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aminiatureworld · 3 years

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Small Secrets II

Characters: Childe, Kaeya, Ningguang, gn!reader

Word Count: 3.717

Warnings: Swearing

Premise: It’s not that you wanted to keep it a secret from your loved one. It was simply that old habits are hard to break. But now people are talking, and it seems easier to go one as before.

In which the reader can transform into an animal.

Author’s Note: Had to do a surprising amount of research for this one.

Childe

Perhaps it was a cruel joke on Fate’s part that you were able to turn into a penguin. If so no one else was laughing.

It’d been jarring the first time it’d happened, an accident of stress. After that first incident you’d figured you’d never transform again, at least not willingly. Who wanted to be a greasy, flightless bird anyways? That had been your opinion, and you hadn’t intended on changing it. Until you learned how to swim.

Perhaps it was another joke, that you should become so enamored with the gliding that penguins could do when they finally waddled their way off land. The nearly soundless plunge as you dove beneath the water, not having to worry about running out of air as you sped along the lake nearby your Snezhnayan village. It was as if being trapped in a little pocket of paradise, one which you’d grown to love.

At first you didn’t really consider the repercussions of being involved with Childe in regards to your expeditions to the sea. So wrapped up had you been in the question of his Harbinger status that by the time you realized you might have a problem it was too late to think up any sort of plan. Of course, the days in which Childe was gone you could swim, could even find refuge in those frigid waters. But when he was there it was like walking on eggshells as you found yourself torn between your desire to swim and your need to keep your secret.

It didn’t help that winter was ending. Though Snezhnaya could be bitterly cold in the winter, and though your village was often considered next to inhospitable in the winter, the summertime brought with it a heat that made swimming near unbearable in your oiled feathers. After all, penguins only lived in the most southern part of Teyvat.

It was a beautiful day, the afternoon that you finally broke. The temperatures had plummeted during the night before, and those you shivered as you made your way to the stony beach that was your usual takeoff spot, you felt yourself brimming with anticipation, the prospect of a long overdue swim lying in front of you.

You thought of Childe only once, as you shinnied down the craggy slope that led to the beach. He’d said that there was a Fatui meeting going on at the town inn, and though it was sure to be dull and irritating there was truly no way to escape it. You sympathized with Childe, understanding the difficulties in sitting still for two hours, trying o act as if you weren’t aching to be somewhere else, but secretly you thought the meeting a blessing in disguise. Using the pretense of the Guild being somewhat slow – the Adventurer’s Guild in Snezhnaya was somewhat disorganized due to Fatui competition – you claimed the need for a trek in the snow, holding off Childe’s ill hidden words of worry with the knowledge that you’d lived here longer than he had. You felt little regret, knowing that you’d lied to him. After all you’d been drilled to keep this a secret since the moment you were made aware of it. And as much as you loved Childe, that would never change.

You stumbled a bit in your mad dash to the little cavern which shielded you as you transformed. You’d tried directly transforming in water once, but having pressure almost destroy your lungs was something you weren’t excited to repeat. So instead, you waddled about the icy gravel, silently cursing your speed. You could never get used to how slow penguins were on land, nor could you understand how once you hit the ocean you could speed along faster than any human might.

The water was clear and cool, the icy shock dulled by the layers around you. It was interesting to see the lake in this manner, eyes suddenly unclouded by passing sand and debris. You swam along lazily, staying in the middle layer of the lake. Though you knew that you were going up for breath more than was really necessary, you were feeling surprisingly lazy, and diving to the bottom felt like too much effort.

The sudden pull of your body upwards caused a shriek to escape you. Thrashing about wildly you attempted to dive deeper, mind suddenly clouded by confusion and panic. A voice was calling out to you from above, but you made no effort to comprehend it, too focused on keeping in the sanctuary of the water. Though you knew that you’d swum in the opposite direct of the village, the possibility of being discovered by a human, for your captor was surely a human, was no less terrifying.

As you broke the water you felt like your heart had seized up in your throat, if that was even possible for a penguin. Whirling around this way and that you pulled desperately for the water, for the place you’d be able to outswim this intruder. Your brain registered the familiar clothing of the person holding onto you, and your horror both eased and multiplied as their voice sang through the air.

“Woah there buddy. Calm down!”

You ceased your movements for a second, brain somewhat stalling. Partner. You’d just been dragged out of the water by your partner. If you hadn’t been a bird you would’ve certainly started screaming, or at least asking Childe what the fuck he was thinking skipping the meeting for this.

“There you go.” Childe’s voice was soft and soothing, using a tone that you knew was reserved only for nightmares, injuries, and emotional distress. “It’s alright, it’s alright buddy. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. It’s not normal for penguins to be this far north you know. Besides the villagers have been calling you some sort of malevolent spirit and let me tell you, being harpooned isn’t very fun.”

Ruffling your feathers, you let out a squawk of indignancy, the idea that you’d actually get caught appalling. Childe just let out a laugh in return.

“I know, I know. No appreciation for the natural world. But that’s what it’s like in a village like this, insulated and unquestioning. You’re not the only one who’s suspicious; but let me tell you it’s better to be suspicious and free then stuck in the same place.” He let out a small sigh. “Even when our freedom comes at a price.”

You stared at him for a moment, taking in the soft sadness that radiated off the man you’d fallen in love with. Though a small piece of you felt pity, pity for the life Childe had been forced to live, the rest of you felt a melancholy sort of empathy, and in the center of that a kernel of trust. Childe’s words spoke to you, his status as an anomaly amidst the people who couldn’t understand the yearning to get away. Perhaps it would’ve been better if Childe was more content, staider, perhaps things would’ve been easier. Yet would you have fallen in love with that version of Childe? Would you feel as you did now?

Waddling towards solid ground, not trusting the large pieces of ice which bordered the lake, you closed your eyes. Immediately your form changed, your other self now shed like a second skin. Keeping your back turned away from Childe you stared at the snowy forest.

“You’re not the only one who feels trapped sometimes. I’m sorry that this village isn’t kind to you.”

“Oh the people are nice enough.” There was a wavering sort of humor in Childe’s voice, though you couldn’t tell if it was from shock or sadness.

“Still, I’m sorry. I realize that being here is stifling. Thank you, for visiting because of me.”

“Always.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t trust you.”

“We all have our secrets.”

“Still. I’m sorry.”

You felt the damp press of a coat against your back, warm breath tickling the back of your neck as Childe let out a small sigh. Leaning backwards you closed your eyes. For a moment there was no sound but the gentle lapping off waves, as snow floated down onto your heads.

“Hey, you don’t expect me to keep this secret free of charge do you.” The mischief had returned to Childe’s voice.

“What’s your price then, Mr. Penguin Catcher.”

“Sparring every day for two weeks.”

“… I think I’m going to go back into the water now.”

“Don’t you dare!”

Your laughs entwined as you raced away from Childe, filling the cold winter air with silent warmth.

Kaeya

“I swear to fucking Barbatos if you don’t open.”

You kicked the door of your apartment, the muffled clunk doing little to sooth your raw nerves. Stupid, how could you’ve have been so stupid? You knew that Kaeya was working late, you knew that you were going to have to remember your keys. So how did you get here then, standing on the outside while your key was resting safe on your nightstand? How had you still managed to forget?

“You know darling sometimes your too reliant on me.” Kaeya had told you one day, voice singsong with amusement. “One day you’ll forget your head on your shoulders. At the very least you shouldn’t expect me to always unlock the door for you.”

Well sorry you couldn’t see into the future. Groaning you slid down the side of your door, face planted firmly in your arms. You needed to get inside somehow. You weren’t about to prove Kaeya right, not now. You would get in if it was the last thing you do. Lifting your head up you closed your eyes in thought. The two of your were sharing an apartment on the third floor, one of the perks being a mini balcony for flower boxes, not that you ever actually put flowers in there. You always kept that window unlocked in the summer, and though it pushed out you were sure you might be able to open it.

Scurrying back down the stairs and into the back alley of the building you glanced around you. Thankfully there was no one in sight. Praying that your pack wouldn’t be stolen off the hallway floor you sighed softly, letting a soft grin cross your face as your vision shifted to that of a cat.

Thankfully the building was made both of wood and stone, or you never would’ve been able to make it. The climb was perilous however, in your mind if not in real life. The world was so much larger around you, and though being light and having four legs to land on would certainly be an asset, minimal injuries was not something you wanted to bet on. Reaching up towards the final beam you hoisted yourself up onto the flower box, giddy with triumph as you went to paw at the window handle.

Your paws slid off the golden substance as if they were coated in oil. Letting out a hiss of frustration you tried again, letting your claws protract. Unfortunately, the handle still refused to move, as your paws slid off the shiny metal. Shit. Turning around agitatedly you let out a yowl of protest. You were stuck, you were absolutely stuck. What were you going to do now? Getting up was one thing, getting down Unfortunately, another entirely. Nor could you revert here, besides the flowerbox being somewhat small you didn’t want to test the weight of the plank that served as your impromptu floor. So what could you do?

“What’re you doing here?” A familiar voice quieted the shrieks which you were emitting, as the fur on your body stood up. Slowly the window began to open, as a familiar face peered down at you, smirk as brilliant as usual. “Don’t you want to come in?”

Though a part of you suddenly thought that being stuck three stories above ground was a lovely prospect, you leapt through the window, landing on the dresser before hitting the ground. Though you wanted to make a run for it the door was closed, and you cursed Kaeya for his forethought.

“Are you going to tell me what you were doing so far up off the ground?” Kaeya knelt down beside you.

Even if I could do you think I’d tell you why? You let out a mewl, eyes narrowing as Childe let out a chuckle.

“Fair enough, but really it’s quite impressive. You must be one determined cat. Here.” Scooping you up Kaeya let out a quiet sort of laugh. “Let’s get you some milk.”

You stood on the kitchen floor, staring silently at the bowl that had been placed in front of you, wondering if cats also thought about having their meals placed where humans had just been walking.

“What, not your style?” Kaeya cocked his head.

He’d been surprisingly nonchalant about the whole debacle, perhaps spurred on by your own lack of reaction. It was still disarming, almost as much as the smirk that refused to leave his face. What in Teyvat could he possibly be thinking, was a cat stuck on a balcony that funny to your cavalry captain?

“Come now, you’ve got to drink a little bit at least. It must be awful exhausting to climb up a building.”

Still you made no move.

“Or do you make it a point not to eat in cat form, darling.”

“How did you know?!” You sputtered, transforming back immediately.

Kaeya let out a burst of laughter. Clutching his stomach he rocked back and forth on his feet, wheezing as the moment continued, laughing so hard no sound came from his mouth.

“It’s not very funny!”

“What do you mean, of course it’s funny!” Kaeya managed to get out, gasping wildly. “I can’t believe you got locked out and decided to scale the building.”

“What else could I do? Wait, no, first, how did you even know it was me?!”

“Ah yes because you would normally leave your belongings in the middle of the hallway. Come on darling, that wasn’t the smartest move you’ve ever made. Besides there have been rumors about a ghost cat prowling Mondstadt and as the Favonius Cavalry Captain, well you couldn’t expect me to just let these questions go unanswered!”

“How long have you known.”

“About a month.”

You groaned, turning around and face planting into the bed. How could you’ve have been so careless? Underestimating Kaeya was a mistake that many made, but you’d thought that you’d managed to catch up to your partner in terms of stealth.

“It’s alright darling, the embarrassment will wear off in an hour.”

“I just can’t believe I’ve been so reckless.”

“Hey, you’ve been very good at hiding this.” Kaeya ruffled your hair gently and you turned to look up at him. His smirk was gone, and instead there was a soft smile painting his lips. “I just know you.”

You hummed softly smile as Kaeya continued to card his fingers through your hair. Suddenly the whole ordeal was weighing on you, and you felt the familiar tendrils of sleep wash over you.

“You should get some rest.” Kaeya kissed your forehead gently. “It’s been a long day.”

“Kaeya.” You murmured.

“Hmm?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

His voice was warm and full of care, guiding you softly to sleep.

Ningguang

You never meant to get stuck in a storm. You’d never meant to go crying to the nearest place you could call a sanctuary. Most of all, you’d never meant to reveal your secret to her.

The wind whipped around you, throwing you this way and that. You let out a sort of screech, mind blank with terror as you went spinning through the sky, finding it impossible to right yourself in the air. There was no sign of the beautiful clear sky that had dawned this morning; clouds blanketed your vision, dark underbellies a silent warning as pelting rain fell in waves, made even more painful by the gusts of wind that accompanied it. The familiar clap of thunder boomed, seeming to rattle in your bones as you continued to struggle to find shelter. Spying a familiar building you could practically hear your groan of relief. Swooping down you prayed that this would go alright.

One of the things that Ningguang had told you she loved most about the Jade Chamber was the view.

“It’s so bright up there, you look out the windows and there’s nothing but sky, sky and the land of Rex Lapis. It’s a beautiful sight, I hope to one day see it again.”

You were grateful for her affinity for windows now, using their familiar landmark as a landing spot. Clinging onto the wall you began desperately pecking at the window, squawking and crying as the storm picked up again, desperate for the sanctuary of your partner’s office.

“What is a raven doing outside?” The sotto voice of your love one filled the air.

Opening the window Ningguang said nothing as you flew in, landing on the chair you usually sat in. There was a faint struggle as the wind whipped through the open window, but eventually a faint click could be heard and Ningguang returned to the center of the room. Staring down curiously at you she tilted her head.

“I didn’t think that ravens flew down from the forests, especially during a storm. Perhaps then you’re a messenger from the adepti?”

“N–” you squawked, knowing that you surely sounded strangled. Even after years of transformation you could never get used to the switch between voice box and syrinx. It was as if you’d never learned to speak from the beginning.

“Poor dear, are you tired from your journey? I’m not sure what ravens drink, water I presume.”

Walking over to the corner Ningguang poured some water out of a pitcher onto a saucer. You drank gratefully when she returned, reminding yourself to tell her that normally ravens had to consume both water and salts. Having finished the little ritual, you tried once more.

“N…” still your words weren’t coming. You wanted to say something important, to explain your circumstances. Still you found you could say nothing. As if reading your frustration Ningguang stroked your beak, touch gentle and comforting despite your avian state.

“Poor thing, have you been wounded?”

You looked up at your partner, taking in the smile on her face. You’d gotten better at reading her, reading this woman who people whispered was too proud, too cutthroat, without emotion and without empathy. How stupid those people were. You could see it in her eyes, see the worry. You were a stranger to her, and unlucky raven; and yet she worried for you.

“Ningguang.” You finally got out, tripping backwards slightly at the twisted sound of your own voice. Ningguang stared at you, no less surprised.

“You know my name. Then you must be from the adepti. Has something happened?”

“Ningguang!” You let out one more time, dancing up and down the arm of the chair you were perched on.”

“Is there something that must be done?”

“Ning–”

You stopped, shaking yourself. This was getting nowhere. What was even the point of hiding it at this point? You knew the fears that swirled inside you, knew the fear that had been instilled in you. Don’t tell anyone, don’t let them know. Normal people, they’ll never be able to understand, they’re too afraid, too proud, too lacking in empathy. And yet you knew that wasn’t true, at least that it wasn’t true of Ningguang. Sighing you hopped down on the floor. A few feathers floated out of your hair as you faced your partner.

“My dearest!”

“I’m sorry for the surprise.”

“Think nothing of it. I hope you are not injured.”

Hurrying over to you Ningguang picked up your arms, turning them around as she examined them. Giggling slightly, you shook your head.

“I’m fine my love, really. Only a little shaken.”

“I don’t understand what you were doing, flying out in the storm. The recklessness, I cannot believe you would do such a thing.”

“Sorry, I was being stupid; I didn’t think that the rain would be that bad.”

“I am only glad that you managed to make your way here. If not, well I would not appreciate having my partner felled by a storm.”

“Yeah…”

“Well,” Ningguang planted a few light kisses over the bridge of your nose, “I hope that you will learn, and that we do not have to repeat this performance. Honestly, to think I thought you an emissary of the adepti; I was almost worried this storm was an unnatural one. Morax knows the last thing Liyue needs or can afford is another god rising from the depths.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Well, if you truly are then you can help me with this paperwork. There appears to be some confusion in terms of the chain of ore production, I believe someone might be skimming from the top.”

In a moment she’d reverted back to her calm and collected self, but you could feel the unsaid words in the air. I will not ask you about your ability. I will trust you to tell me in your own time. It was a comforting message and as you sat down you wondered at how considered the woman you loved truly was.

“It looks like it will be a cool night.” Ningguang smiled up at the sky. The clouds had cleared and the moon shone a silvery light on the once more bustling city.

“Thank the gods. It’s been so hot recently.”

“Indeed.” Ningguang pressed a kiss to your cheek.

You gave her a short kiss back, fingers entwined with hers. The storm had been terrifying, as had the moments after, the moments when you felt you had too much to say and nothing at all. The moments when you had no control.

And yet Ningguang had given you the gift of time, time and patience. One day you would tell her about your abilities, about the blessing, or perhaps the curse, you’d been given at birth. You knew that when that day came you wouldn’t have to worry. So, for now you simply walked home together, hands entwined, both content in the silence of trust.

#genshin impact fanfiction #childe x reader #kaeya x reader #ningguang x reader #childe #kaeya #ningguang #genshin impact #requested #scenarios #my writing

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house-of-galathynius · 3 years

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Only You ~ Rowaelin

A Rowaelin fanfic, set if Aelin’s parents had lived and she had met Rowan under normal circumstances, if Erawan and Maeve weren’t threats. Hope you enjoy!

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Chapter Thirteen ~ Burning

Chapter Twelve ~ Chapter Fourteen

“We need to make sure invitations are sent to all royal families across the continent. If we send them now we should receive answers in enough time.”

Aelin had been sat at the table with her mother, Lysandra and Elide for over four hours. Her mother had requested she join her for tea in the morning room, Aelin had happily agreed, hoping that maybe they could talk over everything; but when she had entered the room she immediately wanted to leave again. Strewn over chairs, tables and any workable surface were swathes of fabrics, utensils, flowers and cakes— you name it and it was probably there. She had known this would be something that had to be done… but Gods above. She had been too slow to march out of the room again; her mother had spotted her too quickly and a smile had lit up her face as she gazed upon Aelin. She had ushered Aelin into a seat and declared that now was the perfect time to organise everything. Lysandra and Elide had joined an hour later, managing to escape the worst of her mothers excitement.

“Perhaps we should send invitations to the Southern Continent too? They are never too bothered with the goings on here, but it would be polite.” Her mother was scrambling for the ink and paper, adding to the ever-growing list of people she wished to invite.

“Mamma, is this really necessary?” Aelin picked at the lavender fabric that had been placed on her lap, waiting for her to inspect it and share her opinion.

“I know you would rather go down to the priest in your fighting gear and be done with this all, but you are required to have a wedding fit for a queen, so we shall give you one.” Her mother lent over to Elide who was studying a selection of flowers.

Aelin brushed the fabrics from her lap and stood, pouring another cup of herbal tea. “I’m just saying that we don’t need to invite everyone for both a mating ceremony and a wedding. Rowan and I would much rather have a mating ceremony just the two of us.” She assumed anyway. The two of them hadn’t discussed any of it in great detail.

The three women looked up at her.

“I just—“ she picked up then dropped a rose. “It’s all a bit much, no?”

“I think it’s exciting. We haven’t had a mating ceremony in years.” Elide was clasping a bunch of the flowers in her hands as she spoke.

Lysandra said nothing and instead went to sit in one of the armchairs, her hands playing with the ends of her sleeves, being unusually silent.

Aelin tore her eyes from Lysandra and back to her mother and Elide.

“I’m not sure Rowan is one for big displays of… well anything.”

“I’m sure he’ll do whatever needs to be done, Aelin. Now sit, I want to see which colours are best.”

Aelin was saved when someone cleared their throat at the door. She could’ve sighed in relief as she eyed Rowan.

“Sorry to interrupt; but I was hoping to steal Aelin away.”

Aelin took three steps when her mother stopped her. “We will be finishing this later. Don’t think you can get out of it.”

She grinned at her mother and hastily exited the room, joining her hand with Rowan’s and heading into the crisp winter air.

“Thank you for saving me. I was about to go crazy in there.”

“Don’t thank me quite yet. I told your father and Orlon we were going to pick a place for the ceremony.”

She groaned. “Why would you say that? I was hoping you were going to steal me away so we could hide in my rooms until dinner.”

He nudged her side. “I needed an excuse to leave and I don’t think they would appreciate me telling them I was going to spend the rest of the day in your rooms with you.”

Aelin blushed at that.

“I also thought that we should get outside whilst we could. I was warned of the winters here, and if the storm last night is anything to go by...”

She hummed in agreement. The two of them walking in comfortable silence.

It wasn’t long before Aelin began to speak again. “I don’t see why we need two big celebrations.” She groaned. “A mating ceremony, to me, is meant to be private.”

He squeezed her hand. “When I was younger—maybe two hundred years ago— mating ceremonies were one of the biggest celebrations. Whole towns would congregate, light huge bonfires, have feasts and dance until dawn, just to celebrate a couples mating.” They continued walking into the forest, “my mother used to tell me stories of her and my fathers. My mother came from a small village outside of Doranelle, when she mated with my father they had a party lasting four days.”

“Four days?”

He smiled. “The village was so small that it was rare for the people there to find a mate. Rarer than it is normally, at least.”

They stopped to sit on a fallen tree overlooking part of the river.

“How did your mother and father meet?”

“My father lived in Doranelle with the other Whitethorns, he was in charge of Doranelle’s army at the time. He had been sent on a mission to recruit more Fae soldiers. He found his way to my mothers village and knew right away that she was his mate.”

Rowan’s face fell as he talked about his parents. She did not know where they were or what had happened to them, but seeing the anguish on his face made her heart break.

“You don’t have to tell me.”

