#oc: stack of tomes

[shentheauthor]

Ploo’d my iterator ocs LMAO

[sh4nksslvt]

Hello, please can I request a Shanks young apprentice x reader apprentice where she has gone many days without sleeping, she is very tired and sleepy, he finds her in the library of the gold Jackson reading one of the books that the dark king forced them to read.

If you're sleepy, you should sleep. If the captain finds out you're not sleeping, he'll scold you. "I'm not sleepy," you whispered, getting up to put the book back on the shelf. When you turned around, you saw Shanks in front of you. "You didn't notice me, did you?" "Adjusting Rader's hair."Do you have nightmares?" "Yes," you whispered. Shanks hugged her tightly to his chest and whispered in her ear."Reader

Sleep, I'll stay with you. The girl fell asleep upon feeling his warmth and Shanks's heartbeat. Shank took her in his arms before she fell to the floor

this sounds cutee!

Where the Quiet Finds You

hanks finds his fellow apprentice in the library, battling exhaustion and nightmares, and offers her the comfort she's too afraid to ask for.

young hanks x young fem! reader | ONE SHOT

tags: sfw, fluff, sleeplessness, nightmares, soft comfort,

a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only so expect this ff cringe and oc

word count: 1k

masterlist | ko-fi

The ship creaked and groaned with age and travel, a sound that had become a lullaby to those who called the Oro Jackson home. Moonlight poured through the round, salt-speckled window of the ship’s small library, silvering the spines of thick maritime tomes and adventure logs that lined the shelves like ancient guardians of knowledge.

You sat at the far end of the room, curled on a stool with your elbows balanced precariously on the table, chin resting in the hollow of your palm. A book lay open beneath your sleepy eyes, but the words blurred together like waves in a storm. You blinked, fighting the pull of sleep for what must have been the hundredth time that night.

The scent of old paper and salt hung heavy in the air. You shivered slightly, not from cold, but from the exhaustion that crept deeper into your bones with every passing hour. You had stopped counting how many days you’d gone without real rest.

Rayleigh had given both you and Shanks a thick stack of reading as part of your apprenticeship under their wing—navigation theory, sea lore, ship maintenance, historical texts. You didn’t mind the learning; in truth, you craved the structure it gave you. But every time you closed your eyes, the nightmares came creeping in—half memories, half monsters. Faces you couldn’t save. Voices swallowed by the sea.

You were so tired your body hurt.

Footsteps padded softly behind you. Not threatening, but curious. Familiar.

“If you're sleepy, you should sleep. If the captain finds out you're not sleeping, he'll scold you.”

You turned slightly, recognizing the warm, teasing voice instantly.

“I'm not sleepy,” you whispered, even though your voice betrayed you with how hoarse and small it sounded.

You pushed yourself up from the stool, cradling the heavy book like a fragile piece of cargo, and made your way to the shelf to put it back. As you turned around, you nearly stumbled into Shanks.

He was standing right behind you now, closer than you expected, his red hair tousled and sticking out in odd angles. He looked like he’d just rolled out of bed, his shirt half-buttoned and feet bare. There was a softness in his gaze, not the usual joking sparkle you were used to, but something quieter. Something that felt too big for boys your age.

“You didn’t notice me, did you?” Shanks murmured, reaching out without hesitation to brush a few strands of hair from your face. His fingers were warm.

You looked away.

“Do you have nightmares?” he asked gently.

“Yes,” you whispered, not trusting yourself to say more.

He didn’t speak again for a moment, just pulled you into him with a suddenness that didn’t feel rushed or awkward, just… instinctive. His arms wrapped securely around you, pressing your face into his chest. You could hear his heartbeat—steady and calm, like waves lapping against the hull. He smelled like salt and old parchment, and something uniquely him.

“Sleep,” he said softly against the crown of your head. “I’ll stay with you.”

You didn’t mean to, but your knees buckled a little, and before you could hit the floor, Shanks caught you. He scooped you up in his arms with surprising ease. You were light from not eating properly, worn down by sleepless nights. Your arms looped lazily around his neck as your eyes began to flutter shut.

“You’re not supposed to carry me,” you mumbled.

“I’ll tell Rayleigh I was rescuing you from literary drowning,” he teased, though his voice stayed soft, reverent.

He carried you down the corridor with care, the library door swinging quietly shut behind him. The ship’s wood was cool beneath his feet, but he didn’t mind. In the dim glow of the lanterns, he brought you to the shared cabin you and a few others used, but instead of laying you in your bunk, he sat against the wall, still holding you against his chest.

You didn’t stir.

Shanks looked down at you, eyebrows furrowed slightly. He’d noticed the signs—dark circles, the way your hands shook when holding your sword, how you’d drift off during training and then snap awake, eyes wide and frightened.

He hated seeing you like this.

“I get them too, sometimes,” he whispered, not expecting a reply.

But your breathing slowed, deepened.

You were asleep.

He rested his head back against the wood, holding you like glass. He didn’t know what the nightmares were about, but he didn’t need to. All he knew was that if you were with him, he’d make sure nothing hurt you—not dreams, not ghosts, not even the fear of being vulnerable.

The next morning, the sun broke over the horizon, its light spilling through the small round porthole in the corner of the room.

Rayleigh stood in the doorway, blinking down at the sight of the two youngest apprentices curled together like siblings shipwrecked on a safe shore. He said nothing, just gave a faint smile, turned on his heel, and closed the door behind him.

That evening, after the day’s duties and sword drills were over, Shanks sat next to you on the deck, your shoulders brushing as you shared a piece of bread and a flask of juice.

“You drooled on my shirt,” he said, smirking.

“I did not.”

“You did. Right here.” He pointed to a barely-there damp spot. “You owe me laundry duty.”

You rolled your eyes, but you smiled. For the first time in days, your limbs didn’t feel like anchors. You’d slept all the way through the night.

“Thanks, Shanks,” you said quietly, looking out at the sea.

He nudged your knee with his. “Anytime. You can always come find me, okay? Even if it’s the middle of the night.”

You nodded.

“I mean it,” he added. “And if the nightmares come back... I’ll scare them off with a wooden sword and my dazzling grin.”

You laughed. He looked satisfied with that.

That night, just as he was drifting off in his bunk, he heard your light steps by the door. You hovered there, unsure.

He didn’t even open his eyes.

“Come here,” he said simply, lifting the blanket.

You crawled in beside him, neither of you saying anything more. You nestled against his side, and he rested a hand over your shoulder.

In the quiet of the Oro Jackson, with the ocean humming softly below, you both found rest.

Not because the nightmares had disappeared.

But because you weren’t alone.

[frankcastleonlyfans]

𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐃

pairing: aemond targaryen x daemon's daughter!oc (dad!daemon targaryen x mom!reader au)

summary: with the help of her soon-to-be husband, alyssa discovers a secret about her mother.

warnings: for better understanding you should read the how I met your brother oneshot. pure fluff honestly

author's note: based off this ask i received A LONG TIME AGO OMG IT HAS BEEN YEARS 😭 i hope u can still read this, nonnie... this is really short sorry but i really like it and i hope y'all enjoy.

reblogs, feedbacks and likes are appreciated. support your content creators 💓 please leave a comment if you like my work, and enjoy your reading.

dad!daemon x mom!reader au masterlist

· ┈┈┈┈┈┈ · ༓ ༓ · ┈┈┈┈┈┈ ·

In the expansive library of the Red Keep, the soft glow of candlelight danced across the rows of ancient books and scrolls. Alyssa Targaryen sat at a large wooden table, her silver hair arranged neatly as she pored over an old, leather-bound tome. Beside her, Prince Aemond Targaryen, her soon-to-be husband, flipped through a stack of documents with focused interest.

Alyssa had been intrigued by the history of House Martell for some time. Today, she was deep into a volume detailing the lineage and achievements of Dorne’s great families. Her lilac eyes scanned the pages with a growing sense of curiosity.

A couple days before that moment, her brother Maegon was telling her story their uncle and father had told him, about the day their father, Daemon, had met their mother, Lady Y/N. A fun fact about the story that her brother relates, is that old and sick Viserys, shares some hints on the dornish heritage of the Lad-, no, Princess Y/N. Daughter to Qoren Martell, the Prince of Dorne and Lord of Sunspear, something that neither Alyssa or her brothers had knowledge of.

She knew better than to question her mother about that. And when she tried to talk to her dad about it, he had dismissed her saying that she should be asking Y/N.

Now, the bookworm couple were trying to find some vestige of Y/N's heritage and family history in some of the scrolls and books at the grand library.

“Aemond,” Alyssa said suddenly, her voice breaking the quiet, “look at this.”

Prince Aemond looked up from his reading, his lavander eye curious. “What is it, Alyssa?”

"I think I've found something," Alyssa’s fingers traced a family tree she had uncovered in the book. “this here—Nymeria, the Rhoynar Princess. And look, her descendants...”

Aemond leaned closer, his interest piqued.

Alyssa’s gaze was fixed on the page, her voice trembling slightly with excitement. “I’ve been following the lineage, and as Nymeria’s bloodline continues through House Martell, look–”

Her finger moved further down the tree, connecting to her mother's name, under Qoren Martell's, the Prince of Dorne. “This is my mother’s father... Maegon wasn't lying, she truly is a dornish princess!”

Alyssa frowns, trying to understand why anyone had never mentioned that fact to her or her brothers before, or why didn't her mother went by the "princess" title anymore.

Aemond looked at her with a mixture of surprise and understanding. “It appears so. You’ve uncovered a significant piece of your heritage.”

"Why would they cover this from us? From me? She..." Alyssa chuckled, remembering her childhood, "My mother knew how much I used to admire Queen Visenya when I was younger, and how I wanted to be a warrior like her. And now... I discover I'm a descendant to Nymeria Martell. I'm connected to her legacy."

Alyssa’s expression was a mix of awe and determination.

Aemond reached out, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder, caressing her skin with his thumb. “And you are right to be proud. Nymeria was a great leader and warrior. I could say you are the best of both worlds, my sweet.”

Alyssa’s eyes sparkled with a new sense of purpose. "This knowledge... it gives me the strength to forge my own path. I want to do something great, Aemond. I want to be someone known..." she murmured, looking up to her betrothed's orbits.

As they continued to study the ancient texts, Aemond could see the resolve in Alyssa’s eyes. He knew that this newfound knowledge would empower her in ways he had not yet fully understood.

“Perhaps,” Aemond suggested thoughtfully, “we should learn more about the Martell history together. There’s much we can draw from it. Maybe one day we could visit the place so you could meet your grandsire.”

Alyssa grinned to his thoughtful proposal, but snickered humorously “And we'd fly to Dorne? Perhaps we could spend some time there after our wedding. I think they wouldn't mind seeing Vhagar again.” She joked as they both laughed.

[wildrangers]

Book Lovers // Quinn Hughes

Word Count: 5K

Summary: Quinn x fem OC author

Content: prolonged meet cute, flirty banter, fluff. Truly, I saw the clip of Quinn sharing he's a reader and knew I had to write something based on that.

Quinn took a deep, contented breath as he perused the shelves before him. He had a rare day off and was doing one of his favorite fall activities: book shopping.

Normally, he just went to Chapters or Barnes, depending on what country he was in, but he’d decided to explore a new place. He’d been discussing books with Lauren, the new social media manager, and she’d ranted about how they and Amazon were “destroying local markets and harming author profits.” Most of her argument had gone over his head but he took away enough, so here he was at Thomas’ Tomes–the closest locally-owned book shop to his apartment. He figured that was as good a place to start as any and it certainly didn’t hurt that it was a block from his favorite coffee place. 

Which is how he found himself, pumpkin spiced latte in hand, soaking in the relaxing energy of the cozy shop. He’d already selected a few historical fiction novels and was scanning the mystery section he’d just entered. He pulled his phone out, scanning his notes app for the title Lauren had recommended. She’d said it was pretty gruesome but he figured he could handle it…probably.

“Can I help you?” a voice nearby asked, startling him. “I’m sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. Are you sure a mystery book is a good idea?” 

His gaze rose to meet warm, golden brown eyes filled with amusement. “What do you mean?”

“It’s broad daylight in a public setting and you almost dropped your PSL because I greeted you.”

“You didn’t scare me, I was just in my own world” he argued, but felt his cheeks pinkening. She really had set off a fight or flight response just by doing her job.

“Of course” she replied and he couldn’t tell if he was being sensitive or if there was a teasing glint in her eyes. “My offer still stands.” 

“I’m sorry what?” he asked, confused and scrambling to keep up. 

“To help you find something…preferably a book. I don’t know how much help I’d be beyond that.” 

“Oh sure, yeah, thanks” he mumbled, setting his stack of books down on the table next to him so he could more easily show her his phone screen. “Someone recommended this book to me, do you have it in stock?”

He caught a whiff of something earthy and relaxing as she leaned closer, her eyes scanning the note. “Ah, yes we actually have a display over this way. Theo’s a local author.”

He picked up his items and followed her, moving much quicker than he anticipated having to to keep up as she weaved through the store. “Have you worked here a long time?” 

“My whole life essentially” she chuckled, throwing a grin over her shoulder. Just as she turned back, they passed a window that set her red hair aflame in the midday sun. 

“Oh, yeah? No labor laws then?” he teased, he hoped, successfully.

“I mean, I basically harassed my parents to let me stock shelves or talk to customers. Now I’m slightly less enthusiastic about inventory.” 

He laughed at her light tone, drawing to a stop as she did. “Wow, is this a series or something?” he asked, taking in the full display. 

“Well, the one your girlfriend recommended is the first in a new series” she answered, pointing it out. He was about to correct her but she continued quickly, “And the sequel isn’t out until early next year, so you’ll be waiting a bit for answers. Maybe start with this one?” she suggested, pointing out a title with the fewest books available. 

“Only a couple copies left, it must be popular. Have you read it?” 

“More times than I can count” she huffed.

“You’d think if you kept rereading it’s because you enjoyed it, no?” he chuckled. 

She simply shrugged, turning fully to meet his gaze, “Well, what’s the verdict? I do feel the need to warn you, these books are much closer to horror than just a normal mystery or thriller.” 

“Why does no one think I can handle these books?” he sighed in mild annoyance, grabbing the one she’d recommended off the shelf. 

“You just don’t seem like a horror enthusiast, that’s all.” 

“How could you possibly know that?”

“Do you want me to answer genuinely?” she responded, eyebrow quirked in a challenge he couldn’t help but rise to.

“Sure but if you hurt my feelings, can you at least give me a discount?” he joked and she snorted out a laugh.

“You’ve got yourself a deal” she smirked, offering her hand to shake on it, which he did. He wasn’t at all surprised when her handshake was firm and she maintained eye contact the entire time. “Well, you have two historical fiction books with you and that was the first section you went to when you walked in.”

“You were watching me?” he laughed, earning him an eye roll.

“It’s 11AM on a Tuesday, there’s not much else to do,” she replied, gesturing to the otherwise empty store. “Plus, it’s a fun game to play when I procrastinate on doing actual work. Anyway,” she emphasized, closing her eyes briefly to seemingly get herself back on track. “Once you found those, both of which are part of long, ongoing series, you debated going left to nonfiction or right to mystery. My guess is, you normally would go pick out some biographies, maybe some historical nonfiction or even, oh, maybe some kind of ‘how to maximize yourself’ guide. How close am I?”

He felt his cheeks warm from pink to scarlet, “I mean, close but that doesn’t mean I can’t also like mysteries…” he argued weakly. 

“True enough, who’s your favorite thriller writer?” The long silence was answer enough so she continued, “If you want, you can go pick out a nonfiction book and I’ll throw the thriller in for free.”

“You don’t have to do that, my feelings weren’t that hurt.”

She shrugged, “I can’t in good conscience let you pay for that book, you must have done something to piss off your girlfriend.”

“My coworker, actually” he corrected and her eyebrows rose. “What?”

“What did you do to the poor girl?” 

“Nothing! I even took her suggestion to shop locally.” 

“Our hero” she fake swooned and he rolled his eyes, making her laugh. “Fine, how about when you’re done you bring up your haul and I’ll throw in a surprise? I feel like you’re making it a pride thing to buy the book now.”

“Color me intrigued, we have another deal” he replied. “My name’s Quinn, by the way.” 

“Dora” she replied but a loud snort erupted from near the registers. “Fuck off, Richie” she snapped, turning away from him to seemingly go yell at whoever laughed at her.

Quinn tried to relax back into the calming routine of ambling through a bookstore but he kept hearing her voice and couldn’t focus on much else. He grabbed a biography Jack had recommended, both dreading and eager to be teased by the redhead.

“Don’t let her manipulate you into buying that garbage” the guy, presumably Richie, called as soon as Quinn was in his line of sight. 

“I’m doing no such thing! Tell him, Quinn” she replied, cheeks flaming red in annoyance, her golden eyes fierce with indignation. 

“My coworker actually recommended this author. A different book but still…” he shrugged, placing his other selections on the counter. He noticed her eyes appraising his selections and the quick, amused quirk of her mouth before she whirled to focus on Richie. 

“See I told you!”

“I’m sorry for not believing you” Richie said, seeming sincere to Quinn’s ears but Dora’s eyes narrowed. “It’s just that Theodora here often tries to swindle impressionable young men to improve her book sales.” The heavy emphasis on the girl’s full name made Quinn pause. 

“Wait a minute…” he blinked rapidly, processing this new information. “Your family owns this shop, right? Thomas’ Tomes?” 

“...yeah” she grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring daggers at the giggling Richie. 

“And when you gave your name as Dora, he laughed. And this book, it’s written by Theo Thomas. And he just called you Theodora, which I think means you wrote this?” he questioned, feeling proud of himself for putting the pieces together and a little embarrassed it took him so long.

“He’s solved the mystery! Maybe he can handle your book after all, dear sister” Richie teased. 

“I was going to tell him!” Theo argued, grabbing a pen and opening the book. “That was the surprise, Quinn, now you have a signed copy of the book. You’re welcome, you can thank my asshole brother for ruining the reveal. I also signed a copy of the one your coworker recommended, can you pass it along to her? On the house.” 

“Are you sure?” Quinn questioned and she nodded, shifting to ring up the rest of his purchase. 

“Theo, stop” Richie huffed, shifting her away from the till. “You need to stop procrastinating and finish that last round of edits, they’re due within the week.”

“It’s just garbage anyway, you said so yourself” Theo replied mopily, sitting down on the stool next to the register.

“Oh come on…” Richie sighed, pausing his scanning to give his sister his full attention. “I was just messing with you. I know the sequel’s giving you a hard time but you’re at the finish line now, just a few more days of work then it’s out of your hands. And you’re an incredible, if worryingly grotesque, writer so I have every faith it’ll be amazing.”

