left of the Einherjar, and we’re going to bring the men responsible for this to justice. We’re going to avenge Custos, your mother, brother, everyone that the Nifs took. ”

“Justice?” Caelan murmured, watching as the last sparks of humanity in Julian’s eyes died along with King Regis and the rest of the city.

“That’s right, justice.”

Caelan shot up from sleep in a cold sweat. Her breathing irregular for a few moments as she registered being awake. Calming breaths soon took over as Caelan pushed back strand hairs out from her face. There was a painful throb that followed suit, and her eyes glanced to her left shoulder seeing the clean dressing that had been applied.

This must’ve been Ardyn’s doing . Caelan thought to herself as she blinked, getting a good look around. The familiar texture of the tent was a comfort. A strong smell of petrichor went through her nose as she breathed. Furrowing her brows out of curiosity, Caelan unzipped the opening of the tent. The light from the sun briefly blinded her as she crawled out. Her mind taking in the new scenery as a landscape of trees and foliage hit her. Wherever Ardyn had made camp, they were long gone out of the Leide region. There was no trace of the desert within her field of vision.

“Ah, you’re awake!” Ardyn’s voice made Caelan cringe for a moment. The action didn’t go unnoticed as he laughed, standing in front of her as she looked up.

“You’re blocking out the sun,” Caelan muttered unenthusiastic as Ardyn shrugged.

“They didn’t call me the bringer of darkness for nothing,” He teased and then crouched to get on level with her. He had a cup of something warm in his right hand, careful to balance himself as he looked her over.

“How are you fairing?” Ardyn asked as he handed the cup to Caelan. His lips contorting into a mischievous smile seeing the look of disgust that flocked to Caelan’s face when she caught a whiff of the concoction he had brewed.

“I feel like I blacked out from being stabbed, that’s what.” Caelan said bitterly, and then glanced between Ardyn and the drink. To say she was cautious was an understatement as memories of Ardyn daemonified came to her head, along with the fact the tea or whatever it was, had a strong earthy scent comparable to moist dirt.

“What is this stuff?” Caelan asked.

“An old remedy from my time,” Ardyn said with a certain fondness that had Caelan ease up. He then sat down, legs too tried to keep crouched. “It helps replenish blood. I promise I won’t poison you.”

Caelan rolled her eyes, then with a sigh decided to try and drink it with a quick gulp. She stopped halfway. The taste was rather potent as she cringed. A shudder traveled down her spine as her tongue began to tingle. The look of disgust she displayed had Ardyn more amused as he shook his head, his features akin to a parent that was proud their child finally took their medicine.

“Where are we right now?” Caelan asked calmly, her eyes glancing around further.

“We are near the Slough region. I decided to take the Scepter off road to avoid further run ins with your former compatriots.” Ardyn looked straight ahead, his brows knitted as he let a sigh escape.

“You okay?” Caelan asked.

“I’m good, yes.” For the past two days while Caelan recovered and he as well, Ardyn had been rehearsing what he was going to say to her upon waking. Now that the opportunity presented itself, he wasn’t so certain about sticking to a script. Much less knew what he wanted to talk about now.

“Back at the checkpoint, when I was fighting Tempus I saw that you looked drained.” Caelan began. Ardyn’s attention on her now as she continued. “Like whatever outburst of energy that initially set you off was fading away fast. Was it the weapons, the royal arms?”

Ardyn, for as relieved as he was that Caelan decided to steer the direction of the conversation, felt mixed. He was reluctant to share details regarding what happened, yet Ardyn also toyed with the idea of getting a second perspective on the issue.

“The arsenal was draining my life force,” Ardyn admitted. “The royal arms extract a heavy toll from their user. The phantom limbs of former dead kings. Back when I fought Noctis, and the Astral Bahamut, I didn’t have to pay the price. Now it seems the debt has caught up with me.”

Caelan contemplated his words for a time. “So you’re not immortal after all?”

“Yes and no,” Ardyn responded. “I think there is a limitation placed upon me. To what extent, I’m unaware. The cut on my cheek healed fast, but slow in comparison to what I am normally acquainted with.”

The uncertainty in his voice had Caelan wondering just how confident Ardyn was about his theory. It didn’t take long for her to reach a conclusion.

“You could technically off yourself with the royal arms without having to see the king.” Caelan offered, though she was quick to add further. “I don’t mean for that to sound cruel, but its an option if you still want to die without going through the trouble of reaching Insomnia.”

“I did think about that,” Ardyn said as a matter of fact. “Though two factors came into play: one, I’m quite certain my grand nephew has to make sure its permanent, or another Caelum blood. Secondly, I didn’t feel it would be polite to leave you with a corpse to dispose of.”

