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pellucid-constellations · 7 days

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If It All Fell (6)

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: If it all fell apart—if you forgot who you were—would you love him again? Would the bond guide you back? Azriel doesn't know if that uncertainty is one he can bear.

Word count: 3.5k

Warnings: Angst, PINING

a/n: Sorryyyy for the wait <3 As a lot of you know I have been going through it lately, but I really enjoyed writing this and hope to post more immediately 🤜. Let me know what you think :))

Part 1 ♡ Part 2 ☆ Part 3 ✶ Part 4☼ Part 5 ☁ Part 7 ☆

Series Masterlist

Day Court was immeasurably beautiful—with all of its pristine columns reflecting orange light. Marble flooring shone with distorted images of acrylic brush strokes that hung on granite walls. Fountains billowed at the mouth of every doorway, sculpted fixtures at their bases. Warm wind kissed your skin and glistening waters welcomed you and Day Court was so incredibly beautiful.

You were sure, if given the chance, you would think the same of its residents.

Unfortunately, you were not given the chance to come to that conclusion.

“The High Lord is in a meeting. He sends his apologies for not meeting you upon your arrival—the merchants of Day can get a bit rowdy,” the servant laughed. “I can show you to your rooms in the meantime.”

“Rooms?” Rhysand posed. You attempted to look over Azriel’s wing to gauge the conversation, but Cassian took another step to the side, halting your movement.

“Yes, Helion informed us that the four of you would be here, so we prepared four rooms. If that’s not—”

“Three rooms will suffice, thank you,” your High Lord drawled.

The servant squeaked, and you were sure if you could see her, her nerves would be evident. “Of—of course, High Lord. I assume Lady Y/n will be with—”

“We will deal with the division of our rooms on our own. Thank you…”

“Amira,” the servant offered. “My name is Amira. I will be attending to you, Lady Y/n, during your time here.”

You knocked your head to the side, brushing Cassian’s bicep as he stood beside you. You barely caught Amira’s mousey brown hair before the membrane of a wing flushed out and pushed you back.

“She doesn’t need an attendant,” Azriel bit out, misplaced malice creating tension in the hall.

“Oh, it’s okay, I—”

Apparently, not even your voice was allowed to be heard. Rhysand cut you off. “No attendant,” he confirmed, after sending his spymaster a sidelong glance laced with reproach. “No servants in our rooms, either. We are rather private, you understand.”

A pause.

You wished you could see anyone’s expression.

From beside you, Cassian offered you a pity smile, nudging you with his elbow in an act of comfort.

“Anything you require,” Amira shakily responded. “Shall I walk you back, then? Just to show you where you will be staying?”

“Lead the way.”

Azriel immediately stepped back, his shadows scrambling past him to enclose you in dim light. You felt his presence, firm and tall, looming at your back as you took the first few steps down the hall.

This all felt entirely misplaced, with the bleakness of your group extinguishing some of the vibrance of the court you walked through. Cassian kept close to your side, some of Azriel’s shadows drifting off and cloaking the red glow on his hands and chest. Rhys, ever the High Lord, took up the front, footsteps light but purposeful.

Everyone looked grim.

Except for you.

This court held no negative connotations for you, no malicious undertones that impacted the rest of your family. It was simply beautiful, and your family was simply cloistering you.

But you agreed to this; anything to make them feel better.

To make Azriel feel better.

You turned your head to the side as you walked, catching the shadowsinger in your peripheral. Tense, on-guard, unyielding; Azriel’s jaw was set in a firm clench, but it was different from what you were used to. When he was tense at home, it was almost out of… anticipation? Trepidation?

Here though… here his posture was derived from rage. From practiced, honed fury.

You turned your head away before you attempted to fix it, to comfort him. He wanted to be angry, told you as much before he winnowed you to Day in a flurry of his shadows.

I’m going to be different, he had told you, I need to be different. It can’t be like the last time. I can’t let you get hurt.

The fear in his eyes had melted away in the Day Court sun; the second your feet landed on meticulously carved cobblestone, Azriel was no longer just your friend.

Amira led you to three doors along a wall, mumbled a few parting words, and bowed away before anyone could send her a second glance. You attempted to offer her a reassuring smile amidst her flee, but Azriel’s shadows were too dense. A hand on your back led you into a room and Amira was gone.

“That went well,” Cassian breathed, a long sigh punctuating his descent into a loveseat by the bed. “She didn’t look terrified at all.”

The bedroom door clicked shut. Rhys raised his brows. “She’ll thank us later.” The High Lord’s eyes drifted to the shadowsinger sulking by your side. “This isn’t exactly a leisurely visit.”

Your gaze shot around the room in the following lapse of silence, analyzing the tense nature of each male. The air felt stagnant and stiff, the light somehow dimmer even with the open windows, and you weren’t sure if your voice would make it worse or ease some of the pressing emotions.

Rhys took a seat in a chair by the door, and you decided speaking was better than leaning into the uncomfortable silence.

“It’s so beautiful here,” you began, playing with your fingers, second-guessing your decision to stand. Azriel remained motionless at your side. “The sun feels different somehow. Brighter, maybe?”

“The skies have an affinity for their namesake in the solar courts,” Rhys offered kindly.

You hummed, rolling onto your toes and then rocking back on your heels. “I suppose that makes sense. The nights are incredible back home.”

The use of that word—home—did not go unnoticed by the group. Not by you and certainly not by the male standing guard at your side. The replacement of the word had been relatively common since you woke up.

Here in Velaris, there is….

When you came back here all those years ago…

Let’s go back to the house…

Never home.

But being in Day—being away from Velaris—just solidified what you already assumed. Velaris was your home. You were sick of letting your family dance around that truth.

“Mother above, I was sure I would never see you again,” a strange voice tore your attention from Cassian’s vivid retelling of your first time flying with him, and although it was an interesting story, the man before you was even more enticing.

With deep skin and an even deeper smile, white linen billowed around his confident figure. The man appeared to glisten as he walked toward your small group, golden sandals trailing up bronze calves. Even the air around him seemed to glow.

Enticing didn’t seem to be the correct word.

You’d been directed into a rather large study after a brief lunch and a “tour” of the grounds that only included the wing you were staying in. Rhys had chalked it up to Helion stalling for time. You’d tried to coax a more comprehensive tour out of the guard leading you around, but a sharp look from Azriel was enough to put that conversation to rest.

“You look just as you did. Perhaps a bit gaunt but…” The man—Helion, you’d deduced—trailed off when the whisper of a shadow trailed at his neck. “I am Helion,” he smiled. “You have known me for many years. In love with me, as most are. But, alas, it is not fated.”

Some of your awe shifted to shock. “I am—I’m sorry, I am in love with you?”

In front of you, Cassian let out a long breath and fanned his wings out before letting them hang behind his chair. You sat straighter in your own seat, mortification creeping into your chest at the small laugh Rhys let slip across the room. What set your mouth into its flurry, however, was the raised brow you received from Helion.

“I didn’t mean that to offend. I mean—what I meant was just that… Well, no one said I had a lover or even mentioned you in that way so it came as a shock. But I presume there is much about myself I have yet to learn so… you are a very beautiful man and I’m sure—”

“Y/n, it’s alright,” came Azriel’s soothing voice from beside you, his scarred fingers pushing hair behind your ear halting your apologies. “He was only joking.” A pointed look in the High Lord’s direction. “He does that from time to time, unfortunately.”

More mortification made an appearance.

“Oh.”

Helion’s raised brow had morphed into an unsure expression at some point amidst your rambling. “When they said you had no memory… You will have to excuse me, y/n. I assumed you’d have more… context. Especially with your abilities.”

“We told you she remembered nothing and had no access to her magic,” Azriel defended, his fingers dropping to rest beside your thighs.

“Well, yes, but often when magic tampers with the mind, the personality remains intact. Like a muscle memory.”

“Oh, her personality is there,” Cassian retorted, a bittersweet smirk playing at his lips. “Just not when she’s met you five seconds ago and you’re revealing fake truths. Sarcasm doesn’t often work with strangers.”

Helion nodded grimly, turning back to you. “I apologize.”

“It’s really alright,” you comforted, attempting to calm some of the twisted guilt marring the High Lord’s face. “They worry too much. Right now everything I do is without context and I find myself embarrassed more often than not. It’s not your fault.”

Helion did not look convinced or reassured. His eyes simply traveled to the corners of your face and tracked down to the patterns Azriel was drawing into the skirts of your dress.

“Do you see now why we needed to come to you,” Rhys chimed in from above his crossed arms.

Helion hummed. “Yes. Shall I get started then?”

The room shuffled. You were informed that Helion had to be touching your head to assess the injury—unlike Rhys’s assessment—so you were sat atop a table to give him better access. Azriel followed by your side, his front pressed against the table, Cassian stood his ground behind Helion, and Rhys took up residence on your other side.

“In Day, we have a type of healing that extends to magical wards and enchantments, was that explained to you?” Helion asked, kind eyes never leaving yours. Too kind—uncertain and full of reproach.

“Yes, they said maybe the witch put something in my mind. Like a blockage.”

“Precisely. And I was informed about Rhysand’s unsuccessful attempt at entering your mind. That could be due to a spell, which is why I would be more useful.”

Rhys scoffed.

You let a smile tug at your lips, but it was quickly extinguished when you considered the outcome of this process. “Will it feel the same? What you’re doing and what Rhys did?”

You could almost hear the way Azriel ground his jaw.

Helion glanced at him from the corner of his eye. “It will feel different. I am not in the business of thoughts or memories. I won’t be able to access anything other than any inflictions you may have.”

“So it won’t hurt?”

“I cannot promise anything.”

The table beneath you shifted an inch, just to be caught by hands glowing with blue light.

I need to be different. It can’t be like the last time. I can’t let you get hurt.

“Still sure you can’t just beat the crap out of whatever’s going on in my head?” you posed to Cassian, tilting your head up to call over Helion’s shoulder.

The general’s chuckle eased some of the tension in the room. “I would if I could.”

“Promise?”

“Always.”

With a resigned breath, you nodded to Helion. The High Lord’s hands glowed a golden white, he lifted them to your head, and then there was nothing.

Azriel

If he hadn’t shot his hand out when he did, Azriel was sure your head would have fallen out of Helion’s grasp and plummeted to the floor.

You were limp.

Eyes closed, neck bent—completely and utterly limp.

Azriel took the liberty of tugging on the bond just to make sure you were still alive. He hadn’t done so since you woke up in the forest, remembering the fear in your eyes, but you looked so incredibly lifeless.

“Helion,” he barked, his worried expression never turning from your face.

Icy panic gripped his stomach, twisting it with fervor.

Cassian took a step forward.

“Why is she unconscious?” his brother gritted out. His tone was an empty threat; he couldn’t hurt a High Lord, and neither could Azriel, but Azriel would do much more for much less.

His life had become a nightmare.

Literally.

On his worst nights, he relived the time you went missing and the subsequent loss of your memories over and over until he woke up screaming. His heart would beat so rapidly it seemed impossible to slow and he would be inconsolable for several minutes, but he always had you there. He would wake up from that nightmare and you would be there.

He had that dream every night now, and he woke up to the same. The guestroom he occupied didn’t smell like you, and even though you were just on the other side of the wall, he couldn’t make out the sound of your breath enough to let it lull him back to sleep. Nothing you owned was in that room. Everything he owned was still in a pile by the door after Feyre had rushed to clear the evidence of him from your space. But why did that matter? What were books and trinkets and clothes in a room that was otherwise devoid of everything he loved?

Leaving his room was worse.

Gods, all he wanted to do was hold you. To really, truly hold you and for you to hold him back. But you looked at him cordially, the same way you looked at Cassian and Rhysand and Mor.

When he left the house he had to deal with Feyre and Nesta’s constant questioning. Even Amren had taken an interest in your well-being, and while he appreciated the care for his mate, he couldn’t take it.

He couldn’t take echoing the words, “She’s fine. Healthy. Less pain today,” over and over when he could tell what they really wanted to know were things you wouldn’t share with him. He couldn’t take the fact that you didn’t tell him you loved him—that he would whisper it at your back every time you turned around and you never heard. You were skittish at his touch and shy when you spoke and you were never the first to voice your opinion and he just couldn’t take it.

With your head in his broken hand, Azriel felt another piece of him crack.

“I did it.” Rhys broke the silence, a concentration twisting his brow. “Helion and I agreed it was the best way to go about this. It had to be sudden though—unexpected. We needed a moment where her mind was completely unexpecting.”

Cassian cursed. “You couldn’t have told us that before you made it look like she died, Rhysand?”

“If y/n were dead no one would be standing here right now and you know that.”

“Still,” Cassian mumbled. “Warn a guy.”

“I’ve felt this before,” Helion said, shaking his head. “But that’s impossible. Rhysand, you would have—”

“I would have, yes, but not if it was created through other means. It was a witch, not a daemati.”

“She could have been both.”

“Extremely unlikely. Keep going.”

Azriel watched the way your lashes fluttered, counted the beats of your heart and pretended you knew who he was.

“What’s happening?” he asked. “You’re both in her head. Talk.”

“I couldn’t get through the wall myself because it wasn’t her magic,” Rhys explained. “I assumed it was the witch’s, but this signature is too similar. It’s exactly like it was before, just muted.”

“Like it was before?” Azriel repeated, finally turning his head up.

Rhysand looked grim. “Almost identical.”

“That isn’t possible,” the shadowsinger immediately refuted. “I killed that bastard myself. There is no way he could have done anything to her.”

“Azriel, I think it’s possible that—”

But Azriel did not let the High Lord of Day finish his thought. “You don’t speak to me about her,” he seethed. “Not when she came to your court and one of your people did this to her. I trusted you with her. I sent my mate here and she has been paying the price for that ever since. This is your fault, so you do not tell me what you think. You tell me what is certain.”

The room went silent, and Helion looked back at you, eyes glazing as he continued his work.

A strong, steady hand clapped against Azriel’s shoulder. It took Cassian three tugs before Azriel reluctantly let your head go, but only after Rhysand placed his own hand at your back.

“Look, I get it,” Cassian comforted, hands on his brother's arms. “If this was Nesta I’d probably be tearing this room apart right now. But he’s all we have here. And you know it wasn’t his fault last time. You remember how hard he worked to get her back.”

Azriel ignored him.

Cassian roughly shook his frame.

“Hey, you know that. And you know y/n’s going to be pissed at you when she gets her memories back and hears how much of an ass you’re being to Helion. She’s going to be severely pissed if you start a war trying to kill the guy.”

“If.”

The small smile Cassian was sporting faltered. “What?”

Azriel finally met his eyes. “If she gets her memories back. It was an if last time and it’s an if again.”

The two High Lords discussed quietly in the back, their hands still on you. Azriel’s shadows refused to leave your side, weaving through your hair and your clothes and the fingers against your head.

“Well last time she got them back, didn’t she?”

“You truly believe that will happen twice? I was praying to the mother for luck the first time, Cassian. She won’t listen again. I guarantee she won’t.”

“Az…” Cassian trailed off. There was no speech to formulate, not when defeat and resolution were so clear on his brother’s face.

“She won’t love me a third time.”

Your cough had Azriel bolting away from his brother’s concerned gaze in an instant. You were no longer in Helion’s grasp, instead leaning against Rhysand’s arm as the High Lord of Day scribbled something in a book.

“Ow.” You rubbed at your head with a pinched expression, squinting up at Azriel as he leaned down. “I think I passed out or something.”

It was mostly out of hysterics, but a small laugh escaped the spymaster. “Or something.”

Gods, you sent a spark of joy down the bond and it was all-consuming. You did that from time to time, unintentionally flooding Azriel with whatever emotion you felt the strongest. More than once he had to stop himself from opening his side completely just to relish in the reminisce you offered him.

“What about this time? Did we figure it out?” you slurred, squeezing your eyes open just to have the drop closed once again.

Azriel tucked his hand against the back of your head and looked expectantly at the two High Lords before him.

When Helion spoke, Azriel let him, if only because he was still living on the high of his mate’s lingering amusement. “Whatever the witch did, it was a mimicry of the daemati that tore into her head all those years ago. I need to do more research, see if I am able to undo whatever it is she redid without irreparably damaging her mind. If I can’t, the only answer is the witch.”

“Is that even possible? To mimic something like that?” Azriel asked, stepping forward so your drooping head would fall against his arm.

“Witches draw power beyond their reserve and even beyond the cauldron. We know so little about them. Tamlin should not have been making deals with them,” Helion curtly replied.

Any lightness in the room had very clearly disappeared.

“Take your mate back to your room. We can discuss this when she no longer looks like she’s fighting to stay awake.”

“I am awake,” you argued, trying and failing to haul yourself into an upright position.

Rhysand huffed out a laugh. “I wouldn’t even be awake after having two high lords in my mind. Go rest. We will talk in the morning.”

Azriel assisted as you stood on unsteady legs, but the attempt was futile. The shadowsinger gathered you into his arms as you sent an accusatory finger in Rhysand’s direction. “Liar.”

It wasn’t until you were alone in the hallway, your head against Azriel’s shoulder, his arms beneath your body, that you spoke again.

“Azriel?”

He hummed in response.

“What’s a mate?”

Part 7 ☆

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x female!reader #azriel x y/n #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel spymaster #acotar #azriel fanfic #azriel angst

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sycamorelibrary754 · 24 days

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Happy Easter

Summary: You are three weeks from your due date, but the thought of you and Natasha missing Easter at the Barton’s farmhouse in Iowa was simply inconceivable. What will you do if your little bundle of joy makes an early, unexpected entrance?

Genre: Fluff

Pairings: Natasha x reader, Avengers x reader (platonic).

Word Count: 5.7k

Warnings: None

A/N: Happy belated Easter! I wanted to post this fic on Easter, but there wasn't enough time. This is part 3 of Happy Thanksgiving and Merry Christmas! I recommend reading those stories first, but it can be read as a stand-alone story as well. This was so much fun to write. I hope you enjoy it!

"Does anyone know where the purple egg dye is?" you inquired, scanning the table as you addressed the Barton kids. "I could have sworn we had two cups of every color." Cooper and Lila were fully engrossed in the Easter egg decorating contest, meticulously crafting their designs, while Nate seemed to relish in using every color available on the table. "Oh, it's on the counter.”

You were just about to rise from the kitchen table, no easy feat at this stage of your pregnancy. It felt like yesterday when you surprised Natasha with your pregnancy at Thanksgiving in front of her family and announced to the team that they would all be aunts and uncles at Tony’s annual Christmas party. Your due date was three weeks away, but missing Easter with Clint’s family in Iowa was out of the question.

“Don’t get up, Y/N. I got it!” Nat said as she jumped up to grab the paper cup of purple egg dye behind you.

"Thanks, sweetheart," you said as Nat placed the cup on the table.

"How are you feeling?" Natasha asked as she gently caressed your cheek. "Maybe you should take a break?”

“Nat, I promise I’m okay. Come sit back down and color some Easter eggs with us,” you replied, trying to put your wife at ease.

Natasha was looking forward to Easter, too, but she was more focused on you and the final weeks of your pregnancy. Dr. Cho had given you the green light to go, with the condition that you'd have daily check-ins by phone and go on bed rest as soon as you returned home.

"Auntie Nat, look at this!" Nate proudly showed off an egg with Natasha's symbol on it.

"Look, Auntie Nat," you echoed with a smile.

"This is amazing! Maybe I should have you design my next suit instead of Stark," she said.

"Shall we start the judging?" Clint asked as he entered the room with Laura.

"Yep, all set," Cooper confirmed.

"Just a sec," Lila said, focused on decorating her egg. "There, done."

"Where are Yelena and Kate?" Laura asked.

"We're coming!" came a shout from the living room.

"It's not a Fabergé egg, you two, come on!" Nat yelled.

"Tada!" Kate exclaimed, revealing a beautiful purple egg with green and orange stripes.

You whispered to your wife, "So that's where all the purple dye went.”

You placed your egg on the table with all the others. Pink and blue with red polka dots. Symbolic of your current anticipation over the impending arrival of your bundle of joy. You and Nat both agreed you wanted to be surprised.

“Hmmm, this is going to be a tough decision,” Clint said, stroking his chin. “As you all know, you will be judged on creativity, technique, and presentation.”

Walking back and forth in front of the kitchen table, you couldn’t help but giggle at his mock seriousness.

“Allow me to confer with my fellow judge,” he said. After a few moments of hushed whispers with Laura, Clint returned to the group. “We thank you all for your participation. You all decorated beautiful Easter eggs. The competition was tough this year, but one egg stands head and shoulders above the rest,” pausing for dramatic effect. “The 2024 Barton Easter Egg Decorating Champion is Nathaniel Barton!”

You shouldn't have spent so much time on the sketches!” Yelena said, slapping Kate on the arm.

“Yes!!” Nathaniel cheered.

“You are hereby awarded this Lindt Milk Chocolate Gold Bunny,” his father said, handing him the gold-wrapped chocolate as big as his head.

“That you will share with the rest of the family and not eat in one sitting,” Laura added.

“Aww!” Nathaniel whined.

*^~^*

You spent the evening on the porch, surrounded by the laughter of the kids playing on the lush green lawn as the sun set over the farm. Laura served her delicious homemade Lemonade as you shared stories and reminisced about old times. The air was filled with nostalgia so vivid that you could almost reach out and touch it. Natasha sat next to you, holding your hand gently, her calloused touch a reminder of the strength and resilience she had acquired through years of training.

You were taken by surprise as you felt the baby begin to kick.

"Wow!" You exclaimed as you gently placed your hand on your belly.

All eyes turned to you. Though unspoken, everyone shared the same nervous anticipation as your wife for the approaching due date.

"Are you alright, malyshka?" Nat asked, her eyes filled with concern as she squeezed your hand.

"I'm okay. The baby is kicking. Here, feel." You said as you took her hand and gently guided it to your stomach, trying to find the right spot.

“Oh,” Nat squeaked. “I’ll never get used to that feeling.”

“Think how I feel!” you teased.

“Move aside, sestra; I want to feel my little plemyannitsa or plemyannik.” (Niece or nephew).

Yelena playfully bumped her sister out of the way with her hip and eagerly reached to touch your stomach.

"Wow, that's amazing!" she cried out. "Hey there, little one. I'm Aunt Yelena, and I will spoil you rotten!"

"Have you two settled on a name yet?" Kate inquired.

"No," you sighed. "We just can't seem to agree. Since we both want to be surprised, it's been twice as hard to come up with two names."

"Don't worry, you'll know when you see the little bundle of joy," Laura reassured.

"This wouldn't be an issue if either of you were open to any of the names I've suggested," Yelena added with a grin.

“Yelena is not an option,” Natasha frustratedly replied.

“What about—“

“Neither is Alaska! That isn’t even a name!” Your wife is exasperated.

“It could be!” Yelena said. “What about—“

“Or Wolfgang!” Nat interrupted.

“You lack all originality, sestra,” Yelena berated.

^*~*^

The soft glow of the table lamp reflected off your glasses as you delved into the pages of your latest beloved read. You placed your bookmark between the pages at the sound of your wife closing the bathroom door and crawling into bed beside you.

"Did you get a chance to talk to Helen today?" Nat asked as she helped me fluff up my pregnancy pillow.

"Yeah, I did. She was glad to hear that the swelling in my ankles went down and suggested taking a warm bath to help with the discomfort," you replied, shifting to get comfortable against the pillow.

"Mmm, a warm bath does sound amazing," Natasha hummed as she settled down on her side, facing me.

“Oh, I didn’t realize you’d be joining me?” You said softly, with a sly grin and a raised eyebrow.

“Of course I would, detka,” leaning over and kissing your baby bump.

You gently squeezed Nat's hand, feeling a wave of anticipation as your due date drew near. Thoughts of what your baby would look like and who they would become filled your mind. Would they inherit Nat's fiery red hair, or perhaps have your Y/E/C eyes? The anticipation was almost overwhelming, but knowing that Natasha was by your side made it all feel possible.

"Are you looking forward to the Easter egg hunt tomorrow?" You asked, pulling yourself out of your daydream.

Nat giggled, "You make it sound like I'm the one participating."

"Well, you might as well be. I can never tell who's more excited, you or the kids," you replied.

Natasha glanced down at our intertwined hands and then back up at you. Her green eyes sparkled like emeralds.

"I think it's because holidays in my childhood weren’t real. We filled the photo album with fake pictures and empty boxes. But this," looking around at the small details of Clint and Laura’s farmhouse, "Is real, and I’ve always done my best to help ensure that Cooper, Lila, and Nate have everything I didn’t. A carefree childhood filled with love," Natasha explained.