“Did you hear that, Quinn?” Theo asked, grinning widely. “He finally admitted I’m a good writer.” 

“Oh fuck off, you guilted me into it!” Richie replied, grabbing the debit card from his outstretched hand. “Quinn, right?” 

“...yeah?”

“Quinn, can you please take my sister anywhere other than this shop? The cafe, the movies, a strip club? I literally don’t care, she’s driving me nuts.” 

“Richie! I’m sorry, he’s kidding, he knows that would be a weird, rude thing to request of a total stranger.” 

“A total stranger you’ve been flirting with…” he mumbled and Theo jammed her elbow into his side.

“Here, let me walk you out…” Theo said, grabbing his bag of books and rapidly leading him away from her brother. Once the cool fresh air surrounded them, she turned quickly towards him. “I am so sorry, Richie thinks he’s funny when he’s really just weird.”

“I have two brothers, I get it” Quinn assured her, reaching to grab the bag from her hands. “It was nice to have someone sign something for me for once.” 

“Do you sign things for people often?” she questioned, confusion evident in her eyes as she scanned him, trying to place who he may be. 

“Most nights yeah” he chuckled shyly, embarrassed by his comment. “Forget about it though…”

“No, no, I’m curious now” she smiled, head tilted in appraisal. “Not an author, I’d know you already. You definitely don’t give off musician vibes…but I don’t think I’ve seen you in anything either so not an actor. Who are you really Quinn? Here I was feeling bad for putting you through the ringer for my own amusement back there and you were a celebrity the whole time.”

“I wouldn’t go that far” he laughed anxiously, running his hands through his hair. 

“Well you’re either someone of import or completely delusional and just handing out signatures to people on the streets, so which is it?”

“I’m a hockey player.”

“...okay, and?”

“We’re in Vancouver.” 

“Yes, I’m aware.” 

“This is a huge hockey city! You don’t know the Canucks?”

“I don’t live under a rock, of course I do” she scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. “I was raised in a bookstore though so sports aren’t high on my list of interests.” 

“Are they on your list at all?” 

“Take a wild guess, Quinn” she replied sarcastically. “I guess you’re a big deal then?”

“I mean, I am the captain…”

“Is that normally what gets girls interested in you?” 

“Damn, tell me how you really feel” he answered, averting his eyes and trying to play off how the quip hurt him. 

“Hey, I’m sorry” she replied, her voice gentle as she tugged softly on his coat sleeve “That’s not how I meant it. I guess I’m just surprised you felt the need to try to impress me when I’ve been waiting for you to ask me out since I walked over to you in the shop.” 

He was briefly stunned into silence, causing her to rapidly continue, “Oh god, I’m leaving. I hope my book doesn’t traumatize you and I’m sorry for assuming you were trying to impress me, that was weird and presumptuous of me.”

It was his turn to grab her sweater sleeve lightly, “Can I have your number?” 

“Are you sure you want it? I’m clearly an expert at putting my foot into my mouth…” 

“I’m 100% sure but only if you’re interested. There's no pressure.” 

Theo reached into the shopping bag, adding her number to her signature before returning it. “Text me when you finish chapter eight, not a minute before okay? You need to know what you’re getting into here.”

***

Theo sighed, finally closing her laptop for the night but not before catching the time: 1AM. She’d procrastinated most of the day before forcing herself to do the one chapter she’d promised herself she’d get done. She was confident in the overall story but she felt like a single thread was missing that would lead to the next book’s central plot. Should the apparent villain be more gray and get a redemption arc? Or should she double down? Or maybe…her phone vibrating across the desk stopped her obsessing.

Respectfully, your mind must be a truly terrifying place. What the FUCK was that twist?

She smirked, butterflies tentatively taking flight in her stomach at the unknown number’s text.

I’m sorry, who is this?

How many men do you secretly sell your book to, sign said book with your number, and give detailed instructions on when they can use that number?

At least three today that I can think of, so any additional information would really help.

It’s Quinn.   

Ah yes, the biography and historical fiction lover! What twist are you referring to? 

I think if I typed it out I’d get flagged by an FBI agent or something…that was gruesome

I tried to warn you…

Take my advice, try harder with your next group of guys

I’ll do my best. I suspect the more I’d try to warn you off the more you would have dug your heels in though

Nah, I don’t have a competitive bone in my body 

Of course, my bad. Will you finish the book or is it too much? You can always give it to your girlfriend

*Coworker. I wouldn’t be texting a beautiful girl I just met if I was in a relationship

How charming and reassuring of you!

Are you always like this?

Like what?

Chirping

…I’m sorry what?

You don’t know what chirping means? That’s disappointing given you're a writer, Theo… 

Please, enlighten me

Chirping is a hockey term for when you’re ribbing someone. During a game, guys will chirp or make fun of each other to get under their skin. 

Are you saying I’m getting under your skin?

I’m saying I feel like my brain has to work overtime to keep up with you

That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me

That can’t possibly be true

As she mulled over what to say next, the three blue dots popped up so she paused until his response appeareed

Can I ask you a forward question? 

Shoot 

Are you free tonight? 

Are you asking me on a date?

Not quite, I’m asking you to come to my hockey game 

And why’s that?

Because you’re clearly smart and cute and have a twisted mind that I’m curious to learn more about. But you gave me a warning, so asking you to go to my game is mine

Ah, so since you passed my test you want to see if I can pass yours?

If you want it to be a challenge, sure. I just think it’s fair for you to get a glimpse of my weird life before I actually ask you out. Just like how you showed me a glimpse of your weird brain. 

Challenge and pre-date screening accepted. Where do I go and when? 

Which is how Theo found herself weaving through the crowds at Rogers Arena. Quinn had offered to get her a second ticket so she’d have company but she figured it was fair she went it alone since he was game to read her book. How terrifying could a hockey game be in comparison to a brutal serial killer story?

Quite scary, it turned out. The crowd was electric, the arena was sold out, and the noise was deafening. She’d never admit it to Quinn but she did watch some basic hockey rule videos on YouTube so she wouldn’t be totally oblivious. By the third period, she felt settled into the rhythm of the game and was actually enjoying it a bit. Especially when a fight broke out and she could cheer for violence against a random man she didn’t know alongside thousands of people. There was something very cathartic about the experience. 

It also turned out that Quinn, in this world, is a big deal. She’d immediately noticed that a huge percentage of fans were wearing his jersey. And as the team warmed up, Quinn had traded a puck for a piece of candy causing the teenage girl to scream in hysterics afterwards. It was both bizarre and fascinating to watch given she’d met this random man the day before at her family’s store. Maybe she should have asked for a signature, it probably would sell for a pretty penny…

A roar from the crowd pulled her attention back to the ice and her heart dropped to her stomach. Fights were a lot less fun when you knew and had budding feelings for one of the guys involved, especially when who he was squared off against had almost half a foot on him. To her surprise and relief, Quinn could hold his own, using speed to his advantage. When they both fell to the ice before finally being separated, she took it to mean it was a draw but the crowd screamed like he’d single handedly won the championship game, even as he was guided off the ice by the officials. There was less than three minutes left in the game so she hoped that was why rather than that he was hurt. She worried her lip between her teeth as she pulled out her phone.

Idk if you’ll see this before the end of the game but are you okay?????

She sighed as the minutes passed, the final buzzer sounding without a reply, so she stood to leave with the tide of people. Just as she tucked her phone in her pocket, she felt it buzzing insistently with a phone call. 

“Quinn, are you okay?” she asked without greeting him. She was focused on his answer but noticed a few fans within hearing distance whip their heads towards her at his name.

“Yeah, sorry I jumped right in the shower after the major.”

“I don’t totally know what that whole sentence means but I’m relieved you’re alright.”

His warm chuckle through the phone made her toes curl. “Did I scare you off?”

“I’m offended you’d think so” she replied but if he’d been with her, he’d easily tell she was a little shaken by the experience. 

“If you say so, Dora…” he teased and she laughed loudly, accidentally drawing more attention her way. “Can I take you out for a drink then?”

“Yeah, I’d like that. I’m currently in a sea of your most devoted followers though so I’ll need some help finding you.” 

He stayed on the phone as he guided her through the arena to the parking deck where he’d meet her shortly, only hanging up once she confirmed she was at the right car by reading his license plate number back to him. She scrolled through her phone while waiting but she felt eyes on her. She couldn’t help but be a little uncomfortable at the thought that these strangers knew Quinn’s car or at very least understood players would be emerging into this section of the parking garage. As a lifelong Vancouver resident, she obviously knew how hockey-obsessed her city was but she never thought much about these details.

She heard male voices approaching from the opposite direction of where she’d come so she tucked her phone in her purse. Quinn emerged with a tall blonde, their two heads bent together in serious conversation. When a young boy approached, they both paused, kneeling down to greet him and sign his jersey. They repeated the motion a few times before excusing themselves from the small crowd that had formed. 

“Hey! How’d you like the game?” Quinn asked, briefly pulling her in for a hug.

“I really liked the fighting until you were involved, then it was less fun” she admitted, smiling to greet Quinn’s companion. “I’m Theo.”

“Elias, good to meet you. Enjoy the rest of your night and maybe help Theo into your car before loading up, yeah?” Elias suggested and she felt her brows furrow. Quinn quickly glanced back towards the small group of people and her eyes followed his, noting that several phones were out and seemingly recording everything.

“Thanks man, drive safe” Quinn replied, placing his hand on the small of her back to guide her to the passenger side “Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine” she replied despite her confusion and frazzledness. He must have seen it on her face though because he quickly unlocked the door and helped her in. A moment later he was in the driver’s seat, backing up and speeding through the parking deck. 

“I think this is the longest silence I’ve experienced in your presence” Quinn mused at the long, but not uncomfortable, quiet that had settled.

“I’m sorry that was just…”

“A lot? Too much? I can drop you off if you’ve changed your mind, I get it” he nervously filled in.

“Quinn, stop,” she laughed. “That’s not what I was going to say, it’s just a lot to process. I really thought you were trying to, like, gas yourself up when you said people wanted your signature daily but the girl you gave a puck to almost burst into tears afterwards” 

His cheeks flamed a deep crimson which she found wildly endearing, “Yeah, it’s a lot to process for me and it’s my life.” She took in his tired eyes and the dark circles beneath them. 

“Why don’t we go back to my place? I have a full bar cart and you seem like you could use some quiet” she offered. 

“Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“Quinn, I extended the invitation, of course I’m sure. Just take the left at the next light.” 

She guided him through the city to her apartment, allowing silences to stretch while he seemingly decompressed from the game and its aftermath. Contrary to his initial impression, she was comfortable with quiet and enjoyed when someone’s company didn’t require constant banter and attention.

“Here, park in this spot, my neighbor’s away this week so no one will care if you're there.” 

He did as instructed and she went to open the car door, nearly knocking him with it, “Jesus, Quinn! Did you sprint over here? I can open the door myself, you know…”

“I didn’t sprint, I just moved quickly. And I know you can open the door, I just wanted to do it for you” he mumbled and she smiled at his nervousness. 

“Well, thanks and I'm sorry for almost injuring you. It seems like something that could really fuck with your job.” 

“Just a little” he chuckled, offering his hand to help her out of his truck. She took it, enjoying how warm and calloused his fingers felt against her own. He went to remove his grip but she squeezed his fingers in a silent request to keep holding on, which he did. 

“This is a great spot” he complimented as they rode the elevator up to her floor. “I guess the writing’s really working out?”

“I moved in about a year ago. I’d been doing pretty good but then my most recent book, the one your coworker recommended, kind of blew up. Which is great but also has made getting the sequel done a bit stressful” she admitted, reluctantly releasing his hand to unlock her door. 

“Why’s that? Wouldn’t the success kind of add to your confidence?”

“It did, for a little, but if this next one tanks then it just proves it was a fluke and then what?” she questioned, flicking on the lights. “Penny!” she called, squatting down to pet her beloved dog. 

Penny wiggled into her body, pushing her over and onto the floor making Theo chuckle. “Settle down, it’s only been a few hours.” 

“She’s beautiful” Quinn complimented from behind her, closing the door as he stepped inside. Penny was immediately investigating him, sniffing his hands as her tail wagged excitedly. “What a sweetie. You said her name’s Penny, right?”

“Yeah, short for Pennywise” Theo elaborated as she stood back up to slip her shoes off. 

“Of course, how silly of me to not make the connection” he chuckled. 

“I mean, I’m named after a horror novel character so I had to continue the family tradition with my own child” she explained, making her way towards the kitchen. 

“Are you really?” 

“Yeah, Theodora from Haunting of Hill House. Richie was named after Tozier in Stephen King’s It.” 

“That makes your choice of genre less surprising.” 

She laughed and shrugged, “What can I get you to drink?”

“Honestly? I don’t really drink, I just wanted to see you tonight since the game didn’t scare you off.” 

“I tried to tell you, I don’t scare easily,” she teased. “I don’t really drink either. Hot cocoa?” 

“Sounds great, thanks” he replied and she busied herself getting the ingredients together. “Seriously though, what did you think of the game?” 

“Like I said, it was fun until I worried you were hurt, then it was significantly less enjoyable” she answered, handing him a warm mug. “Want to hang in my library? Your book taste is questionable but I still think you’ll enjoy my collection.” 

“Why is my taste questionable?” he scoffed but followed her down the hall. 

“It’s just very…dude bro-y.” 

“How elegant” he teased and she rolled her eyes. 

“Maybe not elegant, but accurate, no?” 

“Whatever, Dora” he grumbled and she laughed.

“Is that going to be a thing? You call me by my least favorite nickname when I annoy you?”

“To be fair, it was you who offered that name up.” 

She sighed, sipping her drink and settling into the couch in her study. She watched as he slowly made his way around the room, every wall lined with books from floor to ceiling. “This room is incredible.” 

“Thanks” she beamed, genuinely thrilled at the compliment. “It’s kind of my pride and joy, aside from Penny, of course.” 

“I can tell,” he replied earnestly, settling beside her. “There has to be some nonfiction in here, right?” 

“Sure, if you’re into true crime, psychology, forensics, and/or mental health memoirs.” 

“I actually really enjoy psychology, it’s helped my game a lot.” 

“Really?” she asked and couldn’t hide the surprise from her tone which earned her a light glare. “I just meant that hockey seems much more physical than cerebral.”

“Oh it’s super mental actually” he argued and she nodded her encouragement for him to continue. “Okay so tonight for example. I didn’t have to drop my gloves and fight but doing so showed my team that I have their back and the other team that even though I’m smaller, they can’t push me around. Since I’m a quieter guy, I choose my actions carefully to kind of speak without speaking if that makes sense.”

“It does but you’re not small, silly. Not that it would matter even if you were but you’re not.” 

“I’m hockey small” he corrected and she didn’t know enough to argue. “Oh, another example. When a player is approaching the goal, they have to strategize what they can physically do while also anticipating the goalies expectations. Which is hard because the goalie is doing the same thing. So, it becomes really strategic in addition to the skill you need to play at this level.”

She nodded, genuinely intrigued by this new element of the game she watched tonight. He must have taken her silence for boredom because he quickly continued, “I’m sorry, I can be a bit of a hockey nerd.”

“Don’t be sorry, it honestly makes the game more interesting to me to think of it that way. Plus, I already knew you were a book nerd, what’s one more level of nerdiness?” 

He rolled his eyes and she laughed, lost in their deep blue. The air shifted between them, tension developing where there had been none. She set her mug down, eyes dipping to his lips and back up. She really wanted to know what his mouth would feel like against hers. 

“I come with a lot of baggage” he admitted quietly and she shrugged. 

“Don’t we all?” she asked, matching his quiet tone. She couldn’t help herself from raising a hand to gently trace the curve of his cheekbones. “I really like looking at you” she mumbled before she could think the comment through. 

He chuckled softly, covering her hand with his own, “I really like looking at you too, weirdo.” 

She grinned at his response, closing her eyes as his mouth finally met her own. 

A/N: Sorry for the cut to black, I'm debating if I want to continue with this OC so let me know what you think! It's my first OC in a very, very long time so sorry if the grammar is wonky in spots.

[mumms-the-word]

in honor of that one post I can’t find for the life of me that’s like “not Gale with Tav but Gale with the Blackstaff librarian” please have this snippet of a thing I will never finish you’re welcome

Gale x fem!OC, no tags, just two academics being snarky with each other

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When Gale approached the library, he found his way blocked by several—no, many whispering students and annoyed-looking professors all blocking the way. They were pressed as far as possible in tight packs around an open doorway, the library visible beyond, but not a single one would go inside.

“What’s going on here?” he asked, looking at one of the students he recognized.

“Oh! Professor Dekarios, it’s the new librarian. She just arrived today and she’s not letting anyone into the library.”

“No one? That seems a bit antithetical to the point of a library, don’t you think?”

“She says she’s reorganizing,” another student broke in, looking delighted by the chaos. “She’s already thrown out anyone who crosses the threshold and is threatening to seal the doors if anyone else enters to disturb her.”

“Is that so,” Gale said, raising his eyebrows. She sounded horrible. He couldn’t help but picture a matronly old woman, set in her ways, her hair in a strict and severe bun of gunmetal gray, jowls nearly to her shoulders. “Well, allow me to have a word with her.”

His announcement, though spoken at regular volume, sent a wave of tittering and excited whispers over his students. He ignored them as he waded between them to get nearer the door. One of the other professors saw him coming and quickly arranged the students around the door to get out of his way.

“You’ll not get through to her, you know,” his colleague warned. “She’s on a rampage in there and she seems to have focused all her magical study to the art of marching people directly out of her space.”

“Then I’ll try to be diplomatic and charming,” Gale said, a spark of his old hubris coloring his smile. He stepped over the threshold and into the library.

It was utter chaos, for lack of a better word. Nearly every shelf was empty of books, completely bare, while mage hands with dusters and cloths were busy dusting and cleaning the centuries-old wood. The books themselves were arranged in stacks of no real order or sense, some just three books high but many others towering as nearly as high as the first landing of the four-story room. Solitary books flew through the air at random intervals, coming to rest on top of one stack or another. The towering busts and statues of previous Blackstaffs and other wizards of note were also being thoroughly cleaned, though their bases also served to collect all the furniture in the room, apparently, save for the tables that were all but groaning under the weight of stacks of tomes. Gale had never seen the library in such a state of disarray.

No sign of the enigmatic librarian, though. He ventured further inside, glancing here and there to try and find her, again picturing the strict, no-nonsense older woman with a face like thunder.

At last he found a younger woman floating midway up a three-story set of shelves, her open robes billowing gently as her flying spell kept her aloft, her trousers tucked into her knee-length boots. She pulled a book from the shelf and turned it to examine the title on the spine, and then opened it to the first several pages.

