#times like these fanfic part 6

[soulnb42]

Times Like These (part 6)

AO3

Part 6

Beatrice slowed her pace then came to a stop when Ava caught up with her. Ava immediately bent over, holding her knees, her lungs were burning with the exertion, so much so she was practically wheezing.

“I think… I prefer when… you kick my butt,” Ava stated, still trying to catch her breath. “Never… thought I’d say that… and mean it…”

Beatrice laughed softly. She had made them run at a steady pace through an uneven terrain across the wood for almost an hour. She had meant for it to be a warm up, but seeing how it had taken the wind out of Ava, she made a mental note to add a little more cardio in their daily training routine.

Ava was still heaving when she straightened up. She looked at Beatrice incredulously. “I’m pretty sure… I’ve lost a lung back there,” she pointed a thumb over her shoulder. “And you’re… not even winded…” she rolled her eyes. “…figures.”

Beatrice stretched a bit then just sat down and enjoyed the scenery. They had reached a lake; the view was quite stunning with the mountains in the background. Ava dropped on the floor next to her, she was still breathing heavily but her lungs were no longer on fire.

“Do you want to talk about last night?”

Beatrice’s question took her by surprise. She felt a shiver run down her spine at the memory of her nightmare and shook her head vehemently. “Not really, no.”

“Okay,” Beatrice nodded. “I’m here if you ever change your mind.”

Ava nodded to acknowledge the offer but didn’t say anything else.

They remained quiet for a long time. Beatrice looked at Ava and she could see the dark cloud hovering above her head. So far, she had let Ava on her own devices, but today she knew she would push her to talk. They needed to get to the core of what was bothering her.

Last night, when she was watching over Ava after her nightmare, she had an epiphany. Well, not so much an epiphany than a reminder. The Halo was tied to Ava’s emotions. So, she had put herself in Ava’s shoes and it occurred to her that Ava was afraid and maybe she didn’t want to fight.

It was easy to forget that Ava had not been prepared for the Halo. Every bearer before her had been trained beforehand, they had accepted the assignment willingly. Mother Superion had been ready, Shannon had been ready, and even if things hadn’t gone according to plan

Ava…had been thrown into a brand-new world, a world that expected her to fight and die for it.

It was unfair. She had been given another life only for it to come with insane caveats.

Then Beatrice had remembered the note Ava had left behind that time she had run away from the OCS: I want to live.

It was that simple.

Beatrice had thought long and hard, in the end she came to a decision that went against everything she was standing for, but one that was at least fair to Ava, consequences be damned.

“This is a nice place,” Beatrice mused aloud. “The décor is beautiful, it’s quiet and peaceful, people are nice… you could have a good life here.”

She felt Ava’s gaze on her, but kept on watching the scenery. “I could tell the others you’ve escaped my watch, while making sure they never find you,” she shrugged.

Ava stared at Beatrice, when their eyes met, she scrutinized her face for a long moment. Was Beatrice serious?  Would she really do that?

Beatrice looked at her with her usual benevolent soft grin, and just like that Ava knew, that yes, she meant it. Beatrice would lie for her and give her a chance at another life.

Ava nodded before looking away.

It was a tempting offer, an illusory one, but tempting still. She knew from experience that ‘simple’ and ‘normal’ were no longer an option for her, at least as long as the Halo was embedded in her back.

The way she saw it, there were three options. One, trying to get rejected by the Halo and potentially go back to being dead; two, fighting Adriel and most likely dying; or three, hiding and pretending the world wasn’t burning around her. Option three came with another caveat: she’d be on her own; sure Beatrice would be there but only from afar. If that was the price of ‘normal’ then she didn’t want it. Not to mention that Adriel would eventually find her and would most likely kill her because she wouldn’t have had any training whatsoever.

So… pestilence, cholera or plague, those were her options.

“You don’t owe anything to anyone,” Beatrice added as if reading her mind.

Ava closed her eyes and exhaled deeply. “I kind of do though. If it wasn’t for me, Adriel would still be locked in a tomb,” she muttered.

She didn’t know Adriel’s agenda, but something told her that hugs and cuddles were not on it. She couldn’t bear the idea of more people getting hurt because of her.

“It’s kind of my mess to clean up.”

“Our mess,” Beatrice corrected her.

“Right…” Ava snorted dejectedly 

“We are a team, Ava,” Beatrice said firmly. “Whatever burden you carry, you don’t have to do it alone, you can lean on me.”

There was something overwhelming reassuring to know that she had Beatrice by her side, that she was her ride or die team mate. Somehow, she doubted she would have felt as safe with anyone else.

“You can trust me.”

“I trust you!” Ava exclaimed.

“Then talk to me,” Beatrice prompted her gently.

Ava sighed heavily. She didn’t want to admit what had been weighing heavily on her mind, but Beatrice was right, they were a team. More importantly, at the moment and who knows for how long, they only had each other; that meant she couldn’t keep shutting Beatrice out.

“I’m useless…” she admitted in a mumble.

She felt Beatrice’s gaze on her but refused to meet her eyes.

Beatrice was truly confused and didn’t get where Ava was coming from with that statement.

“We are a team and I’m supposed to be the leader… but I can’t pull my own weight.”

Sensing that there was much more to unpack, Beatrice remained silent, patiently waiting for Ava to get it all out.

“We had to leave the others behind, because I couldn’t pull my own weight,” Ava continued “We’ve been here for 10 days and if it wasn’t for you, I’d probably be sleeping under a bridge because I can’t pull my own weight!” the more she spoke the more agitated Ava got, her voice growing louder.

“I can’t…” she grunted in frustration. “But you… you know what to do, you always know what to do… I mean… within two days you… stocked the apartment with everything we may need on a day-to-day basis… you’d scouted the place for training space… put down a training program… Geez… you even secured us a job at the local bar…”

She pulled aggressively at some blades of grass and threw them away. “I couldn’t have done any of that… because I don’t know any of that stuff… so far, all I do is waiting on you for directives and sucking hard at training!”

She shook her head. “How am I supposed to lead when I can’t even do the simplest things?”

Beatrice was no stranger to pressure. Holding herself to the highest standards was her MO, but Ava was taking that to another level. If she was honest, had she been in Ava’s shoes she didn’t think she would have cope half as well as Ava had. Clearly Ava wasn’t giving herself any credit.

“Ava…” Beatrice didn’t really know where to start. She rubbed a hand over her forehead. After a second, she decided to tackle every point from the easiest to the hardest. “I’ve lived on my own and had to find a job before the OCS… however brief those periods in my life were, I’ve had the opportunities to face those situations and therefore learn, but rest assured I was as clueless as you before that.”

She paused to give Ava a moment to take her words in.

After a minute she continued. “You were in car crash when you were seven, spent over a decade being paralyzed, you died… then you were revived by the Halo and thrown into a world where you were forced to fight literal demons…” she held a finger out for every instance she enumerated. “I think we can agree on the fact that all of this did not leave that many opportunities to learn about mundane stuff,” Beatrice pointed out. “To be honest, you have faired pretty well, all things considered, so cut yourself some slack.”

Beatrice’s perspective on things did make sense, Ava thought.

“You suck at training… well yeah, but then again that is the point of training. You suck now, so you won’t suck on the field. You may suck but you’re putting the work and that’s all that matters,” she sensed Ava’s protest coming but cut her off. “You do, always have. Case in point, you went from getting stuck in walls to crossing twenty feet of concrete and more. Do you have a lot to learn? Yes, but we’re just getting started our new regimen, so again, cut yourself some slack.”

Beatrice took a deep breath as she launched onto the last point. She understood Ava’s guilt over what had happened in the Vatican, she felt it as well. Unlike Ava though, she knew that their escape had been the only viable option.

“You did pull your weight in the Vatican. The mission went belly-up but it wasn’t because of you. You did what you were supposed to.”

They were all mislead and betrayed by Father Vincent, he was the only one to know what they were walking into.

“We left because…”

“It was the best of our options,” Beatrice finished. “We are warriors not kamikazes. That means we don’t engage in a conflict without a complete understanding of our odds. That night, we were outnumbered, under geared and more importantly we were not prepared for such a fight.”

“If Shannon had been there…” Ava tried to insist once more but was cut off again.

“The outcome would have been the same. We might have fought 5 minutes more but in the end, we’d have retreated to ensure her safety,” Beatrice countered firmly.

Ava sighed in resignation. She was hearing Beatrice but it was hard to accept.

“I’m not saying that to make you feel better Ava. It’s the truth, plain and simple.”

“Okay…” Ava finally conceded. “I just wish, there had been another way,” she added in a whisper.

“I know, so do I.”

They fell into silence again. Contemplating the scenery.

Ava watched her hand caressing the grass, she closed her eyes to focus on the sensation. It didn’t matter how much time had passed since she had recovered all of her senses. The fact that she could just feel never ceased to amaze her. Every single day she was grateful at the simple fact that she could experience everything through her senses.

“I’m scared,” she finally confessed to Beatrice.

She didn’t specify anything because her fear was encompassing so much. She was terrified of being alone, of being paralyzed again, of losing sensation in her body, of dying…

“So am I,” Beatrice replied.

Ava looked at Beatrice in surprise. Beatrice always seemed unphased by anything, so strong and confident, like she could take on the whole world by herself. To have her admit that she was scared, was… unnerving. It was oddly comforting at the same time.

“I hate not knowing what’s coming next… not having a real sense of direction.”

“Yeah, that definitely sucks.”

“The only way I know how to cope is to focus on what we can control,” Beatrice continued. “From my experience dwelling on the rest is just feeding our fears and making things worse.”

Ava chuckled. “There you go… knowing what to do, yet again,” she teased with a smirk which made Beatrice rolled her eyes. She leaned in to bum her shoulder with Beatrice’s and both started to laugh a little.

For the first time since the start of there exile, the tension was lifted. As much as Ava hated to admit it, that talk they’d just had made her feel a bit better.

“Thank you,” she said.

The words seemed inadequate, not merely enough. Ava didn’t have the words to express how grateful she was. Beatrice had assuaged some of her fears; she had given her a new perspective on things; more than that she had given her a choice. So far, she had been the only one to do so. Sure, all of her choices sucked, but it was nice to at least give her the option to decide of her fate in the end.

Sure, she was still afraid of what was to come but knowing that Beatrice felt the same and was there with her made her feel a tad better.

“Yeah… just… thank you,” she repeated.

Somehow, Ava knew Beatrice understood all the unsaid behind her words. “Sure,” Beatrice nodded with that soft grin of hers.

Ava looked away at the mountains again, she was feeling much too vulnerable and needing to get her emotions back in check.

“Do you mind if we stay here for a while?”

“Not at all,” she saw Beatrice shake her head from the corner of her eye.

“Cool,” she acquiesced before lying down completely.

She took a deep breath then released it. She looked at the clouds and tried to relax. She focused on the smell of grass and nature, on the soft breeze caressing her skin, on the sound of nature and the lake.

For a little while, she was going to pretend that life was simple, no Halo, no demons, no exile; just her enjoying a quiet moment in the middle of nature with a friend.

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Thanks for reading

[branches-of-time]

The House That Built Me

“Figured you’d either still be at the tavern, or were already home wondering where I was.”

He smiles at you, soft, before looking away. “I was at the tavern most of the day, like I planned this morning. But… something didn’t feel right. I wasn’t really… giving it my all, and I think the patrons could tell.”

You frown. “What didn’t feel right? Are you okay?”

“Oh, I’m fine, Windblume. I’m just fine.”

You aren’t convinced. “Then, uh… do you feel like sharing what isn’t fine?”

His gaze drops to the dark sea below. “I think you know what it is, actually.”

