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rin-fukuroi · 6 months

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𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 [𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐱 𝐉𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐘𝐮𝐚𝐧]

Please do not translate or publish my works without my permission.

The originals of my works can be read here

Fandom: Honkai: Star Rail Pairings: Jing Yuan x Fem!reader x Blade Warnings: NSFW, !dark! content, i guess, yandere, non-con, threesome, oral sex, anal sex, creampie, squirt, a little rough treatment from Blade.

Note: English is not my native language, so I apologize if there are errors in the text qq

Yeah, i can't stop writing threesome wth my favorite men. But these two look especially good together…

You'd rather die than be trapped between two incarnations of the devil himself.

If it once seemed to you that Jing Yuan is soft enough against the background of a ruthless and cruel Blade, then this is not so at all. Right now he doesn't pay attention to your words of protest, or the tears running down your cheeks, or the way your legs are desperately trying to push his face away from your crotch, while Blade calmly fixes your wrists at the head of the bed. The general is gentle only in showering you with sickly sweet speeches and praises, from which your stomach twists in vomiting. The smile, forever frozen on his face, from the outside may seem soft and saturated with love when his gaze meets yours, but how can «love» and Jing Yuan get along in the same sentence when his tongue collects the moisture of your treacherous excitement, completely not caring about how your body trembles with fear and the look of fear rushes from the greedy eyes of the General to the quietly chuckling Blade, unbuttoning his fly.

— Mmm, you are amazing, dear, — Jing Yuan, after what seemed like an eternity, finally breaks away from your wet folds, contentedly licking his lips shiny from your salty slime. — Blade, come here.

— Tsk, — you almost exhale with relief when the gloomy tall figure of Blade moves away from you, moving to the edge of the bed, where the smug General is sitting. — What do you…?!

Both yours and Blade's eyes seem to expand in sync with shock when Jing Yuan bites into his lips in a kiss. You can almost feel his tongue sliding into Blade's mouth, like he's doing it to you. Blade's face expresses silent displeasure, but he doesn't try to pull away. It makes you sick to realize that the tongues of these men now share your taste. How disgusting they are. You take advantage of the moment and check the strength of the ropes that bind your hands. As expected, Blade is too good at everything that concerns your torment, so the rope painfully cuts into the skin of your wrists, preventing you from even pulling tight threads, no matter how you try to do it.

— Bastard, what are you doing? — Blade finally pushes General away, wiping his lips irritably with the back of his hand.

— I share with you the taste of our princess, — you again feel the weight of Jing Yuan's gaze from under half-closed eyelids, when he looks at the curves of your naked body without hesitation. Amber eyes rest on your trembling thighs, which are desperately trying to stay closed in a futile attempt to prevent any of them from thrusting a dick into you. But you know perfectly well that it's useless.

— You're too gentle with her, Jing Yuan.

You try to shrink, hide in a corner, do anything to avoid Blade's touch when his hands reach for your closed thighs, but strong long fingers inevitably press into your soft flesh, spreading your legs wide apart and opening up a view of your crotch for him. You whine, trying not to die right there from shame. Blade has always been intimidating. His habit of scrutinizing the most intimate parts of your body has always made you burn with embarrassment and disgust. You always knew that after that his heavy cock would painfully stretch your insides, but you just wanted to get it over with faster and hide from the eyes of two bastards using your body as a toy to satisfy their perverted needs.

They've never used you together before. It always had to be either Jing Yuan or Blade, and you honestly can't tell which one was less disgusting. But now that the sickening pretense and hypocrisy have merged into a hellish mixture with cruelty and cold-bloodedness, you really began to think that it would have been better for them to finish you off the day they both laid eyes on you. How much you must have angered the whole universe if it has prepared such a test for you?

— You're being too rude, Blade. I like to stretch out the pleasure, while you just use it as a thing. It's wrong, she should enjoy us too, — Jing Yuan's lips are still stretched in the tenderest smile as he gets up from his place on the bed, slowly walking to the head of the bed and stretching out his hands to the rope. — Come on, honey, don't cry. I think I should make you comfortable, huh? You won't be able to accept both of us in this position.

— Tsk, bastard, are you serious? I wasn't going to share her with you at all, — Blade exhales irritably, but pulls away from your hips, allowing Jing Yuan to arrange your bound hands on his shoulders as he embraces you, arranging you astride his body while he lays down on the bed.

You can feel his hard cock pressing against your clitoris, sending a sickeningly pleasant shiver through your body. Bitter tears are dripping from your eyes again from the realization of how humiliating it is to feel like such a helpless doll in their hands, especially when the warm slime of betrayal of your body flows down your thighs, surrendered under the pressure of primal desire, which at some point began to rage in your body along with fear of these two every time, when they visit the room allocated for you with one single purpose.

Jing Yuan purrs velvety into the curve of your neck while his heavy palms forcefully press on your hips, forcing you to descend on his dick, the oozing head of which has already aligned with your entrance. You whine and try to pull away from the touch of his lips to the skin of your throat, turning your head to the side. Stretching is so painful, but merges with a pleasant feeling of pleasure because of how slowly his big cock pushes deep into your vagina. Maybe it's because you're trying your best to prevent his big palms from pressing, or maybe it's because the General has always been famous for his addiction to harassing you to madness, it seemed to last forever, nauseating caresses and irritatingly slow movements, which sometimes stopped altogether, forcing you stay impaled on his dick for who knows how long until he gets bored of it.

When the head of Jing Yuan's cock rested against the cervix with a dull pain, making you shudder, completely lowered onto his hips, you almost forgot that there was another person in the room, drilling your figure with a burning predatory gaze, waiting for the moment when he could bloodthirstingly bite into the flesh of his victim. A short cry escaped from your throat when you felt the rough compression of your buttocks by Blade's cold hands. A sharp shiver shot through my spine as a terrifying thought popped into my head about exactly what Jing Yuan meant when he said that you should accept them both.

— N-no! No, please! — you desperately shifted on Jing Yuan's lap in a sudden panic attack when you realized what the man behind you was going to do. Your futile attempts to escape were instantly stopped by the painful pulling of your hair, forcing you to throw your head back.

— Shut up, — Blade growls, leaning over your ear. You freeze when your eardrums are struck by his terrifyingly low, husky voice. It always sounds like the call of your imminent doom, to which your imprisonment here must inevitably lead. You'd be lying if you said you didn't want to finally be free of this torment, but you knew they'd never let you die so easily.

Jing Yuan, on the other hand, simply enjoys the view of your throat that has opened up in front of him, the way your muscles tighten when you swallow convulsively, opening your lips and exhaling air intermittently from your painfully constricted lungs. You are so seductive in your defenselessness and weakness. General's lips find their place on your neck again when he lifts up, pressing into your vulnerable throat exposed in front of him, lifting your hips on his cock.

You whimper when you feel another hard organ pressing against your ass, but these pathetic sounds instantly break into a scream when Blade's dick ruthlessly, without any preparation, penetrates inside. He has always been so cruel and seems to be indifferent in his ugly love for you, allowing himself to use you solely for his own pleasure, not caring that he causes you more and more pain over and over again.

The feeling of two members settling into your insides is simply unbearable. You stagger on the verge of insanity when they both start moving in turn, not leaving you for a second free from the weight of their hard organs tearing you apart from the fusion of the feeling of hellish pain caused by Blade and the pleasure that Jing Yuan gives you, steadily pushing up towards your hips, while one of the his palms are persistently caressing your clitoris. Blade, on the other hand, seems to be less ruthless than usual, filling you deeply and roughly, but as if enjoying the feeling of the tightness of your walls, tightly contracting in painful spasms around his impressive girth.

One of Blade's palms rests on your ass, pressing even harder than Jing Yuan's hand, setting a faster pace to your movements.

— How impatient you are, Blade, — Jing Yuan coos into the warm skin of your neck, moving the palm resting on your thigh to Blade's fingers pressing into your elastic flesh.

— Idiot, stop groping me, — Blade growls again behind your back, pressing even harder on your delicate skin, it seems, instantly leaving bruises on it when you feel how their movements become more careless and energetic.

— But I love both of you!

You feel sick every time you hear any words of love from them. These people are not destined to ever understand true love. What they call love is nothing more than the ugly obsession of two sadists who torture you into unconsciousness every time one of them appears at the door of your room.

Your sobs gradually turn into stifled moans. No matter how much you want to feel disgust, it is drowned out by the treacherous pleasure spreading in the bottom of your stomach. Blade pulls your hair even tighter, forcing you to put your head on his shoulder while his hips meet your ass with loud pops. You can feel the heat coming from his sculpted abs and muscular chest, which meet your back whenever his cock returns to your insides. Hoarse moans and growls come out of his throat, stirring your eardrums.

Jing Yuan, on the other hand, behaves quite quietly, as if just enjoying the sounds of your and Blade's pleasure, trying to keep up with the pace set by the Stellaron Hunter. His lips roam over your skin, making their way from the bruises to your chest, where he stops to painfully squeeze one of your nipples between his teeth.

All this is so disgusting and just drives you crazy from the feelings of shame, self-loathing and fear that are tearing your heart out because your body really enjoys the violence that is being done to it. Their members synchronize at some point, making you scream from the way they seem to stimulate all the sensitive places in your insides when they meet each other through the wall separating them from each other. Your nails desperately dig into your own palms, tearing the skin to blood, but you are no longer able to feel this burning pain when your body is tormented by so many sensations that you are not able to cope with. The dimness of the room gradually swirls and fades before your eyes, and the sounds that uncontrollably fly out of your mouth subside when you feel a tight bubble exploding in the bottom of your stomach, scattering into tiny fragments that travel through every nerve in your body. You give up, you go limp, squeezed between two ruthless men who do not pay any attention to how consciousness leaves you, too keen on how your walls are clamped in a tight vice by their members when an orgasm crushes you. Your warm moisture streams onto Jing Yuan's embossed abs and chest, causing his body to shake in a guttural chuckle. Usually he needs more time or he just likes to stretch out the pleasure, but now he feels like his culmination is steadily approaching the bottom of his stomach, and he is unable, and has no desire to hinder it.

Blade feels the same way, spellbound, watching from under heavy eyelids for your extinct face resting on his shoulder. The sight of your impotence makes his massive cock throb and swell in your tight insides until, almost in unison, moans break from the lips of both men, marking the onset of their culmination. Your still-spasming walls are filled with portions of hot sperm, while Blade lowers his head on your shoulder, and Jing Yuan buries his forehead in your chest, catching his breath after a surprisingly intense orgasm.

The men remain motionless for a while, until Blade finally pulls his hand away from his thigh, irritably freeing himself from under the weight of Jing Yuan's palm and leaving your insides, allowing the sperm to vulgarly flow from your ass down the General's cock and his thighs still resting in your vagina. Jing Yuan picks up your body, gently emerging from under your bound hands and also slipping out of you, arranging your limp figure on the bed. The golden irises involuntarily glance over your vulnerable fragile body, stopping at your thighs, between which the pleasure fluids of all three of you have mixed.

— How wonderful. She's really made for both of us.

The General chastely removes the disheveled hair from your sweaty forehead, admiring your relaxed sleeping face. Blade is silent, taking one last look at you before grabbing his scattered belongings from the floor and leaving the room.

To your great regret, it seems that they both came to the same conclusion, although only Jing Yuan dared to voice it out loud, leaving a soft kiss on your cheek before untying the rope on your wrists and following Blade into the bathroom.

#hsr #hsr x reader #headcanons #blade #blade x reader #jing yuan #jing yuan x reader #jingyuan x reader #jingren #hsr smut #honkai: star rail #honkai: star rail smut #honkai: star rail x reader

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natailiatulls07 · 3 months

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Can you do part 2 of it’s okay please 🙏

It's okay Pt.2

Arthur Leclerc Charles Leclerc Lorenzo Leclerc Pascale Leclerc & Leclerc!reader

Summary - In order to find her way in life, Y/n Leclerc runs away in the dead of night only leaving a note

Warning - Y/n being very anxious

A/n - You asked so you shall receive lol 😚

People in screenshots above (Not a tag list xx) -

@dreamerrosie @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @alldaysdreamers

Eventually Charles managed to lead Y/n to the passenger seat of the ferrari, if the two were seen together the paparazzi would have a field day.

The car journey was silent but comfortable. Every so often Charles would glance over to his sister, taking in her puffy eyes, sniffly nose and tear lines where they ran through her delicate makeup.

He really did miss Y/n. The days, weeks, months and years after her disappearance, everyone in the family could feel that missing piece. Her.

There was so much he wanted to say. So much to ask her. Charles' mind raced no pun intended. "How are you?" His voice broke that silence, but he couldn't wait. He had waited long enough.

There was small hesitation before Y/n soft voice spoke up. "Y-Yeah good, I um..." She stops, taking in a deep breath before chuckling. Confusing Charles. "I actually came back to Monte C to um...see you guys again, I missed you guys..."

It took him a few seconds for that to sink in before Charles spoke again. "Really?" He laughed, somewhat not believing his little sister.

Smiles captured both of their lips, Y/n nodding laughing along with Charles. "Yeah, I guess my plan sort of worked out..."

"Well you're lucky chérie, everyone is going round Mamans tonight..." Surprise filled her face, her luck this evening was immaculate. "I was at Lorenzos to pick up some bits and then you called"

They pulled up to Pascales house, and a wave of tears wash off Y/n. It was the first time in years since she had been home, the place where she took her first steps.

The white front door and the beige shutters, everything all still there. Y/n thoughts were interupted by the voice of her brother. "Oh I guess we're the last ones here. You ready for this princesse?"

With a nod and a deep breath, Y/n climbed out of the Ferrari. Walking up to the front door; she was messing with her hair, clean down her outfit and wiping away any smugged makeup. This was the first she would see her family after so long, she wanted to make a good impression.

Charles walking slightly ahead of her, chuckling softly at her. "You know they won't care what you look like. I mean you could walk in wearing a trash bag and a birds nest for hair and we'd still be happy to see you..."

It's true. She had been gone for so long that the family would do anything to hug Y/n and talk to her again. Her hands slowly lower from her hair, nodding cautiously.

Side by side they both walk up to the front door. Charles doesn't even knock or ring the doorbell, he just walks in. "Maman? Arthur? Enzo?" He shouts through the house, wondering where they are. The two siblings hear a faint shout from their mother.

"In the kitchen Charlie"

It was like time stood still for Y/n. She hadn't heard her mothers voice in such a long time, and oh how she missed it. Tears clouded over her eyes.

A rough hand slipped into hers, Charles was now leading the almost frozen Y/n to the kitchen. As they walk through the hallway, she notices how alongside photos of Charles, Lorenzo and Arthur are pictures of Y/n. And not just old photos before she ran away, no photos from her career.

One photo she takes notice of is from when she was in Swan Lake as Odette, the Swan princess.

They're just outside the kitchen when Charles turns to Y/n. He smiles gently, looking into her glossy eyes. "Let's do this yeah?" And with that, he walks her into the kitchen.

Pascale looks up from the chopping board expecting to see Charles but stops when she spots Y/n stood next to him with glistening eyes. Arthur turns from the fridge and stops mid sentence. "Charles, did I tell you about-"

Theres a heavy silence in the room, only interupted by Pascale dropping the knife and rushing over to her daughter. The two female collide into a hug, both sobbing.

Lorenzo and Charles connect eyes, both happy that Y/n is back home. "Oh maman, Je suis désolé, tu me manques..." The rest of the family hear Y/n's voice crack, and they all swear they feel their hearts crack slightly.

Y/n feels Pascale shaking her head. "C'est bon, c'est bon bébé" Pulling away from the hug, she cups Y/n's wet cheeks. Eyes taking in the grown womens features. But their silent interaction is cut short by Arthur lightly moving his mother out of the way.

He takes his little sister into his arms and spins her round, laughing loudly and cheerfully. "Oh my god you're back! You're back!" Arthur puts her down after a few spins. "I can't believe you're back!"

Y/n smirks slightly and replies back to him. "Best believe it!" Which earns her a playful slap on the shoulder. Arthur steps back and the now reunited family gather around the kitchen island. "I miss you guys, I actually came back to see you guys again..." Biting her lip slightly, Y/n waits for their response to her comment.

Smiling softly, Charles laughs. "Well I don't know about anyone else but I feel honoured. Y/n Leclerc, pro ballet dancer takes the liberty to visit her family" The kitchen lights up in laughter whilst he moves across the isle and give the young female a side hug.

"Get used to me Cha Cha, I'm on break for the summer"

yourusername

Surprise! I am a Leclerc girl oops <3

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danikamariewrites · 9 months

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Hi! Can you write a one shot (hopefully on the longer side) where reader is just struggling with anxiety and depression and Cassian is comforting her? TIA!

Fix You

Cassian x reader

A/n: hi anon! I was in the mood to write this one. I had a bad day and was feeling depressed today so it was nice to imagine Cassian taking care of me while writing this. So if you’re feeling depressed know you’re not alone and if anyone ever wants to talk my dms are open :)

Warnings: angst, mental health struggles, anxiety, depression (I didn’t proof read this so I’m sorry for any typos)

A few weeks ago you felt your depression creep in again. But there was no way you were about to have a depression episode. You and Cassian were happy. There was nothing really to stress about, your work load had increased a little but nothing you couldn’t handle.

So you pushed it down. Kept fighting your thoughts and just kept breathing. Everything was fine. Cassian didn’t suspect anything and you wanted to keep it that way. You hated feeling like a burden to him. It made you feel anxious that he would take time off of work to stay with you.

Cassian always said he didn’t mind, but a little voice in your mind told you he did mind and hated you for it. You did love that he was so willing to take care of you. No one in your life had ever been there for you like Cassian has.