“Excuse me,” he said, “I’m looking for the new librarian?”

She sighed and snapped the book shut with one hand, turning to peer down at him with a frown. “Yes?”

“The new librarian. Is she about?”

She looked at him as though he were being willfully deaf. “She’s floating approximately three feet and seven inches above your head, saer. Can I help you or are you simply here to complain about my methods like everyone else that has made it past those doors today?”

Gale blinked. “You? But I thought—”

“Did you need something, Professor?” she asked, cutting him off. “I’m assuming you’re a professor and not a student, since you’re wearing the academic stole and all that. Is there a book you require?”

A quick flash of irritation passed through him at being interrupted, but he quelled it. He’d traveled with more abrasive people in the past, he reminded himself, who were also prone to interrupt.

“Not one in particular,” he said. “I’m here to discover…well whatever it is you’re doing in here.”

“Whatever it is I’m—Oghma guide me,” she muttered. She sent the book floating away with a flick of her wrist and lowered herself to stand in front of him. “I am cataloguing. What does it look like?”

Gale paused. Now that she was properly before him, he couldn’t help but notice that she was rather lovely. And young, for someone put in charge of the entire library of Blackstaff Academy. She was several inches shorter than him, but that didn’t stop her from frowning up at him behind a pair of wire-rimmed glasses perched on her nose, her dark hair swept up into a mass of tight curls at the back of her head. Little curls were escaping here and there to frame her face or trail down her neck, but she didn’t seem to notice. Behind her glasses, her eyes were a curious shade of green and gold, the color changing slightly as she shifted her weight and a soft shadow from one of the shelves fell over her. The rest of her was still bathed in the warm light of early afternoon, a shade that complimented her dark olive skin.

She looked particularly irritated now and Gale realized he had been staring, rather than answering her question.

“I, um…” He quickly tried to recall her answer, and as he did, it struck him how ludicrous it was. “Sorry. Cataloguing?”

“Yes.”

“This library was already catalogued. Thoroughly.”

“Correction,” she said, turning to pick up two books from a stack and glance at their titles. She sent them floating away in different directions. “This library was already poorly catalogued. I’m cataloguing it properly.”

She walked away, moving to another set of shelves that she hadn’t yet touched. Gale followed after her, speaking as he went.

“With all due respect, it looks as though you’re doing a great deal of unnecessary shifting around. The current system has served us well enough these past, oh I don’t know, three or four hundred years or more. There’s no reason to change a system that works.”

“So I’m to believe we should just let old systems lie rather than improve them with new ones?” she asked, tucking a few books into her arms. “Come now, saer, that goes against the very spirit of academic and magical progress. And you call yourself a professor?”

“I am a professor,” he said, irritable. “Professor Dekarios. And I have enough sense to know that Mordenkainen’s Magical Theory Across the Twin Worlds goes in the M section.” Here he grabbed a book from the shelf right before she could collect it, holding it up as if it were proof.

“In the old system, perhaps,” she said, snatching it from his hands. “But in this new system it will go under section 300, subsection 20, sub-subsection 4 point 17 for non-practical magical theory from authors located outside the realm of Toril—”

Gale’s jaw dropped. “Non-practical? How—”

“—and I’ll thank you to cease disturbing me so I can put it in its proper place,” she finished with a huff, blowing some of her curls from her forehead. She sent the book away, arcing it high over his head so he couldn’t make another grab at it.

“Now see here,” he said, struggling to remain diplomatic.

“No, Professor Dekarios, you see here,” she said, bowing up and shifting her books to one arm to poke a finger in his chest. “Blackstaff Varja has tasked me with the revitalization and re-categorization of this library, a job I take very seriously, and I won’t have pompous, big-headed wizards swanning about telling me how to do my job!”

Gale could barely get the words out. “Pompous? Big-headed? Madam, you—”

“If you require a specific tome to study, by all means, let me know so that I can locate it for you, but if your business is simply to bother and berate me then I’ll be forced to eject you from the premises.”

“Eject me? You wouldn’t dare.”

“You wouldn’t be the first, I assure you,” she said, her eyes flashing.

He shook his head, irritation warring with something like awe in the face of her ability to be unrelentingly annoying. “You are—infuriating. How will the students and faculty here get any study done if all the books—” he pulled another one from the shelf, using it to gesture, “—are in the wrong places?”

“They will learn,” she snapped, reaching for the book, but he held it high overhead, just out of her reach. She nearly crashed into him, nose-to-chest, reaching for it. She quickly stepped back with another huff. “Return The Many Multiple Uses of Mordenkainen’s Magnificent Mansion to me at once.”

“Only if you put it back in the M section,” he said, keeping it aloft. “Where it belongs with the other Mordenkainen works.”

“But Mordenkainen didn’t write—oh for Oghma’s sake.” She slammed her armful of books down on a new stack and snapped her fingers, whispering a spell he didn’t catch. The book tugged away from his hand. Surprised, he let it go, and it flew directly into her waiting arms.

“I think that’s quite enough library time for you, Professor Dekarios,” she said sharply, hugging the book to her chest. “You are to be banned from this library for the remainder of the evening. Good day, saer.”

“You can’t—”

But apparently she could. All of a sudden he felt the back of his robes pull taught, as if an unseen hand were grabbing his robes like a tressym might grab the scruff of their kitten’s neck. The force pulled upward, nearly lifting him off his feet, and he was forced to take several awkward steps away, back toward the entrance of the library.

“I—you—unhand me!” He struggled against the hold as was about to cast something to dispel the magic when he felt something suspiciously like an invisible boot give him a kick on the arse. “Hey!”

“Good day, Professor Dekarios,” he heard her say behind him.

He was forcibly pushed out through the open doorway, nearly falling over into the waiting crowd of wide-eyed students. He adjusted his robes in a hurry, ready to march back in there and try again, but the library doors shut with a loud bang and soon the magical sigils to an arcane lock illuminated the surface.

No one would be getting inside now.

There was a hush behind him as he stared at the library doors, hot embarrassment turning his ears pink while his pride, unable to suffer total defeat, looked for ways to make light of the situation or diffuse it. After a moment, someone started to snicker and it caused the entire waiting audience to struggle to hold in their delighted snickers and giggles.

“Well,” one of his colleagues said, folding their arms, but Gale held up a hand with a sigh.

“Don’t,” he said. “The mortification speaks for itself.”

“If it makes you feel better, you’re the sixth faculty member she’s done that to today,” they said, unable to withhold a chuckle. “Though out of all of them, you’ve lasted the longest.”

“And we’re to endure her being our new librarian?” Gale asked, as other professors began to shepherd away the students, reminding them of their homework and studies. “Is it too early to consider a new teaching placement?”

His colleague just laughed and walked away. Gale was left standing in the hallway, watching the arcane lock sigils glow and glimmer against the wood of the door.

He wanted to be angry, even offended. The entire re-categorization of a library as old and complex as Blackstaff Academy’s would spell chaos and slow down every pursuit of study for months. But as he watched the sigils, as his minds eye placed him back among the stacks of books and empty shelves, his memory lingering on one dark curl resting against the curve of the librarian’s olive-toned neck, another bouncing at her temple, he realized he wasn’t exactly angry or offended.

He was intrigued.

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

The Silver Dragon (4)

The Book

Though Arianwyn wants nothing more than to devour the book Aemond gifted her, she finds herself tear her mind from Aegon’s taunting words. But as she recalls a difficult conversation with her cousin and lady’s maid from the night before, she decides that perhaps she does not want to be married – ever.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x OC (Daemon and Rhea's daughter)

Warnings: none

Author's Note: An Alicent POV? It's more likely than you think...

Series Masterlist - Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

Arianwyn sat at one of the great oaken tables in the library of the Red Keep, elbows on either side of the great tome before her as she pressed her balled fists into her still-flushed cheeks. She had been waiting for the answers contained in this book for as long as she could remember, but now that they lay before her, all she could think about was Aegon’s words.

“As soon as your father acknowledges you’re alive…”

What did it matter that he acknowledge her? Had she not been taken in by the King and Queen themselves? Lived in their castle, raised alongside their own children? Was she not the Lady of Runestone, head of an ancient and noble house in her own right? Why should her fate be determined by a man she had never met?

Daemon Targaryen was across the Narrow Sea, living happily with his young wife and two daughters. According to the latest ravens, a third child would join them soon.

Did Lady Laena know about her stepdaughter—or Baela and Rhaena about their sister? Did they care? Did they yearn to know her as she did for them?

Likely not, she told herself. Daemon had remarried before Arianwyn had seen her first full moon. He had not written to inquire about her health nor that of her mother. He had said nothing before fleeing across the sea. Ten years had passed, and he had never once written to his firstborn daughter.

He did not want her as part of his family.

“Aria?” Aemond’s soft voice echoed through the cavernous library. He had been wholly silent as they raced through the stone corridors of the Red Keep, passing by her chambers to retrieve the book before coming to the library.

Now, he sat next to her at their usual table, a stack of parchment in front of him. They had been here many times before – at this same table, delighting in each other’s companionship and curiosity, but their hours here had grown quieter in recent years. They were no longer the rambunctious children they once were. Aemond would readily admit much of the fault in that lay with him.

He was not as happy as he once was.

But he was still happy here, in their place. It was perhaps the only place he could still depend on to find comfort and respite. Here, he was never alone. Even if Aria was elsewhere, he could still find her in the books. The winding rows of shelves held happy memories of their childhood, when they first delved into the paper forest in search of knowledge.

Here, they had uncovered the great tales of their ancestors and felt the great legacy that sat upon their shoulders. Only now, Aemond realized the true, overwhelming weight of that legacy.

Just after his tenth nameday, Aegon had caught Aemond reading one of the more romanticized books of Valyrian history in the library. He snatched it and began reading aloud. “And so the fair Princess Elaenyra was granted mercy by her uncle, the noble King Synar, for he knew she was not to blame for her father’s treason. They were soon married, and Elaenyra became Queen. In the end, Prince Vaerion succeeded at placing his blood on the throne, but at the cost of his very life.”

Aegon laughed, holding the book aloft so Aemond could not take it back. “Is this history, or is it one of your fairytales?”

“It’s history!” Aemond whined, jumping to try and reach the book to no avail. “You would know that if you actually cared about our family’s past. Now give it back!”

“But it’s so stereotypical for real history,” Aegon finally let Aemond have the book again, but the mischievous smile remained on his lips. “The king rescues the fair princess, and the second son is killed for his hubris. Actually…” He made a show of looking over his brother from head to toe. “I suppose that’s quite realistic.”

Something about the way he said it made Aemond panic. He went into a deep obsession, trying to prove Aegon wrong. He read through the histories furiously for every mention of second sons. Not just Valyrian history but that of the Andals, First Men, and every other civilization.

In every book he read, the second son never got a happy ending. Most died young, having been sent to battle in the place of their more valuable elder brother. Some survived, living to see their sibling take the throne. Of these survivors, many became valuable advisors and received the great honor of being mentioned, however briefly, alongside their King’s noble deeds. Others earned more notoriety by attempting to build their own legacy. Whether they tried to usurp the throne or establish their own lands, those men died bloody. From what he could glean from the stories, the best he could hope for was to fade into the annals of history.

Aemond had never told Aria of this revelation. He knew she would not understand.

She still saw the glory and romance of these stories. And why shouldn’t she? As the only daughter and heir of an ancient Westerosi house and a dragonriding descendant of Old Valyria, there was no doubt that her story would be a legend told for ages to come.

Until fate decided otherwise, Aemond would cherish being a small part of that legend.

Aria dropped her hands from her face, draping them over the book he had given her only that morning. “What?”

Her steely eyes were more distant than Aemond had ever seen them. No girl should look that way on her nameday, especially not her. “Are we going to read the book?” He asked, tapping his quill on his parchment for emphasis.

She looked down at the faded title pressed into the linen. Then, to Aemond’s delight, she finally smiled.

“You never told me how you found this,” she said, carefully prying open the ancient tome.

Aemond grinned eagerly. This was a story he had waited a long time to tell.

“I wrote to my Uncle at Oldtown,” he began. “Not Hobert – Devran, the Maester. He is an archivist in the library at the Citadel. Maesters there have been studying the Runes since the Andals first came to Westeros. I told him how important being able to understand them was to you, as the future Lady of Runestone.”

Aria looked away, focusing instead on the inscription on the book’s first page. It did not stop Aemond from spotting the way her cheeks flushed.

He continued, “Devran spoke to the other archivists and the Conclave to find out if they had any information there that we did not and if he could get permission to send it here. But they had nothing to send.

“When King Jaehaerys made peace with the Faith, he ordered copies made of everything in the Citadel. Knowledge is powerful, and he did not want the Maesters to be the only ones able to wield it. But the libraries of the Citadel were not exhaustive. A few libraries of the older houses, especially in the North, had books the Maesters considered unholy, so they weren’t copied. An initiate from north of Winterfell told Devran about the library at the Wall. It is small and ill-cared for but has been untouched for hundreds of years. So he wrote to the Maester there – I forget his name – and found this.”

He reached across the table and touched the page, indicating the title. Deciphering the Runes of the First Men. The author’s name had long since faded. “I don’t know how accurate it is. Devran made sure I knew it was only a theory, but it’s still more than you ever had before. I had my mother write to the Maester at the Wall to get it sent here. It took two months; I was almost worried it wouldn’t arrive in time.”

Hearing his tale, Aria’s smile had returned in full force. That was why he had spent so long trying to find this perfect gift. There was no sight quite like that smile. It illuminated her whole face, sending a delicate sparkle into her silver eyes.

He loved that smile.

“I don’t know how to thank you, Aemond,” she whispered, unable to tear her eyes from the book. “No one has ever done anything like this for me before.”

“You don’t need to thank me,” he replied, “just read.”

Hours later, both children lay underneath their table, their chairs long abandoned. Instead, Aemond lay on his belly, chin resting on his crossed arms as he tried yet again to comprehend the page in front of him through increasingly blurred eyes. Arianwyn lay perpendicular to him, using the flat of his back as a pillow while she sorted through the dozens of pages of parchment Aemond had filled while she read aloud.

Again, they were silent. But it was not the angry silence from earlier that day nor the melancholy silence that often followed Aemond. It was a happy silence—comfortable and inviting, like the silence that fills the air of a fire-warmed family hall on a snowy day.

Aemond groaned and let his head topple onto the book before him. “Aria?”

“Yes?”

“Why did Aegon make you so angry? Earlier, at the party. What he said was no worse than usual.”

Arianwyn tensed and sat up. She did not face him but crossed her legs and folded her arms around her. The words, when spoken, had evoked burning hot anger. Now, their memory only caused her heart to race with panic. “Because I am afraid to be married.”

“What?” Aemond shot up so swiftly that he hit his head against the bottom of the table with a loud ‘thunk.’ He stared at her as if she just said she wanted to marry her dragon. “But you haveto get married someday. It’s your duty. Why should you be afraid?”

Arianwyn scoffed, “And it may be your duty to go to war one day! Are you not afraid of that?”

“Of course I am,” Aemond insisted, “but that’s war, not marriage!”

“Marriage can be just as dangerous,” she whispered, too soft for him to hear. For the second time that day, her mind drifted back to what happened the previous night.

After dinner, Ser Gerold had insisted Arianwyn retire to her rooms early. He claimed she needed rest to prepare for the party the next day. But when the door closed behind them, he dismissed all her servants but one. Brynna Taler, who had formerly been a lady’s maid to her mother, Rhea, and was now Arianwyn’s, was allowed to remain.

Arianwyn knew immediately that something was wrong. Gerold was always so happy around her, loud and nearly boisterous. But as he sat in front of her now, elbows on his knees, he seemed nervous and visibly struggled to find words.

Brynna, at last, stepped forward. “Tomorrow shall be an important day, Aria. We wish to speak with you before the party to prepare you.”

Arianwyn looked between her cousin and her maid. “What is there to prepare for? It is a party.”

“It is not just any party,” Gerold said, speaking at last. “It is the party celebrating your tenth nameday. The Queen and I have discussed it, and we agree that tomorrow is the right time for you to start... meeting the young men of the realm.”

“But I have already met them,” Arianwyn said, puzzled by her cousin’s words and grim tone. “Most of them, at least. They have been to court before.”

Gerold laughed once, an uncomfortable sound. “Yes, I know. But it is time you start to… get to know them better. To consider them not just as visitors to court, but as potential companions.”

“I don’t understand,” Arianwyn said, beginning to mirror her cousin’s nerves. “I already have friends.” She looked toward Brynna, “And companions.”

The maid smiled. “Oh, my dear child. Allow me to explain.” She knelt on the floor in front of her. “Ser Gerold and I have both feared this day, but we have put it off for too long.”

She cupped the girl’s face in her hands, savoring her innocence. “Tomorrow, the Queen shall introduce you – or reintroduce you – to many of the noble boys your age. For when the sun rises, you shall no longer be a girl but a woman coming into her own.”

Arianwyn shied away from Brynna. “I am not a woman until I am twenty, and I take charge of Runestone.”

“That is when you shall come into your title,” Gerold said. The age had been decided when she was first put in the king’s care. She had never learned its reasons. “But you will be a woman before then. And though I am loathe to admit it, a woman needs a husband. You need a husband.”

At last understanding, Arianwyn nodded. “So, I must meet him tomorrow.”

“No!” Both adults shouted at once.

Gerold cleared his throat. “Tomorrow is only the beginning. We let the nobility know of your eligibility and allow you to meet their sons. No decisions need to be made tomorrow, nor the next day, or even in the next few years. I personally do not want to see you wed until you are six and ten. But we do need to begin somewhere, so it shall be tomorrow.”

Arianwyn nodded. She had expected a husband to come more naturally. He would save her from tripping on a dance floor or bring her wine at a ball. She had even imagined, on occasion, of saving a dashing young knight with Emrys, and together they would fly off to Runestone. She had never expected to meet him by appointment.

But she was the Lady of Runestone. To marry and bear children was her duty. Her romance may not be like the stories she had read for so long.

“I understand. I will do my best to present myself well tomorrow.” She stood from the couch and began to make her way to her private chambers.

“Wait.”

Arianwyn turned back, unsure what else there was to say. But a grim look from both her companions chilled her blood. Tentatively, she stepped back to the couch and sat down. Such a gloom fell over the room that she dared not speak.

“It is time you learned how your mother died.”

Tears sprung to Arianwyn’s eyes at the memory of the gruesome tale. She had come to realize that Daemon did not care for her, but she had never imagined the depths of his cruelty. She was so consumed by her thoughts of grief that she did not realize when Aemond crawled along the carpeted floor to sit beside her until he put his arm around her.

Noticing her wet eyes, he lowered his voice. “Why are you afraid to marry, Aria?”