Cryptic as ever, you take a moment to ponder what he might mean. He takes the silence as an opportunity to elaborate. “I never really wonder where you are, you know?"

~~~~~~~

Inazuma, all raging storms and war-torn, is calling your name. Shamefully, you find yourself running north instead, searching for something, anything to fill this home-shaped void in your heart.

Maybe, just maybe, you’ll come to find that home is a person, more than a place.

Pairing: Venti x Reader - Established Relationship, GN!Reader

Word Count: 11,033

Contains: [angst (with a happy ending)] [crying] [cuddling] [emotional hurt/comfort] [lack of communication] [loneliness] [memories] [not canon compliant] [pet death] [Reader & Venti are both adults] [Reader is not Traveler but they essentially take their place in the game's plot] [self-deprecating reader] [separation anxiety] [set prior to Version 2.0] [songfic]

A/Ns: This is a songfic! Title and verses written throughout the fic are from the song- "The House That Built Me" by Miranda Lambert.

Lastly, some context- Reader is a Riftwolf-Human hybrid, can manipulate all seven elements but has an affinity for Geo.

I know they say you can't go home again.

Sand, warmed by the afternoon sun, swells between your spread fingers as you press your hands down into the ground at your sides. Summoning a modicum of Geo elemental energy, your hands meet no resistance as they sink into the compacted grains like a hot knife through butter. You drop your raised shoulders and let your hands bury several inches into the beach until the sand surrounding them is cool, untouched by the heat of the day.

Dismissing the energy you’d been using to repel it, you allow the ground to resist you again. You note the weight of the sand as it presses down on the backs of your hands, and the firm bed of grains packed beneath your palms. You shut your eyes and flex your fingers slightly, focusing on the soft grit of Falcon Coast as it surrounds your hands in its weighted embrace.

Breathing a heavy sigh, you reopen your eyes, dropping your head and cursing the earth beneath you. This attempt at grounding yourself is doing little to ease the knot in your stomach, nor the tightness in your chest. Looking up and out across the expanse of ocean before you, the sight of Musk Reef looming in the distance doesn’t help either. You refuse to allow your gaze to drift any further south.

You begin to ask yourself what you’re even doing here, and why you thought this was a good idea. You’re no stranger to fleeing to Mondstadt whenever the world overwhelms you, but this specific beach perhaps wasn’t the wisest choice. Certainly not when the very thing you’re running from is the sea.

You hadn’t put much thought into where to go, you just knew you wanted to go home. Materializing at the waypoint east of Windrise was simply instinctual. Though, when you arrived, you didn’t turn and head north like you had so many times before. No, you took a running jump off the cliff below, gliding south and landing on the coast.

Sitting here now though, hands buried in the same sand you first washed up on after clawing your way out of the abyss… it’s not as comforting of a spot as you thought it might be. You don’t feel grounded at all, caught up between memories of the past and fears of the future.

Tugging your hands out of the sand with a frustrated huff, you turn your head to glance behind you at the cliff to the north.

…Maybe you should’ve gone that way instead. Maybe you should go home.

 I just had to come back one last time.

Materializing at the earlier waypoint once again, you pause to collect yourself for a moment. Making frequent use of the waypoints, especially in your current state, isn’t very wise. Then again, you aren’t in a very wise state. Taking a deep breath to dispel the dizziness, you let the warm breeze caress your cheeks. Looking around from your current vantage point, you find yourself grateful for the lack of people in the area. Even Chloris is currently nowhere to be found.

Well, at least you can think in peace. Jumping down from the crumbling ruin, you steady yourself against an archway, narrowly avoiding crushing a small patch of lamp grass. …Perhaps you should’ve taken another moment to collect yourself. Perhaps you shouldn’t be wandering through the wilds all on your own, in such a state.

You scoff at the latter thought. This is Mondstadt, and you’re… you. What’s the worst that could happen?

Pushing aside the thought that more alone time may not be what you need right now, you think yourself through your predicament once again as you set off on a walk.

-

You’d been reluctant to leave Mondstadt and set out for Liyue, despite knowing that you’d get no further answers to your myriad of questions here. Not to mention the nagging, relentless tug of fate, pulling you away from the nation you’d come to call home. You knew full and well that you’d have to leave. You’d find no peace in an attempt to ignore the call, and settle here indefinitely.

Still, that didn’t stop you from milking your time here as much as possible. You’d gotten to a first name basis with nearly every soul in the city by the time you ran out of tasks to busy yourself with. Gained quite the notable reputation for yourself in the process too, although that hadn’t been your goal. You truly just didn’t want to leave.

You’d trekked over every hill, passed through every valley, climbed to every peak and turned over every stone and leaf along your way. You explored the nation’s ruins, deciphered inscriptions half faded into their stone, and felled every field till- …ruin guard that stood in your way. You’d braved the frozen peaks of Dragonspine, and gained a newfound appreciation for the Pyro element in the process.

You stood atop the celestial nail, looking out through the blizzard and over the expanse of land to the southwest.

The vast, foreign land that laid before you scared you more than the journey to the top of the nail had.

After all, you didn’t fear falling. The wind at your back would surely catch you, you had no doubt.

Flecks of Cryo stung, colliding with the flushed, exposed skin of your face. You closed your eyes, balance wavering slightly as a result. A small arm was quick to wrap itself around your waist.

No, you didn’t fear falling. You feared leaving.

You leaned into the safety of your Archon’s hold, their concerned voice perfectly audible in spite of the blizzard winds surrounding you. “Are you alright? Do you need to get down?”

You feared leaving him.

-

Leaves from the end of a tree branch brush against your perked ears, pulling you back into the present. Shaking your head and drawing your ears down on instinct, you look around and realize your muscle memory has carried you the rest of the way home. Tucked away against a small cliff south of the Thousand Winds Temple, stands an even smaller cottage, forgotten to time. An Anemo Samachurl paces in circles in the yard, and its Geo counterpart sits on the old stone stairs leading into the home.

Ma'am, I know you don't know me from Adam.

The Geo Samachurl turns to look at you, and you give it a small wave in acknowledgement. Its attention lingers on you for only a moment longer, before turning back to continue watching its Anemo companion instead. A smile plays on your lips, tight and bittersweet.

You make no move to continue approaching, instead opting to back up a few paces and lean against a nearby tree, observing.

They can sense enough of your shared origins, or- maybe it’s the lingering abyssal energy on you… regardless, they can sense something on you that they recognize. Nothing specific, but something familiar enough that they feel no need to take up arms upon the mere sight of you. In all honesty, you feel the same. Their presence here doesn’t pose any genuine threat, so you’re content to leave them be.

In the many months that have passed since Venti and you moved out of this place, it’s become a haven for others. Whether it be traveling adventurers seeking shelter for a night, wildlife seeking refuge from a passing storm beneath the awning, or even your old Khaenri’ahn kin seeking a place to camp, the cottage has served many.

The both of you have kept a distant eye on the place since your departure. Though, Venti has found himself remaining more distant than you since these Samachurls have set up camp. While your presence doesn’t ring any alarm bells for them, the same cannot be said for Venti. While he holds no ill intent toward them either, something about the aura he emits sets them instinctively on edge.

You can hardly blame them. You’d raised your hackles and bared your teeth at the bard, defensive upon your first encounter as well. Looking back, he was hardly posing any threat then either, but at the time, you viewed everyone and everything as a potential enemy. After all, you’d just escaped the abyss and been tossed to the shore of Falcon Coast by the waves, your weaker control over Cryo failing you halfway across your attempt at an ice bridge. Waking up on hot sand to find a humanoid being with an unsettling gaze emanating a suspiciously divine aura above you was more than enough to kick your fight or flight into gear.

You attempted both, in that order. You immediately dug your hands into the sand and threw fistfuls of it at the stranger, successfully disorienting them and giving you an opening to flee. With nothing but ocean to the east, you bolted west, and then north, headed for higher ground intent on gaining an advantage.

Looking back now, you know nothing could’ve stopped Venti if he’d truly wanted to catch you. At the time, though, you felt pretty confident in having outrun him. By the time you felt like you’d lost him, you found yourself also lost amidst trees, the uneven terrain obscuring your sense of direction. So- tired, thirsty, hungry, scared, and confused- you dropped from a run to a walk. Pressing forward in the direction you’d run in, you kept your ears at attention to catch any threat before it could catch you.

-

The Anemo Samachurl breaks from its quiet chanting and pacing, its sudden cry pulling your focus from the past. From the way it points and takes off in a run, and the way its Geo counterpart rises to follow behind, you assume it must have seen something in the woods that caught its attention. You see nor sense nothing of note, and dismiss the likely false alarm. Probably just wildlife, or perhaps a Dendro slime looking to play. As the two little shamans run off into the trees, you take advantage of the vacancy they leave behind.

But these handprints on the front steps are mine.

You figure you’ve got enough time for a quick visit before they return. Besides, the worst that’ll happen if they do catch you in their “camp” will be a few disgruntled spells cast toward you as you hightail it out of there. It’ll be fine.

Approaching the trio of old stone steps that lead to the front door, your gaze catches on two handprints engraved into the highest stair. Memories begin to surface.

-

Sitting on the stairs with your back pressed to the door, you found yourself growing frustrated with the green-clad individual in your yard. Well, perched in one of the trees in your yard, to be precise.

You’d taken up residence in this old run-down cottage once it seemed that no one else had been occupying it. The first few days had been blessedly peaceful, it seemed the area was rather devoid of other life. Well, threatening life, at least. There were plenty of plants and animals, plus a little pond close by, providing far more sustenance than you’d grown used to surviving on. You figured it was as good of a place as any to try and sort out your next move. You hadn’t put much thought into what you’d do once you escaped, after all. You found yourself feeling… lost. After charging ahead with your focus locked on a single goal for so damn long… you didn’t know what to do with yourself now that you’d achieved it.

You weren’t lost for long though. The nosy stranger that found you on the beach proved to be the next target of your focus. Your peaceful existence in this cottage overlooking the sea didn’t last long before you found yourself in their unwanted company once again. They might’ve thought they were subtle, hiding amongst the treetops and watching you quietly.

They weren't. You could sense them. Hell, even if it weren’t for the strange aura they emanated, you could smell them. They carried a strong scent of fermentation with them, and you could easily pick up on the pungent smell in the wind.

On the third day of your silent standoff, you grew fed up with this stranger’s odd behavior. You only knew one way of settling things, and that was face-to-face, not through some weird game of observation. You cleared your throat, preparing your underused voice and searching for your words. Tilting your head back to look at the trespasser, you snarl at their relaxed stance, laid back across a branch like they’re asleep.

“Come down.” You bark the command up into the trees.

The stranger doesn’t comply, but they do acknowledge you, opening their eyes and turning their head to look down at you. “So you can speak!”

You’re in no mood to entertain their conversation, certainly not before making sense of their intentions. “Come. Down.” You repeat, voice flat and serious.

“Are you gonna throw sand in my eyes again?” Light and playful, they question you.

You huff. “No.” Not without good reason, at least, you think to yourself but fail to vocalize.

They hum in thought for a moment before going quiet again. You let the seconds pass, growing more irritable with each one. Just as you’re about to call them down once again, they roll to the side, willingly falling from the branch they’d been laying on. Your muscles twitch and lock for a moment as you stop yourself from… from… from what? What were you going to do, run and try to catch them? Why would you do that? They’ve done nothing for you.

Your lack of action proves itself inconsequential as the stranger falls at a remarkably slow speed. It’s less of a fall and more of a… decent, you suppose, seeming to effortlessly defy gravity. Righting themself midair to land on their feet, they pull their cape forward on their shoulders, beginning to approach you.

You plant your hands firmly on the stone at your sides, readying yourself for anything.

“While that wasn’t the most convincing answer, I suppose I can extend a bit of trust to you. I sure hope you don’t make me regret it though!” They come far closer to you than anyone with a sense of self-preservation ought to. They hold a hand out between you, and you stare at it, waiting for something to happen. “I’m Venti, a bard from the city.”

Finally getting your first proper look at them up close, you’re struck with the strangest sense of recognition. You couldn’t pinpoint it to save your life, but… something about this person feels… familiar. Distant, hazy, and inexplicable, but it’s there nonetheless.

You don’t like it.

When you make no move to do… whatever they seem to want you to do with their hand, they drop it, and you flinch at the sudden motion. Frowning, they question you. “Might I ask for your name in exchange, my dear trespasser? We can hardly get to know one another without exchanging some basic information.”

Your brows pinch in frustration at the stranger's many words. They say a lot, and they say it fast. It’s been… you can’t recall how long it’s been since you last held such conversation. One word stands out to you, though. “Trespasser? Me?”

He nods. “Well, technically, yes! I don’t know much about you yet but I do know that this isn’t your house.”

“How?” You question, eyes narrowing, watching as they stupidly step even closer.

“How do I know that this isn’t yours?” They question you in return.

You nod, claws sharpening, palms itching with pent-up Geo energy crackling beneath your skin.

“Because it’s mine, silly!” They laugh, reaching out toward you.

Your instincts take over as the stranger moves to grab you, and you force your hands into the stone beneath you. Releasing the Geo energy you’d been holding onto, you use the repelling force to launch yourself up off the stairs and at the fool standing before you.

You don’t make contact with them though, stumbling forward into what suddenly becomes thin air and tripping over nothing, sending yourself straight to the ground. Righting yourself before you can even register the impact, your claws tear through the dirt and grass as you turn back to face your opponent on all fours.

You freeze at the sight of them, casually propped against the railing of the stairs, clearly not poised to fight. With no weapon in their hands, and refusing to take on any sort of combative stance, you find yourself locked in a one-sided stand-off.

Not taking their eyes off you, the stranger pats the banister they’re leaning against. “I wasn’t reaching out for you, friend.” As you process their words and the seconds turn into a minute, they make no move to attack you, so you slowly let your guard down. Just slightly. Bending at the knees, you settle in a deep squat on the ground.

When the stranger seems confident enough that you aren’t about to throw yourself at them again, they allow their attention to leave you and fall to the step where you’d just sat. Following their gaze, you notice two handprints now carved into the stone, the very edge of the stair chipped away in places where your claws had caught on it.

You ready yourself for an attack, as this stranger surely won’t take kindly to destruction of, apparently, their property. But they make no move to do any such thing. They simply look back up at you with a knowing smile.

“You take after Morax, I see.”

Up those stairs in that little back bedroom, is where I did my homework and I learned to play guitar.

Smiling and shaking your head at the memory, you make your way into the small home. It’s rather bare, even more so than it had been when you first found the place. The two of you had taken all of your personal possessions with you into the teapot, leaving nothing but the basic furniture behind. After all, you had far better options awaiting you through Tubby’s sub-space creation.

Seeing the cottage in its original state, it once again becomes clear to you just how little Venti had customized the place prior to you moving in. He didn’t, and still doesn’t have much to his name, truly living the life of the wandering bard he identifies as. Most of what he does have he keeps on his person, whether that be in the physical sense, or dematerialized and stored away.

The cottage turned into a bit less of a shelter and more of a home over the many months you spent there with him. You stocked the little kitchen with far more than just his assortment of fruits, and an array of objects you collected from your outings lined the shelves. Looking back now, with a bit more insight on your own mental and emotional states, you venture a guess as to your behavior. You were likely hoarding whatever you found as a means of making up for how long you spent having nothing.

Venti never shamed you for it, even though he likely understood the behavior from the beginning. He was incredibly empathetic, and kinder than you felt you deserved, even once parts of your past became known to him. It took some time, given your struggle to keep up with his words, and the bigger struggle of finding your own. You managed to get it across to him eventually though, and he’d been benevolent enough to take you in.

-

You come to a stop in the bedroom doorway, surveying the place through the lens of the past.

You remember countless hours spent at the small desk in the corner, hunched over paper with text on it that you couldn’t decipher. Venti stood beside you, one hand on your shoulder, patiently teaching you how to make sense of the symbols you saw.

