#tall column radiator

[budget-radiators]

The benefits of having a good quality radiator are that it can keep the room cool during summer and warm throughout the winter. Bathroom radiators also need maintenance, so that you can replace parts that are prone to failure.

[damn-stark]

Chapter 17 And now we are one

Chapter 17 of Moonlight

A/N- Peak soulmatism unlocked: Both having mommy issues

Warning- Swearing, talks of pregnancy, blood, violence, death, ANGST!!, FLUFF!!, SPOILERS, LONG CHAPTER.

Pairing- Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!fem-reader, Cregan Stark x Velaryon!fem-reader

Episode- 2x08 & 2 scenes used from 1x07

(If you want to be tagged let me know)

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The truth lies behind that door. With her, the Red Priestess—or more so the fire is imbued with the wisdom of the past, the future, and every single second that lives around you.

You need to know if it’s true that Addam and Alyn are your grandfather's bastards, and you know he won’t tell you so you have to go to the one person who will. But…a part of you does not want to find out. You'll undoubtedly get the truth when you ask, and when you find out then you will be plagued with the fear that yet another title will be taken from your grasp.

Then again you also won’t rest easy if you don’t know, it will be like a splinter in a finger, you can’t get it out but you feel it embedded under your skin. It’ll be pestering, so you need to know. You must.

But you need to know alone.

“Stay here, Ser’s,” you order your sworn protectors, but as easy as it is for Ser Jason to listen, Ser Cane is not as obedient, in the sense that he’s overprotective.

“Really, I will be fine she will not hurt me,” you insist and step back towards the house with the red door, but Ser Cane still does not seem convinced in letting you enter that house alone.

Thus you try to ease that furrowed brow. “Give me ten minutes. If I am not out by then you can go in after me, hm?”

Ser Cane's pierced glare drifts to the red door and he hesitates before he groans and nods in comprehension, letting you let out a deep breath before you turn on your heels and approach the red door. Albeit when you’re standing in front of that door, you raise your hand and fist it, but don’t let your knuckles rap on the door.

You hesitate and nervously watch the door with deep breaths escaping from your lips. In that moment, focusing on a rather insignificant detail on the door to distract yourself from what’s to come, which is the chipped red paint unveiling white wood.

White wood like the one you find from Weirwood trees. It’s unmistakable.

Huh.

“How odd,” you muse and brush the tip of your finger on the softened wood.

You’ve never seen a door made of weirwood.

A sharp cry of a babe then breaks the silence behind the chipped red door and pulls you back to why you’re here, and it’s not to study this beautiful door. You’re here to see Kinvara, so you draw out a deep breath and announce your sudden visit with a knock.

A minute of silence passes before a familiar voice invites you inside. A voice you want to question, but it also captivates you right away so you let it lure you in, finding that Kinvara does not come to welcome you inside, you just mindlessly open the door.

Once you’re inside you’re not greeted by the cold abandonment, a cozy warmth radiating from two tall fire columns at either side of the red door welcomes you inside, not Kinvara, she’s nowhere in sight. Yet the cries of the babes still echo from a nearby room, and sniffles now accompany it, as if the person who invited you inside is crying with the baby. But who is it?

“Kinvara?” You call out and close the door behind you without looking back. You just close the red door behind you and your feet follow the cries of the babe until you walk past long red drapes, and reach a hall with a single white-wooded table in the center and on top of it a fire bowl with an intense fire dancing within.

“Kinvara?” You call out again and look around the hall, but darkness seeps out of every corridor you look at except for the corridor you just walked down, forcing you to stay put where you stand and wait?

She did call you in. Or someone did.

The babe is still crying, and sniffling and soft weeping make their way into your ears, but now it sounds louder. As if you’re in the same room, but where are they? There’s nothing here but the white-wooded table and the fire.

“Kinvara, where—”

“Laenor?”

Every muscle in your body paralyzes, and your breath catches in your throat.

Did you just hear right? Did someone call your father's name?

Your eyes frantically search the hall, but all you find are shadows and specks of dust that float within the light that reflects on every wall.

“Rhaenyra!”

That’s…your father’s voice. No matter how long you’ve lived without him you will always recognize his voice, it’s recorded in your memories forever, so you know right away that you hear your father call out for your mother from inside the flames.

There’s no mistaking where the voices come from, they don’t echo off the walls anymore. It comes from the flames and no amount of warnings that your mind throws at you keeps your eyes from flying to the fire.

You focus your gaze on the fire and right away you forget who you came in search of, you forget the reason you even came; the truth you seek, and entrap all your attention in the flames that paint a vivid image of your mothers old quarters of when she lived in the Red Keep. It’s unmistakable, you see every detail clearly, not misty, or blurred by some dreamy screen, it’s as if you’re actually standing inside, living in the moment that the fire conjures up for you.

But what moment is it? There are some items in the room that you no longer recognize. It’s decorated a bit differently since you last remember, and a cradle sits in the room. People are inside as well, one you recognize as Grand Maester Orwyle, and an armada of handmaidens and wet nurses frantically pacing all over the room, but mainly they gather around the bed, blocking the view of the one they’re tending to.

“A girl,” your father's voice travels out from the group around the bed and catches you by surprise again, but this time rather than being struck with disbelief, you’re completely captivated with relief and awe that you get to hear his voice again. It’s been so long since you’ve heard his sweet voice. You missed it so much.

All you want to do now is follow it, so you do as if entranced by his voice, and once you're past the sea of bodies you come to find your mother on the bed…

“Mama,” your voice trembles, but she does not hear. No one does, life is moving all around you. It’s like you’re a ghost watching over this moment in time when your mother is not the woman that you know now. This version of her is still her but she’s younger in appearance. A lot younger, but still very beautiful. She actually looks around your age.

She probably is…

Which means that the bundle she’s cradling in her arms is…you?

You notice specks of silver-white hair peeking out of the blanket, but that’s all, everything else is covered with the blanket. But you don’t really need to break your head to know it must be you, your mother was young when she had you.

“She,” your mother cries as she rocks you to try and calm you down. “She was not breathing when she came out. She-she…” she trails off and once again her weeping fills the room.

This time though she does not cry for long, she’s quickly cooed at. “She’s breathing now. Look at her, she's crying now. She's okay. She’s alive. Our girl is alive.”

It's your father, you see him now. You were so focused on the image of your mother that you did not notice him sitting on the edge of the bed until now. He’s here, and just like your mother, he’s younger too, but unlike before now tears slowly escape out of your eyes and roll down the curve of your cheeks, whilst a smile trembles on your lips.

“Father,” you whimper and walk closer to him.

Albeit just as you put your hand out a louder voice catches your attention. One you recognize right away as your mother's voice, but not the voice that greeted you inside, this one sounds more mature, like the voice that belongs to her now. “I need you, Uncle.”

Just like before you’re entranced to follow the voice with little control of your own body, finding yourself approaching the balcony of your mother's room.

“<I cannot face the greens alone. They are already sending my only daughter away from me,>” your mother's voice continues to travel out, but this time her words are in High Valyrian and full of desperation. “<Let us bind our blood, just as Aegon the Conqueror did with his sisters.>”

You want to stop approaching the balcony as the words she says push out that bliss you were just overcome with and instead start filling you with anxiety as you don’t know what you’re walking to exactly. Yet your feet keep moving towards the balcony.

“<With you as my husband and Prince consort, my claim would not be so easily challenged.>”

Your breathing punctures as her words hit your ears and your mind slowly finds the meaning behind them.

“<The Velaryons are of the sea, but you and I are made of fire.>”

No…no…please.

You finally reach the balcony doors and no matter how much you want to stop and stay inside secured by the safety of the unknown, you walk out and right away you’re transported to a vast scenery; one with open water stretching out for miles, a boat sailing away in the distance with three dragons accompanying it, while there before you stands your mother as you know her now, and Daemon Targaryen overlooking the beautiful sea.

“<We have always been meant to burn together>.”

“We could not marry unless Laenor were dead,” Daemon breaks his silence to remind your mother of a cruel wicked fact. A fact she’s not phased by. A fact that you see did not slip her mind.

“I know,” she mutters.

It seems that she had already thought about it herself before Daemon even spoke it out loud for her and the sea to hear.

“I will not be a tyrant and rule through terror,” your mother continues to say, and your mind continues to unravel what all this means. Your heart tries hard to keep you from taking it all in, but your mind is persistent in hurting you.

“A tyrant rules only through terror,” Daemon clarifies for her. “If the King isn’t feared he is powerless. If you are to be a strong Queen, you must cultivate love and respect, yes, but your subjects must fear you.”

“I do love Laenor. He gave me my daughter.” Your mother’s words now also tug at your aching heart, making it start to bleed.

“Then grant him this kindness. Set him free,” Daemon says, making you shake your head and back up with disbelief now also consuming your heart.

“This will cost Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys their only remaining child,” your mother keeps feeding into this evil idea.

She is the one who brought it up but you still want her to refuse it. She needs to. Please…

“And it will cost my daughter…her father,” she tears at your heart now, making streams of tears flow down your face.

“She will be away by then,” Daemon attempts to comfort your mother who has her head down to watch as she fiddles with her rings, and hides tears that are born for you and the pain that she knows his death would cause you.

“The realm will whisper that I was somehow responsible,” your mother brings up, and Daemon is quick to retort.

“Let them whisper.”

But she couldn’t have. She wasn’t the one who…who…killed your father. No. It was always just supposed to be Daemon out of selfish greed. It was always just supposed to be him.

“We will know the truth of it,” Daemon continues. “And our enemies won’t.”

“They will fear what else we might be capable of,” your mother adds and only reassures your bleeding heart that she—that she always had a hand in taking your father away from you. She worked with Daemon to get rid of your beloved father, she’s the reason you knew heartbreak, she’s the reason you mourned alone, why you hated singing for five years of your life, she…

And all to marry some old man! All just to be with him!

Yes, you heard her reasoning, but you can’t accept it. You can’t accept it over your sorrow and new coming grief. All you know now is that she killed your father just to be with Daemon. She…

Why are you seeing this?! Why?!

“Let me out!” You beg and plead with all your might, but you linger there in torture. “Let me out! Please,” you whimper and turn away to stop seeing the horrible sight, but rather than seeing some stone wall, suddenly the day is swallowed by the night and you’re no longer on a stone bridge. Now you’re standing on sand, covered in darkness, looking at a cloaked man loading a boat that’s waiting to reunite with the ship in the distance. It seems like it’s just you and the distant stranger, but only seconds later you’re proved wrong when hurried footsteps approach.

You don’t want to look back when you hear the running footsteps, you fear what you will see, but your head turns and a hooded person runs by not letting you see their face.

You try to quickly walk after them, however, when that hooded person jumps on the boat with the stranger, they rip their hood off and you’re left horrified as you see your father for a second before you’re pulled from the past and returned to reality, causing the once bleeding heart to shatter.

That untouchable, cherished, and glorified image of your father completely crumbles. Love turns to ash and from it rises hate and rage because now you know that your mother did not kill your father, but she did let you grieve for a living man for six years.

After all this time he was never gone, she did not actually kill him, nor did Daemon kill him, he was alive and she knew. She hid the truth to live a happy life with Daemon. And your father…you’re ever so beloved father that you loved with all your heart, that you grieved for, never died, he…

He…left on his own will. He was not forced, it does not seem that way from what you saw. He left because he agreed to. He left you…behind. He left you.

He left. She lied. And they both broke your heart. The people who were meant to protect your heart, who are never supposed to hurt you, betray you in the worst way possible. In a way that even tops what Aemond did.

They broke your heart and you’re left numb now staring at the flames still raging in the bowl.

You can’t feel a thing anymore. Not your heart shattering, not your world coming apart, and not your rage pumping through your blood. It’s all quiet and it’s all dark. You stand in the abyss with only the raw memories of pain surrounding you, belittling you, ripping you apart limb by limb until there’s nothing left. It’s what makes it easy to turn your body around and slowly make your way out.

Yet as you reach the door and before you can let your sworn protectors know peace by showing you’re alive and physically unharmed, you come to a sudden halt as agony and despair tackle you before you’re free from the house; weakening you as they come together, leaving you unable to catch a breath even if your jaw goes slack, silencing your sobs even as hot streams of tears rush down your face, and bringing with them, writhing pain.

It hurts. It all hurts so much. The memories and the faces of your mother and your father flash in your head and the pain intensifies. It grows louder, making the rushing blood throb in your ears and tipping the limit you can handle.

It all falls apart. You fall apart and the only way you can let it out is with a heartbroken cry of despair that hurts your throat and sends your body thrashing to one side to express your anger by swinging down the fire column on one side of the door before taking down the other.

You don’t stop there, you can’t stop there, you try to, you wander around to try and calm down, but it keeps throbbing and it keeps hurting, so when you end up at the hall with the bowl of fire, you hurl it off the table in a blinding rage.

It’s only after the fire hits the ground and bounces on the long drapes that the anger liberates you, but now your sorrow takes over, and like coming down from an adrenaline rush, you’re left trembling, out of breath, and weak. You think of leaving, but your misery pulls you down to your knees, and has you looking numbly at the rapid fire that does not hesitate eating away at everything in its path. Nor does it debate or wait to combine with the line of fire that the fallen columns created at the entrance.

The fires unite and entrap you in their beautiful destruction before they too begin to eat away at you.

It’s not like you care though, and it’s not like the fire hurts you. It just eats away at the gown you once loved because it was made from rich fabrics only found in Yi-Ti. You should care for the sworn protectors you forced to stay outside, but that worry does not cross your mind either even if all they can worry about is you.

Once you cried out Ser Jason and Ser Cane rushed to the door to try and go to your aid, but the fire you threw down forbade them from opening the door. And no matter how hard they pushed the door they could not get the column in the way to budge away from the door. They tried yelling at you, but those shouts hit a paralyzed husk of a body.

After a while of trying to get the door open, flames then began to consume the door, creating cracks, but that was not enough for them to take it down. Actually, the fire shoved them away, so they were left desperate, trying to frantically find another way in, but the fire grew quick and blocked any and every entrance they could’ve used, making them believe that they failed at their jobs to protect you.

Whereas Ser Cane stared at the burning house in horror and disbelief, Ser Jason fell to his knees feeling the same emotions but also riddled with terror over one single person; Daemon Targaryen. He would fear Aemond too, he looks at Ser Jason as if he wants to kill him with his glare alone, but in truth, Daemon is more terrifying than Aemond ever could be. Besides Daemon threatened Ser Jason, he demanded to keep you alive or it was head; and as he looks at the fire's rage intensifying and consuming more and more of the house before him, he knows that his death sentence is signed.

That’s why he then has the bright idea to escape though. He doesn’t want to die, not for your sake. No matter how captivating you are to him, he does not want to die because of something you did. Thus he makes sure that Ser Cane’s attention is still stolen by the burning house before he gets up from his knees and plans his escape through the gathering crowd watching the scene unfold.

Nevertheless, just before he can take his first step the door to the burning house is opened just a little before it crumbles, revealing none other than you emerging from the lively and rageful flames completely unscarred, with all your limbs intact, and with your silver-white hair untouched. You don’t even cry out for help, you stop under the blazing doorway with streams of tears marked on your soot-covered face, and a piercing glare that matches the fire's intensity.

At first, no one believed it was really you. Not Ser Jason, not Ser Cane, and not the smallfolk there being nosy. To them, you’re some divine apparition ready to join the gods in the heavens until the sound of a piercing roar breaks through the sky, and moves your eyes up to catch your grand purple dragon emerging from the thick smoke ascending from the burning house.

After that, as your dragon lands on a nearby house not crumbling down by flames, everyone watching knows it’s really you. You're unharmed. You’re unburnt and only gods are not burnt by fire; that’s what the smallfolk and Ser Jason think. That’s what they believe you are now as the fire burns around you without as much as marking your skin. A terrifying God. So what do you do when you see a god emerging from flames?

Fear them, while also getting on their knees to bow, fearing being damned if they don’t.

However, not everyone is riddled with fear, Ser Cane stills in front of the crowd. He sees the distress behind your piercing glare, he notes that you’re completely exposed to everyone watching, so he rips his cape from his back and runs towards you.

You notice his attempt and meet him halfway. When he covers your body that intimidation you just held falters and all he sees is a hurt girl yearning for comfort.

“Can we go home?” You ask hoarsely and avoid looking at everyone behind him trying to gawk at you. “I want to go see Aemond.”

Ser Cane is still baffled by what he saw, by you being alive in general, but he doesn’t fret nodding in agreement before he wraps his arm around your shoulders to protect you from the nearing crowd as he guides you back to your horse.

He is completely uncertain how your heart is still beating, how you escaped the fire nude but unburnt, but he does not question it as uncertain as he is. While you…well with all that transcended, after you were swallowed up by the fire, one thing is certain; fire killed the girl, and the dragon has awakened.

Right now it’s just balled up in a corner of yourself, writhing in an agonizing heartache, and unaware and unbothered of the life moving around you. People talk to you when you reach the Red Keep, but even the sweet voice of Vanessa does not penetrate the husk of the body you live in.

People tend to you, your limbs move but with no effort. It’s almost like you’re not even alive, there’s no light in your eyes. They’re dull like that of the dead, reflecting the darkness that drowns you from within and shoves you further and further down an abyss that doesn’t seem to have an escape.

What are you supposed to feel now that you know your father left you? Where do you belong now that you know your own mother lied to you for six years? What is life now that you learned the truth?

Do you go back as you were? Sending your mother secret letters of every plan the Greens make?

You think about it, think about her, and can’t imagine pretending like you aren’t affected by her treachery. But you also look at where you are and can’t imagine even supporting Aegon or what his faction stands for, so where do you belong now?

Do you stand in the middle of the parted line and wait for which arrow hits you first? Do you pretend like you learned nothing?

No, you can’t pretend you don’t know that your mother lied for six years. You can’t pretend you don’t know that your father actually abandoned you, because that truth is crueler than any other pain you have felt before; it’s agonizing, and it keeps drowning you in an abyss of hate.

You want to get out. You don’t want to hate, you don’t want the memory of your father to be tainted, but…it’s too late. You look back at every piece of memory you share with him and it’s polluted by betrayal…and hate. His face is no longer a comfort, his voice is no longer soothing, and that deep longing to see him again is abandoned.

His name is like poison in your mouth. The love, ash, and those damn colors that remind you of him; the colors of house Velaryon are a reminder of him and you can’t stand looking at the gowns you have made of them. You can’t look at the sigil proudly. You can’t stand it. It’s mocking you, reminding you that he left and you can’t stand it!

Thus in a flash of a second, you rip away from the seat Vanessa guided you toward to wipe the soot off your face and storm over to yank the silver, teal, and sea-green gowns from your trunks and hangers to throw them down the balcony. You take the jewelry with the Velaryon house sigil and throw it in the fire without care.

Every single thing that reminds you of your father is thrown in the fire or thrown off the balcony in a blinding rage and with thick angry tears attacking your eyes.

Vanessa tries to calm you down, she tries to stop you, but you shove past her without a care, as if you are a raging storm; electrifying, and dangerous by the minute as you feed off your rage.

You need salvation and Vanessa can only think of one person that will break the storm apart and bring you peace, but he’s miles away, so she tries to be that peace, but you don’t acknowledge her. You actually seem to get worse so it all starts to seem bleak.

That is until the doors are thrown open and in comes Aemond. Yet even when he walks in you fail to acknowledge him. He calls out for you again and again, but you don’t stop throwing things in the fire, or yelling what you have been yelling over and over again. “Traitor! Traitor!”

You spin around to grab something without batting an eye at him, so Aemond quickly rushes over to you and attempts to grab you.

“Leave me alone!” You bellow and try to push his hands off your arms, you try to break away from him fearing it’s your own father, but his grip turns firm before he yanks you towards him, causing you to break from your blinding rage and find him like a sunlight breaking through a storm.

“Aemond,” you gasp as if he’s your lost breath.

His blue eye searches you for any clue as to why you’re so distressed, finding grief and agony raging within your red and teary eyes.

“He,” your voice quivers but you can’t say more, your lips part but they start to tremble, while the body Aemond holds starts to give out, as if standing was extenuating to your withered heart.

Albeit Aemond holds you up, while you grab ahold of his arms. “Talk to me,” he whispers while your own sorrow begins to hurt him.

And you try, you part your lips to share what you learned, but looking at him now, feeling his comforting hands holding you up only works to make you break down. He is the salvation you cried for, he is the one who pulls you from the abyss that was drowning you, but it’s because he’s here, it’s because you’re under his worried gaze that you let your anger go and just cry.

“Aemond,” you whisper, and it’s the heartbreak in your voice that he can’t stand anymore so he pulls you in his embrace.

“<My love,>” he coos in High Valyrian and holds you tightly against him as you grip onto him as if he's life support. And in many ways he is. He’s the only one keeping you upright, keeping you from snapping again, and keeping you from feeling complete isolation. And you couldn’t be more grateful that he is here, that he’s holding you ever so tightly without a hint of wanting to let go.

You don’t want him to let go of your withered body abused by a cruel truth. You want to stay in the safety of his embrace forever, hearing his heart beating inside of his chest because he’s all you have now. He's all you want now that you feel betrayed by the people you loved the most in this world. And unknowingly he feels the same about you.

You’re all he has now as he feels abandoned by his own family. You’re all he wants because you don’t make him feel alone, you're his light, as he is yours.

You only have each other in this cruel world. You are each other's sanctuary. Your hearts tangle together becoming one, and sharing a beat now that his own family makes him feel like he’s fighting alone because they can’t muster the same will to fight like him, while you feel betrayed by your own family.

How romantic is that? Two broken souls finding solace in each other. Is it bad?

You don’t think so. You’re his solace like he is yours, and he hugs you like he’s trying to seep it all from you whilst also helping you calm down and find the will to share what you know so it doesn’t have to be weighing you down a moment longer.

“Aemond,” you whisper hoarsely and step away, but keep grabbing onto his arms since you still need him for support. “It’s my father…” you trail off and have the need to cry, but you can’t shed another tear so you continue with your voice quivering. “He…left six years ago. He did not die…I mean since Seasmoke has a new rider now, I'm sure he is dead now, but he did not die six years ago. He left…he left me.”

Aemond’s eye expresses his confusion over what you shared before it comes down and expresses his pity for you.

“And my mother knew,” you continue above a whisper and he can see every word is like a stab to your heart. “She knew for six years. She made me grieve my father for six years and all this time he actually just left…me,” you whimper and look at him now for help.

There’s nothing he can do to actually help you, this is all in the past, but you still look to him for desperate help.

“I-I loved him with all my heart and he left me. And she…knew.”

Tears roll down your face. You thought you could not muster a single one but more break out as you share what broke your heart. And what could he say in return? He knew how much you loved your father, how much you cherished his memory. How can he tell you that it will be okay when he knows that’s a pain that will never mend?

He could say that you do not need them, but it doesn’t seem like that will be any help. He can also say you have him and that’s all you need, but are those words enough?

Not at this instant, so instead he lets the silence mingle and wipes your tears away before pulling you back against him and wrapping his arms around you ever so tightly so you know he’s there for you. So you know with that embrace alone that yes, you have him and you need no one else but him.

He relishes in that thought, in your neediness, and takes advantage of it for his own needs.

“<Please,” you beg in High Valyrian. “Never leave me. Please, Aemond. I can’t do this without you. You’re all I have.>”

His breath catches in his throat, and just as he wants to assure you he stops as he’s reminded of what Helaena just told him on that balcony.

“…and you’ll be dead…you were swallowed up in the God’s Eye, and you were never seen again. Your children won’t even mourn you, they won’t cling onto your memory…”

Those words hit him like ice-cold water, and he doesn't want to believe them. He wants to refute what she said, but he fears that it will be true, and how can he promise something he will only break?

“…the only tears that will fall for you will be from your wife.”

“<I’m here,” he promises as that last sentence proceeds to echo in his head, assuring him once again that you are all he needs and all he will ever have. “I will always be with you.>”

You nod against his chest and just proceed to nuzzle your face against him to steal more of the comfort he provides.

After a while of being in each other's arms the doors open and Aerion’s wetnurse brings him in, but not asleep, he’s fussy and tired but awake.

“He kept waking up, so I thought putting him in his cradle would put him to sleep,” the wetnurse says as you walk over to meet her halfway.

“It's okay, I will take him,” you relieve her of her stress and take your child who happily lets you cradle him. “Goodnight.”

The wetnurse offers you a curtsy before she quickly strides out of the room, letting you turn to your babe who rubs his little eyes.

“<Giving your wetnurse a hard time?>” You whisper in High Valyrian as you tap his nose. “<You will have siblings soon, you’re going to have to listen. Be a good example.>”

He lets out a big yawn that crinkles his little nose before he nuzzles his head against you without bothering to care about what you’re talking about.

“Did you find what you needed?” Aemond finally finds the right moment to ask.

You shake your head before you turn and make your way back to him by the hearth with your child in your arms. “No,” you reveal. “I was welcomed with the knowledge of my father instead.”

He hums and turns away from you to watch the flames eat away the last fragments of the things you fed it.

“We cannot be sure about Alyn and Addam,” you add and fall by Aemond’s side. “But we also can’t deny that it might be true. And if it is, I'm sure the truth will be revealed sooner or later now that Addam claimed Seasmoke.”

Aemond nods in comprehension before he tilts his head to the side and drops his gaze on Aerion. He watches him not with a soft gaze like he usually does, but something else, like conflict that makes his eye watery.

You notice right away and nothing stops you from turning swiftly to cradle his jaw. “What is it?” You ask with concern.

He keeps his gaze focused on Aerion before a small shaky breath is drawn in. You notice that he hesitates to speak, but he then lets go of that captured breath and meets your worried gaze with a tear escaping down his cheek.

“They won’t fight,” he shares but not with anger or frustration, he sounds almost like you did moments ago. Hurt.

“Not with me. They won’t even try. After I tried so hard to fight for them and for our lives they don’t want to fight,” he sneers and leans his face against your touch. “Helaena won’t even come to Harrenhal. They don’t want to understand the peril we’re in. They don’t understand that they—that she can’t just sit and watch it all unfold around her. She needs to come to Harrenhal, she needs to fight with us on her dragon because it’s no longer just us against Rhaenyra, it’s us against those bastards she picked up to ride dragons.”

You slide your hand up to gently stroke his cheek as you offer him a sweet and loving look as you hear his desperation and worry for his sister and mother. “Oh, my sweet Aemond.”

His eyebrows pinch together for a flickering second before he reaches over and takes your hand in his. “Don't tell me you support their choice? There’s seven dragons. Seven against our three if you count Tessarion. You said it, Vhagar alone will not win against their army of dragons,” he hisses but not with much anger, he’s desperate to be understood.

“I understand that,” you give him that comfort, but you then pull your hand away and face the hearth again before you pull yourself down to the ground with Aerion sleeping in your arms. “But listen, Aemond.”

He hears his name and he knows you’re about to try and be wise to make him see things differently, but he doesn’t want to see things differently when their lives are in danger!

“There’s something you need to realize,” you continue to prove him right. “Not everyone’s ferocity is the same. Every person shows it differently. Whereas some people use a blade, others use their words. Whereas some people's passion to fight and protect is outwardly shown, others can’t express it as easily. And perhaps not fighting back is a weakness, but my love, not everyone is meant to fight like you or me. There’s strength in that too, their ferocity is different, but trust me it’s there. Do you understand?”

Aemond drops his hands on his hips and shakes his head, wanting badly to argue, but not finding anything strong enough to contest you. And he doesn’t want to sound foolish either so instead he keeps quiet even as upset as he is and just listens to you.

“And you’re not alone,” you assure him of something he did not outwardly need reassurance of, but you know him. You saw that fear of being alone in his eye. It screamed its need for comfort.

“Yes it may feel that way because you hold the power with Vhagar, the biggest dragon, and she is tough, she’s why you have this need to prove yourself, to prove you can be reliable, and to prove is a good effort,” you praise him and slowly look over at him, seeing him completely captivated by the words that leave your lips.

“But my love, this weight is not all yours to bear. You’re not alone, and she’s not alone. And so what that Helaena doesn’t want to fight? She may have a dragon, but if her spirit is not capable then neither is her dragon. That’s why you have armies of men, people you can trust leading them. You have Daeron, excellent minds at your council table, and me.”

He draws in a deep breath and his gaze once hardened with stress now eases as it holds relief and awe for you, while your kind words prove that he can count on you and that he has you. And that is enough to make his heart race madly, while also making it bold.

“I know…” he lets his heart take the lead since he knows it’s just you with him, but he does trail off to take a seat beside you on the ground. “…your ferocity.”

You can finally stop straining your neck by looking at your side instead of up at his towering figure.

“Do you?” You probe with a flattered smile slowly appearing on your lips.

“It’s your passion.” His words come easy but he still does not meet your gaze; he watches the fire with a soft adoration that is directed at you; that he holds in his growing smile, and in his eye as he thinks about you.

“You’re driven by your heart in every way. In every choice you make, like choosing what to wear. What to do with your day. In love and hate, and I imagine in battle too because your passion makes you brave and tactful with many things that a princess should not know,” he adds and finally glances at you, catching your captivated gaze and your parted lips caught in surprise.

“But it’s also what puts you in danger sometimes, and it’s gotten you in trouble.”

You giggle breathlessly and the corner of his lips slowly spread to a grin.

“But it’s your greatest strength. It keeps you grounded to who you are and I have always admired that because that’s what lets you push back those who have wanted and want to change you.”

You glance down at your sleeping babe that you cradle in your arm with a wobbly smile before you look over at Aemond and hold his gaze, passing your appreciation and a thousand I love you’s that are not spoken with words, but shared with your love struck eyes before you rest your head on his shoulder.

“I’m going with you to Harrenhal,” you say with no hesitation or deceit. There’s nothing to hide because he does have you now. All of you.

The troubles with your mother are conflicting, you don’t know what to do. You might still send her letters because you know right between wrong; that judgment is clouded but you’re not blinded. You see the right choice and it’s her. But you also know she lied and you can’t let it go, you can’t be okay with it, so yes you dedicate yourself to Aemond.

“We will fight together,” you add, making him press a kiss on the side of your head before he rests his chin against your head, and reaches his long fingers over to interlace them with yours to connect you more as one.

Now rather than walking down parallel lines that kept you just out of arm's reach, you both walk down the same path as one without being wary of any crossroads.

——

*THE NEXT DAY*

Now that feeling of not belonging is louder than ever before.

Why did they even try if your father was just going to discard you like a piece of trash? Why even fight so hard to keep you alive if they were going to stay with Jacaerys as heir?

Why, why, and why has been running over and over again in your head. It leaves you…lost in your own head, and unaware. So when Aemond places his fingers on your back you’re startled.

“What?” You ask for clarification and look at him through the tall mirror you had been in front of.

“Your gown,” he says while he drags his fingers around your waist and drops his gaze to study the beautiful blue winter roses embroidered on the bodice. “The flower, I do not recognize it.”

You follow his line of gaze and place your hand over his to trail his fingers along the marvelous design. “Blue Winter roses. They grow in the North.”

He hums and his eyes flip up to now study your face as you keep looking at the flower design also on the end of one of your skirts, noticing that your eyes aren’t as puffy as they were when you woke up, but a sadness still droops them.

“Like the flower crown that knight gave you in our engagement tourney,” Aemond recalls, pulling your eyes up and bringing a smile to your face.