She could not tell him. Gerold had told her so. They could not predict what Daemon would do if the tale got out. Besides, there was no law against a man raping his wife, and the King had never truly punished his brother before.

“I am afraid,” Arianwyn started, “because I do not want to leave. King’s Landing is my home, and all my friends are here. I don’t want to go back to Runestone with only a stranger for company.”

She supposed it was not a lie. The Red Keep had been her home since she was two months old. Except for Gerold, all her family and those she cared about were here: the king, queen Alicent, Helaena, and Aemond.

“Then I shall come with you,” Aemond declared, sitting as tall as he could under the table. “I shall travel to Runestone with you and your husband and make sure he is kind and treats you with honor.”

Arianwyn smiled. He had no idea how reassuring those words were, even if what he proposed was impossible. “And what will you do if he does not? If he is cruel to me?”

A fire blazed in his violet eyes, the fire of so many Targaryen kings and conquerors that came before him. “If he does anything to harm you or even make you sad, I shall cut off his head and feed it to Emrys!” he declared, entirely serious.

A brief moment of devoted silence passed between them. But in a heartbeat, both children collapsed into laughter, their studies and troubles forgotten.

Queen Alicent Hightower observed the children from between two distant shelves. She had witnessed the confrontation earlier at the party but had been too deep in conversation with some lord from the Reach to intervene. Not that her interventions had any impact on how her children behaved. Not anymore.

“Were there any tempting offers?” her father’s voice rumbled behind her. He had been sneaking up on her like this for years – she did not flinch anymore. He had only been back at court a few days – ostensibly for Arianwyn’s nameday – and already he was grating on her nerves.

Alicent sighed, hand instinctually flying to grasp the amulet around her neck. “A few. None I plan to pursue.”

“Hmm,” her father placed his hand around her shoulders to lead her away from the sharp ears of the children. “I think I best to seal her betrothal while her father remains in Pentos. We don’t want to lose that advantage.”

The Queen brushed off her father’s arm. Rage took root in her heart at the mention of Daemon, the horrific tale Gerold had relayed to her just hours ago still ringing in her ears. “Arianwyn is not a political advantage to be leveraged.” Her voice was as fierce as she would allow in the quiet of the library. “She is my niece, dear to me, and a great friend to my children – two of them at least.”

Otto blinked, raising his chin to look down his nose at her. She hated that look. He only used it when he considered her behavior foolish and immature.

She steeled herself to continue, “She is a young girl who has lost her mother and been abandoned by her father. I do not doubt that if he ever returns, Daemon will see her as a pawn for his own aims. Until she comes of age, there is little I can do to protect her from him – or any other man who seeks to manipulate her. So, I will do whatever I can for her while I still can.”

Not waiting for a response, the Queen swept out of the library.

Taglist: @heartb8k2 @queenofshinigamis @leptitlu @xxxkat3xxx @malfoycassimalfoy @lokiofasgard12

[angstywaifu]

The Lost Sister - Part 26

Synopsis: Xaden is known as an only child due to his sister who 'died' during the Rebellion. Little do they know she didn't die and has been so close this entire time.

Garrick Tavis x OC The Lost Sister Masterlist | Masterlist

”You can do what now?” Xaden nearly yells after getting over his shock.

I can mind speak. I say confidently in his head, causing him to jump back a bit, earning chuckles from Liam and Garrick.

I had spent the afternoon practicing on them. Jumping between their minds with ease, as if already second nature to me. All I had to do was focus on them and it seemed my mind connected with theirs. Only proven by how easily I had reached out and done the same to Xaden. I was also quite proud of the name I had given the ability. Direct and explained it perfectly.

”Does Carr know?” He demands as he starts to pace.

I shake my head. “No, this happened after I left. He only seemed intent on seeing if my signet blocked out other mental signets. And I can now safely say Dain’s signet did not work on me at all. And that was without me trying to put a shield up. But that doesn’t mean its not something he knows about. Seems there are tomes that have spoken of my ability somewhere.”

Xaden looks as if he breathes a sigh of relief. I would have said it was in regards to my mind being safe from Dain, but I can feel something else fuelling his relief. But what that was, I wasn’t sure. With how much he had going on I had no doubt there was others higher up with signets I was now safe from.

”I assume you tried to put a shield up?” Bodhi asks from where he is perched up against some stacked fighting mats.

I smirk and nod. “I did, sent Aetos jumping back from me as if I had electrocuted him. Was quite satisfying actually.”

”Well that is something at least. Now we just have to be careful of ourselves around Dain. Sadly our shields will not work against his like yours has.” Xaden states as he stops his pacing and stands next to Bodhi.

”I take it you’ve tried?” I ask him.

Xaden nods. “Not myself, but we have tested the theory with other cadets with stronger shields. He gets right through them like a knife through butter. So the fact he could barely make a dent in yours without even trying just goes to show how strong yours are.”

”You said Carr mentioned tomes about your signet. He let slip what they were at all?” Garrick asks from where he sits next to me, arm draped over my shoulders as I sit tucked into his sides.

I shake my head. “Sadly no. But least we know there are some. As well as fairy tales and stories of it. It’s a starting point.”

The others nod in agreement. The slip of that information, intentional or not was at least a starting point. One that had me thinking of where to start. And I knew exactly where to start. And none of these guys would be overly keen on my suggestion. But I had a feeling we could trust her. With time and how closer her and Xaden we’re getting despite him saying other wise, she could be a great asset.

”And I might have a suggestion on where we can start.” The others all turning to look at me.

”Why do I feel like we aren’t going to like your suggestion sweetheart?” Garrick drawls from next to me.

I look up at him and smirk. “Because you wont. Not entirely anyway.”

”Spit it out then. Where do we have to look?” Imogen asks.

I turn and look at Xaden, his eyes widening as if already knowing my answer.

”Not where. Who. And who better than my brothers new partner in crime for life. Violet Sorrengail.”

Xaden had not been thrilled by suggestion, but had agreed she was our best bet once we could verify she wouldn’t go tell someone about my signet. Though as I had pointed out, there was a very high chance she knew about Dain’s and as far as I knew hadn’t told anyone about it, even with how distant they had become while she had been here. He promised once he was sure my signet was safe, he would approach her about it. But only him.

”Aetos did not want to let you two go did he?” Garrick muses as we walk up to the flight field.

Garrick and Xaden had come to grab Violet and I for some training. Not that I needed it, but I took the excuse to get out of classes for a little bit. Aetos had put Garrick and Xaden through the wringer to let us go. Mainly Violet who was yet to manifest a signet. Claiming she needed Carr’s class more than anyone. But as Xaden had countered she wasn’t going to manifest a signet suddenly in Carr’s class and had proven she had the strongest shield in our year. I did not miss how Dain’s eyes flickered to me at that comment. He knew mine were significantly stronger that Violets. But it wasn’t public knowledge. Violet had proven she had mastered the basics and Xaden had dragged her out before he could say no. He had tried to fight it with me saying signet needed training. But as I pointed out I had a classified signet and was not allowed to fully show it off in classes. And with that I had turned and walked out, a snickering Garrick not far behind me. Which now lead to us heading down to the flight field to catch up with Xaden and Violet who definitely had a head start with only having to go to the first year doors three levels down. Due to Garrick insisting I move my stuff, we had to go all the way up to the third floor.

”No he didn’t. He’s just worried we wont win squad games. He is hell bent on winning it.” I inform Garrick as we push through the doors into the rotunda.

”You guys will be fine. Between you and Liam you should have the combat challenges and that hands down. Sadly I can’t speak about the other aspects.” The way he speaks, I know he knows what is coming. Wing leaders and section leaders knew everything to do with squad games as they didn’t take part as they didn’t technically belong to a squad.

”Don’t get any privileges, from being your kind of girlfriend?” I tease as we approach the stairs.

Garrick smirks and goes to respond, but his face goes blank as he pulls us both to a stop, his arm going in front of my protectively. I follow his gaze and watch as Colonel Aetos, General Sorrengail and Pancheck approach us.

”We’re getting the grand welcome today it seems.” Muses Colonel Aetos as they stop in front of us. My guess is they had encountered Xaden and Violet on their way up. “And I finally get to meet Fen Riorson’s daughter. Well know you by your actual name now. It still amazes me you hid her for long General, none of us had a clue who she really was.”

Colonel Aetos’s eyes look behind Garrick and I, and I know instantly who stands behind us. That familiar, black unhinged presence at the edge of my mind. Garrick going stiff as he angles his head ever so slightly to see who stands behind us. The muscle in his jaw twitching, eyes darting between the group in front of us and the General behind.

”Trust me Colonel, was no easy feat keeping who she was a secret from you. Surprised you believed me so easily when I introduced her as my niece.” Melgren drawls from behind us.

”Helps when she barely looks like her father and brother. And if I recall, not much like the women Fen called his wife for a short period of time either.” A small smirk on the Colonel’s face.

”Must have taken after some distant relatives.” I say sternly.

He just chuckles. “Some very distant relatives it seems. Well don’t let us hold you up cadets.”

And with that they walk past us, but I don’t miss the feeling of their eyes on us as they walk away. Mainly Melgren and Aetos, who as I turn my head catch looking directly at me. Clearly I was also on someone else’s radar, but for other reasons entirely. Part 27

@riorgail @going-through-shit @fw-gt @bbkissme99 @xceafh @leptitlu @came-to-laugh-but-cried @onthewaytotimbuktu @daardyrnitta @lovemesomevesey @mxtokko @krowiathemythologynerd @callsign-blue @1islessthan3books

[ai-em-maes]

🔥🖤 Whispers of a Burning Flame 🖤🔥

~ Chapter 5 ~ Chapter Index

Characters - Self Insert OC x Aemond Targaryen

Summary - After escaping capture by a rival family, Vaemyra Blackwood takes residence at the Red Keep, where she embraces her newfound identity as a dragonrider of Valyrian blood. Her presence catches the eye of Prince Aemond, and the two slowly grow closer amidst the shadows of their shared peculiarities.

Word Count - 1.9k

Content - 18+, Major slow burn, fluff, a smidge of angst, smut in later chapters

A/N - n/a

Likes, comments, & reblogs are appreciated!

Not wishing to intrude upon the Blackwoods’ precious time together, Aemond had kept his distance throughout Ser Tristan’s visit. But not even a day had passed since his departure when a footman approached Vaemyra as she sat reading in the library.

“Prince Aemond Targaryen requests your audience in his solar, My Lady.”

Vaemyra’s blood ran cold. That day in the gardens. Her father’s company had caged her worries in the back of her mind, but now those beasts were loose again. And they hungered.

As the footman guided her through the Keep, Vaemyra imagined all the horrid ways she’d be punished for her audacity toward the prince. She had always wondered if the rumors of his cruelty were true, and her answer awaited her at the end of the corridor.

Aemond stood with his back to the chamber entrance, arms folded behind him as he peered out a window. Moments later, Vaemyra appeared.

“Lady Blackwood, My Prince,” declared the footman. He bowed and exited.

Aemond steadied his breath and turned to face his guest.

She curtsied, then dampened her dry mouth with a heavy gulp. “Good day, My Prince. How may I be of service to you?” 

“Good day to you as well. I thought we might spend this time studying the Valyrian tongue.”

Vaemyra’s jaw went slack. “P-pardon?” She had barely heard him over the sound of her own heart thudding in her chest.

“You requested private lessons, did you not? …Have I displeased you?” The prince wilted ever so slightly.

“Oh, no—not at all!” Vaemyra yelped, and she flushed so suddenly that it left her lightheaded. “Thank you for your generosity. I’d love to begin.”

Aemond brightened, and gestured for her to join him at his reading table, where several tomes lay neatly stacked. Two chairs were arranged side by side, and Aemond pulled one out for Vaemyra before sitting down himself.

As the pair reviewed vocabulary, grammar, and pronunciation, even the slightest touch between them made it difficult to focus. Vaemyra pressed her knee into Aemond’s, causing him to stutter through what should have been a simple passage. While the prince leafed through manuscripts on the Valyrian histories, a sheet of parchment fell to the floor. Vaemyra leaned across his lap to retrieve it—though, whether she did so in a sincere attempt to help or in a subconscious attempt to seduce, she could not say. Aemond stiffened, and the sweet scent of her lavender perfume made his heart pound.

After more than two hours of practice, Vaemyra shut the book she’d been reciting from and stretched her legs. 

“I believe I’ve reached my capacity for the day,” she conceded. “I should like to retire and leave you to your other tasks.”

A tinge of surprise crossed Aemond’s face. He was accustomed to considerably longer sessions when he studied alone. “Oh. I suppose the afternoon has indeed come and gone.”

“My Good Prince, I thank you dearly for your precious time,” Vaemyra said, smiling. “I feel my grasp of High Valyrian is much sharper already!”

Lady Blackwood rose from her seat, curtsied, and turned to leave. Aemond followed her with only his gaze, the faintest flicker of his eye betraying what his lips could not quite confess.

“When might I see you again?” he asked. 

Vaemyra’s heart skipped a beat, stopping her at the chamber’s threshold. She looked back at him with widened eyes.

“Only if it pleases you,” he added.

She grinned before pausing to think. “Hmm. …Would you like to learn archery?”

“Archery?”

“Indeed! If you recall, I also expressed an interest in learning the art of the blade from you. We could exchange knowledge of our skills.”

Though an excellent swordsman, Aemond had rarely bothered with a bow or crossbow. It simply never appealed to him. But that was irrelevant now—he yearned for any excuse to be near Lady Blackwood, like a beggar crawling through Dornish sands, thirsting for water.

“Very well. We’ll meet at the stables and make our way to the Queenswood in…hmm, two days’ time? I have business with the council.”

A wide smile spread across Vaemyra’s face. “Wonderful! Until then.” She curtseyed again and took her leave.

The prince felt a warmth envelop him. He then collected the tomes and manuscripts to return them to the library, should Lady Vaemyra want to study them on her own in the coming days. As Aemond stepped into the corridor, he found Aegon waiting for him with a mischievous glint in his eyes. The elder prince had seen Lady Blackwood exiting his brother’s chambers just minutes before. Aegon sneered and opened his mouth to speak.

“I’ll hear none of it today, brother,” Aemond snapped as he pushed past unimpeded.

In the Queenswood, a squire set a softwood target against the trunk of an oak tree. He then outfitted Vaemyra and Aemond with simple bows, bracers, archers’ gloves, and quivers filled with arrows.

Lady Blackwood drew a mark in the soil with the tip of her boot. “This will serve as our shooting line.” She poised her body into an open stance and nocked an arrow on the bowstring.

Aemond watched closely as she raised her bow and drew it in one fluid motion. She released, and with a brisk thwup, the arrow loosed and pierced the target at its absolute center.

A small shiver shot down the prince’s spine.

The lady took a step back and stood with her bow resting upright. “You’re on next!”

Prince Aemond proceeded to the line and attempted to replicate her stance. He drew his bow, and the arrow swung to one side, refusing to rest at the riser. 

Vaemyra set down her bow and approached the prince. “Make use of your forefinger to stabilize the shaft. May I?” He nodded, and she guided his hand to the right position. The prince’s heart beat faster with each brush of her delicate fingers.

“Now,” Vaemyra instructed. “Draw and release.”

The arrow rippled clumsily through the air and buried itself in the dirt. Aemond gritted his teeth.

“That’s alright, that’s alright!” Vaemyra consoled. “No one masters it on their very first attempt. Let us improve your posture.” This time, she adjusted his arms and shoulders. He attempted a few more shots before Lady Blackwood took her second turn.

“Have you any interest in competing in the tourney?” she asked, aiming a shot. “I’m certain you’d do well in the joust.” She released and landed another bullseye.

“I do not.”

“Ah. Well, I suppose you don’t exactly seem like you would give a shit about such things.”

Aemond arched a brow before his surprise gave way to a crooked grin. “I never took you for the sort of lady to utter profanities.” He wondered if it meant that she was growing more comfortable around him.

“All Blackwood women swear like shipmen. We simply have the sense to behave with more grace when in company. Usually.”

As Vaemyra began to laugh, the prince couldn’t help but chuckle along with her.

“You know, when you summoned me to your chambers the other day, I’d fully expected to be exiled from the whole of Westeros for overstepping my bounds with you. My mouth has a habit of leading me into trouble.” 

I quite like your mouth, Aemond thought. “Nonsense, My Lady.”

Within the hour, a majority of the prince’s arrows were hitting the target. He’d yet to strike true, but the progress was impressive considering his impaired depth perception. However, his body was unaccustomed to the strain of drawing a bowstring, and Vaemyra noticed him pausing more and more often to stretch his arms or shake the tension from his fingers.

“If you’re growing tired, we can transition to something else,” she said.

“Would you like to learn the blade?” 

“I’d love to!”

As the squire unstrung their bows, Aemond went to retrieve more equipment from his destrier’s saddle. In addition to a spare arming sword, the prince had also brought with him a dagger, remembering Lady Blackwood’s mention of her skill with them. When Vaemyra caught sight of the smaller blade, her eyes shone like a cat’s, and she seized it without hesitation.

Prince Aemond glanced up just in time to find her twirling the dagger over her fingers with ease. Then, without warning, she spun on her heel and launched the blade at the archery target, splitting its face in twain.

Vaemyra turned back to Aemond and reached for the arming sword he had been holding. “Is this for me?”

Several moments passed before the prince could unslack his jaw. “A-ah, yes. Of course. Here you are.”

They began with foundational footwork, defenses, and strikes. With steel in hand, the dragon prince was in his element once more, his movements deliberate and precise. Whenever Vaemyra struggled to match his pace, Aemond would stop to patiently adjust her form, just as she had done for him.

“Think of your weapon as an extension of your body,” he instructed. Then he advanced and wrenched the sword from her hands for the dozenth time.

“Fuck,” grumbled Vaemyra, moving to retrieve it. 

“Remember to observe your opponent and take advantage of their weaknesses,” the prince added. “Penetrate their defenses.”

Vaemyra’s lips crept into a devious smirk. While the prince drank from his waterskin, she undid several clasps on her bodice, parting the chemise beneath. With careful precision, she left one clasp above her decolletage fastened, creating the illusion that the bodice remained fully closed.

Once more, the pair joined swords. As their blades entwined, Vaemyra leaned in close, pressing her chest outward. The final clasp of her bodice strained, and the garment burst open. Aemond’s gaze darted downward, his face burning as his eye fell upon the supple curve of her cleavage. His focus broken, Vaemyra overpowered the prince in an instant, pinning him to the ground as she straddled him. The tip of her sword was leveled at his throat.

Aemond felt his trousers tighten. 

“How’s that for taking advantage?” Vaemyra teased. She dismounted him as he lay frozen on his back. “As much as I’ve enjoyed myself today, I think I should like to bathe and rest. Might we return to the Keep, My Prince?” She sheathed her sword. 