All day you felt mentally exhausted. Your social battery was drained and your depressive episode was winning. You were going to fight it for Cassian and for yourself. You were supposed to be getting ready to go to Rita’s tonight with everyone but all you could do was zone out while staring at your reflection in the mirror.

You weren’t focused on imperfections, you just hated how tired you were. The bags under your eyes seemed deeper, more purple. Blinking at your reflection you felt the ache of tears build behind your eyes and that all too familiar lump form in your throat.

Closing your eyes for a few seconds you open them and let your tears flow. You felt insane for just staring at yourself with a blank face while you silently cried. It was better to let it out at home than at Rita’s surrounded by your friends.

You don’t know how long you stood there just watching yourself cry. It had to have been a while because Cassian finally knocked on the bathroom door. He didn’t wait for you to respond to come in. “Y/n?” “Yeah.” Your voice cracks and sounds far away from your body.

Cassian turns you to face him, cupping your face in his hands. His thumbs wipe away your tears as he looks at you, really looks at you like he’s searching for the answer to an unspoken question. “Is it bad again?” Your face scrunches and you begin to sob. You nod, burying your face in Cassian’s chest.

He holds you close to him before picking you up to carry you to bed. You didn’t realize he was already dressed to go out and your guilt for making him stay home made you cry harder.

Cassian jumps on the bed sitting against the headboard. He pulls into his lap and you curl into him continuing to sob. He rubs slow soothing circles on your back and gently rocks you back and forth.

You ended up crying yourself to sleep. Cassian tucked you in laying next to you. He lightly held your fingers he watched you sleep. He let out a sigh of relief knowing your mind had a break for a few hours.

Cassian always felt guilty when you got like this. He felt like a failure for missing all of the signs you were falling into a depression. He liked that he was the person you could go to, so why didn’t you come to him for help this time?

You jolted awake the next morning. Rubbing at your puffy eyes you scanned the room for Cassian. Before you could go look for him the door opened and he padded in holding two steaming mugs of tea. “Good morning princess.” He shot you small smile that you tried to return.

“Morning.” He handed you a mug, kissing your forehead. You take it with both hands letting the it warm your frozen fingers. That’s when you noticed the curtains billowing in the morning breeze. “I opened the window last night. You woke up and said you felt like you couldn’t breathe, so I wanted to let some fresh air in.”

You gave Cassian a sad smile. “Thank you.” He sat on top of the covers next to you, his wings trying to relax behind him. You could tell he wanted to talk. “Go ahead Cass. It’s ok, ask me.” You lay a reassuring hand on his knee and he takes a deep breath.

“I’m sorry I didn’t see the signs. And I want you to know that I’m always here for you. You can come to me with these things y/n, please.” Cassians voice breaks a little. You shed a few tears as you curl up in his lap again.

You hugged Cassian tight tucking your face in his neck. “I promise I’ll ask for help next time.” He relaxes and kisses the side of your head. “Good, you’re not alone y/n. I’m here for you my love.”

tags: @nyotamalfoy @auggiesolovey @bubybubsters @baybay123455 @msiecrane @aroseinvelaris @twsssmlmaa

#acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar reader imagine #acotar reader fic #acotar imagine #cassian acosf #cassian fanfic #cassian acotar #cassian acotar x reader #cassian angst #cassian x you #cassian imagine #cassian x reader

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separatist-apologist · 4 months

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A Lost Princess of Sunlight

Summary: Lady Elain has spent her life in the idyllic countryside wanting for nothing, so when her adopted sister Vassa begs her to accompany her to court, how can Elain say no? The roguish prince is in need of a wife and Elain, certain she'd make a terrible princess, has no interest in such theatrics.

But something about the palace brings back memories lost to the sea ten years before. Memories Elain had been certain she'd never get back…memories that speak of a colder place, and sisters long forgotten. Amid the tumultuous politics and the looming war, Elain finds herself embroiled in a mystery to find out who she really is.

And where she really comes from.

Note: HAPPY HOLIDAYS @writtenonreceipts! I hope you like this- I tried so hard to give it TOG vibes AND to incorporate nessian and feysand because you said you love them (and I in turn love you).

@acotargiftexchange

Major thanks to @velidewrites and @wilde-knight for the moodboard + beta-ing this fic when I was laying face down in a puddle of my own tears.

Prologue:

“Go,” Feyre whispered, hands pushing against Elain’s back. It was frigid outside, their boots cracking the ice crusted over the cobblestone streets. It should have smelled like pine and snow, should have been utterly silent as everyone waited for the coming Solstice and the gifts that so often accompanied it.

War had shattered the once idyllic peace, inching closer and closer to the capital of Ellesmere until Elain and her family were forced to flee in the night. Just ahead, her mother grasped Nesta’s hand, weaving through alleyways unfamiliar to the ransacking soldiers.

She knew where they were going. They had practiced this before. One more left, ducking beneath a half-ruined awning, and then a sprint to the docks where a ship was waiting. Her father was nowhere to be seen, though Elain supposed he had a head start on them.

“Go,” her mother urged, pushing Nesta, then Elain, and finally Feyre into the little vessel. A man was waiting, hoisting them beneath with hurried, impatient fingers. “Get down—”

A flaming arrow screamed through the night, missing Feyre by mere inches. It took Elain a minute to realize what had happened—the shield that had saved her youngest sister’s life. Their mother stared, blue eyes like glassy mirrors against her ashen face. Golden brown hair graying at the temples was set aflame. Nesta began screaming, the words ringing in Elain’s ears.

“Go,” their mother mouthed, hitting her knees before she pitched forward. Hands pulled the three of them roughly back into the boat as orders were given to pull up the anchor. Was she crying? It seemed as if she must be given how frozen her face felt.

The world was moving too slow for Elain, making it impossible for her racing thoughts to process. Even as the ship pulled away, dragged by roaring wind, Elain was certain their mother was going to get up.

She didn’t.

“Princess,” the captain was yelling at Nesta, unsteady against the choppy northern sea. “Princess, we need—”

Elain never heard what they needed. The wind drowned out the command which Elain didn’t care much about, anyway. Was Nesta Queen, now? The few sailors moving about eyed her fourteen-year-old sister warily and though Elain couldn’t hear what Nesta said, she recognized the sharpness of her eyes. Nesta was used to giving out such commands. Feyre was gripping the railing of their ship, staring at the water below with a hollow gaze. Elain knew what she needed to do—put on a brave face and take Feyre into the interior of the ship where they could get some sleep, if only to forget what was happening to their home.

Everything was going to be okay. They’d get to the safehouse where relatives would be waiting to usher them to safety. Everyone was okay. A healer would attend to their mother who would be bedridden but otherwise safe.

Deep, deep down Elain knew it was a lie. She needed those lies, at least for now. As the ship rocked, Elain made her way toward Feyre who was still looking outward. The once beautiful city she’d spent her life in was a mere haze of smoke and fire in the distance, half lost to the fog of sea.

“Feyre,” Elain began, though that was all she was able to say before the ship violently lurched to one side. The gods were moody that night, unwilling to offer safe passage despite the circumstances. Elain lost Feyre, hitting her back against the wet wood so roughly it robbed her of breath.

Please, she thought just as water rushed over her. It was shockingly cold, leaving her paralyzed like a rag doll, flung from one end to the other. She could hear nothing, could do nothing, utterly helpless to even draw breath though she desperately wanted to.

Get up get up get up! Her mind screamed with panic. Elain did try to grasp at something when the ship tilted sickeningly again, though her fingers were utterly stiff and unwilling to bend. The world was upside down, a swirl of dark hues of navy and gray.

And then it was silent and salt and made entirely of water. Elain’s body constricted, lungs demanding air though none arrived when she opened her mouth. More water, more fear. She could feel nothing, could see nothing. Just a blur of her own hazy fear and the terrible fear she was going to die.

Elain did try, though it amounted to nothing. There was nothing to cling to, no light to tell her which way was up and which way was down. And as the cold seeped in, somehow driving out the horrible chill, she thought that maybe this wasn’t so bad. Maybe it was better to be without fear.

Maybe this was a mercy.

In the end, it was nothing at all.

[ten years later]

Lucien Vanserra stretched out his legs, neck stiff. “Bastard,” he spat, tossing his sword to the muddy ground beneath him. Behind him, the boisterous laugh of his best friend and second-in-command Jurian followed him out of the training pits.

“You’re a sore loser,” Jurian crooned, likely catching the way Lucien’s fists curled and uncurled. “I have half a mind to tell your father you were bested in training again.”

“And I have half a mind to punch you in the face ahead of Lady Vassa’s visit,” Lucien retorted hotly, wiping the smile off Jurian’s face. “Oh. Did you not hear she was coming to court?”

It was Jurian’s turn to look as though he’d like to hit Lucien. Lucien had intended to tell Jurian though it had slipped his awareness given all the other things happening. Now was as good a time as any, besides.

“Why?”

“Why do you suppose? Now that mother and father insist I marry, every lord with a daughter under the age of forty will descend upon us hoping to secure a match.”

“You wouldn’t—”

“Of course I wouldn’t,” Lucien snapped, wiping his sweaty brow against his bare forearm. “And Lady Vassa is hardly on mothers shortlist besides. This little ball of hers is not in good faith.”

“Ah, but it will be one last night of debauchery and fun,” Jurian teased, elbowing Lucien in the ribs. “This is every firstborn son’s duty, is it not? Get married, carry on the family line, etcetera and so forth?”

Lucien’s mood only darkened at the prospect. It wasn’t that he minded the thought of one day having a son, of becoming king and ruling the empire his father had so strategically built. It was the manner in which he was expected to do it. His own father had been allowed to choose his wife, however ill-advised it had been at the time. Lucien had no intention of stealing another man's wife as his father had done, sweeping her away and leaving six furious sons behind.

He merely wanted the ability to say who he wanted when he wanted.

And, perhaps, he was still a little burned by Jesminda’s rather abrupt dismissal of their courtship. She was gone, left to the countryside with her new husband she loved. Lucien told himself he ought to be happy for her. It had been nearly two years since she’d left, married and beaming—practically glowing, now that he thought about it. He’d been too bitter at the time to notice. He didn’t begrudge her that.

Lucien merely wished she had felt that way about him. He was convinced there was no one else in the world for him and perhaps he’d told his mother so drunkenly a few months earlier. If he’d only kept his big mouth shut, he’d have been allowed to carouse as he liked for at least another year.

Possibly two if he was careful about it.

Now he’d be married by solstice—just in time to parade his new wife around the summit in Velaris while making not-so-veiled threats to Archeron, the utter bastard. He was in the process of marrying off his eldest daughter so he, too, might have a successor to the throne, looking west toward Lucien’s half brother which was a threat in and of itself.

Everyone knew the Vanserras would love to see the southern empire laid to ruin. It was important Lucien married more than ever—ideally into a family with deep pockets to fight the war they all knew was coming. Peace was tentative, brokered when the northern royals lost their queen and a princess all in the same day. Ellesmere ceded territory laden with gold, enriching Lucien’s family and in exchange his father returned their remaining two daughters, rescued at sea.

He still remembered Nesta Archeron. They’d been allowed to live in the palace rather than as prisoners and while Feyre had been mostly mute, glassy eyed and silent, Nesta had raged like a wild animal.

If she still harbored even a lick of resentment, Lucien knew she’d be the driving force behind Eris Vanserra’s throne and her father's bid for revenge. Eris was coming on a diplomatic mission, too, which was the polite way of saying Lucien’s mother was going to throw herself at his feet and hope she forgave her for leaving, while offering up all the same women she was pushing at Lucien, too.

As if Eris were the type for a love match.

Shaking his head, Lucien pushed through the wooden gate to make his way back toward the city. It was unseasonably hot even for summer, the humidity drawing sweat even when he was sitting in the shade. It was miserable just then, boots hitting the sunstone streets with a loud thwack. Behind them, the sounds of clanging metal and groaning soldiers were half drowned by the cheerful white sands and foaming ocean, while ahead of them the bustling city created a chorus of voices. It was Lucien’s favorite sound.

And his favorite sight. The looming palace on the hill made of ivory and gold and the multicolored buildings that circled around, built on a sloping mountainside. Purple flowers dotted along spiky grass while towering palm trees occasionally dropped coconuts to the streets. As a child, Lucien had collected them, begging his father to puncture them so he could drink the milk inside as he strutted about, a pretend sword strapped to his hip.

Now when he stepped onto the main road people lowered their eyes and bowed their heads. He wasn’t a boy anymore, but a man they might one day call king. Lucien missed being the former, though—missed the way they’d reach for a strand of his auburn hair or how they’d sneak him little treats when they thought his parents weren’t looking.

Jurian straightened, his expression shifting from Lucien’s friend to Captain of the Guard. One day Jurian would be his General, but for now, this was enough. Jurian was one of them—just another man from Rhodes who had risen through the ranks while making Lucien feel less isolated when he, too, had been shoved into the army. Everyone else treated Lucien with respect.

Jurian had shoved his face into the dirt.

“There’s a way out of immediate marriage,” Jurian began, reminding Lucien once again why he was both Lucien’s best friend and closest advisor.

“Go on,” Lucien murmured, inhaling the smell of grilled meat.

“Velaris is filled with beautiful women. Tell your mother you’re interested in a more political marriage.”

“And when she realizes I’m not interested in a more political marriage?” Lucien asked dryly, trying to think of the last time he’d been inside Velaris. Had he ever? Maybe once when he’d been a boy, the memory eluding him.

“It’ll be winter and half the ladies who visited will be married to other lords. It’s not forever, but maybe another year or two. Nothing will save you from the marriage bed forever.”

“It’s better than anything I considered,” Lucien agreed, dodging a donkey hauling a cart filled with sunmelons.

“And who knows. Maybe the love of your life is up in the mountains,” Jurian added, elbowing Lucien once again.

“I doubt that,” Lucien grumbled, his thoughts once again turning toward Jesminda. How long before she was pregnant, he wondered? How long before she brought her firstborn to court for his father’s blessing, forcing Lucien to see the man and family she’d wanted over him?

Why not me?

Knowing full well Jesminda had never wanted to be a princess and had never wanted to be queen.

He couldn’t shake the thought from his mind even as he entered the opulent palace to a loud argument between two of the philosophers his father insisted be allowed to live at court. Sidestepping them and mumbling a goodbye to Jurian, Lucien took the steps two at a time toward his bedroom. He needed just a little silence and a chance to clear his head.

Flopping onto his bed, still sticky from heat and sweat, Lucien closed his eyes, intending to find a way through the tangled mess that was his mind.

All he found was sleep.

“Come with me,” Vassa urged, reaching for Elain’s hands. “Please. Please. Pleasepleaseplease—”

“I don’t belong at court,” Elain interrupted, looking up from her book. Vassa plopped beside her, spreading her hands over the cerulean blue of her skirts. “And you’ll have more fun without me.”

“I won’t. I never do,” Vassa protested, pretty face twisted into a scowl. “The prince is a bore and his court is far too self-satisfied to be of any amusement.”

“Stop, you’re making it sound too fun—”

“Come with me anyway. Rhodes is a wonderful city filled with libraries and museums and amusements beyond your wildest imagination. Plus there will be parties and dancing and you love parties and dancing.”

“Yes, and there will be all these well-bred ladies–”

“You’re a well-bred lady, and my sister to boot.”

Elain offered Vassa a look of exasperation. They were sisters in name only, but not by blood. Elain’s family was yet another casualty in the brutality the north inflicted upon them, razing her village to the ground and tossing her body into the western sea. Had she not been found by Lord Koshington, Elain might have succumbed to exposure. Her life before Vassa was lost to her and in some ways, she knew she was quite fortunate. She’d been given the education of a lady and one day a marriage would be arranged on her behalf.

It was far better than whatever she’d been expecting before the raid, she supposed. But just because Lord Koshington had taken her in didn’t make her an actual lady. Elain had never been brave enough to go to court either, choosing to remain behind rather than be reminded of her inadequacies.

She wanted to see it all, if only once.

“I should stay–”

“I won’t take no for an answer. Please. I’ll do your latin homework for a week if you agree. Or…I’ll give you my gold dress—”

“You wouldn’t,” Elain replied, facing the book in her lap to fully look at Vassa. “You love that gown.”

“I love you more. Is that an agreement, then? You’ll spend a month in Rhodes with me in exchange for my gold dress?”

“And my latin homework. And you’ll work harder on the piano when we return as well. I’m tired of being the only one asked to play when guests come over.”

“Done,” Vassa agreed, blue eyes as bright as the sun itself. “Lucky you agreed because I may have told father this morning you’d agreed to accompany me. We’ll serve as each other's chaperones so he can waste his time droning on and on with the king about politics.”

“Chaperones? Who are you hoping to see?”

Vassa’s bronzed cheeks darkened, her freckles lost beneath the wash of color. Elain forgot her book entirely, surging forward until their faces were mere inches apart. “Tell me his name at once!”

“Swear to keep it between us. I would die if he ever learned the depth of my affection. He thinks I loathe him and I would prefer to keep it that way.”

“You’re cruel, Vassa.”

“Men prefer to work for our affection and this man is no different. Worse, I suspect, which is why I like him. The prince’s mother is hoping to match someone with her son but I am far more interested in the Captain of the Guard.”

“Is he handsome?” Elain asked, resting the back of her head against the rough bark of the tree behind her.

“Terribly handsome. And horribly stupid, but in an endearing sort of way. I’m certain he’s good at many things…just not winning an argument.”

“Well, no one can win an argument against the likes of you,” Elain said with a laugh. “What will the lord say about it?”