"You’ve done a wonderful job with Clint’s kids, Nat. They love you so much, and I know you’ll be just as amazing with our little one," you said, doing your best to reassure her. “Goodnight, Natasha,” kissing her lips.

“I hope you're right, detka,” Nat said, kissing your lips in return and laying a hand on your stomach. “Goodnight, malen'kiy (little one).

*^~^*

The following day, you awoke to the sun shining through the window and a soft breeze that caused the curtains to dance gently on the wind. Your back was aching, and you were tired, but you were determined to make it through today. You slipped into the most comfortable maternity outfit you had. Natasha helped you with your shoes, and you both went downstairs to the kitchen.

“Happy Easter, you two!” Clint said upon seeing you two enter the kitchen.

You sat down at the kitchen table as Laura placed a plate of eggs and toast in front of you and Nat, along with two glasses of orange juice. The kids were already eating and arguing over who would find the most Easter eggs this afternoon.

Yelena and Kate walked in a few moments later, clad in bathrobes and their hair disheveled.

“Against the idea of showering and dressing before breakfast, were you?” Natasha asked.

“Kate Bishop kept me up all night with her snoring, and Lucky and Fanny woke me up by sitting on my face,” Yelena mumbled as she flopped beside you.

“Hey, that’s how dogs shows affection,” Kate interjected.

“So, I should consider your snoring a Valentine?” Yelena deadpanned.

After breakfast, the kids ran upstairs to prepare for the Easter egg hunt while Clint got a head start on hiding the eggs. Nathaniel insisted Nat accompany him to help find his Easter basket, but she hesitated to leave you.

“Go ahead, babe. I’m fine.” Motioning for her to follow her namesake.

“So, how are you really feeling?” Laura asked, now that Nat was no longer in the room.

You let out a deep sigh, “Tired and sore,” resting your head in your hands. “But this quality time with you all means so much to both of us. I can make it one more day before going on bed rest.”

Laura rubbed her hand softly on your back, “Why don’t you sit in the family room with Kate and Yelena until the fun starts.”

“Okay, that’s a good idea. Make sure Yelena and Kate haven’t snuck into the Easter candy,” you laughed.

Laura helped you to your feet and then began to clear the table. As you started to walk, you felt a minor twinging pain in your stomach. You winced but thought nothing of it. With the amount of shifting the baby was doing these days, you had every spasm and cramp in the book. Unfortunately for you, you were in a house full of spies, and Laura picked up your discomfort. She made a mental note to watch you as the day progressed.

*^~^*

"Look, there's one!" Cooper exclaimed, pointing at the leather seat of the tractor in the front yard. He dashed towards it, but Lila beat him by a step. "Ha! Slowpoke," she teased.

From your spot on the porch, you glanced over and saw my wife hoisting Nathaniel onto her shoulders to carefully grab an Easter egg from the crook of an old sycamore tree.

After about 15 minutes, everyone's baskets were full of eggs. Now came the fun of opening them all. You watched as all three kids dug into their baskets, opening the eggs to find mini Hershey bars, M&M's, jelly beans, or starbursts.

Nathaniel walked over to you and placed an Orange Starburst in your hand. "Here, Aunt Y/N. I know the Orange ones are your favorite."

"Aww, thank you, Nate," you said, kissing his forehead.

As you were about to open the soft toffy candy, a sharp contraction cut through my stomach. “Aaah!” you reached for your stomach as you bent over at the knees. Much stronger than anything you had felt before.

Natasha rushed to your side. “Y/N?! Are you okay? What’s wrong?” Reaching for your hand.

"I don’t know," you grunted.

Natasha's voice quivered with anxiety as she tried to rationalize the situation. "This—this can’t be it. We’re still three weeks out," she said, her mind racing with worry. "Maybe it’s just false labor."

That was the moment when your water broke. "Oh God—" you took a sharp breath as another contraction hit.

"Okay, not false labor," Nat conceded.

"It’s okay, Y/N," Laura reassured you calmly, gently taking your hand. "Most first births are a long labor. But we’re going to get you inside, okay?"

You felt a surge of panic. "What? No, no. I can't have the baby here. I'm not ready. We had a birth plan; I don't have my overnight bag!" you started to ramble, the anxiety rising in your voice.

"You're not boarding a Quinjet now. “I'm going to call Helen,” Clint said as he started to run inside.

"What's wrong with Aunt Y/N?” Nathaniel asked.

"Nothing, sweetheart, but the baby is coming a little bit earlier than we thought," Laura said calmly as she and your wife Nat gently guided you up the steps and into the warm and welcoming embrace of the house.

"Cooper and Lila, please grab a soft, warm blanket and clean towels from the linen closet?" Laura called out to the older children, her voice steady and reassuring.

I'l boil some water and tear up some sheets!" Kate announced frantically.

"This isn't Little House on the Prairie," Yelena quipped. She looked at you and Natasha with a warm yet nervous smile. "I’ll call Mom and Dad.”

"I thought you said this was a long process?" you managed to say between deep breaths, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness.

"Yes, but there's nothing wrong with being prepared, honey," Laura replied with a comforting smile, her hands steady as she and Nat helped you onto the bed.

Natasha gently grasped your hand and locked eyes with you. "Y/N, look at me," she said reassuringly. “You’re okay, and I'm right here with you. Let's take a deep breath together.”

You took a deep breath, trying to follow Natahsa's lead. The air came out shakily as it moved around the sharp pain of the contraction.

"Do you remember your Lamaze breathing?" Nat asked, her voice calm and reassuring.

"I think so," you replied, trying to focus on the breathing technique you had practiced during the prenatal classes.

*^~^*

Contractions came and went over the next few hours. You were thankful that childbirth was part of the first aid classes all SHIELD recruits were required to take. Otherwise, the prospect of giving birth in a farmhouse in the middle of Iowa would have been more terrifying than it already was.

You heard the front door open and the screen shut behind it as footsteps hurriedly approached the bedroom. When you saw Dr. Cho, you just about burst into tears.

Helen! Oh, thank goodness," you exclaimed just as another contraction began, your face twisted in agony.

"Y/N," Helen responded, rushing to your side and gently pushing the sweaty strands of hair away from your eyes. "Clint and Laura briefed me. They said that you're handling this wonderfully. Let me take a moment to set up, and then we'll check your dilation progress.”

Okay," you managed to say, catching your breath. "Where's Bruce?"

He's in Kamar-Taj with Wong. Something about ten rings? I'm not entirely sure, but don't worry, both of you," she reassured, meeting your and Natasha’s fatigued and apprehensive gazes. "I have a backup.”

Thor strode into the room, effortlessly carrying a collection of Helen's equipment that seemed as light as a feather in his hands.

"Thor? What are you doing here?" Natasha asked, clearly puzzled.

Thor glanced at your wife, then at you, then at Laura, and then at Helen.

"Hello, everyone," he said shyly. "I was, uh, Helen and I—Dr. Cho. She invited me for Easter, and we were enjoying a nice glass of Asgardian Mead when—"

"When Clint called," Helen finished. "Anyway, he's here to help, right?"

"Of course," Thor replied. "I've never witnessed a human birth before, but I've been present for the births of many Gods and am well-versed in many newborn blessings."

You and Natasha locked eyes, your nervousness quickly replaced with gratitude as you realized the significance of having another close friend by your side during this pivotal moment in your lives.

Natasha expressed her gratitude to Thor, finally breaking the silence. "We're both thankful that you're here," she said, her voice filled with sincerity.

You nodded in agreement, silently acknowledging the sentiment.

"It's my pleasure, ladies," Thor replied warmly.

“Thor, can you bring the rest of my equipment in from the Quinjet while I check to see how far Y/N is dilated?” Helen asked.

“Sure, and do either of you need anything? He asked.

Some ice chips would be great, you said in a tired voice. “Thank you.”

“Water,” Natasha said.

Shortly after Thor departed, Yelena entered, engaging in small talk as they crossed paths in the hallway. "What's the God of muscles doing here?" she inquired.

"It's a long story," Helen responded.

"I spoke with Melina. She and Alexi are en route and should arrive by morning. At least, I think that's what she said. It was hard to hear her over Alexi's ecstatic screams in the background."

"Okay, Y/N, you've done most of the hard work in my absence. You're just about at 10 centimeters. It’s time to start pushing. You two are going to parents soon," Helen announced with a smile.

“Oh my God,” you said, looking over at Natasha.

“Hey,” your wife said, running her hand through your hair, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you said.

*^~^*

“Push. Push, just a little more! Come on, push for five seconds. 5…4…” Helen counted down.

Gasping for air, you exclaimed, '3-2-1 oh!!' as you fought to catch your breath.

Thor gently wiped away the sweat from your forehead with a cloth.

“You're doing great, Y/N. The next contraction should be coming in about twenty seconds," Helen encouraged, glancing at the monitor.

“I can’t,” you cried. “I can’t push anymore, I can’t.”

Natasha reassured you, "Yes, you can, Y/N. You're so close," she reached out and firmly took hold of your hand.

“Oh God, twenty seconds, my ass!” You shouted.

Natasha screamed in pain and fell to her knees beside you as you squeezed her hand. “Fuck, detka!”

"Here, Lady Y/N," Thor said, taking her hand in his, "Give my hand a good squeeze; you won't hurt me. And when you reminisce on this moment, you will remember that a God has faith in you. You can do this!" Thor's voice was solid and reassuring, his eyes filled with genuine belief in your strength.

Your eyes shone with tears as you held Thor's hand tightly, feeling the strength in his grip while Natasha enveloped you, her arm supporting your back.

I can see the baby's head. Are you ready to push one more time, honey?” Helen asked, “Here we go, on three: 1... 2... 3!”

You let out a final scream and then collapsed back onto the pillows, trying to catch your breath. As the room fell silent, the innocent cries of your and Natasha’s baby filled the air.

"It's a boy!" Helen exclaimed with joy.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you looked at Natasha, who was also crying. It was more emotion than you had ever seen Natasha show before.

Helen held up your son for both of you to admire. His little head was adorned with the beginnings of red hair.

"He's absolutely perfect," Nat exclaimed with a radiant smile as she affectionately kissed your temple.

Thor carefully cut the umbilical cord, and then Helen gently passed the newborn over to Laura, who began to clean him up.

Overwhelmed with emotion, you exclaimed, "He's so tiny! Where'd he go?"

Natasha reassured you, "It's okay. They're just wrapping him up," as she wiped away her tears. Concerned for the baby's well-being, you cautioned, "Okay, well, be careful with him. He's really tiny!”

Moments later, Laura tenderly announced, "Here he is," and placed your precious son on your bare chest, swathed in a soft blanket.

"Hi, baby boy," you whispered, tears streaming down your cheeks. "I know you."

As your voice reached his ears, his little Y/E/C irises opened, revealing a world of innocence and wonder.

At that moment, gazing at your son, you experienced a love so profound it felt as though your heart had been laid bare.

Natasha tenderly kissed his head and softly murmured, “Dobro pozhalovat' v mir, moy malen'kiy mal'chik.” (Welcome to the world, my little boy).

We’ll give you a few minutes," Helen said with a reassuring smile as she closed the door behind her. In the serene stillness that followed, the only sound was the gentle cooing of your precious newborn son.

“I can't believe he's finally here,” you said.

"I know. He’s so beautiful," Natasha said, her gaze fixed on the newborn.

"It looks like he’s going to take after his Mama," you chuckled, running your hand over the delicate red hairs sprouting from his scalp.

"Yes, but look at his eyes—sparkling Y/E/C like yours. Wow," Nat said.

You remarked, "I guess this narrows the names down, then."

Nat sighed in relief, "Thank goodness I don't have to explain to my sister why we didn't choose Yelena."

Looking into your wife's eyes, you asked, "So what do you think?"

*^~^*

A short while later, a gentle knock on the door signaled Helen's arrival as she peeked inside. "Hey, you three. I need to conduct a few routine tests, and there are some eager people outside who can't wait to meet your son."

"Please, come on in, everyone," you welcomed them.

You couldn't hold back the tears as you witnessed the heartfelt expressions on their faces as they laid eyes on your baby boy. It was as if he instantly captivated them, just as you were when you first saw him.

"Oh, my goodness," Laura exclaimed as Clint enveloped Natasha tightly. Tears glistened in his eyes as he held his best friend close.

"He's beautiful, Natasha," Yelena said, her eyes brimming with tears. "Privet, malen'kiy plemyannik," she whispered (hello, my little nephew).

"He's so cute, Y/N! Oh my gosh," Kate exclaimed as your son wrapped his tiny hand around your finger.

"He is lovely," Thor added, his voice filled with warmth. "Strong and brave, like his mothers."

Cooper, Lila, and Nathaniel gathered around you, admiring the newborn in your arms.

"Everyone," Natasha began, her hand resting lovingly on your back. "We have someone special we'd like you to meet.”

“This is Nikolai Odison Romanoff," you announced with a proud smile.

"Nikolai! What a beautiful first name," Clint exclaimed, wiping his eyes. "It suits him perfectly."

"Oh, my, Odison," Thor said wide-eyed. "Ladies, this is an honor fit for someone else. I wasn't even supposed to be here, I—"

"But you were, Thor. You were here when I needed someone the most," you said, looking at him with gratitude. "We'll never forget what you did for us."

The God of Thunder exhaled, visibly touched by your kind words. "I'm truly honored, Y/N. Thank you," he said, kissing your cheek.

Excuse me, ladies," Helen said, "May I borrow him for a moment? We'll be right back.”

Nikolai began to cry at the loss of contact with you, and the sound tugged at both your and Natasha's heartstrings. "It's okay, little one. It's okay," Helen soothed him.

Then, looking up at your wife, you added, "There is something else we wanted to ask.

“Clint and Laura, we would be honored if you would be Nikolai’s godparents,” Natasha said.

“Of course!” Clint declared.

“Nothing would make us happier,” Laura added.”

The couple hugged you both in appreciation as Helen returned with Nikolai.

“You have a healthy little boy on your hands! Born March 31st, 2024 at 7:23pm. He weighs five pounds and eight ounces and measures 16.5 inches long," she said as she gently placed your son in Natasha’s arms. "He's a bit small, but that is because he was impatient and arrived a bit early," Helen explained with a warm smile. "Nothing to worry about.”

Natasha cradled the baby in her arms, swaying gently back and forth as a soft yawn slipped from his tiny lips.

“We’ll spend the night here, but I want to bring Mom and Nikolai back to the compound tomorrow. I want to perform a thorough examination in my lab before sending you all home.” Helen explained.

"Of course, whatever you think is best," you agreed.

Natasha nodded in approval before a sudden realization struck her. "Oh, Mom and Dad! They're on their way here."

"They can join us if you'd like," Helen suggested.

"That would be great," you said. "Right, Nat?"

"Yeah, great," Natasha said, her mind racing as she tried to imagine the chaos of the Quinjet flight home with Alexi and Melina.

Yelena couldn't help but burst into laughter, fully aware of what her sister was thinking, until Kate elbowed her in the ribs.

"We'll leave you all to get some rest," Helen said. "I'll be outside if you need anything, and I'll be back in a little while to help you with breastfeeding him.”

"Thank you, Helen, and all of you, for everything," you said, feeling the exhaustion and emotions of the day overwhelming you as tears began to fall.

After exchanging warm embraces, everyone exited the room, leaving you and Natasha in peaceful solitude with your precious newborn son, savoring the tender moment.

Natasha gently settled Nikolai in Nathaniel's bassinet, a family heirloom lovingly retrieved from storage by Clint and Laura. As your little one drifted into a peaceful slumber, you both couldn't help but marvel at the miracle of life, watching his tiny chest rise and fall with each breath. It was a moment you never wanted to forget.

“Rest, detka. I'll take care of Nikolai," Nat offered, her voice filled with warmth and reassurance.

"I can stay up; it's fine. You should rest," you insisted, determined to take responsibility.

"Y/N, you've just brought new life into the world. You deserve to rest for the rest of your life," Nat chuckled, her eyes filled with affection and concern.

She settled beside you on the bed and enveloped you in a comforting embrace.

"Look at your face," Nat suddenly remarked, her expression softening with genuine admiration.

"I must look a mess," you replied, a tired smile tugging at your lips.

"No, Y/N, you look absolutely beautiful," Nat insisted, her words filled with sincerity. "I've never seen your face more radiant than it is right now.

Natasha's soft lips met yours in a tender kiss, and in that moment, you felt the truth of her words resonate deep within you.

*^~^*

The following day, Laura prepared a delicious breakfast and brought it to you and Natasha in bed. Both of you had barely gotten any sleep with Nikolai waking up every couple of hours. Despite feeling utterly exhausted, you didn't mind one bit. This weariness stemmed from the joy of caring for your precious newborn son on his very first night.

Twenty minutes later, the tranquil moment was interrupted by familiar voices outside. Natasha gently pulled the curtain back to glimpse her parents making their way up the front porch steps.

Yelena strode into the room with her arms folded and a mischievous smile on her lips. "Brace yourselves," she teased, "The grandparents have arrived.”

"Where's my little guy?" Alexi eagerly shouted as he entered the room.

"Shh!" Natasha hushed him with a grin, motioning to Nikolai nestled in her arms. "Oh, look at him!" Alexi whispered in awe.

"Mom, Dad, this is Nikolai,” Nat said, wiping a tear from her eye.

"He's beautiful, Natalia," Melina murmured.

"May I hold him?" Alexi asked eagerly.

"Of course," you replied, carefully passing the baby to Alexi. The sight of the mighty Red Guardian tenderly cradling your newborn son made you smile.

"Hello, Nikolai. I'm your dedushka," Alexi said affectionately. "You're so adorable; yes, you are."

As he spoke, Nikolai slowly opened his eyes, and you could have sworn you saw your father-in-law's heart swell with love.

Alexi gently placed the baby in Melina’s arms. Your mother-in-law had always been a complex and enigmatic figure. She was one of the longest-tenured widows, and her resilience made her one of the strongest women in your eyes. As she cradled your newborn son in her arms, a single tear traced its way down her cheek, revealing a depth of emotion and vulnerability that you had never seen before.

Yelena inched toward you and whispered, “He won them over faster than you did.”

*^~^*

The next morning, Thor joined in to assist with packing while Clint hurried to the store to purchase an infant car seat for Nikolai. You were a family of two when you arrived, and you were leaving a family of three.

After a swift diaper change, Natasha placed your precious bundle of joy in his carrier. "Time to head home, Nik," you said, taking his tiny hand in yours.

You bid farewell to everyone and securely placed Nikolai's carrier beside you on the Quinjet.

Nat smiled as she prepared the Quinjet for takeoff. Your first Quinjet ride," she said. "You're already an overachiever, moy sladkiy mal'chik" (my sweet little boy).

Your phone suddenly vibrates with a flurry of notifications.

"The team group chat is blowing up, sweetheart," you informed Natasha, showing her your phone.

Nick Fury: Congratulations on the arrival of your precious son, Nikolai! It's heartwarming to see the Avengers family welcoming the newest member. Everyone at SHIELD looks forward to meeting him and supporting you and Natasha.

Steve Rogers: Hey, Y/N and Nat, huge congratulations! I'm so excited to meet Nikolai, the newest addition to our Avenger family. 🎖️

Wanda Maximoff: Congratulations to you both! All those cliches, those things you hear about having a baby and motherhood—all of them are true. And all of them are the most beautiful things you will ever experience. I’ll drop off some food for you both in the morning. 🥰

Clint Barton: Hey, Y/N! Make sure Nikolai is securely fastened in his infant carrier. I hope he sleeps the whole way back. If he gets fussy, let Nat know to ask FRIDAY to turn on the cabin pressure stabilization. It's a feature I insisted Stark add to the Quinjet after SHIELD found out I had kids. You're welcome. 😏

Laura Barton: I know things didn't go as planned, but I'm grateful we could share in your special day, Y/N. Nikolai is absolutely beautiful! Please let Nat know that I'll give her a call tomorrow. 😊

Tony Stark: Rushman! Y/L/N! Congratulations on the arrival of your precious son. Nikolai will bring you endless joy and fulfillment and become your favorite reason to lose sleep for the rest of your lives. 😉

Pepper Stark: Congratulations! I'm so happy for you and Nat. I can only imagine how incredible it must feel to look into Nikolai's eyes and feel like everything is right in the world. Please don't hesitate to reach out if there's anything I can do to help. Sending lots of love! ❤️

Bruce Banner: I'm truly sorry I couldn't be there; I’m thrilled for you and Natasha. I can't wait to meet Nikolai! 💚

Maria Hill: Congratulations, Y/N and Nat, on the arrival of baby Nikolai Odison! I can't wait to meet the little bundle of joy and see those tiny fingers and toes. The name Nikolai Odison Romanoff is absolutely beautiful. I spoke with Thor this morning, and the honor deeply moved him. 🥹

Thor Odinson: I am incredibly grateful to have been present for the birth of your son, Nikolai Odison Romanoff. Your decision to include me in this momentous occasion is a great honor, and I want to assure you that I will always be there to support and care for all of you. The arrival of Nikolai is a joyous event, and I am committed to being a steadfast presence in his life. ⚡

Peter Parker: Y/N! Congratulations on the arrival of Nikolai! I'm so thrilled for you and Nat. What does he look like? Does he have your hair or Natasha’s? What color are his eyes? I'm already thinking about all the adventures we'll have with him. I'm going to text Nat right now. I can't wait to meet him! 💙

Yelena Belova: Give my little nephew a kiss and hug from me. Also, heads up - Mom and Dad are considering staying with you for eight weeks to help care for Nikolai. Happy Parenting! 😂

Kate Bishop: Yelena is sitting next to me, and she can't stop laughing, so I'm going to assume that everything is going well. Please give Nikolai a kiss and hug from me! 🩵

*^~^*

You and Natasha stood together at the front of the Quinjet, the hum of the engines surrounding you as the aircraft soared safely through the sky.

“Nikolai is sound asleep. I don't think your parents have taken their eyes off our son since they got here,” turning around to see Melina and Alexi lovingly admiring their grandson.

Nat lovingly reached for your hand. “Our son,” she repeated with a big smile.

Nat took her place in the pilot's seat and turned off the autopilot as you settled in beside her.

"Come on, Y/N. Let’s go home.”

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x you #avengers x reader #mcu #fluff #clint barton #Laura Barton #cooper barton #lila barton #nathaniel barton #yelena boleva #kate bishop #helen cho #thor odinson #platonic #easter

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kleotheundeadone · 2 months

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Scenario: Teaching Alastor To Kiss

(A/N: This is based off of a previous post I made where I talked about how the main group would kiss, & I concluded that Alastor would be bad at it, lmao. I’m still a simp, so I gotta redeem him a little bit, pun totally intended. This may be ooc, but it’s my hyperfixation, & I shall do as I please with it)

“Remind me again, darling, what is the point of practicing such a trivial activity?”

You sighed a bit, rolling your eyes at the demonic deers tone. Perhaps you should have guessed that Alastor wouldn’t know how to kiss. He had (begrudgingly) admitted to having never been in a relationship before you, so it made sense that he had never been kissed before, & wouldn’t be sure how it works. But it would be nice if the egotistical asshole would shelve his pride for 5 seconds so you could help him through this. “Come on Alastor, kissing is just like any other skill. It takes practice, & patience. So if we’re gonna do this, you gotta work with me. It’s okay to not be good at it at first.”

A laugh track echoed around the room. “Ha! Oh, you truly do know just how to make me laugh, my dear! As if mashing one's face with another requires much skill. What a ridiculous notion all together!” You rolled your eyes. Why were you bothering with him again? You almost decide to just give up entirely before feeling his hand carefully take hold of yours, pulling your attention back to him. “But I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to subject myself to such foolish flights of fancy. If only just this once.” You smiled softly at him, slowly placing your hand on his cheek. The sound of radio static filled the room for a moment, before lulling down into a subtle hum. “If you don’t wanna do this,” You murmured, squeezing his hand slightly in an effort to calm him. “It’s okay. We really don’t have to.” There was a beat of silence, save for the gentle hum of static, before he nodded, his smile strained. You wouldn’t lie & say it was perfect at first- A couple instances of uncomfortable teeth kissing, fumbling at trying to carefully instruct him on how to hold his head, & reminders to keep his lips closed, but after a few minutes, there was a very noticeable improvement.