Aemond’s mind strayed at the thought of her bathing.

“...My Prince?”

He snapped back to reality and rose to his feet. “Yes, of course, very well. Indeed. Let us be on our way.” 

Late that night, Aemond tossed in his sheets as Vaemyra Blackwood invaded his every thought. Her soft skin and gentle touch. The icy tip of her blade at his hot flesh. Her thighs pressing into his waist. Aemond bit his lip, his heart racing.

Shortly thereafter, the prince’s hand wandered between his svelte legs and gripped his throbbing cock with fervor. He massaged its length, and pictured Vaemyra in her bath, body slick with soap, water droplets trickling down her perfect tits. The haste of his strokes reached a feverish intensity, sending his eye rolling to the back of his head. At last, the prince reached the peak of his arousal, and with a ragged groan of ecstasy, he released his seed. 

Aemond basked in a moment of gratification before cleaning himself. Sleep continued to elude him, and the prince was left to ruminate. Believing himself a master of discipline and forethought, Aemond had always prided himself on being cold and detached. Yet, it was those very traits that had blinded him to his own emotions. Emotions which were unmistakable to him now.

Vaemyra Blackwood was no mere curiosity to be studied. He craved her, mind and body. 

[emma-m-black]

Soul Mate Magic - Chapter Seventeen

Rupert Giles x OC (FanFiction) - MATURE 18+

A new magical transfer comes to Sunnydale High, and ends up discovering a magical connection with our favorite Watcher.

OC is 19+ (Not a Minor), Age Gap, Slow Burn-ish (with a little preview thrown in there during the Bandy Candy Episode).

Soooo I have 20 Chapters written for Part One written, and there is a Part Two underway, but I am so excited for Chapters 18 & 19 because they will be snippets of Giles's point of view since Chapter 1 eek!

____

Author Master List

Read: Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four, Chapter Five, Chapter Six, Chapter Seven, Chapter Eight, Chapter Nine, Chapter Ten, Chapter Eleven, Chapter Twelve, Chapter Thirteen, Chapter Fourteen, Chapter Fifteen, Chapter Sixteen,

Chapter Seventeen:

Rose lowered herself gingerly into the chair at the library table, wincing as her muscles protested every movement. Her whole body ached after being thrown across the library during last night’s battle at the Hellmouth. Despite the soreness, she knew she had come out the least injured—everyone else had taken harder hits. Everyone except Xander, whom they’d wisely left out of the fight to keep him safe. She tried to sit still, but even the slight movement of breathing sent sharp reminders of her bruises rippling through her.

“Here,” came Giles’s soft voice, his presence a calming contrast to the aches of the day. He held out a steaming cup of tea, the familiar scent of chamomile filling the air.

The warmth of the tea radiated into her palms the moment she took it. “Thank you,” she whispered, her lips curving into a faint smile as she accepted it. Her fingers brushed against his during the handoff, a brief touch, but it sent a ripple of warmth through her that had nothing to do with the tea. It was a touch that lingered, sparking feelings she hadn’t fully come to terms with yet. She forced herself to focus on the tea rather than the tugging sensation that always seemed to stir whenever Giles was too close.

Since that night on the porch, she and Giles had stumbled into what she privately called the “we’re-just-going-to-forget-we-slept-together-and-be-friends-again” stage. It was safer that way, simpler. They acted as if nothing had happened between them. But it didn’t stop the memories from clawing their way back at the worst times—like now. She remembered the heat of his skin, the weight of his hands, the way his eyes had darkened as if she was the only thing in the world that mattered. The intimacy had been brief, but the tension between them hadn’t disappeared.

She shoved the thoughts down and cleared her throat.

Giles settled into the chair across from her, his own cup of tea cradled in his hands. He pulled a thick tome closer and began rifling through the stack of books spread across the table. “Hopefully we can figure out the final components of the unbinding spell before the others return from patrol,” he said, his brow furrowing as he scanned the ancient pages.

“That would be nice.” Rose winced as she shifted in her seat, trying to find a position that didn’t send a sharp pain through her ribs. “I’m getting tired of not being able to pee without someone standing outside the stall door. There’s a limit to how much ‘safety’ a girl needs.”

Giles, just in the middle of a sip of tea, choked, sputtering as his cheeks flushed with a mix of surprise and embarrassment. “Yes, well...” He set his cup down quickly, clearly flustered, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “That would indeed be... quite uncomfortable.”

Rose glanced up through her lashes, hiding a smirk. There was something endlessly amusing about catching Giles off guard, watching his formalities crumble just a little. She took another sip of her tea, trying to suppress the grin spreading across her face. “You’re far too easy to tease sometimes, Rupert.”

He shot her a sidelong glance, his expression hovering somewhere between exasperation and fondness. “Yes, well,” he muttered, his voice carrying a touch of affection despite his attempt to remain stern, “some people are incorrigible.”

A soft chuckle escaped her. “It’s one of my better qualities, you know.”

“Brat,” he mumbled, but there was no real bite to it, just a familiar warmth, a fondness that made her heart twist in her chest.

For a while, the conversation faded into a comfortable silence, the soft sound of turning pages and the occasional clink of a teacup the only interruptions. It was a reprieve, a quiet moment that Rose found herself cherishing more than she’d ever admit. In these rare pockets of calm, it was easy to forget the complexities hanging over them—the unspoken feelings, the dangerous threats, and the inevitable battles looming on the horizon. Here, in the quiet, they could just be... them. Two people sharing tea and searching for a solution that would hopefully save them all.

Then, something in the passage she was reading snagged her attention. A spark of hope flared in her chest. “This... this might work,” she muttered to herself, her eyes widening as she scanned the lines again, her pulse quickening.

“What is it?” Giles’s voice was immediate, his focus snapping to her. His tea forgotten, he leaned forward, watching her with intense curiosity.

Without thinking, Rose shoved back her chair, the legs scraping loudly against the floor, and hurried over to his side of the table. She slammed the book down in front of him, leaning in so close that her shoulder brushed his. “Look,” she said, her voice thick with excitement as she pointed to the passage.

Giles’s eyes followed her finger, and he bent closer to read the text. His face was inches from hers, so close she could see the way his breath stirred the strands of hair near her face. His concentration was palpable as he scanned the lines, his brow furrowing. After a moment, his lips parted in a slow smile, the kind of smile that made her breath hitch in her throat.

“This… this could work,” he said softly, a note of relief threading through his voice. He reached up, sliding his glasses off and turning to face her fully. His smile widened, a spark of triumph dancing in his eyes.

Rose’s heart skipped a beat as she realized how close she was standing to him. She could feel the heat radiating from his skin, the subtle scent of his cologne mixing with the warmth of the tea. His gaze dropped, briefly flicking to her lips before snapping back to her eyes, and she felt the ground shift beneath her. Every instinct screamed at her to move, to back away before the moment slipped into something more.

But she didn’t move. She couldn’t. Her entire body felt like it was caught in some invisible current, drawn to him despite the warning bells ringing in her mind. The connection between them crackled in the air, too real, too close, and for a heartbeat, the world outside the two of them ceased to exist.

She could feel her pulse pounding in her throat, could see the soft twitch of his fingers as if he was fighting the urge to close the distance between them. And for one terrifying moment, she wanted him to. She wanted to let the dam break, to let all the tension and unsaid things spill out into the open.

But just as the tension seemed about to snap, the sound of laughter echoed from down the hallway, and the library doors creaked open.

Rose pulled herself back, instinctively putting some distance between herself and Giles, though her pulse was still racing. She tried to focus, but the want for him to reach up, grasp her cheek, and kiss her flashed vividly in her mind. She swallowed hard, pushing the thought aside as best she could. Clearing her throat, she turned to the group, offering a casual distraction.

“How was patrolling?” she asked, though her voice betrayed the slight tremor of someone who was far from casual, barely masking the intensity of her earlier thoughts.

“Boring. Seems like everything took the night off,” Buffy replied, sounding almost disappointed as she unloaded her weapons into the cage.

“Maybe because we handled the Hellmouth last night,” Willow suggested brightly, “all the big baddies were like, ‘Oh, we can’t take them—best move on to the next town.’”

“Or,” Xander cut in with his usual sarcasm, “it’s because Rose’s creepy family was out in full force tonight.” He threw himself into a chair, his tone more serious than usual.

A chill crawled up Rose’s spine at his words. She grimaced, nodding in reluctant agreement. “I think they know they only have one shot. They’re waiting for everyone to gather. They want it to be... perfect.”

“You mean there’s more of them?” Xander asked, eyebrows raised.

Rose rubbed her temples, feeling the weight of the coven’s presence. “Yeah, I can feel them. Every time more of them get closer, it’s like I’m... more connected to the coven’s power. It’s stronger.” She glanced around at her friends, who watched her with concern. She wished she could tell them she was okay, but she wasn’t sure that was true anymore.

Giles slipped his glasses off, the faint glint of worry etched into his features. “Well, hopefully we won’t have to worry much longer. Rose may have found the spell we need to sever her connection to the coven, and take their power with her.”

Willow’s face lit up. “See? I knew that spell was in these books somewhere!” she said, bouncing excitedly on her feet.

Rose smiled weakly, but her heart wasn’t in it. The closer they got to a solution, the more the dread inside her gnawed at the edges of her mind.

“There’s a catch, of course,” Giles added gravely, his eyes scanning the room. “The ritual requires it be performed on sacred ground. So we won’t be able to do it in the protection of the house.”

Buffy’s resolve kicked in, her Slayer instincts kicking into full gear. “What do you need from us?” she asked, stepping closer to Willow.

Giles rose from his chair and disappeared into his office. When he returned, he had a notepad in hand, scribbling a list of ingredients. He tore the sheet off and handed it to Willow. “We’ll need these things from The Magic Box tomorrow. Rose and I will stick together and gather the rest. It will take twenty-four hours of preparation for the potion to set.”

“Can do,” Willow said confidently, looking over the list. “They should have all this in stock.”

“Then we’ll meet at Buffy’s home at noon,” Giles said, glancing over at Rose. “And hopefully, by Sunday night, this will all be over.”

“Is it really safe for the two of you to be on your own?” Buffy asked, the question holding a double meaning, it was not just their safety the Slayer was worried about but the fact that Giles and Rose still seemed to hold some more personal connection.

“There are some things I need to discuss with Rose about the ritual and the risks that go along with it, I think it would be best to have that discussion in private there are-“ But Giles’s voice became distant and soon Rose felt her thoughts slipping further away from the conversation. Her gaze drifted toward a scuff on the wall, her heart heavy with an unshakable fear. What if this didn’t work? What if the separating herself from the coven wasn’t enough?

An itch crawled up her spine, something dark stirring at the back of her mind. She could feel the weight of her family’s sinister intent pressing in on her. They were biding their time, waiting to strike when she was most vulnerable. Her family needed to kill her in just the right way to preserve the power of the goddess for the coven. But if she cut herself off from the coven in another way... if she died before the ritual... would that stop them? That is why they kept her safe this whole time.

Her heart clenched painfully as the reality settled in her chest. Could she sacrifice herself? Could she end it all—her life, her bloodline, everything—if it meant keeping her friends safe? If it meant protecting Giles? Her thoughts swirled in an agonizing storm. She knew the answer, deep down. If it came down to it... she would do it. She would sacrifice herself, no hesitation. She would never let them hurt Giles. She would die before that happened.

Her breath hitched as the decision anchored itself in her heart, and the enormity of it left her trembling inside.

“Rose?” Giles’s voice pierced through her haze, his hand lightly resting on her shoulder. The warmth of his touch startled her, pulling her abruptly from her dark thoughts.

“What?” she whispered, blinking up at him as if just realizing where she was.

Giles tilted his head, concern etched deep into his eyes. “Are you ready to leave?”

Rose stared at him for a moment, trying to shake the whirlwind of emotions coursing through her. The urge to reach out, to tell him everything, burned in her throat, but she couldn’t burden him with that. Not now. Not when everything was hanging by a thread.

“Rose, are you alright?” Giles asked softly, his worry deepening as he searched her face.

She forced a smile, giving her head a small shake as if to clear the fog in her mind. “Yes,” she lied. “I’m ready to leave.”

Xander took Rose’s car as the Scoobies made their way to the Summers’ residence, while Giles, quiet and tense, held the door open for Rose to slip into the passenger seat of his own car. As soon as they were driving, Rose turned to study the man next to her. His jaw was tightly set, and his knuckles had gone white from gripping the steering wheel too hard.

“Rupert, what’s going on?” Her voice wavered, sensing the tension, but Giles didn’t answer. The silence felt heavy, ominous.

“Why aren’t I going to Buffy’s?” she asked again, her brow furrowing.

“Willow and I spelled my residence for protection,” Giles replied, his tone clipped and unreadable.

“But that doesn’t explain why I’m going there. Besides, The Magic Box has everything we need,” she pressed, turning her body fully toward him now, desperate to understand why he seemed so troubled.

Still, no answer.

“Rupert...” she said softly, a hint of panic creeping into her voice, “you’re scaring me.” There was a fragile quiver in her tone, betraying the fear clawing at her chest.

His silence broke at last. “I thought perhaps,” he began, his voice low and strained, “you would want to see your father. One last time... before everything.”

Rose’s confusion deepened. “My father? But you said your place?”

“When we performed the spell, your father was within the protective circle of my house,” Giles explained, his voice measured, though tension rippled beneath each word. “Which means he’s been able to come and go safely. As much as I despise Cole, I couldn’t let anything happen to him. I didn’t want to see you lose any more of your family than you already have.”

Rose stared at him, her breath caught in her throat. His words hit her with the weight of a confession she hadn’t expected. “You... you’ve been protecting my father?” Her voice was barely above a whisper, the enormity of it sinking in.

“Since Buffy’s birthday, yes.” Giles’ tone was gruff, but there was no mistaking the tenderness behind his actions.

Rose felt a rush of emotions swell inside her—surprise, gratitude, guilt. Her chest tightened, and she blinked rapidly as moisture gathered in the corners of her eyes. “Rupert,” she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. “Thank you...” The words came out broken, thick with the sudden realization of everything he had done for her. Giles had protected her father—a man he loathed—for her sake. He had sheltered him, ensuring his safety, even while knowing the depths of her family’s betrayal.

In that moment, Rose felt something shift. Giles had taken care of her in ways she hadn’t even realized. His loyalty, his devotion—there was so much more to him than she had ever allowed herself to see. The realization left her raw, vulnerable.

The rest of the ride passed in thick, contemplative silence. When they pulled up in front of Giles’ home, Rose immediately felt the presence of her family nearby. Their magic hummed faintly in the distance, like a static charge in the air. As she gazed out into the darkness, she could make out shadowy figures scattered across the surrounding streets, sentries no doubt placed there to keep watch on her father’s movements.

“Come on,” Giles said quietly as he gathered a book from the back seat, then gently wrapped his arm around her shoulders. The weight of his arm was steady, grounding her, even as her mind swirled with uncertainty. Together, they moved toward the front door, his protection a quiet, constant presence beside her.

Inside the dimly lit house, Rose’s eyes immediately found him—her father. Cole stood near the window, his figure tense, as though he had been keeping vigil. When his eyes met hers, something softened in his expression.

“Daddy,” Rose whispered, her voice small, fragile. The formal tension in her posture melted, and before she could stop herself, she rushed across the room and into his open arms. All the anger and betrayal faded, if only for a moment, as she collapsed into the safety of his embrace. She let herself believe, just for a few precious seconds, that everything would be okay, that this was all just a nightmare she could wake up from.

“Rose,” her father breathed, his voice heavy with guilt as he held her close. He pulled back, just enough to look down at her, his eyes filled with regret. “I’m so sorry... for everything.”

Rose swallowed hard, her heart hammering in her chest. She wanted to forgive him, wanted to believe that the man who had once been her protector was still there, despite everything that had happened. Tears welled in her eyes as she blinked up at him, her resolve hardening. “It’s okay,” she whispered, though her voice shook. “I have a way to stop all of this.”

Cole’s gaze searched hers, worry creasing his brow. “How?”

“I’m going to stop the coven. I’m going to take away our magic... and put everything right.” Her voice was steady now, determination coursing through her veins. She felt stronger than she had in weeks. She would end this—no matter the cost.

As Rose stood there, wrapped in her father’s embrace, something profound settled over her. She realized that trust, once shattered, could be rebuilt—not through words, but through actions. Giles had protected her father for her. And now, standing here with him, she felt the warmth of that trust rekindle. She would save them all—even if it meant sacrificing herself.

Chapter Eighteen

[beaut-ful-d-saster-1986]

OC Deep Dive Questions - Helltalon Edition!

I decided to redo this for Sharos just for fun. Saying a quick thank you to @hippotooth for drawing my attention to the fact that this deep dive even exists, and if anyone from my followers would like to fill this out for a character, please feel free to consider this your open tag!

No pressure. It's just for fun!

---

What common/uncommon fear do they have?

Sharos fears very little from others. It takes a lot to hurt him. It takes even more to kill him, and should he be killed while not in the hells, he gets poofed back to his tower in Nessus. There, he is heavily guarded and utterly safe from anyone who would want to hurt him. His little sister Rieta and his loyal servants and soldiers will protect him, and the tower itself is armed to the teeth with traps and magical artillery.

The greatest fear that Sharos has is that he will only ever be seen to others as a devil, and that instead of knowing love he will be feared and hated for being what he is. He knows what other devils are like. He's met Mizora. He's met Zariel. He's met Raphael. He has even bumped into his uncle Asmodeus at one point or another. He's seen the evil in them, and he wants to be better than them.

Sharos is by no means a religious sort, but he prays to any god that will listen to a devil, hoping that at least they can see the good in him.

Do they have any pet peeves?

Lies and head games! The hells are full of them. His fellow DEVILS are full of them -- *CoughRAPHAELANDMIZORACough* -- and he is so sick of being jerked around by every single person in the hells. That's largely why Sharos purchased a house and an apothecary in Baldur's Gate, and sells potions and surplus ingredients at a fair price. While he might have to wear a human shape to avoid scaring the masses, he doesn't play games with his customers. He's there to do one thing - sell potions and ingredients at a fair price. That's what he does.

Should anyone show romantic interest in him, he's quick to reveal who he actually is. He drops his human illusion with a snap of his fingers because he'd rather be hated for what he is than be loved for being something he's not.

What are 3 items you can find in their bedroom?

A huge canopied bed that is piled high with luxurious fabrics, a mountain of decorative pillows in varying shapes and sizes, and enough space for a Cambion to comfortably spread out his wings, and his partner to still be comfortable laying next to him. The canopy can be closed at the sides to shut out the universe when Sharos wants to have a lie in and be left to his own devices.

