#she burns with the light of a thousand worlds

[ghouly-boiiiii]

A Light in the Dark 🕯️

Chapter 1: Throwing Stones

Lucy x Cooper Howard / The Ghoul

Summary: Takes place directly after the end of Season 1. As they begin their journey, Lucy is understandably very angry and fearful towards the Ghoul. She hates him, and is only joining him because she wants answers. He, however, is harboring secret feelings for Lucy ever since she saved his life. Having not been with anyone since Barb, and believing she would never feel the same, the bounty hunter has to deal with these feelings on his own. Little does he know, Lucy finds herself having inexplicable feelings for him as well, and struggling to make sense of them.

Tags: Slow Burn, Romance, Angst, Enemies to Lovers, Casual Sex Lucy and No Wait Let Me Court You Cooper, Cooper is touch-starved and rusty in bed, He's also self-conscious about his body, Ghoul channels old romantic Cooper, Lucy is confused by strange surface dweller mating customs, She helps him discover his old self, He helps her discover her true self, Did I mention there would be angst

Rating: Mature - Word Count: 1,742

SPOILER WARNING: Contains all the spoilers. No trigger warnings except eventual sexy time with a zombie man and lots of angst.

In this chapter...

To her horror, the rock shot straight forward and bounced off the back of The Ghoul’s head.

She threw her hands up in front of her. “I’m sorry! I-I didn’t mean to hit you! Please, don’t…”

“Don’t worry…” To her surprise, his voice was gentle and unthreatening. “I ain’t gonna do nothin’ to hurt cha’… But…” The Ghoul kneeled down and picked up a rock, then looked up at her and threw it in her direction.

She watched as fell to the ground at her feet.

“Huh… I missed.” He shrugged with an odd smile, then turned back around and kept walking.

Authors Note: This fic starts out somewhat similar to my other fic, My Name Is Cooper, because it starts directly after the end of the season. They have similar conversations at first, but the tone is much different and the story goes in a completely different direction. This one is more serious (still with some humor though, of course), and is probably going to be longer. I really wanted to do a more realistic, slow burn romance. I know there's a ton out there already, but I wanted to do my own version because idk, reasons I guess lol. But I really wanted to dive deep into how these two navigate their relationship and the very complicated feelings they might have for each other. This is what you might call another free-writing project, so I don't know *exactly* where it's gonna go, but I will do my best to make sure it has a decent ending when the time comes! Inspired by the cool peeps on Discord and touch-starved Cooper headcanons lol.

Lucy felt the cool night air fill her lungs as she took a deep breath and tried to still her mind. It was silent. Nothing but the soft crunch of leaves and dirt under their feet, and perhaps the occasional frog or cricket.

The vault dweller looked out at the distance before them. A fog rose up from the earth, illuminated by the faint glow of a thousand lights that mirrored the stars above. She was in awe, even thinking that it was beautiful. But it was only a distraction from all the pain and confusion she felt.

Her whole world had turned upside down. Nothing was as she believed it was. Nothing was as it seemed. Everything she thought she knew had crumbled into dust within a matter of minutes. She was numb. Overwhelmed. Everything felt surreal. And now she found herself once again alone… with him. 

As Lucy stared ahead at his silhouette in the darkness, she felt nothing but disdain. The young vault dweller was taught to forgive and forget. But she was fairly certain the people who taught her that were never fed to a giant salamander or tied up by their neck and dragged around a desert or sold for organs. How could she possibly forgive, let alone forget, such horrible things that were done to her?

She couldn’t. But she had to stuff down her feelings and let it go… for now. 

“So… where are we going?” Lucy finally asked. They must have been walking for at least thirty minutes at this point. And he hadn’t looked back even once, only reacting to the dog when she came up to him, and even then with barely more than a glance. Lucy wasn’t even sure if he knew she was still following him anymore.

The Ghoul didn’t answer right away. He waited a moment, before he took a breath and said, “Can’t say for sure yet… but looks like yo’ daddy might be headed for New Vegas.”

“...That’s a town?” 

“Big town.” 

“Okay…” Lucy took a deep breath. The conversation seemed to be going… okay so far. “So…  what’s in this town? Why do you think he’d want to go there?”

The Ghoul didn’t answer.

The vault dweller swallowed hard. She wanted to push, but she knew she had to be cautious. “How do you know my father? Are you going to tell me?”

The bounty hunter seemed to be ignoring her.

She huffed. He was so rude. So rude and inconsiderate and unaccommodating, it sickened her. Maybe if she started with something simpler… “Okay, so… do you got like a… name or something?”

Again, nothing.

Lucy frowned, her tone getting exasperated. “I’m just… wondering what I should call you… You really not gonna answer that either?”

“I don’t give a good goddamn what you call me.” He snapped, sounding a bit angry.

Lucy fell silent and her throat got tight, a bit of fear rising in her. She truly didn’t know what kind of madness compelled her to follow this man, after everything he did to her. She was hypervigilant about his every movement. Knowing that at any moment, he could turn around and try to do... something to her. 

With her hand on her pistol, she kept her distance. This one, armed with actual bullets. She wasn’t sure if it would do much, but it was something. 

Truly, every fiber of her being told her to get as far away from this… creature as she humanly could, but…

He had answers. And so did whoever they were going to find. She needed those answers. There was no question about it. Sure, she could just turn around and go home. Go back to her life in the Vault with Norm and Chet and Stephanie and everyone else. But she would never be able to live with herself. Those questions would never stop haunting her. She would never stop feeling compelled to seek the truth. Lucy knew this about herself, and her body acted almost automatically as she took one step in front of the other behind those of this two-hundred year old cowboy. 

“Look… you don’t have to talk to me if you don’t want to. Obviously, we’re not friends. But if we’re going to be working together… we need to at least communicate effectively...”

The Ghoul was silent for a moment, then finally responded, “Well, then… I got a question for you , Vaulty.”

“...Okay?”

“What happened to the doctor?”

“...The doctor?”

“Yeah. How’d he end up with no head?” This time, he did turn his head slightly, although not enough to see her. “...Who cut it off?”

"Uhh... Well, uh... I-I did..." Lucy's eyes fell to the ground.

"You did?" The bounty hunter said in surprise.

“Uhh… well…” She swallowed hard, as she remembered the task. She’ll never forget having to cut off someone’s head for the first time… and, well… hopefully, the last. “He asked me to.”

“He asked you to cut off his head?” This time, he did look back at her, peering over his shoulder questioningly with a raised brow.

“Yes… he… he took cyanide and told me… He told me it would be easier… if I just… brought his head…” 

The Ghoul turned to face ahead of him, then just said, “Huh…”

There was silence for a moment, before he asked another question. “What about the Super Duper Mart? What'd you do in'ere?”

Lucy blinked, then narrowed her eyes at him, flustered by the fact that he would ask that, considering he put her in that situation. “...Why do you wanna know?”

“Curious, I guess.” The Ghoul said simply. "It's just kinda funny... what with all that 'Golden Rule' talk, how many people seem ta' end up dead 'round you."

“It was an accident!" The vault dweller quickly retorted. “I didn’t mean for anyone to get hurt... I just…" She paused and looked down at the ground somberly, remembering Martha. "They... they were holding all those people captive… I... I couldn’t just leave them there…”

“You mean those ghouls?”

“They’re people. Maybe they have a condition, but they’re still people..." She snapped, then added under her breath. "Unlike you...” 

Dangit. That was not a good thing to say. Lucy bit her tongue, hoping he didn't hear.

She swallowed hard and tried to play it off. “But I did have to kill some of them. So, you know…” She said, trying to sound confident in her ghoul-killing skills. "I'd, uh... watch out... if I were you."

"Heh. Well, good for you, Vaulty." He snickered. “…Anyways, how did you get the–”

“Now! Now, hold on!” Lucy said, holding up a bluish-grey finger. “If you get to ask me things, I get to ask you things.” She lifted her head a bit higher. “A question for a question. That’s only fair.”

The Ghoul peered over his shoulder at her again for a moment as he continued to walk, then turned back. “Alright.”

“Yeah… so…” She looked down at the ground and exhaled, then back up with determination in her eyes. “So I get to ask you—”

“Two questions.”

“Five.” 

“Five?” 

“That’s right. You technically asked me five questions. Actually, six.”

“Well, that don’t sound quite fair to me, Vaulty.” He said with a smirk. “I asked you two questions. The rest were for clarification. They don’t count.” 

She huffed in dismay. It was worth a try, she thought.

He chuckled. “Tell you what. You can ask me however many questions you want. But I get to pick which ones I answer.”

“No! That’s not fair! I answered the questions you asked me, now you’re gonna answer mine.”

“Well, you didn’t have to answer my questions. That was your choice.”

“What!? I–” She huffed, unsure how to counter that.

“Alright… question for a question.” The bounty hunter said, raising his voice, and two fingers.  "You got two. Have at it, sweetheart.”

The vault dweller jumped, then quickly ran up closer, but still stayed a few feet behind him. Out of arms reach. “...Name?”

“Pass.”

“How do you know my dad?”

“Hard pass.”

She huffed. “This isn’t fair.”

“And what is, darlin'?” He scoffed, holding his arm out beside him. “What in God’s Green Earth made you think that anything in the wasteland is ever fucking fair? It’s every man for himself out here, sweetheart. Thought you might’ve figured that out by now.”

Lucy growled, and as she momentarily lost her cool, she kicked a rock in front of her. To her horror, it shot straight forward and bounced off the back of The Ghoul’s head.

He froze, and she took a sharp gasp. Oh, no… now she’d done it.

As she watched The Ghoul slowly turn around to face her, she threw her hands in front of her. “I’m sorry!” She said in a panic. “I-I didn’t mean to hit you! Please, don’t…”

The old bounty hunter stood there and just stared at her a moment. “Don’t worry…” His face was in shadow, but she could see the gleam in his eyes. To her surprise, his voice was gentle and unthreatening. “I ain’t gonna do nothin’ to hurt cha’…” 

Lucy rose her head and lowered her arms a little, relaxing somewhat.

“But…” The Ghoul kneeled down and picked up a rock from the ground. He tossed it in his hand once, then stood, looked up at her, and threw it in her direction.

She watched as it weakly flew towards her, then fell to the ground at her feet.

“Huh… I missed.” He shrugged with an odd smile, then turned back around and kept walking. 

She looked up at The Ghoul and raised an eyebrow before she continued to follow, wondering what the hell that was all about.

“One thang you gotta learn, Vaulty…” He said, raising his voice commandingly. “Caps ain’t the only form of money up here. Everything you have is potential currency. That includes information.” He said. “You see, that Golden Rule a yer’s only works if other people agree with it. Now that might be all peachy down in your vault, but up here, you don’t wanna be givin’ nothin’ away unless you know you gettin’ somethin’ in return. If you don’t do that, you’ll be eaten alive out here.”

“So… You’re giving me survival lessons now?”

“Yeah… I guess I am.” He said as he turned to smile at her, then tipped his hat up with a single finger. “...But those you can have for free.”

To be continued...

[bibliophilea]

Oooh from that ask game, I was curious about both "She Burns with the Light of a Thousand Worlds" and "Spiderverse but with Danny Phantom" they both sounded really intriguing!

(for this tag game)

I’m going to start with “Spiderverse but with Danny Phantom”, because “She Burns with the Light of a Thousand Worlds” is a whole thing!

For “Spiderverse but with Danny Phantom” - you know that tumbl post that went around where some spider dude thought they had cockroach powers, and they made their whole shtick cockroach-themed, but then they got pulled Into the Spiderverse and realized, “oh no, oh no I got it wrong, this is so embarrassing, I am having a crisis” - etc.? So, that, but with Danny Phantom. All I have written in the doc is this:

“Let’s do this one last time. My name is Danny Fenton. I was bitten by a radioactive portal, and for three years I’ve been the one-and-only Danny Phantom. I don’t know what I’m doing here any more than you do - maybe there was a radioactive spider in the portal or something? Maybe it fused with me in the accident… oh no. Am I part spider???”

[Danny proceeds to have a crisis on screen, and we move on to Peter Porker]

And that’s what I got!

Now!

“She Burns with the Light of a Thousand Worlds” is a story that came to me in a dream. Literally.

One night, I had one of the strongest, most vivid story-based dreams I’ve ever had, and when I woke up from it, I had to write it down. I also had to hum into my phone the base melody of the song that was central to the dream, but it turns out the song was “Salut d'Amour, Op. 12” by Edward Elgar, so I don’t even have to go and create it!

Below is the beginning of the doc I have for this story:

This story takes place in a version of the DC universe. A weird, red and black spaceship (an egg, really, but not shaped like any egg we know) hurtles to Earth, and the Justice League goes to investigate. “Salut d’Amour” starts playing in the Flash’s head, shortly before the ship opens and disintegrates, releasing a beautiful golden bird. The bird flies almost impossibly fast, but Flash is just able to keep up, and finds her when she’s ready to be found, the Justice League trailing behind him. She appears then as a little girl playing a simplified version of “Salut d’Amour” on violin. She explains that the world of her parent was destroyed, and she is the only survivor, and she just wants a home - a place to build her nest. Her parent was wasteful, negligent of that world. They built their nest too big and intrusive, and the world paid for it. She does not want that for this world - she will be careful, and resourceful, and she will make sure her nest holds a symbiotic relationship with the world around her.

By this time, her simple song is playing in all their heads. She has tugged on all their heartstrings - she is a baby, an orphan, the last of her kind. She just wants a home - a place to build her nest. The JL agrees to help her. She hugs Flash, who was her greatest supporter here, and beams up at them all, and they all feel incredibly warm and fuzzy inside. This is the right thing to do.

Her nest, like the song she sings, starts out small and simple. As she grows, though, her song grows, and she needs to build a bigger, more complex nest. Rather than building a new nest separate from the old like her parent did, she incorporates the old nest into the new. As she promised, she forms a symbiotic relationship with nature, and with humanity. When her nest is big and complex enough, she lets the humans form a community college there - one which specializes in conservation, mutualistic architecture, and the study of aliens and alien worlds.

And that’s where things start! The story, the song, and the nest grow in size and complexity as this little girl grows into a powerful young woman. I won’t say more, because this is a WIP that I do really want to write! That dream I had really popped off, and I want my writing to match!

Thank you for the ask!!

[starikune]

Tag Dump Part 4.

[lasttarrasque]

Her name was Saly, she was five years old. She was like any child, she probably liked to play with her toys, she was probably learning to read, she probably like to spend time with her family and friends.

Maybe she would have been a doctor, or a farmer, or a engineer. Maybe she would have advanced the field of physics or medicine, written a best seller novel or stared in a major movie production; Or she might have had a quieter life, the world might have never known her name, but her friends and family would have and that might have been enough.

But no one will ever know now because Israel took those lives away from her, the tens of thousands of possibles that lay before each child burning like candle lights in cool summer night sniffed out in an instant. A last story shared by thousands of Palestinian children in Gaza.

[specshroom]

•The Queen of Curses•

Part 1 / Part 2

(Ok So think of this as like a Sukuna wins and everyone dies AU lol. True form! Sukuna. Added the cursed blood bath for no reason. Suggestive, titty stuff but that's it, MDNI, She/her reader, no use of Y/N)

Sukuna didn't rein over the Heian Era alone. It was always him and his lover, burning and slaughtering together. Their love for eachother was well known across the land. People knew not to be fooled by her less intimidating looks (in comparison to her husband) for she was just as brutal and heartless as he. 

All that changed when sorcerers from the era used all they're combined might to seal the Curse Queen inside a small cursed object, formed only from the combined sacrificed corpses of their comrades. 

They knew that the only way to defeat the King and Queen was to separate them and they succeeded. After hearing of the fate of his lover Sukuna flew into a blind rage leading to his own defeat at the hands of the same sorcerers.

One thousand years of relative peace passed with the two lovers separated but still yearning for each other. 

Luckily for the lovers, the ever devoted Uraume never stopped looking for a way to set their masters free. After centuries of searching and begrudgingly accepting a little help from Kenjaku, they finally found the cursed object that their Queen had been trapped in, a simple orb a little bigger than a tennis ball. It made Uraume's stomach turn thinking of such a powerful force being shoved into such a small thing. They carried the black orb with them everywhere while continuing the plot to releasing Sukuna. They found themselves whispering to it, compelled by the obsidian globe. They didn't know if their master could hear but they felt like it was right, like they could almost sense their masters overwhelming aura, compelling them to spill out everything they know. So Uraume spoke to it quite a lot, telling the dark orb and the beast inside about Sukuna's fate, about the new world, about Kenjaku and the plan to free her and her lover. 

The plan that finally comes to fruition. Sukuna is freed, his true form is restored in all its glory and hes wreaked havoc on most of Shibuya just as a warm up.  Uraume kneels before him.

"Master Sukuna."

 They say bowing their head.

 "Hmm?" 

Sukuna hums an acknowledgement, eyeing them with contempt. 

Uraume brings the dark crystal like ball out of their loose robes and holds it up, presenting it to their king. "Now, with your power fully restored we can release the Queen from her containment."

Sukuna stares at the ball in the sorcerers hand and gestures for Uraume to give it to him. He holds it as gently as his colossal hand is able to. It seems to get hotter in his hand, so hot it would surely sear the skin of a mortal. He pears into the orb only seeing his reflection in it, the Curse king nods to Uraume. He places it on the ground and they both step back, arms reaching out towards the orb on the ground.

In unison they both let out powerful blasts of cursed energy aiming right at the cursed seal. Strong streams of power, one white hot and the other pearcing cold, the orb starts to crack emitting a glowing white light. "It's breaking! Don't stop!" Sukuna orders and Uraume grunts but dutifully follows orders. The cracks grow wider and the light shines brighter before it's too blinding and they both cover their eyes as a powerful blast pierces the air.

In the settling dust stands a figure that's all too familiar to the both of them. They both watch as the figure shifts, leaning back and stretching their arms above their head, releasing a groan that is appropriate for someone who hasn't been able to move much in a thousand years. When the woman finally turns to Sukuna she sighs and smiles, letting out a relieved huff. Sukuna grins triumphantly and opens all four of his arms expecting a tide of thankful affection from his lover. When she takes the first few steps towards him her smile starts to waver until it's down to a grimace. Sukuna tenses as her eyes darken. He opens his mouth to ask what's the matter as she walks up to him and-

*SLAP*

Silence envelops the already desolate atmosphere. Sukuna's head is turned to the side, his eyes wide. He blinks before glaring at the offender with a look that could kill. She stares up at him with eyes just as deadly. 

"HOW COULD YOU LEAVE ME IN THAT FUCKING BALL FOR SO LONG!!?"

Sukuna stares with his mouth open for a second genuinely shocked into silence until that second is over and he responds with equal vitriol. 

" HUH?! THAT WAS YOUR OWN FAULT WOMEN! DONT BE UNGRATEFUL!" 

The two fiery curses glare at each other with such violent intent, the very air around them heats up. 

"WHAT KIND OF SHITTY HUSBAND ALLOWS HIS OWN WIFE TO GET SEALED!"

"YOU CAN'T BLAME ME FOR THAT! DIDN'T I JUST SET YOU FREE?"

"DONT TAKE ALL THE CREDIT YOU BASTARD! URAUME'S THE ONE WHO-" 

As if the women just remembered that the other sorcerer exists, she turns around and there her loyal subject is, kneeling in her presence. 

" Welcome back master, it's good to see you" 

The woman's face brightens up immediately, "Uraume~" She sings running up to the sorcerer and lifting them into a bone crushing hug that would've killed a lesser being. "Oh, Thank you Uraume. My dutiful subject, you did so good." The Curse Queen coos at the sorcerer, squishing their face into her chest and stroking their duel coloured hair. Uraume doesn't hug back as to be respectful of their superior but they don't push back either, just letting their master man-handle (woman-handle?) them. 

Sukuna clicks his tongue at the show of affection and crosses two of his massive arms over his chest. No doubt in disbelief that HIS wife doesn't embrace HIM first after a thousand years spent apart.

The wife in question turns to him with Uraume still in her arms, an irritated look on her face. 

"What's your problem?" 

"My problem is that MY wife is being an ungrateful bitch." 

The benevolent woman stills and Uraume peers up at her from their place, nestled into the cleavage of her loose fitting kimono. The woman sets Uraume down onto the ground gently. She breathes a heavy sigh and in less that a second she's on Sukuna throwing a mass of red hot cursed energy right into his face. He blocks it in time and is able to keep blocking her continuous fast attacks. She gets frustrated and lets out a powerful blast that shakes the earth and forces him to jump back to avoid the blast.

She laughs with relief, finally being able to let out all that pent up cursed energy feels amazing. Her tattoos (similar to Sukuna's but not quite the same) almost seem to glow with the immense energy output being let off from her body. Only the tattoos on her face, neck and wrists are visible but Sukuna knows very well what the rest looks like, having traced every inch of ink with his fingers.

Sukuna takes the opportunity while she's distracted by the pure euphoria of letting her energy loose and comes barreling towards her, she can't react before he tackles her to the ground. He pins her hands down with two of his hands and another goes to roughly grab her jaw.

"Does it feel good to finally let off some steam, Baby?" 

The king of curses teasingly remarks from above her.

"Baby? That's new." She questions with a teasing grin. Her words are a bit slurred from the way her husband is holding her jaw.

"Might as well get with the times." He bites back with an even more cocksure grin. She scratches and kicks at him and bites at his hand. With all her concentration she channels the sheer amount of pent up cursed energy in her body and lets it burst out in a deafening blast that knocks Sukuna off of her. Static reverberates in the air.

In the few seconds it takes for him to recover she takes the opportunity to pounce on him pinning him to the ground. Grinning from her place above him her heavy breaths and beating heart match his. Her crazy, alert eyes meet four others with the same sentiment.

"I missed you so fucking much." Sukuna says before he pulls her by her robes into a deep kiss. The kiss is somehow aggressive and sensual.

Two of Sukuna's massive hands go to her waist and thigh holding her body to his as he sits up. The third hand is on the floor for balance and the last is tangled in her hair pressing her further into the kiss, as if that's even possible. Both Cursed beings are glad that they don't need to breath or else they surely would have suffocated each other by now. 

The queen of curses has never been more pleased by the fact that her husband doesn't seem to know what a shirt is. Sukuna has voiced many times that he wished his wife shared the same sentiments only for her to scoff at the suggestion, although, now she thinks the idea is one of the best he's ever had.

They fight for dominance with their tongues. Still locked in the passionate sloppy kiss the woman unlatches her hands from his hair to slip off the robes she was wearing over a loose fitting kimono. She unwraps the black accented white Kimono, rather slowly in sukunas opinion to let her breasts fall free to the warm air. 

Sukuna releases his mouth from hers, licking his spit slicked lips to stare down at his beautiful wife's beautiful tits.

"Yeah, remember these are mine. Only mine." Sukuna grumbles lowly before smooshing his face right between them, sighing deeply like a thousand year old itch has finally been scratched.

"Aww, is Ryō a little jealous?" The woman preens in a patronising manner while lightly stroking his fluffy hair.

"Poor baby~" She coos, repeating the pet name he used for her. Her teasing only gets a glare and a growl from the beast of a man currently buried in her tits, holding her impossibly closer to his face.

She chuckles down at him, a loving yet menacing look in her eyes.

"Well maybe I should let Uraume- where did they go?"

She looks around the scorched city landscape looking for her white haired subordinate and as if they heard her words summoning them they appear with a respectful bow.

"I have made the preparations for your bath."

"Thank you, Uraume~"

The woman beams and turns to the man who is still occupied with her tits, he's now picked a tit to suckle on, fondling the other in his rough hand.

"come now Ryo, it's time for our bath." She says curtly and the man groans with his mouth full, absolutely dreading even the idea of his tongue leaving the hardened nipple he's been sucking on. If the two objects poking her ass are any indication if it was up to him they would never get to the blood bath Uraume so kindly set up for them.

She tries standing up and pulling away but the man is latched on tightly, all four arms clutching around her as if they never want to be an inch apart from her again. The more she struggles the bigger the two chubs in his pants grow. She sighs and struggles once more.