“How very generous of you.” Caelan teased. Though there was a sincerity in her tone that matched Ardyn’s as he explained himself. She smiled as he chuckled at the remark. They both quietly regarded one another for a time.

“May I ask about what happened with your father?” Ardyn piped up, being mindful not to sound too nosey despite the topic dragging on his mind since Caelan blacked out. He was about to downplay himself, offer a later time in the day while she got her bearings, but Caelan had beaten him to it as she raised a hand to him and shook her head.

“It’s as I said. I killed him.” Caelan’s voice was numb as she confessed. Her eyes drifting up to the tall branches of the various trees within their camping post. “After Insomnia fell, Julian went on a murderous rampage and hitched me along for the ride with the Einherjar unit. He murdered many imperials. Individuals or families, it didn’t matter. So I put a stop to it.”

“So you didn’t partake in his bloodshed?” Ardyn asked.

“My hands aren’t completely clean,” Caelan admitted, knitting her brows as she felt her mind wanting to travel back to a memory she wasn’t prepared to check in with. Shaking her head she sighed. Brushing it off for the time being. She didn’t have the energy to reconcile with what she had to do to survive being around Julian.

“I’m not in a place to share that right now, and I understand that you’d think low of me.”

Ardyn shook his head, offering a solemn smile. “I’d be a hypocrite considering the many I’ve slain and the role I played in your unfortunate circumstances. Being the chancellor, I helped orchestrate the false treaty.”

“So it was you,” Caelan’s voice grew firm as Ardyn tensed. “Julian told me I should’ve been wary of you and all the imperials that came to Insomnia that day, that much I remember from back then. Everything that happened to me after the fact was your fault. You were the catalyst.”

“He was a smart man,” Ardyn returned a serious gaze, though he became contemplative. "For the record, there were certain initiatives in our little coup that I didn't play a hand in."

"Such as?" Caelan asked, tone clearly indicating she wasn't buying his words.

Ardyn furrowed his brows, a soft glare coming to his features upon her reaction. "The murder of crownsguard and their kin as a matter of fact. I'm sure you are aware of what happened to the ones rounded up that night Insomnia fell. Assuming you were present that unfortunate day."

Caelan's eyes widened some as she fixated her gaze upon Ardyn. A quiet yet tense sigh escaping her breath as she gave a nod.

"Who could forget? It's not everyday you see kids you trained with having their heads on pikes." Caelan simply replied. She wasn't sure of how to carry on the conversation as memories of the night Julian and her escaped traveled across her mind. It was a terrifying ordeal. So many had been slain for no good reason, and yet the Niflheim officials managed to spin a web of lies stating the crownsguard, the glaive, anyone associated with it were attempting to cause trouble or harm others. The unfortunate matter was so many people, including fellow Lucians fell for it.

A question danced in Ardyn's head as he kept his eyes on Caelan. He braced himself before unleashing it.

“What is your gut telling you right now, about me?”

Caelan was stumped by the inquiry. Not expecting the conversation to take this sort of direction. However she found herself checking in with her instincts. There was a long pause as a battle took place inside herself. Despite there being many warnings, and traumas wanting to steer Caelan elsewhere, she settled on a singular truth that felt real.

“My gut is telling me that if there was a part of you that didn’t feel remorseful, you never would’ve told me your involvement.”

Ardyn was taken back, yet he held his composure. An amused huff escaped him as he looked elsewhere.

“You’re quite perceptive.”

“So, where does this leave us?” Caelan asked.

“Beg pardon?”

“Well, I’m your shield. You still want to get to Insomnia, right? With my baggage out in the open, it won’t be easy. We’ll have to travel around for a bit and lose the Einherjar. Not to mention the Accordo and Lucis troops hunting war criminals.”

“You’re still going to help me?” Ardyn was visibly confused. His tone further conveyed it as Caelan shrugged.

“Yeah, I mean I got nothing better to do than running away from my problems, per usual.” Caelan said bluntly.

“It's honorable, considering what were discussing just now. However, I’m not sure this is a good arrangement for either of us. I’m certain your adversaries are going to spread rumors about my reappearance thus casting a bigger shadow upon you. You’d do well without me lurking close.” Ardyn admitted. Recalling this is what he wanted to talk about in the first place, what he had rehearsed upon. The irony didn’t leave him, that things were coming full circle.

“I think you’re wrong,” Caelan said. Her tone exuding a confidence as she continued. “Look at this way, we’re both not liked by any kingdoms--”

“An understatement, I’m sure.” Ardyn joked, nonetheless he was serious too.

“Anyway,” Caelan suppressed a laugh. “We stand a better chance making it to Insomnia together. You said so yourself, the Einherjar are probably going to open their mouths about you then you’ll be in the hot seat just as bad as me. Then you’re still reconciling with the fact your powers have deteriorated. There’s no point in flying solo at this rate. I still want to be pardoned, and if you can help me with that, I’m not giving up so easily delivering you to the king.”