“You’re doing much better,” You smiled, rubbing your thumb across his cheek. “Lets give it one more try, alright?” You could feel the air around you buzzing around erratically as the grating sound of radio static filled the room, but nonetheless, Alastor kept on a brave smile & nodded once again, shutting his eyes & leaning forward like you had taught him to. You press your lips softly against his, eyes fluttering shut as you shut out the world & focused on the feeling of his mouth against yours. His kiss was soft, careful, & dare you say unsure. There was a vulnerability in it that was completely out of character for the radio demon. Had anyone else ever been with him in such a revealing state? You knew all too well the answer was no. The fact he was here with you like this was… Would it be too cliche to describe it as... Heavenly? The gentle hum of the radio static turns into the soft melody of strings & what you could have sworn was a saxophone. Was- Was he playing slow jazz??? You chuckled softly, pulling away as a consequence of your giggles. Alastor's ears twitched back & forth slightly as he laughed right along with you. "Forgive me darling, but the silence was dreadful! I simply had to do something about it before it killed me. Again!" You shook your head in disbelief as you reached the end of your little giggle fit, playfully nudging his side. "That's fair. Even I feel a bit awkward when kissing someone in total silence." Alastor hummed softly, stroking your cheek before grabbing you by the jaw, placing his other hand on the small of your back as his smile stretched out wide across his face, his crimson gaze glowing eerily. "Well then, I suppose we'll just have to make some noise, won't we my dear?"

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin alastor x reader #alastor hazbin hotel #radio demon #i desire him carnally #i was this close to having him say “my deer” instead of “my dear”#not sure why i didn't #i regret it

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exitpursuedbyavulcan · 11 months

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Studious IV (Aemond Targaryen x Reader) 18+

You continue reading Aemond's diary. As his true feelings for you become ever more clear, can you decipher your own feelings for him?

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader (second person, no use of Y/N)

Warnings: Aemond in his smut writer era (semi-public sex, p in v sex, tiddy suckin', riding, fingering, oral sex f receiving, bad sex)

Author's Note: So sorry for the delay! But this baby is 11K words, so hopefully that makes up for it! Also, I tried for a long time to format this like the others, but tumblr wouldn't let me post it if I did, so the formatting is a little different here.

Read Part I Here - Read Part II Here - Read Part III Here

My Masterlist

Taglist will be done via reblogs (there are simply too many of you to fit here)

Studious IV

You were never setting foot in the library again.

Not after what you just read. Not when you were sure that the mere memory of it would have you bursting into flames the moment you crossed the threshold.

Good gods, only a few entries ago, Aemond could hardly bring himself to write the word ‘cunt,’ and now this? What in the Seven Hells were his advisors – Grand Maester Orwyle, Lord Jasper Wylde, and Prince Aegon – teaching him?

You weren’t sure whether the odd feeling in your stomach was due to how much you ate – an entire meat pie and five tea cakes, all washed down with a pot and a half of raspberry tea – or what you had just read.

Either way, it was not enough to stop you from glancing about your bedchamber to ensure no one was watching you and then rereading the entry from the beginning.

The 16th day in the 5th moon of the year.

I have just returned from the library. Grand Maester Orwyle suggested that I consult a book on anatomy. Since there was no business of court I was required to attend today, I asked one of the librarians to help me retrieve the title after I finished my training.

I also found a few books Aegon recommended, only after I dismissed the librarian – I did not want him to know that I took those. Or that I even knew what they were. Gossip abounds in the capital, and I do not wish to be the subject of more than I already am.

By the titles alone, I am surprised Mother allows them to remain in the Keep. I likely will not read most of them. Aegon has already traumatised me quite thoroughly. I see no reason to allow him to ruin reading for me, as well. Although one title, ‘A Caution for Young Girls,’ seems innocent enough.

But the books are not why I am writing now, when my usual routine is to write immediately before I retire to bed. I just… I need to commit this to paper before it leaves me entirely.

On my way out of the library, I saw her. My wife – if I die tomorrow or in a hundred years, I shall never tire of calling her that.

She has quickly found the more private areas of the library, it seems. I would never have seen her if I had not been considering going there to read myself.

It must mean something that she did not choose just any of the countless hidden places within the maze of the library, but my favourite – a secluded alcove along the western wall. An indicator of our compatibility, perhaps. Or even a sign from the gods?

Had the books I’d been carrying not been so… unsuitable, I would have asked to join her.

No, I wouldn’t have. That would require far more courage than I can summon when I see her.

I just stared at her, watching her face as she read. From where I stood, I could not see what she was reading. But I could see her, and that was enough.

She is so expressive! I saw her both smile and frown in quick succession, and once, her entire face scrunched in displeasure as if she had just taken a bite of lemon! Gods, how can even such an unpleasant expression be so beautiful?

Perhaps I should not have watched her at all, for the longer I stood there, the further my mind drifted. And then, I heard Aegon’s voice, as clearly as if he were standing beside me.

‘Don’t limit yourself to the bedchamber brother, or even the bed! A wall or a table serves just as well. And there is a certain thrill to knowing you could be discovered…’

Damn him. Why did I ever ask for his assistance? I would have been better off enlisting the help of an actual whore! At least then, the vulgarity would not come from the future King. Damn him to the deepest of the Seven Hells.

But that stupid advice echoed in my mind over and over. And against my will and better judgement, an image began to form. A dream – a waking dream.

Though my feet remained planted on the floor, I imagined setting aside my books and joining her in that alcove. She would look up and smile upon hearing my approach, perhaps even giggle at my attempt at stealth.

I would sit beside her and ask what she was reading. I might even ask her to read to me. But I would not let her read for long.

I would kiss her while she read. Not on her lips but all over her perfect face. Her cheeks, her forehead, on the tip of her nose. All just to distract her, to make her laugh. Only when she made so much noise that I feared discovery would I kiss her lips to quiet her and finally claim my prize.

The kiss would not be like in the Sept, or in her chambers that night. Instead, she would kiss me back and open herself to me. I would kiss her, and kiss her, and kiss her. Until we were both out of breath but still wanting more.

Seeing her like that, with her lips swollen and cheeks flushed… I would not be able to wait until we returned to our chambers. I would lift her onto that very table, books be damned.

Like our wedding night, we would not undress. We would be in too much of a hurry.

But even hurried, I would be gentle. I would take the time to prepare her, as Lord Wylde said I must do every time. Doing so makes the experience more pleasurable for the woman, he says. And Orwyle added that her enjoyment makes it more likely that the coupling will be fruitful.

Gods, I hardly care about that anymore. Of course, I want an heir, or several. But I want her more. I want her to feel as much pleasure as I do. To ‘peak,’ as Wylde and Orwyle put it. Aegon uses other words, but I find them too vulgar.

And in the library, making an heir would be the last thing on my mind. Even finding my own pleasure would be secondary. I would use my fingers to prepare her – perhaps get her to peak once before I even enter her?

Aegon says women can find release much more than men can. According to him, he once made a woman peak ten times in one night. I would be more amenable to believing him if he didn’t also claim he did so five times. But maybe he is right about ‘practising’ increasing stamina. Though he has had years of practice, and I have had only two days…

But in the dream world where I have the courage to approach her at all, and the gall to bed her in the library of all places (can you call it ‘bedding’ if it is not done in an actual bed?), I also have that stamina. And the skill to indeed make her peak with just my fingers.

I do not know what sounds she would make, as she was entirely silent on our wedding night, but I would want her to make them. I would want her to make such noise that I would have no choice but to kiss her to quiet her and keep her from drawing the attention of the rest of the library.

Even when I was buried within her, I would kiss her. With one arm wrapped around her hips to hold her steady as I fucked her so hard the table would shake, and the other hand tangled in her hair so I could kiss her just as hard.

I want to kiss her so badly. When I finally go to her again, that is what I will do first.

Once we had both finished – for I would ensure she peaked again with me inside her – I would kiss her more, softly, until our breathing steadied. Then, we would simply take our seats again, and this time, I would read to her.

By all the Seven, what has become of me? To not only have such thoughts but to revel in them as I do?

You didn’t bother reading the rest of the entry again before clutching the diary to your chest and staring at the bed canopy above you as a thousand questions burned through your mind and set your heart racing.

Had he been thinking about that the day he came to you in the library?

Was it what he intended to do, had you not reacted so poorly to his words?

Were you really wishing that he had?

You turned on your side, cradling his diary as you once did a small stuffed pony, and noticed for the first time that night had fallen – you had spent nearly the entire day reading. For a moment, you considered running to Aemond’s chambers. But when you looked back at the journal, there were still more than a dozen ribbons shut in its pages.

And if you went to him just after reading what you did…

Whatever was becoming of Aemond, no doubt thanks to the men he had asked for help in better bedding you, by reading his diary and the most private thoughts and fantasies contained within, it was becoming of you too. For when your eyes drifted closed, Aemond’s dream of the library became your dream as well.

The next several days of entries were almost identical.

Aemond woke at dawn after a night of dreams filled with you. They were not always of a carnal nature. Sometimes he dreamed simply of holding or kissing you. Once, he dreamed about flying with you atop his dragon. You didn’t know whether the prospect was thrilling or terrifying. Perhaps both.

Each day, he broke his fast, trained, then ate a small meal before joining court.

Before joining you.

When he wrote in the diary after dinner and several hours of studying and ‘practising’ (you still could not determine what that meant), he still remembered every little thing you did. You had never spoken at court – it was not your place to. But he had catalogued your every movement and reaction to the business of the realm. Every raise of your brows, every repressed smile, and every curious tilt of your head.

You thought you were quite proficient at maintaining a regal mask of indifference. Your mother had you practice it on the journey to King’s Landing while she commanded your brothers to shout at you the most outrageous things they could think of (much of which she promptly scolded them for when they were done).

But Aemond saw through the mask. Not only that, but he correctly interpreted every movement you made.

He knew that the twitch of your lip when Lord Bolton made a petition was a sign of your marked distaste for the man. He knew the scrunch of your brow upon the reading of a missive from a Pentosi diplomat was you noticing a contradiction from the previous message and realising the diplomat was lying. And he knew that you stiffened every time he looked at you because you were nervous about what he would say or do.

Aemond knew you. Even then.

And yet you had so dreadfully misunderstood him.

The shame of it was enough to make you set down the diary and call for a bath – a private bath, without any of your maids present even in the adjourning rooms. You gave an excuse that you were exhausted and simply wished to remain alone.

But really?

As part of his study of the anatomy book Orwyle recommended, Aemond had drawn a diagram of what lay between a woman’s legs. And annotated it based on the advice of Lord Wylde and Prince Aegon.

You were curious to see – with the aid of a hand mirror – just how accurate the diagram and annotations were.

You awoke the following morning feeling more refreshed than you had since you came to the palace, from both the welcome break in your courtly duties and the exploration you had conducted in the privacy of your bath. Though you were fairly sure you did not reach a ‘peak,’ as Aemond described it, you felt close to the height of something several times. But each time, you panicked at the intensity of the racing feelings within you and withdrew your hand. Still, those few minutes of pleasure were incredibly relaxing.

And as it was Aemond’s notes that allowed you to discover the feeling that your own clumsy attempts had failed to bring, the prospect that you would – eventually – once more join him in his bed became thrilling beyond reason.

In truth, the only thing that stopped you from rushing across the castle the very moment you emerged from the bath was the unfortunate fact that you were still bleeding, though it was light.

More than that, while your body was more than ready to forgive Aemond, your heart and mind were still hesitant. He had hurt you. He made you cry. Reading his diary helped you understand that it had never been intentional. However, you still needed to understand everything before making a final decision on whether to forgive him and if you could, as Aemond hoped in his note, ‘learn to like’ or even to love him.

So, after breaking your fast, you again settled into the couch and turned to the next green ribbon.

The 23rd day in the 5th moon of the year

Were Aegon not my brother and the heir, I would throw him from the top of the Rookery.

‘A Caution for Young Girls’ is no such thing. It is little more than a manual in promiscuity and sin!

But… damn him. It is quite educational.

Unlike the book Grand Maester Orwyle suggested, it is not focused on the science of anatomy or conception. Rather, it is entirely concerned with the pleasure of women. After all, it is the supposedly true story of a woman’s quest for pleasure.

A Wylde woman, if it is to be believed. I may have to ask Lord Jasper about it. Is this why he’s had such success with his own wives?

But that, and indeed the sinful nature of the book itself, is unimportant. What is important is that it may actually be the key to my learning how to pleasure my wife.

It spoke at length of various methods of using one’s fingers. Crooking the fingers while within seems to be crucial, as is locating a ‘sweet spot’ where her walls feel slightly different. That spot, as well as the ‘pearl’ which lays at the top of her sex, is the epicentre of her pleasure.

And, like the others said, preparation is required. This is where the use of the fingers comes into it – as well as various other methods. For example, the book mentions kissing quite often, and not only on the lips. Or the cheeks. Or even anywhere on the face.

I admit the idea, though it is new to me, is quite appealing. The book mentioned several places where women most like to be kissed. The jaw, the throat, behind the ear, the nape of the neck, the collarbone…

There was a spot of ink, as though Aemond’s pen had been resting on the page without moving for a long moment.

…the breasts, and lower.

I do not understand why. Perhaps it is because of Aegon’s incessant comments about the breasts of every woman in the Keep, save our mother and his wife – would that he would also exclude my wife! – but I find myself thinking about her breasts with startling frequency. I did not get to see them on our wedding night after I foolishly forgot to undress her.

There is a story in the book which… well, I find myself wanting to replicate. One which would provide me ample access to her breasts. But more than that, it carries an intimacy which I crave most of all.

When Lady Coryanne was serving as a handmaid to a warlock in Qarth, she often found herself called to help him ‘relax’ after a long day. On such occasions, she would mount him while he sat at his desk and ‘ride’ him while he buried his face in her breasts.

I… it was easy to imagine my wife and me in a similar, though more loving, position. Likely not at my desk, as I don’t actually use it often. But perhaps, here. On my chair by the hearth, where I read my books and write in this diary before bed.

She would come back – for she would be living here, with me, not across the Holdfast and so far away – after a long day. Maybe she would have been in the gardens, or with Mother, Helaena and the children, or in the library for hours. I would have been stuck away from her all day in meetings, court, or training.

Even apart from her for only a day, I would miss her terribly. As I do every hour I do not see her. And she would miss me too.

When she came in, she would press herself against the door as she locked it, then turn to me with a mischievous grin. I would know what she wanted, but I would not play along. Instead, I’d mutter a greeting and turn back to my book, pretending that my blood was not racing at just the sight of her. For I want her blood to be as heated as mine.

You read the last paragraph again, the realisation finally set in that Aemond was about to narrate another of his fantasies. Fortunately, after his previous entry about the library, you decided to be more cautious and had already dismissed your servants until your afternoon meal. You had suspected that there may be more in the diary that was thoroughly unsuitable for prying eyes.

And, thanks to his diligent notetaking, you knew precisely what to do when the feelings such unsuitable words provoked began to burn through you.

You undoubtedly did not want an audience for that…

I would let her tease me, pretending none of it fazed me. When she brushed her fingers lightly across my shoulders, I would not flinch. When she leaned over me further than she would really need to see what I was reading, but wanting me to see that peek of her breasts nearly spilling out from her dress, I would barely look. And when she pressed a kiss, long and slow, to my neck – gods, would I like that too? – I might even pretend it was an inconvenience.

It would vex her that I did not give her the attention she desperately wanted. Not enough to truly anger her, but only enough to make her pout. So that when she took the book from my hands and dropped it to the floor, then sat atop me in the chair with her thighs straddling mine… I would simply have no choice but to grab her little lip as she stuck it out and push it back into place before kissing her.

I would kiss her in every place the book instructs, taking my time to worship every bit of her. I want to drive her as mad as she does me just by her mere existence.

But I know she would not simply let me tease her. She would return each kiss I gave her and more. Atop me, she would roll her hips slowly, purposefully, as if we were engaged in a dance. I would be able to feel her, hot and wet and as eager as me, but each time I rose to meet her, she would pull away.

Gods, am I really wishing for her to deny me? Perhaps practising as Aegon instructed has conditioned me to crave such delays to my satisfaction.

Either way, I think I would break before she did. She is strong-willed, and with as many brothers as she has, I believe she can be quite patient. So, I would beg. I would apologise for trying to tease her and plead for her forgiveness. And for her to…

She would, I hope, without hesitation. She would rise only long enough for her to remove her smallclothes and for me to do away with my trousers. Then, we would both sit again, together, with me gently guiding her down to mount me – Seven Hells, that makes it sound like I’m a horse.

I’ll be whatever she wants.

Again, and as always, I would give her a moment to adjust and make sure she is comfortable. Orwyle’s book said that with well-endowed partners – which, according to the measurements in the book, I am – women may always need that moment.

But I would be glad to give it to her. For it would allow me to unlace her bodice, and like the warlock from the book, I could bury my face in my beloved’s breasts.

I find it hard to imagine what it would be like, how they would feel. Soft, I think. Warm, as she is. And perhaps, if I pressed close enough, I could hear her heart beating.

When I was fully settled within her, would I hear it beat faster? Or would it slow with contentment, knowing she was safe and loved – oh so dearly loved – within my arms. Perhaps it would be like the stories, and I would hear it skip a beat.

Either way, I would be more than content to just sit there, breathe her in, and let her move at her own pace. We would not need to be fast, as we would in the library. In my own rooms – our rooms – there would be no need for hurry. We could just stay there, entwined, or we could move together.

I think I would prefer it slowly. Not even seeking our releases, really. Just… enjoying each other. Enjoying the connection of our bodies, our minds, and our souls. Knowing that we are one, that the gods have made us one, and that nothing can tear us apart.

Although… I do think her legs would get tired after a while. That is something I should perhaps be worried about. Especially if she did want to move, and fast. To seek release.

If she did, I would help her. The book did not detail how, as Lady Coryanne was a servant at the time, but… I could figure it out. I could move my hips up to meet hers, or even lift her on my own? I think doing so with my hands on her hips would give me the most leverage. Or perhaps her rear?

I am very drawn to the idea of holding her close as we reach our peaks. Of feeling her breath on my skin, being close enough to hear each little noise she makes, and the sensation of her gripping me as tight as she can as she comes. Even the thought of her nails digging into me brings a certain thrill. And if I don’t reach my peak with her – which, I think, is very unlikely – we can always continue. Or move somewhere more comfortable if her legs do get tired.

At this point, I think I am more than ready to practice. Of course, this wasn’t my intention when I started writing, but… yes, I am most definitely ready. And anything else I wanted to write about seems inconsequential now.

You dropped the diary onto your heaving chest, the image Aemond’s words had painted still burning in your mind. Seven Hells, you could practically feel his strong arms wrapped around you, holding you to his chest as you moved together, his breath hot against your neck as he whispered words of praise between desperate kisses.

With a hazy smile, you snuggled further into the couch and beneath your blanket. As exhilarating as the descriptions of his desires were, what truly warmed your heart was the way he wrote about you, the two of you together.

The connection of your souls as one? It was exactly what you’d dreamed of when first told of your betrothal. Aemond was what you dreamed of.

Why did he have to stop writing? What in the name of the Seven was he practising that was more important than that?

Frustrated and with your pleasure now truly over, you closed the diary and turned on your side, resigned to simply stewing in your own thoughts for the few hours left until your maids returned.

After a light, solitary afternoon meal, you again dismissed your maids. By this point, they were more than a little suspicious about the titleless book you were reading. But, you insisted that you simply wanted to be alone, for your moon’s blood still plagued you. It wasn’t entirely a lie. You did still have some cramping and a slight headache.

In truth, it was because you knew what would happen in just a few entries – your second night together.

It surely wouldn’t be as thrilling as some of his other fantasies. You knew that firsthand. But after learning what Aemond felt for you, you were desperate to know his side of that night.

So desperate, in fact, that you barely skimmed the following two entries in your haste to reach it. Both primarily had to do with whatever smut he had read in A Caution for Young Girls. The first was a rather exhaustive list of all the ways he wanted to kiss you – and there were far more ways than you were previously aware of.

The second caused your most intense blushing yet, for it was near treasonous! After reading another story of Coryanne Wylde ‘riding’ a man, he fantasised about you riding him while he sat on the Iron Throne. It was an intriguing idea, but it seemed a little too hazardous to tempt you.

Finally, you reached what you had been waiting for.

The 26th day in the 5th moon of the year.

I had hoped not to make an entry today – for I had every intention of spending tonight in my wife’s chambers. But she is there, and tragically, I am here.

Tonight was almost worse than our wedding night.

When I saw her watching me in the training yard today, I thought… she was almost smiling – at me! She had no obligation to be there, and yet she was! She sought me out! She wanted to see me!

I had to bite back a cry of joy and relief. I immediately abandoned the rest of my training, nearly impaling the poor squire with my sword for how hard I threw it at him, so I could rush to the ramparts and greet her.

But when I got there, she was gone. I asked a few of the other lords and ladies that were there, but no one knew where she went. Even after speaking to her, however briefly, I still do not understand why she left.

You felt your cheeks flush with shame. Aemond hadn’t grimaced at you that day – quite the opposite. He had been so excited to see you there, and as usual, you had misinterpreted his reaction.

Or, based on how frequently these misunderstandings occurred, perhaps his expressions were merely indecipherable to normal people. Or, more likely, maybe just to you.

You set his diary down, careful to use one of your discarded ribbons to mark your place, and picked up your own. By this point, you had filled several pages with your reactions to Aemond’s writing – some of it sincere, some bordering on humour.

Yet you had no words to express how sorry you were that you had so thoroughly misjudged him. So you wrote nothing and just kept reading.

When I went to her chambers to check on her, I encountered one of her maids, who told me she had retired early with a headache and would not be joining the family for dinner.

Perhaps I should have gone into her chambers then and asked what was wrong. I knew – or at least suspected – that the headache was a lie. An excuse to allow her privacy. I often do the same, citing my scar. Which, as I told her, is not always a lie.

But if I had gone to her, as I wished. I would not have known what to say. Ask her why she ran from the training yard without speaking to me? Or why she wanted to avoid me and the family? Tell her I’m sorry for the disappointment of our wedding night? Ask Beg for a second chance?

I could not do it. I was tired from training and admittedly still somewhat discombobulated from realising she had been watching me. Though I did make it to her door, I merely touched the handle for a moment before retiring to my own chambers.

Now, after yet another disastrous visit… I should have gone to her earlier. I should have trusted my instincts (as Aegon often encourages me to do) instead of allowing my mind to think itself into an inescapable hole.

As I bathed and redressed, and even while attending court and dinner, I could not stop thinking about her. Agonising over what I may have done to make her flee from me?

I never even considered that she may actually have a headache until I was again at her door after dinner. The fear that I was disturbing her, perhaps making her pain worse, was nearly enough to make me turn and flee.

But then, her voice came, soft and light and so enticing. Of course, I somehow managed to answer idiotically when she asked who it was. Though she lessened the sting of embarrassment with a small joke. She is so achingly clever!

I asked her how she was, and her answer made it evident that the headache was a ruse. I am trying not to be too proud that my deduction was correct. She is not used to lying, nor is she good at it. And it is yet another thing I admire about her.

For hours, I planned what I would say to her. It was eloquent and thoughtful – practically poetry.

The tail of the last ‘y’ extended nearly an inch, and you imagined Aemond just staring at the page, consumed by his thoughts for a moment.

But her room looked different tonight. She finally unpacked.

There is a large tapestry above her hearth depicting her home keep, the field below filled with vibrant pink flowers with bright yellow centres. The same flowers appear nearly everywhere. On framed examples of embroidery, on her curtains, pillows, and even the blanket strewn over the back of her couch.

I must find out what they are, for they are clearly very important to her.

You looked up from the diary, glancing about your room. Indeed, you had not realised how many dog roses decorated your possessions. It was no wonder he guessed they were your favourite.

‘I was quite impressed when you brought me my favourite flower,’ you wrote in your diary. ‘I thought you had somehow read my thoughts. I suppose I made it easy for you.’

She also has a large bookcase in her sitting room, which was specifically requested when her father sent word accepting the betrothal. Since the last time I was in her chambers, she has begun to fill the shelves with books and trinkets. I spotted a small silver bell, a wooden box carved with various birds, and a little glass flower. It was not the same flower that is so prevalent elsewhere in her chambers (this one was a pale purple rather than pink), but still quite pretty.