"Uraume planned this out very nicely for us, Ryomen. Just do what I say Damnit!"

She pulls at his hair and he bites down on her tit in response, earning a yelp and a harsh smack on the head from her. He laughs, not with the mouth on her tit but with the mouth on his stomach. She peers down at it, as if she just remembered it's there. Without wasting more time she grabs the large tongue crushing it with her grip and tugging on it hard.

Sukuna releases her tit to yell out in pain.

"OW, WOMAN! You should be grateful for every ounce of attention I give you! OW!"

As Sukuna rages, she snorts and jumps out of his now loosened arms. Turning her back to him, she approaches the other sorcerer who's head is still bowed.

"Uraume, would you kindly show me to my bath?"

"Of course, Master"

Uraume stands and bows their head. Holding out their arm for their Queen.

She holds onto Uraume's arm, purposely squishing her still exposed breasts into the sorcerer's side as she smiles down at them.

"I guess we'll have the bath all to ourselves then, Uraume~"

Uraume closes their eyes with a knowing smile and nods in response, very accustomed to the games the two lovers would play with each other, often forcing them right in the middle. Their Queen would often promise that she'd one day make Uraume flustered, something that to this day has yet to occur.

The sorcerer doesn't even flinch at their powerful master fawning over them, stroking their arm and pressing her now marked up tits closer into them as the two walk off towards the bath Uraume prepared.

"HEY!! WHAT THE HELL!?? URAUME!"

Sukuna sits in disbelief at his wife's antics. As if he's only now remembering what a tease she is and has always been.

His wife looks back at him over her shoulder, she shrugs her kimono off her shoulder, exposing her tattooed shoulder to him before turning back to Uraume snickering.

Sukuna huffs and grins, shaking his head. He's so fucking happy to have his wife back.

(AN: I was originally planning to make this smut but... It just got away from me😭😭 sooo... Maybe in a part two? 👀👀)

[monstersflashlight]

Hey, I was wondering g if you could make a sleeping in the dark part 2? If it's okay to ask could you possibly do a chubby!reader?

Crying in the middle of the night in the darkness but the minster comes out to think reader is crying because of the dark. Reassuring her that it's oka and the dark isn't scary but, reader then explains that she wasn't crying because of the dark. The monster gets all confused and asks why she was crying. Reader tells the monster that she was insecure abt her body, then further explains that's she's been being treated badly in her work/school environment by her peers because of her body/looks.

Thank you if you respond, I mean it could be a she part and not part 2 but again, thank you.

-🦝 anon.

Hi 🦝 anon! I’m sorry it took me so long to get to this. I really wanted to do justice to this request. As a chubby woman myself, I know perfectly well the struggles of being fat in a society that doesn’t like fat at all. I try not to make any comments about the body of the reader if it doesn’t play a part in the action bc I want ppl to imagine themselves there as they want. Even when the monsters use terms as “little human” think about it like the monster is so big you are tiny, doesn’t matter how big you are in real life. I love a good size difference, so there’s that. I hope you don’t think this means you need somebody to tell you you are pretty, beautiful or hot, because that’s not true, you are all that without anyone saying it. Believe me, as someone who likes boys, girls, and everything in between, fat bodies are hot like burning. But I do get the necessity to hear it sometimes, and this story is born because of it. That said, I hope this is as cathartic for you as it was for me, this short hit really close to the heart for me. <3

Part 1 if you haven't read it

Sleeping in the dark (part 2)

Night monster x chubby fem!reader || orgasm denial || tw: fatphobia

You were, once again, crying in your room, ugly sobs that made it hard to breathe and your heart beating faster. You felt his presence before he could make himself known. “Oh no, little human, I thought we went past the fear of the dark.” His tone was so soft you felt your heart skip a beat.

You sniffled against the pillow, “is not that.” You tried to tell him more, but another sob broke from your chest.

“What do you mean?” He seemed confused at your statement, like there weren’t any other reasons why you could be crying about. You guessed as a monster in your closet he probably didn’t know much about the horrors of the world. He lived in a bubble of darkness inside your room, after all.

“They- They called me fat,” you told him in between hiccups.

“Who did?” His tone sounded dangerous. You looked up from your pillow, trying to see something in the dark of your room. You could see his silhouette, but nothing else. You wished you could turn the light on, but you didn’t want him to go.

“Some random dude from the office. They called me fat. They thought I wasn’t listening but they called me fat and made fun of me. I thought I was past that, but there’s always someone that reminds me how ugly my body is.” He growled at that statement. You ignored it and kept talking, “they always tell you to love your body, but when it comes to being fat, they want you to hate yourself. And I try to fight it, I try every day, but sometimes is just too much.” You sobbed again, he touched your knee and you felt his arms closing around you two seconds later. “I just want to be pretty.” You cried against his chest, your voice muffled by his skin. He growled and you felt it against your teary face.

“Don’t say that. You are pretty, you are beautiful, you are the most beautiful human,” his voice was filled with desperation for you to believe him.

“You have to say that, you’ve only seen me,” you joked. The laugh you let out was swallowed by the sob that broke free right after.

“You are wrong.” He touched your skin, wiping away some tears with his thumb. “I’ve lived thousands of years, I’ve known many humans, some of them have known me. You are beautiful. You are perfect.”

“No, I’m not. But thanks for saying that.” He flipped you onto your back so fast you let out a scream. He tore your clothes apart and you felt him caressing every inch of your skin at the same time.

“Beautiful,” he told you. He touched every part of your body, caressing your skin like you were a work of art, whispering endearing words against your ear. He told you every single compliment you could think of, and then some more.

It felt wrong to feel like that, you felt like he was lying, but he couldn’t be. It felt like he was forcing you to acknowledge every single cell in your body. It felt like he was pushing the words in your soul, trying to imprint them there so you wouldn’t feel ugly never again. You cried, at every single word, a tear ran down your skin. He didn’t wipe them out, he let you cry as he caressed your skin. When he parted your legs and positioned himself there, you kept crying.

Your pussy was so wet, and your soul felt so raw.

He started slow, licking your wet lips, playing with his tongue all over, but where you wanted him the most. He never shut up, telling you how pretty you were, how wet, how wonderful for him, how perfect. You were rapidly approaching to an orgasm when he said: “Say nice things about yourself if you want to come.” You shook your head, grabbing his head and trying to push him to eat you out again. “Say it,” he ordered. His voice was hard and commanding.

“I- I can’t,” you cried out. There was no way. You didn’t feel it, it wasn’t true. You weren’t pretty. You weren’t beautiful. His words seemed like a lie, but his actions spoke volumes. One of his hands never stopped caressing your soft tummy, your wide hips. His other hand played with your pussy, thrusting in and out in a tortuous way.

“Say it!” He insisted, his tone angry as he pushed two fingers into you forcefully. You cried out, almost there, so close but so far.

“I- I’m pretty,” you whispered, tears rolling down your cheeks. He rewarded you sucking your clit into his mouth, the touch of fangs against your vulnerable flesh made you shudder.

“More,” he ordered.

“I’m beautiful.” Each word was rewarded by his fingers rubbing perfectly inside of you, a torture like any other, driving you insane with pleasure. “I’m hot.” Each word he forced out of you felt like he was taking a weight from your chest. You felt like you were going to float away.

“Yes. Yes, you are.” He kept playing with you, getting you close to the edge just to go away when you stopped talking. He forced you to be nice to yourself, to say all the things you didn’t believe you were. But he did, he believed. And for the moment, that might be enough. He thought you were beautiful, he thought you were hot. Maybe… maybe he was right. He never lied to you.

You were lost in your thoughts and the pain-pleasure he was giving you when he flicked his tongue over your clit as he hit your G-spot. “Come for me, pretty human. Show me how perfect you are.” And you did, falling apart around his tongue and his fingers. The attack on your senses crashing down onto you.

You had an out of body experience, the tears cool against your cheeks, your rapid breathing coming into short exhales as he played with your pussy to drive you further up. You came so hard you think you saw stars. You felt boneless, your body and your soul completely spent. You felt him cleaning you with a soft cloth, your eyes closing already.

“I will stay with you,” he murmured as you were falling asleep. You felt his arms closing around you, his hands caressing your body, from your wide hips to your soft tummy… He made you feel special, he made you feel beautiful.

[ot3]

The Flower That Bloomed Nowhere

What is it, and why you should read it.

(Art by purple)

The Flower That Bloomed Nowhere is a currently updating webserial by author Lurina. It's one of my favorite things I've read in a long while and I'd like to convince you all to give it a chance.

My elevator pitch is this: A time-loop murder mystery directly inspired by Umineko, with a lot of similar vibes to the Locked Tomb Trilogy - partially due to it's meditations on grief and mortality and partially due to it's far-future magical sci-fi world where we follow a fucked up lesbian necromancer on a task she is determined to see through to the end. A deeply complex, unique, and believable world that plays hosts to one of the best interpersonal dynamics I've read.

In a future so far-flung that it is past the heat death of the universe, humanity has constructed a new society that is post-scarcity but not post-stratification. Utsushikome of Fusai is one amongst a class of prodigious young medical arcanists (essentially grad students) who are invited to visit a recently legitimized conclave of top-of-the-line researchers studying immortality. Accompanying Su is her best friend Ran, a fellow arcanist. Over the course of the novel we begin to slowly unravel exactly what ulterior motives have brought them to this conclave and how events in their childhoods and years of working toward their shared goal has warped their relationship into what we now see. This relationship is the crown jewel of Flower's narrative, and getting to peel back the layers of it as you read is a delight.

Like Umineko, Flower is a murder mystery that prevents itself with in-universe Rules that dictate the murders' parameters, meaning there's a lot to chew on for anyone who likes solving mysteries. For those that don't, like myself, Flower offers instead a richly developed world and plenty of open questions about the sociopolitical and metaphysical implications of its own worldbuilding.

Below the cut, I'll go into more detail about the series (without spoilers!) for those of you whose interest has been piqued.

The Flower That Bloomed Nowhere is currently ongoing, updating every few weeks. It's several hundred thousand words, so if you're looking for something substantial to keep you entertained, you've got it. As you might expect from the length, the pacing is decently slow. I don't see this as a bad thing at all, because within this pacing Lurina dripfeeds the readers enough new and interesting information at a regular rate that it never feels like your time is being wasted. But if you can't handle slow burns, I wouldn't recommend this one for you.

If you enjoyed the Zero Escape series and liked that they stopped solving murder puzzles to infodump about fringe science, I think you'll get a lot out of Flower. Characters are frequently interrupting their life-or-death scenarios to have lofty, philosophical and political discussions. It's a ton of fun if you like reading characters argue.

'People have to sleep.' 'People have to work.' 'People have to die.' But those were just vague rules, phrasing I'd used because it had been easier in the context of that conversation. What really mattered, on the day-to-day level, was the idea that it was all for something. If someone invented a elixir that made people not to need to sleep, it would, in retrospect, recontextualize all nights everyone ever wasted sleeping as wastes of time. Not something that occurred for some inherent purpose, but whims of circumstance, a tragedy of when you happened to be born. If you accepted that all unfair things in the world could be removed, if only someone knew how - fatigue, labor, death - then to exist in the world we had now, with all its grotesque imperfections, was to know that you had been violated by fate.

Along those lines it's just got a sense of humor I really enjoy. Pretty dry and cavalier. It manages to keep the mood light without feeling like it's undermining it's own stakes. I'm particularly fond of Su's penchant for telling incredibly depressing suicide jokes that just Do Not Land.

The peer pressure cut into me like a hot knife. I hesitated a little, biting my lip. "Well, uh, okay. I'll just tell a quick one." I swallowed, my mind quickly scrambling. "Okay, so, there's a woman who runs a dispensary for second hand goods. She sees a man come in who's a regular customer. He's kind of a mess-- Has a big beard, a bad complexion. He buys a razor, and tells her he needs it to clean himself up, because he has a date." I could see that I now had Ophelia's attention and that Kam was looking pleased with herself, but Ran was watching me, too. I could see the look in her eyes. It screamed at me, with such vividity that it could be sold at an art gallery: You better not be telling a suicide joke right now, or we're going to have a talk. But it was too late. The wheels were already in motion.

As I mentioned up top, the relationship between Ran and Su is just one of my favorite interpersonal dynamics ever. Period. The author is playing some insanely complicated 5th dimensional yuri chess and I am absolutely here for it as someone who likes characters who are deeply devoted to each other in a way that is deeply deeply fraught. I cant emphasize enough how obsessed I am with what they have going on.

Additionally, as stated, the worldbuilding in Flower is top tier. The author clearly understands how every part of her world functions, which makes the moral quandaries and politics presented all the more impactful because they're very believable. It's hard to talk about Flower's world without spoiling too much of the specifics that get slowly revealed, but it doesn't fall back on any typical sci-fi standard fare and feels like a breath of fresh air amongst recycled and repetitive worldbuilding tropes.

A lot of really fun side characters. Strong voices for all of the supporting cast (♥♥Kamrusepa♥♥) and even though not every character gets their own arc, they all clearly have plenty of interiority. Once again, another thing that makes Flower feel very believable despite it's absurdities.

Autism

"Did you notice anything out of the ordinary with anyone?" She eyed him. "Anyone who seemed tense?" "Saoite, I'm not sure if you've noticed, but half of our class is so autistic that they constantly seem tense. You might as well ask me to find a specific turd in a sewer." "Just answer the question, please," she replied flatly.

Guys it's really good just trust me I don't want to spoil you for the more intricate plot beats but they're doing some crazy shit here. It's never a bad time to support an independent author's project. If you're sick of corporate mass-media and stuff needing to be marketable, getting into independent works owned and supported by individual creators is a great way to push back against that. I highly recommend it.

[confused-wanderer]

I saw this the other day and couldn’t help thinking about how the batboys first felt when they had to be the comfort/protector or how for they might’ve felt the first time children ran to them for protection.

Dick Grayson was a performer long before he was a protector. Even on his first night as Robin, he kept an eye out on the darkest streets for people in despair. Not even three hours into his first shift as Robin, comes the opportunity.

He knows how to hypnotise people, to make them forget about the world, about reality, even if it was just for a little while. And little did he know just how much he’d use it for the rest of his life.

And there’s the guy in front of him, robbing a store with a knife in one hand, tears streaming down his face. His wife is dying, and he needs the money and Dick falters. He remembers that feeling of helplessness.

But then there’s a child cowering away from him, and runs screaming towards Dick, arms outstretched with a plea. And his hesitation vanishes, before taking down the man in one fell swoop.

He then spent the time with only one goal in mind. Make the kid laugh. He cracked jokes, displayed few acrobatic endeavours and is only satisfied when the kid looks at him with joy, the fear long since burned away. It fills his chest with pride, and a warm flutter that stays with him for the next few months.

Jason never expected anything to happen. He was the new Robin, he was here only to protect, not chit-chat. He’s heard what others thought of him, and he couldn’t care any less. He did his job, made sure they were safe and unhurt, and then left.

And then one late night, finishing up on patrol he sees a glimpse of color out of the corner of his eye. There’s a young woman, hiding three figures behind her. He raises his head, and immediately sees the way they scramble away in fear. So he looks away and waits, muscles tense and ready, pretending not to notice them come closer.

He’s quite taken aback when the woman timidly asks him to walk her back home. It’s a trap. He thinks. But he sees the look on their faces, and decides it’s worth the risk. Along the way he makes a few dry sarcastic quips, and before he knows it the air is filled with laughter and chatter.

It takes a while for him to notice two kids were holding each of his hand, and the third was tugging on his cape. And the mother was smiling softly, eyes crinkling in fondness and vulnerability.

They felt safe, he realises with a start.

They felt safe with him

They trusted him.

And something in him stirs. He feels something similar to what Dick had recalled on his first encounter with children, but instead of a warm flutter it’s like his heart has forgotten its rhythm. It’s banging against his rib cage, warmth and love pouring out. He always had a bleeding heart.

When he comes back from patrol, he absentmindedly runs his fingers across the cape where they’d held it, and sees tiny wrinkles there.

He refuses to iron it, and when Tim first sees his suit, the first thing he sees are the thousands of wrinkles, dozens of smears and dried up trails of tears.

Tim, who didn’t know what the fuck he was doing.

He was good at the crime job. Children.. people? Not so much. Especially when he wasn’t trying to lecture them or take them down. He knew how to make them tick. But not how to make them talk.

Alas, when batman is stuck interviewing a father about a home invasion, Tim finds himself on kid duty.

He looks everywhere, on the ceiling, below the bed, when he finally notices a heat signature coming from behind a desk.

The kid is hugging her knees, cowering and clutching themselves as close as she could, squeeze themselves into the tiny space, and keeping heavy boxes and chairs to block any people or light from entering.

And Tim just sits there. He tries talking, engaging in conversation before realising how awkward it sounded and that he wasn’t helping. So he falls quiet.

He notices posters of marine life on the child’s bed, and after a while of silence he starts to slowly talk again. He talks about the ocean, about its inhabitants and the most peculiar creatures hidden inside. It is a while before he falters again, noticing his rant, but with a quick glance he can see that the child has slightly shifted towards him, hanging onto his every word.

And so he continues, bringing up holographic displays to show the amazing characterisers and traits they acquire. He hears the pitter patter of footsteps after a while, and then the kid pops up beside him, staring at the display. The kid was there, tense as a deer, and ready to sprint at any sudden movement, but there.

And so at the end of the night, that’s how Bruce finds Tim sitting on the floor, kid fast asleep and sprawled across his lap, using the cape as a blanket.

Tim was a grounding presence. He wasn’t there to judge, wasn’t there to speak. He was just.. there. And that mattered a lot more to children then he realises.

He remembers coming home in almost a daze, seeing the wrinkles on his cape before remembering Jason. His breath hitches, fingers running over the wrinkles, truly realising why Jason’s suit still stubbornly portrayed its wrinkles. It’s stories.

Jason was better at this. Jason cared. And tonight, he’d taken the first step towards truly honouring him. And he had no intentions of letting the second Robin’s legacy die.

Dick had described it as warmth that left you giddy. But this, this was terror.

Tim was scared.

Dick had always been an empath, Jason arguably more, and it was their legacy that he’d have to carry on. The children were counting on him. Batman was counting on him. But the most terrifying realisation was that Jason was also counting on him. And so was Dick.

So he lets the wrinkles stay on, subtly highlighting them in the cape to remind himself of his purpose, a feeling of protectiveness burdening him- not only towards the citizens, but also towards his brothers. He was NOT going to let them down.

Each of them made kids feel safe with them, in their own special ways. Because there was a broken kid in each of them too, that craved to make sure no one else was hurt the way they were.

[dilemmaontwolegs]

For the Love of God(dess) || CL16 {2}

Summary: Greek God/dess AU. You show Charles a part of your world and he shows you a part of his. Warnings: angst, fluff WC: 2.6k Part One || Two

The old stone path should have been worn for all the centuries that it had been used as the entrance to Olympus but it was still as perfect as it was the first time you walked it. Nothing ever changed, not since the war ended and a new hierarchy settled among the gods. For two thousand years nothing had changed in the Eternal City.

“Love, what have you done?” The imposing form of Ares filled the road to your temple, his arms the size of your waist. His molten red eyes barely glanced at the man at your side before snapping back with a double take. “Kàrolos?”

“Uh, so everyone keeps saying,” he answered quietly, his eyes sizing up the God of War as he spoke for the first time since arriving through the portal. “And you are?”

“Intrigued,” Ares said with a smirk. “Good luck.”

The god vanished and Charles rubbed at his head, murmuring, “Fucking weird dream.”

“You’ll wake up soon,” you sighed. It might not be the wake up he expected, but it was coming - you just had to find Athena. “I know someone who can help make sense of this, we just need to get you back to my place first. It’s right over h-” your words froze as turned towards your temple. 

Where grey stone walls had stood, great white pillars of marble rose. Where empty garden beds lay, hundreds of white roses bloomed. 

Your temple had been restored.

“This is your home?” Charles asked, a little awestruck by the sounds of it. It was quite amusing that he walked among the gods but he found beauty in a building of all things.

“Our home.”

“I have a home - in Monaco.”

You opened your mouth to argue but saw the quiet desperation in his features. He was clinging to his humanity and it forced you to remember that this wasn’t the Kàrolos you knew, this was a stranger. The only resemblance they held were their eyes, but they were the window to the soul and they still had the same soul. 

“Let’s just go inside.”

The doors beyond the marble arch swung open on your approach and the interior had changed just as much. The vast room was open to the sunlight and a fountain filled the centre, the sound of bubbling water a calming feature. Open arches led to more rooms but you made your way to the furthest one. 

Charles followed sedately into the bedroom and out onto the balcony that overlooked the city. Above rose the peak which Zeus had claimed, his golden palace glittering beneath Apollo’s sunshine. Below, the forests of Artemis spread far and wide with lush green canopies and the Orlias river winding through it. 

Your palms warmed on the stone railing as you watched a herd of deer pick their way to the river for a drink. “I know you have a million questions and I’m sorry for…everything.”

Charles’ shoulder leaned into yours as he drank in the scenery but he jumped back when an owl swooped in, the spotted wings brushing his cheek. A flash of light burst from the owl and bare feet touched down on the balcony. 

“Hmmm, you have had quite the night, Love,” she said with an appreciative look over Charles. She reached out to his face with a smile and wiggled her fingers. “May I?”

“Why? What are you going to do? Who are you?”

“So many questions,” she laughed. “I am Athena, I am knowledge, and if you want the answers then you will let me touch you.”

He looked to you for help and gods damned if it didn’t make something in your chest hurt before you nodded. He swallowed the fear of the unknown and trusted you as he stepped into her waiting hands. Lightning shattered his brain, blinding him with flashes of images that moved too fast to see. But he knew. Knowledge expanded and exploded in his mind at an exponential rate until he knew everything. Thousands of years of history burned into his retina in less than a second. The history of the gods and goddesses that called this place home. The history of the wars and the destruction it brought. The history of you and everything you lost.

He knew it all. And it hurt more than the pain that splintered his head.

He didn’t even realise he collapsed until he felt the softest mattress dip beneath his weight as you laid him down. Your concerned face appeared above him, the sun catching your hair and weaving a golden halo around the strands. A thought crossed his mind and he laughed, shaking his head.

“What?” you asked curiously as his fingers twitched like he had to fight the urge to reach out to you.

“When we met I thought you looked like a goddess, but of course you do. You are.” He looked to the balcony but the owl had already taken flight back to her palace on the hill. “I’m not him, you know.”

“I know.” The man you loved had died a long time ago. You had your time together, no matter how short, and you had mourned for him. It was time to move on. “I don’t want you to be Kàrolos. I want to learn who you are, Charles.”

“And what if you don’t like who I am?”

“I am the Goddess of Love,” you teased, climbing onto the bed to sit beside him. “My arrows don’t work unless there is compatibility between the souls. Psyche is probably better off explaining that but my power only amplifies what attraction is already there. Can’t say I have been on the receiving end of it before. This will take some getting used to.”

“What will?”

“The want, the need to touch you,” you confessed as you looked down at your hands that gripped the bedspread tightly. “It is difficult to be this close and not reach out.”

Charles frowned. “You loved Kàrolos but you didn’t use an arrow?”

“Not everyone needs an arrow to fall in love. Like I said, it only amplifies. People find love on their own everyday, only some need a little poke in the right direction. Those friends who have been dancing around each other for years, the abused who don’t think they are worthy of being loved, the colleagues who only flirt at work. The fates weave their tapestry with a trillion threads of life and when there is a snag, like two lovers who failed to meet, then I repair it so the loom can continue its creation.”

Charles blinked as he began to understand how complex the roles of the gods were. “Fuck.” 

You laughed and his lips tugged up at the sound. 

“I don’t mind, if you want to touch me,” he admitted quietly, reaching for your hand and unfurling it from the bedding. His hand was larger than yours but your fingers settled between his comfortably and your body sagged with relief. “So what do we do now?”

You shrugged, not exactly knowing the answer yourself. Time was plentiful so there was no rush, but you were eager to find out who it was your heart had been given to. “What do you enjoy?”