“Ah, there it is. The catch.” Ardyn mused. “You still want to turn me in for your own selfish needs, and not out of the kindness of your heart to help this old soul rest in peace?”

“I--” Caelan made a face, feeling another bout of inner conflict begin to rise. She only snapped out of it when Ardyn laughed.

“You made some fair points,” Ardyn interrupted before Caelan could say anything further. “I suppose you’re stuck with me a little longer.”

“Don’t get it wrong, I’m not going to treat you any better. I was kind and put up with your horseplay because I assumed you’d be out of my hair by now.” Caelan said defensively. Not wanting to give away that she was actually relieved this ‘trip’ wasn’t over.

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” Ardyn smirked. He then adjusted where he was sitting on the ground, scooting closer to Caelan. His hands reached out to her shoulder, the wounded one, causing her to hiss. A sharp pain radiated down her nerves as she was tempted to shoo him off until Ardyn held his right hand up.

“I want to heal that arm of yours now that you’re awake.” Ardyn made his intentions clear as Caelan appeared confused at his statement.

“Why didn’t you do that when I was knocked out?” Caelan asked fairly. “I’d think that would be an easier time for you.”

“Not when I am unsure about my ability,” Ardyn admitted. “I haven’t properly healed anyone for thousands of years. I need to be certain if I hurt you. Can’t well voice your opinion on the matter if you’re out cold.”

“Have you done this on anyone else?” Caelan watched as Ardyn began to undress her bandages. His focus was entirely on the wound and nothing else. Much like the doctors Caelan had met a few times in her life when crownsguard training had nearly cost her an arm and leg.

“As of late, no. Save for an animal with an injured leg.” Ardyn said nonchalant. He carefully lifted the gauze on the cut as Caelan cried out. The material from the soiled piece had stuck onto what little scabbing her wound created.

“This won’t daemonify me, right? I don’t know if that’s true or not, but word of mouth said you could do that years ago. Turn people into monsters.” Caelan couldn’t help but ask, feeling the gentle hand of fear creep into the back of her head.

“Look at me,” Ardyn’s tone hardened. The authoritative cadence he carried had Caelan instantly looking up at him with no hesitation. The action was rather primal on her part.

“If there was any chance I could daemonify living things once again, I’d be insane to offer healing you.” Ardyn spoke earnestly. His eyes were burning into Caelan’s, making the situation all the more intense. Once he had a good indication she understood the grimness of his words, Ardyn focused on the cut. The entirely of his left palm covering it as he squeezed.

Colorful words escaped Caelan as Ardyn’s grip applied more pressure. She could feel the pain of the full injury down to the bone of her shoulder blade. It was almost as if Tempus once more jiggled a knife into her flesh and twisted. Seconds later, a pleasant warmth enveloped the spot and began to radiate through her body. It was a satisfying numbness, as if a hand had gone inside of her body and kneaded out every sore muscle, tissue, and vessel at the point of impact.

As soon as the sensations came, they easily went as Ardyn withdrew his hand. Caelan’s brows knitted as she immediately turned her gaze to where the wound once was. There was nothing left, nothing even remote as a scar.

“Wow, that was--” Caelan’s breath hitched as she met Ardyn’s eyes. Seeing that they were pitch black save his signature golden irises. He didn’t say a word. Only watched her.

Once the initial shock wore off, Caelan couldn’t help but turn her attention to Ardyn’s left shoulder. It seemed to throb with pain as he did his best to remain neutral, but it became increasingly clear he wanted to wince or do something to take the edge off. Nevertheless, he shifted around Caelan and made his way inside of the tent, minding to zip the entrance up.

“I’m going to take a nap. Try not to disturb me.” Ardyn’s voice was icy as he lied down on this left side and curled up.

“Are you going to be--”

“Cahl, please.” Ardyn pleaded with a growl. “I need some time alone.”

Caelan dismissed herself from as far away from the tent as she could be. Once she was several feet off to the side, she rubbed the back of her head. There was still so much that needed to be discussed, and much planning to do. Though Caelan was the one to initiate they work together again, she would be lying if she wasn’t nervous about the whole thing.

As her reminiscent dream from before started to seep into her thoughts, Caelan took in a deep breath. Maybe this whole situation with Ardyn was yet another sign. That she needed to find the courage within herself to confront the Einherjar, and bring them to justice as a crownsguard would. She briefly allowed herself to play with the idea, imagining dragging Tempus and the rest of Julian’s followers to the king or anyone who would listen and had power to change her fate. No, now was not the time to be thinking of idealistic expectations. Not when she was still a damn coward.