He shook his head. “It’s fine. I just haven’t told the story in a long time.” Rowan shifted to face Aelin, her body twisting to face him as well.

“My father stayed in the village, meeting my mothers family, managing to recruit a couple of Fae to join Doranelle’s army— training them whilst he was there. They were mated there and then moved to Doranelle shortly after.”

“How long after mating did they have you?”

“It was well over two hundred years. Full-blooded Fae find it difficult to have children. My parents tried for a long time. By the time they had me…”

She kissed his hand. “I’m sorry.”

“We got to be a family for fifty years.” His voice cracked. “My father faded first. My mother— she couldn’t cope with the pain of losing her mate, so she faded a year or so after.”

Aelin felt a tear fall. Seeing him so vulnerable— it broke something inside of her. She didn’t know what to say, she hadn’t realised they had faded so soon.

“It was a long time ago.” He wiped the tear that was rolling down her cheek.

“I didn’t know you had such little time with them.”

“I had enough. And the time we did have together was happy, so I cannot complain.”

Rowan stood, extending his hand to her. She took it and they continued on their way. The forest had changed dramatically in such a short time, autumn had come and gone in a blink of an eye, the leaves now frozen and crunching beneath their feet. The trees bear as winter embraced the land. They zig-zagged through the forest path, turning down small tracks that had been forgotten for years, enjoying the peace that nature brought.

The two of them walked in silence, Aelin thinking about Rowan’s family as they went. Rowan deep in his own thoughts.

They followed a tall hedge that lined the side of the path, the branches thick. As they strode further along Aelin noticed an opening, big enough for someone to fit through.

It was then that she remembered she had been here once before. She beckoned for Rowan to follow as she once again slipped through the gap. She had been here when she was fifteen. She had stumbled across the clearing by accident; she had been walking along the trail in the forest when she spotted an opening in the bushes. She had slipped through the gap and found herself in awe at the scene before her.

The clearing had been small, but it had held such beauty that she could do nothing but take it in. Surrounding the clearing had been bushes displaying little white flowers, the floor made up of colourful wildflowers that swayed softly in the balmy summer breeze. To the right was a pool of shimmering water, stones lined the edges— like they had been carefully placed there by someone. The whole area had been bathed in streams of sunlight that filtered through the canopy of trees above; birds flittered from branch to branch, singing their melody as they did. Aelin had never seen anything like it.

And even now, in the dead of winter; when the flowers were withered and the leafy canopy above gone, only the skeletons of the trees to be seen, she could still see that beauty. The winter sun still bathing the clearing in light, the water crystal clear and sparkling like a thousand little diamonds.

“How did you find this?” Rowan asked.

She shrugged. “I accidentally came across it a few summers ago. It became a sort of sanctuary then, somewhere to go when I wanted to be alone. I’d forgotten about it actually. I only remembered it when I saw the opening in the bush.”

She watched as he surveyed the space around them.

“And you wanted to share it with me? Even though it had been somewhere secret?” He looked to her, eyes shining.

“Of course.” She smiled.

Rowan bent down to kiss her, her toes curling at the contact, her body warming. “Thank you.”

She kissed him again in reply.

They stood there for a moment longer, both enjoying the warmth of the winter sun on their faces. Aelin slipped her hand from his and walked towards the pool— which she had realised was magical after getting in and all her injuries had healed. She dipped her fingers in, dragging them in the water.

She turned to Rowan. “Would you like to go in?”

“It has to be freezing in there Aelin. I might have ice as a power, but I’m not so keen on bathing in it.”

She chuckled as she summoned her flame. “It’s a good thing your mate has fire powers so she can keep it warm.”

“I like it when you say you’re my mate.”

He came towards her, the bond tugging between them.

“I’ll go in with you if you do something for me.”

“Anything.”

“Promise me you’ll stop trying to get me into your bed.”

Aelin stepped out of his embrace and let out a laugh. “That’s your condition?” She laughed again. “I’ve done it once.”

“You’ve done it more than that, Aelin.” He laughed along with her, stepping toward her and taking her in his arms. “I want to.” He placed a kiss on the top of her head. “I really want to. But I want to wait. I want to be able to enjoy you, to take our time. I want to be somewhere where we don’t have to hide or be quiet.”

She couldn’t help the heat that spread through her. “If you keep talking like that Rowan, I will have no choice but to start something right here.”

“Don’t even think about it. Otherwise I will change into my hawk and fly away.”

Aelin pinched his side then swatted his head, laughing as she did.

“So going for a swim is off the cards?”

“Maybe when it’s not the middle of winter… and when you can control yourself.” He winked.

She stepped back into his embrace, her arms going around his middle as she laid her head against his chest; listening to the steady beat of his heart. The two of them enjoying the warmth of each other, listening to the quiet singing of the birds.

“I understand why my mother couldn’t stand to be here without my father.” He murmured, resting his chin on the top of her head. “I try to imagine a world without you and it terrifies me. I try to think about what I would do, how I would begin to live without you here…” He pulled away to look at her. “I would walk through the burning heart of hell itself to find you.”

She shuddered at his words, she wanted to reply— to say something— but all she could do was reach up on her toes and kiss him. Their lips melting together, their tongues finding each other and she moaned at his taste— better than anything she could ever imagine. The kiss full of love and of promises— of things to come.

He would walk through the burning heart of hell itself, and she would do the same. Wherever he was, she would go, she would find him— in this world and the next.

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stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale · 3 years

Text

[against all odds, your hand is in mine] [1/4]

Seasons change, and with each comes a different story. In a world where the dead roam around, romantic companionship seems unlikely. Yet Ericson stands, and within it are four couples who are proof that it's possible.

Spring: Briolet | flowers, picnics, blueberries, running river

Read on AO3

Notes: Sometimes I get the urge to write four oneshots over the course of two days. This is the first of those oneshots. It’s briolet in spring, but be careful: there is so much hand holding and some smooches. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

[screenshot used is from the lovely @pi-creates]

---

Brody pricks her finger again. It's easy to avoid that, but she doesn't have a thimble, and her hands refuse to stop trembling.

No blood, and really, it didn’t even hurt. It more startled her, a bit of panic sparking in her gut at the idea of staining the martial and ruining her project. She stops her work to rest her hands and the fabric in her lap, closes her eyes, and sucks in a deep breath. It does little to calm her nerves or her impatience.

“Don’t rush,” she mumbles to herself, readjusting her position on the bed. She crosses her legs and notices a long strand of thick, pale blue thread stuck to her pants. Great, she needed that color an hour ago to finish one of the flowers.

Doesn’t matter now, the floral design is complete and all she has left is to sew the pieces together. If she can finish soon, there’ll be more than enough time to clean up, gather the basket she made up the night before, and head down to the greenhouse. Violet should still be there.

Brody smiles, setting down her needle and holding the handmade eyepatch in her hands. She rubs a thumb over one of the little white flowers. She embroidered them just this morning, a final touch to the overall design. That feeling strikes her gut again, exciting her nerves.

The idea came to her one night after Violet found her in the common room. It was late at night, and the two shared a blanket on the couch and drank tea. Violet's ruined eye was covered with bandages despite being healed over. No one was able to find her an actual eye patch. The best they found was a plastic one used for a children’s pirate costume, so she kept it bandaged.

Violet never complains about it. She considers the bandages her patch, even though they're not the most comfortable to wear every day.

Brody decided at that moment that she would make her one. She tore through her closet the next morning, sorting through old shirts until she found one she never wore. Taupe in color, a thicker material, something she could easily work with.

Though she had no idea how eyepatches were made, figuring those things out came easy to Brody. She made several patterns, testing each one out on scraps until one worked. From there, it was all about creating a design should could see Violet wearing. It wasn't difficult- sewing and embroidery work came easy to her.

A family thing that stuck, she assumes.

Her grams used to do embroidery and cross-stitching work. She made a living off sewing intricate designs, all more beautiful than any painting. If Brody closes her eyes, she can still see the doorway into her gram’s cabin. The framed design of a flowery cottage with a stone path, rural trees and a cloudless sky hung up on the wall. Her gram’s final masterpiece. She worked on it for months, pouring every ounce of love she had into each stitch. It was something Brody admired every time she walked through that doorway.

She learned to hunt and skin animals from her dad and uncles, and sewing from her grams. Best of both worlds, she supposes. Two skills that became handier than she would’ve ever thought at the time.

Though her flowers weren’t as flawless as her gram’s once were, she still put her heart into each stitch just as she did. She hopes that when Violet sees it, she’ll feel the unspoken words Brody threaded through the fabric.

Purple, white, and blue flowers of all sizes, each with a yellow french knot in the center, standing bright against the muted taupe. She sewed a thicker piece beneath it, used a tiny bit of stuffing from an old, ripped pillow to give it some comfortable cushion. A piece of a silky shirt lines the inside so Violet’s skin won’t get agitated while wearing it.

After weeks of work, all she has left to sew is the straps she made. She had no way to measure the fit for Violet’s head since she wanted this to be a surprise, so she figured she could make them extra long enough to tie comfortably while wearing. If she needed to adjust anything, she could do that later.

Brody picks her needle back up.

It doesn’t take long to finish, even with her forcing herself to take her time.

With triumph, Brody sticks her needle back into its rightful container and hops off her bed, singing, “Ta-daah~ !”

Her mind is all over the place. Wrap up the patch-- does she have a box or even a bag?-- and hide it at the bottom of the woven basket she found in the basement, stuff the blanket in as much as she can so the two cups don’t clank together, and start boiling water for tea-- where the hell did she put the jar of blueberries?

She flicks a match to light the heater she borrowed from Clementine, letting the water come to a slow boil as she searches around for the mason jar. It’s right under her nose, of course, sitting in plain sight on her shelf.

With the greenhouse running smoothly and the trading they’ve done with the traveling caravan that comes around, they're able to plant seeds for several different fruits and vegetables. This week, they finally got their first bunch of blueberries in. She managed to pick a bunch and seal them away in a jar yesterday without Violet noticing. She thought they’d make for a refreshing picnic snack to pair with tea.

Brody’s been planning this picnic for a while now, all while she was working and spring came to chase the cold away. Her favorite time of year where it’s finally warm, but cool enough to not overheat everything. Grass grows greener, flowers bloom all over the place, the river flows, and the sun shines bright in the sky most days. Other days, like yesterday, it rains. She was worried it would rain today as well, but there isn’t a cloud in the sky today.

She lets the tea steep in a large mug and squeezes what she can from an old container of mostly crystallized honey. When it’s cooled down enough, she pours it slow and steady into an empty water bottle. Sure, they can’t have iced tea given they have no way to actually make ice once winter ends, but lukewarm tea would be just as good.

Basket in hand, Brody looks out her window one last time before leaving the dorms. With every step she takes, she grows closer to the greenhouse and her heart thumps gaily against her ribs.

Outside, everyone is out and about, enjoying the warm weather. AJ and Tenn color together at the table while Mitch works on sharpening his favorite knife. Willy sulks on the couch beside him with Ruby attending to his bleeding knee. She's going on about him needing to be more careful.

Clementine and Louis sit on the steps leading into the admin building. She sits a step lower, leaning back into his chest as the two talk. Brody waves at them as she passes, and Louis gives her a knowing grin when he eyes the basket.

It’s not a long walk to the greenhouse from there. She stops when she notices the wildflowers growing by the fence of the rabbit coop. Bees buzz around the white flowers, landing in their yellow centers. She hates to disturb them, but these flowers were part of her inspiration when designing Violet’s eyepatch. They're too perfect not to pick. She shoos away a fat bumblebee with pollen sticking to its little black legs, and gathers eight of the flowers, leaving plenty for the rest.

A simple bouquet, if she could even call it that, but it works.

Once inside, the fresh scent of wet soil and leafy greens hits her. Not as refreshing as the sweet air outside, but still, it fills her lungs with warmth. Or perhaps that sensation is from seeing Violet standing beside Omar, watering what Brody believes are the potatoes.

Most of her hair pulls back into a hair tie, apart from the bangs that fall over her forehead and bandages. She hasn’t had a haircut in a while, letting it grow long enough past her shoulders. A surprise, actually. Violet hasn’t had long hair since they were kids.

Not that Brody was complaining- she likes it very much.

Violet breaks her attention from the potatoes to meet her gaze. She grins, and yes, that warmth is definitely from her. Omar continues on about some sort of new stew he wants to try making, only stopping when he notices he’s lost Violet’s attention.

“Everything doin’ okay in here?” Brody asks.

Violet gives a shrug. She sticks her hand out to run along the wooden planter to steady herself. She meets Brody halfway, replying with, “Eh, nothing too exciting. Willy biffed it while watering the rabbits this morning, but other than that...”

“He about crushed one of the babies,” Omar adds with a shake of his head. “More upset about that than he was about his skinned knee.”

“Aw, poor little guy,” Brody laughs. “That why he looked so miserable when I passed him?”

“Probably. He tried to catch it to apologize, but it was too quick even for him, and Ruby didn’t want him getting a bunch of muck all over him with an open wound, so…”

Apologizing to a baby bunny that they’re eventually going to eat? Sounds like Willy, Brody thinks. But never mind that, she has more important things than rabbits.

She reaches out to grab Violet’s free hand, her lips involuntarily curling into a bright smile as she asks, “Are you almost finished ?”

“Yeah,” Violet says, raising a questioning brow. “Why?”

“We’re going on a picnic!”

Violet pauses, only now noticing the basket in Brody’s grasp.

“We are?”

“We are!”

“That’s news to me.”

Brody lets go of her hand to present her with the flowers. Violet stares at them for a moment as her skin flushes, starting at her neck and blooming along her cheeks. If Omar weren’t standing over there, Brody would lean over and kiss that lovely blush.

“And where exactly would we have a picnic?”

“By the river. Already got a spot in mind.”

Violet holds the flowers close to her chest and clears her throat. She glances back at Omar, and says, “Uh, I don’t-”

“Go ahead,” he interrupts with a wave of his hand. “I can take care of the rest. Go have your picnic, be careful. And Brody,” he points to her, putting on a stern voice, “have her home by eight, and don’t have too much fun.”

Brody laughs.

“Yes, sir!”

Violet shakes her head, but her smile betrays her amusement.

“Well, okay, I guess we’re going on a picnic. There better be peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in there... that's what people eat on picnics, right?”

“Yeah, but no. Close, though.”

Locking their hands together once more, Brody leads Violet out of the greenhouse and through the gates. Soon, they’re outside the walls of Ericson. Heading down the path, she makes sure to keep watch out for any obstacles to warn Violet about.

Brody knows that Violet’s other eye works perfectly well, but given that her depth perception isn’t what it used to be, she can’t help but be extra careful. She used that excuse to hold Violet’s hand before they were together, both still recovering from their respective injuries. Better safe than sorry, use the buddy system, and that system requires hand-holding. Brody didn’t make the rules.

“Never been on a picnic before,” Violet breaks the silence.

“No? Not even before?”

“No.”

“We used to go out on picnics to eat and play games all the time. Me, my grandma, my daddy and uncles, cousins- if it was warm out, we were out.”

“That sounds nice.”

“Most times it was,” Brody says, giving Violet’s hand a squeeze. “ Just because those days are gone doesn’t mean we can’t do that kinda stuff now, y’know?”

“Yeah, I guess so. Though there are more walkers around than there were back then.”

“True, but that shouldn’t be a big issue today,” Brody smiles. “I asked James to check the area and he collected the walkers he found. The river should be clear.”

Even without looking at her, she can sense her surprise. Violet’s quiet for a moment, turning her head to peer around them before saying, “You planned this.”

It’s not a question, but more of a realization.

“I thought this was a spur of the moment thing,” Violet admits. “I, uh…”

When she doesn’t continue, Brody says, “ Not many opportunities to take you out on a date,” the word makes Violet blush and repress a smile, “and when one does arise, you bet your bottom dollar I’m gonna take it .”

Violet says nothing more, but her grip on Brody’s hand tightens.

They make it to the river without spotting a single walker. She kept her knife handy in case, but James was thorough, it seems. Brody makes a note to thank him again for helping her out.

The running water is soothing and the grass colors with golden dandelions. It’s nice to be down here without the intention of working up a sweat while fishing, she thinks. They find a flat piece of grass, kicking rocks, sticks, and pinecones out of the way to lay the blanket down. Together they sit side by side with the basket between them.

Rubbing her hands together, Brody digs in to pull everything out. Except for the eyepatch. It remains, wrapped in a pillowcase she found. Hopefully Louis won’t notice she snuck it from his horde of pillows.

“Alright, we got tea and blueberries,” Brody says, handing one mug to Violet and opening the mason jar of berries. Their sweet scent escapes into the air, making her mouth water.

“How’d you manage to sneak these past Omar?” Violet asks, popping a blueberry into her mouth. Her face twists at the taste, and for a moment Brody worries they might be sour, but Violet shakes her head. “They’re good, just not used to that.”

By now the tea is completely cooled, and while not cold, still delightful to sip on.

“Open wide,” Violet says, holding up a blueberry. It misses Brody’s mouth, bouncing off her chin. Violet laughs. “Pfft, c’mon.”

“Okay, okay, I’m ready, try again.”

Another miss.

“Aww, nope!”

“Well, let's see you try!”

Brody throws up a berry, and Violet misses it completely.

“Damn depth perception,” she grins, grabbing the berry and tossing it up herself. It hits her cheek, lost to the grass. “Damn it!”

Violet’s laugh, while rare, is as bewitching as it is infectious. It’s been so long since Brody heard her laugh like this, and to know that they’re here together, comfortable together…

Emotion builds in her throat, and she has to eat berries to suppress it. She aims the blueberry just right, and Violet catches it this time. As she chews, they both let out victorious giggles.

Once the laughter dies down, Violet brings her knees to her chest as she watches the river.

“Think we’re missing out on a fish haul?” she asks.

“Nah,” Brody pulls the basket closer to look inside, biting her lip as she runs her fingers over the covered patch. “And if we are, I’m sure the traps’ll make up for it.”

Should she do it now? They did just get here, did she want to surprise her early, or…?

Brody grabs a flower instead, bringing it up to her nose to inhale the soft scent. An idea occurs to her as she admires the girl before. Scooping up the flowers, Brody breaks off most of the stems. The flower slips in through Violet’s hair, right where the hair tie is.

Violet jerks her head around to look back, but Brody says, “Don’t move.”

“What are you-?”

She doesn’t need to answer the question, she merely secures a few more flowers within the light strands of hair before leaning back to admire her work. She even tucks one behind her own ear so they match.

Violet remains quiet, but lays her hand on Brody's. A silent, content thank you.

Brody doesn’t know how long they sat there watching the river, sipping tea, and listening to the birds chirp from the trees . A small butterfly flutters by them, and for a moment, Brody forgets the world around them. Forgets the walkers, forgets Ericson, too swept up in the way the warm air blew against her skin, in how Violet’s hand felt in hers, and the strange sense of wonder, a desire to kick off her shoes and run through the river.

It took Violet kissing the back of her hand to break her out of it.

Violet grew sheepish, glancing away as if she needed to come up with an explanation for the kiss, and that was it.

“Vi,” she started, pulling her around to face her. “I have- I made ya somethin’.”

The nervous pounding in her chest thumps in her ears as she reached back into the basket, pulling out the pillowcase.

“Aw, from Lou’s stash,” Violet grins, amused. “You shouldn’t have.”

“No, no, not the pillowcase,” Brody fidgets with it until she finds what she’s looking for. Her thumb brushes over the flowers beneath the thin material. With a deep breath, she goes for it. “Listen, I’ve been thinkin’ a lot about you. Us... just everything, and- Remember that night we stayed up in the common room talkin’? I thought… well, I wanted to do this for you.”

Brody hands her the pillowcase. Not once does she take her eyes off Violet’s face, noting the curiosity and confusion playing in her features as she accepts the gift.

The eyepatch is finally brought out into the sunlight, laying in Violet’s palm.

Neither of them speaks. Violet’s lips part, eye widening.

Brody lets the air out of her lungs slow, and then the words spill from her lips before she can stop them.

“We couldn’t find you anything to wear other than that stupid costume patch, and I know you said you didn’t mind the bandages but then I got to thinkin’ ‘bout how bandages might not always be the comfiest-”

“Brody…” Violet’s voice is quiet, trembling as it breaks.

“-and I want you to be comfortable in somethin’ that you like, so I made this for you- the whole thing, hand sewed it myself. I- but y’know, if it’s maybe too much- I wasn’t sure if it might bring too much attention and you wouldn’t like that-”

She’s cut off when Violet practically throws herself at her, burying her face in the crook of Brody’s neck and holding her tight. Brody doesn’t hesitate. She embraces her back, pressing a hand to cradle her head.

“I… don’t know what to say,” Violet's voice quivers.

“You like it?”

“Yes.”

“Then that’s enough.”

Violet pulls back, and without warning, her hands cup Brody’s face. She presses their lips together in a way that’s anything but gentle. It’s firm, purposeful, and loving. All tension from her body melts away, and Brody truly believes she could kiss her all day and that tingle? The one that coursed through her veins, the butterflies that fluttered in her belly? It would never go away. It wouldn't even lessen.

They break apart, and Violet’s staring down at the eyepatch in her hands.

“Holy shit. It’s… I don’t-” she tries again. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“I wanted to,” Brody assures her, brushing the bangs that fell over her face.

“No one’s ever made me anything like this before. I mean, not a patch, just … you know.”

“Want to try it on?”

Violet nods, and Brody’s undoing the bandages with ease. Her eye's healed from the damage the raiders inflicted, leaving only angry scars. The patch is a perfect size, covering everything.

“Does it feel okay?”

“Yeah, it’s… nice. Soft.”

“Does this feel tight enough? Like it won’t fall off, but not too tight?”

“Yeah, it feels good.”

“Couldn’t figure out a good way to clasp it together, so it ties. If ya want me to change it or anything, I can make adjustments... There!”