Charles’ smile dropped as he suddenly remembered the world he had left behind. “Shit, we need to go back. I have a race this week.”

–

“Breaking News: Peace had been brokered between nations all over the globe in a dramatic turn of events. For more information we will be heading to our correspondent at the United Nations HQ…”

Charles turned off the TV in the hotel but he didn’t miss the way your eyes remained fixed on the screen, or the way your lip wobbled. Crossing the room, he grabbed your hands and bent his knees so you were eye to eye. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s my fault,” you whispered through the lump in your throat. “I failed my duties.”

He looked back at the TV where you could still see the breaking news. Peace had come after two thousand years of skirmishes and wars on the mortal plane. There should have never been wars to begin with. 

“That isn’t your fault,” he argued, but he had the knowledge of the gods, he understood how your power worked. The gods were a fragile ecosystem that required balance. You were the balance to Ares’ power and his effect on the world.

“I was weakened when Kàrolos died, I lost half of myself, half of my strength. It left Ares unchecked - of course it is my fault.”

Charles wrapped his arms around you, tucking your head into the crook of his neck so you couldn’t stare at the TV. “You’re making things right now, that’s what matters.”

“It’s not even me,” you laughed bitterly. “It’s you. I couldn’t do this on my own.”

“Come on,” he said as he started to drag you towards the door.

“Where are we going?”

“You need a distraction, and I know just the thing.” 

Charles drove to the circuit he would be practising on in the morning and it was relatively quiet as he led you through the paddock. A few teenagers excitedly asked for photos with him and you smiled as he stopped to talk with each one. He was so different to Kàrolos. Kàrolos was a warrior, proud and unmoving. Most children gave him a wide berth when they saw the scars that littered his body. It wasn’t in him to idly chatter or placate others, the only soft spot he had was for you. 

“You’re very patient,” you commented as he waved goodbye and continued to the edge of the track. 

He smiled shyly and looked at his shoes as he shrugged. “I try my best to talk to fans, especially when I have the time. Take a few laps with me?”

You followed his gaze to a Ferrari that was parked in the pit lane. “I’ve never been in a car.”

“No, really?” His eyes were wide with disbelief and you laughed at the innocence in those eyes. 

“I go where I want, I’ve never needed to drive.”

He grabbed your hand and excitement flowed through you as he set a quick pace to the car. “Trust me?” he asked as he opened the passenger door.

You were immortal so it didn’t matter if he crashed. Sure, it would hurt but you would eventually heal. But the question felt heavier than just asking if you trusted him not to crash, more that you could trust him to keep you safe. “Yes, I trust you, Charles.”

You slipped into the seat that was moulded to cradle you before he bent down and buckled the clips in for you. His cologne reached your nose at the close proximity and you inhaled deeper as you committed the rich scent to your memory. 

“Is this comfortable?” he asked as he tugged the harness.

“It is…managable.” Restrictive, confined, and claustrophobic came to mind but you didn’t want to worry him as he went around to his side. There was energy in his step that had been missing in Olympus, an ambience that brightened the moment he arrived at the racing track, and you wanted to keep that light in his aura. 

“We’ll take the first one slow,” he promised as he started the engine and gripped the wheel. 

You had flown into battle on the back of a pegasus, you had held onto the fins of charybdis as they raced through Posiden’s domain. Nothing came close to the thrill and the speed of Charles’ car. 

Your heart jumped up your throat as you were thrown back into the seat and then the world around you blurred. Everything faded away except for the window ahead and you didn’t dare blink in case you missed a moment. There were no thoughts on the what ifs of the future, or the regrets of your past. There was only the car, and Charles grinning at you.

“Are you sure this is slow?” you asked with a giddy laugh as the adrenaline reached your head and the initial surprise was erased.

“Hold on, cherie.” The engine roared louder and like a beast it leapt forward. A scream of exhilaration filled the car as Charles lassoed the metal beast and wrangled it through each corner until he finally slowed to return to the pit lane. 

“I finally understand the obsession,” you admitted as he parked back where he had left. Your fingers were almost stiff where they had gripped the harness over your chest and you flexed the feeling back into them before unbuckling it. “I can’t even describe it, but I feel alive - if that makes sense? I can’t think quite clearly now.”

“I understand.” Charles smiled softly and wiped away the stray tear that ran down your cheek from having your eyes wide open for so long. “It’s getting late.”

You climbed out of the car and looked up to see stars dotting the desert night sky. It felt like time stopped while you were in the car but nothing could stop time and it all came rushing back. “Can we do this again?” you asked, a little sheepish at how needy you sounded.

“Of course,” Charles promised, taking your hand as naturally as breathing. “After this race it’s winter break and I am all yours.” He stumbled and caught himself. “I mean, if you want to hang out and, uh, stuff. I don’t have any plans, but if you do we can figure something ou-”

You rose onto your toes and kissed his cheek that was turning pink in the moonlight and he fell silent. “I don’t have any plans either.”

Charles stared at your lips, still feeling the warmth on his cheek and he touched the skin as a smile tugged at his lips and he nodded to himself. “Okay. Okay.” 

“You’re cute,” you said as you felt the urge to kiss his lips next.

His nose wrinkled at the compliment. “Cute?”

“Amongst other things,” you added, biting your lip to keep your other thoughts to yourself. 

He grew confident and curled his finger under your chin, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip and pulling it free from your teeth. “You’re beautiful.”

Your lungs refused to work as his head dipped down slowly, giving you time to change your mind. You could still feel the remnants of that thrill in your veins and the charge was electric as you gave into your desire and threw your arms around his neck. The kiss started slowly, hesitation holding you both back as you tasted the chemistry, but it grew deeper as his arms curled around your waist, pulling your bodies flush. 

The track faded away as you spared one last critical thought to teleport back to the hotel room. Charles blinked as he looked around the bedroom, but the surprise turned to a smirk. “That is handy.”

“You can do it too,” you said as your fingers traced the hem of his shirt. “You can just have to picture the image in your mind.”

Cold kissed your skin and you looked down to see your own shirt had disappeared. 

“Holy shit, it worked,” he gasped. “Oh, shit, sorry.”

Your shirt returned in an instant but it was now the same shade of red as his team colours. 

“I wasn’t complaining,” you smirked but the humour dimmed as his hands came to rest on your waist that was still wrapped in red cotton. “We can take it slow, Charles.”

“Is that what you want?”

“I want you, not your regrets. I want you to be ready.” Ready for an eternity together.

Charles sat at the edge of the bed and pulled you onto his lap. “The first thing you should know about me is I have never been good at going slow,” he admitted as he cupped your cheek and crushed his lips to yours.

[lucid-loves]

Taste Like Venom ~ Simon "Ghost" Riley Part 1

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x assassin!reader (fem!reader, no use of y/n, callsign “Hex”)

Word Count: 3.4k

CW: angst, violence, blood, strong language, scars, enemies to friends to lovers trope, slow burn, plot, clear attraction and sexual tension, smut later on, reader POV and ghost POV, minors dni, Soap lives in this AU

Let me know if I missed any CWs.

Synopsis: After Makarov gets away again, Laswell decides to force a favor from you, the world’s greatest assassin and best-kept secret. You are now expected to help the 141 with taking down Makarov in addition to playing nice with them. It’s hard to play nice when you have always worked alone. It doesn’t help that one of the team members, Ghost, gets curious about you with each interaction. 

Part 1 ~ Part 2 ~ Part 3 ~ Part 4 ~ Part 5 ~ Part 6 ~ Part 7 ~ Part 8 ~ Part 9 ~ Part 10

You’ve always been a light sleeper, if you could even be called that. The truth was that you hardly slept at all. Bedtime was always more like cat-nap time. Light, soundless, ready to pounce at the sound of dust falling to the floor. That’s how you trained yourself and the habit stuck, even if you don’t take missions anymore. It was hard to deprogram a killing machine. 

The two years have been peaceful even if you were always on edge. Semi-retirement has been kind in only giving you the sounds of the forest trees in the wind, the gentle rush of the creek, birds singing every morning, and most importantly, no visitors. The world didn’t know that you existed and you preferred to keep it that way for as long as you could. While you did feel the phantom blood dripping down your hands every now and then to an unsettling reminiscent degree, you did like this little slice of heaven that was your off-grid cabin. It was a good place to be before you undoubtedly go to hell in the end.

You were in your bed when you heard the rustling of the forest floor just outside your window. Steps. But not the steps belonging to a fox or bear you have learned to recognize over time. These were the steps of a man. No, multiple men. The way the foot falls of a man walking is an undeniable melody you have heard thousands of times. In the dead of night, you bolted up out of bed and reached for your throwing knife and a pistol, always kept at your bedside. Like a thief in your own home, you silently followed the sounds outside along the walls until you reached the living room. They were going to come in through the front door. 

Under the cover of darkness, you readied your aim at the door. To your surprise, they were messing with the keypad that locked your house down, inputting codes with a subtle click and then beep of a correct code. No one should know the code except for two people. Laswell and yourself. 

As soon as the door revealed moonlight and a silhouette, you fired your gun. A warning shot. Grazing right past neck. The men stopped and immediately aimed their own rifles, but the one in front held his hand up in surrender. Following orders, the rifles were lowered. You were the first to speak, your voice dripping with venom. “State your purpose and maybe I won’t kill you all where you stand.”

A gentle yet deep Liverpudlian accent voiced back. “Easy now. We don’t mean harm. Laswell sent us here. Code Swan.”

“Song?” You replied, your muscles still tense, unwilling to lower your defenses until the full code was complete. It is what ensured both yours and Laswell’s safety.

“Black Death.” He replied back. You stayed in position for a few moments before finally sighing and lowering your weapon. You turned on a table lamp next to you to get a better look at the intruders. Four men stood in your doorway. One with a fishing hat, one with a mohawk, one with a baseball cap, and one with a skull mask. They were all tall, big with muscle, and seemingly not American from their patches. An interesting bunch to say the least. 

“Fucking Laswell.” You cursed Kate’s name. She should have contacted you about this. You were just about to paint the porch with her mens’ brains. You hated surprises. You often killed them before finding out the intentions. 

With a wave of your hand, you invited the men to come into your cabin. They cautiously came in, surveying the layout and now understanding what Kate meant when she said that you were “belligerent.”

You turned on the main lights and tried to get a fire going to relieve some of the autumn chill that had crept through the house. Their leader began to unload his things on the kitchen table, sighing from the weight relief. His men joined in, save for one. You could feel his eyes on you as you encouraged the fire. You didn’t even have to look back to know that he was watching your every move. 

“It’s rude to stare.” You warned curtly as you stood and turned. The man in the skull mask and balaclava didn’t avert his gaze.

His voice was rich and gruff like gaboon ebony. His Manchester accent came clear as day. “You’re half naked.”

He was referring to the large band shirt and boyshort panties that you were wearing. What did he expect from someone that thought that enemies were breaking in? You rolled your eyes and scoffed. “I’m in my pajamas. Besides, a good soldier shouldn’t get distracted by any amount of nudity.”

His blue eyes narrowed at your dig. He was a good soldier. An excellent soldier actually. One of the best. But excellent, good, or bad, no one would be able to resist staring at your figure. The exposed thighs, the large neckline of the shirt hanging off your shoulder, various scars scattered across skin like an abstract painting. He’s never seen anyone like you before. 

Too bad you had a combative mouth. 

Before he could get a word in, you had walked off into the kitchen, not bothering to go get pants on. It was your home for fuck’s sake. Besides, there were more pressing matters than your clothes or lack thereof. 

You began to pull out all the food you had out of your fridge. Everything from deli meat to leftover lasagna was being laid out on the large quartz island. You weren’t going to heat anything up or make something new, but the laid out spread would be enough. You weren’t a completely heartless host. Just a bare minimum one.

Once the food was out for pickings, you headed back near the dining room, leaning against the doorframe. The boys had maps, blueprints, and laptops covering every surface of your table. Your beautiful, hand-made pine table. This was to be their new safehouse for now. Hopefully not for too long.

“Captain, it’s connecting now.” The one with the mohawk called out. The captain came right over to greet the screen.

“Laswell, can you hear us?”

“Loud and clear, John. Did everything go well?” Kate chipperly asked. You haven’t heard her voice in a long while. You almost forgot how nice her voice actually was.

“She nearly shot my fuckin’ neck off.” Mohawk-guy grumbled. 

Kate gave a light, short laugh. “Sounds like it went smoothly then. The best that it could be. She there?”

All four men looked up to you, expecting you to come over and face Laswell through the screen. However, you stayed where you were. Instead, you spoke loud enough for your friend to hear. “Kate Laswell.”

“Hex, I’m sorry that I couldn’t warn you about this beforehand. You know I wouldn’t have done this if it wasn’t an emergency situation.” She began to apologize and justify. It was always an apology followed by a justification. You wondered if she even ever means her apologies, but in the end, you never really cared enough. However, now it is different.

“I don’t exist, Kate. And now four new people know that I do. . .” You retorted back.

It was silent for a moment, the tension in the air thick. She was on the other side of the screen, but it felt like you were going to get into a physical fight with her anyways. “They’re trustworthy. I trust them with my life and the lives of millions upon millions. Just like I trust you. And as the only people that I trust, I need you to help them.”

“They have already taken over my home. What more do you want from me?” You clenched your jaw, trying to prepare yourself for an answer you probably wouldn’t like. Like hell were you going to play dorm mother to them and like hell you were going to just move out. The last thing you wanted was to take care of these men longer than necessary. This was already pushing that line for you.

“Athame.” She bluntly said. That was the worst answer she could have said. The confused looks the men gave each other made you grateful for a fleeting second. They didn’t understand your secret codes and languages. But they will soon.

Your jaw was clenched so hard that your teeth ached. You damn near cracked them. While your voice before was dripping with venom, it was now drowning in it. “Are you fucking kidding me?!”

“Hex, I-”

You finally came over, nearly pushing the captain out of the way in your warpath. Through the screen, Kate could see how angry you were. Not just angry, furious. She steeled herself, ready for your onslaught of curses, stopping herself midway through her explanation. “I don’t do this shit, Kate! I work solo for a very particular fucking reason. And now you want me to work with four strange men?! Now you want me to play nice?! I’m not a fucking soldier that can just be ordered around!”

“I know! I know. . . But. . . we’re desperate. I’m desperate, Hex. Please, this is the last favor I will ever ask from you. This is an awful target we’re talking about. Someone that is better off in this world dead.”

“You mean Makarov, right? Why should I clean up your government’s fuck-up? Again, might I add.” You spat. You lived off the grid and weren’t a citizen of anywhere, but you still watched the news. You always knew what was going on in the world among other secrets. Makarov was a threat to the world, but as far as you were concerned, it wasn’t your problem. If anything, the government needed this lesson as a direct consequence of their negligence and incompetence. 

“Because Chalice.” She simply stated, knowing that her final word was a last ditch effort. Chalice was an agreement that you two had made long ago. It could only be used once in your lives, a truly desperate resort for help. If one of you uttered it, then the other would have no choice but to help, no matter the request. That was the law between your friendship, among other things. The other code words were favors, but this was the ultimate one. Life or death.

You considered punching the laptop in anger. Right at Kate’s face. You didn’t like her call for Athame or Chalice, but now you didn’t have a choice but to comply. It didn’t mean that you weren’t still furious though. “Fuck you, Kate.”

“Thank you, Hex.” She breathed a sigh of relief. She wanted to tell you more about what she needed from you, but she knew that you had to cool off first otherwise you would burst into flames. That would've made things harder for all of you. So, she nodded as a signal for dismissal which you gladly took. You retreated to your room, locking the door shut and basking in the darkness. 

You could feel the blood boil within you. It burned your insides and choked you. Grabbing your pillow, you pressed it against your face and screamed out your frustration. When that didn’t help, you punched the exposed logs of your cabin wall until your knuckles were splintered and bleeding.

~

Ghost sat on the couch, his thoughts swirling with uncertainty. The rest of the meeting with Laswell was brief, wanting them to try to decompress for the next several hours. Sleep, eat, process. All in the comfort of an assassin’s home. 

Compared to your personality, the cabin was decorated warmly. Everything was cozy, earthy, and fresh. The fire crackled comfortably, the plush couch was broken in, and every wooden piece of furniture looked hand-made. Bookshelves were filled with classic books and another shelf collected various music records. The only thing that seemed out of place was the lack of real personal mementos. No pictures, no art, not even knick-knacks. The others didn’t seem to notice or care as they picked through the food left in the kitchen. But for Simon, it left him uneasy.

He recalled the briefing before they were sent to the middle of nowhere to you. Kate said that you were an old friend of hers from high school. You have been friends ever since, but you were different than most people. You were a deadly assassin unknown by the world. No records, no pictures, not even a birth certificate. You handled delicate problems with grace and grave justice. You always worked alone, you didn’t trust others, and you were deadly. Everything about you was a secret until Kate made the crucial choice to ask for your help. Hell, they didn’t even know your call sign until Kate said it over the video call. 

“You should eat, Lt. There’s a lot of options, but they’re dwindling fast.” Soap patted him on the shoulder, awakening him from deep thought. Ghost looked up at the sergeant, watching him stuff a sandwich into his mouth. It looked like all the deli meat from one packet was in between the bread. No lettuce or tomato. 

“In a bit. I’m gonna talk to Hex real quick and ask some questions.” He replied and got up from the couch. 

Soap swallowed nervously. “Kate said that she’s gonna need time to cool off. . .”

“Our new member is part of the team now. She’s gonna have to get used to us even if she wants time for herself.” He justified it with a shrug of his shoulders. Soap shook his head and walked back into the kitchen, knowing that what Simon was about to do was most likely going to be a bad idea.

Ghost walked down the hall, observing each door as he passed them. Most of them were slightly open revealing extra bedrooms, an office, and a bathroom. Only two of them remained closed, both locked with keypads. For a second, he wondered which bedroom was yours before he could hear the sound of light music behind one of them along with swearing. It made him wonder what was behind the other door that was locked down.

Deciding to let it go for now, he approached your door and knocked. “Hex, open up.”

He heard you let out a frustrated groan before the door opened up. It was only just enough to see you, the pure darkness behind you, and the blood dripping down your fists. He crossed his arms over his broad chest and quirked a brow that you couldn’t see behind the mask. It didn’t take a genius to realize what you had done. “Are you done throwing a temper tantrum?”

You scowled at him, a fire in your eyes that made Simon’s heart skip a beat which confused him. He wasn’t afraid of you, so why would his heart alter its beat for you?

“If I knew that you were just going to insult me, I would’ve shot you dead on my porch.” You bitterly snapped, moving to close the door in his face. However, Ghost stopped it from slamming and took your hand in his, observing the damage you’ve done to yourself.

Your breath caught in your throat. Electricity ran through you at his touch. When was the last time someone has touched you? You attempted to pull back, but his hand firmly gripped yours. “Hey! What the fuck? Let go of me!”

“Calm down and let me see. It hurts, doesn’t it? Stings?” 

You narrowed your eyes, but eventually nodded. It did sting and the dripping blood already stained your carpet. However, you could take care of it yourself. You didn’t need some man coming in to try to fix you. “I’ll be fine. I can tend to it myself.”

“First aid in the bathroom?” He asked, seeming to ignore your clear hint that you wanted to be alone. 

Understanding that he probably wouldn’t drop this until he saw gauze around your knuckles, you headed to the hall bathroom with a huff, opened up the cabinet, and took out the first aid kit. You then took a seat at the edge of the tub and began patching yourself up. Every now and then you looked up towards the doorway, making sure that the skull man was watching you take care of yourself. Without his help. Without anyone’s help.

Finally, your hands were wrapped and the bleeding had stopped. You held up your hands towards him. “Happy now? Will you leave me alone now?”

“Hex.” Ghost simply said as a warning. God, you were infuriating. An attitude problem was something he would normally be able to snuff out immediately. He did it all the time when training new soldiers. Not you though. New soldiers were like little candles, easily blown out of their fire with just a breath. You? You were like a raging forest fire. One that clearly had its own traumas over years of service that the world may never know. 

You didn’t like how he studied you. How his eyes trained on you were a mix between hatred, curiosity, and something else that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. A magnetic pull that begged for you to look at him too. You also didn’t like how he was trying to treat you like one of his rookie soldiers. The only thing you wanted to do to make it all stop was to push him away. “Don’t talk to me like some new recruit straight out of school. I’ve already earned my place in the world with the amount of scars I have. So, don’t treat me like I’m under you. I won’t even let your captain talk to me like that.”

After putting the first aid back where it belonged, you attempted to leave the bathroom and retreat back to your bedroom. Yet, Ghost wasn’t giving up just yet. His hold body blocked the bathroom exit. He was tall, strong, and sturdy. It wasn’t hard for him to completely fill up the space. However, that didn’t intimidate you. You got up close, and looked straight into those icy blues. Even with the black warpaint, you could tell that his lashes were meant to be blonde. Some of the paint had flecked off revealing some true color. You wondered what the rest of his face looked like for a second. Just a second.

You stood your ground, engaging in a heated staring contest. It was like lightning crackling between the two of you. After a while though, Simon finally gave in and held his hand up like a handshake. “Lieutenant. They call me Ghost.” 

Hesitantly, you took his hand and firmly shook it, refusing to back down from a battle of wills. “Hex. That’s all you will know me by.”

Suddenly, he pulled you in closer, your chest almost touching his. On instinct, you pulled a knife from the waistband of your underwear. It was the one you took with you earlier for the showdown at the door. You held it to his neck, blade dipping in until you could feel the push back of skin. Ghost didn’t flinch or jump back at your defense. Instead, he whispered into your ear that he wanted to get close to in the first place. “As hard as you may try to fight it, you’re going to know me. And I’m going to know you.”

You bit back the shiver that went down your spine from the whisper, aching to slice his throat in retaliation. Chalice had you pinned, though. You had to avoid killing the people you are going to be working with at the very least. 

Ghost slowly backed up and headed back towards the kitchen for some food, leaving you to process what just happened. You silently walked back to your room without looking back at him, ears turning red and heart racing unnaturally. You didn’t want to give him any satisfaction by giving him any more attention. However, Simon was already somewhat satisfied. 

Yet, there was a part of him that wanted more.

Soap was eating a piece of lasagna when he walked in. Gaz and Price were quietly conversing at the other end of the island. It took a lot of food to fill up men like them. It wouldn’t take long for them to eat you out of your house and home unfortunately. 

“So, how did it go?” Soap nosely inquired. As Simon surveyed the food before picking out a tupperware full of stew, he shrugged casually.

“She almost sliced my head off.”

Soap suppressed a chuckle and did his best impersonation of Laswell. “Sounds like it went smoothly then.”

[scarletwidowsbaby]

Little Pet

Summary: Something nefarious this way comes. Will you run before it's too late?

Pairings: Vampire!Nat x Hunter!Fem!Reader x Heretic!Wanda

Genre: Dark and slightly smutty but no sexy times.

Warnings: Sexual suggestions, blood, fangs, lingerie, dark magic. Minors dni, this is not for you.

A/N: This has been sitting in my drafts for a while but I gave it a bit of a touch-up. Hope you enjoy!

It was only dusk and you were already regretting taking the job. 

You had been hired by the local innkeeper to investigate the mystery around the abandoned manor on the backside of the forest’s mountain. Many adventurers had come in search of the manor, yet none had returned.

The fact that he was paying you three thousand coin per adventurer that you found was… possibly also the deciding factor. 

As you stepped onto the surprisingly well-kept lawn of the place, your hunter instincts went off. Something nefarious was here, lurking in the shadows, watching and waiting. You pulled out your sword as you entered through the giant double oak doors.

Immediately, your blade began to burn hotter than a thousand suns, forcing you to drop it. Thankfully, you had your fireproof gloves on from your latest encounter with a feral dragon, and weren’t burnt. 

“So sorry, dear.” A voice echoed in the grand pitch-black entryway, high ceiling above decorated with paintings akin to the skills of the Sistine Chapel. 

Not even God could save you now. 

“Come closer, dear. Let me see you in the light.” 