You remember less stressful hours spent sitting on the floor, curiously plucking at the strings of the bard’s various instruments with your claws. He’d sit on the bed watching you, naming the notes and teaching you how to turn your discordant noise into beautiful music. You were never as good as he was though, and you really didn’t mind. You preferred to listen to him playing, anyway. The bard possessed a beautiful voice, and the soft songs he’d sing to you in the dark of night never failed to put your tormented mind at ease.

Staring at your designated spot on the floor, you laugh at the memory of countless nights spent refusing his invitations. He’d offered his bed to you from the beginning, insisting that you deserved it more than he did. Besides, he said, he was used to sleeping in trees and fields, on barstools and street corners. He claimed he wouldn’t miss the bed at all.

You wouldn’t hear of it. Vehemently denying any offers, you stubbornly slept- atop as many blankets and pillows as you’d allow him to give you- on the floor by his bed like the dog you were. He wasn’t the only one used to sleeping in uncomfortable places, and you weren’t about to lose your edge by getting too comfortable too soon.

You think of the way you woke up this morning, wrapped in soft, warm blankets on a wide, plush mattress, face nuzzled into his neck, arms around his waist.

You’ve both come a long way.

You hear the familiar sound of distant hilichurlian chanting, and make your move to leave, bidding your old bedroom a quiet farewell once again.

Slipping out of the cottage and rounding the side of the building in a few long strides, you narrowly manage to evade their notice. Peeking around the corner, you watch them return to their prior posts. The Anemo Samachurl diligently paces between the trees, its Geo companion keeping watch from the stairs.

You smile, and turn to make your silent departure.

-

Checking in on your old home had been a successful distraction from the thoughts you’re trying to avoid, but you couldn’t linger there forever. Still, feeling unprepared to return to the teapot and try to put on a brave face for Venti, you find yourself wandering. With no particular destination in mind, you let your feet take you where they may.

You try to think of nothing at all for a while, failing over and over again as your mind searches for something to latch onto. Apparently counting your steps wasn’t entertaining enough for it.

After a while of failing to meditate on your walk, you find yourself leaving grass and stepping onto a dirt path. Looking up and around, you realize you’ve made your way to the road leading to the Thousand Winds Temple.

Turning and looking south, you can see the massive tree at Windrise, off in the distance. Far, far, beyond that, bringing your eyes to the horizon, you can see the snowy peaks of Dragonspine beyond the tall cliff of Galesong Hill. You sigh.

And I bet you didn't know, under that live oak, my favorite dog is buried in the yard.

A few months after arriving in Mondstadt and settling in with Venti, you found yourself exploring the icy riverbank that borders Dragonspine. The stubborn bard, wrapped in the thickest cloak he owned, trudged along behind you.

You’d told him he didn’t have to join you that day, but the thought of you exploring unfamiliar territory without him apparently just didn’t sit right. So, in spite of his occasional grumbles over the increasing cold, he never left your side.

The area was predictably desolate, save for a few Cryo Hilichurl archers lounging on the icy banks like they were on summer vacation. You weren’t looking for a fight that day though, just to explore, so you avoided drawing their attention given the divine company you were in.

Later on, as you were focusing hard on what Pyro energy you could summon in an attempt to melt the ice encasing a chest, you found something far more valuable. Venti saw it first, having been eyeing the surroundings while you were focused on the task at hand. Calling your name, he summoned your attention with ease.

Turning to look at him, your gaze followed his pointed finger and landed on a dog, slowly making its way toward you.

The animal was fairly large, but certainly far from threatening given the state it was in. As it drew closer, Venti lowered himself to his knees in the cold wet grass, suddenly forgoing his prior reluctance to endure the elements. You smiled. It seemed like he’d learned a thing or two from you about dealing with fearful dogs.

You followed suit, crouching down beside him and getting on the dog's level. The shivering animal hesitated, coming to a stop about fifteen feet away. Materializing some fresh meat you’d caught on the journey there, you quietly held it out toward the dog.

It sniffed the air, but refused to move.

Tearing a chunk off, you gently tossed it in the dog’s direction, and it landed a few feet in front of it. Sniffing harder, the animal carefully approached the offering, sticking its head out as far as it could to reach the food and avoid coming closer.

The two of you spent the better part of an hour luring the dog toward you, slowly but surely winning it over with continued offerings of fresh meat.

Upon closer inspection, you were honestly shocked that it was still standing. Skin stretched tight across its ribcage, hip bones two sharp peaks, spine a long mountain range down its back… the thing was clearly starving. You weren’t sure if it was the stress of a difficult life, a sign of old age, or both, but what you assumed had once been black fur was almost white from graying, particularly in its face. It trembled incessantly, and as soon as it came close enough and didn’t seem apt to bolt, Venti untied his cape and wrapped it around the dog, who shockingly didn’t fight it.

Maybe Venti had been serious when he claimed he could talk to animals.

You fed it more bites of meat as the two of you quietly discussed the best way to get it home. Blessedly, once the dog realized that neither of you held malicious intentions, it switched gears surprisingly fast. More than just tolerating your presence, the dog actually began to cling to you, frantically whining when you both stood up, fearful that you’d be leaving it behind.

Abandoning your half-melted treasure, you knew it was time to leave. You were quite a ways from home and you weren’t about to try teleporting the dog in its current state. So instead, you carefully picked her up, frowning at how little she weighed. Venti took the remaining meat and distracted the nervous dog with more offerings of food as you began your long, slow journey home.

“Don’t- don’t feed her too fast. I know she’s hungry but I don’t want to make her sick.”

Venti nodded, tearing off smaller bites. “I remember.” He cryptically confirmed.

You adjusted the dog in your hold, pulling Venti’s cape up around her neck. “…Remember what?”

He suppressed a shiver, but you still noticed. “You ate yourself sick on fruit and raw meat the first night you spent here.”

Your head turned quickly, staring down at him. “You were watching? Even then?”

He nodded, expression solemn. “I followed you home, you know? It just took a few days for you to notice that I was there.”

You walked in thoughtful silence for a while after that, wondering if your scattered senses had failed you, or if he was actually better at hiding his aura than you thought.

-

The dog lived with the both of you in your little cottage for a few good months. She gradually put on weight, and some life returned to her alongside it. She still moved slowly, though, and you feared she was in pain.

By that point, you’d befriended a timid alchemist with mint-green hair, and sought her assistance. She’d kindly offered you a medicine of her own creation, advising that the dog seemed rather old, and likely suffered from joint pain. You offered her payment in Mora, which she politely refused. You eventually got her to accept a small assortment of bones you’d gathered in exchange, correctly surmising that the offer would be too tempting for her to refuse.

Sucrose’s medicine seemed to help, because the dog moved with noticeably more ease once you began giving it to her. She was far from spry, but she seemed comfortable, so you were content. She was also content, in the precious, innocent way that only a dog can be. Just happy to be alive, happy to be fed, happy to be safe. Happy to be near someone that loves them, and happy to be near someone they love.

“Adagio.” Venti had once said, gently raking his nails through her fur on a warm, sleepy afternoon.

“What’s that?’ It was far from the first time he’d said a word you didn’t know.

“In musical terms, it means played slowly… I think it would be a nice name for her.”

You considered it for a moment, and found it rather fitting, nodding in agreement with a smile. “I like that.”

Adagio spent her days laying in the shade near the cliff’s edge, watching the waves lap at the small shore below. Looking back, you can thank her for teaching Venti that you can survive a half a day on your own. She could hardly chase you all over Mondstadt, or weave her way after Venti through the busy city streets, so when one of you needed to go out for something, the other would stay home with her. One of the two of you were always there, and she never knew the pain of being alone again.

She spent her nights curled between the two of you. She couldn’t make the jump up onto the bed, and you were still stubbornly sleeping on the floor, so Venti made the executive decision to heave the mattress onto the floor as well. As silly of a sight as it may have been to an outsider, the three of you were comfortable, curled together amidst blankets and pillows on the too-small mattress, bed frame abandoned on the other side of the room.

Nothing lasts forever though, and it seemed to you that the best of things were always the quickest to go.

As months passed, her movements went from slow to slower, and she started struggling with more things. She could no longer steady herself to make it up and down the three stairs to your home, so one of you carried her every time. She slept more and moved less, and her love of food began to wane.

This wasn’t your first experience with something like this. Though it had been an awfully long time since you lived through it last, you still knew what was coming.

That didn’t make it hurt any less, though. Not at all.

Both of you sat awake with her through the final night, keeping her comfortable and telling her how much you loved her. You’d never hoped harder that Venti’s communicative abilities held true.

You kept it together until she released her final breath, and when you knew she was gone, you allowed yourself to fall apart.

Up until then, your walls had been an impenetrable fortress. No emotion escaped unless you allowed it. Venti had never seen you cry.

So when your pain escaped you this time, falling in heavy golden tears and landing in her gray fur, he could only stare. He knew this wasn’t his moment to intrude on, so he didn’t. He didn’t rush to wrap you in an embrace, nor did he try to offer any hollow words of comfort. This was pain. This was loss. He was intimately familiar with it, and he knew it had to be felt.

There isn’t a single detail of that night that you don’t recall, and the teal tears that fell next to your golden ones are no exception.

That was the first time you saw him cry, too.

-

The evening breeze cools the hot golden tracks running down your cheeks. You watch tears fall onto the dirt path beneath you, and then you close your eyes.

-

You both sat there with what remained of her until the morning sun slipped in through the window. You were surprised when Venti broke the silence, offering to bury Adagio beneath the Windrise tree.

You spoke through a voice thick and strained from your cries. “That’s… that’s a really special place.”

He nodded. “She was a really special dog.”

You wiped the fresh tears from your eyes before they could fall, turning to face him.

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.” He put his hand out, laying it next to Adagio on the mattress. “Unless you’d prefer elsewhere?”

You knew what to do this time. Reaching out and laying your hand in his, you shook your head slowly. “No. I think Windrise would be perfect.”

-

Opening your eyes, you raise your head to glance once more at the massive tree across the sprawling field. Bidding Adagio another quiet goodbye, you pull in a shaky breath, and turn, heading north.

Walking in silence for a while, you try to let your emotions settle. The tears you just shed seemed to help a little, but the knot in your stomach won’t leave you.

You follow the road a little while longer, but when you find yourself nearing the temple, you take a detour and head west, off the beaten path. You aren’t keen on running into whatever random explorers might be camping there this evening. Besides, the scent of cecilias is on the breeze, and you’d rather follow that instead.

Making your way up the uneven terrain that comprises the base of Starsnatch Cliff, your mind returns to its ruminations over what brought you here today in the first place.

You leave home, you move on, and you do the best you can.

The reason for your reluctance to leave Mondstadt became abundantly clear on the day you finally set out for the neighboring nation. As you left Dawn Winery behind and crossed the border, headed for Stone Gate, it sank in quickly.

Venti wasn’t beside you.

Up until that point, he’d been the literal wind at your back every step of the way. Every commission you completed, every request you fulfilled, every inch of land you explored, he was right behind you. Or beside you, or above you, or in front of you…

Regardless, he was there. Answering your questions, telling you stories, helping you make sense of the unfamiliar. Whether it be words you couldn’t yet read, customs you didn’t yet understand, or emotions you couldn’t yet identify, he was your guide through it all. The Stormterror crisis came and went, as did the… incident with Signora, and the two of you grew ever closer as a result of it all. You could fill a book with the stories of what you two went through in the mere year you spent in this nation. But, as you sat together beneath the Windrise tree one evening discussing it all, it slowly grew clear that it was coming time to move on. As if the notion alone wasn’t stressful enough already, there seemed to be an unspoken understanding that it was a journey you must undertake alone.

So, you did. You’d packed your things, said your temporary goodbyes, and set off on your own without so much as once giving in to the urge to ask him to come along. The goodbyes were, after all, only temporary. You hoped. If you made it through whatever awaited you in Liyue alive, you always planned on returning home.

And you did. Many times.

You, scared as you’d been, made it through the lively adventure that was your initial trip to Liyue, and you’d come out much stronger for it. You found a confidence that you’d forgotten you possessed, forced to show itself once there was no travel companion for you to rely on.

Quite early in your journey, you gathered that you weren’t completely alone anyhow. Sure, in your day-to-day there was no talkative bard trailing behind you, and the nights proved themselves awfully lonely indeed. But Venti’s parting words, “may the wind protect you”, proved themselves surprisingly literal as you took note of one particular Yaksha. After a few nights at Wangshu Inn, and a few bowls of almond tofu shared in relative silence, the man had made himself into your shadow shockingly fast. He never seemed to be around when your gaze searched for him in a crowd, but was always conveniently there the moment you ran into trouble.

Still, in spite of his protection, not to mention your growing, innate connection with the God of your favored element, you longed for home. You longed for your home. You longed for your God.

I got lost in this whole world, and forgot who I am.

So, once the dust, or, well, waves had settled and Rex Lapis had been “officially” laid to rest, you found yourself headed northeast.

In spite of how proud you’d been for making it on your own, all of that crumbled the evening you first crossed back into Mondstadt. You could've used any of the waypoints you’d resonated with, could’ve gone right back home to the cliff overlooking Falcon Coast. But something about that just didn’t feel right. Not for your first return.

Walking the path back toward Dawn Winery, you tried to keep your composure. You tried to not get irrationally emotional over the familiar sight of Anemo crystalflies fluttering over the grape vines. You ignored the warmth in your chest at the sight of soft yellow candlelight illuminating the cottage windows along your path.

Your weakening grip on your emotions completely failed though when you caught sight of a small, green-clad bard, legs dangling from the edge of a rooftop, plucking at his lyre.

You burst into tears on the spot, folding in on yourself and crumpling to the dirt beneath you.

He dropped the nonchalant act instantly, dematerializing from his perch on the rooftop and reappearing beside you in a small, warm burst of Anemo energy that you didn’t see through your tears, but definitely felt. He’d questioned you frantically, worried you were hurt, not understanding what was wrong. Eventually, largely thanks to his embrace, the sobs wracking your form eased enough to assure him that you were fine.

You’d just missed him, was all.

The array of conflicting emotions that flashed in his eyes at the admission would've intrigued you, had you not been so absorbed in your own at the time.

In spite of how badly you craved his company, you’d already proved to yourself that you could travel on your own. So, you continued to. After an extended stay in Mondstadt to recover from your first eventful excursion, you began traveling between the two nations more regularly. Having resonated with most of the waypoints and Statues of the Seven in Liyue as well, it was easy to hop over for the day and still come home to Venti at night.

I thought if I could touch this place or feel it, this brokenness inside me might start healing.

Such was your routine until Madam Ping had introduced you to her Teapots. Adeptal magic was quite the wonder, capable of impressive feats, and the new home offered to you was no exception. When you learned that not only could you live in it, but you could invite others in as well, you were over the moon. You were, of course, reluctant to bid a more permanent farewell to the little house overlooking the sea that you’d grown so familiar with. But when faced with something as convenient and extravagant as the teapot, you could hardly turn it down.

Venti had been more than interested in your offer when you brought the thing home and showed it to him. After bestowing a permanent invitation upon him, he took a liking to the space quite quickly, happy to help make yourselves a new home. Having already been informed of your penchant for Mondstadt, Tubby had crafted a world for you that resembled the land of freedom’s sprawling hills, cliffs, and beaches to an impressive degree. Your new home was far grander than your old one, but with a little time and personalization with what you both brought from the cottage, it really did start to feel like home.

It was… nice, having a safe place to return to every night, regardless of where you were or what you may be caught up in. It was even nicer that Venti seemed to quite enjoy spending time there as well. There’d scarcely been an evening where both of you hadn’t wound up in the teapot together, sharing stories of your respective days over dinner.

Things carried on like that for the remainder of your time in Liyue. You spent more and more time in the land of contracts, and less and less in Mondstadt as a result. Sometimes you’d have reason to return, and somehow you’d almost always run into Venti while you were there. Time spent with him in the teapot was no less real, but it always felt… special, when the two of you were together in Mondstadt again.