While pondering that flower, I returned to the couch to compare it to the pink flower on her blanket and saw what she had been reading – “The Last Dragonlords,” my first, and still favourite, history of my house. It is not a particularly rigorous academic work, but I prefer it for the sense of wonder it has for the story of my ancestors.

If, at that point, I remembered any of what I wanted to say to her, the sight of that book, and the knowledge that she was somehow reading my favourite… I lost all words. I fear I fell silent for an uncomfortably long time, for she spoke next.

She wanted to know the reason for my visit. I asked her directly about the ruse of her headache. She seemed nervous, so I told her I do the same and that I often experience lingering pain. I was tempted to remove my patch and show her, but… she was already quite nervous. I did not want to make her more so, or frighten her so thoroughly that she will never warm to me.

What lay beneath his eyepatch that would frighten you so? You had heard many rumours. That his lost eye was nothing more than a pit of darkness. That he had replaced it with a jewel. That an ever-burning fire, fueled by his hatred and rage, burned within.

Despite the stories, you felt a twinge of shame and hurt that, despite his love for you, he did not trust you with seeing him truly bare. He thought you could be frightened away.

Somehow, that shame far overshadowed any curiosity or fear about what lay beneath the brown leather of his eyepatch.

I could already tell it wasn’t going to go how I wanted – she would not meet my eye. So, I offered to leave. I would not impose myself on her when she did not want me to. That is not how I want to start this. Or, start it again.

But she did want me to go! At least, that is what I thought she meant. I am not so sure anymore. She said something about my right to be there as her husband. At the time, I thought it was her shy way of asking me to stay. Now… I think she may have just been repeating something her mother or a Septa taught her.

There was another small patch of angry scribbles.

I’m so stupid! And hardly better than Aegon. No – she may not have been particularly enthusiastic, but I am sure if she genuinely did not want me there, she would have said so. And I would have obeyed. After all, she was quick to ask me to stop some of the other things I tried to do.

She did not like the kissing.

When I first mentioned that I would like to lie with her – which I foolishly reasoned was out of my desire for an heir instead of my desire for her – she simply laid on the bed like on our wedding night. But that is not what I want. I do not want this to simply be a union of duty! At least, not anymore. And I so wanted to kiss her.

So, I beckoned her to me, and she obeyed. My hopes that this would be different were still relatively high. I got closer, touched her face, and asked if I could kiss her.

And she asked, ‘Why?’

I swear that one little word hurt more than any pain I’ve felt in the training yard. Almost more than… well, not quite more than that. But close.

I could not think of any reason other than that she is my wife, and I love her and want more than anything to kiss her. I only told her the former and the latter, for I think if I told her I loved her, she would have been more afraid than if she had seen me without my patch. And the gods must be good, for she said yes.

Then I kissed her. I held her close, and I kissed her.

It was the most wonderful thing! She was soft and warm. And when I laced my hand through her hair, she made the most delightful sound! I could have just kissed her forever.

But then it was over. She shouted and pushed me away. It was… it was just after I tried to use my tongue. I don’t think she liked it.

She asked me why I ‘needed’ to kiss her. She must have disliked it very much.

I had no other explanation than what I had already offered. At least, none that I could tell her without sending her running from me forever. So I stopped and told her I did not need it – the first lie I’ve ever told her.

When she moved back to the bed, I could not help myself. I could not let us be in a marriage where we lie together out of nothing more than duty, fully clothed and anxious to get it over with. It was foolish, and I probably scared her with the request, but I asked her to remove her nightgown. She had already taken off her robe – a massive thing in her house colours that practically drowns her.

You allowed a brief kernel of anger to spark within you, enough for you to pick up your pen and write him another little message in your diary.

‘That robe is dear to me, thank you very much. What is it that makes you hate it so?’

There is nothing more beautiful in the world than her. She puts even the Maiden to shame. I would have been happy to stare at her, to take in that beauty until I had my fill – if I would ever get my fill.

She got on the bed and positioned herself exactly how she was on our wedding night. Not quite how I pictured it, but considering her hesitancy, I did not want to push her.

It took all my control to stop myself from kissing her again when I undressed and joined her. But I did. I also resisted doing anything more than just looking at her breasts.

I sat between her legs and stared at her. While I was more than ready to begin, she was not. At all. Of course, I knew I would have to prepare her, but I hoped she would have had at least some desire for me already.

I started with gentle touches, drawing circles on her thighs. She shivered a bit when I began, but she didn’t ask me to stop. From where I was sitting, I could tell she enjoyed it, even if she didn’t understand it. She did ask me to explain, and my answer was probably lacking – how does one explain why he was so inadequate? – but she gave a small nod when I promised that tonight would be better.

Then I finally touched her where I really wanted to and was delighted to find her… well, not as wet as I’d hoped, but it was an improvement upon our wedding night! I ran my fingers over her entrance, hoping to coax more wetness from her before I truly began. And when I looked at her again to ensure I wasn’t hurting her, she smiled at me!

Encouraged, I kept my fingers at her entrance, not venturing inside yet, but continuing my preparations there while I began to seek her pearl. As the books said, I only had to draw a straight line upward from her entrance to find it.

And, oh, when I found it! Her eyes snapped shut, her back arched off the bed, and the most glorious whine escaped her! It was everything I had imagined and more. Gods, I think I could have peaked just from watching her as I circled her pearl again and again, faster and faster.

But then, she asked me to stop – begged me to.

I thought I must have done something wrong, but she shook her head when I asked if it hurt. And when I asked if it felt good, she would not answer. She merely requested that I get on with what I needed to do and leave, for she was tired. This wound cut even deeper than before with the kissing.

I wanted to prepare her more – I was going to use my mouth on her. To show her how dearly I wish to please her, how much I want to worship and love her, if only she’d let me.

In anticipation of that act, I have been consulting Coryanne Wylde’s various accounts and expert critiques of the act in order to form the perfect strategy.

To begin, I would undress her, as I planned to do on our wedding night, laying gentle, nearly chaste kisses on each new bit of skin I revealed. Once she was bare, I would kiss her. Deeply. To give her a taste of what is to come. Then, I would kiss my way down. Her jaw, her throat, her collarbone, her breasts, and the plane of her stomach.

Once I made it past her navel, I would take her leg in my hand and begin a new trail of kisses upwards. The book says to start at the ankle, but I am too impatient for that – I will begin at the knee instead.

Just when she thought I was finally about to give her what she craved more than anything, I would once again change course to kiss her lips one final time. Then, I would descend.

I would start slowly, experimenting with different tactics to determine what drives her deliciously mad. Once I knew, I would feast. I would devour her like her pleasure was the air I needed to breathe. Like her cries of pleasure were beautiful music, and I would die if it ever stopped.

I would bring her to peak once with my mouth on her entrance. Again on her pearl. Then again and again in whichever way made her scream the loudest.

Only when she was so drunk with pleasure that she could no longer rise to meet my mouth or grasp at my hair would I relent. I would make my way back up to her mouth and soothe her with gentle kisses until she had regained herself and was begging for me to finally fuck her.

But I didn’t get to do any of that.

She asked me to stop, so I did. I pumped myself a little to ensure the disappointment hadn’t rendered me incapable of performing my duty and entered her.

The preparation did help. Entering her was easier, and she did not wince as much as the first time. And she felt even more heavenly somehow. The feeling was so intense that I had to take a moment to remind myself that she only wanted me to finish quickly so she would not have to endure me any longer.

So, I fucked her. I did not make love to her, as is my true desire. I just fucked her, like she was just any woman and not the love of my life.

And then, a miracle! I thrust into her, something about the angle allowing me in quite deep, and she reacted. She gasped, breathless, and her hips snapped up to meet mine. I froze in surprise and elation. I found her ‘sweet spot!’

But when I smiled at her, she turned away and refused to look at me again.

I just kept going. I did not try to hit that spot again, so as to not upset her further. I finished as quickly as I could and left the bed.

It was stupid of me, but I turned back to her after dressing. Everything had gone so horribly, but I still love her. I still need her. So I could not just leave her like that.

I asked if I could kiss her again. She let me. I was quick, as promised.

Then I came back here, once again alone and no closer to earning her love than I was before.

I must meet with my advisors again tomorrow. Perhaps they can help me understand why I keep fucking this up so badly when all I want is for her to let me love her the way I want to and for her to love me in return.

Your heart ached so severely that you thought there might be bruises when you looked down at your chest. But there was just skin – skin that Aemond would have happily kissed, had you let him.

As horrible and confusing as that night had been for you, it had been so tenfold for Aemond. He had wanted a grand, romantic evening, and you had greeted him with only coldness and suspicion.

He called you ‘the love of his life.’ You ran your finger over those words so many times that they became smudged, then went to write something in your diary but halted with your pen hovering over the paper.

What could you write to match what he’d said about you? Even if you could, would it really be true? How many times could you say, ‘I’m sorry?’

Well, at least one more time. ‘I’m so sorry, Aemond,’ you wrote, ‘I didn’t know, and I was still scared. Not of you, but of what I thought my life was to be. If you had only told me… I do not blame you, I swear. I just wish the both of us had been more honest with each other.’

You were far too exhausted to continue. It was not yet midafternoon, and you had already been from the near-heights of carnal pleasure to the depths of your despair that the unfortunate state of your marriage was, in actuality, mostly your fault.

So, after setting Aemond’s diary aside, you picked up your embroidery basket and began to work while your mind wandered.

It was only when your maids arrived to bring you dinner that you realised that, somehow, the dog roses you intended to make had become a sprawling wisteria vine.

You dreamed of the castle garden in late spring when all the flowers were in bloom. As you walked down the garden path, you saw every colour imaginable amongst the vibrant greens. But there was only one flower you really wanted to see – and the man you knew would be waiting for you beneath them.

Just as the first purple tendrils came into view, the dream faded, and you woke to see the first hints of dawn still beneath the horizon.

Drawing your blankets over your head, you squeezed your eyes shut and stubbornly tried to fall back asleep and return to your dream – to no avail. You were well and truly awake. And it would be some time before your maids came to dress you for the day.

So, dragging the blanket from your bed with you, you trudged back into your solar and settled into the couch before picking up Aemond’s diary again.

The 27th day in the 5th moon of the year

I met with Lord Wylde, Grand Maester Orwyle, and Aegon this morning. They had advice, but it was not as… straightforward as I had hoped. There is no simple trick to get her to love me. Nothing I can study from a book and then implement with assured success.

I have to woo her. I have to be witty and pleasant and charming and… romantic.

I do not think this is going to work.

Especially not after my first attempt was so disastrous.

Lord Wylde asked that I tell him about her, so I did. When he learned she enjoys reading as much as I do, he suggested I try to find common ground there. So, I went to try and find her in the library.

She was exactly where she was the last time I saw her there, still reading “The Last Dragonlords.” I watched her for a moment, savouring the look of contentment on her face as she read, as well as a few quick reactions to the book. How I love it when her nose scrunches in displeasure!

‘That is quite the odd thing to fixate on,’ you wrote in your diary. It seemed a decent night’s sleep had helped recover some of your humour. ‘What is it, in particular, that you like about my scrunched nose?’

She did smile at me when I approached, but I think she thought I was a Maester, for her smile faltered when I greeted her. And she was so shy. Usually, when I struggle to find the right words, she breaks the silence. Today, she did not.

At least it gave me time to remember why I came to the library. She was still reading “The Last Dragonlords,” so I told her it was my favourite and asked if I could join her. I think she was somewhat embarrassed about reading a children’s book, but I assured her it was no matter and that I would nonetheless enjoy reading it with her, and she allowed me to sit with her.

My plan was to sit with her, discuss the histories, and perhaps, in time, hold her hand as a first step toward genuine affection. But the plan quickly went awry.

It all happened so fast that I don’t even remember exactly what I said. But somehow, I insinuated that she was not intelligent enough to understand the book. The book meant for children – young children.

She was very upset with me. Rightfully so! Still upset enough that she stormed out of the library after making several cutting remarks that proved that she is, in fact, quite intelligent.

After several minutes and a brief reprimand from one of the Maesters, I finally gathered myself enough to realise that she had left the book there. As well as several pages of notes.

Of course, the noble thing would have been to not look and ask a servant to return them to her. But in that moment, I was desperate, not noble. So, I looked.

Her notes were beautifully organised and remarkably thorough – the work of a true scholar! She even crafted a beautiful family tree all the way through Aegon the Conqueror and his sisters. Had I not fumbled our initial interaction so entirely, we would have had a wonderful discussion.

You had feared him finding the notes, but you had never considered that he would be impressed rather than arrogantly amused. It made sense now that you knew his true nature. Perhaps, once whatever was between you was resolved, you could have that discussion.

In all honesty, there were a few questions you had that you hoped he would be able to answer. Not least of which being why in more than a thousand years, Targaryens had only come up with a dozen names that they repeated over and over again. You wrote as much in your diary.

It was useless for me to sulk in the library, agonising over what I should have said, so I gathered the book and her notes and left the library.

An apology was more than necessary, so I went to Aegon’s rooms. After all, there is perhaps no one with more experience apologising to women. Even if his apologies are self-serving.

When I arrived, I found Mother had already found Aegon first, and was well into another tirade about his behaviour. Normally, I would be happy to watch Mother yelling at him, but I did not feel I had time to. And Aegon was glad that I granted him a reprieve.

Admittedly, I had not wanted to admit to Mother that my wife and I were… not as close as I wanted. But, as she always is, she was eminently understanding, and far more helpful than Aegon was. His only suggestion was to bring her something nice – jewels, silks, or the like.

On the other hand, Mother gave me sage advice on what to say when I go to her. As my words have been my primary point of failure, I was very grateful for this. She did also say that a gift would not be amiss. An ‘offering of peace,’ she called it. But she advised something personal, not luxurious. If the gift is too valuable, she says, it will seem as if I am trying to buy her forgiveness rather than earn it.

I knew immediately what I should get her. I thanked Mother (and Aegon) and left at once for the gardens.

I found them – the flowers she loves so dearly. Dog roses, they are called. Unfortunately, they do not grow well in our climate, but the Maester’s managed to coax a few to bloom with their various potions and other horticultural creations.

They are almost as beautiful as her.

The Maester I spoke to said that it would be best if I had them cut just before I brought them to her, to preserve their beauty. So that is what I will do.

I will not practice tonight. At least… not that kind of practice. Instead, I will rehearse my apology. I cannot fail tomorrow.

You winced slightly, knowing that the next day would not go as Aemond planned and feeling as though it was your fault. But there was no changing that now. And you had already apologised – often and profusely.

So, you wrote only a simple note: ‘I don’t recall seeing dog roses on our tour of the gardens. Did you pluck them all?’

Looking back at his diary, you took a deep, steadying breath. Only two ribbons left.

The 28th day in the 5th moon of the year

I am the stupidest, most idiotic man in all the seven fucking kingdoms.

All I was trying to do was apologise to her for my unkind – though unintentionally so! – words in the library, but somehow it ended with her crying and me fleeing from her chambers yet again.

You cringed at the memory, almost not wanting to read on.

Aegon gladly offered his explanation, even after I told him I did not want it. He insists that I have so thoroughly repulsed her that she cannot help but burst into tears at the sight of me.

Mother thinks that she is just missing her family and her home, as she said. That she is overwhelmed by being alone in a strange place, and the familiar sight of the flowers – dog roses, as I have learned – brought those feelings to bursting.

Perhaps Mother is right. But her parents left a fortnight ago, and she has shown no other signs of homesickness. And she is not alone! She has the other ladies of the court to talk to, and Helaena and Mother adore her. And me.

If she came to me, I would do anything to cheer her. Not that she would seek comfort from me, no matter how dearly I wish she would. She certainly won’t after today.

After the disaster in the library yesterday and the scolding I received from Grand Maester Orwyle after my training this morning, I knew beyond a doubt that I needed to apologise. I… the shame I feel for having played any part in the state Orwyle described her in is unbearable.

So, I went to the gardens and had a Maester cut the flowers for me and arrange them in a simple bouquet.

She was on her couch when I arrived in her rooms – still in her nightgown and that robe. And again, she did not look at me. She had eyes only for the flowers. I thought then that they had been the right choice.

I apologised, but she did not react. She still just stared at the bouquet. So, I went ahead with the rest of my apology.

Then she touched my hand. It startled me, and I pulled away from her on instinct, dropping the bouquet in her lap. She looked at them like I had dropped a helpless kitten rather than flowers!

And she started crying. Softly, the tears welling in her eyes for a long moment before spilling over. I do not understand what I did to upset her. I said only what I had planned last night. It was so hard to resist brushing the tears away, but she seemed nearly volatile, and I did not want to make things worse.

‘I miss home,’ she said, finally.

It did sting that she does not consider King’s Landing and her life with me her home – it still does. But she is hundreds of miles away from the family of her birth, from the people who have undoubtedly treated her better than I have. I cannot blame her.

I apologised again for upsetting her and left.

At dinner, I had planned to ask Mother and Grandsire if we could find a way to send her home, at least for a little while. So she could be happy. Perhaps I could even go with her. I might have an easier time talking to her without the pressures of my family and the capital upon me.

You smiled at the thought of Aemond at your home keep. Of him in all his black leather among the fields of dog roses. Talking with your father in the library. Him training with your brothers – you were confident he could defeat any one of them alone, but knowing your brothers, they would absolutely gang up on him.

‘One day,’ you wrote, ‘I would love to show you my home.’

I was waiting for the opportunity to ask when she arrived! After this afternoon, I did not think she would come to dinner, but she did! I could have wept for my relief.

And when I offered my hand to her, she took it. Not only that, but she squeezed it – hard. I think believe it was her way of accepting my apology.

She did not speak during dinner, nor did anyone ask her too many questions. Aegon was his typically infuriating self, silently encouraging me to do something with her. What he expects me to do when in front of the entire family, I do not know.

After the meal, I offered to escort her back to her chambers, which she accepted. And once we were alone, she thanked me for the flowers!

It was going unusually well. That is, until I decided to open my mouth. I only meant to compliment her, as she did look quite beautiful, but… I just kept talking. And then I had suddenly insulted her gown from yesterday and her robe.

She closed herself off from me then, shoving away my arm. Why could I not just shut up? I know my words are the source of so many of our misunderstandings, yet I keep talking! At this point, I am strongly considering a vow of silence.

‘Please don’t take a vow of silence!’ you wrote, scrambling for your diary as if it mattered how quickly you got the words down. ‘Your voice is far too lovely for me to never hear it again.’

Tomorrow, I am going to try a suggestion from Lord Wylde. Show her that I am not a failure in everything I do. I pray it works.

You turned the page, expecting to find the entry for the next day, but there was none. There had been a page between the entries for the 28th and the 30th, but it had been sloppily torn out. All that remained was the beginnings of the date in the upper corner.

It was entirely against what you knew of Aemond. The man who had dutifully started his journal on the first day of the year and began each entry on a new page would not do something like this.

What had upset him so? Had you said something to him?

No, of course not. The only time you had seen him that day was in the training yard, and you hadn’t spoken to each other, not after… not after he stormed off. Had he actually been hurt in his fight with the Kingsguard? Or was he just embarrassed that you had witnessed him fall?

Gods, how you wished you had gone to him that night. But perhaps you could make up for it now.

‘After you were absent for dinner,’ you wrote to him in your diary, ‘I almost came to your rooms. I was worried for you. Though I confess, that was the only reason I found myself walking toward you… I missed you, at dinner. I missed you helping me into my chair. I missed your smile. I missed the way you’d hold the plates for me. Most of all, I missed your voice, and your presence next to me.’

You sniffled slightly, staring at a lamp on your wall to dry the tears that were forming before finishing the entry, ‘I’ve missed you these past days, as well. But I’m almost done. I’ll see you soon.’

The 30th day in the 5th moon of the year

I have made my gravest sin yet. And my most foolish.

We had the perfect morning together in the gardens. Silent, mostly, but perfect. She smiled at me! She allowed me to lead her through the gardens on my arm. It was… precisely what I had hoped for.

Until I once again acted like an absolute fucking fool.

Before I had to leave for court, I asked if I could come to her rooms that night. And for one perfect moment, I really believed she was going to say yes.

But then she mentioned her moon’s blood, and I just… panicked. I am not entirely an idiot (though I become less sure of that declaration with each passing moment), I know what that means.

It means that I’ve failed her. In even more ways than I knew.

I have made her miserable. I have made her cry. I have failed in every duty of a good husband, including the most basic of tasks – I have not given her a child.

I cannot go on like this – trapped in an endless cycle of misery where I can do nothing but hurt the both of us. I must do something to free us from this.

It doesn’t matter if she doesn’t love or even like me. I just want her to be happy. If that means that I never get to see her or love her again, I will make myself accept that.

First, she needs to know why I’ve acted this way. To know my true feelings so she can decide what she wants me to do. Gods, if she wanted me to go to Essos and never return, I would.

A blot of ink covered half the page, as though he had simply set his pen down while he thought.

I know what to do. I just pray she understands.

“I understand,” you said aloud, as though Aemond were before you. But, of course, he wasn’t. He was halfway across the castle, a distance that suddenly felt like the Narrow Sea itself. Throwing down your blanket, you shouted for your maids to dress you at once, your morning meal be damned. The moment finished tying off the last lace of your gown, you ran.

You had only been shown where Aemond’s chambers were once – on your first tour of the Holdfast. Then, you did not know whether to be disappointed or thankful that they were far from yours. Now, as your nervousness flooded through every part of your body, you hated the distance more than anything.

Each step was an effort, as with every one, your legs felt heavier and heavier, as if they were made of iron. Your blood felt as though it was rushing dangerously fast, carrying with it a marked chill. Despite feeling frozen within, sweat still somehow beaded at your brow. Yet you could not wipe it away, for your hands were all but stitched to the two diaries you carried.

Was this a terrible idea? Would Aemond laugh at you for all your silly little notes? Would he be angry with you for taking days to fulfil his request? You came to a halt in the middle of the corridor, tears prickling in your eyes as you considered so many horrible possibilities.

No, you thought, the word echoed by the impact of your foot on stone as you took a heavy, sure step forward.

The Aemond you thought you knew would do those things. But that Aemond wasn’t real – and never was. He had only ever lived in your terrified imagination.

The real Aemond was the one who had been so awestruck upon first seeing you that he could not say anything other than your name. Who had fallen for you so quickly and with such intensity that he forgot how to act like a proper person and instead stumbled over his words and actions like a drunk man through a crowded alley. Who had been so desperate for you to return his affections that he swallowed his pride to seek help. And who had finally given you his diary when he could think of no other way to show you how he really felt and who he truly was.

It was the thought of finally meeting that Aemond that made you put one foot in front of the other, faster and faster, until you were sprinting down the halls, only stopping when you came to the door you had seen only once before – his door.

You did not understand how you had found it again after only seeing it only once before. Nor did you remember knocking on the smooth, dark wood.

But then you heard footsteps approaching.

Hastily, you transferred the diaries to one hand and wiped the sweat from your brow with the sleeve of the other. You wanted to straighten your hair, for it had surely come loose from its braid after running so fast. But there was no time for that.

There was the dull, metallic sound of the door being unlatched, and then there he was.

Aemond stood before you, breathing heavily himself as though he, too, had been running. His silver hair was mussed, and there were smudges of purple beneath his widened eyes – his eyes.

He was not wearing his eyepatch.

Your mouth fell open at the sight. At least one of the rumours had been true. Beneath the raised, rough skin of his scar, in place of his lost eye, was a brilliant blue sapphire. It suited him perfectly and was perhaps the most beautiful thing you had ever seen.

He looked at you for a moment, the corners of his mouth lifting in a hesitant smile before realising what had caught your attention so thoroughly.

“Oh gods,” he whispered, covering the sapphire with his hands and turning away. He took a few steps into the room before speaking again. “I did not mean for you to see this. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me. Please…”

You said nothing. Silently, you moved into the room and shut the door. Aemond stared at you, his good eye watering as you approached him.

“I’m so sorry,” he said again. “You should not have had to – ” He startled when you brought your free hand up to his wrist and started trying to tug his hand away from his face. “What are you…?”

When your only response was to continue tugging, he relented, allowing you to lower his hand. He swallowed thickly, fixing his good eye on the wall behind you instead of at you. Seeing his shyness, and now knowing it for what it was, almost made you smile.

But your own shyness took hold of you as you guided his hand down and wrapped it around the spines of the twin journals you held. When you looked back up at Aemond, he was staring at them and the green ribbon that now marked a page within your diary.

“I don’t understand,” he breathed, tightening his hold on the books.