You noticed a speck of moonlight from a small window to the high right, almost casting a spotlight on the tiles in front of you. You cautiously stepped forward into it, unsure why, yet the voice’s chuckle was… unnerving.

“Why, look at you. A female hunter? Shall we call you Huntress?”

Your gaze steeled - there were more of them - before you felt a sharpness on your neck, a blur passing behind you. 

“Oh my. How… sweet.” 

You put your hand on your neck, your glove in the light showing a thin line of your blood. 

“Vampires.” You muttered beneath your breath. 

“Oh, not just vampires.” A new voice said, a clear glee entwined in her thick accent. “I do wish you would figure it out already.”

Suddenly, your body was lifted by an invisible force. You couldn’t move, save your eyes, and you were whisked through the house before you came to a throne room. You were practically thrown to the ground in front of it, a pair of sleek boots in your gaze. 

“It’s so wonderful to see another human try their luck here, isn’t it love?” The person, woman, in front of you chuckled darkly. 

“Let her lift her head, my dear. I want to see the life in this one’s eyes before I take it away.” 

The invisible force acting on your body released your head and you immediately lifted it, coming up to see two women. The one on the throne held a classic lop-sided smirk, her ginger-red hair flowing down her shoulders in simple waves. The other, standing beside the throne, was very clearly something else, with her brown locks tied back in neat braids done by a professional.

“A… here… tic…” You strained the devious hybrid species’ name through your lips.

“There we go. She figured it out!” She snarkily laughed, her eyes glowing as crimson as the bloodstains on her sleeves. 

“You are clearly a very skilled huntress. What is your name, sugarcube?” The seated vampire asked, her eyes set on yours. 

“Y/N.” Your name was pulled from your lungs by the heretic. 

“My my… No wonder Wanda liked the feeling from your sword… you are known for such giant feats of destruction in our world, Y/N the Huntress.” 

You guessed that Wanda was the heretic, given the grin that came onto her face. “Now now, love, I think you should introduce yourself. Give this huntress a good fright, yes?” 

You looked back at the throned woman, noticing a familiarity to a few wanted posters on the borders of the Darklands. “No…” 

“Yes…” She grinned, nodding her head as her sharp nails came to grip your cheek. “I am Natasha Romanova, Countess of the Mstiteli Clan. And you, dear huntress… are now mine.”

She pulled you up by your neck and made a neat slit across your skin, sinking her fangs into your vein whilst Wanda ripped your armour from your body with her magic. Wanda grabbed your wrist and pulled up your sleeve, making a neat slit perpendicular to your arm and delved into it. 

Tingling sensations spread from both areas, sending shivers down your spine. It was fast, and ruthless, as they didn’t stop even to let you breathe. You were trapped in the cycle of stuttered breaths, euphoria, and the effects of blood loss. 

When you rose, your body felt exactly how it was - weak, drained of energy, of blood. You felt your ankle had been chained, the cold metal stinging on your skin though it contrasted vastly with the softness of the bed beneath you. 

“Oh, now that’s a hangover headache for the ages.” You winced, lifting your hand to your head to simultaneously relieve the ache and brush a few strands out of your face.

“Is that what humans feel like when they’re blood is consumed? Intoxicated?” You jerked your head up - bad idea - to see Countess Natasha lying next to you in nothing but a black nightrobe and dark red lingerie. She gingerly brushed her fingers over your neck, which had small gauze patches on either side. 

“You.” You growled before instinctively reaching for your sword, only to feel another hand there. 

“You were right to melt her armour and sword, my love - she is such a feisty one.” Wanda giggled, her own nightrobe and lingerie adorned on her body. 

Wanda flicked some magic to your hands and they obeyed, pulling up until the wisps of red tied your wrists to the bed frame. “Though you can think of hurting us, now you can’t.” She grinned deviously.

“Now, sugarcube… what to do with you…” Natasha teased before she carefully began to peel off your gauze patches.

“Hey! That hurts!” You huffed before Wanda ripped the one near her fangs off with a sharp tug. 

“OW!”

They both chuckled and cooed at you like you were some soft malleable thing. 

“Calm down, detka. You’re such an impatient little thing.” Natasha rolled her eyes. 

“I’m not your ‘baby’.” You huffed, rolling your eyes before she quickly gripped your jaw.  

“Do that again and I’ll take away the pleasure from being fed on.” She whispered darkly into your ear, pressing her thumb and finger into your neck to pinch your airways. 

You paused, relinquishing, and she pulled away. “Good. Now, for ground rules: This coven is a respected coven. You are the only human we’ve ever taken in that won’t be turned, no matter how sexy you’d be as a vampire.”

“You see, baby girl… We own you now.” Wanda summarised, putting a small bit of ointment on your healing bite wounds. 

“Nobody owns me.” You retorted. 

“That ends today. Well, I should say tonight.” Natasha chuckled, tracing the outline of your face. 

“Yes, it does. So, we will explain the hierarchy to you: Natasha is Countess, so she will often be busy with coven affairs and our coven’s safety. Then, it’s me, considering I am her wife-”

“Wife?!” You exclaimed before Natasha’s finger pushed down on your sternum, her supernatural strength keeping you down in the bed. 

“Yes, my adoring, lovely, brilliant chef of a Sokovian wife. Now listen and be respectful.” The countess warned you. 

“As I was saying, I am second in the hierarchy. Then it is James, Steve, Sam and Scott - they are our ‘muscle’, even though some of them look like tanks and others not so much. After them is virtually everyone who is not an unturned child. Those we have accepted and who will be turned upon legal age.”

You listened carefully before you noticed an item in Wanda’s hand - a necklace. 

“This is something you will wear at all times unless in the shower. It is imbued with Natasha and mine’s scents and blood, should you ever need to be healed.” She said, clasping it over your neck and not afraid to let her hands wander a bit down. 

You turned your head away from hers, feeling some sort of spell over your body like the blood within the red stone was charged. 

“You feel it, don’t you?” Natasha smirked from above you, her hair tickling your neck as it hung down. “The power of us, the Mstiteli Clan leaders, though only a single drop of blood each. The power of vampires. You could have never defeated us, Y/N. Not even with your enchanted sword.”

“I did enjoy breaking those enchantments.” Wanda added.

You closed your eyes, trying to take everything in since you were still a bit dazed. “Nobody told me that you were Mstiteli. If I had known that-”

“You wouldn’t have come. We know. But we loved chatting to that innkeeper a few nights ago. He was just divine.” Natasha licked her lips and you understood the double entendre. 

“A few little drops of amber ash doesn’t hurt a fella. And without you to return and claim your prizes, we’ll keep getting willing meals right at our doorstep.” Wanda smirked.

“Such delicious, tasty meals… Speaking of, I want to have some more…”

You looked at the two warily. They stopped. What?

Natasha snickered darkly, cupping your cheek. “Oh, you really are as sweet as they come. No, what we did was a dominance show. Now, we go gently.”

Gently wasn’t the right word for her to use as she practically smashed her lips against yours, delving her tongue in to test if even your saliva was as sweet as your blood. Your hands, still chained above your head, were no match for Wanda’s power as she sank to your stomach, kissing and sucking at the exposed skin. 

“So divine…” She murmured, a flick of her magic warping your reality. 

“Hey! Bring my clothes back!” You yelled, mostly from embarrassment as you now wore the same nightrobe adorned on them but in crimson red… and without lingerie. 

“Patience, dear. We want our filling first. We will always come before you.” Natasha said, the words burning in your mind as she locked eyes with you. 

Then, she leaned in and reopened the wound with such precision of her fang she could be a surgeon. She sucked at your neck whilst keeping a firm hold of your body, her arm snaking underneath the nightrobe and around your back. 

“Come up here, Wanda. You were the one who wanted us to make our marks clear and present.” She chided her wife, who you hadn’t even noticed feeding on your wrist. 

“But she’s so beautiful… I want to sink my fangs into every inch of her, litter her body with my bite.” Wanda said and you could tell she was the far more possessive one. 

“Neck first.” Natasha said firmly. 

You felt like a blood bag. Nothing more than for something they can feed on and toy with, squish around in their hands to bring out every bit of life source. 

Then, you felt that tingle again. That rush of endorphins coursing through your veins, making you whimper beneath their touch. 

“Hush. Fuck, you’re delicious.” Wanda moaned against your neck, digging her fangs deeper. 

You quietened down like a good little pet and let them have their fill once more, your jostles of movement stopping quickly as fatigue set in. They were both grinning as they pulled away from your neck, fangs and lips smeared with your blood. 

“Wanda, go get some hot towels.” Natasha muttered, the heretic speeding away to bring a tower of hot towels. 

She leaned into your ear, kissing it gently. “Now hush, little pet. Time for you to rest some more…”

[nightgoodomens]

Maybe Aziraphale comes to Earth because he needs to speak to Crowley, they need to work together to save the world, they need to be together, lord, he misses him more than books, food and music combined.

But Crowley keeps his distance and he’s silent while Aziraphale talks and in desperation Aziraphale finally reaches out to him, tries to touch his cheeks but when he does Crowley screeches from pain and backs off so quickly he falls over and then looks up at Aziraphale terrified.

W-what, I didn’t, I didn’t… Aziraphale looks at his own hands in shock. Crowley…

You can’t touch a demon, Crowley says the last word with disgust because this is what it was about, was it not, Aziraphale always having in the back of his mind that he will never be good enough for him when he was a demon, that’s why he wanted to change him, so now as an Archangel his holy hands burned him because he wasn’t worth him.

And he flees that day and Aziraphale never, ever in thousands of years seen anyone, especially Crowley, look at him scared and betrayed.

There is something about not being able to touch Crowley that makes him feel sick. His touch hurting Crowley. His hands making him cry out in pain. The betrayal in his eyes.

But they need to work together and it hurts like hell to try to unlearn reaching out for him. Yet Crowley seems to be looking thinner and sicker each day but he doesn’t tell Aziraphale that it’s simply being close to him that is literally killing him.

Like being thrown in a bath of holy water each time.

And then they save the world and Crowley collapses to his knees and Aziraphale reaches out and Crowley flinches.

Almighty is still there watching them and Aziraphale turns to look at her and says take it

Take the holiness, the titles, even the wings. Throw me in hell fire. Burn me. Just stop making my existence hurt Crowley.

And she asks. You want to fall for a demon?

I have fallen a very long time ago, when he was still your child, and again when you rejected him, and again when he rejected all of you.

And he feels his supreme powers disappearing. He feels like himself again. And he notices his wings becoming a very light shade of grey. Almighty disappears.

Crowley looks in his eyes for the first time in all these months, weakly, whispers his name, and Aziraphale catches him in his arms as he faints and it doesn’t hurt Crowley anymore.

Everything was going to be okay.

[kasagia]

In the darkness

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova/General Kirigan/The Darkling x fem! Alina's sister! Sun Summoner! reader Summary: After you and Alina destroyed the fold, she killed Aleksander and became queen at Nikolai's side, you took the place, tittle and chambers of the General of the Second Army. And then... strange things starts to happen in the darkness. Warning(s): obsessive behaviour; toxic relationship; voyeurism; Aleks manipulates the reader, the reader gives in to him; the reader is alone and needs someone *cough* her Darkling; fight; violence; dark reader; Word Count: 9,2 k Taglist: @aoi-targaryen ~•♤♤♤•~ Aleksander Morozova's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~

You won. Alina won. The fold did not exist anymore… as well as he. Ravka was safe. And the new royal couple was supposed to provide it with peace and splendor. That's what they were saying.

Nobody talked about the fallen. About the thousands of Grishas still living in fear. About thousands were imprisoned by Fjerdans and Shu-Hans who experimented on them.

All that mattered was that the Darkling was dead. The darkness disappeared. The shadows left with their last summoner, whose body he begged you to burn.

And maybe, after all, he was cruel. Maybe he knew that despite everything he had done, you still loved him, and his request (as well as his staring at you as if you were his only light and the only one thing he wanted to look at before his death) would completely break your already battered heart.

Maybe that was his last act of manipulation and control over you. A pleasure he couldn't slip out of his fingers. Maybe seeing you sobbing over him was the last goal he set for himself, before he leaves this world after the centuries he has lived. Centuries of constant fighting and flight. Centuries of leaving in his own shadows, in hatred, each time he looked at the fold, he was reminded that he wasn't able to achieve his goal.

That he was utterly alone...

Just as you are now.

Or maybe he just loved you, and you didn't want to admit it to yourself...

And now, laying on the bed in which he used to sleep, on the bed he used to hold you, on the bed he spent with you many sleepless nights and long, late mornings, you know that no matter what renovation this room will have, it will always remind you of him.

Your Aleksander... your equal... your monster.

You shiver as the cold, winter air comes to his... your room. You get up from the bed and walk to the window to close the door.

You look at the palace gardens and immediately remind yourself of the days before you found out he was Black Heretic, before that fatal Winter Fete.

Two years ago, Aleksander was chasing you around gardens, laughing, snowballs fighting, and doing all the stupid things he couldn't do in the daylight.

Two years ago, your life looked like a fairytale, and you were blessed to live in it. Now it is much closer to tragedy. And knowing how the events would turn out, you would have definitely cherished those simple, peaceful days with Aleksander by your side more while they lasted.

You sigh, absently stroking your right hand where Aleksander ordered David to physically embed the amplifier into you a few months ago.

You were pathetic. Missing the man who manipulated you, who hurt your sister, who wanted to kill your friends, who hurt Genya... but that was why you couldn't fully hate him. He did everything to achieve his goal. He hurt everyone who stood in his way.

Except you.

Never you.

And it hurt more than if he had physically hurt you.

He always held you up as his equal. The son of a bitch even had his kefta re-stitched to have gold embroidery to represent your power. He wore your combined colours with pride. Just like you did before you discovered how many sweet lies he had fed you since the day you first met him.

Tears come to your eyes as you remember how that fucking bastard, moments before Alina drove the shadow sword through his abdomen, lunged at his Nichevo'yas to stop them from attacking you. You saw the vulnerability and the fear in his eyes until your light drove the shadow monsters away from you. And relief, which was replaced by painful shock when Alina took advantage of his moment of inattention and killed him.

It had never occurred to you to hurt Alina before... except that fateful day.

You wipe the tears from your cheeks with your hand and turn to go back to the bed. You had a meeting with several colonels, including Fedyor and Ivan. The two were also torn apart by the war.

At least Fedyor still has his Ivan alive to atone for his sins. - you think bitterly, even jealousy, as you somehow manage to fall asleep in this big, empty, cold bed.

And when you close your eyes, the candle that was lit on the nightstand that once belonged to Aleksander goes out as you fall into a deep sleep.

If you had been a little more alert, you would have seen shadows that created a curtain covering the window, thus blocking the moonlight from entering your chamber.

"I have no intention of punishing them, Alina." you tell your sister as you work at the war table. Aleksander's plans were somehow still preserved. And you review them, updating and changing them according to your needs.

"They fought alongside the Darkling. What kind of general are you? What example will you set by not punishing those who defied the crown and followed their Black General?"

"That's why I have no intention of doing anything about it, your majesty. You were Grisha yourself before you lost your powers. Whose side would you fight for—the king who hates them or the general who gave them a safe place? And please try to put aside our personal prejudices and see the whole thing, not just a little peace through the prism of your hatred towards him, because we both know damn well that Aleksander was many things. A good commander was one of them."

"I never wanted to be a Grisha." Alina says this with pain in her eyes. You know this very well. You wouldn't have wanted to be a Sankta or general either... if it weren't for Aleksander.

"But you were. You can't just forget about that, Sol Koroleva."

"You're definitely not making it easy for me." she sighs tiredly, smiling at you. She sits down in the chair next to you and takes your hand. "If I could turn back time and... not bring Mal back to life and not lose my power, I would. I wouldn't leave you alone with this, you know, right?"

"I know... but that's not how things went..." you say, swallowing, as you let go of the papers and look at your sister. "But that's okay. I will keep an eye on your children and grandchildren... Maybe one of them will become the next Sun Summoner? Who knows?" you laugh, trying to lighten the mood, but by the look Alina gives you, you know that your tone wasn't as carefree as you wanted it to be.

"Y/N... I'm sorry." you interrupt her before she begins to pity you, before her compassion overwhelms you to the point where you sink into your own pain and suffering, which inevitably entails an eternity ahead of you. And that was just the beginning.

"You don't have to... I... I can always die somehow. I don't have to live forever."

"We both know that's not in your blood to give up. You will fight till the end... till Grishas and Ravkans will live as equals in a safe country."

"Maybe yes... or maybe I will throw it all to hell and go around the world. I remember that Kaz once proposed to me to join their little group of thieves. It could be fun."

You both laugh at that. Then Alina gives you a sad, apologetic look before asking you a very dangerous and… hurting question.

"Do you miss him? Aleksander?"

A dead silence falls between you after her whispering question. As if his name were something forbidden to say out loud between you two. You play with the sleeve of your white kefta with gold embroidery, wondering how to answer this obvious question.

"Sometimes... but I guess it's only because I don't want to... to be alone like him..."

"Did you love him? At the day I killed him?" she asks, assuming that you stopped loving him at the moment he stopped breathing; at the moment when his black, poisoned by Merzost heart stopped beating… as it was just that simple for you to forget about him. The man who made you who you are now. The man who was first to show you how extraoridnary you are. Who understood you more than your sister - your supposed closest person in the world.

"I care more to have someone by my side through all of this that's about to happen… someone who will stay for longer than almost a century. I guess I'm starting to understand why he was chasing after us… why he wanted us by his side in his damn glorious purpose."

"He was chasing after you. He only cared about you. Not only because you were a Sun Summoner." she says it so lightly and so obviously that you start to wonder if she's deliberately trying to break you.

But if Aleksander taught you anything, it was how to keep your true emotions deep inside your heart. So you put your lips into a mocking smile and reply to her in a joking tone.

"Maybe. We will never find out. Anyway, I don't want to."

Fedyor's and Ivan's arrival rescued you from this unconvenient conversation. You nod to Alina as she leaves. She gives Ivan a hating, untrusyful look before guards close the door behind her. You look at the two heartrenders.

"It's good to see you both. I have some questions about these plans, and as general Kirigan's closest people, I assume, you both can explain some things to me, which I don't quite get right now."

You clear your throat, trying to forget about what you and Alina were talking about and focus on what the two men in front of you are saying. But it's hard to look at the Dark General's notes and plans and just not think of your Aleksander... Especially when those damn wooden soldiers are just as spread out on his war table as they were on the night of the Winter Fiesta when you run away from him.

And you have neither the heart nor the strength to move it to another place…

"Fedyor, can you leave us both for a while? You can wait for Ivan behind the door." you say after you've gotten through most of the stuff. Fedyor gives you a surprised look but doesn't question your order. He goes out, leaving you with Ivan, who has been giving you an unfavourable, almost hostile look since he sat down in the chair. You wouldn't care if the situation didn't require you to cooperate with him. After all, he was Aleksander's right-hand man. He probably knew the most about war tactics in the entire Second Army. And now that the fold was gone and you had to defend and fortify yourselves on all fronts, you would need all the help you could get. "Why are you looking at me like that? What's your problem?" you ask the heartrender, watching him carefully.

You both stared at each other for a moment. Ivan tries to hold back something, but the moment he notices Aleksander's ring—the only souvenir you let yourself leave after him—something inside him breaks.

"How dare you sit in his chair, having his tittle, want to do exactly the same things in the Second Army, using the same tactics as he did? You all are no different from him. Actually, you are much worse, and you call him a monster when everything he did was for us. For our safety, so that we can finally break free from the power of Otkazat'syas."

"I know you were loyal to him, but..."

"He had done nothing wrong. And you know it." he cuts you off before you can say anything else. The feeling of guilt awakens within you again, the uncomfortable lump in your throat every time you talk to someone about him growing stronger again. "I hope you also know that you and your sister destroyed everything he was working at. That Ravka will spill blood under your rule. That Lantsov prince will be the same as his father, as every king from their dynasty was."

"Be careful how you talk to me. I am your general now, Ivan. You should probably get used to it, before I change my mind and let Alina execute you." you say it coldly and grab a glass from the table to drink the whisky. "You can leave now."

"Of course, general." he said coldly, but before he stood up to leave, he put a black envelope on your desk.

"What is that?" you ask him, but he just bows to you and leaves. Only when the door closes behind him with a bang do you allow yourself to take the envelope in your hands.

Seeing Aleksander's seal—the eclipsed sun—makes you release the envelope from your hand as if it was burning you. You let it fall to the desk; your eyes focused only on it.

You hold your breath as your fingers land on the seal and stroke it tenderly. You remember the first letter you received from him... right after your first night together, when he had to leave the Little Palace for a while on important matters. He wrote to you every day until he came back again, heading straight into your arms and ignoring the fact that the General of the First Army and the colonels were waiting for him in the council chamber.

With trembling hands, you take the dagger and cut the envelope at the top so as not to break the last seal he left behind and get into the contents of the envelope.

A pendant falls from the envelope with a clatter onto the table. You leave the envelope with the letter and take the pendant in your hands, looking at it carefully.

It is a silver, convex oval with some vines engraved on the front, decorated with small, round pieces (your favourite gemstone). Initials are engraved on the back: A.M. You huff, realising that even in death, he wanted to make sure you were his in some way. And you're about to put the pendant down and hide it somewhere, where you would never find it again, but then suddenly you press something and it opens.

You gasp as you see what's hidden inside. Bone. A medium-sized, most likely from a wrist, finger, or other small part of the skeletal system.

You rummage through the envelope, and, apart from the letter, you find a small note that was probably attached to the necklace.

In case you need a reminder of your real power...

You lift the bone and feel your power flow through you, amplified. You sigh, feeling just like those months ago when his skin pressed against yours as he let you draw on his empowering abilities. You feel a tear roll down your cheek as you tremble with an overwhelming, long-forgotten feeling.

A knock on the door makes you panic, opening your desk drawer and gathering all your items into it. You close the drawer just as Zoya walks in, followed by your colonels. You rub your forehead, mentally getting ready for the next meeting.

However, you can't stop thinking about the envelope and necklace from Aleksander hidden in the drawer.

And if you were more observant, you would notice how shadows are hiding in the corner of the war room, watching you attentively, waiting for the right moment when they can come out of their hiding place. Or at least a bee that flew out of an open window.

You lie in your bed late at night. You stopped trying to fall asleep a long time ago. You laied on your back, breathing calmly with your eyes closed as you were wondering about the new informations from the camps close to the border.

The war was comming. You had right. Aleksander had right. Fjerdans and Shu-Hans wanted to use occasion and attack Ravka, since a fold has gone and now nothing stopped them from attack a West Ravka. If you lost your ports and supplies of food, raw materials and gold, you will lose that war and many will lose their lifes.

You were laying there, wondering about your next move in upcoming war. You shiver suddenly, feeling oddly. A strange chill spread through your body as you went into a more alert mode.

Subconsciously, you look around in the dark, trying to spot the dark, familiar irises. You're doing it under some irrational delusion that he is able to observe you even when he is dead. That he can watch your every move even though you watched his body burn...

Although he has already proved many times in his long, many-centuries life that he is capable of anything he wants...

With a flip of your wrist, a ball of light appears in a room. There was no one. Just you and your paranoya You frown and remove the ball of light as you lay back on the bed.

You sigh heavily, lying on your side. You watch a candle burning on the nightstand on the side that used to be Aleksander's. You watch the fire for a moment, admiring the colours of the flame and how it goes along with a soft wind from the opened window, and then blow it out. You close your eyes, listening to your surroundings, and just as you're about to drift off into blissful unconsciousness, you hear something like a cold whisper in your ear, which makes you shiver.

They are going to lose. They can't rule this country. They know nothing about the pain of war.

That tought appear in your mind, sounding extremaly like somebody you used to know very well... you shake your head. You were not going to imagine his voice on your head. You weren't go mad, were you?

Besides, that was a stupid tought. You will figure it out with Alina and the rest, just as you always do. Grishas will be safe. You will sacrifice your life to make it happen. Horrifyingly, you realise that someone before you has taken a similar oath.