Out here, it's like I'm someone else, I thought that maybe I could find myself.

Still, just as it had been with Mondstadt, you couldn’t linger in Liyue forever. You’d built a reputation for yourself there to match your standing in Mondstadt, making a slew of new connections, exploring, finding answers and more questions alike. It was time to move on. Inazuma loomed far, far off on the southern horizon, and it was up to you to make the first step to reach it.

You didn’t want to.

You stood on the docks, looking out at Guyun Stone Forest, and at Beidou’s ship anchored nearby.

You found yourself feeling something you hadn’t felt in a long while. You felt the same as you had when standing atop the celestial nail, only this time it was somehow worse. It scared you. Yes, the prospect of setting off effectively alone to yet another unfamiliar nation, but more than that. It scared you because you thought you’d grown past this. You thought you could handle this. You thought… you thought you’d outgrown this immature sense of homesickness.

You were wrong.

If I could walk around, I swear I'll leave.

That’s how you found yourself here, ambling through the wilds of Mondstadt. You really, really don’t want to leave. But you know that you have to.

You think of the stories you’ve heard in Liyue, of the terrible war raging in the island nation to the south.

You release a shaky breath into the cooling air.

You pray that you’ll make it back alive.

Won't take nothin' but a memory, from the house that built me.

Following the cecilias as their trail grows thicker, you weave your way up to the peak of the massive cliff.

You’re only slightly surprised to see a small figure, dressed in a very familiar shade of green, sitting with their back to you at the very edge.

Tension you didn’t notice you were holding melts from your shoulders at the sight of him.

You do your best to push aside the emotional storm you’ve been caught up in, and you call out to him, playful. “Fancy seeing you here!”

He twists at the waist to face you, following your movement as you approach. “I could say the same, love. What brings you here?”

You laugh softly as you come to a halt beside him. “Well, I could ask the same of you.” You carefully lower yourself to the ground, letting your legs dangle off the cliff beside his. “Figured you’d either still be at the tavern, or were already home wondering where I was.”

He smiles at you, soft, before looking away. “I was at the tavern most of the day, like I planned this morning. But… something didn’t feel right. I wasn’t really… giving it my all, and I think the patrons could tell.”

You frown. “What didn’t feel right? Are you okay?”

“Oh, I’m fine, Windblume. I’m just fine.”

You aren’t convinced. “Then, uh… do you feel like sharing what isn’t fine?”

His gaze drops to the dark sea below. “I think you know what it is, actually.”

Cryptic as ever, you take a moment to ponder what he might mean. He takes the silence as an opportunity to elaborate. “I never really wonder where you are, you know?”

You glance at him, bemused for a moment before growing serious. “Oh, what, were you- like- watching me today? How… Wait, how long have you been up here, actually?”

He doesn’t look at you, but he shakes his head. “I don’t have to be watching you to know where you are, dear.” The wind tousles your hair. “I’m already everywhere. All the time. If the wind can reach you, I’m there.”

“...Oh. Right.” You let your own gaze fall to the sea. “Maybe I let myself forget sometimes, just how… literal that is.”

You remember the warm sea breeze from this afternoon, the brief gust that cooled your tear-stained cheeks early this evening, and the wind that brought the scent of cecilias down toward you.

“...So you could tell that I was here today.”

“Yeah.” He confirms quietly. “There was something… discordant, blowing in from Falcon Coast this afternoon. It didn’t take long for me to identify you.”

Guilt blooms within you. “Is that when you left the tavern?”

“No, I didn’t head out immediately. I mean- I can hardly turn off my omniscience, but I do still try to give you privacy in spite of it. I figured if you needed me, or… wanted me, you would call out.”

The way he says “wanted” makes your frown deepen.

“But, when the tone of the air only continued to sour as time passed, I did eventually give in to my concern.”

You pluck at the grass beneath you to busy your hands. “I’m sorry for distracting you. I really didn’t mean to, I just…”

He turns to you, cutting you off. “Please don’t say that. I couldn’t care less about losing out on a few mora at the tavern. I care about the fact that you’re out here, crying to yourself, all alone.”

A familiar tension makes itself at home again in your throat. “I…”

You trail off, lost for words. Venti makes up for it though, seeming to suddenly have quite a bit to get off of his own chest. “I can sense the difference between someone who wants to cry on their own, and someone who’s crying because they’re on their own.” His pained voice nearly cracks. “I never thought I’d feel the latter coming from you. But I’ve felt it more than once now, and… I don’t know what to do.”

At his confession, honesty slips out of you, and you can’t hold back the tears that come with it. “I miss you.” You turn to face him, and then look past, gesturing weakly out to the sprawling land of freedom behind you. “I miss this! I miss home! I miss you!” Voice breaking, you choke on your tears and lean into him, crumpling pathetically down onto his lap and curling yourself around him like the needy animal that you are.

His hands settle on you, one on your back and another reaching for your legs, pulling you against him so you don’t slip off the edge. His winds would cradle you if you fell, but he’d rather prevent the problem before it can happen. His own voice is tight with emotion when he speaks. “You have me, love. You- you hold me every night, I bid you goodbye every morning, you can visit Mondstadt whenever you please!”

You shake your head vehemently in his lap, crying harder.

“I’m sorry, love- I- I really don’t understand. In what way do you not have me?”

You practically shout your answer into the fabric of your sleeves, turning your head just enough to pointlessly attempt to wipe your face. “When I leave! I have to leave! I have to leave, and leave you behind, and you aren’t with me, and I’m alone again every time I go!”

One of his hands comes up to carefully comb the damp hair from your face, the black tips now wet with shimmering gold. “When you leave Mondstadt? Like… like when you go to Liyue?”

You nod, almost hyperventilating as your fears spill from you. “I should've never gone there alone! I wanted to ask you, I wanted you to come with me so badly but something told me that I shouldn't ask, that I should go alone, and so I went and I was so fucking scared but- but- but I was fine- I was fine- I made it back alive and so what if I cried every night because I missed you? I had a fucking nation to save it’s not like I could come home crying to you about it! And- and I mean Xiao was there but I- I- I can fight I can hold my own I don’t need protection I need a friend! I need company! I need you! I- I knew I’d be fine but fuck I felt so alone and I missed you, I missed you, I missed Venti, I missed Barbatos, I missed you SO MUCH-” You suddenly heave for air in the middle of your spiel, breathing in too hard and choking on your own spit. Feeling about as vulnerable and pathetic as you’ve ever been, you give in to the misery, grasping for purchase at any part of him you can reach. Your claws dig into the thin fabric of his tights in a way you know you’ll be frantically apologizing for later, but in this moment you can’t bring yourself to stop. You can't bring yourself to do anything but cry, and cry, and cry.

He doesn’t say anything for a few minutes, the only sound he makes instead being a quiet, gentle hush, over and over, focused on calming you down. The cool hand that finds its way beneath your hair and settles on the back of your hot neck feels like heaven, and for a moment you cry harder at the relief. His other hand pets across the broad expanse of your back in slow, rhythmic, sweeping motions.

When your cries have quieted enough for you to focus on his words, he says something that surprises you.

“I’d have gone, if you’d have asked me.”

You hiccup a question. “Wh-what?”

“To Liyue. I would have been more than happy to go with you, if you’d have only asked.” His lithe fingers gently massage at the tension in your neck.

You twist in his hold just enough to look up at him. “Seriously?”

He gives you a weak smile, but it’s more sad than anything. “Of course. The only reason I didn’t invite myself along was because I wanted you to have the freedom to choose. I figured… if I offered to go with you, you might feel obligated to bring me with you.”

You laugh, but there's no humor in it. “This whole time… this whole time I really thought that you didn’t want to go.”

He’s visibly pained by the thought. “Why in the world wouldn’t I?”

You shake your head. “I don’t know… I just figured you had your reasons. It is another nation after all, and I’m still… not too sure how Archons feel about crossing into one another’s territory.” You clear your throat and scrub at your eyes and cheeks with a fist. “Figured maybe you didn’t want to run into Morax or something…”

He laughs, and there’s a bit of life in it this time. “Even the prospect of running into that old block-head wouldn’t be enough to stop me from accompanying you.” He takes your hand in his, stopping your aggressive assault on your messy face. “And while certain Archons might be… less than enthralled to see me again, just because I’m with you doesn’t mean I have to be recognized.”

Your brow furrows. “Venti and Barbatos don’t look all that different…”

He smiles down at you good-naturedly. “True. But I could take another form if it came down to it. Something unrecognizable to even them. If there’s anything I know how to do, it’s how to hide in plain sight and not be found.”

In spite of the tears still staining your cheeks, you give a small smile to your absentee God. “You’d really go to such lengths? For me?”

He gives you a confident nod. “For you and you only, love.”

His hand continues its gentle ministrations across your back, and your muscles gradually relax. You run a hand along the fabric of his tights, waiting for your breaths to come steady. As your senses slowly return to you, your fingertips brush across a few small tears in the material, and you cringe. Venti notices as much, and reassures you. “Hey- It’s alright. Don’t worry about that.”

His words are too late to stop you from raising your head enough to observe the damage, your hand gently cupping his thigh. “I didn’t scratch you… did I?”

“Nope! Just caught the fabric is all.” You aren’t inclined to believe him, given that with his abilities he could’ve healed any minor wounds before you even knew they were there.

You huff, dropping your head to his lap once more. “I’m still very sorry. I’ll buy you-”

“That won’t be necessary-” He tries to cut you off, but your insistence overpowers his own.

“I am buying you a new pair.”

He sighs in reluctant acceptance, knowing better than to challenge you. “Alright, alright. If you insist.”

You lay there for a moment, idly kneading at his thigh and letting the soft sounds of the evening wildlife fill the silence. Still, you struggle to wrap your head around the recent revelation. “You’d really be willing to leave this place?”

He laughs beneath his breath at your disbelief. “I mean, not permanently. If you’ve hatched some plan to move to Snezhnaya that I don’t know about, then I might have to disappoint you…”

You relax further at the familiar, playful edge that returns to his voice. “Nah, nah, nothing like that… just- on my journey away and back. Not- not even every time! Just… sometimes. It… really would’ve been nice to have you by my side the first time, actually, but I know it’s too late for that now. I just… wouldn't have felt so lost.”

His smile fades a bit at the confirmation of a long-held suspicion. You had been missing him as badly as he’d missed you.

You catch the shift in his demeanor, no matter how slight. “...I’m making you sad…”

One of his hands finds yours. “Only at the realization of how oblivious I’ve been.” He laughs, humorless. “All those nights I couldn’t sense you in the wind, all the time I spent wondering if you were okay… you weren’t. You were holed up somewhere, crying, alone, afraid…”

His eyes pinch closed and you squeeze his hand. “It’s not on you. I should’ve been more honest with you before I left.”

He huffs, and then he’s quiet for a moment, thinking. It’s times like these in which you wish you could read him as well as he can read you. “...I could say the same.”

You stare up at him for a moment in confusion. “What do you mean?”

He holds your gaze for a moment and opens his mouth to speak, but seems to think better of whatever he had to say. His focus shifts from you and out to the sea. “...Like I said, I would’ve been happy to follow you. I never should’ve let you grow to believe otherwise.”

You pout just slightly at the less-than-complete sounding answer, but another question overrides your focus. “Is Liyue… the limit?”

The hesitation in your voice gives him pause. “What do you mean?”

“Is Liyue, like, as far as you’re willing to go.”

His eyes brighten in understanding, and you’d collapse from relief at the shake of his head if you weren’t already on the ground.

“Oh! No, not at all. I really meant it when I said I’d risk running into the other Archons for you.”

You release his hand and reach up to pinch the fat of your cheeks between your claws. He pouts, reaching down to stop you. “What’s that for?”

“I’m afraid I’m dreaming or something…”

He laughs properly, a beautiful sound. You crane your neck up to glance southward. The wall of storms barricading Inazuma are still there, an awful sight. You drop your head back to his lap with a heavy sigh.

He pats you gently on the cheek. “You’re wide awake, I assure you.”

Reaching up, you gently bat at the braids that hang at the sides of his face, chewing on your lower lip. He reads you like a book. “I think we’ve learned something this evening, dear.”

“What’s that?”

He catches your hand mid-air, splaying his fingers out and lacing them between yours. “It’s that when we have something to ask of one another, we should do it.”

The corner of your mouth turns up, and you meet his gaze. “Is that your fancy way of telling me to spit it out?”

He giggles. “Maybe.”

You sigh, letting your gaze drift away from him and up to the stars far, far above. “Would you be so kind… as to accompany this scared old dog all the way to Inazuma?”

You close your eyes, waiting for a “no.”

It never comes. Instead, he squeezes your hand in his, and you’re shocked to hear relief in his tone when he answers you. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Your eyes flicker open, unsure. “Is… is that a yes?”

He nods vehemently. “It is.”

The tears that spring to your eyes catch you by surprise. He wipes them away with his thumb as they fall. Sniffling, you question him again. “There’s- There’s a whole war going on over there right now, you know?”

The blue in his braids brightens, and in the dark of the early night, you notice the same turquoise light begin to shine from his chest, beneath the thin fabric of his white shirt. “I’m no stranger to war.”

You reach up, tracing a gentle finger across where you know one of his Archon marks to be. “...That you aren’t.”

His thumb swipes across the black star at the base of your neck, half hidden by your collar. “...Guess that makes two of us, huh.”

It’s a rhetorical question, but you hum in confirmation nonetheless. Rising from your spot on his lap, you wiggle your way around until you’re seated beside him properly again. Reaching an arm out, you wrap it around his shoulders, and he leans into you. Both of you stare out across the sea, watching the lightning flash in the storm to the south.

“I don’t even know what I’m gonna be able to do to help.” You sigh. “But I know I have to go.”

One of his hands finds yours again. “Whatever may come, I consider it an honor to fight alongside you.”

You bark a laugh, shaking your head at the notion. “Hey now, I just asked you to come with me, I never said anything about putting you in the line of fire.”

He smiles. “I know, I know, but still… if it comes down to it-”

“If it comes down to that, I’m hauling you over my shoulder and taking us both home.” You cut him off in a no-nonsense tone.

Your seriousness doesn’t cause his mirth to falter. “I fear I’m gonna be the one dragging you home if we run into Signora while we’re there.”

A low growl reverberates from your chest at the mere mention of her. “We’ve still got a score to settle.”

He pats you on the thigh placatingly, humor in his words. “Darling, how many times must I reassure you? I let her take it from me.”

“Still, she didn’t have to be so fucking rough about it. I’m not after the gnosis. She made this personal.” You snarl.

His soft laughter subsides as he shakes his head, but he doesn’t argue.

The two of you watch the lightning show for a short while, before you grow tired of the dreadful sight and opt to focus on something better. Unwrapping your arm from the God at your side, you stifle a laugh as he voices his sudden startled displeasure. You apologize as you reposition yourselves, moving away from the edge a bit and turning the both of you around. “Sorry about that, didn’t realize you’d almost fallen asleep on me.”

He pouts. “Can you blame me? You’re warm, and it’s been a stressful day… and speaking of-”

You nod. “I know. We should be getting home soon. But- look.” You point at the beautiful sight of Mondstadt City, lit up for the night, a beacon of hope and freedom standing strong in the distance. “Isn’t that a sight worth sticking around a little longer for?”

He sighs in content as you pull him against you once more. You can’t feel the swell of pride in his chest at the sight, but you can hear it in his voice. “It sure is.”

Lifting his hat from his head and placing it in his lap, you comb your fingers through his hair, finding your own satisfaction in the way he melts against you. The two of you admire the city for a long few minutes, and a thought occurs. “As much as I want you beside me… I feel bad taking you from your people.”

He shakes his head and the motion tickles as his hair brushes against your chin. “They don’t need me, love. At least, not in the day-to-day sense.” He huffs. “Honestly, I think the most prominent place that my presence will be missed is the tavern, and that’s of little consequence in the grand scheme.”

You know he’s right, but the guilt still nags at you. “I guess…”

He leans away just enough to turn and look you in the eye. “You are one of my people too, you know?”

You hold his gaze, considering it. Have you really been here long enough, or made a big enough impact on the region to be bestowed with such an honorary title? “...I suppose I do.”

He reaches up and cups your cheek, eyes pleading. “Then let me be there for you.”

You breathe a sigh of acceptance. “...Okay.” You turn your head and plant a quick kiss against his palm before he can pull away.

He lets his hand drop, but doesn’t turn away. “I’m really sorry that you’ve been carrying all of this pain with you for so long. I should have questioned you on it sooner.”

You pick his hand up from his lap, taking it in yours. “It’s not your fault. At least, certainly not anymore than it is mine. I should've just asked you to come, the worst thing you could’ve said was no.”