Vassa’s smile dipped a bit. “No, I’m sure. He has no title, no money and will always serve the prince. Still. It’s fun to imagine a world in which we could select our own husbands, don’t you think?”

“I’ve never really thought about it,” Elain admitted. “It seems risky.”

“That’s just what men want you to think. But we’re perfectly capable of knowing our own minds and deciding for ourselves. We’re not as helpless and brainless as they imagine.”

“What are you planning?”

“Me? Oh, I wouldn’t dream of planning or plotting.”

Elain rolled her eyes, wondering for the first time just how much Vassa actually liked this man and how far she might be willing to go. Elain pondered it all evening, wondering if she shouldn’t tell someone that sending the two of them mostly alone to Rhodes was a bad idea.

But Vassa’s words lingered in her mind.

We’re not as helpless and brainless as they imagine.

Because Vassa was right. She’d been educated within an inch of her life just for men to waltz around her acting as if she were as new as a freshly born baby. Treated as though it were cute she had opinions when she was supposed to be nothing more than ornamentation while Elain brushed it off because what else could she do?

But Vassa was right, just like she always was. They weren’t stupid—men wanted it both ways. They wanted a wife smart enough to one day oversee the education of their sons, but stupid enough they were always the unchallenged authority. It didn’t mean Elain wouldn’t acquiesce when her time came—she had no other option and no other skills but to be married—but that didn’t mean she couldn’t help Vassa escape the expectations.

That was what Elain told herself, anyway. And it helped her sleep at night for the following week as preparations were made to leave the idyllic countryside estate they resided on and make their way further south toward the coast. Lord Koschington was still accompanying them and would be the one to introduce Elain to court—as his niece rather than his daughter. That was the more believable lie without besmirching Elain’s reputation right from the start.

With the gold gown packed in a trunk and the promise of being allowed to coast in her lessons when she returned—assuming Vassa returned with her at all. Elain was dreading the carriage ride not because the journey was long and it was already oppressively hot, even at dawn, but because Lord Koshington loved to hear himself talk.

And in the carriage he had a captive audience.

For five miserable hours, Vassa and Elain sat straight backed and silent while Lord Koschington droned on and on about King Helion’s feud with the King of the North, Archeron. Elain loathed the name like any good southerner, having learned to fear those silver armored warriors that often ducked across the border to raze whole villages to the ground.

He had two daughters and Koschington was fascinated with the oldest, said to be unparalleled in her beauty and destined for the prince to the west, Eris Vanserra. For five hours, all he talked about was the disaster it would be if those two territories united and how Lucien would be the last Spell-Cleaver to ever sit on the sunlit throne. It was the sort of conundrum that kept men like Lord Koshington awake at night but to Elain, who couldn’t remember the war and had been living in nothing but peace for the last decade, it felt more like unwarranted anxiety.

Who cared about a princess’ marriage? Why wouldn’t she marry a prince, besides? Elain had heard rumors that Eris Vanserra was the most handsome prince in the realm, still unmarried as his ancient father crept toward the grave. She imagined there was a line from his bedroom door to the edge of his coast hoping to secure him as a husband.

As for herself, well. She was glad to not be in such a position. Elain didn’t think she cared for that kind of responsibility.

Eventually, even Lord Koschington was silenced by the heat, sweat sliding down the temples of his face. His once onyx hair was threaded with silver and his face lined with age though he was easily a good-looking man. Elain sometimes wondered why he’d never remarried after the passing of his wife though she’d never had the guts to ask him. That was private—personal.

He wasn’t her father, either. He’d cared for her, taken her in when that had never been his obligation and treated her as well as his own daughter.

Elain knew better than to upset him. Though he’d never given her a reason to believe otherwise, some part of her suspected that if she acted outside of his will, he might withdraw his support. Better to be above reproach in all things so he felt his investment was worth it.

Elain had never been more grateful in her life to stumble out of a carriage. At first glance, she saw the women in the capitol wore far fewer layers than they had been out in the country. No laces, no petticoats, no sleeves. Gods above, but Elain was desperate to update her wardrobe with the breezy fabrics and shorter sleeves, even if some part of her felt slightly scandalized by the scooping backs and the clingy bodices.

She noticed the palace itself next. Set atop a rather steep hill and half-carved into a mountain overlooking the southern sea, the sprawling structure was made of ivory and gold, lined with swaying green palms, while purple flowers dotted against the lawn.

Rows of carriages circled to the front of the drive spilling ladies in all manner of garb toward the towering pillars where they were greeted by an elderly man draped in white. Elain and Vassa both dipped into curtseys when it was their turn as Lord Koshington announced, “My daughters, Vassa and Elain.” Elain’s pulse hammered.

My daughter.

He’d told her she would be introduced as a cousin. Daughter? Blinking rapidly lest she burst into tears, Elain grasped Vassa’s hand so hard she was certain there was no blood flow. Putting aside his kind words and his willingness to pretend she was wholly his, Elain and Vassa stepped into the palace. She’d expected more of the miserable, oppressive heat but somehow it was cool. Not cold, but chilly enough a shiver raced up her spine the moment the air hit her skin.

They were hardly the most anticipated guests—no royals to greet them, no decadent rooms. Lord Koshington had his own while the girls were given a suite of interconnected bedrooms that were larger than anything Elain had ever seen. Draped in cream and gold, her bedroom had the good fortune of overlooking the sea and the gardens just below.

Elain was living in a dream.

She didn’t want to wake up.

Nesta Archeron took the spiraling, stone steps two at a time, navy skirts gathered in one hand to keep her from plummeting right back down. Chilly hair nipped at her cheeks, drawing color that wouldn’t otherwise exist. The air itself stung her eyes, making them seem glassy like she’d been crying.

Nesta Archeron never cried.

Hiding at the top of the tower stood her younger sister Feyre, fingers bright red from the cold. “Have they arrived?” Nesta asked, shouldering beside Feyre to peer out of the little arched window overlooking the whole of the city.

“There,” Feyre said, nodding toward the black and silver banners marching toward the palace gates. Nesta’s eyes were drawn to the man sitting atop a black steed, his matching cape fluttering in the wind. She couldn’t see him well, but every ounce him screamed warrior king.

King Rhysand of the East.They called him the King of Nightmares for his reputation for being ruthless—he didn’t kill those who slipped over his border looking to destabilize his regime. Rhysand had them tortured, broke their minds, and sent them back home.

He was flanked on either side by two men who might have been brothers. The distance obscured their features, though Nesta could make out the broad shoulders and lethal sword hilt of the one on the left and the slimmer build of the one on the right. She supposed the one on the left was the terrifying Lord of Bloodshed, Rhysand’s general, and the other was the torture master himself, Azriel.

For the first time in living memory, the North was welcoming the East into their borders. Nesta wasn’t foolish enough to think it was mere diplomacy, though she’d already promised the prince of the west her home, her throne, and her body, too, if he returned with a way into the south.

But should he fail, she’d do what her father was hoping and she’d marry Rhysand if he could offer her the revenge she was so desperate for.

Nesta’s nightmares were still plagued of Elain, wide-eyed and shivering as she made her way toward Feyre in the dark. She still dreamt of the ricocheting canon that slammed into their ship and how she and Feyre were whisked into a lifeboat. How they’d been kept political prisoners by Helion himself, their lives used to forge the treaty that now bound both nations.

While Elain had never been found, her body still haunting the sea bed.

And Nesta might have been able to forgive the death of her mother. But she’d sworn her life to protecting Elain the very night she’d failed. It was the only way to convince Elain to leave.

I’ll protect you. Please. Come with me.

How she’d failed.

Nesta was old enough to inherit her father’s throne though law dictated she needed a husband and so Nesta had begun a campaign of finding the right man. She didn’t need love—didn’t want love. She wanted vengeance and none of the men at court were equipped to give her that.

Eris Vanserra wanted it nearly as badly as she did, and was just as practical. He’d told her he wasn’t looking for a love match and would look the other way if she chose to take a lover so long as she was discreet about it—and he had no question regarding any future offspring.

Fine.

He would be there now, poking through Helion’s secrets. Looking for weaknesses, mapping out their borders, the walls of Rhodes, and anything else he could glean. Nesta would give him everything, ruining her father’s careful legacy in favor of turning her family into Vanserras, giving her husband total control her territory, her wealth, her armies.

And she’d be the one to drive the blade straight through Helion’s blackened heart.

Rhysand was her backup plan and her father’s first choice. Eris Vanserra was a snake in the grass, untrustworthy and perhaps more damning, a Vanserra. Their family had ruled longer than any other on the continent, with a legacy that predated the oldest written record.

But for all Eris’ faults, Nesta knew vengeance was personal for him. Helion had stolen his mother away in the night, forced her into marriage, and made her his wife. Those kinds of scars lingered, lasted. Rhysand wasn’t that sort of man from what she’d gathered.

He was a shadowed mystery, his motivations unclear. She didn’t know if he even wanted conquest, or if he was merely interested in seeing her home. She’d sent several letters which he’d returned with short, polite answers. Nothing helpful, no hidden message she could read between the lines. Only a gentleman’s words that were utterly banal and uninteresting to her.

Gentleman be damned.

She needed someone bloodthirsty and cruel.

Beside her, Feyre turned her head, chestnut hair whipping against her face. She knew, even if Nesta had never once explicitly said what she planned. Feyre knew, watchful as she was. Whether she approved or not didn’t matter, though Nesta had never known Feyre to be terribly soft-hearted. And she suspected she carried the same weighty guilt over Elain’s death, held the same deep-seated need to see someone pay for it.

“We should be ready to greet them,” Nesta said, well aware Feyre would slip up into the rafters to listen without anyone watching.

“You go, then. I have no interest in any more princes or kings,” she replied, blue eyes flashing with defiance. “Nor do I wish to assist father in selling us off like livestock.”

“Not us. Me. You are safe—and once I’m married, you can pick whatever lovely northern gentleman is hounding your steps. I’ll make sure of it.”

“I don’t want a husband. We don’t need any of these horrible men to get what we want, Nesta. Take the throne, rewrite the laws—”

“The nobility would revolt. They’d throw me in prison or worse, force a marriage on me, wait until I gave them a son, and then stage some timely yet tragic accident. It’s better to have a say in it. To decide for myself and direct it as best I can.”

“None of them are trustworthy and I fear this king—Rhysand— is the worst of them.”

“Worse than Vanserra?” Nesta replied, genuinely curious which Feyre would prefer ruling their home.

Feyre glanced back out the window, eyes narrowing. “He looks like a liar.”

“That’s because he’s a man.”

Feyre blew out a breath, crossing her arms over the rosy pink dress she wore. Neither of them would acknowledge what they were both thinking—Lord Tamlin Rosewood, who’d asked for Feyre’s hand in marriage and then struck her in a fit of frustration over some problem with the dowry. It had been, he claimed, an accident.

He had been expelled from court, banished to the countryside and Feyre locked in her room until the bruising on her face faded. Everyone wanted to pretend it had never happened but to Nesta, it merely highlighted that she needed to be the one to secure their family so Feyre could have a small sliver of peace.

Love was for the lower classes, besides. Perhaps Ferye understood that, now.

“Come on,” Nesta said, hoping she wouldn’t have to go alone. She would, but she would feel less anxiety if she weren’t by herself.

For once, Feyre didn’t put up a fight. Perhaps she recognized Nesta’s own vulnerability. Or maybe she wanted to stare the foreign king down with that lethal gaze of hers that made men wither to dust. Nesta thought it would be something to see them cower before her petite sister rethinking whatever strategy she was certain they must have.

The halls were utterly emptied, leaving only the watchful sentries posted by windows and doors, none of whom were allowed to meet their gaze. She still remembered Elain trying so hard to get the ones at the throne room door to smile and how she’d nearly always succeeded.

Feyre and Nesta didn’t bother.

Their father was waiting, sitting on his icy, iron throne crowned in the blue diamonds that could be found only in the ancient mountains of the Spine, the natural border between their home and Rhysand’s. Nesta wondered if Rhysand would come wearing them, too. Nesta was wearing them around her neck, so heavy it made her spine ache. She’d carefully braided her hair off her face and put on a rather sumptuous, though conservative, gown.

She was beautiful and she knew it. Nesta also knew that men liked a woman who presented herself well—Eris Vanserra had certainly been taken with her presentation, and she assumed Rhysand would be, too. There was no harm in letting him see what he wanted. A wellbred, obedient wife was the expectation. It wasn’t the reality, but that was a problem for another day.

Nesta and Feyre took their place on either side of their father, staring across the room lined with nobility as the sounds of heavy footsteps began echoing louder and louder. For one moment, something in Nesta quaked with fear, blood icy as though death itself was making its way for her.

It was only a man—a man she didn’t want, didn’t like, and would never love. Rhysand and his right hands were the only ones who came in, strangely unadorned.

He was, objectively, attractive enough. High cheekbones set in a symmetrical face, with eyes so blue they were nearly violet and dark hair styled to look as though the wind had merely tousled it. A silver circlet of stars adorned his brow and one heavy ring was perched on his middle finger while the rest of him was rather bare in comparison to her father.

He looked like a warrior king in his dark black leathers and the heavy cape hanging from his shoulders. He lacked all the pomp and circumstance Eris had brought with him along with the warmth, too. His whole presence exuded ice and instinctively, Nesta took a step back.

His eyes were on her, and then her father as he swept into a bow. Nesta watched, as he came back up, how his gaze slid to Feyre.

And remained there.

“Rhysand,” her father began, his voice sharp and clear. “I hope the journey didn’t give you too much trouble.”

A cat’s smile slid across his features, eyes flicking back to their father. “None at all.”

Nesta didn’t hear her father’s response, buzzing filling her ears as she took a moment to survey the other men who’d come to join their king. The tallest one had removed the heavy helmet he wore, tucking it beneath one muscular arm and oh, Nesta wished he hadn’t. His face, scarred just at the eyebrow and again across full lips, was perhaps the most beautiful face she’d ever laid eyes on. Not classically, of course—for one, he was far too large. The sconce on the wall across the room was, perhaps, as tall as this man was and the muscle packed on his body spoke to an active life, never mind the twin, curved swords looming over his shoulders.

A light layer of dark stubble graced a perfect jaw while strange, whirling black inked tattoos peeked from beneath the neckline of his armor. She wondered what they meant, what their purpose was. Nesta drank in his slightly crooked nose, likely broken in some battle he’d won and the curved scar across his throat that must have been brutal when he’d first received it. He had his large hands clasped in front of him and when she looked up to take in the color of his eyes—hazel, more green than brown—she found he was grinning at her.

He’d caught her looking at him and wanted her to know it. Nesta immediately looked away, unable to hide the damning flush creeping up her own neck.

Nesta swore he’d never catch her looking at him again.

Hands in his pockets, Rhys allowed Archeron to show him around the palace. These visits never failed to bore him. Look at this painting, survey my wealth. Did you see my daughters? Aren’t they lovely?

Usually the answer was covert eyerolls and shared smirks with Cassian and Azriel. Today, though, Rhys felt moody. Unsettled. Disturbed, even, by the younger daughter he hadn’t known existed and hadn’t expected to see.

Rumors swirled about Nesta Archeron and the possible marriage her father was considering with heir apparent Eris Vanserra. His father was on death’s door and a marriage between North and West almost certainly promised a brutal and bloody war.

When Helion had learned, he’d sent word to Rhysand. What is going on in the Spine?

Nothing smart. Rhysand intended to do what he did best—lie. Pretend he had interest in Nesta, jerk her around for a year while he drew up marriage contracts that had to be written and rewritten and written again, wasting her time while Eris inevitably moved on to some nice noble in his own court.

And then Rhys could withdraw, free to continue philandering until his advisors put their foot down. His presence was purely nefarious—two months freezing his balls off in the frigid north while Cassian inspected the army and Azriel devoured secrets.

And yet…and yet.

Rhysand’s mind slipped toward the younger daughter and those eyes. They looked like the same stars that hung over the Illyrian Mountains, silvery and bright and so very alive. Rhys had spent his entire life gazing up at them—he would have recognized them anywhere. Even in the face of that woman, who spared only a passing glance before she fixed her stare on the wall behind him, clearly underwhelmed by their presence.

He wanted to talk to her. He’d seen beautiful women before, though perhaps this was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, and that beauty was often exhausted the moment they opened their mouth to speak to him.

Easier said than done. Rhys tried, but Nesta Archeron became the ambassador for the Archerons, silently watching him without ever speaking a word. He found that unnerving all through dinner and wasn’t the only one. The moment he, Azriel, and Cassian were locked away in the suite of rooms, Azriel was the first to speak.

“This place feels like a tomb,” he said, looking around the dark interior.

“Why don’t the princesses speak?” Cassian added, pulling open the heavy velvet curtains blocking out the dim light. “Are they allowed?”

“We should have brought Morrigan,” Azriel grumbled, flopping gracelessly onto a floral sofa.

“She doesn’t deserve the archaic practices of Archeron,” Rhys replied, running a finger over the marble mantle of the fireplace. A thin layer of dust came with it, proving the North rarely hosted guests.

They were far too untrusting.

He supposed he didn’t blame Archeron given the horror of that final invasion. Rhysand couldn’t imagine losing both a wife and a daughter, no matter how, frankly, deserved Rhysand still found the entire thing. After all—Archeron had marched into a neutral city, the third largest in the West, blocked all routes in and out, and burned it entirely to the ground in the matter of a week.

War was hell and there were no heroes. Helion’s father had retaliated, breaking into the capital city and sacking it over the course of a night. In the aftermath, he’d taken the two surviving daughters hostage and only agreed to return them when a peace treaty had been brokered, redefining old borders and returning both stolen land and land long contested.