With a slight smirk, you gazed up at him and dropped your hand from the diaries. “It’s your turn.”

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3hks · 28 days

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How to Avoid "Talking to The Reader"

A lot of people will often tell you to avoid talking to the reader, but why? How? And what does it mean? "Talking to the reader" is a technique used by an author when they want to specifically address the reader directly. Depending on your writing level and style, there could be several drawbacks to using this, such as a sense of informality and sudden awkwardness. However, I'm not saying that you shouldn't talk to the reader, because how you write is ultimately up to you!

But if you're genuinely looking for some tips on how to avoid talking to the reader, then I absolutely got you! As both a frequent reader and writer, I have advice based on experience and knowledge! These simple tips can seriously elevate your writing (especially if you're pretty new), or at the very least, make you aware of certain things and offer new ideas!

Replacing the 'you' with...

A VERY common factor in talking to the reader is using the word 'you' to reach out to your reader (dialogue from characters don't count). Although you should avoid this when you're trying not to talk to the reader, there is something behind it. Majority of the time, we include this word in a story when asking a rhetorical question. This creates a certain effect that reaches out to the reader while making them think, which can't be exactly duplicated.

Okay, so how do we fix this? Well, my advice is to simply replace 'you' with the word 'one'! Let's go a bit into depth, shall we? When dealing with a rhetorical question, the first step is to rephrase and reform the inquiry into a statement that answers what you're asking. Remember that this is a rhetorical question, meaning that there IS technically a right answer that you're looking for! Next, remove the 'you' and slap the 'one' on top of it! The replace-you-with-one method also works when you're not including it in a question, but instead a statement! Let's look into some examples, shall we?

Prompt: A lot of people will often tell you to avoid talking to the reader, but why?

Let's examine this example that I took from the top of this post, shall we? While this sentence is indeed in the format of the question, I am not directly asking you to give me an answer and there isn't really just one right answer. So how do we fix this? Replace 'you' with 'one' and boom! Done!

Fixed: A lot of people will often tell one to avoid talking to the reader, but why?

Alright, how about a much more direct question?

Prompt: The king's way of ruling was incredibly biased and unfair, wouldn't you agree?

For this prompt, we can see that 'you' is in "wouldn't you agree?" so it's pretty clear that we are seeking for an answer from the reader. In this type of context, the answer is almost always "yes," so we will have to take the longer route of rewording the sentence.

Fixed: The king's way of ruling was incredibly biased and unfair, one might argue.

As you can see, the phrase "wouldn't you agree" got altered into "one might argue." Why did I choose this? Well for starters, the sentence is now a statement, not a question, and it does indirectly answer our questions of "wouldn't you agree?" because it distinctly demonstrates that they agree with the opinion that the king's rule was unjust. Now, why did I choose "might argue"? Our previous question may have been rhetorical, but not everyone is going to say "yes, the king was unfair," so adding "might" and "argue" helps include the fact that it is indeed, an opinion!

Now that we have gotten the 'you' part out of our system, let's talk about another thing that can really help you improve on your writing (while avoiding talking to the reader)!

Stop Using...

Stop starting the sentences with "he/she is or has" (including past forms) when describing someone. I can safely say with first-hand experience that repetitive use of the sentence starter can feel a bit unnatural and too straightforward. In other words, you can most definitely do better!

When writing one's attributes, instead of starting with "he is" or "she is," try starting out with a possessive form of the pronoun, such as "his" or "her"! After that, it'll work itself out; let's look at an example to clarify!

Prompt: She had long, luscious, brown hair that fell over her shoulders in waves.

Fixed: Her long, luscious, brown hair fell over her shoulder in waves.

Simple, right? There may seem to be hardly any change, but this can seriously improve your writing when used correctly! Of course, continuous use of "his," "her," or "their" will also sound repetitive, but it's a good place to start! As experience follows, you'll get the hang of creating more varied sentence styles! Let's look at an example!

Prompt: He was new to the school. He didn't know how to interact with those his age because he was homeschooled his whole life. He was nervous even when thinking about his classmates and didn't know how he was going to survive.

Does it sound choppy? Too direct? Let's fix that!

Fixed: He was new to the school. Having been homeschooled his whole life, he struggled to interact with those his age, and even thinking about his classmates made him anxious. He had no idea on how he was going to survive.

Look at the second sentence; that's the most major change. As I combined a few different parts of the other sentences and rearranged them, it should seem much smoother now!

Be creative with how to form your sentences--that's all there really is to it! Experience will be your biggest guide and best friend when it comes to this!

Did this help? Keep in mind that my advice won't work with every sentence because a lot of it mainly depends on context! Happy Easter Sunday!

Happy writing~

3hks :)

#writing #writeblr #writerscommunity #writing tips #creative writing #writing advice #writing inspo #how to not talk to the reader #avoiding talking to the reader #avoid being too direct #talking to the reader #tips on avoiding talking to the reader #tips on not talking to the reader #advice on avoiding talking to the reader #advice on not talking to the reader #thank you

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somehow-a-human · 1 month

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Whose POV is it anyway?

An Introduction

DO NOT ASK NEIL ABOUT FAN THEORY

Cracking down on the storytelling of Good Omens season 2 through the lens of a changing narrator.

If you haven't read this interview with Good Omens cinematographer Gavin Finney, and you're interested in the fantastic dedication and detail that went into this TV show, definitely give it a read. Not only is it lovely, but Neil also posted the article with a caption mentioning that it's got so many secrets in it. Obviously that made me take a closer look.

I have already gone into a fair bit of detail about the different Lens Filters that Finney mentions in the article in a separate post and I will be referring to them quite a bit so if you aren't familiar with them I would suggest reading that first!

This first post is going to cover the basics of changing narrator/POV's and I'll be writing additional posts for separate episodes/minisodes/scenes since there's obviously way too much to cover in a single go. So shall we take our first look?

It's no secret that something's a *bit weird* with season two, and there are SO many theories about it. I love to read speculation, metas, theories, and opinions, it's definitely fun but my personal ideas align more with the idea that we're simply being shown the events of season 2 through the memories of multiple narrators, different POV's, and it slightly skews the story, sometimes within one continuous scene.

I am also a sucker for a good multiple timeline theory but that isn't this post.

Lens Filters

As I stated above, I wrote a post about each of these individual filters earlier. What I didn't go into in that post was speculation about the filters. While I think they're pretty straightforward, especially the filter for hell (Black Pro-Mist ((BPM)), I think the other two have a bit more room for speculation.

Bronze Glimmer Glass

BGG was described by Finney as being used for 'bookshop scenes', but after S2 back numerous times and paying as much attention as I could to the lighting and colouring of the scenes, I think this is generally true but not always true. There are times when bookshop scenes seem to use a different filter, and other locations also seem to be shot with the BGG filter as well. I think BGG aligns with Aziraphale's POV. Or if Not Aziraphale, an outside-of-Crowley narrator? Based on the scenes (which we'll specifically get into in other posts) which BGG seems to be used, context clues, character behavior, etc, I think BGG clues us in that we're seeing, if you will, through Aziraphale's eyes.

Black Diffusion FX

BDFX was described as being used for 'Crowley's present day storyline' and fuck me, that's not ominous or weirdly phrased at all Mr. Finney! This filter definitely aligns with Crowley. Most of the time he's separate from Aziraphale it seems that this is the filter being used, and certain scenes switch filters mid-scene when he begins to go off on snarky Crowley-centric commentary.

Catch-22 & Herzog

The books on Gabriels bookshelf, great books obviously, but I think books that are also meant to give us context about the story. Pride and Prejudice is a love story about making snap judgements on someone's character, and coming to recognize somebody might be good despite their title or appearance. The Crow Road is a story about life, death, love, morality, mystery, and God. 1984 details the tragedy of Julia and Winston's attempt at falling in love while living under in a police state. You see my point?

That's why I wanted to touch a bit more on Catch-22 and Herzog specifically when talking about the possibility of changing narrators/POV's in Good Omens 2.

Catch-22 frequently switches narrator and the events described are often not necessarily sequential. This way you're getting information about previous scenes as the story continues, so while you're reading the book you're forming a more complete image of the events as the story continues from different characters POV's and iterations of the story. Sound relevant?

Herzog is the other book I wanted to talk about. To be fair I haven't read Herzog in full like I have Catch-22 but I pulled out my copy to reference and flip through a bit to remind myself. Herzog unlike Catch-22 doesn't switch narrators but the narration by the main character, Herzog himself, switches between first and third person throughout. When he is narrating through his letters, you get a deeper look at his thought processes and emotions. It also relies on flashbacks to bring context to the life of Herzog.

While these books touch on other elements that are relevant to the Good Omens story, namely Yossarian's relationship and views of God in Catch-22, the way these stories are told intrigued me for this context.

Crowley's Hair

Yeah I'm gonna mention the hair, because I think the hair is linked. Crowley's shorter sideburns, trimmed mutton chops in the 1827 flashback, and shorter Job wig seem to be clearly aligned with the BDFX filter/Crowley's POV as far as I can tell. I don't know if this means it's just another way to denote POV, but it seems way too consistent not to mention it. The longer sideburns, fuller mutton chops, and longer Job wig all match up with Aziraphale's POV or the BGG filter. My thoughts here are that his hair is another hint of who may be relaying the information to us, AKA is it internal or external. I am making my best guesses though and there are still some situations that I feel less sure about. For example, when Aziraphale takes the Bentley to Edinburgh and Crowley is in the Bookshop with Jim his sideburns are long, is it because he's remembering these scenes unreliably? Is Aziraphale imagining the events? Is it because Jim is present? A brief fluttering thought I toy with from time to time is the fact that in the before-the-beginning scene they are long, and what that means in context of the rest of the season.

S2 Promo Posters

Finally this set of season 2 promo posters showing the characters thoughtfully considering scenes in their heads just gives me a lot of these POV vibes.

I'm planning on doing individual posts for specific scenes, episodes, and minisodes that require detailed breakdowns. I'll update this list with links as the posts are finished!

POV "Your 'Something's Wrong' Voice"

POV a Trip to Hell and a 25 Lazarii Miracle

POV a Companion to Owls

POV The Dirty Donkey & I think I Found a *Clue*!

POV Bodysnatchers & Cosplaying a bookseller

POV 1941

POV The Ball

POV The End?

Whose POV is it Anyway - a Conclusion

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rebeccathenaturalist · 7 months

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Existence Value: Why All of Nature is Important Whether We Can Use it or Not

I spend a lot of time around other nature nerds. We’re a bunch of people from varying backgrounds, places, and generations who all find a deep well of inspiration within the natural world. We’re the sort of people who will happily spend all day outside enjoying seeing wildlife and their habitats without any sort of secondary goal like fishing, foraging, etc. (though some of us engage in those activities, too.) We don’t just fall in love with the places we’ve been, either, but wild locales that we’ve only ever seen in pictures, or heard of from others. We are curators of existence value.

Existence value is exactly what it sounds like–something is considered important and worthwhile simply because it is. It’s at odds with how a lot of folks here in the United States view our “natural resources.” It’s also telling that that is the term most often used to refer collectively to anything that is not a human being, something we have created, or a species we have domesticated, and I have run into many people in my lifetime for whom the only value nature has is what money can be extracted from it. Timber, minerals, water, meat (wild and domestic), mushrooms, and more–for some, these are the sole reasons nature exists, especially if they can be sold for profit. When questioning how deeply imbalanced and harmful our extractive processes have become, I’ve often been told “Well, that’s just the way it is,” as if we shall be forever frozen in the mid-20th century with no opportunity to reimagine industry, technology, or uses thereof.

Moreover, we often assign positive or negative value to a being or place based on whether it directly benefits us or not. Look at how many people want to see deer and elk numbers skyrocket so that they have more to hunt, while advocating for going back to the days when people shot every gray wolf they came across. Barry Holstun Lopez’ classic Of Wolves and Men is just one of several in-depth looks at how deeply ingrained that hatred of the “big bad wolf” is in western mindsets, simply because wolves inconveniently prey on livestock and compete with us for dwindling areas of wild land and the wild game that sustained both species’ ancestors for many millennia. “Good” species are those that give us things; “bad” species are those that refuse to be so complacent.

Even the modern conservation movement often has to appeal to people’s selfishness in order to get us to care about nature. Look at how often we have to argue that a species of rare plant is worth saving because it might have a compound in it we could use for medicine. Think about how we’ve had to explain that we need biodiverse ecosystems, healthy soil, and clean water and air because of the ecosystem services they provide us. We measure the value of trees in dollars based on how they can mitigate air pollution and anthropogenic climate change. It’s frankly depressing how many people won’t understand a problem until we put things in terms of their own self-interest and make it personal. (I see that less as an individual failing, and more our society’s failure to teach empathy and emotional skills in general, but that’s a post for another time.)

Existence value flies in the face of all of those presumptions. It says that a wild animal, or a fungus, or a landscape, is worth preserving simply because it is there, and that is good enough. It argues that the white-tailed deer and the gray wolf are equally valuable regardless of what we think of them or get from them, in part because both are keystone species that have massive positive impacts on the ecosystems they are a part of, and their loss is ecologically devastating.

But even those species whose ecological impact isn’t quite so wide-ranging are still considered to have existence value. And we don’t have to have personally interacted with a place or its natural inhabitants in order to understand their existence value, either. I may never get to visit the Maasai Mara in Kenya, but I wish to see it as protected and cared for as places I visit regularly, like Willapa National Wildlife Refuge. And there are countless other places, whose names I may never know and which may be no larger than a fraction of an acre, that are important in their own right.

I would like more people (in western societies in particular) to be considering this concept of existence value. What happens when we detangle non-human nature from the automatic value judgements we place on it according to our own biases? When we question why we hold certain values, where those values came from, and the motivations of those who handed them to us in the first place, it makes it easier to see the complicated messes beneath the simple, shiny veneer of “Well, that’s just the way it is.”

And then we get to that most dangerous of realizations: it doesn’t have to be this way. It can be different, and better, taking the best of what we’ve accomplished over the years and creating better solutions for the worst of what we’ve done. In the words of Rebecca Buck–aka Tank Girl–“We can be wonderful. We can be magnificent. We can turn this shit around.”

Let’s be clear: rethinking is just the first step. We can’t just uproot ourselves from our current, deeply entrenched technological, social, and environmental situation and instantly create a new way of doing things. Societal change takes time; it takes generations. This is how we got into that situation, and it’s how we’re going to climb out of it and hopefully into something better. Sometimes the best we can do is celebrate small, incremental victories–but that’s better than nothing at all.

Nor can we just ignore the immensely disproportionate impact that has been made on indigenous and other disadvantaged communities by our society (even in some cases where we’ve actually been trying to fix the problems we’ve created.) It does no good to accept nature’s inherent value on its own terms if we do not also extend that acceptance throughout our own society, and to our entire species as a whole.

But I think ruminating on this concept of existence value is a good first step toward breaking ourselves out first and foremost. And then we go from there.

Did you enjoy this post? Consider taking one of my online foraging and natural history classes or hiring me for a guided nature tour, checking out my other articles, or picking up a paperback or ebook I’ve written! You can even buy me a coffee here!

#nature #natural history #ecology #wildlife #animals #environment #environmentalism #conservation #existence value #deep ecology #science #scicomm #environmental philosophy #climate change

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wincore · 3 months

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indelicate | liu yangyang

pairing: yangyang x fem!reader

synopsis: missing the last train out of new shanghai was not on the to-do list. however, your project partner liu yangyang promises fun, dazzling lights, and the warmth of a human connection for this festive weekend. perhaps even in the era of diamond and steel, the human touch means something after all.

genre: oriental cyberpunk, f2l, fluff

warning(s): swearing & several innuendos. also out-of-date jokes sorry guys i wrote this in 2021

words: 11.9k

a/n: this is just a rework of an old fic i posted here with another character! if you find any inconsistencies, it's probably because of that LOL also this is not a wincore revival but i did miss everyone on here !!

i. city plaza

Some idiot, somewhere along in history, decided to renovate a city into something so dazzling that the population shoots up to a hundred and fifty percent of what was before, and the rest of the damage comes along with the people. Promises are made and broken to build this city of extravagance. You have the belief that the more people there are in one place, the more difficult it gets to live there. This dazzling hellscape means colliding into too many people on the streets, too many bright lights outside your dorm room when you’re trying to sleep and the god awful sound of deafening firecrackers at every new year celebration.

Another idiot somehow roped you into his ‘midnight adventure: traditional version’ once he heard you missed the last train ticket out of the city. Liu Yangyang has a terrible way with words—but he has a way.

You were, by some unfortunate gamble of the gods, partners for a project that accounted for sixty percent of the grade. While that affair is over, you still haven't rid yourself of the predicament that is Yangyang. Gorgeous, yes, but too overwhelming. You smack your head against the car window only for him to jump in his seat beside you, hand gently driving over your forehead to check for damage. The neon city lays around you, and festive light projections float across the sky in intricate shapes of the ox and written messages. This is going nowhere. You came to this city sacrificing everything and yet suddenly, everything’s hanging on a string again.

The city lights of New Shanghai are cruel. Everything in this place is cruel.

Which is exactly why you’re in Yangyang’s car, parked by the middle level city plaza on New Year’s Eve. It is, in fact, illegal to hover by the city plaza on New Year’s Eve but Yangyang seems to either not care or simply doesn’t know. You forget the law doesn’t exist for rich kids. Out of all man-made wonders, rules are the most interesting.

“Shall we go?” he asks, voice bubbly as ever. Every morning, he chirps like the alarm birds outside your window. Yes, it has made you want to sleep forever at times.

“It’s just one night. And I’ll be with you, so you don’t have to be afraid.”

“I’m not afraid,” you snap.

“Not afraid of the dark either?”

You pull your jacket closer to you. Here, the cold streets of the techno-jungle make you shiver more often than not. If you dare go out without friends, a city so grand will inevitably drain the life out of you. Your body alone cannot withstand the dazzle. And—you can’t be afraid of the dark after you’ve complained about the lights.

You look at Yangyang and back to the cityscape outside—large conglomerative blocks of buildings, some hosting advertisements with the faces of inhumanly beautiful models and some with the ‘Happy New Year!’ text animation floating about in increasingly complex patterns. You see the revolving top of one of the grandest skyscrapers, a Dior hotel, not the tallest but certainly the most pleasing to look at. It gleams from red to orange like the pulsating heart of a giant metropolitan beast. There are more funky buildings to look at, some not even the shape of austere corporate skyscrapers.

“Do you wanna go there?” Yangyang asks all of a sudden. “I heard the lounge is closed off from eleven. I can call some friends and we can book a room though—”

“No. No way. I’m not going to spend new year’s eve in a Dior suite.”

He grins. “Thank god. It’s so boring there. Only models and businessmen and whatever freak shit they do.”

You sigh. Liu Yangyang is a whole story in itself. He’s rich and popular—a dream of many—but so few are as welcoming as he is. When you’re in that position, you’re bound to have a little metal seep into your heart. Some hidden part of you, however, tells you to loosen up when you’re with him; just let it go and have a good time. There’s no reason why you shouldn't. The economy is on a steep incline, the people are happy and no other city compares to this place. You could learn a thing or two from Yangyang.

He looks at you questioningly, eyes waiting and the curve of his lips still. You notice his platinum blond hair is more styled than usual, you can almost smell the gel on it, and for a moment, you wish you looked as good as he does. A dark leather jacket accentuates his shoulders, the plain T-shirt underneath not of the flashy type. He looks like he’s ready for club-hopping and you, anything but. If you knew earlier that you’d be by the Strip around midnight on New Year’s, you'd have dressed better.

“If you stay any longer in my car, people are going to assume we’re…y’know,” he states, quirking his eyebrow. “I’m pretty sure it’s illegal, though. Like, who thought fu—”

You were wrong. There is absolutely nothing to learn from Liu Yangyang.

“I would get out of this car immediately and fall to my death before I let that happen,” you retort, crossing your arms.

“No, hey. What an inauspicious sentence. Besides, and I’m not bragging but you should know I’m really good at using my assets—”

“Don’t say a word.”

The heat of embarrassment flows into your cheeks at his implication. You look out the window, weighing out the pros and cons. The scenery is so bright that sometimes it hurts to look outside. It’s not midnight yet but the main streets are already getting crowded for the processions; the sound of laughter and conversation ring in the air. It makes you somewhat sad to not be home for this. But as they say, living in a big city can only be done if you sell your soul to it.

You’re directly above the level one city plaza, the people below looking unsettling in the way they’re so small and far away—they don’t even seem human at this distance. You wonder if you look like that to the people above this, to the level three elites who sit on top of the whole city..

You look back to your companion, who’s transfixed on the bakery across the road—either that, or just really, really zoned out. Knowing Yangyang, it could be either. When you tilt your head, waiting, you find that he has pretty features—a shaped nose and round, curious eyes, all in perfect alignment with plump, pink lips. His metallic ring earrings shine when the light hits them right. No wonder you get girls asking how close the two of you are often. Even in a world pushing manufactured love, boys like him make others daydream. You wonder why you’re the one he loves to drag in with him.

Yangyang flinches when he finds you staring at him. You clear your throat, looking away and hoping you can sweep this under the rug.

“Are you- are you by any chance mad at me?” he asks, a nervous smile awkwardly tugging at his lips.

“I- what? No. I’m not mad at you.”

“You look like my mother when I don’t clean my room. Or Ten's cats when I try to kiss them.”

A tiny laugh escapes you before you get back your poised demeanor. “I’m- I’m not mad at you.”

He smiles at you wordlessly and you feel a little conscious. You glance outside when the plaza music starts to get loud and look back at him, debating whether you should just give in.

“So… you’ll let me brighten your life now?” he asks in his regular baritone, grinning wider. “The semester’s over and it’s festival time! I bring good luck, I promise.”

Liu Yangyang is not a happy serendipity. He simply cannot be. However, he does make you laugh more often than you’d admit.

“Whatever. Go ahead. I just don’t want to be hungover on a Friday.”

“You don’t- you don’t have to drink to have a good time.” He laughs. “I would know. I’m sort of a lightweight. I don’t know why I told you that. I’m supposed to be cool.”

You giggle, taking a moment to think.

“Fine then. Show me your magical access key to our beloved Mobius Strip, the mightiest, grandest structure in all of New Shanghai.”

“Well, if you put it that way… I am pretty cool, huh?”

His smile is too harmless for you to roll your eyes. He’s too gentle, you realize all of sudden, to be as awful as all the uni frat boys you’ve had the misfortune of talking to. You watch him as he drives; his arm moves with ease and he tries to make conversation but you can only hum and respond in singular words. The closer you are to the Strip the more nervous you get. It’s like visiting all those dark places that your mother explicitly warned you not to visit as a teenager—but you’re an adult now. No one owns you. No one should be able to own you. The determination builds up slowly over neon lights and hazy street shops.

Nights here are the fun part. Everyone says that. Other than the fact that you can barely make out the colour of the sky under the vivid city lights, there’s something very enticing about the streets, the upper streets that wind around the city.

Yangyang drives the car to a level three street, the behemoth structure of the Strip now so close that all you can see beyond your window are its placid, white walls stretching out to infinity. You can see little gardens and shops, peeking out from between each strip and one of the shopkeepers wave at you the moment you pass. Yangyang says something along the lines of “thanks for the free noodles” to the woman, before gliding higher.

“Grandma makes the best glass noodles here,” he says, excitedly. “I’ll take you sometime. If you like.”

You hum, noting the joy he expresses at the idea of something so simple.

Level three streets are already thousand and a half feet above the ground. You try not to look down; heights aren’t something you’re very fond of even if you love the sky. You note construction work for street levels four and five, shivering at the idea. The winds of change are fucking cold.

Yangyang swerves the car off-road at one point and you clutch his arm by reflex.

“What the fuck? Don’t do that without warning me,” you say, breathing quicker. You do not do well with: sudden movement, jumpscares and boys with pretty smiles.

“Sorry,” he says, looking at you with concern. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You let go of his arm, more embarrassed at yourself than mad at him. Driving the car closer to the Strip, he brakes carefully by the parking lot. The walls are covered in red wallpaper, a few lanterns attached to drones, floating along the path inside. It looks like a rooftop parking lot, though the mysterious dim lighting makes you walk closer to Yangyang.

“I heard this is gonna be a really cool event—they’ve got the latest AI tech hosting and crap but let me tell you the best part.”

He pauses for dramatic effect.

“The food!” He says, spreading his arms and grinning. “The food at private events is the best thing you’ll ever taste.”