A stack of books on the bedside table -- usually absolute doorstopper tomes that Sharos has set aside for "light bedtime reading." There are also floating magical lanterns that can be verbally commanded to stay in one place so Sharos can use the light to read in bed.

A luxurious bathing area off of the main bedroom with an enormous tub that is big enough for a cambion and his partner to soak their weary bones. Several water taps for filling it. Stacks of fluffy towels within arms' reach, and luxurious, pleasant smelling soaps.

What do they notice first in a person?

Sharos likes it when a person is harder to get. He likes to be challenged, and he likes people who are capable of making him think. This is why Sharos was so drawn to Astarion. The man obviously has his personal layers of trauma and a complexity to him that gives Sharos pause. He tries to see things from Astarion's perspective whenever they argue, and he puts in more effort.

It's not the effortless silver tongued seduction that he was able to pull off when he was younger and still in his experimental phase.

On a scale from 1-10, how high is their pain tolerance?

Sharos has literally died before, and been poofed back to the hells. As a result, Sharos' pain tolerance is on a level that is beyond the comprehension of most mortal beings. It's possible to deeply hurt him when it comes to emotion, but physical pain is quickly forgotten.

Do they go into fight or flight mode when under pressure?

Sharos doesn't cower in the face of a threat, nor does he back down from a challenge. Should he ever be pressed, he will rise up with all of the fury of the nine hells and face a problem head on. Even if it gets him injured. Even if it gets him killed and poofed back to the hells.

Do they come from a big family/are they a family person?

Sharos does not come from a big family, but he does come from a wealthy one, and is the sole heir of the Helltalon family's fortune. His parents were killed in the infighting and political conflicts of the hells when he and his sister were still very young, but Sharos stayed and cared for his little sister. He took command of the family estates and began directing the funds towards more noble causes.

Now it's still just Sharos and his sister in the family tower, but the pair of them are thriving and very happy with their lives. They have amassed a small but loyal army of quasits, imps and merregons -- all of which are responsible for defending the tower and keeping it clean.

Sharos doesn't make them fight in the blood war. They get to live a quiet, happy life defending the Helltalon Tower, and are paid fairly.

What animal represents them best?

Sharos would absolutely be a dragon. His luxurious home is a dragon's hoard in and of itself, and should someone be foolish enough to raid it they will find out how the Helltalons got their name.

What is a smell they dislike?

The very worst smell that Sharos will ever smell is the smell that comes off of Astarion when the tadpole's protection starts to wear off and he begins to burn up in the sun. Sharos will never, ever forget that smell -- as it was the day he nearly lost the man he loved.

He can brush off most other unpleasant smells. The hells themselves can be pretty smelly so he's somewhat nose blind to most foulness.

Have they broken any bones?

Yes, but Sharos has been fortunate in that most of his broken bones have happened AFTER someone defeated him -- he was unconscious for a lot of the breaks. Because of how things work with devils, any broken bones were instantly restored by magic. He doesn't remember the pain of most of his broken bones, even if at one point he did suffer them.

How would a stranger likely describe them?

If Sharos is in human guise, they would describe him as mysterious and somewhat eccentric. His taste for the finer things is reflected even in the home and the shop he runs in Baldur's Gate... and many have wondered how he is able to afford all of his finery.

When he's a cambion, a great many people will only see a devil. They will run from him instead of stopping to get to know him, fearing that he will try to bind their soul into a pact eternal.

Are they a night owl, or morning bird?

Sharos used to be a night owl before the tadpole. He'd be staying up late into the night reading this or that book or crafting spell scrolls for his shop until he finally got tired and needed to head to bed.

After he had been tadpoled, he was up with the morning sun and anxiously looking for a cure, both afraid of becoming a mindflayer with his kind of powers and angered that he can't just snap his fingers and remove the damned worm. [It nerfed some of his powers so that he can't just snap the worm and its magical protection away.]

What’s a flavor they hate and a flavor they love?

Sharos loves salted caramel. The noises he makes when he eats that are like something out of an x rated story. Astarion learned this and eventually realized that was a way he could spoil him.

He is not fond of anything that is bitter, however.

Do they have any hobbies?

Rather than write an essay about all of the things Sharos has taught himself to do, I will put it into point form.

The weave and the Arcane are his specialties.

He makes alchemical potions to sell in his shop.

He cooks elaborate meals for himself and the others at camp.

He is musically gifted, and can sing, dance, and play the lute.

He speaks Common, Infernal, and some Elvish.

He plays strategic games like lanceboard.

He reads books of any and every kind.

He writes and recites poetry when the mood strikes.

It seems like a lot, but Sharos Is 375 years old and was born into a very wealthy family. He's had the freedom to do as he pleases.

Boom, surprise birthday party! How do they react to surprise?

If it's a happy surprise, then Sharos LOVES being caught off guard. He is all smiles and hugs, and will quickly join in on the festivities. He also is sure to thank everyone who took part in the surprise, either with a hand written thank you note or by procuring fresh ingredients and preparing a special treat for the next day's dessert.

Astarion of course is very easy to please. An extra dose of cambion blood, cooled to a safe drinking temperature but still warm.

Do they like to wear jewelery?

Sharos has been known to bedazzle himself with decorative rings, necklaces, bangles, tail accessories, anklets... He usually only does this for special occasions or for when he wants to dress especially nicely for Astarion. For the most part, he tends to keep it simple, preferring to only wear his silver earrings.

Do they have neat or messy handwriting?

Sharos' writing is as flowing and as beautiful as any calligraphy, and it is a point of great pride for him. He practiced for hours to get his signature and his lettering to look just right.

The only time it gets jagged or messy is when he writes in infernal.

What are the two emotions they feel the most?

Concern for the handful of tadpoled mortals that have come into his care. They might not always get along with Sharos, but in a lot of ways it is like having more siblings added to his family. He has come to love all of them for their individual quirks and personalities, and he will fight for them and protect them as fiercely as he would his sister.

As for Astarion.... Sharos just ADORES him. He hopes to not only save him from Cazador and the tadpole, but also to make a husband of him and whisk him away to safety in his tower. The love he has for that vampire spawn knows no bounds, and there is almost nothing that Sharos would not do for him. Whether it's to keep him fed, keep him safe, or help him learn to love himself the way he is.

Do they have a favourite fabric?

Anything that is luxurious and plush, or was made for beauty rather than durability. He loves velvet, silks, suedes, satins.... If it is fine enough and soft enough, or it has a shimmer, then Sharos wants it for his home or for his wardrobe.

He'll wear plainer stuff he doesn't mind wrecking when he's working on an alchemical or magical experiment or when he needs to dress for battle, but when he's not experimenting with the arcane or fighting then he's dressed to the nines.

What kind of accent do they have?

The standard in game accent when he speaks common, but his voice can change to a rougher tone when speaking infernal, and a more flowing tone when he speaks elvish or decides to sing.

[Sharos uses Voice 7 in game, if you want to hear him.]

---

[sunnyrealist]

Chapter 71: Risk and Reward

The Sun, the Moon, and All Our Stars

Summary and Details…

Previous Chapter Recap/Context: Weeks ago, Sebastian was sent on a mission for the Kelpies, and it resulted in him obtaining a Time Turner for the dangerous gang. Rees Cuddy, their leader, told Sebastian that he would finally be initiated as a reward for guarding it until the Kelpies are ready to use it. Sebastian knew that he would do anything to prevent that from happening and that he had time to come up with a plan. He also decided, at that moment, not to inform the DMLE about the Time Turner, wondering if he should use it for his own purposes. In this chapter, Sebastian has a work day in the field as a double-agent for the Ministry. He is summoned to Rees Cuddy's private chambers, deep within the Kelpies base, to speak about the Time Turner again.

Pairing: 25-year-old, post-Azkaban Sebastian Sallow x 24-year-old Kate Mayflower (my OC), the assistant librarian at Hogwarts

Content warnings: In general, this story is rated 18+, so minors should not read or interact with this story. In this chapter, there is a very tense situation, worries about the safety of a loved one, fear of one's own death, thoughts about changing the past, hiding information from a loved one, etc.

The full chapter is available below the cut; it can also be found on AO3 (link is posted below). I truly appreciate any feedback.

Chapter 71: Risk and Reward

Sebastian surrenders his wand at the door, entering the innermost chamber of the Kelpies base. Rees Cuddy, the leader of the gang and the sole person in the room, gestures for him to sit down. Sebastian steels himself, unsure of the reason for his summons, and strides towards the empty plush velvet couch opposite Mr. Cuddy, who puts down his cigar to offer whiskey to his guest. Sebastian accepts it wordlessly, staring at his host. 

In his 50s, Rees is a large man, solid and muscular. His clothes are tailored to accentuate his physical prowess. Save for a hat, his head is completely bald, and he is clean shaven. Thick, dark eyebrows hover over sharp, deep brown eyes.

“Come now. Relax, Sallow,” Rees tells him. “I’m here to make an offer that will change your life - all for the better.” 

Sebastian blinks, attempting to keep a neutral face. Over the years, he has learned that, with the Kelpies, the less he opens his mouth, the better. 

“You’re a man of few words, aren’t you?” the gang leader notes.

In response, Sebastian nods, glancing at the whiskey that is now in his hand. He doesn’t drink it; instead, he places it on the table.

“I’ll get right to it, then,” Mr. Cuddy continues. “You’re the reason we have the Time Turner in our possession, and you’re the member we’ve assigned to guard it. I’d like to ask you to take it a step further. I’d like you to learn how to use it.” He leans forward. “Someone has to do it, and I believe you’re the man for the task.” He stands up, walking to the desk in the center of the room. He picks up three books, handing the stack to Sebastian. “You’ll read these tomes. Learn all you can about the theory of time, the potential mechanics of the Time Turner. And in two to three weeks’ time, we’ll begin to experiment. When it is perfected, the Kelpies will go back in time three decades and begin to infiltrate the Ministry.”

Sebastian’s heart rate increases, and he inhales sharply. He studies the face of the gang leader. “Of all of our members… why me?”

Rees smiles with sharp teeth and leans forward, his eyes narrowed, like that of an apex predator. “Several reasons. As much as we appreciate you securing the Time Turner, you’ve recently failed a mission. This shall make up for your mistake and put you back in our good graces prior to your official initiation. I suspect, provided all goes well, that that momentous occasion shall be… at the end of the summer or perhaps early autumn. You’ll make a fine stallion - I know it.”

Sebastian raises his eyebrows and leans forward, putting on his best act. “I have been waiting a long, long time for this moment.”

“I am aware,” Rees replies, nodding. “It’s been quite a journey, Sallow. You must understand our reasons. It could not happen sooner due to the circumstances of your joining us. I know you didn’t have much of a choice at the time. We had to ensure your loyalty and true belief in the cause.”

Sebastian’s mind flashes with the image of a masked gang member on a broomstick, reaching out to him in the darkness. “Join us! It’s the only way out!” the man had pointedly shouted. Screams from the nearby cells sharpened his confusion into realization - this truly was his only opportunity to successfully flee Azkaban. His dislocated ankle caused him to wince, but he extended his arm, hand outstretched. The man hoisted him onto his broom, and Sebastian held on tight as they rose, faster and faster, higher and higher, past a dementor and into the open air outside the prison. Sebastian gasped as the moonlight blinded him. High above crashing waves, they flew as quickly as they could away from the stone fortress synonymous with death, torture, and madness. If the price of his escape was investing his future and safety in an organization of Dark wizards, he would do it - he would do anything. Anything.

He grounds himself in the here and now by looking about the room. His focus begins with the golden chandelier, followed by the view into the lake outside the windows, and then the ornate wooden table upon which the whiskey and ashtray rest. 

“I’ve proven myself time and time again,” Sebastian insists with gritted teeth. 

“Yes, true. And you’ll prove yourself once more,” Mr. Cuddy says with finality. “Not only will we see you as ready to take on the role of a true Kelpie, but you’ll be able to… alter your life. Alter your past.”

Sebastian’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “What… What do you mean, Mr. Cuddy?”

“Come now, Sallow! I do not mean to be rude, but… there must be so much about your life you would wish to change. In assisting us in our mission, you could return to the past. You could go back to your teenage years and fix the circumstances that lead you to Azkaban Prison in the first place. You could complete your education and, thus, have a completely fresh start as an adult. Imagine the possibilities.”

I have, Sebastian thinks, keeping a straight face, trying not to give away his internal monologue.

“You could save your sister. Stop her from being cursed - and keep her alive. You could avoid all of that unfortunate business with killing your uncle. You’d just need to find a way to just stay out of trouble. Ah! Your girlfriend. You could even find her earlier in life - you could have married her straight out of school,” Rees suggests with a knowing grin. “You could easily have had children - an entire family - by now. Have a career of your choice. So many paths you could take, Sallow. And it will all be within your grasp with this next mission.” 

His mind fills with images of a perfect life - having a “chance” meeting with Kate in his fourth year, sweetly kissing her hand as she flushes breathlessly; watching Anne, in full health, compete next to him as his partner in Crossed Wands; raucously celebrating graduation with all of his friends at the Three Broomsticks; buying the cottage for Kate - the exact same one - on his own with the inheritance he had been denied; setting up his own classroom as a professor at Hogwarts; watching Kate walk down the aisle in a white dress at their wedding… and then holding her hand tightly as she gives birth to their first child…

Wait. Sebastian’s breath catches as Mr. Cuddy’s words catch up to him. Find your girlfriend earlier in life.

They know about Kate.

How do they know about Kate?

Is she… Would they ever…?

He looks directly at Rees, narrowing his eyes. They’ve followed me. They had to have followed me. They know who she is. They must know where we live. They know… they know too much. Do they know about the DMLE? Do the Kelpies truly think I’m working for them against the Ministry? Or do they not trust me? This could be an opportunity for them to… dispose of me…

Sebastian’s hand balls into a fist, but he maintains eye contact, trying to play the part of a cool and collected ally. Pretend, pretend, pretend. Worry later!

“Time travel is precarious,” Rees continues. “It is rife with risk. But with your propensity for research, you are our best choice to figure it out and use it to our - and your - advantage.”

“What are the risks?” Sebastian asks.

Rees takes a sip of his whiskey, then sighs. “I won’t sugarcoat it. Death. You could be trapped in the past… or the future… if you haven’t mastered the use of the Time Turner. If your past self sees your future self, it can supposedly cause insanity. These are the issues I understand. I’m sure you’ll discover more as you research, Sallow.”

Sebastian nods slowly and warily.

“So, will you accept this mission? Will you do what must be done so that we may change the past?” Mr. Cuddy asks in a serious tone. “If you succeed, we’ll initiate you, and you’ll be able to alter your own life for a better future.”

“I’ll do it,” Sebastian responds without hesitation.

Rees shakes his hand. “Best of luck. I will see you again in a matter of weeks, Sallow, to begin our experimentation.”

I’ll never help you, he says to Mr. Cuddy in his mind as he is escorted out of the room. I’ll never help the Kelpies. But I’ll help myself. I’ll change it all. He’s right. It’s high-risk, but… what a reward I could claim…

“Sebastian?” Kate calls from deep within the cottage, her voice flitting through an open window. “Is that you?”

Sebastian grinds his foot into the pebbled pathway leading from the road to the front door. His arms are in a spellcasting position, his wand arm aloft and the other outstretched and strained. He wills himself to ignore Kate’s calling, muttering enchantment after enchantment and waving his wand in intricate patterns. His warm brown eyes observe as a translucent dome finally appears, surrounding the little house. 

Just as he finishes the protective spells to ward their home against those who might do them harm, Kate appears, opening the door.

“Sebastian!” she shouts excitedly, rushing to meet him and pulling him into an embrace. He presses his lips to hers, a kiss of relief. She’s fine. All is well. He won’t have to worry about her safety in their cottage ever again. When they pull apart, she smiles brightly, her yellow hair illuminated by the sun. “I’m so happy you’re home.” 

“As am I, love,” he replies softly, gently taking her hand and strolling towards the door.

Just as he is about to step inside after her, he realizes he has left the books Mr. Cuddy gave him on the grass. He squeezes Kate’s hand, then trots to grab them.

“New books?” she asks.

“Yes. Just… some research for the job,” he tells her nonchalantly, catching back up to her.

He glances about the property, scanning for anything off; then, he enters the cottage, where his devoted girlfriend has dinner waiting just for him. 

[shentheauthor]

Stack of Tomes

[miasmat]

💙 and 🌊 for Seth :D !!

💙 Describe their bedroom! Is it personalized, unchanged? Messy, neat? We'd have three stages here, childhood bedroom, guest room at Beckett's house and later their shared bedroom (which stays unchanged by Seth cause Beckett is very particular about his living space). The childhood bedroom is very much a typical 90s metalhead den, cleaned only on holidays, posters covering most of the walls, a TV, lots of 'trash' his parents told him to throw out countless times like a street sign, old bike turned into a clothes rack, a couch with many broken springs, stacks of books next to his nearly holy pile of CDs. And there is one very special drawer hiding a very special box with all the photos of him and his ex, Alex. This vibe for sure (well, minus the obvious ruin):

When he lives in the small room in Beckett's—rather ancient, by Seth's standards—house, he doesn't see it quite fit to claim it as his own. He is aware that it became his only home, but still he feels too much respect towards the old vampire to give it the same makeover as his childhood room received. Though over time Seth's residency becomes obvious, there is a completely new, though definitely smaller stack of CDs, many books, and yellowed tomes nibbled out by moths. There is also a growing collection of postcards, neatly lined on the wall next to the bed; one that Beckett has once described as amusing, though Seth never managed to decipher what his mentor meant by that.

🌊 Does this oc have a secret or repressed desire?

After the whole fiasco that was the 2004 L.A. events, after trying his stay at the Pyramid and then lone wolfing archaeology until he does archaeology with the lone wolf, he does have a secret desire. He's not proud of it, in fact remembering his state of mind from that time makes him physically cringe. Seth spends a lot of energy, resources and time to find a way to reverse his embrace. The more time he spends alone after ditching the Pyramid, the more bitter he grows over time, the loneliness becomes unbearable, and it's almost laughable to him how, with hindsight, his old life seems preferable to what it is now. Cowering in the night, feeding on people just as unfortunate as he was not too long ago, trying to come to terms with his not-quite-death by acting like he can still have a hobby, still can occupy himself as if nothing happened, seems ridiculous at the best of times. He really is not proud of it—when the renowned Gangrel, by either sheer luck or lapse of judgement, takes him under his wing—Seth uses his resources by extension to further his goal. It all comes to a rather cacophonic halt when Beckett finds him, late into the noon hunched over his desk, looking more-so like a Malkavian at the verge of a breakdown. Scattered about were many papers of varying colours; old manuscripts and ripped book pages, more or less created before Beckett's birth, to handwritten notes and prints seemingly containing rumours and young blood superstitions. Some few weeks passed after that event, filled with silence and shame, but since then Seth had, with lots of hardships, managed to come to terms that his old life will remain buried in the past.