“Exactly!” You grin and turn, making his hand drag around your waist as he does not lose touch. “They’re my favorite. They’re rare and very beautiful. And Helaena and I wanted to coordinate today, so she's wearing a gown with her favorite flowers on it like me.”

He hums and looks you up and down before letting a smile spread on his face and sealing your distance with a small kiss on your lips.

“<You look beautiful,>” he muses.

You flash him a grateful smile and bring your hand up to stroke his cheek before you fix his eyepatch against his hair and end up meeting his gaze with a deep sigh. “I thought maybe I should go talk to my mother,” you bring up an idea you have been pondering all night. “I mean I believe what I saw. There is no reason why those visions would be a lie, but maybe having her explain it will bring me some peace of mind.” You shrug unknowingly.

But as lost as you are and look, what you said scared Aemond because what if you don’t come back? What if they keep you there, or you decide to stay there after your mother traps you in her web of lies?

You already agreed to go to Harrenhal with him, he doesn’t want to end up going alone. He wants you there with him. He does not want you gone. He can’t risk it even if your mother could offer you that peace to your battling mind and heart.

“I think perhaps it’s best if you stay,” Aemond gives his opinion and brings his hand up to your shoulder, seeing your eyebrows slowly pinch together as he gives you the wrong answer—“What if she does not let you return?”

You shake your head lightly to try and refute him but his words keep swirling in your ears, and right now they’re easy to entice you.

“You know the truth,” he adds. “She won’t want it spread. And you have a dragon, Daemon will want to decrease our power by taking you captive because he knows you are my weakness and I will not attack her or any of them if they have you.”

That can be true about Daemon. It’s surprising he did not keep you under lock and key before he left for Harrenhal, but your mother?

She does want you back, she did not even want you to come here in the first place. But would she be as harsh as Aemond says?

You don’t think so, but maybe that’s because he did not really convince you to stay, unlike your mother when she convinced you to stay at Dragonstone before she got attacked. So unless something happens that will convince you to stay you don’t really take his words under consideration, you just let him think he was successful in making you stay, and continue to debate it in your head.

If you end up deciding to go talk to her then you’ll just sneak out and he’ll have no other choice but wait for you to return because you will. Nothing has changed. Not even after he told you what he did at Sharp Point and all those people who lived there and had nothing to do with this war.

Is it cruel? Perhaps, but there was no stopping his wrath. There’s nothing you can do now either, so it’s best to leave it be and continue to debate whether you should go talk to your mother or not.

“Can I ask you something about Helaena?” Aemond interjects as he finally pulls his hands off you and steps away to start your journey toward this morning's Small Council meeting.

“I won’t talk to her about joining this fight,” you throw out bluntly and glance over at him as he glances over at you in annoyance.

“No,” he deadpans and glances at the corridor ahead. “Something else. Has she,” he pauses and hums before he grabs the pommel of his sword and quietly continues. “Ever shared something that hasn’t happened yet?”

“Her dreams?” You query as your eyebrows knit in confusion.

“Mhm.”

“Yes,” you don’t find the need to lie. “She told me I would have twins before I found out. And it was true…why? Has she told you something?” You ask with a smile that vanishes as soon as it spreads on your face.

Aemond draws in a short breath and searches the ground you walk over, piquing your interest while also making you nervous.

“Aemond,” you call and grab his arm. “What did she tell you?”

Aemond blinks and peeks back at the guards tailing you before slowly drifting his eye over to take you in under a fluttering eye which is no consolation.

“Aemond—”

“<She said that Aegon has yet to see victory,” he shares in High Valyrian, making you draw in a deep breath, but not because that revelation scares you, but because you thought it was something much worse, like Aemond’s death or something. “…She said he will sit on a wooden throne.>”

You nod slowly as you take in what he shared while not losing touch of his arm.

“Do you trust her?” He fills your silence in the common tongue with a question to follow his comment.

“She was right about the twins,” you mumble and lose your gaze on your path ahead. “And to not believe her would be foolish considering our family is known to have dreamers, like Daenys and Aegon the Conqueror, but the readings of the future are fickle, it’s not set, so it must be taken with a grain of salt.” You share your thoughts and look back at him, catching him looking at you too.

“We’ll be pushed aside again,” he mutters.

You hold his gaze and nod softly, mirroring the realization and the flicker of sadness that glints in his eye at the mere thought.

“But,” you try to assure him. “We will still fight, that’s what matters. And as cheesy as it sounds we will have each other, we won’t know the secluded corner alone.” You laugh softly, while he looks at the ground and huffs lightheartedly.

“Has…” you drag out. “Has she told you something else?”

Aemond looks ahead and draws out a breath before he shakes his head and redirects the question at you. “Has she told you anything else?”

You sigh deeply and share one thing, but don’t share what she said about you wearing a crown the day you wear a black veil. “She told me I wouldn’t be alone. I,” you chuckle. “Don’t know what that means exactly, but she told me that, so.”

Aemond snaps his gaze to you and his eye lingers on you while the corner of his lips twitch to a frown, but doesn’t actually get to form. “Hm,” is all he communicates. No further interrogation, no digging for any more possible dreams. That’s it.

And even if there was more you do reach the Small Council hall so the conversation comes to an end there, and now you’re reminded of the war, of its cruelty, and that the meaning it once held is faltering under the weight of your troubled mind.

You were once set on having a seat around the table of men to pass their plans to your mother and help her rise to her rightful throne, now you don’t know if you should be around the table. In secret or not.

What do you want exactly?

You wanted to get your hands dirty for your Queen, for your mother, but now? With these lies should you let go and leave?

Should you be a target walking down the marked line between both sides? Should you take no sides?

You hear what they’re discussing, should you take note in your head to send what you heard to your mother later, or let go and let your stance with her falter?

“Just this morning a raven from Ser Tyland came in,” Grand Maester finally voices his news. “He made an alliance with the Triarchy. They will sail together.”

Aemond fiddles with the marble and scoffs before he retorts. “Their ships shall arrive in our waters in a few days then?”

The maester nods eagerly. “If the waters are in our favor.”

“Winds,” you correct the maester and drag your eyes to him. “The wind aids the ships.”

The maester gets flustered but he nods and corrects himself. “If the winds are in our favor the fleet shall arrive soon.”

“Well, at least we will finally be able to breathe with the blockade torn apart,” Aemond comments and you slowly sit back and think again about what you want.

The answer should be easy, shouldn’t it? It’s a lie. That’s all it is. To protect her stance…and to marry Daemon. A lie should not affect your stance that much should it?

But the weight is heavier than anyone can imagine, and it leaves you troubled about what to do and what you want.

Do you let that lie go and reaffirm your stance? Or do you let it spread its hate and take away your once firm stance right from under you?

Do you want to keep passing her letters? Or completely and wholeheartedly dedicate yourself to Aemond?

What do you want?

It’s hard to know. You can’t decide even if the answer should be easy. You can’t choose yet. You need to keep debating even if it’s torture.

Until then you let that part of your day pass even if you’re weighed down by uncertainty, and the words you heard at the Small Council meeting keep repeating in your mind over and over again as if waiting to be brushed aside or written down. You want to keep going on with your day and give your attention to Helaena when it comes to spending time with her, but your mind only distracts you with the agony of the truth. You’re torn apart, and at multiple places at once but the place you want to be; in the gardens with Helaena.

At least that is until she manages to steal your attention by shaking your shoulder.

“Huh?”

Helaena studies you and blinks in confusion before she interjects. “Will you go to Harrenhal with Aemond?”

You nod slowly before looking at the bushes you let your fingers graze over. “That’s the plan, but I have been debating if I should actually go or not. With Vhagar gone the city will be left defenseless. Astraea and I could protect the city while Aemond is gone.”

Besides perhaps you could tell your mother to come while Aemond is gone. You could be that key like you were meant to be—If you push your anger aside, that is.

“I doubt he will be gone long.” You finish.

Helaena then suddenly slaps her hands around your arm and digs her nails into your exposed skin to pull you to a sudden stop with her.

“Ow,” you laugh nervously and glance at her nails digging into your skin before looking over at her in confusion, catching at that moment fear in her eyes; fear that brings goosebumps to your skin.

“You must go to Harrenhal,” she insists with her eyes wide and her grip firm.

“But perhaps I will be better use here,” you try to explain, but she flat-out shakes her head and pulls you towards her, making your heart skip a beat in response to the fear that she’s spreading to you.

“No,” she hisses and lets her eyes flicker away before she continues in an ominous demeanor that makes you slowly stiffen.

“I saw you,” she continues. “I saw you fall. You fall with your dragon...”

Your lips part as your breath stills for a moment, whilst conflict and disbelief make your gaze narrow on her for a moment before your face eases as no part of you reacts as one should when one gets told a possible grim future.

“…An arrow hits Astraea and you both drown in a sea of blood,” she finishes foretelling her dream about you and it should scare you to your very core. You should be baffled, but as you take in her words the thought of death is…welcoming.

Your father left you behind and your mother lied to you about it for six years. They chose someone else over you as heir, and you don’t know if the babies you’re carrying are Aemond’s or Cregan’s, so death is almost tempting.

Helaena notices the fear you were just holding diminish, your body remains stiff, but the fear you should hold after learning something so grievous should affect you, but it does not.

“You’re not scared?” She asks with slight disbelief as she finally drops that death grip.

You let out a deep breath and mindlessly look ahead before you make your way toward the pond and plop yourself on the edge. Helaena follows you and sits down in front of you more slowly.

“As of late I have been given reasons why not to fear death,” you admit a bit too dramatically whilst you dip your fingers in the water and swirl the water. “It may be a comfort. I don’t know.” You shrug and glance at your reflection in the water. “It doesn’t scare me, I know it should, but it doesn’t. Are you?” You now direct at her as you slowly lift your eyes, seeing her draw out a deep breath before she shrugs.

“Everyone dies, don’t they? It’s life and there’s nothing we can do to prevent it. It will reach us eventually.”

A smile spreads on your lips and you nod slowly. “See,” you murmur. “Nothing to fear.”

“I suppose,” she agrees softly. “But I don’t want you to die.”

You stop twirling your fingers in the water and offer her a tender smile before you grab her knee and give it a gentle and grateful squeeze.

“Your hand is wet,” she points out and pulls her knee away.

You giggle and dip your hand in the water before you splash her, making her gasp and look at you with a deadpan face before a smile slowly takes over her face, and she ends up giggling.

You laugh harder and she proceeds to splash you much to her initial dislike, letting you feel like a weight lifted off your chest for that moment that you were ignorant of…well, everything.

It was nice.

——

*THE NEXT DAY*

It’s said that Alicent was not found in bed, she did not break fast with Helaena and has not been seen in any Sept. She’s gone, but does it surprise you? It’s not the first time she’s left without a word, she just recently had a rendezvous at the Kingswood all by herself. For what?

Only she and the Kingsguard that accompanied her know.

And now they’re both gone again so perhaps it’s just another rendezvous who knows, and you could hardly care. You’re just nosy.

Regardless, that's not your focus right now. You should focus on writing to your mother. You should send her what you have heard, that Ser Criston and Ser Gwayne are approaching Harrenhal by the day, and they will be upon Daemon soon.

You should tell her to take advantage of Aemond’s departure and take the throne since Aegon cannot raise even a finger about it, but alas, the ink drips and drips on the paper as you sit in thought and watch Astraea hunting for her next meal in the never-ending waters.

What do you want to do?

Ask for the truth on paper? Tell her what you know and warn her? Or do you go quiet and stop this transaction of secrets?

What do you want?

What do you want?

What do you want…

You let out a deep breath and drop your eyes from your dragon to try and focus on potential words that could mark the page, but as you’re shifting your eyes you catch your Sworn protector, Ser Jason smiling at Astraea with admiration. And thus your mind uses that as an excuse to avoid choosing.

“My friend Lord Stark,” your voice catches him off guard. “Had to bribe her to let him pet her. He would offer her fish which is her favorite, but it took many moons for her to warm up to him. So,” you scoff lightheartedly. “I’m surprised she went up to you.”

Ser Jason tears his eyes away from your dragon diving in the water. “Perhaps I smelled like fish,” he says and you try to think if it's real while also slowly knitting your eyebrows together.

Ser Jason sees that you did not understand it was a joke so he quickly counters. “I did not! I did not smell like fish, I don’t go on smelling like fish. It was just a…jest because she well, you know…”

You muster a forced giggle and nod slowly, while he parts his lips to continue on rambling.

“But I mean it’s not like I know why she would go up to me. My mother worked at a brothel, so it’s not like I have special blood from her, and my father, well, I don’t doubt being a bastard of Prince Daemon qualifies my blood in any way.”

You drop your quill and your jaw drops at the revelation he just threw at you so carelessly and with no warning.

“You,” you mouth and slowly stand up without looking away, as if the truth of what he is would vanish the moment you tore your eyes away from him. “Your father is Daemon?”

Ser Jason’s face goes pale and he gapes like a fish out of water.

“You,” you scoff and turn around to drop your things on the bench while your mind scrambles what you just got told.

It should not be surprising, even you know that Daemon would frequent brothels when he was young. He had a taste for lustful activities. But! To know, and to have his bastard son be your Sworn Protector is completely crazy!

Did he know?

“Does he know?” You spat out your question oozing with your shock.

“N-no,” Ser Jason shakes his head and approaches you with fear someone else will hear him. “I never told him. You are the only one who knows.”

The corner of your lips twitch up but your initial shock still doesn’t let you display how touched you are that you’re the only one who knows.

“You are the only one who will ever know,” he says seriously and doesn’t go sheepish, his cheeks don’t taint with a blush, his gaze is pointed at you, and his lips are pressed in a firm straight line.

“But,” you whisper as your shock and that rush slowly diminishes. “Why? He’s your father. And you’re so close to him. He might as well accept you as his son. You could—”

“I don’t want it,” he cuts you off and is lucky that Ser Cane is not here or else he would’ve been scolded for cutting you off as bluntly as he did. “All the riches, the acknowledgment, and the power that comes with being recognized by my father is not what I desire. I know what that all does to men, they get drunk off power and hurt the small folk in turn. Or give us their back to be with the perfumed lords. I…don’t crave it. I like what I am now. I’m content with my role.”

His words sink in your heart and you don’t have the will to argue against him to try and make him reach higher. You actually admire him for being so sure about himself, and what he wants and doesn’t want. You wish you could say the same in a time like now.

“Many would jump at the opportunity to gain a dragon, to be a Lord. A Targaryen,” you share, making him sigh and nod slowly.

“Once upon a time I entertained those feelings while I was upset at my mother for hiding the truth,” he reveals, only pulling you in deeper. “I could join him, I could be better than she ever was,” he trails off to his usual soft and careful voice. “I was horrible and then she died. I never got to tell her I forgave her. She died thinking I hated her, that she was not enough for me, and ever since then the thought of being recognized as a Targaryen bastard is like bile in my mouth. It doesn’t appeal to me anymore. I detest it.”

You swallow thickly and pity flickers in your gaze, while you also feel a certain spark of connection as you know that you’re battling with lies and forgiveness with your own mother.

“I admire you for it,” you admit, making him blink rapidly while a furious red blush attacks his cheeks—“to have that self-actualization. That self-control when many would let their desires for greater things drive them.”

“He was not there, why should I crave the attention of someone who did not care?” He says and glances at your dragon again before he continues. “It's true I worked under him, it was a coincidence, fate playing a game. And it turns out he's actually not bad of a man, and the stories are right, he is a great warrior. I want to be as talented as him, but that’s all. I am content with what I have, I do not want to complicate my life. It was complicated once. I don't wish for that anymore.”

You slowly follow his line of gaze and an idea starts to form in your mind.

“Did you appreciate that your mother told you?” You have to ask for your own sake. “Even if it was later in your life did you appreciate it? Did it…help you?”

Ser Jason’s Adam’s Apple slides up and then down slowly before he glances at you and lets his deep blue eyes fall on you. “I think I would have driven myself mad if she hadn’t. I confronted her about it, I wanted to know who my father was. I needed to know if it was true so I would not drown in the rushing flood that were my thoughts.”

You snap your gaze to the horizon and think about your own troubles and how you’re in a battle with yourself, how you can’t sleep, or stay focused for too long without being drawn back into the storm of your thoughts; of what you want, of overthinking, rage, hate, and insecurity.

You don’t want to be troubled in a time like now. You can’t afford to with so much on the line. And you don’t think you can live in this confusion or it will drive you mad.

So you know what you must do, and you do it even if Ser Jason protests your leave.

You won’t be gone long, you’ll be in and out, Aemond won’t know, he doesn’t even have to know, and if he does well, he can go after you or stay and wait because you will return with your mind made. Angry or in peace, you will return. You just need to hear the truth from her. It will give you peace of mind.

That’s all you want. You can’t stand these loud thoughts and emotions, you want silence again. You need it.

Then again what exactly do you walk into?

Aemond doesn't surprise you by coming after you, will he be mad when you return? Possibly, but oh well, you’ll make up, so that’s not why you now start to question your daring act.

You descend and land peacefully, you have no trouble walking in the keep, and the guards know you’re no threat because that’s what they were told, but as you’re in search of your mother you come across a reason why you think maybe this plan was…a bit overzealous.

It's the man who bonded with Silverwing, he has his feet on the table and a goblet in hand. Giving yet another reason why smallfolk as dragonriders is not a good idea.

“Y-You…”

Gods.

He swings his legs off the table and leaves his goblet behind to come after you. Much to your misfortune.

“You tried killing me,” he throws out boldly.

“If I wanted you dead you would have been dead,” you don’t attempt to be kind, or apologetic because you could not care. “You’re a terrible dragonrider,” you grumble and peer over at the horse guards that you pass by as you make your way to the royal apartments in search of your mother.

“Grab her! Throw her in the dungeon, she’s with the enemy,” the man tries to demand, but the guards don’t even move an inch, they stay put and you stop trying to entertain this bad-smelling man.

“If I were you I would get away from me, I’m your princess, not some whore or servant you can pester,” you threaten him, but you keep hearing the heels of his boots chase after you in an attempt to match your speed.

“Come back—”

“Get him away from me,” you smoothly give your demand to the pair of guards that you approach, and they actually listen to you. The moment you pass them, they lunge out of their spots and block the old man’s path with their swords.

You peer at him over your shoulder and shoot him a cocky smirk before you disappear around the corner and quicken your pace to reach the royal apartments even faster.

Albeit when you reach your mother's quarters she’s not there. There’s not even guards outside her quarters, so onto the next spot where she might be, but first your cat! You go into your quarters, but he’s not there either much to your luck. But he'll be much easier to find than your mother you assume, considering she hasn’t come to meet you.

Actually, in your search, you don’t come across anyone. You assumed either your brother or your mother would have found you after they saw your dragon or got told you arrived, but so far it’s been quiet and calm. So far.

After a while, you’re actually relieved to come across Baela of all people.

“Baela,” you breathe out and come to a quick halt.

Said woman’s brown eyes linger on your face before they slowly trail down to the white-silver gown you wear and glimmers under the sunlight capturing your figure, making it appear like you’re wearing a gown made of a thousand tiny diamonds, or thin chainmail, either or you twinkle in your flowy dreamy gown.

And when her eyes go back up to your face she notes that the silver diadem around your head with the thin chains dangling from it really pronounces your title as Princess Regent.

“I saw Astraea and I thought she carried a letter,” Baela finally breaks her silence. “It's you. You’re back.” She smiles faintly, but you’re quick to steal that joy.

“No,” you deadpan. “I came to talk to my mother. Sooner rather than later, hopefully.”

“What?” She scoffs. “You did not ask your husband's permission to go out?”

You sense her hostility toward Aemond, you understand it, but you still don’t like it. “I do not need it, I came against his will.”

You would defend him but there’s no reason to really waste your breath, she doesn’t like him so wouldn’t understand.

“Is my mother here?” You interrupt her before she comes up with another quip. “I need to talk to her. Urgently.”

Baela draws out a deep breath and answers kinder this time. “She’s not here. She left at first light for Harrenhal. She did not say why.”

Great.

“Alright,” you nod slowly. “I will wait for her then. And do not tell Jacaerys I am here if he doesn’t know. I’m returning to the Red Keep and he will only make it hard.”

A pointed glare flashes on her face before she sighs and her face softens. “He’s only worried about you. You don’t know how many times he’s wanted to go to the Red Keep to bring you back. He says your place is here now more that you’re expecting twins.”

Your mother told them. Of course. But they don’t know that you don’t know where your place is exactly. Not at the moment, you’re in a state of limbo. Neither here nor there.

“And that’s why he cannot know I’m here,” you insist even if what she says really does pull at your heartstrings and makes you want to stay for him. “Let my mother know I’ll be at the Great Hall,” you end the conversation short so you’re not hit with more guilt or pleas to stay with puppy eyes and sweet words.

You do attempt to offer her a smile so she knows this coldness in your demeanor is not directed at her, but your lips hardly tug up; what you need to speak about takes too much from you. And it’s a good thing she doesn’t see that trouble so you’re able to walk past her and disappear into the Great Hall where you expect to be on your lonesome, but lying on the stone throne is your cat, Wolf.

“Look at you,” you coo and rush to him. “So regal.”

Wolf hears your voice and his head shoots up before he lets out an almost huffed meow, letting you know he’s upset you left him behind.

“I know, I know,” you talk to the cat as you walk up the steps of the stone throne to pick him up. “Forgive me, we were in a rush, but this time you are coming home with me.”

You lift him in the air and tilt your head down just slightly to make sure he’s still wearing his pearl collar—and yes, he still has it on.

“Well it seems they have been feeding you well,” you comment on his blubber.

Wolf meows nonchalantly and you flash him a grin before you hug him against you whilst you walk down to sit on a cold stone step.

“Oh, I’ve missed you too,” you tell him and caress his side. “You’ll have to ride Astraea though, I know you’re scared, but it’s the only way you can come home, so just sleep or something”

Wolf purrs under your touch so you gladly continue to show him some affection while you wait for your mother and get pulled deeper and deeper into the angry storm of your thoughts.

Much like before time is irrelevant, your surroundings blur almost to the point it’s nonexistent, and you get so lost in your mind that you hardly exist which makes time move faster.

You don't know how much time passed between you waiting and your mother’s arrival, but by the time the grand doors open and your mother finally joins you, the sun is lower than it was before. Actually, when you let the cat go and stand up on the step you notice that the beam of sunlight is reflecting on the ground now.

“Mother,” you greet but don’t share the relief she does when she finds you secluded in the darkness of the grey stone room. You don’t smile as wide as she does even as hard as you try to show your joy over seeing her and being in the same room without having to pretend.

When she reaches you she doesn’t hesitate or ask you for an embrace. The moment you step down to the ground to let her reach you she wraps her arms around you and pulls you against her. But even if you return her embrace, you don’t hold her as tightly, your body doesn’t ease like hers does at the feeling of your arms secured around her.

You try, you really do try to forget and bask in the warmth and the comfort her mere presence usually brings, but right now the sight of her is enraging the storm within you.

She doesn’t notice though, not yet. And not when she pulls back to let her eyes take you in under the beam of sunlight dancing on your face.

“You look beautiful,” she offers you a compliment as she gently grabs your arms so you won’t go far, but drops one hand to gently press it against your belly. “I did not get to see you when you were expecting Aerion, I want to make the most of it now. How are you feeling? Do you want to talk to the maester?”

You blink and swallow back nervously before you shake your head stiffly and point your eyes at her Kingsguard a few feet behind her.

Your mother seems to understand what you mean so she looks over her shoulder and with a simple passing look sends them away from the hall. It’s only once they’re gone and it’s just you and your mother under the beaming light that you raise your hands and get rid of her touch. And it's at that moment that she realizes the emotions that ride on your face aren’t that of pleasure.

She looks at you now, she really takes you in and notes a long-forming frown painting on your face that's thinner than before due to the twins growing within you, taking what they can from you. She sees your eyebrows slowly creasing lines as they come together, and lastly, there’s flames of anger flickering in your eyes that she did not bother to notice before, but as she sees all of you now she's overcome with worry.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” She finally picks on the emotions becoming more prominent in your features.

You draw in a deep breath and slowly raise your chin as you gain the confidence to be bold in your anger. “I need you to be honest with me. If you lie I will know, so it’s best if you’re truthful…please,” that last word makes your voice falter.

“About what?” She probes and grows conflicted as well as more concerned.

You blink repeatedly as tears begin to sting your eyes, causing your mother's lips to part in confusion. “Did…did,” you strain to continue as the words hurt to even think about saying. “You send my father away to marry Daemon? Yes or no?”

A gasp escapes her parted lips, her lashes bat wildly, and her eyebrows crash in the middle for a second as she’s slammed with shock at the words that came out of your mouth. Words you should not know.

“Did he leave at his own accord or did you send him away?” You sneer emotionally and search her face for an answer. “Tell me,” you whisper softly but with desperation.

Rather than answering right away your mother…steps away with tears glistening in her eyes, but it’s with that single action that you know the answer you wanted to refute, that you wanted to believe was a lie or some mind trick played by magic, but the answer is in her glistening eyes and it weighs your chest down while also pulling tears out of your eyes brought by anger and agony.

Yet even then you still want to hear her say the truth so you demand it. For the first time in your life, you shout at your mother and the agony in your voice echoes in the great hall. “Tell me!”

Your mother's eyebrows once again meet in the middle as she’s surprised by your burst of emotions, but she also knows there’s no more hiding from the truth, so after a deep breath she finally begins to give you what you seek.

“I needed a stronger force behind me in order to defend my claim. We knew it would be contested and it was, so we needed to send…Laenor away…”

“So you could marry Daemon,” you finish for her with more tears rushing down the curve of your cheeks.

“But my Sweet—” she tries to quickly comfort you by trying to grab your arms, but you shove her attempt away and slowly pierce a trembling glare at her, leaving her with no option but to see the tears that run down your face and shine like tiny sparkling diamonds the same way your gown twinkles under the sunlight.

“Don’t,” you bark and shake your head at her as it feels like someone pierced your chest. “Save whatever excuse you’re going to give me. I don’t want to hear it. You lied,” you throw at her. “For six years! You let me grieve him for six years! You let me long for his return for six years! Six years,” you sneer your words. “Do you know what it’s like grieving alone? Losing all your joy and having no one to comfort you because you’re being shipped across the country? No, but I do. And now to find out he left and you were behind it is like…like dying.”

“Don’t say that,” she whispers her own heartbreak. “He—it broke him to leave you and your brothers behind, but he also knew that I needed more than he could offer for our sake. He was selfless. He did it because he loved us, because he loved you.”

“That doesn’t matter,” you mutter as those words don’t work to mend your shattered heart or offer any sort of peace to your agony. “None of it matters because he left and you lied, and now where do I belong? All my life I have fought to prove myself, every step of the way, and now to find out you lied and that my father left makes me feel like nothing. I am nothing.” You sniffle and turn around to pick up your cat off the ground before you face her to utter your last words. “Thank you for making that perfectly clear.”

You storm past her and she calls out to you before managing to capture your arm and reel you to a stop.

“Don’t,” you quickly counter like your life depends on it. “Stop. I’m done…” you trail off and step back, having to purposely avert your gaze before you spin around and finish storming away.

This time she doesn’t come after you, the Great Hall is silent and you have a clear path to leave…or so you thought until you come across Jacaerys making his own way toward the Great Hall, but stopping as he sees you, the person he wanted to see.

Time seizes the moment your eyes meet. Every ounce of rage falters, and that sense of belonging is found there with him. With your little brother.

Looking at him makes you want to stay, to swallow back all the pain, and stay where you belong, but you can’t be so selfless. You choose to be selfish even if taking that route hurts more with him in front of you.

That’s why you didn’t want to see him, but here he is, and here you are with no strength to say goodbye. That's why you just take a deep breath and raise your chin before you try to walk away. But he steps in front of you to block your path.

“Where are you going? What's wrong?” He immediately asks as he sees your face pampered with tears.

“I’m going home,” you mutter bluntly and avert your eyes. “Back to my son, back to my husband.”

You try to leave again, but he grabs your arm and pulls you back to argue. “You cannot be serious? You don’t belong there! This is your home, this is where you belong, just bring Aerion and his dragon and come back home. We don’t need you in the Red Keep anymore, we have strength here.”

His words only work to hurt you deeper. It’s like being pierced in the chest again and again, and deeper with each sweet word.

“No,” your voice quivers. “I belong home. With my son, and Aemond. This is not my home, not anymore.”

He looks back at where you came from before looking back at you in confusion. You don’t need to see it to know that’s what he feels.

“What did mother say?” He wants to know more, but you don’t give him the context. You’ll let her do it.

“It doesn’t matter now, I’m leaving, Jace, let me go.”

Yet he doesn't, his grip only tightens and his gaze grows heavy on you.

“So what? You can go back to them?” He spats.

“To him,” you clarify. “To Aemond!”

Jacaerys tilts his head down and you let him find your gaze painted with it all; rage, agony, guilt, and a yearning for comfort.

“What of Rhaenys?” He hisses to you. “What of Lucerys?” His confrontation falters. “Or do you forget about them while you sleep with him?”

Your bottom lip trembles and your breath shudders, but as weak as you feel you bite back. “I will not stay. You cannot make me.”

“Watch me,” your brother sneers, so you rebuttal by rolling your shoulders back and narrowing your gaze to a glare.

“Do it,” you taunt him.

Jacaerys challenges your gaze waiting for you to falter, but no matter how much you want to give up your fight under his threatening gaze, you muster up your strength and fight back until he’s defeated.

When he lets you free you hug your cat tighter and linger in his presence for a moment longer, but never find the strength to utter that last goodbye. So even with tears welling in his eyes, you leave without saying another word.

Even after that, your mind can’t form a single thought. You fly back home in utter, deafening silence, with only the wind howling in your ears. When that too stops the moment you land in that cove behind the Red Keep, you expect to be bombarded with a wave of thoughts, but it’s like your mind stopped working. It’s quiet, you're quiet, and your cat keeps yelling at you, probably asking why you put him through that flight, but he grows relieved when he’s in the safety of the Red Keep, and then he also grows quiet on your way to your chambers.

The one time you can find the ability to speak words is when you reach your quarters and find Ser Cane outside your doors along with one of Aerion’s sworn protectors. Ser Jason must have taken his leave now that Ser Cane is here.

“Is my husband inside?” You have to ask to know if you should prepare yourself for a fight.

“No,” Ser Cane deadpans and finds your cat that he has not seen at all in his life until now. “That’s…yours?”

A tiny smile tugs on your face and you lift your fat cat to show him off. “Yes, it’s Wolf, don’t worry he’s nice.”

The cat meows, and you look at him and smile wider before you take a step forward, making the guards open your doors for you.

“Please stop wandering off,” Ser Cane says in a very serious voice, and you can’t help but flash him a smile since he figured out all by himself that you were not in the Red Keep, or King’s Landing at all considering you warned Ser Jason not to tell a soul.

“You will have to use a ball and chain for that Ser,” you retort, and for the first time since he’s been your sworn protector, he smiles. It’s faint, the corner of his lips twitch, but you still made him smile and it makes you giddy.

“You can relax for now I’ll be inside,” you assure him as you put Wolf down before you finally walk inside.

Once the doors are closed the smile on your face falls and still, the thoughts you have been expecting fail to come.