Violet turns back around, avoiding her gaze. Brody studies her face, the way the colors of the embroidered flowers make the green in her other eye vibrant, how the taupe of the fabric flatters her.

“Beautiful.”

Violet scoffs, ducking her head to hide the flustered smile that betrays her lips. This gives Brody the perfect excuse to place a quick kiss on her forehead.

“You’re so mushy,” Violet says, embarrassed but trying to force a playful tone. “Y’know that?”

Well, to be fair, Brody could be mushier, so she replies with an over-the-top, sweet, “Only with you.”

Violet groans and they laugh once more.

They know their little picnic will wrap up soon, so together they sit close and enjoy the comfort of nature for a few minutes longer.

“Thank you, Brody… really.”

Brody responds with another kiss.

Yeah, she thinks. She could kiss Violet all day.

#[against all odds your hand in is mine]#twdg briolet #twdg violet #twdg brody #briolet #violet twdg #brody twdg #spring: briolet #thank you for reading #it's always super appreciated :D #twdg fanfics #twdg fanfiction

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omgrachwrites · 3 years

Text

The Winter’s Tale - Prince Caspian

Pairing: Prince Caspian/King Caspian x Reader

Summary: On the first Christmas without your family, the King comes up with a plan that warms and cheers your sad heart.

Warnings: fluff, mentions of death

Words: 1672

A/N: Hope you guys enjoy this one, haven’t done Caspian in ages! Please let me know what you think, I love you all! xxx

You smiled as the cold winter wind ruffled your hair and pinched at your cheeks as you stepped out onto the balcony that was attached to your chambers. Winter in Narnia was beautiful; it was winter when the beautiful multi coloured lights appeared in the sky and your favourite part about winter was the thick snow that settled across the land like a blanket. You didn’t even mind the cold, it gave you an excuse to stoke the fire and snuggle deeper beneath the covers.

It had just started to snow and you smiled as you looked up at the white sky. You closed your eyes in bliss and tilted your head back which caused the perfect, unique snowflakes to settle in your long eyelashes and they got caught in your hair. Winter was still your favourite season – you couldn’t help it, it was full of so much splendor and beauty – but this year you were sad. So sad that sometimes you couldn’t bear it and you wanted to rage at the Gods for making the mountain pass incredibly icy the day that your life had changed.

But, you had far more happier memories than sad ones such as skating on the frozen lake and picking the winter flowers that seemed to emit an ethereal glow in the darkest night. Everyone had been extremely kind to you, especially the young King but you were scared that he was eventually going to send you away. You had nowhere else to go.

When your fingers and toes began to grow numb and you feared that your lips were turning blue, you retreated back into your chambers where the fire was merrily crackling away.

Just as you were warming your bones by the fire and just as you were about to open a book there came a quiet tap on your door, “come in,” you called out as you rubbed your hands together.

At first you thought that there was no one there and you were puzzled for a moment before you looked down at the floor. A slow smile spread across your face as you saw that it was Reepicheep, he was a mouse but he was one of Narnia’s best knights. You thought that he was adorable but you would never say that to his face because he was known to get rather angry.

“Reepicheep, what can I do for you?” you asked cheerfully.

“Pardon me for the intrusion, My Lady,” he took a little bow, “The King asks whether you would join him for dinner.”

At his words the breath got stuck in your throat as you flushed and started to feel extremely shaky and anxious. Was he going to send you away?

“Now?” you asked as you bit your lip and desperately looked down at the mouse.

“If it pleases you, My Lady.”

There was no way that you could refuse the King’s invitation, especially if he was going to send you from court. You looked especially beautiful today in a dress of blue silk and a matching cloak – it had been your mother’s – so you were definitely dressed for the occasion.

“I accept His Majesty’s invitation,” you nodded with a smile as you tried to swallow down your nerves. Reepicheep escorted you down the grand hallways that were full of dozens of portraits, the little mouse bowed at you before he left you in front of the grand dining room.

You took a deep breath and tried to tell yourself that everything was going to be fine as you pushed the heavy doors open and you immediately sank into a deep curtsey, “Your Majesty.”

“Please,” he started in that velvet voice of his, “you don’t need to do that My Lady, and please call me Caspian.”

You smiled as you stood up straight and you looked at his handsome smiling face before you took in your surroundings. There was an amazing looking banquet fit for a King and Queen – you vaguely wondered with a jolt of jealousy, when Caspian would find his Queen – on the long table and there wasn’t a single servant in sight.

“Then you must call me Y/N,” you smiled.

Caspian chuckled as he poured you a goblet of wine, “won’t you join me Y/N? You look beautiful by the way,” you beamed and flushed at his pretty words as you sat on his immediate left, gazing at his handsome profile and his warm but dark eyes, “help yourself,” he gestured at the food and you smiled and reached for some.

You weren’t as nervous anymore because he was talking to you with so much warmth and respect in his voice, “thank you, Caspian.”

“You’re welcome, I wanted you to join me tonight because I know this will be your first Christmas without your parents and I had to ask how you were doing with it all.”

You hesitated for a moment; you hadn’t expected him to be this kind, why did he care so much? You took a swallow of the honeyed wine as your eyes filled with tears, “every day gets a little bit easier but Christmas used to be such a happy time, you’re kind to ask.”

Caspian nodded in understanding, his dark eyes looking down at the table before he looked back at you, it looked like he was a little bit nervous, of what you couldn’t be sure, “I would like for you to stay at court and be on my peace council. Your father was a fantastic peace maker but he would always give you and your mother the credit. You seem to be very educated so I know that you’ll make a wonderful edition.”

You were taken aback by his words, you were surprised but you were glad that he wasn’t going to turn you away. If you were going to stay at court then you needed to do something meaningful to fill your time and making peace was something that was very important to you, like it had been to your parents.

“That’s a kind offer Caspian, one that I will gratefully accept. Thank you so much,” you flushed as he gave you a dazzling smile.

You ate in silence for a little while – all the food was so rich and delicious – before Caspian decided to speak up again, “what did you do at Christmas with your family Y/N? I know how close you were.”

You smiled at the happy memories of cold winter days and warm nights that were spent curled up by the fire with a hot drink, “there was this festival that was held by the commoners in my father’s lands. There were so many market stalls full of wondrous things like hot chocolate drinks, wine that had been spiced with cinnamon and ginger, ice skating and fortune tellers. They always made us feel very welcome and it was my favourite thing to do. But, I can’t go this year, not on my own. It’s just too hard.”

“I understand,” Caspian started as he reached over to take your hand in his warm ones, “I understand what it’s like to lose your family. Your parents were the very best, I’m so sorry for their passing,” he looked so sincere and so kind that you had to smile at the handsome, charming man before you.

“Thank you Caspian.”

You felt light headed, struck by Caspian’s beauty and gentle grace, you smiled at him as you took his arm, he wanted to take you on a winter’s walk around the grounds. Who were you to turn down such an offer? It had been a few weeks since you had dined with Caspian and since then you had dined together more often than not. At first, you were nervous by the attention that he bestowed on you but he was so kind that you almost forgot that he was the King. However, you knew the day would come when he would choose a Queen, and you really weren’t ready for that.

“You look beautiful today Y/N,” he grinned at you as he took you across the grounds.

You gazed at him, admiring the way that the wind blew through his hair and the snowflakes settled before melting in his hair and on his warm skin, and the way the corners of his mouth quirked up into a smile, “thank you Caspian, you’re too kind,” you flushed with pleasure.

As you reached the courtyard, you noticed that there was a large chattering noise and there was a hustle and bustle of commoners and titled people alike. There were numerous stalls dotted around the courtyard and the air was alive with the smell of cinnamon and ginger, that smell set off memories that you happily divulged in. You recognised the people behind the stalls because you had seen them every year since you were a little girl and you knew at once what was going on. It looked identical.

A bubble of hope formed in your chest and happy tears stung at your eyes as you looked over at Caspian who was watching you nervously, “what’s going on?” you asked.

He rubbed the back of his neck nervously as he chuckled as his cheeks flushed, you weren’t sure if it was from the cold or he really was nervous, “I know that you didn’t want to go to the festival alone so I brought it to you, and I made sure that you weren’t going to be alone, you told me how much you loved it so I didn’t want for you to miss it. Unfortunately, there is no ice skating.”

“I was never really any good at that anyway,” you admitted with a blush, “Caspian, did you do all this just for me?” you asked, almost scared to know the answer.

Caspian smiled as he cupped your cheek with a gloved hand, “of course I did, this is all for you,” he leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek that almost burned with pleasant warmth, “Happy Christmas Y/N.”

--------------------------------

@smiithys

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jaskicr · 3 years

Text

yennefer/triss/renfri greek mythology au, with yennefer as hades, triss as persephone, and renfri as ares - they’re soft and get to kill stregobor together

summary:

Once upon a time, Yennefer had wanted the sky.

She’d reached for it, but Stregobor had taken it from her with greedy hands and a cruel grin, and she’d thought she would never see anything but darkness again.

But Triss is here, bringing life and colour to Yennefer’s bleak realm, a skip in her step as flowers bloom in her wake. Triss is here, and so is Renfri, who burns bright and fierce and wild, a vibrant presence in the darkness of the underworld.

With them by her side, Yennefer’s realm no longer feels so achingly lonely, their presence chasing away the weight of death and darkness and replacing it with a warmth that Yennefer has never experienced before, a warmth that she will hold on to for eternity.

Or: Yennefer is the goddess of the underworld. When she meets Triss, the goddess of spring, they’re drawn hopelessly to each other as Triss brings light into Yennefer’s life. They’re joined by Renfri, the goddess of war, and together, they find a home in the underworld (and take on Stregobor in the process).

——

Yennefer first meets the goddess of spring in the middle of a meadow.

She doesn’t leave the underworld often. The other gods annoy her, with their petty squabbles and childish disputes, and she has plenty to occupy herself with in the underworld anyway. But something draws her to the surface, to a stray meadow somewhere on the Continent, where a lone figure stands, surrounded by colourful stalks of flowers, swaying in a gentle breeze.

The figure reaches out a hand. The hand glows, warm and golden, and the figure sweeps out their arm, their gown billowing out around them as they turn, bathing the meadow in a soft golden light, and the flowers seem to perk up, vibrant colour seeping into their petals.

All at once, Yennefer knows who she’s looking at. The figure turns, and Yennefer meets warm brown eyes, crinkling gently at the corners as lovely lips tilt up in a sweet smile.

Triss, the goddess of spring, of new life and creation, of the flowers that bloom across the earth and chase away the winter chill.

Yennefer stays still, not dropping her gaze, and Triss swirls her hand gracefully. Around Yennefer, where the plants have wilted and died in her presence, in the presence of the goddess of the underworld, life and colour seep back into the previously dead plants, springing back to life and arching towards her, sunflowers beaming brightly, bluebells swinging their heads, rosebuds a vibrant bloom, and Yennefer, unable to stop herself, reaches out, marvelling at how the flowers remain lively and colourful even beneath her deathly touch.

A rustle of skirts draws her attention back, and Yennefer looks up to see Triss smiling at her, hands still glowing gold. Something warm tugs at her heart, tugs her towards this bright, lovely presence, and Yennefer unwittingly takes a step forward before she remembers herself, remembers the death and destruction at her fingertips, the darkness that roils in her heart, and she shrouds herself in shadows, transporting herself back to the underworld.

Triss is lovely, and something in Yennefer yearns. But Yennefer is the goddess of the underworld, the goddess of death, and she will not taint the soft, golden glow of the goddess of spring,

And yet.

She shouldn’t follow the tug in her heart, she knows. She shouldn’t. But the underworld is painfully lonely, and Yennefer finds herself seeking Triss out, watching her from a distance as she spreads life across land left barren by ice and snow, colourful flowers replacing the endless white canvas of winter. Triss notices her each time, turning to catch her eyes as she splays her fingers out, pulling new life from the earth, and Yennefer is rooted in place by those deep brown eyes, unable to run, unable to do anything but watch as Triss smiles at her, sweet and gentle.

Soon, she becomes a constant companion. After a few visits, Triss starts murmuring to herself, talking about her day, about the joy of mortals as they glimpse the approach of spring, about her fellow gods, high up in the gleaming city of Olympus, about her dearest friend, Renfri, the goddess of war. And Yennefer listens, lets her soothing voice drift over her, and lets herself forget, for a few moments, about the death that resides in her realm.

Triss is -

“Yennefer.” Triss says her name like no one else does, like it isn’t a curse, like the goddess of the underworld isn’t someone to be reviled, to be hated, like her name is something - something precious. “How have you been?”

It’s the first time Triss has addressed her directly, and Yennefer ponders her answer. She contemplates if she should stay silent, but Triss watches her patiently, her gaze gentle in a way no one has ever directed at Yennefer before, and that perpetual darkness residing within Yennefer melts away, just a little.

“Same as usual,” she murmurs, and Triss’ smile glows brighter than the light enveloping her hands.

“As usual?” Triss’ tone takes on a teasing edge as she steps closer to Yennefer, and though she’s still a small distance away, Yennefer feels so wondrously warm. “I don’t know what your usual is. I think you might have to tell me.”

And so she does. Yennefer tells her about the underworld, the overwhelming darkness of it. She tells her about the souls in Elysium, in the Fields of Asphodel, in Tartarus. She tells her about the river Styx, about how souls are judged, about the stray souls that come to her throne room, sometimes, and beg for their loved ones back, and Triss listens, her smile never wavering as she inches closer, and closer.

They start doing this more often. Talking, chatting, in the middle of a field, a meadow, on the top of hills and next to rivers, as Triss works her way through the land and Yennefer lets go of her duties for a few quiet moments to bask in the joyous radiance of spring.

read more on ao3, link in reblog!

#yennefer of vengerberg #triss merigold #renfri of creyden #the witcher #yennefer #triss #renfri #yennefer x triss x renfri #yennefer x renfri x triss #yentriss #yenntriss #yennfri #yenfri #rentriss #trissefer #yennefer x renfri #yennefer x triss #triss x renfri #mine*

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villainscomplex · 3 years

Text

First Love / Late Spring

now who let me get away with falling three days behind on asanoya week yike

anyway @asanoyaweek21 day 2, mythology, made my own myth abt the seasons, pretend i'm not sleep deprived and this is the most eloquent a/n you've ever read ty

(no but fr this tested how well I REALLY knew how the hell seasons worked)

Also on:

AO3

Wattpad

FFNet

Quotev

----------------------------------------------------------- In the beginning, the story goes, there is nothingness. The world is empty and lifeless, composed only of dirt and rock and fire and ice. There’s no history in this world because there’s no one there to record it, and maybe there never was. At first, there’s only the world and the silence.

The universe takes some sort of interest in this world. It’s inhabitable, suitable to become something greater than what it was made to be. It sends a being made of a thousand suns and starlight, and when that being touches down, grass sprouts beneath his feet. He is made of warmth and brilliance, of all the light the universe thought to offer him. When he walks, life blooms around him, taking the form of arching trees and brilliant flowers.

He is called Summer, and he is the beginning of everything.

In the beginning, it’s only Summer, a being barely held together at the seams with no vessel to contain him. He’s merely a concept, a breath of air racing across the earth and leaving beauty in its wake. But even a being as infinitely existing as Summer was not all-powerful, and his warmth couldn’t reach all recesses of the world.

On the other side of the world, a being was born from the earth. He is made of ice and all of the cold the dirt has to offer, composed of darkness and a promise. Winter is born from the ground, and where he walks, the world dies. Their worlds collide, and on the border of that balance, two more beings come to be.

One appears in a spark of brilliant, golden light, wreathed in warmth gentler than Summer’s. His laughter brings new beginnings, and with him come young animals, deer, foxes, and birds sprouting from the enormity of his being. He is Spring, and his arrival sparks a new cycle of life in the world.

The other being is slower, more hesitant. He doesn’t appear as quickly as the others, as if he’s already prepared to leave the world he’s only just come into. He unfolds himself slowly, not warm like Summer or Spring, but not quite cold like Winter. He brings hesitance with him, curiosity, and melancholy. His arrival is the beginning of endings, and they call him Autumn.

The four of them create a cycle; Summer flows into Autumn into Winter into Spring. Summer never meets Winter and Autumn never meets Spring, for the fear of any disastrous consequences for the meeting of the opposite. From this cycle comes balance, and from balance comes life.

Humanity is a gift from the universe. Summer looks upon them like his young siblings, though they know little of him, they relish in his warmth. He gives them laughter and fun, heat and nourishment. He finds enjoyment in watching them, even as they grow and change.

But all things came to an end, and like their cycles, humans grew and changed and eventually died. Sometimes, Summer is there to witness it. He watches them go beneath the sun, and he is silent when their loved ones mourn. Sometimes, he’s sleeping, in the wake of Autumn taking what half had been his for the quarter of the year.

It’s Spring who comes up with the idea to take their form.

When Summer awakens to take Spring’s place, Spring swirls around him.

“We could take the form of humans and take their names! That way, we can walk among them and teach them to care for themselves and our world. I know they aren’t endless like us, but I’ve heard them tell stories. They’ll pass everything on and we can admire them up close!”

Summer thinks it’s brilliant. Spring is naive, but he was the one to create the animals and humans had taken to them. He watches before his eyes as Spring shrinks and condenses, his unperceivable form wavering and adjusting until it settles into a short, humanoid shape. When the light sinks away, Spring stands before him as a boy with wild orange hair, eyes as warm and brown as the freshly melted earth. He holds his arms out wide, and light flows from his very being, coating him in luminance.

“I haven’t decided on a name,” Spring tells him, “but when I do, I’ll tell you! I’ll talk to Winter, too, but you’ll have to handle Autumn. I’ve heard he’s elusive, isn’t he?”

Spring knows little about Autumn, just as Summer knows little about Winter. They never meet, and the cycles will never allow them to, but Spring seems content either way. He’s curious about Autumn, so he’s heard from Summer and Winter, but even they know little about the elusive season of endings.

Summer nods. “I haven’t met him properly,” he admits. “He always creeps in when I’ve already gone to rest.”

“Weird,” Spring huffs, more expressive now with his human features. “Well, I’ll tell Winter then when I go to take his place next cycle. See you next time!”

Spring bounds away with flowers in his wake, leaving Summer to wonder about Autumn as his warmth fills the world.

It doesn’t matter now. Winter is taking Autumn’s place, and Summer won’t see anything of him until it’s his turn on this side of the world. Perhaps he’ll have the chance to run into Autumn for once, but he gets the feeling Autumn doesn’t want to be found. Summer doesn’t understand why, but the fourth season is quiet and withdrawn, seldom interacting with them more than he needs to.

Summer stops thinking about Autumn when he begins to cross his half of the world, bringing the earth into full bloom. As he runs, he begins to shape and change, a broad grin coming to his features as he takes on a human form. Summer takes the stardust and light he’s made of and compresses it into an impossibly small form, shorter even than Spring’s new form, and his amber eyes streak with golden light.

Summer takes the form of a dark-haired boy, electric gold streaked through the front of his bangs. He’s small and unassuming for someone as infinite as him, radiating warmth and energy and life. Everything within him buzzes to go, and so he does, spending his time among the people, bringing them joy and life.

Though he looks like one of them now, there’s still something otherworldly about him, and some people call him a god. They’re not sure of what, but they know he brings only good for them, and the sunlight itself is drawn to every fiber of his being. It dapples his hair and flares off of his skin like a golden glow.

Summer knows nothing of names, and so when they ask, he only smiles.

Though regretful, his time on this side comes to an end. He feels the slow chill creep in as Autumn awakes, though he doesn’t know from where. His warmth wants to combat it, and Summer is eager to try, but for now, he withdraws it into himself. He can’t linger long, but perhaps a little extra time wouldn’t hurt. He’s painfully curious, and Summer is nothing if not stubborn.

Autumn is quiet when he comes. Summer watches the leaves brown and wither with his arrival, and the life around them grows lethargic and somber. This is the beginning of endings for some. He hasn’t seen Autumn all the way through, but he’s heard enough from the humans to understand what happens.

Autumn startles when he realizes Summer hasn’t departed yet. He withdraws immediately, fleeing into the trees. The leaves begin to turn colorful shades of browns and reds and golds, and Summer almost wants to stop to admire them, but he’s hot on Autumn’s heels.

The other entity swirls into the trees, and Summer forgoes his human form to catch up.

“Wait!” He gasps out, crash landing in a clearing and rolling onto the forest floor, condensed back into his human shape.

Autumn hesitates, just behind the treeline. He doesn’t emerge, but Summer knows he’s there.

“You always run from us,” Summer frowns. “But I don’t know why. Do you not want to know us?”

“It’s for the best,” Autumn speaks up, voice soft.

“Huh?” Summer frowns. “That’s stupid. Shouldn’t we talk sometimes if you’re always taking my place?”

Autumn withdraws a bit. “...Why do you look like a human?” He finally asks.

Summer grins. “Spring thought of it. He thinks we’ll be able to help better this way. It’s hard to maintain this form, but I like it. I haven’t thought of a human name yet. What do you think?”

Autumn creeps along the trees. Summer watches the one he touches lose its leaves. He seems reluctant.

“I’m okay this way,” he finally says. “They wouldn’t like me. Everything starts to die when I come around and I see the way it makes them unhappy. I’m different from you.”

“That’s stupid,” Summer frowns, moving forward.

Autumn starts. Before Summer can think to follow, he’s vanished into the distance. Summer frowns after the other season, but it’s time for him to move on. Autumn is strange to him, fickle and hesitant. Summer doesn’t understand him, but perhaps he isn’t meant to.

Either way, it’s time for him to move on. For now, he’ll rest. Soon, he’ll go to take Spring’s place in their never-ending cycle. He glances back in the wake of Autumn, and then turns his gaze forward and moves on.

The next time he sees Spring, his appearance has changed a bit. He’s still the small, orange-haired boy, but now freckles blossom across his face and he’s filled his form. He beams when he sees Summer.