Caelan alas shook her head, the thoughts drifting away with each swipe as she decided to walk to the nearest gas station and grab something to eat at the Mini-Mart. She did stop to turn her head back to the tent, wondering if Ardyn truly needed to sleep before pressing on.

Ardyn meanwhile had been watching. A small section of the tents entryway unzipped, he was able to see that Caelan had left. Once she was out of the vicinity, he curled up on the sleeping mat and quaked.

There was no way he could keep his daemonic powers from leaking out. Not at this rate. The energy from her wound seemed to stir said powers up further. It didn’t take long to realize Caelan had been scared of him because of his eyes changing. He didn’t like the way she looked at him.

Ardyn closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath to focus on himself. There were no other voices. No sniveling creatures with only a primal impulse to consume and purge echoing through his brain. Yet it brought no comfort and only more questions than answers. The only comfort Ardyn took from this, was that he knew he couldn't turn people or living things into bloodthirsty creatures. The scourge couldn't be passed from him as far as he was aware.

Maybe he’d never know why he remained cursed. The thought troubled Ardyn to no end as he attempted to not dwell on the fact that Insomnia would be a distant memory for now.

#ardyn #ardyn izunia #ardyn lucis caelum #fanfic #fanfiction #final fantasy xv #ffxv #original characters #story #yeah fuck it imma post anyway

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dre6ming · 2 years

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I posted 576 times in 2022

That's 535 more posts than 2021!

128 posts created (22%)

448 posts reblogged (78%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@blurredcolour

@burninlovebutler

@bcofl0ve

@blainesebastian

@elvisabutler

I tagged 162 of my posts in 2022

#austin butler - 79 posts

#austin butler x reader - 71 posts

#baz luhrmann elvis - 66 posts

#elvis fans - 65 posts

#elvis songs - 62 posts

#austin butler smut - 62 posts

#austin butler elvis - 61 posts

#elvis film - 61 posts

#elvis biopic - 60 posts

#austin butler fic - 59 posts

Longest Tag: 59 characters

#i don’t think i’d get on my knees for many people out there

My Top Posts in 2022:

Masterlist

Fluff ☾

Angst ♞

Smut ✡︎

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Austin Butler/Elvis Presley

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211 notes - Posted September 4, 2022

Our very last kiss

Masterlist

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Part II - I’m a soldier who’s returning half her weight

Pairing: Austin Butler x fem reader

Warnings: smut 18+, unclear consent, depression, anxiety, cursing, medication use, crying….oh I hope that’s it~let me know if I missed something

Plot: you’re a 21 year old actress and you get casted to play Priscilla in the new Elvis biopic. You fall for Austin, but it ends up that he only thought you were going method with him, so when filming ends so does your relationship. For him at least.

Word count: 4400

Disclaimer: this story was inspired but Taylor Swift’s song “Wildest dreams” I’m not making any assumptions about anything. Also I wrote an Austin that is far from who I hope he is in real life.

Pain. You've felt it before. You and pain have sat down and chatted like old friends many times. But at some point pain would get bored, get up and leave, so that the healing could begin and you would get to meet up with other feelings again. This time though? Well this time pain was stubborn, it doesn't seem to want to ever leave. It has brought with it some new tools as well, little gimmicks to use on you body, so that everyone could know you were dining with pain. Everyone but that one person. That one mass of flesh, blood and bones. How could he not see? You used to scream that question at the sky, you used to pray for an answer but it never came.

You knew from the beginning it was wrong, but you couldn't help yourself. And you tried, you'll give yourself that much credit, but somewhere along the way you stopped restraining yourself. Now you eat mouthfuls of the dish you prepared.

You close your eyes trying to push back the tears from your eyes. You don't know how it's possible to cry anymore, how you still physically have any power to do that. You want to physically rip your heart out and start slicing it with a blunt kitchen knife, but that's not possible. Instead you open your eyes again, look pain dead in those black eyes and speak.

"Let me tell you the story of how I got here. How I was stupid to believe. Stupid to let myself go. Stupid to love. Stupid, stupid, stupid, so FUCKING stupid"

It started so simple and cliché, because it started with him smiling at you.

It's your first day of filming and to say you're nervous and scared would be understatement. This is your first big thing. Playing Priscilla Presley is a scary, exiting and overwhelming task. You worry that your very little experience and young age might be an obstacle in doing justice to the amazing person she is. You are only 21 and you've acted in some other small projects, but never something this big and highly anticipated. You are mortified at the thought of stepping foot on that set and making a fool of yourself. "Ok we're done!" The make up artist says putting her brushes away.

You get up from the makeup chair, wiping your sweaty palms on your dress. The first scene you'll film is the one where Elvis and Priscilla are in his room in Germany listening to music while she babbles on about her parents.