Yet still, you can't help but look at the side of your chamber where Aleksander's letter is, hidden in your desk's drawer. You are so tempting to read it, even after all that happened between you both.

"Get out of my head." you whisper to yourself, as he was still linked with you somehow. As he was still able to appear in a room with you at any second.

You missed him. You admit it to yourself in the darkness of the bedroom you two used to share. But that didn't mean that you would bring him back in some way. He was too dangerous for the good of other people and too unpredictable. Irronicaly, he cared too much. And you were afraid that you were inevitably walking in his path; you were in the same place as he was all those years and centuries ago. But, contrary to him, you will have no one by your side. You will be utterly alone.

You try fall asleep, closing your eyes and ignoring the tears that fall on your pillow. If you learned anything from Aleksander, it was to let no one witness your suffering. They wouldn't understand your pain anyway.

There were no others like you. And there will never be ever again…

Against your better judgement, you quickly get up from the bed, and, before you can change your mind, with a ball of white light in your hand, you walk to the desk, illuminating your path.

You open the drawer and pull out that damned letter, hoping that reading it will give you some kind of closure you need.

You hold it with trembling hands, trying to ignore the fact that Aleksander's familiar handwriting was less refined and more cursive and simpler. There were also black traces of his blood in some places on the page. Even before you start reading, your heart sinks as you think about how Merzost was slowly killing him, as he was completely alone after Baghra's death—as alone as you are now.

And the first line is enough to bring the first pitiful tears to your eyes.

Moya milaya. Moya soverenyia,

The damn bastard knew you would take over his position. He was probably having a lark in hell right now, watching you cry over his letter, how you regretted every decision you made that got you here, and how you tried so hard to hate him with all your heart, but you just simply couldn't. And that made you hate yourself more when, despite everything, you entered the trap he had prepared specially for you while he was still living and clutched the letter in your hands, trying to read it despite the tears constantly appearing in your eyes and blurring your vision.

He wrote to you what you have already heard. That he isn't sorry, that he would do the exact same things except that he would make you his equal, that he wouldn't let you escape his grasp so easily, that he would kill all your loved ones just to be your only shelter where you could go in case of any danger, or simply when you were too overwhelmed by loneliness, like he was many times in his very long life.

And you should hate him. You should be disgusted by this toxic relationship, by his obsessive desire for possession, and by his fear of abandonment. And you could already feel yourself being filled with spite and resentment towards this man, a man who had ruined the relatively peaceful lives of you and your sister... But as you read the last lines of his letter, your feelings towards him became more unclear than before reading that damn letter.

I will be waiting for you. With open arms.

Maybe time will help you realise that there is no other way and that my actions will be yours in the future… that I was not the villain in this story, even if I seemed to be a monster to you, my little Sankta.

Maybe you will finally come to accept that you and I are unity and that we belonged to each other even before the saints decided to create the two of us.

Eya fyela chi(I love you), moya solnyshka.

I always did.

Yours,

Aleksander

You didn't sleep anymore that night. Instead, you lie in bed, your thoughts filled with this damn man who, even after his death, continues to abuse your already bleeding heart for him.

Midnights become your afternoons, that were the hours when your brain works best. You stoped burning candles at night. Surprisingly, you were thinking much better when you were in complete darkness, where the only light comed from the moon shining through the open balcony door.

You spent many nights in bed writing in a notebook, taking notes and plans that came to you as the moon hung in the sky and most of the Little Palace fell asleep.

It has become your little ritual. You sipped kvass or whisky, thinking of military tactics and other manoeuvres in case Ravka was attacked by its neighbors. You often had Aleksander's old notes spread around you. And even more often, you twirled his necklace in your fingers as you pondered over your plans.

You stopped visiting Alina in the Grand Palace. You were less and less likely to be seen by her side. But you were almost always in Alexander's library, the war room, and the training field, looking after the young Grishas who trained under the supervision of Ivan, Fedyor and Zoya.

Without knowing why, you always waited until dusk. It was your favorite time and you couldn't even say why…

Maybe if you noticed that every time you fell asleep, tired, over your notebook, thoughts that didn't belong to you suddenly appeared on the paper; maybe if you noticed how your rooms were covered with more and more shadows night after night, blocking out the moonlight, to get you to sleep faster; and maybe if you noticed how the blanket wrapped tighter around you as you drifted off to sleep and your forehead was tickled by the touch of something soft and warm; then you would realise what was inevitably to come.

Or rather, who kept his eyes on you each night, hidden in the darkness and shadows of the chamber...

Kissing someone else's lips seemed sacrilegious to you. You felt like you were doing something wrong, like you were desecrating and breaking all moral laws. But after all, you were a free, single woman, a general leading her people to war.

You could have relaxed and slept with some handsome Inferni who offered to worship his saint, couldn't you?

As it turned out, you couldn't.

You kissed the man hungrily and threw off his kefta. The moment he reached for the buttoms of your own, he unexpectedly stumbled and fell straight into the spear that was in the rack for swords and other weapons.

You stood there in shock for a moment, wondering how on earth he did this. And if you had been more attentive, you would have noticed how the shadows quickly fled from your gaze, and two dark eyes watched intently as you helped Inferni stop the bleeding enough for him to make it to the healers' tent.

You sigh in frustration as the man disappears from your sight. You clean up his blood and wash your hands before taking off your clothes.

It gives you chills. Not because the cold air of the tent hits your hot skin, but because you feel a slight tickle at the most sensitive point of your neck.

You turn and look around the tent carefully.

For the past few weeks, as soon as you left the Little Palace, you had a strange feeling that something was fleetingly brushing against you from time to time. The feeling of this strange, ghostly touch accompanied you both day and night, whenever you were alone with your thoughts. You thought it was some kind of paranoia and tried to brush this feeling off. After all, no one could touch you if you were clearly alone in the room, with no sign of another living soul.

Once you're sure you're alone, you rub your hands over your arms. Your arousal and desire quickly fade as you remember the battle that awaits you tomorrow—the first as a general of the Second Army. You make sure your weapons and combat kefta are ready and in place before you go into bed and fall into a fitful sleep.

A few hours later, as you lie there, dreaming deeply, your tent fades to black. From the shadows emerged none other than Aleksander.

The man slowly walked towards you, careful not to make any move that would increase your vigilance. Ever since you left the walls of the Little Palace, it has become easier and easier for him to make his way to you, thanks to the bond he established between the two of you by giving you a piece of his bone in a necklace.

It boiled inside him when he saw you with another man. He acted rashly and instinctively, pushing him onto the spear. He was glad that you were careless enough not to notice his presence.

You weren't ready. Not yet.

And this time, he knew better than to push you forcefully into his plan.

"My little Sankta." he whispers, his hand gently brushing your curves hidden from his eyes under the blanket.

He doesn't do anything inappropriate. He would never take advantage of you or touch you against your will... well, at least not in any invasive way. He had several scenarios prepared in his head about how the night would go, when you would finally admit your true feelings and abandon the façade of a righteous Sankta of Ravkans and Grishas.

"Soon you'll realise what you're really missing." he whispers as his fingers tips caress the skin of your collarbones.

He picks up the necklace he gave you that you wore around your neck. He lets his shadows surround you, allowing the moonlight to shine on you enough for the silver pendant to reflect it, making it seem like it was glowing, as if it were a source of your powers.

"I will wait for you… until you finally come to me willingly and accept the obvious truth—that we belong together. I promise you, moya milaya, I won't let you forget this even for a moment. You're mine. You were mine the moment you entered that damn tent—the moment our eyes met before you went on the ship through the fold. You can't deny the connection between us. And soon, you will come to accept that you need a monster by your side. That without me, there will only be suffering, loss, and eternal struggle waiting for you. I've spent centuries struggling with all of this and much more… let's see how long this charming and annoying stubbornness of yours will last, lapushka. I have all the time on earth to watch you struggle with the hatred of this world all alone…"

He pulls the blanket tighter around you and takes the opportunity to inhale your scent, which he had missed so much during those months he had been hanging between the worlds of the living and the dead. He clung to his life with his claws... just to be this close to you again. And he knew he would do the exact same thing in a heartbeat if it led him close to you.

"And in time, when you realise that your little friends of yours are not enough for you, I will be back to you. And I will take you into my arms without hesitation. We are destined to be together. Sweet dreams, moya soverenyia." he whispers and places a tender kiss on your forehead.

You jump out of bed, screaming. You take a few quick breaths and put your hand to your mouth, trying to calm yourself down and not let the tears fall. Your tent is in complete darkness as you try to calm down from your nightmare in which all of your Grishas died in the battle, in which everyone blamed you and started to hunt you and chase after you, just like the king once chased after Aleks...

You let yourself cry silently into your pillow, unaware of the figure sitting next to you and a lifting hand that was just above you, moving as if stroking your back soothingly.

Eventually, you fall asleep, shaking. The shadow of your enemy and lover watches over you and keeps an eye on you without you being even slightly aware of it.

Two years, four months, one week and three days. That's how long the war with Fjerda and Shu Han lasted.

That's how long it took them to take over Ravka.

You have failed. Both the First and Second Armies.

Nikolai was dead. Alina was either dead or in hiding like you, although judging by the recent public execution of Zoya and Alina's other guards, you suspect they had her locked up somewhere until they caught you.

And they were doing very well, considering you were currently running through the forest, escaping from a group of Drüskelles.

You ran through the forest, the cold air stinging your hot cheeks as you made your way through the snowdrifts, occasionally sending a ball of light behind you to daze your pursuers and lose them, if only for a moment. But covering up your tracks was the worst thing—a nuisance worse than the cold seeping into your bones through your soaked clothes.

You hear a gunshot. You groan as the bullet bounces off your kefta, most likely adding another bruise to your collection.

Then everything happens quickly. You are surrounded and forced to fight with both your power and your melee. You're doing quite well when suddenly one of them twists your arm. You groan in pain and use one hand to summon a cut, but it is so weak that it only reaches the lesser half of the men.

As if in slow motion, you see one of the Drüskells pointing a gun at you. Then the clearing becomes dark. You step back in fear and stumble upon the body of one of the men you killed.

Everything goes quiet. There is a deathly silence in which you can only hear your wheezing and breathing. You summon your light and dispel the shadows to see the last person you expected to see... at least when you are still alive.

"But... I saw your death... I watched you burn..." you manage to stammer.

Aleksander just walks towards you, like it was a casual thing for him to do. His black kefta with gold embroidery is intact, at least compared to yours, which is blackened from bullets and patched in a few places. He looks practically like the day he died... except his face is devoid of black scars.

"Won't you even say hello to me, my Y/N?" he asks maliciously and extends his hand for you to take it and stand up with his help. You've seen this scene before. You've been in this situation before, and you promised yourself that you would never step into the same river again.

"You should be dead." you snap at him coldly and stand up on your own without his help. You see him frown as he takes a closer look at your dilapidated and miserable state as you try to move away from him as far as you can.

"Moya lapushka... do you think I would let something like death to keep me apart from you? That your little Sol Koroleva could ever kill me? After I lived a hundreds lifes? Fake a hundred deaths?" he asks mockingly, walking over to you. He cups your cheek in his hand and strokes it tenderly with his thumb. "No. I have too much experience with eternity, milaya. I promised you that you and I will change the world. I intend to keep that promise. As well as the one where I will always come back to you, remember?"

"You were here all this time... you watched me..."

"Simply keeping an eye on you." he interrupts you, and you give him a mad look, knowing full well that he's lying as you realise that all the random things and disasters that were happening around you were his fault... just like the few times you felt someone's ghostly touch on you. "Well... maybe I had also done a little bit more. But don't dramatise... after all, I have to look after what's mine."

"I was never yours." you say furiously, causing a hostile tension to arise between the two of you.

His presence brings you some relief, despite everything. But you know this feeling too well; you know HIM too well to let him manipulate you so he can use you in his plans again.

"Leave me. Live your life. I doubt anyone would be insane enough to resurrect you a second time." you growl angrily and run past him, hitting his shoulder with yours.

Before you can get away, he grabs your elbow. You hiss in pain, making him automatically let go of you. But he steps closer to you and carefully grabs your wrist, observing the blood seeping from your forearm and the swollen, bruised elbow—the result of your hand being twisted and falling to the ground—and the hard roots of the tree that had somehow broken through the now-red snow.

"You need a healer." he says calmly. He seems worried, as he is trying to stop the bleeding from your wound.

"I can handle it. Let me go." you say firmly. His dark-brown eyes meet yours, and you mentally curse yourself for how they can still charm you.

"Let me help you." he says it with such tenderness that you want to immerse yourself in his sweet words again, to surrender to that attraction that has always been present between you. "You don't have to be alone, moya milaya."

"I'm not alone." you deny quickly. However, you give in partially when the logical part of you allows him to give you a band-aid; this is something you are willing to accept from him.

"Aren't you, Y/N? Don't you feel a the weight of the fate of all Grishas on your beautiful, delicate shoulders? Haven't you misssed me all these single nights? When you were dreaming of my touch, of my voice..."

"And where were you when I really needed you?! When your people were dying on the borders! When innocent people died when they took Ravka! Where the hell were you then?!" you shout at him in anger and move away from him before he can tie a makeshift sling around your arm from the black shawl he untucked from around his neck.

"Making sure that YOU will not kill yourself, while playing a hero." he replies calmly, his gaze unwavering on you as his composure throws you even further off balance.

"If you care about me so much, why didn't you stand by my side? Why didn't you help me save Grishas?"

"You said yourself that you don't need a monster. That you can handle it perfectly well on your own, little Saint. I told you and tried to warn you that you can't do it on your own, and neither can I. But you had to be stubborn. These are your words: 'Let them come.' I did. I let them come. Are you satisfied?"

"You let all these people die to just prove your point?" you ask, shocked. He takes advantage of your momentary lapse in vigilance to bandage your arm and place it in a sling made of his black shawl.

"No. I let all these people die to make you see the truth that you are trying to avoid so hard."

"Which is?"

"Don't pretend, moya milaya. I am a patient man, but we lost enough time. Can you honestly claim that you are against me? That you would choose these fools over me again? That you didn't wish to have an equal again? Someone who will stand by your side no matter what? Someone who will protect you? I can be all of this to you and even more. All you have to do, lapushka, is accept that we are all we need. That you and I was enchanted to unite a long time ago. I want you to see all these things from my side of the story, to understand why I did what I did, and why I intend to continue what I have planned."

He talks so smoothly about death, as if it were nothing. And you would have the right to feel outraged by this fact and hate him again if the smell of the metallic blood of the people who hunted you wasn't in the air. People you killed without blinking an eye.

As he caresses your cheek tenderly and stares at you with affection and an understanding you haven't seen in anyone else's face since his death, you can't help but wonder... if he was actually right when he said that in time his actions would be yours.

He leans closer to you. Your noses brush as he rests his forehead against yours. You shiver, feeling his warm breath on your cheek.

"Aleksander..." you whisper shakily as his scent reaches you, his warmth warming your body, frozen from the cold and the exertion of running away. You feel like you're just realising that he's really here. That he's alive.

And you welcome the familiar tingle of your power inside you that he brings back to life with his amplifier powers as his lips capture yours.

And you wanted to move away. Really. You wanted to remain indifferent towards him and laugh at him for still feeling something for you. Scold him for even hoping that you would just melt back into his touch after what happened between you, how he hurt you, and how obsessive and possessive he was.

But all you do is moan against his lips as you respond to his kiss.

It's not one of those hungry, greedy kisses stolen in moments when you were completely alone and couldn't fight the growing tension between you any longer and just had to release it by consuming each other with your desires.

It's gentle, so much so that you're afraid that the butterfly feeling of his lips on yours will disappear in any moment and you'll find that he never came back, that he was just a sweet, cruel delusion of your exhausted mind.

But the moment he tangles one of his hands in the hair at the back of your head and puts the other on your waist to press you against the tree so gently as to not hurt you accidentally, you know it's real. And you can't stop responding to his kiss or pretending that you don't want to caress his lips with yours just as passionately. Or pretend that the thought of pulling away isn't sinful to you.

You pull away from each other after a long moment. Not far, though. His nose brushes against yours as you breathe heavily, both of you with your eyes closed, drinking in the other's warmth and scent after so many years of fighting with each other and your desires... after so many years of being utterly alone.

Your shaky breaths come out of your mouths in grey clouds and merge together. Only now do you notice how warm he is compared to you.

"Come. You can't stay here." he says, taking off his warm coat with black fur sewn to the hood. He puts it on you and pulls the hood over your head.

"You don't need to..." he interrupts you, picking you up in bridal style. He holds you close to his chest and walks in a direction unknown to you, a clear plan etched on his face as he scans the surroundings for any danger in your path. "Hey! Put me down! I can walk by myself! Besides, I don't want to go anywhere with you!" you protest, struggling in his arms.

"I know, milaya. Rest. I promise I won't do anything you don't want me to. I'm just making sure you will be safe when I'm gone. That's why I'm taking you to Grishas' camp. They will cure you there. Besides, your followers anxiously await your return, my little Saint. You are their only hope now."

"When you gone?" you ask slightly panicked and shift your gaze to him.

The weight of responsibility settles on your shoulders once again as you realise how many lives are counting on you... and the one person you can look to for support is, inconveniently, now something of an enemy to you.

But... can you feel towards your enemy the way you feel for him? Can you kiss an enemy as passionately as you did just a second ago? Can an enemy look at you with such care and adoration?

"Do you wish me to stay with you, lapushka?" he glanced at you briefly, just enough to ask you his question.

A dead silence falls between you. You don't need words to understand each other. And it was something that had always both terrified you and made the bond between you more and more irresistible. He knows the answer to your question. He knows you'll never admit it out loud. Or at least not at this moment.

Despite all this, he still holds you close. He leans down to place a kiss on your temple and whispers in your ear:

"I am... a very patient man, Y/N... I can wait, and I will. You will come to me yourself. And when you did... you wouldn't be able to resist or deny the truth about your feelings for another damn second. I will have you by my side. I can assure you that it will happen sooner than you think or are willing to admit."

You don't argue with him anymore. You just don't have the strength. Instead, you lean against him and fall asleep, wrapped in his scent, his warm coat, and his arms that make you feel safe. You decide to hate yourself later for what you feel right now.

After so many years, months, weeks, and days of fighting for your people and country completely on your own, you could afford the comfort of feeling his arms around you for just another few minutes, couldn't you?

It's been three months since you last saw him.

He left you at Grishas' camp just before the sun rose with a kiss on your forehead and a promise that you would meet again and that you would call for him again. Which you highly doubted. You already despised yourself and him enough to stay away from him... or at least pretend that's what you wanted.

During this months, you managed to save and lose many people—many good soldiers. And although you don't want to admit it, this time it makes you even more aware of the truth that Aleksander was trying to drill into your head before you destroyed the fold.

You wandered around like a child in the fog, trying to keep your morality, set an example for people, and play the role of a Sankta who abhors all evil and darkness. Only he had survived enough to know that morality could only be keept in human conditions—when you didn't have to worry about food, a warm place to sleep, or whether every breath you took wouldn't be your last.

But what really broke you wasn't the constant death, suffering, and screaming around you. It was the news of Alina's death.

It was this terrible emptiness, this feeling of helplessness and loneliness that grew inside you with each day, with each Grishas lost, with each drop of blood that soaked into your kefta.

And then you gave up.

"You won! Do you hear me?! YOU WON!" you screamed in your room at the camp after you returned from another mission to rescue imprisoned Grishas, which ended in the bloodiest of all. Which ended with the death of the last person you cared about. "Just come here… I can't… Aleksander, please. Please, I need you."

In your rage, you throw the bottle of alcohol against the wall and scream, falling to your knees. You wrap your arms tightly around yourself and cry, feeling the dried blood on your clothes.

You have enough. You had enough of this war. You didn't want to see your friends lose their lives. You were fed up with constant wars, fighting, and deaths around you.

You only knew one thing: you couldn't stand this alone. You simply must have had him by your side again Somoeone who will stay by your side and simply just be there for you. Someone who won't require you to save the world all by yourself.

"Aleksander, I beg you... please..." you whisper desperately while holding a pendant with his bone tightly in your hand. Maybe the fact that you never parted with that stupid necklace was a sign of what was inevitably to come.

Your failure. Your ruin.

But still, all you can do is melt into his arms as he comes to you through your bond and embraces you, pulling your shaking body into his lap and as close to him as possible.

"Shhh... it's okay, moya milaya, you are safe." he whispers in your ear as he holds you close to his chest with a hand on you mouth so you can make a sound. "As long as I am here, nothing will happen to you. You are not alone anymore and you never will be again, lapushka."

He strokes your hair and whispers words of comfort. A sweet nothing meant to calm you down. You still can't tell whether he does it out of love or because he needs you in his plans. And the scariest thing was that you didn't care as long as he held you, stayed by your side and didn't let you be alone.

If you were any less grief-stricken, you would wonder about the irony of this situation. The irony of how he foretold your fate. How he fulfilled his promise. How he became your only shelter.

"I will take care of everything. I'm not going anywhere. It is you and me, my Y/N. It's only you and me against them all. And we are all we need anyway. I will take good care of you, solnyshka. No more tears; no more lies and betrayals. Our life together is getting started exactly right now. And I can already promise you it will be an incredible future... moya tsaritsa. Ravka will be ours. We will free our people. We will made all of them pay for what they did to our kind. Grishas will enter their golden age under our rules. Nothing will stop us."

"Just... please come back." you sob into him. He tightened his arms around you and pressed his lips against your temple.

"I'm on my way, lapushka." he whispers, his lips brushing against your ear.

You shiver as the warmth of his arms suddenly disappears, and you're left alone, kneeling on the cold floor. You couldn't afford even the slightest remorse. All you could think about, and all you could wait for, was the moment he would come back here in the flesh.

You realised that loneliness was too dangerous an enemy for you that you (or anyone) were unable to defeat. Aleksander has been patiently waiting for years for you to come to this conclusion. A conclusion he understood the moment you fled the Little Palace with Alina and the crows, just before he could have a proper chance to propose to you.

But this time, he won't make that mistake again. He won't let you go of his grip once you came back to him.

The world needs a monster.

You understood his words the moment you created your own fold. A fold of white, pure light which killed anyone who tried to walk past it.

You saw the fear in everyone's eyes. Even your Grishas, whom you swore to protect. Only Aleksander's dark irises stared at you with admiration. Only he doesn't turn away from you, doesn't show any traces of dread.

Only he was brave enough to walk to you, and after that, he kissed you greedily after you all realised you won. Ravka belonged to Grishas. And the new fold that you create will make sure no one will ever think of attacking your people again.

And now you were standing in front of the mirror in the Little Palace. Your people bravely dismantled what was left of the Grand Palace and worked to rebuild the house of Grishas and expand it.

You were entering a new era. And the flags with the eclipse of the sun that now fluttered on the masts of the palace reminded you of that, as did your black and gold dresses, keftas, and the crown that had recently become an extra burden on your head. Just like two rings on your finger.

"I knew you would look stunning in the crown, moya Sol Koroleva." he whispers, making you shiver at his sudden presence. He wraps his arms around your waist, pressing you against his chest. Shadows circle lazily around you as his dark eyes catch yours in the mirror.

"You could at least pretend you didn't plan this from the beginning."

"I didn't plan it. I didn't want to be king. But when the dynasty kept taking advantage of us, I had no other choice. I had to start planning to take over the throne. Taking on the burden of power to make sure that the Grishas are finally treated as they should be. And then you appeared. My sunshine, my ray of hope, my little saint."

"A candidate for your queen and a means to a desired goal." you finish bitterly, resting your head on his shoulder to rest for a moment from the irritating weight of the crown. Looking in the mirror, you reluctantly admit that he looks handsome, dressing all like a king.

"Don't be so mean, milaya. You know very well that you shattered any evil plans I had for you when those lips of yours enchanted me. You made me feel like I could control it all for the first time in hundreds of years. That my plans will finally come true. We've come a long way, my Y/N, but we both know this is where we were meant to be. Next to each other. Equals. Together at the helm of Ravka. We are the only ones who will ever wield such power and who can stand next to each other forever."