“I still hate that you even thought I might’ve said no. I… should have made my willingness clearer.”

“Nah, I mean, after a year of following me around Mondstadt I think you were quite clear. I’m just… dense.” You summon a few tiny Geo shards in your palm before allowing them to crumble into a shimmering pile of dust. “Comes with the territory, I suppose.”

Venti scoffs. “Well if you’re dense, then I’m diffuse.” A tiny gust of Anemo swoops in and lifts the dust from your outstretched palm, scattering it to the wind.

You watch your two energies mix and dissolve into the night air. “I guess they do say that opposites attract.”

He hums. “That they do, love.”

You expect him to turn back toward the city, and he almost does, but then he hesitates, and calls you by name. “I want you to remember something.”

Your interest piques, brows raising above tired, lidded eyes. “And what’s that?”

His tone is serious. “You are not alone. Ever. Not if you don’t want to be. I don’t want you hesitating to call on me ever again. If you need me, if you want me, I’m there. No exceptions.” Maybe it’s the day’s exhaustion catching up with you, but the light in his eyes feels like a beacon, guiding you home. “You don’t ever have to be alone again. Remember this, please.”

Something warm blooms in your chest, and it’s in this moment that you realize the knot in your stomach has loosened. It isn’t gone, but it’s hardly noticeable anymore, and you finally breathe easy. You hold his gaze for a moment before nodding, serious. “I will.”

He brings his hand up, holding his pinky out toward you. “Promise?”

You smile, reaching out and wrapping yours around his. “Promise.”

He exhales, satisfied. “You wanna stay out here a bit longer?”

You open your arms in invitation. “I’d love to.”

Shuffling around once more, you help situate him between your legs, pulling him back against your chest.

“Alright, but don’t hold it against me if I fall asleep out here. You make for quite the comfortable bed, you know.”

You smile, nuzzling into his hair and breathing him in. The heavy scent of fermentation he once carried is now nothing but a faint whisper. “I won’t mind.” Lifting your gaze from the distant city lights, you quietly admire the stars above. “Not at all.”

A/N: Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed! You can find my commentary on this fic in the notes right here on Ao3. For more info on my OC Saoirse (aka this fic's "Reader"), along with links to various relevant playlists and moodboards, you can find it all here, in the notes of my fic series "This Is Unconditional." This is fic 4 of 16 that I'm doing based on combining prompts from this list! [Day 6 (Singing) & Day 21 (Memory)] Header Image Source: Me, for once! It's an in-game screenshot that I took myself.

[marve2014]

No Time Like The Present Part 6

Wednesday Addams x fem!reader 

Part Six

Summary: Pilgrims, Hydes, and Cuddles.

Warnings: Minor mention of violence, bullying, kissing, language.

Minors DNI

Word Count: 3.1K

Authors Note: All characters aged up to 18. This is where the story diverges from the actual story line. More aspects of the show will be added in the next part. Thank you lovelies so much for reading and enjoying.

Upon entering the woods to find the old pilgrim house Tyler showed Wednesday you can’t help but replay the images that were on the board of supposed Bear attacks; noting that all the wounds you saw were similar to those of the claws of the monster you saw. You decided that after you and Wednesday & make it back to town you would try and get more of insight on each of the attacks. Knowing you wont get any information from Sheriff Galpin himself, you decide that you and Tyler will have to go on an outing of your own; hopefully Wednesday wont be too mad. After walking for about twenty minutes the both of you come up on a dilapidated shack. Looking over at Wednesday questioningly, she mutters out “I was expecting more too.” 

Hearing a branch break behind the both of you, you turn and see a homeless man.

“Who are you talking to little girl?” He says 

“Use the words little and girl to address me again, and I can’t guarantee your safety.” Wednesday says nonchalantly. As the homeless man moves closer to Wednesday, you stiffen and grab her arm.

“This is my place! Get out!” He moves to grab Wednesday.

“Thing, a hand here.” Wednesday says as Thing rushes over and begins to choke the man. They tumble into the outside of the shed and as that is going on you and Wednesday finally begin to look around. 

“So, do your visions just come to you, or do you have to be in a specific situation?” You ask as you both look deeper into the shed.

“My visions seem to happen spontaneously.”

“Maybe you should try touching something? Get a feel for the shed?” You suggest. Wednesday begins mockingly touching things. “here, how about this?” She picks up a fast food bag and pretends to have a vision. “That’s not how they work, I already told you.” She argues. Going on to further her point she touches one of the shed walls and falls into an actual vision. You laugh, catching her falling body and take a seat on the ground with Thing, pulling her head into your lap not knowing how long her vision will actually last. A few minutes later, Wednesday shoots up from your lap and looks around at you and Thing. 

“I saw her, the girl from my visions. Her name was Goody Addams, she’s my ancestor. She was the only to escape the burning building. Jospeh Crackstone, he burned all the outcasts alive. He was a monster, why are they celebrating him?” Wednesday’s voice cracks as she says the last line, making you grab her hand and pull her into a hug. 

“We will find out what happened. I wont let anything happen to you, okay?” You promise. Hearing footsteps, the both of you turn and take in your surroundings.

“Must be the bearded man from earlier.” Wednesday deducts. Looking through one of the planks of wood in the shed wall, you’re met with the large eye of the monster you saw the night you went to meet Wednesday in the woods. Immediately you grab Wednesday’s hand.

“RUN!” You scream, trying to pull Wednesday along with you. 

“No, we need to go after it. We need to see where it leads us.” Wednesday argues, pulling you in the direction of the monster.

“Fine, but if I die, you better tell my mom I was strongly against this.” 

Running down a path, you both immediately stop when you notice the large footprints of the monster turn into human footprints.

“Holy fuck, it’s a human?!” You yell and look at Wednesday as she continues to examine the footprint closely. Looking up again you scream, seeing Xavier Thorpe standing in front of you. 

“Warn a girl next time, Thorpe.” You say irritated.

“What the hell are you two doing?” He questions as he puts his umbrella over the both of you.

“We were following the monster.” Wednesday answers.

“You guys saw it? Do you have a death wish or something?” He asks, looking over the both of you like you’re crazy. 

“What are you doing here?” You question suspiciously.

“I heard you both asking Tyler about the old meeting house. Figured id check it out and make sure you were okay.” He explains, not making eye contact with the two of you. “Why did you come out here in the first place?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but Wednesday wanted to learn more about Crackstone.” Pulling Wednesday closer to you, you glare at Xavier.

“And she wanted to use her psychic abilities?” He smugly states as the three of you head back to the main road. 

“How do you know that?” Wednesday looks up at him and stops walking.

“Lucky guess. You can’t control it can you? That freaks you out. My dad is a psychic.” He explains.

“Vincent Thorpe, I know. My brother is his number one fan.” Wednesday says as she rolls her eyes.

“So I know, the first thing hell tell you is that visions can’t be trusted; they only show you one part of the picture. You’re creating a story in your head and using parts of your visions to back it up.” He continues to talk as you stay silent, trying to take in everything being said.

“Are you trying to mansplain my powers?” Wednesday asks.

“All I’m saying that my dad, the expert, would warn you that psychic ability isn’t rooted in logic. It’s triggered by emotions and lets be honest, emotions aren’t really your strong suit.” You glare up at Xavier and punch him in the arm. He looks down at you offended. 

“We will be leaving now. You don’t know the first thing about Wednesdays emotions, because they aren’t directed at you. Don’t try and invalidate her visions because you think you know best. Go screw yourself. Come on Wednesday. We need to change before we get sick.” Pulling Wednesday down the path, away from Xavier, you both make it back to the entrance you came in. 

“I don’t care what Principal Weems says, you’re coming to my house first to change. You will not get sick because of this stupid monster.” 

Making your way back to the sheriffs department, you see Sheriff Galpin and ask him for a ride to your house since you two walked to the pilgrim meeting house, leaving your car at home. After the short drive, you arrive home to see your mom gone and Tyler at the house when he said he would be at work. Getting out of the Sheriffs truck you turn back to thank him.

“I will drive Wednesday back to Nevermore so you can get back to work, we wont be too long; I don’t want anyone getting in trouble with the principal.” You give Sheriff Galpin a small smile and he gives you a head nod. Walking into the house, you see Tylers muddy shoes on the shoe rack and go to find him, bringing Wednesday along with you to get her some dry clothes.

“Your house is very… homey.. and bright.” Wednesday can’t help but grimace at the normality of it all. “Gonna have to get used to it babe, my mom is like the embodiment of sunshine, my very own Enid.” You laugh as you bring her to your bedroom and grab a t shirt and some shorts.

“If none of that will fit you, my mom is more your size, mine might be too big, I can grab something of hers, she wont mind. Trust me.” You smile. “ My bathroom is right through there, feel free to shower. I’m going to use the bathroom in my moms room and I plan on showering in scolding hot water, so take your time.” Kissing her cheek, you walk towards your moms room, still seeing no sign of Tyler. You push that to the back of your mind and start the shower and get in. After thoroughly scrubbing any traces of mud and Xaviers presence off your skin, you decide 25 minutes is long enough. Getting out and dressed, you go back to your bedroom to see Wednesday freshly showered, laying on your bed asleep. You kiss her forehead and cover her with your fuzzy pink blanket and then take a picture incase you ever need a favor from her and have to resort to blackmail. You head downstairs and hear someone rummaging through the kitchen, grabbing the bat that you started keeping at the end of the stairs, you slowly make your way into the kitchen. You see someone standing in the fridge but can’t tell who it is. Continuing to raise the bat you make yourself known.

“Hands where I can see them, please don’t make me use this bat.” You whine as the figure slowly closes the fridge.

“A BAT, Y/N?! Really?” Tyler looks at you shocked. Putting a container of food on the counter. Reaching over and snatching the bat from you. “Also, don’t let someone you’re trying to attack know you have a weapon, idiot.’ He rolls his eyes. 

“Hey! Give it back!” Whining, you try and reach for it, but Tyler is holding it above his head where you cant reach it. “Why are you here, aren’t you supposed to be at work?” You question, finally giving up and letting him keep the bat.

“Literally zero customers, they sent me home, didn’t need me and the other guys.” He shrugs. “What are you doing here?” 

“Well Wednesday is asleep in my bed currently. We almost got eaten by the Hyde, again. Ran into that douche face Xavier. Just a casual day for us, you know?” You nonchalantly inform him and go to make you and Wednesday some hot tea and cookies. 

“Wait, Wednesday is here? Is that even allowed?” He asks as he hands you some tea bags. 

“Well If it isn’t, I’ll make sure she doesn’t get in trouble.” I’m going to bring this up and let her sleep a little more. Use the couch, no pull out for you until were both gone, loser.” You laugh at him and head upstairs. Entering your room you look at Wednesday who has cuddled further into your bed. Deciding to join her, you gently pull the covers back and slide in, not expecting her to immediately find her way into your arms. Smiling down at her you pull her closer and begin to fall asleep. 

Waking up to the feeling of cold, you sit up and look around not seeing Wednesday, but hearing people conversing down the hall.  Walking out you hear your mother and finally making it to the kitchen, you see her shoving food in front of Wednesday. Standing back you watch the interaction between them before you make your presence known.

“So Wednesday, how are you liking Nevermore? I hear this is your first year there.” Your mother asks as she pours Wednesday a glass of sweet tea.

“It’s okay I guess. It is better than normie schools, but then again, its still school.” Wednesday answers as she continues to look down at the food in front of her, deciding what to eat first.

“I just want to say thank you.” Your mother looks wistfully and Wednesday finally raises her head to meet her eyes.

“For? This is the first time we’ve actually spoken. I don’t think I’ve done anything to benefit you.” Wednesday answers monotoned. 

“You make Y/n happy. As a mother, that’s all I could ask for. She hasn’t had the easiest time dealing with the transition of moving here, but you have make her leave her room more, and actually get out of the house. I haven’t seen her smile this much in a long time.” Your mother reaches over and pats Wednesday on the hand. Pretending to not have heard anything, you head into the kitchen and make yourself known.

“Well hello people, I am alive and awake. What are we eating?” You smile and sit next to Wednesday, placing your hand on her thigh and giving a gentle squeeze. 

After eating, you decide that you regretfully need to take Wednesday back to Nevermore before you get in trouble with Principal Weems. The drive is mostly in silence, with you paying attention to the road while it rains, and Wednesday staring at the droplets racing down the passenger window. When the gate to the school is in sight, Wednesday finally breaks the silence. 

“There’s a dance coming up, the Rave-N, as my girlfriend you are required to go. I will let you know further dress code details so you can buy an outfit. Okay?” Looking at you with no hint of joking, you nod your confirmation. “Good. I will see you later.” Wednesday reaches over and grabs you by the back of the head and feverishly kisses you goodbye until you need to come up for air. Breathlessly you look at Wednesday and smile. “Be safe and I will talk to you later.” You tell her as she gets out of the car and makes her way into the front of the school. Deciding that you need the remaining information on those attacks, you decide that you and Tyler will need to break into the coroners office and see what exactly is going on. 

Getting back to your house, you call Tyler and tell him to come outside, without telling either of your parents where you plan on going. Tyler comes out and gets in the vehicle and you immediately break down crying.

“Hey, hey, what’s going on?” Tyler asks as he reaches over the center console to hug you.

“I think today is just catching up to me, the adrenaline wore off and all I can think of is one of us getting killed by the Hyde. We need to find out who it is Tyler. I can’t keep going with Wednesday and almost getting killed.” Wiping the tears from your eyes, you look up at him and see a faraway look in his eye. He snaps out of it once he realizes you’re looking at him. 

“It’ll all work out, okay? I promise.” He reassures you.

“I need you to come with me to break into the coroners office. I don’t think all the attacks your dad is saying are bear attacks, are actually bear attacks. I think it’s the Hyde.” You explain as you continue to pull yourself together and stop crying. 

“Are you sure? We could get into a lot of trouble if we get caught.” 

“Yes. The coroners office has the last body and all of the notes from the previous attacks. I stole my moms badge, so technically we aren’t breaking in.” You try to lighten the mood.

“Let’s go then.” He exhales. “You’re just as bad as Wednesday.” Laughing, he puts his seatbelt on as you pull out of the driveway.

“I take that as a compliment.” You tell him smugly.

Arriving at the hospital, you two take the back way to get into the building trying to go unnoticed. Scanning your moms badge, you finally make it to the coroners office and enter the dark room. Pulling out flashlights, you start going through the filing cabinet, while Tyler looks at the computer.

“Well the computer is a no go.” He says, trying multiple times to get passed the login credentials.

“Okay well help me look through the filing cabinet.” Finding one file you need, you head over to the computer and printer to make copies before you replace the file and continue looking. You pause as you hear two voices coming closer, looking through the crack in the door, you see the coroner and sheriff Galpin making their way to the very room you’re in. 

“Oh fuck, its your dad. Hide Tyler. Hide right now.” You scurry and hide in the side closet, pulling Tyler with you. Covering both of your mouths, you try and listen to the conversation being currently had. 

“I thought you should see this before I issued my report on the lates victim; it’s a real noodle-scratcher.” The coroner says as he leads Sheriff Galpin over to the refrigerated unit containing disassembled body parts. “The killer cut off two toes from the victims left foot. Best guess, they used a surgical saw. The final autopsy report is still pending.”

“The minute your done send it straight to my desk. I want a media black out on the toes.” 

“Sure thing Sheriff. You go, ill lock up.”

You hear the Sheriff leave and then the coroner walking over to the area they keep the bodies. You cant make out much of what he’s saying but you can hear the confusion in his voice as he talks to one of the bodies.

“You’ve been waiting a while, I guess you wont mind one more day for me to cut you open.” Laughing, he closes the drawer and turns the lights back off. After 5 minutes of no sound, you and Tyler open the door to the storage closet you were in and you look at the drawer the coroner had opened, noticing it didn’t close all the way. Looking at Tyler and nodding your head in the direction of the drawers, you walk over and pull it all the way. Holding in a scream, you see your girlfriend laying there, staring back up at you.

“Five more minutes, I was just getting comfortable.” She says as Thing goes to close the drawer.

“No ma’am. You will not get five more minutes Wednesday Addams. Get your butt off that table and tell me why you’re here without me!” You whisper yell, picking thing up and moving him away from the handle of the drawer.

“I could ask you the same.” Wednesday says as she hops down and smooths out the bottom of her Nevermore skirt.

“Well I came with Tyler, not alone.” You argue.

“And I came with Thing.” She rebuttals. 

“I don’t think they’re bear attacks. I think they’re all from the Hyde.” You explain and watch her lips curve in a small smile. 

“You’re correct, that’s why im here as well. I didn’t ask you to come because you specifically promised your mother no more late night outings; isn’t that correct, Tyler?” Wednesday looks over to the silent boy. Tyler just nods, not making eye contact with you.

“Traitor.” You mumble. “ Okay, well I made copies of one of the victims, and they were missing a body part, the sheriff and coroner said this guy was missing two toes, so what the hell does a Hyde want with specific body parts?” You question the both of them. 