You try calm your heart as you walk, but nothing helps, it feels like your chest might explode with the pressure inside it. Biting your nails, you read over the script, making sure to have it tattooed in your brain. "Hi, nice to see you again!" A hand comes in sight, starched out for you to shake. You take it and pray that your palm is just slightly sweaty and not uncomfortably drenched with nerves. "Hi" it's Austin standing In from of you, dressed in military uniform, hair sleeked back and smile as bright as the last time you saw him, at the last table read you attended. That was over a few weeks ago.

"Are you ready for the scene?" The question catches you off guard. Is he asking that so make conversation or to make sure you don't screw up? It must be the later. "Yeah, of course." You try to hide the tremble in your voice by laughing a bit, but that only comes out as a strangled sound. You blush terribly and look away. "Hey, it's going to be fine, alright?" He crooks his head to the side to look you in the eyes. You can see how honest he is.

You nod and go to move some hair behind your ear, but quickly slam the hand back on your lap, you can't ruin your hair. "Okay" Austin lets go of your hand, placing both his hand in the pockets of his pants, smiling at you. You didn't miss the way his eyes looked you over from head to toe. "Alright people, Austin on your mark, on the floor. (Y/n) you begin at the window, come on now. Let's move!" Baz says. Shaking your head and making yourself shift into character, you take your position and start the scene.

Several takes over the next 3 to 4 hours are necessary to complete the scene. You were the one always messing up. 'Too stiff' that called you. By the time the take number 105 and the 3rd hour rolled around you could see that the nice attitude Austin presented himself with, had dissolved into one of annoyance. He was nice enough to not say anything, but his body language spoke volumes. The constant eye rolls, sighs, huffs and scowls, told you how over the whole situation he was.

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251 notes - Posted September 12, 2022

I thought you quit

“I stayed there” series -part I

Pairing: Austin Butler x Fem Reader

Warning: smoking, swearing, pda, fluff

Plot: Austin gets back on a bad habit due to his stress caused by the Elvis auditioning. You try to explain to him that he needs to relax and take care of himself. Soon you’re crying and your heart is shattered

Masterlist here all parts are here

Part 2 here

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Word count: 1700

The cool autumn breeze glides through your tied up hair, making the loose strands brush you face. You sit on the bench in the empty park, legs over your boyfriends and kindle in hand. You enjoy times like this, when it's quiet and you get to just be with him, it's rare and it's oh so sweet. As you read lost in your book, Austin speaks, but you don't look at him too absorbed into the paragraph in front of your eyes. "So what do you want to do tonight?" He ask. You shrug your shoulders, not really carrying about it, as long as tonight is spent together you'll have a good time regardless of what you were doing. "I don't know, maybe open some wine, watch some tv..." you say absentmindedly while rubbing your hands together to get them warmer.

You lift your eyes up when you feel Austin move and you notice him pulling out a cigarette and placing it in between his lips. Before he gets a chance to light it, you snatch the lighter from his hand and hide it behind your back. "I thought you quit" you say giggling at his dumbfounded expression. "I did!" He argues back cigarette still between his lips. "Aha sure baby, you did!" You bite back as he leans over you trying to take the lighter from the hand that hides behind you back. "Come on now baby, it just one!" He whines, frustrated at not being able to reach your hand. Now both his arms hug you and you have to take a deep breath to keep yourself grounded. Blue eyes staring into your (e/c) ones, lips plump and read from the cold keeping the cigarette to the corner of his mouth. Your right hand reaches up and take the cigarette out of his mouth. "(Y/n)!" Austin pouts in a warning tone at you. "Kiss me and maybe I'll give it back."

He smiles, licks his lips and leans in, soft, warm lips touching yours. His hands grab your waist and you shiver at the feeling of his big palms splayed on your back. He licks you bottom lip and with a pleasured sigh you open up for him. He tastes like coffee and burned sugar, the taste of him fogging your brain. Your right hand holding the cigarette, quickly drops it on your lap and your left hand holding the lighter places it on the bench. Now both of your hands are free to tangle in his black hair. He'd dyed it a week ago when he started sending in audition tapes to Baz , for the role of Elvis Presley . Tapes for which he started to prepare three weeks ago.. You liked it, but you love his caramel colored hair a lot more, but he insisted he had to dye his hair for the auditioning process, so he could feel more in character. He was livid about the role, he wanted it so bad he barely slept trying to study Elvis as much as he could. He was constantly watching Elvis movies, clips , listening to his songs, talking in his voice. It was nice to see his dedication, but it started to turn into an obsession. It's why he probably started smoking again to get himself to calm down and unwind.