You sigh. He is right. He is all you have. And you both know that you won't let go of each other anytime soon. You hated solitude. You knew yourselves so well that even for a second, consider leaving the only person who could ever stick so long with you. The ones who understood and were willing to share the burden the world put on the arms of the two of you.

So you turn in his arms, place your hand gently on his cheek, and after caressing his skin with your thumb, pull him in for a kiss.

He pulls you closer to him; you both need the other's touch and tenderness, the reassurance that after so many wars, fights, and betrays, you are finally together and that you will rely on each other to build the greatness of Ravka, leading your Grishas into the years of glory.

Not just as king and queen, tsar and tsaritsa. But also husband and wife. Partners. Equalls. Summoner of the sun and shadows united for the good of all your people.

"I love you, moi sol ye tselai. My Y/N." he whispers into the skin of your neck, placing kisses, especially where was the necklace he gave you, which you didn't dare to take off for so many years, afraid that the last connection and the memento you had left of him would disappear as soon as you lost it from your sight.

But behind these great goals was one common need, to which you agreed only for yourself. The need to love and be loved. The need to have a shelter that will last through the eternity that awaits both of you. And you finally had to admit that despite the darkness in your life and the problems and disasters mostly caused by your new husband, you couldn't imagine anyone else next to you.

"I love you, Aleksander. I've always have." you admit as his hands roam over you, caressing you. Shadows surround you, creating a protective bubble as you kiss passionately, forgetting about the rest of the world for a moment and you give in to your deepest desires.

The prospect of loneliness and everything that you went through in your life have effectively killed any sense of guilt or morality inside you. You could have allowed yourself that one selfish act. Especially when being with him in the darkness was such a tempting and blissful experience after years of loneliness.

[historiaxvanserra]

All That is Dark Within Me | An Azriel Story

Pairing: Azriel x Rhys'Sister!Reader

Summary: In the wake of Nesta's sacrifice, something ancient and long dead threatens to wake in the wilds of Illyria.

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: not much really, discussions of oppression of the Illyrian's in acotar, allusion to murder and death. prophecy and magic, resurrection and religion talk.

is VERY heavy on the Illyrian lore. Most of the story is centred around Illyria and the Night Courts (Hewn City) and a lot of the lore is just my headcanons because we don't have a lot in canon to go off of! This one is absolutely a labour of love and look me a while to get right so any feedback (or constructive criticism) or reblogs is hugely appreciated!

She had first come back to him on a night like this. In flashes of violet and onyx; painted in the seraphic light of a bleeding star. Haunting and prophetic.

It’s his first Starfall in Illyria in half a lifetime and he’s alone; far from anywhere that feels like home. That’s when he feels it. A cataclysmic vein of power that reverberates through the Illyrian wilderness. So profound that he swears the mountain trembles in the wake of it. Some dark star streaks across the sky; bleeding silver and cerulean into the velvet abyss that saturates the mountains in Ramiel’s long shadows, and for the first time in a long time Azriel finds himself uttering her name like an oath. 

There in the heavens, and saturated in the darkness at the edge of the world, he finds her again. Azriel reaches out a scarred hand and tracks the star as it arches across the cosmos in veins of violet and cerulean, his fingers ghost a smattering of silver stars that form a constellation in the shape of her. She calls to him. In a language so old, and lost to time, that only the earth itself might infer some meaning from the whispers of power on the westward wind. 

A secret contained between him and the sky.

 The Solar of Rhysand’s mother’s cabin is reminiscent of the Temple of The Mother in Velaris; sacred and soaked in the technicolor light of the stained glass crescent moons that curve across its high-domed ceiling. A myriad of indigo and amethyst; incandescent with flecks of gold and jade as the crystals inlaid into their center catch in the light of a thousand silver stars. This room is a testament to the craftsmanship of the Illyrian people and on nights like tonight that domed ceiling is the lens through which he sees the world.

The stars continue their ascent across the heavens into the small hours of the morning and Azriel watches every last one, hoping to catch one more fleeting glimpse of her as she crosses over the constellations stitched into the very tapestry of the sky over Illyria. At some point as the brightest stars burn blue against the black Azriel finds himself reclining into the makeshift bed in the Solar of the cabin as his body, weary and worn, begins to flirt with sleep. 

That night when he dreams, he dreams of her. 

Azriel waits beneath some ill-fated sky as the scene unfurls from the dark corners of his memory. Like a hand reaching through the veil of the dark-- and he reaches back.

The sky is a thunderstorm, heat swelling beneath the skin's surface as the clouds begin to gather in hordes and Ramiel’s dark shadows veil the world as he knows it in a shroud of black. The seraphic blue light of the three pointed star cuts through the blanket of the dark, offering Azriel a reprieve from the suffocating blue-darkness that swallows everything in its wake. 

Drawing peace from the shadows. 

In his dreams, the storm-streaked clouds loom ominous on the darkening horizon as midnight encroaches on the Illyrian wilderness and Azriel finds himself wading into the stretches of the wild, emerald forest. A voice, disembodied and cruel, calls out to him from the emerald wilderness. It’s laden with malice and dark intent as it whispers to him on the westward wind. 

The shadow of the mountain looms like some ill-fated omen over the valley and a red star bleeds into the twilight, casting Ramiel in a bloody halo. The mountain seems to tremble in his wake and the whispers of the Old Gods call his name like a prayer. 

The road ahead of him is muddy and foxgloved and there's this ache. It’s a dull kind of agony that cuts through his chest and makes a home in the spaces between his ribs. And there is a girl. She’s screaming into the vacuous twilight beyond and the stars seem to flicker in and out of existence each time the sound catches in her throat. 

Uncertain feet carry him over the threshold of the encampment and every now and again his feet feel a tremor in the muddy earth -- a recollection of all that he had lost.

A great onyx monolith glitters in the amethyst moonglow and a vein of power hums in the stagnant air. 

Azriel reaches out a hand to touch it and the world falls away from him again.

Then there is a temple; carved into the stone of the mountain, a great antechamber, shaded in the musk of hemlock and incense as he passes between the sandstone pillars. The pillars themselves are shrouded in climbing ivy and blooming moonflowers that conceal the frescos on the walls. 

The atmosphere is oppressive and the acrid smell of smoke and rain linger there, clinging to the half-eroded stone and decaying wood. The temple was once warm and breathing itself to life with the symphonies of hymn and prayer. But the Gods had abandoned this place long ago. Now, it lies desecrated, amongst the climbing ivy and dying jasmine. The temple breathes an unsteady breath each time the wind catches in its great chasm; it’s aching and heaving like every breath might be its last.

Azriel’s shadows convulse and contrort violently. Like ghosts in his periphery. The world goes dark for a moment and the war drums echo in the night air. Something ancient and long dead calls his name. 

Azriel. 

Through the blanket of the dark all that he can see are her eyes, glinting and violet in the unforgiving light. It’s then in the light of the waning moon that his eyes map the constellations of scars that adorn her body. All silver and incandescent as though she is wreathed in starlight. She comes to him like night; veiled in shadow and shook up with the sound of the storm. She looks half-divine and Azriel thinks that she must be both, ghost and Goddess. The apparition of some ancient deity. There is something wild and sacred in her eyes. Some strange melancholic beauty that almost brings him to his knees. 

The storm on the horizon shakes the earth and the world is afire with forked lightning as it illuminates the velvet night. She waits beneath the same storm-streaked cloud and a ripple of devastating power shakes the earth beneath her feet. The world falls silent as she falls to her knees at the foot of the altar and Azriel swears he can hear her praying. The prayers that fall from her lips are in some ancient tongue; the words are unknown but the sentiment is clear. 

She’s searching for salvation on unholy ground, like a shadow unearthed from its grave. Lightning cracks and the temple heaves its dying breath and Azriel holds out a scarred hand to her. 

She reaches back. 

Azriel wakes with the first light, the mournful song of his shadows severing his tenuous connection to the Otherworld. It’s an old melody; sung softly to babes while still in their swaddling. Its words are uttered in the Old language and much of its meaning has been lost to time but Azriel still recognises the tragedy embedded into its verse. His own mother had often hummed the words of that ancient melody in those hours when he and her were reunited in the darkness of his fathers house. 

The shadows sing of The Fates; the severing of sacred threads and a blue star that reigns over the valley that heralds the coming of the Old Gods. It is a song that maps the history of his people, brutal as it might be. The shadows tell the tale of Enilaus' defense of Ramiel and a temple beneath the great mountain. Azriel clings to each word, searching for some semblance of meaning in the shadows' cryptic verse. 

With each passing hour Azriel finds that his return to Illyria brings with it a strange sense of remembrance; of things passed, and of things long forgotten. 

With his High Lord working to solidify alliances in the face of impending war, it was only a matter of time before Illyria fell to Azriel. For better or worse, Rhys had named him acting Lord of Illyria. Though, in the months since Azriel had been stationed in the heart of Illyria, he thinks perhaps Cassian would have been the better choice had he not been preoccupied with playing courtier with Eris Vanserra. Cassian had a fervent sort of reverence for these lands and their people. Illyria was sacred to Cassian in the same way that Azriel’s shadows were to him; as though they were part of him. Cassian, in his heart, was proud to be an Illyrian. To have fought and earned his place amongst them.

But Azriel had spent the better part of his youth trying to outrun the shadows of the mountain that flanks the valley. These mountains held an austere beauty that called to him and try as he might; he cannot renounce his fathers’s blood. His is an old name in these lands and Azriel carries Illyria in his soul; as though he and the sacred mountain are one and the same. Carved of the same dark stone. 

Commanded by the same dark power. 

The draw of Illyrian steel rings through the air like birdsong as Azriel lands in the heart of Windhaven that morning; thinly bladed and lethal as two Illyrians circle each other like feral dogs in the fighting pit. The air smells like salt and iron and thick with the lingering scent of petrichor as the last of the month's storms reigns over the emerald forests beyond the camp. 

Azriel stalks through Windhaven adorned in dirtied leathers as he navigates the narrow streets, weaving between the crowds and patrols as he nears Devlon’s cabin in the heart of the camp. The grating cadence of his leather boots on the loose earth beneath him is enough to drown out the idle chatter of the washerwomen and the hammering of the smiths. Slicked in soot and oil as they slave over the coal fires. The howling wind rages like a great tempest as Azriel pushes out onto the main square of the camp; hail ravages the camp and Azriel briefly registers the alarmed squeals of the younglings as a throng of children weave through the crowd in search of shelter from the coming storm. Azriel pushes a scarred hand through the mess of dark curls where the longer stands of onyx hair curl away from his wind-beaten face as the storm draws closer still. He looses a frustrated growl, somewhere between a snarl and a whine, as the wooden door of the Warlord's cabin splinters and gives way to his weight. 

“My Lord.” Devlon greets in his usual scathing manner as he looks up from his parchment to Azriel. The desk is littered with letters and poorly kept accounts, all written in Devlon’s own crude hand. Save for the one in Devlon’s large hand that bears his own brother's seal and Rhysand’s elegant penmanship. 

“Devlon.” Azriel nods towards the Warlord whose yellow eyes darken with ire as Azriel advances towards the open hearth with a louche grace. Stoking the coals with an iron rod until the heat of the flames kisses the high points of his cheekbones and the tip of his aquiline nose. 

He spares a fleeting glance towards the portrait hung above the hearth of Devlon’s study; an old portrait of Rhysand’s mother and sister. 

Despite Devlon’s shortcomings, of which there are many, Azriel will admit that he had always respected Manon, as both High Lady and the Lady of Illyria. He keeps her memory alive in the camp. And, on the anniversary of her death each year, Devlon allows the camp to mourn the lost Princess. 

The Warlord’s cabin sits nestled into the heart of Windhaven, situated between the armory and Zephyr’s Tavern, and across the way from the shops and merchant carts in the market circle.  From Devlon’s cabin the Long House looms like a great taunt upon the heath. A reminder of all he could have been. 

In the days of old, the Long House had been where the Princes of Illyria had made their homes and held court. Now their throne rooms are banquet halls and their royal apartments used to store the harvest and casks of mead imported from The Steeps. The Long Houses stood as a warning to the Warlords of their place in this new world. As shadow kings to The High Lord of the Night Court. 

In many respects Azriel mourns the loss of the Illyria of old. When they had been proud and strong; when his people were warriors and the songs told their stories. But that way of life had been lost to time. Their people’s histories and creeds perverted in the name of ‘taming’ these people and their hostile lands. Even the Warlords did little to preserve the true tenets of the Illyrians and instead sought to further oppress their own people because compliance comes at a lower cost than a crusade. 

Azriel had little faith that the Illyrians could ever prosper on their own; Colonization and oppression had left them weak. Brutality and violence were rife, even in the smaller camps, where they were simple merchants and farmers. 

The Illyrians would tear themselves apart if given half the chance. Of that Azriel was certain. 

“Your High Lord writes to me,” Devlon muses, his voice rough and grating as he stands to his full height before extending the letter to Azriel. “warning of strange happenings in the territory.” 

Devlon scoffs a laugh as he reclines in his seat whistling lowly in command. From the small kitchens a woman emerges; tall and dark with glassy carob eyes. Her hands tremble as she approaches Devlon’s desk with a tray laden with an assortment of food that makes Azriel’s own stomach lurch uncomfortably with the pangs of hunger. Devlon grunts as the woman sets the meal down wordlessly before obediently retreating into the kitchen without sparing either man a glance. Azriel grimaces and mutters a small thanks as the door closes behind her. 

Devlon wastes no time tearing into the meat like a man starved; more animal than man, Azriel thinks. Like a feral dog. Devlon brings a hand to wipe the juice and grease that collects in the coarse black hair that grows around his chin and jaw. He takes a deep swig of the citrus mead and mumbles his acknowledgement in a series of grunts and hums as his fingers and teeth pull and pick and tear with reckless abandon at the various root vegetables and warm breads on the tray. 

“He’s your High Lord too,” Azriel warns dangerously as his eyes trail over Rhysand’s elaborate cursive. The letter speaks of ill tidings from The Middle. More wandering corpses and strange winged creatures under the influence of some old and strange magic from the Otherworld. 

“You’d do well to remember it.”

It had been almost a year since they had last heard from the Death God, confined to his salt-water river on the continent. A year since Nesta Archeron had conquered the very mountain that hangs over Azriel like an ill fated omen. 

In the months that followed Azriel’s return to Illyria whispers of some dark and ancient power plagued him; strange and prophetic dreams that speak of deities long forgotten; offerings and altars. Made of flowers and wine. Blood and bone. 

“Remember it?, Ha-” Devlon barks a cruel laugh, devoid of any humor at all, “He has never let us forget it.” Azriel meets Devlon’s eyes and his ire flickers and dies as another enters on a night-chilled mist. 

“Ah so you did get my letter.” The velvet tenor of Rhysand chimes in. 

“High Lord,” Devlon stands suddenly, the legs of his chair wailing and screaming as they drag along the hardwood floor. Devlon straightens himself out, wringing his dirty hands on his leathers, and nodding curtly towards Rhysand as he steps further into the cramped cabin’s study. 

“Brother,” Azriel greets his High Lord, his voice low and tempered. The High Lord’s graceful fingers clasp around his shoulder before bringing him into a short embrace. Rhysand smells of mandarin and night-blooming jasmine, and something in it reminds Azriel of a home he had left centuries ago. 

The whisper of her scent catches on the breeze; jasmine and belladonna and saturated in petrichor. 

Rhysand advances towards the hearth and his fingers ghost over the frame of the portrait hung above the hearth. Azriel watches as his brother’s gaze hardens as he casts him a sidelong glance from his spot in front of the dying fire. When Azriel’s eyes meet his there is no light in those violet eyes, only a dark grief that pools in their glassy depths. 

“Brother,” Rhysand says, his lips pressing into a thin line as he tucks one hand into the pocket of his fine brocade tunic as he continues to admire the painting. Azriel steels himself against his own feelings of grief when his own eyes find the portrait hung over the hearth of Devlon’s study. It occurs to Azriel that the portrait had been a new addition to the cabin’s decor when he found it in storage shortly after being stationed in Illyria. Azriel waits with bated breath until a mournful sort of smile graces Rhysand’s face and Azriel swears he sees her in that smile. 

A thing of lovely beauty. 

“If I might speak to my brother alone,” Rhysand says, turning again towards the hearth. Devlon looks between Azriel and his brother, cursing and murmuring under his breath, “Leave. Us.” Rhysand commands through gritted teeth. Devlon leaves the room, Illyrian steel in hand, out into the storm.

A moment of silence passes between the brothers, with only the sound of the rain and hail to smother the crackle of the hearth. 

“She was so very lovely, wasn’t she?” Rhysand’s voice is thin, almost wistful as he turns his violet gaze onto the portrait once more. Even in the pallid light she looks as though she is the incarnation of some ancient deity. Wreathed in foxglove blooms and orchids, adorned in crystals that refract in the faelights.  

“I dreamt of her last night.” Azriel admits sorrowfully, his eyes trailing over her visage immortalized in oil on canvas. 

The smell of incense smoke comes back to him all at once; a temple beneath the mountain and the glimmer of onyx, an altar made of dark marble and offerings made in blood. 

“You did?” Rhysand’s face falters. The High Lord of Night’s face straightens to an empty stare, his violet eyes burning into the flames of the dying hearth as a deep crease forms between knitted brows and his lips twitch downwards into a frown. 

He hadn't uttered her name in over half a lifetime, but last night he dreamt of her; born anew under the light of the blue star that reigns over the mountain. 

“I saw her in the stars -- or at least, I thought I did --” Azriel admits, his voice thin and pensive.

 Like the ramblings of a boy struck with prophecy. 

“Cassian said the same thing.” Azriel swallows his shame and his grief as he meets the violet eyes of his brother once more. Rhysand looks troubled at the confession and confirmation. The High Lord sinks into Devlon’s seat, bringing slender fingers to pinch the bridge of his nose. 

“And you?” Azriel asks and Rhys looks up through dark lashes and for a moment Azriel sees Rhysand as he was all those years ago; a lost youth, cursed to love and grieve eternally. And what is grief, if not love, enduring? 

“Nothing.” Rhysand looks utterly devastated and his voice wavers. The crystalline violet of his eyes turns black with emotion, silver tears glitter like stars in the depths of his eyes.

“Your dreams-- Azriel -- you must show me.” Rhysand’s voice arches on frantic as he clutches at Azriel from his position by the hearth.

Forgive me, My Lord,” It is the gentle voice of Amara, Devlon’s wife that breaks Azriel’s tenuous link with the Otherworld as she enters the room on an icy wind, “but you should take these strange imaginings to the Pythia.”

Amara is a kind woman; tall and strong and proud. Every inch Devlon’s equal and truly a force to be reckoned with.

“You can’t be serious,” Rhysand scoffs a laugh as Amara pours him a goblet of strong wine from Devlon’s personal bar. “I never took you for a devout woman, Amara.” Rhysand smiles fondly before taking a generous swig of the alcohol. 

“And my dreams --” Azriel interrupts, curiously. 

“May be just that -- dreams -- or they may be so much more than dreams, Shadowsinger.”

At that moment Azriel’s eyes burn gold in the light and he swears to himself that he will find her again. In this life and every life after. He repeats those words like prayer, like poetry. Until the vow is inked into his skin as a testament of his enduring love, his eternal grief. 

The Temple of The Last Pythia lies in a forsaken grove, deep in the wilds of Illyria; saturated in the emerald ferns and veiled Ramiel’s ghostly shadows. The ruins are little more than the desecrated remains of a dead religion now. The whispers of Old God’s long forgotten echo through the grove and Azriel swears it is her voice he hears howling on the westward wind. 

The voice of rage and ruin.  

In the day of old The Temple of the Pythia had been a place of worship for the Illyrian’s. The Pythia was a woman anointed by the Gods to speak words of prophecy into existence and Illyrian’s from all of the camps made pilgrimage to the nation's capitol, in search of some divine wisdom.

Azriel looks now at the remnants of his ancestors homeland and his heart aches as he steps over the threshold of the ruins. 

The antechamber of the temple would have once been a great colosseum; hung with garlands of cypress and belladonna, and lit up with the seraphic blue light of the braziers left by Illyrians long dead. The frescoes on the walls depicting the great scenes of myth and the high, domed ceiling had borne stained glass motifs of the Illyrian people and the histories that coloured their songs. 

Now, the chasm of the temple is akin to a scene from some forgotten hollow in the Deathlands.

The fetor of decay and petrichor lingers in the stagnant air, only alleviated by the smell of incense smoke that smothers the scene in the noxious musk of belladonna and vervain, so palpable that Azriel can taste it. And, in the pale sapphire light of the moon, Azriel catches shards of stained glass that casts a myriad of technicolor light that dapples the ancient temple’s walls and sacred stone floors which are partially obscured by a trail of dying cypress leaves and laurel. 

Azriel approaches the dias with a strange sort of reverence as he regards the altar atop it; crafted of find, dark marble and littered with offerings made to the Old Gods. Amphora’s of mead and wine, and coins minted with the faces of Illyria’s first princes. He can’t remember their names now. But theirs is a story Azriel knows well. A mournful testament of sovereignty and subjugation. 

At the foot of the altar Azriel observes the carcass of a stag; splayed open, and ravaged/ The beast’s ribs have been prized apart to show the hollow chest cavity.  An aching empty chasm, as hollow as the antechamber of the temple’s ruins. All that’s left of the beast is an assortment of crow picked bones. Left to rot and ruin in this forsaken grove. 

Movement beyond the altar has Azriel drawing his lethal blade and advancing until he is halted in his tracks by the devastating force of the temple’s archaic protection wards. 

This had been a place of peace, Azriel thinks. They may not be his God’s anymore but he knows better than to reckon with the divine. 

From the darkness a woman emerges.

The Pythia stands before the altar shrouded in swathes of direwolf fur that form a ruff around her collarbones like that of a raven’s dark plumage. Her head is veiled in translucent spider silk that refracts technicolor in the pale light of the new moon and the lengths of her hair are loosely braided down her back and foxglove blooms are interwoven into their milky white tresses. 

“Azriel son of Raphael” The Pythia speaks, her voice a terrible howl that echoes round the chasm of the temple. Her gnarled finger beckons him closer still, the thick yellowed nails that have been filed to a point drag against the marble stone of the altar as she retreats to her throne, adorned with splintered animal bones and dying foxglove blooms. 

“Tell me, boy -- have you come to answer the call of a girl long dead?” It is then that Azriel casts his gaze up to the terrible alabaster eyes of the Priestess. Azriel swallows thickly and sheaths his blade and he sinks to his knees at the foot of the altar. 

“I - I dreamt of her last night.” His voice sounds unlike his own, a tender and aching sort of plea. 

The woman muses on his words; her weathered face twists into grim contemplation as she casts her bones onto the altar, divining meaning in their shapes. Azriel cannot be certain that those bones foretell anything at all. But the Pythia gives him a satisfied hum and reaches out an aged palm to him. 

Azriel remains cynical as his hand clasps around the Pythia’s.

The Priestess intones her mass and Azriel feels the shift in the air as her power passes through him; something dark and archaic. As she calls on the Gods of Old and falls into a dreamlike trance. The plumes of incense smoke seem to shroud her then and through the blanket of the dark all Azriel can see are her eyes; milky and alabaster through the din. 

Azriel flinches as her grip tightens, her yellow claws drawing blood from the wretched skin of Azriel’s scarred palms. The ferrous smell of iron permeates the air and Azriel is certain that he feels the pull of that dark power in his own chest when she begins to speak; her voice hoarse and grotesque as she calls out to him: 

“The thread of fate is severed and another is forged; from my power I bestow power upon you, and from my life-- life.”