Not that you’re eager to fall into a deeper agony after hearing the truth, you just need the shock to pass. You need to admit the truth of what you want to yourself because you know it’s forming there, in your mind.

Albeit you can’t overcome your disbelief or the hurt you received in Dragonstone. Time started moving after your interaction with Jacaerys, but it moves slowly now and because of it your thoughts don’t come quick.

Then again you can’t rush your feelings, so you take a deep breath and head over to Aerion’s cradle to check on him since he should be taking his nap.

Which reminds you that his wetnurse has not come to meet you, odd, but alas you continue your path towards your child and before you can reach the curtains that lead to your bed, Wolf yowls before he suddenly comes sprinting away from that side of the room.

You quickly follow him with your eyes and your amused smile falls as you catch that he left behind bloody footprints.

“Maci?” You call out for Aerion’s wetnurse with your breaths growing heavy with panic, but there’s no answer so should you call out for the guards outside your door?

It might be something dangerous or it might be nothing.

The latter seems more plausible so you keep making your way forward with more caution now.

Aerion is not crying, so it can’t be anything terrible…right?

Unless—no, it’s not him, but you quicken your pace, and when you reach the curtains you slowly pull them back. When you peek one eye inside your heart drops to your stomach, your breath hitches, and every instinct inside you immediately yells at you to fight, so you do.

You’re not carrying any weapon with you to defend yourself, and any you have in your chambers are far compared to the distance this scrawny killer is to Aerion, so with nothing but your strength you rip the curtains open, and part your lips to bellow. “G—”

Yet just as your breath comes out with the first word, a dirty hand suddenly slaps over your mouth before the tip of a blade hovers over your throat, forbidding you from alerting any guard and threatening the cloaked killer approaching Aerion’s cradle with a bloody knife.

You try to push away the hand that’s covering your mouth to try and save your son with a threat, or with a sound ominous enough that the guards will burst through the doors, but the person who is holding you captive begins to drag you away from the bed area of your quarters not caring that you’re kicking, or clawing at his arm.

The other man reaches Aerion’s cradle and you ache to try and reach him, you try to scream, but the person who has you keeps dragging you away until he finally halts and pushes their lips by your ear.

“Long. Live. Queen Rhaenyra,” they whisper in a scratchy voice, and at the sound of those words it’s like a tight grasp wraps around your heart causing it to hurt worse than any other pain.

Yet what’s that ache right now compared to the threat uncovering Aerion’s cradle and revealing him to the killer? It’s nothing.

Your heart pounds and every muscle that makes who you are cries desperately in attempts to reach him, but you can’t challenge the person's strength holding you against them. All you can do is watch as the man finds your son in his cradle with tears rolling down your face and a horror that keeps worsening.

However, just as the man’s eyes land on Aerion, they then shift to something else, and terror strikes within them.

You stop moving to figure out what he saw, but then Shrykos, the answer to all your questions jumps out of the cradle and perches herself on the edge.

It’s Aerion’s dragon. She’s there, emitting low clicking sounds as she tilts her head and studies the man to figure out whether she’s seen him before or not.

Yet perhaps your relief comes too soon because the man swings his blade down at the hatchling. You try to scream out in defense of the hatchling, but much to your surprise Shrykos leaps off the edge of the cradle and flies on the man to claw her long and sharp nails in his throat, rendering him silent instantly before she climbs up his face to blast fire at the man’s eyes which causes him to fall back on the ground with a loud thud, and leaving the person behind you paralyzed.

Albeit not long enough because they pay no mind to the hatchling tearing the man's face to shreds. And maybe they have the right idea not to care, you’re not bonded to the hatchling, and unless given the direct command she won’t come to you to defend you like she did Aerion. You have to fight back yourself. Thus since you can’t bite the person and you can’t outmatch their strength, you kick your foot back as they’re pulling you back towards the balcony, and manage to hit their crotch.

They react with a groan and loosen their grip just enough for you to shove away their hand with the blade, and twist around. Once you’re facing him, you jab your knee in their arm as hard as you can, managing to break it and unarm him, but also causing him to shout in pain.

Is that enough though?

No, they ignore the pain and pretend they’re going for the blade, so you reach for it too, but then at the next second they actually swing their palm against your face so hard it stings, and the taste of iron trickles in your mouth through your parted lips, while more leaks down your chin.

Hurried footsteps then strike the ground and seem to be approaching where you are, so while you’re dazed the man grabs the blade and lunges at your belly, but even if your ears are ringing and your eyesight blurs because of that hard slap, you throw your hands down and manage to catch the blade before he could pierce it through your flesh.

In capturing the blade with your bare hands though, now sharp blinding pain spreads throughout your palms.

“Drop the blade!” You recognize Ser Cane shout at the top of his lungs while he and the other knight slowly stalk toward the man.

However, the man manages to slip his hand away from your bleeding grasp and redirects his threat at your belly, at your twins, leaving you paralyzed out of fear the blade will penetrate with a single move of any muscle.

“Ser,” you call out to your sworn protector between pants and your voice now trembles with fear.

“Not another step or I gut her,” the man sneers and steps toward you to get closer and make his threat that more dangerous, making Ser Cane put his arm out to stop the other knight from getting any closer.

“You will be able to go, just let the princess go,” Ser Cane makes empty promises whilst he steps back. And to the ears of a man’s life hanging by a thread, why would he not take the opportunity?

Yet as tempted as the man is, he hesitates and glances at you with panic in his green eyes. “Long live the Queen.”

The man pulls the blade away from your belly and starts to move it up in an attempt to stab your throat, but the moment he looked away from the knights, Ser Cane managed to slide out a dagger so when the man began to scale the blade up, Ser Cane hurled his dagger and with perfect aim hit the man’s throat. Now the threat the man held falls with his blade, and thick crimson blood squirts out from his gash and splashes all over your face, letting you know it’s all over, there’s no threat looming over you. It’s all done.

Yet your heart doesn’t stop drumming nor does your blood stop rushing with the terror still rattling your body.

“Come with me, Princess,” Ser Cane’s voice travels through your ears and you notice that it's softer than before, but it doesn’t make you do as he says, you look at the dead man bleeding out on the ground, and gasp sharply before you slowly sit on the ground with leg flat on the ground, and the other used to prop your arm on your knee.

“Go fetch Prince Aemond,” Ser Cane demands the other knight before sheathing his blade and rushing to check on Aerion.

“Is he…”

“Still asleep,” Ser Cane finishes for you, so you nod stiffly and let that worry go with a deep and shallow breath, but this new shock still leaves you trembling on the ground, trying to convince yourself that what just happened did happen. It was not a dream, it was real, people did try to kill you and Aerion.

Was it in some twisted act for your mother? Were they sent by someone else? Or was it your own mother and Daemon who sent them?

You don’t know. You don’t know a thing about them and you won’t know because they’re both dead. All that you know for sure is that you almost died. They were going to kill you!

Gods. Gods. Damn. Damn it!

“Let me see, let me see,” Ser Cane startles you as he crouches down beside you to look at the drops of blood coming from your belly since right now your mind is unraveling what happened and letting that shock go.

“He just nicked your skin, you’re okay, your children are okay,” he assures you as he meets your eyes.

And even if your gaze is miles away you nod stiffly in comprehension before you blink slowly and get your focus lost on the blood pooled around the dead man, but not with a blank stare now. This time a slow-growing fire is sparked in your eyes, causing your gaze to narrow just enough to spread a menacing look, while your parted lips letting out your shallow breaths still give your disbelief and fear away.

It’s like you were just hit with a realization because you were. You know what you feel now, and you know what you want. You see it reflected in the pool of blood reaching your foot.

Whether the killers were sent by your mother, by someone else, or they acted alone doesn’t matter. The killers dispersed the cloud that was fogging your mind since you left Dragonstone, and it’s all clear now. There’s no going back, there’s no sufficient apologies that can tear down your rage-fueled hate because that’s what you are. You’re angry at your mother for lying to you for six years, you hate that she lied, and you don’t want to help her anymore because of it.

You tried being good, the perfect princess, and the perfect daughter of a Queen. You risked your life to come here to send her letters of the Greens' plans. You strained yourself to prove something to your mother, to try and be what she needs in this war and as a daughter, but no more. You’re done trying to bend over backwards to prove something to her.

You’re done.

Does it mean you will fight for the Greens?

Well, you will get your hands dirty. You won’t hide who you can really be now and you won’t let them diminish you.

You will fight. She will see you fight. She will know your rage face to face. They will all know your rage.

“What—”

Aemond’s voice registers in your head, and as you follow where his voice comes from you see him stopped only a few paces away with his eye on the dead man.

“Aemond,” you gasp softly, feeling that fear break apart after being penetrated by the mere presence of your best friend and your beloved husband Aemond.

When his eye finds you it widens at the sight of the blood pampered on your face, staining and dulling the white-silver gown that no longer glimmers like shining diamonds. He then sees your hands leaking blood from wounds he can’t see, but knows are there due to the blood dripping on the ground, and his rage snaps to the knights meant to protect you, but you call out to him as you see that darkness spark in his eye.

“Aemond.”

Said man’s eye falls on your face and he debates still tormenting the knights, but as he sees how you plead for him with your eyes alone, he lets his anger go for now with a deep breath and then falls on his knees beside you.

“<Are you hurt?>” He asks in High Valyrian as he studies you to find his answer regardless of what you say.

“<Just cuts on my palms, but I’m, we’re okay.>”

Aemond’s eye drifts to the cradle a few feet away and his lips part as he sees Shrykos covered in blood returning to his spot by Aerion’s side.

“<He’s okay,” you assure Aemond. “He’s asleep. His dragon protected him.>”

Aemond looks back at you and you both share a soft and relieved breathy laugh at the fact that Aerion did not wake at all through the interaction, and that his little hatchling took down a grown man all by herself.

“<Are you okay?>” Aemond asks again and doesn’t hesitate cradling your face covered in blood.

“Aemond my face—”

“I don’t care,” he cuts you off and leans in closer to study you with his eye glossy with tears brought by worry. “Are you okay?” He asks, making your bottom lip tremble. You want to lie, but you can’t with him looking at you with that tender blue eye filled to the brim with concern over your life, so you shake your head lightly.

Aemond caresses your cheek with his thumb and presses his forehead against yours. “I’m here,” he reassures you before he embraces you against him, letting you sink into his warm and comforting embrace, and become one.

You don’t need to prove anything to each other. You don’t need to sweat blood to try and be something worthwhile for each other. You’re enough. You’re all each other needed when you were kids, and you’re all each other needs now.

Is your rage extinguished? No, it’s still very much alive and it blazes like wildfire as your fire becomes one with Aemond’s, because you both share a similar rage that you want everyone to see. That they will all see.

.

.

.

.

A/N- I’m afraid Cregan is the only one who can pull you out of this dark corner now.

Tagged- @namelesslosers @stargaryenx @chainsawsangel @lauftivy @winxschester @cloudroomblog @llarue @padsdarlg @sofietargaryen @gracielikegrapes @dreaming-of-the-reality @itzelpeyton @patdsinner33 @mrsdominickstark @elaena-aerrin @todoroki-slut @snh96 @urmomsgirlfriend1 @nifujiswhore @sweethoneyblossom1 @kaetastic @lightdragonrayne @squidscottjeans @oh-you-mean-me @wallacewillow0773638 @icefrye19 @thescottpack @fiction-fanfic-reader @crazymusicgirl104 @r-3dlips @strangersunghoon @just-pure-trash @ethereal-athalia @missyviolet123 @callsignwidow @xunquish-blog @tabathastan @weepingfashionwritingplaid

[monster-disaster]

[orc] Tasha

orc!Tasha x human!Reader Good to know: smut

Summary: You and Tasha meet in the museum after the visitors leave.

The museum is buzzing with life. The sound of footsteps and quiet conversations echoes against the carefully polished marble floors and tall walls. The place is lit by the sun streaming through the glass dome at the top of the lobby. Everything is bright and lively. You can't help but smile at the sight of people coming and going through the grand entrance. Most of the visitors are tourists with backpacks and cameras or families with excited kids running around their parents' legs. You really love days like this. When everything is busy and you don't even notice how quickly the time passes while you work.

You are standing at the reception. Your hips against the counter while you wait for your next group. Your fingers play with the brochures in your hands. "Your break is over already?" You recognize Tasha's voice immediately. Your heart jumps into your throat, and excitement runs through your spine. You almost scowl at your own reaction. "Yes," you clear your throat, letting yourself look at the orc a few steps away from you.

Tasha stands tall and confident. The black trousers she wears stretch on her legs, following the firm line of her bottom. Her white shirt is similar to yours, tucked in under the belt adorning her slim waist. The fabric highlights her broad shoulders and muscular arms. The sleeves are folded up to her elbows. Your gaze pauses at the swell of her breasts. You try to tell yourself you are only looking at her name tag and the security company she works for above the plastic card, but you are lying.

Damn, nobody should look this good in a simple guard uniform.

"My eyes are up here, little human." Damn it! "I know," you gasp, snapping your eyes up to her dark brown ones. Her tusks make her smile even more smug as she stares at you intensely. You feel the heat creeping up to your face. "I have to go," you continue after a few silent seconds. "You know, work and…" And? She is amused at your flustered state. It makes everything worse for you. "Okay," she smirks. "I will see you later." "Yeah," you breathe out. "Yeah."

The museum is like a maze where the walls are adorned with carefully curated artworks, artifacts, and information displays. Spotlights illuminate the exhibits on your way through the rooms full of history. Each room you enter presents a new chapter in the narrative of human creativity, achievement, and knowledge. Sculptures, skeletons, and hundreds of years old items follow you among the columns as you lead your group.

The group of kids you guide are excited and loud. Their teachers are constantly busy to keep them in line. They have dozens of questions about everything you show them. The weight of history hangs in the air, and you are more than happy to connect them with the past and its wonders.

You can't help but notice Tasha every now and again, even though the children around you keep you occupied most of the time. You see her helping the visitors and doing her job while stealing a glance or two your way.

The female orc can barely tear her eyes away from you. Happiness and enthusiasm radiate off of you in thick waves. You smile and laugh as you talk about history. Her chest warms up at the sight. And she can still see your flustered state in her mind. She wanted to steal you away from the crowd to a dark corner where nobody could disturb you.

Hours pass by while both of you are busy with work. At some point, Tasha has to go back to the security room and check on the cameras while her coworker goes on their break. She sits at the desk, watching the black and white screens. She notices you here and there, guiding your group through the exhibitions. She feels almost ridiculous.

You caught her eyes the first day you started working at the museum. You were excited and sweet. And you stuttered every time she talked to you in the first few weeks. She couldn't get enough of you.

And she still can't.

Her thoughts are soon disturbed by the quiet knocks on the door. "Come in," she calls out.

The voice is muffled by the door, but you still know it's Tasha, and your nerves immediately jump to the roof. After she caught you staring at her chest, you hoped you could avoid being alone with her for a few days until your humiliation lessened.

Well, no such luck.

"Hey," you greet her quietly, stepping into the room and closing the door behind you. "Oh!" Tasha is surprised but happy to see you. "Did you miss me?" She smirks. "No," you reply. "Yes." Her smile widens, and you already feel hot in the small space. You want to stay alone with her and run away at the same time. "How can I help you, Meggy?" She asks in the end. "One of the kids lost one of their shoes somewhere," you tell her. "Could we rewatch the recording?" "A shoe?" "Don't even ask," you shrug. "They are kids. It happens." "Okay," the orc hums, still surprised. "But yeah, we can look for it, sure." When she turns back to the monitors, you move closer to see the screens too. As you lean over her shoulder, her scent hits you across the face. She smells like the shampoo she probably uses on her dark red hair that highlights the soft green shade of her skin. It's spicy with herbs and something else you don't recognize. "Do you have any idea where they lost it?" "They said they had it when we saw the dinosaurs." Tasha nods.

You know you should focus on the screen, but it's harder and harder with each passing second. Tasha's scent fills your senses, making you forget why you are even here in the first place. Your fingertips tingle with the need to touch her hair. Her red locks are in braids and twirls with beads around them. And now that you are so close to her, you notice the light freckles across her cheeks. They are just a few shades darker than her skin. You force your eyes to move back to the computers. You don't need her to catch you staring at her again.

"There," you gasp out, leaning over her broad shoulder even more to point at the little kid. They take off their shoes for no reason at all, and when one of the teachers calls out for the small group, they run after their classmates without looking back at the shoe.

You only notice how close you are to the orc when you turn your head to look at her. Your upper body is pressed against her shoulder, and your faces are just a few inches away from each other.

Blood surges in your veins, and the room seems even smaller. "Thanks!" You squeak, and without looking back, just like the kid, you run out of the security room.

A long week goes by without you and Tasha talking to each other for more than a few words. The museum is busy with schools coming for their yearly field trip and people trying to enjoy their free time and learn something new. You guide groups through the exhibitions several times a day.

You meet the female orc again for more than a few minutes on a Friday night. It's already late, and you are one of the few who are still in the museum. It's quiet and peaceful. You always enjoy going through a few rooms after the doors close in front of the visitors. You often find something new and interesting. It's like the museum changes every now and again without anyone really noticing it.

"Didn't you see that enough times already?" The familiar voice asks from behind you. Your gaze from the painting goes to the orc immediately when you turn your head to look at her over your shoulder. You shrug. "I like it." "You should go home, little human, I'm sure you are tired." "I'm on my way to the changing room," you tell her, but none of you move. Your eyes are locked, trying to come up with something to continue the conversation. "You know," she starts, looking around the room. "I never really looked around here." "What?" You are shocked. "What do you mean? You work here." "But I'm always busy with the visitors." "I can give you a private tour if you want?" You suggest. Tasha has to force her thoughts to stay on the right path. When you say private tour, she imagines entirely different things. "Only if you have time. I don't want to keep you here." "No, it's fine. I have nothing to do." A grimace pulls on your lips. Maybe you shouldn't admit you have nothing to do on a Friday night.

So you and Tasha continue your way through the rooms. You stop here and there to show things to her and talk about their past. You bombard her with names, dates, and locations. There are times when the orc worries that you don't even breathe while you talk but never tries to stop you. She often sees you with visitors but has never seen you this close while you speak with so much passion. It radiates from your voice.

"I have no idea how you can remember so many things," she says after a while. You look at the sculpture in front of you, but she watches you. Your eyes are bright, and your smile is constant. "I talked your ear off, didn't I?" You grimace, starting to feel guilty. "I'm sorry. I-" "Don't be sorry," Tasha cuts in. "I enjoy it. It's sexy." Heat rushes up to your face at her last words. "Well," you clear your throat. "Thanks?" She laughs at your reaction. You can barely look at her. She moves closer. "Do I make you nervous?" There is no point in lying. "Yes." Your eyes fall on the plastic name tag on her chest. "Is it good or bad?" Tasha is amused and too entertained with your current state. "Good." "Can I kiss you, Meggy?" Her next question makes you forget how to breathe. Your head snaps up to look at her. "Yes," you croak out. There is no way you could say no to a woman like Tasha.

She leans closer, and in the next second, her lips are on yours. The kiss is gentle and slow. She lets you warm up to her closeness. Her tusks are hard and, at first, a bit strange against your skin, while her lips are soft and warm. She licks your lower lip once, twice, three times, and before she can do it for the fourth time, your mouth opens. Her tongue slips against yours, and her arms curl around your waist to pull you closer. The kiss gets heavy and searing.

"Oh," you breathe out after a few seconds. "Oh?" She asks back, smirking. "I need more than that, little human." The moan out of your lips before you can stop it. Her brow lifts with interest. "Do you like it when I call you that?" She asks. "Yes." "How much do you like it?" She already knows the answer but wants to hear it from you. "Very much," you clear your throat. You can't think straight when the orc is so close. Her arms are still around you, and her breath fans over your face. "Do you get wet?" She asks shamelessly. "Tell me, Meggy, does your pussy clench when I call you little human?" "Yes," you reply, barely louder than a whisper. Your breathing is heavy and ragged. Your fingers tug on her white shirt, opening a few buttons until you can clearly see a part of her breasts. She doesn't wear a bra. "Show me," she says, putting her own hand into yours. "Guide my hand to your pussy, Meggy. Let me feel your wetness and your hot cunt."

Oh god.

Your fingers curl around her wrist. Your hold is weak and trembling as you easily pull her hand under the waistband of your skirt. "Ah-ah," she hums. The orc flicks your clit through the thin fabric of your panties. She can already feel how wet you are, but she wants more. She wants to feel your flesh, wet and hot, under her touch. Tasha doesn't have to say anything else. You lead her hand into your panties until you feel her warmth on your aching cunt. She draws a few teasing circles on your clit, watching your reactions. Your eyelashes flutter as your mouth falls open with a silent moan. Your fingers tighten around Tasha's arm to keep yourself on your feet. Every twist and rub of her fingers sends you higher and higher. Your thighs close on her hand until she can barely move.

It doesn't stop her, though.

"Fuck, Meggy," the orc groans. "You soak my hand. I can smell your pussy, you know that, right?" Oh god. Your reaction is barely noticeable, but she can still see it. A bit of shame and much more hunger glint in your hazy eyes. "The c-camera," you gasp out, looking over her shoulder to the small device hanging in the corner. "Don't worry about it, sweet girl," Tasha replies, leaving your clit to slide through your folds until she reaches your entrance. Your whole body shudders with anticipation. "They can see nothing from this angle." There is a big part of her that wishes otherwise. The orc wants a video of you coming undone in her hands and clever fingers. "Fuck, Tasha!" You cry out when she pushes inside. Your nails dig into her skin. One of her fingers is enough to stretch you. The heel of her hand rubs against your clit. You don't even know where you should concentrate anymore. "It's okay, little human," she hums against your ear. Her voice is deep and smug. "Cum on my hand. Make a mess on my finger so I can taste you." "T-Tasha!" Your scream is hoarse and ragged. Your eyes fall shut when the burning coil in your lower stomach snaps with force. Your muscles twitch with pleasure, and for a long second, you can't even breathe. "So sweet," Tasha hums, watching you the whole time. You are even more beautiful during your orgasm than she imagined. And she imagined it a lot. "My sweet girl, my pretty girl." The orc eases you down from your high softly and slowly. Her embrace cocoons you into safety and warmth while her voice brings you back to reality. When you open your eyes, you see her lifting her finger to her lips, licking down your juice, shining on her green skin. Your blood already feels like lava in your veins, and the sight doesn't help. "You taste as sweet as you look," she says, leaning down to kiss you again. You can taste the faint taste of yourself on her tongue. "Tasha," you breathe out her name but can't continue. You are not sure what you should say. She just made you cum in front of a camera, even if you are safe behind her large body, in the museum where both of you work. "Come home with me?" She asks, helping you out. "We could order some food, and if you are okay with it, I would really like to taste your sweet pussy." Excitement bubbles in your chest again. Your pussy throbs with the need to let Tasha do whatever she wants to do to you. "Okay," you force an answer out through your tightened throat. "I would like that too." A smile spreads across her face and softly tugs you against her side. "That's my sweet little human."

- Masterlist Meriad Masterlist Patreon + extra chapter

[throneofsmut]

Bound In Flames - Part 8

Eris Vanserra × Archeron-Sister-Reader || WC: 4.8k || Warnings: Smut

Summary: Feyre and her younger sister go hunting in the forest behind their family's cottage and go through life changing experiences.

A/N: This part has to do with calanmai which is basically a faerie fuck fest. So if you guys are just as sick and depraved as I am you’ll eat this shit up.

****

“Eris, I swear to the Mother if you hurt her-“ Lucien snarled, baring his teeth, as he pushed the tip of his dagger deeper into Eris’s porcelain skin. A droplet of crimson red blood sliding down the column of his throat.

The sight of it had you moving on instinct.

In seconds you had moved away from the dagger Eris had pressed against your throat, disarming Lucien and pressing his own dagger against the sun tanned skin of his throat. Fae—mating—instincts coming to the surface, you growled and then whispered two words deathly soft into Lucien’s ear, “Watch It.” You pulled back, still keeping the blade against his throat and looked at him. His face had blanched and his eyes were wide with fear or shock, you weren’t sure.

You blinked once and saw yourself through his eyes and blinked again and you were looking at him through your own eyes again. His eyes were still wide, but now you knew it was mostly fear. He knew you wouldn’t actually kill him, though he knew you definitely could if you wanted to by the way you had the knife angled at his throat.

Lucien had finally realized it for the first time in that moment, that you weren’t all talk, that you would and could kill him. And you scoffed. Flipping the dagger in your hand so the handle was facing him, “Enjoy the Rite,” handing it back to him.

He took it and sheathed it.

Behind you Eris chuckled in amusement. Though not at his little brother but at your antics. Turning around to face him, you took one step towards him, but stopped. He had a look in his eyes as he took you, one that you couldn’t describe, “What?”

He shook his head softly, “Nothing,” but you noted the way his pupils dilated when his eyes met yours again. Then he held out his hand for you to take. A silent invitation.

Before you could even take a step Lucien’s hand was gripping your arm and a growl ripped its way out of Eris’s throat—possessive and protective. Your eyes never left your mate, not even as he glared at his brother. Lucien sighed once he realized you weren’t going to look at him, “I know I can’t stop you so. . . be careful, Y/n. He’s not safe.” But you didn’t want safe, you wanted him. Eris.

You still didn’t look at Lucien as you ripped your arm free of his hold, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Lucien. Enjoy the rite.” Your voice sounding sharper than you intended, but this would likely be the only night you would have with Eris, your mate, and you were wasting time. You made your way towards Eris and he was still glaring at his youngest brother when you finally stood before him.

He was the most beautiful male you have ever seen. Dressed in Autumn Court colors, his clothes—all dark wine red with gold threading, all finely made—cut close enough to his body that you could see how magnificent he was. Anyone with eyes could see that by the way they clung to his muscular body. Eris wasn’t bulky with muscles he was more so lean. His red shoulder length hair dancing in the night spring breeze like living flames. And his amber eyes seemed to be gifts from the sun as they both glowed the same shade of gold.

You were standing so close that you could feel the heat radiating off his body and his scent. His scent was intoxicating—cedar, citrus and crackling fires— invading all of your senses and before you could even stop yourself you were in his arms. He was so tall that you had to stand on the tips of your toes to wrap your arms around his neck. Not even a second later you felt his arms immediately wrap around your waist, holding you to him.

One second you were standing in fields of the Spring Court, the next the world seemed to fold in on itself as you winnowed to a cabin. Your body wanted to stay near him but the years of training that were drilled into you had you pulling away taking in your surroundings. Eris seemed to still as you looked around, “Where are we ?” You asked quietly.

“My home away from home.”

You only nodded your head, letting him know you had heard him as you continued to look around. The cabin itself was beautiful; floor to ceiling mahogany and autumn court color and style furnishings. It was very much Eris. The small living room had the fire place going but you heard wood crackling from the back of the cabin. Tilting your head so you could look past your mates broad shoulders, what looked like a bedroom door was open and just past it in the room was a bookshelf. A well stocked bookshelf. Eris cleared his throat, voice tight, “Do you like it?”

You looked at him and gave him a sweet smile, “I like it.”

He threw his head back and laughed and you realized you had never heard a sound so beautiful before. Eris was still laughing when he stepped closer to you, and you didn’t back away this time, as he cupped your face in his large hands. Then he leaned down so close that if he spoke your lips would brush against each other. . . and he did. One word.

“Liar.”

He took a step back and it was your turn to laugh, “I’m not lying,” you said in between giggles.

“All right, fine. You like it but. . .”

“But, my favorite color is blue and it’s just a lot of red, orange and yellow everywhere.”

He bowed deeply at the waist—mockingly, playfully—“I apologize, little flame, that our cabin is not up to your standards. I vow that the next time you see it will be to your liking.” Eris stood back up to his full height wearing a teasing smile on his face.

You wanted to roll your eyes at his theatrics and tell him to shut up, but instead you only asked, “Our?”

“Our.” He affirmed.

You blinked at him, brows furrowed, “Why?”

“What belongs to me, belongs to my mate. What’s mine is yours, little flame.” Eris said matter of factly.

“About that. . . how did you find out we were mates?”

“You.”

“Me?” He nodded his head, “Eris I need a little more than that.”

He took a step forward until he was right in front of you and you had to crane your neck back to meet his eyes. Then he lifted his right hand that was adorned in gold rings and tucked your hair behind your left ear. “Since last winter, when you made it over the wall, I’ve been dreaming of you every night. And every morning since then I’ve had the same nightmare.”

“What nightmare?” Your voice was barely more than a whisper.

“You’re not by my side when I wake up,” he breathed.

You didn’t miss the way he was looking at you, like he was drinking in the fact that you were still here. That you were actually here and you realized you were doing the same thing.

You don’t know how much time passed before he spoke again, “How did you find out?”

“The Suriel told me.”

His brows furrowed, “You ensnared a Suriel?”

“No, he found me.”

This time his eyes narrowed and he blinked, “The Suriel found you and told you?” He sounded skeptical.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“They’re an old friend,” you shrugged.

Eris shook his head as he gave you a broad smile, “My mate is friends with one of the Suriel.”

You nodded your head, “Mhmm.”

“What did the Suriel tell you?”

Your eyes flickered between his amber eyes and then settled on the crackling fire beside you, “That like me, my mate has fire in their blood and we would find each other on Calanmai. You’re the heir to the Autumn Court. The both of us bound in flames. Bound to each other.” Your eyes met gold ones again, “That we have always been meant to burn together." You didn’t tell him that the Suriel also said you were heir to Spring. You couldn’t tell anyone, not yet.

“How did you know I was your mate and not Lucien?” You didn’t, not for sure. Lucien was powerful enough in his own right to be a High Lord’s heir. You could feel it.

“I felt a tugging in my gut — in my chest a couple times like there was a string inside of me and when I saw you it felt warm like it was glowing,” You smiled softly because that same feeling hadn’t gone away yet.

Eris’s eyes tracked your lips movements and you noted the way his pupils dilated and the way his scent shifted. It was muskier and even though you weren’t in exactly in Spring territory anymore you could still hear, still feel, the pulsating drum beats.

His left hand that was also adorned with gold rings, cupped your face, his thumb swiping against your cheek as he uttered a single question, “Can I kiss you?”

You felt your cheeks heat and only nodded your head in response not trusting your voice. His nostrils flared and you knew he scented your arousal.

“I need words, little flame. I want to hear it from your lips,” Eris commanded, his voice rough with lust.

“Yes, please.” Your voice a breathy sensual whisper.

His large hands cupped your face and then he was surging forward, your mouths met with a desperate need, it was all teeth and tongue. He was savoring every brush of your tongue against his, every drag of your lips, eagerly exploring every part of you. You both knew what you wanted—needed—and were going to take it.

His hands moved from your face to roaming over your figure before settling on your ass making you moan into his mouth. You buried your hands in his hair, it was soft beneath your fingertips as you tugged and pulled on it. Making him groan into your mouth every time you did.

You both begrudgingly pulled away needing to catch your breaths. Eris’s eyes darkened as he took you in, “You are so beautiful,” he murmured panting softly.

You felt your cheeks redden at his words again and shook your head, looking down at your feet.

His hands titled your head up, making you meet his eyes, “I’m serious, little flame, you’re beautiful. You are a goddess. . . My goddess.” You were going to brush him off, but the sincerity in his eyes and voice made you believe it.