You open your mouth but close it again in part horror, part confusion. “You’re… taking me to a private event?”

“Ah, don’t look like that. It’s really fun, promise.”

“I’m not even dressed for it,” you blurt, embarrassed.

Yangyang shakes his head. “Don’t worry about that. It’s for rich kids, you know? If I’m being honest, none of them know how to dress.”

His confident statement gets a giggle out of you and you relax a little. You walk with him, further into the square platform and away from the cars. The sky disappears behind the dark roof and for a moment, you feel like you’ve entered a different dimension. It’s like the architecture models that your professors had on display for the Shanghai History class in your freshman year. Old stuff, that is. Before this place even had the first skyscraper.

You turn to your side and narrow your eyes at Yangyang, suddenly wondering how he finagled his way into bringing you here. Your iron-clad will is not so much iron after all. It’s not even steel, you think, once you catch yourself staring at Yangyang a bit too long.

You step forward to find the entrance to the club; it’s a little lonely to look at in the beginning. Then it clicks that it’s probably the back door. The red pillars encase a black door between them, the overhang of the gateway just a little above Yangyang’s head. You can see the hip-and-gable style roof of the larger building behind, looking like a skyscraper instead of the usual historical buildings you’ve seen on the internet. In glowing red letters, it displays a blinking ‘Club 2’ near the top of the door.

The moment you step on the stairs, a bunch of advertisements pop up on the door, bright bubblegum colours hurting your eyes. Yangyang taps at the little x at the corner of the display till it disappears and finally the door is a regular door. The colour is jet black like any other screening platform.

“I thought the rich were exempted from ads,” you say.

“They’re… more likely to buy things though.”

You make an ‘ah’ sound in contemplation when a whirring makes you jump into him. A little spherical drone flies its way out of an opening in the wall and stops right in front of the two of you.

“Sicheng-ge!” Yangyang says, waving frantically at the camera.

The little drone circles around Yangyang’s head before stopping right in front of his face. It runs a scan before turning sharply and beeping at you.

“My plus one!” Yangyang declares, pulling you by the waist. “Or whatever it’s called.”

Your ears feel warm but you don’t push him off. The camera focuses on your face, likely scanning to identify your age and occupation. When it’s done, a beep resounds and the door slides open to reveal a dimly lit pathway. The main entrance is much brighter, Yangyang promises, but for now it’s just the warm glow of the lanterns, Yangyang’s neon red striped jacket and the mechanical whirring of some sort of device in the darkness.

“What’s that sound?” you whisper and Yangyang stops.

He pauses to think. “Oh, they’re Sicheng-ge’s drones. He’s got like a million of them. I'll introduce you—he’s hosting this club event, by the way.”

He smiles at you reassuringly. If Yangyang’s not bothered by it, you’ll follow his lead. Though, you do take more nimble steps and stay close to him like he’s your lighthouse. (In a way, he is, with all that neon shining on his jacket.)

You’re surprised to find a garden, but then it gets stranger when you see brighter lanterns in the middle area. You see figures and before you can react, Yangyang takes your hand and into the central platform.

ii. orchid club square

Yangyang was right. None of them know how to dress.

The two of you stand in the middle of a crowd, who are in fact dressed either for: a) an impromptu pool party or b) a Sunday morning lecture. You blend in somewhat well given the variety though Yangyang’s painted looks have attracted the attention of quite a few giggling, murmuring onlookers.

You clench your jaw in mild annoyance.

“This is a tour,” Yangyang whispers to you. “I thought… you’d like to know what everything’s about.”

You feel grateful to him for once. Having some sort of knowledge about what you’re getting into makes you feel better about any situation. A set of mechanical clicking fills the air.

A woman—no, an AI bot is the first to greet you. She has pale white metallic skin and her dark strands of hair are in a traditional updo. Her lips are imperial red, shaped in a way that makes her seem as though she’s smiling but also not at the very same time. She holds an extravagant fan by her face at the perfect right angle, the patterns on it painted to imitate an ancient cherry blossom tree.

“Good evening, everyone,” she says, her voice pitched up and enthusiastic. It’s a little funny to imagine metal so lively.

You smell oranges and lavender as soon as she flicks her fan once and precise.

“Welcome to the New Shanghai nightlife!” The bot continues jovially. “The oldest surviving city on planet earth, the birthplace of the human race.”

“You are in virtual space,” she informs. “It might look like a courtyard stretching to infinity but it is only an illusion. However, the club is five hundred and sixty one metres wide and six hundred and twelve metres long. It is large enough to hold twenty-one blue whales in a line. That is, if they still existed of course.”

She giggles algorithmically.

“Where you stand right now,” she says, turning her head in a swift mechanical motion to you and you flinch. “This place is called the orchid club square. As you know, only VIP access lets you in.”

You glance at Yangyang worriedly and he shrugs. There’s no way she could know, right? That was oddly specific. But then she moves her head left to right to address the whole crowd in perfect grace. When her movement starts to get a little too eerie to watch any longer, you fix your eyes on the garden instead. You have no way of telling part real flowers from virtual ones and even so—all of them are beautiful. Maybe reality doesn’t make things any prettier.

However, when you look at Yangyang, the thought gets tossed out. You shake your head, in an attempt to get rid of the image of his face. It’s a little too late to be feeling this way. Either that, or the night is taking its toll on you already. The day was exhausting, considering it was the end of the semester.

The AI guide’s chatter fades into something quieter when you move the club square. It’s a rather empty space, fitting for a rave or just housing large crowds. The decorations are for the new year celebrations, banners of the ox in auspicious colours and a few drones projecting the rest. There’s a garden of evermore orchids lining the area in a perfect square and it’s so precise that it’s pleasing to look at. There’s a door at one edge, similar to the one you encountered before entering the club square.

The music that wafts through the air is so gentle, you almost forget there’s a celebration. The beat makes it livelier and even so, the rhythm of your heartbeat matches it in a soothing sort of way. Turning around, you spot the musical ensemble. It’s another AI, peering over a guqin with trained habit.

She looks the same, except she wears an electronic mask over the lower half of her face. It displays a blue musical note made up of noticeable pixels. She has no fan—instead, her fingers strum the guqin rhythmically, programmed with precision and grace. The sound is accompanied by the woodwind notes of a flute, though you’re not sure where that sound emanates from. There’s also a soft drumbeat which seems to come from the guqin bot herself.

You gasp when a few painted goldfish float through the air, almost real to look at if it weren’t for the glitch effect of holograms. One of them swims closer to you, opening and closing its mouth in rhythm and you giggle at its face.

Yangyang laughs, long finger pointing at the critter in amusement. “That’s adorable.”

He looks like a little kid and you giggle at his expression, with wide, delighted eyes and mouth open in focused mirth. He pokes at the goldfish and it makes a bubbling sound, gears shifting in ticking time before suddenly biting at his index finger. Yangyang lets out a low yelp, retracting his hand before clearing his throat in embarrassment.

“You’re like a cartoon,” you tell him, in between laughs. “No way are you real.”

He grins, in that same way he always looks at you and you look away, feeling hot in the face. It’s too enamored a way to look at someone. But of course, that couldn’t be true—he’s Liu Yangyang and you’re you. Parallel lines do not meet, even if they’re headed in the same direction.

“I think you’re unreal,” he mumbles.

iii. club 2

The doors open to a rather spacious arrangement, with several tables one one side and a sort of dance arena on the other where people are trying to out-dance each other. The intensity makes you move further away from it. It seems a little too festive and you can feel the energy slinking away from you. The music is more upbeat but you suppose the DJ tried to make it sound more eastern; the result is pleasing. He wears a smooth black helmet with a neon red beat visualizer on it, with written SFX appearing from time to time. Two pulsing golden horns glow at the sides of his head. You stare at it for longer than you’d like before composing yourself. You’re very impressionable when it comes to parties.

There are two floors to the club, above the bottom floor itself. The other two floors mostly seem to consist of private booths, however, covered with gossamer silk that glow iridescent. A few floating lanterns sway by the upper floors. The ceiling is open to a midnight blue sky and the stars look much larger than you’ve ever seen them—you suspect it’s an AR mesh over the ceiling. A few light shows project little dancing dragons and coins over the sky and you find them too cute to not stare at.

“Wow,” Yangyang says, right after walking in. “Why is Dejun on the table?”

You look where his eyes are focused on, though it’s difficult through the crowd of people, and find Dejun and Kunhang in some sort of old anime transformation pose atop one of the tables. It’s surprising that they’re not the weirdest pair here.

“Now, bear with me, it’s going to be boring as hell till the countdown and the fireworks,” he explains, waving his hands around. “But it’s a good place to have fun and make friends. You know?”

“Friends?” you ask, a little nervous. You’re not very proficient at making friends and it makes you anxious.

“Yeah! Don’t worry. ” He makes a strange gesture, bordering between posing for a beer ad campaign and looking like a motivational speaker for the army, before furrowing his eyebrows. “You just have to be confident! I’m learning too!”

He lets out a sweet laugh and it makes you laugh in turn, hand covering your mouth so you don’t embarrass yourself too much. You don’t believe the words much, but the glow over his cheeks makes you reconsider.

“You look really nice when you laugh,” he comments, a bright glint in his eyes.

“Whatever,” you reply, punching his shoulder lightly.

Just then, you feel a gentle tap on your shoulder to find Lana from your ethical AI class, smiling at you warmly. She looks a little tired, of people more than the time. Like you, she is also a scholarship student—and not a day has gone when she hasn’t soothed your anxiety about your classes. In stark contrast with Yangyang, you would trust her over him for most tasks. Even if you weren’t partners, you’re okay with the outcome. You glance at Yangyang.

“(name)! Oh my god, I didn’t know you were coming here,” she says. “Did Yangyang kidnap you?”

“I mean, sort of.”

“Hey.” Yangyang looks at you with betrayal.

“And how did you even manage to do that cool ass project with him as your partner?” she continues, squinting at him.

“Honestly, I don’t know either. He can be surprisingly helpful though.”

Yangyang looks from Lana to you in exasperation. “I’m literally right here,” he grumbles.

Lana laughs at his expression, patting his shoulder sympathetically.

“I just can’t believe you let him kidnap you and not me,” she says in mock indignance. “I’m a much better chauffeur, you know?”

“Do you even have a driving license?” Yangyang asks, laughing.

“I got mine before you, rat. Anyway, (name), I’m playing the guzheng. Do you wanna come see?”

“No,” Yangyang interrupts, suddenly grabbing your hand. “I… I mean you guys can go, of course. It's just the countdown’s close, so we have to go to the viewpoint.”

“That’s exactly where—ah. I see.”

"We'll join you another time, Lana," he says quietly, a cute grin on his face like a little boy would make to an older sister for more shares of chocolate.

"No, no. I actually remembered I left my friends in the corner. See you!"

She leaves her epiphany unsaid, offering you a smile and taking her leave abruptly.

“I thought you told me to socialize,” you complain to Yangyang.

“Yes, I’m so proud of you for that.”

“Yangyang, I swear if you treat me like a kid—”

“I’m not, I’m not. Sorry,” he says, scratching the back of his head. “I just need to borrow you for tonight. After all, I promised you, didn’t I?”

You sigh. “Fine then, what’s this viewpoint you’re talking about?”

“Oh, we’ll get there.”

Someone’s watching you. You turn around a full three-sixty but find only the same crowd of college-age kids. No one sticks out much, apart from Dejun, Kunhang and Ten, who are at this point performing some sort of strange ritual unbeknownst to any new year tradition, with a hell load of yelling.

“Oh my god, you’re dancing too?” Yangyang says, grinning ear to ear. “I didn’t know I’d have that much of a positive influence. Wow.”

“I’m- I’m not- never mind.”

Yangyang furrows his eyebrows. “What did I tell you? More confidence! See—”

He takes your hands in his, pulling you further onto the dance floor. You feel a rising panic but swallow it. There’s a beat of silence in which the two of you look at each other. Yangyang proceeds to perform the stupidest sequence of movements you have ever seen, certainly too awkward for his body to accept as natural but it doesn’t seem like he cares. He’s having fun.

You find yourself laughing. Taking timid steps, you try to loosen up although the inevitable embarrassment arrives in flushes of heat across your face. There are stars in Yangyang’s eyes when you join him—not the artificial jewels in observatories but the real kind that you used to see in your hometown.

You take a wobbly step back. It’s starting to get disorienting. If it were the real sky above you, you might even have felt better. Perhaps the purpose is to get dizzy.

“I’m a little thirsty,” Yangyang says, motioning to the table with food and drinks at a corner. “I’ll head over and be back.”

Unsure what to do, you follow him like a lost lamb and though it would be embarrassing at any other time, any other place, now and here are not part of that.

The red and golden lights of the neon patterning the walls don’t seem as harsh anymore and you let your eyes rest on the boyish figure of Yangyang. You haven’t figured him out yet. Something tells you he’s more than a shallow image of the party-loving rich kids of Shanghai. In fact, in quiet, personal moments, he looks more out of place than you do—despite all that bright neon. You open your mouth to ask something when you’re interrupted by a dizzy Yangyang spinning into you.

“Sorry, (name),” he says, rubbing the base of his palm against his forehead. “I genuinely thought I was going to win that game.”

You shake your head, letting him get back to whatever spinning game they were at. He smells like wine and something tells you he’s poor at holding his liquor. The stakes must be high for that game, you figure, because you see Yangyang set aside his beloved shoe on the floor. To be the only scholarship student here suddenly feels scary and awkward.

Yangyang once again tugs at your arm, the touch reassuring as though he understands how you feel. But it isn’t true. There’s no way someone like him can understand someone like you.

“Yangyang,” you call. “Do you come here every year?”

“No, no. I do come for drinks though. I’m only here right now because a friend is hosting this.”

You shrug.

“And you,” he adds and you feel a hot flush rise to your face. “New years are the only time this place is PG-13.”

“I’m not a child,” you snap.

“My mom says childish people say that.”

“Then it's very rich coming from you, Liu Yangyang.”

He laughs heartily, leaning away. A creeping thought grows in your head that you missed out on a lot. But then again, you’ll always miss out on things if you’re not rich enough for them.

Yangyang flinches suddenly, almost knocking a plate off the table. He moves quickly, turning so that his side leans against the wall and the other arm cages you between him and the wall. His frame covers your view from whatever, or whoever arrived at the entrance that made him react so obnoxiously.

However, his lips hovering just a little over yours makes your breath hitch in your throat. This is the worst possible position you could've gotten into. The smell of mint interrupts your thoughts and you look at him with as annoyed an expression as you can muster over the heat of your face.

"Yangyang, what the fuck do you think you're doing?"

“I am… admiring the wall. Ooh, it’s got velvet over it, did you notice?”

“You’re going to have your head in it too if you don’t tell me what’s going on.”

"Just… sorry. Let’s stay like this for a few moments."

He flashes you an apologetic smile, his face close enough to make yours grow even hotter. A nervous chuckle erupts from his lips.

"Oh my god, get off. People are going to think we’re making out."

"We could do it for real."

"I'm going to scratch your eyes out."

"Sorry, sorry."

“Who are you even hiding from?”

“I’m not hiding… okay, forget that. Bodyguard-watcher-dude. It’s kind of hard to explain.”

“You have a bodyguard?”

“More like a babysitter.”

You try not to laugh, considering the proximity between your faces. “How come you have a babysitter? Actually, wait, I think I know.”

He huffs over your face and you restrain yourself from landing a swift uppercut to his jaw. Now you know the minty smell comes from mouth freshener.

“He’s a prosecutor. It’s weird that he stalks me in his free time. Even- even if… my parents are paying him.”

“They think you’re doing something illegal?”

“No. I don’t think I am.”

You rest your head back against the wall, rolling your eyes. “Really? That’s your answer? God, your brain cells rotted somewhere along the way, didn’t they? It’s all those parties.”

“I’m starting to feel like my mom hired you too.”

He looks back, and noting the absence of his so-called babysitter, he pulls back from you. You didn’t realize you were holding your breath and you let it out in a shallow effort.

“Your babysitter’s gone?”

“Not a babysit—I regret saying that. Look, I really don’t think they appointed him because they think I’m doing something illegal. I have never done anything illegal. Except that one street race but that’s because Lucas told me it was perfectly legal.”

“The what?”

“Anyway, the point is, let’s look forward to good fortune for this year, hm? Leave all the burdens to last year.”

“Fortune doesn’t favour fools.”

“I’m not stupid,” he complains, spreading his arms to express it further. “Mostly.”

You laugh, turning your attention to the food table.

“Ooh, pineapple tarts,” he exclaims, hand reaching out to grab one when you smack it.

“You’ve had, like, fifteen already.”

“Mhm,” he says, with a few more stuffed in his mouth.

There’s a pause.

“It’s me, isn't it?” you ask quietly. “I’m not supposed to be here.”

He gulps, lips parting and closing. “I brought you here. So you don’t worry about it.”

Rich people suck. You believe that strongly. But sometimes, just sometimes, when you have everything you can ever want, you start to want the same for everyone around you. Some people are special. You find Yangyang genuinely fascinating for being someone who makes friends when he’s supposed to be making more connections. You find him fascinating.

It makes sense for someone like him to be the way he is.

iv. fireworks viewpoint

“That’s the old Shanghai Tower,” Yangyang points to a building in the distance. “It used to be the tallest building once but… well, it looks like the little guy now.”

Lunar New Year’s celebrations are a big, big deal in New Shanghai. It means a break from university, work and every other affair to have as many priorities sorted in anticipation of the new year. And the impact is evident from this height, when you can see the city in its golden glory. It looks warm out there for once—although you’re not very sure if it’s because of the warmth that comes from right beside you. The little wooden boats float by on the river a little far off, various images blooming as holograms above them. You giggle at the large animated fishes swimming above the river with blank expressions and painted button eyes.

The golden clock shines bright in the sky, its holographic hands ticking down to midnight. It looks like something out of a fantasy movie, scattering golden pixels everywhere with each minute passing. The size of it alone reminds you of the scale of this city.

This is an empire. It's owned by the kings and queens who built it over the bones left from sacrifices. It's going to be owned by heirs and heiresses. You feel a looming sense of dread come over you. It's so beautiful and it can never belong to itself. It must always belong to someone. It’s the terms and conditions of human creation.

"Hey." Yangyang taps you on the shoulder and you try not to flinch. "What are you thinking?"

You hum. "Stuff."

"This place is pretty cool, huh?"

That, you can agree with. "It is. It's so amazing that I can't believe I'm here sometimes."

Yangyang laughs slowly. "I hope more people can live here. Not in level one. You know. No one should live in desperation."

You hold back a scoff, though you end up frowning. What does a rich kid know of desperation? He might as well be prince, and princes do not know how to beg. It must be something of a saviour complex. You shrink away from him. The new year music is starting to ring a little too loud in your ears.

"That would be difficult," you mutter.

"Not if you lower the cost of living conditions—ah. Sorry." He pauses and you feel a flicker of surprise in you. “It’s not appropriate to discuss. Or so my parents tell me…”

The expression comes from empathy. You’re sure of it. There’s some sort of passion and not the kind of coloured fire that flames up in parties, but a different one. The kind that says, if you can’t bear the heat then you can’t learn how to forge. You scoff. Which prince has possibly known heat?

“I- I get angry too,” you say quietly. “I think it’s something to be angry about.”

He smiles at you, leaning against the balcony railing.

You’re interrupted by a man in the attire of a waiter and it causes the two of you to jump away from each other. It’s not like you were very close in the first place but the proximity of shared words can play tricks on people. The man offers the two of you a screen and Yangyang’s face lights up almost immediately.

“We can order food with this,” he says. “Or book a table. The top strips are all reserved for members of the club. That’s the big daddy restaurants.”

“That’s… pretty cool,” you say, leaning in to glance over the browsing menu. “But don’t say that phrase to me again.”

“I can. And I will.”

“Ugh. Move on.”

“Okay, so we should drop by the convenience store for some ramen. I heard they taste better in the middle of the night,” Yangyang suggests all of a sudden, leaning in further.

It gets difficult sometimes to not be bothered by him, especially when there is a lack of distance. You look at him, pause and then sigh. “Sure. I guess. Are those free too?”

He opens his mouth in sudden realization and grins sheepishly at you. You roll your eyes.

“Do you have money then?”

“Uh.”

“How do you not have money? It’s the New Year!”

“I… uh—”

“Okay, you don’t have to answer that. But I’m not paying for you,” you complain. “You could always ask your parents for some money. What’s the point of being a party kid?”

‘Party kids’—it makes you laugh in amusement—is the colloquial term given to the children of businesspeople who had a direct hand in the economic progress of New Shanghai. You would sell your kidneys to be one and it still wouldn’t be enough.

His smile wavers at your statement but he shakes his head. “If I call my mom, she’ll start scolding me again about how my apartment room needs to be cleaner. Blah, blah, blah. You know.”

“She’s right- wait, you don’t clean your room?”

“Don’t take her side, (name).”

You bite down a smile and he offers you his biggest one.

“Oh, that place looks new,” Yangyang exclaims, a long index finger pointing to the preview of a sushi restaurant. You glare at him, his face nearer to yours than you would prefer but his eyes are fixed like a child ogling halloween candy.

“Let’s go,” he urges, looking directly at you.

You furrow your eyebrows, shaking your head vehemently. “We don’t have money. Or bit-credits.”

He sighs, deflating as though you just snatched the candy right from his hands. “But… I haven’t been there before.”

“So?” You exhale, pinching the bridge of your nose. “You don’t have to try every food place in the city.”

“I need to eat,” he says as though it’s a very reasonable response. “I’m still growing!”

“Not mentally.”

He drops his smile, looking at you blankly. “You don’t have to get so smart with me, let me tell you.”

You snicker at the ‘offended’ expression on his face.

In the next moment, your attention shifts to the sudden crowd of people rushing to the balcony. Yangyang pulls you closer to avoid getting pushed by them, and you look around confused. It all makes sense when they start chanting the numbers, counting down from ten. You can only stare in awe at the clock and the otherworldly glee in the rhythmic chants. It’s like they don’t feel anything but joy at this moment. You let yourself smile.

The clock strikes twelve. The sound of the bell resounds throughout the city and the firecrackers burst into a thousand shades of red and gold across the sky. There’s moving images of animals, floating text and other animations which make the night sky seem like a screen. The sparks of the fireworks look like golden snow, or even happy little pixels.

You point your finger to the sky excitedly but when you turn, Yangyang’s eyes aren’t on the sky but on your hand outstretched towards it. He faces you, rather hesitantly as though caught red-handed.

“You’re- you’re… so pretty,” he says, softly and shrugging as if answering a question.

You wish he wouldn’t look at you like that. It’s the lonely speaking, right? The euphoria of human connection in this time and age—it can make you believe anything. There’s a myriad of colours blooming in the sky behind you, a city dazzling with diamond and ruby lights, people with much more stories to tell than you do. This city, this city, this city. This city will break your heart.

“It’s kind of crappy,” you mutter, to which Yangyang quirks an ear.

“Wh-what is?”

“This city. It’s got bright lights and fun and all those promises of success. But all I see are people desperately trying to survive. All I see are the same faces at the top and—I’m sorry. I’m getting carried away.”

“No, no.” He makes a vague gesture. “I’m listening.”

“We’re at their mercy,” you whisper. “My life is not my own. That’s crappy.”

Yangyang hums in response. “You're right. What’s the point of living a life that’s not your own?”

Looking at him again, you see the entire figure of his being against the fireworks and all the beautiful creations of the human race. His almost silver hair falls perfectly by his forehead, the contact lenses looking like glazed frost over his eyes. Just as vibrant and excessive as the city itself, Yangyang belongs here. This is his kingdom.

No, that’s not quite right perhaps. Yangyang belongs anywhere because he brings warmth. You're suddenly grateful he's with you because no one you know would possibly go out of their way to make you feel comfortable like this. You know Yangyang loves people and crowds. No one would do that for you at the expense of their own enjoyment. You smile at the prospect of solving the blinding mystery that he is.

"We… should leave," Yangyang says, all of a sudden. He eyes a man at the corner of the balcony, dressed in a business suit and looking blank. He sticks out like a sore thumb. You're not sure why he's in that getup.

"Okay," you say, not sure why you're so agreeable tonight.

Maybe it's the night. Sometimes all you can do is drag your feet over the asphalt and hope it'll be sunnier tomorrow.

v. two-four-seven convenience store

College boys are the most god-awful creatures on earth.