[moonlightsolo]

beauty of all things.

summary: joining the military was never on your bucket list. mostly just a fantasy that your parents couldn’t live out themselves. somehow, you snagged a job to study the native people of pandora and were sent to space. after slowly figuring out that the organization you work for is crooked, you decide to escape into the pandoran forest to seek out the omaticaya clan. on the way, you take quite a tumble, and a certain na’vi boy saves your life.

pairing: neteyam sully x human!fem reader

warnings: smut 18+, vvvv descriptive, unprotected sex i'm sorry, slight size kink, squint for breath play, mentions of animals dy!ng, violence, guns (sorry but the reader is a badass), brief uses of y/n, also non-accurate na'vi language but i tried my best.

word count: 8.5k+

note: hello i havent written smut in so long so if its terrible just tell me i did good and scroll !!! thanks ily <3

the year is two-thousand, one-hundred seventy, and you’ve finally arrived on pandora at the rda base, now named bridgehead. 

the feeling of waking up after six years in cryosleep is indescribable. your brain feels like jelly bouncing around in your skull, the organ thumps in sync with every beat of your heart. 

even a slight movement of your finger feels as if your bones will shatter up your arm.

“calm down. everything will be fine. just breathe.” someone speaks to you. the sound of their voice echoes in your head, making your ears ring as if they screamed directly into your ear drum. 

but fuck, you can’t breathe. 

something covering your mouth and nose is flush against your face, making it hard to take in a full breath. one of your arms lift up, sending a shockwave of pain throughout your body. 

you grunt as you rip the oxygen mask off of your face, taking a deep breath of fresh air. your lungs burn from the feeling, making tears spill from your waterline. your eyes finally flutter open, welcomed by a bright white light above your head.

maybe you’re dead. wouldn’t that be something.

“calm down, private.” a nurse dressed in blue scrubs shines another bright light in your eyes. “reflexes look good.” she talks to another person on the other side of your bed. 

“where am i?” your hoarse voice croaks out, making pain sizzle in your esophagus. 

“you’re on pandora.” 

the nurses don’t waste time to get you ready for your first mission. your bones and muscles are still sore, but you’re required to join some fellow colleagues on a tour on the outskirts of the forest. 

well, what’s left of it. 

your first step outside made you realize that the people you’re working for are making the same mistakes as they did on earth. stripping the planet to its bones, and killing anything in their path just to pocket a dollar.

the destruction of the environment around you makes your heart ache for the na’vi and the native animals. the area is barren and dry from the wildfire they caused when the first group of ships arrived last year. 

you couldn’t help but feel slightly emotional, completely regretting letting your parents make this decision for you. 

you reluctantly follow the group, the trees and vegetation growing thicker as you trek farther into it. 

you didn’t know there could be this much green on a planet. the exotic flora fascinates you, how it glows and interacts with the world around it. 

“hold up.” the guide of the brigade raises his hand, all of the soldiers halt in their steps. an animal that resembles a much larger deer strolls from behind a large tree, grazing on the grass. 

from your studies, you recognize it as a hexapede. you go to step forward to admire the creature, but you can’t help but notice your lieutenant move his hand to his gun. 

he snickers and lifts his gun to aim at the animal, “watch this.” he cockily smirks at the other male comrades next to him, who grin excitedly at the mention of a hunt. 

before he could pull the trigger, you turn your back and cover your ears. the ring of the bullet being fired makes you jump. tears instantly burn in your eyes, seeping from your eyes and trailing down your cheeks. 

your breath shudders in your chest, heart breaking for the animal that just lost its life for some sort of game. 

“look at her.” some of them chuckle as they pass you. 

another soldiers walks by, hitting you with his hip which causes you to fall to the ground directly on your ass. the wet dirt seeps into your uniform, soiling your pants with a mud stain.

“get a grip. you need to toughen up, princess. it’s not going to be castles and rainbows out here.” the lieutenant spits out at you from above, face red with anger. 

you flinch, shoulders rising higher to your shoulders with every insult thrown at you. the laughter from your comrades makes your anger and embarrassment grow stronger by the second. 

you slowly stand to your feet to follow them, facing screwing up in pain with every step. you decide to walk farther behind them since you would rather be eaten by a predator then have a conversation with any of them. 

the rest of the day was filled with indoor training, lectures, and meetings with the big guys. all they yell about is reprimanding the na’vi, and if we see them, we shoot to kill. 

somehow, every single person in the room seems to be too excited to go out and hunt them- everyone except you. 

the thought makes you queasy, like you could vomit at the thought of using violence against them. 

back on earth, you studied the omaticaya people for years. the last thing you want to do is to hurt them. 

every day is the same. training, lectures, and numerous meetings. the rda somehow created their own avatars, and are using them against the omaticaya people to take down jake sully. 

it’s already your fifty-seventh night on pandora, and it feels as if you’ve been here for months. every day, the heavy feeling of wanting to leave grows heavier in your chest. 

the thought looms above your head like a dark storm cloud, following you around everywhere you go. 

tonight is the night you decide it’s time to leave. you’ve seen and studied enough of the forest to know how to survive for a few days. 

all you know is that you need to find this jake sully everyone is talking about to warn him about everything. 

you’ve already packed a bag full of non-perishable food and water, a fresh pair of clothes, ammo, and a poncho for the rain. the pistol you stole from training is tucked in the waistband of your pants. you would rather not use it, but if it came to surviving you would have to. 

taking a deep breath, you crack open the door to your quarters. you look down the long corridor of the dormitory, seeing that the coast is clear. 

you flip your hood onto your head before stepping into the hallway. you keep your head angled down so the cameras can’t get a glimpse of your face. 

you truly can’t believe you’re about to do this. you’re honestly stupid. how will you ever get past the guards? you mentally battle yourself to go back to bed and plan this out more, but you’ve already gotten this far. 

once you get outside, you pull the full-face oxygen mask up from where it was hanging loosely around your neck. you truly start to believe you actually might get away with this. 

you take another deep breath, “you got this. you can do this.” you give yourself a little pep talk, before scurrying behind a wall. 

you peek your head out to scope out the area. there’s the gate that leads to the outside and it’s guarded by one guy. it’s only one guy- well, one big guy.

you press your back against the wall you’re hiding behind, looking up at the dark sky that sparkles with stars. you take another deep shaky breath before stepping out and heading straight towards him. 

your eyes dart around the area to make sure nobody else is coming. you slyly bring out your knife that sits in a sheath connected to your belt. 

“hey! you’re not supposed to be out here.” he shouts loudly at you, forcing you to pick up your pace towards him. 

“hey! what’re you doing?!” he goes to grab his gun, but before he could, you lift your heavy boot up to kick in his knee. a loud crunch sounds from his leg, making the man fall to ground with a loud yelp of pain.

before he could cry for help, the blade of your weapon is pressed against his jugular. 

“scream, and i’ll kill you.” you hiss at him quietly, eyes still looking to the side to make sure nobody is coming. 

“give me your keycard…now!” you tighten your grip on him, pressing the blade into his neck. he grunts as his hands scurry to unhook it and reach it up to you. “you sick fucking bitch.” he seethes out through his teeth. 

before you grab it from him, you land a blow to his temple with the handle of the knife. sending the man to the ground unconscious, “douchebag.” you grumble as you bend down to swipe the card off the ground, pressing the plastic key to the scanner. 

the gate beeps green, and slowly clicks open as the multiple bolts unlock. you push through the gate, slamming it shut behind you before you break out in a sprint down the steps and into the dirt. 

the buildings behind you begin to blare sirens, red lights flashing into the sky. they must’ve found him. “fuck, fuck, fuck!” you whisper to yourself, picking up your pace as you dash to the tree line. 

the forest in front of you is dark with no sign of life nor light. you continue sprinting, jumping over logs and hopping over puddles. before you know it, you’re surrounded by vast darkness and the base is no where in sight. 

you slow down, leaning against a tree to take a breath. you can’t believe you did it- you actually escaped from that hell hole. 

your eyes squeeze shut as you breathe slowly, attempting to slow down your heart rate. “eywa, if you’re there. please don’t let me die.” you speak out into the air desperately. 

when you reopen your eyes, you can see absolutely nothing in front of you. that cues you to grab your flashlight from your pack and to begin your hike. 

you have no idea where you are going, but from all the intel you overheard in all those meetings you know that their base is somewhere in the hallelujah mountains. 

you fish through one of your pockets in your cargo pants, finding the map of the surrounding area. your eyes locate bridgehead, the coastal rda city, and then the mountains. 

“holy shit. that’s a long way.” you grumble to yourself as you continue walking forward. 

crack!

you stop in your tracks to spin around in a three-sixty, shining your flashlight every which way. another loud crack sounds from behind you that seems even closer than before.

“fuck this shit.” you spit out and take off in a run again. you weave and bob between large tree trunks and leap over fallen ones. you need to find shelter and wait for the sun to come up for the last two hours of nighttime. 

you’re thankful that training helped build your stamina because if you couldn’t run for more than five minutes, you’d probably be dead already. 

once you slow down, you realize there’s a clearing to your right. as you grow closer, you realize it’s an old hut- specifically an rda scientist pod. your eyes scan the area for any possible danger before stepping out into the open. you keep mind to where you step, making sure to make as little noise as possible. 

you notice the pod is overridden with vines, and the windows are shattered. as you step inside, grass cracks under the sole of your boots. you wince from the noise, peeking behind your back to make sure you’re still alone. 

you decide to sit down in one of the non-smashed-in avatar capsules, taking a deep breath. 

wow, you really did it. you’re now a fugitive of the government. 

unbeknownst to yourself, your mind is more exhausted than you thought. you take a few gulps of water, before leaning back to finally (sort of) relax. before you know it, you’re fast asleep. 

a few hours later, you’re awoken by a loud screech of some sort of animal. gasping and automatically reaching for your gun, you pull it out and aim it in front of you through the broken window. 

the sun has already risen, streaming through the  numerous trees surrounding the opening. you take another deep breath to slow your breathing, realizing there’s nothing to worry about. 

you decide it’s time to get up and eat something, but you would rather begin your very long trek to the mountains instead. so you grab a granola bar and start heading north. 

you pull out the map and your compass, following the directions and hoping you’re going the right way. “god. i’m so stupid.” you whisper to yourself as your head lifts up to see where you're going. 

you didn’t realize where you were walking since you were too busy paying attention to the map. suddenly, your feet are taken out from under you and you’re tumbling down a rocky hill. 

unfortunately, you land in a large pool of mud at the bottom. sticky, heavy mud that gives off heat.

the air in your lungs feels like fire, oxygen fuels the embers deep in your chest. your throat constricts as you wheeze, the wind is knocked out of you, and it feels as if you’re suffocating.

mud splashes up on your face, the feeling of the thick dirt sucking you under makes you panic even more. another wheeze punches your chest as you attempt to climb out of the pit, but to no avail. the mud continues to suck you under the surface as your nails dig into the grass in attempt to keep your head afloat. 

you let out a loud cry once some oxygen returns to your lungs, but you can feel the mud compressing the tube connected to your backpack. some of the air from outside is slowly leaking into your headpiece, making you feel extremely lightheaded. 

“please..” you squeak out, eyes squeezing shut as you slowly start coming to terms with your death.  

unsure if you’re hallucinating or not, you hear muffled commotion in front of you. your eyes flutter open, vision blurry and unable to make out the large figures. “help.. me.” you softly call out, lungs compressed by the weight of the mud.

suddenly, hands are gripping any part of your exposed body they can get to and you’re being pulled from the pit and laid on the plush grass. you instantly gasp for air as the oxygen returns back into your mask, chest heaving as it alleviates your dizziness. 

a coarse cough pummels your chest and you roll over on your side, sucking in fast deep breaths. 

“hey, hey… it’s okay.” an accented voice speaks to you before going back to speaking in a foreign language. seemingly, talking to someone else who responds in the same language.   

your eyes finally open to see your rescuer, praying to every supernatural god that it’s not the rda. 

to your surprise, a very blurry na’vi is crouched in front of you. his golden eyes are wide with fear that glance between you and the person behind you. 

your breath gets caught in your throat at the sight of him. a very beautiful one, at that. he’s adorned in handmade beaded and weaved garb. his head is covered in very tight knit braids with various decorations tied in them. 

you can tell that he’s arguing with the person behind you in their language, almost making out a few words. 

dangerous… human… girl… listen to… dad…?

before you could say anything to him, one of his arms slide under your head and the other slides behind your knees. “don’t worry. we are going to help you.” 

his warm skin gives you a sense of relief as he holds you close to his chest while he starts to run. blinking through your blurry vision, you notice another blue figure following closely behind you. 

you float in and out of consciousness, every breath you take squeaks as if you have an instrument in your lungs. your head is sitting in the crook of his elbow, now watching mountains flash by. beside you, is another boy flying a banshee. 

are you in the fucking air right now?

“please don’t die. stay awake for me.” the one holding you mumbles, making eye contact with you before your eyes flutter shut again. 

something burns your nostrils, sending signals to your brain to wake up. “ah!” you yelp, going to sit up but the pain in your body causes you to fall back down in a crying mess. 

once your watery eyes finally open, you’re greeted by another pair of yellow eyes, but this time it’s a girl- not the boy who saved you. “hi, i’m kiri.” she smiles wide. her face looks quite familiar. 

“don’t tell her your name, skxawng.” someone scolds from somewhere around you, which just makes her roll her eyes. it’s another boy, but not the one who saved you. 

“where am i?” you rasp out, looking around at the room you’re in. it’s almost like a makeshift hut with a strong smell of herbs and smoke.

“i can’t tell you that, but just know that you are safe.” her hand gently runs down your hair, making you tense up before relaxing. her entire presence calms you down, there’s just something about her. 

“i think you might’ve broken one of your ribs, and you definitely have a concussion.” she sits back on her heels to grab medicine that’s laid out next to her. 

“i still think we should get mom and dad.” she chirps, eyeing someone out of the corner of her eye as she crushes something in a mortar. 

“if we tell dad, he will kill us for bringing her back here, and then mom will skin us afterwards.” the same voice sounds from the corner of the room. 

you can’t help but attempt to lift your head, but kiri’s hand presses on your oxygen mask to keep you down. “stay.” she reprimands you as if you are a dog.

you groan in annoyance, but continue to stay put as she scoops up the medicinal paste she was grinding and swipes it on your forehead and temples. “to relieve your pain.” she smiles at you and nods. 

wooden beads clink together as someone enters the room, “is she okay?” 

there he is. 

“yes and no. she’s in a lot pain but she will live.” kiri speaks to him as she continues rubbing the paste on different points of your body. like your neck, wrists, and numerous pulse points. 

the paste gives off a cooling sensation, almost making your pain go away instantaneously. this time, you refuse to listen to the girl. you swiftly sit up to look at the boy, teeth gritting together from your aching muscles.

your movements makes him take a step back, almost like a scared puppy.

“look, i’m not going to hurt you.” you glance at all three of them before continuing, “i’m here to warn your people about what’s coming- what the rda is planning next. i need to talk to jake sully.” 

once you mention that name, they all pause and look between each other with an ‘oh shit’ gleam in their eyes. 

“what do you know about jake sully?” the older boy stands up straight with his shoulders back, his height towering over you intimidatingly.

“i know he’s your eytukan, and your toruk macto. so that means he’s in charge, right?” 

“why do you need to warn him?” the younger boy stands up from behind him, walking forward to face you and await your response. 

“the rda. you know, the mercenaries. they brought in avatars, but they want to kill him and everyone that comes in between them.“ your voice is strong as you lay out the facts, but on the inside you’re nervous as hell. 

“how do you know you weren’t sent here to spy on us?” the older one speaks again. 

“neteyam. i don’t think she—.” kiri gets cut off by his hand raising for her to be quiet. 

neteyam… so that’s his name. 

he sighs at his name being mentioned. obviously bothered by it as one of his hands come up to rub the bridge of his nose.

“i promise i wasn’t sent here. i came here looking for jake because i just… couldn’t just sit there and do nothing. trust me, please.” he takes a second, almost as if he’s deep in thought. 

“i’ll relay the information to him, but i can’t let you be seen by our people. they won’t react well.” he mumbles, “they don’t trust humans that come from where you’re from.” 

“lo’ak, why don’t you go get her some food?” neteyam looks back at his brother who throws his hands up in annoyance, “and kiri, why don’t you clean this up so nobody wonders where you are?” 

kiri grumbles under her breath as she packs up her medicine and herbs into a pack to leave alongside lo’ak. 

and then there were two…

thankfully, neteyam sits down in front of you with his legs crossed- instead of intimidatingly towering over you from above. your eyes travel over his body, admiring the color of his skin and the stripes that adorn him, “so what’s your name?” 

“i’m y/n.” you respond with a smile, “i’m guessing you’re neteyam?” you almost let out a laugh, which makes his lips quirk up a bit. 

“that’s me.” he shrugs with a shy grin. his fingers tap gently on his knees as he looks around awkwardly. 

“how do you know english so well?” you question, making his pointed ears perk up. you watch how his tail curiously flicks behind his body. 

“some of the scientists that work here. they’re humans… the good ones.” he quickly adds, his glowing eyes watch your every move.

“thanks for saving me back there. ya know, like in the mud and stuff. i probably would have died if you weren’t there.” you breathe out, almost as if you’re slightly embarrassed by the situation you got yourself into. 

“i will be honest, i was kind of scared of you. i didn’t know if you were one of the 'good ones', but i couldn’t just leave you there. i’m a gentleman, you know.” a cocky little grin tugs up on the corner of his mouth. 

a deep shiver runs through your body from his words, feeling heat rush onto the apples of your cheeks. for some reason, this na’vi boy is way too charming for his own good.

something stirs in your belly, a gut feeling to keep prying at him slowly. maybe you’ll get to know him better.

“so how old are you?” you ask out of pure curiosity, not for any other reasons…

neteyam slightly stiffens at the question, eyes squinting at you for a brief moment before softening. almost as if he was deciding what to say, “i’m twenty.” he states simply with a blank face.

“i’m nineteen.” you blurt it out, even if he didn’t reciprocate the question. 

neteyam smiles and goes to answer, but lo’ak bursts through the beaded doorway with various foods in his hands. he dumps it on the bed in front of you, bowing like a servant. 

“bon appetite.” he grumbles sarcastically before turning around and heading back out of the room- but not without purposely bumping into neteyam with his hip.

“what’s up with him?” you almost laugh as you rummage through the exotic fruits in front of you. 

“that’s my brother, lo’ak. he’s an ass.” he shakes his head with a laugh, his braids swing on his head as he does so. 

you go to pick up a bright pink fruit to bite into it, “wait! don’t bite it. you cannot eat the skin.” he crawls toward you, unsheathing his knife from his waistband. 

“what’re you gonna do? stab me?” you ask playfully which makes the boy smirk at you, “yeah, i might as well. it’ll keep you from asking anymore questions.” 

his response makes you laugh and shake your head. his large hand wraps around the fruit to take it from you, slicing around the center to follow the seed in the middle. almost like a giant pink avocado. 

he lifts the top off, and there sticks out the oblong seed sitting inside yellow pulp that looks disgustingly delicious. “so all you have to do is suck on the seed…” he trails off, bringing the fruit to your lips. you pull the oxygen mask off your face, holding your breath. 

“and pull it out with your teeth, then you can drink the inside.” his voice is breathy as he watches your lips wrap around the seed to lick off the extra pulp stuck to it. you can’t help but tease the boy by looking up at him through your eyelashes, which makes his breath evidently hitch.

neteyam gulps as he watches you pull the seed out with your teeth, before you take the fruit from his hand to tip the fruit back to drink the inside. 

you pull the mask back over your face, looking up at him with a little smile. “that was delicious, thank you. it kind of tasted like vanilla pudding.”

his eyebrows furrow, “pudding?” he questions. 

“oh yeah. it’s from earth. like a sweet, thick textured milk. it’s yummy, but not good for you.” you lean back in the bed you’re laying in, stretching your arms above your head. 

neteyam‘s heart beats a little faster as he watches your shirt slowly hike up to reveal your belly. 

“so who’s bed am i in?” you smile softly up at him from where he’s sitting the end of the bed, shaking him out of his trance. 

“mine. this is my… erm- kelku.”

“oh, your room?” you smile at him and he nods, “yeah, m'sorry i didn’t know the english word.” 

“don’t be sorry.” you shake your head at him, still smiling away, “does your kelku have a bathroom i can use?”

neteyam grins at your use of a na’vi word, “ah no, but… i can take you to get cleaned up. you just might have to wait until sunset.” 

you overly exaggerate a loud sigh, making the glass fog up but you can’t help but still smile at him so he knows you’re not really upset. “okay fine..” you grumble sarcastically as you sit back up with your legs crossed. 

“they really made more avatars, huh?” neteyam asks. 

“and they’re dangerous and were created solely for combat. i don’t want to see you and your family get hurt. all of you have already gone through so much.” you mumble, eyes falling down to your hands sitting in your lap. 

neteyam reaches out to lay one of his hands on yours, completely engulfing your lap with it. the soft touch makes your eyes raise to look at him, “you… are brave.” he nods his head along with his words. 

you couldn’t help but beam, a sense of accomplishment filling your chest. “thank you.” you turn your hands up so your palms were against his. you carefully wrap your hands around his, holding his one hand with both of your own. 

“you put your own life at risk to help us… to let us know we’re in danger. so i thank you.”  his fingers curl in to hold onto your hands with a soft smile curling onto his lips.  

something in you urges you to leap forward, to rip this goddamn mask off and kiss this boy to show your appreciation for his kindness. 

it seems as if he’s feeling the same way by how he is looking at you. his big round eyes glance over your lips before returning back to your eyes, his chest is picking up pace from his rapid breathing. 

the sound of beads rustling snaps both of you out of your mutual fascination with each other. “just coming to check on her.” kiri walks forward with her hands on her hips. 

“and what are you two doing?” she looks down at your hands wrapped around each other, making neteyam jump back and stand swiftly to his feet. you can’t help but notice his braids swing wildly with every move.

“i- um…” he points at you then scratches his head, “i’ll be right back.” he bolts out the doorway, leaving you silent and shocked. 

“boys.” kiri sticks out her tongue in disgust as she bends down to your level to check the paste she smeared on you. “seems like your body is reacting to it well. are you feeling okay?” she looks up at you.

“yeah. i actually feel completely fine. a little sore, but that’s nothing out of the ordinary.” you laugh, which makes your ribs ache. 

“then you didn’t break a rib, but just bruised yourself.” she hums as she stands up to her feet.

“you need to get cleaned up. you’re covered in mud.” she looks over your body, her nose scrunching up at the sight. 

“oh yeah.. um neteyam said he would take me during sunset.” you awkwardly laugh as you gnaw on your lip. 

kiri slightly side-eyes you, before shrugging. “okay... then. get some rest, i’ll have neteyam come to you when he’s ready.” she comfortingly rubs your shoulder before walking out. 

you let out a groan before falling back against the cot, rolling onto your side with a slight wince from the dull pain. 

your body refuses to fall asleep, unable to get comfortable from the curiosity of wanting to see what’s outside of your room. you decide to just peek, it won’t harm anyone, right?

you quietly slide out of the bed and tip toe to the beaded doorway. your hands move them to the side so you could get a good look. it’s nothing but rocky wall and the backside of another hut, which is disappointing. 

you slowly creep out from behind the beads, looking around to make sure nobody can see you. 

you press your back to the outside of the hut, sliding across it to the front to look on the other side. before you could step out, a very large hand presses against your mouth and an arm wraps around your waist to hoist you up. 

you let out a yelp into the palm of your captor, kicking your legs once they leave the safety of being on the ground. “shh, shh… it’s just me.” neteyams voice whispers next to your ear. 

your body relaxes as he turns around to walk back inside of his room to put you down. you turn on your heel to scold him for scaring you, but he starts first, “i was coming to get you so i could bring you to get cleaned up, but you decided you would like to escape now, huh?” the tone of his voice seems agitated, and his breathing is quite fast. 

“anybody could have seen you! my parents could have seen you! they would have tried to hurt you. you’re not trying to leave, are you?” he slightly whisper-yells at you, now obviously frustrated. 

you’re a bit taken aback by his demeanor, “look, i’m sorry. i wasn’t trying to leave, i just wanted to look around. ya know… see what it looked like.” you sheepishly speak out. you can feel your heart rate starting to pick up. 