Taglist: @athenablack1959 @deadpool-in-a-snood @lovelyy-moonlight @wednesdayiswoe @antilost-blog @dumb-ass2 @noomin-noot@cupiocalamity @ladey @maria-403 @lixeira @donnabenevientosbitch

[recurring-polynya]

Summary: Long ago in Inuzuri, Abarai Renji broke his arm. It healed. At least the bones did. His kidou ducts have never been the same. Now that Renji's finally having the surgery to get them corrected, Rukia is determined to make sure he gets the love and care he deserves during his recovery-- whether he wants it or not.

Starring: Rukia and Renji, of course!! Featuring: Their Inuzuri pals! All the (good) lieutenants! H-a-n-a-t-a-r-o-u! The hard-working staff of Kuchiki Manor! (...is byakuya here? unfortunately, you know he is)

Rating: Teen, for violent trauma, cussing, and sexual innuendo.

Updates: Weekly

This time: Rukia gets some advice. Byakuya tells a lie. Rukia and Renji make up.

Read Chapter 4 on ao3!

[iridescentis]

For fun I decided to look over all of my internet history that is still available to me to try and create the most accurate timeline of my fandoms over the years and I think this is it! I also included the platforms I was primarily using for each since that's relevant to the fandom activity I was participating in :)

There are more fandoms I have dabbled in and I might be forgetting some but these are the main eras of my fandom experiences I think.

[emeralddoeadeer]

Times Like These - an Everlong extension

A domestic moment at Abercorn

6) Sweet like chocolate on Ao3

This one is for @marhoeders I think you know how much I appreciate every comment and ask, thank you for your enthusiasm for these guys 💕 and a very happy birthday to you!

[icaruspartharmony]

Nobody tells you actually how funny it is to run into someone when they're waking up. Because my sleep schedule is more of a sleep plan, there's no set times but it's probably gonna happen. My brother was getting up for work and saw me and was like "??why are you awake?? Why aren't you asleep?"

[girlscience]

trying to get to better as a person is so nauseating. was lonely yesterday so i messaged friends to try and plan hang outs. forced myself to ask about reference letters today even though i turned bright red and felt like crying. messaged friends tonight to ask if they could help keep me accountable so i don't feel like i'm doing everything alone. barf. i hate this. i want to hide in a hole

[theothershin]

What about it - Shark and Timas navigate the world post apocalypse?

[naivesilver]

Since it persists on being too hot to focus on my more useful OUAT fics, have a disgustingly self-indulgent Pinocchio Swap AU turned "Please Let Piccolino Have A Loving Family" AU moment 🙃🥰

"Grandfather," Pinocchio asks, standing on his tiptoes to peer over the worktable, "why are there so many clocks here?"

He half expects Mr. Marco to scold him for asking such a silly question, but instead the man just chuckles fondly and pats Pinocchio over the head, earning himself a giddy grin. "Ah, that's just because I like fixing them, lad. They need a more delicate touch than doors and plumbing, you see."

"But only one of them is working. Why's that?"

"That is because I don't have the time to spare for them all." Mr. Marco gestures vaguely towards the single working clock, hanging from the wall on the back of the workshop. "That one, though- August helped me sort it out, when he'd just arrived here. Do you want to see it?"

"Yes!" Pinocchio immediately interrupts his curious poking around the table, all but bouncing with enthusiasm. He likes learning about things August is involved with. August's always doing some really cool stuff, it seems.

As such, he lets the old man pick him up and lift him high enough that Pinocchio can see the clock from up close, and doesn't protest when the boy leans even closer, marvelling at the nice carvings in the wood - Pinocchio doesn't wiggle out so much to risk falling, which would for sure earn him a scolding, but still, it's the principle of the thing. He wouldn't feel so certain that he's safe being held like this, with some other people.

He thinks he knows a little of how things work in Storybrooke, now. Not everything, of course, but at least what he needs to get by on a normal day - he knows he can close the window blinds at night if he's worried someone will enter as he sleeps, and that he doesn't need anyone's permission to do so; he knows he can go crawl on August's lap if he's lonely and the man is writing or talking to someone, so long as he doesn't get too much in the way; he knows that if he wants to go pet Dr. Hopper's dog there are multiple adults who'll hold onto Gina for him, because dogs are so much bigger than her and she gets frightened easily around them.

He still doesn't know whether Mr. Marco is okay with Pinocchio calling him Grandfather or not, but that kind of thing is so confusing here, he's not sure he's ever going to puzzle it out. Back home he was supposed to address all older people like that, but Storybrooke? Beats him. Maybe it's too formal for them, who knows.

The clock ticks by another minute. Pinocchio squints at it, following the moving hands with his finger for a moment - the numbers are written a little different from what he remembers, but it's not too long before he can safely declare: "It says it's six minutes past two. That's it, right?"

"Very good," Mr. Marco praises him, and it doesn't feel like a mockery, even if he does sound genuinely surprised. "You know how to tell the time already, then? What a clever boy."

"Yeah." Pinocchio's chest swells with pride, and he points eagerly at one of the other clocks, the still broken ones. "That one's saying it's half past six, but that's because it's stuck. And that one thinks it's midday. Or midnight, I don't know."

"Yes, that's right. Good job. Say, who taught you so well?"

"An old man in a town. He said that because I had a nice watch, I should know how to read the time."

He doesn't like thinking about that too much, honestly. The old man, yes - he'd met a lot of nice elderly people in his travels, more than he did nice younger ones, at least - but the memory of the watch itself makes his chest clench painfully, like the time he was underwater without air before the dogfish happened.

He wonders what they did with it, after he lost it when he turned into a donkey. He's not even sure it still worked at that point, because it fell pretty hard, and the Coachman didn't give him time to check on it before leading him away with his rope - Pinocchio hopes it didn't break too badly, even if he can't have it anymore. It was a good pocket watch, nice to look at. He'd never owned anything so nice before that, and even though he's received lots of gifts since he came to Storybrooke, it's not the same thing. People are richer there than they were in his old land. They always seem to have something to spare for him, especially August and Mr. Marco and the gruff lady at the diner.

He must have gone quiet for too long, however, because the man gives him a little shake, if not a very rough one. "You alright, lad?"

Pinocchio nods, even though the picture of the golden watch is still flashing in front of him, as if it were the sun and he'd stared at it for too long. "Grandfather?"

"Yes, Pinocchio?"

"Can I see how to fix them, too, when you have time? Like you and August did?"

He's not really thinking he could manage it, honestly. He's not good enough for that. But anything's better than being stuck remembering the same thing over and over again, with no way to stop it. Physically doing something usually works as a distraction, like when he couldn't solve his math problems and he'd just up and start running.

For a couple seconds he worries he won't be able to explain himself if Mr. Marco asks him about it, but the old man doesn't, and instead simply nods, his mouth curling in a warm smile.

"Of course," he says, sounding a little choked up. "You're a smart boy. I'm sure you'll learn very fast."

"Really?"

"Well, yes. Why don't you go look for August and ask him, too? I bet he'll say the same thing."

Pinocchio nods again, allowing Mr. Marco to carefully put him down and darting away towards August's room as soon as his feet have touched the floor. He's not completely certain he didn't say something wrong yet, especially when he was distracted, but it's fine. He's fine. He would have been told, if someone was mad at him. That's how it works in Storybrooke.

And even if he did make someone mad, he can learn how to fix that. Just like the clocks. Just like the golden watch, stuck in another world that it might be.

[hlvrai-stuck-together]

((OOC))

Sorry I keep updating at like. midnight. I honestly dont have an excuse besides i go to work and i get home and i'm tired fghsdajk

Gonna take me a little while to get into the swing of this. I've never done an askblog like this before (though I have hosted... technically 3 in the past? (EDIT: no, 4 actually.) But never like this, and none of them went anywhere), so trying to get into the swing of it has been weird.

Glad people seem to be enjoying it, though! I had no idea it'd take off like this, aha. Hopefully I can get a bit more consistent and stop uploading at 2 AM, lol.

That said, I don't know what my schedule's gonna be (if I even start one). So if there's a couple days where I don't upload, it's not because I abandoned the AU or anything, it's probably just because I'm busy IRL.

Feel free to keep sending in asks even if I'm not online! I've already got a lot of really good ones sitting there that I'm gonna hold onto for a bit (for. reasons).

This has been really fun so far, and I hope everyone's having fun, too! Just bear with me while I figure this out. I'm hoping to get out a ref of [ERROR] soon, and also stop calling him that soon, but getting into character is proving to be a challenge when you do it on and off like this. But that's never stopped me before and it won't now. Like I said, this has been fun so far!

That said, if anyone has any suggestions on a meta level, I'm all ears. I realize now that I've run into this basically blind, so even though I did a couple week's worth of preparation in advance for this blog, I'm also still floundering a bit. Learning more every day, though! And I'm hoping I can pick up the pace soon as well. After Day 1's rapidfire replies, going at a more leisurely pace feels really slow, and I both wanna fix that but also don't know how because, like I said, I keep uploading at midnight gfdshjk

TL;DR I'm working on it dw lol

-Mod Dimonds

[majorproblems77]

It's WIP Wednesday!

Now I've got something for you guys from Unravelling today.

As a treat :)

A quick heads up!

It's taking me a tad longer than I'd like to get the main plot point down, I'm having this thing where i get an idea down. But can't get it flowing right. So This chapter may take a little longer to get out. But I shall endeavour to finish it as soon as possible. Because WHO BOY..

It's a DOOOOOZY!

I'm very excited for you to see it!

Just in case people want to go into the next chapter blind I'll put it under a Cut, however. It's from right at the start of chapter 9. So you should be all right to look at it!

“Tempest.” Warriors didn’t move, he didn’t turn to him, he stood next to the sailor. Sword in his hand. His eyes scanned the storm ahead of him, watching shards of ice fall. If you looked you could see the plan formulating in his head. As trained eyes scanned. “Yeah?” Wind responded, looking over to the right-hand side. The clearer of the two paths was left to him. A clear shot if he circled for a moment before approaching Sky from the back. “Remember your strengths.” Warriors turned to him, kneeling for just a moment, the wind whipping his hair to one side as his Scarf followed it. Azure blue eyes searched his, a smile ghosting his face after a moment.  “You can do this.”

[ponds-of-ink]

Shattered Dreams but Intact Teacups (Followup/Part 2)

It’s finally here! Took longer than I thought, but I finally got it done! :D

In case you are new/need a refresher, here’s Part 1. In case you’re busy, though, the TL;DR is basically: Scraptrap tries to look good for Scrap Baby’s tea party through illusion disks and the plan backfires miserably. Now Scrap Baby/Elizabeth, while playing her tea party character, has to show him that she’s absolutely okay with him showing up sans-disks.

(@uwu-scraptrappy, get ready. I dunno what feels this part’ll give you, but I have a feeling it’ll give you some.)

Scrap Baby looked back at Lefty. Her mind flipped through the pages of her childhood memories (or, well, what was left of them). What fairy tale logic could she use here could she used to “cure” Princess Trapeze [and make Daddy feel better, of course]? What kind of ‘curse’ were they supposed to lift, anyway? A Beauty and The Beastie kind? A Cinderella-But-The-Fairy’s-Really-Mean type? Frog Prince? Little Mermaid…?

…Baby’s eyelids widened. “Blackbear, can we talk in private?” she asked softly, tilting her head towards a corner of the room.

“Sure thing, M’Lady,” Lefty replied in-character, already making her way to their intended spot. She waited for Baby to arrive, then asked the inevitable question: “Do you have a plan to cure her?”

“I do,” Scrap Baby answered, her tone fluctuating between pride and uncertainty. “But there’s one thing I need advice on. Advice that I think you can give.”

Lefty’s eyebrows raised. “All right, what is it?” she asked in turn.

“Do you think we can get a prince to give her a true love’s kiss?” 

“Not really,” Lefty responded solemnly, shaking her head. “If Trapeze’s story is as sad as she makes it to be, I don’t think anyone’s even given her a hug— Let alone a kiss on the lips… Or the cheek, if that’s more reasonable for her.”

Scrap Baby’s eyelids lowered. Her shoulders slumped. “Well, I don’t think you’d count for a prince, Sir Black-Bear,” she muttered. “You’re just a knight.”

Lefty nodded. “And kinda glad about it, actually,” she admitted weakly. “I really don’t want to waste a true love’s kiss on someone I’ve only known for a few minutes. What if I find someone I actually love and I need to break them from a sleeping spell?”

“That’s fair,” Scrap Baby agreed morosely. Her pupils slowly drifted to and fro, as if skimming through the memory that brought her to this train of thought. Her furrowed “brows” relaxed as something eased her. “But I’M still an option,” she resumed, her voice regaining its typical confidence. “Of course I count, I’m a princess! If ‘true love’ can count for us, then maybe I can break it myself!”

If Lefty were a human, one would have definitely been able to see a cold sweat forming on her forehead. “That depends on how the spell-caster defined ‘true love’ when giving the curse,” she sputtered out uneasily. “If he meant romance, then PLEASE don’t even think about trying. It just won’t work with anyone other than who she’s supposed to marry to later. If he meant the kind of love that families or friends have, then sure I guess. Even the love you show when helping out a stranger in a rough time might work, if the wizard was that merciful.”

“What are you trying to say?”

Lefty sighed. “You can try, but I dunno the specifics of this ‘true love’ thing,” she summed up gently. “Just smooch her on the cheek or something, just to be safe.”

“I already had something in mind,” Scrap Baby assured warmly, turning her head towards Scraptrap’s face and arms lying on the table. “I saw Cinderella’s Prince do it once.”

Confident in her plan, Baby quietly glided back to the table. She stopped besides Scraptrap, towering over him even as she tried to look more sympathetic and gentle with her posture. She stood there for a few seconds, analyzing the poor wretch before her. Then, as carefully as she could, she pulled out his good arm and slipped the ring back on. This was the only “warning” she gave before planting her best prince-like ‘kiss’ on his hand. 

To her surprise, Scraptrap was quick to respond. “What was that for?” he asked, quite frankly more shocked about the ring being back on his finger than the ‘smooch’ itself (though, not knowing the exact context, that did come out of nowhere). 

Scrap Baby smiled sheepishly. “I… thought this would count as a ‘true love’s kiss’,” she explained as she lowered his hand back down. “You know, the usual way a curse like yours is broken.”

Scraptrap’s puzzlement melted away. He rolled his (would’ve been reddened) eyes and sniggered to himself. “I’m sorry, Princess Melodica, but I’m afraid mine doesn’t work like that,” he said, returning to being properly in-character. “In fact, I’m not quite sure if there is a cure other than these two trinkets.”

“Oh,” Scrap Baby answered, mild disappointment seeping in.

“But at least you made her stop crying, Your Highness,” Lefty chimed in, moving to Scrap Baby’s side. “As far as I’m concerned, you’ve probably broken her real curse just by being this caring. Loneliness like hers must be considered a curse too, if you think about it long enough.”

Scrap Baby tilted her head at Lefty. “Really?” she asked the bear, clasping one of those black plastic paws in her mismatched hands. “But what about her—?”

Lefty cut in with a gentle shush. “That’s a spell to break another day,” she answered warmly. Then, she looked over at Scraptrap. “Besides, Princess Trapeze,” she continued in that same tone, “there’s an expression in my family’s kingdom that should do you well: ‘Fairer be the heart of gold and pearls than the fairest with dainty curls’… Or something like that.”

Scraptrap turned his face away as if flattered, but his expression showed otherwise. “B-But I don’t think either of those things apply to me,” he stammered, unsure if that was in-character or an unintentional expression of… potential guilt.

“I’m not talking total perfect—“ Lefty started, but stopped herself with a frustrated grimace. “Oh, never mind this whole part! I’m not good with summing up stuff like this. That was my dad’s job. I’ll just say that you’ll get better in due time if you’re not being extremely dumb, okay? Like, evil wizard-type of dumb.”

Scraptrap snickered at his companion’s outburst. “Okay,” he grinned as Lefty stomped back to her seat. “I think I understand. Thank you very much, Sir Black-Bear.”

“You’re welcome, but whatever,” Lefty grumpily murmured, crossing her arms and lowering the metal bowl over her head like a cowboy ready to sleep in his favorite rocking chair.

“As for you, Your Majesty,” Scraptrap resumed, turning his attention back to his glowing-eyed hostess, “I would like to thank you for your attempt. I don’t think anyone has actually tried to figure out an antidote before. Well, anyone besides me, I suppose.”

“You’re welcome,” Baby replied proudly, giving her guest her best curtsy. “I just thought I should try to help.”

Scraptrap removed the ring from his finger. “Speaking out of character for moment,” he spoke up, trying not to cringe at his own natural hoarseness, “I have to ask: Why did you do it, really? You could have easily made Princess Melodica politely excuse Trapeze from the party and carry on with her knight friend as if nothing happened. Why did you choose such a… considerate option?”

Baby’s faceplates twitched. Her roller skates shifted aimlessly in place. “Well, I didn’t want to make Melodica mean,” she explained, giving him her best ‘pout’. “It just didn’t feel right after what y— Trapeze said about being lonely.”

Trap nodded thoughtfully. “Sounds reasonable,” he muttered, picking up the ring and holding it in his hand. Then, as he started to slip it back on, something stopped him. He set the trinket back down with an uneasy expression. “I suppose now my only concern is…” his voice trailed as his eyes caught his murky reflection in that magenta crown. “Do you think…?”