“Then prove it. Worship me, Eris,” your voice was breathy and raw with lust. You were both succumbing to the effects of the magic felt on Fire Night. The drumbeats were now pounding and pulsating rapidly and something shifted in both of you. You needed him and he needed you in any and every way you could have each other. Neither one of you knew who moved first, but the both of you began tearing at each others clothes, your mouths meeting again.

Once you were both bare before each other, you pulled away again drinking him. Your mate was beautiful, his body was powerfully built, corded in muscles as if the Mother herself carved him from marble just for you. His body was sparsely littered in scars, the pink raised skin stark in comparison to his porcelain skin and you had no doubt he’d had more on his back. If the scars peaking over his shoulders were any indication.

You were for once grateful that the blood spell your mother used on you covered your scars. You wouldn’t ask him about his scars, in a way they made him more beautiful to you, but yours were more brutal than anything.

Both of your chests were heaving as you drank in the sight of each other. Breath hitching when you saw him, hard and at attention. He was long and thick, you knew it was going to hurt, but some fucked up part of you wanted it to. Wanted to feel every glorious inch and vein of him as he buried himself in your cunt. Licking your lips at the thought of him inside of you.

And he licks his lips when he sees your cunt glistening with arousal. The both of you make eye contact and you don’t know what he sees on your face, but the sight of it had him closing his eyes as a groan fell from his kiss swollen lips. Then he placed his hands on the back of your thighs, hoisting you up and carrying you to the only bed in the cabin.

Eris kissed you again, like a starved man who couldn’t get enough of the taste of you. He pulled away only to start kissing and biting the tanned skin of your jaw, neck and chest. The only sounds coming from the both of you were lewd moans and groans as he laid you atop the soft bed.

Climbing on top of you, he trails his tongue down your neck and to your chest, swirling it around your hardened nipples and between your breasts. Down your tummy and between your thighs. All while leaving kisses behind.

“Eris,” his name was a plea and prayer on your lips.

He moved to sit back on his haunches as his eyes rove over your body before settling on your soaked cunt, “Yes, little flame?”

“I need you,” you whimper.

“Have you—“ he shudders as his jaw and hands clench and unclench. His eyes darkening with the promise of violence, “Have you ever been with—“

You don’t even let him finish the question, “No. . . just you.”

He visibly relaxes and smiles, “Gods, the Mother really made you just for me,” he says under his breath to himself. Amber eyes meet yours, “I’m going to be the first and only male to ruin you,” he promises.

“So what are you waiting for Eris. . . ruin me,” you tilt your head at him, your mouth curving into a teasing smirk.

Without another word he settles himself between your thighs and puts your legs over his shoulders. His large hands holding your thighs apart as he licks a single long broad stripe through your folds. Digging his fingers into your soft skin, groaning at the sweet taste of you on his tongue and your hands fist the sheets beneath you at the feeling.

Back arching off the bed as his tongue flicks your clit, “Oh. . . f—fuck Eris,” you cry out in pleasure. Then he circles and swirls his tongue before sucking on your sensitive bundle of nerves.

You start to squirm beneath him as he savors you, heat begins pooling in your lower tummy, but his large hands keep you spread and in place for him. Sucking in a sharp breath at the feeling of his tongue entering you, “Eris, Eris, Eris !” His name a prayer on your lips and he is your god.

Muscles tensing as his tongue leaves you feeling empty, but then he goes right back to sucking on your swollen clit. Your walls spasming and contracting on nothing as the heat in your belly turns to fire and spreads throughout your body. Time seems to stop as he begins to suck harshly, the sheets fisted in your hands ripping out of pure pleasure and then you shattered.

Your mates name on your lips as you fall apart.

Eris doesn’t give you to time to catch your breath as he moves to sit on his knees beside your still trembling body. One of his hands plays with your tits while he uses the other to run through your folds, gathering your arousal on his fingers, your hips jerking up in response.

Then he’s moving his hand that was playing with your tits, resting it atop your lower belly as he buries two slicked covered fingers into your cunt. Eris moves them in and out at a relentless pace fucking you with them, pushing down a bit on your belly, applying pressure with his other hand, as he curls them inside of you. Hitting that sweet spot inside of you that has you crying out in pleasure.

“Eyes on me,” he orders.

Your nerves, your entire body feels like it’s on fire.

“Eyes on me or I stop.”

It takes everything in you to open your eyes, but you do. The sight of him nearly taking your breath away entirely. His red hair was mused, blown pupils with small rings of gold around them, his mouth and chin covered in your slick and a smug smirk on his lips.

“That’s it’s, little flame. Eyes on me,” he coos. Walls fluttering around his fingers at his words, his voice, him. The coil inside of you tightening, legs shaking and then the coil snapped.

You were a babbling incoherent mess as you squirted, soaking his fingers, your thighs and sheets beneath you. “Good fucking girl,” he praised, but he didn’t stop. You couldn't tell where one climax ended and another began as continued thrusting his fingers in and out of you relentlessly. You didn’t know how many times he made you squirt before he stopped.

Your body was still shaking and your chest was still heaving as he licked a long stripe from your sensitive cunt—making you whimper—up to your lips. Kissing you and then swiping his tongue along your bottom lip asking for permission, your tongue met his, making you moan as you tasted yourself on his tongue.

Eris pulled back smiling proudly at you before placing a soft gentle kiss on your forehead, “You did so good, little flame.” You looked at him with heavy lidded eyes. “Can you keep going or do you want to sleep?”

You knew if you said you wanted to stop he would stop, but you also knew this might be only night you get to be with him and you weren’t going to waste it. So you nodded your head.

He chuckled, “I need words,” he pushed your hair out of your face, “I need to hear you say it.”

“Yes,” you breathed, your voice raw and hoarse from all the pleasure.

Eris kissed you on the forehead again, praising you, “Atta girl.”

You were still panting softly when he rose from the bed and said he would be right back, he left the bedroom, coming back with two glasses of water in hand. “Drink up, sweetheart. We’re just getting started.” You didn’t even reach for the water as you stared at him, his cock, unabashedly. Eris was still hard as rock—just from looking at you. Since he saw you bare before him.

The sight of him, his tip red and angry had you running your tongue over your lips, hungry to feel him in your mouth. You didn’t say anything as you crawled to him, to where he was standing at the side of the bed and wrapped your hand around him.

He hissed when you pumped him a few times which only motivated you do more, so you could see how he’d react. But before you could, Eris stopped you pulling your hand away, “Drink,” he ordered.

Taking the glass of water from his hand you gulped it down greedily. You didn’t realize how thirsty you were until you were knocking back the glass. Practically chugging it as water trickled down from the corners of your mouth and down your neck. Eris only shook his head, chuckling, “Good?” Taking both of your empty glasses and setting them on the nightstand.

You nod, giving him a shy smile, wiping the water off your chin with the back of your hand, “Good.”

His hand wraps around your neck, guiding you to where he wants before he leans down, kissing you hungrily. Then you’re wrapping your hand around his length, pumping and twisting slowly, his hips bucking in response to your touch.

The both of you pull away from the kiss and he groans as you grip him harder and pick up the pace. Letting out a shuddering exhale as you lay on your stomach infront of him, biting your lip, enjoying how your mate reacts to your touch. Stroking him a couple more times before licking a long broad stripe on the underside of length.

Eris lets out a lewd moan as you swirl your tongue around the head of his cock. His hands brushing your hair back as you lightly lap at his sensitive tip, savoring the taste of the salty bead of precum that was on it.

Kiss swollen lips part to take him, making you gag as his cock hits the back of your throat, “Oh fuck,” Eris rasps out. Hollowing your cheeks as you pull almost all the way back. Making eye contact as you swirl your tongue around his tip, working his long thick length with your hand, the other playing with his balls. “Mother’s tits,” he groans.

Lips wrapping around the head of his cock as you guide his hands to grip your hair. His amber eyes twinkle when he realizes what you want him to do, “Are you sure, little flame? I won’t be gentle.” You hum a ‘yes’ to him as best you can with him in your mouth. The feral look in his eyes matches the smirk he wears and he doesn’t waste another second.

Not as he tightens the hold he has on your hair and mercilessly bucks his hips into your mouth. Eyes watering as you sputter around his cock, “That’s it. . . fucking take it like a good, little slut,” he growls.

Tears run down your cheeks and saliva runs down your chin as he fucks your mouth. Hips grinding on nothing in response to the obscene noises he makes and the lewd sounds of him roughly bucking his hips into your warm mouth. Then he’s suddenly pulling you off of him and crashing his lips to your swollen ones. Before you can even catch your breath he’s swirling his tongue around yours.

He pulls away, both of you breathing heavily, he presses his forehead against yours. He chuckles, “You all right?”

You nod your head, “Mhm.”

“Gods I wanted to finish in your mouth, but I’d rather finish in you,” he confesses.

“Please,” you breathe and he nods his head.

Then he’s moving, positioning you in the middle of bed and sliding a plush pillow beneath your head, as he sits on his knees between your thighs. He sighs contentedly, scanning you from head to toe, “Gods, my beautiful beautiful, mate.”

You sit up on your elbows, wrapping your right hand around his cock and stroke him, “My beautiful beautiful, mate,” you repeat back to him. The smile Eris gives you, causes butterflies to flutter in your belly and then he’s leaning forward capturing your lips in a way you could only describe as loving.

His left hand cups the side of your face as he lays you back down, still kissing you and his large right hand covers the one you have wrapped around his cock. Then he’s rubbing the tip of it through your folds, hips jerking when it rubs over your clit as he swallows your moans.

Pulling back, pressing your forehead to his chest, “Eris. . . please. . .” you whimper.

“Please what, little flame,” he chuckles darkly and you don’t even have to look at him to know he’s smirking.

“Fuck me—“ your voice dies in your throat at the feeling of his cock pushing into you. Your hands move to grip his biceps as you hiss out in pain, you know you’re wet enough but he’s just so big. Eris continues pushing in slowly, inch by inch, until he’s fully buried in your cunt.

Your chest heaving at the lingering hint of pain, but he doesn’t move, letting you stretch and adjust to his size. He just places kisses all over your face as you adjust, “You’re doing so good,” he praises. “Take your time.”

You both stay there not moving and he just continues to kiss you and talk you through it for a couple minutes longer.

Letting out a shaky breath, you utter one word, “Move.”

That’s all it takes for him to start slowly rolling his hips, your walls fluttering around him, making him groan. “Fuck,” he drawls out. Eris continues fucking into you with slow but precise rolls of his hips, but he’s starting to tremble with restraint from holding himself back. Not wanting to hurt his sweet little mate.

But any hint of lingering pain is long gone and you want—need—him to ruin you. “Eris?”

“Yes?” He grits out.

“I need you harder. . . faster,” you murmur against his skin.

His hips still for a second, then he’s throwing your legs over his broad shoulders, hips snapping against the back of your thighs and ass as he fucks into you at an impossibly fast pace. This new position making you cry out as his tip repeatedly hits your sweet spot, “Ohh f-fuck Eris!”

“Gods. . . you take me well,” he says between pants, “You were made for me, little flame.” Then he sets your legs back down and puts his hands down on the bed, beside your tits as he deeply thrusts into you, causing you to throw your head back into the pillow. Screwing your eyes shut and screaming his name out while your nails scratch his back.

He lets out a hiss that has you opening your eyes, scanning his face, you open your mouth to ask if you hurt him. But he quickly shakes his head ‘no,’ “I—I just feel you, little flame.” He reassures you, shifting his hips at another angle, hitting spots he hadn’t hit before.

“Fuuuck, Eris.” You cry out, your hands finding his back again, scratching.

"Look at you," he murmurs as he moves inside you.

You manage to rise up enough to see where you were joined—to see his cock pulling almost all the way out before disappearing back into your body. And the sight of it wrecked you so thoroughly that it pushed you right over the edge. Your mates name on your lips as you fell as he worked you through your orgasm.

You stay like that for a little while longer—him rutting into you—then he’s flipping you around so you’re on top. He doesn’t even move yet and your body shudders, the fit so much deeper in this position.

Pressing your hand against your lower belly and gasp, his cock twitching inside of you. He has a smug smirk of pure male satisfaction on his face, “See, you were made for me. We’re a perfect fit.”

You lean down to kiss him, and then whisper in his ear, “I want to make you feel good. Let me make you feel good.”

Eris sucks in sharp breath and now it’s his turn to beg, “Please, little flame.” So you sit up, hands braced on his broad chest, and rode him.

Eris howled your name—thrusting his hips up to meet yours—like the devotee of a god. Your tits bouncing wildly in his face as you rode him, faster, harder. His fingers digging into the soft skin of your hips, no doubt leaving bruises behind in their wake. “Touch me. . .” you breath, your voice dripping sin.

Grinding your hips down on him as he moved his hands to grope your tits, pinching and pulling your nipples. His touch making goosebumps appear and spread all over your body. Breath hitching every time your swollen clit rubbed against the muscles of his abs. His own pleasure making his abs twitch only adding to your own pleasure. Causing heat to build in your belly from the friction.

You braced your hands on his chest again, slamming your ass against his hips, drowning out the drumbeats that still sounded outside for Calanmai. The only thing you could hear was the sound of skin slapping skin and your sounds of pleasure.

Then he pulled you against him so you were chest to chest, wrapping his arms around your back, jackknifing up into you relentlessly. “Be a good little mate and fucking take it,” he grits out. The fire in your belly turning to molten lava. Your hands fisting the sheets at his sides before biting into his shoulder.

It looked like they were glowing with starlight, or maybe your own vision fractured as release barreled into you again like a lightning strike.

And Eris found his, gasping your name over and over as he grinded your hips onto his with a bruising grip. His cock twitching as he spilled himself in you. Your walls spasming and contracting around him, milking every last drop of his cum, as he held you there on him until he was well and truly empty.

When you were done, you remained atop him with him still inside of you and he still had a hand on your hip, while the other played with your hair.

For other parts: Bound In Flames Series Masterlist

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 9 part 10 part 11 part 12

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[oftenwantedafton]

the dark of the woods | dave miller x female reader

rating | explicit

part 3/?

words | 5.4k

cw | sexual content

ao3 link

You leave the campground behind you and enter the darkness.

There are no lights along the path leading back to the road. Dave has said he’d meet you here, but it’s difficult to see much of your surroundings. It’s eerily quiet tonight. No nature sounds. Even the noise from the other campers doesn’t reach here. You wrap your arms tightly around yourself, hoping the forest ranger will make an appearance sooner rather than later.

“Well, what do we have here?”

You jump at the voice, pressing a hand against your racing heart. “Dave! You scared me half to death.”

You can just faintly make out the tall, slim figure of the forest ranger, a deep woods sentinel who detaches himself from the forest and appears by your side.

“Not waiting too long, I trust? You know, this would have been a lot easier if you had just left the campsite with me. But you’re so worried about what the others will say…” You can hear the faint chiding in his tone. A reprimand mixed with amusement.

“I just don’t want people minding my business,” you grumble. His body heat radiates towards you and you refuse to admit how much you want to pull that warmth over you; how each subsequent encounter with the strange man makes you more and more addicted. “And why don’t you park next to the cabins like everyone else?”

You hear him cluck his tongue. “Already complaining and it’s been less than a minute. I enjoy the walk. It also allows me to scout for things on foot that I’d miss while inside the car.”

“What kinds of things?”

“Oh, you know. This and that.”

You swear he’s intentionally being vague just to frustrate you. “How are we supposed to find our way? It’s pitch black out here.”

“I know the way. It’s a rather straight shot to the exit. But, as I’m sure it will make you feel better, here.” You feel Dave’s hand blindly reaching out, copping a feel of one breast through your jacket that you know is entirely deliberate before something is pressed into your palm. Weighted. Cylindrical. A flashlight. “I beg your pardon,” he says, but the apology doesn’t sound the least bit remorseful. You know he’s wearing that crooked grin of his, even if you can’t see it. You wish he’d touch you again, and the hopeful thought makes your skin vibrate with anticipation.

You feel for the grooved switch of the tool and a beam of light illuminates the ground. You can see fresh sets of tire tracks etched into the dirt, there until the next rain storm decides to obliterate them.

“Ready to go?” You’d been right about the smirk. You can see it in the glow as you sweep the light around. He’s changed out of his uniform, opting for jeans and a long sleeve charcoal shirt. The clothing clings to his lean frame. It seems inadequate shielding against the cool night air, but then again, the man emits heat like a furnace. Your eyes don’t know where to focus. Those long legs. Narrow hips. The notch at the base of his throat. That pale column itself before the jut of his jaw, parchment pale. Glittering quartz eyes. His messy hair looks like spilled ink in this near darkness.

You shake yourself. “Yes, let’s go.”

“You should stick close to me. Just in case.”

You think back to his previous warning about dangerous things lurking in the forest and you follow his advice, allowing his spindly fingers to slot through yours. He takes wide steps and you find the pace brisk. After a time he slows down and tugs on your hand and you realize you’re being led off the path.

“Careful. Watch your step. My car is over here.”

You train the beam of light over the ground, trying to avoid any tree roots or fallen branches or anything else that might be a trip hazard. You’re relieved when you see the metallic sheen of an automobile. Your dark trek through the woods is at its end.

The older man releases your hand and digs into his pants pocket to find his car keys, then unlocks the passenger side door of what looks like a standard issue sedan bearing the logo of the forested area. You slide inside the vehicle, noting the vinyl seats feel cool even through your jeans. Dave gets behind the wheel and reaches over for the flashlight still clutched in your hand.

“Won’t be needing this now.” He shuts it off and tucks it behind your seat.

Still no start of the engine. You wait expectantly, staring through the windshield into the darkness. You think maybe you can make out the outline of the guard shack nearby, the moon finally peeking from around a cloud, but the illumination is very faint.

A creak as Dave shifts in his seat draws your attention to his face. You can barely see him, mainly just the sparkle of his eyes, the bits of pale skin that are exposed. You’d been so frightened of him yesterday; now you’re more afraid of admitting the prospect of leaving tomorrow is no longer quite so pleasant.

“What are you thinking?” His voice is quiet.

You shrug. “Wondering why we haven’t left yet.”

“We’ll go soon. What else are you thinking?”

You squirm in your seat. Persistent as always. He’s not letting you get away with such a bland response. “I was thinking about what happens when I leave tomorrow,” you admit.

“What do you think will happen?”

You fiddle with one of the strings on the hood of your jacket. “I don’t know. I’ll leave. You’ll stay.”

“I won’t be staying. I’m not here once the site is closed for the season.”

“Well, you’ll go do whatever you do the rest of the time.”

“Another job elsewhere.”

“Okay.” You let your hand fall into your lap. You wonder what he does during the winter months to supplement his income. What his home is like. Maybe it’s just an apartment. Small and filled with creature comforts. Cozy. But a little empty. Something missing. Someone.

“What would you like to happen?”

“I don’t know.” You chew your bottom lip. “You said…” The words will not come. He’s right. You do leave your thoughts hanging. He doesn’t understand what it’s like. You can’t be like him, so bold and brazen. You’re always cautious. Reluctant. You’re so accustomed to not having an audience that when one does appear, you suddenly don’t know how to react to the attention.

“What did I say?” He’s pulling the answers from you, little by grudging little. You don’t want to release them. It’s a defense mechanism you’d built up long ago. Don’t let people know how you feel. Don’t get close.

You want him close. Madness. He’s a stranger. Creepy. Yet…there’s something there. Another layer. Perhaps he’s shored up his own barriers. Hidden behind all of his eccentricity and uncomfortable brashness and quirky humor. The tiniest crack, the smallest chink in the armor. Have you found a way in? Was that a place you really wanted to explore deeper?

“You said not to mistake this for something it wasn’t.”

Dave exhales loudly, as if his breath has been held this entire time, waiting for your response. “Yes, I did say that yesterday.”

“This morning, technically.”

“That sounds like something I would say. I’m rubbing off on you already,” he murmurs, a hint of something that sounds like fondness in his words. But that can’t be right. You must be mistaken. This isn’t…that. Not anything like it. In the early morning hours he’d cornered you in a public bathroom. Had his way with you. Then you’d gone seeking him out of your own accord later this afternoon. How has so much happened in such a short amount of time? Why are you so drawn to him?

Your features grow solemn. “What are we doing, Dave?”

“Sitting inside of my car. Talking.”

You shove at his upper arm, feeling the underlying muscle through the thin fabric of his shirt. “Smartass. You know what I mean.” You wouldn’t have been confident enough to do this earlier; just reaching out and touching him. But it feels more natural than awkward now.

“I think we are two people enjoying each other’s company.”

A simple, safe response. “Okay.” Your voice sounds tiny in your own ears. Defeated.

“You’re disappointed by that answer.”

You clear your throat. “No. It’s what I expected.” You’re giving away too much. You’ve given away too much to him already.

“To pursue something else…I don’t know that it will turn out the way you might hope.”

This reply feels genuine. Considerate. “I feel like…I feel like there are two sides to you. Two completely different aspects. And I’m not sure how to feel about them. I’m not sure how to feel about you,” you confess. “I don’t really know who you are, Dave Miller.”

He is quiet for a long time. “You’re not wrong. There is an entire history, an entire life…It’s more than I can tell you about in one night.”

You wish it wasn’t so dark, so you could see his features better. “But you would tell me?”

A heavy sigh. “I can’t promise you that.” His hand reaches out, settling against your cheek. “But I can promise that you have my undivided attention and I intend to make the rest of your trip as memorable as possible. Let’s go have some fun.” His lips brush yours. You lean to capture his again, your fingers finding his thigh, curling over the denim clad extremity. He huffs a gentle laugh over your lips. “Careful, sweetheart. You start that and we won’t make it to Freddy’s.”

The restaurant. You’d nearly forgotten it these last few moments. You’re going to the site of some alleged murders. With this strange man you’re barely acquainted with who’s as much as admitted there is a past you know nothing about. Why did you agree to this, exactly?

Dave’s fingers wrap around the nape of your neck and drag your mouth back to his.

Oh. This is why.

***

You’re not sure what you’d expected the abandoned children’s pizzeria to look like.

Perhaps the outside covered in graffiti. A roof caving in, exposing the inside to the elements. Boarded up windows. Peeling paint. An overgrown parking lot choked with weeds and littered with broken asphalt.

Instead the parking lot is suprisingly tidy. There is no intruding vegetation. The exterior is brick and mortar, solid and unscathed by vandals or the ravages of time. A sturdy iron gate protects the glass front entrance. You’re even surprised to realize how well lit everything is. You’d been imagining a dark, dreary place. The sign depicting a bear mascot above the front doors is intact, still waving jauntily, a welcoming grin on its features. It doesn’t look like a business that’s been shuttered for years; it looks as if it’s merely been closed for the evening.

“Wow. Someone’s been keeping this place up,” you remark as you exit the vehicle.

“Yes.” The older man rifles through the ring of keys clutched in his palm until he locates the correct one, inserting it into the sturdy looking padlock and then dragging the gate to one side.

“So how did you get a key to this place, anyway?” You’d asked earlier and he’d brushed you off, but it seems as if he’s going to be a little more forthcoming now.

“Simple: I used to work here.”

“You did? As what?”

“Oh, a little bit of everything.” Okay, maybe not quite so forthcoming. He waves a hand in the air before pulling the door open and gesturing for you to enter the building. You step over the threshold cautiously, reluctant to venture too far inside. It’s dimly lit with some light panels set low on the walls. There are far too many unknown shapes in the shadows for your liking.

“I don’t suppose you could be a touch more vague,” you mutter. You can’t envision the older man slinging pizzas. Waiting on customers. It just doesn’t fit his image.

“I worked behind the scenes. Dry, technical stuff.”

“You think I won’t understand.”

He tips his head to one side. “No. Just think you’d be bored. Unless you have an interest in operating an animatronic stage show.”

“Maybe I do.”

“Hmmm.” He hums but doesn’t elaborate. You realize then that he’s not going to surrender any more details. He enjoys keeping secrets.

“I can’t believe someone’s still paying the electric bill. Water. Heat. Even minimally supplied, it’s gotta be pricey when there’s no revenue coming in. What’s the point?”

Dave moves to stand beside you and the door closes with a thump. “Ah, I hear the owner is quite nostalgic. Perhaps there’s still a hope that someday, when memories aren’t quite so fresh, it can reopen and resume its former glory; surpass it, even.”

“You really think people would want to come back here after what happened?”

“Why not? We have.”

“I guess so,” you grumble, unconvinced.

“I’m going to go switch the power on. Wait here for me.”

Once again the man seems to be able to find his way in virtual darkness with ease. You shove your hands into the pockets of your hoodie and wait for your guide’s return, casting a glance over your shoulder to view Dave’s car waiting patiently for your return.

When the power is fully restored, it’s a sight to behold.

Section by section the pizzeria comes alive in washes of light and color and sound. You can see dozens of tables and booths in front of you, and a large stage enshrouded in heavy drapes. The obvious arcade section offers a variety of clashing sounds all competing for attention. And there is Dave at the heart of it all, teeth spread in a triumphant grin, thrusting his arms out theatrically and even sketching a mock bow.

“Welcome to Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzeria.”

You remain hovering near the entrance, still more than a little hesitant to trespass any further, no matter how much the older man has emphasized you’re welcome to do so. He sees your reluctance and he frowns a little, holding out a hand towards you.

“Come on in. Nothing’s going to harm you here.” He’d made that same promise at the campsite. So far he’s made good on it, but this is quite another story. You don’t budge and the scowl deepens. “Look, I’ll be honest with you. I may have embellished that ghost story a little. They never found anything to suggest foul play. There was no evidence. No footage of the animatronics roaming about. Just a lot of paranoia and blame shifting.”

“That’s not what you said before. You said kids got kidnapped and murdered and shoved inside the animatronics,” you reply doubtfully.

“Ahhh, as I’ve said. Embellished the details to make the tale more exciting to captivate your fellow campers. You coming in?”

You fold your arms across your chest, as if that meager barrier will offer any significant protection. “So you lied.”

Dave shakes his head. “Lie is such a harsh term. I just made the facts a little more colorful to further supplement the experience. Look, you’re already here. You might as well enjoy yourself.”

You chew your bottom lip, still hesitating. The older man abruptly shifts gears, abandoning his previous attempts to reassure you. He threads his way back through the dining room tables and wedges a hand behind your crossed extremities, gripping you tightly and pulling you flush with his chest. There’s a gleam in his eyes. He’s enjoying this.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart? You were keen enough to come here with me.”

“I just don’t want to get into any trouble.”

“You’re not going to get into any trouble. Not the legal kind with the authorities, that is. If you’re talking about a different kind of trouble, well then, I’m more than willing to accommodate.” His fingers abandon their grasp of your arms and tug the zipper of your hoodie down playfully.

“How do you have so much stamina? Jesus,” you curse in a combination of disbelief and admiration.

“I happen to have keys to the back offices as well. I’m sure there’s at least one desk I could bend you over. Whenever you’re ready.” He grins.

Your cheeks flush hotly. “Let’s just view the front end of the restaurant for now.”

He hums over your lack of enthusiasm regarding his offer but it doesn’t truly seem to deter him in the slightest. You’re quickly led past a wall covered in layer upon overlapping layer of children’s crayon drawings to the prize counter, where Dave releases your hand and hops up to sit on top of the glass cabinet, reaching down behind him to retrieve something with a look of practiced ease. He’s clearly done this before, dozens of times, able to feel around blindly and lift up a plastic tumbler decorated with balloons.

Your eyes rove over the last sad trinkets that are left in the display bins: kazoos and Chinese finger traps and cheap plastic keychains, children’s reward treasures that will never be claimed. The forest ranger swings his feet slightly, letting the heels of his Timberland boots bump against the case. Despite his age and his extremely tall stature there’s something almost childlike in his appearance now; his eyes have a kind of feverish glow to them, his cheeks washed in color, and whatever scant signs of aging he’d previously borne on his features seems to have melted away. Perhaps it’s just the neon lighting. Maybe you’re just imagining things.

Dave rattles the cup and it actually startles you. He tips the lip down slightly so you can see it’s filled with arcade tokens, a hefty pile of bronze colored coins that have the same mascot image as the sign above the entrance imprinted on them.

He eases back off the counter gracefully, his feet making virtually no noise on the carpet, and guides you to the stage, his lips twitching with barely controlled mirth as he slaps a large red button on the wall. The curtains slide back and you jerk to a halt, surprised to see the trio of animal mascots still in working order, miming a peformance in time with the children’s party song that comes through the speakers. They certainly seem innocent enough, in spite of those rows of teeth that are bared a bit too wide for your liking. There’s no way there are bodies stuffed inside those suits. You’d be able to see them, surely. And you don’t smell any decaying remains. Maybe it really was just a tall tale you decide; an urban legend that Dave added a little extra flair to, just like he’d claimed. You’re being silly. There’s nothing sinister about this place.

As if sensing your thoughts, your companion’s voice sounds beside you. “See? Nothing to be afraid of.” His fingers brush your sleeve as he passes by you. A prerecorded announcement follows the performance, declaring the next show will be in another hour.

The arcade proves far more interesting to you. You’re no slouch at the old Atari offerings, only too happy to thumb tokens into the machines and give the former employee a show of your own. All of your childhood favorites are here: Pac Man and QBert and Frogger and Centipede. The controls still work perfectly. The cabinets are dust free. Someone must have been hired to keep the place tidy. Hopefully they won’t choose tonight to visit and perform those duties. You’re feeling more relaxed now, but there’s still a slight nagging worry at the back of your mind that you shouldn’t really be here.

The older man has you beat at the pinball machines and air hockey, but you’re content to allow him exert his prowess for now. You regain the upper hand during a series of skee ball matches, although you’re not entirely convinced he isn’t holding back just a bit.

Nearly all of the tokens from the cup are now drained as the top of the lane you’re standing in front of is illuminated by flashing crimson lights announcing your high score. You turn to face him, grinning, and he smiles indulgently.

“Having fun?”

You nod. “Yeah, actually, I am.”

“Good.”

“And not just because you cheated and let me win that last round,” you add, shoving playfully at his arm again.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He winks at you, then takes the cup from your hand and rattles the tokens. “What do you want to do with the last of these?”

You chew your bottom lip thoughtfully and then your eyes light on something at the other end of the room.

“Got any cash on you? Like real currency, I mean.”

“Yes. Why?”

You point. “Photo booth.”

The amusement fades from his features. “I’m not really fond of having my picture taken.”

“Oh, come on. It’s not like anyone else is going to see them. Come with me. I was a good sport and did everything else with you, didn’t I?”

“Well, not quite everything,” he counters, his eyes glittering. “We still have a little more exploring to do.”

“Alright, fine. Just do this first, okay?” You’re not about to admit it just yet, but your body is getting more and more interested in his proposal.

He frowns but nods. “If you insist.”

“I do.”

“Spoiled,” he mutters, but he sets the cup down and follows you to the photo booth. A worn looking leather billfold is extracted from the back pocket of his jeans and he retrieves a pair of crisp looking dollar bills from the interior, handing them to you.

“You should go inside first. It’s going to be a snug fit.” His voice changes when he utters the word snug, almost as if it’s being caressed sensually, and the implication is strong. Another little warm tingle of anticipation runs through your core. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

You push aside the curtain and tuck yourself against the far corner of the bench. Dave joins you, one long leg braced outside the booth, the rest of his body pressing closely to you, one arm sliding around your waist. You squirm and writhe a bit as he continues to push, forcing you to keep adjusting your position.