“I talked to Winter,” he tells him, “and he said he’d think about it. I’ll convince him next time I see him, for sure!”

“Better than me,” Summer sighs, “I got two words in towards Autumn before he ran away. It’s so strange.”

Spring reaches out, patting him on the back. It’s a strange feeling. They’re capable of touch in their natural forms, but it’s so abstract that Summer has never given much thought to it. It’s different in these forms, more physical and grounding. He doesn’t hate it.

“I thought of a name,” Spring tells him. “Or, well. Winter thought of it, but I like it!”

“Yeah?” Summer tips his head. “What is it?”

“Shoyo!” Spring announces, throwing his arms up. “It fits, I think!”

“Shoyo,” Summer echoes.

He’s right; it does fit. It sounds right for Spring, fitting in a way that only self-picked titles are. Summer voices his agreement, and Spring - Shoyo - bids him farewell, speeding off into the distance. Now it’s Summer’s turn on this side of the world, the issue of a name weighing heavily on his mind. He doesn’t see Autumn again this cycle.

The other season comes late to avoid him, and by then, Summer is long gone.

(On the other side of the world, Winter takes the form of a tall boy with hair like night and eyes as blue as ice. Spring takes Winter’s red-tipped fingers into his hands and fills them with warmth before the taller one goes.

Shoyo tells Summer about Winter’s new form before he too, goes.)

Summer waits, this time. Autumn is startled to find him there, visibly freezing when he spots him as if he’s let down his guard and expected Summer to be gone. It’s sunset when Autumn arrives, the end of one day into another. There’s something final about it, though Summer knows the sun will always rise on a new day. There’s a half-formed thought in the back of his mind, but he turns his attention to Autumn, instead.

Sure enough, Autumn hasn’t taken a human form. Summer is sure it will take more convincing, but he’s determined to bring Autumn into their circle more than he’s been thus far. They’ve been here for cycles and cycles already, but Summer is astounded by how little they know about their last member.

“Why do you keep waiting for me?” Autumn asks, hanging back away from where Summer sits in the grass, watching the sun sink.

“You know,” Summer starts, “in the beginning, it was just me. The universe put me here because it thought something could be made of it. Winter came because I can’t cover the whole world. You two came for balance. This world isn’t like us; it needs the balance of all of us to survive and thrive.”

Autumn hesitates. Slowly, he joins Summer in the grass, settling beside him like a blanket.

Summer grins over at him. “Do you watch the sunset a lot? It’s sort of like an ending too. The end of a day, a month, a cycle… Humans come up with some interesting things. Even though it signifies an end, it’s not permanent. That’d be like saying nighttime is bad, but some things flourish then, too.”

“Are you trying to change my mind by comparing me to the day cycle?” Autumn asks.

Summer laughs, loud and free. “Maybe. Is it working?”

Autumn stays quiet for a long moment, watching the sun sink. It isn’t until darkness sweeps across the world that he rises.

“Maybe,” he murmurs.

Summer watches him vanish over the crest of the hill.

(The next time Summer sees Shoyo, he’s decided on a name.

“Winter did too,” Shoyo laughs. “He’s Tobio. What’s yours?”

“Sorry, Shoyo,” Summer grins, “I’ve got someone else I have to tell first.”)

Summer doesn’t see Autumn again for an entire cycle. The first time, Summer decides to give him space, but by the time he needs to leave the other side, it’s a little more upsetting. He goes through a human’s year without seeing Autumn, and then another. The name waits in his chest.

Autumn comes early the next year. It’s the middle of the night, and a moment later, Summer might not have recognized him. He changes as he descends, all the hesitance and endings pressing itself into the shape of a tall man. When he unfolds, his brown hair falls past his shoulders in gentle waves and his dark eyes are careful, scanning the world around him like he’s seeing it for the first time.

Summer shrieks so loudly that he sees Autumn’s new form physically flinch in reaction. He pays it little mind, sprinting the short distance and flinging himself at the taller man so aggressively that they both go down in a whirl of leaves and dispensed forms. Autumn reforms slowly beneath him, still not accustomed to piecing his human form together as quickly as Summer.

“Ow,” he gets out.

“Where have you been?” Summer demands.

“Sorry,” Autumn frowns, “I’ve been… thinking. I lost track of time.”

Summer frowns down at him, and then disperses his human form, condensing again into it a bit away. He watches Autumn stumble back to his feet, still hesitant and unsure in this more solid form. It’s a good look, Summer will admit. It fits Autumn.

“Sorry,” Autumn says again.

“You apologize too much,” Summer tells him, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder. “Just don’t do it again or I’ll wait even longer next time.”

Autumn smiles a hesitant little smile. “Okay,” he says. “Okay.”

He needs to go soon, but since Autumn is here early, he has a little bit of time. He gestures to the other season.

“Come on,” he says, “let’s watch the sunrise. I’ve got something to tell you.”

Autumn looks a little scared, but his curiosity visibly wins out. He follows Summer through the trees. Summer leads him on and on until they finally come to an overlook where the view of the dark sky is clear. The sun isn’t quite rising yet, but he can see the light getting ready to come up over the horizon.

“I’m glad you decided to try,” Summer tells him, sitting down and stretching his legs out. “Human forms are strange and different from what we’re used to, but it’s a good difference. I like it. I think you will, too.”

Autumn slowly sits beside him. Summer watches him run his fingers through the grass, lips parted in surprise at the sensation.

“Have you thought of a name?” Summer asks him, laughing.

“No,” Autumn admits, shaking his head. “I don’t know where to start.”

“I decided on mine,” Summer tells him. “Do you wanna know?”

Autumn’s expression gives him away before he can even reply. Summer laughs, leaning back on his palms as the sky streaks with reds and golds.

“I decided on Yuu.”

“Yuu,” Autumn echoes softly.

Something about the way the other season says it cements it in Yuu’s chest. He doesn’t have a heart like humans, but if he did, he’s sure it would be racing. Autumn brings his knees up and leans against them, watching the golden light peek over the horizon. It’s warm when it washes across the horizon; after all, summer hasn’t quite passed yet.

“I like it,” Autumn says.

“What about Asahi?” Yuu asks abruptly.

The birds flee from the nearby trees. Autumn visibly starts.

“Huh?” He asks. “I thought you were going with Yuu?”

“Not for me,” Yuu turns to him. “For you.”

“Asahi,” Autumn echoes, and then again, “Asahi.”

He seems to genuinely ponder it for a moment. Yuu watches the expressions cross his face rapidly. The suggestion had been a spur of the moment, and he doesn’t remember where the name had come from, but something about it just fits Autumn.

“Okay,” Autumn murmurs, finally, “Asahi it is.”

The sun crests over the horizon and lights Yuu’s entire face in a brilliant glow. His smile shines even brighter.

Yuu leaves later that day. Asahi sees him off, and he seems hesitant like there’s something he wants to say but he can’t bring himself to. Yuu doesn’t push it. He doesn’t know what they’re building, but it’s still tentative now, and they’ve got all the time to do it. Yuu isn’t patient or subtle, but he doesn’t want to chase Asahi away again.

“See you next time,” he says.

He streaks away into the day, leaving light behind where his footsteps had been.

Time goes on, and people make up new tales. Sometimes, winter lasts longer than it should, and some say the groundhog saw its shadow. Others will say that spring came along, and winter stayed behind to spend a few extra days by his side.

Sometimes, at the end of summer, the last few days are hotter than the rest. Someone might say it’s because the earth is growing hotter every year and humanity is pushing it. A mother might tell her child that it’s because the summer is happy to finally greet the fall.

And maybe two men might overhear her on the sidewalk, hand in hand, a mysterious twinkle in their eyes and something strange and otherworldly about them. But if anyone knew the truth, they seemed none the wiser.

In the end, autumn comes, leaves fall, and life changes in a burst of color.

#asanoya #asanoyaweek21 #azumane asahi #nishinoya yuu #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#marimo writes #fuck shit i'm so far behind AHAHAHAH #shrieks #oh yeah #kagehina #kageyama tobio #hinata shoyo #i forgot abt them again sigh

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nostalgic-breton-girl · 4 years

Text

Hadvar and I were scarcely two miles out of Windhelm, and had not discussed anything beyond the strictly businesslike, when turning to me, and adopting a more genial tone – a broader accent, perhaps – he asked of me:

‘How are you finding Skyrim? – You’re a newcomer, I hear?’

‘I’ve been in the Grey Quarter four months,’ said I: ‘I’m hardly wet behind the ears.’

‘Ah! knowing Windhelm isn’t knowing Skyrim,’ he said.

‘From what I have heard of Skyrim,’ I ventured, ‘and from what I have seen, I gather it is cold... cold, and unforgiving.’

At this he laughed, quite merrily.

‘I hear that a lot... can’t say there isn’t a bit of truth in it. But... maybe we can change your mind about that, eh, Auxiliary?’

It was quite bizarre, to hear him say such a thing, when there was snow all about us, and with wisps of hair frosting at the edges of his Legion helmet: but there was a new tone in his voice, when he began to talk about himself, and about Skyrim. He was Skyrim born and bred: could not help but fill the many gaps which I yet retained, for, he said, Windhelm was not the archetype of the province – its high forbidding walls were not imitated elsewhere, and it was not quite so cold...

He was Skyrim born and bred: knew a Skyrim beyond what was propagandised, on both sides... Knew a Skyrim beyond the imperious Cyrodiilic tones of the woman who had recruited me, trained me: saw something quite remarkable, beneath the ice. He had joined the Legion out of love for the place, for this dream, he told me: had joined the Legion, that those who wished to bring a blizzard upon Skyrim, an iron fist, might be quashed; that the warmth he knew might return, nay, not return, be revealed once more.

Skyrim, said he, should welcome you, as it does all its sons and daughters: that you have received a cold and unforgiving welcome is not Skyrim at all, it is the Stormcloaks...

And he spoke, for a good while: deeper into his motivations, into the Skyrim which he loved. He was from a village to the south, he said, Riverwood, a wooded valley between mountain and glistening river, and by the gods, if I had been introduced there to Skyrim, and not Windhelm, with what admiration I should regard it now!

‘I understand it is rather less snowy, in other holds,’ said I.

‘You’d almost think you were in Cyrodiil, down in Falkreath,’ he replied: ‘hardly snows at all, even in winter; I don’t remember the last time Illinata froze over; it’s woodland, and green pasture, the lakeside, scattered farms; and wildflowers...’

It was so far from the Skyrim I had seen – so far, indeed, from my native Solstheim – that I could scarcely imagine it; I had seen paintings, before, of Cyrodiil, and warmer parts; had not quite believed that a land might be so bright and flourishing.

And wildflowers, really, in all this snow! –

But we had scarcely been riding a few hours, and Hadvar had been telling me all sorts of things about Skyrim which I was not sure whether to believe, when I noticed that the snow was almost gone from the wayside, and that the skies were clear, a clear sky such as I had rarely seen in my life. I was quite dazzled by the sunlight, and so did not realise, for another short while, that before me was not a vast white expanse of snow, low-hanging clouds: but we were coming up to the lowlands, there were trees on the horizon, and beside the road, valiant, was a cluster of dragon’s-tongue.

The flowers were so bright, and so merry, and so quite unlike the thorny snowberry bushes, that I near halted my horse, that I might take a closer look; and though I did not stop, I was again assailed several minutes later, by a blanket of flowers, dainty things in summer colours, which invaded the land as the snow did, further north. And Hadvar caught my surprise, chuckled.

‘Told you it wasn’t all like Windhelm,’ he said: ‘and look at that, the sun’s coming out.’

‘The sun, indeed,’ said I: that improbable warmth!...

#skyrim #writing #oc:talvynea #hadvar #imperial legion

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owillofthewisps · 4 years

Text

maybe winter, maybe winter

notes: surely you didn’t think i was going to make a post about geralt sewing and then not write it, right? and then @ambivertomnivore and i were talking about her excellent stardew valley fic (on Ao3 under dreaminglestrade!) which lead to talking about winter and then i realized i hadn’t written anything set in winter. and winter is my favorite season so i had to right this wrong.

with apologies to anyone who actually knows how to sew.

am i ignoring kaer morhen for winter? you bet.

title is from regina spektor's 'sellers of flowers'

also if i disappear it’s animal crossing. it’s always animal crossing.

rating: teen? maybe even gen? it’s literally just fluff. like. sappy fluff.

pairing: geralt of rivia x reader (gender neutral)

word count: 1.3k

winter comes with the type of cold that taps into your bones, freezes the marrow of you solid. but with winter, so too comes your Witcher. and on a chill winter night, you watch your Witcher mend.

You aren’t sure what wakes you.

It could be the soft crackle of the fire, the logs snapping like little bones under the flames’ teeth, a gritted warning to the chiming icicles still dripping from your roof. In the deep clutch of winter, the fire blazes bright against the blurred haze of the drifting snow, against the wicked fingers of the frostbitten wind. It spits and sputters in the velvet dark of the night. It could be that which wakes you.

More likely, though, what wakes you is the empty space beside you. Hazily, you realize you’ve crept into the middle of the bed in Geralt’s absence. The warmth he’s left in his wake is like the sun barely peeking through clouds, just a hint of heat. You shift. The blankets - old, worn things, but still thick enough to bundle over you while you sleep, enough to keep winter’s chill touch at bay - have been carefully tucked in around you.

You roll over and cushion your head against your arm. The firelight burnishes Geralt into something otherworldly, the edge of a dream, the light playing over his skin and his scars like a lover’s touch. It colors him soft orange and gold, and you think of the witch-hazel that heralds his return to you, how the spidery sunrise petals glow bright against the soft gleam of the frost. You drink him in.

He’s sewing, you realize, the needle an unerring blade in his deft fingers. Small, tight stitches, ones that will hold steadfast even against his bulk. There’s a few finished shirts folded neatly on a nearby stool. He works steadily on the shirt he’s mending, and as the fabric flutters, you get a glimpse of the garment draped over his knee.

It’s one of your dresses. You’d caught it on a mislaid nail not long ago, torn a rip in it like ice splitting on the river. The stitches are carefully delicate, the thread almost an exact match for the fabric. The ache catches in your ribs, tucks careful into the gaps of the bones.

“Couldn’t sleep?” you murmur.

Those golden eyes flash to you. “No.” The needle jabs through the fabric.

You hum. He sleeps better in the winter, but there is no true cure for the thoughts that prick him awake.

“Can I stay up with you?”

“You should sleep.”

“I will,” you say, because sleep is still tugging at you, still swirling like snowflakes across your skin. “I like being in the quiet with you.”

And it is quiet. Not silent, for sounds spill through your home: the fire pops and crackles; the winter wind scratches at your shuttered windows with sharp, bitter teeth; the carved wooden walls of your house creak and moan as they settle. It does not diminish the hush draped over the two of you, a soft cotton shroud to block out the sounds of the outside world.

You stay curled beneath the blankets as Geralt works. Even such a small movement makes his muscles shift beneath his skin, the play of them entrancing.

The window pane rattles as the wind rises to a howl. The chill seeps through the glass, settles over you like a layer of frost. You finally slip from bed. You pad to Geralt, the floorboards frigid beneath your toes, and drape yourself over his back.

He grunts, but he turns to you when you place a finger under his chin. You lay a gentle kiss on his lips. He chases you as you pull away, and you laugh low and sweet as you return to him. It’s mellow and tender, and the two of you melt into each other for a moment.

You pull back but stay draped against him, feel the rise and fall of his breath as his broad back expands under you. Geralt smoothes out the fabric he’d crinkled under his fingertips and picks up the needle once more.

You watch. The needle gleams like moonlight, the same silver sheen of his sword, and it flickers like water, flashes like lightning as it pierces the fabric.

“Who taught you?” you ask, half-muffled by his frostbite hair.

Geralt grunts.

You let the hush fall again, watch him sew a few more stitches, and say: “Will you teach me?”

His hands fall still.

“You don’t have to,” you say, nosing against the shell of his ear.

Geralt starts his work again, pierces the silver needle through the soft, worn fabric of the shirt like it’s the hide of a beast. Then he sighs and sets the mending aside. You slide into the open cradle of his arms, let him tuck his broad frame around you like a shield.

“Do you know the basics?” he asks.

“No.”

Zy is the one who mends. She laughs each time you bring her a torn shirt or skirt, the sound high and fluting, and so you have never bothered to learn.

Geralt sighs, the wind of it stirring the hair at the nape of your neck. “How you survive is beyond me at times.”

“Pure spite, usually.”

He huffs. “Come here.”

“I am here,” you say, leaning up to press a kiss against the carved marble of his jaw.

He grunts and wraps a large hand around your wrist. He tucks the shirt into your grasp and pricks the needle through fabric.

Geralt leads you through the stitches without many words. It’s for the best; hazy with sleep, they will likely slip your mind. He nudges you here and there, guides you back into smaller stitches. The fire’s warmth licks over you. When you reach the end of the rip, he presses a kiss against your neck and retrieves his mending.

“It’s all crooked,” you say, tracing a finger down the wobbly line of it. “I should have gotten a scrap for this. Show me how to take them out?”

“Leave it.”

“Geralt, it looks like a child mended your shirt.”

“No,” he says. He runs a gentle finger over the repaired tear. “It looks like you did.”

You go still.

Unperturbed, Geralt folds the shirt and tucks it away. He waits. You reach out for the final shirt. He presses a kiss against the curve of your spine as you lean forward, his lips burning through your shift. The wind howls, but it is not the raging winter of a few weeks ago.

“The crocuses will come soon,” you murmur. You had loved crocuses once, the way the verdant stems pushed through dirt and snow alike to unfold gloriously bright, deep plum with just a touch of golden stamen. You love them still, you suppose, but to gain them means to lose him again.

You recline back into the cradle of Geralt’s arms. He grunts, but simply shifts so he can continue to sew with you tucked into him. You lean up, press your lips against the edge of his jaw, soft against the hard line of him. “The snow’s starting to melt.”

“They aren’t here yet,” Geralt says.

You hum.

The hush settles over you again. You can feel sleep settling over you, can feel your eyelids drooping. Geralt shifts, moves you so your drifting form is braced against his chest. You turn just enough to press your cheek against the muscled brawn of him.

He sighs. You can feel the play of his muscles as he sews.

“Her name was Astrid.”

“Hmm?”

“The seamstress who taught me. She saw that no one would take my coin.”

“Oh,” you breathe. You tuck yourself against him even more, wait to see if he’ll find it in himself to give you another piece of him.

He does.

The winter wind twines around your home, shrieks like something ungodly, something bitter and dying, but neither of you hear it.

You sit by the fire with your Witcher, and you listen to him mend.

taglist: @fairytale07 @1950schick @stretchkingblog97 @ayamenimthiriel @nonamejustshame @msgeorgiarae @bumblingandblooming @sageandberries-png @hina-chans-stuff @alwayshave-faith

#geralt x reader #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt imagine #the witcher x reader #the witcher imagine #the witcher fic #god you guys i am Real Soft rn #series: secret home

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missingartist · 4 years

Text

The Witcher’s Mate Chapter 19

The portal snapped closed behind them sending the trio spewing over the hard granite floor. Dust and grit curled up into billowing clouds sending the three into a fit of coughs and splutters. Jaskier poked his head up between a pair of legs and one hand that frantically twitched at the side of his neck.

‘Whose ever knee that is, while that is very pleasant, I am not sure Geralt would appreciate either of you doing that.’ Jaskier bit out, worming his way out from the bodies.

‘I forgot how low the floor was in here’ a muffled groan forced its way out front somewhere beneath the flailing limbs, a white-haired head popped up gazing around the battered room.

Vesemir had his blade raised and thrust in one of the bodies face before he even recognised the blossoming young woman and her annoying bard. Typically, the Witchers stronghold was only occupied during the most barren winter months, when work was made difficult from the weather. Most creatures limited their attack in the colder weather, drowners trapped by thick ice, wreaths. Kilmore and ghoul attack slowed to the point there was very little money, and it made more sense to hole up in the warmth of the great hall with food and ale sharing stories of the beasts and women they had met in the months of isolation on the path. But for Vesemir the appeal of riding another two months was unappealing, and there was much to be done at Kaer Morhen, the place had fallen into disrepair and could stand to have two months patch up before the others arrived. So, the flash of light and the three sprawling bodies was unexpected.

Cross-eyed, the bard stared down the blade of the Witcher, who grunted down in annoyance.

‘Vesemir long time no see, how are you? You old….Witcher.’ Jaskier smile nervously up at the gruff man.

‘Vesemir!’ Ciri greeted, standing up and pulling the bewildered former kitchen maiden with her.

‘Ciri! My girl, you’ve grown’ he pulled the slim girl into a bear-like hug lifting her off the grown entirely. ‘And who is this?’ Vesemir puffed out, catching a glimpse at the cowering girl edge herself toward the bookcases.

‘This is Adva…student of Triss, currently first of Yennefer’s hit list, suspected mermaid and Geralt’s soul mate, like actually soul mate.’

Blinking across at the older man, terror surged beneath the brunette skin. The gaze was heavy and piercing as the man all but dropped Ciri to her feet to look the mermaid up and down. Anxiety was back, and she felt like she had back in Brightwater under the scrutiny of Cersi, Tradi or the Vivian. It made her realise how bare she felt in the flimsy clothing Ciri lent her.

‘We need help…figuring out the mermaid and soulmate part.’

Ciri pulled back from her former teacher and smiled at the nervous girl, who eyes now focused solely on her ragged boots.

‘Well… I think we are going to need more chairs in the library. Anyone you annoy Yennefer enough to get on her hit list is always welcome here.’ Vesemir greeted, pulling Adva and Ciri toward the library.

‘Tell me everything. Bard bring three more chairs from the celler.’

‘Brilliant just brilliant’ Jaskier sighed as he made his way through the vast stronghold.