His voice trailed again. His pupils remained fixed on that tinted ‘mirror’. Echoes of unseen, taunting voices rung in his mind, causing him to wince even more than usual. With each insult faintly recalled, he inspected his more ghastly features. The gash on his forehead (which itself was a source of ridicule enough already). The uneven eyelids that made him look dazed if he wasn’t paying attention to his emoting. The ghostly pin-prick irises that made his sockets look like metallic eyes. And this was only covering the parts one would notice if that disproportionate head didn’t—

A clawed arm gently shoved the crown away from the rabbit’s view. “Do I think what?” Baby asked softly, almost managing to lean down to his eye level. 

“D-Do you think the same applies to me?” Scraptrap sputtered out, the cooling fan in his robotic suit spinning at top speed. “Do you think I look… passable? Or at the very least not nauseatingly vile?”

Baby blinked. “I’m looking at you right now, aren’t I?” she asked in return, tilting her head to one side.

Scraptrap nodded slowly. 

“And you know how I get when I see something I really don’t like.”

That got a chuckle out of the old rabbit. Oh, how could he forget? A moody little arm cross here, a sulky turning her back away from the hated object there, or even just an outright cry of disgust and a pinching of her nose— Well, if she was still the little girl he raised and not an almost eight-foot animatronic.

“So it has to mean something when I look at you and don’t do that,” Baby insisted, holding her dad’s good hand in her own. “Yes, you aren’t pretty and shiny as Circus Baby used to be, but neither was Patchwork Patricia! Or Mr. Frankenstein when I invited him for tea! Or—“

“I think he gets the point, Baby,” Lefty cut in, her tone wavering between annoyance and enjoyment.

Scraptrap acknowledged Lefty’s interruption, then returned to the matter at hand. “And I think that point is…” his voice trailed for a moment as he processed his conclusion, “…you do not think that I’m absolutely repugnant.”

Scrap Baby nodded firmly. “You are not a pug or an ant or a peanut,” she said with (over-confident) authority. “You are my daddy and I’m not going to kick you out for being a Franken-bunny. I don’t care what anybody else says to me later about letting you stay at my tea party without that fancy watch on— It’s my tea party, and you’ll be staying right here… if you want to.”

Minor skewing of the word ‘repugnant’ aside, the sentiment itself made Scraptrap beam in spite of the suit’s lowered rabbit ear. “I think I will stay,” he said as he slipped the ring back onto his finger. “Thank you so much, ‘Your Highness’.”

Scrap Baby giggled. “You’re very welcome, Princess Trapeze,” she responded, straightening her posture. “Now, let’s see if we can get this tea party back on track.”

“Sounds good to me,” Lefty remarked, lifting her second hat above her eyes. “All this reassuring was great, but I was honestly starting to fall asleep.”

The same couldn’t be said for Michael and the technician in the security office. The technician looked away from his static-ridden “TV” to see Michael pacing in one part of the room. “Guess this is a ‘like if you cry every time moment for you, huh?” the technician grinned sheepishly. “You look like you’ve just finished the latest season finale for The Immortal and the Restless.”

Michael stopped pacing. “Just change to a different camera, would you?” he asked quietly. “I need to know how the rest of the building is doing.”

“Sure thing, Mr. Afton,” the technician answered, switching from one camera feed to the other. 

[bleakbluejay]

my specific brand of autism is like... i LOVE people-watching and seeing what they're going to do, like a zoologist in a blind observing the social interactions of an understudied animal. so i like to draw/paint mundane scenes, or just people's faces at rest (or the ways they look when they think nobody sees them).

however, writing... writing people doing things and talking to other people is so difficult to me. i can write introspection and description and inner-monologue and all of that very well, because i can just render my own experiences through the character's filter. but the moment i gotta have that guy interact with another guy i fall apart.

[lena-oleanderson]

my version of "i wonder what else they have written - RPF hockey???" is my 22 ghostbusters (2016) fanfics i wrote within 2 of my 8 years on ao3

[novaursa]

The Broken Crown (1/2)

- Summary: Aegon the Conqueror's youngest sister, Y/N Targaryen, once bethrohed to Torrhen Stark, is forced into a marriage with her brother after he calls off her engagement out of jealousy. Struggling with her lost future and the life she never wanted, she repeatedly refuses Aegon's attempts to consummate the marriage. When she tries to escape to Essos on her dragon, Visenya intercepts her, and Aegon, in an act of control, chains her dragon to prevent any further rebellion, leaving her feeling trapped and broken.

- Paring: sister!reader/Aegon I Targaryen

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Word count: 6 200+

- Next part: 2

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @fiction-fanfic-reader @fireandblood-mharmie @poisonedsultana

- A/N: Unexpected post. Let's see how it goes.

The wind howls outside your chambers, filling the air with the distant sounds of restless dragons, their cries melding with the deep, rolling growl of the sea beyond Dragonstone. The fire crackles in the hearth, sending flickers of light dancing across the walls. You sit alone, staring at the flickering flames, lost in thought. The glow reflects off the dark red and gold silk of your gown, the rich colors echoing the deep hues of Tesaerix's scales.

It has been weeks since your marriage to Aegon—your brother, your king—and yet your chambers remain cold. You know why he comes to you. You know what he desires. Yet every time, you turn him away, the bitterness of your broken future thick on your tongue.

You were supposed to be wed to Torrhen Stark, the former King in the North. A marriage of fire and ice, binding the Targaryens to the cold and ancient lineage of the Starks. You had imagined a life in the North, the fierce honor of the Starks, the warmth of a hearth shared between husband and wife, and the promise of a family. Torrhen would have been yours and yours alone. His loyalty and affection were clear in every letter, in every word whispered between couriers.

But Aegon... Aegon grew jealous. He called off the betrothal without a word to you, with a simple, royal command. And now, you sit here, a queen in name, yet more of a pawn than ever before.

The door to your chambers opens softly, the sound of boots upon stone barely audible over the crackling of the fire. You do not turn. You know who it is.

"Y/N," Aegon's voice rumbles low, rich with the quiet authority of a conqueror. He does not have to ask permission to enter; this is his castle, and you are his wife.

"You shouldn’t be here," you say quietly, your eyes still on the flames. "Not tonight."

"And yet, here I am." His voice is closer now, and you feel the heat of his presence behind you. "You’ve denied me time and time again."

You stand, your hands tightening into fists at your sides, still refusing to face him. "Because this was not meant to be. You took my future from me, Aegon. Torrhen was—" Your voice cracks, though you try to hold your composure. "I was meant to marry him. I was meant to be his only wife, to have his children. You stole that from me."

Aegon steps around to face you, his violet eyes, so like your own, burning with a mixture of frustration and something deeper. His silver hair, shining in the firelight, falls loosely about his shoulders, making him seem more a dragon than a man.

"You speak of duty as if you do not know it, sister," he says, his voice softer now, though no less commanding. "Do you truly believe you could have lived in the North? Away from your blood? Away from me?"

His words send a chill through you, a reminder of the bond that ties you both. You were born into the same fire, raised together, shared in the same dreams of conquest. But his love, twisted as it has become, feels like chains wrapping around your heart.

"I would have learned," you whisper, your throat tight. "For Torrhen, I would have made a home there."

"And you would have grown cold," Aegon replies, stepping closer, his hands reaching out to grasp your arms. "The North would have frozen the fire in your blood. You belong with me, Y/N. We were meant to rule together."

You yank your arms away from his grip, taking a step back, your eyes blazing. "No, Aegon. You and Visenya, you and Rhaenys, were meant to rule. I was an afterthought. You married me out of jealousy, not love. You couldn’t bear the thought of me in the arms of another man."

Aegon’s jaw tightens, and for a moment, you see the flicker of anger in his eyes. He steps forward again, but you hold your ground.

"You speak as though I do not care for you," he says, his voice dangerously low. "I made a banner in your honor. You fly your own colors, the colors of Tesaerix, because you are more than just my wife. You are my queen, my equal."

"I never asked for that," you snap, your voice rising, the pain and anger finally spilling over. "I never wanted a crown, Aegon. I wanted a life. You took that from me when you sent Torrhen away."

He is silent for a long moment, his eyes searching your face as if looking for some hint of the sister who once stood by his side, unwavering in her support. But that girl is gone now, replaced by a woman hardened by the reality of her fate.

"Perhaps," he says finally, his voice softer now, almost resigned. "But we cannot change the past. You are mine, Y/N. Whether you accept it or not."

You turn your back to him again, the weight of his words pressing down on you. You hear him move toward the door, his boots heavy on the stone floor. For a moment, you think he will leave. But then, his voice breaks the silence once more.

"One day, you will come to understand why I did what I did. And when that day comes, I will be here. Waiting."

The door closes behind him, the sound echoing in the stillness of your chambers. You are left alone once more, the fire burning low, its warmth doing little to chase away the cold that has settled deep in your bones.

You sink to the floor before the hearth, staring into the dying flames, and wonder if there will ever come a day when you can forgive him—if you even want to.

The grand hall of Dragonstone feels heavy with silence as you sit at the long, stone-carved table. The walls are adorned with tapestries depicting the glory of Old Valyria, the ancestors watching with cold, lifeless eyes. You sit between Rhaenys and Visenya, with Aegon at the head, his silver hair gleaming in the candlelight. The air is thick with the unspoken weight of your marriage, lingering over the table like a shadow.

The food before you remains untouched. Plates of roasted meats, rich gravies, and spiced wine fill the room with tempting aromas, but you have no appetite. Your mind is elsewhere, churning with thoughts of the future that was stolen from you. Torrhen’s face, sharp and distant like the North itself, lingers in your memory.

Visenya breaks the silence, her voice sharp and direct, as is her way. "Y/N," she says, her violet eyes piercing as they settle on you, "when will you finally do your duty to our brother?"

Her words hang in the air, and you feel the weight of everyone's gaze upon you. Rhaenys shifts beside you, her warm, gentle nature a silent contrast to Visenya's cold command. You take a slow breath, gripping the edge of your goblet, the cool metal pressing into your palm.

"If this is about duty, sister," you reply, your voice calm but edged with steel, "then Aegon should come to you. Isn’t that what you care for most, Visenya? Duty?"

Visenya’s eyes narrow, her lips a thin line. "It is our duty to secure the future of our house. You were born for this. You were married for this."

"I was married," you cut in, the words sharper than you intend, "because our brother couldn’t stomach the thought of another man having me." Your gaze flickers to Aegon, who has remained silent, watching the exchange with his usual unreadable expression. "Or is that something none of us are supposed to speak of?"

Rhaenys’ soft, musical voice tries to ease the tension. "We are family, Y/N. Aegon is trying to—"

"To what?" you interrupt, turning your gaze on her. "To make me love him as you do? If our brother seeks love and soft caresses, he should come to you, Rhaenys. You always give him what he desires, don’t you?"

Rhaenys flinches at the harshness of your tone, her eyes lowering to her untouched plate. You almost feel a pang of guilt for your words, but the storm of emotion inside you doesn’t let you stop.

Aegon’s gaze finally lifts from his plate, meeting yours. His violet eyes, usually so hard to read, flicker with something—anger? Hurt? Perhaps both. But he says nothing, allowing the silence to deepen, allowing you to stew in the consequences of your words.

Visenya’s voice cuts through again, colder than before. "You may think you are different from us, Y/N, but you are not. We all carry the same blood. We all have the same purpose. Do not forget that."

You push your chair back abruptly, the scraping of wood against stone breaking the silence. The sound echoes through the hall, reverberating off the high ceilings. You rise, standing tall, your hands clenched at your sides.

"I haven’t forgotten," you say, your voice bitter. "But perhaps I was never meant to be part of this."

Without another word, you turn and leave the table, your untouched meal forgotten behind you. You walk swiftly through the hall, your footsteps muffled by the heavy carpets, and once you pass the threshold, the cold air of Dragonstone greets you like a slap. It chills your skin, but you welcome it. It’s a reminder that despite everything, you are still free to make some choices. Even if only in small rebellions.

As you make your way down the corridor, the sounds of your siblings fade behind you. You are alone once more, with nothing but the distant cries of dragons and the pounding of your heart to accompany you.

The hall feels emptier once you’re gone, the echo of your departing footsteps swallowed by the vastness of the space. For a long moment, no one speaks. The air is filled with your absence, and the untouched food on your plate remains a quiet accusation of all that was left unsaid.

Aegon sits motionless, his hands resting on the table, fingers curled around the goblet he hasn’t touched. His shoulders slump slightly, the weight of something far heavier than a crown pressing down on him. His face, usually impassive and stern, is now unguarded, a mixture of frustration, pain, and an unfamiliar vulnerability etched into his features. The Conqueror, the dragon lord, looks fragile—broken, even.

Rhaenys watches him, her eyes full of concern, though she remains silent for once. Her gentle attempts to soothe the tension earlier had been met with resistance, and now she seems at a loss, her gaze flicking between Aegon and Visenya. Her hands rest lightly on her lap, fingers trembling just slightly as she resists the urge to reach for Aegon.

Visenya, on the other hand, is still as stone. Her lips are pressed into a thin line, and her eyes remain cold, unreadable. The eldest of you, always the embodiment of purpose, of resolve, watches Aegon closely but makes no move to comfort him. Her hands, wrapped around her knife and fork, remain steady, continuing her meal as though nothing had happened, though she chews slowly, her eyes calculating.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Aegon’s voice breaks the silence, though it is barely more than a whisper. "She hates me."

His words hang in the air, and for a moment, no one speaks. Aegon’s grip tightens around the goblet, and one can see the whiteness of his knuckles as though the tension might shatter the cup. His head is bowed, and for the first time, he looks… lost.

"She does not hate you," Rhaenys says softly, her voice thick with sympathy. "She’s angry. Hurt. But hate?" She shakes her head, her dark curls catching the firelight. "That is not what this is."

Aegon’s lips twitch, a bitter smile flickering at the corners. "She does not love me, Rhaenys. And she never will."

Visenya’s voice is sharp, cutting through the fragile moment like the edge of a blade. "Love is not why she was wed to you, brother. Love was never the purpose." She sets her knife and fork down deliberately, the clink of metal against the plate unnervingly calm in the face of Aegon’s turmoil. "You knew that."

Aegon’s head lifts, his eyes wet and shining with unspoken emotions. He looks at Visenya, his usually hard gaze pleading now, searching her face for some kind of answer. "But I wanted it," he says, the words rough, torn from somewhere deep inside him. "I wanted her to love me, as she would have loved Stark. Is that so wrong?"

Visenya’s expression doesn’t change. Her voice remains cold, unwavering. "You are her brother, her king. You were never meant to be her lover in the way you want."

Rhaenys, sensing the deepening wound, reaches across the table, her hand hovering just above Aegon’s arm. "She’s young still, Aegon," she says softly, her voice filled with her usual warmth. "She has not yet come to terms with her place. In time, perhaps…"

Aegon pulls away from her touch, his hand falling from the goblet to rest heavily on the table. "No," he mutters, shaking his head. "She will never come to terms with this. She will always look at me as if I am the one who destroyed her life." His voice breaks slightly, and he presses his palms into his eyes, as though trying to hold himself together, to keep the pain from spilling out.

"Then stop chasing her love," Visenya says, her voice devoid of sympathy. "Do your duty. Take her to your bed, sire her children, and end this farce of a romance you have created in your mind."

Aegon’s hands drop from his face, and he looks at her, stunned. "Is that all you see in this? Duty?"

Visenya’s eyes meet his, cold and unwavering. "That is all there ever was for us."

The silence that follows is deafening, broken only by the crackle of the hearth. Aegon turns his gaze to the fire, his shoulders sagging even further under the weight of Visenya’s words. The great conqueror, the king who united the Seven Kingdoms, is reduced to this—a man who sought love from someone who could not give it.

Rhaenys, her heart breaking at the sight of her brother in such despair, shifts in her seat, but she knows that no words of hers will soothe him now. Aegon has always carried the burden of their dynasty alone, but tonight, it has grown too heavy, even for him.

"You have us," Rhaenys says quietly, though her voice trembles with emotion. "You will always have us, Aegon."

But Aegon does not respond. His eyes remain fixed on the flames, and for the first time in your life, you see him not as the Conqueror, not as the dragon lord who tamed the world, but as a man—lost and alone in a castle full of people who love him, yet none who can give him what he truly desires.

And so the meal continues in silence, the clatter of cutlery and the crackling fire the only sounds in the hall. The untouched plates before you all bear witness to the shattered remnants of your family’s fragile bonds, while outside, the wind and the sea howl against the ancient walls of Dragonstone.

The sea winds howl outside your chambers, the sound haunting and relentless, like the cry of some distant, wounded beast. You sit by the open window, gazing out into the dark night, the vast ocean stretching far beyond the horizon, endless and full of promise. Your mind wanders to Tesaerix, resting in her lair below. You imagine her golden and cream scales shimmering in the moonlight, the crimson undertones beneath them gleaming like freshly spilled blood. She is your escape, your one chance at freedom.