“Dave, stop, I’m already over as far as I can go,” you protest, giggling until he leans over to kiss you.

“Are you going to sleep in my bed with me tonight? Or will you still try to pretend you’d rather be alone in that boring, empty cabin of yours?”

You swallow nervously. People would see. They’d know. Does it really matter all that much? You’re starting to think maybe not. “I’ll stay with you,” you agree.

“Good. Take your pictures. Then we’ll continue the tour.”

You feed the bills into the machine and select the option for the photo strip of four pictures. Unsurprisingly, you’re assaulted with mock antennas behind your head before the first shot is snapped, forcing you to exact revenge by digging a knuckle between your partner’s ribs. Before the final image is captured he settles down, his face pressed alongside yours, looking straight into the camera.

“That last one came out really nice,” you murmur as you retrieve the photos from the slot, your gaze lingering on the developing image at the bottom of the column.

“It did, didn’t it?” A pleased little sound escapes his lips before he snatches the strip from your fingers and exits the booth. You shove at the curtain impatiently and follow, reaching for the pictures he now holds high out of your reach.

“Dave, don’t you dare do anything to those. Come on, they’re mine.”

“What if I wanted a memento?” He teases.

“You didn’t even want to get your picture taken in the first place.”

He sighs, lowering his arm. “Fine. Take them. There’s probably still a shopping bag left at the gift center you can stash that in. Hang on.” He ducks into a small area that you hadn’t been offered a tour of. The window displays are all empty and you imagine it’s been picked clean long ago. You’re offered a paper bag that’s about the size of a greeting card that’s perfect to slip the photo strip into.

“You can leave that on the counter there and we’ll grab it on our way out.” A pair of doors marked for Employees Only at the opposite end of the dining room becomes your next destination. Dave’s wrist snaps the key in the lock quickly and he backs into one of the doors, creating an opening for you to pass through.

All of the good humor you’d enjoyed previously evaporates as you step into the corridor.

The lighting is much poorer here; more than one of the fluorescent bulbs overhead has gone out. The walls and floor are a drab gray. Dave appears as confident here as he had in the more cheerful, colorful part of the establishment, but you can’t share the same sentiment. You shiver, reluctantly following him deeper into the back of the building, past the kitchen and employee restrooms and an area marked Parts and Service which is as dark as the woods you’d left behind to come here.

It’s the manager’s office you’re ultimately led into, the door snapping shut loudly behind you after you’ve stepped inside the room. The furniture here is as dull as the exterior. Office chair. Steel desk. Filing cabinet. An outdated phone and computer monitor. The only colorful variant in the room is a series of children’s drawings tacked to the bulletin board on the wall. They depict the mascots. A family, two adults and three children of varying sizes. You see the name Evan on one of the pictures and Elizabeth on another. Not a patron’s gifted handiwork, as you’d first thought. The owner’s offspring created these. The wax and magic marker scrawls are fading, the bottom edges of the pages curling. Where were those children now? Grown up with kids of their own, most likely.

Your eyes shift to find Dave staring at the pictures as well. For the barest, briefest moment, there is the tiniest twitch near the corner of his mouth; not the customary smirk, but the beginnings of a grimace, and the corners of his eyes begin to crease and crumple.

Then his expression clears and his gaze meets yours.

Suddenly you’re that creeped out girl at the guard shack at the campground; the scared girl in the public bathroom being groped and kissed and ravaged. Your breath hitches when he steps closer, one arm curling around your waist, drawing your body against his.

“You’re still afraid of me.”

You swallow thickly. “No.” You know you’re not convincing anyone. Your voice warbles around the denial. “Why do you have keys to the manager’s office?”

“I have access to everything in this entire facility. It was necessary for my position.”

You don’t understand the rationale there, but you decide against arguing any further. There’s a dangerous glint in the older man’s eyes that you haven’t seen before.

“If I wanted to hurt you, I wouldn’t have to bring you all the way here to do it.”

“That’s not exactly reassuring.”

His fingernails scrape the back of your head and then he grabs a handful of your hair and jerks your head back, eliciting another gasp.

“I enjoy you,” he says, each word punched out forcefully, as if it’s straining him to admit it. The hand at your waist trembles. “I’m not going to destroy you. But I am going to fuck you, very hard and fast and deep over this desk, do you understand?” His breath is warm over your throat before his mouth sucks hard and you whimper, fingers curling into his shirt. Your assent comes out broken, almost two syllables, Ye-es, and then it is all teeth and lips and tongue, yours and his, crushing hard. Fingers scrabble to open your pants and shove them over your hips, your panties jerked along the same path, and then you’re pushed face down against the desk blotter that bears an outdated calendar. You hear Dave’s fly unzip, feel the hot smack of his cock against one cheek of your buttocks and then he impales you in one swift, firm thrust.

Your nails scrape and tear at the paper beneath you, a wild, gutteral series of moans dropping from your lips each time he cants his hips and the tip of his prick strikes your womb. It borders on painful but you welcome it; welcome the hand that strikes the curved globe of flesh, the ringing slap sharp and shocking in that cramped office space. Then his hands worm their way beneath your torso, snaking beneath the layers of your jacket and shirt and bra, pinching nipples and tugging you upright, back and back and back while he’s still buried inside of your pussy.

Your clit is his next target, rolled and mashed in perfect circles while he continues to pump in and out of your body. Your throat burns, the repeated moans into the stale air exhausting your vocal cords and robbing you of moisture. Everything wet is concentrated further south, spilling out around Dave’s cock. His breath sounds ragged as the lewd noises of your colliding bodies continues.

“Fucking cum for me,” he growls, his caress of your bud now sloppy with your arousal, no longer drawing neat circles but flicking in quick, short strokes down the smooth pink flesh and over your swollen clit. Your body obeys, the first sizzle along your nerves driving your head back. You throb and clench around him, letting him support your weight as your orgasm crashes over you.

You feel hands on your waist, his cock escaping your cunt and you mewl a brief protest at the sudden vacancy but then you realize he’s changing your position. You allow yourself to be turned and lifted onto the desk, still kept close to the edge while he shoves right back inside your welcoming nether maw. You cling to his neck and shoulders, your mouth wild and sloppy against his as your knees squeeze the slats of his ribs. One of you is bleeding; maybe both. You taste metal in his frenzied kisses but it doesn’t deter you from sucking and biting and laving at his lips and tongue. Amidst the chaos is the single clarifying thought that this time with him, as strange and frightening yet intensely satisfying as it has been, is nearing an end. The weekend nearing its finale. The season is almost over.

You knot your hands in his hair and outline the arch of one cheekbone with your tongue, tracing your way to his ear. “Dave…”

“Fuck, I’m so close. You’re…”

“Yes, Dave…”

Your head is tugged back again and you see the moment of his release, that internal rupturing supernova of pleasure that makes his eyes go hazy and his jaw slack, lending softness that makes all the harsh lines and angles blur. Then his face is tucked against the space between your neck and shoulder and you remain like that, still joined together, panting and shaking because fuck, that had, in some ways, been your best session yet. In spite of its brevity, the intensity had more than made up for it.

There’s something almost bashful about the way he’s hiding his face, avoiding your gaze, sooty lashes downcast as you insist on helping him straighten his clothing when your bodies finally part. You tug his shirt back down over the waistband of his jeans once he’s been tucked back into place and the fly refastened, marveling again at how slender those powerful hips are.

You wait by the entrance while the forest ranger shuts the power back off, clutching the paper bag with your photos. The heavy drapes draw shut across the stage once more, the lights extinguished and the sounds muted throughout the dining room and arcade. The pizzeria is ready for another slumber.

You don’t need Dave to guide you to the car. There is still ample lighting in the parking lot and it’s only a short walk.

But he still slips his hand into yours.

[covenofwives]

Going Home Part 2

DreamXD is madder than he has ever been, having just saved Dream and George from the End. While he takes George home he has different ideas for Dream, instead giving his brother over to someone else to watch while he cleans up Dream's mess. Dream's lucky day is he gets to meet another God, too bad the God is a sleepy grouch who doesn't seem to want anything to do with Dream.

Part two of the three part fic! You don't need to read part one if you don't want to, but you might miss some details.

As voted by the peoples, part three will be coming out later on when it's finished. Originally this was only supposed to be two parts, but part two was going too long and I had a much better idea for it to be it's own story. It'll be worth it I promise!

Thank you all for your patient and support with this AU and I hope you all enjoy!

---

The tall white columns of the unending void ended a while back. Dream didn’t know when, but suddenly the hallways opened up to a wide void of opalescent colours. There were shapes and shadows off in the distance that moved around but Dream had no time to focus or make sense of them. He was dragged, by his arm through the seemingly endless spot, never being allowed to slow down. If he started to slack behind or falter a single step, DreamXD yanked his arm and he’d be stumbling to keep up.

The brothers had been walking in silence for probably ten minutes now. Neither said anything. Dream gave a glance up to XD every once in a while, but the anger radiating off his brother was too great for him to find the words. He tried to focus on something else, but his eye would keep wandering back to XD, and take in the marks of battle on him.

His lower right arm was limply hanging by his side. His cloak was torn to near shreds and covered in golden and violet blood. He winced every time he looked at those wounds, but it gave him enough courage to find his voice.

“E…EhexD…” Dream cleared his throat. His sibling didn’t respond. “I… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for-”

“Stop talking.” XD’s snapped.

Dream clamped his lips shut, and just let himself be dragged the rest of the way in silence.

Eventually the landscaped changed. Gone were the white with tiny colourful hints and instead it slowly morphed into a dark blue. The dark blue overtook the white, but left small speckles all dotted about. Some shining or streaking through.

Like a night sky. Dream thought. He was so mesmerised by the stars, his steps faltered and he was yanked back to XD’s side.

“Keep up!” XD hissed.

“Wh-Where are we?” Dream was still too impressed to be scared.

“That’s not important! We’re here…”

Dream looked ahead, expecting to finally see something else grand in this wondrous place, but instead it was a lain out pile of blankets.

The blankets were all different shades of blues and purples. There were a few pillows strewn about between the blankets as well and a clumped up pile of blankets and pillows in the centre.

XD walked over the blankets and pulled Dream along. Dream was more hesitant to step on the cloth with his boots but XD didn’t really gave him a choice. He dragged Dream over the blankets to the big pile in the middle.

Dream didn’t even have time to look at it before XD gave the blanket a swift kick and the blankets jumped. They flailed and kicked about and Dream realised it wasn’t just blankets. There was a person in there.

The person kicked of the blankets and twisted themselves around. They sat up in the sheets pooled around them. They had a black tight turtle neck but their arms covered in flowing fabric that ended at the golden bracer around his wrists. Their hair was an unkempt, the colours fading between a dark and light blue as what seemed like stars streaked through their hair.

It reminded Dream of the realm, but when the person woke up the realm started to change. The night sky instantly faded and was replaced with a dark teal colour stretching out over the realm. It seemed to match the colours streaking down the stranger’s cheeks. Like colourful tear marks, almost.

The person looked around frantically before realising XD was there. “Wh-What is it? Wha-?”

“You’re watching him.” XD spoke before they could even finish.

The person seemed taken aback to the order. He looked incredulously to XD, though most of his expression was hidden by the large but familiar white goggles on his eyes. Eventually the stranger’s attention looked to Dream beside him, taking him in for the first time. He looked over the mortal before the corner of his lip turned up in a scowl.

He turned his bed back to XD then. “Excuse me?” It was less of an asking tone and more of a demand for an answer.

“You’re watching him.” XD repeated, and lifted Dream’s arm slightly as if to point out who the ‘him’ was. “Until I get back, Dream is to stay here and not leave.”

Dream just managed to keep back his gasp, but only because the news of it had shocked him. He honestly wasn’t sure where XD was taking him or for what purpose. But the last thing on his mind was to think XD was taking him to a babysitter. And a stranger no less! Dream’s mind added.

“Oh?” The stranger sat up straighter now. All daze of being awoken was gone and replaced with anger. “Am I to be a babysitter now? I don’t remember becoming one.”

Dream could hear his brother’s fangs grind together. “Just until I get back.” His attention then snapped to Dream, who had to fight back the urge to cower away. Even with the mask hiding his expression, Dream could hear the snarl in his brother’s voice. “You will wait here,” he said and pushed Dream forward to sit down.  Dream just caught himself but his legs wobbled under him so he was half sitting.

“I-I’m not a child!” Dream found his voice. The shock had worn off to anger now. To be treated in such a way was embarrassing. “I don’t need minded over!”

“This isn’t babysitting, this is punishment!” XD pushed Dream down till he was sat (half sitting half fallen) on the blanketed ground. “You should be grateful I’m taking you here! I’d lock you in the prison myself if I wasn’t so angry!”

The mention of that dreaded place took all fight out of Dream, and he shut his lips then. So it had been a thought that crossed his brother’s mind. There was a level Dream could get to in XD’s head that meant he deserved to be locked in the prison.

But even if he was silent, the stranger certainly wasn’t. “And I have no say in this?!” The person huffed. “Why am I being punished for something your brother done?!”

“Because I asked you to!” XD snapped, the last of his patience gone and he ended up shouting. Dream had heard XD angry, but he’d never heard him shout like that before. “And you’re supposed to be a friend who wants to help out another friend!” He added, his voice calmer now. “So, please, watch Dream until I get back.”

A long silence settled between XD and the stranger. Dream felt the tension rise like electricity between them, until the stranger huffed. “Fine…” He mumbled. He lay back down in the blankets, pulling some over him again but he seemed to be going back to sleep.

Once that was dealt with, XD sharply turned to Dream. Suddenly all the built up tension seemed directed straight to the blonde mortal, and Dream even flinched when the End God pointed at him.

“You will stay here, with HD, and not move!” He growled. Dream could hear his fang click together, seething with rage. “You better pray no-one else followed you into that stronghold and that yous were the only idiots to go through, otherwise you’re in worse trouble!”

Before Dream could even respond, or even think about what could be considered ‘worse’ right now, XD turned and he left. Disappearing instantly.

Even with XD gone the tension and electrical charge of the air still remained. Dream kept himself as still as possible, afraid to move and encure XD’s wrath again, or annoy the stranger wrapped up in his blankets.

At least Dream knew their name was HD now, though he couldn’t see much conversation happening between them. HD didn’t seem to want to talk or entertain XD’s visit, so it was even less likely he’d put up with Dream’s company.

Dream moved his head slowly and risked looking over to HD still buried in the blankets. They hadn’t seem to have moved since XD left. Maybe they had fallen back asleep, or they were trying to at least.

He hadn’t really been given an order from this HD, though the order from XD was clear. ‘Sit here and don’t move.’

Still, even with the threat of further anger from XD, the restless energy had returned. Dream had calmed down from the shock and fear of his fight with Dragon and facing XD’s wrath, and now it gave way to curiosity. And mischief.

Dream gave another sly look over to HD. He was still wrapped up in his blankets, only his starry hair flowing over the pillows was seen. Surely he was asleep by now. And if he was asleep there’s no way he was going to notice if Dream just wandered off just for a little bit.

He wasn’t allowed to look around when he was being dragged here by XD, but nothing could stop him just taking a harmless look around now. He’d be back way before HD even woke up. No-one would know.

He was curious how far this colourful realm reached. It seemed to fade in from the opalescent walk he was on before, so did that mean it was two different areas? How far did they stretch?

Dream was sure he could find out. The realm lay in a slight yellowish-green hue right now, fading from the teal of earlier and Dream wondered if it would fade into more colours. Or if there was something to set them off.

He had too many questions to just keep still. With a last peek back, Dream unfolded his legs out from under him and slowly stood up. HD didn’t move. Dream half stood up, taking a careful step forward. HD still didn’t move.

Already filled with the confidence he got away with it, Dream looked ahead, trying to remember which direction he and XD had come from and took a few steps forward. He was confident he could make it back to the grand hallway he saw. If he could just…

“UGK!”

Dream felt his hood be yanked back, pulling him down down before he was dragged back, undoing the distance between himself and HD.

“Do not even think about it!” HD hissed behind him. “You think I’d be that dumb and let you wander around by yourself?”

“I-I wasn’t going to go far!” Dream tried to reason while also trying to pull down the collar of his hoodie so he didn’t choke. HD’s grip was strong and he was dragged back all the way before the hand finally let go. Dream turned back but was surprised to see HD was still wrapped in his blankets. He hadn’t even turned around. Dream gave a sceptical was confused and looked behind him to see what had grabbed him.

It was a white floating hand in the process of letting his hoodie go. It was attached to no arm or body, just floating by itself.

“WH-What is THAT?!”

The hand floated to HD’s side before disappearing in a white mist.

“It’s to keep you out of trouble.” HD grumbled. He slightly turned over, looking to Dream through his white goggles. The lenses of them looked like static rather than a darkened lens. “If you try and get away, they’ll drag you back. If you keep trying they will hold you down until XD gets back. Is that clear?”

HD turned back over, this time laying on his front and gathering the pillows under him. “Sit there, be quiet and don’t bother me.”

That was the end of it, according to HD. It was impossible to tell if he’d fallen asleep again, or just pretending like he did last time. Dream watched him for a few seconds before slightly scooting away. He tried moving quieter this time but almost instantly the hand appeared in front of him, and before Dream could move it grabbed his arm and pulled him down.

“Don’t! Move!” HD hissed. “You move again, you’ll regret it. I promise you!”

Dream didn’t want to chance it again. HD sounded mad and the hand that forced him down was a lot rougher than the one before. He - very slowly - sat himself up again and when he didn’t move anymore the hand slowly let go and disappeared. A lot slower this time.

Now Dream was overly curious about the realm, but he no longer had the freedom to move and explore it. Which just made the urge to move that much worse. He crossed his legs over one another, one of them slightly twitching as he waited for…anything.

He supposed the only thing he was looking forward to now was XD returning, and then he’d have to deal with that whole mess. Dream sloughed  slightly. His mood soured as he thought of XD returning. He’d still be just as mad and still refuse to listen to Dream’s side of things. Well that was fine. XD never listened before why start now?

Going down this thought process was depressing, but Dream couldn’t distract his mind enough. He tried looking around the sea of soft blankets and pillows, only taking note that the colours were fading into a night sky again but that was it.

Dream was leaning his head over his hand, almost lulling to sleep himself when, finally, something changed.

The distant horizon seemed to mist out and fade from view so Dream wasn’t sure if the shapes were really there or just his eyes playing tricks. He stared at them, for a minute or so and realised they were there. Various shadowed shapes with glowing eyes were watching him from a distance. Few of the shapes were tall, humanoid looking, and others were not. Despite whatever shape they were they all stared with their glowing eyes, watching him.

Dream froze, unsure what to do. The figures were so far in the distance that surely they weren’t a threat, but Dream didn’t know how to deal with them. Were they friendly in this realm or was their fighting? Did HD know these figures?

He thought he was doing well keeping himself calmed enough, but one of the figures just slightly moved. It wasn’t like they lunged forward or anything like that but it was a noticeable move that got Dream’s heart racing and without taking his eyes away he tapped onto HD’s shoulder until he heard them huff.

“I told you to stop bothering me!” HD hissed as he pulled himself up from his pillow.

“There’s people here.” Dream made his voice go quiet. He felt rather foolish until HD suddenly picked himself up from his pillows, and looked to the shadowy figures with urgency.

HD doesn’t move for a few seconds before giving a light shrug with his shoulder. “They’re Gods.”

Dream blinked. “Wh-What?!”

“Other Gods.” HD refluffed his pillow under him. He leaned on it but didn’t bury his face in it like he was going to sleep. “They’re just checking you out. We don’t get many mortals through here.”

“Th-There are Gods here?!”

“Well you’re in the Godly Realm, so I would hope so!” HD huffed, like it was the most obvious thing. “They’re just having a look and they’ll leave.”

Yet despite HD’s confidence when Dream looked over, HD kept his eyes onto the distant figures. Dream tried to look at the Gods, but also keep his eye on HD. He didn’t know what was normal here and only had HD’s reactions to judge. During one of the times he glanced out to the shapes he saw another one of them move closer.

Dread filled Dream’s heart. He wanted to reach for his axe but was horribly reminded XD took his weapons from him. He hated feeling so defenceless.

He felt something grab onto the arm of his hoodie, and Dream looked down to see the white hand had appeared again. It gripped tightly onto Dream’s arm but it wasn’t like before, when it was pulling him. This time it was firm hand on him, offering support rather than harshly moving him.

The kindness confused Dream, but he didn’t have long to ponder on it. When he looked back up, there were fewer figures and even more going off to leave. Eventually they were all done, faded further into the horizon and the hand disappeared.

“See?” HD folded his arms under his head. “They left.” He sounded confident but Dream could also hear the sigh of relief in his words.

“Will they be back?” Dream gave a last look around the open horizon, suddenly not liking how open the space was.

“Others might, those that haven't seen you and want to. But they won’t come near here. No-one comes near me, and they’ll know you’re XD’s and Drista’s brother so nothing will happen to you.”

When he was certain there was nothing around, Dream relaxed again. Or relaxed as much as he could. He noticed HD seemed more alert. They were turned slightly on their side, and one hand rubbed under their goggles.

“Are…does that mean you…?”

“Yes, I am a God. I know. I hide it well.” HD huffed, but his voice was lighter than it was before. Perhaps that was even some attempt at humour. “Well I doubt I’m sleeping with you here.”

“Is that all you do?” Dream asked.

HD slowly looked around and made a waved off gesture to the area around them. “Well it would be a shame to let all these blankets and pillows go to waste.”

Dream held back a snort of laughter, only because he wasn’t sure if HD wanted it taken as a joke. But the starry haired God’s lips turned up in a small smile as he pushed himself to sit up.

It was hard to judge how to act when HD was awake. When they were asleep all Dream had to do was keep quiet but now he wasn’t sure what his goal was. They were hard to judge and even harder to read  with half their expressions hidden by the large white goggles.

The goggles looked strikingly familiar. And the shape of HD’s face reminded Dream of George in a way. It wasn’t an exact copy, like a clone or twin, but there was something similar about them in the shape of their jaw and nose. While that fact should have raised questions, it actually made Dream feel a little more relaxed. A reminder of George was better to have around if he couldn’t have George here with him.

Was that the reason George became so close to XD?

“What did you even do? To get XD so mad?”

HD’s voice pulled Dream out of his thoughts. He was thankful for it. “I uh… I went to the End.”

HD was setting up the pillows closest to him so he could sit up, and he paused midway through setting down one of the pillows. “Oh, yeah, I see why now.” He sounded surprised. “If it had been anyone else he would have killed them. I can see why he’s so mad .”

Dream felt the same agitation rear it’s head again. “Well he shouldn’t be! It’s my home too. I have a right to go back.”

“Did you want to go back home? Or did you want to kill the Dragon?”

Dream opened his mouth then quickly closed it. His cheeks burned red when HD gave a satisfied smile.

“I-If I could have gotten home without killing her, I would have!”

“Yes yes, but then you wouldn’t be the hero who saved the End.” HD settled onto the pillows, lounging over the pillows rather than laying on them. “Did you even consider that you might have given the dragon a way out to the Overworld? Or, did you even consider the possibility that you could have died?”

“I wouldn’t have died!” Dream snapped. “I wouldn’t have!”

“Really? So XD just came across you having a stroll in the End, is that it?”

“I would have killed the dragon!”

“Would have and would not have. You seem to have a lot of explanations for how it would have went. So should XD have left you? Were you just moments away from landing the killing blow?”

Dream opened his mouth again and then quickly shut it again. He didn’t know how to answer that one without admitting that HD was right. If XD hadn’t turned up when he did, he and George would have been dead. Burned alive by the fire or even if they did somehow avoid it, Dragon was being constantly healed and Dream and George would get tired eventually.

“Then what was your plan when she had died? Did you think XD would be thrilled you risked so much and put others in danger?”

“Yes!” Dream snapped, surprising himself with his answer. “Yes! Then they’d finally listen to me and take me seriously! Then they might actually pay attention to me again!”

An awkward silence fell over the two as the words said couldn’t be taken back. Dream’s face felt hot and he wished more than ever he had his mask to hide away in. It was worse as he couldn’t really tell what expression HD was making under his goggles and thick hair. He almost looked stoic, or unimpressed, but his shoulders slouched a little with his sigh.

“Ah…” The God finally spoke. “You didn’t want to be the people’s hero. You wanted to be a hero to XD.”

It was stated as a matter of fact and even Dream couldn’t find the fire to argue with it. He just looked away, with his face burning. His eyes stung with unfallen tears that he quickly blinked away.

Everything had been simpler explaining his plans to George, because while George bickered with him and said it was dumb, he would have followed Dream. Not from hazardous loyalty, but because there was an understanding between them that even if things did go wrong, they could have worked it out together. They were good at adapting to things and handling the unexpected.

HD’s elbow rested on one of the propped up pillows and he leaned his head over his hand as he watched Dream. Dream shyly looked back once he was sure his eyes were dry, but the static lens of HD’s goggles were cold to stare into. “Seems to me you didn’t have a plan at all, little champion. You just had a plan of what would happen after it.”

Unsure what to do with himself, Dream gave a half hearted shrug. Maybe he had said too much, but it wasn’t like HD was going to understand him anyway. The God couldn’t help or hinder the situation anymore so nothing was lost.

His eyes went to wander off until he noticed HD was still staring at him. Or, he assumed he was under the goggles.

It must have been a good few seconds of silence before HD spoke. “You’re so much like XD.” He breathed.

Dream shuffled under the comparison. “Well…y-yeah, we’re siblings.”

HD just hummed at that. They stared for a few seconds more before suddenly pushing himself to sit up. “You should change your clothes. You’re a mess.”

Green eyes blinked rapidly in surprise to HD’s sudden mood switch before Dream looked down at himself. He hadn’t realised how scuffed and ripped his clothes were. One of the worst rips was on his legs, tearing through his trousers to his shins. It was probably from the dragon’s teeth when she shook him off after stabbing her eye.

“I don’t have a change of clothes.” Dream pointed out, but HD seemed to have that fixed.

He was sat up, and suddenly clothes materialised on his arms. A soft short-sleeved green tunic and black sweatpants it looked like. “Will these fit?” HD asked, but he had already pushed the top up against Dream’s chest as though checking the measurements himself.

“I…y-yes…”

Dream quickly changed out of his shredded clothes and into the new ones HD had got for him. Or…made for him? Either way, the clothes fit him perfectly. The material of the top was soft, Dream kept touching over it just to feel. The trousers were a little rougher in feel but still very comfortable. Dream felt more relaxed and when he looked back to HD, there was another set of pillows propped up beside him. HD pat them and Dream, shyly, scooted over to sit by the God.

“Thank you…” Dream said.

“You might as well be comfortable, since I guess it will be a while before XD comes back.” HD shrugged. “He’ll be…oh! You’re hurt.”

Dream looked down to where HD had pointed. There was an ugly bruise and deep cut down his left arm, just under the sleeve. It was caked with dried in blood and there was another cut just over his wrist. Dream hadn’t even realised he was injured. Now that he looked at them he could feel the sting of the cuts and the aches of the bruise before his body followed suit. It was like it suddenly remembered what pain was.

“Do you want healed?” HD offered.

“Uh…y-yeah. If you have bandages I can do it myself.”

“No no, I can just heal you.” HD said it so casually and expectedly, like Dream should have known. Dream looked over to see HD holding out his hand, expectantly waiting for the arm to be given. “Give it here.”

Dream was hesitant before giving his arm over to HD’s waiting hands. The starry haired God held the arm in one hand, while the other covered over the wound.

The hand over the wound was warm, and Dream tensed himself. He remembered being healed by XD and remembered how much it tickled. His skin prickled just from the memory and he was expecting the same feeling to follow, but it never did. HD’s hand was just warm and a few seconds later he pulled his hand back and the wound was gone. The bruises had all faded as well.

“There you go. Where else are you injured?” HD let go of Dream’s arm. “I saw a bruise on your ribs earlier.”

There was a dull pain thumping against Dream’s ribs and side just from it being mentioned. He pulled up the tunic, looking down to the bruise that was currently purpling.

Even despite nothing happening with the last wound, Dream still tensed when HD pressed his warm hands on his ribs. He moved his hands to cover more of the bruise and Dream flinched.

“You’re tense.” HD stated, still concentrating on the wound.

“S-Sorry…” Dream swallowed back the nervous giggles in his throat. The touch didn’t tickle at all. In fact it felt nice. But Dream was just anticipating himself up for tickles that weren’t happening. His skin felt overly sensitive.

HD hummed lowly. He was still healing over the last of the bruise when he asked. “Has XD ever healed you before?”

“Uh…yeah.” Dream gave a slow nod. “A few times before. Why?”

“Just thinking out loud.” HD excused and carried on until the bruise was all gone.

Dream gave an experimental poke to where the bruise was and there was no pain. He sighed in relief.

“Anywhere else?” HD asked, but he seemed to be expecting the answer.

Dream gave himself a look over. The cut on his wrist was already gone. He thought he could feel a bruise earlier by his hip but when he poked there it was fine. His eyes travelled down to his leg, and he could feel the sting of a cut there. He lifted up the leg of his sweatpants and was relieved the cut wasn’t as bad as he thought. It wasn’t deep, but it was starting to bleed again down his shin.

“Can you heal that? Please?” Dream looked over and HD had already moved himself down.

He took the injured leg in his hand and the other covered over the wound, as normal. It stung a bit to move the leg but when Dream felt the heat, he started to relax.

Dream let his guard down too soon. The moment he started to relax, a tingling feeling prickled on his skin. Like light pulses of electricity coursing through his skin, starting from the wound and working it’s way out. Dream couldn’t help the jolt in his leg, alerting HD.

“What’s wrong?” The God’s voice was soft, unusually warm.

“Not…nothing.” Dream controlled the laugh welling up in his chest. “Just sore…” He quickly excused.

“Sorry. I’ll go slower.”

No no no! Not slower! Dream wanted to yell, but he controlled himself. All he could do was bite down on his lip, and try to distract himself from his tickly shins. HD surely must have felt his skin jumping under his touch.

Finally it was over. The cut was closed and HD pulled his hand back. It took a moment for the tingling to die down but when it did Dream sighed in relief.

“Oh! You’ve got a cut on your foot.”

Dream had no time to respond before his ankle was grabbed. His foot was yanked up and onto HD’s lap, pulling him to lie down. Going from sitting to suddenly laying on his back confused Dream for a moment, and he hardly had time to scramble up and make a grab for HD’s arms before his hand got closer. “Wait wait! N-No! There’s no cut on my f-foot!”

“Of course there is.” HD said so casually. “I’m looking at it right now. You’re not calling me a liar are you?”

“I…” Dream knew no good way to answer that, and he had no time to as HD’s fingers touched onto his heel.

Before he had at least a few seconds between the heat before the tickling started. Now they came together. He felt his foot grow warm and the tingling started instantly. Spreading out from his heel and over his foot, tiny ticklish shocks ran over his skin and tickled his nerves.

“S-Stop! Stohohop!” Dream couldn’t stop his leg from trying to kick.

“What’s wrong, Dream?” HD’s voice did well to sound concerned, but when Dream looked at him the God was grinning. He moved his fingers up from his heel, to Dream’s arch and the very thin veil of determination Dream had was lost.

He threw his head back into a laugh and kicked out his other leg. He was trying in part not to kick at HD, but it was hard to control when his very survival nature was to get away from the tickling no matter what.