[coolbeans32]

Echoes of Destiny: The Serpent and the Phoenix

PAIRING: Tom Riddle x F!Reader (OC)

SYNOPSIS: Back at Grimmauld, tensions rise with the presence of a Horcrux, as Harry, Hermione, and Genevieve figure out the rest of the objects that Tom turned into vessels of his soul. Ron, feeling the rouse of the darkness of the Slytherin locket, starts an argument leading toward a scuffle between him and his best mate. Ron leaves to head back home, leaving Hermione and Harry devastated. Genevieve comforts the two as she figures out the next location to search for a Horcrux and goes on a mission to enter Bellatrix Black's vault to successfully find and retrieve Helga Hufflepuff's Cup.

WARNINGS: This chapter contains scenes of dark magical objects, arguments, scuffles between friends, trauma, loss, guilt, and the use of an Unforgivable curse (Imperius Curse).

WORD COUNT: 5.6k

Previous Part| Next Part

Chapter Eleven

Hufflepuff's Cup

Back at the library, Genevieve had placed the locket in a safe place, knowing how dangerous and dark the object was. Now the trio and Genevieve were investigating the next set of horcruxes they needed to find. It was obvious that the Diary and Locket were the first two, and Genevieve had suspicions of Tom’s ring to be another horcrux due to his connection with them. The other four were going to be the mystery to solve.

"We need to think like Tom," Genevieve murmured, her eyes scanning the pages of an old grimoire. "He wouldn't choose just any object for his Horcruxes. They must hold significance to him. Aside from his lineage, I know Hogwarts is very important to him.”

Harry, his mind racing, asked, "But what kind of objects would he choose to represent Hogwarts? It’s not like there is much aside from the castle."

Hermione's eyes lit up as she rifled through a stack of books. "Wait, the Founders of Hogwarts…They each had treasured possessions, didn't they?"

Genevieve's gaze sharpened as she considered Hermione's words. "Yes, you're right. Salazar Slytherin's locket was already one of them, and represented Tom and his family. Aren’t there others as well?"

Hermione reached for a large tome titled "A History of Hogwarts" and began flipping through its pages. "According to this, Godric Gryffindor had a sword, which Harry fought the Basilisk with, Helga Hufflepuff possessed a cup, and Rowena Ravenclaw always wore a diadem."

Harry's eyes widened with realization. "So, aside from Slytherin's locket, the other trinkets most likely became Horcruxes."

Genevieve nodded in agreement. "Exactly. And given that Gryffindor's sword only presents itself to someone with courage and in need of the sword, it's unlikely to be a Horcrux. That leaves us with Hufflepuff's cup and Ravenclaw's diadem."

Hermione's fingers traced the words on the page as she read aloud, "Helga Hufflepuff's cup was a treasured artifact passed down through generations of her descendants. And Rowena Ravenclaw's diadem was said to enhance the wisdom of its wearer."

Genevieve's eyes gleamed with determination. "Then those must be our next targets. We need to find Hufflepuff's cup and Ravenclaw's diadem before Voldemort does."

Harry clenched his fists, his resolve hardening. "Agreed. We'll search every corner of the wizarding world if we have to. We can't let Voldemort succeed. Then the three heard something and in an instant, saw the lights go out, making the three jump only for Ron to come with the Deluminator.

"One problem, we don’t know where the trinkets are." Ron said and he put the lights back on. "Yeah, I'm still here. But you three carry on. Don't let me spoil the fun." Ron told them and Harry gritted his teeth. Genevieve took a step back to observe what was going to happen and noticed that he had the locket around his neck. She asked herself, How the hell did he get it? I locked it in the desk drawer.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked him.

"Wrong? Nothing's wrong. Not according to you, anyway." Ron told him.

"Look, if you've got something to say, don't be shy. Spit it out." Harry  said to him, irritated.

"Alright, I'll spit it out. But don't expect me to be grateful just because there's another damn thing we've gotta find." Ron said and Harry narrowed his eyes at him.

"I thought you knew what you signed up for, Ron." 

"Yeah. I thought I did too." Ron told them. 

"Well then Ron, I'm sorry but I don't quite understand what you're trying to say to me." Harry exclaimed sarcastically to him. "What part of this isn't living up to your expectations? Did you think we were gonna be staying in a five star hotel? Finding a Horcrux every other day? Thought you'd be back with your mum by Christmas?"

"I just thought, after all this time we would've achieved something. I thought you knew what you were doing." Ron mouthed to Harry, and Hermione exchanged looks to Genevieve with worry. "I thought Dumbledore told you something worthwhile. I thought you had a plan."

"I told you everything Dumbledore told me. And in case you haven't noticed we found a Horcrux already." Harry told him with anger.

"Yeah, and we're as close to getting rid of it as we are finding the rest of them." Ron retorted back to me.

Genevieve went towards Ron. "Ron. take the Horcrux off. You have no idea what you’re saying. Just give it to me.” She said with her hand stretched toward him. 

"Do you know why I listen to that radio? To make sure I don't hear my mum’s name, or my dad’s or Fred or George or Ginny." Ron said frustrated.

"What, you don't think I'm not listening? You think I don't know how it feels?!" Harry shouted at him in frustration.

"No, you don't know how it feels! Your parents are dead! You have no family!" Ron shouted at Harry, like a slap to a face. He felt extremely angry and dived and started hitting Ron. A brawl had started. Genevieve rolled her eyes at the immaturity of the two boys. Merlin help me if I have to deal with this shit all over again, she thought of as she recalled how Tom and Malfoy would do the exact same thing back in her time. 

"Stop. Stop!" Hermione shouted at them.

"Fine, then go!" Harry shouted at him with anger. "Go, then!" 

"Fine." Ron said and took off the locket as he grabbed his bag and scowled at Hermione and Harry.

"Ron." Hermione said to him.

"And you?" Ron asked Hermione. "Are you coming or are you staying?"Hermione just stood still, conflicted.

 "Fine I get it. I’ve seen the both of you recently.” Ron jabbed.

"It's not like that." Hermione  said to him. "Ron you're angry and I get it but you have to calm down." Hermione said but Ron walked out, and Hermione moved to reach him. Hermione ran out for him when they heard a WHOOSH. Ron was gone.

In the quiet solitude of Grimmauld Place, Genevieve found Hermione sitting alone in the dimly lit library, her eyes red-rimmed from tears and her expression drawn with sadness. The tension in the air was palpable, a lingering reminder of the argument that had just unfolded between Ron and Harry.

Approaching her with a gentle smile, Genevieve took a seat beside Hermione and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Hey there, Hermione. Are you okay?" she asked softly, her voice laced with concern. Hermione let out a shaky breath, her eyes still glistening with unshed tears. "I don't know, Genevieve. Everything just feels so... complicated right now," she admitted, her voice trembling with emotion.

Genevieve nodded in understanding, her gaze warm and empathetic. "I know, Hermione. It's been a rough day," she replied, her tone soothing. "But you're not alone. We're all here for you, no matter what." Hermione offered a weak smile, grateful for Genevieve's comforting presence. "Thanks, Genevieve. It just... hurts, you know? Seeing Ron and Harry fight like that. I hate seeing them at odds with each other."

Genevieve squeezed Hermione's shoulder gently, her expression filled with compassion. "I understand, Hermione. It's never easy when the people we care about are at odds with each other," she said softly. "But remember, Ron and Harry have been through so much together. They'll work things out eventually."

Hermione nodded, her features softening as she took comfort in Genevieve's words. "You're right, Genevieve. I just...I just wish Ron wouldn’t have left like that," she admitted, her voice tinged with sadness. Genevieve smiled reassuringly, her eyes shining with understanding. "Horcruxes tend to do that. They’re vessels of the darkest parts of one soul. And in the meantime, if you ever need someone to talk to or just a shoulder to lean on, I'll be right here," she promised, her voice filled with sincerity.

Hermione's smile grew more genuine, a glimmer of hope returning to her eyes. "Thank you, Genevieve. I really appreciate it," she said, her voice soft with gratitude. With a comforting squeeze of Hermione's shoulder, Genevieve offered her friend a reassuring smile. "Anytime, Hermione. We're in this together, remember?" she said, her voice warm and supportive. As they sat together in the quiet of the library, Hermione found solace in Genevieve’s company, their bond growing stronger with each passing moment. And amidst the turmoil and uncertainty, she knew that Genevieve was someone who she could count on to unbear the weight she’s carried all along. 

The darkness of the night cloaked in an eerie stillness as Genevieve made her way through the dimly lit corridors. The weight of the day's events hung heavy on her shoulders, and she couldn't shake the feeling of unease that gnawed at her insides. As she wandered the ancient halls, her thoughts turned to Harry, wondering how he was coping with everything that had transpired. Turning a corner, Genevieve spotted a faint light emanating from the Black Tapestry room. Curiosity piqued, she pushed open the door and stepped inside, her gaze falling upon Harry pacing back and forth, his expression clouded with frustration and sadness.

"Harry?" Genevieve called out softly, her voice breaking the silence of the room.

Startled, Harry turned to face her, his eyes tired and weary. "Genevieve," he said, his voice heavy with emotion. "What are you doing up at this hour?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Genevieve replied, her tone gentle as she approached him. "I couldn't sleep. And it seems like you're having trouble too."

Harry let out a weary sigh, his shoulders slumping with exhaustion. "It's Ron," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "Our fight earlier, and I just can't shake this feeling of guilt."

Genevieve placed a comforting hand on Harry's arm, her eyes filled with empathy. "Harry, it's not your fault," she said firmly, her voice laced with conviction. "Remember what I said about the Horcrux? It has a way of magnifying our darkest thoughts and emotions. Your fight with Ron was a result of that influence."

Harry nodded, but the guilt still lingered in his eyes. "I know, but... it's hard not to blame myself," he admitted, his voice wavering with emotion. "Especially after everything that's happened."

Genevieve took a step closer to Harry, her expression softening with compassion. "I understand, Harry. But you have to remember that you're not alone in this. We're all here for you, no matter what," she said earnestly, her voice filled with sincerity.

Harry looked at Genevieve, his eyes brimming with unshed tears. "I miss him, Genevieve," he confessed, his voice cracking with emotion. "I miss Sirius so much. And every time I think about what happened... it just hurts."

Genevieve pulled Harry into a comforting embrace, holding him close as he let out a choked sob. "I know, Harry. I know," she murmured softly, her voice a soothing presence in the darkness. "But you have to remember that it wasn't your fault. You did everything you could to save him."

Harry clung to Genevieve, his shoulders trembling with emotion. "But it wasn't enough," he whispered hoarsely, his voice thick with tears. "I failed him."

Genevieve shook her head, her heart aching for his pain. "No, Harry. You didn't fail him. You fought for him with every ounce of your being," she said firmly, her voice unwavering. "And even though he's gone, his memory lives on in you. You carry his legacy with you, always." Harry buried his face in Genevieve's shoulder, seeking solace in her comforting embrace. For a moment, they stood together in the darkness, finding strength in each other's presence. And as the weight of Harry's grief began to lift, replaced by a glimmer of hope. 

She says softly, “It's late. You should get some rest.”

Harry said, “I know, but I can't seem to quiet my mind.”

“I understand, but pacing around won't solve anything. Sometimes, you just need to let go of your worries and trust that things will be better in the morning.”

“Easier said than done.”

“I know, but you need to take care of yourself. You've been through so much already. You deserve some peace.”

“I just can't shake this feeling of uneasiness.”

“I get it. But worrying won't change anything. Right now, what you need most is rest. Trust me, things always look better after a good night's sleep.”

“Okay, you win. I'll try to get some sleep.”

“That's the spirit. I'll be right here if you need anything. Goodnight, Harry.”

“Goodnight, Genevieve.” Harry says as he yawns. He moves to head back to sleep, leaving Genevieve standing in the room with her own racing thoughts.

As Genevieve stood before the Black Tapestry, her gaze fixed upon the intricate threads that wove together the history of the ancient family, her mind was a tumultuous whirlwind of conflicting emotions. The dreams haunted her still, vivid and unsettling. Two children, innocent and full of life, torn away from her grasp in a cruel twist of fate. 

And then there was Tom. His anguished outcry, his desperate plea for her return, echoed in her mind like a haunting refrain. The memory of his pain cut deep, a sharp reminder of the bond they once shared, before everything fell apart. But amidst the sorrow and the uncertainty, there was a flicker of determination burning within her. She refused to let despair consume her, refused to succumb to the darkness that threatened to engulf her.

For she knew that she had a purpose, a mission that transcended her own pain. She would bring Tom back, no matter the cost. She would defy fate itself if she had to, to see him standing before her once again. The path ahead was fraught with danger, filled with obstacles she could scarcely imagine. But she would face them head-on, with unwavering resolve and unyielding determination. For Tom was her everything, her reason for being. And she would not rest until she had him back by her side, where he rightfully belonged.

As Genevieve's eyes scanned the intricate patterns of the Black Tapestry, tracing the lineage of the ancient family through the ages, her thoughts swirled with a mixture of curiosity and unease. The most recent additions to the tapestry caught her attention, the two Black sisters standing out amongst the myriad of names and faces of Bellatrix and Narcissa. She also seemed to notice that someone had been blasted off the tapestry. Genevieve closed her eyes and hummed. She touched the blasted hole and let her magic run through her fingers and not a second later, she saw that she fixed it. Another sister appeared before her, Andromeda Black. Genevieve couldn't help but wonder what had happened. 

But as her gaze lingered on their names, a sense of foreboding washed over her. The sisters were entwined in a web of darkness and deceit, if she knew the Blacks at all, and she sure did. Their lives were shaped by forces beyond their control. Genevieve tore her gaze away from the tapestry, feeling a sense of disquiet settle over her. Leaving the room behind, she made her way through the corridors, her steps guided by a sense of purpose. She sought out Walburga, the matriarch of the Black family, hoping to glean some insight into the secrets that lay buried within the ancient walls.

As she approached Walburga's portrait, she braced herself for the inevitable confrontation. She had questions that needed answers, truths that needed to be uncovered. And she would not rest until she had unraveled the mysteries of the past, and perhaps, a glimmer of hope for the future.

Genevieve stood before the imposing portrait of Walburga Black, her former friend and confidante. The stern-faced woman in the portrait regarded her with a mixture of suspicion and disdain, her lips drawn into a tight line.

"Walburga," Genevieve began tentatively, her voice echoing softly in the quiet hallway. "I need to speak with you."

Walburga's expression softened slightly at the sound of Genevieve's voice, a flicker of recognition crossing her features. "Genevieve," she replied curtly. "What brings you here?"

Genevieve hesitated for a moment before pressing on, her curiosity outweighing her apprehension. "I wanted to ask you about your nieces – Bellatrix, Andromeda, and Narcissa. What happened to them?"

A shadow passed over Walburga's face at the mention of her nieces, a mix of sorrow and regret clouding her eyes. "Ah, my dear nieces," she murmured, her voice tinged with sadness. "They were once the pride of the Black family, shining examples of pureblood heritage." She paused, gathering her thoughts before continuing. "Bellatrix, the eldest, was always the most fervent in her devotion to the Dark Lord. From a young age, she showed a ruthless determination to prove herself, to earn his favor at any cost." Genevieve listened intently, absorbing every word as Walburga recounted the tale of her nieces' descent into darkness.

"Andromeda," Walburga continued, her voice tinged with regret, "chose a different path, one that led her away from the family's traditions and into the arms of a Muggle-born wizard. She betrayed our bloodline, shaming us all with her disgraceful actions." \Genevieve frowned at the harshness of Walburga's words, sensing the pain that lay beneath her facade of disdain.

"And Narcissa," Genevieve prompted, her curiosity piqued by the mention of the youngest Black sister.

"Narcissa," Walburga sighed, her voice heavy with sorrow. "She too was ensnared by the machinations of the Dark Lord, but her motives were driven not by loyalty, but by love. She sought to protect her family at all costs, even if it meant aligning herself with forces beyond her control."

"And now," Genevieve murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, "the family is but a shadow of its former self."

Walburga nodded solemnly, her gaze fixed on Genevieve with a newfound respect. "Indeed," she replied. "But perhaps there is still hope for redemption, for a chance to reclaim what has been lost." Genevieve nodded, feeling a pang of sympathy for Andromeda and the difficult choices she had been forced to make. The conflict between family duty and personal desire was a familiar one, and she couldn't help but admire Andromeda's courage in following her heart. For it was never an easy feat to defy family beliefs and tradition.

However, hearing that Bellatrix was devoted to Tom drew suspicions to Genevieve’s mind. To give up your freedom and to follow his counterpart entirely at such a young age only made her wonder, if Bellatrix was as loyal as Walburga said she was, and knowing Tom, he would give only his few and most loyal followers the most important tasks. Tasks, that could mean protecting a horcrux. Genevieve’s eyes widened at this idea. However, she would need confirmation from both Walburga and Harry and Hermione before anything. 

With one final question, Genevieve asked Walburga, “Whom did your nieces marry?”

Walburga said, “Well…Bellatrix married Rodolphus Lestrange. Andromeda married a Muggleborn…believe his name was Tonks or something along those lines. Narcissa married Lucius Malfoy.” Genevieve’s eyes narrowed at the mention of a Malfoy. She despised the Malfoy lineage, especially Abraxas. She recalled the times that he would torment Tom, only for him to be a slimy git and later on wanting to follow Tom for his power and his connection to Slytherin himself.

Genevieve thanked Walburga, “Thank you dear friend, you have helped me a great dear.”

Wlaburga nodded, “Not a problem my dear but I must say, you never mentioned how you are alive.” 

Genevieve smiled, “Like I said, it’s a long story. Nonetheless, when time is on our side, I’ll tell you all of it. Think of it as a favor I owe you for your insightfulness.”

Walburga smirked, “Once a Slytherin, always a Slytherin. Very well, good luck Gen. Toujours Pur.”

Genevieve replied, “Toujours Pur. Goodnight Walburga.”

As the morning sunlight streamed through the windows of Grimmauld, Genevieve bustled around the kitchen, preparing a hearty breakfast for Harry and Hermione. The aroma of sizzling bacon and freshly brewed coffee filled the air as she moved about with practiced efficiency. Harry and Hermione soon entered the kitchen, their tired expressions brightening at the sight and smell of the delicious spread laid out before them.

"Morning, Genevieve," Harry greeted with a warm smile as he took a seat at the table.

"Good morning, Harry, Hermione," Genevieve chimed, returning the smile as she set down plates of eggs and toast in front of them.