Your tummy flutters as you scratch his scalp with your nails, deepening the kiss. He moans in your mouth and before you get to carried away, he pulls back placing the cigarette back in between his lips and lighting it with the lighter he stole from behind you, while you were busy getting lost in him. Victory can be read on his face as he puffs the cigarette and lets the smoke out through his mouth and nose. "I'm sorry baby, I promise it's just this one. I swear." He places one hand on his heart, bringing the cigarette back for another smoke. "Sure" you say folding your arms over your chest. Slowly you get you feet down from his lap, tuck some of your hair behind your ears, grab your kindle, put it you back and get up, walking away.

Austin is quick to follow you, but you only walk faster. To no avail since he's got long legs and you don't wanna cause a scene running away from him. "(Y/n), wait, baby!" He grabs your elbow and stops you in your tracks. You spin to look at him, but when you see that he still has the cigarette in his mouth, you look away. "I want to go home." Looking at the ground you play with your feet, not liking the way he hovers over you, his height an advantage over you. "Just cause I wanted to smoke one fucking cigarette?" Austin brushes a hand through his hair and looks exasperated at you.

It's not the cigarette, sure you care for his health and you want him to quit for his own good, but it's not what got you so bothered. "It's not the cigarette.." you say in a low voice barley above a whisper. "Then what is it?" He asks inpatient to know. You chew the inside of your cheek and he turns away from you, throwing his hands in the air, annoyed with your attitude. "No, cause it's been weeks now that you've acted like this, I do something or say something and you shut me out, punishing me for something. What is it!?" his voice gets louder and tears gather in you eyes, but you blink them back. You know what it is, you just don't want to say it and be a jerk.

"Say it, god damn it!" He pushed and that's it for your tears to start running down your face. His face softens, he goes to the near by garbage bin and puts out his cigarette. Austin comes back to you and hugs you. You keep your arms folded over you chest and rest your head on his chest. He lets out a shallow breath, running a hand up and down you back soothingly. "What's wrong baby? Talk to me!" He's now begging, your heart breaks for him and you close your eyes. "I-, you just.." you stumble over your words.

"I what?" He's not angry or annoyed now, just scared of what you'll say. "You just, you aren't you anymore..." your voice is so quiet, that for a second he thinks he heard it in his head and you hadn't actually spoken to him. "What?" He can't believe what you just said, how is it that he's not himself anymore. "You're losing yourself in this role and you're just in the process of auditioning for it. What happens if you get? Hm? Am I supposed to start liking to date a replica of Elvis Presley?" You exit his embrace and take a few steps back. He's stuck, frozen in place, he expected anything but this.

"That's not fair, you know how important it is for me!" He looks like he's the one about to cry now. "You don't get it, how could you? All you do all day is sit with your head buried in those stupid books and complain about how hard med school is. Just fucking drop out already!" The steps you take back cause you to stumble on a rock and fall on your ass in the wet grass. You're mute, you can't say a single thing. He blows out more air out of his mouth and doesn't bother to try lift you up. You hug your knees to your chest and cry softly. Then you feel his hand on you knee and you flinch away from his touch. "(Y/n), baby..." you wipe your face and slowly get up.

"You don't sleep anymore and when you do you have nightmares. You don't eat, just sit all day, every day for the past 3 weeks and watch him, listen to him, talk like him, you're killing your self for it" he looks away and listens to you, every word being another slap to his face, because every word is true. "Well it's my job, (Y/n), what do you want me to do about it?" You come close to him and take his head in your hands forcing him to look at you. It breaks him to see the tears that don't seam to stop running down your face, knowing he made them come out in the first place. "Your not listening to me, I just want you to relax a bit, you can't see what a tool this auditioning process took on you, but I can" he lost weight and his hands shook with anxiety almost all the time, dark circles paint his eyes, that are now bloodshot read holding back tears. Austin shakes his head and takes your hands away from his face. You shake your head closing your eyes, ready for his next sharp words.

His nose brushes against yours, you feel his soft lips on yours and this time he tastes like cigarettes and salt. You don't kiss him back and he notices right away, so Austin pulls back. "I think we should break up!" He says. Your heart feels like it was hit by a wrecking ball and you can't breathe. Your vision starts to blur. Heart beating in your ears, you get away from him. "Ok" it's all you say as you walk. You drove here in his car, your apartment is an hour away from where you are now, but he doesn't offer to drive you and you won't ask him.

By the time you get to your home, the tears have dried, but the heartache stayed. You unlock your door and get in. For the next hour as you get yourself ready for bed, you feel drunk on the pain. He was you first boyfriend and he had promised to respect you, what he said, what he did, was anything but respect. Grabbing you phone, you unlock it and shoot him one last message, before blocking the number.

"See you on the big screen, Elvis. Hope it was worth it!"