“PLEHEHEAHASE Nohohot thehehere not thehehehere! S-STohohop!”

“Your feet are so ticklish, and XD’s feet aren’t ticklish at all. So you’re not an exact clone of your brother.”

A deep red rushed to Dream’s cheeks. Somehow being compared to his sibling in that way was horribly flustering, but it also told him that XD had been tickled by HD before. Dream would have loved to think of that more, but HD’s fingers travelled up to his toes and he jolted up to try reach the God’s hands.

“No no no. None of that.”

Dream was pulled again, forcing him on his back again, only this time he had his leg pulled up into the air, keeping his foot completely out of reach. Dream looked up to see his ankle being held up by one of the white hands, then another appeared right by his foot and immediately began dragging a finger down, from his toes to the heel of his foot.

He laughed from the tickling and partly in shock. He did not expect another one of those hands. How many could HD make?

“Where else are you ticklish, little champion?” HD asked.

Dream’s cheeks grew pink from the laughter, but now they felt red form the nickname. “N-Nohoho whehere?” He tittered. The hand up by his foot wiggled over his toes, tickling under a few of them before slowly scritching down. When it reached his arch he pulled and wiggled onto his side.

“You’re a bad lair.” HD hummed. “Now, let’s see.”

Both Dream’s wrists were grabbed and hoisted up over his head. A little squeak came out that was probably supposed to be pleading but words were lost to him. When he felt he had just enough breath to speak again, it suddenly turned to a scream as his tunic was lifted up to show his stomach.

“Oh, it looks like your tummy needs healing.” HD said, his voice not even straining at all from holding Dream down. It probably didn’t feel like anything to the God.

“N-Nohoho it doesehehen’t!” Dream giggled. His first response was to hide his stomach, or cover over his face but with his hands trapped he didn’t have that luxury. Instead he twisted his head to hide in his arm, though it hardly covered much. He knew his red cheeks were still visible.

“Oh yes it does! It’s all jittery. It’s clearly in pain.”

“Ihihit’s cause y-yohohohour t…t…”

The words stopped, his laugh muffled as Dream pursed and bit his lips together. HD’s eyebrow raised so slightly and the hand tickling over his foot gave a good taser right into his arch, already marked out as his weak point. His laughter came spilling out of him.

“Can you not say it?”

The tickling on his foot died down. Not completely gone though. The fingers were just lightly tracing over the ball of his foot and down to his heel. They deliberately avoided his arch, saving that spot till they really wanted him to laugh.

“Wh-Whahat?” Dream tried to play dumb.

It did not work. “’Tickle’. Can you not say the word tickle while you’re being tickled? Can you say it at all?”

“Shuhush!” Dream hid into his arm again. “I cahahan!”

“Say it.”

Dream’s lips clamped again. Even the thought of saying it made him giggle into his arm, followed by a few more giggles when the hand on his foot wiggled a finger over his heel again and again. “Plehehease stohop!”

“Stop what? What do you want me to stop doing?”

“You know! Yohohou-!”

“No I don’t. You need to tell me.”

Even if Dream wanted to, his body physically wouldn’t let him. It felt like his tongue tried to physically tie itself into a knot whenever he tried to say the word. It was embarrassing, and mortifying to admit how much the word effected him.

Keeping quiet had never worked before and of course it didn’t work now. The finger on his foot went right over his arch. It didn’t tickle yet but it was a clear warning of what was to come. One of HD’s own hand lay over his stomach. It slowly began to heat up, bringing it to a warm temperature.

“P-Plehease…”

“I’ll stop when you can say the work ‘tickle’. That’s fair.”

“Nohoho it’s noo-OHOHOHOHOHOHO!”

Fingers scribbled over his arches and stomach. HD’s hand moved in a circle around Dream’s tummy spreading the tingling all around but avoiding his bellybutton with each loop. The hand on his foot scribbled up and down but always went back to his arch, never letting it go without tickles for so long.

“NAHAAHA! PLEHEEEEhehehease! H-Hehehe Dehehehehe! D-DohoHOhoHOHON’T!”

“Don’t what, little champion?”

“YohOHOhoHOhohou! Knn-!”

The ephemeral hand on his foot tickled right under the ball of his foot. A  sensitive spot that turned his laughter up into silent shrieks, only for a moment until it came roaring out and his other leg tried in vain to kick against the white hand.

HD’s fingers on his tummy found a terribly sensitive spot just under Dream’s bellybutton and focused there. The tingling tickles had faded, now just being tickled by HD’s kneading and pinching.

“You better say the word, Dream. I don’t think you can last much more of this.” HD spoke matter of factly, like he wasn’t the one absolutely destroying the mortal with tickles.

“Ihihihi cahahan’t!” Dream squealed and tried to hide in his arms again.

“No no, none of that now.” A hand grabbed onto Dream’s chin and pulled his face out of his hiding spot. Dream made a scream of protest between his laughs. He tried pulling away, but it was another white hand that held him, and it had no sympathy for Dream’s plight. “I think you’ve hidden too much.”

“ThaA-AHAHAT’S NOHOHOT FAHAHAHAHAHAIHIHIR!”

“You better say it then. I think your face is gonna explode from how red it’s getting.”

Dream didn’t want to think of how red his face was getting, or how much the fingers tickling over his foot were focusing on his arch. HD’s fingers were just inching ever closer to his bellybutton, and when the nail just brushed along the edge of his bellybutton, Dream’s back arched and screamed.

“TIHIIHIHICKLED! TIHIHIHICKLED! I’M BEING TICKLEHEHEHEHED! YOHOHOUR TIHIHICKLING MEHEHEHEHE! STOHOHOHOHOP!”

In HD’s defence the tickling stopped by the second time he uttered the word. The hand tickling over Dream’s foot pulled back and faded out and HD pulled his hand back from Dream’s stomach.

“Hmm…alright. You managed to say it.” HD sounded disappointed, though Dream could only half hear him with his panting breaths and racing heartbeat.

He was given a moment of peace to catch his breath and let all the tingles leave his body. When he finally caught his breath with a sigh and his brain settled down, he realised his leg was still being held up in the air. His wrists had been let go, and he brought his arms down in defence when he looked up to HD. The God was still looking down at him, with a sly smile that made Dream nervous, and sweat run down his neck.

Dream opened his mouth to speak, his voice was shaky before he even tried to speak; but HD spoke first.

“What’s this called then?” HD moved before Dream could answer, or ask what. They took in a huge breath before pressing their lips to Dream’s stomach.

They moved so fast Dream didn’t have any chance to protect himself Suddenly his top was lifted and HD had leaned in before Dream could realise what was going on.

The raspberry started in the middle of his stomach and rippled out over his skin, strumming his nerves like a guitar and sending the tickles rippling throughout his body. Dream made a scream, though it was jumbled between his laughter and screeching. His arms flailed wildly before finally getting on the same page of defending his stomach and he tried to push at HD’s shoulders.

For as spry as the sleepy God looked, he was undoubtedly strong. Dream couldn’t move him even an inch. HD was so bothered by the attempt he pulled back, taking in another shorter breath and blew again over Dream’s tummy. This time a little bit up so it was under the blonde’s ribs.

“HeheHEHEHEHEehehe DehEHEHEHE! S-STOP STOHOHOHOP STOHOP! PLEHEHEHEASE!”

HD pulled back a little more, but mercy was not on his mind. He was grinning widely, a maddening look of having too much fun to stop. “Tell me what I’m doing, then I’ll stop.” His voice got familiarly high pitched in a hyper tone.

“RAHh- Y-YOHOhou’re bloHOHOwing rahahasbeherries!” Dream quickly gasped between HD’s attack, taking in large gulps of air when he could.

“Well well well. So you can say that just fine.” HD’s voice overly imitated being impressed, and Dream knew it wasn’t over. He let out a low whine which turned into giggles as HD grinned again.

“What’s this then?” HD asked and then Dream’s blood ran cold.

The God opened his mouth, this time showing off his fangs. They weren’t as long as XD’s, but they were just as rounded and thick. Dream’s eyes went wide just looking at them and he had no time to shout out before those fangs were on him.

The fangs touched below Dream’s bellybutton. They nibbled along the bottom of his stomach, circling up to the side of Dream’s tummy, and that’s when Dream’s mind stop keeping track of where the fangs were and fried into full blown panic.

His throat felt like it ripped from his shriek. Words or letters at least jumbled into his laughter but even he couldn’t make out what he was trying to say. His whole body was in survival mode.

One of his legs was was still held up, but the other flailed with his arms. His knee hit onto HD’s back and his hands were beating and clawing into HD’s shoulders as he hoped he was pleading though the roaring and screeching laughter.

The tickling stopped not long after the knee went into the God’s back, though Dream’s laughter didn’t go down until his ankle was let go and he could curl into himself and protect his tummy.

All of his nerves felt fried and jittery. He gasped for as much air as his lungs could ask for, and only when his breathing got under control did he realise HD was talking.

“Are you dead?! Please don’t be dead!”

“I…I’m nohot dead…”

“Thank Prime…” HD breathed out a sigh of relief. He worked his hands under Dream’s armpits, earning a panicked whine from the blonde but he could do little more than wiggle and curl up more. “Hush, you baby. I’m only moving you.”

Dream was lifted from his protective curled position. He felt his back pressed against HD’s chest, and the God’s arms wrap around his chest. The pillows and blankets under them were moved and quickly rearranged by the ephemeral hands. They patted down the last pillow before HD pulled Dream and himself down to lay on their side, Dream still in the God’s arms.

“I thought I’d honestly killed you.” HD’s voice mixed with worry and a huffy tone. “Then XD would have absolutely killed me.”

A twisted part of Dream’s brain wanted to dispute that fact, and say XD wouldn’t care, but he quickly shook that thought of his head. It settled like a dark weight in his chest, but he quickly spoke to distract himself from it. “Well…you went at me with your fangs!”

“XD used his fangs on me and they don’t make me react like that.”

Dream processed that information with two outcomes. HD was ticklish, and XD had tickled them before. He would have loved to explore that fact further, but the softness of the pillows and the sudden smell of lavender was overwhelming him.

“God you are his brother. You even get sleepy after your tickles too.”

Dream opened his mouth, wanting to deny that fact and also wonder aloud how HD had tickled XD before, but all that came out was a long yawn. His body stretched as well, comfortably clicking his bones and melting him more into the soft sheets and HD’s arms.

“When…hmm…when will XD come back?” Dream asked, his voice already slurred with sleep.

“He won’t be back for a while, you’ve got time to sleep.” HD assured him. Dream didn’t want to question why the God was being so affectionate to him in fear he’d stop. HD seemed to switch between sudden annoyance to sudden fondness. It reminded Dream of a cat.

It reminded Dream of George.

Dream wanted to wonder more, but the thoughts weren’t enough to keep his interest awake and he drifted off to sleep with HD’s gentle purrs against his back.

---

Dream was roused from his sleep with a hand gently shaking his shoulder. He opened his eyes with a whine, blinked the sleep from his vision and got his bearings. HD’s arms were still around him, but looser. The realm was in a dark blue night sky again, and the blankets under him were still warm. And XD stood in front of him.

The tall God stood above the two, with his mask still on. His cloak was still tattered and a mess, and his one arm still hung limply. Dream tried not to stare at it, but his eyes couldn’t help flicking to it.

“Get up…” XD voice was quiet, and tired.

Dream gave a look back to HD. He opened his mouth, but was quickly shushed by XD.

“Don’t wake, HD. I don’t want to bother him any more than I already have.”

HD’s arms weren’t exactly holding onto Dream, so it was easy for him to slip out of them. Even if he felt bad about leaving HD without saying goodbye.

“I’m taking you back to the Overworld.” XD said as he took his brother’s arm to help him stand.

The thought of that panicked Dream before he could rationalise his mind. Anxiety rose up his spine and stopped himself half way getting up. “W-Where?” He blurted out, not catching his volume.

“Shh!” XD hissed. “Quiet.”

“Where are you going to take me?!”

“Hush!” XD snapped. “I’m taking you to George, that’s all.” His voice was softer at the end, not at all like the venom he had before. His whole demeanour now seemed calmer than the rage he was in before, though Dream couldn’t tell if it was from XD’s mood calming down or just making sure HD could sleep. “Keep quiet. You’re going to wake HD.”

“Too late…”

HD’s sleepy voice mumbled  from his blankets. The night sky realm faded out to a soft blue as the starry haired God turned on his back and rubbed his eyes under his goggles. “You’re back…” He mumbled to XD, and seemed to really wake up when he got a look at the other God. He paused before pushing himself to sit up. “You’re exhausted.”

“I’m fine.” XD quickly shrugged off. “I just need to take Dream home and-”

“Nope.” HD cut in. They pushed themselves up in one fluid move and now Dream found himself stood between XD and HD. “I’ll take him home.”

It was a surprising offer even to Dream. HD didn’t seem like the kind to leave his nest often, and it must have been a big deal as XD seemed stunned for a moment and his voice stuttered.

“U-Uhh…H-HD no. No you don’t have to do that.”

“No I don’t. But I’m doing it because I’m nice.” HD stepped forward to Dream’s side. “I can teleport there easily and drop him off. In the meantime,” he pointed up to XD. “You’re going to park yourself on those pillows and wait till I get back.”

Dream’s eyes flicked between the two Gods curiously. HD was speaking with such authority, and XD was surprisingly responding to it. Dream had never known XD to be anything other than the powerful, unwavering older brother, but with HD he seemed meek and more docile.

“I… Are you sure you can take him?” XD asked.

“Yes! Prime sake it’s not that hard! I can drop him off and come straight back here. You just sit and rest.”

The mask blocked his expression but Dream could read his brother easily. XD was torn, debating with himself on what to do. His head cast down slightly and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other before he looked at Dream. “Are you fine with that?”

Part of Dream wasn’t, just for the chance to talk to XD. If XD took him to George, it would be easier to explain their actions and get the God to listen to them. But XD looked exhausted and his still unmoving arm churned Dream’s stomach.

“That’s fine.” Dream nodded.

XD thought on it for a moment longer before nodding as well. “A-Alright.”

HD seemed pleased, and slapped his hands onto Dream’s shoulder. “Great. Now, go sit down. I’ll take Dream home and be right back.”

XD complied to the instructions, moving past the two and slowly sitting down. Dream noticed they were wincing as they moved. “J-Just be careful.”

“I’m not a novice! I have done this before.” HD seemed to roll his eyes, and focused down onto Dream. “Where am I taking you?”

Dream opened his mouth to answer before realising he didn’t have a good way to answer. He wanted to ask if HD knew coordinates but HD had materialised a map in his hands like it was nothing, and held it out to Dream.

“Here. Point where I’m taking you.”

The map wasn’t an area Dream was familiar with. It covered a wide area of forest and meadows, but no clear landmark. And then Dream blinked and the map slowly changed. It melted from it’s old picture, forming into a new shape. The forests were cut away. Squares and shapes of all sizes took it’s place and it began to look familiar.

The SMP! Dream thought, amazed. It was a very zoomed out map, but it nearly covered most of the SMP area, and Dream could see the red mushroom colour theme of Kinoko Kingdom.

“Here…” Dream pointed at the map. “But I need to go to a specific place. It’s like…”

The map changed again as though responding to Dream’s words. The images morphed again and instead of looking out over all the SMP it was zoomed in to more detail to Kinoko Kingdom. Dream would have been more amazed had he not seen George’s cottage on the edge of the kingdom, nestled in the dark oak trees and suddenly all Dream wanted to do was get home as soon as possible.

“There. That cottage right there.” Dream pointed.

HD looked at the spot Dream had pointed out. He did nothing for a long moment and Dream wasn’t sure if the God was just thinking or charging up some power. Just when he thought about asking, HD grabbed at his arm and he was teleported.

HD’s teleportation was very different from XD’s. With XD was a like a quick journey through an air tunnel to an abrupt stop, but HD’s was softer. It was like stepping into a pool of water, not too cold but enough to feel the pass of something over his body and then suddenly he was there, back on the Overworld.

It was dark like the dead of night and the dark oak trees were shaking their leaves softly to the wind. The smell of flowers and mushrooms filled the air and HD let go of Dream’s arm.

A light suddenly shone though the window of George’s cottage. Dream could hear his friend shout something and then the door was flung open.

The cuts and scrapes George sustained during the fight were cleaned up and somewhat covered. His mismatched eyes were wide and sunken and the mushroom blush over his cheeks was almost gone. Clearly he had not slept, and yet despite his haggard look, his eyes lit up and he ran to Dream to pull him into the tightest hug.

“I thought XD had taken you back to the prison!” George cried. “I thought you were gone again!”

Dream’s arms went around George so naturally and he felt himself relax and almost fall into his friend’s arm. Waves of emotions, both happy and remorseful, swept over him and made his tears very confusing, but he couldn’t care. He was with George again and everything was right.

“Where did XD take you?” George pulled himself back, taking himself out of Dream’s arms and Dream just about held himself back from protesting. “What happened? Did… What are you wearing?!”

Dream blinked and looked down to himself. Of course, he was still in the clothes HD gave him.

HD!

Dream turned, ready to apologise, but there was no-one there. HD was gone without a trace of ever being there. Dream gave a last look around before his eyes fell on George again, and thoughts of HD were gone. His only focus was George.

“Dream? What happened?”

“I… In a minute.” Dream said and took George’s hand. “I’ll explain everything but…right now I just need to lie down.”

The two went in, exchanging more tearful words and happy exclamations between them, then they fell asleep in each others arms with nothing being explained.

[justimajin]

Bonus Drabble

↠ Pairing: Seokjin x Reader

⇢ Words: 1.3k

↳ This drabble takes place between Part 21 and Part 22 of The Profit & Love Statement. Please reference the Fluff Series masterpost for this drabble.

Jin moves his neck around, wincing occasionally. 

“I think you’re right, it feels like it got worse.” 

You hum, “I just hope it’s nothing serious.” 

“Look at the bright side, at least my face is still intact.” He grins, only to immediately recoil at the movement. 

“Don’t move around too much.” You chide, holding onto him. 

It had been a solid week since your karaoke night with the others, to which Jin had severely injured himself. What followed was constant pain radiating down his back and an inability to do work, to the point where he could barely move without grimacing. 

Which is why you persisted, insisting on taking him somewhere where he can be properly looked after. 

“Kim Seokjin?” 

The sound of a third voice in the room has you spinning around and Jin’s brows raising. 

A female doctor stands in front of you, clipboard in hand and gaze stern.

“That would be me.” Jin replies and she hums, pushing the door behind her. 

“I was informed of your intake, unfortunately Dr. Jeon is occupied with something at the moment.” She quickly scribbles down onto her clipboard, before looking up, “What seems to be the problem?” 

“I injured my back.” Jin states, still recoiling in pain. “It’s been a week now.” 

“I see.” She notes and you watch as she writes down onto a form. “Is the pain localised? Or just spread out?” 

“I guess localised?” Jin mutters, attempting to think hard. “Most of it is coming from my lower back.”

“A lower back injury?” Her head snaps up, confusion sparking in her irises. 

Placing her clipboard down, she walks closer to Jin and puts a hand on his back. He immediately grimaces and a deep frown paints her features. 

“The injury seems severe.” She takes a step back, “How did this happen?” 

“Oh, I karaok–” 

You quickly interject, “He fell. Really badly.” 

Jin peers over at you, but you don’t react and the doctor raises a brow. 

“That’s a little odd….” She mutters, “Lower back pain could exist with his injury…but it would have impacted his spinal column more.” 

“I-It was a light fall…?” You say with a nervous laugh. 

She looks at you suspiciously. “Alright then… let me just consult with another doctor for a second opinion.”

You watch as she steps out of the room for a moment, and Jin frowns. 

“Why not just tell her the truth?” He piques, whispering underneath his breath. 

“We are not telling her you got injured because of karaoke.” 

“I could word it in a better way!” 

“And say what? You were so deeply moved by the songs that you injured yourself?” You cross your arms, quirking up a brow and Jin falters. 

“Okay, maybe not like that, but–” 

“Is the patient in here?” A deep voice suddenly echoes from outside the door and both of you freeze. 

The door opens, and a tall man with brown hair and framed glasses enters the room. He dons a white coat as well, holding a stern gaze. 

You notice the female doctor trailing behind him, “This is Seokjin, the person I was telling you about.” 

“I see.” He looks down at the clipboard she hands him, “Since it’s localised, I think we can rule out any disc displacement with the spine.” 

“That’s what I thought too, but it’s long-term so a fracture can’t be completely ruled out.” 

“A fracture would imply issues with the bone so we should send him in for a scan.” 

“And until then? Assume a ligament tear?” 

“Possibly.” He confirms. 

Both you and Jin watch with wide eyes, more medical jargon and information being thrown around in the room between the two doctors. It’s safe to say you can barely keep up, but you assume none of it means good news. 

“Uh, so is he alright…?” You quietly wonder, and Jin hums, unsure if he should even ask. 

“Oh, sorry!” The female doctor immediately responds, turning to you. “We just wanted to weigh out all the options.” 

“Usually it's best to discuss amongst us first.” The other doctor agrees with a smile, something that takes you aback. “It’s always good to catch onto things early.” 

The female doctor hums and your eyes oscillate between them. They’re almost effortlessly in sync with each other, as if one could easily complete the thought the other had. It’s a bit admirable to watch, and you receive an answer when the male doctor gestures for Jin to follow him. 

“I’d like to do some further check-ups with you.” He turns to you, “My wife can follow up with you on the documentation to fill out.” 

You slowly nod, taking in his words. The female doctor ushers you to follow her and Jin is left with the other doctor as the door shuts. 

She immediately spins around. 

“Now, what really happened?” 

“Huh?” You swivel, noticing her arms crossed and a knowing look to her eyes. 

“You don’t get an injury like that from ‘falling down’.” She remarks, “So what happened?” 

You hesitate, but there’s something in her gaze that tells you she’s seen through your bluff completely. 

A long sigh escapes you, “We were doing karaoke…..” 

“Karaoke?” She repeats in disbelief. “Are you being serious?” 

“I am!” You protest, “And he was so into it that he got himself hurt….” 

She simply stares at you, and you bite down on your bottom lip, wondering if she still didn’t believe you. 

But that’s when she bursts out into laughter. 

“Wow,” She swipes a tear from her eye, “That was definitely not what Taehyung had guessed.” 

Your eyes flicker, focusing onto the ring that glints from her left hand. 

“The other doctor, right?” She nods and you hesitate for a moment, before deciding to just ask. “Are you two…?” 

“Married?” A warm smile crosses her lips, “We are.”

“That’s so nice…” You whisper fondly.

“You two seem pretty cute yourselves.” She remarks, and you flush under the observation.

“We actually just recently got together…” 

“Please, you’re adorable.” A chuckle escapes her, “You should have seen me and Taehyung when we first met, we used to hate each other.” 

Your eyes snap up in astonishment, “Us too! We couldn’t stand each other!” 

“Really?” You nod in agreement and she’s bewildered, “I guess hating each other before inevitably falling in love is more common than I thought.” 

“What are you two talking about?” 

You both turn at the sight of the second doctor, who looks between you with a hint of amusement in his expression. 

“Nothing important!” The female doctor chimes in, but he doesn’t seem convinced. “How’s the patient?” 

“Getting a request for a scan.” He brings up her clipboard, tapping her against shoulder, “Already filled it in for you.” 

She warmly smiles, “Thank you.” 

You watch the two with a tender gaze, admiring them being a married couple within the workplace. 

Heading into the intake room, Jin deeply sighs. 

“I can’t believe I have to come back for a scan.” 

“Should have come sooner.” You remark and he miserably groans. 

A smile surfaces on your lips, “Don’t worry, I’ll come back with you.” 

“Really?” 

“Of course.” You slip your fingers within his, holding onto his hand. 

Glancing back at the doctor couple, they share a loving glance with each other before going their separate ways. 

A soft smile lifts at the corner of your lips. 

“I think it would be really nice to come back here.”

A/N: This wasn't a request, but a drabble idea I had in mind when Chapter 21 was written! I didn't think it would fit into the main story line however and thought it was better suited to being a drabble instead. Hope you all liked this bonus crossover!

[shegeekery]

Splintered — Chapter 1

Chapters: 1/5 Fandom: Doctor Who, Loki TV series (crossover) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: N/A, but I plan to keep it as friendly to both Lokius and Sylkie as I can. Characters: The Doctor, Ruby Sunday, Ouroboros, B-15, Casey (Mobius and Sylvie coming in later) Summary: The Doctor and Ruby find themselves in a strange universe where the timelines are controlled by the God of Mischief. Is it any surprise that the TVA needs help from a Time Lord?

Chapter Index: Chapter 1: I Have a Bad Feeling About This (this post) — Length: 2906 words Chapter 2: Ghost Squirrel — Length: 2738 words Chapter 3: Splintered — Length: 2852 words Chapter 4: Getting the Band Back Together — Length: 2496 words Chapter 5: Intervention — Length: 2496 words

“What’s happening?”

Ruby clung to the railing around the Tardis console while the Doctor frantically tried to stabilize his ship. Motion sickness had never been a problem for her, but there was a first time for everything — and being alternately spun and stretched in every direction made her queasy.

“I don’t know!” The Doctor held onto a lever while the ship lurched and gravity reversed itself again. “Something’s interfering with the dimensional stabilizers. That’s not meant to happen. It’s almost like the rules of the universe — the laws of physics — are changing faster than the Tardis can adjust to them.”

“But how is that possible?”

“It’s not.”

“Okay…”

“Hang on!”

“What do you think I’m doing?” Ruby managed to wrap her legs around the railing and clung to it like a baby opossum to its mother while the Tardis spun around once more.

“I’m going to try turning off the stabilizers. They’re just making it worse. This may get a bit…weird.”

“What do you mean, weird?”

Ruby’s question was answered almost immediately. The railing began to flex and bend, stretching out into all directions. When she looked back toward the Doctor, he and the console seemed impossibly distant, and the central column, still pumping, seemed to stretch upward forever.

“Doctor!”

The stretching stopped and the Tardis interior began to contract. Now Ruby found herself hurtling toward the console and the Doctor at an alarming rate. She braced herself for impact, but the Doctor grabbed her at the last moment and settled them both into a crouch on the floor. The console itself contracted and the walls closed in until the control room seemed not much larger than the phone box appeared on the outside.

Ruby looked down and saw the now-tiny console on the floor between them, like a very odd-looking mushroom.

The Doctor pulled out his sonic screwdriver and, pointing it toward the console, continued to make adjustments. The space around and between them slowly expanded. Once the console was large enough for manual control again, the Doctor flipped the viewscreen toward him and studied the readout.

“This doesn’t make any sense,” he said. “According to this, we’re actually outside of time, but the chronon radiation is off the charts.”

“What does that mean?”

“I’m not sure.. Let’s take a look, shall we?” He pointed the sonic toward one of the larger screens on the wall. The display flickered on, panning around to show nebulous gases floating around in empty, starless space.  Something more solid-looking came into view, and the Doctor used the sonic to zoom in on the object.

“It’s beautiful!” Ruby exclaimed. “Is that a…tree?”

The Doctor’s face lit up — this was the type of mystery he lived for. “It can’t be. But it sure looks like it.”

    He turned back to the console and ran some diagnostics on the tree. “Woah! Those branches are made of…time. Pure time, each of them a separate timeline, endlessly branching out.”

As he studied the anomaly, he recited:

An ash I know there stands, Yggdrasil is its name, a tall tree, showered with shining loam.

“What’s that?” Ruby asked.

“It’s from Norse mythology. The Poetic Edda. They believed there was a gigantic tree binding together all the realms. I wonder…”

His joy of discovery gave way to a sudden seriousness. “Ruby?”

“Yeah?”

“We’re not in our own universe. Our universe, it doesn’t work like that.”

“Is that bad?”

“That depends on whether I can get us back.”

The two looked at each other, excitement and worry playing on both of their faces.

“I don’t understand. How did we get here?”

The Doctor shook his head. “No idea.”

Ruby drew a deep breath. “So…what now?”

“The stabilizers and fluid links are shot. I have to do some repairs before we can even think about going back, but it would help if we had a safe spot to land.” He fiddled with the controls and the console room slowly returned to its accustomed size as he continued. “I don’t want to risk going into one of those timelines, but we may not have a choi— oh, hello, what’s this?”

The wall display flickered and showed a kind of break in the swirling clouds of radiation, a dark spot that looked like a curtain being drawn back, and beyond it they could just make out what looked like a metallic object. The Doctor punched a button and the image magnified.

“What’s a space station doing outside of time?” the Doctor mused. “Whatever it is, it’s massive. What say we go have a look?”

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Ruby deadpanned.

“Really? Why?”

“No, sorry. Star Wars reference. I’m in.”

The Doctor pulled another lever and the Tardis made a familiar groaning noise. When it stopped, he looked at the console viewscreen. “Gravity one-gee, breathable atmosphere, perfect. Let’s see if anyone’s around. Maybe we can get some answers, yeah?”

The pair stepped out of the Tardis into a cluttered — but deserted — curving hallway. They made their way past filing cabinets. shelves stacked with odd-looking gadgets, and a tacked-up poster warning the reader against ignoring regular TemPad maintenance. An open archway on their left led into a long workroom. Gadgets in various states of assembly covered nearly every inch of counter top.

“Repairs and Advancement,” the Doctor read from what seemed to be intended as a customer service desk, but was also covered with clutter. “Just what the Doctor ordered.”

Ruby gave him a sidelong look. “So you’re doing dad jokes now?”

“Yeah…I suppose that one needs a bit of work.”

“Oh, visitors. Hi!” said a pleasant, high-pitched voice from behind them. They turned to find a spectacled Asian man in coveralls smiling at them from the archway, his arms filled with yet more odd-looking gadgetry. “Welcome to Repairs and Advancement! How can I help you?”

“Hello. I’m the Doctor, and this is Ruby.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Ouroborous, but these days most people call me O.B.” He waited expectantly, looking from one to the other.

“Well, to start with, could you by chance tell us where we are?” Ruby asked. “What is this place?”

“Like I said, Repairs and Advancement. Are you lost? The elevator’s down that way.” O.B. tilted his head in the direction they’d come and edged around them to lay his burden down on one of the few cleared spaces on the counter top.

“Uh, no…just getting our bearings,“ the Doctor replied. “So, what sort of things do you repair?”

“Well, everything,” O.B. answered, moving behind the counter and examining a long rod with a knob on the end. “Time sticks, TemPads, hot cocoa machines — you name it, I fix it.”

Ruby and the Doctor eyed each other, neither knowing what he was talking about.

“And a TemPad is…?” Ruby prompted.

“Wow. You must work in one of the auxiliary departments. Here, this should answer all your questions.” He picked up a book from the top of a stack on the counter and handed it to Ruby.

“The TVA Handbook,” she read, then cracked it open and flipped through a few pages of notes and illustrations. “Okay…”

“Let me see that,” the Doctor said, taking it from her. He flipped through the entire book, cover to cover, in a matter of seconds. “This technology is extremely advanced…and completely bonkers. In theory, none of this should work. What exactly is —“

“Hey, O.B. There’s been a report of an unauthorized entry somewhere in this area.” The Doctor and Ruby turned to see a Black woman with short-cropped hair wearing dark armor and holding a rod like the one O.B. had been looking at. She carried herself like a soldier, but her expression was friendly. “Have you seen anything or anyone unusual down here?”