Oh, but it was all such a mess even a decade later. Those wounds had been left to fester and no matter how Rhysand looked at it, he could see no path forward that didn’t explode into utter disaster. Maybe if Lucien Spell-Cleaver married an Archeron they could avoid war, but he’d heard the prince was far too spoiled and sheltered to be offered up like a political pawn.

And having seen Nesta, he doubted she was willing to subject herself to another hurt at the hands of the West.

“What did you think of Nesta?” Cassian asked, his words carrying a strange ribbon of curiosity. Rhys opened his mouth before closing it again, trying to find words that were both honest without being cruel.

“I doubt a marriage is in our collective futures. Still—maybe she’ll surprise me.”

“With a dagger to your throat,” Azriel commented lightly, causing Cassian to grin at the thought.

“We don’t need to worry about them other than distracting them. Any one of us can accomplish that,” Rhys declared, wondering why the image of Azriel and Feyre annoyed him so much.

“Let's get what we came for and let’s get out of this miserable city.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Azriel murmured, stretching out his legs.

“I can already tell you their military is weak in compared to our own,” Cassian half whispered, his gaze sharp. “I’m going to ask to train with them tomorrow—”

“Trotting out the dumb brute act?” Azriel questioned, a gleam in his eyes.

“My favorite,” Cassian agreed. “I just love swinging a sword and no one ever taught me to read.”

“There must be more of them. Up in the mountains?” Azriel suggested, glancing toward the windows. “Archeron wouldn’t be so stupid to leave his entire kingdom undefended just to protect one city.”

“Helion decimated them a decade ago. Men don’t grow up so quickly,” Rhys reminded them both. “The north has gold, and diamonds from the Spine. Vanserra has manpower and a navy none of us could fend off should he bring it to our shores. It makes sense that Nesta would go to Eris first if she lacked manpower.”

“Then why are we here?” Cassian asked, drumming his fingers against his knee.

“Perhaps Vanserra isn’t sold on the idea?” Rhys suggested, uncertain himself. “Or her father wants to explore all his options? We’re here to prevent another war that would almost certainly drag us into it,” he added, looking at his general and spymaster.

“We’re just waiting out the summer, then?” Azriel questioned.

Rhys nodded. “We can give them all a little taste of what war might mean for them this time.”

Knowing his objective didn’t do much for Rhys’s restless mind, though. While his brothers got ready for the evening, making jokes and generally amused by the entire situation, Rhys slipped from the suite of rooms they shared to walk the halls. It unnerved him how many people were watching under the guise of not watching at all. The sentries and guards never looked at him and he knew his steps would be reported to the king before breakfast.

Getting around undetected was Azriel’s domain. Rhys had never tried, commanded too much attention. He was always the distraction, besides. No one gave Azriel and Cassian much thought, certain he must be the knife in the dark. Slick smiles and double entendre made everyone assume he was far more clever than he was.

Cassian was the dumb brute, Azriel obsessed with cruelty which left Rhys as the one worth watching. He just seemed like a two-faced bastard. And to be fair…he was. But he had help, had chosen his inner circle carefully.

His feet took him to a set of stone steps that spiraled upward into a tower. It was a decent vantage point over the dreary city. Fog hung like a curtain, floating from the mountains that kept the warmer air Velaris received from reaching them. Rhys heard there were years where Ellesmere experienced nothing but rain every single day.

No wonder they liked war so much. What else was there for them?

At the top of this tower, rather than more oppressive fog, sat the younger princess. Rhys hesitated, drinking in the sight of her propped up in that window, one leg dangling precariously over the edge. Her hair was braided over one shoulder and propped on the wall beside her, a bow with a quiver of arrows.

Another sentry, far prettier than any of the others he’d seen. Rhys couldn’t help himself, leaning against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest.

“Keeping watch?”

She turned her head to look, those starry blue eyes narrowing. “You shouldn’t be up here.”

“Says who?”

“Says me,” she replied, causing Rhys to take a step into the candle lit, chilly room.

“Oh, but you seem like such fine company,” he crooned, holding her gaze. “Maybe you could give me a tour—”

“I’ll leave that to Nesta,” Feyre snapped. It was a dismissal given she turned back to looking out at the city and any rational man would have turned around and left.

But Rhys was famously stupid, if his cousin Mor was to be believed so he came closer, desperate for anything to say to her. He was a fool to have any interest in this woman at all, to want a moment of her time when he’d come here to betray her.

“Why are you here?” she asked when Rhys couldn’t think of anything eloquent to say.

“I’m looking for a wife, darling,” he heard himself say. Heart thudding, Rhys recalled telling his advisors not a week earlier he had no interest in a wife and to stop pushing him on it. What absurdity to say it while looking at her, knowing damn well she wasn’t for the likes of him.

He barely knew her at all.

“It's strange how many men suddenly find themselves desperate to be married,” Feyre commented, swinging her legs over the edge of the window before righting herself. “We came of age years ago. Surely you’re not interested in women as old as we are.”

“You think me so shallow? I like a conversation partner—”

“You don’t worry we’ve been ruined?”

Oh, what man touched her he wondered? What man would Rhys have to murder? The urge washed over him stronger than any other emotion he’d felt in recent months. It wasn’t that she had potentially been with another man but the defiant way she asked him if that somehow diminished her worth.

“A lot of things keep me awake at night, Feyre darling,” Rhys purred, taking a measured step toward the princess. “Your activities in the bedroom are not one of them.”

“That’s good, given you’re here to court my sister.”

“I’m here for the princess of the North. You are a princess, are you not?”

“I am a princess, I live in the North,” she agreed, those eyes of hers flashing. And Rhys knew whatever words came out of her mouth next were about to wreck him. His whole body went tight at the prospect.

“And I will never be your wife,” she added with that same, light tone. “I am not interested in a husband, especially one who looks like he lies as easily as he breathes.”

Rhys flashed a smile. He wanted her. What a revelation. “We’ll see,” he replied as she sauntered past him, shouldering her bow with ease.

Feyre only shook her head, eyes rolling upward in her skull. “That wasn’t a challenge. You repulse me.”

Rhys only laughed.

They’d see about that, too.

#im gonna upload on a tues/thurs schedule until its done (i only have 5 chapters written)#elucien #feysand #nessian #DID YOU KNOW IT WAS ME OR WAS I SUBTLE?

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scenicphoenix · 10 months

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Totk roleswap because of course I am doing that

(might add on to this when I completely finish the game. I have only mentioned stuff i am absolutely certain about currently)

Link and Zelda finding Ganondorf is different, instead of Rarus hand imprisoning him, its fragments of Sonia and her Time magic. Raru was killed instead of Sonia, his Stone stolen by Ganondorf. Sonia using her stone and time magic to seal herself and Ganondorf in a bubble of frozen time.

Link gets sent to the past instead of Zelda, he was the one to end up falling instead. The Sonias Zonai stone ending up on his person during the chaos of the fall. Zelda while trying to catch Link and ends up grabbing the master sword instead, this is the moment Link teleports to the past and Zelda to the Sky islands

Links arm was still infected with gloom and needed to be amputated when he arrived in the past. The Zonai stone he arrived with helped keep the gloom at bay. Raru takes him under his wing due to his remarkable abilities in serving the light, and to help with the gloom infecting him. Sonia is impressed by his abilities in time magic as well, his flurry rush has a unique use of time magic.

Link doesn't immediately connect the dots of Ganondorf being the corpse that attacked him and Zelda. He does know he absolutely doesn't trust him. Ganondorf doesn't like Link either, mutual hatred for the other.

Before officially meeting Ganondorf, where he tries to brute force his way into taking over Hyrule, the battle goes differently. Instead of a beam of pure magic that nukes the Moldugas, due to not having Zelda around, with Links Zonai stone combined with a boost from Raru and Sonai. Link is able to destroy the Moldugas one by one at a fast pace, a super powered version of his flurry rush. This battle was much more close and Link was a last resort that Sonia suggested last second as a desperate measure. Her hope of powering up his flurry rush worked, she just wished she didn't have to put him in such harms way, however.

Raru is dead, the sages have fallen, Ganondorf is sealed away thanks to Sonia but that's only temporary. Link is at the temple of time, a tale as old as time, he's hoping for an answer, he gets one. Through the sands of time he and Zelda unknowingly briefly connect, Zelda sending not only the master sword but a large portion of her powers of light to him. He briefly remembers that the master sword can heal any damage done to it over time if the holy power is strong enough. He remembers what he was told about Zonai stones and the sacred dragons.

Link turns into a sacred dragon so he can heal the master sword and arrive in the future. Although he isn't a dragon of light like Zelda would have been. He's the dragon of time. A large green dragon that can be seen entering and exiting portals from different eras of time ever since his ascension into the dragon of time. Is the one you're approaching the correct version of him? Will it be the one where the sword is healed or still healing? His golden mane seems to be made of sand. His tears leave behind Sundilions instead of silent princesses. He has one less legs than the other dragons. Zelda feels safer around this dragon and he wonders why. She figures out why when he finds all the dragons tears.

Zelda wakes up at the sky islands, and is led by Sonia. Much like how Link was led by Raru. With Zelda being the mortal goddess and not infected by gloom, he is not restricted by the door of the temple of time like link would have been. Giving the sword and a portion of her powers to link through a hole in time. Now being weaker due to him sacrificing most of his powers to heal the master sword, Sonia guides her to shrines on the islands to help rebuild her strength.

Due to Zelda being distantly related to Sonia and his status as mortal goddess even if she has been weakened, she is able to open the shrines and use anything with the Zonai symbols on them. His reason for going to shrines is to strengthen her powers over light again after giving most of it to Link through time for the purpose of healing the master sword.

I don't think Zelda would fight with a sword or similar weapons. I think he would like bows and magic based weapons and attacks. Distance is her friend, although I doubt you want to be hit full force at close range by his powers even when she's weakened. He's a force to be reckoned with. He's the descendant of a goddess for Pete's sake.

Zelda would love exploring the skies and the depths.

The dragons of times portal ls only work for him. Although you can look through them and see the different eras he's traveling from or to. There are three noticeably different dragons of time, all based on how much the master sword has healed. The first one where he's basically just turned into a dragon and the sword is still heavily damaged. The second one where he's right in the middle of the past and present, the master sword is noticeably still damaged but on its way to being healed. And the third one where it's the most recent version of himself, the master sword is completely healed. But all three can travel through time, and you won't know which version of him it is until you check the master sword. If you try and pull one of the still damaged swords you will be flung into the nearby skies. A good way to get to higher sky islands.

I wouldn't be surprised if Zelda disquises herself, feeling like he can't completely be there for her kingdom without Link. Plus i think Ganon and the Yiga would be more aggressive at hunting him down. Zelda's also never got to try out fully being a him before being a princess and all. Sheik time. I like gender fluid Zelda. Why not both gender? Also Sheik gets to be included, everybody loves Sheik

Some things I haven't added because I would need time to figure it out and write it down. Like Links growing relationships with Raru and Sonai, Mineru, how the final battle goes before and when Sonai seals Ganon, ect. The more dialog heavy story bits mostly.

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deathmetalunicorn1 · 1 year

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Hades, Nikola Tesla, Buddha, Jack, Kojirō Sasaki, and Beelzubub who had a lovely human wife that passed tragically. But to their surprise their wife is their opponent in ragnarok because-

A: They reincarnated as a human

B: They ascended to Godhood when they died ( pick Buddha and the humans for this one please 😊 )

Just want that classic Hurt/ comfort for this please.

-He could still remember that terrible day as if it was only moments ago.

-The day you were taken from him, dying to protect another.

-He remembers screaming your name, watching your body crumple to the ground with a dull thud, you had died instantly.

-He didn’t even get a chance to say goodbye.

-So much time had passed since he last saw you, held you, there was not a day that passed where he didn’t remember your smile.

-When he was selected to fight next in Ragnarok, he was informed that his opponent changed at the last moment, which confused him as he walked out first, listening to both the cheers and the jeers from either side.

-The last person he was expecting to see was you, wearing a long flowing white gown with golden armor adorning your features, holding a matching sword and shield.

-Hades- He could only openly gawk, as did many others, seeing you there, you had been taken away so violently by a rouge god and Hades never forgave himself for not getting to your side quickly enough, he always blamed himself. To see you there, standing across from him as his opponent, as a human, reincarnated, Hades felt his throat tighten, joy swelling up inside of him. Your confident smile and the faint color in your cheeks made you so beautiful, you grinned, lowering your own weapons, “My love~” your embrace as he rushed you had both sides cheering loudly, as he picked you up and spun you, twirling you around, so happy to be together again. You didn’t fight, he refused to harm even a hair on your head, and you were the same, but none held it against the two of you as you walked out hand in hand, just as you should be. You explained to him later, once he had paused attacking your face with kisses, that your soul had been lost, wandering aimlessly, before you reincarnated as a human. Then when you died, Brunnhilde was the one to find you, to bring you back to him. As you were now a human, Hades’ view changed, wanting to save humanity, as you would perish a second time if the gods won, he couldn’t lose you a second time.

-Beelzebub- His eyes were wide in shock, frozen in place, he had to wonder if this was a cruel joke, a sick prank, someone using illusion magic, he couldn’t believe his eyes, seeing you across from him. You smiled softly at him, your sword and shield lowering, fondness in your eyes, which made his heart jolt in his chest, almost painfully. He mouthed your name, unable to find his voice before he approached you. You remained silent as his hand lifted to cup your cheek, feeling that you were real, you were really there. A tear appeared in the corner of your eye and his thumb brushed it away as it slipped down your cheek, a soft smile appearing on his lips. Zeus cupped his hands around his mouth, “Kiss her already!!” the crowd was quick to agree, cheering loudly, celebrating your reunion which made you giggle softly. He kissed you softly, but so passionately, one of your feet popped up, before he pulled away and instantly picked you up princess style and walked out, listening to the cheers of your reunion. Beelzebub was amazed when you told him how you had been reincarnated as a human and brought to Valhalla after your death by Brunnhilde, who knew to pair you with Beelzebub in the fights, to reunite you. Brunnhilde was surprised when she received a thank you letter from him two days later.

-Buddha- His mouth was open, just slightly in shock, seeing the battle maiden across from him, seeing that it was you, after all these years, now a god yourself, just like him. You smiled warmly at him, giving him a bright grin, one that was burned into his memory, “Hello Siddhartha, my love.” His heart swelled, hearing you call him by his original name, his prayer wheel falling to the ground and your weapons did the same as you ran to each other, embracing, your legs going around his waist, hugging each other so tightly if the other would vanish if you let go. Zeus was cheering loudly, a bright grin on his face, seeing the two of you together, even if you both made him want to pull his hair out. Gods and humans both cheered for the two of you, both knowing that you and Buddha were both originally human lovers and both ascending to godhood, now together again after all this time. Nobody was surprised when you both gave a big grin to the crowd before grabbing your weapons and headed out of the arena, hand in hand. Buddha wanted to know, later that day after hours of ‘getting reacquainted’, if you had been a god for so long, why hadn’t you come to him sooner. You explained that after your death, you were worshipped as a hero, and that kept you bound to earth, unable to ascend, until you were able to obtain enough power to do so and with it came your godhood.

-Tesla- The smile on his face was a big as the sun, Gondul unfused with him, a smile on her face as he immediately ran for you, “Y/N!” your weapons fell as giggles bubbled out, his hands meeting your waist and spinning you around rapidly before pulling you into his arms, hugging you tightly. He tilted your face up and kissed you passionately, which made the crowd cheer loudly while Gondul giggled softly, “So youthful~” many of the gods were lamenting the loss of you, but you had been refusing gods for years now, as your heart belonged to another and would always belong to him. Zeus and Brunnhilde both sent each other a small nod in agreement, not going to make you fight each other, allowing this battle to end in a draw without a fight. Nikola was glued to you once you went back to your private waiting room, having you sit on his lap as he admired every part of you, seeing that your sparkling eyes and stunning smile were just as beautiful as the day that he lost you. He was very enthusiastic to learn about your ascension, his science side taking over as he wanted to know everything about it, which you thought was cute, but that was one of the things that made you fall in love with him all over again, happy to oblige his curious nature.

-Kojiro- Despite being way older than the last time you both met, as you passed a year before he did, you could still recognize him, you knew that the man across the arena from you was Kojiro, your Kojiro. He was stunned, mouth open just a hair, his eyes wide and quickly welling with tears, seeing you standing there, looking like an angel, his angel. Your weapons were quickly dropped, abandoned as the crowd cheered, seeing the reunion. Many knew your tale, as you died a hero, defending a child, and for your heroism, you ascended to Valhalla as a goddess, becoming a patron of children. Had you known Kojiro was here in Valhalla, you would have sought him out centuries ago, to reunite with the only man you had ever loved. Gods were jealous of Kojiro, as he ‘stole’ you away from them, but you had always been his. His hand lifted to your cheeks, feeling your soft skin under his calloused but strong hands, signs of his hard work and you smiled up at him, tears welling in your eyes before they fell and his tears soon joined as the crowd roared with cheers. Backstage in his room, he said nothing, only holding you close, he didn’t care that you were a goddess now, nothing else mattered to him other than holding you in his arms again, right where you were supposed to be.