258 notes - Posted September 4, 2022

Stage fright

The fright series ~part I

Part II - ‘bed fright’ here

Pairing: Austin Butler!Elvis x fem reader

Warnings: cursing, smut, oral(f receiving) fingering, semi public sex, ( that’s all I hope)

Plot: Elvis met you working on his ‘68 comeback show, he feel for you instantly, at a celebratory party for the special he makes a move and you 2 become a thing. Later he shows you the Vegas stage and gives you and unforgettable orgasm to help ease his nerves

Word count:3392 I couldn’t stop 😭😭

Author’s note: this is the second time I write this, the first time around the app crashed and it didn’t save so I had to write it again. Also English is not my first language so I apologize for mistakes, please be kind. Request are open. Enjoy!!

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It was a strange thing to think about, the big Elvis Presley having stage fright? But he was in fact afraid of the stage, every time he got up there he felt his heart in his stomach and his thoughts traveled faster than he could keep up. His fast skyrocketing career didn't ease that fright. He loved to sing, but if he could just plant his voice on stage while he sat back and watched he would’ve been so happy. His fans didn’t know all this though, and they ate him up every time he got up there. They screamed, cried, danced, shook, all to the sound of his voice, his music, his art.

He often doubted himself and he believed it was all a dream, one from which he would wake up soon to find he was still that scrawny poor boy, form Tupelo Mississippi. He blamed all his success on luck, that thing he was sure of. He was lucky, but now it seamed to him like his luck had run out. In his mind at least.

Since ‘56 when all this crazy dream of his started, till now he had everything, everything but one thing, love. Seeing as the only woman he ever loved was his mom, who tragically died, she left him so heartbroken, he never wanted to feel that way again, so he didn’t. He indulged himself lovers to keep for a night or maybe a few nights, but it was always just raw pleasure, never love.

That was until a few months ago, when he met her, while working for the '68 comeback special, she was Steve Binder's assistant. He liked her instantly, there was just something about her, that made her stand out, even in a room full of glammed up dancers. She always carried a small notebook with her, she either had it in the pocket of her pants or in the waist line of her skirt. The gold pen she wore behind her ear, the one she used to write down in her notebook was the only piece of jewelry she wore. Her stature was that of a 5.6 feet girl who despite her height always wore flats, never heels, that intrigued him.

There were in fact many things about her, that intrigued him, her hair was another one of them. Her (h/c) hair was always neatly styled, she either wore it braided, in a ponytail or in a ballerina bun, he dreamed of seeing her hair cascade over her back. It also looked like it would be very soft, since she never seamed to put products in it. He also liked how shy she was, while also proving to be the smartest person in the room when so opens her mouth to speak, which was rare, in his presence at least.

Her voice sounded like warm honey, he remembers the first time he heard it. “It’s a pleasure to meet you mr Presley” she said as she lifted a shaky arm for him to shake, something not necessarily lady like, since men were supposed to kiss a woman’s hand, not shake it. He shook it nonetheless and he discovered her hand was warm, soft and sweaty with emotions probably. “Pleasure’s all mine darlin’”. That was the only interaction the two of them had for 2 weeks while he worked on the special, in those two weeks his time was split between singing on stage and dancing and when that was over he’d dream about her.

He often wondered if he would get a chance to talk to her, but the timing never seamed right. She was always running out and about, getting everything done for Steve and never in his presence. So he just kept hoping until the last day, but even as they filmed the last shot and shared drinks, she wasn't there. He wondered where she was, but didn't ask.

The next time he got to see her, was at the celebratory party on the 4th of December. Steve rented a bar for the whole staff, everyone was there, even people he'd never seen before, but his eyes searched the room for her. And then he found her. Sat in a dark corner, a true wallflower, she wore a beautiful green dress with a square neckline that showed enough cleavage to drive him crazy. That dress should've been illegal, it hugged all the right places, she was beautiful, well made, with enough meat on her bones to make him wish he could squeeze her every bit in his hands.

Her hair was the next thing that caught his eye, she had braided half of it and the rest hung loose in her back, he blinked and imagined what treading his long fingers through it felt like. She also didn't have her gold pen set behind her ear, instead she had beautiful gold, stud earrings, a pair to the gold bead that hung around her neck.

His feet carried him to her before he even realized he was walking. He sat next to her and gave her one of his most sincere side smiles. She looked at him and blushed looking down, he could see the blush creep up on her face, because she never wore makeup or if she did it was always in small quantities and to enhance the beauty she already had. "Evening ma'am, would you like a drink?" He asked as he motioned the bartender to come get their order. "Evening, sir, just a water, please." He ordered himself a gin tonic. While they waited he looked her up and down, god she was everything. "No need to call me sir, ma'am, just Elvis is fine by me" she blushed again and then started to play with a tissue in her hand. "Well in that case you should call me (y/n), ma'am makes me feel old." He smiled at what she said and had to bite down on his tongue not to ask her how old she was, cause she looked young.