“B-15, so good to see you!” O.B. answered. He thought for a moment, then shook his head. “No, nothing out of the ordinary. I was just helping these nice people here.”

B-15 looked Ruby and the Doctor up and down, taking in the Doctor’s striped t-shirt and Ruby’s short skirt and tights. “Right,” she said slowly. “Can I please see some identification?”

“Oh. Certainly.” The Doctor patted his trousers then pulled out a leather billfold and handed it to her. “We’re just inspecting the, uh —“

B-15 took the psychic paper from him and glanced at it. “This is blank.”

“Is it? Huh. Must have left the good one in my coat pocket. I can nip back and get it if you like?”

B-15 tightened her grip on the rod she was carrying and held onto the psychic paper. “I’ll need you both to come with me. We can straighten this out upstairs.”

The two travelers looked at each other and shrugged. “Okay,” the Doctor answered. “Lead on! Lovely to meet you, O.B.”

O.B. smiled. “You too. Come back soon!”

B-15 motioned for the Doctor and Ruby to precede her and they headed back the way they’d come, walking right past the Tardis. -------------------------------------------------------------------------

“So let me get this straight. You two are travelers from another universe, you came here in that cabinet downstairs, and you need to fix it so you just… bypassed all of our security and parked it in the basement?”

B-15 sat at her desk, with the Doctor and Ruby seated across from her.

“Yeah,” the Doctor responded. “Didn’t see any security though.”

“Hmm.” B-15 sighed. “I’ll need you to show me exactly how you —“

“Here’s the latest report on the root-rot.” A man in a white shirt and clipped tie walked up and handed B-15 a small stack of paper. “Lost a few more timelines, all of them just cut off at the beginning again. Weird.”

“Trouble with the tree?” the Doctor asked as B-15 skimmed through the document.

B-15 nodded. “Something’s been killing timelines. Just a few so far, but it’s happening at the roots which means the impact is potentially huge. All those branches that will never even have a chance to form. It’s heartbreaking.” She shook her head. “Why am I telling you this?”

The Doctor smiled. “I just have one of those faces.”

B-15 handed the papers back to the man. “Thanks, Casey. Better get an analyst on this. See if they can make sense of it.”

“Will do.” Casey headed toward a row of desks on the far end of the room.

The Doctor watched him as he left. “Casey? Huh. I could have sworn that was Frank Morris. But, nah, Frank was a bit rough around the edges. This fella seems like a sweetheart.” Seeing the blank looks from B-15 and Ruby, he explained, “I sort of, well, accidentally helped Frank and a couple of his buddies escape from Alcatraz. Saw their boat sinking, thought they were just lads out having a lark on the water and gave them a hand.”

“Right,” B-15 said. “Now, as I was saying —“

“I didn’t see any technical specs for the tree in the TVA handbook,” the Doctor ventured. “How does it work? What’s powering it?”

“You’re trespassers. I think I should be the one asking the questions here.”

“Look, you’ve got a problem. Maybe we can help,” Ruby said. “It’s sort of what we do, and your gut is telling you to trust us, isn’t it?”

B-15 sighed, a small smile starting to form. “Well, I suppose it couldn’t hurt to get a fresh perspective. Alright. The reason there isn’t a technical description for the tree — Yggdrasil — is that’s it’s not a machine. It’s…magic, created by a god. We think he’s still in there, keeping it all going.”

At the mention of Yggdrasil, the Doctor flashed Ruby a grin that said I told you so. “A Norse god?”

“Yes, actually.” B-15 paused, seeming reluctant to continue.

“So, Odin? Or Thor? Tyr? Oh, Heimdall!”

“Not exactly, no.”

The Doctor waited for her to continue. She drew a breath and then said, “It’s Loki.”

“You’re putting me on!”

B-15 chuckled. “Yeah, I realize how crazy that sounds. I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it happen.”

“So, let me get this straight. Your entire universe — all the timelines — are being powered and controlled by the God of Mischief, and you wonder why you’re having problems?”

She shook her head. “Loki wouldn’t do anything to damage the timelines. He’s the only reason they exist at all. We’re more worried that he might be in trouble.”

“Why are you so sure he’s still in there?” Ruby asked.

“Because he would have come back here if that were possible. At least, that’s what our Loki expert said. And from what we saw when he…did what he did, he has to keep hold of the timelines himself or they’ll die.”

“Why would the God of Mischief come here?” the Doctor asked. “No offense, but this looks like the licensing office in Hell. Not the kind of place I’d expect a trickster god to hang out…well, unless he just likes messing with bureaucrats.”

“This is where his friends are. Well, not all of them. Not anymore.”

Ruby turned to the Doctor. “This Loki, is he part of the Pantheon?”

The Doctor shook his head. “Different pantheon. That one has a Trickster as well, but more…evil.”

“So what’s Loki like?” Ruby asked.

The Doctor answered. “Well, according to the mythology, he likes to shake things up. He’s not really good or evil. He’s more like a force of nature.”

B-15 laughed. “That sums him up pretty well.”

“So you know him?” Ruby asked.

“Yeah, we worked together for a bit. I’m the one who brought him here in the first place.” B-15 shrugged. “He was just another variant, no big deal. We used to get Lokis in here all the time. We hauled them in and pruned them when they violated the Sacred Timeline, which they did — a lot. Then he and another Loki opened our eyes to what was really happening. They…’shook things up’, and the TVA and the timelines are better for it.”

“Why is that?” the Doctor prodded.

“We thought it was our duty to protect the Sacred Timeline, but all we were really doing was denying everyone free will, and destroying entire timelines full of people who were just living their lives.”

“I dunno,” Ruby said, “He sounds like a decent bloke to me.” To the Doctor she added, “In fact, he sounds a lot like you.”

“I suppose he does, yeah.” Turning to B-15, he asked, “What happened to the other Loki you mentioned?”

“Sylvie. She left. Her timeline was long gone, so she’s living in another one now. After everything she went through I don’t blame her for wanting nothing to do with the TVA.” At the Doctor and Ruby’s quizzical looks, she shook her head, “It’s a long, sad story.”

 The Doctor nodded. “Must have been quite the adventure, working with not one, but two Gods of Mischief.”

“Don’t tell anyone I said this, but I kind of miss them. They were a royal pain in the ass, but when it came down to it…they’re alright.”

“You mentioned that you have a ‘Loki expert’?”

B-15 smiled. “Mobius. He was one of our analysts, but he quit. Decided to spend some time finding out what it is we’ve been protecting. We’re keeping in touch, just in case the TVA needs a Loki-whisperer.  He was pretty close to Loki — and Sylvie too.”

The Doctor leaned forward, with his hands on the desk. “B-15, if I can make the necessary repairs to my ship, I should be able to get it close to Yggdrasil, if not inside, maybe work out what’s happening to the timelines, yeah?”

“Can your ship can do that? The radiation is bad out there. Nothing we have can tolerate it.”

He grinned. “I’m a Time Lord. I used to play with chronon radiation as a kid. It won’t be a problem.”

B-15 gave him a skeptical look. “A Time Lord? And what does that mean, exactly?”

“It means I’m the right man for the job.”

B-15 sat back in her chair, staring at the two people across from her. Finally, she responded, “I should be locking you both up, not telling you all about the TVA and then letting you waltz right out of here.”

Before the other two could object, she continued, “But if your ship can do what you say it can, it might be worth the risk. I’ll need to bring it to the council.” She pointed at Ruby. “But even if the council approves, she stays here. I’m not letting you both leave.”

Ruby and the Doctor exchanged glances. Ruby nodded. “It’s okay. I’ll be fine.”

“Right,” B-15 said. She stopped Casey as he was walking by again. “Casey, if you’re not too busy, could you give this young lady — sorry, what did you say your name was?”

“Ruby. Ruby Sunday.”

“Can you give Ruby a tour of the place? This gentleman and I need to talk to the council leadership.”

Casey looked at Ruby and brightened. “Sure, I’d be happy to. Anything in particular?”

B-15 answered for her. “Just keep it to the public areas as much as possible, okay?”

“Right,” Casey answered. To Ruby, he smiled shyly and said “I can show you the promenade, if you like. You can see the whole TVA from there. Oh, and there’s the cafeteria. Are you hungry?”

Ruby smiled, stood, and took Casey’s arm. “The promenade sounds lovely.” Next chapter

[ruinedbybooksandanime]

Trying out my first post on here for a story OC I’m writing for ACOTAR. It’s been a long time since I’ve written so any feedback is welcome!!! Thank you for reading :)

Summary: A coming of age party for High Fae is typical for those of good standing. This particular party is going to throw Ravaen into a whirlwind of events that will forever shape her future, should she decide to play along.

Warnings: Swearing, slight lusty comments, alcohol consumption. Pretty tame tbh

Words: 5026

Part Two

The Raven’s Claws

Chapter One

Parties. I hate parties. At least ones like these where I have to pretend to be everything I’m not. The scowl on my face only deepens as I watch my father flit around the Court of Nightmares talking to anyone who will listen. It’s my coming of age party and I’m officially an adult in the eyes of the High Fae.

My dress is beautiful. A tightly fighting gown of the best fabrics and gems. It’s a beautiful shade of midnight blue with silver jewels and gems decorating all over me. I look like a young night goddess with the dress and my long white gold hair that’s curled neatly around my ears. A beautiful moonstone crown rests in my hair and jewels decorate my ears and neck. Fitting for the High Lord enjoyment.

Because this party isn’t for me at all. It’s for my father to present me to the High Lord. For greed and breeding. I lean against one of the onyx columns as I watch my father with disgust rising in my mouth. Sons of dozens of court officials continually look toward me, their eyes filled with desire. I, however, fight the desire to flip them off.

“The High Lord has arrived!”

In an instant, the entire room falls silent. Even the musicians stop playing. We can all feel the dark power that radiates from the High Lord as he walks through the door and a tremor tickles my stomach. My eyes glance toward the Rhysand as he strides into the room with a smirk on his lips. Two Illyrian warriors follow behind him, the tall and strong men dressed in black leathers with their seven red and blue Siphons placed inside.

The High Lord stalks to the dias before he sits upon the throne. The two Illyrians stand next to him, both of them looking down at everyone. His eyes trail over the room, that smirk still firm on his lips. My father steps forward to the dias before he bows deeply.

“My Lord,” my father says and I can’t help the smug look on my face as I hear his voice tremble, “Thank you for allowing me to host my daughter’s coming of age party in your home.”

The High Lord raises his hand in easy dismissal, “Of course. You and yours have always aided my family for millennia. It’s an honor to host you.” His eyes trail over the room again and I feel like sinking into the shadows as I know what his next words will be. “Where is the lovely lady? Has she already fled?”

My father’s lips twitch up into a smile only for the High Lord’s benefit before he turns and spots me hidden away, “Ravaen! Come greet your High Lord.”

I take a deep breath to steady my nerves before I step around the column. I walk slowly toward the dias, my head held high as I meet the High Lord’s dark gaze. His violet eyes flicker with amusement at my boldness but I don’t back down. The crowd parts for me, not a single peep coming from anyone as they’re too scared of the High Lord. I stop in front of the dias and give the most proper courtesy I’ve ever given.

“My Lord,” my voice is the pinnacle of innocence even as fire burns inside of me, “Thank you for hosting me in your lovely home here in the Hewn City.” I raise my head, my own eyes that shine like polished emeralds meeting his again. Even more amusement sits on his face and it takes everything in me not to look annoyed. “I hope to be able to serve the Night Court to my best ability from here on.”

“Oh, I’m sure you will,” his voice makes my skin crawl but for some reason it feels like this is all an act for him. A game. “Congratulations, Ravaen. Enjoy your night in my court.”

“Thank you my Lord,” I bow again. My father preens beside me, clearly pleased with our interaction. I glance back up at the Rhysand. “If you’ll excuse me, my Lord. I hope you have a wonderful night as well.”

His eyes twinkle like the stars of the night sky and I give one last bow of my head before stepping away. I can feel three sets of eyes on my back, the High Lord and his warriors. The music starts up again and the rest of the court returns to dancing, eating, and drinking. I swipe a glass of wine from the table and go back to leaning against the onyx column. My eyes watch over the room, never once lingering on someone for too long. I sip at my wine as I stand there, pretending to be enjoying the party. I don’t dare show my distaste with the High Lord here lest he thinks it’s toward him.

My gaze eventually trails back to where the Rhysand sits and a jolt runs through my body as I realize he’s still staring at me. Even as he talks to one of the other court officials, Keir, his eyes are locked on mine. That’s when I feel it, the softest caress on the wall of obsidian that protects my mind. My eyes dart around the room, trying to figure out who dares to mess with my mind, but it doesn’t take longer than a second to realize it’s the High Lord himself.

“Let him in,” a dark but smooth voice from behind me whispers through the shadows. I glance back and see one of the Illyrian warriors standing in the shadows, almost one with them. The blue Siphons on his armor catch my gaze.

“Why?” I ask, raising my brow. I refuse to let this little game of theirs intimidate me. The warrior’s lips turn down, clearly not expecting my question. I slide a bit further around the column, falling into the shadows beside him. “Why?”

He pauses for a second, studying me to see if I deserve an answer. “He wishes to speak with you. To…make you useful.”

I scowl at him and I feel anger burning in my core, “I’m not interested.”

Once again, I feel that soft caress but this time it comes with a hint of talons. I look at the Illyrian in front of me and my eyes narrow. A soft chuckle leaves my lips as I realize what is happening. I step closer to him, poking a sharpened fingernail against his leather clad chest.

“High Lord. Daemati. Whatever. I’m not interested in being your plaything,” I say to the warrior who is currently letting said High Lord watch through his eyes. I feel a rumble of power, laughter, trickle from behind me where the dias is.

“Do not mistake the High Lord’s intentions,” the Illyrian says, he doesn’t even glance at the finger poking his chest. The shadows curl around my hand and up my arm and the icy touch of them is startling. How odd. “He’s not seeking you out for…pleasure.”

I look at him before I pull my finger away. His hazel eyes meet mine and we stare each other down for a few seconds. His gaze, while cold, seemed to hold something deeper in them. I bite my lip, thinking for a brief moment that this man is extremely attractive. Our staredown ends when I sigh softly and lean back against the column.

“Fine.” I say, allowing just a sliver of my wall of obsidian to crack. Just as quickly as it opens, I feel those dark talons slipping through.

You, my dear, are one tough lady to convince. The High Lord’s voice is full of humor as he speaks. I could use someone like you on my side.

I have to stop myself from biting harsh words at him and the rumble of laughter is in my head this time.

What is it that you want of me, High Lord? I hiss the title at him in response to his laughter.

I wish to speak to you. After your little party. The Illyrian in front of me shifts on his feet, not with unease but with something else. Rhysand must’ve said something to him before his voice slips back to me. Azriel will remain by your side so you don’t steal away into the night. Play nice won’t you.

And with that, his presence leaves and I slam my wall shut. I glance at the warrior, Azriel, and frown deeply. Great, just what I need. An escort.

I flash him my best smile, my eyelashes lowered in a flirty way, “So, Azriel is it?” His features flash with annoyance before that mask is back in place. “If you’re going to watch me for the rest of the night, then at least let me talk to you.”

He crosses his arms, those shadows clinging to every corner of his body. I realize that the darkness that lingers here isn’t just because of the Night Court, but because of him. I track a swirl of those shadows as they brush against his ear, wondering if he controls them or if they work together. He doesn’t say anything the whole time, just stares right back at me.

“What’s the name of the other Illyrian? The one with the red Siphons,” I ask him.

“Cassian.” One word answer but at least its an answer.

I hum softly, filing that information away. “Azriel and Cassian. Rhysand’s two Illyrian warriors.” He flinches as I speak the High Lord’s name and a smirk tugs at my lips. I take another sip of my wine, still concealed in the shadows with Azriel. “How do you work with those shadows? Do you control them?”

“Yes.”

“Are you ever going to speak more than one word to me?”

“No.”

I sneer at him and finish off my glass. “I’m going to get another. Would you like one?”

He looks at me, those calculating eyes peeling me apart from head to toe. “...yes.”

My eyebrows raise in surprise at his agreement to a drink. I give a little grin and nod my head before going toward the tables of drink and food. I feel the High Lord’s eyes on me once more now that I’m not behind the column. I look over at him and give another smile as I pluck two glasses of wine off the table. Surprise crosses his face before a smirk grows on his lips. He leans over to whisper something to the other Illyrian, Cassian, who glances toward me and grins widely. I offer them both a cheeky wink before twirling away back to my column.

“Here, I hope you like wine,” I offer him the glass.

Azriel nods once and takes the glass. He sniffs it cautiously, head tilting, before taking a small drink. His eyes meet mine again as I also drink from my glass.

“Thank you,” he says.

“Oh!” my eyes twinkle with excitement, “A two word response!”

A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips and I feel my heart beat pick up a little. That smile is so unfairly attractive even if it is minute. I lean against the column again and let my gaze trail over him, wondering just what is hiding underneath those dark leathers of his. Azriel clears his throat and those ever creeping shadows seem to curl further around him.

I think for a second about what I can say to him that he might deign to answer. An idea pops into my head and I give a teasing grin over the rim of my glass, “I heard rumor that Illyrian wings are sensitive. That true?”

His eyes widen and I could swear I see a faint blush on his cheeks but it’s hard to see through the darkness. “Why do you ask?”

“We’re up to four words now,” I giggle and shrug my shoulders. “It’s just something I’ve heard. Are they sensitive to the touch or is more of a temperature sensitivity?”

Azriel’s eyes move over me again and I could swear he’s peeling the dress off my body. He shifts slightly, his wings untucking just a bit from behind him. “Both. They’re more sensitive to the touch though.”

“They’re beautiful,” I say softly, the words surprising the both of us but I mean it. “Is it fun? Being able to fly?”

Azriel’s expression cools for a moment and I can’t help but wonder what that’s about. He looks away and then when he looks back, there’s a lightness in his face that I haven’t seen yet. “It’s freeing…I’d be glad to take you sometime.”

I can feel excitement burn through me at that and my jaw drops. “Really?” I imagine soaring through the skies as a giggle leaves me. “You’re not just pulling my leg?”

Azriel shakes his head, that small smile on his lips again. “I’ll take you flying someday.”

My heart is racing in my chest from the promise of getting to experience it someday. Azriel crosses his arms over his chest again and my thoughts suddenly flip to the fact that he’d have to carry me. My eyes trail over his arms and even beneath the leathers, I can tell he’s incredibly strong. I feel heat flush my cheeks and I look away, back toward the party.

“I can’t wait.” That excitement is still there but I can’t bring myself to look at him. Too much wine. My thoughts had definitely started going south.

We stand in silence for a long time, both of us watching the party goers as they dance to the fast music. At some point, Azriel actually steps out to go refill our drinks and I watch him walk across the room. My father finally notices me sulking away from everyone and he walks over with a frown on his lips.

“Father,” my voice is full of disdain but I straighten up and try to look presentable.

“Ravaen, when I decided to ask the High Lord for his hall, I expected you to be out here mingling with these officials and their sons. One of them might be your future husband,” it takes everything in me not to scoff at him as he continues on. “The High Lord himself has graced us with his presence and yet here you stand hiding in the shadows. It’s unbecoming of you. Do not disgrace me.”

My eyes narrow ever so slightly but I force a smile onto my face. “Yes father. I apologize but…”

“She’s been talking with me.” my father’s back stiffens and he almost comically turns to look at Azriel. Here is one of the High Lord’s strongest warriors holding two glasses of wine in his hand, clearly one meant for me. My father’s face pales and he takes a tentative step back, glancing between the two of us.

“I-I see…” he swallows hard. I can see the discomfort on his face and that brings a wicked grin to my own.

“Is that a problem?” Azriel asks, handing me the glass around my father. I take it with a thankful look on my face.

“Not at all,” it brings me joy to hear my father’s voice tremble for the second time tonight. “It’s an honor for my daughter to have captured the High Lord’s shadowsinger’s attention.”

Even as he says it, I can tell he doesn’t really mean it. Azriel seems to sense it too but he doesn’t say anything. I’ve long since known my father’s distaste for anyone who isn’t a High Fae and I’ve even heard him cursing the High Lord about his Illyrian blood. I clear my throat and step out of those comforting shadows, back into the faelight. I feel eyes falling on us, the intense stare from the High Lord included.

“If you’ll excuse us father,” I slink my arm through his, pasting the most brilliant smile on my lips that I can. Any chance I can piss him off I’ll take, even at the expense of the shadow singer. “Azriel and I were going to dance once he returned with our drinks.”

His eyes go wide as he looks at our intertwined arms but he can’t say anything about it given Azriel’s status, “R-Right.”

Azriel offers my father a short nod before he guides me onto the dance floor. His hand slides across my exposed lower back, holding me at a reasonable distance as we sway to the music. I avoid his gaze as I feel his hand resting right above my ass. His fingers are rough and as he takes a drink, I notice that the one hand is covered in burn scars. The other must be as well. My free hand rests on his shoulder and I’m half tempted to ask about the scars but I know better. He had already seemed hesitant to answer me about flying and I have no doubt that the man before me went through hell to get where he is today. Instead, I meet his gaze again, the one that hasn’t left me since he brought me the wine.

“Thank you,” I say quietly, hoping that the music and alcohol will drown out my voice from the listening ears of the fae around us. “For interrupting my father.”

“It was nothing. He…” Azriel hesitates but I give him an encouraging nod. “He doesn’t seem to like Illyrian’s much.”

A frown now sits on my face and I cut my eyes to where my father stands with a group of officials, his eyes occasionally darting toward me. “No. He doesn’t like any fae who aren’t High Fae. Stupid prick thinks he’s better than anyone else just because of the sway he has in the Night Court. I’ve known other fae who are ten times the person he is.”

Azriel looks at me for a long time without saying a word. When he speaks, his words are clearly picked carefully. “Other fae.” He mumbles. “Not lesser fae but other.”

“Like I said, I’ve known other fae who are better than High Fae. Calling them lesser is just demeaning to them.” I glance toward his wings, wanting to touch them suddenly now that they’re in the light. A swirl of shadow curls around the sharp tip of the right one. “I wish there was a better word. I hate that I’m a ‘High Fae’ when I’m no better than anyone else.”

Azriel studies my face like he’s looking for any sign of depict but my words are true and said from the bottom of my heart, “You mean that…you really mean that.”

“Of course I do.” I offer a small smile, feeling a bit shy. “I might be young, might still be a child in the eyes of many, but I’m not blind to the injustices in our kind. I dream of the day all fae can live in comfort and not feel like they’re lesser just because they aren’t High Fae.”

He blinks at me, clearly astonished by my words. “You…you are incredible.”

“What…?” My cheeks color furiously and he seems to realize what he just said as his own face turns red. Shadows begin to curl around him once more. A defense mechanism, I realize, to hide himself away from the world.

“I…” he stumbles over his words as he looks at me with wide eyes. “I just mean that, um, you’ve got an incredible way of thinking. Not many fae think that way…nor would they admit it in a place with as many ears as the Night Court.”

My eyes sparkle with amusement and a little laugh tugs out of me. “No offense to you or the High Lord but…fuck the Night Court.”

Azriel’s eyes grow even wider before a chuckle leaves him. I feel floored, never expecting a cold and calculating man like him to have such a sweet laugh. Though if being around him for the last hour has taught me anything, he’s not cold in the slightest. Maybe I’ve had a bit too much wine but I could swear something in me flickers with recognition. Azriel seems to feel it too as he reels away. We’ve connected in some way and that’s when I realize his shadows have moved to curl around me.

“The shadows,” I whisper softly. “My powers are also based in darkness.” I let my fingers play with his shadows. They act like little pets as they swirl around, dancing to the music. “Lovely…”

Azriel swallows before he leads me from the dance floor. We stand near the dias but far enough away that I don’t need to address the High Lord. I can still feel his eyes on me though, or maybe they’re on Azriel. I let myself look at him and both he and Cassian are staring at us with contemplation in their faces. Azriel follows my gaze and I can feel him tense.

“When the party is over,” he mutters just loud enough for me to hear. “Linger by the gates. I’ll come collect you.”

And before I can even say a word, he’s turning and strolling back up the dias and to the throne. The High Lord cocks his head at him but doesn’t scold him for not sticking around me. I meet Cassian’s gaze next and, while he’s still grinning with all of his teeth, his eyes are observing me closely. I turn away again and make my way back through the crowd, picking up another glass of wine, and drinking the whole thing.

The party ends after another three hours of miserable dancing with the males who think they stand a chance. The High Lord and the Illyrians left when Azriel returned to them so I don’t have to prostrate myself again. I say goodbye to a few people as they leave and tell my father I’m going to continue the celebration at a friend’s house. He seems annoyed with me but doesn’t say anything, hopefully because he fears Azriel might pop around the corner and knife him. I make my way out of the castle hall and to the gates, sitting on one of the benches in front of it.

I must’ve had too much wine because my head is starting to pound and my heart is racing. I lean back against the cool stone and let my eyes slip shut while I wait for the spymaster to return. I feel a presence come near me but I don’t feel any danger so I keep my eyes closed.

“You must be quite bold to sit here while drunk,” an unfamiliar voice says and I quickly open my eyes to see who it is. It’s the other Illyrian warrior, Cassian, who stands before me. His arms are crossed and that same smirk is on his face. Where Azriel is cool and collected, Cassian seems the type to be rough and wild. “Anyone could come by and snatch a pretty thing like you away.”

He’s taunting me, I can tell, but I sit up straight and give him a sweet smile. My words, however, come out laced with venom.

“I’d like to see someone try,” I say as threads of darkness begin to spill from my fingertips. A small show of my powers.

Cassian’s eyebrows raise and he chuckles. “I like you…come on. The High Lord wants to speak with you.”

“So I’ve gathered,” I say as I stand up. My head spins but I don’t let him see it as I fall into step beside him. “Azriel get punished or something? The High Lord not like us dancing?”

“Not at all,” Cassian’s grin grows even wider. “Az had some business to take care of. Don’t worry your pretty little heart though. You’re in good hands.”

I give him a once over before tossing my hair back, “I’m not worried about you.” I try to ooze confidence and I do feel like I could hold my own against him. Cassian laughs again but doesn’t comment. “What’s the High Lord want with me anyway? If he’s not trying to get into my panties.”

Cassian snorts and gives me a side glance, “You’ll find out soon enough. Though if your panties are on offer…”

I snarl at him, baring my teeth. He just grins and leads me up a back set of stairs into the castle again. As soon as we step into the threshold, I feel a weird tingle of magic. Gooseflesh erupts over my skin as I realize I’ve just stepped through wards. Cassian doesn’t seem to notice them, or he already knew they were there, so I try to keep my face still. We walk through a few more halls, the only sound is our feet against the floor. Cassian stops in front of a door and glances back at me. He looks like he’s going to say something but stops and instead opens the door. I can feel him before I even walk inside.

“I hope you enjoyed your party, Ravaen.” The High Lord says as I walk through the door. He’s sitting at a table with a glass of some golden liquor in his hand. He looks far too relaxed and I feel a cold sweat begin to stick to my skin.

“I did.” I keep my voice steady as I step closer, not once moving my eyes from his. “Thank you again for allowing me to use your hall.”

“You mean for allowing your father to use it.” He chuckles and swirls the glass. I feel my heart racing, trying to figure out his motive. He nods to a chair as Cassian walks around to lean against the wall. “Sit.”

I look from the chair back to him. “I’d prefer to stand.”

He shrugs, much to my surprise, and sets the glass down. “As you wish. Do you know why I called you here? Have you figured it out?”

My jaw clenches at his arrogant tone and I flip a curl over my shoulder. “Well since you’re not here to try and fuck me, I would assume it has to do with my family. Did my father bruise your ego, High Lord?”

“So feisty…” he laughs, eyes twinkling with amusement. “That mouth of yours will no doubt come in use some day.” I bristle at the dual meaning of those words. His face turns serious after a moment, his eyes now swirling with dark power. “You’d be correct in assuming your father is on my bad side.”

“Then why have you summoned me?” I raise an eyebrow.

I cross my arms over my chest, the movement plumping my breasts and I catch Cassian’s gaze following the motion. I bare my teeth at him again. Before the Rhysand can say anything, I feel the shadows behind me shift and my eyes move to the corner. Azriel steps out of the darkness, those same wisps of shadow curling around his face, and walks over to the table. He sets something down in the center of the table and my blood chills.

“We know who you are, what you are,” the High Lord speaks coolly as he takes in the medallion that holds my family’s crest. “And I just so happen to need an assassin of your caliber.”

I only have a moment to decide on my next action. I could try and lie but with the medallion that lays on the table there’s no point in it. I let my gaze drift between the three of them before I step forward. Azriel tenses, seeing me as a threat, but I sit down in the chair previously offered. I tap my long fingernails on the table, letting the clicking fill the silence.

A smirk grows on my lips as both the warriors seem to move into defensive stances. “Be at ease. I have no intention of harm.”

“Hard to believe coming from an assassin,” Cassian grumbles but his voice is almost tinged with disbelief. Like he was unaware of mine and my family’s profession.

I cut him a wicked grin, my head tilting almost innocently. “Assassin or no, I would be a fool to attempt anything against the High Lord or you two.” My face falls serious and I dig my fingernails into the table. “And don’t think I enjoy the life that was forced onto me. If you want an assassin, try my siblings or my parents.”

“Unfortunately, that’s not an option,” the High Lord sits up straighter, his eyes swirling with that darkness that is his power. “Because your father is a part of this issue that I need taken care of.”

“You want me to kill my father?” My face remains a cool calm, no emotion expressed even as anger rises.

“No. He’s too useful in my court to kill,” he shakes his head, that blue black hair falling into his eyes. “I’m sure you’ve heard of the unease in my court, whispers of the revolt that’s coming.” I don’t say a word, keeping my face schooled. “Your father is the male behind the curtain. He’s leading a revolt.”

“And? If you don’t want me to kill him then what do you want?” I lean forward, my nails tapping gently again.

“I want you to kill the fae he’s working with,” he nods to Azriel who passes me a folded piece of paper. “The list of names. If we choke out the accessories, the leader will fall.”

I don’t touch the paper as I look at Azriel. “And why don’t you do it?”

“Because it would place too much suspicion on the High Lord and his Inner Circle,” those shadows curl around his fingers and up to his ear. “I was the one to get the information you need but I can’t act on it. Which is why we’ve come to you.”

“And here I thought you were flirting with me at the party because you thought I was cute,” his cool facade falters for a split second before he turns away. I glance at the other two and shrug my shoulders. “What’s in it for me?”

Cassian looks like he’s going to say something but the High Lord raises his hand to stop him. Those violet eyes are still on me, piercing and calculating.

“Escape.”

[sschmendrick]

So what's a line array ?

(Reminder that I am literally just finishing school therefore I still have a lot to learn and what I may be saying might be erroneous at times from a misunderstanding of some audio notions)

Well before we get in the nitty gritty of things, let's visualise what we're talking about. You see the big column (line) of speakers on the left of the stage ? That's a line array : (picture by me of Bons Sons Festival)

They are a solution to the need for louder systems (and more problems). As concerts got bigger, the concert halls became bigger and bigger as well, however there's a terrible thing in audio called attenuation and that's when the sound level diminishes because of the air resistance. The further a soundwave goes, the less powerful it becomes and the less you hear it. There's a very simple equation for that : number of dB (sound level) lost = 20log(distance). It means you would lose 32 dB in 40m, that's a lot !