“Hey, do you always reach class on time?” Yangyang asks, eyes curious. He keeps asking a question every five minutes or so, trying to keep up conversation. You've already told him he doesn't have to. However, it makes you strangely comfortable to hear the sound of his voice periodically. You won't tell him that.

You nod, returning your gaze to the window, though the advertisements block your view. You can always try skipping the ad every five goddamn seconds.

It's your first time riding the train that travels through the Mobius Strip, and certainly the first time in a luxury cabin. Since it’s free for members of the new year club, you can heave a sigh of relief. You will never in your life, even if it’s genetically elongated, ever be able to afford a luxury cabin.

"Oh, that looks so good," Yangyang says, large hand smacking against the window to get rid of the colourful advertisements.

"It's a convenience store, Yangyang," you say. "It's got everyday ramen."

"No, look. It's a different brand. And they're giving a burger for free with two ramen cups!"

You furrow your eyebrows at him. "Well, I guess it's cheaper too."

"Oh, we can go to one of the upper restaurants too. They're free, remember?"

"I like convenience stores," you mumble. There's something about the lack of even lighting and crowds that made them a comfort spot for you.

“Quick,” he says, pulling you off the seat when the train stops.

“Yangyang!” you warn. He's so easily excitable that you find it hard to believe he's real sometimes.

However, when he turns around with his big puppy-dog eyes, you curse at yourself before you curse at him. Sighing, you follow him down the steps, his hand tenderly holding yours. Sometimes, you wonder if the human touch means anything at all in this diamond and steel era. Yangyang’s palm is warm against yours.

The ramen tastes awfully delicious on stolen time, and you would complain more if it weren’t for Yangyang looking at you with so serene a look. It annoys you and you try to grab his attention by waving your chopsticks in front of him. When it doesn’t work, you resort to swearing. You’ve never seen anyone respond with a smiling hum after being told to “eat shit”.

“Oh, this tastes so good,” he states, cheeks puffed with food. “I think I’m going to cry.”

“I- I think you’re crying because it’s spicy.”

“Oh.”

As usual, Yangyang pokes and prods at you with questions about your daily life, like you’re the most interesting thing in a city full of blinding lights, world-class robots and cyber-enhanced technology. You don’t understand how he doesn’t just grow tired of asking every single detail about you.

Apart from the fact that Liu Yangyang is most certainly an environmental hazard, some part of you cannot believe that he's truly terrible. There's something innocent about him, but all at once, something quiet and mysterious.

“Why are you always so curious, Yangyang?” you ask finally. “Why are you always running off to different places?”

“Because experiences never come twice,” he answers after some thinking. It seems to be a little difficult for him to articulate, deep contemplation over his features when he continues. “This city… all the lights and clubs and arenas, all of it will be gone someday. Like we don’t have telephones or those big computers anymore.”

You rest your chin on your palm, leaning in.

“This moment, right here with you… I’ll never experience it again,” he tells you. “We can have more midnight convenience store ramen sometime later but… each time will be different. I’d rather live now.”

You smile softly. “That’s a funny thought to live by.”

“Yours isn’t any better,” he says, patting your head. “Also, I’m like hot and young and popular and not a cyborg—how can I miss parties?”

You shake your head, laughing. He’s ridiculous. He’s completely ridiculous. In that moment, when you look at him, Yangyang seems to be smiling in a daze, eyes on your face.

“You look nice when you smile,” he says quietly.

"Thanks," you respond. "I should keep it a secret then, huh?"

"Not from me," he says, smiling.

Somehow, the extra minutes you have at the convenience store turn to a few multiplayer games and then, ditching technology, to an arm wrestling match.

"I feel like this game is kind of unfair," you say after losing almost immediately. He's clearly got stronger muscles. Does he work out? Probably against his will, you bet.

“My right arm’s a lot stronger than my left arm,” he says, before looking a little horrified. “That wasn’t a masturbation joke, by the way. I am so sorry.”

You roll your eyes. "Give me your left hand then- wait. You're right-handed?"

"That's not the- uh." He thinks for a moment, trying to gather words. “That’s not the reason.”

“I, uh, I heavily damaged this arm when I was a kid—don’t look like that, there’s a fun part to this. It’s made of titanium! And some other things. The names are too complicated.”

You drive your fingers over the arm, so warm and real and flushed red, anything but metal and code. You find curiosity blooming in you more than ever before.

“You know why I’m not with family,” you say, straightening. “But why aren’t you celebrating with your family?”

He gets quiet, thinking to himself for a few more moments. You almost regret asking when he answers, a hesitant sound leaving him first.

“None of us, uh… none of our parents can spare more than three hours. They’ll come in the afternoon tomorr—today.”

You can’t exactly respond to that very well.

“So all of us go hang out at the New Year’s Club.”

You frown. "But it's not a celebration without family!"

"We have new year lunches. And… it's the future. Traditions die. Very few grieve them for fear of being stuck in the past."

You feel partly horrified and partly dismal. "I… You could come with me next year, if you like."

You're not sure where the offer comes from but Yangyang lights up at the idea.

"I can? Oh, we'll have so much fun!"

"Slow down. There's a year to go."

Yangyang laughs. It's surprising the way he turned out. He must have gotten tired of waiting by the door. And now you know all the things about him that his parents don’t.

You smile at him, warming up to the idea of you and him as friends before scoffing at it again.

Right in the next moment, Yangyang dips suddenly to the ground, crouching below the table. You look around in surprise and fall to your knees with a yelp at the tug on our wrist from Yangyang.

“What the hell?” you hiss. “You’re starting to act really weird.”

“I- Sorry. It’s an emergency,” he says, but there’s no sign of distress in his voice. He simply smiles at you. Perhaps he’s never heard of the emotion as of yet.

“Your babysitter?”

“I say that once and on accident—yes, it’s my babysitter.”

You chuckle. He’s simply too cute at times.

“We have to be discreet now, okay? It’s like—what’s the movie called? Oh, Mission Impossible.”

“I’ve never seen that.”

“What? How can you not? It’s a classic! It’s got so many cool—ah, I’ll show you another time.”

You hum, staring at Yangyang’s facial features tense up and relax again as he scans the vicinity outside the window of the convenience store. It’s full of people, even at this hour so you can’t possibly know who’s looking at you from there.

Yangyang turns back to you. “Have you ever been to blue moon station?”

“The one with the pretty walls? No. No, I’ve never even gone beyond Strip Two.”

Yangyang smiles at you and right then, you feel like you’re about to resent whatever’s going to happen next. It’s in the ebb and flow of tonight’s itinerary, however, and you relax your shoulders just as he does a roll across the floor, looking back at you with a grin for executing it flawlessly.

“You’re so silly,” you mutter.

“I heard that,” he whisper-shouts back.

You’re not as afraid as before, you realize. The lights are absolutely mesmerizing.

vi. blue moon station

It drops a few degrees in temperature once you step foot onto the platform. You can see a bunch of scattered tourists, cameras hanging around their neck and a look of awe over their faces.

Yangyang takes off his jacket, shivering immediately but offering it to you nonetheless. When you refuse, he places it gingerly over your shoulders.

"Is that a…?"

"A tourist bot, yes."

"Oh my god, it's so cute," you say, crouching by the little red robot, a teal-colored smiley face popping up on its monitor.

"A lot of tourists in this station," you note.

"Yeah. It's very… visually pleasing."

That's true. The walls are screens with three dimensional graphics, immersive enough to catch one's eye. A single tree grows through the middle of the station, evergreen and alive with holographic flora and fauna. The sun shines eternally over the tree. It's so beautiful that you had trouble taking your eyes off it at first.

The walls next to you are currently displaying a walk through a fantasy forest, crafted by a visionary artist, no doubt. A blue butterfly flies past you and you stare at it before zoning out.

Sometimes, the lights are too disorienting. You start to feel dizzy, massaging your forehead when Yangyang brushes the tips of his fingers against your shoulder.

“You good?”

Yangyang crouches beside you with watchful eyes.

You nod, turning your attention to the tourist bot. It displays a plethora of information about the architecture of this place which you're sure no tourist will bother to read beyond the first two lines.

“You can make it do cool tricks too,” Yangyang says. “Watch.”

Yangyang pokes at it with his index finger, drawing a pattern over the screen. The bot proceeds to do an old internet dance, waving about its arms and hips. You laugh at it and Yangyang looks at you with the pride of a third grader with first place on their science project.

The colours on the walls change and you see the animation of a man and a fox, furrowing your eyebrows as you try to recall that image. They seem to be broadcasting fables through the holograms. You can’t deny that they’re pretty—glowing with auspicious colours and as animated as the real world itself. As if by compulsion, you hold Yangyang’s hand. It’s nice to feel the human touch real once in a while, especially in the overwhelming loneliness of city nights.

Yangyang looks at you brightly and right then, you feel less inclined to leave him.

“You know, I could teach you better ways to flirt than just grab my hand,” he says, grinning like an idiot.

“What?”

You move your hand. “I’m not flirting.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean that,” he responds quickly. “Can I please have your hand back?”

You shake your head, laughing. He worries you. Some part of you says you shouldn’t be worried. It’s not like you’re close friends. (Friends, maybe. Close, not yet.)

The night has a different opinion.

—

“Found you,” a voice declares, and the two of you jump into each other with a scream.

The man in the suit looks at you with a fatigued look in his eyes, hair somehow still neat though he breathes like his lungs are on fire.

“Care to tell me why you’ve been skipping my calls?” he asks after catching his breath. “It’s not like I wanted to follow you—you just needed to tell me.”

“I… I was busy?” Yangyang flashes a smile. “Kun-ge, I honestly had no idea you called. I don’t even have my phone.”

The man shakes his head. “Fine. Just head over to Jasmine for the night. And you can bring your date too.”

He gestures at you and you want to deny it as quick as you can. You do not, however. It’s almost like you’ve warmed up to the idea of it rather well.

“Okay,” Yangyang answers quietly.

vii. jasmine private lounge

You enter a lounge with the capacity of around a hundred people. Despite that, there are hardly five present. The walls are black with neon jasmines pulsating from blue to red. A grand piano lies still in all its elegance in the middle of the lounge, played by a plain white AI. It feels like an expensive place to be, and more so, it feels like someplace you’re not supposed to step foot into. There's a bar table at one side, opposite to the entrance which glows a hypnotizing purple. A flat lettering on the wall declares the time to be 3 A.M.

You and Yangyang sit a little too close on the artificially warmed couch, waiting for Kun to return. Yangyang reassures you that you haven't done anything wrong but the illicit outing of yours certainly says otherwise. You contemplate tasting the cocktail Yangyang ordered before finally giving in and find it pleasantly warm to taste. You take another sip.

“It’s a little strong,” Yangyang warns. “Don’t have all of—you had all of it.”

You shrug. Your throat certainly feels better now. This lounge is fucking cold.

"You know, Yangyang," you say with the warmth of confidence on your face. "You're a really nice guy."

He smiles incredulously. "Thanks. You're really nice too."

"And you're pretty decent-looking—"

"I know that."

"—and also popular. So why are you always hanging around me?"

"Uh, that's your question?"

You nod. Placing your cheek against your palm, you try not to sink into the couch.

"Because you're really cool!" He answers before clearing his throat. "I mean. I think you're fun to be around. You make me see things clearer."

"And what exactly are you wanting to see clearer?'

"You."

You blink aside your astoundment, straightening. "What?"

Your question is left unanswered because a man enters and sits across the two of you, a loud huff of annoyance leaving his mouth. It's not just his disposition but the architecture of his face that grabs your attention. He looks like an AI robot so perfectly crafted with coloured lips and flawless skin that you end up staring till Yangyang elbows you.

“He’s not an AI,” Yangyang whispers.

You furrow your brows and notice it is, in fact, true that he's not an AI. There are no ridges over the joints or hollowness in the eyes. He wears the same frost-patterned smart lenses as Yangyang does. However, it doesn't change the fact that the man is beautiful to look at.

“I’m never hosting a new year party again,” he mutters, sinking into the couch.

“It actually sounds kind of fun,” Yangyang interjects. “I can’t wait for my turn.”

“I’m sorry. Good luck standing at Longhua temple for three hours till midnight just to make sure nothing goes wrong. Without dinner.”

Yangyang makes a face at that.

"That's Sicheng-ge," he says, turning to you.

"Ah," you say in response, remembering the name vaguely.

"He let us into Club 2," Yangyang says, noticing your lost expression.

"I think Kun's looking for you," Sicheng says, eyes trained at the back.

His hands fidget with the dim blue buttons at the edge of the table, till a small compartment reveals itself under the glass. An old world-style cigarette is slowly pushed up and Sicheng picks it up. He offers the next one to Yangyang, who accepts it hesitantly. No one smokes tobacco anymore when nicotine is so readily available. Alas, human nature is to want things deadly and out of reach.

“So how’s Cat?” Yangyang asks, fumbling with the plasma lighter he picked from a compartment on the side.

Sicheng smiles a little, the smoke from his cigarette snaking around him as he raises a hand to dissipate it.

“She’s doing fine. Running everything as usual.”

“Of course. Boss lady.” Yangyang does an awkward salute.

“Oh, a new hair color too. As pretty as flower fields in the spring of ‘22.”

Sicheng’s lovesick rambling is interrupted by Yangyang hacking his lungs out. You turn to him and he avoids your gaze, reaching for a crystal blue glass of water one of the helper bots offer. So, he’s not even a smoker? Why did he think you would care?

“Anyway, Kun is glaring daggers at me now. You better get out of here.” Sicheng grimaces.

You turn around to see Kun by the bar table, gesturing towards Yangyang to come. You're not sure why but either of those men make you nervous.

"I'll be right back," Yangyang says, scrambling up and leaving you in a long awkward silence with Sicheng.

“So, uh, I’m assuming you’re oblivious to that lovestruck puppy following you around?” Sicheng asks, raising an eyebrow. “Or is this some game you guys are into? I’m not judging you for that.”

Your face heats up and you fidget with your collar. “The- A what? Game? Uh? I- huh?”

Sicheng tries to press down his smile but it’s evident enough for you to see. Did you say something funny? Did Yangyang say something funny about you? Oh, you’re going to kill him.

“For all that he talks, he’s kind of terrible at pulling together his own love life.”

“I- I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

It still unnerves you to look at him. He certainly looks more android than human when he’s not making any particular expression.

“Don’t mind me,” he says, offering you a reassuring smile. “You should find Yangyang before he lands the two of you in trouble.”

You turn to look at Yangyang through the glass and turn back nodding. Sicheng offers you a parting smile and you hesitantly make your way to the bar table.

"This isn't in my job description," Kun tells Yangyang just before you arrive. "I didn't know being a lawyer included babysitting."

The tips of Yangyang's ears heat up when he notices you.

"It's not babysitting," he murmurs. “Also, you’re not my mom.”

"You, Ten, Kunhang, all of you give me such a hard time," he continues but pauses right when he notices you.

"Oh, hello. (Name), isn't it?" He says, smiling politely. He's quite young and handsome for a lawyer. "Yangyang talks about you a lot."

"Oh," you respond. "Really?"

Yangyang glares at the older man. "You don't have to say everything, Kun-ge."

"You interested in law?" Kun asks, offering you a seat between him and Yangyang.

You make a face. The law is a tool for the rich and powerful. But then again, what isn’t? The world is in your hands when you have billions to spare. However, you still can’t imagine being a rich man's guard dog your whole life.

Kun chuckles. "You kids are interested in tech more, aren't you?"

Yangyang interrupts, "You talk like you're fifty years old."

Kun grimaces, resting his face against his hand. Shooting a glare at Yangyang, he finishes the rest of his wine.

You're not exactly interested in tech or engineering or the big kid jobs either. You just want a way to survive this man-made food chain. Rich eats the world till there’s nothing left on the plate. Then again, you'd rather be a pet than get eaten.

"Anyway," Kun turns to Yangyang. "If you see Ten, give me a call."

Yangyang signals with a thumbs up gesture, watching as Kun’s figure slowly makes its way out of the gate. It’s the two of you again and suddenly, you feel a strange sort of feeling overcome you. Leaning your throbbing forehead against Yangyang’s shoulder, you take some soft breaths and skip the part where you question your actions. It’s pleasant, at the very least. He shifts his chair closer, extending his arm around you so that your head rests against his shoulder more comfortably.

“You must be tired,” he mutters.

“You didn’t answer me,” you say. “Answer in a way I understood, at least.”

“Hm?”

“Why do you hang around me?”

“Do you not… want me to?”

“No. I like your company, actually. I can’t believe I said that out loud.”

Yangyang laughs. “You’re… you’re really perfect. As a person. At least to me, you seem that way.”

You scoff. “You’re a long way off there.”

“No. No, you felt like clockwork,” he continues. “When I first met you. I couldn’t believe you were real.”

You do work like a delirious robot on clockwork steroids. But you’re not very proud of it. You don’t think overworking is a good personality trait to have—even if it’s for survival. However, the faraway look in Yangyang’s eyes suggests that’s not what he means.

“I felt like I understood you,” he continues after a short pause.

You find it unbelievable. That’s the one sentence you could never imagine coming from him to you, much less agree with. But right then, as his warmth seeps into you, you want to agree desperately.

Yangyang feels an unexpected trickle of doubt down his throat. No matter how many times he’s practised in front of the mirror, the words don’t come out right when you’re with him. With everything you do, he feels more drawn in. There’s something familiar and something honest. And if he’s honest himself, he just likes you. What sort of a hypocrite should he be categorized as, to tell his friends to ‘just confess’ to their crushes when he’s a complete idiot when it comes to you? It can’t be that little voice from his childhood that tells him to stay in order.

Yangyang understands that there are rules to this world but he doesn’t get what those have got to do with him. He sighs, the sound somewhat grim when it comes from him.

"I've seen it before," he says, "People come from all over the country with hopes and dreams, and they get their hearts broken by capitalism."

You frown.

"I don't want you to go anywhere," he mumbles. "I hope you'll stay… even if- even if you feel like that, you know? If you're feeling lonely, I could—"

"Yangyang." You smile. "I’m quite comfortable here."

When you bury your nose into the crook of his neck, Yangyang thinks this is it. This is how he ends the sorry excuse of flirting he’s been trying with you and says something he regrets. It was never this difficult with the other crushes he’s had. He’s always left opening his mouth and then promptly closing it like a goldfish out of water every single time he wants to bring up dating with you. He’s always honest. So, what’s the big deal this time? This is so horrendously not cool of him.

You straighten. “We should get back home.”

“Can you- Can you not move so far from me, please?” Yangyang murmurs, hands gripping yours.

You smile, to yourself more to him but that’s one he likes the most.

“You’re a really interesting person, Yangyang.”

“I am?” He clears his throat and repeats the question.

“How are you so nice to people?”

“I think people are nice.”

“Why do you like parties?”

“They’re fun.”

“When the party’s over, who do you go to?” you ask, words mushing into each other.

“Home,” he answers, gulping down what seems like more words. “Like always.”

A hush falls between the two of you. You’re asking quite the questions.

“I’m sweaty,” you mutter. “I hate being sweaty.”

“You look wonderful though,” Yangyang mumbles, more to himself than to you. “Not that being sweaty makes you wonderful. You’re just nice.”

There’s another hush, the notes of the piano playing a faraway, romantic tune. He turns away and looks back at you again, but right in that moment, you lean forward to press your lips against his. It’s so sudden that he almost falls over backwards, his feet planted firmly on the ground the only thing preventing that from happening. The next thing he thinks is that your lips are on fire and it’s the most comfortable feeling he’s ever experienced.

The two of you fit into each other like clockwork, Yangyang thinks. It’s the one thing in his life that feels whole. Not that he isn’t whole by himself—he just loves your warmth. For a moment he feels like he’s on cloud nine and the next, his heart plummets when he feels you go limp in his arms.

It breaks his heart a little but he doesn’t—can’t bring himself to say much. He’s not this bad when he’s drunk, is he? Pulling you up by the waist, he texts Kunhang to bring his car down to the lounge.

This is going to be a long night.

viii. home

You wake up to the sun in your eyes and immediately know you're someplace you shouldn't be. This isn't your bed. The sun doesn't reach your bed in the morning. This isn’t the dormitory. You see a cubical alarm clock, a pixelated smiley face on it as it displays 10 A.M.

You get up and immediately shriek. You’re not wearing any clothes. Pulling the blanket up to your chin, you look around the room. It’s huge; the walls are multicolored with a little section opposite the bed reserved for photographs. There’s a lot of junk all over the floor that you don’t pay mind to when you notice Yangyang.

“Yangyang?!”

He rouses blinking slowly, hair going every which way and his eyes still unfocused. He looks like he’s had a difficult night.

“Why are you on the floor?” you ask, shrinking further into the ridiculously soft bed when he gets up. Massaging the back of his neck, he looks like he's looking at a mirage instead of a real live person. Unfortunately, he’s not wearing a shirt and you look away after a prolonged minute of staring. This is getting ridiculous. What are you doing here?

“Yangyang!”

“Huh? Oh!”

He seems to be finally awake. You should pop the question before it eats you alive.

"Did- Did we…?"

Yangyang blinks at you in confusion before a loud "oh" erupts from his mouth.

"No!" He says in between laughter. "No, we didn't. Oh my god, you’re so funny. You took off your clothes saying it's too hot and smacked me with them. I didn’t look, by the way.”

Your jaw drops. You can’t even form words through the pulsing headache.

“Your clothes are on the chair. And I didn’t touch your underwear. Out of respect."

You avoid eye contact in embarrassment.

“And… well, you did kiss me once. Twice.”

You look up alarmed and he raises his arms in defense.

“You- you were drunk so I had to push you off. You cried a little after that. Sorry.”

“Oh god.” You cover your face with your hands, sitting down on the bed. That has to be the most embarrassing thing you could have done.

“You- Don’t worry about that. You’re a good kisser. I was kind of surprised,” he offers in an attempt to make you feel better but you only grow hotter in the face.

“And- And I liked it,” he adds in a panic. “Wait, I don’t mean it in a creepy way.”

“I’m glad it wasn’t anyone else.”

“What?”

“You. It’s okay if it’s you.”

You give him a weak smile, still not over the embarrassment.

Yangyang laughs. “I… I think I should’ve said this before but… can I take you out on a date?”

“What were we doing last night then?”

“Well, that was- ah. You’re teasing me. Motherfucker.”

You giggle into your palm. When he takes a seat on the bed, you make a distressed sound and he jumps up immediately.

“My clothes,” you hiss. “Get out of the room so I can wear them.”

“Right,” he says, pointing an index finger at you.

He turns around right then. "By the way…"

You shriek, pulling the cover up all the way to your nose.

"Sorry," he says, averting his eyes immediately. "If- if that was a date, did you like it? Do you wanna go on another one?"

You can see him practically sweat bullets and you laugh at the innocuous questions. He’s too cute. You can’t believe you made yourself shake off the thought every time it crossed you. However indelicate his touch is, you welcome it nonetheless.

"Yes. Yes, I'll go on a date with you. You annoying, stupid, bratty idiot."

“Okay, that was mean.”

Watching his figure leave through the door, you relax your shoulders. In the end, people will always be people. No matter what shiny new toy you give them to play with, people will always search for happiness, and they will laugh and cry and fall in love with people and places and things over and over again. It's lovely to be human in an era of diamond and steel.

#yangyang x reader #nct x reader #wayv x reader #yangyang scenarios #nct scenarios #wayv scenarios #yangyang fluff #nct fluff #wayv fluff #yangyang fanfic #nct fanfic #yangyang fic #moonwrites #dawg idk what im doing imma be honest here

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jgracie · 5 days

Text

HEY BLONDIE — LEO + DAUGHTER OF POSEIDON

masterlist | rules

♡ dedicated to covey @hopelesslyromanticshark the blueprint for the poseidon girlie x leo trope 😇 lovey > caleo 4eva (even the ship name is cuter!)