"Wow, this looks amazing," Hermione exclaimed, her eyes lighting up with delight as she took in the array of food.

Genevieve chuckled, pleased with their reactions. "Well, I figured we could use a good breakfast to start the day off right." As they dug into their meal, the conversation flowed easily between them, filled with laughter and camaraderie.

"So, any plans for today?" Genevieve asked, taking a sip of her coffee.

Harry shrugged, "Not much, really. Just going to try and decipher more of that mysterious note from R.A.B. and see if we can get insight to track down the next Horcrux."

Hermione nodded in agreement, her brow furrowed in concentration. "Yes, and I was thinking we should revisit some of the books in the library. There might be some clues we've overlooked."

Genevieve nodded thoughtfully, "Harry, I've been meaning to ask you," she began, her voice gentle. "How exactly did you acquire the diary that turned out to be a horcrux?" 

Harry paused, setting down his fork as he recalled the events of his second year at Hogwarts. "It was Ginny Weasley who had the diary first," he explained. "Lucius Malfoy slipped it into her cauldron when we were shopping for school supplies at Diagon Alley. Ginny became attached to it, but then strange things started happening. I found the diary in the girl's bathroom on the second floor. That's when I started writing in it, and that's when I met Tom Riddle." 

Genevieve listened intently as Harry recounted his encounter with the memory of Tom Riddle trapped within the diary. She could sense the weight of his words, the lingering trauma of facing Voldemort's past self. "And then," Harry continued, his voice tinged with determination, "I destroyed the horcrux with the basilisk fang from the Chamber of Secrets. It was the only way to stop Riddle from regaining his power." Genevieve's eyes widened at the fact that maybe she was right. If Lucius had a horcrux with him, then Bellatrix would as well, being the protectors of objects of such dark magic, she knew that Tom most likely gave it to them without them knowing what they were hiding. 

“That must have been extremely difficult. Destroying dark magic is extremely difficult and dangerous.” Genevieve said softly. 

“It was,” Harry replied, “But at the time, I didn’t know what it was. All I knew is that I had to save Ginny.”

Genevieve smiled, “You are extremely brave for that.”

Harry slightly blushed. “Thanks, uhm…I guess.”

Genevieve then asked curiously, “So Lucius Malfoy, is he a follower of Tom’s exclusive gang. Is he a Knight?”

Harry and Hermione were confused and furrowed their eyebrows. Harry said puzzled, “Uhm, no he’s a Death Eater. He was there when Voldemort came back to life.”

Genevieve furrowed her eyebrows now, “Death Eaters?”

Hermione interjected, “Yeah…those are what Voldemort’s followers are called. They bear the mark of a snake and skull.”

Genevieve eyes looked like they were going to barge out, “A mark? With a snake and skull? Where the snake comes out of the skull’s head?”

Harry, fumbling with his words said, “Yeah…wait how do you know that?”

Genevieve sighed, “I drew something once of exactly what you described. I was going to get a tattoo, like the ones Muggles have. I thought they were fascinating and I thought it would be a perfect way to rebel against my fathers. I never expected Tom to make it a mark for his followers…but I know if I was there still, none of this would happen. I think he became lost but I don’t think it was just because of me.”

Hermione, curious, asked, “What do you mean?”

Genevieve, slightly frustrated at herself, “I don’t know…I remember many things but there are still some things I can’t seem to recall…like if I am missing memories.”

Harry, concerned, wondered and asked Genevieve, “Do you think you lost some of your own memories?”

Genevieve turned to Harry and took a deep breath, “No…but I think I might need time to recall them.” Harry and Hermione merely looked at her and wondered how much more suffering she would endure. Genevieve turned to them, and softly smiled, “Don’t worry about me. It’s most likely because I was asleep for so many years. Why don’t you guys freshen up and we’ll meet in the library later.” Both Harry and Hermione smiled and finished their breakfast before moving to get ready for the day.

Draped in dark robes that the great Bellatrix Lestrange would wear, Genevieve strode through the marble halls of Gringotts Bank with an air of authority. Her features shifted and morphed with each step, her magic disguising her true identity flawlessly.

"I wish to open my vault," she barked at the nearest goblin, her voice a chilling echo of Bellatrix's own.

The goblin hesitated, eyeing her warily. "You must show your wand," he insisted, his voice gruff with suspicion.

Genevieve's lips curled into a cold smile as she met the goblin's gaze. With a flick of her wrist, she cast the Imperius Curse upon him, bending his will to her own. "Lead the way," she commanded, her tone brooking no argument. The goblin obeyed, leading Genevieve through the twisting corridors of Gringotts until they reached the imposing door of the Black vault. As they approached, the goblin spoke in hushed tones, moving to bang the bell to distract the Dragon that protected the vault. Genevieve told him to stop what he was about to do.

Genevieve smirked, her confidence unshaken. She stepped forward and hissed in Parseltongue, her words laced with ancient magic. 

“I mean no harm oh great Mother of Snakes.”

The dragon, startled by her ability to speak its language, rumbled in surprise. “A Ssspeaker, there isss very few of you left.”

“Yesss there are few left of usss. I only come to retrieve what is rightfully mine. If you allow me to passs of courssse.”

“Go ahead, my child.” Genevieve is able to head to the vault as soon as the dragon moves aside for her. Entering the vault, Genevieve's sharp eyes quickly scanned the dimly lit chamber. Galleons lay scattered across the floor, each one cursed to multiply upon touch. Ignoring the tempting glint of gold, she focused her attention on her objective.

There, nestled among the glittering treasures, she spotted it: Helga Hufflepuff's cup, gleaming with ancient power. With steady hands, she reached out and plucked it from its resting place, cradling it gently in her grasp. Safely stowing the cup in her satchel, Genevieve turned to leave the vault. But before she departed, she paused to bow respectfully to the dragon, gratitude shining in her eyes.

"Thank you Mother," she murmured, her voice sincere.

With a regal nod of its head, the dragon watched as Genevieve made her way back through the winding tunnels of Gringotts, her mission accomplished. As she emerged into the daylight, she allowed herself a small smile of satisfaction. The next step in their quest was complete, and she was one step closer to bringing Tom Riddle back from the darkness.

Harry and Hermione pored over dusty tomes and ancient scrolls, searching for any clue that might lead them to the remaining Horcruxes. The air was heavy with the scent of old parchment and the weight of their mission hung over them like a shroud. Harry slammed another book shut in frustration, causing Hermione to glance up from her own research with a concerned frown. "Any luck?" she asked, her voice gentle.

Harry shook his head, running a hand through his tousled hair. "Nothing," he muttered, his frustration evident. "I can't believe we've been at this for hours and we still don't have a clue about where to find Hufflepuff's cup or Ravenclaw's diadem."

Hermione's brow furrowed in thought as she turned back to her book, flipping through the pages with a sense of determination. "We just need to keep looking," she insisted, her voice unwavering. "There has to be something here that can help us."

Harry nodded, though his frustration still simmered beneath the surface. "I just wish we had more to go on," he admitted, his tone heavy with frustration. Just then, Hermione's attention was drawn back to her book, her eyes scanning the words intently. But as she tried to focus, thoughts of Ron's well-being began to creep into her mind, distracting her from her research.

"Have you seen Genevieve?" Harry's voice interrupted her thoughts, causing her to startle slightly.

Hermione shook her head, her expression troubled. "Not since breakfast," she replied, her voice tinged with concern. "Do you think something's wrong?"

Harry shrugged, though his worry was evident in his eyes. "I don't know," he admitted. "But I just have a feeling that we could use her help right now." As Harry moved off to search for another book, Hermione turned back to her own research, trying to focus her attention. But the weight of their mission, coupled with her concerns for Ron, weighed heavily on her mind. Unable to fight off the exhaustion any longer, she let her head fall onto the pages of her book, succumbing to sleep as the words blurred before her eyes.

Genevieve wandered through Grimmauld, her footsteps echoing softly against the ancient walls as she made her way to the library. She had been on her way to give the exciting news to both Harry and Hermione when she stumbled upon Hermione, fast asleep amidst a pile of books. Gently, Genevieve reached out and shook Hermione's shoulder, rousing her from her slumber. Hermione jolted awake with a gasp, her eyes wide with confusion before they softened with relief upon seeing Genevieve.

"Genevieve!" Hermione exclaimed, her voice filled with joy as she moved to embrace her friend. But before she could, her expression shifted to one of reproach. "Where have you been? Harry and I have been worried sick!"

Harry entered the library just in time to catch Hermione's scolding, his brow furrowed with concern. "Yeah, Genevieve, we've been worried about you, you just disappeared" he added, his tone matching Hermione's. Genevieve smiled softly at their concern, holding up her hands in a gesture of peace. "I'm sorry for disappearing like that without saying anything," she began, her voice gentle. "But I needed some time to clear my head and think things through."

Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but Genevieve held up a hand to silence her. "I promise I'm okay," she reassured them. "And I think I may have found a lead on where to find Hufflepuff's cup and Ravenclaw's diadem."

Harry and Hermione exchanged a glance, their concern giving way to curiosity. "What did you find?" Harry asked, his voice eager. Genevieve beckoned them closer, her expression serious. "But first, we need to make sure we're all calm and focused," she said. "Because what I'm about to tell you is going to require all of our attention." Harry and Hermione nodded.

Genevieve stood before Harry and Hermione, a triumphant smile playing on her lips as she moved to show them Hufflepuff's cup delicately in her hands. The room fell silent as Harry and Hermione's jaws dropped in astonishment, their eyes widening in disbelief at the sight before them.

"H-how... W-when…Where did you find that?" Hermione stuttered, her voice barely above a whisper as she struggled to comprehend what she was seeing.

Genevieve's smile widened as she glanced between her two friends, excitement bubbling within her. "It's a long story, but let me explain," she began, her tone filled with confidence. "Remember how you told me that Lucius Malfoy had Tom’s diary and put it in Ginny’s cauldron?"

Harry and Hermione nodded, their attention fully focused on Genevieve as she continued. "Well, it got me thinking. If Lucius had it and it was a Horcrux, then surely another member of his inner circle must have been entrusted with a Horcrux as well, without even knowing it."

Harry's eyes widened in realization, his mind racing to piece together the puzzle. "Bellatrix," he whispered, the pieces falling into place.

Genevieve nodded, her smile turning knowing. "Exactly. Bellatrix was one of the youngest followers of Voldemort and was fiercely devoted to him, just like Regulus. It got me thinking of the possibility that she was given a Horcrux to protect without even realizing what it was, especially if her cousin knew about them and Malfoy beared a Horcrux as well"

Hermione's eyes sparkled with curiosity as she leaned in closer, hanging on Genevieve's every word. "But how did you know where she hid it?" she asked, her voice filled with wonder.

Genevieve's smile turned mischievous as she recounted her daring adventure. "I had a little chat with Walburga," she began, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "The Black family always protected their most prized possessions in their vault. So, I disguised myself as Bellatrix and retrieved the Horcrux from the Black vault."

Harry and Hermione exchanged a look of awe, their admiration for Genevieve evident in their expressions. "That's incredible," Harry breathed, his voice filled with admiration.

Genevieve nodded, a sense of satisfaction washing over her. "It was risky, but it was worth it," she said, her voice tinged with determination. "And now, we're one step closer to bringing Tom back and destroying Voldemort."

Taglist: @wheenerrr @jillian2003 @secretkittydreamland

Tom Riddle Masterlist

© coolbeans32 2024

[lavampira]

☮ + ☼ + ■ for d'alia!

oc headcanon asks

ty lovely !! 💚

☮ - friendship headcanon

the one (1) cat-like miqo’te headcanon that I really enjoy is the head bonk of affection……… which d’alia does with her friends!! she’s physically open with loved ones anyway, but a little lean into a pal and bonking her head against them is her way of conveying like ‘hi I’m here ily’ without having to verbally express it.

☼ - appearance headcanon

when she’s wearing more casual outfits instead of armor, she tends to lean towards more deepcut or open shirts, and likes a lot of layered necklaces and stacked rings!!

■ - bedroom/house/living quarters headcanon

her living space often looks a bit messy when she’s alone, like, it’s some semblance of organized chaos where she knows all the locations of things, technically, but it’s still untidied. haphazard clothes on the floor, open tomes lying around, leafy plants spilling out of pots or trellis when she’s been too lazy or busy to trim them back.

[mydisenchantedeulogy]

Love Me Bitterly [Chapter One] Secret Admirer [Adam]

A/n: I'm not sure if I'll have much time to work on this, but I certainly wanted to go ahead and post the first chapter. I'm not a big fan of Adam, but I love redemption-based fics, so I was inspired to write one. If this type of story isn't your cup of tea, please ignore it.

Warning(s): lewd compliments, sexual harassment, secret admirer, OC, redemption-based fic, Adam is Adam.

Next Chapter

The art here is what Marcella looks like to me.

No Minors Allowed!!

Marcella curled her nose in disgust at the lewd compliment left on her desk; the third one this week, she noted. Each one complimented her in a way that made her feel uncomfortable, and dare she say, cheap. 

‘Nice rack.’

She, like the others, crumbled the sticky note and tossed it in the waste bin. Whoever the pervert was, she hoped she never met them. With an uneasy sigh, Marcella put away her insulated lunch box and returned to her task, tending to the library.

While it was a fun and laid-back job, it was not what she would rather be doing. She was, for lack of a better word, promoted. Her sister, not by blood, but as fictive kin, moved her to the historical library to reflect on her actions when she nearly stood against an elected head on Earth who was abusing his power. It was her job as a warrior of the “Powers” to protect the cosmos from evil, and yet she was being chastised for doing what she felt was right. 

Disobedience is what the Morningstar was cast out for, her sister reminded her. Tread carefully, or you too might suffer the same fate.

Marcella was sick of being reminded of this, a tale as old as time. Every angel through the hierarchy, from Seraphim to the Virtuous knew of Lucifer and his fall. If one toe crossed the line, it was, ‘Don't be like Lucifer’, but she saw no fault in her actions. Perhaps it was why she was still attending the library rather than looking in on Earth or guarding the celestial byways. 

Regardless, she longed for action, rather than being the focus of some pervert's wet dream. 

Woe is me. 

Marcella tucked a strand of wavy light blonde hair behind her ear and grabbed the book cart, rolling it from behind her mahogany L-shaped desk. There was a stack of returned tomes the “Thrones” had checked out that she needed to return to the shelves.

As she sauntered to the middle of the room, she glanced around. The library was a relatively simple design with a wooden gallery and richly carved stone wall pilasters that dictated literary-themed nods. It was said to house thousands of books; from short stories to old tomes. Its only real shortcoming was how vacant it was. Marcella could hear a breath from a mile away. 

She picked up a tome and spread her pastel orange wings and flew to the second floor, landing gracefully on the bridge that crossed between the circle. Her asymmetrical Alice blue dress brushed against her thigh as she sauntered to the correct shelf and deposited the tome at the bottom where it belonged; the heavier books always went on the bottom shelf. 

The sudden sound of gentle footsteps prompted her to peek over the banister where one of her sisters, Rilea, stood. She was in her early twenties, a bubbly angel with a love for gossip. Her tea-length pale pink dress was clean and proper, not a stitch out of place, signifying that she was not on duty. 

Marcella flew down and greeted her with a smile. 

“What brings you here?” She asked.

Hopefully, to dismiss me from this pointless job, she opted not to say.

Rilea smiled wide. 

“I merely came to see how you were fairing, sister.”

Marcella knew better than to complain. 

“So Imelda didn't send you.”

“Why would she do that?” Rilea asked, tilting her head. “She has her hands tied at the moment, you know?”

She knew. There was never a lax day for the “Powers”, aside from library duty. Imelda was the Commander of their force, the same buzzkill who ‘promoted’ her. Marcella had hoped that she needed her back on duty. 

“What did you come up here for then?” The blonde asked, lowering her voice in disappointment. 

Rilea pouted. 

“Don't be broody. I told you I came to see you.”

Sure she did. Marcella turned and rolled her eyes, sauntering back to the desk. She leaned her arms on the tabletop and glanced at the redhead, whose hair was more a soft muted shade, then raised a brow.

“What have you heard?”

Rilea widened her grin and bounced on the toes of her shoes. 

“That you have an admirer.”

An admirer. Marcella frowned. Did she mean the pervert?

“That's an understatement.”

“Why say that? You're being unfair,” Rilea argued. 

She was bent out of shape about this for some reason. Suddenly, the realization hit Marcella like a bucket of ice water. 

“You know who it is, don't you?”

Rilea chuckled. 

“I sure do, but I'm not gonna tell you.”

How childish. Marcella turned up her baby blue eyes. 

“It's no skin off my back.”

“Then why did you want to know?” The redhead asked. She then widened her eyes and bounced in excitement. “You want to know because you are truly enamored by the idea of someone pining after you. That's so cute.”

Marcelle gave her an irritated look. 

“I want to know so I can report them for sexual harassment. ‘Looking good today, babe’, and ‘You look sexy in that dress’ is not a compliment.”

Was this person full of themselves?

“Noted,” Rilea declared. 

Marcella raised a brow. 

“I'll let him know. I mean…I don't know him personally but, Nera, my friend the Exorcist does,” she explained. “The only way to your heart is pure gentlemanly romance. I never took you as a big softy.”

“Or you could just tell him to leave me alone,” Marcella stated. 

She was not looking for a partner. All she wanted was to do her job.

Rilea stuck out her tongue.

“You're no fun, dear sister.”

Leaving shortly after to return to her post, Marcella was left alone again. Her thoughts wandered much to her dismay, to the pervert who had left sticky notes on her desk. Why did he like her? She was what the humans called a workaholic. It's all she ever knew; it's all her mother drilled in her head. 

A sigh of unease left her. 

Look at me now, grounded. 

Besides her cutesy, despondent appearance, what was there to like? 

At dusk, when the library closed, Marcella locked up and went home to her comfortable studio apartment. It was not much, but she loved the space. There was a big bay window right in her living area where she liked to sit and read, and then in her bedroom, across from it were her instruments.

One thing she loved about humans was their artistic talents, especially in terms of music. She bought a P-Bass after hearing her first riff, then also taught herself to play the violin; classical and rock - as the humans coined them - were her favorite genres. 

Such music became so loved in Heaven, within reason, that Marcella even joined a small band, Frisson, who played every once in a while in the square. Their last performance was a fortnight ago, and while she didn't play much, she did fill in for the lead vocalist and sang. Her voice was decent, not suited to bellow out a growl or a scream, but she handled their slower, sadder songs just fine. 

Since her Commander had benched her, perhaps she could get the band in agreement to play another gig soon. Marcella fell back onto her bed, spreading her wings, and sighed. She honestly had way too much time on her hands. 

“I need a new hobby.”

Tomorrow, she vowed to find one.