“i don’t believe it. are you trying to spy on us?” his eyes are slightly squinted, now starting to pace in front of you. “i don’t want to keep you here, if you’re the one putting us in danger.” 

your eyes blow wide in shock, heart dropping to your feet. “no, no! neteyam, believe me, please!” he stops in his tracks to watch you, “i wasn’t trying to spy or anything, i swear! i’m just a curious person and i’ve studied the omaticaya clan for years. i just wanted to see what it looked it. i wasn’t trying to spy, i promise you!” your voice gets higher as your emotions start to take over. 

neteyam notices your watery eyes and shaky hands, slowly coming to terms that you’re actually telling the truth. “don’t cry.” he mutters out, running a stressed hand through his braids. 

he takes a hesitant step towards you, head angled down to look at you from above. one of his hands cradle your head, tip of his thumb rubbing over your forehead and down the bridge of your tiny nose. “i don’t want to make you cry.”

“i just don’t want…” you sniffle, “you to think of me that…” another sniffle, “…way.” your bottom lip quivers, as all the horrible memories of the rda come rushing back into your brain.  

“i don’t, i don’t. i am sorry.” he bends down slightly, eyes darting over your face in attempt to search for a way to help you. he wishes he could kiss you, to make you feel better. 

“would you like to go get cleaned up? i found woman’s clothing in the scientist’s shack.” he mumbles, gesturing to the pack on his back. 

“oh really?” you brighten up slightly at the sound of getting clean clothes. 

“follow me.” neteyam motions with his hand for you to walk with him. 

he parts the beads for you to walk through with him, bringing you down the rocky hallway with numerous huts filled with other na’vi. “i may have told my dad about you. he wants to meet you after i get you clean.” he nonchalantly speaks as if you know who his dad is. 

“and who’s your dad and why do i want to talk to him?” you question with a laugh. 

“oh… well my dad is jake sully.” he mumbles, “i didn't tell you because i didn’t trust you at first.” 

“hm.. that’s reasonable. i can’t believe he’s your dad though that’s crazy. the big and bad toruk macto.” you giggle softly, covering your mouth with your very dirty hand. 

neteyam can’t help but laugh along, “yeah… big and bad, sure…” he grumbles sarcastically as he walks you up to a clearing. 

there’s a few banshees laying on the rock next to an opening in the floor, and a giant hut in the middle next to the science pods. you can see the tops of a few na’vi’s heads but they don’t notice you thankfully. you can't help but feel excited to finally see one of these in real life, let alone ride on one.

“let’s go.” he jogs toward his ikran, bringing his braid forward to make his bond with it. he easily climbs onto the large animal before he reaches out to you to help you climb on. “we’ve got to hurry. hold on to me tight, okay?”

your arms wrap around his waist tightly, one of his hands reach back to pull you closer by your thigh. “wrap your legs around me. this is gonna be a wild ride.” he chuckles. you can’t help but feel nervous as your legs wrap around his hips, making your body quite literally flush with his back. 

the banshee squawks loudly before nosediving off of the landing, making your stomach do somersaults in your stomach. “neteyaaaaaam!” you squeal loudly as the wind rushes by your ears and your arms hold him in a deadly grip. 

he finally levels out, cackling loudly and throwing his head back. “the way you screamed my name!” he belly laughs as he continues to fly forward. 

“you can’t just drop us into the sky with no warning!” you can’t help but laugh along, arms and legs still wrapped around him tightly like a vise. 

neteyam slightly descends into the forest below, dodging numerous trees and taking turns until he finds where he needs to land. “finally.” you breathe out once you slide off the animal, “i’ve never been so happy to see the ground!” you exclaim which makes him laugh. 

neteyam pulls the pack off of the side of the bird, swinging it over his shoulder and walking forward. you take it as a cue to follow him, hopping over a few rocks that he easily steps over.

the sound of running water grows louder as you keep walking, eyes searching the area for where the sound is coming from. “just up here.” he calls back at you, picking up his pace. 

you can’t help but start running, since his speed walk is like a sprint for you. “god, neteyam. i’m tinier than you. slow down!” 

before you know it, he stops in his tracks right in front of a clearing. “here it is.” he breathes out with a wide smile. 

you duck under his arm, a gasp leaving your mouth from the view in front of you. 

natural pools cascade down a mountain, spilling into each other like a domino effect, creating multiple spouts of water that pour into a lake. the color of the water is cerulean, sparkling in the sunlight. 

“the best thing about this place. is that humans can naturally breathe here.” neteyam states as he admires the small waterfalls. 

“what?!” you shriek in excitement, tugging on his arm happily, “how?!” 

“the mix of gases in the air and in the water create the perfect recipe for humans to breathe, but only for a little bit.” he grabs your hand to pull you forward down the little hill towards the lake.

“you can get cleaned up here.” he drops the bag onto the ground before bending down to rummage through it. “stole this.” he hands you a plastic bottle of old spice body wash from earth, “and this.” he hands you another bottle of two-in-one shampoo and conditioner. 

obviously the stash of a man, but you couldn’t be happier to see soap. you know that you have to smell terrible. 

“thank you very much, kind sir.” you hold the soaps to your chest and dance around happily like a kid in a candy shop. 

“what… are you doing?” he stares up at you in awe, his pearly whites on show. 

“dancing cause i’m happy. now close your eyes so i can get undressed.” you cheekily smirk at him, making his eyes go wide and turn his head away from you. 

you place the soaps on the ground, using your hands to finally take the mask off your face. you take a deep breath of fresh air, the natural smell of dirt and plants filling your senses. 

you swiftly pull your shirt over your head and your pants down your legs, along with your underwear and sports bra.

you keep your eyes on the back of neteyams head, grabbing the soaps and taking a few hesitant steps into the water. 

“oh my god! it’s warm!” you cheer with a surprised laugh, continuing to walk farther into the lake until you reached one of the spouts of falling water. 

you can’t help but put the soap down on a ledge, ducking your head under the natural faucet. you almost moan from the feeling of the caked mud washing out of your hair, “neteyam! this is amazing!” you glance back at him, seeing his back is now towards you. 

aw, what a gentleman. 

neteyam can’t help but turn around slightly to glance at you. you’re waist deep in the lake, standing under the water as you wash your hair. 

he admires your back, watching how the brown water turns to clear as it flows down your skin in little streams. he wishes he could reach out and touch your soft body. 

he feels terrible for looking, but he can’t help himself- you’re just so beautiful. he wants to admire your body like a form of art, not for an object of his own personal pleasure. 

some ways that you move, he can catch an glimpse of the swell of your breast. making his head around turn to stop looking, but something deep in his belly urges him to go in there with you.

the sound of moving water behind you makes your heart skip a beat. something wants you to turn around, to look and confirm what your gut is telling you. 

neteyam is in here with you. 

before you could turn around, a tall shadow looms over you from behind. your hands drop to your side, breathing picking up in pace from his proximity. 

“can i… touch you?” his voice is low, deeper than normal. 

“please.” you desperately respond into the air. 

neteyam’s fingers dance over your sides, sending shivers down your spine. his thumbs gently press into the dimples of your lower back as he bends down. 

you can feel his warm breath ghosting over your shoulder and onto the next one before he finally lays a kiss against your damp skin. “you are so beautiful.” he whispers, which makes you smile. 

“i shouldn’t be doing this.” his voice murmurs in your ear, making your head lull back against his abdomen. “you’re right, but it’ll feel so good.” you look up at him, watching how his face screws up in shock from your words. 

“bad influence.” he snickers, nose scrunching up cutely. his hands quickly take dominance over you, twirling you around so your back was pressed against the cool surface of the damp rock. 

he leans down just enough, lips barely pressing against yours with a featherlight touch. your breath mixes with his, making you lean forward to attempt to kiss him but he pulls back. 

“are you sure?” he asks, which just makes you roll your eyes. your arms swoop around his neck to pull him down to you- finally kissing those damn lips you’ve been dying for. 

neteyam smiles into the kiss as his hands slither up your sides, making you giggle from the soft touches. “does that tickle?” he hums into your mouth, making you nod fervently.

your lips move in sync, tongues wiggling against each other as he deepens the kiss by turning his head to the side. his giant hands cup your breasts, the tips of his fingers reaching just above your collarbones. 

his hands move to your back, snaking downwards under the water to cup your butt with his hands. “your body is amazing.” he groans against your lips which makes your face flush. 

neteyam can feel his back aching from bending down to your level so he lifts you up from your ass, making you squeal as your back is pressed against the wall behind the waterfall. 

“backs hurtin’… can’t bend down.” he breathes out against you, moving his lips away from yours to slowly kiss down your neck. he spends time ravishing your skin with kisses and tiny love bites. 

you gasp and wriggle in his arms, shivers wrack your body from his teeth running over your sweet spots.

neteyam slowly backs away from the wall, shuffling directly under the water which spills over both of your heads but neither of you could care. you’re both completely enamored with each other.   

he shuffles back over to the rocky bank where your clothes are piled up. he gently lays you down on the flat surface, standing tall to admire your nude body from above. 

suddenly, you feel overexposed and you go to cover yourself but he stops you, “don’t do that, tìlor.” 

the little nickname makes you smile, even if you have no idea what it means. 

neteyam leans over you, lips hovering over yours before kissing you softly. so delicate as if you would shatter from the slightest touch. 

“means beauty of all things.” he mumbles against your lips before dragging his lips down your chin. he presses wet kisses down your neck, between your breasts and down to your navel. 

his hands cup under your ass to push your legs up, shins resting on his shoulders. “gonna make you feel so good, ma tìlor.” he repeats the same word that makes you go crazy. 

the feeling of his breath puffing over your core makes you wiggle in anticipation, “please, ‘teyam…” you whine. 

he smiles at your begging before dipping down, swiping his tongue through your dripping folds. “oooh my god.” you gasp out.

neteyam smirks as he dives deeper with his tongue, keeping his eyes on you the entire time to watch how you writhe under his touch. 

his entire mouth fits over your cunt, his tongue flattens against your clit before his lips wrap around the bud to create suction. 

you cry out in surprise, hands flying to his head to grip it as your back arches off of the ground. one of his arms wrap around your hips, right above your pelvis to hold you in place. 

he chuckles against you, which sends another shockwave of pleasure to course through your entire body. 

he can tell by your body language, and the heartbeat he can feel that you’re already so close to release, so he reluctantly pulls off with a pop.

a string of saliva and your juices connects his lips to your core, a giddy smile pulls up on his face. your eyes glance over his wet chin, the look on his face makes you want to push his head back down between your legs. your chest bounces with every sharp breath, now starting to feel the effects of the toxic gas getting to your head. 

neteyam kisses his way back up your body, tongue licking random stripes on your skin. your hands attempt to reach down to untie his loincloth, but they aren’t long enough. 

“so tiny.” he mumbles against your skin before pulling back. he presses one forearm against the rock to hold himself up on top of you, while his other one is working on pulling the thin cloth off. 

your eyes can’t help but bulge out of your head once he throws the cloth to the side. his cock sits heavy between your bodies, blue and striped like the rest of his body. the pink tip is oozing pre-cum, just begging to be licked up. it's almost as if he could read your mind...

“not now, later… wanna be inside of you first.” he swiftly kisses you before he grips the base of his cock to line it up at your entrance. your legs absentmindedly wrap around his slender waist. 

nervousness bubbles in your chest from his size, because how is that going to fit inside of your body...?

“i’ll be gentle with you, ‘promise.” he reassures you, eyes looking over you before leaning down to pepper kisses all over your face. 

he slowly thrusts forward, letting it run through your folds to soak up your wetness. he breathily moans into your mouth from the feeling. the sound could quite literally make you cum without being touched. 

“ready?” one of his arms are above your head as he looks down at you, while the other holds his cock. 

you nod and bring your bottom lip between your teeth, glancing up at him and in between your bodies to watch. your hands rise to rest on his sides, right on top of his rib cage. 

he tantalizingly presses his tip against your entrance, making you suck in a sharp breath. your eyes are wide as you look up at him, but his gaze is too focused watching himself push into you. 

god, he stretches you out. it burns, and you feel so full- overly full. the tip gets sucked in by your entrance, making his face screw up in pleasure. his plump lips part in awe before his eyes look down at your face in attempt to read your expression. 

“good?” he asks softly with a shaky voice, and all you can do is nod. 

his hips push forward after letting you adjust for a moment, your nails dig deep into his skin as a mewl falls from your lips. 

you throw your head back against the rock, face screwing up as his cock completely splits you open. 

he gets about half way before he pulls back out, and thrusts back in to the same depth. “ngh!” you whine, hands desperately clinging onto his body.

neteyam digs his head into the junction where your neck meets your shoulder, biting down on your skin. almost hard enough to draw blood with his sharpened canines. 

“oh yes, ‘teyam...” you moan out as the pain of the stretch slowly succumbs to the pleasure sparking in your lower belly. 

“you feel so good, my girl.” he chokes out, one of his hands cups the side of your head to pull you in for another kiss. 

it was barely a kiss though, mostly just moans and breaths spilling into each others mouths.

neteyam uses your sounds as a suggestion to slightly pick up his pace, his cock going even deeper inside of you than before. 

your body bounces with every thrust, drunken hiccups and gasps bubble from your lips as your nails scratch over his ribs. 

“pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease.” your words slur together as you feel the tightness building up in your lower belly. 

neteyam starts rambling in his language, the tone of his voice shows how desperate he is for release. his tail absentmindedly twitches and wraps around your ankles, locking them into place around his back. 

you couldn’t even care at this moment if he would cum in you. the feeling of him inside you has you hypnotized. 

your head feels dizzy, and you can see stars in your vision whenever you blink. the lack of oxygen is getting to your brain, making you feel lightheaded and even more sensitive to his cock ramming into you. 

“gooooonna cuuum.” your voice is high and your words are drawn out. 

“mmmm sran, ma tìlor.” he moans out, his teeth bite down on your shoulder. definitely drawing blood this time by the pain that sparks up your neck.

one last thrust, he pushes almost the full length of his cock inside of you as he releases. you swear you can feel it in your throat. 

he lets out a guttural groan against your skin, his back quivering as he thrusts every last bit of his seed into you. 

you cry out in pain and euphoria, eyes rolling back inside of your head. your body arches off of the ground as you climax in unison with him, thighs gripping his sides tightly and chest pressing into his.

neteyam uses this moment to kiss you as if he would never kiss you again. his lips move intensely against yours, savoring the taste of your lips before pulling his head back to shove the oxygen mask back on your face. 

you instantly suck in a deep breath, chest heaving as your foggy head begins to clear from finally being able to breathe clean air.

neteyam gently rolls over onto his side next to you on the rock, his hand still holding your mask on your face as he attempts to catch his own breath. 

he gently presses soft kisses along your arm, and uses his other hand to touch the bruised puncture wounds on your shoulder. 

“m’sorry. got carried away.” he breathes out heavily, resting his head on your shoulder. 

you take a moment to pull the mask onto your face fully so he didn’t have to hold it for you. 

“don’t ever… be sorry. that was fucking amazing.” you laugh in shock as you look down at him. a big smile is on his face as he stares up at you from his place on your chest. 

you both lay there in silence, the only sounds being your heavy breathing and birds in the distance. “we should probably get dressed and head back since my dad wants to talk to you.” he mumbles a bit sadly. 

you huff a breath out, but nod in agreement. “you’re right.” you mumble, sitting up along with him. 

he ties his loincloth back on himself before grabbing the pack to fetch the clothes for you. he hands them to you with a little smile. 

you hold out the shirt, seeing it’s a very old rda employee shirt and some sweatpants. you stand to your feet to pull the clothes onto your body, and thankfully they fit. 

“oh…” neteyam breathes out disappointedly, “your neck… i’m sorry.” he reaches out to run his thumb over the hickeys and teeth marks he left behind.

“nobody will notice, right?” you attempt to look down at the damage, but from the angle you can’t see what he is talking about. 

“uhm.. right.” he agrees with a nervous little laugh. 

the ride back was full of laughter and light-hearted remarks coming from neteyam about his dad. mostly just preparing you to talk to him, on what and what not to do. 

once the ikran lands on the rocky floor of the cave, you can’t help but take notice to a very tall na’vi man waiting directly in front of you. 

“and that’s my dad.” he whispers quietly enough to you as he helps you off the animal. he lets off a little sigh as you duck under his arms to walk up to jake. rule number one was to let neteyam introduce you first, but you didn't listen.

“hi, sir.” you clear your throat, reaching a hand out for him to shake. jake uncrosses his arms to shake your hand, and you can’t help but notice that he has five fingers. unlike four, like his son.

“i know this is terrible timing, but i promise the information i have is worth while.” you give him a curt nod, standing tall with your shoulders back so you wouldn’t look weak.

jake let’s out a little breath and his eyes glance over your body before raising to stare at his son, “and do you think whatever you did to her neck was worth while?” 

you freeze in your spot, body instantly heating with embarrassment. you slowly turn your head to look up at neteyam. his eyes are wide like saucers as he stares at his dad, his adam’s apple bobs as he gulps. 

when the boys eyes trail over to you, humor bubbles in your chest when you make eye contact. it seems like he’s feeling the same by the way he’s trying to force the smile away that’s slowly creeping onto his face. 

almost like a ticking time bomb, the two of you burst out into an uncontrollable fit of laughter, stumbling into the space between your bodies to lean on each other for support.

oh my eywa, you’re both really in trouble now.

-

tags: @supernerdycookietrashblr @fireflystoughts @eddieslvt @bluealiensimp @aliseaaah

[emilystheories]

Aelin Galathynius created Prythian. She is the Mother.

This theory contains TOG, ACOTAR and (slight) CC SPOILERS!

Many, many thousands of years ago, Amren recalled that a huge "rip in the sky" appeared in her home world. Out of curiosity, Amren flew through this rip, and landed in Prythian.

This perfectly aligns with Aelin ripping a hole in the sky of the God's realm. This is the most concrete piece of evidence that Throne of Glass took place in the past (something I have already theorised about).

However, and most interestingly, it is suggested that Amren entered Prythian when it was being made - when the world itself was beginning to form.

If Aelin indeed created the "rip" in the sky that Amren went into - the timing suggests that Aelin's actions led to the creation of Prythian.

And, although subtle, we actually have proof of this.

Recall that Wyrd was described as the thing that "keeps the realms apart:"

But, when Aelin shut the gates between worlds at the end of Kingdom of Ash, we have this VERY important (and often overlooked) clue:

Aelin caused for all worlds to overlap.

I believe this is how Prythian was born.

The Cauldron.

According to the mural that Feyre observes, Prythian was created by a female with "glowing, slender hands," who tipped a fluid with "strange symbols" (wyrdmarks), from the Cauldron, onto the land.

I believe this was Aelin - perhaps not literally, but metaphorically.

But this begs the question; what exactly is the Cauldron?

For starters, we know that the Cauldron has 3 "legs". These legs provide most of its power (and this is an important clue!)

This is very similar to the 3 wyrdkeys in TOG; the very 3 wyrdkeys that Aelin embedded into her arm (and subsequently her blood) when she sealed the gates.

Aelin then gave over the 3 wyrdkeys, and all of her fire power to forge the new lock. It is this very power that is the essence of the Cauldron. 

As evidence of this, when we see the Cauldron's power in ACOWAR, it presents as Aelin's own power; "raw fire power," capable of burning an entire army to ash within seconds.

The Dread Trove.

The Cauldron also created the Dread Trove - and this is another very important clue.

The Crown.

The Crown can control and influence people - just like the wyrdkeys (and subsequent wyrdcollars and rings controlled people in TOG).

The Mask.

The Mask can control the dead - just like the wyrdkeys could create armies of dead people; a power Erawan desperately wanted.

The Harp.

The Harp can open portals to different locations, and potentially different worlds and realms. This is one of the key features of the wyrdkeys.

In fact, it was said the 3 wyrdkeys were needed to create a wyrdgate.

The Cauldron has 3 legs (that I believe are the 3 wyrdkeys Aelin yielded to seal the lock).

Thus, the Cauldron *IS* a wyrdgate.

Cauldron = Wyrdgate.

As further proof of this, to "nullify" the Cauldron, Amren had to:

give up her current body,

forget about those she loved,

and unleash her power of "light and flame."

Which is just like Mala Fire-Bringer; who also had to:

give up her current body,

forget about those she loved, (in fact, both her and Amren both warned that they will no longer "remember" their loved ones),

and unleash her power of "light and flame", in order to forge the lock, and shut the wyrdgate.

But, recall that when Mala's plan didn't work, Aelin (and Dorian) had to give all of their power to reforge a new lock, in order to seal and shut the wyrdgate once more.

This is just like Rhys in ACOWAR; in order to re-seal the Cauldron, he had to give over every inch of his power.

In fact, when Aelin and Dorian's power were used together, and in combination with the wyrdkeys, it was described as "creation and destruction," and the "beginning and the ending."

These are the exact same terms used to describe the Cauldron - and I'd argue the exact same *power* of the Cauldron (but more on that later).

And, as a side note - at one point, the Cauldron's power was even described as "fire and ice"... (ring any bells?)

The Lock.

Further, when Aelin and Dorian were sealing the wyrdgate shut, they had to make a "lock."

The lock they made was the Eye of Elena. This is perhaps the most important clue in this theory; that this very symbol and mechanism allowed for the creation of the Cauldron.

However, we learn in later TOG books that this symbol isn't just known as the Eye of Elena, but also as the "Eye of the Goddess." This is because it was first a sacred witch symbol, created by Rhiannon Crochan.

Crochan means Cauldron.

Additionally, the Eye of the Goddess was named as such, as it is said to represent the Three Faced Goddess (that the witches worshipped), and her three counterparts;

The Maiden

The Mother

The Crone.

It's for this reason that I believe the Cauldron was created from the Eye of Elena, or the Eye of the Goddess lock, as it too follows the principles of Maiden, Mother, and Crone.

We see clear evidence of this when Elain, Nesta and Briallyn were thrown into the Cauldron.

Elain was made into the Maiden.

The Maiden often symbolises innocence, beauty and blossoming.

In TOG, the Maiden was represented by the Blueblood witches, who were the "oracles, mystics, and zealots."

Elain was made into a Seer.

The Bluebloods also required more iron (as it was said that they were the most powerful), and it is rather interesting that Elain (presumably) wears an iron ring.

Nesta was made into the Mother.

The Mother often symbolises maturity, responsibility, and power.

In TOG, the Mother was represented by the Blackbeak witches, who were the warriors - known for their "obedience, discipline, and brutality."

Considering the multiple references to Nesta making a fine General in an army, as well as the parallels between Manon's thirteen, and Nesta's Valkyries - it makes perfect sense.

Briallyn was made into the Crone.

She was, quite literally, turned into an old woman by the Cauldron.

Creation and Destruction.

Knowing that that the Cauldron was made from the Eye of Elena/Eye of the Goddess, as well as the 3 wyrdkeys, as well as Aelin's own power that she donated to forge the lock, and seal the gate - this can explain Nesta's own power.

Nesta's power manifested as "cold" flame, one that seemingly burned without a trace.

We have already seen this before;

Aelin's moon-fire,

and Kaltain's shadow-fire.

The commonality between these two? Both women were in possession of the wyrdkeys.

The same wyrdkeys that the Cauldron now possess; the same power that Nesta stole.

And, all in all, this makes perfect sense. The Cauldron is a wyrdgate. Wyrd is the "language of the universe," it is the power of both creation and destruction, life and death.

Nesta's power symbolises one half - Death.

And, it's for this reason that I believe that Elain's powers (that are yet to be revealed), will symbolise the other half - Life. Creation. (And, I also have an inkling that she will be the one to rebuild the Dusk Court with this very power).

We also know that the Cauldron loved Elain. If the Cauldron was indeed created by Aelin - that she is it's Mother - then perhaps it's no coincidence that "Elain" is an anagram for "Aelin"....?

A portal too?

If the Cauldron is indeed a wyrdgate - then recall that Feyre threw the Book of Breathings into it.

Now, Jesiba Roga possesses that exact book.

Does this tell us that the Cauldron is in fact a wyrdgate to Lunathion, and the Crescent City world...?

Knowing all the connections between the Cauldron and the witches - and Jesiba being a witch herself, it makes sense...