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Geralt could not close his eyes; every time he did, he saw Adva being huddled into the portal in the strong embrace of Jaskier. Her retreating figure was etched into his mind for the past three days. The tightness of Ciri blouse over her breast and stomach, the lacing at the top of the shirt could not fasten so in an attempt to make them fit she had pulled the sleeve down into a peasant blouse, exposing her neck and that spot in which he buried his head in it during their night together, the pure scent that intoxicated him. Her hips had strained against the tightness of the dress, Adva hips the more shapely then his young ward, soft and supple, his hands still burnt in remembrance of how his hand buried into her ample hips as he ground into her feeling the wetness against me.

Scrunching his eye shut, he was forced to relieve that look on her face, the sadness and misery. He wanted to talk to her explain, but as soon as he advances towards, she flinched and retreated behind Jaskier. A furious range formed inside him, Jaskier, the man he had to save so man times who stuck his nose in one to many times, he had dragged her off for him, his little flower, his love, his siren, HIS MATE. Blood dripped from his hands as eight half-moons cut pieced his golden skin, the warm liquid dripped over his fingers and splattered noiselessly against the dirt way he lay. He could not bring himself to care or even feel the mild pain; he felt nothing, just the burning desire to regain Adva, to have her in his arms and wearing his mark as soon as possible. Without her, near him, he felt weak, near collapsed when she had abandoned him, but at the same time field with rage, he laid waste to the Garden, burnt the roses and reduced the fountained to a pile of stones. Before climbing on the back of Roach and riding day and night though forest, bogs and towns to reach his Witchers home, stopping only long enough for the horses to rest and Yennefer to reapply the paste to the runes on his skin. The fever still gripped him, the balm now lasted only a few hours, but he refused to let them stop for the briefest moment to reapply the substance. Instead, he had to feed the need to be close to her; so he rode on closer and closer to Kaer Morhen. As soon as they passed the town of Bastion, he could smell that scent on the wind, apples, and the sea. It calmed and excited him; a pang of anxiety took hold of him. It was something that he never felt before, a panic that gnawed at him for the inside out. He needed to get to her, to explain, to talk and to comfort.

Being told she was not human and possibly a mermaid in the span of a few hours was a shock. Geralt blink and he saw her distress flash against his eyelids, the tears. It broke him, and he wanted to comfort his mate, but it was Jaskier who swooped in. A silent growl shook his chest as he dug his fingers deeper into his palms, the blood flowing more freely, oozed onto the mud. At the minute, he couldn’t care less about any of them, Jaskier, Triss, Yennefer even Ciri could all go to hell, he could carry Adva away to live in a cave for all he cared as long as he had her. Geralt never thought he was a possessive man, but by the gods, he wanted to have every inch of her and give himself completely over to her. The overwhelming feeling pounded against his temples, and the sharp ache cut through his head as he was brought out of his musing by the harsh whispers behind him.

‘You have never loved him. You just love the idea of someone being there. You treated him more like a lapdog than a lover.’ Triss snapped.

She poked at the fire angrily as glared at the Yennefer, who in her usual fashion wore a plunging neckline that dipped down to her navel, it was tight and revealing and not a travelling dress, but it not sure practicality was what Yen was going for.

‘Don’t you think I deserved someone.’ Yennefer half whispered; half yelled.

‘Of course, I do. But you were horrid to her. You know what she reminded me a lot of you when you first came to Arteuza. Lost and scared searching for a place. She even had her own Tisssisa in Tradi and Cersi, a bully who prodded and poked, filling you head with the position. But you managed you had the power and support to getaway. She did not. Have some sympathy.’ Triss glared into the crackling fire.

‘I sacrificed my motherhood for that. You have no idea what I have surrendered.’ Triss growled.

‘You sacrificed nothing. You gave it away.’ Triss countered, giving her a pointed look. ‘You wanted power and don’t try and kid yourself. I love you like a sister, but sometimes you can be so obtuse.’

Yennefer was becoming increasingly hostile as the days went on, switching from lost little girl to savage man-eating banshee. Every jab and goading comment ground down on the Witcher who pensively look deep into the horizon but Triss knew Geralt; his body was rigid and tense, he didn’t eat or sleep just stare into the fire or huddle up with his back to them for the few brief hours he let the horse rest. And there was only so much more he would be able to stand before he snapped, and she fears that Yennefer would be on the receiving end of that or worse it would get Geralt off in an unbound rage, and he would do something that he would forever regret.

‘You seriously believe Geralt belong to her.’ Yennefer stood and pace in front of the fire, casting a frantic shadow against the trees.

‘That your problem, you think Geralt belong to someone. Adva genuinely cares for him. And she did not cast him out over his doing the right thing. That right he told me…honestly, you have no idea how spoilt and nasty you sounded.’

‘Well, to me, she couldn’t get away from him fast enough.’ Yennefer smirked at her; it was her character smirk, the one she used when she was right.

‘That because she thinks Geralt prefer you over her, and she doesn't want to be blasted through the floor again.’ Triss ranted, in a hoarse tone. ‘You draped your self over him, what was she to think.’

‘If she were truly his mate, don’t you think she couldn’t be apart from him. Even if I were draped all over him, do you think he has really changed? He’d have a different woman in his bed every night; she would be pandering after him. Trust me; I spared her the hurt. I bet she had already moved on to Jaskier…’

‘Enough’ Geralt roared, bolting up in bed. ‘Don’t you two have anything else you can talk about.’ He snapped and stood.

Two of the two women, he loomed menacingly over them, his body stood to his full height as he glared at them with dark eyes. His sword was clutched tightly in his hand, glistening murderously in the moonlight. Trails of sweat mixed with the blue rune and melted down his skin, it was hard to see any of his bronzed skin beneath the mess of sweat and paint. The fever seemed to take hold on his with a vengeance, his breath was coming in heavy pants, as he looked at both the woman.

‘Geralt…we didn’t…’

‘She wouldn’t do that….not with Jaskier, she needs me’ Geralt gritted out. Triss took a step back, the frantic look in his eyes scared her.

‘Please…. she could barely look at you when they left. Could not help but notice she seemed really attached to Jaskier, they have the whole of Kaer Morhen to themselves…lots of room for screaming. I bet she is currently in one of those lush four posters spread open and Jaskier buried deep into her pussy.’

Yennefer laughed. The sound tinkled against the trees and into the night air, it was the only sound that would be heard apart from the occasional crackle of the fire and a distant owl hooting. Triss honestly could not comprehend what was happening in Yennefer head, if she really understood what was happening if she truly believed that Geralt wouldn’t actually hurt her. That he could do serious harm to her with his blade or signs. Part of her wanted that, it ashamed her to say, but Yennefer had been taking every opportunity to push the Witcher to his breaking point, she took great pleasure in it. Yennefer was hurt, and that made her deadly. Still, Geralt wasn’t his normal passive self, who let her push and ordered him about, he wasn’t that lonely puppy craving attention and companion anymore, he had love, or would have true love soon with someone that was wholly different for the mage, someone who was his and his alone.

What happened next surprised Yennefer but not wholly Triss. Aard, the telekinesis push erupted for Geralt’s hands, sending them flying backwards. The purple eyes mage hurtled backwards, through the fire and hit a nearby bolder with a sicken crake. Triss was lucky that the full force of the blast was direct at the other mage, she only caught the edge of the blast sending her stumbling into a pile of leaves and rotting vegetation was cushioned her fall. In horror, she watched as the Geralt leapt over the fire, sword raised, and he swung. She couldn’t bare to watch, screwing her eyes she waited. The sounds a metal hitting stone echoed in the clearing. Then a deadly silence. Peaking out from behind her corkscrew curls, the blade was inches from her face her violet eyes staring wide at the sliver of sharped silver.

The silver-haired Witcher growled and grunted like a rogue animal, terrified and panicked. ‘Never…never would she bed with another…. She is MINE!’ he roared.

‘HOW DARE YOU ATTACK ME! AFTER ALL, I HAVE DONE FOR YOU!’ Yennefer howled sending out a wave of fire out, knocking her attacker off her.

Groaning in pain, he rolled out the way of another blast before twirling to his feet, with all the grace of a dancer. The sword hummed as he twirled the heavy blade, the wind screamed as it cut through it. Yennefer raised her hand before her as Geralt stood, budging muscle strained against his armour, eyes fierce and deadly. Plenty of times Yennefer had seen the fierce warrior beat down floes with nothing but his trusty sword but never had she been on the receiving end. Magic would be useless, and Geralt could inflict significant damage if he didn’t kill her.

‘Geralt…Stop! I am sure Yennefer was just being Yennefer. Adva is just confused right now. Finding out your part mermaid and a soulmate to a Witcher in the same day as behind attacked by a crazy Mage is hard to get your head around. You two are soul mates, meant to be. She just needs time to understand and get her head around it all. I am sure she is holed up in one of the rooms waiting for you, alone.’ Triss cried as she jumped in front of them. ‘You need to calm down…please. For Adva.’ Triss called, softly

The three stood tensely for a moment, both women's eyes on him as he glanced between the two. Panting hard his eyes bleed black, hands tightening on the hilt of his blade.

Snort pushed itself through his nose as a ‘Fuck’ howled passed his lip as he threw down his sword. Spearing one last glance at the mages, he disappeared into the forest.

‘That little bitch has done something to him. Geralt would never…’ Yennefer huffed, brushing the dust of her dress.

‘When are you going to accept you have lost.’ Triss rolled her eyes as she picked up the silver blade, sliding it back into his bindle on Roach, before sitting back down near the fire and waiting for his return. ‘Rest up; we will be riding on as soon as he gets back. We need to get to Kaer Morhen as soon as possible.’

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This originally wasn't gong to be a chapter but I felt like it needed to. Someone messaged me on tumblr about why Geralt didn't chase after her through a portal, from what I remember from the books and games Geralt hated portals and only uses them when absolutely necessary so I thought it was very Geralty plus those two need a little time apart. And there will be plenty of time for Geralt to chase after her *drools* can you imagine being chased by jealous Geralt. What did you think? I wasn't sure about the fight but Yennefer was being very annoying. Plus things Geralt and Adva life is hotting up and they have a lot to pick through so it gonna be interesting. And Vesemir! The love I have for that man! Please leave a comment!

@fandom-lover-4 @sageandberries-png @wastingmypotential @luxyash @whitespring21 @ayamenimthiriel @crazynocturnalkiki @wonderlandfandomkingdom @shesthelastjedi @broco8 @introvertedmouse @threepupsinapuddle @pastelblogsposts

#geralt imagine #geralt x reader #witcher geralt #geralt smut #geralt of rivia #Geralt #geralt x smut #geralt x oc #netflix the witcher #witcher netflix #witcher 3 #thewitcher

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haledamage · 4 years

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Sunshine and Starlight

my first @shepherds-of-haven fic!

I have been blindsided by Iorwen/Chase as a pairing. I adore Chase, but I thought these two wouldn’t work romantically. I literally made a second girl with the intention of romancing Chase, but Iorwen had other plans and called dibs. This scene appeared in my mind so suddenly and vividly that I knew it wouldn’t let me have any peace until I wrote it :) I don’t mind because it turns out they’re adorable together! who’d’ve known

takes place sometime between returning from the Reach and leaving for the next mission, but there aren’t really any mentioned spoilers, so if you don’t have access to the alpha it won’t be a problem

----

Late at night, the skies above Haven were endless.

Even with the light pollution from the lanterns below, the stars were bright and abundant, twinkling merrily in the clear winter night. They weren’t much different from the stars Iorwen grew up with, that she used to watch with her mother a lifetime ago.

She sat on the corner of the battlements around the Shepherd’s compound, far enough out that the guard patrols couldn't disturb her. The dingy white city stretched out below her, the dark abyss of stars flowing above, and she let the peace of the night settle around her like an old friend.

The night sky wasn’t the only thing to join her on the wall. After a while, she became aware of a presence at her side. Though she hadn’t heard anyone approach, she knew who it was as soon as she realized he was there. “Hello, Chase.”

“Good evening, sunshine,” he said jovially. His boots tap-tap-tapped a rhythm as he kicked absentmindedly at the wall beneath them, a sudden wealth of noise and energy where just moments ago he’d been completely silent. “Thought I’d find you up here.”

She turned her gaze away from the sky to meet the bright green eyes of the man at her side. “You did?”

“No.” He shrugged. “But I looked everywhere else.”

“Well, here I am.” She gestured to herself with a little flourish. “Why were you looking for me?”

“Oh, you know. This and that,” Chase said vaguely. He studied her face in silence for a moment, though Iorwen had no idea what he might be looking for. In a surprisingly soft voice, he asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” At his doubtful look, she added, “Really. I’m just… thinking.” She pulled her knees up to her chest as if it would help force the words past the knot in her throat. It had been a long time since she’d talked to anyone about her past, but these days it seemed to be all she talked about. “About my mother. Today would have been her birthday. She died when I was ten.”

He was quiet for a long time, either because he didn't know what to say or because he was waiting to see if she was done. Probably the latter; she'd never known Chase to be at loss for words. Finally he just said, "I’m sorry."

She shook her head. "Thanks, but it was a long time ago." Iorwen's eyes were drawn back heavensward. "I wonder what she would think of my being here. Being a Shepherd. She used to tell me I was meant for greatness." She pitched her voice lower, imitating her mother's voice, accent dropping back into the one she'd had as a child. "‘Someday, starlight, you’re gonna change the world. The gods themselves are gonna see how bright you shine.’"

"Starlight?"

"Yep," she said fondly. "Mom loved her celestial-themed pet names. Had a whole collection of them."

"Like ‘sunshine’?" There was something in his voice almost like jealousy. Like he'd never considered that his nickname for her might not be original.

She found his possessiveness strangely charming; she liked that he wanted them to have something that was just theirs. "No. More moon-and-star themed, mostly. ‘Sunshine’ is all yours." Iorwen bit her lip and added, a little hesitantly, "Though what you said when I asked you about it… may have hit a little close to home."

"In a bad way?"

"No."

She could feel Chase's eyes on her, but she kept hers resolutely pointed at the stars. She knew she would say something dumb and probably overly sentimental if she looked his way.

He caught the dropped conversation before it could fall, not giving the quiet a chance to wedge its way between them. "Well, my opinion may not be worth much--"

"It is to me," she interrupted quietly. Apparently keeping her eyes to herself wasn't enough to keep the affectionate comments at bay.

His breath hitched the slightest bit, only audible in the otherwise silent night, but he kept talking like she hadn't said anything. "--but I think she’d be proud of you. I don’t see how she couldn’t be."

She wanted to hug him, but didn't want to risk making him uncomfortable, so instead she settled for nudging his shoulder with her own. He leaned into the contact immediately, pressing his side to hers.

She was fairly certain she's blushing. Probably, it was too dark for him to see it. Part of her wished it wasn't; she liked the sly grin he gave her when he made her blush. "I think she would have liked you."

"Of course she would. I'm very likeable." It's flippant, almost dismissive, cutting off any potential compliment she may have given him before she had a chance to give it. He's deflecting, she knew he was, putting up walls before she could sneak any closer. Maybe he'd already let her closer than he meant to.

She was used to it. Everyone in the Shepherds seemed to have walls of their own. Some, like Blade, built fortresses of steel and ice to guard their secrets; others, like Trouble, it was more like a hedgerow, meant to disguise from prying eyes but not to keep away visitors.

With Chase, it was more like tinted glass, concealed but still tantalizingly transparent. He gave her just enough of a glimpse past the wall to draw her closer, to leave her wanting more.

Iorwen didn't let it get to her. She was a patient woman. She didn't push.

Instead, she gave him the subject change he wanted. "You never did say why you were looking for me."

“Yes! I almost forgot,” he said, so clearly a lie that even she could hear it, “I brought you something.”

With an overly dramatic flourish, he pulled a small box out of some hidden pocket and presented it to her. She took it gingerly, unsure what to expect. It was a very fancy wooden box painted with what must be thousands of tiny, pale blue and lavender flowers. It was light enough that it could be empty, but she knew he wasn’t the kind of man to give empty boxes as presents, even very pretty empty boxes, so she carefully opened the lid.

Inside was a neat row of small, white paper bags. Iorwen knew what it was even before the scent of apricot hit her nose, before Chase said, voice sweet and more than a little smug, “I found some more of that tea you like. Heard you telling Tallys you were out.”

‘Out’ was something of an understatement. Some scarcity issues in the west meant even Riel had been having trouble getting ahold of it for less than a small fortune. “Where did you find this?” she asked, awed, but remembered who she was talking to and quickly added, “No, nevermind. I don’t need to know. You didn’t have to--”

“I know I didn’t.” He ruffled her hair affectionately, his hand lingering on the crown of her head. “Happy birthday.”

She closed the box and slipped it into one of her pockets, not wanting to risk dropping it from this height. “It’s not my birthday.”

“I know. It was a couple of sennights ago, right? I know it’s kind of a touchy subject,” he waved a hand as if to clear away the pain that she associated with her birthday before it could land, “so I figured I’d wait.”

Iorwen finally gave in to that hug she’d wanted to give him earlier. He hugged her back without hesitation, arms tight around her as if to stop her from pulling away too soon - as if she had any intention of doing so. “Thank you, Chase,” she whispered in his ear.

“Anytime, sunshine,” he murmured back. “Anytime.”

It would be dangerously easy to get lost in the warmth of him, even more dangerous because she knew he’d let her. His amber and leather scent was equal parts comforting and enticing, and she realized abruptly that the soft fabric she pressed her face into was the scarf she’d given him for his birthday. It still carried a hint of honeysuckle from the oils she used in her hair. She wondered if he ever noticed, if it made him think of her; she bit the inside of her cheek to stop from asking.

Iorwen pulled away before her mind could continue wandering down that path. Chase let her go easily enough, though she could feel the slightest tension in his arms that said maybe he didn’t want to. She tried not to be smug about it.

He didn’t give her time to be. Without another word, he hopped off the wall and turned to offer her an elbow, like he was some fancy nobleman wanting to take her for a walk in the garden. “We should head back inside. I don’t fancy being lectured for letting you catch a cold. C’mon, I’ll buy you a drink.”

She slid down from the wall next to him, feeling graceless and clumsy in comparison though she knew she was neither. “I don’t drink.”

“And?”

“And neither do you.” She tried to keep her voice serious, but couldn’t stop the playful smile spreading across her face. “Also this is technically my house.”

Chase shrugged. “Semantics. We’ll improvise. Unless you’re not interested…?” There was a subtle challenge in his words and a much less subtle one in the quirk of his eyebrow and the tilt of his lips. They both knew just how interested she was; he wanted to see if she’d admit it.

“I didn’t say that.” She laced her arm through his and was rewarded with a bright grin. “Lead the way.”

It was a short walk down from the battlements into the compound itself, but on some unspoken agreement they turned and took the long way. And if they both walked a little slower than they normally would have, well, that was between them and the stars.

#iorwen emroth #shepherds of haven #shoh #iorwen/chase #I'll reblog this at a more reasonable hour but I wanted to get it posted while tumblr will let me do so #they're so CUTE y'all #iorwen is completely inexperienced with romance and anything related to it and she's still got chased wrapped around her finger :3 #I hope I got chase's voice right I'm not entirely confident in it but that's just the impostor syndrome talking #I haven't written for a month so my mind is trying to tell me I've forgotten how

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inevitably-johnlocked · 4 years

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Five Fics Friday: April 10/20

SPECIAL EASTER WEEKEND EDITION: FIFTY FICS FRIDAY

Hey, everyone!!

Well, I asked on my Twitter and here if y’all wanted to see a special edition 5FF for the Long Weekend since we’re all stuck inside (and some of you stuck with family I’m sure you’d like to avoid or are just tired of seeing), and it was a unanimous YES, because who doesn’t love to curl up all weekend with a good book or fanfic??

So here we are: Fifty fics either pulled out of my ass, recently read, recently bookmarked, or recently Marked for Later! Each section has a count so you know how many are in that section (and it’s for myself when I go to double check the count, LOL). I hope you guys enjoy these!! <3 Love you all, and happy reading :)

As always, read-more will appear on the third reblog. Sorry mobile, please don’t hate me :(

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@johnlockficclub APRIL NOMINATIONS (5)

A Beginner's Guide to Apiology. by VictoryCandescence (M, 10,952 w., 1 Ch. || Retirement AU || Friendship, Love, Bees & Beekeeping, Old Age, Dreamy Sexytimes, Angst, Soulmates, Grumpy Sherlock, Magical Realism) – John and Sherlock meet for the first time as old men in Sussex. (to read)

Through the Clouds by Mazarin221b (E, 20,004 w., 6 Ch. || Retirement, Sussex, Bees, Home Improvement, First Time, Romance) – Sherlock takes a remarkably early retirement at 47, and convinces John that a change of pace would do them both good. They buy an old cottage on the South Downs, and exchange their nonstop life in Baker Street for quiet contemplation, bee studies, and book writing. They might go completely insane, but sometimes it takes stepping outside of the life you're living to find the life you want. Part 1 of Through The Clouds (“WINNER” fic)

The Winter Garden by Callie4180 (T, 31,213 w., 13 Ch. || Post-S4, Retirement, Christmas, Slow Burn, Grown-Up Rosie, Parenthood, Rosie’s Cat, Angst with Happy Ending, Holidays, Beekeeping, Magical Realism, Sherlock POV, Sherlock’s Violin, Future Fic, Sussex, Honey, Magical Healing Honey, Love Confessions, Sherlock’s Scar, First Kiss, Touching, Mycroft is Dying) – As Sherlock nears the end of his career, he's given the gift of a cottage in Sussex. The honey from the beehives out back is amazing. Almost...magical.

Where Else Would I Be? by cwb (E, 34,910 w., 10 Ch. || Retirementlock, Domestic Fluff, Falling in Love, Parentlock, Fluff and Smut, Reminiscing) – John and Sherlock's five-year-old granddaughter spends the weekend with them in Sussex. Sherlock happily indulges her whims, and John takes care of them while quietly revisiting the past thirty years of their lives together.