There's a real need for louder system. And at first we had the Wall of Sound. A monster made of speakers, stacked on top of each other, up to 10m (32 feet) tall. This is the grandpa of line arrays.

There is a problem however. If the simple solution to "one speaker alone cannot produce enough sound for a whole crowd" seems to be "well just put more on top of it", this doesn't take into account the fact that the soundwaves produced by one speaker will interact with the soundwaves produced by another speaker and this will result in overlapping zones where it either adds the two (bigger sound), or substract one from the other (holes in the spectrum). This leads to using more speakers than necessary to cover those holes.

If these speakers could create a cohesive line front then you wouldn't need as much speakers. This means you want them to act as ONE speaker : as one SOURCE. What you need is for your line array to act like a line source.

In the early 90s Christian Hail (founder of L-Acoustics) determined the physical conditions needed for a line array to have a coherent wavefront. There are 5 criterias to the WST (Wavefront Structure Technology). If a line array conforms to all 5 then it will behave like a line source and be of great help for large concert halls and open air events. Nowadays a lot of softwares have been developped (usually one per manufacturer) to help with all the calculations : you only need to create a model of the venue in the software, select what speakers you are using and then give a maximum height (and other information that you have) and you can visualize how each speaker will behave, where will their energy be focalized, how they will interact with heat map and a lot of cool stuff.

(yes I know ArrayCalc is for d&b but it's the one I used the most at school)

Anyway the 5 criterias :

First we have the ARF, the Active Radiating Factor. This says that the wavefront created needs to be bigger or at least 80% equal to the total length of the line.

Then you have the STEP. The Step is the distance between two sources's acoustic centers. It should not be bigger than half of the wavelength of the highest frequency producessed. For example if the higher frequency produced is 100Hz (3.4m), then the distance between two speakers should not exceed 1.7m. However this becomes 0.17m for 1kHz and 0.01m for 16kHz. It becomes apparent that for higher frequencies it is almost physicaly impossible to have the correct step.

The third criteria treats of the wavefront's curve. It can be accepted, as it will natureally be when created by a speaker. The wavefront being curved there will be a slight difference in the distance needed to get to the audience between the top of the curve (the highest point) and the sides who are curved. However there is a limitation on how curved it can be. It can be calculated and it must be inferior to 1/4th of the highest wavelength. Waveguides were created to help "sculpt" that wavefront.

The last two criterias focus on keeping the line source's angle variable without losing the coherence of the wavefront.

The fourth criteria takes into account the sound level attenuation according to the distance. To keep the attenuation at 3dB per doubling of the distance, the angle between each speaker must be inversely proportional to the distance to the adience. This means the further away the audience member is, the more closed the angles between the speakers are.

And finally the last criteria determines the maximum angle between each element of the line array. This is to avoid the holes in the audio spectrum. It is an equation that I'm not going to try and write on tumblr.

Taken right from my thesis haha.

If the line array agrees to all these criterias it can be considered a line source. Line arrays usually take care of the audience further away on the ground and also in the balconies/stories/heights. There is a real need to understand how far your stage speakers will produce good sound (especially with all the fills you have on the front of the stage) and adapt the placement of your line arrays (or its general curvature).

Its line aspect also influences the shape of the hot spot. For a lone speaker the hot spot is going to be near it, at it's acoustic center, then attenuated in a spherical manner. For a line array, it will produce a hot spot in a line. This transforms the heat map. That's how you can have big concert halls with a general sound level that is very homogenous (the people in the front still have the most sound level/sound pressure). Understanding how they work allows you to create blind spots voluntarily (for example because of architecture).

Line arrays are almost present at every concerts now. But be careful with the fingers when setting them up !!

[criticalglitch]

In the firelight, the rest of the night drowned away in darkness. The stars had even tucked away, giving the illusion that the whole of the world was contained in the meagre glow of Callar and Sandoval's small camp. The intimacy of the space burgeoned in the quiet crackle of the tinder.

They sat across from each other at the fire, each illuminated by its colour, silent in their reprieve. The promise of a moment, the hush secrecy of their refuge in the dark, seemed to press into them, and Sandoval shifted, fidgeting with his cloak.

His wound from the scuffle with the Dynasty's forces had healed up a treat, wrapped in salves with a neat bandage. After the glow of the false night sky in Siofra, the darkness in the world above felt strange.

"It reminded me of home," Sandoval said, breaking the silence.

Callar started slightly, the sound unexpected.

"What?"

"The river. The palace. Not the blood and the shit, so much, but. Towering structures in the darkness. Where I came from, the sun and stars died long before I was born. Our lands were all stone columns and spires, with an unceasing night sky. Dark above, when I saw the sunlight for the first time, I thought I'd go blind." He gave a soft laugh. "Hence the hood. The shade helped my eyes."

Callar relaxed slightly as Sandoval continued, its fingers idly pulling the strands of its hair, feeling the grooves and texture in the locks.

"Seems a dismal place," it murmured, the stench of blood and fire still clinging to its nostrils. There was something rancid within it, a stomach-turning vileness that eclipsed the copper bite of its mundane origin. Sandoval had never once commented on the stench, only expressing mild disappointment at being essentially barefoot around so much unpleasant texture.

"Well," he pondered, pressing his ball-jointed thumb to his lips. "You aren't entirely wrong." He took a twig to the fire, disturbing it and renewing its oxygen, allowing it to burn a little brighter.

Another silence followed, punctuated only by the distant chirp of wildlife and the soft rustle of the tall grass. Sandoval glanced up at Callar's features for a moment, before averting his gaze, a shyness in the movement.

"I-it had its virtues," Sandoval said. "We bred these - well, they really bred themselves, but we cultivated these beautiful glow worms that would just radiate colour in the dark. Like a torch, they were so brilliant, and you could place them in your gardens and it was like the Liurnian sky - hundreds of little lights in the earth, sparkling and fading, sparkling and fading..." he let out a breath. "Like wingless fireflies."

Callar watched him nearly glow, his eyes widening with wonder at the recollection.

"Speaking of blood, though... Something's been troubling me," Sandoval mused, sitting upright. "You helped me dress my wound, despite my objections, and you're fine. In fact, you've come into contact with my blood numerous times."

"Yes," Callar said, furrowing its brow.

"You haven't died," Sandoval said. "I've been so worried that..." his voice falters slightly, and there's an agony in there that it recognizes. Poorly guarded, and raw.

"That what."

"I'm poisonous," Sandoval says. "Every part of me. It's why I've been trying to keep my distance."

Callar cocked its head slightly, trying to set aside the absurdity of the situation. "You're poisonous," it repeated, sounding incredulous.

"Yes!" Sandoval sat up on his heels for emphasis. "It's been a *problem*." He pulled at the fraying hem of his waistcloth. "But not for you. Night above, I haven't even been touched by someone who hasn't tried to kill me in-" he stopped abruptly, one palm nearly digging into the dirt. A flush came across his cheeks, which he desperately tried to hide beneath a mess of blond curls.

Fragility was not a look Callar was unaccustomed to seeing Sandoval wear, but this particular seed of embarrassment was new. It was almost amused.

"How would you poison that which is poisonous?" It didn't smile, but there was almost a playful tone in its voice. Almost.

"I... I suppose that makes sense," he admitted. He fell quiet again, his head swimming. All of these heroics between the two of them, the constant danger and the awkward conversation, he felt a warmth in his chest that opened like a bloom. Something he desperately tried, and failed, to disguise.

"What I mean to say is, thank you. For protecting me." He looked down at the dirt, at the fire, at anything but Callar - not out of embarrassment of the gratitude - but out of embarrassment for himself.

Callar acknowledged the thanks with a slight nod of its head, examining his body language with curiosity. Knees drawn inward, sitting, rather uncomfortably, Head low, hand gripping his opposing arm, kinetic energy releasing into his own skin. He was anxious. Fluttering. Sandoval always seemed like water to it - flowing and moving, unceasing but gentle. This tightness, this wind, was strange. Like a whirlpool in a lake, circling rapidly inward.

Sandoval slowly inched around the fire, closer and unsure. "You... you put everything into that battle," he said, biting his lip. "The way you fight, like you have nothing to lose... Callar, you can slow down, if you need to."

"I don't," it said, defensively. Sandoval stopped, hos jaw locking slightly.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean... I just mean, we *have* something to lose, now. If we don't reach Lord Miquella..."

"I know what's at stake."

"Of course you do," Sandoval relented, almost wincing. "I just want you to live."

The sentence hit the earth like an anvil, crashing through the dim firelight. Sandoval realized what he'd said, and he scrounged to explain, reeling from his own deliverance. "I just - I'm rather fond of you, and I don't want to see you go down. And I'm grateful for your strength, stars know I certainly couldn't have gotten this far on my own, but I love you-"

It stared at his gesticulating hands in disbelief. The neat bandage on his palm that it had tied itself, the faded, dented metal of his fingers, the slight quake and tremble of his forearms. The sound of his voice blended together in a melody, humming background noise to his movements. It wasn't until it was quiet again that it regained its attention, noticing that Sandoval had recovered the distance, moving back to his position across the campfire. He'd stopped talking, his knees pulled to his chest, an uneasy smile on his lips.

"Let's... let's try to get some rest," he murmured. "Sorry." He tamped out the flames, the heavy darkness blanketing them, removing him from view aside from a vague outline as he lay in the dirt.

Callar curled its tail around itself, winding tightly, an unease coursing through its limbs. What else had he said? Why did he stop?

And what did he *mean?*

[sweetearthandnorthernsky]

33 for anyone you'd really like to plinko :D

33. protector/sacrifice (leaning more into sacrifice because i'm. mean lol) me @ me: how to save candaith while also having a dead character to give the troubled dream sequence the Weight ™ it deserves [redacted]: bonjour c: me: oh. thats how. FUCK anyway! spoilers for the forsaken road :') ish.

The wind screams in the caverns, cutting through Saelinriel's cloak as if it's made of paper, and she shivers. Her hands shake as they hold her torch as she ventures further into the cavern, following closely behind Radanir.

There is a howling gust and all the torches, not just hers, go out in a single puff, drowning the Grey Company in darkness.

The darkness is all consuming, until, breaths later, blue light flickers into being, like corpse-candles.

They are tall columns, indistinguishable from shadows in the evening at first, before steadily growing clearer and clearer until Saelinriel can see each face with perfect detail. Saelinriel can almost feel the anger that radiates from them like a heatwave, and they get only angrier when Halbarad challenges them.

Finally, the leader seems to call off the other shades and look straight at her, so intently as if they are trying to turn her into a shade by sheer force alone. Chill clings to her bones as the leader instructs her to find Britou, who speaks with all who pass through the Forsaken Road. 

Then, as quickly as blowing out a candle, the shades disappear.

They are not gone, she still feels the chill of the air that lingers around the Dead, but they are no longer visible, and that is better than nothing. Halbarad tells her that he and Radanir will search one side of the cavern, and tells her to find Candaith, who ought to be down that way.

Just as she is about to go down into the tunnel where Britou awaited, something catches her elbow, and she nearly jumps several feet in the air. There is an apologetic chuckle, and Tadan steps out of the shadows. 

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says ruefully, as she shakes her head, trying to calm her heart rate. “Where are you headed?” 

She shrugs. “I was told that Candaith would be down this way, and to find him before speaking with Britou.”

“Mind if I come with you?” 

If Saelinriel has to tell the truth, the company is more than welcome. The chill makes her teeth chatter, and the Dead sets her on edge, so she nods, and they find Candaith, and the three of them go see Britou. 

The stones crack underneath Saelinriel’s boots as she walks, and her shoulders brush the wall of the tunnel before it spits them out into a bowl shaped cavern, where a shade – bright in the dimness, with horribly keen, piercing eyes - waits in silence. 

He studies them keenly, and there is a coldness in his eyes. He feels much more alive than the other shades and something about him makes her chest twist into knots.

“All who stray here belong to the Dead.” Britou speaks the word dead with a horrifying finality, and it is all she can do to not step back. “It was unwise to come here, warm-bloods.”

"You came to this place to escape your curse, Britou. But there was no escape, was there?" Candaith says, coldly. “You will never know the peace of death until you fulfill your oath.”

Britou scoffs and summons shade after shade, trying to wear them all down, until Candaith steps forward, eyes blazing underneath his hood and mask. “Enough of this!" he commands fiercely. "We need prove nothing to you.”

Britou laughs and five shades appear this time. Saelinriel and Candaith and Tadan barely manage to defeat them – if defeat is the right word, since they cannot truly be slain for they are the Dead Who Do Not Rest.

"End this, Britou! I command you to end this!" Candaith says, every inch one of the Dúnedain.

"I need not listen to your commands, warm-blood!" Britou raises his hands for the spirits to come again but--

"Hold!" Candaith's voice echoes with power, like the roaring sea, and Saelinriel nearly claps her hands to her ears with the way it bounces off the stone walls. “I have the authority to command you and all your kind, Britou!”

Her heart freezes in her chest and she almost chokes on her breath. She and Tadan share a look that says the same thing: What is candaith doing?

Britou scowls, his faint blue light growing brighter by the minute. "Impossible! What evidence dost thou have that this be so?” He hisses the words out, his voice shuddering off the walls, as if there is a multitude of him instead of one.

Candaith pulls his glove off without lowering his sword and his bebarahir glints in faint blue light as he holds it aloft. “The ring of Barahir, heirloom of isildur's line!"

Britou snarls, his face going dark. His eyes narrow as he studies Candaith, and the small room gets even colder – Saelinriel’s teeth chatter faster than before.  “I see…”

She does not know what Britou is looking for in Candaith’s face, but try as she might, Saelinriel cannot see over Candaith's shoulder. 

A few moments pass. 

She can tell by the way the cavern goes still – more still than before – that something passes unseen and unspoken between them. 

“We will fulfil our oath at last, that the heir may lift the curse. thou may tell thy men.”

Ever so slowly, Candaith turns to face her and Tadan.

The relief that flooded her at Britou's admission slowly ebbs away, draining out of her and leaving the dregs of worry and fear in their place – instead of a triumphant smile, a grimace graces Candaith’s face, like he is bracing himself for something unpleasant.

She watches as Tadan’s eyes go wide.

And everything happens at once.

Britou's lips curl into a devious smile and he looms large behind Candaith, casting a dark blue shadow over him, and Saelinriel’s mouth drops open and she can't- she can't say anything, she can't force a single syllable out. 

Britou lifts his spirit-sword high and Tadan only just manages to shout a warning, but it is too late – Britou strikes Candaith down before there is time for him to even do anything. 

“But that is not the Ring of Barahir, and thou art not the heir of Isildur.”

The words echo in a deafening judgment as  Candaith staggers forward and she tries - though she knows, logically, that she would not be able to catch him easily - to keep him from hitting the ground hard. 

He is so still and heavy, and she is frozen and cannot move and Britou's eyes glint as he narrows in on her and Tadan as red oozes across Candaith’s back. 

“Get Candaith out of here,” Tadan says, his voice only slightly shaky as he steps between Britou and the two of them and– 

Saelinriel wants to argue, she can’t– won’t– just leave him here, (she made a promise in Evendim, at the side of Astiul's cairn, all those months ago) but the red stain on the back of Candaith’s tunic is rapidly spreading and getting concerningly dark. 

Her free-hand hovers above her sword, torn, as Britou continues to summon shade after shade. 

“Just give me a head start,’’ he says, swords drawn. “I’ll be out in a moment.”

“But–”

Candaith lets out a cough, and blood trickles out of his mouth. 

“Go!”

Britou's cold, cruel laughter echoes through the hollow chambers as she is forced – half-carrying, half-dragging a woozy Candaith – through the tunnels, harried by the Dead. 

All around them, the cavern shakes, as rocks and dust shudder down from the ceiling and the Dead pursue them as they flee, though more than once she turns, trying to see where Tadan is, but the haze of falling debris makes that impossible. They stumble over planks of wood, over bodies -- and this makes her want to be sick, but to be sick is to stop and to stop is... not an option.

An eternity passes – or so it feels – before the two of them stumble into Radanir, nearly knocking him down as the world shifts and tilts, and Saelinriel grabs his arm with her free hand – partly to steady herself, and keep from toppling Candaith onto the floor at such an abrupt stop. 

At once, Radanir ducked under Candaith’s other arm, and some of the weight shifts, balancing out, and Saelinriel’s shoulders aren’t screaming so loudly at her for trying such a task alone anymore. 

Radanir looks utterly concerned, his brows drawn together as he tries to limp them toward the exit, but his words floated to her as if he were speaking underwater. “What has happened? All of a sudden, the Oath-breakers fell upon us, and we have only driven them off for the moment!”

“I…” She stumbles over herself as they come nearly to the mouth of the caverns, and Radanir tries to take Candaith further but her feet are rooted to the ground as black spots dance in her vision and her next words scrape her throat raw: “Stop! We have to wait for Tadan!” 

The cavern is shaking still, sending more and more debris down on them but...

Radanir says something about her and Candaith being nearly the last ones in the caverns -- everyone else is gone -- and surely Tadan is waiting for them outside.

Another rattling boom as the cavern walls shake harder, throwingg down boulders the size of Saelinriel's torso, and there really is no arguing now.

But, as the three of escape into the fading daylight, stumbling bloodied and pale with the rest of the company back to Lhaunch, she keeps her eyes on the darkness of the tunnels until the very last.

[reactor-four-official]

The first photo of Chernobyl Nuclear Power Plant Reactor 4 after the explosion early on the morning of April 26th, 1986.

Taken out of the porthole of a helicopter, the immense background radiation can be seen as the spotty haze on the film. In an effort to collect more information on the severity of the accident, helicopter crews flew several sorties to photograph Unit 4 through the smoke of the flaming tar on the roof and the column of radioactive elements rising from the melting reactor. These photos allowed the disaster teams to formulate a plan to combat the meltdown in the burning reactor core and start building a sarcophagus to entomb the disaster site. Some knew the dangers of radiation, but many did not. Many would later die prematurely due to exposure to radioactive elements.

Photo credit: Igor Kostin

[Image description: the photo is of the exterior of the reactor hall of Chernobyl unit four from the west. It is a tall white concrete building with several tiers of roofs. Debris, mainly twisted metal support beams and graphite from the reactor, is strewn all over the ground and a large hole is visible in the top of the reactor hall. Windows are blown out lower in the building. The turbine hall, a long continuous building several stories shorter than the reactor hall, is visible behind the reactor. Large sections of the turbine hall roof near reactor four are damaged or missing. The photo is hazy due to radiation.]

[cateyesinlove]

ACOTAR DAEMON AU!

IT IS HERE, ITS HERE, ITS HEREEEEEE, I am extremely excited to share with everyone this exciting project! I'll be sharing the individual characters and their daemons and a little about them

"The beast plopped into the chair, the wood groaning, and, in a flash of white light, turned into a golden-haired man. From behind the man came out a golden lioness, eyes a bright amber and graceful and intimidating."

"—another High Fae: red-haired and finely dressed in a tunic of muted silver. He, too, wore a mask. A small red fox was on his shoulders laying lazily there."

"Everything about the stranger radiated sensual grace and ease. High Fae, no doubt. His short black hair gleamed like his raven’s feathers, perch gracefully on his shoulders, a beautiful daemon, his pale skin, and blue eyes so deep they were violet, even in the firelight. They twinkled with amusement as he beheld me."

"I groaned as I braced my hands against the floor, readying myself to stand, but—the sight of my skin stopped me cold. It gleamed with a strange light, and my fingers seemed longer where I’d laid them flat on the marble. I pushed to my feet. I felt—felt strong, fast, and sleek. And— I could feel fur. Under my hand laid a gray wolf; Big, almost as big as Andreas had been when I took his life. The wolf opened its eyes and looked at me with bright, blue, and full-of-life eyes."

"Her bright, golden hair was tied back in a casual braid, and the turquoise of her clothes—fashioned like my own—offset her sun-kissed skin, making her practically glow in the morning light. “Hello, hello,” she chirped, her full lips parting in a dazzling smile as her rich brown eyes fixed on me, her daemon a small crow standing on her shoulder. “Feyre,” Rhys said smoothly, “meet my cousin, Morrigan. Mor, meet the lovely, charming, and open-minded Feyre.”

“You’re free,” Mor said tightly. “You’re free.” Not safe. Not protected. Free. She carried me beyond the garden, into the fields, up a hill, down it, and into—into a cave— Aster following and keeping guard with Sadek and making sure no one saw anything."

"Both of them were tall, their wings tucked in tight to powerful, muscled bodies covered in plated, dark leather that reminded me of the worn scales of some serpentine beast. Identical long swords were each strapped down the column of their spines—the blades beautiful in their simplicity. perch in one of their shoulders were each daemons, a bat, and a hawk."

"And maybe part of me remained mortal, because even though the short, delicate woman looked like High Fae … as Rhys had warned me, every instinct was roaring to run. To hide. She was several inches shorter than me, her chin-length black hair glossy and straight, her skin tan and smooth, and her face—pretty, bordering on plain—was bored, if not mildly irritated. But Amren’s eyes … Her silver eyes were unlike anything I’d ever seen. Around her neck seemed to be a dark-colored snake, black as night, observing me and Aester."

"Elain sucked in a breath, her fine-boned back rising, her wet nightgown nearly sheer. And as she rose from the ground onto her elbows, the gag in place, as she twisted to look at me— Nesta began roaring again as a small white owl came into existence flying above elain and finally landing on her shoulder, her pale skin started to glow. Her face had somehow become more beautiful—infinitely beautiful, and her ears … Elain’s ears were now pointed beneath her sodden hair."

"Nesta took a breath. And when I beheld my sister, with her somehow magnified beauty, her ears … When Nesta looked to me … Rage. Power. Cunning. Then it was gone, horror and shock crumpling her face, but she didn’t pause, didn’t halt. She was free—she was loose. She was on her feet, tripping over her slightly longer, leaner limbs, ripping the gag from her mouth — Nesta slammed into Lucien, grabbing Elain from his arms, and screamed at him as he fell back, “Get off her! " As Nesta slammed Lucien, a creature came into existence as it tackled Eletta, a huge cat-like creature, holding down the small and stunned fox."

[theexclusivestory]

Unveiling the Mysteries of the M16 Eagle Nebula

In space, there's a beautiful place called the M16 Eagle Nebula. It's in a constellation called Serpens. This nebula is amazing because it has tall pillars made of gas and dust. Astronomers and people who love space find it really interesting. Let's learn more about why this Nebula is special and what scientists have discovered about it.

Discovering the M16 Eagle Nebula

The Eagle Nebula was first seen by a Swiss astronomer named Jean-Philippe Loys de Chéseaux in 1745. But it wasn't until 1764 when a French astronomer named Charles Messier found it again without knowing about de Chéseaux's discovery. Messier named it M16 and put it in his list of things in space that aren't comets.

Located approximately 7,000 light-years away from Earth, in the Sagittarius Arm of the Milky Way galaxy, the M16 Eagle Nebula is part of a region of active star formation known as the Serpens Molecular Cloud. This cloud is a vast complex of gas and dust where new stars are born, and the Eagle Nebula stands out as one of its most visually striking features.

The Pillars of Creation

One of the coolest things about the M16 Eagle Nebula is its "Pillars of Creation". These are huge columns made of gas and dust in space. They're incredibly tall, reaching over 6 trillion miles high! These pillars are like special places where new stars are born. Imagine them as big, cosmic cribs for baby stars. And we got to see them up close thanks to a famous picture taken by the Hubble Space Telescope in 1995.

The Pillars of Creation are giant columns of gas and dust in space. They're shaped by the pull of gravity and the energy from big stars nearby. Inside these pillars, clumps of gas get squeezed together by gravity. Eventually, they become baby stars called protostars. These protostars gather more material from around them and start burning hydrogen in their cores. That's when they become real stars, lighting up the nebula they're in.

The picture of the Pillars of Creation taken by the Hubble Space Telescope is not just pretty; it helps scientists learn about how stars form. When they look at the Eagle Nebula where the Pillars are, astronomers can figure out more about how stars and planets are born.

Stellar Clusters and Nebula Dynamics

Far away in space, there's a place called the M16 Eagle Nebula. Inside it, there are groups of young stars huddled closely together. Scientists believe these stars formed from the same big cloud of gas and dust that made the nebula.

The strong radiation from big, young stars really affects the nearby cloud of gas and dust. This radiation, along with strong winds from the stars, carves out holes in the cloud, making the cool shapes we see. Eventually, these forces break down the cloud, scattering its stuff into space. This clears the path for more stars to form later on.

Observations and Scientific Investigations

Astronomers have looked at the M16 Eagle Nebula using different tools that can see different types of light. They used the Hubble Space Telescope, which took famous pictures of it. They also used telescopes on the ground that can see infrared, radio waves, and X-rays.

Infrared light helps us see through dusty areas where new stars are forming because it can pass through dust better than regular light. Radio observations help us find places with lots of gas and figure out how it moves in these areas where stars are being born. X-ray observations let us spot super hot, young stars and cool events like exploding stars from supernovas.

Astronomers have learned a lot about the Eagle Nebula by studying it using different types of light. They've looked at the colors of gases and dust, figured out where stars are, and watched how the stuff in the nebula moves. This helps them understand how the nebula formed and changes over time.

Cosmic Significance and Future Investigations

The M16 Eagle Nebula is like a science lab in space. It helps scientists learn about how stars are born and how stuff between stars changes over time. By figuring out how new stars and planets form, scientists can learn more about how galaxies, like our own Milky Way, grow and how things like our solar system came to be.

The Eagle Nebula shows us how amazing and beautiful our universe is. It makes people of all kinds feel amazed and curious. The pictures of it are famous and make us think about space. They remind us how we are connected to the universe.

In the future, scientists will keep studying the M16 Eagle Nebula to learn more about how stars are born and change over time. They'll use better telescopes and tools in space and on Earth to look deeper into this amazing space object. This will help them find out more cool stuff and make exciting new discoveries.

Conclusion

The M16 Eagle Nebula is like a beautiful painting in the sky, showing us how amazing the universe is. It has tall structures called the Pillars of Creation and places where new stars are born. Looking at it makes us want to learn more and appreciate the incredible things around us.

When we look at the Eagle Nebula, we remember how small we are compared to the huge space around us. But we're still linked to all the stars and galaxies out there. Astronomy helps us see how amazing the universe is and all the amazing things we might discover beyond what we can imagine.

FAQs

User Is The Eagle Nebula a real thing? Yes, the Eagle Nebula is a real thing! It's a huge cloud of gas and dust in space. It was found in 1745 by an astronomer named Jean-Philippe Loys de Chéseaux. It's about 7,000 light-years away from us in the Serpens constellation. You can see it with a small telescope, especially in July.

What will happen to Eagle Nebula? The new pictures taken 20 years later gave us more information about how fast the pillars are evaporating. There's no sign of a supernova explosion happening in them.

Is M16 in the Milky Way? Yes, M16, also known as the Eagle Nebula, is indeed located in the Milky Way galaxy. It lies within the Sagittarius-Carina spiral arm, which is one of the prominent arms of our galaxy. M16 is famous for its striking pillars of gas and dust, often referred to as the "Pillars of Creatio", which were captured in a famous image by the Hubble Space Telescope.

Is nebula a dying star? Planetary nebulae are like colorful clouds made of gas and dust thrown out by old stars. The James Webb Space Telescope from NASA showed us new things about one called the Southern Ring, things we couldn't see before.

[theapprenticeofthanatos]

TAoT: One-Shot: Deleted Scene: TUE—Danny Meets Dan’s Thanatos

This was the scene that was originally in place of the "Danny meet Dan’s Demeter" scene in Chapter 23, but it didn’t work out. We still wanted to post it, though. To give readers a peek at how Dan’s Thanatos is doing. :)

(Since this is a deleted scene, it isn’t finished, and some parts were left unwritten. Sorry about that.)

~~~~~

Danny didn’t know where he was. In his attempts to somehow find his way through the Ghost Zone, he had only gotten himself more lost. He hadn’t seen much of anything for a while now. There was the random piece of rock floating here and there in the endless green landscape, but honestly… not much else. Yet, out on the far horizon, Danny thought that he saw… something.

He continued forward, and after a minute or so the little blur on the horizon turned into the outline of a group of buildings.

Perhaps against his better judgment, Danny decided to head over there. It wasn’t like there was anywhere else to go, and maybe—just maybe—there was someone in this future that would help him.

.

.

Once Danny finally reached the buildings, he came to a stop. The buildings were all clustered on top of a large, floating island. They were all white and gold, with tall pillars that had clearly withstood the test of time. It all looked very… Greek.

Danny had never seen this part of the Ghost Zone before, and as he landed on the edge of the island, he noticed that the whole place looked pretty worn down. The white marble columns were chipped and cracked. The gold paint had flaked away in some places. The plants were all withered and shriveled up. And there wasn’t a soul—living, dead, or otherwise—in sight.

In the middle of the group of buildings was a courtyard. The cobblestone was worn down and crumbled away in some spots, revealing the swirling green abyss of the Ghost Zone below. It didn’t even look safe to walk on.

But what was in the courtyard was what made Danny stop. Kneeling in the center, their arms chained to a pair of ancient marble pillars, was…

No way.

Danny couldn’t believe his eyes. The person didn’t have wings, but their skin tone… their stature… the aura of death radiating from them…

It can’t be.

Refusing to believe what he saw, Danny flew down into the courtyard. He glided silently over the cobblestone, and came to a stop about ten feet from the being.

It… was Thanatos.

But…

This wasn’t the Thanatos that Danny knew.

His hair was dirty and matted, and looked as if it had been cut with a dull knife, its longest strands only reaching his jawline. His skin looked like a battlefield, with scars both old and new, small and large, clean and jagged covering every inch of his body. And his wings…

Danny’s stomach churned as he saw Thanatos’ wings—or rather, what was left of them. Two bony stumps protruded from the god’s back. They had a few feathers dangling from them, like a poorly plucked chicken. Skin had grown over the broken bone, but from what Danny could see it looked like the appendages had been sawed through.

It must have been excruciating.

The god’s head was hung low, so that Danny couldn’t see his face—Danny wondered if he was even awake. If he was even alive.

Can gods die? He briefly wondered to himself, but then he shuddered as he remembered the golden blood staining Dan’s hands. But… could Thanatos die?

Danny drifted closer, until he was just a couple of feet from the chained god.

Thanatos didn’t react. Did he even know that Danny was there?

Hesitantly, Danny reached out and touched the chains, but he recoiled immediately with a hiss of pain—the chains were far colder than he would’ve imagined possible, to the point that they burned his fingers, even through the insulation of his gloves. He hadn’t thought they would hurt him at all; cold temperatures hadn’t really affected him since his portal accident.

But the chains radiated an unnatural chill—one that blew through Danny’s core like a bitter wind and instantly soured his mood.

He glared at the chain as he rubbed his hands together to try and warm them up. Stupid frickin’ thing, just like everything else in this stupid future—

The chains shuddered. Danny quickly backed away as Thanatos began to move, the chains rattling and clinking as the defeated god wearily lifted his head and met Danny’s gaze.

~~~~~

Aaaand that’s all you get for now, sorry! We have more of this scene written, but it reveals things that don’t come up until way later in the main story, and it ends up causing too many issues/continuity errors later on.