❝ daughter of poseidon x leo valdez!!!!! ❞ — anon

in which leo dates a daughter of poseidon

pairing leo valdez x poseidon!reader

warnings percys a bit of an ass in this lowk sorry guys (he didn't mean it i promise!!!), they have tech, andddd i lowk hate this but i haven’t posted in three days so 🙁 maybe i’ll rewrite it someday!!

on the radio . . . hey blondie (dominic fike)

an i’ve been DYING for someone to request this combo i love it sm …. also OGs remember when my bio was hey blondie 🫡 reader isn’t blonde dw (i’m not even blonde myself) !! also reader is a year younger than percy (making her the same age as leo)

Leo didn’t know Percy had a sister. Maybe he was living under a rock (he was - Leo spent the majority of his days at Bunker 9), but he just hadn’t considered the possibility of it, with Percy being a child of the big three and all

If Leo had known of your existence sooner, he would’ve burnt down Bunker 9 himself and spent the rest of his days glued to your side. He had met many people, but none as perfect and charming as you

You see, the boy was simply going to pass by Cabin 3 to show Percy this new gadget he’d made for him and see if he wanted to hang out sometime, since Leo hadn’t seen Percy in a while, when he met you - Y/N, Percy’s younger half-sister

“Hello, may I help you?” You asked, opening the front door of your cabin and being met with a boy with curly brown hair and big brown eyes. Immediately, you felt the heat radiating off of him increase and all of a sudden his brown curls were on fire

As a child of Poseidon, naturally, you’ve never been fond of fire, so this freaked you out. Knowing the water fountain was right behind you, you controlled the water with your hands and shot it at Leo, putting out the fire and drenching him in the process

Leo didn’t care, though. You could drown him for Hephaestus’ sake and he’d still come crawling back - okay, maybe that was a little much. He took in your worried expression and a wave of guilt washed over him as he realised how afraid you were

“I’m sorry, I have a hard time controlling my fire powers sometimes… Where’s Percy?” He asked, not even bothering to question your Godly heritage. You were very clearly a daughter of Poseidon

After that, things calmed down between you two. You let him in and although you were wary of Leo (and sat as far away from him as possible without being labelled as rude), patiently listened as he explained why he was looking for your brother

He then showed you the gadget he made and when Leo saw the way your eyes lit up at its mechanisms, he knew his life would no longer be complete if you weren’t in it

You gushed over the thing, pressing the buttons over and over again (which Leo didn’t have the heart to tell you would wear them down) and showering him in compliments - something that has never happened to Leo before

A grin made its way onto his lips. Sure, people have praised his creations before, but none of them did it the way you did, nearly bursting with excitement as you tried to handle it with utmost care

Part of Leo wished Percy would never come back to cabin 3 ever again, but speak (in this case, think) of the devil and he shall appear. That was his unfortunate cue to leave

He quickly showed Percy how to handle the device and was about to leave when you stopped him. Leo almost couldn’t believe his ears and almost leaped for joy when he heard you ask if you could pass by his cabin sometime, since you really wanted to see more of his stuff

That was the beginning of the most iconic friendship in Camp Half-Blood history

You quickly discovered you had a lot in common and so, you became attached at the hip. It was so bad that whenever someone was asked where one of you were, they’d give the location of the other since they knew there was an incredibly high possibility of you being together

Leo taught you how to use a screwdriver and weld and I can’t think of a third thing people who make machines do but you get the gist! And in return, you taught him how to swim

His ability to swim (or lack thereof) was something which was brought up your very first time hanging out together at bunker nine. After many attempts, you finally successfully hammered a nail into a piece of metal (fyi I’m a daughter of Demeter I know absolutely nothing about this subject) and in your enthusiastic state insisted you go to the beach together

At your suggestion, Leo got awfully quiet and began shyly playing with a stray piece of metal. Your eyebrows furrowed, confused for a second about the shift in his behaviour, when it finally clicked

“Oh my Gods, Leo, do you not know how to swim?” You asked, hesitant - you didn’t want to embarrass the poor guy. He looked up at you and nodded, pouting at the way your lips wobbled as you tried not to giggle. You weren’t laughing at him, of course, you just thought it was really cute

Grabbing him by the arm, you began to drag him to your cabin and said, “c’mon, I’ll teach you! It’ll be like me repaying you for teaching me how to do all the fancy things you do with metal!”

You guys started going to the beach more often after that. At first, you were just teaching Leo how to be in a body of water and not drown, but once he got the hang of it you started having swimming competitions and introducing him to all your fish friends!

They’re always telling you to hurry up and confess because it's so obvious that you like Leo and you keeping it to yourself isn’t doing you any favours but you can’t. Why? Because you don’t think Leo likes you back

Meanwhile Leo’s sitting on the sand next to you admiring the way you seem to gain life by being near a body of water, having to push his fire powers down whenever you’d pull him closer to you, the only thing filling the space between you being the water of the ocean

You are quite literally Mr and Mrs Oblivious. Everyone can tell you like each other but yourselves

It’s actually really funny because you run in the same circles so you tend to complain to the same people about how the other can’t tell you like them and they’re just sitting there trying SO hard not to facepalm

Most of the time you two go to Annabeth, simply because she’s the only one you believe can keep a secret as big as your crushes. Unfortunately for you she and Percy come as a packaged duo, which means Percy’s aware

She didn’t mean to tell him but one time after a heated discussion with you where you analysed Leo’s every move it was still fresh on her mind and she let it slip

Ever since then, Percy’s been eyeing Leo, who’s definitely noticed the behaviour switch. It’s not like Percy had anything against you dating - you were only a year younger than him, after all, and you never tried to stop him and Annabeth from dating - but he couldn’t help but feel a little protective

An extra year of life still made you his baby sister! He’d insist to Annabeth that it doesn’t bother him and Leo is a good guy and his friend so he’s happy that the two of you reciprocate each other’s feelings then turn and give the poor boy a glare so terrifying it’d make a hellhound cower in fear

While all of this is happening, Leo’s freaking out. He’s absolutely losing his mind because all of a sudden Percy no longer likes him which means he’s probably noticed he likes you and disapproves of your potential relationship

All these thoughts cause him to spiral and eventually distance himself from you. It was just occasionally rejecting plans but then it turned into him somehow always being busy, and it broke your heart

Percy, being the kind and loving brother he is, asked you what was wrong on one of those days and you had to fight the urge to burst into tears as you told him about how you thought you did something to hurt Leo

You see, Leo was your first real friend at camp. Sure, you had other friends, but they were all just casual acquaintances you’d talk to whenever you happened to see them. Leo was your first best friend, which meant a lot

In that moment, Percy knew what he had to do

“Hey, why’re you avoiding Y/N?” Percy asked, barging into bunker nine, his arms crossed as he stared down Leo, who was busy making something (as usual)

Leo, who hadn’t been fully listening, looked up to find none other than Percy Jackson standing in front of him, “what?” He asked, his eyes widening

“I said, why are you avoiding my sister?” He repeated, the scowl on his face deepening. Percy was usually a pretty nice guy, but that could change really quickly if anyone ever even thinks of hurting his loved ones (loyalty is his fatal flaw after all)

Putting his tools down, Leo stood up, suddenly defensive. Why was Percy putting the blame on him? He was the reason Leo decided to talk to you less in the first place. Doing that to you really hurt Leo, but he wasn’t going to let himself get close to you just to end up heartbroken and without two friends in the end

“Do you hate her all of a sudden, is that it? Because if that’s the case, you should at least be kind enough to voice those thoughts so she can find new friends–”

“Dude, I love Y/N. Who put that in your head?” Leo interrupted, “I’m avoiding Y/N because I’ve seen the way you look at me, Percy. I get it, you’re not happy that I like her, and I don’t want to bother you or put a strain in your relationship, so I’ve distanced myself.”

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He avoided you because he loved you, because he didn’t want there to be any trouble between you and your brother because of him, and yet somehow here he was being accused of hating you?

You’re the first person Leo truly felt love for ever since his own mother. How could he hate you

“Tell her,” Percy said. He felt immensely guilty as the realisation that he was the reason why you’d almost lost your crush and best friend hit him. He never meant for it to go this far, and honestly, the glances weren’t even purposeful - he just couldn’t help it

“She likes you too, literally everyone at camp knows it, you’ll be fine. And Leo, I’m really sorry I made you feel that way. I didn’t mean to, honestly, I just really care about Y/N and don’t want her to get hurt. But I know you won’t hurt her, so… I approve.”

When I say Leo ran so fast to your cabin that he left a whole trail of fire behind him, I’m not exaggerating. He passed by Flowers and Vines (Demeter + Dionysus kid flower shop/fruits market iykyk) and set their crops on fire, quickly making himself their mortal enemy

He couldn’t care less though. You liked him back! In a few moments, he’d confess and you’d agree to date him and you’d finally be his

And confess he did <3 you were a little mad at Percy at first for unintentionally separating the two of you but after three days’ worth of grovelling you were fine

You couldn’t be too mad, after all, since you now had your fireboy

(The crowd cheers!!!! After 5 pages of backstory you get actual dating hcs)

Okay so I just want to start by saying that Leo is literally like a raven or a cat or whatever animal it is. He’s constantly finding the randomest trinkets and just giving them you for no reason

He goes to the beach a lot on his own whenever he misses you because the salty air smells just like the crook of your neck and often comes back with a bunch of seashells, randomly shaped rocks and one time an actually alive sand dollar

You spent so long teaching him how to spot one that’s alive and one that’s dead so when he saw a sand dollar he got really excited at the idea of you being proud of him remembering the difference that he’d forgotten it

His favourite things are the seashells though. Why? Well, because he can turn them into cute jewellery for you, duh!

It started off as a silly little idea. He found a cute seashell and thought ‘what if I strung a piece of thread through this and made it a necklace for my beautiful hot gorgeous pretty siren mermaid cutie pie Y/N?’

He ended up doing it and you loved it so much he decided he’d make you a whole collection of seashell jewellery

The second time around, he made an actual chain for the necklace because you’re deserving of more than some lousy thread!!!

Then he began making bracelets and rings and earrings and all sorts of other things for you. Somehow, despite making so many of them, Leo managed to make them all unique in their own way. Your favourite, however, was the seashell locket he made you for one of your anniversaries

Inside of the locket is a picture you took together on the beach. It was from back when you were just friends, but you looked so gorgeous in it Leo couldn’t help but choose it for the necklace

Also, you guys are LITERALLY fireboy and watergirl

You’d had an epiphany one day whilst lying your head on his chest and the gasp you let out had Leo worried you were dying for a second

When you told him this, Leo was confused. Being in the foster care system at a young age then sent to wilderness school then doing demigod things left very little room for him to discover modern things other people his age liked

You immediately took him to the little computer you shared with Percy and opened up fireboy and watergirl (the OG game of course, not one of the newer editions) and taught him how to play

Honestly, Leo’s really bad at it. Like at first you thought he just needed to get the hang of it but then you reached the one year anniversary of when you first showed him FB & WG and he was STILL awful at it (also yes you know what day that is. You and Leo have anniversaries for everything)

“Leo!” You exclaimed, unable to watch as the try again prompt popped up on the screen. After about 50 times doing this level (which you had completed on your own before just fine), you’d finally gotten to the last hurdle when, of course, fireboy had to fall into the green slime

Leo pouted, once again prepared to fight his case, “Fireboy’s an idiot! It’s not my fault you get to control the smarter one out of the two!”

“Nuh, uh! Fireboy’s so much easier to control! He has the arrows, watergirl has WASD, which is way harder!”

“Fine, you control him, since he’s so easy to use!”

“But I’m Watergirl! I can’t have you killing me too!”

You’d have this conversation almost every single time you played the game. It got so bad one time Percy had to block the fireboy and watergirl website from the computer

Which was stupid because Leo’s literally a son of Hephaestus so all he had to do was touch the computer and it quickly became unbanned!

Also I think all children of Poseidon have an obscene amount of fish/sea animal merch. Specifically plushies

Leo stayed the night at your cabin once thinking ‘oh my Gods I’m gonna be sleeping with Y/N for the first time WTF WTF WTF!!!’ only to end up sleeping with Chelsea the starfish instead

He teased you a little at first but you’d refused to talk to him after that so he accepted them into the L/N-Valdez family (despite them hogging the bed 😒)

Now, he also defends the plushies like his life depends on it. If someone even DARES to utter a word against Haley the seahorse its ON SIGHT fr

He also keeps a mental note of all the names of your plushies to see if he can figure out a theme with the kinds of names you like for when you name your future baby but that’s a story for another day!

#leo valdez x reader #leo valdez x you #leo valdez x y/n #leo valdez #leo valdez x fem reader #percy jackson #pjo #percy jackson x reader #pjo x reader #leo valdez fanfic #pjo fanfic #leo valdez drabble #leo valdez x poseidon reader #daughter of poseidon #children of poseidon #poseidon pjo #cynwrites

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easy-there-leftovers · 7 months

Text

I See You, Darling (2)

[Astarion x reader] Due to surprisingly overwhelming demand, the previous fic, along with this one and many more to follow, will now be part of a series!! It was honestly very difficult trying to come up with what happens next, but here we are. The idea came to me during a fever!! |Word count: 2.5k.| Based off of this post I made.

Part 1 here!!

Next part here!!

The reader believes they are in a dream. It wouldn’t be the first time their fantasies conjured up such an obscure, yet somehow realistic scene. And so they’ve elected to treat the experience with as much realism as one would observe in a dream; little to none.

Alternatively;An ex-art-student-now-traveler accustoms themselves to the party.

————━─━────༺༻────━─━————

“Shadowheart. Shadow…heart. Hm.” His gaze bounced between you and her.

“I’m sure her parents meant well, but the name is rather ominous, isn’t it?” He leaned over to your side, not bothering to hide his blatant distrust. Lowering his voice dramatically, if anything.

“Unless she chose it herself. Which is even more worrying, honestly.” He chuckled out.

It had been no more than two bells after mornbright when you met Astarion. Since then, you’ve come to realize how…different your presence has changed the course of the story. Though more subtle than you expected.

It would seem as if you had met the elven vampire before the party was formed, which was strange as your last save point was far later than that and the forest had been quite a long way from the beach.

When you finally stumbled upon Shadowheart, he was quick to share his inner thoughts that you haven’t heard from the game before.

As they continued with their quest to find a cure for the Illithid problem, expanding their party as they did so, you had tried to make yourself useful by doing the dirty work for them. Looting and opening crates filled with camp supplies, armor, and potentially useful weapons and artifacts could always come in handy for trade or for “artifact consumption,” as per Gale’s need. Sorting them for your group’s convenience.

And while you did not have more direct and immediate practical use for your course of study in the modern world, the research you’ve created and reviewed for character creation and world building was doing wonders for your survival.

Or as much as it can for a magicless, not so athletic human.

The “runes” of the medieval ages that have been carved into stone, along with the basic history and background of the common races and deities of the fantastical world that tabletop RPG has offered puts you at quite an advantage.

Not to mention your experience with the areas of the game giving you the same effect.

But this library of information had also aroused something akin to suspicion and concern. It would be understandable if you were a simple traveler just like them, or perhaps even an artisan from the guild, but you were not as astute as either background.

So how could you have access to this much knowledge yet be unaware of more practical matters? It’s as if you had simply read about it from somewhere.

Astarion had been quick to give an explanation before you could form one of your own that could poorly convince your companions. Although, perhaps his suggestion was more outlandish than anything you could have come up with.

“They came with me. Property and all the formality that comes with it. A family pet, if you will.” A perfect excuse to justify your constant proximity to him, and a likely explanation to being well read, but not well experienced.

You thought nothing of the title, your apathy to the non-hazardous labels of this world apparent.

The same couldn’t have been said about your associates who had a few comments about this disclosure.

“I am unfamiliar with the–well, I shall not say ‘culture.’ ‘Customs’, perhaps. I did not think your kind to house such breed of cattle. Perhaps they could be useful.” Was Lae’zel’s.

“I assure you, they typically don’t. Humans aren’t naturally subservient to Elves, at least in this manner. This setup sounds more akin to slavery. Blink twice if you need help.” Was Gale’s response.

“It seems like Astarion's from the upper city, given the embroidery on his armor. I wouldn’t put it past them to have servants that follow them around.” Shadowheart’s nose crinkled at the thought.

The party already had such an interesting rapport. Not entirely comfortable with one another to divulge everything, but loose enough to have semi-pleasant conversation with.

You thought this as you sorted out the fruits of your collective labor into neat pouches and bags, keeping items similar to one another factioned into their respective holding space. The chest being closer to Withers more than you’d like, but it was nice to hear the ramblings of an…undead person? Hearing someone continuously talking allows you to be more productive.

You’ll admit, handling enchanted armor and crystals does make you a tad nervous but you’re comforted by the thought that it will not be you who wields it in battle.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Gale approaching your direction. Possibly to ask for his share of the camp supplies just a little earlier to sate himself as you had an abundance of it for now. You regard him with your back turned and he stops for a bit.

“I will say that I don’t have the lightest of feet, but I figured myself better at sneaking around.” It’s not his fault that he got caught, but the bright purple robe and the smell of the oils you’ve been crafting for them are particularly noticeable.

“You are, but I’ll assume you're not exactly in the best shape after dealing with a few goblins.” You hold up a bottle of a healing potion, swinging it a bit with your fingers to indicate that the smell had warned you of his arrival.

“You’ve got a keen nose on you. Must be from all of Astarion’s training but, speaking of which,” He nears himself to your crouched form, going in to lean against a very old and empty crate.

“Gale, wait–” Right as your warning leaves you, they seem to evade him as falls right through the wood. A comical layer of dust and lichen pluming out from the force. He tries to quickly recover from both the physical and emotional damage as he brushes himself off to make himself presentable once more.

“Ahem, as I was saying,” He again makes his way over to you, settling for just standing close as his attempts to look unbothered temporarily cost him his ego.

“I was serious about what I said before. While I don’t know what to make of our pallid friend just yet, as enigmatic as he is, what he said before is quite confusing. Best make haste away from here if you want your freedom while we’re distracted with this worm problem.” His tone suggests a genuine concern which confuses you.

You’d be lying to yourself if the label of the set up didn’t sound odd, but you’ve never expressed discomfort as there was nothing all too worrying about it on your end. It was mostly for show, and you had as much independence as Tav would have in your game.

You endeavor to quickly dispel his worries.

“You don’t have to worry, I’m very satisfied with my servitude under Astarion. He’s very lenient and reliable, and I’m better off with him than on my own." You return to your task of sifting through your materials but pause and look back up at him to continue.

"I do thank you for turning my way though. Your concern is much appreciated but unnecessary.” You lowered your head a bit to show your thanks.

“Well if someone as generous as yourself says to trust you on this, then I have no choice but to concede! I’ll keep a watchful eye and offer guidance, should you need it. Also, do we happen to have something for—” As he asks you for some sort of salve, just a few ways off, your eccentric “handler,” of sorts, watches the two of you interact.

Don’t get him wrong, such matters don’t really catch his attention, but being an elf does curse him with the ability to have extensive hearing. Something that he thinks Gale knew, and something you forgot. That would explain the lack of distance between you two.

He thinks it’s amusing how the wizard is trying to make conversation with you as if you were some foreign creature. His usual eloquence nowhere to be seen, and you seemed as unbothered as ever. Like how he usually saw you when you conversed with someone through a crystal.

It was a phone, not that he knew that though.

“They’re a real nice one, aren’t they?” Karlach says from her side of the camp which was nearer towards his tent and yours.

“Hm, yes. While that may be an admirable trait, it’s hardly going to get them anywhere if they keep this up.” Astarion huffed out, not very keen on your altruistic playstyle so far.

He doesn’t know much about what you do and don’t know, all he knows is that you do know of the events to unfold and could be the key to defeating his master.

All he needs is to keep you at his side. So he’ll allow you this much freedom.

“Oh come on, you. You can’t seriously think that after everything. Our camp’s pretty well maintained because of ‘em, not to mention the connections we’ve been able to get!” She fortifies her statement by knocking on her chest, the engine humming within feels lighter and newer since you’ve informed her of the tiefling blacksmith at the grove.

He hums in response, returning to reading his book as he thinks about his growing hunger. He’ll have to hunt soon enough. While your positive reputation occasionally reflects on him by proxy, it can also reflect negatively due to the alleged nature of your relationship. If he wants the journey to a way of understanding the tadpoles to be a more comfortable one, he has to at least prevent their trust in him from diminishing.

Night falls later than he’d have liked, having waited for everyone to be asleep so that he may prowl the forest for sustenance.

The rest were sound asleep in their bedroll as the skirmish from earlier on in the day had proven to be sufficiently tiring. The crackling fire surely brings a lulling warmth that he supposes he’ll have to miss out on for a while.

As he begins to slink off into the darkness, he looks back to gauge his surroundings and catches your form from across the settlement. It seems you were tallying away the items in the shared chest and double-checking to see that everything is checked and balanced with your records.

Your shoulders jump at his suddenly standing form, but try to understand his intentions. You mouth, “where?” with a very confused face, to which he responds with a simple shushing motion and waits for your acknowledgement.

You nod slowly, and he holds your gaze before sneaking off once again.

‘He’s coming back, right?’ You wondered. The progression of your experience now in comparison to the game was vastly different, and you didn’t know if all scenes, or only some, would present themselves in this world. You assume he planned to hunt, and while you trust his abilities, you want to make sure he’s attended to properly should he be harmed in any way.

So after retrieving a few potions, a journal, and a pencil, you stashed them in a satchel and positioned yourself at the base of the tree in the direction he left in. You weren’t particularly sleepy tonight, and planned to pass the time in wait of your companion.

There wasn’t much to do in this century to keep yourself entertained. The only things you’ve found so far were a few instruments and all manners of journals and inks.

The inkpot that you picked up appeared to be red this time. The game of, “which ink dye will I get this time?” will have to be the most of your entertainment for now. Not all too different from home, you suppose. And while writing keeps your mind at bay, illustrating all manners of wildlife have proven to be quite the fun exercise.

You’ve made a few notes on creatures that you and your company have encountered. The visual elements of a drawing allowed you and the others to keep track of materials that could be salvaged from them, and their resistances to certain attacks.

Though as much as you liked depicting such lifeforms in paper, you’ve come to be very interested in portraying your vampire friend.

Evidence of your interest present in the pages filled with his likeness as you search for an unmarked page. You’ve made a few of the others, yes, but anyone who would gain access to your journal would surely see which member of the group you favor more.

You continued to draw, and occasionally write, on the parchment as you waited for Astarion to come back. All sense of time evading you as you focus on the task at hand.

A perfect opportunity for a tired rogue to surprise an unsuspecting human.

“And what are you still doing up, little one?” He appears from behind the very tree you rested against, causing you to spill a bit of ink on your thumb.

You clicked your tongue, not at all annoyed by the character but by your absentmindedness and now stained appendage.

“Sorry, I was just waiting for you.” You sealed the inkpot, and gathered your materials. Effectively, but unknowingly, hiding your work from peering eyes that were the same deep red as your finger.

“I’m very flattered, darling. But couldn’t you wait until morning? I'm sure this couldn’t have been all too important, yes?” He gestures to your satchel, referring to your journal, but you misinterpreted it as him asking for your medical supplies.

“Oh, that depends. Are you hurt, by any chance? I stayed awake in case you might've needed help tending to yourself.” You opened the pouch to reveal its contents to him, your stained thumb in full view.

The sight makes him sigh out, but is thankful for your offered service.

“I’m alright, nothing of interest happened while I was away.” He considers telling you about the nature of his little…'escapade.' He's unaware if you are of his condition, and he doesn’t wish to out himself if not necessary to avoid possible conflict. So he settles for advising you to rest.

“We need you well rested, my dear. You sleep. I’ll keep watch.” The dialogue is familiar, and you can’t stop yourself from letting a small laugh out as you responded with an equally familiar line

“Thank you. I’ll sleep better for that.” You lower your head as you usually do in gratitude.

“The pleasure is all mine.” He mirrors your gesture, albeit in a way that is most appropriate for someone of his character. “Sweet dreams.”

You walked back to the chest. Returning the potions and ink you’ve plucked from the supply, but keeping the rest of the pouch’s materials with you as you turn in for the night. Awaiting the promise of further study that a new day typically makes.

As Astarion is left with his own thoughts, a sour taste still in his mouth from his earlier meal, he thinks about the man in the journal you kept. He did not see much, only a vague outline of the figure. He thinks about who, or what, it could have been but dismisses the thought rather quickly.

He has no time for a mysterious person with hair less perfect than his own, touching his untainted locks as he does.

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Thank you everyone for your interest in the series!! As per the request of some, I'll now be adding a taglist!

Thank you to @rey26, @shyminnie07, @lynnloveshobi, @iggee-rose, @automnepoet, and @tiannamortis for asking to be tagged!!

#astarion ancunin #astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion ancunin x reader #astarion x mc #baldur's gate 3 x reader #bg3 x reader isekai(?)#aware!astarion #though I guess not so aware--#lol

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