Jack- His eyes were wide, immediately removing his monocle, to look at your soul, seeing blaring joy and love gazing back at him, those beautiful colors he had seen so long ago, those colors he missed each and every day. He couldn’t believe it, his breath catching in his throat as you smiled across the arena at him. He didn’t know how you were there or how you managed to ascend to becoming a goddess yourself, but you were there. Glokk unfused with him as he made it to you, a smile on her lips as his hands cupped your cheeks, all three of you ignoring the crowd, many who were upset that he was touching you in such an intimate way. Your hands lifted to cup his cheeks and he sighed, feeling your warmth on his face, his eyes closing, relaxing as he basked in your affections. The fight didn’t occur, but nobody expected it to, despite some wanting to see the villain that is Jack the Ripper get destroyed, you refused to fight the man you loved, and he couldn’t even think about harming a single hair on your head. In his private room, he held you for what felt like hours, you sitting in his lap, his arms around you, his head against your chest, hearing your heartbeat after so many years. The two of you didn’t need words spoken between you to know how each other felt.

#record of ragnarok #ror x reader #ror hades #ror beelzebub #ror buddha #ror tesla #ror kojiro sasaki #ror jack the ripper

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sweetestofchaos · 1 month

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Blackthorn Ch 15 | M.YG

Forgive Me - In another lifetime, Agust knew what happiness was.

a/n: As always thanks to @sailoryooons for making the banner and being my beta. Shout out to @theharrowing for being another set of eyes!

a/n 2: like before there will be ⚠⚠⚠ to show where murder starts and stops, if you want to skip that part

Character asks and the taglist for Blackthorn are always open! Minors do NOT interact with my work, please and thank you. Also, this is cross posted on ao3, under the same username sweetestofchaos.

Taglist: @thickemadame @loisje123

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

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Silver and gold, two colors that had not existed in the same space in eons, met silently. Agust’s body was frozen as glistening tears spilled from those all too familiar silver pools. A single drop of blood plopped down from the ceiling and splashed on Ceyeh’s cheek. A small river of tinted red streamed down her face, yet she made no move to wipe it away. Agust stepped forward with a hand raised and Ceyeh’s arm shot out with a startled gasp as she took a quick step backwards. The distance wasn’t much, a handful of footsteps, yet Agust felt that there were whole continents between them.

“My moon?”

Ceyeh’s silver eyes narrowed into thin slits as she glared at the animal spirit that spoke to her. Her lips curled over her teeth and the feathers on her shoulders bristled. Agust felt his forked tongue turn to lead. He couldn’t form any words, the hatred in Ceyeh’s eyes was a harsh reminder of their past.

A water drop from his hairline, tinted grey, slid down his face and seeped into the open wound by his eye. Agust hissed, his right eye slammed shut as the pain blurred his vision. Ceyeh took the moment to flee and ran out into the rain. Agust growled, his chest rumbling violently as he spun on his heels and took chase.

Black leathery wings sprouted from Agust’s back and carried him through the rainstorm. The chilled winds and icy rain threatened to freeze the strong appendages, but Agust refused to lose Ceyeh. He would chase her to the end of the Earth, and further still, if he had to.

The town flew by in darkened colors and distorted shapes as he followed the scent of rotten tangerines. The scent was a searing reminder of his past mistakes. Agust growled as he caught sight of brown and grey as Ceyeh darted around a corner. He flapped his wings harshly, just once to propel himself upwards over the houses. Below him, Ceyeh hid against a wall, the roofing created a small awning that shielded her from the rain but not from his sight.

Agust wasted no time, he had chased Ceyeh long enough. Pushing his soaked hair out of his eyes once more, Agust dived in the air and dropped right in front of Ceyeh. The bird spirit's feathers ruffled and she swiped at Agust with her talons. Agust easily caught Ceyeh’s wrist with one hand - the attack was half hearted. Afterall, he was in the body of the very man that Ceyeh’s host loved. He pressed himself into Ceyeh’s space and loomed over her smaller frame as he took shelter from the endless rainfall.

The two of them were soaked, a couple of drowned rats if anyone saw them. Ceyeh’s heart beat harshly as it drummed against Agust’s chest. She moved to push him away, she hated that he was so close. Her eyes were nearly glowing, bright and wide like the moon trapped in the sky. Agust narrowed his eyes and snarled in warning. He wouldn’t hurt Ceyeh but he would not accept her running from him again.

From this distance, what little there was, Agust was reminded of the past once more. The rancid scent that filled his lungs, the blood on his hands, the uncertainty in Ceyeh’s eyes, it all reminded him of the times long gone. The memories raced to the forefront of Agust’s mind and drowned out any coherent thought as he was confronted with his past.

The air was chilled as the night clung to the dark. Its bleakness was all-consuming, a muted reminder of the light that was bound to come. In the far distance, a single tree sat atop of a hill, its silhouette nearly invisible as shadows wrapped around it. The shiny stars above twinkled and gleamed, and the moon casted a silver halo on the land. Nighttime in the spring was peaceful and filled with the songs of tear crickets.

A low rumble broke the silence and the sound of large wings cutting through the air echoed faintly. An enormous shadow covered the land, darker than the night as it soared past the fading moon. A melodic chirp called after the large winged being, and soon a smaller winged creature was by its side. Together the beings glided through the air. Feathers and scales were kissed with moonlight, iridescent and soft.

Day slowly pushed through the darkness of night. Black and deep blue gave way to ruddy red and warm orange. The clouds sprinkled a harsh shadow against the new backdrop as the sun started to rise. Stars glittered to a faded memory as the moon dissolved into the mellow yellow and lighter blue of the day. As the sun crested over the horizon, the two shadows in the sky were bathed in a pleasant bloom of light. Onyx scales shimmered and tiny rainbows were thrown onto misty white clouds as strong wings carried the body of the dragon higher and higher. Brown and silver wings fluttered in the air, gleaming as the sun warmed the body of the lightning bird.

Side by side they flew until they reached the hill with the single tree. The dragon swooped down first. His large body took up most of the space, and he curled his long spiked tail in front of his feet as he sat upright. He lifted his face towards the sky and grumbled a warning as the bird above hovered in the air. The dragon snapped at the air and thumped his tail once; the large limp shook the very ground he sat on. A teasing chirp filled the air and the bird flouted down closer and closer to the dragon. Silver eyes shined as they looked into swirling gold and the dragon started to shrink.

In the air the bird started to shift, and feathers rained down upon the dragon. A woman’s giggles followed the breeze as she danced in the air, wings sprouted from her back. Below, the dragon was not large like before but the size of a man who stood well above six feet. Both were nude but there was no discomfort as the woman allowed herself to sink into the awaiting arms of her lover. Her own ebony arms wrapped loosely around the man’s tanned neck as her wings folded against her back and were absorbed into her body.

“Looks like I beat you, my moon.”

The woman scoffed and tangled her fingers into the man’s long raven black hair.

“I let you win, mpenzi.”

The man huffed a laugh and blew out a plume of smoke through his nose as he lowered himself to the ground. He leaned his back against the tree and cradled the woman in his arms as she sat on his lap.

“Shall we test your theory?”

“I will be the victor everytime.”

The man shifted with a growl and trapped the woman underneath him, pinned to the ground by her arms and hips. The man had a smug smirk on his handsome face and the woman sucked her teeth. Willing the wings on her back to shoot out, she propled herself upward and sent the man sprawling onto his butt. She hovered above him, her foot pressed lightly against his chest as she smiled down at him.

“It is as I said, mpenzi.”

Agust blinked as his vision started to blur. The pain in his right eye had started to throb consistently, no longer a dull irritation as dye tinted water ran down his face.

“My moon, you must stay by my side.”

“I am fine, mpenzi.”

“Ceyeh-”

“Agust.”

Agust huffed as Ceyeh walked ahead of him in a crowd. Snow crunched underneath their feet and Agust cringed. He was not accustomed to wearing shoes, nor was the amount of clothing acceptable, but he refused to let Ceyeh suffer alone. They were in an unfamiliar part of the world, up north to meet with humans that had requested their aid.

It was colder than the land in the southwest but it wasn’t anything that really bothered Agust. He was a dragon and his blood naturally ran hotter than most creatures. Ceyeh, however, had a hard time. She lived for the warmth of the sun and the cool moon on her bareskin. Having to wear such thick clothing was unusual and made her itch.

There were many layers to her garb while in the north. A tan linen dress with a rounded neckline was the base and worn over top was another dress made from wool, dyed a deep brown with white crisscross squares embroidered down the whole length of the front. Ceyeh’s shoulders and head were kept warm by a brownish-black woven cloak with a geometric design stitched throughout. The hood was adored with cowrie shells around the hem and white fox fur was on the inside to keep the wearer warm. Brown leather booties covered Ceyeh’s feet and cuts of fox fur were wrapped around her ankles with thin leather straps.

Agust thought Ceyeh looked lovely. The colors complemented her darker skin tone along with the tan and silver feathers that never left the creases of her eyes or cuffs of her ears. As a warrior, Ceyeh always stayed half shifted in case she ever needed to protect herself. Agust followed her lead, allowing his golden eyes to be framed in tiny black horns and his black scales lined his jawline and collar bones before they appeared in five inch patches along the rest of his body. Except at the small of his back and hips where the scales covered the skin fully and grew sparse as they went lower towards his inner thighs. When Ceyeh felt playful, she would teasingly compare Agust’s scales to that of a naga since their hip placement was similar.

Agust wore dark brown wool breeches with a tan linen round neck tunic. Over top he layered a brown cross collared wool coat with a brown-black woven cloak that had a tan and white swirl design stitched along the hood and hemming. His feet were covered with brown leather turnshoes and tan handwoven leg wraps. The darker tones made his honey tanned skin stand out, and his scales glistened.

“Ceyeh!” Agust called after his lover as she got lost in the crowd. He hurried his steps, ducking and dodging in between people as he followed the scent of warmed tangerines and sweet honey. He found himself in the town square in front of a large stone statue of who he assumed to be the land's first ruler. A flash of tan and brown flickered in the peripheral of his left eye and he pivoted on his heels.

“Cey-”

Whoosh!

“Ack!”

Agust stood as still as stone as children’s laughter filled the air. His eyes were closed and his mouth was filled with an icy substance that melted on his tongue. He spit something out on the ground and wiped his face with his hand. As he looked at the ground, he saw the remains of a ball of snow.

"Ni nini maana ya hii?" Agust asked as he glared at the children, his anger pulled his native tongue from his lips, and Ceyeh appeared with a small child no more than three in her arms.

Ceyeh laughed, her face bright as she hiked the child up higher on her hip, “They call it a snowball fight!”

Agust was at a loss for words. A snowball fight? He looked at the broken ball of snow and licked his lips.

“Is it a declaration of war?”

“Wema!” Ceyeh laughed as she shook her head. “A game, mpenzi.”

The discomfort was clearly displayed on Agust’s face. His lips pursed into a frown, a pout half formed as he brows pulled together. One single word bounced in Ceyeh’s mind as she looked at her ex-lover: Pallas. Ceyeh’s hand shook as she reached up to push away the strands of hair that dug into the open wound. Agust’s whole body tensed and Ceyeh stared unblinking as she tucked the uneven hair behind his ear. Some of the dye had started to melt away, patches of blond shined here and there.

The cut was deep but thankfully not jagged, it would heal in due time. Ceyeh was sure that it would scar and she felt something buried inside tremble in worry. She swallowed and grabbed Agust’s hand. Most of the blood had washed away from the rain, now his black clawed fingers were cold to the touch, his palm the only warmth. They stared at each other, chests rose and fell without a sound. The rain pelted the ground and mud splashed onto the bottom of their clothing.

Ceyeh tugged at Agust’s hand as he squeezed her fingers and she pushed against his chest. Agust didn’t move an inch and Ceyeh narrowed her eyes as a frown formed on her lips.

Ceyeh’s hand was laced with Agust’s as they walked through the town. Humans and creatures alike all placed their fist over their hearts and bowed their heads. Agust returned the gesture while Ceyeh smiled wide. Her hair was plaited into micro braids with small gold hoop rings looped into a few that framed her face.

Ceyeh wore a teal asymmetrical skirt with a white and gold brocaded chest band. A thin rope with red, white, and yellow beads rested against her waist with a single pixie crow’s feather attached at the center. She wore no shoes and walked with black feather anklets that brushed against each other if her steps were too small.

Agust was shirtless and wore a simple pair of white trousers that bunched at his knees and hung loose on his thighs. He too was barefoot and wore a single gold anklet on his right leg. Large golden earrings hung from his ears and his long dark hair flowed freely, his bangs pulled back and braided before they were wrapped together with golden twine.

The market today was said to have beautiful goods and Agust was on the hunt for the perfect gift. Ceyeh had lost the last torment in her village and her spirits were a little low. She smiled and laughed, but it never reached her eyes. Agust couldn’t stand to see his lover down, and as he came upon a foreign vendor, he saw just what he had been looking for.

Agust tugged on Ceyeh’s hand and pulled her towards the vender with a toothy grin. The sun reflected off the scales on his collarbones and casted a multitude of mini rainbows against Ceyeh’s chest as he turned towards her. The smile on her face was soft and true, endeared as she leaned into Agust’s chest and wrapped her arms around his waist as best she could. The dragon was large, even in human form. He kissed the top of Ceyeh’s head before he rested his cheek against her for a short while. They were in a world all their own as they basked in each other’s love, and when Agust pulled away, Ceyeh’s eyes were a pale silver and shined like freshly plucked pearls.

“I love you,” Agust breathed as he cupped Ceyeh’s face in his hands. Her fingers wound around his wrists and she smiled, melting into his touch. “Come now, pick your gift.”

Agust placed a warm, tender kiss upon Ceyeh’s lips and a high-pitched whistle slipped into his mouth. A mating call that never failed to make a sensual flame churn in his gut and threaten to consume him whole. Agust broke the kiss with only a few centimeters in between their lips. He smiled as Ceyeh chased after him and shook his head softly, teasingly.

“Pick what you will wear while I ravage your body again and again, my moon.”

Ceyeh pushed at Agust’s chest again and stepped forward, shoving them out into the rain. The water was startling and forced the clotted blood on Agust’s face to loosen and run red. Agust hissed as the rain stung the wound and he bared his teeth, unimpressed with Ceyeh’s actions.

Ceyeh pointed in the direction of the palace and Agust understood what she had wanted. He allowed for Ceyeh to lead the way. She walked with a purpose and Agust stared at the expense of her bare back where her jeogori had been ripped, showing off dark scarring that resembled ice crystals in the shape of wings. The mark of the lightning bird made Agust’s steps falter as he realized that the wings were just scars. There were no fully formed wings with sleek tan and silver feathers.

Agust closed his fingers into a fist and pulled his arm down at his side. He caught himself in time, he hadn't even noticed that he had raised his arm to touch Ceyeh’s back. Now, halfway to the palace, the rain had lightened and the bleeding cut on Agust’s face continued to sting as raindrops continued to bombard the deep wound. Wanting to get out of the rain as fast as possible, Agust pulled Ceyeh’s hand back harshly which made her stumble backwards into his chest. He was quick to scoop her into his arms and in the blink of an eye, his wings had sprouted from his back once more.

Ceyeh scowled at Agust’s wings, the large black appendages made her want to give him a matching gash over his left eye. Agust tightened his hold on Ceyeh and took off into the air with a single flap of his wings. Agust flew above the houses, only a foot above the roofs to avoid detection from guards and the village folk. Ceyeh watched as the world passed underneath her unknowing. A deep longing radiated in her eyes and as she looked away from the ground, Agust caught sight of the tears in her eyes.

Agust rumbled in his chest, a purr of sorts meant to comfort the woman in his arms as he flew closer and closer to the palace. Ceyeh closed her eyes, she didn’t want to see the view from above anymore. It was a mocking and painful reminder of what she had once had…before it had been stolen away.

Mid-spring in the northwest was humid at best. Full, fluffy clouds of white and blinding rays of sun glared down at the land from above and begged anyone to find shade. The lightning birds worked hard during the humid months and Ceyeh was no exception to the rule. In the middle of the day she would fly to the tree on top of the hill and wait until the sun was the highest in the sky. As she sat parched on top of the branches, she whistled a song that forced cool winds and heavy clouds.

A mild clash of nature created a low rumble as clouds rolled in from the north and filled the sky. The rumbling grew louder and at the first roaring crash of thunder, rain poured down from the Heavens. Thin, steamy vapors raised from the ground as it greedily drank in the refreshing liquid. Sometimes Mother Earth wasn’t fast enough in her gluttony and she choked on the water, sputtering so much that emptied river beds overflowed and villages flooded. It was as much a curse as it was a blessing.

The lightning never came, and Ceyeh sighed as she flapped her wings. Today would be a taxing one and she stopped her singing. The feathers that covered her body started to glow with a dim halo of blue silver, watery like the moon’s reflection on the rivers. Ceyeh’s eyes were a liquid pool of rolling clouds and endless skies. She flew high above and gave a mighty cry as she circled the sun seven times. Lightning cracked, a white-grey tree root in the sky before the electric light followed the rumble of the thunder. Ceyeh hovered in the air, her eyes focused on the flickering light that grew farther and farther away.

Satisfied with her work, Ceyeh turned back to her tree and chirped at the sight of Agust’s human form standing under the cover of the leaves. She flew to him and shrunk in size as she got closer. Agust smiled as Ceyeh landed on his shoulder and nuzzled into his temple.

“You did very well, little bird.”

Ceyeh’s wings ruffled at the teasing lilt to Agust’s voice and he laughed, golden eyes bright and gleaming. Ceyeh headbutted him and nipped at his hair, flapping her wing as she made sure to soak him.

“You will pay for that, my moon.” Agust laughed once more, his gravel-like voice softened at the edges with love. He pecked Ceyeh’s head and stroked the smooth feathers along her back.

“Shall we head home?”