Crimson Hymns by brilliantlyburning (E, 48,982 w., 9 Ch. || Post-S3/TAB, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Drug Addiction, Unhealthy Coping Methods, Demisexual Sherlock, Boxing, Pining, Sensory Processing Issues, Drug Use, First Kiss / Time, BDSM, Mary is Not Good, Parentlock, Proposal, Happy Ending, Beekeeping, Violence, References to Addiction, Poetry) – He laid his head over John’s heart, eyes level with his silver-rough scar, and listened to the crimson hymns beating beneath the surface. He imagined flowers blooming in his own chest: veins weaving intricate patterns on petals of thin muscle engorged with blood, sinew for stems and tendons for roots—the flowers would be poppies, maybe (addictive) or foxglove (deadly yet useful)—twining gleaming blood-red around the porcelain bone of his ribs. In his mind’s eye the gruesome bouquet all tied together on the left side of his chest, the stems bound together in heartstrings and the flowers fed by the rhythmic contraction of ventricles. It’s yours, he imagined saying to John—from the vena cava to the mitral valve to the arteries it is yours.— Or, the Love Song of W. Sherlock S. Holmes. (to read)

RECENT RE-READS (5)

Five Times John Watson Remained Oblivious (K+, 1,154 w., 1 Ch. || Five and Ones, Romance, Friendship, Asexual Sherlock, Queerplatonic Relationship) – ...And one time he didn't. asexual!Sherlock/John.

Linger by orphan_account (E, 4,879 w., 1 Ch. || Lingerie, Fluff and Smut, BJ / HJ, Switchlock, Sherlock in Lingerie, Come Play, Dirty Talk, Anal Fingering, Anal/Oral, Implied Shower Sex, Neck Kissing) – Sherlock decides to surprise John after a somewhat stressful day at work.

Given In Evidence by verityburns (M, 5,034 w., 19 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post-TRF, Angst, Drama, Case Fic, Romance, BAMF!John, Submissive Sherlock, First Kiss, Humour, Three Garridebs) – Coming back from the dead can be a complicated business. With a new case on the horizon, rebuilding a life is one thing... rebuilding a friendship quite another. For Sherlock and John, things may never be just the same...

Iris by slashscribe (E, 11,948 w., 1 Ch. || Parentlock, Pining Sherlock, Post-S3) – Sherlock does his best to make John happy when John comes back to 221B with his new baby after the events of Season 3, but Sherlock has a track record of getting things wrong in this area. This story is an exploration of their gradual shift from friends to lovers, told from Sherlock's perspective, full of a lot of pining and lack of emotional awareness.

Fucking Cake by Random_Nexus (E, 12,965 w., 1 Ch. || Pre-Slash, Humour/Crack, Inanimate Object Smut, Frottage, “For a Case” / “Experiment”, PWP / Kinky, Mutual Pining, Fluff) – Sherlock brings home a chocolate cake, John finds him about to have sex with said cake, then exceedingly weird hijinx ensue. Part 1 of "Fucking Baked Goods" - Sherlock BBC

NEW MFL’s THIS WEEK (11)

Guardian and Assistant by I_Have_No_Clue (M, 1,229 w., 1 Ch. || Omegaverse || Blow Jobs, PWP, Alpha Sherlock/Omega John, Mentions of Heat) – In this A/O world, ever Alpha, Beta, and Omega have a Type to them that describes the traits they have. John tries to figure out Sherlock's. Part 1 of the Types series

Bonneville Black by HollyShadow88 (E, 3,362 w., 1 Ch. || Established Relationship, Motorcycles, Motorcycle Sex, Public Blow Jobs, Semi-Public Sex) – John discovers that Sherlock has a motorbike. He also discovers that he finds Sherlock on a motorbike to be unreasonably attractive.

Code 221b by whitchry9 (T, 6,528 w., 11 Ch. || S1 Canon Compliant, Medical, Paramedics, Hurt/Comfort, Outsider POV) – Sherlock Holmes is well known to the paramedics of London. So when John Watson comes into the picture, it seems like a fantastic solution. Someone would take care of Sherlock and prevent all those problems. Of course, they didn't think about what would happen if John was hurt. (They really should have.) Part 1 of the The Patron Saint of Idiots series

Permanent Fixture by vitruvianwatson (E, 18,836 w., 9 Ch || Post-S4, Parentlock, Slow Build, Friends to Lovers, They’re Good Parents, Blushing Sherlock, First Kiss/Time, Explicit Consent, Sexual Content) – Now, as Rosie sat curled up against Sherlock’s side, John watched and wondered exactly how he had ended up here. Domesticity had never suited him before, not at any point in his life. His disastrous marriage had been proof of that. But somehow, here in the warmth and safety of 221B Baker Street, here with Sherlock Holmes reading medical jargon to his daughter, Sherlock’s bony feet nudging against his leg, John couldn’t imagine anyplace that would make him happier.

Sex Shop Quartet Series by testosterone_tea (E, 28,180+ w. across 3 works || Series WiP || First Kiss/Time, POV John, Sex Toys, Sex Talk, Anal Play, Anal Beads, Anal Fingering, Awkward Sexual Situations, Rimming, Inexperienced Sherlock, Oral Sex, Developing Relationship, Love Confessions, PWP, Bondage, Handcuffs, Praise Kink, BDSM, Kink Negotiation, Edgeplay, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Orgasm Denial, Ice / Wax Play, Blindfolds, Emotional Love Making, Teabagging, Riding Crops, Impact Play, Intercrural Sex, Roleplay, Spanking, Collars) – Sherlock goes undercover at a sex shop but finds he has no idea what any of the toys are for. Cue John Watson, awkward sexual conversations and some unfortunate incidents involving too much plug and not enough lube. But all's well that ends well and Sherlock gets the best happy ending of all.

Roll Away Your Stone by foxxcub (E, 39,463 w., 1 Ch. || Downey Holmes || Boarding School AU) – Seventeen-year-old John Watson is set to finish his final year of school with a flourish, until the headmaster assigns John as a "tutor" to an arrogant, yet brilliant new student named Sherlock Holmes. Holmes is not about to be put in his place by this popular rugby football player with the too-blue eyes, and John isn't going to let this impulsive fifteen-year-old get away with anything. Neither expects to become friends, but a series of unexpected events and a possible murder mystery bring them closer together than either of them thought possible.

I Believe in Sherlock Holmes by Ranowa (T, 63,038 w., 10 Ch. || S3 Fix It, Hurt Sherlock, Implied/Referenced Torture, Homeless Network, Alcohol Abuse, No Mary, Bit-Not-Good/Angry John, Protective Mycroft, Angst with Happy Ending, Non-Linear Narrative, Major Character Injury, Recovery, Forgiveness, Sherlock’s a Mess) – John's been angry at Sherlock since the day he turned up wearing a fake mustache and a tuxedo. He's still angry, even as he moves back into 221B, and he never hesitates to let Sherlock know it.One day, Sherlock stops saying sorry, and walks out instead.One day, Sherlock wakes up handcuffed in the boot of a car, and John doesn't know, because John's been angry at him for so long he's forgotten that he's not the only one that's hurting.

I'm coming home, John. -SH Series by Ranowa (M, 67,247 w. across 3 works || Post-TRF, Angry John, Idiots in Love, No Mary, Drug Use/Substance Abuse, Emotional Rollercoaster, Violence, Implied/Referenced Torture, PTSD Sherlock, Recovery, Sherlock’s Violin, Angst with Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Asexual Sherlock) – In the two years after Sherlock throws himself off the roof of St. Bart's, crunches into the pavement below, and dies in John's arms, John starts texting.He doesn't know that his text messages are being read.

Roommates are for little people by alexxphoenix42 (E, 69,042 w., 14 Ch. || Teen/Unilock || Forced to Share a Bed, Pining, Hurt/Comfort, Fake Relationship, Sherlock is a Prick, Drinking, Inadvertent Drug Use, Family Wedding, Footballer John / Ballet Dancer Sherlock, Frottage, Slow Burn, Mild Dub Con, Cuddling While Sleeping, Slight Homophobia, Posh Boy, Dirty Dancing, Endearments, Nosy FAmily, Bathing Together, Mild Angst, UST/RST, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff) – John was looking forward to seeing his friends back at uni, but a new year brings new complications, not the least of which is a dorm room with only one bed, and a stroppy roommate with an utterly spectacular arse. God, John doesn't need the headache.

Gold Rush by ShirleyCarlton (E, 71,783 w., 17 Ch. || Post S3 / No Mary, Friends to Lovers, Mentions of Past Sexual Abuse, First Kiss, Case Fic, Slow Burn, Alternating POV, Switchlock, Angst with Happy Ending, Marriage Proposal, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Abduction) – John has divorced Mary and pops round to 221B one evening to find Sherlock in the middle of a case. As Sherlock tries to find the identity of a young woman’s stalker, John realises he can no longer deny his feelings for Sherlock – which then, to their befuddlement, turn out to be mutual. Shy kisses and tentative embraces ensue. But will Sherlock be able to cast off a shadow from his past that he thinks might prevent John from wanting to stay?

Scheherezade by sgam76 (G, 197,576 w., 45 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post-TRF/Pre-TSo3, PTSD Sherlock, Implied/Referenced Torture, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Humour, Protective John, Papa Lestrade, Big Brother Mycroft, BAMF John, BAMF Sherlock, Aftermath of Serbia, Past Child Abuse, Childhood Memories, Drunk Sherlock, Canon Compliant, Suicidal Thoughts / Attempt) – Sherlock is home, he and John are returning to cases, and all's right with the world--right? But a series of minor mishaps and injuries makes two things very clear to his friends and family: first, Sherlock's time away wasn't the grand adventure everyone has assumed it was; and second, that time has left Sherlock with a legacy that's bleeding into his life today. Sherlock is Not Okay, and it's not going away. Part 1 of the Scheherezade 'verse series

POSTED THIS YEAR [WiP’s & Full] (19)

A Bowl of Comfort (Store-Bought is Fine) by tepidspongebath (T, 763 w., 1 Ch. || Food, Comfort, Domesticity, Fluff) – “When did you last eat?” “What day is it?” “Oh, for god’s sake - you can’t keep skipping meals like this, Sherlock.” “It’s Lent.” “And since when do you care about Lent?” “Since you get chocolate eggs at Easter.” (to read)

End of the Curve by doctor_not_your_girlfriend (T, 833 w., 1 Ch. || COVID-19, One Shot, Medical Realism, Major Illness, Recovery, Optimism, Disability, Needles) – July, 2021. Mycroft has a special delivery for Sherlock. Inspired by Proving A Point by elldotsee, J_Baillier. (to read)

Love Is A Smoke by J_Baillier (T, 3,617 w., 4 Ch. || Heavy Angst, Pining, Romance, MCD) – It's spring in 2036. John and Sherlock are no longer together. Sherlock attempts to cope — or doesn't. (to read)

A Study in Beard by Loveismyrevolution (T, 3,810 w., 1 Ch. || Established Relationship, Fluff and Humour, Experiments, Beards, Idiots in Love, Quarantine) – Sherlock has to face the consequences of using up all of their shaving foam. Which turns out to be more fun than expected. Boys being boys, nothing can go without a challenge. Although, being isolated presents a problem. How will they determine the winner? Part 2 of the Hairy Situations at 221B series (to read)

Isolated by CarmillaCarmine (G, 3,926, 3/4 Ch. || WiP || Quarantine From Virus, Fluff, Idiots in Love, Bi-Panic, Cuddling & Snuggling, Coming Out, Bathing/Washing, Bubble Bath, Kissing) – Due to an ongoing pandemic, John and Sherlock find themselves isolated at 221B. (to read)

Sherlock's Solution by PipMer (T, 4,125 w., 1 Ch, || Fluff, Romance, Friends to Lovers, Isolation/Quarantine, Pining, Miscommunication, First Kiss) – Sherlock and John are stuck in quarantine. Against all expectations, John is the one who goes stir-crazy first. Sherlock has a unique solution to the problem. (to read)

The Unexpected Threat by J_Baillier (T, 4,283 w., 1 Ch. || Military AU / Pacific Rim Fusion || Established Relationship, Medical Conditions, Coronaviruses, Doctor John, Bratty Sherlock, Romance, Science Fiction, Futuristic Medicine, Ghost Drifting AKA Telepathy, Medical Hurt/Comfort, Sexual Healing) – The kaiju are not the only threat to the security and well-being of the staff of PPDC's Chard's Rift base. It's the year 2050, and a coronavirus epidemic sweeping the planet has reached The Azores. Part 4 of the At The Edge of Our Hope (to read)

Quarantine by wendymarlowe (T, 6,444+ w., 20/? Ch. || WiP || COVID-19, Forced Isolation / Quarantine, John’s Blog, Humour) – John and Sherlock are stuck at 221B together due to coronavirus concerns. Sherlock slowly drives John barmy. (to read)

Stranded by BeautifulFiction (T, 5,798 w., 1 Ch. || First Kiss, Communication / Relationship Discussion, Pining Sherlock, Sherlock POV, BAMF John, Doctor John, Case Fic, Drinking, Huddling For Warmth, Friends to More) – When stranded on a derelict barge at high tide, John and Sherlock reconsider their friendship.

Attentions, Experiments, Oddnesses by hubblegleeflower (E, 6,383 w., 1 Ch. || Friends to Lovers, Experiments, Frottage, Mutual Masturbation, Kissing, First Time) – John is behaving oddly, and Sherlock hopes it means what he thinks it means, but he has several theories and could well be missing some of the facts. (to read)

Casualty by Silvergirl (E, 12,051 w., 4 Ch. || Canon Compliant Until T6T, Mary’s Dead, Trauma/Comfort, John’s a Good Friend, Friends to Lovers, First Kiss/Time, Sherlock Learns Teamwork, Parentlock) – Sherlock renders assistance at a hit-and-run and is left deeply shocked. When the accident turns into a case, John moves back in to 221b to help—and finds that Sherlock has way oversold his image as an emotionless thinking machine. (to read)

The Night Riviera from Paddington to Penzance and Back Again by Iwantthatcoat (M, 12,918 w., 5 Ch. || Post-S4, Hurt/Comfort Emotional Hurt/Comfort, BAMF John, Devil's Foot Adaptation, Hallucinations, Oral Sex) – Mrs Hudson has decided her boys need a little vacation together (after the events of S4) away from London and has booked them an inordinately (per Sherlock) long train ride from Paddington Station to Penzance. (to read)

A Gossamer Dream by CarmillaCarmine (E, 15,985 w., 4 Ch. || Writer/Teacher AU || First Meetings, Friends to Lovers, Writer John / Teacher Sherlock, Fluff, London, Holding Hands, Online Friendship / Romance, Phone Sex, Anal Sex, Happy Ending) – Sherlock had never realised one could care so much about someone they'd never met in person. Now he is about to meet the friend with whom he's been chatting online for months and his anticipation is reaching a crescendo. (to read)

Contrition by sussexbound (E, 18,556+ w., 5/? Ch. || WiP || Post-S4/TFP Didn’t Happen, Rosie Doesn’t Exist, T6T/TLD is Canon, Year After TLD, Light BDSM, Soft Dom Sherlock / Sub John, Punishment, Light Bondage, Light Masochism / No Sadism, Love Confessions, First Kiss, Tenderness, Aftercare, Forgiveness, Edging, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Mutual Masturbation, Hand Jobs, Anal Fingering, Rimming, Frottage, Communication, Sexual Negotiation, Sexual Tension, Spanking, Head Injury, Anal Sex) – “You’ve been tense ever since we got back, itching for a fight, all your usual tells, but why…?” The truth strikes like lightning. “Oh… Oh! You’re not angry at me. Not this time. Well—maybe a little. But mostly, mostly you’re angry at yourself. Why? For falling behind? For not being there in time. For not taking Wilkes down fast enough?” Sherlock waves a dismissive hand. “It doesn’t really matter.” He lifts a finger to his swollen cheek and cut eyebrow. “You blame yourself for this. And you offered to fix it. But I wouldn’t let you, and… But that’s not what you really want, anyway, is it?” John looks stunned, a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming lorry, frozen, waiting for the lethal strike. “You don’t want me to let you help. At least not right away. No. What you want, what you really want is—punishment.” (to read)

Feeling Seen by jadztone (E, 30,177 w., 9 Ch. || Ballet!Sherlock / Rugby!John, Demisexuality, Virgin John, Experienced Sherlock, Toplock, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Background Molly/Irene & Greg/Sally) – Rugby player John is starting over at a new university, with the help of friends Molly and Bill. Few people know that John is demisexual, but ballet dancer Sherlock Holmes deduces right away that he has no interest in sex unless he’s fallen in love. John finds this strange genius intriguing and would like to get to know him, but Sherlock has a self-cultivated reputation for only wanting casual sex. John has reason to believe that’s not really true, but he’s not sure he wants to risk his twice-fractured heart to find out. (to read)

Sanguineous Serendipity by CarmillaCarmine (E, 34,783 w., 14 Ch. || Vampire AU || Alternate First Meeting, Turning a Character, Vampire Sherlock, Captain John, POV John, Feeding, Blood Drinking, Crossdressing Sherlock, Genderfluid Character, Sherlock in Heels, Transphobic Behaviour, Emotional Hurt / Comfort, Soulmates, Romance, Happy Ending) – Vampire Sherlock meets a dying John in a field hospital in Afghanistan and gives him a whole new life. (to read)

The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse by SilentAuror (E, 50,635 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S4/S4 Divergence, Case Fic, For a Case / Reverse Fake-Relationship, Conferences, Marriage Equality, Travelling / New York, Pride, Homophobia, Bottomlock, Marriage Proposal, John POV, Sexuality, Love Confessions, Emotional Love Making, Public Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, Passionate Kissing, Needy/Clingy Sherlock, Virgin Sherlock, Touching / Hand Holding, Bed Sharing, Little Spoon Sherlock, Intense Orgasms) – John and Sherlock go to New York to attend a conference run by the National Defence of Traditional Marriage Coalition in order to investigate the potential bombing of the annual Manhattan Pride parade. As the conference unfolds, John finds himself repulsed by the toxic ideology being presented, which becomes relevent to his own unacknowledged issues and his friendship with Sherlock...

Next Right: Welcome to Westbound Rest Area 818 by elwinglyre (E, 59,874+ w., 13/15 Ch. || WiP || American Unilock AU || Bunk Beds, Anonymous Sex, Homophobia, Closeted John, Roommates, Angst with Happy Ending, Idiots in Love, Music, Rape/Non-Con, Hurt John, BAMF John) – Sherlock Holmes dreams of escape from his smothering family and space to breathe. Studying chemistry at the University of Michigan, he's almost far enough away to fill his lungs. Almost. While John Watson dreams of being a doctor, he also dreams of being with another man. John knows that with hard work and study, he can make the first a reality, but he's certain the second can never be. Until a secret encounter in the dark at Rest Area 818 changes everything. When Sherlock meets his new roommate, John Watson, he sees a man in the closet. Sherlock hides from no one. Except from his own family, a detective inspector who wants his evidence returned, and his secret encounter at Rest Area 818. Thank you to recently folded who lovingly beta’d chapters 1-5 and helped with an important plot point that deeply enriches this story. Also thank you to hotshoeagain for beta'ing the rest of the story.Setting late 1970s, Michigan, USA. POV third person alternates between John Watson and Sherlock Holmes. (to read)

Thermocline by J_Baillier (M, 83,557 w., 14 Ch. || Scuba Diving AU || Adventure, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Marine Archaeology, Asexual Sherlock, Horny John, Relationship Drama, Technical/Scuba/Wreck Diving, Slow Burn, Underwater / Medical Peril, Doctor John, Hurt Sherlock, Anxious Sherlock, John POV, Protective John, Body Appreciation) – John "Five Oceans" Watson — technical dive instructor, dive accident analyst and weapon of mass seduction — meets recluse professor of maritime archaeology Holmes. As they head out to a remote archipelago off the coast of Guatemala to study and film its shipwrecks for a documentary, will sparks fly or fizzle out?

ANYTHING GOES – JOHNLOCK (5)

Talk by illwick (E, 6,364 w., 1 Ch. || Dirty Talk, John’s Giant Junk, PWP, Light BDSM, Size Kink, Oral / Anal, Rough Sex, Dirty Talk, Established Rel.) – Sherlock was never much for dirty talk... until an unexpected visit yields unexpected results. Part 20 of Unwind

Ghost Stories by SwissMiss (M, 22,256 w., 1 Ch. || Pining, Holmes Family, Christmas, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Bed Sharing, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, First Time) – Sherlock's parents think he and John are a couple. They might be onto something.

Pater Noster by SilentAuror (E, 34,256 w., 2 Ch. || Case Fic, HLV/S3 Fix It Fic, Family Trauma, Sherlock POV, Villain Mary) – During the autumn that John is staying at Baker Street again after Sherlock was shot, he ruminates over the similarity between Sherlock's shot and the one that killed his father when he was fifteen. Cold case meets series 3 fix-it. Part I takes place entirely within His Last Vow, Part II takes place starting at the end of HLV and continues after.

The Homecoming Series by sussexbound (M, 51,744 w. across 12 stories, WIP || Domestics, PTSD, Love Confessions, Hurt/Comfort, Cuddling, Jealousy, Family Issues) – Sometimes home is all you need. After three years of horror, betrayals, and crushing loss, John and Sherlock find their way back home to one another, and together find new footing in a world that has changed forever.

The Green Blade by verityburns (T, 72,929 w., 15 Ch. || Case Fic, Bromance) – As a serial killer hits the headlines, the police are out of their depth and the next victim is out of time. With faith in Sherlock Holmes at an all time low, this is a case which will push loyalties to the limit...