You toy with the thought, turning it over and over in your mind—leaving this place. Far from Dragonstone, from Westeros, from the suffocating weight of duty and broken promises. Essos calls to you like a whisper on the wind, a distant land where dragons are still revered and feared, where you could carve out a life for yourself far from Aegon’s reach. You could mount Tesaerix tonight, ride her across the Narrow Sea and never look back.

The idea pulls at you, tempting you more with every passing moment. To be free of this cursed marriage, free of the bitter silence and the constant reminders of what you’ve lost. But it’s not just the present that haunts you—it’s the past, the memories of a love that was torn from you before it had the chance to bloom.

Your mind drifts back to Torrhen Stark, the man you were meant to marry. The King in the North, a man of honor and quiet strength, so different from the fire and chaos of your family. You think of the first time you met him, after he had bent the knee to Aegon. He had refused to take you as a war prize, refused to make you his by conquest, despite the whispers of your brothers. He had chosen to see you as something more, as someone worth knowing, worth loving.

You remember the way his eyes had softened when he looked at you, the way his gruff voice had gentled whenever he spoke your name. It had been a brief time, but intense—your feelings for him had grown quickly, like a wildfire racing through a dry forest. You’d fallen in love with him, hard and fast, and he with you. It was supposed to be an alliance not only of fire and ice, but of hearts.

You can still hear his deep, steady voice, promising you a future in the North. A future where you would be his only wife, where you would bear his children, where you could have the kind of life you dreamed of—one filled with love, respect, and loyalty. It had seemed perfect, a rare gift for someone of your blood, born into a family where duty always outweighed desire.

But then Aegon had taken that from you. He had changed his mind as suddenly as a storm sweeping over the sea, without explanation, without reason. One moment, your future with Torrhen had been certain, and the next, it was gone. Aegon had called off the betrothal, declaring that you were to remain in Dragonstone and marry him instead.

Your world had shattered in that instant. The life you had planned with Torrhen, the love you had begun to build, all of it ripped away before it had the chance to take root. You had cried out, fought against it, pleaded with Aegon to reconsider, but his decision was final. The bond between fire and ice, the life you had dreamed of in the North, vanished like smoke in the wind.

The memory of Torrhen’s face, when you told him of Aegon’s decision, still haunts you. His features had hardened, the quiet grief in his eyes breaking your heart all over again. He had not blamed you; how could he, when you had been as much a victim of your brother’s jealousy as he had? But the pain in his silence had cut deeper than any words could have.

You wonder, sometimes, what might have been. What your life would be like now, had Aegon not interfered. You can imagine yourself standing beside Torrhen in Winterfell’s great hall, the warmth of a fire crackling in the hearth, the cold winds of the North howling outside but unable to touch you. You would have had a home there. A real home, with Torrhen by your side, with the love you had begun to build blossoming into something strong and unbreakable.

But here, in this cold, dark castle, you are alone. You are Aegon’s wife, yes, but in name only. There is no love here, only duty, only the weight of expectations and a future you never wanted.

Your gaze shifts to the sea, the waves crashing against the cliffs below. The pull to leave is stronger now. You imagine the wind whipping through your hair as Tesaerix soars above the clouds, the world falling away beneath you as you fly far, far from here. Essos, the Free Cities, perhaps even beyond the Shadow Lands. Anywhere that is not here, anywhere that is far from the suffocating grip of your brother and the life he has forced upon you.

You stand, the cool night air brushing against your skin as you move toward the window. Tesaerix waits, her powerful wings and fiery breath ready to carry you to freedom. All it would take is a single command, a whispered word, and you could be gone. You could leave this place behind, leave Aegon and Visenya and Rhaenys and the weight of their expectations, and start a new life far from the shadow of the Iron Throne.

But then Torrhen’s face flashes in your mind again, and you falter. The North is lost to you, but would running away truly be any better? Would it bring you the peace you crave, or would it only leave you even more adrift, without even the faint hope of reclaiming what was taken from you?

Your hand rests on the stone window ledge, cold and hard beneath your palm. The choice stands before you, vast and open like the sea. Stay and endure, or fly away and risk everything for the chance at a new beginning.

For now, you remain. The wind howls, but the decision is not yet made.

For two weeks, Aegon comes to your chambers each night, his steps soft but purposeful as he approaches the door. You always hear him before he arrives, the distant echo of boots on stone corridors signaling yet another attempt. Every time, he brings something—a token of affection, as if material offerings could mend the chasm between you.

At first, it is fine silk from distant lands, robes embroidered with dragons and flames, the kind of luxury that would make others swoon. Then, he brings rare books, scrolls of knowledge written in the ancient Valyrian tongue, words meant to remind you of your shared heritage. One night, he brings a necklace of rubies, its deep red glistening like dragonfire in the low light. The next, a golden ring with the Targaryen sigil engraved on it, a symbol of the dynasty you are bound to by blood and duty.

Each gift you receive with a polite, distant nod, setting them aside, your heart unmoved. The weight of his gaze is always upon you, a mixture of hope and frustration lingering in his violet eyes. His words are softer now than they were in the beginning, his anger quelled, replaced by a quiet desperation. He is trying to win you, but the harder he tries, the more distant you feel.

The final gift he brings is a crown—delicate, finely crafted, with jewels of crimson and gold embedded in the pale metal. It is beautiful, a queen's crown, meant to match his. When he places it on your lap, he watches you with an intensity that makes the air thick between you, waiting for something—for approval, for gratitude, for love.

But you only stare at it, unmoving.

"This is yours," he says, his voice almost pleading now. "You are a queen in your own right, Y/N. Not just my sister, but my equal. You deserve this."

Your fingers brush the cold metal of the crown, but it feels like chains, not a symbol of power. You lift your gaze to meet his, your voice steady but firm. "I never wanted a crown, Aegon."

The hurt flickers in his eyes, but you have nothing left to give him. He leaves, the crown sitting abandoned on the edge of your bed, gleaming in the dim light as if mocking you.

One day, his words change.

Aegon enters your chambers, but there is a new tension in the way he moves, a sense of finality in the air. He doesn't bring a gift this time, only the weight of a decision made. You watch him, already knowing something is different.

“We leave for King’s Landing soon," he says, his voice more formal than it has been in weeks. "Aegonfort is ready for us. It will be our new home, where we will build the future of our house."

You feel the words like a cold wind sweeping over you. Aegonfort, the seat of his conquest, the beginning of the new kingdom he is carving out. The idea of leaving Dragonstone—leaving the sea, the cliffs, the only place you’ve ever truly known—sends a chill down your spine. Aegon might see King’s Landing as his victory, but for you, it feels like another cage.

"I don’t want to go," you say, your voice flat, devoid of emotion.

Aegon pauses, as if he didn’t hear you properly, as if he can’t comprehend that you would refuse. “You have to go,” he says slowly, as though speaking to a child. "You are my wife, my queen. You belong at my side."

You rise from where you’ve been sitting, facing him fully, your heart racing with the surge of rebellion that has been growing inside you for weeks. "I belong here," you say, gesturing to the stone walls, to the island that has been your sanctuary, even in the darkest times. "I do not want to go to King’s Landing, to sit in that castle you built, watching you and Visenya and Rhaenys pretend that everything is perfect."

He steps toward you, his face tightening, a flash of anger returning to his features. "You think you can remain here, alone, while the rest of us build our kingdom? This is not a choice, Y/N. You are my wife."

"I never wanted to be," you snap, the words finally breaking free from your lips, bitter and sharp. "You made me your wife, but you never asked me what I wanted. You took me from the future I could have had, from Torrhen—"

"Stark, again? Torrhen is not your future," Aegon interrupts, his voice hardening now. "I am."

"You stole my future, Aegon," you retort, your voice trembling with the weight of your grief. "You took away the one thing I had, and now you expect me to be grateful for this life you’ve forced upon me? You expect me to follow you to your new castle and wear this crown and play the role of your queen?"

His jaw clenches, and for a moment, he says nothing. The silence stretches between you, tense and suffocating. Then, slowly, he steps back, his eyes dark with something you can’t name—anger, yes, but there’s more. Regret? Hurt?

“You will come,” he says finally, his voice low and rough, almost a whisper. “Whether you wish it or not, Y/N. You will come with us.”

You turn away from him, your back to the man who has taken everything from you. You hear him leave the room, his footsteps heavy and final, but the emptiness he leaves behind feels like the deepest cut of all.

You are alone once more, staring out the window at the distant sea. Tesaerix calls to you from the depths of your soul, her distant roars echoing in your mind. The thought of running away comes back to you, stronger now than ever. But for now, you remain, standing at the precipice of a decision that could change everything.

The sun is high in the sky as you and your siblings take flight, the winds rushing past as your dragons soar over the shimmering sea. Below, the jagged cliffs of Dragonstone grow smaller with every wingbeat. Tesaerix flies gracefully beneath you, her golden and cream scales glinting in the sunlight, the deep crimson undertones flickering like blood in the wind. For a moment, you feel weightless—free. The burden of your marriage, of your crown, seems far away in the skies.

Ahead of you, Aegon leads the way on Balerion, the massive black dragon casting a long shadow over the sea. Rhaenys is beside him, her Meraxes keeping pace, and to your left flies Visenya, Vhagar’s powerful wings slicing through the air. The three of them are focused on King's Landing, their eyes set on the growing kingdom they are about to build. But your heart is elsewhere.

You glance down at the sea, endless and blue, stretching toward Essos. The temptation has been gnawing at you for weeks, the thought of breaking away, of flying far from here. Away from Aegon, from the fate that has been thrust upon you. The wind rushes through your hair as you tighten your grip on Tesaerix’s reins, your mind made up.

With a subtle shift in pressure, you command her to turn, pulling away from the formation. Tesaerix tilts her wings, veering off course, away from King’s Landing, away from your brother. Your heart races, a mix of fear and exhilaration filling your veins as you set your sights on the horizon, where the lands of Essos lie in the distance, beyond the reach of Aegon’s grasp.

Behind you, Aegon’s voice rises above the wind, calling your name, desperate and commanding. “Y/N! Turn back!”

But you don’t. You don’t even glance behind you. The sound of his voice fades as you fly farther, the space between you growing wider with every passing second. Tesaerix roars beneath you, as if sensing your resolve, her powerful wings beating faster as she surges toward freedom.

For the first time in what feels like an eternity, you feel alive. The weight of duty, of marriage, of everything that has kept you chained to this life begins to slip away, carried off by the wind. The open skies of Essos call to you like a promise, and for a brief, fleeting moment, you believe you might make it.

Then you hear the deep, thunderous roar of Vhagar.

Visenya.

You glance over your shoulder, and there she is—Visenya, fierce and relentless, closing the distance between you with terrifying speed. Vhagar, far larger than Tesaerix, cuts through the air with powerful, determined strokes. Visenya’s face is set in cold determination, her eyes locked on you with the same intensity she wears in battle.

“Y/N, stop!” she commands, her voice cold as steel, cutting through the wind like a blade. Vhagar roars again, a sound so deep and menacing it sends a shiver down your spine. But you do not stop. You push Tesaerix harder, willing her to fly faster, to escape the inevitable.

But Visenya is not one to be outrun.

Vhagar catches up, pulling alongside you with terrifying ease, her massive bulk dwarfing Tesaerix. Visenya leans forward in her saddle, her voice filled with authority. “Turn back, Y/N! Now!”

Your jaw clenches, your heart pounding in your chest. You meet her gaze for a moment, the defiance in your eyes clear. But Visenya does not waver. Her eyes are cold, unforgiving, and in that moment, you know she will force you back if she has to. She will not let you leave.

The wind whips around you as you pull Tesaerix to slow her flight, the moment of freedom slipping away from you as Vhagar looms beside you, a reminder of the chains that bind you. Visenya’s gaze does not leave yours, and she waits—waits for you to surrender, to accept the inevitable.

With a heavy heart, you tug on the reins, guiding Tesaerix back toward King’s Landing. The dream of escape fades into the distance as you turn, the pull of duty dragging you back toward the life you never wanted. Visenya does not speak again, but her presence is a silent command that you dare not disobey.

As you fly back toward Aegon and Rhaenys, the open skies of Essos behind you, the taste of freedom lingers on your tongue like ashes.

The moment Tesaerix touches the ground, the reality of your failed escape crashes down upon you like a wave. Her powerful wings fold at her sides, but there is no pride in her stance now—only the stillness of submission, forced upon you both by Visenya and Vhagar’s dominance.

You barely have time to catch your breath when Balerion descends, the great shadow of the Black Dread falling over you. His monstrous bulk blocks Tesaerix’s path back to the skies, his massive wings spread wide like an impenetrable wall. Aegon sits atop him, his expression dark, stormy, and unreadable. Rhaenys and Meraxes circle high above, silent witnesses to your humiliation.

The ground trembles as Balerion lands, his roar a deep, earth-shaking sound that makes the ground beneath your feet vibrate. You can feel Tesaerix shifting beneath you, uneasy but still under your control—for now. But even she can sense the finality of what is about to happen.

Aegon swings down from Balerion’s saddle, his steps heavy as he approaches you. His face, usually so composed, is a mix of anger and something close to disbelief. When he speaks, his voice is low, cold. "You would abandon us. Abandon me."

Your heart pounds in your chest, each beat like a hammer against stone. "Aegon, I—"

"You fled from your duty, Y/N," he interrupts, his voice growing harsher. His violet eyes bore into you, as if he’s searching for some understanding of why you would run. "What were you thinking? Were you going to Essos? Were you going to leave us all behind?"

His words cut deep, the sharpness of his accusation stinging more than you expected. But you lift your chin, defiance still burning in your chest. "You took everything from me, Aegon. You took my future, my choice, my life. I wanted to escape—to find something that was mine."

For a moment, his expression softens, as though he might understand. But then, his gaze hardens again. He turns to the soldiers who have gathered nearby, his voice carrying a command that makes your blood run cold. "Chain her dragon."

You feel the words like a physical blow. "No." Your voice is a whisper at first, and then louder, desperation filling it. "No! Aegon, you can’t—please, don’t do this!"

But he does not waver. The soldiers begin to move toward Tesaerix, and she growls low in her throat, sensing the threat. You scramble down from the saddle, running to stand between the men and your dragon, your heart pounding in your chest. "She’s done nothing wrong! You can’t punish her for what I did!"

Aegon’s face is hard, his jaw set. "She’s your dragon, Y/N. You tried to flee on her back. This is to ensure it doesn’t happen again."

"I’ll stay, I’ll do whatever you ask, just don’t chain her," you beg, your voice cracking with desperation. You look into his eyes, hoping—praying—that somewhere inside him, the brother you once knew still exists. "Please, Aegon. Don’t take her freedom. She’s not like Balerion or Vhagar—she’s mine. Please."

But your pleas fall on deaf ears. His gaze flickers, but his resolve does not falter. "This is for your own good. You will not leave us again."

You watch in horror as the chains are brought forth, heavy iron links meant to bind Tesaerix’s limbs and wings. She lets out a deep, angry roar, thrashing against the soldiers who dare approach her, but they move swiftly, well-practiced in subduing dragons. The weight of the chains soon drags her wings down, grounding her in a way that feels like a betrayal to everything she is—a creature of the skies, bound to the earth like a prisoner.

You fall to your knees, tears streaming down your face as you reach out to touch her, your hand trembling as it presses against her warm scales. "I’m sorry," you whisper, your voice shaking. "I’m so sorry."

Tesaerix rumbles softly, her eyes meeting yours, but there is a sadness in her gaze, a reflection of the helplessness you both feel.

Aegon watches from a distance, his expression unreadable now, but you can see the faint trace of guilt in his eyes. He turns his back to you, as if unable to bear the sight of your anguish.

Visenya remains mounted on Vhagar, her gaze sharp and unyielding. She offers no comfort, no sympathy. This is what must be done in her eyes, a necessary lesson in control. Rhaenys, still observing from above, does not intervene either. Her silence speaks volumes, but her presence feels distant, like she is struggling with the sight of your suffering.

The chains rattle as they secure the last link, the sound like a death knell in the still air. Tesaerix lowers her head, defeated, and your heart shatters along with her spirit.

You rise slowly to your feet, wiping the tears from your face with trembling hands, your eyes hollow as you look at Aegon one last time. "You’ve broken her," you say, your voice barely more than a whisper. "Just as you’ve broken me."

Aegon does not respond. He does not even turn. And in that moment, you know that the brother you once loved, the brother who might have understood your heart, is gone—replaced by the conqueror who cannot allow defiance, not even from his own blood.