Elvis wanted to talk more but didn't really know what to say, so they just sat there in silence. Until after drinking some of her water she surprised him. "What's your favorite season of the year?" She asked looking at him with big, curious eyes. He took a sip of his drink that had unfortunately gone warm in his hand and was no longer appetizing. He asked the bartender for a Coca-Cola, his favorite and the proceeded to answer. "Well I think summer, days are so much longer so me and the boys get to spend as much time are we want outside and because the night is also a lot more lively we get to carry some of the fun even after sunset" she listened to him very closely, he liked that, when people listened to him, really listened. "What about you darlin'?"

The way the pet name rolled on his tongue made her shiver like a cold gush of wind just passed her, but there was no wind, just him. She looked up at the ceiling like she was searching for the answer and then looked right back at him as she spoke "Winter, I like the cold, being curled up with a book by the fireplace, hot coffee in my hand. The snow, especially the snow, I miss it, we don't get it here in LA" she said it like she used to live somewhere else,he picked up on that so it was only natural that he ask. "You ain't from LA? Where're from, darlin'?" She drank some water and started playing with her necklace. "I'm from Chicago, I moved here for school." School? He was right she was smart. "What do you study at school?" She looked down at her feet. "Economics" he was once again impressed by her, she studied a field in which he thought mostly men get tangled. "And how did Steve manage to get someone so smart work for him?" He asked giggling. "It was a summer job and it paid well, I guess I did good so he told me to stick around."

She kept looking at her feet and silence fell between them once again. He couldn't help himself when his hand moved and with a long finger set under her chin he forced her to look et him. Her (e/c) eyes were so deep he could stare at them for the rest of his life. As they dragged unconsciously closer to each other, she pulled back, almost fell to the floor. Got up and left, he stayed frozen in place and the got up to go after her.

Elvis found (y/c) out in the dark alone, she was playing around with a pebble, pushing it around with the tip of her flats, again she chose not to wear heels. “Did I do something wrong?” He asked and startled her. (Y/c) looked up at him, even in the dark he could catch the glimmer in her eye. “I’m not what you’re looking for, sir.” She answered simply and kept looking down.

He took a few steps but kept the distance between them, he didn’t want her to feel more uncomfortable. He wanted to ask what she thought he was looking for, but he knew the answer, she thought he probably wanted a quick fuck, or an affair to last a few days. He did want to fuck her, but he wanted to fuck only her from now on, he couldn’t really explain it, but he felt it strongly.

He got closer, at the sound him moving she had lifted her head up and was now looking at him. “You’re beautiful!” He said before he was able to catch himself. (Y/c) laughed dry and looked away. “There’s a bar full a girls far more beautiful than I am” he shook his head, but she could see. “That ain’t right, they are beautiful in their way, but are beautiful in a way that I like, I only saw you in there.”

She quickly whipped her head around “Why me?” He didn’t have an answer for that, and while he was lost in his mind he absentmindedly tucked away a pice of hair, almost moaning out loud at the feeling of her hair in his fingers. She moved her hand to grab his wrist, he thought she wanted him to move the hand away, but before he could do it, she kept it in place and sank her face. She had such a small face compared to his hands.

He got his other hand up and now he was holding her head in his hands. She opened her eyes and looked at him, the silence that sat between them was calming. The both closed their eyes and began getting closer. When she felt his breath on her lips she spoke again. "I've never been kissed before" he understood what she was saying, she was giving him a first and it was clear she wanted loyalty. She wanted to kiss him badly, she wanted to give him, her first kiss as well as her every other one. "It's only you, you and me."

The truthfulnesses of his words made her stand on her tip toes and their lips touched. Butterflies filled he stomach and she felt like they took her flying in the sky, she felt light. He moved his hands to her waist and she hugged his neck. The kiss was slow, Elvis had never been kissed like this and he for sure never kissed anyone like this before. When the broke apart to breathe their foreheads stayed together and they both broke into laughter.

Second person pov

Now months later here you are, together in Vegas, where you followed him, after the colonel convinced him the best way to get the money for the world tour, was to sing in the new international hotel for 6 weeks. You learned to hate the colonel and advised Elvis against visiting him in the hospital a few weeks ago. He however cared too much about the old man and trusted him, but he was just a showman that bleed Elvis of every penny.

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379 notes - Posted September 3, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

She gave what now?👀 I- y’all needed to see this, because man, I’m shaking :)) I need more of this Elvis, god 👁️👅👁️ I’m a wh0re :/

Btw I don’t know who to credit for this masterpiece:)

417 notes - Posted September 26, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #false

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