The palace wall came into view and Agust flew towards where the trees were the thickest. He blended in well enough with the cover of the clouds but he wanted to make sure no one saw Ceyeh in such a state. There was only one place that Agust knew they would be safest, and he flew into the seventh garden. He passed the lunch clearing, ignored the Blackthorns and flew right to the man-made water pool. As his feet touched the ground, his chest filled with strong flames and he blew them out onto the top of the water. The flames touched the stone waterfall and the runes turned a yellow orange before the water started to steam.

Ceyeh kicked her feet and Agust set her on the ground, a hand kept close to her lower back if she needed help. She stepped away from Agust and he resisted following her every step. Here in the cover of the trees, no rain fell down around them.

Agust’s wound still bled. It throbbed and the pain spiderwebbed down the length of his face, just below his jaw. Ceyeh refused to look at him, her back turned as she crossed her arms over her chest. Agust’s clenched his teeth, now that they were alone and hidden from the rest of the world completely, he couldn’t seem to untangle the memories and feelings within his heart.

Bodies littered the ground, blood watered the grass, a mass grave had been built and it kept growing in size. Fire and smoke spread to destroy the land. It burned everything down until nothing but ash was left.

In the carnage of it all, Ceyeh and Agust stood face to face. Agust’s eyes were ignited with hatred as he glared at the woman he once loved and trusted with his life. Ceyeh’s eyes glowed as sparkling tears littered her face like glitter.

How had this come to be? What had turned her lover against her and her people? What had gone so wrong?

Agust lunged with a growl and tackled Ceyeh, who in turn used Agust’s momentum to flip them over. She pinned him to the ground, her forearm dug into his neck while her wings pressed into his shoulders.

“Yield!” Ceyeh demanded with tears in her eyes. “Agust, please? Stop this madness!”

Agust snarled, snapping his jaws while spit started to foam in the corners of his mouth as he tried to shake himself free. She had betrayed him and his people, the humans were here for their hoards and their scales. They knew too many secrets about dragons and the leader of the humans had given Agust one name.

“I will kill you!” Agust seethed, his eyes were large and bulbous like a wild boar as he honed in on Ceyeh.

“Agust!” Ceyeh begged as she tried to talk sense into him. She didn’t understand what had happened, and in truth, seeing Agust like this before her was soul-crushing.

She tried to smooth his hair from his face, tried to touch him gently but that only seemed to anger Agust more. He lashed out, stronger than Ceyeh had been prepared for and sent her flying onto her back. He pounced, caged her underneath his legs as he sat on her hips.

His smile was misplaced, something Ceyeh has never seen directed at herself before. It was wicked and cruel, taunting as Agust cupped her face gently. His claws pressed into the meat of her cheeks and drew blood. He hummed deep in his chest and turned her head away from him as he leaned forward.

“You did thisss to ussss, my moon,” Agust’s voice was warped, a hissing growl as he lost more and more of his control.

“Did what?” Ceyeh demanded, her voice full of tears as Agust licked the sweat and dirt from her neck.

Agust growled as he nuzzled into the softness of her throat, the vein pulsed quickly as she tried not to panic.

“The sssweetessst ssscents hide the worst sssecretsss. I wisssh not to hear anymore of your liesss!”

⚠⚠⚠

Ceyeh opened her mouth to speak and screamed. Blood filled her throat and lungs as Agust sunk his teeth into her neck and ripped out her vocal cords. Blood covered his mouth, it was bitter and as Ceyeh gurgled underneath him, Agust finally let his tears fall. Ceyeh’s hand shot to her neck as she tried to stop the bleeding but she knew it was pointless. She managed to pull herself out from under Agust and rolled onto her stomach. Blood spilled from the gaping hole in her neck and she wheezed, a sound choked by bloody bubbles.

Wings sprouted from Ceyeh’s back, shining silver and warm tan, a sight that always made Agust purr. Now he scrambled to his feet as Ceyeh tried to fly away and his chest burned as he heaved a great billowing flame right at her back.

Ceyeh dropped six feet from the air, her body hit the ground with a heavy thud and laid a yard away, unmoving. Agust was panting, his chest ached but he chose to ignore the reason why. He took careful steps in Ceyeh’s direction, his eyes watched for a hint of movement but he saw none.

As he stood a foot away, he saw that Ceyeh had fallen onto her face. The beautiful wings that he had admired so much were gone. Now, singed into her back were fresh burn marks that resembled ice crystals. Agust drew closer and kneeled at Ceyeh’s side, her wings had melted into her skin as they protected her. From the lack of blood and movement, Agust knew that Ceyeh had died before she hit the ground. His eyes stung as they blurred with more tears and he carefully rolled Ceyeh onto her back.

He had seen countless dead bodies, he knew the horrors of war, and yet the sight of his lover, the one he killed with his own two hands… Agust dry heaved. Fat tears poured down his face and he cradled Ceyeh’s lifeless body to his chest. Her blood stained his hands, his chest, his pants. He bent forwards and pressed his lips to Ceyeh’s forehead before he closed her eyes and scooped her into his arms. Agust rose slowly to his feet and carried Ceyeh through the flames that grew around them.

⚠⚠⚠

Humans, dragons, lightning birds, and firebirds alike all froze when they saw the sight of the mighty Agust carrying a body in his arms. The birdfolk knew who it was and they all dropped to their knees in tears. The dragons roared in mass agony at the loss of what they called a soulmate. The one soul in the whole world that reflects yours, a balance of light and dark. One could not be without the other. Agust carried Ceyeh all the way to their shared nest and laid her in the center. He crossed her arms over her chest and placed one final kiss to her cold lips.

Pire, the leader of the firebirds, appeared outside of Agust’s nest. The elder was a tall and narrow slip of a man. Withered with age yet strong from decades of battles and knowledge. He climbed into the nest and sat beside Agust silently as he studied the lifeless form of Ceyeh. Her throat had been ripped out and he could smell the stench of burned feathers and skin. He sighed heavily as his eyes flushed with tears.

“You are not welcome in this land. I banish you and your kind from henceforth.”

Agust didn’t fight against his punishment, he had let his anger get the better of himself, he had lost control. He had felt so betrayed and the anger in his heart had turned it black. He should have listened to what Ceyeh had tried to say.

“I cannot bring her back, you have killed her.”

Pire placed a hand on Ceyeh’s face and smoothed her braids from her dull eyes with a frown.

“I will grant her final wish…”

Pire slid his hand to Ceyeh’s forehead and closed his eyes. The tears in his eyes slid down his face and dripped onto his robes. His hand had started to glow a pale yellow-red. The color of a starting flame. The light grew brighter and brighter and slowly spread from Pire’s whole body as it covered Ceyeh’s. Agust fought to keep his eyes open but the light was too bright. He closed his eyes and a moment later a tiny chirp was heard.

Agust opened his eyes and Pire was no longer in his human form nor was he a full grown firebird. In his place a tiny yellow chick with red ombre wings rested on Ceyeh’s chest and flapped its wings. Another firebird appeared, Dagan, younger than Pire before he turned younger. Agust stared at the chick confused.

“What was her final wish?”

Dagan picked Pire up and cradled the tiny chick to its chest. “To meet you again in another life.”

Agust’s eyes felt like they were made of fire from the tears he cried once again. Agust wiped at his face and nodded his head. Dragons were not immortale. They lived and died, unlike the firebirds, a phoenix, the humans later came to call them. Agust looked to Dagan beside him, he wanted to ask a favor but he knew he would receive no help from those he hurt.

The chick chirped away in the Dagan’s hand and the young firebird spoke up once more.

“Pire says our fates are intertwined by a red string. As the world falls into place around us, your story will continue to be told. This is not the end…that is his promise to you.”

Agust rose to his feet, placed his hand over his heart and bowed his head. He cast one last look at Ceyeh’s body and roared, a call to all the dragons to leave the land that would later be known as Escistan.

“Nitakupata tena, mwezi wangu."

Agust watched as Ceyeh stepped towards the water’s edge and peeled the ruined clothing from her body. She stood before him, nude in a body that wasn’t her own and Agust felt the Prince as he stirred in his mind. He was silent as Ceyeh stepped down into the heated water, submerging everything except her shoulders and head.

The pale silver of Ceyeh’s eyes reflected off the water’s surface, and Agust blinked slowly. Was it truly Ceyeh’s reflection or the moon’s? She stared at him in silence. She raised a hand and water droplets fell back into the pool before she tilted her head in a silent question. Agust carefully removed his clothing and joined Ceyeh in the heated water. His body relaxed from the warm temperature as the chill of the rain slowly faded little by little.

“Ceyeh,” Agust’s voice was shattered glass, rough and sharp but he swallowed and tried again. “My moon…”

Ceyeh watched as Agust got closer to her, the sight of the cut on his face made her wince. The young prince had such a handsome face. She thought that it was lucky that the scar wouldn’t take away from his beauty, but added to it. It would harden his soft features and strike fear into those who looked upon him. She reached out and cupped Agust’s face with wet hands, her thumbs brushed away the blood and dye, and soothed the tender skin.

Healing waters, that is what the runes turned the pool into, and yet Agust wondered if the Princeling even knew. He was sure that the gardener knew, but he pushed that thought from his mind. Agust focused on the way Ceyeh’s hands touched him, gently, slowly…lovingly. He leaned into the caress, one he had missed the moment he lost it, and purred loudly.

He guided Ceyeh to the water’s edge and sat on the steps with her in between his legs. His arms wound themselves around her hips and he pulled her closer. His face smushed into her bare chest and Ceyeh flinched. Her body tensed and Agust purred louder as his fingers slid up and down the skin of Ceyeh’s hips.

“I have wronged you and yet you still care for me?”

Agust inhaled deeply as smooth honey coated his mind and ripening tangerine trickled down his throat. His mind slowly grew quiet, crickets played their song and night birds sung along. His body felt heavy as he started to float in the water, held in place by Ceyeh’s caring hands.

In the palace courtyard, Hoseok and Aga stared at the sky as the rain slowed to a gentle drizzle. The clouds lost their darkened grey hue and glided through the sky in wispy white stokes. The lightest of colors against the darkened night. There high above all, the moon held its place among the stars. A glowing reminder that the young royals were still unaccounted for.

Hoseok’s eyes lost the spark that swirled in his iris like twisted flames and Aga leaned against one of the support beams of an arch way with his arms crossed over his chest. He knew that the young royals were safe by the way the rain came and went. He worried that they could be hurt but he trusted Ceyeh to keep Keena safe, and he knew that if it came to life or death, Agust would protect the Prince at all costs.

“We have to tell them,” Hoseok sighed as he kicked at a pebble in front of him.

Aga agreed with Hoseok, but he knew that the young ones needed time to figure something out. The air was charged with a power that he had not felt in quite some time. The tides were changing and Aga couldn’t tell if that was for the best or not. Hoseok groaned as he rolled his shoulders and looked back at the moon.

“There is only one place we have not looked.”

Hoseok whistled and Ussik, the black eagle, flew down from above shortly after. Aga stared at the bird as it cocked its head to the side and nodded impressed.

“The Min Empire continues to show its strength it seems.”

Hoseok raised an eyebrow confused by Aga’s words.

“Black eagles are extremely hard to tame. They have a warrior’s heart and usually don’t do well working with anyone who doesn’t possess a bird spirit.” Aga explained slowly with a blank expression on his face. Hoseok nodded his head to show that he understood and turned his attention to the Ussik.

“Find Yoongi and Keena. Report back to me straight away.” He spared a glance at Aga and quickly added. “Make sure no one sees you.”

Ussik took off and soared through the air silently. Beady onyx eyes scanned the landscape of the palace grounds and listened for the familiar vibrations of the Prince and Princess. The sound of muffled tones caught Ussik’s attention and the bird flew over the seventh garden. The treetops were dense, sprinkled with shimmering drops of rain that glittered in the moonlight. Ussik slipped through the leaves and landed on a branch three yards away from the Prince and Princess.

The black eagle easily blended into the shadows, its eyes seemed nothing more than two bugs stuck on the bark. Below, the young royals stood face to face, the Prince had the Princess caged between himself and the stone wall, their forms distorted by the waterfall.

Ceyeh had tried to get away from Agust, his grip had become too tight, his face too close to her throat. He had scared her and as she ran, he trapped her beneath the waterwall. The water was deeper here but a single stone bench allowed for both of them to stand on their feet.

Agust had a hand wrapped around Ceyeh’s throat, the grip wasn’t threatening, lighter than he would hold anyone else’s; this thumb resting on her chin. Ceyeh scowled at him, her eyes misty pools of thickening fog. Their noses touched as Agust leaned in closer. His eyes flickered down to Ceyeh’s lips and she flashed her blunt teeth. A silent warning that made Agust’s lips quirk up into a half smirk as he huffed out an amused snort.

The cut on his eye wasn’t fully healed, pink and raw, but it no longer bled, and the pain had faded to a dull heartbeat. Easily ignored with the woman he loved in front of him. Agust loosened his hold even more, his hand slipped and he held both hands up in the air in surrender. The way Agust’s obsidian eyes softened slightly was enough for Ceyeh’s body to untense. The feathers that lined her ears bristled and Agust licked his lips, his fangs gleamed ever so slightly.

“You hate me that much?” Agust mused as he stared at Ceyeh. “Would ripping my throat out make you happy, my moon?” Agust bared his neck in all its smooth and unblemished glory. “My life is yours to do what you would please.”

Ussik observed silently for a moment longer before it flew off to find Hoseok. Ceyeh stared at the unprotected area. How easily Agust had offered his life, it made sparks sizzle in Ceyeh’s eyes. Lightning struck down one of the trees with the seventh garden. Smoke rose into the sky quickly and Agust lowered his head. They stared at each other in silence. Neither one made a move until Agust’s eyes fell to Ceyeh’s lips once more.

He moved slowly as he reached for her face with both hands. She didn’t flinch, only blinked owlishly. Agust’s forehead rested against hers, his words were his final warning.

“Kill me.”

Ceyeh’s own hands grabbed at Agust’s shoulders and he braced himself for death but it never came. Cool lips pressed into his, smooth, and soft. An April shower filled his heart and washed away any doubt in his mind. Ceyeh had still loved him even when he didn’t deserve an ounce of it. Agust dropped an arm to Ceyeh’s waist and pressed her farther into the stone wall. The kiss grew hotter. A desert with a single oasis hidden within many mirages. All optical illusions that Agust’s mind had made up.

Agust nipped at Ceyeh’s bottom lip as he requested permission to taste her. As her lips parted, Agust growled deep in his chest, the vibrations made goosebumps appear on Ceyeh’s arms. Agust was drowning. He drowned in the first rain of the spring, the first snow of winter; that first scoop of sweet and gooey honey. Agust’s body burned with the simmering fire that laid dormant for how long? The two horns at the center of his forehead started to grow outward and he groaned as he pressed into Ceyeh’s soft body more.

The plushness of her thighs called him home, he lifted her wordlessly and she gasped as her ankles locked behind his back; a habit from their past. The heat between her legs was maddening, Agust wanted to take and take and take as much as he wanted to give. He pulled away from Ceyeh’s lips and moved towards her neck, he needed to smell her as the scent of her arousal was washed away by the water around them.

Ceyeh tried to speak. Her lips parted but no sound came as Agust’s teeth nipped at the sensitive skin of her throat. She shoved at his chest, as tears blurred her vision, the past was too close in the forefront of her mind. Her throat throbbed, searing pain made her whine and Agust pulled away at the sound of distress. His chest heaved, his eyes liquid gold as he nosed at her chin. Bitter tangerines, long forgotten in the sun burned his nose and Agust growled. Ceyeh was scared of him. Ceyeh pushed him away sharply and shook her head as he released her.

“N-No! N-Noooo!”

The words were choked, whispered out harshly as Ceyeh forced herself to use vocal cords for the first time in all of her three reincarnations. Agust froze, the voice was the Princess’ but it was sharper, a hard shelled candy with a nutty filling. A voice that was both the Princess’ and Ceyeh’s mixed together. A sound that Agust felt himself submit to easily. He backed away from Ceyeh and kept his hands where she could see them. His clawed fingers twitched as Ceyeh wrapped her arms around herself, seemingly holding everything together all alone.

Agust wanted to hold her tightly, assure her that everything would be okay, but as the smoke from the struck tree grew thicker, Agust knew their time together was short.

“Come,” Agust held out his hand and looked towards the water’s edge. “The guards will be here soon and I’d rather not slaughter those that the little royals are so fond of.”

The critical look that Ceyeh gave Agust made his shoulders ease and a smile pulled at his lips. Ceyeh placed her hand in his and he wrapped his fingers around hers tightly.

“I have had quite some time to think about my misdeeds,” Agust spoke as he led Ceyeh to the edge of the water. “I would like a moment of yours if you would grant it so?”

From behind, Ceyeh took in the expanse of Agust’s back. His shoulders were wide and thick, the muscles that twitched under the skin made Ceyeh bite the inside of her bottom lip. Agust had always been strong, but here in Prince Yoongi’s body, his strength wasn’t clearly seen nor was it shown off. The large black dragon tattoo that covered his back was intimidating, and from how the Prince acted, Ceyeh wondered if it was Agust who craved the bold design. Agust lifted himself out of the water just in time to see Hoseok and Aga break through the bushes.

“That is far enough!” Agust hissed, golden eyes reflecting the flames of the fire on the tree.

“Give me your shirt, bird of fire.”

Hoseok’s brows were furrowed in concern the moment he saw the Prince’s face. His right eye looked damaged and Hoseok feared that it was worse than it looked. He took note of the way the Prince’s hair was dyed and cut short with some blond peeking through…he would have a few choice words with Prince Yoongi once he regained his control.