ANYTHING GOES – INEFFABLE HUSBANDS (5)

All Roads Lead To You by TardisIsTheOnlyWayToTravel (T, 2,549 w., 2 Ch.|| Pining Crowley, Oblivious Aziraphale, Love Confessions, Feelings, Resolved Romantic Tension, Rescuing, Happy Ending, Snake Crowley, Magic Bracelets, POV Aziraphale) – It had taken Aziraphale quite some time to find the presence he had been looking for, but here he was, in the Reptile House of the London Zoo. As an angel, Aziraphale shouldn’t have been finding amusement in the discomfort of another, but he couldn’t help but do so as he was glared at by a very familiar snake. “Oh my dear,” Aziraphale murmured, “how ever did you end up in this situation?”

The slowest moving object in the universe by chamyl (G, 4,996 w., 1 Ch. || God POV, Mutual Pining, Idiots in Love, Beach Day, Games, Light Humour, Tenderness, Embarassed Crowley, Soft Idiots, First Kiss, Love Confessions) – Crowley and Aziraphale have had feelings for each other for a very long time. It takes a date at the lake and a round of 36 Questions That Lead To Love to give them the final push.

Wings and How to Hide Them by triedunture (M, 10,134 w., 1 Ch. || Mutual Pining, First Time, Love Confessions, Body Swap, Wing Kink, Idiots In Love) – Crowley's been annoyingly in love for six thousand years. What's another lifetime between friends? Or: Aziraphale definitely fucks and isn't that just perfect?

Souls In Creation by Dragonfruit112 (NR [M], 23,110 w., 6 Ch. || Aziraphale was Raphael, Hurt/Comfort, Angst With Happy Ending, True Angel Forms, Memory Loss/Amnesia, Seraph!Aziraphale, Cherub!Crowley, Moments of Time, Pining Aziraphale, Deaths, Disasters Through History, Whump, Taking Care of Each Other, Friendship, Mates to Friends to Mates, Bed Sharing, Sick Crowley, Healing Powers, BAMF Aziraphale) – They knew each other before the Fall. They loved each other before the Fall. They were creation's first soul mates. But the Fall changed everything, and now Aziraphale is forced to live in a world where only he remembers their shared past. Burdened by pain and grief, he hides himself under the guise of a clumsy Principality until he can make his love remember once more. Only, he doesn't know how long that'll take.

Any Way You Want It by LieutenantLiv (M, 27,585 w., 5 Ch. || Holidays, Slow Burn, Fluff, First Time, Eventual Smut, Swimming, Dreams of Dancing, Kissing in the Rain, Self-Esteem Issues, Misunderstandings, Crying Love Confessions, Soft Crowley, Clingy Crowley, Virgin Aziraphale, Romance) – Saving the world is exhausting work. With Heaven and Hell off their backs, it seems as good a time as any for Crowley and Aziraphale to take a proper break. Neither one of them predicts the direction their holiday takes.Who'd have thought that sharing a cottage in Scotland would be quite so romantic?

#johnlock fic recs #good omens fic recs #five fics friday #times ten lol #my fic recs #long post #e-rated fics #coronavirus #quarantine

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coeurdastronaute · 4 years

Text

Essays in Existentialism: Footie 7

previously on Footie

By the time the the skies cleared, the world warmed and shook off the rust that accumulated during the long, wet winter. Gone were the obscenely heavy and low clouds, and in their place, puffy white things lazily drifted along while the chill in the air lessened with new sunlight streaming through fresh leaf growth on winter-blown branches.

The streets were fresh, the people alive and streaming out into them with new vigor to chase the first hints of warmth and yellow sunshine on their cheeks and faces, an entire city with their eyes tilted upwards, sighing happily and distracted from real life with moments of humanity peppered back from the dismal sorrow of the autumn months.

It was a beautiful spring. It was going to be one for the books, with flowers filling sidewalks and spilling out from cracks in sidewalk.

There wasn’t a set schedule, or at least one that kept for very long. But there was a rhythm to the day, even without a harmony. It was impossible to keep up with everything, but Clarke realized she was just going to have to live her life a week at a time.

Lexa had her own routine, made even more difficult by travel. While Clarke found herself making her way to Lexa’s place between games and training and her own school assignments and workdays.

But it worked. The timing of it all, of the season and the year and the life-- it all just seemed to completely work. And for reasons not completely explored, Clarke realized she appreciated the timing of it all because it meant that Lexa wasn’t around and she could take it slow, something her mind just didn’t think about near her.

“She looks good out there today,” Jake nodded as he reclined, coming over a cold that left him mildly irritated by almost anything.

If anyone was not built to grow old, it was Jacob Griffin, head coach and Hall-of-Famer. Surly and annoyed by the inconvenience of illness, he grunted and watched the game with the same vigor as someone who was still coaching.

“She always looks good,” Clarke smiled slightly as she continued to balance her gradebook for the semester so far.

“I mean she’s really putting work in. The team’s at the top of the board and I think they have a good enough chance of staying there to win.”

“Lexa’s so precise and focused. It’s oddly contagious.”

“I have some good news for the Olympics.”

“What’s that? You’re going to get the permission to come?”

“Better. That’s the way!” he cheered as Lexa took a shot from deep, burying it deep in the net for the first goal of the scoreless half. “Hell of a shot.”

“It’s me. I’m lucky in this jersey.”

“That must be it.” Clarke watched her father chuckle at the notion before shaking his head and leaning forward to watch the replay a little better. Gone was the deep wheat-color of his hair and now it was replaced with a little more salt. He was still fit, perhaps more gaunt than before because of the treatment. Deep beneath it all, a bit of life still existed despite all else.

“So what else was it? You’re coming to Tokyo?”

“I was invited to commentate.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously,” he rolled his eyes, his good mood coming around despite how he felt. “Some people still like to listen to me.”

“I can’t relate.”

“I can’t believe they’re going to let me commentate. I have to practice being impartial. How am I going to root for Lexa and the home team but not actually root for anyone?”

“Are you kidding me?” Clarke scoffed. “Any chance for you to talk about soccer nonstop, and you won’t be able to shut up let alone root for anyone.”

“That’s true,” he nodded.

“Are you going to be good to go?”

“I think so. Other than this cold, I’ve been doing well. Plus, after the clips of me and Lexa went viral-- is that the word?” he waited until his daugher nodded. “Once that happened, I got a lot of emails with different offers.”

“Mom’s okay with it?”

“She encouraged it.”

“Must be sick of you just laying around the house.”

“Or she really wants to go to Japan.”

Clarke found herself smiling, happy that her father sounded happy despite his annoyances. She was grateful to have a new appreciation for his love of the sport. They sat on the couch together, and Clarke leaned against her father’s side. He put an arm around her and started to couch coach well into the second half.

In a completely different city, Lexa sprinted across the field, her footwork weaving the ball through three defenders before she got the shot off to the top right corner. With a punch to the air, she slid on the grass and was adored by teammates and cheered by the stadium.

There was something poetic about watching someone do something that brought joy to the universe. Lexa was often the first person to diminish what she did, but she couldn’t see this part, the part that Clarke saw when she watched her father disect a play, or when the player on the field disappeared and floated, not one ounce of focus to be spared for anything else other than breathing and scoring, and even then the brainpower reserved for breathing was minimal. An entire brain worked to score, to move, to be precise and exact.

Clarke smiled as she watched, proud of her girlfriend, proud of the girl who bashfully asked her out and now, who she was finding was awfully silly and very smart and quiet. If she wasn’t mistaken, sh might have even guessed that she loved the soccer player.

“I’m going to meet Lexa’s sister,” Clarke muttered. “And her niece.”

“When are they coming?”

“Next week, for finals.”

“Well, you’ve been dating for nearly a year now. Might as well as get it over with, right?”

“I’ve never met anyone’s family.”

“It’s not that bad. You’re a good person. Anyone would be lucky to have you date their sister or daughter or aunt or granddaughter or neighbor.”

“You have to say that.”

“I do,” he agreed, squeezing her shoulder. “But I also mean it.”

“I like her a lot.”

“I figured.”

“I don’t know if we’ve self-determined things, but I thought it was a joke, when we said it was fate, but I don’t know. Sometimes I think it is.”

“Everything is a bit of fate, Clarke. At least the big things in life,” Jake explained, as if it was something he remembered he should have taught his daughter long ago. “Good or bad or indifferent. You and Lexa orbited each other, and then BAM, you can barely remember life without her.”

“Yeah, something like that.”

“It’s not a bad thing, to spend your life with someone else.”

“You just really want me to date her because she’s a soccer goddess.”

“It doesn’t hurt.”

Clarke rolled her eyes and clapped as Lexa got a foul, righting herself quickly and preparing to take her kick, all business, hair stuck to her forehead and neck, body drenched with sweat. It wasn’t even a game she had to win, but still demanded to play.

“They’re going to love you, darling,” the coach promised again after the shot went wide by a few inches and the camera flashed back to Lexa’s tight jaw and groan of complaint for failing to score again.

“Thanks.”

“Now tell me I’m going to do a good job as an announcer.”

“You can’t ask for reassurance like that. You’re Jake fucking Griffin.”

“You’re right.”

“But you’re going to do great. I already know it. I can’t wait to watch you and Lexa.”

“I have to start preparing, watching older footage, scouting players-- there’s a whole slew of things to make sure I know the most.”

“I’m not going to help you study. I get my fill of soccer with that one,” Clarke decided as she nudged her chin at the screen.

“Speaking of, is she going to offer me tickets to the championship or do I have to outright ask?”

“Dad, seriously?”

Jake just shrugged and took a sip of his secret beer, grinning to himself. In moments like this he found himself almost tolerant of cancer. Almost. Because he wasn’t sure he’d ever spent so much time with his daughter, and here they were, watching a game and talking about things of substance, of fears and frustrations and goals and victories. It was moments like that, in which he could almost respect fate. Almost.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

“I’m so happy you’re here. It’s not even funny,” Lexa grinned, silly and happy in the beautiful day.

There was a kid on her shoulders, hands beneath her chin, surveying the world from the perch. Her sister walked beside her, enjoying the spring sunshine and the feeling of her sister showing her around a city she’d never been to before.

“Not because you just won the championship three days ago or because you’re set to fly back with us for training camp?”

“Or because of the ice cream?” Mia added helpfully.

“Maybe a little the ice cream,” she nodded and took another lick of her cone.

It’d been a whirlwind of two weeks, and for the first time, Lexa felt as if she could finally breathe. Gone were the nerves of playing on such a large stage. Gone was the unsettled feeling that came from traveling so much. Gone was the weight of an entire city on her shoulders and it allowed her to inhale and hold it before slowly exhaling, savoring the warmth of the day and the aura of the street.

“She’s absolutely in love with this place,” Anya observed as she watched her daughter taking in all of the sights.

“You’ll have to come visit me more, how does that sound, Mia-Girl?”

“I’m not allowed to fly on a plane alone.”

“I guess your mom can come too.”

“Are we going to watch more soccer?”

The sun began to set behind the buildings, while a few people recognized the athlete, interrupting to ask her questions an utterly gush. It was something her sister and niece got used to being around.

“No more soccer. You didn’t like my game? There was all the confetti and balloons.”

“But it is so long. It takes so many minutes to play, and I get very tired and bored when you don’t have the ball or score points.”

“You make a good point.”

“I like it better when we go to see the castle and that fun science museum and stuff.”

“I liked that stuff too.”

“We miss you at home,” Anya explained as they made their way to her sister’s place, oddly proud of the beautiful place she found for herself, and more relieved with the circle of friends she made.

“I miss you sometimes.”

“Just sometimes?”

“Yeah,” Lexa grunted as she pulled the kid from her shoulders as they made their way to the elevator. “But forget that. You guys can help me pack.”

XXXXXXXXXX

Even from the hallway, Clarke could hear the noises of a family laughing from behind Lexa’s door. It was a sound she almost got used to experiencing over the past two weeks, with Lexa’s sister and niece in town. It was a much more welcomed sound that the roar of the crowd at the championship, or the people calling her name in the street when she was out with her girlfriend ever since. It was certainly better than the multiple phone calls she got from her mother fretting about her father’s deal to commentate in Tokyo.

Naturally, Clarke was worried about her father, but seeing him come back to what he loved, even just at the game the one time, was more than enough to prove to her that he needed it more than anything else.

Even after spending a whole game and a few trips around town together, Clarke was still slightly nervous about spending time with Lexa’s sister, as if every time she did, she waited for the inevitable call from Lexa that said she’d considered it and it wasn't going to work. Anya was stoic and tough to read. It was almost comical for Clarke to think of how Lexa seemed practically animated beside her poker-faced sibling.

But the call never came, and Clarke had to remind herself to not be so ridiculous. It was absolutely silly to think Anya had any reason not to like her.

And so she knocked.

“Hey,” Lexa greeted, easy and happy and with a dish towel on her shoulder as she dried her hands.

The thoughts were gone and Clarke remembered the girl who walked around town in the middle of the night just to talk to her and prolong a date.

“It smells really good.”

Clarke leaned forward and kissed her girlfriend at the door. She pushed her hand against her chest, laying it flat there while she tasted her for a moment, the wine still tart on her tongue, soft and sweet before going further into the house.

“You smell really good,” Lexa retorted with a floppy smile. “How was your day?”

“Long, but okay. The sun is out so the kids are itching to burn off the winter energy.”

“I can barely keep up with one, let alone a whole herd like you do every day. I don’t know how you do it, Griffin.”

“Well, when a mediocre salary and lackluster benefits package rolls up to your door with the promise of weekends off and a pack of thirty primary-aged kids, any sane person would jump at that kind of career opportunity.”

“When you put it like that…”

“It was a good day, just long,” Clarke chuckled. “What’d you guys get into?”

“Mia made me take her to the park, and we watched a puppet show, and played on the late.”

“Don’t forget the ice cream and the shopping,” Anya supplied, sitting at the counter with her glass of wine as Clarke followed the soccer star into the kitchen. “Lexa hates shopping, unless it’s for toys to spoil a kid with.”

Slightly guilty, she just shrugged and picked up her spoon to stir something on the stove.

“We may have done a little shopping,” she agreed. “Nothing too crazy.”

“We’ll see when the packages start to arrive at home.”

They bickered in a way that Clarke didn’t understand-- sisters. It was a concept she understood inherently, but in practice was beginning to see how inept she’d been at truly learning the full notion of having someone like that. She had close friends, friends she’d give a kidney to, friends she’d die for, friends she couldn’t live without, but there was a bit of a shared history between the sisters, a legend and lore, that transcended some of what Clarke considered to be her dearest confidants.

“Grab a glass, join us. Anya picked out a nice red on her own excursion today.”

“A girl after my own heart,” Clarke nodded approvingly as she reached for a glass to pour a much deserved drink. “If those two were left unsupervised, what did you get up to today?”

“Just a little bookkeeping,” Anya murmured over her glass as she flipped through a stack of papers. “My sister is hopeless at any of this stuff and refuses to listen to anything her agent suggests unless I read it first, like I have some kind of law degree or something--”

“You could and should,” Lexa interrupted. “She has better instincts than I do. I love Indra, but at the end of the day I’m a collection of numbers and commas and dollar signs. I trust Anya to give me her hoenst opinion.”

“Because you don’t pay me.”

“Exactly. If I paid you, then the integrity of the process would be ruined.”

“Can’t have that,” the oldest sighed and flipped and drank.

“She acts like she gets annoyed, but the moment I make a decision without asking her, and all hell breaks--”

“Don’t you start! You signed a deal to move across the entire world. That warranted a bit of a freak out--”

“That was one time and it turned out okay. It truly is a great opportunity, and you even admitted it--”

“You got lucky and I still don’t like it. Someone breaks your heart and you key their car, not impulse trade yourself--”

“It wasn’t impulse. You knew it was an option for months.”

Like a ref at a tennis match, Clarke looked at each of them lobbing facts and histories at the other. None was bitter, and in fact most seemed almost comical to them as they argue the finer points of indignation. Clarke took a large gulp of her wine.

“As I was saying,” Anya ignored the rebuttal and explained it to Clarke as her little sister went back to the stove. “We have a system in place for a reason.”

“If you could not trade yourself to another continent, I would appreciate it,” Clarke muttered, earning a grin.

“I don’t know, this offer to come back home doesn’t look so bad.”

“I just won a damn championship and unpacked the last box. I think I’m set,” Lexa shook her head and held a spoonful for her girlfriend to taste. “Plus, what do I need money for? My sister works for free.”

“I’m going to bill Indra my hours as a freelancer.”

The squabbling remained at the same level, but Clarke began to hear the love woven throughout, and as much as Lexa couldn’t admit it, sparring with her sister was her love language, and Clarke was almost certain it was the same for Anya. The only question now, was how did she survive it.

XXXXXXXXXX

“I’ll clean up in the morning,” Lexa offered as her sister began to pile plates in the kitchen.

“Oh, I know you will,” her sister grinned, her cheeks slightly tinted with the drink they’d gone through during dinner. “It was nice to see you again, Clarke.”

“Good to see you, too.”

“I’m going to check on the ki and head to bed. Tomorrow we’re going to the art museum and I need to start to taking naps to keep up with a first grader.”

“And I’m taking them to that diner we like by the station.”

“Get the potatoes. You’ll love them.”

“I’m going to gain seventy pounds visiting this damn country,” the oldest complained as she made her way down the hall with a wave over her shoulder.

The dining room seemed a little more empty all of a sudden, slightly quieter now that the third of the dinner party was gone in search of sleep. Lexa smiled and sipped her wine before looking at her girlfriend, the first time they’d been alone in what felt like months.

The eyes never changed, Clarke realized, as she adjusted slightly in her chair, pulling a leg up and balancing her cheek on her knee. Quietly, they looked at each other. Neither speaking with words.

“You look beautiful,” Lexa offered, cocking her head slightly as she played with her glass.

“You look like a champion.” Clarke earned a chuckle and slight blush. “Your sister was so proud. And Mia was screaming. I wish I had it on video. They’re very proud of you.”

“Anya loves you, by the way.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“She does. She was worried about me falling for you. I think she might be ready to beat you up if you break my heart, but she likes you.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

Lexa nodded, dreamy and mildly intoxicated from the food and the wine and her beautiful girlfriend and her wonderful family and the fact that she had a championship ring on the way and the fact that she was going to represent her country.

“I should head home,” Clarke sighed after looking at her phone and sliding it on the table.

With monumental effort she pushed herself up and stood while Lexa refused to move except to take another sip. She made it a few steps before a hand grabbed her wrist.

“You should stay.”

“Your family is here.”

“I miss you.”

Puppy dog eyes followed and Clarke allowed herself to be pulled down into a lap. She missed her girlfriend’s smell, she realized. She missed how she felt and looked at her, and as much as they’d seen each other, it felt almost new again, a comfortable kind of same that was just renewed.

“You’re a busy lady.”

“You’re my favorite way to spend time,” Lexa promised. “You’re just so… so… I like you.”

“They leave in a few days, and then you’ll be gone.”

“I’ll see you in Tokyo,” she promised.

“I know.”

It was a little bit of a lie. Clarke was aware of the schedule after getting her hopes up to see her dad when he was in tournaments as a kid. But she knew Lexa would be busy for most of it, and it wasn’t about her. It was about support, as much as it killed her to not scream for more. She’d never dated an actually talented soccer player before, but she knew the role.

“Stay tonight,” Lexa whispered again, kissing her shoulder.

“You have plans tomorrow morning.”

“Come with us. I need you tonight.”

“You’re just tipsy and needy right now.”

“Yeah,” she shrugged, her lips half pulling up in a mischievous grin. “I need you tonight.”

Clarke moved her hands, rubbing them up her girlfriends chest, over her shoulders and to her neck. She ran her thumbs along the corner of the soccer players jaw, staring at her lips before meeting her eyes, debating what to do. There really wasn’t much to think about because they both knew what she was going to do.

“I need you to take a week off so we can celebrate all of your accomplishments.”

“There’s never enough time. I’m sorry I haven’t been around as much as I’d like--”

“I knew what I was getting into, somewhat.”

“Once you realized who I was.”

“Yeah, after that.”

Clarke sighed and leaned forward, tenderly kissing her girlfriend, savoring the feeling of the quiet and the night and the world when they were allowed to exist together. She hadn’t thought about anything else on the planet except for them, together.

“You going to make it worth my while if I stay tonight?”

There wasn’t much of a word uttered, but Clarke got her answer.

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bellatrixobsessed1 · 3 years

Text

Femslash February Day 6

Prompt: Mermaid AU Fandom: Once Upon A Time Pair: Swan Queen

Summary: When the Jolly Roger gets struck by a winter storm Emma is cast overboard and rescued by a mermaid.

The water is so cold, capped with ice and stirring with a winter breeze. Winter seeps through her skin and into her veins without mercy. She wishes that the waves would just slam her into a craggy arch of limestone, would knock her out as cold as the waters. But they don’t, they are more content to toss her about like a floppy stuffed animal until her lungs can take no more.

She supposes that, when you bed with a ruthless pirate, you are bound to get tossed to the waves. And so Emma sinks beneath the surface, wondering if Killian has met the same fate. She’d told them that it was a poor season for sailing. The man is--was?--so stubborn. And this time they are both--or maybe she alone is--paying the price for it.

She closes her eyes and the cold wraps itself around her in a frigid hug. She feels fish swim past her and seaweed coil around her ankles. Her lifeforce begins to escape her in the form of clouds of bubbles.

And then there is a warmth. A strange warmth that wraps around her and she knows that she has finally died. How else could it be so pleasantly warm. She can’t remember what happens next. The rush of water no longer sounds in her ears. The cold no longer burns her bones. She can’t smell salt nor fish any longer.