It was clear to see that Agust had shifted, patches of black scales covered his body, his horns were fully formed, and he spoke with that unsettling snake-like lisp. From the silence that came from behind him, it was safe to assume that the Ceyeh was present as well.

Aga dropped to one knee with his hand over his heart and bowed his head, “Mighty Impundulu have you been-”

Agust bristled at the show of respect and narrowed his eyes.

“Your shirt,” he repeated as he crossed his arms over his chest. He looked Aga up and down before he licked his lips in thought.

“What right do you assume you have to gaze at my moon? Off with your shirt as well.”

Aga removed his shirt without a second thought and threw it to Agust while Hoseok frowned. It was still lightly raining and he really did not want to let the cool water touch the rest of the body. He had just put on a dry cape. As Aga rose to his feet, he raised an eyebrow in Hoseok's direction and Hoseok sucked his teeth. Wordlessly, he removed his cape but kept his shirt on before he tossed it to Agust.

Agust turned his back on the men in the clearing and focused on Ceyeh. He lifted her out of the water and used the cape to dry her off before he carefully dressed her in Aga’s shirt. It was big enough to fall past her thighs and Agust nodded his head in approval. He wrapped the black cape around his waist wordlessly. It was damp from the rain and drying Ceyeh, but better than his wet and bloody clothes.

Aga watched as Ceyeh hugged Agust around the waist and nuzzled into his chest. Agust stroked a hand over her hair and lifted her face upward by her chin. He spoke softly enough for Aga and Hoseok not to hear his words before he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers.

Hoseok gasped and Aga’s jaw clenched. Aga knew there was history between them and that at some point in time the two had been happy with each other. To see Ceyeh willingly kiss Agust was disturbing, but with how the Prince’s face looked, Aga was sure that the flame they once had reignited over shared trauma.

Ceyeh left Agust’s side and walked right over to Hoseok, she motioned to her eye and Hoseok nodded his head. He knew that the Prince would need medical attention right away. Turning her attention to Aga, Ceyeh walked over the guard and he wordlessly lifted her into his arms bridal style. Agust hissed, fangs flashing and ready to strike, but Ceyeh threw him a look that screamed behave, and he settled. Aga left the seventh garden with the Princess and went right into the palace.

Hoseok stood with Agust and rubbed a hand over his face, “Are you going to behave?”

“Have I not killed you yet, fire bird?”

Hoseok rolled his eyes and folded his arms over his chest, “What happened tonight?”

“It seems that the rat you spoke of has a pack.”

Hoseok’s eyes hardened and his jaw ticked, “We will discuss this later inside…for now, I need the Prince immediately.”

“Something happened while we were away.”

It was a statement, one that Hoseok very much wished he could deny. For the first time in a long while Agust felt…well it did not matter what he felt. Whatever had happened while the foolish Princeling had snuck out had nothing to do with him.

“The Little Prince cannot handle this pain. Fetch the doctor and meet me at the Princeling’s chambers. I will protect him for now.”

Hoseok was weary of Agust’s mocking words, but he didn’t have much choice. He needed Yoongi to come back to his senses and fast. Hoseok nodded his head and whistled loudly for Ussik. Once the eagle was on his shoulder, he relayed the message for Hyungwon and sent the bird off into the night.

Before they left the seventh garden, Hoseok placed his hand on the flaming tree and absorbed the flames. His eyes twirled alight with the new flames and he frowned at the sight of the charred tree. He wondered how long it would take for Namjoon to notice.

As they left the seventh garden, Hoseok crushed a starstone in his hand and blew it onto Agust before he led the way to the Prince’s chambers unseen. He politely declined any conversation with others as he made his way into the palace and Agust thought it strange. What had happened while the Princeling was frolicking about in the night? Once inside the Prince’s chambers, Agust headed right to the washroom and Hoseok followed behind him. Agust stripped himself of the cape and stepped into the hot water with a sigh.

He sat on one of the stone benches and rested his arms on the edge of the bath. His head fell back and he closed his eyes as the scent of lavender and teakwood filled his lungs. His body appeared as the starstone washed away. The horns in the center of his head start to shrink and his scales fade little by little. The points of his claws shortened into rounded blunt nails, the black gone from his fingertips.

Agust was tired. It had been quite a while since he last fought to the death, and he would not admit it to anyone, but his skills were lacking. The world had evolved around him, those who were weak were now able to stand toe to toe with the stronger warriors. Magical weapons gave power to those who didn’t deserve it nor need it. Agust thought back to how the Princess was able to be captured and he growled, his head shooting up as his irises twisted with something wicked.

“I think it’s time for an execution.”

“That is not your call to make, Agust.”

Hoseok sat at the edge of the large tub and dunked a dried washcloth into the water. He had a plan to get the Prince’s body clean and back to the way it should look. First was to wash out the remaining dye used to color his hair black. Once that was taken care of, Hoseok would scrub the Prince’s body nearly raw before he had Hyungwon come to take a look at the cut on his eye.

“Keep your eyes closed.” Hoseok ordered before he folded the wet washcloth and placed it at Agust’s hairline. He grabbed a small bowl and filled it with water before he poured it over Agust’s hair. Two times he did that before he started to scrub at the scalp and strands to remove the dark coloring. As more and more of the blond started to show, Hoseok saw that the Prince’s hair had been poorly cut.

“Who did this to Yoongi’s hair?”

“Bandits,” Agust hissed, his eyes still closed as he allowed Hoseok to wash his hair. “Chopped it clean off with a dagger while the boy was fading. He wouldn’t relinquish control and fought me.”

Hoseok made a noise in the back of his throat in response. Bandits did all of this? His mind went over a list of who he thought was the rat inside the palace and he shook his head. He would make no judgment until all the facts were laid out. Once all the black color was out of Agust’s hair, Hoseok started to wash his body.

“It’s a pity the Min’s are born with blond hair. I quite liked having my natural color back.”

“You had black hair?”

Agust hummed with a slight nod of his head, “Long black hair. Ceyeh made it her duty to style it anyway she pleased when we were younger.”

Hoseok took a moment to think over his next words before he spoke, watching as the small horns that lined Agust’s eyes retracted back into the skin. Most of the scales were now gone and Hsoeok wondered why Agust was giving up control so easily.

“You never share information about your past.”

“What is there to share? I lived and I died, five times now. I have found my soulmate in this life and those before me have granted me a chance to atone for my misdoing.” Agust sighed and peaked open his left eye. “Everything else is meaningless.”

Hoseok opened his mouth to counter Agust’s words, but Hyungwon bursted into the bathing room with his medical supplies floating behind him. His face was flushed and he was panting. He clearly ran all the way here and Agust raised an eyebrow at the good doctor.

“I-I-” Hyungwon folded over in half and inhaled deeply before he straightened up and exhaled. “I have come as requested.”

Now that Hyungwon had gathered himself, his eyes widened at the sight of the Prince’s face.

“Your Highness!!”

“Easy, Hyungwon,” Hoseok warned as the doctor hurried over to the bath. “The floor is wet and His Highness isn’t fully with us…”

Hyungwon froze at those words and he looked at the Prince. He saw it now, the difference in those golden eyes. Even when the Prince got angry and his eyes shifted colors, they never held such ire and turmoil. Agust was in control, and with how the Prince’s eye looked, Hyungwon was thankful.

“Forgive me, Agust. I didn’t realize it was you.” Hyungwon bowed his head deeply and lowered himself to the floor. “May I treat the wound?”

Agust grunted and waved for Hyunwon to move closer. The doctor took his time as he examined the damaged area. The cut was deep enough to scar, that much was clear, and when Agust closed his eyes, the lid was thankfully missed. However, upon further inspection, Hyungwon gulped.

“I-It seems that some first aid has already been applied and in this case, I am thankful. The cut looks to be an inch in depth, though since the area is partly healed, it is hard to tell. The lid is still intact and with a regrowth serum the eyebrow’s hair can go back to normal.”

Hyungwon licked his lips and rubbed the back of his neck before he spoke again.“My greatest concern at this moment is the eyeball itself. There are signs of trauma and I fear that His Highness’ sight may be affected.”

“His sight?” Hoseok repeated, his face horror stricken.

“Agust will you allow His Highness to join us? I need to see the full extent of the injury.”

“I will be near if you so need me,” Agust informed Hoseok before the Prince’s body went limp.

Hoseok and Hyungwon were quick to grab the Prince by his armpits and pulled him out of the water. Laid out on the floor, Hyungwon reached into his bag and pulled out a small bottle of smelling salt. They didn’t have time to wait for the Prince to wake up, and Hoseok understood that. He held Prince Yoongi down by his shoulders and nodded his head for Hyungwon to wake him up. Hyungwon swiped the bottle underneath the Prince’s nose and by the third swipe, Prince Yoongi woke with a choked gasp.

“Easy! Easy, Your Highness!” Hyungwon ordered softly and Hoseok applied light presses to his shoulders to keep him down.

“You are safe, Yoongi.” Hoseok spoke with a tight smile.

Prince Yoongi groaned with a wince. His whole body hurt, it felt like a whole herd of horses had trampled him. His vision faded and blurred like he had just come up face first from the sea. He blinked a few times, and as his vision cleared in his left eye, Prince Yoongi’s pulse started to race when no images cleared in his right eye.

“...Yoongi?” Hoseok’s voice was on edge, his grip on his shoulders tightened and Yoongi started to sweat.

His stomach swooped and tumbled as he tried his hardest to focus but nothing changed. Something was wrong, and Prince Yoongi was hit with a wave of nausea as he recalled the events of the night. They were attacked, ambushed! And—

“The Princess!” Yoongi pushed Hoseok away from him and sat up, nearly crashing his head into Hyungwon’s chin, who was dabbing at his face with a damp cotton ball.

“She is safe. Yoongi, Princess Keena is safe.” Hoseok reassured his friend as he forced him to lay down once again. “Aga and the other guards are with her. She is safe, I promise.”

Yoongi groaned as Hyungwon pressed a cold cream against his right cheek. It stung as much as it soothed the burning skin. Yoongi tried to focus on the doctor but he couldn’t see him clearly. Hyungwon’s image was distorted, an opaque film thrown over him and scribbled over with a gray and black hue. A faded shadow with diffused edges and unclear shapes. Even the coloring was off, muted at best if Prince Yoongi had to describe it. It reminded him of the time he got muze dust in his eyes and everything was fuzzy for two days.

“Your Highness?” Hyungwon pulled him from his thoughts and nodded to Hoseok. “Let’s get you up now, slowly.”

Hoseok and Hyungwon carefully supported the Prince’s back and helped him sit upright before Hyungwon pulled back a little.

“Your Highness…how many fingers am I holding up?”

The Prince starred in Hyungwon’s direction and licked his lips, “Four.”

“Very good, Your Highness. Now please cover your left eye.”

The Prince covered his left eye, Hyungwon’s figure was clear as day and he stared at the two fingers in front of him, “Two.”

“Good. Now your right eye, carefully.”

The Prince switched to the right eye and flinched as the skin of his palm brushed against his cheek. He frowned. Hyungwon’s figure was-

“Your Highness?”

Prince Yoongi blinked hard, four times as he tried to clear his vision. His pulse rushed in his ears and he struggled to answer the simple question.

“Yoongi?” Hoseok’s voice was strained as he watched tears collect at the corners of his friend’s eyes.

“I-I can’t…I can’t—”

The hand that covered the Prince’s right eye fell into his lap and he shook his head. He refused to meet Hoseok or Hyungwon’s gaze. The two shared a look with each other and Hoseok nodded his head, his face blank as he patted the Prince’s shoulders.

“Okay. We can take care of it, Yoongi.”

“Yes, I will not give up, Your Highness. I will find a way to gain your sight back.” Hyungwon promised, and the Prince nodded his head.

He started to rise, and Hoseok was quick to help Prince Yoongi to his feet. Hyungwon handed the Prince a towel and the three of them headed into his sleeping chambers. Hoseok left the Prince’s side and grabbed a black cross wrap v-neck shirt, the material was light and breathable with a pair of matching sleep pants that fit loosely around the legs for him to settle into.

Once the Prince was dressed with a blended black silk robe with butterfly sleeves and golden waves pattern over top to keep warm, he sat with a cup of tea in his hands, now in the sitting room. Hoseok sat across from him on the smaller couch and ran a hand through his hair.

“Yoongi?”

“Say whatever has been on your tongue, Hoseok.”

The Prince’s face was paler, his right eye wrapped in clean white bandages and his hair hung around his ears messily. Hyungwon had started to comb the Prince’s hair, the strands pushed back and out of his face before he bowed and left.

Hoseok sighed and scrubbed a hand down his face before he looked at his dear childhood friend.

“Your mother has requested an audience with you and the Princess.”

“Can it not wait until tomorrow?”

“If you had been within the palace, you would have heard the news by now.”

“Hoseok, please. I do not have the patience for your word games. What has happened in my absence? Why has mother requested an audience at such an hour?”

Hoseok raised to his feet and stared at his friend, his face pinched as the words left his lips in a rattled croak.

“T-The Emperor…he is ill.”

#yoongi fic #yoongi angst #yoongi smut #bts fantasy au #dragon yoongi #prince yoongi #daechwita yoongi #blackthorn ch 15 #fic: blackthorn #soc yoongi

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sengardet · 1 month

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Lyria's Gift #1 Valyra

Using a knight's chest and still-beating heart to warm her hands - there was a delicious perversity to it.

As Lyria, a stocky redheaded nomad, returned from her daily hunt empty-handed, she noticed a slender platinum-blonde woman in elegant garb rummaging through her belongings. The intruder's fine regal attire and lightly armored gloves stood in stark contrast to the rustic surroundings of her campsite.

Lyria, approached cautiously, her hand instinctively gripping the handle of her axe. The tall and lithe blonde woman turned to face Lyria, a smirk playing on her lips. "Ah, the infamous Lyria Elisdor. I was searching for you."

She drew her sword, the blade gleaming in the fading light. "I am Valyra Rosewell The Third, a knight of the Northern Kingdom, and I'm here to claim your head."

Lyria readied her battle axe, brandishing a smile. “Alright, princess, Take it.”

Valyra launched forward, her sword slicing through the air. Lyria parried the blow with her axe, the clang of metal against metal ringing out across the campsite.

Lyria scoffed. "Another knight seeking glory, maybe gold?."

Valyra's eyes narrowed, her grip tightening on her sword. "I assure you, it is the honor of my kingdom I seek."

Despite the knight's agility and apparent skill with her blade, Lyria's formidable stature and strength proved to be a match for her. With a powerful counter, Lyria knocked the sword from the blonde's hand, sending it clattering in the distance.

Seizing the opportunity, Lyria tackled the woman as she ran for her blade, pinning her to the snow-covered ground while it was just out of reach.

Reaching for the rope she kept to drag prey, Lyria bound the woman's wrists together, rendering her helpless.

"Please, no... I beg you! Allow me my sword, that was a clumsy slip!" the woman gasped.

Lyria flashed a cold smile. "You should have thought about that before you tried to kill me." She ran rope across the woman’s mouth, silencing her protests to muffled gurgles.

With the woman secured, Lyria sat back, catching her breath. Tears welled in the distraught eyes of her captive, a mistake costing both life and honor as she accepts her looming death at Lyria’s hands.

Lyria carried the flailing woman into her tent and laid her down roughly on the dirt floor. Confusion filled those large frosty blue eyes before they landed on the hunting knife in Lyria’s hand, its blade glinting in the dim firelight.

The helpless woman whimpered and pleaded weakly, terror consuming her delicate features. Lyria ignored her pitiful display while pinning her in place with a knee on her heaving chest.

She carefully and silently sliced the woman's upper belly, a stream of blood welled up and pooled in Valyria’s abdomen. The woman let out an agonized moan as the blade slowly pushed inward, certain of her impending end as Lyria seemed to take joy in such a lengthy execution.

…But Lyria had different plans.

The woman's body heat called to her, a furnace in this frozen wasteland. She slid the blade out and plunged her numb, icy hands into the gaping wound. Exquisite warmth engulfed her fingers as she probed the slick, pulsating organs, siphoning precious heat. Valyra’s muffled voice cried out in deep discomfort.

Lyria gasped as her hand saught deeper into Valyra's torso, pushing through the woman's innards. The knight's liver and stomach squelched and shifted beneath her touch, making way for the intruding digits that probed mercilessly into her core.

"What’s wrong, little princess? You’re alive, aren’t you?" Lyria smiled. "Your insides feel divine. As you see, there’s nothing to start a fire with out here, so warmth is hard to come by."

Lyria felt around for the cut she made in Valyra's diaphragm stretch and then pushed her wrists through with a wet pop. The knight jerked and choked out a gurgling cry, back arching as Lyria's arm sank into her chest cavity.

"Shh, shh..." Lyria hushed, curling her fingers around the thundering heart, groaning in relief. It quivered like a frightened animal against her cold intruding palms, fluttering desperately in the shock of her grip.

Concern filled Lyria’s eyes and she gently compressed and massaged the organ to settle its pace, like a bellows stoking a flame, coaxing it to keep pumping, to provide her with its feverish heat. Its panicked rhythm reverberated through her arms as every inch of the woman’s insides pulsed with its tempo.

The woman shuddered and whimpered, nerves alight with agony and inner disturbance.

Valyra's ribs creaked and flexed around the impaling limbs, violated body squeezing its soft vital organs around the invading arms in feeble protest. Her shuddering lungs enveloped Lyria's hand in their warm, spongy embrace, compressing with each labored breath. The knight's body was powerless to stop it, to do anything but elicit an amused, perversely adoring grin across the redhead’s lips.