And then she opens her eyes. And when she does the world comes back to life. Alive but somewhere entirely new. The sound of water is still there but it is muffled somehow and there is a fire crackling. Throwing shadows across the rocky walls of...of where ever she is. Perhaps a limestone cove? There are starfish and barnacles clinging to the wall. She knows that she is in the same waters because she can see chunks of ice drifting up to and knocking against the floor of this cavern. It smells the same but different. Like ocean water and seaweed but there is the cozy smell of the fire and something like flowers. She can’t name exactly which type. She hears the wind roar against the wall of the cove.

More pleasant than any of the other sounds, she hears a voice. “What ship was it?”

“Hmm?” Emma mumbles.

“What was the name of the ship that sunk?”

“The Jolly Roger. I was aboard the Jolly Roger.” It isn’t so jolly anymore.

The woman nods. Emma spots her resting her arms upon the rocks, mostly submerged in the frosty waters.

“Aren’t you cold?”

She shakes her head. “I’m more than used to this. It’s comfortable.” Emma catches the flick of a tail--onyx black with an oil slick iridescent. She tilts her head.

“Not for me.” Emma shudders. “Are you some kind of ice mermaid?”

The woman laughs. “There are no ‘ice mermaids’, I’ve simply adapted to the waters I was born in.”

“Can you do magic?”

“How do you think I made the fire?” The woman asks. She heaves herself out of the water. In a shimmering swirl of purple light, she swaps her tail for legs. “Regina Mills.” She holds out her hand.

Emma takes it, it is surprisingly warm.

“Can you take me home?”

She nods, I can eventually, yes.” She replies. “But I was hoping that you could keep me company for the night. I don’t come by many people; it’s quite lonely.”

“Don’t you have other mermaids?”

She shakes her head. “I’m one of the few that has adapted to…” she gestures to the blocks of ice.

“Are you part seal by chance?”

She doesn’t seem entertained by the remark. “I am not, no.”

Emma laughs. “I was just joking. And, sure, I’ll spend the night with you. You did save my life.” She smiles.

At this the woman seems satisfied. She makes herself comfy in front of the fire. “Next time you plan on sailing I recommend doing so in better weather. I have so many stories of dead sailors.” She holds up her necklace, the bones upon it crack together. “I found these at various wreck sites.”

Emma quirks a brow, “that’s a little morbid, don’t you think?”

Regina shrugs. “It’s an aesthetic.”

“So you’re an evil mermaid?”

She shakes her head. “I don’t kill them, I simply make use of what they leave behind. You’re thinking of sirens.”

“Interesting.” Emma replies. “Terrifying, but interesting.”

Regina takes off her bracelet and puts it around Emma’s wrist. “Don’t worry, this one is made of fishbone.”

“What’s it for?”

“I would like to talk to you again after tonight, if you would do me the pleasure. I can find you if you wear this.”

Emma nods. The woman had saved her life, she supposes that it couldn’t hurt to get to know her a little more. And besides, she can’t say that she would get another chance to talk to another mermaid, much less a mermaid as compelling and alluring as this one.

Emma watches her lay down, firelight reflects in her beautiful brown eyes. She supposes that she had sought out an adventure. She clears her throat, “I didn’t see the Jolly Roger sink. Could you help me find it, I don’t think that Killian is dead.”

“Killian?”

“My friend.”

“Just a friend?”

“Just a friend.”

“I can help you search, on one condition.”

Emma inhales, “what condition.”

“When we find the ship, let me board it. I want to see the human world.”

“You have a deal, Mills.”

The mermaid smiles. Indeed, Emma wanted an adventure. She has a feeling that she will be getting more than her fill of one.

#femslashfeb2021 #Once Upon A Time #Regina Mills #Emma Swan #Swan Queen #Fanfiction

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ears-awake-eyes-opened · 4 years

Text

Three Seasons in Wonderland

(Haymitch sleeps better holding Effie instead of a knife. Sensual content. NSFW depending on your sensitivities. — I hopped on board this ship quite late, like the white rabbit. Better late than never; this experience is a joy.)

*TAKE ME*

🐇 🎩

‘...Have I gone mad?’ ‘I'm afraid so. You're entirely bonkers. But I’ll tell you a secret. All the best people are...’ (L.C.)

***

*OPEN ME*

WINTER 🌧⚡️

‘...How long is forever? Sometimes just one second...’ (L.C.)

The first time he slept with her — with anyone — he was 47. Then it happened. Inadvertently... almost.

“Don’t let me fall asleep,” he told her.

“Why not?”

They’d been having sex on and off for 5 years, and she knew he would answer as he always did.

“I don’t sleep without holding my knife.”

“Keep holding ME instead...”

She was persuasive that night: clinging afterwards as he softened inside her, threading her fingers through his hair, taking his warnings on the tip of her tongue and swallowing them whole. In that moment of intoxicating sobriety, he fell asleep with her.

When he startled awake later, he thought her a courageous fool to be tangled up with him. Logic called him to go sleep on the couch, as usual, but the air was cold, and he told logic to wait. He wanted more of her.

His mind was too sleepy to tease out the fragrances — flowers, maybe vanilla. Tracing the handle of his knife was his usual routine. He obviously couldn’t do that without the knife, but his fingertips could sketch its length at the base of her spine, along her wrists, between her breasts.

Sliding down until his feet hung off the bed, he rested his forehead against her heartbeat and slung his arm over her hip. If she woke, he’d caress her in other places until she was ready for him to fuck her again, but he didn’t want to wake her. He wanted to feel her breathing. He wanted the fleeting feeling of safety that came to him on rare occasions.

In thundering stillness, he slipped down the rabbit hole and held her there in Wonderland. On the roof, rain tapped into nothingness. He’d walked through it, and she’d made him warm. For a second, anything beyond Effie ceased to be relevant.

‘...In another moment down went Alice after it, never once considering how in the world she was to get out again...’ (L.C.)

Haymitch didn’t dare name the feeling. He just let his eyes close.

***

*DRINK ME*

SPRING 🐦💦

‘...At least I know who I was when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since then...’ (L.C.)

The room was still dark when a Mockingjay called her awake. Another echoed, and a conversation between the two ensued. The geese started up next, searching for a breakfast of shoots and worms in thawed soil.

Haymitch slept through it all like the dead, even though he’d gone to bed relatively sober. His chin rested above her collarbone, and he breathed evenly against her neck. The sensations tickled, and she leaned into them instead of pulling away.

He shifted his hands on her arm, holding her like a child snuggles a blanket. Effie wriggled her toes in between his leg and the flannel sheets. She pulled at the covers which had slipped to his side of the bed.

His side of the bed. The thought was a novelty.

His warmth made her sleepy, but falling back to sleep was impossible with every bird in District 12 gathered outside the window and the first light of sunrise peeking through the curtains.

She’d brought those last year to replace the yellowed sheets which used to hang in the window. At first Haymitch had complained about her *gift* as controlling, but he must have liked the curtains since he didn’t take them down.

As much as she wanted coffee, she needed this more — this closeness of waking up with him beside her rather than on the couch. She covered his hands and tucked her fingers against his chest.

“Are you trying to freeze me to death,” he muttered, “Your hands and feet are like ice.”

“Well, they wouldn’t be if you hadn’t stolen the blankets — again.”

“You have them ALL”

“I just took them back!”

He stretched across her waist. The far side of her body was cold too, so he acquiesced to her version of the truth.

“Want me to warm you up?” he whispered into the crook of her neck, plucking kisses in between words.

She caressed low on his stomach, feeling fine hairs and scar tissue. The intimacy was tempting.

“Don’t touch my dick until your hands are warm.”

She chuckled and thought for a moment. “My mouth is warm... Do you want to feel it?”

He propped himself up on his elbow and brushed a thumb across her lips. Her hair was a tangled halo on the pillow. She was a soft mess, and, fuck yes, he wanted her mouth on him.

“Yeah, I wanna feel it.”

“I want to feel yours too. ...Shall we?”

“I sure as hell ain’t gonna say no to you sitting on my face and sucking my dick.”

Effie rolled her eyes. “Must you be so unromantic!”

“Romance is overrated.” He stroked the laugh lines on her cheeks. In the dim light he couldn’t see them, but he liked knowing that she was smiling and they were there.

She touched his chest. “I think you actually have more inside you than you care to admit.”

“I’ve got PLENTY inside me, sweetheart, but it’s not romance.”

The deep truth was she enjoyed him like crazy. She’d been thirsty so long for sleeping with him and waking up him. Now that this connection was accessible to her, work was in the Capitol and his life was here. His life was always going to be here.

‘...If you knew Time as well as I do,’ said the Hatter, ‘you wouldn’t talk about wasting it. It’s him...’ (L.C.)

Effie wasn’t sure what she wanted to do in time with this awareness.

***

*EAT ME*

SUMMER ☀️🔥

“...A dream is not reality but who’s to say which is which?...” (L.C.)

Midnight was as warm as high noon had been. Every window was open, yet the house was still filled with the day’s stagnation. A cotton nightie was the only thing separating Effie from the furnace that was Haymitch’s body. In sleep, he’d rolled onto her pillow and draped his arm and leg across her. His fingertips brushed low on her spine, which might have been erotic if not for the sweat beading up everywhere he touched.

She tried rolling onto her back with a plan to escape to the edge of the bed, but he was dead weight pinning her down. She tried rolling him off, but he just pulled her closer in an unconscious death grip — death by heat stroke, considering the way this was going.

“Haymitch...” she whispered, not wanting to startle him.

Irritated when he didn’t respond, she spoke louder. “Haymitch, I’m suffocating here.”

“Haymitch Abernathy!!”

In a dream he heard his mother’s voice, chastising him for running into the house and leaving the door open behind him. Still asleep, he mumbled her old words. “We don’t live in a barn.”

He was hard to wake after falling asleep drinking. Effie considered the possibilities: smacking him, pinching him, stroking his dick... The latter seemed like the safer way to try to wake up a man who sleeps with a knife when he’s not in bed with her.

She was not gentle about it, tugging him while describing the things she could do to him when he woke up. Like ring your neck!

Still asleep, he murmured, “Need you, Effie.”

“Then wake up, honey,” she told him.

“I love you.” The words came out so quietly in sleep that she wondered if she imagined them.

Holy shit. “What?” Reeling, she stilled her hand. She hadn’t imagined them.

Haymitch groaned, and finally woke up, disoriented at first, then aware of her fingers curled around him.

“What are you doing, sweetheart?” He yawned. “Not that I’m complaining.”

“It’s hot. I need space, and I couldn’t wake you...” Her voice wavered. “So I thought... ” She was too choked up to keep talking.

He lifted his arm and leg off of her. She was sweating where his weight had been.

“Are you alright?”

You love me. She didn’t say it, because all at once she knew it was true. Maybe the reality was unconscious. Maybe it was a conscious truth which he kept silent. Tears gathered in her eyes and threatened to spill onto her cheeks. She held them in, because how would she explain them?

Having heard them in her voice, he touched beneath her eyes in the dark and was confused when her face was dry. She let go of him, sat up in bed, and stripped off her nightgown. He watched her silhouette framed by the open window behind her. A fleeting breeze on her skin chased away some of the sweltering.

“You can’t hold me so tight!” She was breaking open, and how could she explain? She loved him. She was in love with him, but those words were only for dreams.

“Sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t mean to. Guess I’ve just gotten used to this.” Sleeping without you is miserable now, he didn’t say. He sat up and slung his legs over the edge of the bed, facing away from her but not leaving.

She knelt behind him and gently kneaded the back of his neck. “Do you have any idea how much it means to me to sleep in this bed with you?”

“Yeah, I do.” His certainty surprised her since they hadn’t discussed it.

“This with you is like air for me.” She was crying now for sure. He didn’t need to touch her cheeks to know it. “...I also need to be able to actually breathe.”

“I don’t want to hurt you. I still think that I’ll wake up, and you’ll be dead. I don’t know how I’m ever not gonna think about that.”

She slid her hands down his chest and kissed the top of his head, his temple, the soft spot beside his ear. “We’ve been sleeping together for 7 months, and I’m still alive.”

He gripped her hands. She was part of his life. Confusing as hell, annoying as fuck, and so precious. You’re the best goddamn part. He’d known it for years. “I want you to stay alive.” I need you to stay alive.

“Come here.” She let go of his hands and lay back on the sheets.

There was too much running through his mind. “I don’t want to sleep.”

“Neither do I.”

He turned to see what he could of her in the dark. The moment was silver and otherworldly. “My ma called this ‘The Witching Hour.’ When I was a kid, it made me think of demons and shit.”

“Maybe that’s something parents say to convince their children to go to sleep long before midnight.”

“Could be.”

“My Nana called it ‘The Magic Hour.’ She’d say to me, ‘I miss the magic hour. My bones are too old to stay awake for it.’...”

Haymitch slid back into bed. Her stories of her great-grandmother were soothing.

“...When she talked about it, I wanted to stay awake to feel that magic too. ‘Your bones are still too young,” she’d say, ‘You’ll feel the magic when it’s your time.’”

Effie scooted closer, lying face to face with him on his pillow, close enough to feel his breath on her lips.

He was hesitant to touch her because of what happened before. “Is this your time to feel it?”

“Yes, honey. We’re in it.”

“I wanna kiss you.”

All that she was feeling poured into his mouth and over his body, and came flooding back as he fucked her in the feeling of stagnant fire and magic.

Her eyes closed afterward. “I’ll be alive in the morning. Do you trust me?”

He held her arm, and traced the tendons along her wrist instead of the handle of his knife. “I’m trying.”

‘...Alice had begun to think that very few things indeed were really impossible...’ (L.C.)

Almost anything could happen for a moment, and what’s life if not a series of moments? Madness. Rain, song, and demons. Falling into the unconscious, and coming undone.

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an-upset-librarian · 4 years

Text

A Storm of Ice & Wind -- Part VI

As Nesta and Cassian travel North, they talk about the path that brought them together.

At long last, I humbly bring before you all an update to this little Nessian story of mine. Nothing like a quarantine to get things started, huh? I hope you enjoy this little chapter!

As always, if you want to be added/removed from the update tag list, let me know! I just copy/paste and I know it has been a while since I updated so...

AO3

I II III IV V

PART VI

Thankfully, Nesta held back her surprised scream when Cassian quickly thrust up into the sky with his powerful wings. The drum beat of his wings drowned out the panicked pounding of her heart, but as soon as they cleared the canopy and reached open air, Nesta’s fear was replaced with childlike wonder.

She’d never paid any attention when she flew before. Never really wanted to open her eyes and look at the world from the new perspective. How stupid she’d been.

Her breath misted in the chilled air, the early rays of the sun catching it and casting a golden light upon her every exhale. She blinked against the glaring sun as it slowly peeked out from behind the wall of mountains spanning in nearly every direction. She looked down and the forest was only a dark blur beneath them. Washes of greens and browns and snow mixed together until she couldn’t distinguish one tree from another.

The sky was a brilliant canvas around them. The dawn blushed into life around them, highlighting the clouds and emphasizing the creeping darkness of night as it faded away. Oranges and pinks streaked the sky and clouds. Nesta was in complete and utter awe. They were high enough that she felt as though she could reach out and touch the fluffy clouds around them. A gentle breeze washed through her plaited hair and pinched at her cheeks. She felt as though she was living inside one of Feyre’s paintings.

The thought of her sister dampened her mood, but not as much as she would have expected. Flying above the canopy, enveloped in the painted sunrise filled her with tranquility, something she had not felt in quite a while.

A smile lit her face and she nearly forgot who was carrying her when she tightened her grip around Cassian’s neck. The overwhelming sense of smugness exuding from her companion’s pores quickly reminded her of who she was with. He was watching her with mirth in his dark gaze, an all too self-satisfied smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

The itching of her power under her skin faded to the back of her mind as she took in the great landscape beneath her and the skies around her. Nesta saw why Cassian loved to fly, why all Illyrians loved to fly. And what a punishment it was to clip female’s wings to keep them from experiencing such freedom.

They were silent for the first half hour or so. Cassian focused on his flying and the trials they would face ahead, and Nesta relishing in the calmness flying brought her and the clarity she could almost reach. Before she knew it, she was relaxing in Cassian’s arms, the stress she’d felt about her magic and her overwhelming emotions fading with each wingbeat.

While the air was frigid, it was a blessing against her hot, irritated skin. The brisk bite of the cold wind on her cheeks and her hands distracted her from the waves of power boiling inside of her. She knew she had to talk to Cassian about it, see if he could help, but her damned pride was still intact even after months of living as a shell of the person she used to be. Though, the person she used to be was stubborn and prideful as well.

Maybe that person was still inside her, a foundation for the pieces she was trying to put together again.

She lost track of time, lost in the beauty that surrounded her and the comfort of the arms around her and the body against her. It wasn’t until Cassian spoke, jolting her from her peaceful reverie, that she remembered their goals and what brought them to flying further North.

“I needed this,” he said, his eyes filled with rare softness. Nesta nodded. She could see the stress leave his shoulders, like a weight was lifted, and the ease in his movements. His arms tightened around her as he breathed in the cold air. “After Hybern, when that bastard shredded my wings-” Nesta tensed in his arms, memories rising to the surface.

“A part of me thought I’d never be able to do this again, to fly above Illyria with the winter winds against my wings and the sun on my skin.” His brow furrowed. Nesta wondered if it was the bubble that surrounded them, high above the ground with nothing but the clouds for company, that brought up such vulnerability. She felt it too, a tender and fragile part of her heart seemed to light up at his words.

“I remember,” she started, “seeing you bandaged. I could see it, the determination to be fully healed but behind that I saw your fear too. And I felt it within me. I was in a body I couldn’t recognize with abilities I never thought possible, Elain was-well, she was Elain. Feyre was gone and so was my home.” That piece of her heart swelled with emotion and she felt the tether tying her to the male that held her grow taut. His thumb stroked her shoulder and he stared into her eyes with no hesitation or fear, only understanding. “I remember seeing you relearning how to fly. I wanted you to win that fight.” She met his gaze head on.

“I wanted revenge, justice, whichever. I wanted one of us to come out of that cursed castle stronger and unchanged.” She clenched her jaw and exhaled a hard breath of air. “But that revenge came at a price. One I don’t know if I can pay.” The memories of the Cauldron and the King that wielded it came rushing back.

The feeling of that cold water against her skin, the image of Cassian, broken and unconscious, crawling towards her as she fought and screamed. And what came after-when she was inside that ancient thing. The darkness that surrounded her and what she saw inside of it, what she stole. That darkness lived in her now.

“Some burdens stay with us, like scars that don’t heal right, or broken bones that don’t set. There are wounds of the mind that can’t be healed, only patched over. I know, I have a couple. Knowing that I wasn’t strong enough, despite what these damned Siphons grant me, that I wasn’t enough to save your or your sister, it is the greatest wound I shall ever bear. Deeper than all the shit I did during the war so many centuries ago, or even the war we just survived.” Cassian’s voice was thick with emotion. His arms tightened to the point of pain, but she didn’t say anything, couldn’t say anything. She could only listen, as he did for her.

“I saw what happened to you, what you went through and I stayed away because I thought it would be best, Nesta.” Her name was honey on his lips, and she leaned in like a honeybee drawn to a flower’s nectar. His face was mere inches from hers and she could feel the heat of his breath fan across her face. She could see the golden flecks in his eyes shining in the sunlight.

“I wish things could have been different for you, but they weren’t. You were dealt a shit hand and you’re trying your best; I can see that now. I know it isn’t easy. I know.” For once, Nesta actually believed he did know, that he did understand. That he could understand, somehow, the pain she felt. Their scars were different, but if she could recognize those marks on his soul then he could see hers. Another piece of herself fell into place as she stared into his eyes, as she felt his pain and saw his empathy. She took a shaky breath and cupped her hands around his face. They were hovering, almost, in the sky together. Locked in their bubble together.

“I see you too, Cassian.” She pressed her forehead against his and felt him shudder. A sense of ease and comfort overcame her. It was so easy to be close to him, to be vulnerable with him. In the bubble, she didn’t care about her pride or her wounds that refused to heal. Cassian murmured her name, as if saying a prayer and for once she wanted to answer that call of devotion, without thinking about what it could mean.

“I-” she stuttered, too afraid to finish.

“I know,” he answered.

She thought about the first time they met, when she was still human, and the war seemed like something impossible happening in an impossible place. How she judged those that accompanied her sister. So much has changed, but now it felt right. The thread that connected her to Cassian was singing. It wrapped around her chest and brought warmth and something she never thought she could feel. Its melody was familiar and welcoming, and she was being drawn into its dance. Nesta felt Cassian’s breath against her lips. She thumbed the slight stubble on his jaw and took a deep breath.

She felt his lips brush against hers and was instantly reminded of the last time she felt his lips on hers, when they faced certain death together as that King walked towards them. Nesta jerked back.

She heard it again, the snap of her father’s bones. She saw it, his crumpled form. Saw Cassian’s broken wings and body against the earth, looking at her with such grief and loss. All at once, those feelings that dwelled inside her that had been calm since they took off into the skies returned. Her heartbeat sped up and the power inside of her stretched and bared its teeth.

Nesta pushed against Cassian as the panic set into her bones, nestling besides her pieced together heart. She could hear his voice, a few curses and some attempt at calming words but she couldn’t hear his words. Couldn’t focus. All she could hear was that Cauldron damned snap. All she could feel was the memory of his lips against hers, the salty taste of his tears and the desperation they both shared.

She couldn’t be here, in his arms and thinking of kissing him. Not when her father was dead, her life forever changed and destroyed, her family lost to her. She couldn’t think, couldn’t focus. There was only the panicked sense of danger that filled every fiber of her being.

That ancient power inside her relished in her roiling emotions. It took advantage of the brief loss of control she had and lashed out. Her skin was crawling and cold. Nesta’s muscles trembled and despite knowing she was hundreds of feet in the air, the power inside of her wrought havoc. It filled her blood and danced across her skin. She wanted to cling to Cassian, to pull him close and have him tell her everything would be okay, but that power was all consuming. Before she even knew what was happening, her body was finally free of his warm but confining arms.

And Nesta fell.

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