"That's it," Lyria whispered. "Good girl. Keep your precious little heart beating for me, nice and strong." Conquering the threat of her feeble companion's death, Lyria sat in perverse comfort as she passively extracted warmth from the knight's delicate core. She was finally able to appreciate the magnificent firmness and vigor of the organ. For such a slight woman, the knight had a surprisingly hefty and powerful heart, no doubt forged by years of rigorous training and battle. Its angry protests kicking into her with every contraction, even as the rest of Valyra's body lay helpless and defeated.

Valyra silently prayed for the blissful release of unconsciousness, to be freed from the violation and humiliation of those cruel hands playing with her very core…But her heart, her treacherous, resilient heart, refused to still, no matter how much its rhythm stuttered and strained. It labored on under Lyria's ruthless manipulations, condemning her to endure every disgraceful second of this nightmare.

#dark cardiophilia #heart torture #f/f #internal heart play #prolonged heart torment #uncertain ending

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crow2222 · 7 days

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i wrote darry and paul to try and stay awake

His eyelashes fluttered open as his hazy gaze rested upon me. The angry purple bruises spread throughout his face complimented his pale blue eyes; his eyebrows furrowing as his irises focused on my face.

"Paul?" Came the lone whisper from him, and despite my efforts to stay silent, I choked out a sob. My hand came up to hold his cheek in my palm, further breaking my heart as he leaned into my touch.

I wanted to ask if he knew, if he knew that this night would be his last; but I wasn't strong enough to let out the words, I was never as strong as he was.

His rumbling voice was what broke me out of my grave thoughts, "What happened?" His eyes looked heavy as he slowly scanned around the hospital room he was in, panic slowly rising in his voice.

He doesn't remember, therefore he doesn't know.

"There was an accident, Darry. Your parents, they're.. " The sudden trail off in my voice was all Darry needed to break down, his sobs racking his entire body, his face twisting up in pain as it happened.

They were simply going out to pick up a cake, his own birthday cake, but then a car went straight into them. It was Darrys twentieth birthday, having just turned twenty, will now have to stay that age until the end of time.

My hand stayed frozen on his cheek, and I could only hope that it comforted him ad much as it did to me.

His gravely voice gave out eventually, his vocal cords tired from his wails to his dad and mom. His eyes kept their flow of tears however, his head slowly shaking side to side as he refused to believe his parents death, or what I feared; his own approaching one.

The light in him was dying out; a life ending before it even started. I wanted to tell him to fight, to make it, but the look in his eyes told me he's already given up, despite the fact his brothers were waiting at home for the rest of their family to come home.

No sound came out, but I clearly saw how his cut up lips moved to say "Paul" once my hand slid away from his wet face.

All I could muster up was a shake of my head as a response, my legs tense with the need to flee. But I felt like I owed it to him to stay, so he wouldn't have to be alone when he goes.

Chairs were in the room, but by the looks of it, I wasn't going to be in there long enough for the need to sit.

Our staring match never ended, even as his eyelids seemed too much for him to keep open. They were half lidded when his vigorous shaking calmed down, and that's when my body decided to snap out of it and reach for his hand.

I was too late, it was all over;

and Darrel Curtis would never know how much I loved him.

My head hovered above his, droplets of my tears sliding down his stone cold face as I fought the urge to kiss him; it'd be like a tale of kissing the princess, bringing her back to life.

But what lay before him wasn't Darry anymore, just the body that held his spirit.

My fingers grasped desperately as his limp ones, a small hope in me that they'd suddenly hold mine back and everything would be fine.

"Paul?" His voice reminded me of Darrys, before he hit puberty and his voice deepened to the way I liked it. My eyes met Pony's horrified ones, my hands instantly leaving Darrys.

The long beep filled in our awkward silence, and just as I was about to wonder onto how no nurse had come on yet; One did.

She shooed us both out of the room as others filled into the room, leaving me and Darrys baby brother in the hallway.

He already knew, and if I were to guess, their other brother was still crying for his mommy and daddy to come back.

I couldn't bear it any longer, and my feet finally did what my mind has been yelling at them to do for ages; run.

I ran out of the hall, I ran down the stairs, and I ran out of the hospital.

And I kept on running, hoping that eventually,

I was far enough to forget Darry.

#the outsiders #darry curtis #paul holden #darry curtis x paul holden #parry #is he gonna make it?#prolly not

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kiryoutann · 1 year

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Before reading, please check series masterlist to read the warning(s), disclaimer, and to make sure you’re on the right chapter. Minors do NOT interact.

I appreciate the likes, replies, and reblogs! Thank you so much. If you like what I do, you can consider donating to my Kofi. Once again, thanks so much!

Amidst the noisy conference room due to the nobles arguing, Childe sat silently letting them debate each other. The subjects they talked about were important, but his thoughts were too heavy for him to follow. Not rarely, one of the lords asked about his thoughts on the subject and received no response.

His brain is somewhere else.

Even though he hadn't shed a tear at the day of death and also the funeral, it was hard for him to go even a second without thinking about what had happened to his father. Emptiness came with many questions that he couldn't fathom.

As if they could read his mind, the topic shifted to the King's death.

“What about the late King's death investigation? Are there any findings yet?” one of the nobles asked, starting a new conversation.

Dmitri, who during the conference acted as Childe's spokesperson, had chosen to remain silent, shaking his head in shame. "Not yet, Your Excellency." He gave an answer.

The whole room expressed their disappointment. Various words that were too soft and fast added an atmosphere that made anyone who felt it impatient. The nobles of Snezhnaya are frustrated and confused.

"Why haven't there been any findings yet? This is important! We must find out who dared to threaten Snezhnaya's land and kill the late king!"

"That's right!"

"Gentlemen, please maintain your composure."

The person's voice miraculously silenced them, leaving only the echoes of the conversation earlier before attention shifted to the man who rose from his seat. Aside from his recognizable handsome face, Duke Maxim emphasized his existence with the determined look he threw at their prince.

Rumors had long been circulating about him being one of the people who were with the late king before the incident occurred, automatically making him the one who witnessed the king's death in person. The nobles wondered if he was here to say anything about it.

“Your Highness, Prince Childe. If I am permitted to testify, I will tell the truth about what occurred that day."

Despite the fact that he mentioned something unexpected again, none of the nobles dared to interrupt him. The ginger-haired man was the center of attention as everyone awaited his approval for Maxim to speak.

There was a pause before Childe said, "Speak."

Now that he has received his permission, and he then began to speak, "On that tragic day, I and His Majesty were sipping tea with Prince Shiva of Liyue and Her Highness Princess (Y/N)."

From the mention of your name, his fingers stiffen.

"Everything seemed fine at first." Maxim took a deep breath, giving a tense pause to those listening. “Everything seemedfine.. until His Majesty took a sip of his tea and suddenly coughed up blood before falling to the floor convulsing.”

Some of the nobles started whispering under their breath. Childe remained frozen in his seat.

"For something so terrible to happen when His Majesty met the Prince... it needs to be looked at more thoroughly."

Childe had already deduced what Maxim was attempting to tell him from his sentence. However, something in his heart was reluctant to believe it so he had the urge to ask and confirm it again.

"What are you implying?" He said, cold and dangerous.

“The possible mastermind behind all this,”—Maxim made sure he looked him in the eyes—“is Prince Shiva.”

Instantly, the room erupted in disbelief. The nobles whispered, some agreed with his assumptions, while the rest were still in doubt. As if the bomb he dropped wasn't enough to blow up the atmosphere, Maxim opened his mouth again.

"And that doesn't rule out the possibility that Princess (Y/N) is involved in it."

Blue eyes shot open. Childe was beside himself in a split second, filled with rage and confusion.

That's impossible.. right?

Childe had no idea where to direct his rage. As for Shiva, he was pretty sure he was the one capable of such dirty ways. But you? He couldn’t imagine you getting into this. However, what if it turns out that he doesn't know you very well and that you truly assisted your older brother in his vile act? Without realizing it, Childe began to be eaten up by doubts which were then followed by feelings of betrayal even though the facts had not been confirmed.

“Duke, are you certain about this?” one of the nobles asked.

"Of course! And I'm not stating this without proof." Maxim took something out of his pocket and put it on the teak table. "On that day, I asked a researcher to examine the tea's composition, and the results showed that a toxic flower called Silence was present,"

A white petalled blossom on a handkerchief completely captured the attention of the entire table.

Maxim glanced at Childe, "Uniquely, this flower only grows in Liyue."

Liyue.

Fingernails dug into palms from how tightly Childe clenched his fists. Molar teeth rubbed against each other from his efforts to hold back the anger that had reached its peak.

Why is this happening?

Not only had he lost his father, now Childe had to accept that there was a possibility that this was all the doing of the Prince of Liyue. When he was ready to give up all his ambitions about destroying it—just for your sake—he was faced with a dilemma in choosing between avenging his father and burying this, as his parents had done with Anton's death.

“If what Duke Maxim said is true, Your Highness, you must quickly take action to imprison Prince Shiva!”

"Are you mad?! Without solid proof, it will only cause diplomatic problems. You must remember that the Emperor will not remain silent!”

One lashed back, splitting the group into two. The sound of chairs being pushed back was heard as the nobles stood up from their seats. The atmosphere became uncontrollably chaotic, as if these people had forgotten that the Crown Prince was still sitting among them.

“What more proof are you waiting for?! That is evident! Liyue has once again waged war on us!” One response followed another.

"In that case, His Highness should also take action on Princess (Y/N)—"

A fist slammed onto the table. The chatter died down as the nobles' attention was drawn to Childe, who stood with pale knuckles. He raised his head, revealing a deadly brilliant blue, his glare as if to warn that anyone who dared to open their mouths one more time would die.

"Talk like that again and I'll line up all of your heads on this table."

Everyone in the room knew that wasn't an empty threat. Even though there was no sword at his side, they knew Childe was more than capable of figuring out how to do that. They resumed their seats in a civilized manner as if the ruckus had never happened. However, in a situation that was conducive again, Childe could no longer see a purpose in it when his mind was so chaotic.

Dmitri watched the man rise from his chair to leave the conference room.

How ironic.

The hallway he took to go to his room resounded with the sound of his shoes hitting the floor. Childe took wide and fast steps, he never stopped to catch his breath. So why didn't the heaviness in his shoulders go away? He felt as though the entire weight of the planet was being placed on his feet.

Childe was about ready to give up everything. He has made many decisions based on his half brain with love. Why did something like this have to happen?

The door to his room was slammed by him after he entered. Childe couldn't decide whether the emptiness or the rage that was suddenly consuming him was worse. Where should he throw this strong emotion? Who should he be angry with? He got the impression that the world tended to intervene in his life just when he was about to experience bliss.

His thoughts were interrupted by the door opening violently. The blue eyes widened as they landed on your figure. Your chest rose and fell as you ran here. Yet instead of the usual joy, your arrival this time sparked confusion and doubt.

Before Childe asked anything, you had called his name.

“Ajax!”

For the first time, he felt conflicted from seeing you.

Meanwhile, you scan his face and notice how tired he looks. It must be because of the series of emergency meetings held by the nobles who insisted on discussing the succession as soon as possible. You hesitated to say it until the memory of your vision hit you in the head.

“(Y/N)—“

"Don't go to the conference tomorrow."

It was said so suddenly, you know. However, this is all you do for him, only for him.

“..Why?” Childe asked, softly but not timidly.

That gaze didn't leave you as you took a deep breath before saying: “There is someone planning to kill you.”

Instead of furrowing his brows, his blue eyes widened as if he had expected this to happen. Doubt grew thicker in his mind. The chattering of the nobles from the conference earlier buzzed around saying that maybe they were right about you and Shiva.

But, if that was right, wouldn't it be suicide to tell him this?

Childe never realized what an enigma you were until now. Behind that pretty face, what are you hiding? Where are you standing? Is this a ruse to keep him distracted and unprepared for what comes next? Or maybe you really are telling the truth?

“.. What?”

"That's right!" You try to push away the doubts. “They've had poison ready for you. So, please don't go!”

Childe felt his heartbeat quicken. "Who are they'?"

The silence felt strange. Anxiety anchored in his heart from no answer from you. He didn't miss how you bit your trembling lips. Childe clenched his fists at his sides.

Why are you hesitating?

If you are really the mastermind behind all this, can Childe take an oath to destroy the land of Liyue—which, ironically, is your birthplace? And if one day his heart has that urge, the sweet memory he shared with you.. will it burn with it in the end?

You replay your memory of your vision and are back at a dead end when you find the faces are still as blurry as before. Frustration floods over you, and despair has never been so intense.

"I... I don't know." Is the answer you can give him.

However, all that did was add to the chains holding his mind back from thinking clearly. Childe is in tunnel vision. Your answer he concluded as you were protecting someone—Shiva.

A scoff escaped his lips. "You don’t know?" There was anger inside of him and it got stronger in seconds.

"Then, how did you know about this plan, (Y/N)?"

Childe's last question made you freeze.

This is the end of the big secret you've been keeping hidden. You just didn't think you'd reveal it for his sake. How ironic, didn't you vowed that you'd use it to bring him to his doom? In comparison to now, your despair is caused by his hesitation to trust you. Is it possible that humans were created with a short lifetime to make decisions and then watch themselves turn away from them in the blink of an eye?

There is no turning back now. It's pointless to turn back. Out of fear you might have second thoughts, you don't take a breath before saying it.

"I can see the future."

In this moment, time itself felt endless. You watched the expression on his face change, swept away by something—no, it wasn't shock—Childe stared at you in such obvious disbelief that you were sure he had thought you were crazy and delusional.

“What?”

From his intonation, your throat tightens. "I know this is hard to believe." What else can you tell him to convince him to believe you? “But, you have to believe me!”

"You think this is the right time to joke around—"

"No!" You yelled. “I'm serious! I can actually see the future!”

Please,

Please, believe me!

A mocking scoff came out of him, though that didn't dampen the anger that was building up inside him. “You think that crazy talk will be enough to cover up your brother's abominations—!”

“I know your agreement with Duke Maxim!”

Your interruption froze his tongue. Now those blue eyes widened under furrowed brows. He was completely speechless, he had nothing else to do but show the shock on his face.

You swallow. "I know you initially planned to use his weaponry in your attack on Liyue after you ascended to the throne." You continued and Childe felt a chill run down his spine. "However, due to the incident that day at the tea party, you decided to terminate all of that."

Just when he thought that was the most shocking thing you could say, you opened your mouth again to tell him something else.

"The day I was poisoned at my own tea party, I had a vision of someone poisoning Lumine's tea."

Childe's chest ached. "Don't tell me you—“

"That's correct," you cut in, hands clenched at your sides, praying for the strength to utter what comes next. "I switched her tea for mine and drank it."

Anger mixed through his veins and flowed through his blood throughout his body. Childe was in flames. His shoulders had never been so heavy, and he was trembling. He is unsure of which is worse—that you did something so crazy, or that you spoke so casually about your confession, as if you had no concerns about yourself.

"Why?" His voice started in a whisper which then escalated into a yell. “Why?! WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT?!”

“Because I know you love her!!”

Was that fact so heartbreaking that you cried after finishing it? Tears fell on the floor. If one collects it in a bottle, it's possible to be able to sink the world with you. Something from your sentence consumes you, eats you alive yet, yet you collected all of your willpower to continue standing in front of him.

A breath you take. "I know you love her so much that I'm afraid it will add to your grudge if something happens to her." You almost whispered, afraid that any louder than that would make your pain more obvious.

The intensity of emotions that once fluctuated like waves returned. Childe felt his head throbbing in pain. However, all of that was eclipsed by a burning sensation in his chest. His heart was filled with guilt and shame, the remainder taken over by doubt—which despite hearing it all—made it hard to believe that you could actually see the future.

“I also know that you intended to kill me from the start.”

Instantly, his airway was blocked by a lump in the back of his throat. Pain coursed through his body along with his limp bones. His tongue had never been this bitter. Those eyes looked as if they were dipped in pain.

Hearing you talk about it in that way makes him wonder if you're really talking about him. Childe realized he had grown too far when he found his former self so foreign. How the world has changed; now, the only thing he wants in the whole world is to keep you safe.

".. Why are you telling me this?" He spoke softly before loudly, "You know I was going to kill you, then why are you telling me all this?!"

“BECAUSE I LOVE YOU!”

Because I love you.. because I love you..

It repeated over and over in his mind from the fear it would evaporate away with the changing of the seasons. Jaws gaping open. It was what he had wanted for the longest time—to hear those three words leave your lips and aim at him.

However, with his heart filled with negativity, he couldn't accept anything even if it was to heal him.

You took a new breath in between your sobs. "Because I love you," Your voice is hoarse, breathy full of emotions.

With this love confession, you're letting him know that it's him that you want. It is his hand that you want to cup and place against your cheek. It is his lips that you want to feel on top of yours. But, for now, Childe should know you're saying this because the only thing you want most in this world is his safety.

"So please.. please.." You whispered after a moment. "The only thing I want of you is to keep yourself safe.”

But what good is a love confession if the listener is deafened by endless emotional turmoil? Childe was still silent, biting the inside of his cheek as he tried to keep his hands from taking you into his arms. For now, he is nothing more than a disarranged soul incapable of giving a warm embrace while whispering honeyed words.

So he stepped past you. The silence was filled with the sound of the door opening before closing again. He has left you.

And so, you cry until you choke on your own tears. Your knees gave way, sending you plunging into the cold now that he had left. It hurts, it hurts so much. The weight pressing against your chest feels so heavy that you are suffocating. Despite that, the love you have for him remains in your heart, reminding you that it has nowhere to go.

AbbyBianx, ness

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